by Anna King
‘And where have you lot been till this time of the evening?’ Aggie bridled while at the same time trying to squeeze her ample frame past her son-in-law, who was blocking her exit. ‘I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t. I… Oh… Oh, now don’t start that lark… Look, look… put me down, you daft bugger…’ Aggie squealed nervously as her feet left the floor.
‘Ah, to be sure, you’re a darling woman, so you are. And if I wasn’t a happily married man, you’d have to lock your door at night, so you would.’ Sam roared loudly as he held tight to his mother-in-law’s ample waistline.
Pretending to be cross, Hetty slapped at her husband’s arm crying, ‘Put her down, you fool. You’ll put your back out one of these days if you’re not careful.’
Grace looked on with delight as the familiar scene was played out, while Stanley, as always, merely smiled dutifully. He liked the Donnellys, even old Aggie, though he could cheerfully throttle her at times, but as much as they’d always tried to make him feel welcome, they weren’t his family.
Stanley’s family, such as it was, consisted of an elder sister, who had married and moved away ten years ago and never been heard of since, and a variety of distant uncles, aunts and cousins who he wouldn’t recognise now if he fell over them in the street. His father had run off when Stanley was eight, while his mother had drank herself into an early grave. He had lived in digs since his sixteenth birthday and was quite happy with his living arrangements, despite his jokes to the contrary. Old Ma Grimes, as he referred to his landlady, led her own life and let him get on with his – and Stanley was happy with the arrangement.
Meeting the Donnellys had, at first, been overwhelming, and even now, after all the time he had known them, he still couldn’t manage to be completely at ease with them. The trouble was that Grace thought her family was wonderful and expected everyone to feel the same way about them.
‘You all right, Stan? You look a bit down in the dumps. Anything I can do to help?’
Stanley’s head jerked up guiltily. Getting clumsily to his feet, he looked at the concerned face of Sam Donnelly and immediately felt ashamed of his thoughts.
The women had left the room, giggling, leaving Stanley and Sam alone.
‘No, no, nothing’s wrong… Well! The usual, you know. Being out of work gets you—’
The sound of the front door banging and the high voices of Grace’s sisters giggling in the hallway stopped Stanley’s words mid-sentence, which only served to make the young man feel even more ill at ease.
Violet and Polly Donnelly, their faces flushed with girlish glee, burst into the room.
‘Hello, Dad, sorry we’re late. Old Mrs Spencer wanted us to stay late and finish some stocktaking. I bet Nan’s fit to bursting a blood vessel.’
Violet Donnelly, a vivacious nineteen-year-old blonde, seemed to bounce into the room. She dropped into the armchair recently occupied by her grandmother, and sprawled her shapely body carelessly across the upholstery. For a brief moment, Stanley caught a glimpse of pink, frilly satin, then the tantalising vision disappeared. As he raised his head, Stan caught a look of mockery in Violet’s large blue eyes as she crossed her legs deliberately.
‘Oh, hello, Stan, you here again?’ Before Stanley could make a reply, Violet had switched her attention back to her father. ‘Two of the girls called in sick today, so Polly and me had to cover for them, as well as manage our own counters. We’ve hardly had a minute to ourselves all day, have we, Poll?’ The question was asked of the sleepy-eyed girl resting her head wearily against her father’s broad shoulder.
‘Um, oh, yeah, I mean, yes, it has been pretty busy. I’m absolutely whacked.’ Both girls worked at Mason’s, a big department store in Mare Street, only a short bus ride from home. Pushing a lock of ginger, wavy hair from her forehead, Polly gazed up at her father and smiled tiredly. ‘Do you think Nan would mind if I didn’t have any dinner? I just want to crawl into my bed and sleep all weekend.’
Hugging his youngest daughter tightly, Sam rested his chin on top of her head, murmuring, ‘Best not, love. Anyway, we’re all off out tonight to the club. You never know, you might meet some handsome young man who’ll whisk you off to some exotic country.’
Polly giggled. ‘Fat chance around here, Dad. Anyway, where’s Mum?’
Sam glanced over his shoulder, answering, ‘In the kitchen with your nan, which is where we should be… Oh, oh, here she comes. We’d better get moving.’
