by Annie Groves
She loved to sit upstairs on the bus, climbing high past the grander avenues and roads; Victoria Drive and Albert Circus, Regent Rise where the mill owners lived in old houses hidden behind tall trees. She counted roof tops and chimneypots, especially the tall, sculptured, layered-up ones with golden crowns on top, like pagodas. The richer the house, the more chimneys with crowns on, she thought.
One day, she mused, Joy will live in a grand house like that and she would drive through the iron gates in a big saloon car and Auntie Betty would be glad she had sold her bangles to give her niece the chance to be a true English girl.
Moorlands was a special school and not the sort of teaching she had hoped for. But she must try to help simple minds, poor children cast out from their families to live out on the hillside in this stone school. There were children of all ages in there, handicapped toddlers, some lying in cots or sitting in wheelchairs, others sitting like dummies, motionless, with wandering eyes and flickering hands fanning their faces, rocking back and forth. Moorlands was not a happy place.
She was nervous for Joy in their infant nursery, but the little girl paddled around oblivious to the handicapped children, playing with the few toys while the others rattled their cots and shouted. Not the best of jobs but she was doing her best, for she felt so sorry for the abandoned ones.
The staff tried to make the place cheerful with posters and bright colours, stencils of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse on the walls, but the corridors were dark and they smelled of Lysol mops and soiled nappies. The ceilings were high so it was always chilly.
On dry crisp days they were allowed to let the children out into the grounds in basket chairs and on crutches, a line of them tied by the wrist to each other so they didn’t run off. There were some swings and a slide, but it was too cold and icy to let them play properly.
Su’s teaching certificate had not equipped her to deal with these children. She was used to lines of eager faces, chanting words from the board in singsong voices. These poor kids should be in the heart of their families, not out of sight in an institution.
She guessed no one wanted this sort of work and so that’s why they’d been quick to take her on. She didn’t like to dwell on the fact that perhaps she was taken on because she too was different.
It didn’t count that she had an English father and name and education, or that she was well-spoken and well travelled. She was different and it hurt. Thank goodness Joy was lighter-skinned, plump and rosy-cheeked. She must be protected from such hurtful comments and her English would be perfect, so it was worth doing anything to see that her baby got the best out of their new life.
There was no cruelty to the children here. They were well fed and watered, exercised and contained, but days were ruled by the bell and they had a strict routine that the principal said gave their charges a sense of time and normality. But something was missing; something that would make every day different and exciting and stimulating, to distract them from some very bad habits.
The staff sat around the staff room, smoking, knitting, eyeing her with interest. One guy had his feet on the table in defiance when she entered. ‘It’s come to a poor do when we’ve got to employ foreigners,’ he sneered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘Come off it, Alf. We were quite happy to let the Poles and French and Czechs come to our aid when it mattered in the Battle of Britain. Give the lass a chance,’ said another, coming to Su’s defence.
‘I’m a qualified teacher. I know Shakespeare and Wordsworth. I was taught by fine English ladies in a Christian girls’ school. It is true I have no experience with,’ Su hesitated to find the right word, ‘such special children, but if you will help me I will try,’ she replied.
‘I’m sure you have qualifications, Mrs Winstanley…such as they are. You should be grateful for work at all, considering your status, and once our men are retrained and come back to claim their rightful places in our schools…’ the bald man with the ugly sneer snapped back. ‘But if you’re not happy here…If it’s not good enough for you…’ he threatened.
It was better to ignore him and the embarrassed looks on the faces of the other staff members and sit as far away as she could.
She needed this job and the nursery place, but it was sapping her spirit to feel so out of her depth and helpless. If only someone would show her what to do!
It was a relief at weekends not to have to travel through town away from the noisy normality of Division Street. It was hard to pretend her job was anything other than a miserable chore. Ana was jealous. If truth were told she’d much prefer to swap places with her any day, such was her frustration.
She opened her Bible at random for inspiration and guidance. There had to be a way to make the Winstanleys come to their dinner. She didn’t want Maria to be disappointed by the poor turn-out after all she’d done for them.
