by Annie Groves
‘No, I do cheese and spinach pie then,’ Ana smiled.
‘Cheese is rationed. And it’s not the season for spinach,’ Lily replied, trying to veer her away from big ideas. It would be impossible to find an olive in Grimbleton. ‘The only thing in the pantry I can think of is a tin of anchovy fillets in oil but you won’t be wanting that, will you?’
Ana snatched the idea with glee. ‘We fry potatoes and boil eggs. It is perfect meze.’
Lily hadn’t the heart to mention that fresh eggs took some negotiating. There was also the pudding problem. Her mouth was watering from all the tempting desserts that rolled off Ana’s tongue: honeyed pasties with walnuts and sweet raisins, fruits poached in wine. All there might be on Billy’s allotment were precious sticks of forced pink rhubarb, grown in his secret way especially for Christmas. It would take the promise of a knitted jumper to get some of those off him.
‘We’ve got plenty of bottled fruit in the larder and Bird’s custard to go with it.’
‘But that is not feast food, that is Wednesday food. I will make yoghurt. I know how from pan of warm milk and flask. You watch. It is delicious with honey…’
Where on earth would she get honey? ‘We’ve got some golden syrup.’
‘No. Honey from hills in Grimtown!’
‘You mean Grimbleton-oh, I don’t know, love.’
‘Yes, Grimtown. We will find it for our feast. You will help?’
I will help, though Lord knows how, Lily smiled to herself. Planning this feast was a mad idea and taking so much time. But it was yet another distraction from her thoughts about Walter-not that she had much time to spare him a minute. The poor lad had slipped down the pecking order of her ‘must dos’. Days would go by with only a cheery wave across the Market Hall for contact. She was so pushed for time, he never volunteered to help her out and she was too proud to ask. It wasn’t right but if she could just get Christmas over with then she’d make up for her neglect. Now they were late from their tea break.
‘What time of night do you call this? I don’t pay you to go sightseeing.’ Levi puffed out his chest in indignation, then ordered them to dust all the stock down. Within minutes he was off meandering round the market himself, doing deals and coming back with booty for Ivy and Neville’s Christmas stockings.
On the Friday morning before the dinner party there was still no honey, but Ana’s yoghurt, after two disasters, had set perfectly. Lily now needed to make a trip up to the Jubilee Allotment to see Billy Eckersley and collect the rabbits.
The doorbell rang and there was Pete Walsh, grinning, and Lily in her curlers looking like a rat bag.
‘I brought you these,’ he smiled, ‘for you and your mother.’
In his hand was a pair of precious tickets for the Cup tie against Everton. People had been queuing for hours to get these. Lily felt herself blushing.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she smiled, wishing her face was washed and her turban wasn’t full of curlers. ‘Mother’s been under the weather. I’m not sure she’ll be able to brave the chill. I would love to go only—’
Levi sprang down the stairs, two at a time. ‘Now then, mate, did I hear the mention of tickets? You should be on that pitch training, not chatting up my little sister on the doorstep. Where’s your manners, Lil? Fetch us a cup of tea for the lad.’ He snatched the envelope from her hand without a by-your-leave.
‘They’re for Mother, not you,’ she snapped back.
‘She’s in bed with a cold. It’s your turn on the stall then. Walt can have the spare. Thanks, Pete. I owe you one,’ he winked.
Lily was so furious she could hardly speak.
‘Peter gave them to me, thank you very much.’ She snatched them back. ‘You made sure you got yourself a ticket ages ago.’
‘Quite a spitfire, when she’s riled up,’ Levi replied as he climbed the stairs in a huff. Pete stood there saying nothing.
‘I’d ask you in only we’ve got a flap on,’ Lily lied. ‘Susan and Ana are cooking us dinner tomorrow so we’re having a rehearsal: they’re temperamental cooks, I’m afraid, and I’m the referee.’
‘You’ll make the game, though? It’ll be a cracker.’
‘I’ll try,’ she offered, knowing there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of her being let off duty. ‘It’s so kind of you to think of us.’
‘It’s just that I know what a strain you’ve all been under lately. A seat at a Cup tie match sort of passes the time, takes your mind off things. Your mother said…’ he stuttered.
