by Alex Brown
‘Actually, you know … I’m not sure we have enough time to stay for the whole session, Sybs. I promised Cooper I’d get back to help with a big order for the Blackwood Farm Estate.’ She grinned apologetically before giving April a surreptitious look. April returned the look with a grateful, but pensive smile.
‘Ahh, so it’s all Marigold’s fault!’ Sybs winked, and an older woman sitting in an armchair looked up from her knitting.
‘What have I done now?’ she frowned and did a very hearty laugh.
‘Nothing. Only teasing,’ Sybs said, and Marigold went back to her knitting while Molly quickly explained to April that Marigold and her husband owned the Blackwood Farm Estate.
‘Ahh, I see,’ April replied, feeling a little foolish now that Molly had covered for her, not to mention a bit mean as Molly was going to miss her knit and natter session now, and Marigold had inadvertently got the blame. Oh dear! Maybe it would be all right to try knitting again after all. If she made a concerted effort to put positive thoughts inside her head, fresh new ones with the group of women here in Hettie’s House of Haberdashery and not get maudlin remembering the association that knitting used to hold with Gray … April looked around at all the different beautiful yarns and thought it was a shame to not at least buy a new pattern and some needles and wool … seeing as she was here. Then, she could see how she felt later, in the safety of her bedroom, Winnie’s old room – which reminded her. ‘I was really hoping to have a chat to Hettie please, if she’s around?’ April looked around the shop, but most of the women sitting on the various sofas and chairs were far too young to be Hettie.
‘Yes, April was wondering if Hettie knows anything about her great aunt, a woman called Winnie Lovell, from years back,’ Molly explained further, while April picked up a lovely chunky yarn in a gorgeous fuchsia colour.
‘Oh yes dear, Edie’s sister.’ It was Marigold.
‘That’s right.’ April put the yarn down and walked over to Marigold. ‘Edith is my other great aunt … I’m staying with her and hoping to find out what happened to her sister, Winifred, who left Tindledale in 1941.’
‘And you look just like her!’ another voice called out. April turned around and saw a small old lady wearing a hand-knitted cardy over a navy serge dress with thick tan tights, fur-lined felt booties, and long silvery-white hair pinned up into a big Aunt Bessie bun come padding towards her.
‘April, this is Hettie,’ Molly said.
‘Hello.’ April smiled. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, my dear. The resemblance is remarkable.’ Hettie took a small step backwards to get a better look at April. ‘I was in the snug next door when I saw you through the window walking down the path to the shop, and for a moment it was like stepping back in time. I really thought you were Winnie,’ Hettie chuckled.
‘Ooh, well that might explain then why your aunt keeps getting in a muddle and calling you Winnie,’ Molly said to April.
‘You do look so very much like her,’ Hettie said, studying April some more. ‘What do you think, Marigold? Could have been Winnie coming down the path, couldn’t it, to see what lotions and potions we had to swap? Just like the old days. Do you remember, Marigold? We used to have such a hoot going through the haul from your aunt, keen to see what treats we could change it for.’
‘Yes! That’s right. Such fun, we use to swap all kinds of things in those days,’ Marigold told the group. ‘It was at the start of the war and my aunt worked on a make-up counter in a department store – she used to get hold of lipsticks, testers mostly, but still, she gave them to me, and then Hettie and I used to trade them in for treats from the older girls in the village.’
‘Wow!’ April beamed, thrilled to have found some people who actually knew Winnie, her mysterious relative. ‘I’m intrigued to know more …’
‘Why don’t we pop next door to the snug? I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and we can have a natter. I’d like that. Come on, Marigold, you can fill in the blanks,’ Hettie instructed, and Marigold wasted no time in dumping her hole-strewn knitting on a nearby table, before practically leaping up to join them. ‘My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I’m bound to remember some of the shenanigans that we got up to. Marigold has more of her marbles left than me.’
‘But knitting isn’t my forte!’ Marigold explained. ‘I only come for the gossip.’
‘And the custard creams,’ another woman laughed, and Marigold nodded and promptly helped herself to another biscuit before popping half of it into her mouth.
