by Pat Stewart
‘It’s up to you,’ Dad said as soon as he heard the news. He rose up from his chair and went over towards the fire to warm his hands. ‘Just be careful. Yer know what our Edith’s like.’
Although Mam had always hated Edith, she reasoned it would be a good opportunity for me to see London.
‘If yer want to go, our Pat, then I reckon yer should.’
It was music to my ears.
Although I’d been wary of Aunt Edith, I decided that Mam was right. London was a place I’d always dreamed of going to visit. Even if it did mean travelling with Edith, it would be a small price to pay to see both the city and the parade.
‘I think I’d like to go,’ I replied. Mam glanced over warily at Dad.
‘Like I say, it’s up to you but, if yer do want to go, yer’ll have to speak to Edith yersen and arrange it all, ’cause I’ve got nowt to say to her,’ insisted Dad.
I was shaking in my shoes as I approached the back door of Edith’s house but I took a deep breath, lifted a hand and tapped against it lightly. The back yard stank of pigs, just as Mam had said. Even though the animals lived in a sty in an allotment at the back of the house, mud had trailed in across the back step. I looked down at it and shook my head.
‘Mam would go mad at that,’ I thought as I waited for someone to answer.
Suddenly, the door creaked open and Aunt Edith stood there. Short, stocky and still wearing men’s overalls, she beckoned me inside. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her hair. It had been cropped short and she’d covered it with the same black beret I’d seen her wearing in the street.
‘Come in, lass. Sit thee sen down,’ she grunted in a broad Yorkshire accent. ‘This is yer granny,’ she said, gesturing a filthy hand over towards an elderly lady sitting in the corner by the window.
Edith’s hands looked like shovels, with dirt pressed hard beneath her fingernails. In that moment, I made a mental note not to eat anything she gave me.
Granny Wilson was sat in an old threadbare armchair in a corner of the room. She was a petite and fragile-looking woman and looked older than anyone I’d ever seen before. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw her flinch as soon as Edith pointed at her. It was as though she lived in her daughter’s shadow. Granny Wilson looked up and squinted as I took a step forward.
‘That’s it, child. Come into t’light where I can see yer.’
I anxiously made my way across the kitchen, watching where I placed my feet. Pig muck was all over the kitchen floor too, filling the room with the same nasty aroma that had hung in the backyard. I felt nervous because I was meeting my paternal grandmother for the very first time. Granny Wilson took my hands in hers and stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. Without warning, she turned and pulled something out from behind her chair.
‘I’ve got yer a gift. Well, I’ve got yer two. I couldn’t decide, see,’ she said, handing me two parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.
I undid them, being careful not to rip the paper, as Edith looked on. I wondered what on earth they could be. I was thrilled when the paper fell open to reveal an Oxford Dictionary and a tennis racket.
‘Thank you!’ I said, beaming with delight.
‘Do you like them?’ Granny Wilson asked.
‘I love them!’
And I did. I never received presents unless it was Christmas or my birthday but now I’d just been given two – and in the middle of summer!
‘I s’pose yer ’ere about London trip, eh?’ Edith said, breaking the moment.
‘Yes, I am.’ I said, nodding. ‘I mean, I’d love to go, if you’d take me.’
Edith studied me for a moment and wiped a filthy hand across the front of her overalls.
‘Aye, all right then. Yer can come. Yer can keep our Lucy company. ‘Ere, wait a minute, I’ll shout her. Lucy, LUCY!’ she hollered like a man, standing at the foot of the stairs.
A pretty young girl came down the stairs. It was Lucy, Aunt Edith’s daughter. She was three years older than me, and it was obvious from the way she held herself and spoke that she was very well educated.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Lucy said, shaking my hand formally.
After a little discussion, it was agreed I would meet them both later that week at Featherstone railway station.
‘Thanks,’ I trilled as I headed for the door. ‘And thanks for my presents, Granny Wilson.’
The old lady smiled back at me.
‘Yer welcome, lass.’
