Christmas Past (9 page)

‘It’s all right,’ she said when Joyce became alarmed. ‘It’s just that I could have ended up having a baby too. Sometimes I wish it was me who had got caught instead
of you, then at least I’d have had something belonging to Tom. I loved him so much, Joycey. I don’t think I can bear it knowing I shall never see him again.’

Breaking into more sobs Mary set the baby off crying too, and then turning red in the face he suddenly gave a huge thrust and filled his nappy. The girls began to laugh and Mary handed him back
to his mother.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she announced. ‘I’m relieved I didn’t get caught after all.’

It was Father Flynn who offered her the most consolation. The relief of confessing the Christmas sin was tremendous, and afterwards she poured out her heart to him, anxiously questioning him
about what would happen to the soul of a Protestant, and one who hadn’t attended church very often at that.

‘Well, didn’t you always have a good judgement of character, my child?’ he said to Mary as they sat by the fire in his cosy sitting room, he in the old horsehair chair and she
on the floor at his feet, her head resting on his knee, the way she had on so many occasions as a little girl. ‘I can’t think for a moment that you would ever give your heart to one who
wasn’t a good man and worthy of it, regardless of his beliefs. Surely he will not remain in limbo for long if you pray hard enough for the gates of Heaven to open for him. Besides,
there’s far too many of our own faith with a multitude of sins behind them for there to be room for every Protestant outside. Sure Tom will be accepted without delay if he was as good a man
as you say he was.’

Father Flynn always had the knack of cheering Mary up, and he couldn’t for the life of him see what good it would do to keep the girl in a state of unhappiness for the sake of a few kind
words. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling rather relieved that she hadn’t landed herself for good with a member of a different faith.

On the Saturday before Mary’s departure a charity concert had been organised to be held in the British Hall at the end of the street, and of course the whole family had tickets. Mick
O’Connor scrubbed away the coal dust with extra zest and donned his best white shirt and navy blue suit; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn it or had a pair of brand new
shoes. He would never forget old Nesbitt the clogmaker’s face when Mary had produced the money and ordered shoes for the lot of them. ‘She’s a right good lass, oor Mary,’ he
said to himself in the mirror as he brushed his thinning hair, noticing how much healthier he looked since he’d cut down on the drinking, determined the rest of the family wouldn’t
leave home if he could help it. Still, he was proud of his eldest daughter, who had the face of an angel, marred only by the sadness in her huge brown eyes. He prayed that time would heal her hurt,
but at the same time he knew she would never regain the carefree innocence she had possessed before she had loved and lost.

The audience were all assembled by half past seven. Mrs Cree from number ten struck up on the piano with ‘There’ll Always be an England’ though it took some recognising with
all the wrong notes. After three more tunes, and umpteen anxious glances off stage, she suddenly scurried off behind the curtain. The youngsters in the audience began to stamp their feet, then one
young lad at the back of the room began to chant ‘Mrs Cree’s gone for a pee’ and soon a whole bunch of them were chanting with him. Mary couldn’t help giggling, although she
gave their Jimmy a good-natured clout when he joined in.

With a face the colour of strawberry jam Mrs Cree tottered back on stage and sat at the piano, her hands poised two feet above the keys, waiting to begin. Suddenly two little girls dressed in
red and waving what were supposed to be a ship’s scarlet sails glided from behind the scenes with a small boy in a sailor suit between them. He came to the front of the stage and began to
sing ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’, gesticulating in an exaggerated manner as he pretended to peer out to sea for the ship. Fortunately the child’s tuneless warbling was almost
drowned by Mrs Cree’s bashing at the keys, the scraping of chairs and coughing in the audience. Nevertheless, wild applause brought smiles to the young performers’ faces at the end of
the song.

Next on the programme was a large lady in a purple taffeta gown, which was at least two sizes too small and some twenty years out of date. Mrs Cree began the introduction and then, in a
tremulous voice which seemed to flit from contralto to soprano, the lady gave her rendering of ‘Cherry Ripe’. Every time she reached for a high note her enormous bosom heaved, fighting
for release from the tight low-cut neckline. The audience were spellbound and Mary glanced around at the men, who were open-mouthed with anticipation, and the waiting wide-eyed women.

