‘But I hardly know the woman,’ she said, almost in tears at the kind gesture.
‘Well, she’s obviously had her eye on you. She’s been taking notice of the way you’ve been carrying the baby ... our Jacqueline.’ He grinned. ‘It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? Having a new member of the family, I mean.’
Mary smiled, looking over the side of the secondhand cot which had been used for Una a few years ago. ‘Isn’t she like you?’
‘Like me? Oh, no, you can’t be serious,’ he said, looking down at the wrinkled face.
‘But she is. She has your hair.’
‘Oh aye, she’s going to be dark, I’ll grant you that, but as for her being like me ... ’
‘She will be, I have a feeling. It’s the shape of her chin and her nose.’
‘Oh, you’re imagining things. Anyway, who cares who she’s like so long as she’s healthy and happy.’
The knock on the door startled the pair of them, and even the baby started, her tiny hands opening wide.
‘Oh, no,’ Jack said. ‘It’ll be that bloody woman again – that’s if she is a woman. I have my doubts.’
Mary giggled and then sobered as the clomping feet climbed the stairs. Jack rushed to the door, hoping the water in the boiler was hot. He escaped downstairs and filled the little zinc baby bath with water, adding a few drops of Dettol. Cotton wool, baby powder, clean binder, vest, nightgown, nappy. He hoped he’d remembered everything. He didn’t fancy a reprimand from that woman. She ought to be on the front lines, he thought. She wouldn’t half make the bloody Jerries run.
Mrs Holmes arrived in time for Jack to go on the afternoon shift, knowing that if he didn’t complete the full week he would lose his bonus. Besides, it was two days before Christmas and the day the Christmas club money was to be paid out. After seeing to her daughter-in-law and fussing over her second granddaughter she took it upon herself to bake a batch of mince pies to add to the fruit loaves Mary had already made. Then she washed the soiled bedding and dirty nappies, popping them in the copper to boil. By the time Gladys and Rowland arrived the wet things were already drying on the rack over the fire.
Gladys promised to prepare supper and stay with Mary until Jack returned from work, allowing Mrs Holmes to go home with an easy mind, knowing mother and baby were in excellent hands. Marjory popped in and out at intervals, and Margaret arrived after work, intent upon spoiling her new niece. Little Una gazed at the baby with large round eyes and told her mother she hoped Father Christmas would be bringing her one just like it.
Mary worried that everyone seemed to be caring for her when they must have loads to do at home with the Christmas festivities almost upon them, but nobody seemed to mind. They organised the shopping, cooking and cleaning between them, and refused to let Mary have her own way and come downstairs.
‘Everything’s under control, lass,’ said Mrs Holmes. ‘There’s not a thing for you to do except see to yer bairn. She’s more important than all the feckling and fussing, just for the sake of a couple of days’ holiday.’
Rowland also put his oar in. ‘You must rest now. You’ll only suffer in years to come if you get up too soon. Ten days in bed now will prevent trouble later.’
So Mary stayed in bed, and Jack, on holiday on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, revelled in the task of spoiling his wife and daughter, and playing Santa Claus for the first time. And although he would never admit to harbouring religious thoughts, he couldn’t help comparing Mary and Jacqueline to the Madonna and Child on the Christmas card sent to them by Father Flynn.
On Boxing Day Mary insisted on Jack’s joining his father and brother for a drink at the Rising Sun. Gladys and Rowland had come over for the day, and Rowland had joined the Holmes men for the annual afternoon get-together. Though the doctor wasn’t a beer drinker Jack knew he would enjoy the gathering, which would undoubtedly develop into a hearty sing of all the local carols.
This year the taproom was less crowded than usual owing to the number of regulars away fighting for their country, but despite their depleted strength those present raised their voices in all the old favourites, as if to make up for their absent friends.
Rowland was in his element, his fine voice leading the men in ‘Hail Smiling Morn’, and ‘Hark Hark What News Those Angels Bring’. By closing time he had downed quite a few whiskies, not realising that Dolly the landlady, fascinated by the stranger, who was quite obviously class, was topping up his glass in an effort to keep him singing until closing time.
