Mary would have liked to ask further questions but just then the buzzer went.
‘Hey, come on,’ said Madge, ‘home time. Look, don’t say anything to the others, about me going to Darnall, I mean. They’d only ridicule me if they knew.’
‘Of course I won’t. In fact I’d like to know more about it when we have more time.’
Madge’s face lit up. ‘Yer don’t think I’m daft, then?’
‘No. My grandmother had too many strange things happen to her for me to think it’s daft.’
Madge linked arms with Mary as they walked down the gangway. ‘Yer could come with me if yer liked.’
Mary blushed. ‘I couldn’t. It’s not allowed in our Church.’
‘Oh, no, I forgot. Oh well, let me know if yer change yer mind.’
And with that they parted company, both anticipating what the weekend would bring.
Mary was scared stiff when Rowland waved goodbye from the car in Millington. He had dropped her off near the clock, and she moved nervously from one foot to the other as she waited for Jack. She saw him hurrying down the hill towards her and set off to meet him. She wondered if he was nervous too about taking her to meet his family. They walked back in the direction of five long rows of brick houses.
‘We live on the top row,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m so thin, trudging up this hill every time I go anywhere.’
Mary smiled, knowing his lean frame was the result of working like a horse in the pit at the far end of Millington.
They reached the top row, and turned to walk on to number forty. It was the middle house Jack said. Despite the cool of the day men and women were sitting outside, watching the children play; some on doorsteps, others on straight-backed kitchen chairs and one young man even reclining on an upturned zinc bath, straightening to stare at Mary and muttering to Jack as they passed.
A small boy in patched trousers came running towards them. ‘Will yer play footy with me Jack?’ he called.
‘Not today, Robby,’ Jack answered, ruffling the already tousled hair.
‘Aah, come on, you alius play footy on a Saturday.’
‘Not this Saturday. Go find yer pals.’
A disappointed Robby continued to try to coax Jack into changing his mind, until Mary was led over a newly whitened step into the house.
Mrs Holmes was in her usual chair. She had changed her all-round pinafore for a clean apron and rocked gently as she weighed Mary up. Mary was suddenly filled with a longing for her own mother and the little house in Newcastle which was so similar to this one.
‘This is Mary, Mother,’ Jack announced. ‘Mary, this is my mother.’
‘Pleased to meet you, lass. Come in and sit yerself down. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house – yer’ll ’ave to take us as yer find us if yer going to join’t family.’
Mary coloured, embarrassed at Mrs Holmes’s assumption when Jack hadn’t even asked her yet. Jack winked at Mary, putting her at ease. ‘Where’s the clan?’ he asked.
‘Eeh, yer might know, lad. Yer dad’s gone to bed for an hour. Said he’d be down before you arrived but yer know what he is after he’s had a pint at dinner time.’
Jack grinned. ‘Where are the others?’
‘In’t room. Carding, I expect. It’s to be hoped yer know how to play cards, lass; it’s like a gambling den in our room when the family gets together.’
‘Gambling den, she says. Pennies, that’s all we play for, and then me mother forgets to put in half the time.’ He laughed and dodged his mother’s hand as she aimed a good-natured blow at him. ‘You should feel honoured, Mary. If you hadn’t been coming she’d have been in the game herself by now. Let’s go in and meet the clan.’ He led Mary out of the kitchen, past the bottom of the stairs, and into the other room. The smell of Mansion polish and smoke met Mary as she entered. Harry Holmes – whom she recognised from the farmers’ ball – sat shuffling cards at a round polished table, then began to deal them to his sister Marjory, her husband Bill Bacon, and Margaret, his other sister, who looked about Mary’s age. A little girl of about four was counting an enormous pile of pennies and broke off to run into Jack’s arms, laughing as he threw her up into the air and caught her again.
‘Say hello to yer Auntie Mary. Una,’ he said.
Una muttered ‘Hello’ before stuffing her thumb in her mouth and turning all shy. Mary guessed the pretty curly-haired child would be jealous of her and opened her handbag to find the bag of toffee Gladys had made that morning.
‘Here,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve brought you some toffee.’
The little girl beamed, struggled free of Jack’s hold and ran into the kitchen, where Mary heard her showing off the sweets to her grandmother. Jack fetched a stool from the kitchen and she sat nervously, wondering whether she ought to go back and keep Jack’s mother company. Mrs Holmes made up her mind for her by bringing another chair and joining the family at the table.
‘Fancy a game, love?’ Bill Bacon asked as he began to shuffle the cards.
‘I don’t think I know how to play,’ said Mary.
‘We’ll show yer. Come on, put yer money in. Halfpenny in the middle and halfpenny in the kitty,’ Bill said, not giving her chance to refuse.
Margaret volunteered to show Mary how to play, and before she knew it she was on a winning streak.
She had an idea she was going to like this family, probably because they reminded her of her own back in Newcastle. She suddenly wondered what her parents would think of Jack, and had the feeling they would love him as much as she did.
