‘Well, I think it’s lovely.’ Avril gazed round. ‘And the view, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘So you like country living then?’ Alan asked hopefully.
‘Oh, yes. I don’t know about Jacqueline but I’m dreading going back to London.’
‘Well, it won’t be for long. Besides, I’ve heard it’s beautiful in South Africa. Ask Grandad Roberts – he has a friend who came from there.’
‘South Africa?’ Alan looked puzzled.
‘Avril’s parents are there, waiting for her to join them after college.’
‘Oh.’ Alan’s face fell.
‘Well, I’m not sure yet. I know I ought, but it depends on the work situation here.’ She smiled. ‘After all, I might land on my feet in a top job. One never knows.’
‘Well, let’s hope so.’ Alan’s gloom seemed to lift a little.
‘We’d better go in. You know what my mother’s like, she’ll have the best china and tablecloth out,’ said Doug.
‘And the best mince pies we’ve ever tasted,’ Jacqueline added.
‘I don’t think I can eat another thing after that dinner.’ Avril patted her stomach.
‘I can.’ Alan led the way into the kitchen in anticipation of Mrs Downing’s baking.
‘Oh, I almost forgot, you’ve been invited to tea at Moorland House,’ Jacqueline told Doug.
‘I’d better get ready then. Won’t be long.’ He hurried upstairs, and was changed and spruced up in no time at all.
‘Bring yerselves in out of the cold, an’ pull yer chairs up to the fire.’ Mrs Downing brewed the tea and cut a spiced cake, which she placed on a fine cut-glass stand with the mince pies. ‘Eeh, but it doesn’t seem two minutes since yer mam was sitting there, and no older than you are now,’ she said.
Her husband knew without being told what his wife was thinking. Time might be a great healer, but it would never erase the hurt of a lost son, or dim the memories. It would have been nice if this young lass and lad had belonged to their Tom. Oh well, there was plenty of time for some more grandchildren. Granddaughters were all very well but the farm needed a grandson.
Mr Downing leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, searching in his mind’s eye for a picture of his Tom, afraid that one day he might not be able to visualise the handsome young soldier. He shook himself. He had only to look across the table at his youngest, the spitting image of his brother. Oh, why did he always have to get all melancholy at Christmas? He’d be glad when the new year came round and they were all back to normal.
After Mary had helped Gladys clear the tea things away, and Jacqueline, unable to resist renewing her musical skills, had entertained them to a couple of pieces on the piano, the warm cosy atmosphere and the cherry brandy seemed to have a calming effect on the assembled party.
With Jacqueline and Doug squeezed into one large leather chair and Alan and Avril sitting on the hearthrug, the scene was set for stories of the old days, when Gladys began work as a seamstress at the age of ten at the turn of the century. It was only then that Jacqueline realised how old Grandma Roberts really was. She had always seemed so youthful somehow, and smart; and as for Grandad Roberts, why he should have retired years ago.
Alan received a good-natured reprimand from Jacqueline when he related an incident which occurred one day when he had given Charlie Barker a lift to the dentist. Freddie Cartwright’s mother had been making brawn from a sheep’s head, and Freddie had slipped the largest sheep’s tooth he could find into Charlie’s hand.
‘Cor, Charlie,’ he had said, ‘that must be a record. I’ve never seen a tooth so big in my life.’
Poor Charlie had gone round for weeks showing everyone the tooth, as proud as Punch, thinking it was his own.
‘You shouldn’t tease him,’ Jacqueline said, at the same time laughing with the others.
‘Why not? He loves to be the centre of attraction.’
‘Well, he certainly seems happy enough,’ Doug said.
After that the conversation turned to who could tell the best ghost story. Jack began by describing his fear whilst cycling to work one morning in the blackout. As he neared the loneliness of the wood leading to the pit yard, with the hooting of an owl and the wind moaning in the trees, a white figure suddenly loomed in front of him. ‘I’ve never been so close to soiling my underpants,’ he said, ‘and I was in a cold sweat by the time I reached the pit yard. It wasn’t until I was going home in the daylight that I found out what it was: a white sheet which had blown from somebody’s clothes line.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Jacqueline laughed. ‘That wasn’t a real ghost.’
