Flustered, she said, ‘Oh – sorry, yes of course.’
He set the parcel on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a large goose. ‘Mam gets given all sorts of gifts at Christmas, you know,’ Leo explained. ‘From grateful folks she’s helped. Delivered their babies or helped ’em out when they’ve lost someone. And this year she got given two geese, would you believe?’
Polly bit her lip; she didn’t know whether she did believe it or not. Was it just the Hallidays being kind to the Longdens, who’d had such a dreadful year? But she did know that what Leo said was right; Bertha did get given all sorts of presents by those who could afford to be generous with their thanks for her help.
Leo was watching her face and must have guessed at some of the thoughts troubling her. Casually, he said, ‘But of course, if you’ve already got something—’
Polly shook her head. ‘No, no, we haven’t. Eddie’s brought a lot of vegetables and fruit home that Mr Wilmott’s kindly given him.’ Polly’s eyes were on the plump goose so she didn’t see Leo’s sceptical glance, though he said nothing. ‘But – no,’ she went on. ‘I haven’t got anything to go with them. I – I was going to go out tomorrow and see if I could . . .’
Her voice trailed away. She didn’t want to admit that she’d been planning to hang around the market the following day until the very last minute to see what she could pick up cheaply for the family’s Christmas dinner.
‘Then please have it,’ Leo said gently. ‘We’ve got more than the three of us can eat if we sat at the table from morning until night.’
Polly giggled at the mental picture of the Hallidays sitting round their table the whole day stuffing themselves with food.
‘And Mam said to ask you: have you got a Christmas pudding?’
‘Oh yes. I made one in November.’
Leo grinned. ‘On Stir-up Sunday?’
Polly blinked and stared at him. ‘Eh?’
‘Stir-up Sunday, Mam calls it. It’s a Sunday in November. It’s the Sunday before Advent, she says. It’s when she always makes her puddings.’
‘I’ve never heard that,’ Polly murmured, still entranced by the sight of the lovely goose and picturing in her mind’s eye the dinner table loaded with wonderful food on Christmas Day. She was going to be so busy for the next two days she’d have to get Violet to lend a hand for once.
‘I hope you got everyone in the family to have a stir when you were making it and make a wish?’
‘Oh yes,’ she murmured. At the memory of her own secret wish, which had involved the person standing beside her at this very minute, she blushed again.
As she fell asleep that night Polly couldn’t help wishing – if only it had been Leo who’d brought the sprig of mistletoe with him.
Sixteen
‘Where on earth did you get to last night, Dad?’ Polly demanded the next morning as she cooked his breakfast. It was Saturday and two days before Christmas, but the railway was still running and her father was on duty.
‘We had a union meeting and then we went to the pub. It carried on a bit.’
Polly eyed him sharply as she set the plate before him. ‘Was there any trouble?’
William shook his head. His mouth full, he muttered, ‘Me and Bert Fowler, we actually agree for once.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t understand. You’re only a girl.’
Polly’s green eyes sparkled with fire. ‘Is that because I’m fourteen or because I’m female?’ she snapped.
‘Bit o’ both. What do women want to worry their heads with politics and stuff like that? They’d be better looking after their husbands and bairns.’
‘What was it about?’ Polly persisted.
‘We want the vote for everybody, old age pensions and an eight-hour working day.’
Polly stared at him in disbelief. She’d heard about unions – of course she had – but she hadn’t known they could demand such things. ‘Don’t want much, do you?’ she muttered.
Her father glared at her. ‘I told you, you wouldn’t understand.’
‘Oh, I understand all right. You’re fighting for a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work and something to look after you in your old age when you’ve given a lifetime of service instead of ending up in the workhouse. And as for the vote, well I reckon it’s high time women had the vote an’ all.’
William stared at her, his fork suspended halfway between the plate and his mouth, but Polly was not done yet. She’d followed Miss Broughton’s advice and whenever she could get hold of a newspaper – even if it was a few days old – she read it avidly.