She closed her eyes and prayed again, then read the text and burst into a beam of pure delight.
Susan came bounding down the stairs at the double, waving her little leather Bible. ‘I have the answer to our prayers.’ The boycotting of their feast had lain heavy on everyone’s heart. Now she had a grin on her face from ear to ear.
‘This morning I am reading a passage from St Luke in my Bible Notes: the parable tells how rich guests refuse to come to the feast and the servant is told to, “go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city and bring hither the poor, the maimed, the halt and the blind.” Suddenly it comes in a flash. That is what we do now, Lily. Trust me, but hurry!’
There was no need to whisk the go-chair down the cobbled streets back into Grimbleton when Gertie was already parked ready and willing. There were no beggars by the bus stops on the way to Santini’s as they rattled through the football traffic, afire with a mission to find replacements.
The café was crowded out, and Lily slipped into the back kitchen in search of Maria. There was a cheery large woman with a head full of curlers wrapped in a headscarf serving customers as Maria came bounding down the stairs, took one look at their faces and stopped in her tracks. ‘Tonight, it’s not off, is it?’
‘No, no.’ Susan swallowed, seeing that Maria was so eager to come. ‘It’s just we have a few spare places due to Daw Esme being indisposed with a bad cold, and the honourable brother-in-law having a prior engagement,’ she lied.
‘Yes, poor Mother is full of germs,’ Lily said, backing her up. ‘If you want, you can bring a friend or one of your sisters-in-law,’ she suggested, but Maria threw up her hands in horror.
‘No more Santinis! I have enough of them They drive me crazy, and Enzo no show up so my friend, Queenie here, leave her cuppa to help me out. Queenie, come and meet Burma Su. I’ve told you about Su, and Ana from Greece, and this is Lily…Queenie Quigley, shampooer to the stars, come for a rest from old man Lavaroni’s hairdressers. Help me out until that lazy son of Toni turn up. She is very good friend, like you,’ said Maria, rushing off with a tray to see to her customers.
It was time to seize the moment. ‘A friend of Maria’s is very welcome to join us. We’re making dinner and there is plenty to go round. We don’t want any empty seats. You’re welcome to join us.’
Queenie mopped her brow and smiled. ‘That’s the nicest thing that’s happened all week. I’d be delighted. My hubby works shifts. I go in one door and he goes out the next. Having a meal cooked for me will be a real treat, thanks, ducks.’
So that was how Queenie Quigley came to be sitting opposite them at the table, in a paisley print blouse with smocking across the shoulders and all her brown curls pinned neatly into a pompadour film-star style, smoking a cigarette from a holder, next to the other guests they had managed to rake up at the last minute.
The Almighty worked in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. His cohorts must have been hard at work on their behalf this afternoon. He had provided some hand-picked ’uns here and no mistake. How else could they have found such wonderful guests at such short notice, Lily mused with satisfaction muc
h later. It was all a matter of heavenly timing.
On the way out of Santini’s, who should be rushing in the opposite direction but the lovely Diana Unsworth from Green Lane, daughter of Dr Unsworth, the girl who gave Susan regular lifts back from the parish church in her smart Morris 8 Tourer? Lily recognised her from the Girl Guides’ Association. She was Captain of the Parish Church Troop and a nursing sister in the hospital. Soon they would all be collaborating together in the Guide and Brownie Review. Her reputation for being a stickler for detail went before her, and Lily was a little in awe of this striking girl in her riding jodhpurs and headscarf. They stopped to greet each other.
‘I am so glad to meet you,’ said Susan, turning to Lily for approval. ‘This is Miss Diana who gives me a lift to church. You are the answer to my prayer.’
‘Oh, I say,’ said the young lady, smiling at Lily, ‘how intriguing!’
‘We are having a last-minute supper, Ana and me, a thank you for the kindness of Grimbleton friends.’
Lily hovered, holding out her hand. ‘We’re so pleased to see you. We’d be honoured if you would join us tonight, if you are free. I am sorry it’s so last minute,’ she added, hoping the Lord would understand the necessity of a white lie.