‘Course it wasn’t. There’s no such thing,’ mocked Alan.
‘Oh, now, don’t be too certain of that,’ Dr Roberts said. ‘There have been all kinds of strange sightings at the Royal Hospital.’
‘I’m not surprised. The place gives me the shudders, especially the corridors.’ Gladys shivered.
‘What kinds of sightings?’ Mary asked.
‘Well, on one occasion a young nurse was in charge of a ward on night shift, sitting calmly at her desk, when suddenly a figure rose up from one of the beds and disappeared through the wall. The poor girl ran trembling and locked herself in the lavatory. When she and another nurse went to investigate they found the patient had passed away.’
‘Probably a figment of her imagination,’ said Doug.
‘No,’ Jacqueline said. ‘I saw Grandad Holmes the night he died. He came to say goodbye.’
Alan laughed nervously. ‘But we were on holiday, miles away.’
‘What difference would that make? Ghosts don’t have to travel by train.’
‘You never told us,’ Mary said. ‘About Grandad Holmes.’
‘You’d only have laughed. Besides, I didn’t think it was anything unusual at the time.’ She hesitated, unsure whether to continue. ‘I’ve seen other people too.’
‘Caroline,’ Alan drawled.
‘Yes, but not just Caroline. I’ve seen a soldier, but I thought it was because I had Douglas on my mind. Oh, I know he isn’t a soldier, but the one I saw looked just like him. I couldn’t quite believe it, but then he came through to the medium too.’
Mary had turned quite pale. ‘What medium?’
‘At the church. Oh, I know you won’t approve, but I can’t help that. They’ve been so kind, helping me after—’ She broke off, wishing she had never begun.
Avril came to her rescue. ‘It’s just a church we go to sometimes. They’re a nice crowd, there’s nothing weird about them.’
‘Thomas got Grandad Holmes, too. There couldn’t have been any doubt it was him, he was swearing like a trooper.’
‘That was our old man all right.’ Jack laughed.
‘And your Uncle Willie, the one who was killed, he came through too, Mam, so now you know. I know you won’t like it.’
‘Why not?’ Jack asked. ‘Your mam’s been to a church with Auntie Madge, so she can’t very well object, and she was disappointed when no message came for her.’
Alan looked at Mary in wonder. ‘You didn’t, Mother? Oh, this is too much.’ He laughed. ‘Two weirdos in one family is just too much.’
‘You can laugh.’ Jacqueline blushed. ‘But you’ll find out one of these days.’
‘What about the soldier?’ Mary asked, glancing at Jack. ‘I mean, did you get a message?’
‘Yes.’ Jacqueline couldn’t quite remember. ‘Oh, yes. He said something about Christmas and Mary and the stable and how he was at peace. Oh yes, and he said he was thankful for the joy of Christmas Day. I think it must have been something to do with the nativity. There was such a feeling of peace coming through, it was wonderful.’
Mary rose on the pretext of collecting the empty glasses and went to the kitchen. Gladys followed her out and found her in tears.
‘It’s all right, love,’ she said. ‘Jacqueline didn’t know, though, did she?’ She closed the door. ‘About Tom, I mean.’
‘No. No, I
never mentioned it, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, then, it sounds as though he was a contented man.’
Mary splashed her eyes with cold water. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m fine. Perhaps now I can forgive myself.’
Gladys tutted. ‘After all these years, I should jolly well hope so. Look, I don’t know what happened the Christmas before Tom was killed, but I can hazard a guess and I’m sure in the circumstances, I mean the war and everything, there was really no reason to feel guilty.’
‘I couldn’t help it. I got it into my head that Tom’s death was God’s way of punishing us.’ She hesitated. ‘For making love.’
Gladys sighed. ‘There was a lot of punishment handed out during the war but it was committed by man, not God.’ She uncovered the plate of cold meat sandwiches. ‘You bring in the cakes, love,’ she said. ‘I dare say the youngsters are starving – they usually are.’