‘Well, I have to get in quick before you polish them all off,’ Marigold quipped, in between bites and they all laughed some more, including April who now felt very relaxed indeed. She loved it in here, the haberdashery shop had such a warm, cosy and relaxed atmosphere and everyone seemed so fun and friendly. It was like being in a bubble. And a very similar atmosphere to Kitty’s tea room, where nothing bad happened, or so it seemed, which suddenly gave April an idea. She turned to Sybs.
‘Do you have knitting groups in the evening by any chance? Or weekends?’
‘Ooh, yes. Several in fact. The earliest one starts at seven p.m.… to give the younger ones time to have tea and do their homework and stuff.’
‘Younger ones?’ April’s interest was piqued further.
‘That’s right. Taylor, from the Pet Parlour up in the High Street, runs that group on a Friday evening. Why? Do you have a teenage daughter or son who might want to come along? We have a couple of boys too – they particularly love the yarnbombing. I guess it’s sort of like graffiti, but nobody minds because it looks so amazing. You might have seen the bench in the village square …’ Sybs smiled.
‘Ahh, yes, I did. And it was magnificent. And thank you, I know a young girl who might just love coming here to knit, and hopefully make some new friends,’ April said, thinking of Bella.
‘Then we’d be pleased to welcome her. I’ll let Taylor know … I’m sure she’d be delighted to have a newcomer join her knit and natter group. Although, I think they call it something far more “street”.’ Sybs shook her head with an amused look on her face.
‘Knit, bitch and bomb!’ Molly interjected, before tutting. ‘One of my boys is involved. He’s not so keen on the knitting, but comes along for the social element as there isn’t very much to do in Tindledale of an evening unless you’re into amateur dramatics – Lawrence who runs the B&B does a group in the village hall.’ Molly looked at April, who nodded. ‘But my boy loves the covert bit – you know, putting the knitting in situ then legging it before Mrs Pocket or someone else from the parish council spots him and gives him an earful.’
‘Hmm, she’s not a fan.’ Marigold shook her head.
‘And thinks she’s the custodian of Tindledale that one. Always has!’ Hettie sniffed disapprovingly.
‘Oh dear,’ April said, remembering the parking space mix-up, reckoning Mrs Pocket was most likely an acquired taste, as it were. ‘But I’ll be sure to let my friend know about the sessions, thank you.’ Bella might enjoy knitting with a group and maybe making some new friends. The tricky bit would be persuading her, but April felt up to the challenge. If she could help in some way then it had to be worth a go.
‘We better get on if you need to go soon, Molly.’ Hettie chivvied Marigold, Molly and April through a door and into her snug, a glorious round room with three windows overlooking the fields to the side and back and the shop at the front.
As soon as they were all ensconced on the sagging but extra-comfy sofa and armchairs with a freshly brewed pot of tea on a tray and a selection of homemade cakes, Hettie began.
‘Now, the Winnie I remember was such a lovely girl. Very kind too – do you remember when her best friend died, Marigold? TB it was, terrible business, she was only a youngster – they closed the village school for the day – and then her poor mother got it and died not long after. So sad it was, as there was only the two of them, the father had already died a few years before the
m. Imagine that, a family gone, just like that!’ Hettie shook her head. ‘Ahh, what was her name now?’
‘Oooh, yes shocking it was. Pauline! That was the girl’s name. And Winnie took wild flowers to her grave every day for weeks.’ Marigold took a sip of tea and April smiled politely.
‘Yes, Winnie was older than me, but back then in the thirties, she looked just like you, as you know, but much more groomed. She took care of herself. Always turned out nicely she was. Us younger girls were a little in awe of her,’ Hettie said, staring into the middle distance as if recalling an image of Winnie from years ago. April glanced at Molly, who gave her a look as if to say, ‘You look just fine, Hettie doesn’t mean anything by it.’
Marigold leant forward. ‘That’s why she liked to swap things.’
‘Yes, make-up was a luxury, hard to get hold of in those days,’ Hettie took over. ‘We didn’t have the money for starters … so when Marigold’s aunt got a job on the Yardley counter in Bartram Brothers – that’s the department store in Market Briar—’
‘It’s closed down now,’ Marigold clarified.