I left the house clutching my presents as though they were the crown jewels.
A few days later, Mam took me to the railway station to meet Edith and Lucy. Granny Wilson was far too old and weak to make the journey, so it would just be the three of us. As soon as she saw Edith approach, Mam gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said her goodbyes.
‘Enjoy it, our Pat. And, whatever yer do, be careful of yer Aunt Edith. She’s a strange one, her.’
Moments later, Aunt Edith had taken charge.
‘Train leaves soon, so we better get our sens over t’right platform,’ she grunted.
They were the only words either of them spoke to me throughout the entire journey. It made me question what I was doing there.
‘Why have I been invited when it’s quite clear I’m not wanted?’ I wondered.
Hours later, steam billowed up from beneath the train as we climbed off it and down onto the platform at Kings Cross station. We boarded a bus to Finsbury Park, where Aunt Nellie lived. Nellie was my father’s half-sister from Granny Wilson’s first marriage. Her house was huge, but it was packed with people staying over for the victory parade. Another aunt and uncle were there, along with two other young women from Featherstone. There was a young girl called Dorothy who was the same age as me. She’d travelled down from Huddersfield with the couple. They had no children of their own so they’d brought along Dorothy – a friend’s child – to enjoy the parade. Dorothy and I slept on the floor of the girls’ room, while Edith and Lucy shared the bedroom next door. The walls were thin and, throughout the night, I heard Lucy and Edith talking in raised voices. The following morning there was an awful row between Edith, Nellie and my other aunt. I didn’t know what it was about, but I was certain they were arguing over money. The front door slammed loudly, so I peered out of the upstairs window. I watched as Edith and Lucy stormed along the street, clutching their overnight bags. Edith had just upped and left me – a twelve-year-old girl – alone in London. Although I was staying with relatives, I didn’t really know them. The first my parents knew was when someone in our village spotted Edith and told my mother she was back.
‘Eh?’ Mam said, scratching her head. ‘Are yer sure? Because I’ve not seen hide nor hair of our Pat.’
Mam went into a blind panic as they attempted to track me down. She remembered she had Aunt Nellie’s telephone number written down, so she called her from a public phone.
‘It’s Edith,’ Nellie told her. ‘She’s gone and left the poor girl up ’ere with us in London.’
‘I knew it!’ Mam raged on the other end of the phone. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that bluddy woman wi’ our Pat.’
Mam decided that, as I’d already made the trip, I shouldn’t miss out because of Edith. She was determined her actions wouldn’t cut short my treat. In the end, I was allowed to stay on and watch the parade. Once it was over, my aunt and uncle had promised to return me to Yorkshire, along with Dorothy. Mam and Dad had arranged to collect us at Huddersfield train station.
The parade itself was wonderful. We walked to the Mall to watch the events. Dorothy and I found ourselves pushed against a stand reserved for servicemen who’d received the Victoria Cross for bravery. The stand was pretty empty, so Dorothy, some other children and I were invited to sit in the empty seats to get a better view. I was particularly impressed by representatives of the Greek armed forces, who marched past wearing traditional national costumes.
‘Look, Dorothy,’ I shrieked. ‘Their outfits look
just like ballet costumes!’
Dorothy put a hand against her mouth and giggled.
‘Shush,’ a man sitting behind me scolded.
‘The King’s coming.’
The crowd fell silent as a carriage carrying King George VI approached. I was awestruck as I watched him pass right in front of my eyes. His complexion looked as perfect as if it were in a photograph.
‘Blimey!’ I gasped, turning towards Dorothy, who was equally as star-struck.
After the parade, we headed back to Aunt Nellie’s, who had cooked up a delicious tea of sandwiches and cakes.
‘It was a day to remember,’ she declared, kicking off her shoes and rubbing her aching heels with the palm of her hand.
The following morning I caught the train with Dorothy and my aunt and uncle. Of course, once I’d returned home, Mam and Dad vowed never to speak to Edith again.