There came the sound of heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway, accompanied by a harsh, ‘Well, are you lot coming in to eat, or have I been wasting me time all day cooking for the lot of you?’
As they all scrambled for the door, the front door opened and banged yet again, emitting a younger, fatter version of Sam, with none of his brother’s self-assurance.
‘Sorry I’m late, Sam. Blooming train was delayed, wasn’t it.’ Danny Donnelly came breathlessly down the passageway, his chubby face flushed, while further down the hall, Aggie shouted for them all to get a move on if they wanted feeding.
And Stanley thought giddily, It’s like a bleeding train station. Then Aggie bawled again, ‘That you, Dan? Well, get yourself in here with the rest of ’em, or else I swear I ain’t gonna cook another meal in this house ever again.’
Hastily scrambling for the door, the party of adults looked sheepishly at each other. With a lot of smiling and raised eyebrows and conspiratorial looks, the Donnelly family congregated in the spacious kitchen built at the back of the house, each one taking their designated place at the large table in the centre of the room.
Stanley was relieved to note that Aggie had remembered to set an extra chair at the table for him. Sometimes she forgot, and although it took only a matter of minutes to correct the oversight, to Stanley, still in awe of the rumbustious Donnelly family, those few minutes, standing alone, excluded from the rest of them, seemed like hours.
The evening meal was as always – with everyone trying to talk at once, while old Aggie bustled around dishing out the hot plates of food, stubbornly refusing any help, before collapsing triumphant into her own chair.
At the head of the table, Sam looked down at his fish pie and boiled potatoes, then glanced enviously at the plates of heaped steaming shepherd’s pie surrounding him. Even Danny, the traitor, had long since turned his back on the childhood custom. With a rueful shake of his head, Sam began his meal. It was silly really, this custom of his not to eat meat on Fridays. He hadn’t put his head round the door of the church since Polly’s Holy Communion, ten years ago. Yet strangely enough, it was Hetty who helped out at the local church as often as she could, much to the disgust of Aggie, who had a profound distrust of all things popish. Still, there was something inside him that clung to some of his childhood upbringing: old habits were hard to break. Mind you, he mused silently, it would be easier all round if Aggie cooked the same meal for everyone on Fridays. Cantankerous old devil, he thought affectionately.
The woman in question was now looking down the length of the table, demanding, ‘Well? Are either of you gonna tell me why it’s taken you both two and a half hours to get home? I mean to say, I don’t mind what time you roll in, just as long as you tell me.’
Sam looked to his wife, and Hetty, laying down her fork, answered quietly, ‘I told you this morning, Mum. There was a meeting after school about the evacuation procedures. I know a lot of people think there won’t be another war, please God, but the school board insists the proceedings are maintained. Because if the worst comes to the worst, there’ll be precious little time to get organised once it starts.’
Aggie’s head appeared to bounce on her shoulders. She hated all this talk of war. It brought back too many painful memories. Her late husband, had been a victim of mustard-gas poisoning, and though he had recovered enough to be shipped home, he had never been the same man, and had died years before his time. Hetty had been only six when her father had died, and when she married Sam, her first thought was to have her mother li
ve with them. Goodness knows the house had been big enough. But the old fellow and his wife had still been alive then, and though Aggie had got on well enough with Sam’s mother and enjoyed a laugh with old Paddy, she couldn’t have imagined living in the same house with them. She had been quite happy staying in her old home in familiar surroundings, although she had often come to stay for weekends and short stays.
Then when Paddy had died, and there were all the arrangements to see to and everyone was so upset, Aggie had come to help out and look after the girls – who were all still at school at the time – giving their bereaved parents some time to themselves – for Hetty had come to love the old Irishman as a father. Strangely enough Aggie hadn’t minded her daughter’s strong affection for her father-in-law, for from the very beginning, old Paddy had treated Hetty as if she were his own. And somehow the weeks had turned into months, and the months into years, and now she felt as if she’d never lived anywhere else.
