Christmas Wishes (3 page)

‘Oh, but think of the shops!’ Gillian breathed. ‘I’ve missed the shops something terrible. When I told Daddy we missed them he said we weren’t missing much. Half the shop windows were empty, he said, so it weren’t too exciting, but now the war’s well and truly over – even those horrible Japs have surrendered – I ’spect the shops will be crammed with good things. And the markets, of course.’

As she started walking once more Joy thought again of the hundreds of things she would miss, but reminded herself, brusquely, that living once more with their father would make up for everything. And when I’m grown up, I mean to marry a rich feller and have a farm of my own, she told herself. And Dad did promise that he’d bring us back to stay with the Dodmans for a couple of weeks every summer. That will be the best of both worlds.

Albert Dodman was hedging and ditching in the long meadow which ran alongside Millers Lane when he heard the twins approaching. Hastily, he ducked out of sight, though he was pretty sure they would be far too involved in some quarrel or other to so much as glance in his direction, and as soon as they had passed he resumed his labours. This hedge would be relaid before dark if he kept at it, but if he had allowed himself to be distracted by the twins heaven alone knew when the work would be done.

The thing was, though he had grumbled mightily when the girls had first been billeted on them, he had grown quite fond of the brats. He knew that had they spotted him they would have wanted to help, or at least to chat, reminding him of their imminent departure and asking him, for the hundredth time, if he wouldn’t miss them like anything once they were gone. Naturally, he had always said that he’d prefer their space to their company, had scoffed at his wife’s openly voiced regrets, had even gone so far as to tell the girls that all he would miss would be the weekly sum paid by the government to everyone fostering evacuees, but he thought that he had not fooled them for a moment. They were good kids, the pair of them; ripe for any mischief, of course, but always eager to help and bright, too. I never wanted young ’uns, Albert told himself now, skilfully bending a branch which wanted to grow upright into a horizontal position, but if I’d knowed what they could be like mebbe me and the missus might have took on one of her sister’s kids after her feller was drowned, seeing as how we had none of our own.

Albert worked on steadily, trying not to think how empty the cottage was going to feel when the little room under the eaves no longer sheltered the twins. He had never climbed the ladder-like stair during their occupancy – his rheumatics forbade it – but his wife had told him that the kids kept the room in apple pie order, though at first she had objected to the ragged bunches of flowers and leaves, the badly blown birds’ eggs and the other rubbish brought in and apparently highly regarded by two city kids.

But it would never do to brood, so Albert speeded up a little and by the time the light was fading the hedge alongside the lane was finished. He stood back. ‘Neatish bit o’ work,’ he said beneath his breath in self-congratulation, for the hedge had been in sad need of relaying. ‘Ah well, best be gettin’ on home. Mother will have the kettle on the hob and the tea on the table by the time I get back.’

Despite the fact that they had never had children, he and his wife stuck to the old country habit of referring to one another as Mother and Father, and for the first time Albert realised how strange this was. Then he dismissed the matter from his mind and, gathering up his tools, set off for the farm, meeting one of the land girls as he entered the yard. He grunted a greeting but did not linger; this was likely the last evening the twins would have time for him, so best make the most of it.

Chapter Two

The crowing of the old cock who lived with his numerous wives at the farm which employed Mr Dodman woke Joy, as it had done every morning for the past half-dozen years. In the depths of winter it would still have been quite dark outside, and Joy would simply have rolled over and gone back to sleep, knowing that she would be woken in good time for school by Mr Dodman shuffling around in his bedroom on the ground floor and shouting at his wife to ‘get the kettle a-boiling so I can have a warm wash as soon as I reach the kitchen’.

Today, however, was the last day in school and though she wondered, hopefully, if Miss Jensen might not mind late arrivals on such a day, she swung her feet out of bed, seeing without surprise that Gillian was doing exactly the same. There was enough light coming through the window to enable them to wash and dress without the candle, but she knew that Gillian would light it anyway. Her sister was finicky in her habits, brushing her hair vigorously before plaiting it and spending time making sure her clothes were neat and tidy and her person immaculate. Joy tried her best to follow her sister’s example but the fact was that in this, as in so many ways, the twins were very different. Joy seldom thought about her looks and scarcely glanced at her reflection in the small mirror which stood on the chest of drawers, whereas Gillian, having ascertained that she had left no button unfastened, would dip a finger into the washing water and smooth down her eyebrows, an affectation which always made Joy giggle.