‘You know something?’ Mary said. ‘I might just pay a visit to Darnall again. Perhaps our Jacqueline’ll come with me.’
‘Oh, and what will Jack say?’
‘He won’t mind. He’s never been jealous of Tom.’
‘You know something, you’re a lucky woman having a man like Jack.’
‘I know. I haven’t always appreciated him, but I know.’
‘Then tell him so. He’s been looking a little bit neglected lately.’
Mary stopped and looked at Gladys. ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’
‘Not much, not when it affects my nearest and dearest, and Jack is as dear to me as you are. So I don’t think you should go raking up the past. Jack may not complain but he could be hurt.’
Mary smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re right. You usually are. I’m lucky not only in my choice of a husband, but in having you as a friend. Though I’ve been so wrapped up in the shop that sometimes I’ve forgotten that too.’
‘Well, as long as you know.’
Then they carried the supper into the sitting room to feed their nearest and dearest.
It had been a lovely Christmas, the best for years.
Especially for Mary, who could at last consider the Christmas sin forgiven.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The churning began in Jack’s stomach, and a cloud, heavy and grey, seemed to enshroud him, so that sleep was impossible. He would be glad to get back to work and hear the worst; it would be better than this uncertainty.
Harry with his usual optimism considered the rumour to be too daft for words.
‘Why the devil should they consider closing the pit with all the rich seams still to be worked out?’ he queried. ‘Besides, it’s only four years since they forked out eighty thousand pounds for the pit head baths.’
But Bill, who was in close contact with the under-manager, didn’t hold out much hope.
‘It’ll be the closure of the coke ovens that’ll see the end for us. Ninety per cent of the output serves the steel works, as you well know, and with the billet and rod mills turning over to gas producers, I can’t see much chance of the pit staying open, can you?’
Jack was in a better financial position than most. The shop was paid for and was bringing in a tidy though irregular profit, but that was Mary’s domain. It was his place to keep the house ticking over, and then there were the rates, not cheap for a decent sized business property on a prime main road position. Not only that, but the nest egg he had managed to accumulate in the early years of their marriage had been sunk into building up the business. Still, financial considerations couldn’t account for the depression which seemed to have enveloped him since he heard the news.
He had at least got the car, if the worst happened and he couldn’t find a job locally. And he wasn’t in debt like some of the young family men who would have their rents to find and young families to support. No, the worst part would be breaking the news to Mary. Oh, she wouldn’t have hysterics or turn on the tears. In her normal matter of fact way she would say, ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got the shop.’ That was the trouble. No normal man would want to sit by and let his wife keep him in idleness. Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that. He would strike while the iron was hot: he would go job-seeking now instead of waiting. He’d have no chance of competing with the thirty-year-olds if he waited for the closure. No, he would find another job now and tell Mary later. No point in worrying her at this stage.
The panicky feeling was coming on again, the heat rising from his stomach, surging into his head and arms. He threw down the thick blankets and stood up gingerly, feeling a slight dizziness as he rose to his feet and walked to the coldness of the bathroom.
He had had a couple too many last night. There was something about Moorland House and Rowland’s company that made you forget about work the morning after. He heard the wall clock in the sitting room strike five. It wasn’t worth getting back into bed for another ten minutes, so he slipped quietly back to the bedroom, dressed in his work clothes and pressed down the button on the alarm clock. Then he bent and kissed Mary lightly on the forehead and tucked the bedclothes in round her neck.
He could feel the phlegm rising in his chest and hurried downstairs before the usual early morning coughing bout woke up the whole household. He could hear his old man’s voice now. ‘The bloody rotten coal dust’ll see us all off in the end. Get out now before it’s too late.’
Jack smiled ironically. If Jacqueline’s story about the medium was true, her grandad would soon be seeing his ambition fulfilled, that no lad of his would work down the bloody pit. He felt his depression lift. Maybe it would be for the best; at least his old man would be able to rest content.
Tittle Harry whimpered at his feet and slunk past him as he opened the door, did what he had to do and returned to the warmth of the kitchen fire.
