Women on the Home Front (140 page)

‘Come in, Ivy,’ shouted Ana, drunk with the excitement of good company. ‘Come and join the dancing.’

Ivy was in the room like a shot, looking down at the disarray of plates and glasses. ‘They’re all drunk, and Lil’s made herself right at home with Mother’s best china, I see,’ she sneered.

‘Keep your hair on. Mother said it was the least we could do, seeing how many there would be of them and how few of us,’ Lily replied with a hard edge to her voice. That woman had more neck than a giraffe, trying to muscle in on their party food like a vulture at a carcass.

‘Let me introduce you to our guests, This is my sister-in-law, Ivy, and my brother, Levi,’ she offered, going round the table slowly so that Ivy would catch every name. ‘Maria Santini from Italy, Queenie Quigley, late of Kent, Eva Matin from Cape Town, South Africa, and Diana Unsworth from Green Lane. I’m sure you recognise
her
name.’ She couldn’t resist making the point and the last name hovered in the air with promise.

‘Diana Unsworth? What, Dr Unsworth’s daughter?’ whispered Ivy, all of a quiver. ‘How nice to meet you…I did not realise you would be coming.’ She turned to Levi who was hovering in the hall, half whispering with embarrassment, ‘Mind your P’s and Q’s, one of the Unsworths is here!’ The shine of her saccharine smile fooled no one.

‘Of course, we had a prior engagement otherwise we’d have
loved
to join you all,’ she minced, sitting
down in Susan’s empty chair, stretching across for the chocolates, disappointed to see that there were only wrappers left.

Lily smiled. It served her right to miss the treats. It was worth all the washing-up and clearing-away just to see that look of disappointment on her puckered lips. The box was empty and the wine all drunk.

It hit midnight but no one wanted to leave, and when they did, everyone promised to meet up again for another supper. Ivy and Levi soon disappeared, leaving the three women to clear away the debris.

Ana surveyed the table with relish, wine and cigarette smoke, all the pleasures of a feast. Her belly was full and her heart content. It was good to entertain strangers and welcome them into the home. In Crete it was the custom to give the guests the best of all you had, however little.

She fingered the leftovers with a smile. If only Aliki and Stelios, could see how women could entertain as well as men, cook and drink, dress up, gossip and dance. These were not the smells of home but friendship and kindness smelled the same in any country. She thought of that old saying about friendship: we have shared bread and salt together, joy and sorrow.

Joy there had been in abundance, but the sorrow of their secrets lay heavy on her heart. Only when the truth was shared about Freddie would true friendships ever begin.

But it was enough for tonight, she sighed as she crept into the attic.

‘It was good tonight,’ she whispered to Su as she climbed into her narrow little bed. ‘Good to be giving, not always taking charity…yes?’

There was no reply but Su lay smiling in her sleep. One thing was certain: women may be made for men, but women together could have just as good a time. She was already looking forward to the next gathering.

‘No more carols on the piano, Lil, they’re giving me one of my heads,’ shouted Esme, who hated Christmas with a fervour bordering on obsession. But it was no use pretending as the weeks were ticked off to the festivities that the season could be ignored any longer. ‘Nothing jolly this year, not after all our sorrows. It wouldn’t be right to be giddy.’

‘There’s never been a giddy Christmas in this house, and certainly not after Dad or Freddie. But we’ve kiddies to think of now. I know how you feel but we have to do something for their sakes.’ Lily was hoping for dinner in the dining room with the fire lit and a few token decorations, a proper Christmas tree on display, a bird and all the trimmings. ‘Freddie wouldn’t begrudge us cheering up his children, now, would he?’

‘You know, it’s just a pagan ceremony. All that expense for a few days of indigestion.’

‘Oh, Mother, it’ll be different this year with Su and
Ana. They’ve never had a proper English Christmas. It’ll take your mind off things,’ Lily argued.

She loved Christmas: all the smells of spices and cooking, tinsel and lantern lights, carols by candlelight and the excitement of hidden presents. She wanted to see the faces of Dina and Joy on Christmas morning when they unwrapped their knitted dollies and toy cot.

It had taken an advert in the
Gazette
to acquire those items second-hand at extortionate prices. Walt mustn’t know that the cash came out of her wedding fund. He thought she spoiled them enough as it was. Perhaps when they had children of their own he’d understand how important it was to give them a good time. Poor old Walt had had so little fun in his life, she sighed. It was hard to ever imagine him young and acting daft.

