A Family Christmas

by Katie Flynn

  For a moment Glenys was tempted to tell this friendly, easy-going woman just how fragile that reason would seem to be, but pride forbade such a move. Since she left the orphanage she had never told a soul, not even the children, how very alone she felt, and how pathetic would be any attempt to find the woman who had given birth to her. All the matron of the orphanage had been able to tell her was that she had been left on the housewife’s doorstep in a cardboard box which had once contained apples. And what did it matter anyway, Glenys thought. But Mrs Griffiths was looking at her with raised brows. ‘How do you intend to trace your family?’ she repeated.

  Glenys shrugged. ‘I don’t. I meant nothing to them, which is why I have such a strong fellow feeling for your grandchildren,’ she said rather stiffly. ‘But I have no wish to come between your son-in-law and his children, and because of his attitude I’m afraid that might happen if I was here long. So tomorrow I shall get on the train for Rhyl and hope that either there, or further along the coast at Llandudno, I may find employment of a sort which will suit me. Of course, if I’m only a matter of twenty or thirty miles from Weathercock Farm I should very much like to visit from time to time . . .’ she gave her hostess a sudden, rather twisted smile, ‘when your son-in-law is not around, that is.’ She smiled again. ‘I can see you are about to protest, but let there be honesty between us. You say he has a jealous nature; well, I have a certain amount of pride, and don’t mean to put the children in the position of having to choose between us. Naturally they would choose him, but even so they may still retain affection for me, so it’s best that we part. Don’t tell them, please, but when they come down to Mrs Buttermilk’s house tomorrow I shall be long gone.’

  Her hostess, jiggling a pan now full of bacon rashers, began to say that this was not a good idea, that the children would grieve and their father would feel guilty, but Glenys shook her head. ‘They may feel that for a little while – not Mr Trewin, but the children – but I’m certain it won’t last,’ she said positively. ‘Remember, I’ve been a teacher now for several years and I know the way children’s minds work. I have been their friend, but I’m also a reminder of times they would rather forget. So truly it’s best that I disappear from their lives and let them throw themselves into being young farmers, which I am certain will suit them down to the ground.’

  ‘But you said you would visit . . .’ the older woman began, and then stopped as the kitchen door opened to reveal Mr Griffiths and the three Trewins.

  ‘Come along in and sit yourselves down,’ Nain said at once. ‘Wash your hands, you children, and I’ll start cooking, because Miss Trent wants to get back to Mrs Buttermilk’s place before midnight!’

  Glenys began to protest, to say that Mrs Buttermilk would no doubt give her a meal, but the older woman, though she smiled, shook her head. ‘I don’t want it said that a guest came to my house and left without good hot food inside them.’ She twitched the curtain aside and looked out, then let it drop with an exclamation. ‘It’s snowing! Ah well, that settles it. Dad and Sam will get the trap out, harness the pony and drive you back to town. Now sit down, everyone.’ She turned to her husband. ‘I don’t suppose this young lady will drink our homebrew as you and Sam do; I dare say she’d prefer a nice hot cup of tea.’

  Glenys realised that to protest, to try to insist that she should leave at once, would be churlish, so she sat down at the table and was grateful when Mo took the chair on her right and Jimmy that on her left. Smiling rather stiffly, she helped herself to bread and butter.

  When they had all taken their places, however, and were beginning to eat the food their hostess set before them, Glenys was glad she had stayed. The bacon was delicious, the tea hot and sweet, just as she liked it, and under the influence of the meal conversation gradually ceased to be stilted, and became easier. Sam Trewin told the story of his very first voyage as a lad of sixteen, when he had jumped into his hammock and it had promptly ejected him, to the amusement of his shipmates; and rather to her own surprise Glenys capped his story with a reminiscence of her own first day as a teacher. It was the start of the new school year and she had been teaching the infants when one of them suddenly got up from her little chair and announced she was going home because she did not like school after all. Glenys had no idea what to do. She tried to reason with the tot, but when she took a step towards her the child hurled her pencil case in her general direction and set off, at an incredibly fast pace, for home.