Not long after my London adventure, I entered a dance competition in Lytham St Annes. My mother travelled with me and we shared a room in a bed and breakfast. Dad couldn’t come, because he couldn’t get time off work. A few days after we’d arrived, Mam received a letter from Dad. He’d written to tell her that Granny Wilson had died.
‘No!’ she gasped as she read it out loud, perched on the edge of the bed.
Dad explained how Granny Wilson had been found dead in the allotment at the back of the house where Edith had kept her pigs. For once, Edith was in the clear because she was away in Ireland with Lucy. The police called at our house to ask Dad if he could identify the body of his mother – a woman he’d not seen for many years. It’d meant he’d have to go back inside the family home – a place he’d done his best to avoid for most of his married life. My father was suspicious it was a trap, so he took an independent witness along with him. However, as soon as he stepped inside, there was an even bigger shock in store – the entire place was stuffed full of banknotes.
‘It were in cupboards, drawers, even under t’bedclothes. Yer should’ve seen it, Sarah. Money were everywhere,’ he told my mam. ‘I’ve not seen owt like that before in me life!’
Mam shook her head in despair.
‘Well, no good will come of it,’ she remarked.
When Granny Wilson’s estate was eventually drawn up, it turned out she’d been sitting on a small fortune. Her estate was worth £40,000 – a king’s ransom back then. As her eldest daughter, Aunt Nellie had tried to contest the will but with little success. Instead, Edith got the lot, which came as no surprise, least of all to Mam and Dad.
‘I knew it!’ Dad raged. ‘I just ’opes she bluddy well chokes on it!’
But times were changing. The mines were nationalised the following year, in January 1947, and pit baths were installed. It meant the miners no longer needed to go home still wearing their pit muck. With nationalisation came pit canteens, which were introduced into each colliery. Canteens meant the men could now buy tea, bacon butties and even Woodbine cigarettes onsite. Wily old Aunt Edith had realised her shop days were numbered, so she put the property up for sale. She had the foresight to see that the little gold mine she’d built up over the years was about to dry up. Her books proved the business was healthy and a sound investment, so it had sold very quickly. However, with her old profits now going straight into the tills of the pit canteens, the business soon failed for its new owners. But Edith had long gone. With a pile of money in the bank, she bought herself a house in a smart and upcoming area of Pontefract. I just found it incredibly sad that Granny Wilson had died without ever really getting to know any of her other grandchildren.
CHAPTER 3
HUMPTY DUMPTY AND HIGH KICKS
One day, towards the end of my final year at school, my friend Sheila and I went into the school cloakroom to change for our PE lesson. We took off our gymslips so that we could exercise in our regulation brown gym knickers and cream, square-neck blouses. Being a little older, and supposedly wiser, we’d decided at the last minute to get changed in the sixth-form changing room – a place where we’d be at the start of the following term. The sixth-form changing room was for the sole use of the older girls and strictly out of bounds but we didn’t let that stop us. The door was only half-shut when we heard the sound of footsteps outside in the corridor. Fearing someone was about to come in, we slammed the door closed. As we did so, there was a God-almighty scream.
‘You fools!’ a furious voice bellowed.
I prised it open so we could see what we’d done or, more precisely, who we’d hit. We were greeted by the head girl of the school, who was standing there fizzing with anger. She was holding a pair of spectacles in her hand, but the frame was all mangled and the two glass lenses completely smashed.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ she cried, pointing down at them.
‘S-s-s-sorry,’ we stammered in unison.
But our apology fell upon deaf ears.
‘Well, you can pay for these to be repaired, that’s for sure!’ she snapped, before turning sharply on her heels and marching off down the corridor.
Spectacles were a very expensive item at that time, so Sheila and I were terrified about what our mothers would say when they found out. I knew Mam would be fuming but I was more concerned I’d have to forfeit my dance classes to pay for the repair. Sheila’s parents weren’t wealthy either, so she was in exactly the same boat as me.
‘Pat, what on earth are we going to do?’ she gasped as we sat there fretting.
