Mary looked down, her eyes filling with tears. She knew in her heart that Jack was right.
‘I don’t want a life like theirs for you, or for our kids. I’ve seen the Murphys filled with the fear of Hell on occasions. I tell you, Mary, it isn’t natural.’
‘It isn’t like that.’
‘Maybe not where you come from, but I’m telling you I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
The arguments were long and unsolvable, and it was only Mary’s determination that forced Jack to relent and take the necessary instruction so that the wedding could take place at St Catherine’s. He knew he would lose Mary otherwise and stubborn as he was he knew life without her would be purgatory here on earth, let alone in death.
Perversely she wasn’t altogether happy about St Catherine’s. Although she had been welcomed by the congregation, she didn’t feel the same devotion as she had in Father Flynn’s church back home. Perhaps the trouble was that she couldn’t help but compare the dour, grey-faced priest with the rosy, smiling moon face of Father Flynn. Besides, she was feeling rather guilty about the time she had accompanied Madge to the little church in Darnall, where she had found herself warmly received into the loving atmosphere Madge had previously described. The disappointment that no message had come through for her during the service had been utterly dispelled when Madge had received convincing evidence that her late husband was present. The medium had passed on amusing messages and an atmosphere of hilarity had pervaded the hall. Mary had never known laughter in a church before and was most impressed by the medium, who brought joy and also tears to the congregation.
Afterwards she had described the incident to Gladys, who couldn’t help wondering if Mary was as dedicated a Catholic as she made herself out to be.
‘Are you sure you want to be married at St Catherine’s?’ she enquired.
Mary coloured. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t feel properly married otherwise. Besides, what would I tell my parents? Why, they’d never forgive me, even though they won’t be at the wedding.’
‘No, that’s true,’ Gladys said thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you think it might be possible for them to come down?’
‘Not all of them,’ said Mary sadly. ‘I’m afraid it would cost too much, and my mother wouldn’t come on her own.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Gladys.
So it was arranged for Rowland to give Mary away and for Gladys to provide the dress.
‘I intended wearing my brown costume. After all, there is a war on.’
‘What, and deprive me of seeing my wedding dress given a new lease of life?’ said Gladys wistfully. ‘Come upstairs.’
She led Mary up into the bedroom she shared with Rowland and opened the door of the large wardrobe, taking out a hanger completely covered by a large white sheet, and smelling strongly of mothballs. Mary gasped as the sheet was removed to reveal a gown of ivory silk.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed.
‘It was, thirty years ago. Now it’s terribly old fashioned, but that won’t take long to remedy. Now let’s see. There’s enough material to lift the drop waist a couple of inches, and add a few darts here and there. Why, no one will recognise it when I’ve finished.’
‘Oh, you can’t! Alter your wedding dress, I mean. What would Dr Roberts say?’
‘Between you and me,’ Gladys laughed, ‘I don’t think he even noticed it. The only thing on his mind on our wedding day was the anticipation of seeing me without it.’
Mary giggled and the two of them sat down on the pink satin eiderdown.
Gladys’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve never had children of my own, so please let me enjoy the privilege of acting mother, just for the one day. After that you’ll be gone, but for the time being please let me be a mother.’
Mary threw her arms round the weeping woman’s neck.
‘You are a mother. You’re my second mother, and not just for the wedding. I’ll never go, Mrs Roberts, not in my heart. I couldn’t. I’ll never love another house like this one, and not just the house, but you and the doctor. You’ve been like parents to me, and I won’t forget you just because I’m moving away. I’ll come back every weekend, we both will. Jack’s already said so.’
Gladys took out a pretty embroidered handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘Take off the dress and let’s get started on the alterations. Goodness, who would believe I ever had a waist so slender?’
‘Lucky I take after my second mother, then.’ Mary laughed. ‘Otherwise it wouldn’t fit.’
