Women on the Home Front (153 page)

Sometimes, during the tea break in the morning, she found herself staring out over Longsight Square, with its railings and statue of Abraham Longsight, one of the founding fathers of Grimbleton. The lilac bushes were almost over and the first of the municipal rose bushes was coming into flower.

In its own way this square was just as peaceful a setting as the surroundings of Well Cottage. The bustle of the town streets was muffled by trees, with everything ready to hand there: shops, work, the park and picture house.

The challenge of this new job excited her and she wanted to go to night school to improve her French
skills. How would she arrive on time for classes when the wintry nights became snowy and dark and the buses infrequent?

Oh, what’s wrong with me? she sighed. It must be wedding nerves. Surely all she ever wanted was to be going down the aisle with the man she loved on her arm, a home of their own? All these wishes were coming true and yet her mind was full of the leaving of Division Street and its number eight bus route. This was crazy when there was so much to look forward to, and yet…

Everything was changing. Maria was free now. Ivy and Levi would soon be out of their hair too. There was so much to do. She ought to be glad for everyone, and most of all for herself. She should be excited about her marriage but so many ‘ought tos’ and ‘should dos’ and ‘must dos’ and ‘have tos’ were ringing through her head.

Walt had come up trumps with Well Cottage. Mother was going along with the wedding plans and not interfering. Elsie Platt was not complaining, for once. So much to be excited about, grateful for and yet…What was wrong with her?

Was Walt insisting they live out of town just his own way of keeping her close at hand? There was no doubt he was jealous of her friendships within the Olive Oil Club.

‘It’ll do you good to get away from that rum lot. I don’t trust girls in trousers. Ever since the war, you see them gadding about in slacks as if they were fellas. That Diana is a one for wearing pants. It’s not natural. Your shape isn’t made for trousers,’ he added, while she was
bent double in a boiler suit, trying to make inroads into the jungle of weeds in the back garden. ‘And what’s all this about a party in King’s Park? We’ve enough to be doing here.’

This was the annual pageant party that started off the wakes celebrations with an open-air band and dancing, fairground stalls and a theatre display. Lily was taking the Brownie pack for the team sports races and meeting up with the others to go round the fair. It was to be her last outing as a single woman. She suspected the Olive Oils had some plan to dress her up as the mill girls did before a wedding but she didn’t mind. It would be good to get together again.

‘I have to go if it’s going to be my last time as a free woman,’ she snapped.

‘You’ve changed, Lil,’ he said, eyeing her long legs in the khaki boiler suit.

‘Don’t call me Lil. I’m Lee at work, now. Don’t you think that’s modern?’

She’d gone with her flash of inspiration when she started in her new job, introducing herself as Miss Lee Winstanley. ‘It sounds so professional, don’t you think?’

‘Why bother when you’ll be Lily Platt in a few weeks?’ Walt was not impressed by the initiative. He didn’t like change.

‘I know…but I’ve always hated Lil.’

‘You never said.’

‘You never asked. A new beginning and a new name.’

‘What’s wrong with being my sweet Lily of the valley? Look, here’s some under this wall. It smells a treat and looks beautiful in my eyes, plain and simple,
a no-nonsense sort of flower. That’s what you are,’ said Walt, as he tugged at the weeds. ‘I’ve let you spend time sorting out that foreign lot but now it’s you and me together. That’s what we both agreed, wasn’t it?’

‘You’re right. We’ve waited such a long time. It’s a shame to spoil the fun with niggles, but I just wish…’ She hesitated, not sure where her argument was heading.

‘What’s up now? What niggles?’

‘We’ve never got carried away much, have we? I hope it’s going to be all right,’ she blushed. ‘You know, the marital side of things.’

‘You don’t want to be carrying on like that Santini woman. That’s just sex. I hope you know I’ve more respect for you than to try anything on before we’re wed,’ he stuttered. It was Walt’s turn now to fumble for words.

‘What’s wrong with a bit of sex? We’re engaged. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves but you’ve never suggested we have a proper practice…’

‘You want us to anticipate our wedding night. Lily? I’m shocked at you. Is this the sort of stuff you talk about with those girls? No wonder they all landed in trouble. It’s not like you to be so forward.’