Why must Christmas Day be a cold quick affair: overcooked chicken pieces, a currantless steamed pudding and no crackers? She wanted Ana and Su to feel the warmth of festive joy in this arctic weather; a Dickens of a Christmas that would sweep away the gloom and chill of this terrible winter freeze.

If they could find olive oil for their first thanksgiving dinner then somewhere they could scrounge spices and dried fruit, extra sugar for treats. Levi would not see Neville and Ivy short. Walt and his mother, Enid Greenalgh and
her
mother too, would come for their dinner, so all their rations would add to the feast. No one would want to be left out of the fun and games.

Since Diana was taking an interest in Susan and Ana, Levi’s wife was not so quick to miss out on any social events on offer. They were even going to attend
the
Messiah
in the parish church, much to Esme’s dismay.

‘I hope you’re not all going Popish on me,’ she sniffed, but in the end the feast of sacred music was too good to miss. Mother dolled herself in her best camel coat with a fox-fur tippet dangling, and a fierce military felt hat.

What a formidable bunch the Winstanleys were, Lily thought as they walked
en masse
down the tunnelled paths into town by torchlight and gaslamp, dressed up in furs and macs against the chill. Three generations of family in harmony for once, a show of strength, she hoped, for the future.

Next year Walt, by then her husband, would be taking her arm, but choral singing wasn’t his forte. Being tone deaf must be a terrible burden. Bless him! Walt was being so patient with all her busyness. The whole town was cockahoop since the Grasshoppers were into the next round of the Cup. This time she would not be missing the game. The paper was full of the team, and Pete Walsh in particular. She’d seen him stop to sign autographs at the end of the last home match. He’d looked up at her and waved, and she’d felt her legs go all wobbly. Feeling guilty, she’d scuttled off before he could catch her up.

If only Freddie and Father were here too. Christmas could be such a lonely time when childhood memories came flooding back.

They all enjoyed a good sing, and stood for the ‘Hallelujah’ Chorus. This effort to be sociable was
Mother’s one token to the season, however, and it was Lily who ended up buying gifts for the family on her behalf and overseeing all the food preparations.

If Christmas was ever to happen at Waverley House it would be up to her to organise the troops, but it was getting harder trying to fit in with everyone’s plans. Mother thought it disloyal to want any seasonal fun, but the children ought to have a bit of what she’d had as a child: carols and sleigh bells, parties and stockings too. It felt like treading on eggshells trying to please everyone but herself. Freddie wouldn’t begrudge a bit of singing and dancing, especially in this cold spell. Her chilblains were red raw.

When Lily was playing with Dina and Joy it was easy to forget there was a dark winter outside. She could almost forget that half the family was missing. Children stopped her looking back to what once was and made the future all there was to cling to now. Her promise to watch over them growing up was precious.

But what would have happened if Fred was still alive and they had both turned up? That would have been a right facer. Now there were only secrets to hide, she sighed, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Then there was the Guide and Brownie Christmas Review looming large.

It was funny how you never saw someone for ages and then kept bumping into them all the time, she smiled. Diana kept popping up in shops and round corners. At the first joint rehearsal there she was directing proceedings like an army drill parade.

The Guides were doing sketches and the various
Brownie packs individual items. ‘Daisy Darling and the Tin Soldiers’ was not going very well. It was the costumes that let them down, and the hats hadn’t even arrived yet.

‘There you are, Lily. Nice to see you again.’ Diana sprung down the hall. ‘Is this lot yours? Who made the rig-outs?’ she sniggered. ‘Quite an interesting interpretation of a military theme.’

‘They’re awful. Susan’s tried to re-jig them but they can’t stand up like that,’ Lily replied, looking at the costumes with dismay.

‘Can’t you make them sailors, then?’

‘Nope, they are meant to be tin soldiers,’ she said. ‘The hired hats with pompoms will look good.’

‘In my book, best to keep it simple. Get them to wear a school shirt and make some epaulettes with tassles for their shoulders. That’ll do.’

‘We can do that in a jiffy, thanks.’

‘Wish everything was so easy,’ Diana sighed. ‘I have to keep telling myself that if I can open a field hospital in a desert storm, with sand and flies and dust, I can lick a few Guides into shape. I did enjoy the supper. You must all come to me next. Eva was thrilled to be asked too. She wants to cook some South African dish, billy bong, I think she said. Ana and her olive oil did well, not tasted that for years. How’s Maria’s husband?’

