Changing Times

by Jack Sheffield

  Boxing Day had followed a similar pattern, with the afternoon film Tom Brown’s Schooldays, while Lily looked through a Sky Tours holiday brochure advertising holidays in the sun in Majorca from £29.

  George was helping Freddie as he studied a smart new copy of the Highway Code. For his main Christmas present, Tom and Lily had purchased a set of six driving lessons from the British School of Motoring and Freddie was determined to pass first time. He had been out in Lily’s car, complete with learner plates and accompanied by Tom, on several occasions and was already a competent driver.

  So it was a relaxed foursome in Laurel Cottage that evening as they sipped VP Rich Ruby Wine and watched Double Your Money, the game show starring Hughie Green.

  George had left the following day amid many hugs from Lily. Tom had given him a lift to the station in York.

  The Coffee Shop was busy on the morning of New Year’s Eve and Nora Pratt was particularly excited. It was the day of the annual village pantomime. This year it was Cinderella and, as always, Nora had the leading role.

  Two tall, slim teenagers, Lizzie Buttershaw and Rosie Finn, were at the counter. ‘Two coffees please, Nora,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘An’ two crumpets,’ added Rosie.

  ‘Comin’ up,’ said Nora. ‘Are you weady for t’dwess wehea’sal?’

  ‘Lookin’ forward to it,’ said Lizzie with confidence.

  ‘We’re word perfect,’ said the smiling, self-assured Rosie.

  Nora looked at her reflection in the stainless-steel coffee machine and then at the two teenagers. The first hint of doubt crossed her mind. She was wondering if these two attractive young women were ideally cast alongside her as the Ugly Sisters.

  ‘Here y’are,’ she said. ‘Two fwothy coffees an’ two cwumpets.’

  Rose McConnell and Joy Popplewell were sitting at a table near the window.

  ‘Nice scarf, Rose,’ said Joy.

  ‘Thanks. I got a postal order for Christmas from my aunt in Fylingdales and bought this. What about you? Get anything nice?’

  ‘Not much,’ sighed Joy. ‘My mum’s got no spare cash. So Christmas was a bit quiet, but we had a nice time watching telly.’

  Rose liked Joy. She never complained in spite of her personal circumstances. Joy lived in a two-up, two-down terraced house on the Easington road. There was lino on the floor of the front room, shabby and long past its best. Her father had been killed in the war and since then her mother had tried to relieve her depression with red wine.

  It was a tough life for Joy, but she was a hard worker and had done well at school. She loved to read and had a cardboard box under her bed full of books that she had begged or borrowed. The collection included James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, along with the works of the American Beat poets Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Allen Ginsberg.

  The other love of Joy’s life was Sam, but she kept this to herself.

  She also earned a bit from doing odd jobs around the village, including dog walking and shopping for elderly neighbours. This helped to fund her smoking habit. From the pocket of her anorak she took out a packet of Embassy cigarettes. ‘Have one?’ she asked.

  Rose shook her head. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Come on, live dangerously,’ urged Joy with a wide-eyed smile. She lit up and exhaled with pleasure. ‘You get a gift book with these,’ she said, holding up the packet. ‘A Dansette record player for five thousand coupons,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘Another time,’ said Rose.

  ‘So, when are you seeing Freddie?’

  ‘Probably tonight at the pantomime, but definitely tomorrow,’ said Rose. ‘It would be good to do something special on New Year’s Day.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Joy, ‘and I could think of something really special.’

  They shared a knowing smile … but on Rose’s part there was a hint of uncertainty.

  Ruby was in the General Stores. ‘Good morning, Ruby,’ said Prudence. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, Miss Golightly,’ replied Ruby. She had little Sharon with her, clutching her Christmas doll. ‘Jus’ givin’ Sharon a bit o’ fresh air. She’s been cooped up since Christmas.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ sympathized Prudence. ‘Jeremy has barely moved from the television.’

  Ruby glanced up at the bear on his shelf. ‘Well, he’s back now keepin’ an eye on things.’