Jack picked up his snap tin and water bottle and prayed that the car wouldn’t be too cold to start. It was enough to freeze the—He laughed to himself as he locked the door. He was getting to be as bad as his old man. Well, he supposed he could do a lot worse than that.
Considering it was the first shift back after a holiday, the normal bantering and exchange of gossip was scarce and the atmosphere strained. Jack guessed the rumours had circulated, and whether the result was anxiety about the threatened closure, or the effort to increase output and add to the bonus whilst the opportunity still existed, was hard to tell. Only young Freddie Cartwright voiced his fears, and Jack could offer him no consolation, knowing the rough and ready young man would be one of the hardest hit, what with a dependent mother and an ailing sister to support.
‘I’m thinking of going over to Donstone Main,’ Freddie volunteered. ‘I’ve heard they might be setting on over there.’
‘They’re alius setting on over there. I hope you realise what you’ll be letting yourself in for, lad. I’ve heard the safety standards are non-existent, and what with it being a non-union pit an’ all.’ Jack coughed and spat out a dollop of chewed twist. ‘Besides, how will yer get there?’
‘Oh, I should be able to cadge a lift on me mate’s bike, until I get one of me own. I’m popping down to Grey’s next week to see what the asking price is.’
‘Going to treat yersen, are yer, lad?’
‘Aye. I’ve been saving long enough. Besides, it’ll be essential if I ’ave to travel to work.’
‘What are yer looking for, second hand?’
‘Not likely. I’ve worked like a bloody horse, an’ I reckon it’s time I spent a bit on mesen. I’m after an AJS, I think.’
‘Aye, I reckon yer deserve a treat, lad,’ Jack agreed.
Freddie went on to extol the virtues of the AJS, ending with, ‘An’ anyway, I’ve always got your Al to give us a hand if owt goes wrong.’
‘Aye well, so long as yer don’t go putting ideas into his head about buying a motor bike. My life wouldn’t be worth living with his mother whittling every time he was five minutes late home.’
Freddie grinned and peered around in the darkness for a place to use as a lavatory. He
wondered what it would be like to have a mother who worried about him, instead of one who was all grab. One of these days his mam would realise how well off she was, but he knew that wouldn’t be until he left home and he couldn’t see that happening for a long time, especially if they closed the rotten pit.
The men carried on in silence, each wrapped up in his own private thoughts, even more exhausted than usual after a couple of days’ respite. Both wondered what would be round the next corner, dreaming of a future away from the damp, depressing darkness of pit life but unable to visualise anything better.
The pit closure was announced officially on New Year’s Day.
‘A bleeding good start to a new year, I must say,’ Freddie ranted. ‘New year and no job.’
Jack was more fortunate. He was all set to begin work at the brickworks, where he would be earning only about two-thirds of his present wages in return for a sixty-hour week. The twelve-hour shifts were supposed to be alternate weeks on days and nights but soon turned into mostly nights at the insistence of his partner. Admittedly the work was almost non-existent, consisting mainly of watching a series of meters and clocks which recorded the temperature of the kilns.
Jack, who was used to manual graft, could not adjust to the boredom and the lack of camaraderie he had always been used to. Mary considered the move a godsend, pointing out the benefits of working in a clean healthy atmosphere. She even went out to the Co-op and bought him a radio to keep him company, in an effort to cheer him up, and couldn’t seem to understand it was the men he missed.
Jack was also missing his daughter. On her return to college the light seemed to have been extinguished from his life, and each time he entered the shop and noticed the windows he was reminded of Jacqueline and her friend.
Before leaving, Avril had insisted on dressing the windows, passing on her imaginative ideas to Yvonne, who was eager and delighted to learn.
In one window she had formed a tableau of a spring wedding, the bride in an ivory silk dress and a short frothy veil, a new line Mary had begun to meet demand from the customers for whom she made wedding and bridesmaid dresses to measure. Avril also dressed a window model in a chic navy Alexon suit with ivory accessories, and a tiny one in pink taffeta with a navy muff and Juliet cap.
Christmas Past Page 25