Chapter Thirteen
The wedding day arrived at last, sunny and warm considering it was early February. Gladys would have preferred the reception to take place at Moorland House but the number of guests from Millington had risen, making it awkward to transport them all to Longfield and back. Instead a small catering firm had been given the order for salad teas in the hall behind the church. Gladys had run up a pink bridesmaid’s dress for Una Bacon, with a matching muff and headdress. The child had stayed at Moorland House overnight and was overcome with excitement at the thought of the day ahead. Mary would have liked to ask Margaret to be a bridesmaid too, but couldn’t bring herself to do so when her own sisters wouldn’t even be attending the wedding. Besides, Margaret seemed to prefer an outfit she could wear afterwards, rather than some frivolous creation.
Gladys never ceased to amaze Mary with her many talents. She had wired together an assortment of snowdrops and evergreen from the garden into a small bouquet, and it would have been a day of complete happiness for Mary if only her family had been able to come down for the ceremony. She had written as soon as the date was decided, but a short note was returned apologising for not being able to attend. She had cried herself to sleep for a few nights afterwards, but knew the cost of the journey would have been too much for her parents even to consider.
At twelve o’clock Rowland Roberts disappeared in the car with a warning from Gladys to be back in good time, although the wedding wasn’t until half past three. Mary hoped he would hurry back, especially as he had promised to transport the Downings to the church before returning for Mary. By two o’clock she was beginning to panic, but with his usual hearty laugh he bounced into the kitchen.
‘Well then, are we all ready?’ he asked, pinning a flower on to his lapel. ‘I thought I’d got to the palace by mistake when I saw a little princess in a pink dress.’
Una danced with delight and Gladys had to adjust her headdress for the umpteenth time.
Mary appeared in the doorway to a stunned silence. The ivory dress was a perfect shade to complement the glory of her hair, which shone through the intricate lace of the thirty-year-old veil.
‘Oh, Auntie Mary, you look just like Cinderella,’ sighed Una.
‘Thanks to Auntie Gladys,’ Mary said softly. ‘I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me today. Nobody would think we were in the middle of a war. I must be the most pampered bride in the whole of England.’
‘And the most lovely,’ said Rowland. ‘And let’s not think of the war today of all days.’ He turned to his wife as she placed a large blue hat upon her head. ‘But I’ll tell you something, Mary, my wife looked just as beautiful thirty years ago, though I don’t suppose I bothered to tell her so.’ He coughed self-consciously. ‘Well, come on, or that young man of yours will think you’ve jilted him.’
When they got to the church, Rowland asked Mary to wait in the porch while he showed Gladys to her place. Mary straightened Una’s headdress once again and lowered the veil over her face. She heard the strains of Handel’s Largo change to the Wedding March, and then, instead of Dr Roberts, there walking towards her was her father, white-faced, nervous, but grinning from ear to ear. Lost for words, Mary placed her arm through his and they set off in a daze towards the altar.
‘You might have given me a heart attack,’ Mary said after the ceremony. ‘In fact I thought I was seeing things.’
‘You surely didn’t think I’d le
t my daughter marry withoot being there.’ Mick O’Connor laughed, relaxing now his duty was done and his daughter had been given into matrimony. He only hoped the lad was worthy of her, but the doctor seemed to think highly of him, according to all the letters and phone calls to Father Flynn which had been necessary to arrange it all.
‘Why didn’t someone tell me?’
‘What, and spoil the surprise?’ Jack laughed. ‘It was all Mrs Roberts’s idea. Blame her.’
‘And Rowland,’ said Gladys. ‘As soon as your father told Father Flynn they were going to make the journey after all, I thought how lovely it would be to surprise you.’
‘I might have known you would be in on it.’ Mary chuckled as she planted a kiss on Father Flynn’s bulbous red nose. She caught a glimpse of the local priest watching disapprovingly and wanted to giggle. In fact she wanted to laugh and dance and show everyone how happy she was.
‘Oh, Ma, you do look bonny, and me da too in his new suit.’ She reverted back unknowingly to her Geordie accent.
‘What about me?’ said Michael, as usual fishing for compliments.
‘You too. In fact you all look so smart, I don’t think I’d have recognised our Bill.’
‘He’s got a girl,’ said Jimmy.
‘No wonder,’ said Jack. ‘A big smart lad like him, I’ll bet all the girls are after him.’