  Prudence smiled. ‘So what will it be?’

  ‘Jus’ a loaf please, Prudence.’ Ruby put a shilling on the counter and then stared at the penny change. ‘An’ mebbe summat from t’penny selection f’Sharon.’

  The little girl was pointing at a stick of liquorice. ‘Please,’ she said.

  Prudence smiled and selected the largest stick from the box. ‘And here’s a barley sugar as well for being polite. I love children with good manners.’

  ‘Thank you kindly,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Are you going to the pantomime, Ruby?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for t’world. Our Racquel’s one o’ t’dancers.’

  ‘A lovely girl,’ said Prudence.

  Just like her mother, she thought as Ruby walked out to the frozen High Street.

  In Laurel Cottage Tom Feather was putting on his warmest coat and scarf. ‘Come on, Freddie,’ he said. ‘Prince Charming’s castle awaits.’

  Tom and Freddie had been persuaded by Lily to assist with the preparations for the pantomime in the village hall. Lily and Anne had volunteered to help dress the children ready for a variety of over-complicated dance routines. Sadly, these were performed to the continued disappointment of the flamboyant artistic director, Felicity Miles-Humphreys.

  Tom and Freddie collected two paintbrushes from the garden shed and a few tins of emulsion paint. On the stage of the village hall a sheet of eight by four hardboard needed to be transformed into a castle on one side and a scullery kitchen on the other.

  ‘An hour’s painting should do it, Freddie,’ said Tom, ‘then maybe a bacon butty in the Coffee Shop.’

  Freddie smiled. Maybe Rose would be there.

  In their house on the Crescent just off the Easington road, Anne Grainger was watching John putting the final touches to a wooden umbrella stand made from pine boards. She had bought him an electric Black & Decker drill for Christmas and the constant whirring of its motor was giving her a headache.

  ‘Do you fancy coming with me down to the village hall?’ she asked.

  ‘What for?’ John sounded slightly perturbed at being interrupted.

  ‘I said I would help Lily with preparations for the pantomime. Then maybe we could have a coffee in Nora’s.’

  John frowned. ‘No thanks. I’ve got to stain this with dark walnut to provide an antique appearance.’

  Anne was not impressed. It occurred to her that her love life was also beginning to take on an antique appearance.

  Tom and Freddie had completed their painting in time for the afternoon dress rehearsal. However, it was clear to them as they departed that it was not going as Felicity Miles-Humphreys had planned. In every dance routine the front row of children appeared to be completely out of step with the second row.

  Felicity’s husband, Peter the bank clerk with the unfortunate stutter, was proving to be a frustrating Prince Charming. ‘We m-must find the owner of this gl-glass sl-slipper,’ he muttered without an ounce of princely confidence.

  Felicity sighed. Peter had worked hard to overcome his stutter, but with limited success.

  Nora had a selection of popular songs to sing and she was centre stage wearing her famous Alpine leather corset and giving a passionate rendition of an Elvis Presley hit. ‘Wetu’n to Sende’,’ she sang and Felicity frowned again. When Nora followed this with ‘Cwying in the Wain’, Felicity wondered if she ought to replace Elsie Crapper as musical director.

  At seven o’ clock, however, the village hall was packed. Ernie Crapper, the encyclopaedia salesman, was collecting the shilling entry fee for adults and sixpence for children, whi
le his wife, Elsie, played the Shirley Bassey hit ‘I Who Have Nothing’ on the piano. It was intended to get the audience in the mood, but it caused Violet Fawnswater to shed a private tear.

  When Timothy Pratt switched on the single spotlight and the curtains parted, the show opened with the children dancing frantically to Chubby Checker’s American hit ‘Let’s Twist Again’, which had taken the country by storm. Everyone clapped, even when the over-exuberant Scott Walmsley fell off the stage, to be thrown back on by his mother in the front row.

  Muriel Tonks as the Fairy Godmother threatened to steal the show. However, Nora soon asserted her authority with a convincing performance as Cinderella and a tearful rendition of ‘The Stwoke of Midnight’.