‘One of Mrs Pankhurst’s daughters, Christabel, went to prison in October for her beliefs. Aye,’ she added, standing up to fetch the teapot from the hearth, ‘and if I had the time, I’d be marching alongside ’em, an’ all. Brave women, they are.’
‘Well, I never, our Poll. You do understand, don’t you?’
Polly sat down again with a sigh. ‘Not all of it, no, I don’t, but I’d like to. That’s why I wanted to stay on at school and become a pupil teacher, like Miss Broughton said I might be able to.’ Softly, she added, ‘But it didn’t work out that way, did it? And now it’s too late.’
William said nothing. It was not in his nature to give praise or thanks, even when it was due, and Polly didn’t expect any.
‘I’ll tell you this, young Poll, and don’t you ever forget it. Working folks have got to fight to get a fair deal in life. That’s what the unions are fighting for and that’s why I’ll always back ’em, see?’
Polly wasn’t sure she did see, not all of it, but she’d make it her business to find out. She’d start reading the newspapers more regularly. Although her family couldn’t afford to buy a daily newspaper, she knew the Hallidays took one. Maybe Bertha would let her have their copy instead of throwing it out when they’d finished with it.
After Christmas was over, Polly promised herself, she’d ask Bertha.
But today there was a lot of work for Polly to get through . . .
By nightfall the young girl was exhausted, but when she saw Stevie holding out his well-darned sock for her to hang up on the mantelpiece for Father Christmas, she knew all her scrimping and saving and hard work had been worthwhile. First she pinned up Miriam’s tiny sock and then, beside it, Stevie’s.
‘There, now Father Christmas can’t miss those, can he? He’ll see them the minute he comes down the chimney.’
Stevie looked doubtfully at the fire still burning brightly in the grate. ‘Won’t he burn his feet if he lands in the fire?’
‘Oh, I’ll see it’s out ’afore I go to bed,’ Polly promised. She saw Violet’s mouth twitching and raised a warning finger. ‘Now, Vi, where’s your stocking?’
Violet opened her mouth but seeing the glint in Polly’s eye, she smiled and said, ‘Well, I’ll hang it up, but I don’t reckon Father Christmas will be able to get my present in a stocking this year. It’ll be too big.’
‘Now you, Eddie. Come on.’
With a roguish grin, Eddie took off one of the socks he was wearing and held it out to Polly.
‘Ugh!’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t think he’ll leave you anything if he catches a whiff of that! Wait a minute . . .’ She hurried to her mending basket and fished out a pair of Eddie’s socks she’d been darning. ‘Here’s a clean pair. Use one of these, Eddie.’
Eddie pinned his on the edge of the mantelpiece and Polly followed suit with one of her own woollen stockings. ‘Now you, Dad.’
William grunted, his glance running along the line of socks and stockings hanging there, each getting bigger and bigger towards the space left for him to hang his. Huskily, he said, ‘There’s one missing. There should be one for your mam.’
There was a dreadful silence in the room. Eddie shuffled his feet and Violet bit her lip and hung her head. Tears welled in Stevie’s eyes. Only Miriam gurgled happily and pointed at her own little sock.
Polly touched her father’s arm and
said quietly, ‘It’s what Mam would have wanted us to do. She’ll be watching over us and wishing us a happy Christmas. You know she will, Dad, so come on, hang your sock up with the rest of us. I’ll get the little ’uns to bed and then I’m going to Midnight Mass. Vi’s said she’ll look after the bairns just for half an hour or so. She’ll be all right. A’ you an’ Eddie coming with me?’
Slowly, William held out his well-worn sock and Polly pinned it at the end of the row. She stood back and smiled. ‘Won’t Father Christmas have a busy time filling all them?’
‘Now, little one, it’s your bedtime.’ She picked Miriam up and then turned to Stevie. ‘You, too, ’cos he won’t come till you’re fast asleep.’
By the time she came back downstairs after putting the two youngest children to bed, only Violet was sitting by the fire.
‘Where’s Dad and Eddie?’
‘Gone out. Said to tell you they won’t be coming to church with you.’