This morning, seeing Gillian doing this, she dug her twin in the ribs. ‘What’ll you do tomorrow when we have to be at the station at the crack of dawn, you conceited little pig?’ she asked. ‘We shan’t have much time to spare, you know, ’cos we don’t want to miss the perishin’ train.’

Gillian whirled round, gave her sister a shove in the chest, and then let her eyes flick scornfully over her. ‘I’ll get up earlier, of course,’ she announced. ‘And you’ll have to do the same, like it or not. It’s your turn to carry the slop bucket. Did you use the jerry in the night? If so, you’d best empty it into the bucket and make sure that the lid’s firmly fastened.’

‘I didn’t; I almost never do,’ Joy said placidly. ‘Oh, come on. Mrs Dodman’s got the porridge on. I can smell it from here.’

The girls descended the stairs, Joy coming last, holding the slop bucket carefully away from her school dress. The cottage only had one upstairs bedroom – the one the girls occupied – and the Dodmans used the small room on the ground floor at the back. The rest of the cottage consisted of the large, quarry-tiled kitchen and a parlour so crammed with fancy furniture that there was scarcely room for anything else. Indeed, the Dodmans only used the room at Christmas and for the occasional party or meeting, for Mrs Dodman was a keen WI member and when her turn came round would not have dreamed of entertaining her fellow members in the kitchen.

Following their usual routine, Joy made straight for the kitchen door and headed through the windy grey morning towards the midden where she would empty the slops. Gillian, she knew, would be doing what Mrs Dodman called ‘laying up’, which merely meant setting the table for four persons, fetching the milk from the cold slab in the pantry, and standing a jar of the Dodmans’ honey in the centre of the table.

As she re-entered the kitchen, Joy saw that her sister had also set out a large pat of dewy fresh butter and a jar of their hostess’s homemade plum jam. Joy licked her lips. A large loaf of Mrs Dodman’s bread stood ready for cutting and Mr Dodman was sitting in his old basket-weave chair by the fire, holding out a laden toasting fork and telling his wife that they must go easy on the honey, for in winter the beekeeper feeds the bees and not vice versa.

‘As if I didn’t know,’ Mrs Dodman scoffed. She turned to the twins. ‘Mr Goody up at the farm knows I’m a-goin’ to pack up a li’l hamper for your daddy, so he’s given me a few things …’

‘Yes, yes, that’s all very well,’ Mr Dodman said quickly, and Joy guessed that he had seen how his wife’s hand had gone to her cheek, surreptitiously wiping away a tear. ‘Get a move on, girls; I’ve near on finished work in long meadow, but I’ll walk wi’ you that far, if you hurry yourselves. And as it’s your last day in school, you’ll mebbe come out early; if so, you’d best pop into the farmhouse and thank the master and mistress for the grub they’ve sent for you to tek home tomorrer.’

Because of the slow trickle of departing evacuees which had taken place since the Japanese had surrendered, Miss Jensen only had seven children to supervise on the journey back to Liverpool. They met, as arranged, on the platform, fifteen minutes before their train was due, the children huddling close to one another and each face surrounded by a halo of steaming breath, for it was cold so early in the morning. Despite the fact that they were going home, there were many signs of tears, and both Joy and Gillian had had to wash their faces a second time at the pump before leaving the cottage.

Mr Dodman had borrowed the pony and trap from his employer and he and his wife had driven the girls to the station, where they had helped them to carry their luggage on to the platform and had then hung about, Mrs Dodman full of inexpert but well-meant advice for young travellers and her spouse, gruff-voiced, reminding the twins of their promise to write and assuring them that should they come back to the cottage for a visit no one would be happier than he and Mother.

Earlier, Joy and Gillian had helped to clear away the breakfast things, each aware that this was a moment they would remember for the rest of their lives. They had often grumbled to each other that Mr Dodman was old and cross and Mrs Dodman demanding and stingy, but now they knew that they could not have had better people to take care of them. Mr Dodman’s occasional grumpiness always had a good reason and his wife’s insistence that waste, especially waste of food, was a sin, particularly in wartime, had its roots in the poverty they had known in the thirties and was never meanness. Indeed, she was the soul of generosity.