  Even though the football team on the back row were convinced the Ugly Sisters were the best-looking girls on stage, Nora still received her bouquet at the end with a well-deserved cheer. Felicity was pleased that the silver tinsel on Nora’s Alpine leather corset had added that certain professional touch and that she had survived another pantomime without any of the audience demanding a refund.

  Meanwhile, the villagers of Ragley filed out to see in the new year in The Royal Oak or at a family party.

  Tom and Lily drove back to Kirkby Steepleton. Freddie was in the back seat staring out of the window. Above him the sky was scattered with stardust and he was thinking of Rose. A new year was about to begin and he wondered what lay in store for them.

  Back in Laurel Cottage, Tom stretched out on the sofa in the lounge, while Freddie sat down in one of the armchairs. Lily went over to her bureau and put the pantomime programme behind the drop-down lid. It sparked a memory for Freddie.

  ‘Lily, I saw a photograph in your bureau.’

  Lily stood still. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I was looking for a spare card. It was just before Christmas. One of the drawers was unlocked. I noticed there was a man in a photograph that I thought was me.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t you, Freddie,’ said Lily sharply. She closed the bureau and got up.

  Freddie was persistent. ‘So, who was it?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, have I got a relation that I don’t know about? It looked like an old photo.’

  ‘Freddie, these are my private papers. You know that.’ Her voice had suddenly become sharp and abrupt.

  Freddie didn’t like to be spoken to in that way. ‘It’s not like you to be obtuse.’

  ‘Obtuse?’

  ‘Yes. It seemed a reasonable question – why can’t you answer?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Lily. ‘It’s been a long day.’ She got up and walked out to the kitchen.

  Freddie stared at the bureau. Tom was looking thoughtful.

  ‘Tom, is there something I should know? I’m almost frightened to ask.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Not for me to say,’ he murmured. At the core of his being he did not want to share a lie. He got up and followed Lily into the kitchen while Freddie, confused and unhappy, went upstairs to his bedroom.

  Lily was standing at the sink, head bowed in despair. Tom put his arms around her.

  ‘Oh Tom, I feel as though I’m in the eye of the storm.’

  ‘Maybe you are,’ said Tom softly, ‘but I’m standing beside you.’

  She felt the warm moisture of tears on her cheeks and her heart was aching with emptiness.

  ‘Lily … I think it’s time.’

  ‘But how can I tell him?’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  Lily took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. ‘No, it needs to come from me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Lily pursed her lips and gave a faint nod. ‘I’ll get the letter.’

  ‘And the photograph,’ said Tom. ‘He needs to know … to understand.’

  Lily went to her bureau, unlocked the right-hand drawer and took out a letter. With a heavy heart she climbed the stairs and tapped gently on Freddie’s door.

  ‘Freddie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  There was the sound of footsteps and the door opened.

  ‘Come in,’ said Freddie and walked back in to sit on his bed.

  Lily moved the clothes draped over a chair and sat down. There was a long silence. Finally Freddie spoke. ‘What is it?’

  Lily clutched the letter. ‘I need to explain something to you. It can’t wait any longer.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Lily passed over the photograph and Freddie looked at it again. The man who looked like him was smiling at the camera. He turned it over. The year ‘1944’ was written on the back in black ink, faded now but still clear and bold.

  ‘The man who looks like you worked on a farm down in Buckinghamshire. It was during the war.’

  Freddie was trying to make sense of what he was hearing. ‘You mean when you were in the Land Army?’

  ‘Yes. He was kind and gentle and we fell in love.’

  Freddie stared at Lily. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I was only a little older than you are now. We found happiness together in difficult times.’

  Freddie looked at the photograph once again. ‘With this man? You fell in love with this man? So who is he?’

  ‘Freddie, I couldn’t tell you before. It’s complicated. Times were different then.’

  ‘You’ve not answered my question. Who is he?’

  ‘Freddie … he’s your father.’

  Freddie stood up and walked to the far corner of the room. He clenched his fists. He could feel anger boiling up inside. ‘My father? This man is my father?’