We’d wandered back into our usual changing room. Moments later, our classmates began to filter in through the door.
‘Whatever’s the matter with you two?’ a friend asked, plonking herself down on the wooden bench next to us.
Sheila and I told the class what we’d done.
‘I thought she was going to flip her wig!’ Sheila remarked as we recounted the whole sorry tale.
‘No!’ one girl gasped dramatically. ‘You’re going to be in so much hot water!’
I shook my head because I knew she was right. Just then, another friend stepped forward. She had a brilliant idea. More importantly, it was one that would help solve our problem.
‘We should hold an auction,’ she suggested. ‘Sell off things that no one wants or needs anymore. I bet we’d raise lots of money – enough to pay for the head girl’s spectacles anyway. What do you both think?’
Sheila and I looked at one another.
‘What a fabulous idea! It’s absolutely foolproof. What could go wrong?’ I squealed with excitement.
Everyone in the class agreed that it was a fantastic idea, one that would reward us with pennies from heaven. All the pupils would bring in knick-knacks and ornaments from home and we’d sell them off to the highest bidder. All monies raised would pay for the unexpected spectacle repair. It was decided the proceedings would be run under the watchful eye of the class prefect, with me acting as auctioneer. Days later, we held our first sale. To my delight, it was a thrilling success. I couldn’t believe quite how much money we’d managed to raise from other people’s junk. Once I’d counted it all up, I placed the pennies inside a bag and hid it up inside the chimney breast at the front of the room. Our auctions continued for the best part of the week, until one morning the door flew open and in walked the head girl. The whole room hushed as she stood before us.
‘I know what you’ve been doing in here,’ she said, gesturing with her hand around the room, ‘but don’t worry because my spectacles have already been repaired and paid for.’
Sheila and I looked over at her. There they were – her spectacles, perfectly repaired and perched upon the end of her pretty little nose.
My heart rose. This was the best day of my life! We had a small fortune stashed up the chimney, but now we could go and spend it down the sweet shop! But the smile was soon wiped from my face by the head girl, who informed us she already had plans for the money.
‘Come on then,’ she said, beckoning to me with her open palm. ‘Hand it over.’
‘Hand what over?’ I replied, feignin
g ignorance.
‘The money. I know you’ve raised quite a bit, so you need to hand it over to me now.’
I looked over at Sheila – and she at me – as the rest of the class looked on. We knew we’d been rumbled. Without thinking, I glanced over towards the fireplace, which was directly behind her, and she followed my gaze.
‘Ah, is that where you’ve hidden it? Good! Now, go on then, go and fetch it.’
I reluctantly wandered over and knelt down on the hearth. I pushed a hand high up inside the chimney breast and rummaged for the bag of cash. As I pulled it out, I loosened some soot, which dusted both me and the hearth.
‘But your spectacles have been fixed, so what will you use the money for?’ I asked, sweeping the soot off my lap.
‘School funds,’ she announced, taking the bag from my hand. ‘That way, everyone will benefit from your fundraising.’
My heart sank and not for the first time. I’d just handed over a small fortune. To make matters worse, I knew it would be used to pay for things in school – a place I planned to leave as soon as I could.
In spite of my desire to leave, I continued to work hard and soon I’d come to the attention of the headmistress, who was called Miss MacDermott – or Dour Scot Mac, for short. Due to my diligence, I’d been earmarked for a career in teaching. Of course, Mam was delighted when she was called to a subsequent meeting in the headmistress’s office. She’d sat there proudly as the headmistress informed her I’d make a perfect candidate for Lady Mabel College of Physical Education – a teaching school in Harrogate.
‘Garls such as Patricia make perfect teachers,’ she said, her crystal-cut voice slicing through the air like a knife.
My mother beamed with pride. I think she was relieved her efforts hadn’t been in vain.
But the headmistress hadn’t finished with me: ‘Garls such as Patricia are destined for greater things in life,’ she declared. ‘Indeed, she will make a fine young lady and a fine young teacher.’