Polly pursed her lips. ‘Well, I’m still going. I’m only going to the local church, so I won’t be long. You go to bed, Vi, but keep your ear up for the little ’uns.’
As Polly put on her warm coat and pulled a shawl over her hair and around her shoulders, she expected a lonely walk through the cold night to church. How she wished just one of her family was coming with her. But when she stepped out into the street, she saw several of their neighbours walking up the street carrying lanterns.
‘Hello, lass, you off to church, then?’
‘Hello, Mrs Halliday. Yes, I am.’ Behind Bertha, she saw Seth and Leo.
‘On yar own, a’ ya?’
‘Mm.’
Bertha tucked her arm through Polly’s. ‘Then you can come along with us. And afterwards you can step into ours for a glass of mulled wine, ’cos if I know that church on a Christmas Eve, we’ll need summat warming when we come out.’
Polly hadn’t expected to enjoy Christmas Eve half so much. There was a festive feeling through the congregation and as they left, the night air was filled with calls of ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Happy New Year’.
‘I ought to get home really,’ Polly demurred when Bertha repeated her invitation to join them. ‘Dad and Eddie are out and there’s only Vi to mind the bairns.’
‘Just pop in as we go past and see if everything’s all right. If it is, come on down to our house. Ten minutes won’t hurt and Leo will see you home after, won’t you, son?’
‘Course.’
And now there was no way Polly was going to refuse such an invitation.
Seventeen
Despite their inner sadness, the Longden family enjoyed their Christmas Day. Polly had returned home in the early hours of the morning walking on air. William and Eddie were already in bed and the little ones had not stirred. Before she went to bed herself, she put fruit and nuts and chocolate into each of the stockings hanging above the fire. Then she put a gift in each of them. Woollen gloves and scarves she’d knitted for each member of the family; Miriam had a little pink hat to match too. Polly’d even knitted a set for herself to keep up the pretence that Father Christmas had brought them.
But her best Christmas present had been the precious few moments alone with Leo in the darkness when he’d walked home with her.
‘Happy Christmas, little Polly,’ he’d murmured and given her a swift hug. As she lay in bed that night next to Violet, she could still feel the warmth of his arms around her and sleep was a long time coming . . .
But her Christmas pudding wish did not really come true until the day of her fifteenth birthday the following April. It fell on a Wednesday and, apart from her family wishing her a happy birthday, the day was little different from any other – until evening. Polly had cleared away the pots after tea and Violet, possibly as the only birthday present Polly was likely to get, had helped with the washing up.
‘I’ll put the bairns to bed,’ she volunteered as the last plate was dried.
Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s got into you, Vi? I know it’s me birthday, but . . .’
The words came out in a rush. ‘I can leave school next week. At Easter. Miss Broughton ses so. I’m going to get me certificate and . . .’
‘Oh, Vi, no. You’re a bright girl – clever. You – you could be anything you want to be. Didn’t – didn’t – ’ the words came haltingly for it was like handing over her own hopes and dreams – ‘Miss Broughton say you could be a pupil teacher?’
Violet screwed up her face. ‘What – spend the rest of me life as if I’ve never left school? Wiping a lot of snotty noses? No, thanks! Besides, I’ve got a job.’
‘You have? Without even talking it over with me – or Dad?’
‘And what good would that have done? I know what you’d’ve wanted me to do. You’ve just said as much. And as for Dad – ’ her tone was scathing – ‘all he’d think about would be how much would I be bringing home so’s he can be sure of his pint in the George and Dragon.’
Polly bit her lip; she couldn’t argue with Violet’s statement for there was more than a grain of truth in it.
‘So,’ she said brightly, trying to instil some enthusiasm into her tone. She wasn’t quite sure whether she was pleased or sorry that Violet had no inclination to follow Polly’s own dreams, for now they could remain just that, her own ambitions.
Violet smiled smugly. ‘I’ve got a nice little job in the big store beyond the Stonebow.’
‘Mawer and Collingham’s? You’re not serious.’
‘I am. Miss Broughton’s got a friend who’s worked there years and she gave me such a good reference that her friend, Miss Marshall, said she’d see what she could do. She had a word with somebody and I went for an interview yesterday.’