  ‘Yes, Freddie. And I’m your mother.’

  Freddie sat down on the bed again. ‘But you’re my sister … always have been … my big sister.’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Florence said I had brought shame on the family and made me promise not to reveal you were born out of wedlock. So you were brought up to believe that Florence was your mother and I was your sister.’

  ‘But why the lie, Lily?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ There were tears in her eyes.

  ‘So why didn’t you marry him? Where is he now?’

  Lily covered her face with her hands.

  Freddie held up the photograph. ‘Was he killed in the war?’

  ‘No, he’s alive. He wrote this letter. Each year I’ve sent him a copy of your school photograph. He always asks how you are, so we write once a year.’

  Freddie’s mind was racing. ‘You let me think my mother had died. I always thought Arthur was my father. My parents are dead.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Freddie. We were going to tell you when we felt the time was right.’

  ‘So Tom knows? He let me live the lie as well?’

  Freddie jumped up, stormed out of the room and ran downstairs. Tom was sitting on the sofa. He was used to dealing with crises in his professional life, but this was different. Freddie looked frantic.

  ‘Tom, what’s happening? I always respected you and what you’ve achieved. You’ve been my brother-in-law, my friend. Now this.’ He held up the photograph. ‘Who is this? Lily says this is my father. What’s his name?’

  Lily had followed Freddie downstairs. She laid the letter on top of the bureau and sat down on her writing chair.

  Tom looked up at her. ‘Shall I?’ he asked quietly.

  Lily nodded.

  Tom gestured to Freddie to sit next to him. ‘Please sit down and I’ll try to explain. I know this is a shock, and it isn’t the way we would have wanted it.’

  Freddie had always responded to Tom’s support and his quiet authority. He sat down.

  ‘Freddie, first of all, Lily loves you. Always has, always will. When she was young she had a child. It was an illegitimate child and in those days that was a sin. The world is different now, but Lily’s mother forced her to move away and she’s cared for you ever since, both as a sister and a mother.’

  Tom’s words were qui
et and persuasive. Freddie appeared calmer now. He put the photograph down on the coffee table and pointed at the black-and-white image. ‘Who is he, Tom?’

  ‘His name is Rudolph Krüger.’

  ‘Krüger?’

  ‘Yes, Freddie – your father is German.’

  Freddie looked at Tom, appalled. ‘German? We fought a war against them. Tom – you fought a war against them.’

  ‘I know,’ said Tom. ‘It was a terrible time. War takes lives and leaves others in pieces.’ He picked up the photograph. ‘All these men were German POWs, prisoners of war.’

  Freddie looked across the room at Lily. ‘But these were the enemy. How could you?’

  ‘The war threw us together. We were both young and vulnerable. Rudi was caring and kind.’

  ‘Rudi?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lily. ‘He’s known as Rudi. You met him once when you were a small boy. We had just moved here. You played cricket with him in the garden.’

  Freddie shook his head. He had no recollection. ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘He went back to start a life in West Germany,’ explained Tom. ‘He lives in Hamburg. I met him before he left. He told me he wanted you to have what he couldn’t give you – a home, stability, a caring family. He seemed to be a good man.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say … or who I am,’ said Freddie.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to come out this way,’ said Tom, ‘but then Florence was taken from us and you were only twelve. We considered it again when you were sixteen, but didn’t want to disturb your O-levels. Then it was sixth form and so it went on.’

  Freddie looked fiercely at Lily. ‘You should have told me.’

  Tom could see Lily was too distressed to respond. ‘Lily wanted to tell you long ago.’ There was a pause. ‘Freddie … Lily is your mother.’

  Freddie stood up to leave the room. ‘Mother? Lily’s my sister. Always has been.’ He stamped upstairs, went into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  Lily burst into tears and Tom led her quietly upstairs. ‘Let’s give him some space. In the morning it will be different.’

  When Tom turned on the light he saw his book lying there on his bedside cupboard. He recalled the story of the butterfly effect and the significance was not lost on him.