‘Mother said what?’ Lily looked at him, his cheeks were bright pink as he leaned forward, smelling of Lifebuoy and Brylcreem. ‘You see, Freddie did write to me about Susan. I know it’s all a bit awkward for you.’
She was looking up into his grey-green eyes dotted with amber flecks like tweed. ‘I see,’ she snapped. ‘You can say that again. She’d no right to go blabbing our private business.’
‘No, it wasn’t like that.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t, but just right now I’d better see to the girls. There’s a lot to do. I’ll make sure Mother gets her tickets. Thank you for your concern but we’re coping as well as can be expected.’ Lily ushered him quickly back into the vestibule and out on to the street. How dare he come in here with his charity when all he was doing was fishing for information? Who did he think he was?
She was all flustered. Pete must know that Susan and Joy were Freddie’s girls, not anything to do with the imaginary cousin down south. What if he let slip? She raced up the stairs to Esme’s bedroom and banged open the door, throwing the tickets on the bed. Mother had her head under a towel, bent into a steaming bowl of friar’s balsam, feeling sorry for herself.
‘What’s all this about Pete Walsh knowing our business?’
‘Don’t fuss, Lil. I said nothing he didn’t already know.’
‘I thought we had to keep it in the family as usual.’
‘That young man is as sound as a pound. He won’t tell anyone.’
‘He’d better not or he’ll have me to answer to for offering us Cup tie tickets to salve his conscience…’
Suddenly the towel was off Esme’s head. ‘That’s very generous of him. Happen I ought to make the effort and oblige,’ she replied. ‘The air will do me good.’
‘Levi wants them,’ Lily snapped. ‘You’ll have to join the queue.’
‘Give them here. Levi can find other tickets to tout round his cronies. These are ours’
Lily suddenly felt like Cinderella, banned from the ball with the sweeping brush at the hearth. ‘You’re not having mine. I’ll decide who uses this,’ she whined, feeling peevish and silly. How rude she’d been to Pete, and for no reason, how prickly, and him only trying to be kind. She hadn’t even wished him good luck.
Then she heard a rumpus in the kitchen and made for the stairs.
Ivy was busy preparing lunch before her shopping trip to town and refused to yield an inch of space at the sink for the preparations.
The yoghurt bowl was across the table next to a bottle of Neville’s Welfare orange juice. They were going to sweeten it with a little juice; the nearest they had got to an orange for months. Lily hoped by adding it to the yoghurt it would soften the bitter taste, strange to her palate.
Ana was just tipping in the juice when Ivy caught her in the act, screaming, ‘What are you doing, stealing Neville’s juice? How dare you steal a baby’s rations? Pour it back…’ Ivy snatched up the bottle as if it was the best sherry.
‘It’s actually Dina’s bottle, not Neville’s, so keep your hair on!’ Lily yelled from the door, but no apology was forthcoming.
‘We can’t leave you alone five minutes before you ruin perfectly good food. Look at this curdled milk. It’s gone sour with all your meddling. If you think we’re going to sit down and eat your messes, you’ve another think coming,’ she shouted so the whole house could hear. ‘My child is not touching your foreign muck with all that grease in it. We are going to the King’s to see the
Repertory Company tomorrow. Mother will be in bed and Lily and Walt will stay at his mother’s and listen to Saturday Playhouse if they’ve any sense.’
Ana looked crestfallen.
Ivy was in full flight of indignation. ‘You’re not welcome, you know; you and your crony, creeping around Mother. I know what you’re after…getting your slippers under the table, but it doesn’t wash with me. If you think Esme Winstanley will leave you or your bastards a penny ha’penny…You don’t fool me with your greasy stews and fancy dishes,’ she hissed like a poisonous snake.
‘Please, I no understand, Lily. I have no slippers under table. You will not eat my dinner?’ Ana appealed to Lily, but Ivy was halfway out of the door.
Lily flushed with shame in that cold kitchen with the green and white tiled walls. Their grey Jackson gas cooker stood foursquare as the milk pan began to boil over and the pot of vegetables hissed on the flame.