Mary was glad of a respite from Jack’s spoiling and was enjoying the cosy togetherness she and Gladys were once used to. Gladys was rocking Jacqueline in the chair by the bedroom fire, her thoughts travelling far away to some unknown place where her nephew Richard, now a sailor, was spending his Christmas. She thought back to last year when the family were together, and even further back to the Christmas before Tom was killed. She prayed her nephew would return safely after the war was over.
She hugged Jacqueline closer. A new life, a new generation, and what was it all for? Surely not to be blown to kingdom come, or to be left fatherless, just because certain statesmen had decided to play a game of soldiers. She sighed.
‘You’re deep in thought.’ Mary smiled between counting her rows of knitting. ‘A penny for them.’
‘Oh, just feeling a little sentimental, that’s all. I always do at Christmas. I was just wondering about Ruth and the boys.’
‘Oh, they must be missing Richard terribly, especially yesterday.’
‘Perhaps I should have insisted they come to us as usual, keep to the normal routine. But I suppose Ruth was right: her parents would need them this year, what with her brothers being overseas too. Besides, it worked out for the best, really. I wouldn’t have missed playing nursemaid to this little angel for anything.’
‘Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you all.’
‘You’d have managed. You’ve got a good man to look after you.’
‘I know, but I wanted my mother just the same, and you were here to take her place.’
Gladys beamed. ‘It’s a pleasure, and now I’m a granny too.’
When Jacqueline Mary Holmes was baptised Millington was cold, white and beautiful. At the beginning of 1942 twelve inches of snow covered the town in a few hours. However, the weather seemed of little importance compared to other incidents taking place in the area. In February fourteen soldiers were tragically killed when a steel plate ripped through a passing troop train; thirty-five more were injured and taken to hospitals in Sheffield. In the same month an explosion at Barnsley Main Colliery caused the deaths of fourteen miners. Millington colliers were amongst those who volunteered to be part of the rescue team.
One of the happier occasions was the Princess Royal’s visit to Sheffield, helping to boost the morale of various organisations throughout the city. Mary wished she could have gone to join the cheering crowds who turned out to see her, but very soon realised she would rather be with her husband and daughter than with all the royal families in the world.
Chapter Fifteen
Mary hardly knew she had the baby for six weeks. The little one did not do much but sleep, and Dr Roberts said she was thriving well, but for the last two days she had cried continuously, and Mary was at her wit’s end to know how to console her.
She lifted the baby from the pram in the kitchen and rocked her gently, supporting the dark little head with her left hand. She felt how hot the head was, and when she laid Jacqueline down she noticed the hoarseness of her cry. Alarmed, she ran upstairs to where Jack was trying to sleep after the night shift.
‘Jack!’ She pulled down the covers from over his head. ‘Jack, get up. It’s our Jacqueline, I think we ought to have the doctor.’
Jack was out of bed, struggling with his trousers, before Mary had finished explaining. ‘What’s wrong?’ he enquired anxiously.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s only a ch
ill, but we’d better be on the safe side.’ She ran quickly down the stairs, Jack following behind. He picked up his daughter and held her close. He could feel that her breathing was causing her distress.
‘Get the doctor.’ He went towards the fire as Mary almost flew out of the door. ‘Oh God,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let her die, please God don’t let her die.’
Within minutes Dr Sellers was with them. ‘We must get her temperature down.’ She grabbed a sponge from the sink and poured the water from the kettle into the washing-up bowl. Wringing out the sponge, she placed it behind the neck of the tiny baby. ‘Try to get her to drink some water’ she said. ‘That’s all I can suggest in a child so young.’
‘What is it?’ Jack asked, touching his daughter’s cheek gently. The tiny face had turned white, but her pulse was slower and her head cooler. She coughed a wheezing cough and began to cry fitfully.
