Christmas Past (12 page)

‘Come on,’ said Theresa. ‘We’re sleeping with our Laura. Do you want to go across the yard before we go up?’

Mary thought she’d better, and they went fumbling hand in hand in the darkness towards a long dark passage with half a dozen lavatories inside. Theresa, always game for a laugh, began
making ghostly noises whilst Mary was inside and she ended up running back to the house with her knickers only half pulled up.

The laughter continued well into the night, as Laura told them smutty jokes which she picked up from the canteen at the bottling company where she worked. Then, just as they were settling down
to sleep, one of the young brothers came gliding into the room with a sheet over his head pretending to be a ghost. Mary wondered if she had landed herself in a madhouse and giggled with the others
until it was almost daylight.

It was only when she began itching in church the next morning and discovered the bug bites that she decided she would have to be really desperate before she would ever spend another night in
Theresa Murphy’s bed.

Old Toothy Benson was on his last legs, and had been for at least three months. Jack enquired after his health daily at the pit, secretly hoping there would be no improvement.
Old Toothy must be ninety if he was a day and was still hanging on in the house Jack had been promised when it became vacant, which Jack was beginning to think would never happen.

The end one in a red brick row overlooking the fields of Barker’s Farm, it seemed a bargain at only ten shillings a week rent. Actually it would need a miracle to bring it up to a
comfortable standard after years of neglect, but Jack was blind to its faults and saw it only as a means of persuading Mary to arrange the wedding.

Much as Mary loved Jack, she was in no hurry to marry. She would never forget Tom, but she was coming to terms with his death, and the sweet memories were beginning to outweigh the painful ones.
In many ways the last few months had been the happiest of her life and she was in no rush to change things. In fact, she was dreading having to leave Moorland House and the Robertses.

For Gladys the ideal solution would be for the couple to live permanently with her and the doctor, but she knew that that was impossible, and was resigning herself to the fact that Mary would be
leaving them any time now. She was reconciled to Mary’s choice of a future husband. Jack had taken to spending Sundays with them, making himself useful round the house whilst Mary busied
herself cooking the dinner. He had built up the fence round the chicken coop, swept the kitchen chimney with a minimum of mess and was learning to drive the car.

After dinner the four of them would go for a ride, sometimes over to Castleton or Bakewell, where they would walk by the river wrapped up in warm scarves and gloves against the cold, driving
slowly over carpets of soggy brown leaves, along lanes overhung with bare grey branches, ghostly in the late autumn mists.

Jack had been introduced to a new way of life, a life of luxury compared to the one he had been used to, yet he was in no way envious of the Robertses. On the contrary, he was full of admiration
for Rowland, talking to him at length about his work, and worldly affairs neither Gladys nor Mary had the slightest knowledge of. In return Rowland would question Jack about his work at the mine,
interested to learn that he was working a new piece of machinery, and roping him in to search out a fault on the car.

Jack wondered anxiously if Mary would settle in a house with no bathroom or other comforts, and he made up his mind that he would work his fingers to the bone to provide her with the best,
determined that if she married him she would never regret doing so.

It was a fortnight before Christmas and a party of strip workers were on their way to the city hall in Sheffield for their annual night out. A charabanc had been booked to take
them, and most had managed a new outfit of some kind despite the war. Mary had made herself a skirt of grey crepe de Chine and was wearing the satin blouse for the first time since last Christmas.
Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped it on and Tom’s face invaded her thoughts. She wondered if she would ever be completely free of the painful memories. She shook herself and placed
Tom’s engagement ring on her finger, then took it off again. She couldn’t wear it; it wouldn’t be fair to Jack. She put it back in its box. It would be a beautiful keepsake, a
treasure.

Most of the party had never set foot in the city hall before and Mary felt she was dancing on air as she took to the beautiful sprung floor.

They were in the middle of a foxtrot when the siren sounded. No one took much notice at first; warnings had been given many times in the past and nothing had happened, so why should it now? Only
the party from Millington became alarmed. They didn’t fancy becoming involved in the action here in the city when they were used to the peace of their small town. There were discussions as to
whether they should make their way home, but at eight o’clock the argument ended when the building was evacuated.