‘Yes thank you, Marigold, I was just about to tell her.’ Hettie gave Marigold a sideways glance.
‘Jolly good, then I’ve saved you the bother,’ Marigold quipped.
‘Thank you. But I’m telling the story …’ Hettie retorted, while Molly and April exchanged discreet looks, both amused at the two dear friends bickering like an old married couple. Just like Darby and Joan, as Harvey would relish saying, which made April smile to herself as she took a sip of tea, carefully balancing the bone-china cup on the saucer. He’s certainly growing on me. Maybe I will go on a date with him after all … he makes me laugh, and surely that’s a good thing. Perhaps I should run it by Nancy first … see if she’d mind.
‘Then why don’t you get on with it …’ Marigold muttered into her enormous slice of Victoria sponge cake after breaking off a piece and pushing it into her mouth.
‘She left Tindledale during the war, but didn’t come home … my aunt Edie mentioned something to do with a married man?’ prompted April, keen to move the conversation on, if only to stop the two elderly ladies from falling out.
‘That’s right, my dear. But …’ Hettie paused and put down her tea cup and leant forward. After lowering her voice to barely a whisper, she added, ‘I never believed all that tittle-tattle, the gossip, you know. Married man! Baby out of wedlock! Oh no.’ Hettie shook her head vehemently, her big Aunt Bessie bun bobbing about. ‘Winnie wasn’t like that.’
‘Oh?’ Molly said, making big eyes. ‘What was she like then?’
‘She was as straight as a die, an honourable lady and most definitely not in the least bit flighty,’ Hettie stated. ‘She was honest. A good girl. And an excellent knitter – she taught me the cable stitch!’ They all nodded, very impressed. ‘No, Winnie would never do such a thing. Yes, she liked to look nice, but it wasn’t for a man. It was for herself! You know, to feel tidy and confident. She was a very progressive woman for the times. A feminist, they would say nowadays. She told me once that women could do whatever the men could. I laughed of course, because in those days I for one wasn’t really interested in doing the stuff that men did. Winnie was strong. Plucky. And she spoke her mind. Utterly fearless too.’
‘Yes, do you remember that time in the fields, Hettie?’ Marigold said. ‘When Billy Arkwright tried to look up your dress and she walloped him one before marching him home to his mother who gave him another thick ear?’
‘Yes. Indeed I do. Winnie was rather magnificent.’ Hettie blushed, and then turned to April and Molly. ‘He didn’t see anything, mind you,’ she confirmed, just in case they were in any doubt as to whether Billy Arkwright had caught a glimpse of her knickers all those years ago, which really wouldn’t do. And then Hettie swiftly drained the last of her tea. And it made April smile inwardly – times really were so different back then – no wonder some people in the village had gossiped about poor Winnie. From what Hettie and Marigold said, it seemed she was a confident, courageous character, outspoken too, and that might not have been a welcome disposition for a woman in those days. But this made April even more determined to find out the truth about her great aunt Winnie. She owed it to her, and Edie too. ‘It was soon after then when Winnie swapped the book. Do you remember that too, Hettie?’ Marigold continued.
‘Book?’ Hettie’s age-wrinkled forehead creased as if her brain was flipping through a Rolodex, spanning years and years of various memories gone by. April and Molly both waited on tenterhooks until, eventually, Hettie seemed to remember something.
‘There were sweets involved I think …’ She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, as if hypnotised.
‘A stick of liquorice! That’s right – I wanted it,’ Marigold bellowed, startling Hettie who promptly flicked open her eyes. ‘But you were more interested in the book, Hettie, you must remember that, you had your nose in it for weeks.’ She glanced at her friend, before addressing April. ‘It was shortly before Winnie left. She swapped the book and the liquorice for some make-up. Lipstick testers – my aunt used to get hold of them – and a cake mascara, if I’m not mistaken … Dorothy Gray, from America it was. You don’t see it these days, which is a pity as that stuff stayed on for ever.’ Marigold shook her head in amazement.
‘You know, I think I do remember!’ Hettie pointed a bony finger in the air. ‘I was delighted with that book. And Winnie had even underlined her favourite sentences for me. And that’s why I know she would never do such a thing as run off with a married man and have his baby.’ Hettie looked outraged. ‘She was a sensible girl, honourable, and that’s why she volunteered for the FANY.’