‘Ripe I cry.’ Reaching the end of the song, the singer took a deep breath and gave her all, flinging her arms into the air. ‘Come and buy!’ she cried, and out of her
dress burst one heaving pendulous breast.

The hall was silent as a tomb and then, as the poor woman bowed low and realised what had happened, the whole audience began to stamp and cheer. The same young lad who’d begun the previous
chant suddenly shouted, ‘I’ll buy a pound of those any day.’

The unfortunate performer, hastily covering herself, hurried off behind the curtain, whilst Mrs Cree, oblivious of what had taken place, stood and bowed happily, wallowing in her first ever
standing ovation.

The laughter rang along the street as the crowd spilled out of the British Hall and made their way home.

‘We’ll have oor own sing-song,’ Mick O’Connor promised as he invited the neighbours from both sides in for a bite of supper. Mary’s mother had left the oven full of
roasting potatoes and the aroma met them as they opened the door. Young Jimmy was sent to the back door of the Hart with the large water jug to be filled with beer. Mary was pleasantly surprised at
the change in her da, who seemed to have deserted the Hart and hadn’t been there at all since her arrival. Intent now on working to move the family into a larger house, he hadn’t had a
collier’s Monday since the day Mary left.

Old Jimmy Reed from next door had called in home to fetch his melodeon, and now he was entertaining them with his jaunty version of ‘Bladen Races’. Soon the singing could be heard at
the bottom of the street, and one or two of Mick’s workmates had sidled in to join them.

The highlight of the night was when Mary amazed not only her family but herself as well by singing ‘Linden Lea’ in front of them all, bringing tears to the eyes of her parents, who
were sad that their daughter would be leaving tomorrow, but oh so proud of the beautiful young woman she had blossomed into.

After hearing the news of Tom’s death Jack Holmes had loitered by the smithy every night for a week. The news had spread rapidly when the Downing girls had failed to turn
in for work, and Jack, who had been taken with Mary from the night he had held her close at the dance, thought it only right that he should offer his condolences. It was Madge who noticed him
standing by the smithy, watching eagerly as the day shift left the strip department. Never one to miss the chance of chatting up a handsome young man, she asked him if he was waiting for
someone.

‘Mary O’Connor,’ he said. ‘My sister told me about her fiance, and I thought it only right that I should – er...’ He paused, not really knowing what it was he
should do.

‘Oh aye,’ grinned Madge, never one to mince words. ‘Fancy her yerself, do yer? Well, lad, I can’t say I blame yer, but if yer want my advice you won’t rush things.
Grief is a nasty thing and has to have its time. Still, I’ll tell her you’ve asked about her when she comes back. Yer’ll have a long wait if you intend standing here every night.
She’s gone home to Newcastle for a holiday – the best thing for ’er in my opinion.’

‘Will yer tell her, then? That I asked, I mean?’

‘Aye, lad, I’ll tell her. Now I should get off home if I were you. On nights, are yer?’

‘Mornings,’ he said as they set off up the hill. ‘I finished at two, only I shall be on two to ten next week, so it’ll be awkward to see her then.’

‘Give it a week or two, lad. Like I said, there’s no point in rushing things. Mind you, if yer feeling in need of a bit of female company in the meantime ... ’

Jack gave her a grin. ‘Well, what a shame my heart’s already spoken for, otherwise I might ’ave taken you up on that.’

Madge gave him a shove. ‘Get away with yer,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’m old enough to be yer mother. Mind you, I’m not dead yet by a long chalk.’

They were still laughing when they parted company at the top of the hill, but as they went their separate ways both hearts were heavy at the thought of what Mary and the Downing family must be
suffering after the loss of the young soldier.

Jack walked on thoughtfully. He had been tempted to seek out Mary after the dance. After all, his brother’s favourite saying was ‘All’s fair in love and war’. Usually he
would have taken his chance against young Downing but somehow it wouldn’t have been right, not with him being a soldier. Now he thanked God that he had kept his distance. At least the poor
young bugger had known Mary was waiting for him. That must have sustained him whilst he was over there in the thick of the action.