Though she would never admit it, Aggie was secretly very proud to live in such a grand house as this one, and when meeting up with old friends, she would drag them back for a cup of tea and a chat, her large frame almost bursting with proud anticipation when she beheld the amazed looks on her former neighbours’ faces as she casually introduced them to her new home, saying airily, ‘Posh? What, this old place? Well, I can’t say as if I’ve really noticed. I mean, it’s me home, ain’t it…’
Now she glanced surreptitiously down the table at her son-in-law, the man who had taken her in and treated her like his own mother, and thanked God that, at forty-three, Sam was surely too old to join up. Then again, you could never be too sure. Look at the last one. Gawd almighty! At the end, they were practically sending the blind and infirm over the water, so desperate were they for cannon fodder.
No! No, it was too terrible to contemplate. Besides, the man had already done his bit in the last war, fighting alongside his father, and Sam only a bit of a lad at the time.
Lifting a forkful of meat to her open mouth, Aggie openly appraised her family and shuddered inwardly at the prospect of losing any of them. The last war had been bad enough – ‘The war to end all wars’ it had been called. But if this one started, with all the new weapons and aeroplanes to drop the bombs, nobody would be safe. The government knew it too, which was why they were frantically arranging for the children of London to be evacuated. Because that’s where that mad bastard Hitler would go for first – the heart of London and the docks.
It wasn’t fair, she cried silently. She’d already lived through one war, and she’d been fit and healthy then. Now she was old – old and afraid. Not for herself, but for her loved ones. She glanced up again, as if to reassure herself they were still all right.
They were all chatting noisily, talking over each other, yet still managing to make themselves heard. Then Danny, his cherubic face beaming, shouted merrily above the din, and at his words the hairs on the back of Aggie’s neck stood on end.
‘…I tell you it’s true. I heard it from some army captain on the train home.’
Danny was talking to Stanley, who was seated next to him, waving his fork in the air as he spoke. ‘The government’s gonna bring in conscription within the next few weeks. And that’s not the half of it…’ Seeing that he now had everyone’s attention, Danny laid down his fork and assumed a more serious air. ‘This army bloke said they’re gonna call up every man between the ages of eighteen and fifty-two, so they must be expecting the worst otherwise they wouldn’t bother, would they?’ Feeling embarrassed at suddenly finding himself the centre of attention, Danny cleared his throat, took another bite of shepherd’s pie, then, looking to Stanley for support, said quickly, ‘What do you think about it, Stan? I mean, you thinking of joining up, or you gonna wait til you get called up? I mean to say, it’d get you off the dole, wouldn’t it? And… well – anyway, it’s just what I heard…’ His voice trailed off miserably as he caught his niece’s angry glare.
But Grace’s displeasure with him was nothing compared to what happened next.
Throwing down her knife and fork with a resounding clatter, Aggie got to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury.
‘You stupid little sod! Is that all you can think about? Half the bloody world might be on the verge of being wiped out, and you think it’s a good idea ’cos it’ll get Stanley off the dole.’
‘Mum! Mum, now calm down, Danny didn’t mean—’ Hetty was swiftly silenced.
‘Don’t you tell me to calm down, Hetty. I’ll say me piece, an’ nobody’s gonna stop me,’ Aggie stormed, while the rest of the family shifted uneasily on their chairs.
Her heavy chest heaving, she jabbed her finger at a now-cowering Danny and shouted, ‘Where’s your bloody sense, lad? I’d’ve thought you’d have more sense at your age. What are you now, thirty-four, thirty-five? And still wanting to play cowboys and indians! You was damned lucky to get out of the last one. Another couple of years an’ you’d have been called up like your brother. Well, I’ll tell you this much, lad. I’ve lived through a war, and it was bloody terrifying. And there you sit, the pair of you, all excited ’cos you might get the chance to dress up an’ play at soldiers. Well, you just might get that chance, Dan, and you too, Stanley…’ She had turned to Stan, her fear making her unheedful of the hurt her words were inflicting. Stanley’s head jerked back painfully as he suddenly found himself the target of Aggie’s wrath.
Beside Hetty, Polly burst into tears, her distress momentarily distracting her family from the unpleasant scene taking place. But Aggie was too far into her stride to take any notice of what was happening around her. As Stanley squirmed in his seat, she leant towards him, her eyes turned cold, her lips glistening with spittle.