‘That’s how I feel. Let’s be adventurous! Please don’t resent me going to King’s Park with them all. It’s for a good cause and I must support the dancing class and my Brownie pack. I’m their Brown Owl, after all.’

‘I’m glad you mentioned that. I assume you’ll be giving that up. It’s too far to travel after a day’s work. We won’t be making a habit of gallivanting after we’re
wed. A man and wife should be just for themselves. It’ll be so cosy up here, just the two of us and no one to interrupt us. We want to be together, don’t we?’ He hugged her with such a broad grin on his face that it unnerved her for a second.

His words gave her a sleepless night. The thought of having no friends to visit, no more Olive Oil gatherings round the fireside, was unsettling. Modern marriage must be a partnership, not one of boss and slave, with the wife always the one having to give in to the husband’s decisions, surely? Not that that was the case in Levi’s poor marriage. They were both as bad as each other.

‘We’ll have to have visitors, to show them our house and thank them for their wedding presents. I can’t see Elsie wanting to stay away for long. And I do want to see the little girls too,’ she said, smiling across at his mud-splattered face.

‘Anyone would think they were your real family?’

‘But Walt, Dina and Joy are my nieces. Ivy and Levi have more or less cut me out of Neville’s life—’

‘What do you mean? I know Dina’s Freddie’s girl, blood but the other one-she’s only the London cousin’s kiddie, nothing to do with you!’

‘Oh, come off it, Walt! Why do you think Mother let them stay so long? There’s no Cedric Winstanley. Never was. Freddie met Susan in Burma. I thought you’d have guessed by now…’

‘No one tells me anything…the sly bugger! All the more reason to keep our distance from them now. You Winstanleys certainly know how to stick together.
Who’d have thought it?’ he smirked, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know what Mam’ll say, us being related to darkies! It just shows you never can tell, even with respectable folk. We’ll never hold our heads up in Bowker’s Row if they find out. It’s a good job we’re moving away!’

‘Don’t be like that. Su and Ana are more like sisters to me than Ivy ever was. That’s why the little ones are going to be my attendants-if we can get enough coupons together to finish their outfits. They must feel free to visit us as they please.’ This was non-negotiable.

‘Not likely! Look what they’ve done to your family: split it down the middle,’ Walter snapped back. ‘We don’t want them or their bastards coming up here.’

She didn’t like this side to Walt, this cold judgemental streak. And all this fussing about wearing trousers-where did that come from? There were echoes of his mother’s voice in those words. This mean streak must be sorted out early on. She would humour him into seeing the harshness of his opinions, alter his prejudices. I can’t be living with a little Hitler laying the law down, she thought.

He’d have to get used to her wearing slacks around the house. They gave her freedom to work and warmth round the ankles. She could work faster without corsets and stockings. It saved on clothes. Muhammadan women wore trousers all the time in Bible lands, Diana said. Besides, everyone was glad enough of women in trousers during the war, shinning up buses and factories, aeroplanes and batteries. Why did they want them all back in skirts now it was all over? Were they
afraid they could do jobs as well as the men? Maybe better?

‘You didn’t mean all that, did you?’ she asked, looking across at him. He was hacking stubborn undergrowth with his knife and a steely eye.

‘Not another word on the matter, Lil. Let’s just get this garden sorted before it rains.’

Ana was hacking at the undergrowth with a furious satisfaction. The hand scythe sheared down the grass and nettles of the vegetable plot. Whack went Ivy’s head! Whoosh went Levi’s torso! Here, she could vent all her frustration on the hapless weeds.

It had taken the patience of a diplomat, the cunning of a black marketeer and the persistence of a marathon runner to get the committee to make a decision in her favour. Allotment Billy had proved to be versed in all three.

Just as she began to dig over the neglected soil, wheelbarrow tons of cow dung to enrich the neglected soil, came the news that Mother Winstanley was leaving, and who knew where they would be next year? Just when she had begun to settle in to this strange climate, this rough northern town and understand some of their ways, along came uncertainty again.