‘Pneumonia, as far as I can tell. It’s always difficult to diagnose in one so young, but it certainly looks like it to me.’
‘Oh, God,’ Mary said. ‘What can we do?’
‘Keep her warm. Her temperature will fluctuate, so use a hot water bottle if she seems chilled, and on no account move her. Can you bring her cot downstairs?’
‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll do it now. Will she be all right, doctor?’
‘I don’t know. I won’t pretend it isn’t serious – with a premature child any infection is serious – but we’ll do our best. I’ll be back in the morning; in the meantime watch her constantly, and call me if you’re worried.’
Jack saw her out. ‘Thanks for coming, doctor, so quickly I mean.’
‘Not at all, that’s what I’m here for,’ she called as she reversed her car down the bumpy street.
Jack stayed at his daughter’s side all day and all night. It never entered his head to go off to work. He told Mary to go to bed. ‘You’ll need all your strength tomorrow, love.’
‘I shan’t be able to sleep. What if you drop off? What if she takes a turn for the worse and you’ve dropped off?’
‘I won’t, I’m not so daft,’ he snapped.
‘I know.’ Mary burst into tears.
‘Now now, come on, love. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound irritable. Come on, there’s nothing to cry for. She’ll be all right. Let’s try some more water in the feeding bottle.’
‘How do you know? Even Dr Sellers doesn’t know.’
Jack looked down at his daughter. ‘I have a feeling. Besides, there’s no point in looking on the black side.’
‘It’s all my fault. I’ve never set foot in church since the wedding, except for the christening. I should have gone.’
‘Don’t talk daft.’
‘It’s God’s way of punishing me.’
‘Then He’s a bloody cruel God, that’s all I can say, to punish an innocent child.’
Mary started to cry again. It wasn’t so much her failure to attend church which was preying on her conscience, as the sin she had committed with Tom the Christmas before he died. God had given him the ultimate punishment; now she prayed it wasn’t to be her daughter who was to suffer, instead of her.
‘Don’t cry, Mary.’ Jack took her hand in his. ‘I understand how you feel, but you must keep up for our Jacqueline’s sake.’
She wanted to scream out that he didn’t understand, couldn’t, because he didn’t know, would never know, because to know would cause him sadness, and she would never knowingly hurt this man, this husband, this father whom she loved so much. She prayed then, her head in her hands, that if the sin was to be paid for, she alone would pay the penalty. She prayed for forgiveness and that her daughter would recover, but felt only a grain of comfort at the end of it.
‘Come on, love. I’ll mash a pot of tea, and then you get yourself off to bed. I promise I won’t take my eyes off her all night.’ He lifted the kettle off the fire and emptied it into the teapot.
‘I’ll get your supper ready.’ Mary got up to go to the cellar head, but Jack sat her down again.
‘No, I’ll get yours,’ he said.
‘I don’t want any.’
‘No, neither do I.’ Jack sat beside her. She looked at his face, all white and drawn, and placed her hand in his. He searched her haunted face, then they came together, clutching at each other, each intent on comforting the other, and finding solace in the closeness.
Jack murmured, ‘She’ll recover, love. She’s too precious to be taken from us.’ His voice broke over the words and they clung tearfully together, even closer in their anxiety.
Jacqueline Mary Holmes did recover, but it was a harrowing several weeks before her parents ceased to worry. After that she went from strength to strength and by Easter she was blooming like the daffodils in the front garden.
It was also Easter when Mary realised she was pregnant again. The realisation was met with mixed feelings, but after the initial shock they became resigned to the idea. Besides, they might as well raise two as one, and it would be good for Jacqueline to have a sister or brother.
Chapter Sixteen
Jacqueline stood up in the cot. She could hear her father’s raised voice through the wall, and although she was too young to understand she didn’t like it and could hear a pounding in her ears. Perhaps it was the sound of soldiers marching across the field. She had never seen any soldiers except for the set of lead ones in the toy cupboard at Grandma Holmes’s house, but somehow she connected them with the thudding sound and the feeling of fear.