‘Ivy, you’ve said enough. All the more for us if you don’t turn up. You’re that sour you’d turn the milk,’ Lily snapped back
Tears were pouring down Ana’s cheeks when Su came in with the two girls.
‘No one is coming to the feast,’ Ana howled. ‘We have big meal for you, me and Maria. No one will eat our food,’ she sobbed, as Susan sat her down at the kitchen table to calm her.
‘Don’t worry. I have found a bottle of wine and paper lanterns for the decorations. Don’t ask me how. Shall we open it now and drink all of it? Then we will not care who comes,’ Su laughed. ‘We will not worry about the dinner pot. It will be a jolly good show! If the dragon mother and snake man and wife do not come to eat then we will do as in the Bible and find good people to share the table. That is right, Miss Lily? We will ask Maria. She will know plenty of hungry people. We will feast and we will sing. We will talk of old times and show those silly buggers how to have good time. It will be a beautiful stifado. The dinner smells good. I will set a table fit for the King with folded lily napkins,’ she said with a look of mischief in her eyes.
‘Wipe those tears, Ana. Don’t let Poison Ivy see she’s upset you.’ Did I just say that out loud? Lily thought. Poison Ivy-it just about summed up her sister-in-law.
Nothing and no one must spoil their feast but all the fun of the preparation was slipping away fast. They would not disappoint Maria. No way. Whatever happened, the show must go on and Lily was determined as never before that that would be the case.
* * *
They wrapped up Dina against the cold wind and put galoshes on their feet, making for the top of the road and Green Lane. Lily promised them a walk to show the child Billy’s fields where the rabbit hutches were.
Ana was still smarting from Ivy’s insult and the injustice of being accused of stealing. Everything was going wrong and now there were no guests for Maria. What was wrong with this English family, not to gather round the table and talk, laugh, drink and feast until they were sleepy? Why must their girls always be tucked up in bed out of the way? How she wished she had not asked Maria for tea.
There had been a thaw, the snow was melting and she could just see the earth peeping up from the dark ground. There was mist swirling through the trees and a smell of bonfire in the air. It was good to be out of the stuffy kitchen away from Ivy’s withering looks.
Lily opened the gate into the field where there were strips of ground, little huts and old men bent over the ground, ferreting for vegetables, men in thick trousers and caps, with moustaches just like the old men of home. There were beans withering on canes, patches of fruit bushes and the smell of rotting leaves. It smelled like home.
‘What is this place?’ Ana asked.
‘This is the allotment where people with no garden can grow their own food, keep chickens and ducks, feed up a pig.’
‘You have one of these?’
‘We did when Dad was alive, but now there’s no time. We buy our stuff where we can,’ Lily replied, scanning the field, looking for Billy. ‘There he is, over in the far corner. Come on.’
‘Don’t worry, I got them hung for you,’ Billy smiled, walking towards them. ‘And who’s this then?’ The man, who had a scar slashed across his face, smiled at the baby and stared at Ana with interest.
‘This is Ana from Greece. She’s Freddie’s…’ Lily always gulped when she told a lie.
‘Aye, the lass from Crete, I’ve heard. We were that sorry about young Fred, but let me shake your hand.’ He grasped her hand tightly, shaking both her and the hand. ‘If it weren’t for you lot my Kenneth would be dead and buried years ago. He were in the Battle for Crete, a gunner. He were marched over them mountains down to the beach, three weeks in that heat, but they got him out to fight again. Brave men in the mountains kept him alive. I won’t have a word said against them. You are very welcome.’
She was taken by surprise at the warmth of his embrace.
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
The rabbits looked skinny and she was glad there were two of them for the pot. She looked round the hut with interest. There was a battered leather chair, a little stove and kettle, the smell of pipe smoke and compost.
‘Did you force some rhubarb?’ Lily asked.
‘Sorry, love, too early. Try me again after Christmas. I got you some fresh eggs.’
‘Where is your ground?’ Ana asked Lily.
‘Just over there,’ she replied, pointing into the far corner of the field. ‘But someone else is using it now.’
‘And a right pig’s ear he’s making of it. The committee is all for giving him his notice.’