‘Oh, yeah, a war’s just what you’re waiting for, ain’t it, lad? Like Danny just said, it’d get you off the dole, wouldn’t it? And it’d only cost thousands of men, women and children their lives. But that don’t matter, does it? Oh, no… Just as long as you feel like a man again, an’ at least we wouldn’t have to hear you always going on about how hard done by you are, like you was the only bloke in the world who’s outta work—’
‘That’s enough, Aggie.’ Sam had risen from the table, his lean face set hard. ‘You know full well that’s not what Dan or Stanley meant. Now sit down, woman, and be quiet, else by God I swear I’ll throw you out of the room by force if that’s what it takes to quieten your tongue.’ Turning to Stanley, who sat quietly trembling beside an equally shaken Dan, he said kindly, ‘Don’t take any notice, Stan. You know how Aggie’s mouth runs away with her.’ He then shot a fierce glance of reproach at his mother-in-law. But Aggie, her outburst abated, sat slumped in her chair, her eyes downcast as if she had realised the havoc wreaked by her rash words.
Sam stared at the grey, bent head in anger. Lord, but sometimes Aggie went too far. He knew how fearful she was at the prospect of another war, but, God in heaven, weren’t they all! There was no excuse for going for Danny and Stan like that. The poor sods were no match for Aggie, and she knew it. She’d never have gone for him like that. No, by God, she wouldn’t. As much as he loved her, and treated her like his own mother, he would never have stood for the tongue-lashing she had just handed out. But that was why she had vented her spleen on Danny and Stan. She’d known neither man had the spunk to stand up to her, but she hadn’t heard the last of this. No, by God, she hadn’t!
Pushing back his chair, Sam reached out and slapped Stanley on the shoulder, saying heartily, ‘Look, let’s go and have a pint at the Nag’s Head before we go to the club, eh?’ Looking past Stanley’s flushed face, Sam appealed to his brother. ‘What do you say, Danny? A quick pint to wash down our dinner. What about it, eh?’ He didn’t have to repeat the offer. Before the words had left his mouth, Dan was already heading for the door, grateful for the escape route offered, while Stanley, his face scarlet, rose slowly to his feet.
‘No, thanks, Sam,’ he answered through clenched teeth. ‘I think I’ll get off home, if you don’
t mind.’ Stepping back he tugged nervously at his tie, stuck out his neck, then, dropping his gaze to where Grace was sitting quietly at the table, added stiffly, ‘I’m leaving, Grace, you gonna see me out or what?’
Without looking up Grace nodded, but before she had the chance to get to her feet, Sam placed himself in front of Stan, determined to smooth over the sticky situation.
‘Here, just a minute, lad, hold your horses. There’s no need to drag Gracie out. Me and Dan will walk along of you, and if we happen to pass the pub on the way and be pulled inside against our will, well, we’ll just have to go quietly, eh, Danny?’ He shot a questioning look at his brother, who quickly voiced his agreement.
Stan, no match for Sam’s forceful personality, shrugged helplessly, his eyes pleading with Grace to help him out, but Grace, knowing if Stan got her on her own there would be another row, refused to meet his gaze. And when she heard the front door bang shut, she was surprised to find herself sighing with relief.
* * *
Striding along briskly, Sam kept up a cheerful stream of chatter to help both men forget about the unpleasant scene they had just been a party to. But while Dan, always an easy-going man, responded happily, Stan continued to keep up a stony façade.
Well aware of his future son-in-law’s grim mood, Sam again silently cursed Aggie for her loose tongue. The woman never stopped to think before opening her mouth. Casting a quick look at the man walking sullenly a few paces in front of him and Danny, Sam blew out his cheeks in exasperation. Lord, but this was going to be hard work.
On his right, Dan was now chatting away merrily, all rancour forgotten, and Sam was more than happy to let his brother take over the conversation. While he listened to Dan’s ramblings, he pondered at the kind of man his daughter intended to marry.
Oh, Stanley was a nice enough young man, but there was a weak streak in him that all his bravado couldn’t hide. Still, there was no crime in being weak. Look at Dan. His brother was thirty-five and still stuck in the same clerking job he’d held since leaving school, and still living at home, seemingly perfectly happy with his lot in life. Not that Sam minded, nor Hetty and the girls. After all, the house was still his brother’s home, and if Dan would rather live with them than go out into the world alone, well then, he would always be welcome.