‘Farmer and his wife have give you a bag o’ apples and a batch of cream scones,’ Mrs Dodman had announced, indicating the bags and parcels piled beside their suitcase with a jerk of her head. ‘We’ve put in a loaf of my own bread, a jar of honey, another of plum jam, a pat of butter – you’m never been give margarine at
my
table – and a few little extras. I reckon your pa’ll be glad of them, havin’ two great girls to feed instead o’ just hisself.’

‘Never mind all that; they’ll doubtless be havin’ a bit of a snack as soon as they’re settled in the train if they know there’s food goin’ beggin’,’ Mr Dodman had said hastily, and Joy had realised that he had once again been trying to deflect their attention from a tear rolling down his wife’s weathered cheek.

‘No, we shan’t,’ Gillian had begun indignantly before Mr Dodman had seized the bulging suitcase and the heaviest of the paper carriers, and bidden them somewhat curtly to follow him or they’d miss the blessed train and then where would they all be?

‘In the suds,’ Mrs Dodman had said rather thickly, and, as if it were a signal, both twins had begun to cry and Mr Dodman had to shout at them to ‘git aboard the perishin’ trap or we really will miss the train!’

Snivelling, the twins had helped to load the trap and then they had washed their tearstained faces at the pump, flung themselves at the Dodmans and given them ferocious hugs, and taken one last wild look around them at the cottage which had been their home for the past six years. Then they had climbed aboard the trap and tried to compose their features so that when they reached the station no one would guess at their distress.

Now, Mr Dodman cleared his throat and glanced around at the other adults who had accompanied the evacuees and were staring hopefully in the direction from which the train would come. ‘Reckon it’s time we left these young people to fend for theirselves,’ he said gruffly. ‘If I’m not back in the yard with his pony and trap by the time work starts, Mr Goody won’t be best pleased.’ He grinned at Miss Jensen. ‘So Mother and meself will be off,’ he finished, and before anyone could say anything he had seized his wife’s arm and marched her out of the station, closely followed by the other foster-parents.

‘Oh, but we didn’t say goodbye properly …’ Joy cried, but at that moment the train arrived and all was bustle and confusion. Some of the adults turned back but the Dodmans were already, Joy guessed, climbing into the trap, because when she and Gillian turned towards the booking hall through which they had gained access to the platform there was no sign of the old couple.

Miss Jensen began to pile the luggage aboard and the children, helping, were saved the embarrassment of a protracted farewell by the porter coming along the train, slamming doors and waving his flag. Goodbyes were shouted, and as the train began to move the twins leaned out of the window, knowing that the Dodmans would stop the trap for a last wave as the train picked up speed and thundered over the level crossing.

When the train rounded a bend so that the village was out of sight, Joy sniffed and rubbed her nose. She had always hated farewells, but she reminded herself, briskly, as she took the seat beside her sister that Dad had promised a return visit the following summer. It’s not goodbye, she was thinking, when Miss Jensen, who had been rummaging in a large Gladstone bag, smiled around the carriage.

‘How sensible you are, children; no tears or fuss,’ she said approvingly. ‘And I must remind you that you aren’t saying goodbye to your good hosts, but merely au revoir, which is a French phrase meaning “see you again soon”. And now, though I expect you have had breakfast, I’ve a little treat for each of you.’ She produced from her bag a number of small chocolate bars, which she handed around before producing another bundle. ‘I took the precaution of packing some old copies of the
Beano
and the
Dandy
in case you grew bored with watching the passing scene,’ she said, offering them around, and the twins were soon absorbed, as were their companions.

It was not a corridor train, so they had the carriage to themselves for the first part of the journey. Joy realised that they should put the past behind them and look forward to the future. Oh, won’t it be wonderful if Daddy really does meet the train, she thought; he said he’d try to do so but trains are hardly ever on time any more, so it might not be possible. She turned her head to look out of the window and saw the scarlet ball of the sun edging up over the horizon and gilding the fields and copses as they passed. Miss Jensen had warned them that it might be a trying journey, but Joy knew that so far as she and Gillian were concerned it was an adventure, and the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow was to have their own dear daddy back in their lives once more.