‘I can work the land. I can grow my tomatoes, garlic, herbs here,’ Ana smiled, seeing it all in her mind’s eye.
‘Oh, no, lass, no ladies here. This is men’s turf.’
‘Why?’
‘We come here to get away from the missus. It would only upset things,’ said Billy, looking puzzled at her suggestion.
‘In Crete women work in the fields and men go the kafenío to play games and chat.’
‘This is Grimbleton, we do things our way but I dare say there’s merit in your suggestion,’ he winked.
Lily looked at them both and then ferreted into her handbag. ‘I have something here that might change your mind,’ she whispered. Billy looked at the precious tickets. ‘Now that is what I call temptation, lass. But it’s not up to me to decide. There has to be a committee meeting first. Get thee behind me, Satan!’
Lily put the tickets back and smiled at him. ‘Pity. You’ve got an interesting hut.’
‘That’s my little palace, the lion’s den. This is where I can close the door on the world, have a game of cards and a brew, champion.’
‘What’s a brew?’ Ana asked.
‘I’ll show you a brew to put hairs on your chest. Come inside and mind the babby on them sharp slate edges.’
They sat sipping something out of a brown bottle that was thick and tasty, and made Ana’s legs wobble when she stood up. Lily was feeling at peace with the world. Putting her hand on the shelf to steady herself, Ana felt a dusty jam jar with a sticky web around it. It was golden.
‘Honey! You have honey! Look Lily, honey from the bees. How much?’
‘Take it, lass. I can’t stand the stuff. This owd geyser keeps giving me jars.’
‘I buy it from you,’ she offered.
‘No, you won’t. It’s a gift from one grateful dad to a Greek, for services rendered to his son. I’ll be telling him all about you.’
His eyes were twinkling. ‘But if the Winstanley lassie here were to swop yon jar for one of them tickets, I won’t say no!’
11
Susan to the Rescue
Su climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. They’d still no guests for the feast. Miss Lily wore such a worried face. Ana was skinning the fur off the rabbits in the kitchen. Too much cooking and not enough people didn’t make a good party. It was a pity.
She kneeled by her little shrine; a bedside table filled with photos, pressed flowers and pretty berries she’d collect
ed from the park. What would Auntie Betty think? Was her kindly spirit watching over her with a favourable smile? She was trying to do her best to be a good Christian woman, but at times like this perhaps it was better to place offerings of rice and petals to the shrine of the holy Buddha to watch over proceedings too. This was her first dinner party and it must be a success.
Now she had a proper job, thanks to a kind lady at church, Diana, daughter of Dr Unsworth in Green Lane. It was right to keep tradition and go to the biggest church with a high ceiling and dusty banners suspended way above her head. It was lonely at first, sitting in the back row. People stared at her, even in the House of the Lord. Sometimes Joy wriggled and made a noise, and they scurried out into the porch so as not to be a nuisance.
On her second visit it was raining hard and it was a wet walk home, but Diana stopped her car. ‘You must be one of the Winstanley girls,’ she yelled. ‘Collapse the go-chair and hop in. You must be soaked.’
She spoke just like the Chindhe ladies who’d run the Burma canteen, very pukka, but nothing was too much trouble for them in the jungle.
‘My cousin was in Burma. He said it was a beautiful country. I never got that far,’ Diana added. ‘Pity, I think they could have done with a few more Fanys out there. Must be terribly strange for you here.’
Miss Diana Unsworth wore a military-style felt hat and a thick tweed jacket with a cravat in her shirt collar. She had a warm smile and English-rose complexion. Su told her the well-rehearsed story of how she’d landed to some terrible news about Cedric and how the Winstanleys had taken her in. Diana nodded and sighed, and said she would make sure she got a lift each Sunday but they’d have to go early as it was church parade. Su smiled as she told her about the military parades in the church in Rangoon and how she had been a teacher there.
It was Diana who suggested she went to the Education Office with her certificate and try for a post. Now Su could escape to Moorlands School each day, out on the bus up into the high moors above the town, where she could look down over the forest of smoking chimneys in the valley and breathe fresh air, away from the blanket of belching smoke that settled above the mills and factories. No wonder everyone coughed and sneezed.