After tea Mary had a wash in the sink in the corner of the kitchen, combed her hair and put on a dab of Phul Nana, then set off with Jack for Theresa Murphy’s house a few doors away. The little lad who had approached them earlier turned out to be the youngest of her nine brothers and sisters. Mary wasn’t sure if everybody in the house belonged there or if they were just friends or relations. Mrs Murphy didn’t seem to take much notice of anybody. Fat and jolly, she just sat near the fire with half a dozen Lady Jane curlers fighting a losing battle against her straight wispy hair. She prised herself to her feet at intervals to mash another pot of tea, which she poured pale and watery into an assortment of cups and pint pots, mostly without handles. A loaf of bread stood on the bare tabletop with a large jar of jam keeping it company.
‘Has everybody had their teas?’ she finally called at the top of her voice, and as nobody bothered to answer she covered the bread with a newspaper, scooped all the pots with a clatter into the smelly stone sink in the corner, and wiped the spill stains off the table with what looked like a floor cloth. Mary decided there and then that she wouldn’t bother with breakfast in the morning.
Theresa, Mary and Jack set off eventually for the dance hall. It was a massive place with a large stage at one end. Mary couldn’t help but compare it favourably with the schoolroom at Longfield.
Throughout the evening she was introduced to a succession of Jack’s mining friends. Everybody in the room seemed to know him. Also present were many of the girls from the strip department. The small band was excellent and their repertoire included everything from the hokey-cokey to the tango. Mary loved to dance and found Jack an easy partner, and was really sorry when the National Anthem was played.
Jack had been hoping that Theresa would walk home with one of the lads she had been dancing with, and he was slightly put out when she tagged on with Mary and himself, so that all he got from Mary was a quick goodnight peck on the cheek before she had to follow Theresa into the house.
Mrs Murphy was still sitting by the fire reading the Woman’s Companion and Mary wondered if she would be staying there all night; maybe she was too fat to climb the stairs, or, worse still, perhaps there was no vacant bed for her to go to, what with the ten of them and Mary besides.
‘Come on,’ said Theresa. ‘We’re sleeping with our Laura. Do you want to go across the yard before we go up?’
Mary thought she’d better, and they went fumbling hand in
hand in the darkness towards a long dark passage with half a dozen lavatories inside. Theresa, always game for a laugh, began making ghostly noises whilst Mary was inside and she ended up running back to the house with her knickers only half pulled up.
The laughter continued well into the night, as Laura told them smutty jokes which she picked up from the canteen at the bottling company where she worked. Then, just as they were settling down to sleep, one of the young brothers came gliding into the room with a sheet over his head pretending to be a ghost. Mary wondered if she had landed herself in a madhouse and giggled with the others until it was almost daylight.
It was only when she began itching in church the next morning and discovered the bug bites that she decided she would have to be really desperate before she would ever spend another night in Theresa Murphy’s bed.
Chapter Twelve
Old Toothy Benson was on his last legs, and had been for at least three months. Jack enquired after his health daily at the pit, secretly hoping there would be no improvement. Old Toothy must be ninety if he was a day and was still hanging on in the house Jack had been promised when it became vacant, which Jack was beginning to think would never happen.
The end one in a red brick row overlooking the fields of Barker’s Farm, it seemed a bargain at only ten shillings a week rent. Actually it would need a miracle to bring it up to a comfortable standard after years of neglect, but Jack was blind to its faults and saw it only as a means of persuading Mary to arrange the wedding.
Much as Mary loved Jack, she was in no hurry to marry. She would never forget Tom, but she was coming to terms with his death, and the sweet memories were beginning to outweigh the painful ones. In many ways the last few months had been the happiest of her life and she was in no rush to change things. In fact, she was dreading having to leave Moorland House and the Robertses.
For Gladys the ideal solution would be for the couple to live permanently with her and the doctor, but she knew that that was impossible, and was resigning herself to the fact that Mary would be leaving them any time now. She was reconciled to Mary’s choice of a future husband. Jack had taken to spending Sundays with them, making himself useful round the house whilst Mary busied herself cooking the dinner. He had built up the fence round the chicken coop, swept the kitchen chimney with a minimum of mess and was learning to drive the car.
After dinner the four of them would go for a ride, sometimes over to Castleton or Bakewell, where they would walk by the river wrapped up in warm scarves and gloves against the cold, driving slowly over carpets of soggy brown leaves, along lanes overhung with bare grey branches, ghostly in the late autumn mists.
Jack had been introduced to a new way of life, a life of luxury compared to the one he had been used to, yet he was in no way envious of the Robertses. On the contrary, he was full of admiration for Rowland, talking to him at length about his work, and worldly affairs neither Gladys nor Mary had the slightest knowledge of. In return Rowland would question Jack about his work at the mine, interested to learn that he was working a new piece of machinery, and roping him in to search out a fault on the car.
Jack wondered anxiously if Mary would settle in a house with no bathroom or other comforts, and he made up his mind that he would work his fingers to the bone to provide her with the best, determined that if she married him she would never regret doing so.