Mary was all for taking to the shelter with the rest of the dancers, but the bus driver had other ideas.

‘You lot please yerselves,’ he said, ‘but I’m taking my bus home. That bus is my livelihood and I’m not having it blown to smithereens by the bloody Jerries, so you
either get yerselves on board now or I’m slinging my hook without yer.’

Mary had no time to think. The lot of them piled into the bus and were soon on their way home. The driver made good time, stopping only once outside the infirmary to have a word with the Home
Guard, and slowing down only when he was safely away from the city.

Even in Millington the fires of Sheffield could be seen. It was after midnight when the raids began, and none of the city escaped the high explosives except the Brightside and Darnall areas,
which happened to be shrouded by a blanket of fog.

Dr Roberts told them that Graves Park and Crookes had been devastated and a number of civilians killed, but that was many days afterwards when he managed to leave the overcrowded hospital and
the many injured for a short visit home. He and Gladys even missed the performance of
The Messiah,
which went ahead as planned at the Victoria Hall in Sheffield on the Sunday afternoon after
the raid. Tragically, a second raid took place that night, increasing the numbers of homeless throughout the city, and this time Darnall was in the thick of it all.

Mary worried about Gladys, who became more and more anxious when her husband was away at the hospital. She tried to calm her by pointing out how lucky he was to be working here, instead of
somewhere on the front lines. Gladys appreciated that, and cheered up a little. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. Do you know, it’s the first time I’ve ever been grateful for the
fact that my Rowland’s getting on in years.’

Everybody agreed that the works outing had been a washout, but they were so thankful to have escaped the blitz that no one complained.

‘Oh well,’ said Madge, ‘I’m just praying my church has been spared.’

Mary didn’t answer. She was busy reflecting on the fact that until a few months ago she had never even heard of Darnall, and now it had been brought to her attention again. She wondered if
it was an omen, indicating that she should attend the Spiritual Church with Madge. Jack had laughed when she had mentioned it, but hadn’t been against her going.

‘You go wherever you like,’ he said. ‘So long as you don’t expect me to go with you. I’m not one for religion in any shape or form.’

‘You’re a heathen, Jack Holmes,’ Mary said. ‘Don’t you ever fear for your soul?’

Jack began to laugh. ‘You know what our old man always says?’ he asked.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he says.’ Mary smiled. She and Jack’s father had been taken with each other from their first meeting. He was called Our Old Man by
everyone in the family except Mary and little Una, but it was said in an affectionate way and everybody loved the workworn middle-aged chap, who looked much older than his years. His back was
hunched from working in the pit, due, according to Jack, to working in seams not much more than three feet high. He had a racking bronchial cough which worried the family, but he never complained
and refused to see a doctor, or take time off work. Mary thought he was the most generous man she knew. Not only did he worship the ground his family walked on, but he went out of his way to assist
any neighbour in times of trouble. He was a man of few words, refusing to join in any gossip, and one of his sayings was, ‘If tha can’t say owt good about anybody, keep thi mouth
shut!’ His one fault as far as Mary could see was that he swore like a trooper, but his wife had long since given up trying to change him and idolised him despite the swearing.

‘I’ll tell you what our old man says,’ said Jack. ‘“I’ve only got one soul and that’s my arse ’ole.”’

Mary paled with shock, but then she began to chuckle. In fact, they laughed so much they ended up in a passionate embrace, which wasn’t unusual these days. Indeed even Mary had begun to
enquire about the health of old Toothy Benson.

After much discussion and many tears the wedding was finally arranged. The tears stemmed from Mary’s longing to be married back home in the heart of her family. She
realised, however, that transporting all Jack’s family and their many friends to Newcastle would be difficult, so she kept her disappointment hidden and the tears for the privacy of her room.
The arguments stemmed from Jack’s refusing to promise that any children of the marriage would be brought up in the Catholic faith.