‘I always think that the best suppers are usually impromptu, Susan. I would be delighted but I’ve a guest of my own from the hospital staying tonight. You know Eva Matin, the coloured girl from South Africa training to be a midwife? She comes to church whenever she can, but living in the Nurses’ Home is not much fun, so I was just looking to see what was on at the King’s Theatre.’
‘Then bring her along too. The more the merrier at our table, I say. It’s good to meet new people,’ Lily found herself saying, much to her surprise. This was no time for shillyshallying. Seize the moment, she smiled. Her resolve was stiffening against any opposition now. That would make six guests and that was enough to make the party go with a swing.
‘Eva sits in front of me in church. She always looks so tall and elegant in her navy-blue nurse’s uniform and cap; an interesting woman, I think,’ said Susan, her eyes bright with excitement.
Once the missing Winstanley place settings were accounted for, they spluttered back to Division Street in Gertie to tell Ana the good news.
It was true that the newly acquired guests might not be poor or maimed or blind, but two of them were nurses and Maria and Queenie ministered comforts to the hungry and weary, and deserved a treat. That would have to do.
‘I was obedient to the spirit of the text. This is the Lord’s work,’ Susan muttered as she searched for napkins to fold into cloth lilies.
The afternoon was spent trying to keep little fingers out of mischief. Ana was putting the finishing touches to her special rabbit stew and the meze. Everyone had gone to the match. The streets were deserted. Esme had left wrapped up like a fur parcel, determined to sit out the match in style.
Lily did her stint on the stall with bad grace. There were a hundred and one little finishing touches she would like to do to the dining room. The Market Hall was like a ghost town. She stood in the entrance, listening for the roars that meant a goal had been scored. It echoed right around the streets but the silence was deafening.
Nil, nil at half-time. A goalless draw was the worst of results. And then one of the butcher’s boys ran in: ‘They’ve scored. Walshie has scored! We’re winning…’
How Lily wished she was side by side with Walt, cheering the lads on to victory. She hoped Billy was enjoying his ticket. He had sent them a bunch of late chrysanthemums as a thank you.
One of these days she’d make Levi do the Saturday shift. Someone had to keep the Winstanley till ringing, but why was it always her? She arrived home tired and jaded among the crush of exuberant football fans chattering on the bus. Mother had already disappeared up to bed with hot milk and brandy.
‘I shouldn’t have stayed for full time but it was that exciting.’
‘It was silly to go,’ Lily replied, having little sympathy.
‘Someone had to represent the family. Yer dad wouldn’t have wanted us to miss the match. I’ll give tonight a miss, though.’
‘Please yourself, but you’re going to miss a good evening. Why don’t you get up and come down later to meet our guests? It’s not like you to give in to a cold.’
‘I don’t know what’s come over you, Lil. Not an ounce of sympathy for a mother with flu…’ Esme turned her face into the pillow, looking rather washed out.
‘It’s just a cold, not flu. It’ll pass,’ Lily snapped. This was Esme’s way of opting out, an excuse not to take sides, and Lily had no sympathy. The whole bunch of them, Walter included, had let her down with their feeble excuses.
Ivy kept out of the way at first, and the toddlers were bathed and put to bed early after Neville. Nothing must ever spoil his routine. The dining room had a display of fresh flowers in the crystal vase and an embroidered tablecloth with lace edging. There were pretty tablemats with ladies in crinolines, which came out when company was entertained. The fire was stoked up when Ivy’s back was turned so she didn’t see how much coal they were sneaking from the ration. This was not a night for skimping.
By now, Ivy was huffing and puffing in the kitchen, sneering at everyone’s efforts but curious to know why there were still seven place settings on show. No one was going to enlighten her.
‘I wish I could beat her out of here like my Auntie Betty would shoo the servant boys off the veranda with a switch brush,’ Susan smiled while making up a little bowl of leaves and shavings of petals and chopped apple, and placing them by the door. ‘This is what we do for good luck,’ she smiled. ‘To ward off evil,’ she finished, looking pointedly at Ivy.