It was a fortnight before Christmas and a party of strip workers were on their way to the city hall in Sheffield for their annual night out. A charabanc had been booked to take them, and most had managed a new outfit of some kind despite the war. Mary had made herself a skirt of grey crepe de Chine and was wearing the satin blouse for the first time since last Christmas. Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped it on and Tom’s face invaded her thoughts. She wondered if she would ever be completely free of the painful memories. She shook herself and placed Tom’s engagement ring on her finger, then took it off again. She couldn’t wear it; it wouldn’t be fair to Jack. She put it back in its box. It would be a beautiful keepsake, a treasure.
Most of the party had never set foot in the city hall before and Mary felt she was dancing on air as she took to the beautiful sprung floor.
They were in the middle of a foxtrot when the siren sounded. No one took much notice at first; warnings had been given many times in the past and nothing had happened, so why should it now? Only the party from Millington became alarmed. They didn’t fancy becoming involved in the action here in the city when they were used to the peace of their small town. There were discussions as to whether they should make their way home, but at eight o’clock the argument ended when the building was evacuated.
Mary was all for taking to the shelter with the rest of the dancers, but the bus driver had other ideas.
‘You lot please yerselves,’ he said, ‘but I’m taking my bus home. That bus is my livelihood and I’m not having it blown to smithereens by the bloody Jerries, so you either get yerselves on board now or I’m slinging my hook without yer.’
Mary had no time to think. The lot of them piled into the bus and were soon on their way home. The driver made good time, stopping only once outside the infirmary to have a word with the Home Guard, and slowing down only when he was safely away from the city.
Even in Millington the fires of Sheffield could be seen. It was after midnight when the raids began, and none of the city escaped the high explosives except the Brightside and Darnall areas, which happened to be shrouded by a blanket of fog.
Dr Roberts told them that Graves Park and Crookes had been devastated and a number of civilians killed, but that was many days afterwards when he managed to leave the overcrowded hospital and the many injured for a short visit home. He and Gladys even missed the performance of The Messiah, which went ahead as planned at the Victoria Hall in Sheffield on the Sunday afternoon after the raid. Tragically, a second raid took place that night, increasing the numbers of homeless throughout the city, and this time Darnall was in the thick of it all.
Mary worried about Gladys, who became more and more anxious when her husband was away at the hospital. She tried to calm her by pointing out how lucky he was to be working here, instead of somewhere on the front lines. Gladys appreciated that, and cheered up a little. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. Do you know, it’s the first time I’ve ever been grateful for the fact that my Rowland’s getting on in years.’
Everybody agreed that the works outing had been a washout, but they were so thankful to have escaped the blitz that no one complained.
‘Oh well,’ said Madge, ‘I’m just praying my church has been spared.’
Mary didn’t answer. She was busy reflecting on the fact that until a few months ago she had never even heard of Darnall, and now it had been brought to her attention again. She wondered if it was an omen, indicating that she should attend the Spiritual Church with Madge. Jack had laughed when she had mentioned it, but hadn’t been against her going.
‘You go wherever you like,’ he said. ‘So long as you don’t expect me to go with you. I’m not one for religion in any shape or form.’
‘You’re a heathen, Jack Holmes,’ Mary said. ‘Don’t you ever fear for your soul?’
Jack began to laugh. ‘You know what our old man always says?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he says.’ Mary smiled. She and Jack’s father had been taken with each other from their first meeting. He was called Our Old Man by everyone in the family except Mary and little Una, but it was said in an affectionate way and everybody loved the workworn middle-aged chap, who looked much older than his years. His back was hunched from working in the pit, due, according to Jack, to working in seams not much more than three feet high. He had a racking bronchial cough which worried the family, but he never complained and refused to see a doctor, or take time off work. Mary thought he was the most generous man she knew. Not only did he worship the ground his family walked on, but he went out of his way to assist any neighbour in times of trouble. He was
a man of few words, refusing to join in any gossip, and one of his sayings was, ‘If tha can’t say owt good about anybody, keep thi mouth shut!’ His one fault as far as Mary could see was that he swore like a trooper, but his wife had long since given up trying to change him and idolised him despite the swearing.
‘I’ll tell you what our old man says,’ said Jack. ‘“I’ve only got one soul and that’s my arse ’ole.”’
Mary paled with shock, but then she began to chuckle. In fact, they laughed so much they ended up in a passionate embrace, which wasn’t unusual these days. Indeed even Mary had begun to enquire about the health of old Toothy Benson.
After much discussion and many tears the wedding was finally arranged. The tears stemmed from Mary’s longing to be married back home in the heart of her family. She realised, however, that transporting all Jack’s family and their many friends to Newcastle would be difficult, so she kept her disappointment hidden and the tears for the privacy of her room. The arguments stemmed from Jack’s refusing to promise that any children of the marriage would be brought up in the Catholic faith.
‘I’ve seen enough of their brainwashing,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen for yourself the poverty caused by the Catholic Church.’
‘Whatever has the Church got to do with poverty?’ Mary’s temper always rose to simmering point when her religion was condemned.
‘You know very well what it has do do with it; one bairn after another. Take the Murphys, for instance. The poor woman has bred like a rabbit for at least twenty years, just because they cling to the idea that contraception is sinful. I doubt she’s finished yet, and not two pennies to rub together between them.’
Christmas Past Page 9