  Mo, who had been listening round-eyed, popped a piece of bacon into her mouth and spoke rather thickly through it. ‘Oh, Auntie Glenys, whatever did you do? And what a naughty little girl to throw her pencil case.’

  Glenys smiled. ‘She wasn’t really a naughty little girl; in fact she was the daughter of the school’s headmaster, but she was very spoilt. She thought she could do just as she liked, but she soon learned her mistake. When I ran out of the classroom after her all my pupils followed, and Mr Mathias saw the children streaming past his classroom windows so he came out to see what was going on. He gave a great bellow, ordering the children back to their classroom at the top of his voice, and I was just wondering whether I should tell him that it was his daughter who had started the riot when he said, “Hands up who was responsible for this behaviour?” and to my surprise his daughter, little Margaret Mathias, put her hand up at once. “It was me,” she said. “I don’t like school. But I did like you and my mammy said and came here, so may I go home now, please? I’ve been to school.” Mr Mathias grinned at me and then turned back to his daughter. “School isn’t just for a day,” he said gently. “And in your heart, little Margaret, you know it. You’ve seen your sister Mary going off to school each morning in term time, and that’s what you will be doing until you are a really big girl. Now go back to your classroom and don’t let me hear any more nonsense about running away.”’

  Everyone sitting round the table laughed, though Mo said rather wistfully that she had seldom been allowed to go to school. ‘The Huxtables kept Jimmy and me at home and never explained to the teacher that we weren’t sagging off,’ she said. ‘And then there was the boots rule . . .’

  Nain raised her eyebrows. ‘The boots rule? What was that?’ she enquired.

  It was Jimmy who answered. ‘No boots, no school,’ he said succinctly. ‘And if the teacher thought you were sagging off, or you was caught by the attendance officer during school hours, you could get the cane.’

  Mo broke in. ‘I asked old Ma Huxtable to tell the teacher it were her that kept Jimmy off when she sold his boots, but she just laughed. Oh, how we hated that woman, ain’t that so, our Jimmy?’

  Sam Trewin groaned aloud. ‘If I’d only known . . .’ he began bitterly, but Glenys broke in.

  ‘You couldn’t have known, and I reckon we all appreciate what you’d have done if you’d had the slightest idea of how your children were being treated,’ she said. ‘It was a pity that no one at the school looked into why they were so seldom there, but teachers are busy people and in many ways their hands are tied.’

  Sam stared at her. ‘But you were their teacher; you could have found out what was happening,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘You chose rather to sit back and let them get on with things until they came to your door that night . . .’

  Jimmy suddenly jumped to his feet and banged both fists down on the table. ‘Are you deaf, our dad?’ he shouted. ‘We’ve told you and told you that Auntie Glenys saved our bacon, and though she’s a schoolteacher – or was, rather – she didn’t teach at our school but at a posh high school for girls, and anyway we didn’t meet each other until the Christmas holidays! You’d better say sorry for the rude things you’ve been saying, or Mo and me will never speak to you again!’

  There was a startled silence, but when this was broken it was not by Sam but by Glenys. ‘It’s all right, Jimmy,’ she said quietly. ‘Your father was not to know how I was situated since I didn’t choose to tell him. And now, since we’ve all finished this excellent supper, I really mu
st be going.’ She turned to the Griffiths. ‘Thank you so much for your kindness and hospitality; I shall never forget you or Weathercock Farm.’ She turned back to Jimmy. ‘It’s very kind of you to come charging to my rescue like a knight on a white horse, but it really isn’t necessary. After all, your father has only got to put up with me whilst I make my farewells, and then he can forget all about me.’