‘So that’s why you went out in your Sunday best clothes,’ Polly murmured. She’d wondered at the time what Violet had been up to but, as she’d been about to ask her, Miriam, just finding her feet, had taken a tumble and begun to cry. Hurrying to pick her up, Polly had missed her chance. But now she knew she was genuinely pleased for her sister.
She put her arms around the startled girl and hugged her. ‘Oh, Vi, that’s wonderful. It’ll be such a lovely job.’
‘I’m on trial for a month.’
‘But if you work hard, they’ll likely keep you on. Oh, Vi, I’m so proud of you. The likes of us don’t often get the chance to get such a good job. Wait till Dad hears.’
‘Do you think we should tell him yet?’
‘Of course we must tell him. He’ll be thrilled.’
‘Thrilled’ wasn’t exactly the word Violet would have used when they told William the news; she’d been nearer the mark when she’d said William’s only thought would be what money she would be bringing home. His actual words were, ‘Huh, cost us a penny to speak to ya soon, then, will it? Working in one o’ them posh shops. Just you mind you don’t get above yarsen, m’girl.’
‘It’s just his way,’ Polly said to placate an angry Violet. ‘At least you’ve got a chance, Vi. Take it and make something of yourself.’
‘Oh, I will, Polly, don’t you worry about that.’
Polly’s birthday was almost over when a knock came at the door. Polly caught her breath. It couldn’t be Micky – not on a Wednesday night, surely? She hoped not; she didn’t want to have to fend off his advances again.
But the breath almost left her body when she opened the door to Leo.
‘Happy birthday, Poll. It’s a fine evening, I wondered if you’d like to come for a little walk? Sorry I couldn’t come earlier – we could have taken the little ’un to the park this afternoon – but I’ve only just come off duty.’
‘Oh – er – yes, that’d be lovely. I – I’ll just ask Dad or – or Violet if they’d stay in.’
William was sitting in the chair by the hearth reading the newspaper that Polly now fetched from the Hallidays every day.
‘Dad, can I go out for a little walk? The little ’uns are in bed. I – I won’t be long.’
‘Aye, off you go
, love.’ He glanced up and gave her a rare smile. ‘It is your birthday, after all.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Who’s that? Micky?’
‘No – no, it’s – ’ She ran her tongue nervously around her lips. ‘It’s Leo.’
‘Oh, brought me another paper, has he?’
‘No, he – I – ’ Against her will, she began to blush.
‘Ah, I see.’ To Polly’s surprise, William actually chuckled and nodded his head. ‘Get on wi’ ya, then. Don’t keep the lad waiting.’
They walked up the High Street, keeping a distance between them, and then along Silver Street and across Broadgate. As they passed the Drill Hall, where her father had lain so ill, Polly shuddered. But determinedly, she put her mind to happier times. The typhoid epidemic was behind them and with the authorities fully aware now that they must not allow such a thing to happen again, the city was almost back to normal. But families like the Longdens, who had lost someone dear, would never forget.
And then they were walking along Monks Road towards the city’s park, the Arboretum.
‘I thought you said we were going for a little walk,’ she teased him.
Leo chuckled. ‘The longer we walk, the longer we’ll be walking back. Besides, I like the Arboretum.’
‘So do I and it’s so pretty at this time of the year when everything’s just starting to come into bud.’
When they had passed through the park gates, Leo moved a little closer and took her hand in his. Polly said nothing, but her heart began to thump and her knees trembled so much she began to be afraid she wouldn’t be able to walk another step. But of course she did and they walked on, not speaking now, but just enjoying being together and the feel of each other’s nearness.
It was dark by the time they reached the corner of their street again and just before they reached the door of Polly’s home, Leo stopped and pulled her gently towards him. He circled her in his arms. ‘We’ll go again to the park. One weekend when one of the bands might be playing. And will you come to the fair with me, Poll? I shall be on extra duty a lot of the time when it’s here, but I should get an evening off.’
Forgive and Forget Page 9