‘I’ve seen enough of their brainwashing,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen for yourself the poverty caused by the Catholic Church.’

‘Whatever has the Church got to do with poverty?’ Mary’s temper always rose to simmering point when her religion was condemned.

‘You know very well what it has do do with it; one bairn after another. Take the Murphys, for instance. The poor woman has bred like a rabbit for at least twenty years, just because they
cling to the idea that contraception is sinful. I doubt she’s finished yet, and not two pennies to rub together between them.’

Mary looked down, her eyes filling with tears. She knew in her heart that Jack was right.

‘I don’t want a life like theirs for you, or for our kids. I’ve seen the Murphys filled with the fear of Hell on occasions. I tell you, Mary, it isn’t natural.’

‘It isn’t like that.’

‘Maybe not where you come from, but I’m telling you I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’

The arguments were long and unsolvable, and it was only Mary’s determination that forced Jack to relent and take the necessary instruction so that the wedding could take place at St
Catherine’s. He knew he would lose Mary otherwise and stubborn as he was he knew life without her would be purgatory here on earth, let alone in death.

Perversely she wasn’t altogether happy about St Catherine’s. Although she had been welcomed by the congregation, she didn’t feel the same devotion as she had in Father
Flynn’s church back home. Perhaps the trouble was that she couldn’t help but compare the dour, grey-faced priest with the rosy, smiling moon face of Father Flynn. Besides, she was
feeling rather guilty about the time she had accompanied Madge to the little church in Darnall, where she had found herself warmly received into the loving atmosphere Madge had previously
described. The disappointment that no message had come through for her during the service had been utterly dispelled when Madge had received convincing evidence that her late husband was present.
The medium had passed on amusing messages and an atmosphere of hilarity had pervaded the hall. Mary had never known laughter in a church before and was most impressed by the medium, who brought joy
and also tears to the congregation.

Afterwards she had described the incident to Gladys, who couldn’t help wondering if Mary was as dedicated a Catholic as she made herself out to be.

‘Are you sure you want to be married at St Catherine’s?’ she enquired.

Mary coloured. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t feel properly married otherwise. Besides, what would I tell my parents? Why, they’d never forgive me, even though
they won’t be at the wedding.’

‘No, that’s true,’ Gladys said thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you think it might be possible for them to come down?’

‘Not all of them,’ said Mary sadly. ‘I’m afraid it would cost too much, and my mother wouldn’t come on her own.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Gladys.

So it was arranged for Rowland to give Mary away and for Gladys to provide the dress.

‘I intended wearing my brown costume. After all, there is a war on.’

‘What, and deprive me of seeing my wedding dress given a new lease of life?’ said Gladys wistfully. ‘Come upstairs.’

She led Mary up into the bedroom she shared with Rowland and opened the door of the large wardrobe, taking out a hanger completely covered by a large white sheet, and smelling strongly of
mothballs. Mary gasped as the sheet was removed to reveal a gown of ivory silk.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed.

‘It was, thirty years ago. Now it’s terribly old fashioned, but that won’t take long to remedy. Now let’s see. There’s enough material to lift the drop waist a
couple of inches, and add a few darts here and there. Why, no one will recognise it when I’ve finished.’

‘Oh, you can’t! Alter your wedding dress, I mean. What would Dr Roberts say?’

‘Between you and me,’ Gladys laughed, ‘I don’t think he even noticed it. The only thing on his mind on our wedding day was the anticipation of seeing me without
it.’

Mary giggled and the two of them sat down on the pink satin eiderdown.

Gladys’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve never had children of my own, so please let me enjoy the privilege of acting mother, just for the one day. After that you’ll be
gone, but for the time being please let me be a mother.’

Mary threw her arms round the weeping woman’s neck.

‘You are a mother. You’re my second mother, and not just for the wedding. I’ll never go, Mrs Roberts, not in my heart. I couldn’t. I’ll never love another house
like this one, and not just the house, but you and the doctor. You’ve been like parents to me, and I won’t forget you just because I’m moving away. I’ll come back every
weekend, we both will. Jack’s already said so.’