  Mo promptly burst into tears. ‘Don’t leave us, don’t leave us,’ she wailed. ‘I know Daddy says he’ll stay with us on the farm but he left us before and he’ll leave us again, I know he will.’ She sniffed, and added in a watery tone: ‘Daddies have to go away to earn money so’s they can look after their children; that’s how awful things like the Huxtables come to happen. Oh, Auntie Glenys, why don’t you and our daddy get married? Then you could stay with us and it wouldn’t matter when Daddy went off for a job.’ She sniffed again, then knuckled her eyes, leaving her face smeared with dirt. Glenys, very embarrassed, began to mumble something, but Mo grabbed her arm and rubbed her face against the older woman’s shoulder. ‘Please, please don’t leave us! Our Jimmy and me loves you, so we do.’

  Glenys looked across the table and saw the look of black jealousy on Sam’s face. She sighed inwardly; what an idiot the man was! It must be obvious to everyone except him that the child was in danger of being overwhelmed by the happenings of the last few days, and was fighting to keep familiar things and people about her. But it would not last. Once she, Glenys, had gone they would miss her for a while and sometimes talk about her when they were discussing their adventures, but knowing children as she did she was confident they would soon put her to the backs of their minds. Their new school would provide them with friends and the farm itself would employ all their spare energy. Furthermore, their father would have time for them, something which he had not had before, so that the relationship between them would flourish and grow. But she realised that to put this into words was impossible, and even if it had not been, it would have caused unnecessary distress. Jimmy and Mo would insist that she was essential to their happiness, Sam would glower and keep trying to put her down, and Nain and Taid, whilst rejoicing in their grandchildren, would be embarrassed and humiliated by their son-in-law’s attitude.

  To ease the tension she offered to wash up, and when that was done and all the crockery and cutlery put away she touched her hostess’s arm and flicked a glance towards Mo, curled up in an old basket chair, eyelids drooping. ‘She’s had a long day,’ she murmured. ‘Is there a bed made up? I appreciate that you didn’t know you were going to have guests, but if we could settle her down with a pillow and some blankets in your own room so that she wouldn’t wake and find herself apparently abandoned she should have her sleep out. Tomorrow things won’t seem quite so daunting, and she’ll accept that I’m no longer around. Can that be arranged?’

  Her hostess nodded. ‘Of course it can, but I think it would be best if she shared the attic room with Jimmy for the time being. She’s been through more than a little’un should have to cope with these last few weeks, and she’ll want to know her brother’s close by. Will you wake her?’

  Glenys shook her head. ‘I’ll carry her up; she’s not heavy . . .’ she was beginning, and was actually taking the child in her arms when Sam crossed the room in a couple of strides and scooped his daughter up.

  ‘She’s too heavy for you to cart all the way upstairs,’ he said gruffly. He marched off, and Jimmy ran over to have a private word with Glenys.

  ‘I do understand you want to leave now,’ he said earnestly. ‘But Mo and me want you to promise you’ll send us your new address just as soon as you’ve got one. I’m sorry our dad wasn’t very nice to you and I can’t explain why because I don’t understand it myself. Will you promise, Auntie Glenys?’

  Glenys hesitated. ‘It would be better if we went our separate ways, Jimmy,’ she said. ‘You are starting a new and exciting life, the sort of life you deserve, and so is Mo, of course. You’ll be going to a new school, meeting new people, even learning a new language, and now that you’ve found your own family you can forget all about Cyril and his horrible old mother. They’ll never learn where you are, and even if they did your grandparents would see that you were kept safe.’

  ‘Oh, them,’ Jimmy said disdainfully. ‘I’m not worrying about them! I’m pretty strong, you know, Auntie Glenys, so if they were to turn up here tomorrow I’d punch the pair of them on the nose, tie their wrists with strong rope and send for the local scuffers to throw them into prison. I could do it, honest to God I could, especially if we have lots more good meals like the one we had tonight.’

  Glenys laughed. ‘I’m sure you could; or you could tie their bootlaces together and push them down the stairs,’ she said. ‘But if it will make you happy, dear Jimmy, I’ll send you my address, and that’s a promise. Only it may not be for a while because I really do need to find a job of some sort just to keep myself.’