‘They settled him down again. He’s hoping to be out for Christmas.’

‘Frightful shame about his chest wound. It must have done some damage for it not to heal. Still, where there’s life there’s hope, and he’s young.’

‘So are we,’ Lily sighed.

‘Sometimes I feel about fifty in this dreadful Guide uniform. There are plans to change the design. Why do I live my life permanently in uniform? Boarding school, then the FANY, now guides-where will it end? I suppose it saves on clothing coupons. My hunting jacket is so threadbare, Mummy threatens to carve up Great-Grandmama’s riding habit. Listen to me, must dash…Jennifer Wolstencroft, I can see you slouching. Stand up straight. You’re too young for a dowager’s hump!

‘Don’t forget the dress rehearsal, Lily. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve. You don’t fancy being the back end of a cow, do you?’

And that was how Lily came to be slithering across the stage in a dusty old pantomime costume instead of sitting in the pictures with Walt.

She was coughing and blind as a bat, with Diana pushing her forwards. ‘One two three, collapse, one, two, three, kick out…’ Damn, that was her shin! When would she ever learn to say no?

The following evening, Ana was tearful, watching the faded paper twirls being fixed to the corners of the room, trying to explain to anyone who would listen how different Christmases in Crete used to be.

‘We have feast of Agios Vasilios, we sing
kalenda
songs with Christmas pie and special bread, roasted kid, oregano, potatoes. On Christmas Eve we give thick soup and sausages, smoked meats-the nine cooked dishes-and afterwards honey and sweetbreads.’

‘Stop! My mouth is watering,’ Lily laughed.

‘It was before the war. We share our food around the village,’ Ana sighed. ‘I know it is not the same here. If only Freddie was here…but I will do best for Dina’s sake,’ she whispered, hoping Esme was out of earshot.

There was still the one unspoken rule in Division Street that Freddie’s name was never mentioned, especially in front of Esme. The shame of his antics and the sorrow at his untimely death were her daily burden. He was banished to the top right-hand drawer of the cabinet.

Cedric, the mysterious cousin, lived in there too, brought out and dusted down like some best china ornament, put out on display for company if awkward questions were asked. His photograph had been cut out from a magazine and stuck in a frame. He explained Su and Joy’s presence in the family home. Everyone was told that her husband had died of some awful wounds somewhere far enough away for no one to enquire further.

Then the phantom husband was put back in the locked drawer full of secrets in the mahogany dresser, which contained strange birth certificates, letters of sponsorship and the one photograph that showed Freddie under a pagoda in Pagan alongside a smiling Susan.

Then Su decided to bring out this snapshot to share in the celebrations.

‘Put that away,’ said Ana.

‘Why should I?’ snapped Su. ‘He is family, my family. Why does he have to stay out of sight? I want Joy to see her daddy on Christmas morning.’

‘You tell her, Lily. Put it away! He is my husband. I am number one wife, not her!’

‘That is rubbish. This is me and him, not you. Find your own photograph. I am number one wife. He will stay…’

Everyone knew Ana hated that photo and would have shredded it many times. Now she lurched forward to flatten it down. Su pushed it up again. Up and down the poor snapshot went

‘Miss Lily, I am number one wife.’

‘She is big liar!’

‘Stop it, you two! No one is number one wife,’ Lily snapped, at the end of her tether. ‘Stop this quarrelling. I’m tired of everyone snapping and snarling. This is supposed to be the season of goodwill to all men. I’m sick of it. Do your own Christmas!’ She fled upstairs to her back bedroom and flung herself down on her blue satin eiderdown.

Let them all go hang. She’d had enough argy-bargy. Even Walt was acting peculiar because she hadn’t made their date. Every time she had called at his door he was down the pub, or so his mother said. Let them make Christmas happen without me. See if I care. She stamped her fist on the pillow.

Earlier that week, preparations for the Review had been frantic. Lily had thirty excited Brownies to contain, all wanting to be front of stage. Kathleen Walsh had a sweet singing voice and she was Daisy Darling, the heroine. She was the young sister of Pete, whose mother was ‘caught on the change’, Esme had whispered once. This
unexpected happy event was the talk of the neighbour-hood at the time.