‘Ahh, you know about that?’ April asked, hopefully.
‘Yes, it was a long time ago, and I was just a young girl, but I’m sure she had a uniform made especially. Do you remember, Marigold? It was a lovely moss-green colour and very well tailored. The skirt sat perfectly just below her knee.’
‘I think so,’ Marigold said. ‘There were so many uniforms around in those days. But I do recall wondering if she might have been better off wearing those brown corduroy breeches that she had in the Land Army.’
‘Why was that?’ Molly swiftly asked.
‘Because I’m sure Winnie was going into the field … to see some action, oh yes, it’s coming back to me now.’ Marigold paused to ponder, holding two fingers to her temples as they all held their breath and waited. ‘Ambulances! She went off to a special training place to learn all about working the ambulances to help save the soldiers. She told me. And I remember feeling ever so impressed.’
‘Yes, Winnie was a very magnificent girl, dear, so I can’t imagine she’d have run off with another woman’s husband. Oh no!’ Hettie sucked in air to make a little whistling sound. ‘But she did have a gentleman friend, I seem to remember. Very handsome he was in his uniform – a bit older than her he was, perhaps that’s why they thought he was married. And some folk around here do like to make up the rest of the story when they don’t know the ins and outs of other people’s personal business, but still … I don’t think so.’ She shook her head. ‘Not our Winnie.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ April asked, inwardly hoping the gossip about Winnie from all those years back was futile and that she could clear her great aunt’s name, once and for all. But more importantly … find out what really happened and set poor Edie’s mind at rest before it was too late.
‘Because the book was about manners, etiquette, the proper way to conduct one’s self. What was it called, Marigold?’
‘Oh, you’ve got me there. I can’t remember … something like The Correct Way a Lady Should Behave. Old fashioned now, but back then, as young impressionable girls, we devoured it, didn’t we Hettie?’
‘Hmm, I did. You were too busy mooning over Lucan … but it did you no harm, I suppose, seeing as you married him in the end, much to your mother’s delight.’ Hettie smiled sweetly at her friend.
&nb
sp; ‘Ha! And the old earl’s chagrin,’ puffed Marigold. ‘He never did get over Lucan marrying me, a mere village girl.’
‘Her husband is Lord Lucan Fuller-Hamilton,’ Molly whispered to April while Hettie and Marigold reminisced for a few minutes. ‘Marigold is actually a proper bona fide Lady.’
‘Ooh,’ April made big eyes.
‘My father was a cow herder, you know!’ Marigold then said to the group, tilting her chin towards the shard of sunshine spilling in through the window, overlooking fields dotted with buttercups and muddy-bottomed sheep. And Hettie sighed.
‘I’m sure I still have the book somewhere. Shall I go and have a look?’
‘Well, that would be marvellous, if it’s not too much trouble,’ April said as Hettie went to lift her frail body from the easy chair. ‘Would you like some help?’
‘Yes please dear. I’m not as sprightly as I once was …’
April’s spirit rose as she helped Hettie out of the chair. It wasn’t much. But it was something. A book. Another piece of Winnie, something tangible that had belonged to her. And even though April hadn’t managed to find out yet what had really become of her great aunt Winnie, she instinctively felt a little closer to her. And there was always the general. He may still come up with something. When Deedee had come to collect Edie for this week’s tea dance, she had told April that he was still on the case of the missing Winnie, and was determined to get to the bottom of it. He was taking it all very seriously, to the point of putting in a call to a pal of his in the house – the House of Lords, Deedee had then clarified, while making very big impressed eyes. It really was as if Winnie had vanished. ‘Or run off with a GI. That’s what I would have done. A gorgeous American. Fancy that!’ Deedee had then added with a faraway look in her eye this time. But, surmising aside, April felt that she would really like to be the one to find a clue, a lead or whatever that would solve the mystery. And she was still pondering on that letter with the London postmark … it didn’t make sense, there must be something more to know. And nothing had come of Winnie’s photo that April had posted on Facebook, so that was a dead end.