  Jimmy smiled. ‘I know, everyone needs money,’ he said. ‘But suppose you have difficulty finding work, Auntie Glenys? What will you do?’

  ‘If I can’t find work in somewhere like Rhyl or Llandudno then I suppose I shall have to go back to Liverpool,’ Glenys said reluctantly. ‘There’s always something a qualified teacher can do . . .’

  ‘But if you go back to Liverpool you might walk slap bang into Cyril or his mam,’ Jimmy said, sounding agitated. ‘He’s a brute and a bully; if he thought you could tell him where we were he’d not hesitate, and it would be you lying in hospital instead of our dad.’

  But Glenys was easily able to refute this suggestion. ‘Neither of the Huxtables has ever laid eyes on me,’ she reminded him. ‘And nor I on them for that matter, so you needn’t worry, Jimmy. For one thing I can’t see myself returning to Liverpool, and in the unlikely event of them finding out I’d been with you and turning up on my doorstep I would go straight to the police.’

  At this point Sam re-entered the kitchen, and actually smiled at Glenys. ‘She didn’t even wake when I popped her into bed,’ he said softly. ‘She looked so pretty and sweet cuddling her cheek into the pillow that I would have given her a kiss, only I didn’t want to rouse her.’ His expression changed. ‘Are you ready for the off, Miss Trent?’ he asked briskly. ‘Because if I’m to get the trap out and catch the pony . . .’

  Glenys spoke up at once. ‘You are not going to get the trap out, thank you very much,’ she said firmly. ‘I walked here with the children and I shall walk back without them, but I won’t bother you or Mr Griffiths. I shall enjoy the walk, especially now that the snow has stopped and the moon is at the full. It will be a positive pleasure to see the countryside by moonlight.’

  To do him justice, Sam looked horrified. ‘You can’t possibly walk all that way alone,’ he said. ‘And don’t suggest that Jimmy should accompany you, because the poor kid is asleep on his feet.’

  Glenys bit back a sharp retort. ‘I know he’s tired and I wouldn’t dream of taking him all that way,’ she said. ‘I’m not a nervous person, Mr Trewin, so I have no qualms about a moonlight walk. In fact I shall enjoy it.’ As she spoke she crossed the kitchen and took her coat off the hook by the door whilst Sam, thoroughly discomposed, for it was clear she had no desire for his company, was protesting that he would willingly help Taid to fetch out the trap and catch the pony. ‘Because it’s snowing hard, Miss Trent,’ he protested.

  Glenys interrupted. ‘I understand your concern, but did you not hear what I said? There’s a full moon, no clouds and a clear frosty sky. The clear frosty sky means that the snow has stopped, and the full moon means that it’s as light as day outside, so I can enjoy my walk without fear of tripping over an unseen branch or falling face down in a puddle.’

  Sam actually laughed. ‘Well done; you are more of a country woman than I knew,’ he said approvingly. ‘But though I may be only a seaman, I trust I am still a gentleman, and a gentleman does not let a young woman go off on a long walk alone. Suppose the Evanses’ old bull should take
fright at seeing a stranger walking along the lane and decide to challenge you? Suppose a badger comes out of his sett and scares the life out of you? Suppose clouds race across the moon and the snow starts again? My dear Miss Trent, a thousand and one things could make your walk more perilous than pleasurable. Don’t deny me the satisfaction of seeing my children’s saviour safely back to her lodgings.’

  It was said lightly, but Glenys knew an olive branch when she saw one, and she realised she would have to accept his offered companionship, though it went against the grain to do so after he had been so rude. Across the lamplit kitchen the old couple were listening intently, and she knew they were hoping she would not deny Sam the chance to make amends. Accordingly, she smiled at them and then began to push her arms into her coat and do up the buttons. ‘Thank you, Mr Trewin. I had not thought of any such obstacles to a simple country walk, and I shall be glad of your company.’