Ana stared at the jam jar of precious olive oil, green and golden, shining before her. She sniffed the top and smiled. The kitchen table was laden for the feast: potatoes and boiled eggs, sardines and anchovies, chopped dried herbs, the best they could find.
The rabbits were seared in a pan. The pickled onions and shallots was pierced with a few cloves. She had begged a tin of plum tomatoes, bay leaves and some of Maria’s rough wine. As it all bubbled away the aromas drifted into her nostrils. She could see Mama’s cooking pot on the fire simmering. It was as near as she could get to home and it was enough. Everyone kept coming in to sniff the air and taste the juices.
The yoghurt wasn’t quite set. In desperation they had added rennet to make a sort of junket, with orange juice and bottled raspberries, and it had turned out quite delicious. Lily contributed butter to make some pastry balls, dipped in fat with honey topping. They kept disappearing as fast as she made them until she shooed everyone out of her domain.
It was funny that she didn’t mind doing all the work while Susan did the fancy bits. Su had found them special guests but she would get all the praise for her food. Lily held everything together like sticking plaster. They were a good team.
Yet in her mind’s eye was the field where the rabbits were kept and the overgrown lines of rotting vegetables lying neglected. She wanted to dig and grow things again, feel the earth between her fingers. The back garden was too small, but Billy’s field was the place. Somehow she would make herself a garden and grow all the things her heart yearned for, and no one was going to stop her just because she was a woman.
12
The Olive Oil Club
They waited nervously for the first guests to arrive and everyone was introduced with a small glass of Christmas sherry that Mother had been hoarding, a peace offering for her cowardice. Maria’s gift of a bottle of Italian wine, alongside Susan’s bottle, soon loosened the shyness and conversation flowed so that the room was filled with noisy chatter and no one noticed how late it was getting.
Lily dressed with care in her winter woollen dress with cross-over lapels. It was in a saxe blue that complimented her eyes. It was sad that her family chose to miss a rare treat. There was even a scoop each of best vanilla ice cream, which Maria had carried here on the bus, wr
apped up in thick newspaper.
Lily wondered if Walt would change his mind and join them, but in truth she was quite relieved when he didn’t arrive. All girls together was turning out to be much more fun.
Diana Unsworth arrived with a hunk of best Lancashire Tasty, which must have used up all her rations for weeks to come.
‘One of the advantages of being a good doctor’s daughter is we’re always getting gifts left on our doorsteps and no questions asked,’ she offered.
Queenie Quigley brought a large box of pre-war chocolates in a heart-shaped box, and everyone stared at them in amazement.
‘Where did you get those?’ sighed Diana, rolling her eyes and licking her lips in anticipation. For a proper English lady she was turning out to be good fun.
‘Ask me no questions and I tell you no lies, me ducks,’ winked Queenie. ‘Let’s just say I relieved old man Lavaroni, him being a diabetic, of an embarrassing gift from a grateful client for services rendered.’ She nodded and winked again. ‘I may only wash the heads and sweep the cuttings, but let’s put it this way: a certain star treading the boards of the King’s Theatre, even as I speak, is not quite the gentleman he appears, and not quite as young as his black hair would suggest. My lips are sealed but the proof is here.’ There was dye still clinging to her fingertips. ‘We had to open the shop at midnight so his secret might not be revealed.’
Queenie and her husband, Arthur, came north after being blitzed out of their house in Kent, evacuated with their children for the duration and somehow they had never got round to going back. She’d taken to Grimbleton, finding her niche doing even more jobs than Maria.
Gianni Lavaroni’s Hair Salon was the classy establishment favoured by the theatricals, and the old man was taking on a new barber. ‘He’s got one of them POWs from Macaroni Camp starting soon, now they’re being released from prison. This chap jumps off a lorry, walks in and asks for a job. Old Lavaroni can’t resist cheap labour-I should know,’ she laughed. ‘He takes the lad on there and then. I shall send him down to you for his lunches, Maria,’ she winked.