He passed the Catholic church. That was another thing. He had seen her going in there one Sunday with Theresa Murphy. What would happen when his family knew he was knocking about with a
Catholic? He smiled to himself; he wasn’t knocking about with anybody yet. Mary might not even entertain the idea of going out with him, especially if she knew about his brother’s
reputation with the lasses, and who could blame her? She was so lovely – he could see her now in the green dress she had worn to the dance. Well, he’d never been religious, but he swore
to God that if Mary O’Connor gave him a chance, he’d never look at another woman as long as he lived.

Mary’s stomach gave a lurch as she stepped down from the train and she half expected to see Tom waiting at the ticket barrier the way he had been on her arrival last
summer. She mentally prepared herself for all the familiar things which were sure to remind her of him at every turn, telling herself it was time she pulled herself together. What was it Tom had
said? ‘You’re young, Mary; you could meet someone else.’ Well, she didn’t want anyone else, but he was right, she was young, too young to walk around with a face as long as
a fiddle. Besides, she had to think about Tom’s family. They needed cheering up, especially the little boys.

She deliberately fixed a smile on her face, surprised at how much better it made her feel, and walked through the barrier, bags in hand.

The station clock told her it was almost four. If she walked briskly she could be home by half past five. She wasn’t sure, on this return journey, that she could afford the cost of a
taxi.

She felt the familiar pang of grief as she glimpsed and turned away from the jeweller’s where Tom had bought her ring, then she straightened her shoulders and set off towards the outskirts
of town.

She was almost on the Longfield road when the rag and bone man drew his horse to a halt.

‘Want a ride, missis?’ he called.

Mary didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the greeting. She knew she’d aged considerably inwardly, during the past months, but she still didn’t feel like a missis. She
smiled. ‘Thanks. My feet are killing me.’

‘Jump on then, if yer don’t mind sitting on top o’t pig fodder.’

Mary looked in dismay at the rotting vegetables and potato peelings. The man found an old coat and made room for her to sit on it.

‘I expect yer surprised to see this lot.’ He laughed. ‘It’s from pig bins down in’t city. I can give yer a lift as far as Hedge Farm at Cowholes.’

‘I’m not going quite so far. Longfield will be fine.’

‘Just tell me where yer want dropping off then, bottom or top,’ he said. ‘Makes no difference to me, except that it livens up the journey having somebody to talk to.’

Mary smiled. It was cheering her no end being jolted along in a cart full of pig food. Wait till she told the girls at work tomorrow. Why, it might even put a smile on the faces of Bessie and
Lucy.

A little while later Mary opened the door of a silent Moorland House. She called out to Mrs Roberts but received no reply; then she heard the clatter from the direction of the cellar.

‘Mrs Roberts. Mary hurried down the steps to find Gladys surrounded by old pans, kettles and utensils of all descriptions, and stood there openmouthed. ‘What on earth are you
doing?’

Gladys beamed at the sight of Mary. What a miserable week it had been without her. She clambered noisily out of the mess and hugged the girl to her.

‘Oh, I am glad you’re back, Mary. You’ll never know how much we’ve missed you. If only I’d known you were coming back today I’d have had something special
ready for you.’ She laughed as Mary stared at the tranklements littering the cellar floor. ‘Well, I had to do something to occupy me whilst you were away, so I’ve been collecting
old aluminium for the war effort. There’s a collection being organised in town. I’ve done quite well considering the size of the village, don’t you think?’

Mary laughed. ‘Very well. How are you getting them all to town?’

‘Rowland’s taking them on Saturday morning. He’ll be so pleased you’re back; you’ll be able to go with him and practise your driving.’

‘With this lot in the car I’ll be lucky if there’s room for me.’ She suddenly began to giggle.

Gladys smiled. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, pleased to see Mary like her old self again.

‘I’m just thinking, I ride into Longfield on a cart full of pig food and out again in a car full of old tin cans. Oh, Mrs Roberts, I am glad to be back.’

‘And I’m glad to have you back. Come on, let’s go and see about dinner. The doctor will be home soon.’

Mrs Holmes sat in her usual place by the fire, rocking rhythmically in the old wooden chair.

‘Aren’t yer going out tonight, Jack?’ she asked inquisitively.