Norah stood looking at Jack in admiration, and wondered if he had a younger brother, but Kathleen had already become acquainted with one of the Murphy boys.
‘Would the wedding party like to follow me down to the studio where the photographer is waiting.’ Rowland was busy rounding up the parents, brothers and sisters, and was having trouble persuading Jack’s father to join them.
‘I reckon nowt to folks gawping at my face,’ he grumbled but his wife placed her arm through his and almost dragged him with the joyous crowd in the direction of the studio. There they were placed in order of precedence, standing to attention like two rows of dominoes, except for the two mothers and Gladys who were seated on chairs at the front. Mrs Holmes amused them by asking if she could take off her shoes as her corns were killing her.
Gladys had at first refused to be in the photographs, saying she wasn’t family, until Mary’s mother pointed out that if it wasn’t for her none of this would have been taking place anyway.
The celebrations were soon in full swing. A gramophone had been brought in after the meal and except for the elderly guests most people were joining in the fun. A game of King William was in progress where someone in the centre of a large ring had to choose a partner to kiss and change places. By the evening the number of guests had risen to about eighty, since workmates, neighbours and a number of cousins had joined the already assembled guests. By nine most of the men had dwindled off to the Rising Sun for liquid refreshment which wasn’t allowed in the church hall, and by ten the immediate families were wending their way to the Holmes household where a few crates of beer were waiting. Mary wondered where everyone was going to sleep, but apparently Jack’s parents had joined in the conspiracy and arranged accommodation for her brothers and sisters, the boys in Harry’s room and the girls up in the attic with Margaret. Her parents were to stay with the Robertses along with Father Flynn, though Heaven knew how the five of them would fit into the Morris.
The only moment to mar Mary’s day had been when Mr and Mrs Downing had announced they would like to be getting home. Though they had tried to cover up their sadness Mary had seen the anguish in their eyes as the three of them had fleetingly pondered on what might have been if it hadn’t been for the bloody war.
Mary was ready for home. It had been a long day and looked like being a longer night. Someone had foolishly built up the fire and with about two dozen people crammed into the two small rooms the heat was becoming unbearable, so the door had been wedged open to let in the cool night air. Gladys noticed the harmonium on entering the room, and after a couple of glasses of rhubarb wine found courage to ask if she might play.
‘If you can get a tune out of it you’re welcome,’ said Mrs Holmes, underestimating Gladys’s ability to make music out of any old thing. In a few minutes she began to get the hang of it, and though the pedals squeaked in time with the music nobody cared. In honour of Mary and Jack she began with ‘If You Were The Only Girl In The World’, and Rowland brought the room to silence as he sang. Then Mick O’Connor, not to be outdone, sang his favourite ‘Bladen Races’. Soon the celebrations could be heard from one end of the row to the other, interrupted suddenly when a knock silenced the party. Jack went to the door, surprised to see three burly sailors on the step.
‘Are you Harry Holmes?’
‘No, but I’ll get him,’ Jack answered amiably. ‘Harry, somebody for you.’
Harry Holmes was on the stairs, enjoying the embraces of Lucy Downing, who had persuaded her father to let her stay for the celebrations. He left her with a smile.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘I’m Harry.’
‘Aye, and I’m Ada Banwell’s husband.’ The speaker’s fist hit Harry flat on the jaw, knocking him backwards into the dresser. He regained his balance and grabbed the legs of his opponent, throwing him backwards in the doorway, then saw the second man coming towards him. Jack rushed forward and planted a blow in the sailor’s face.
‘We fight man to man in this house,’ he said.
Harry pushed Jack aside. ‘Get out of it, man. This is my fight, not yours.’
Mr Holmes walked unsteadily towards the trouble. ‘What’s all this about?’ he enquired. ‘We don’t fight at all in this house without good reason. Besides’ – he glared at his sons – ‘you ought to be ashamed of yerselves spoiling your lass’s wedding day.’
‘It’s reason enough, you old fool, when a bloke’s helping himself to me wife while I’m away fighting his bloody war for him.’