She felt hot and the throbbing increased. Perhaps the soldiers were in the garden, or even coming up the stairs. She screamed in desperation.
Mary ran into the room, taking up her daughter in her arms, relieved that her cries hadn’t disturbed her little brother, but then nothing seemed to disturb Alan, who at two and a half was fair, placid and cuddly. In fact the exact opposite of Jacqueline, who although twelve months his senior tipped the scales at only a couple of pounds more. Jacqueline was a strange child and far too old for her years. Despite their differences Jacqueline adored her baby brother, and he in his quiet manner idolised his sister. Mary loved her children dearly and equally but wished sometimes that her daughter was easier to understand.
She rocked her gently in her arms, soothing away her fears, until the rapid beating of the child’s heart slowed to normal. Mary placed her back in the cot, taking her time, subconsciously delaying her return to her husband. Why couldn’t he use a little restraint; try to understand? Didn’t he realise it was just as difficult for her to resist the closeness of his body? After all, in a few more days she would be safe again, but no, instead of delaying their coming together he insisted on using one of those nasty contraceptives he had taken to buying since Alan was born. In the stark light of day she knew Jack was only thinking of her, of them all as a family, wanting the best for them. It was only after their lovemaking was over and she was lying in the darkness that the guilt descended on her, filling her with shame, and fear of what would happen to the children if she defied the teachings of the church. Since Jacqueline’s illness she had looked upon that time as a punishment for her lapse, and had attended St Catherine’s regularly ever since.
Jack damned the church as he lay waiting for Mary to return to her place in the marriage bed, knowing there would be no lovemaking tonight. He failed to see what could possibly be sinful about limiting one’s family. He supposed it was all a ploy to keep the Catholic congregation rising in number and he knew his wife had been brainwashed from an early age. Even so, he didn’t trust the so-called safe time of the month and didn’t intend risking another child yet, much as he loved his children. At the same time he couldn’t understand how his wife could possibly love him, and expect him to love her, to order. He turned over, pulled up the bedclothes and attempted to sleep, lying stiff and wide awake as Mary returned to the bed. He ignored her proffered hand, knowing that if he turned to face her, pressed himself against the softness of her slim, youthful body, he would be unable to resist the feeli
ngs she would arouse in him, and he couldn’t bear a further rejection.
Neither his body nor his pride could stand the strain.
Marjory Bacon counted the rent money and placed it inside the rent book, ready for collection first thing in the morning. Then she placed a few shillings in the savings tin in the top shelf in the cupboard, and a pile of pennies in the window bottom to cover the gas meter. The doctor’s money had already been collected and she sighed contentedly. Bill had been promoted to pit deputy with a substantial rise in wages, but her thrifty upbringing still meant she couldn’t rest until all the week’s payments had been accounted for.
Now she felt free to spend a little on new socks for Una and any small luxury available, such as biscuits or sweets. She liked Fridays; they meant she and Mary could get dolled up a bit and take Jacqueline and Alan to the weekly market. It was the meeting place for all the young mothers to compare babies and pass on any morsel of local gossip. She would miss the weekly jaunts when she began work the following Monday; she was to start in the canteen at the steel works, serving the dinners. It was an ideal job as she would be home before Una and it would relieve the feeling of guilt she had been experiencing at not doing something useful with her life. She and Mary had become close friends, and it was nice to have her brother and his family for neighbours. Just lately, though, she had begun to worry about Mary. She wasn’t the same happy-go-lucky girl she used to be, and Marjory had decided to question her, try to get her to confide in her. It was Bill who had made her mind up, by mentioning a change in Jack too. Marjory wasn’t going to stand by and watch a perfect marriage fall apart, not if she could help it.
The kettle was singing on the gas ring. She warmed the pot and mashed a pot of tea just as Jacqueline pressed the brass sneck and opened the door.
‘Are you ready, Auntie Marjory?’ she called.
‘Nearly. We’ll have a cup of tea first, love.’
Christmas Past Page 12