Mr Holmes seemed to sober instantly. ‘What’s ’e on about, lad? Is it true what ’e’s saying?’
Harry paled beneath the blood. ‘If it wasn’t me it’d be somebody else. She’s not particular who she sleeps with.’
‘No, she can’t be very particular if she’ll sleep with a bugger like thee,’ Mr Holmes snarled as he lifted Harry up by his shirt front and carried him outside, followed by Mick O’Connor and Dr Roberts.
‘You come back here, Rowland,’ Gladys called. ‘I won’t have you upsetting your blood pressure again.’ Rowland took no notice.
Mr Holmes planted his son on the pavement and brought his fist up under his chin with such force it sent him backwards to land in an empty beer crate underneath the window.
‘You can go home to yer wife now, lad. He’ll not be causing any more trouble, yer can take my word for it.’
The sailor set off reluctantly along the row with the others.
‘Oh, by the way, sailor,’ said Mick O’Connor. ‘Before you go ... ’ and he gave the man a thump in the chest which sent him reeling backwards gasping for breath.
‘That’s for calling my friend an old fool.’
He rubbed his hands together and walked jauntily back into the house, stepping over Father Flynn who was fast asleep on the floor by the dresser. Mick grinned. ‘Do you know, this is the best wedding I’ve been to in years.’
Aye, thought Mary, he’s really enjoying himself, and throughout it all only one glass of beer has passed his lips and he’s remained stone cold sober.
‘Well if you don’t mind, I think Mary and me will be on our way. We’ve got a home to go to now, you know.’ Jack couldn’t conceal the pride in his voice.
‘Perhaps we should be going too,’ Rowland said.
‘Not yet,’ said Gladys. ‘Like Mr O’Connor, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years. Do you mind if I have another glass of that delicious rhubarb wine?’
She topped up the glasses of Mrs Holmes and Mrs O’Connor and then refilled her own.
‘Let’s drink to Mary and Jack,’ Mary’s mother said.
‘And to our new-found friends,’ said Glad
ys. Then she made her way unsteadily back to the old harmonium.
The newly-weds took a short cut up through the gardens and over Barker’s Fields. Had it been light Mary would have looked an odd sight with Jack’s jacket covering her wedding dress as protection from the cold night air.
‘Shall we light the gas or are we going straight up?’ Jack asked.
‘We’ll go straight to bed,’ said Mary, relieved that the darkness would hide her embarrassment. Jack lit the candle and they climbed the stairs. They began to undress and Mary reached for her nightdress. She struggled with the garment for a moment and then burst into laughter. The bottom and sleeves had been stitched up.
‘Who was it borrowed the key to bring up the wedding presents?’ she asked.
‘Our Harry and Bill.’
‘I might have known. You’ll just have to make do with me and my skin.’
Jack reached for her. ‘Looks like they’ve done me a favour,’ he said huskily. ‘I should only have had the bother of taking it off again.’ He pulled her close and backed towards the bed. She felt him hardening against her and the ache in her loins grew stronger. They fell together on to the new satin quilt and the whole bed collapsed beneath them.
‘What the hell?’ Jack jumped up.
‘Your Harry and Bill.’ Mary couldn’t keep a straight face.
Jack was on his hands and knees fumbling to inspect the bed in the darkness. ‘They’ve undone the bloody legs,’ he said seriously.
Mary reached out and placed her hand between his legs. ‘Like you said, they were only doing you a favour.’ She began to giggle and pulled him on to the mattress. They lay face to face and the laughter ceased as they kissed, tenderly at first and then fiercely, as the months of waiting came to an end and their passion was sated not once but over and over again. It was only when the pale light of dawn showed round the edges of the blacked-out window that Jack finally got round to rectifying the dismantled bed.
Mary knew she had made a mistake when she refused to let Jack buy the chamber pot, but was too proud to admit it. The stallholder in the rag market had been not only a first class salesman but also a born comedian. There he had posed wearing a chamber pot for a hat, cracking jokes about the bloody Jerries. The crowd, some hoping for a bargain and others just passing away the Saturday afternoon, had laughed and returned the bantering.
Christmas Past Page 10