She had such plans for her plot. Here she would grow vegetables-beans and peas, salads, thyme and mint, sage and onion sets, soft fruits; fresh food. She loved free afternoons when she could wheel up Dina and busy herself just digging, thinking and dreaming. Here she was closest to the earth, and when the sun shone on her shoulders, it was easy to pretend this was
Cretan soil. Here all the sadness of hospital duties, the aching limbs and the memories of her wartime suffering were forgotten once she got down to work.

It had been on May the twenty-first, the name day of St Konstantinos and his mother, Agyia Eleni: the name days of her sister and her daughter, that she’d taken possession of the plot. It was a good omen. At home they would bring cakes and little gifts to Dina; drink sherbet water. No one here understood how special that day was. They were all too busy shouting and fighting.

She brought orange juice and biscuits and a special picnic to the allotment, for her and Dina to celebrate together. ‘We must never forget who we are, Konstandina: daughters of Crete. “Freedom or death” is our island cry in times of trial. Your grandmother searched for the body of my
papou
, when the Turks fought him in the hills. She dug up his body with her bare hands from the rocky grave and brought him home. We are strong and proud. Your Aunt Eleni died a hero for our freedom. I named you well.’

Together they had sat sprinkling crumbs and good wishes over the plot and now all her efforts would bear fruit. Dina was toddling, engrossed by the ladybirds. Here they could speak their own language without interruption.

Now Ana didn’t notice Su standing behind her until a shadow fell over her patch.

‘I always know where to find you. How can you bear to get your hands so dirty? We have to talk.’

‘What about?’ Ana snapped, not wanting to hear what was coming next.

‘What we do when Daw Esme leaves.’

‘Do we have any choice?’

‘I think so. I pray every night for guidance. I think, mango among fruits, pork among meat, tea among leaves are the best, and Waverley amongst houses is the best lodging house.’

‘How can we stay?’

‘If Daw Esme will let us rent, then we can find plenty of good customers to live in. You have room, I have room and the rest we let. What do you think?’

Ana put down her spade. ‘You wanna share with me?’

‘Yes, I think we make better friends than enemies. We have enough of them,’ Su replied. ‘Our daughters are half-sisters. We share the same man who never came back and chose between us. We must make the best of a bad job, I think, and never tell the truth about Freddie. That must be our secret, yes?’

What could she say? ‘I am not going to do the cooking. I wanna be a nurse.’

‘Then I will learn to make a good English breakfast. The lodgers bring their own ration card and buy their own food. They use the kitchen. I think it’s a very good idea, yes?’

It was the best of ideas to stay put, and Ana need not give up the plot. Both would have separate space, and no Ivy sneaking around making trouble.

‘I shake your hand,’ Ana smiled, reaching out to grasp Su’s tiny fingers.

‘Ouch! You have the paw of a bear. How will you get a man if you crush him to death?’ Su winced.

‘I didn’t have much trouble in Athens…’

Su gave her a fierce look but said nothing. It would always hang between them, this rivalry, this envy of the time each had shared with Freddie, but somehow it didn’t hurt so much now. Better to live together than hang separately, went the proverb. It could work. It
must
work, for it was the only solution on offer.

‘Do you like them, Brown Owl?’ Ten faces were beaming in the circle as Lily unwrapped their wedding gifts with care. There was a striped tea cosy with a pompom, six knitted dishcloths, and six embroidered coaster mats. ‘We got our knitters’ badges. We unravelled two jumpers to make them. You do like the colours?’

‘They’re lovely.’ She beamed at the black and yellow football colours of the Grasshoppers.

Everywhere she went people kept shoving gifts into her hands: a tray cloth with tatted lace edges from Dolores Pickles, a lovely glass vase from Mrs Pickvance across the road, and now this. She suspected her little pack would be forming a guard of honour when she and Walter came out of Zion Chapel. All this kindness was making her weepy.

Esme had given her a hundred pounds.

‘Don’t spend it on the house. Buy something for you. It’ll go towards a second-hand car. I don’t want you stuck out in the wilds for the want of some wheels.’

Speechless, shocked by such generosity, Lily had burst into tears again.

‘It’s not like you, Lily. You do look a bit peeky. Have you collected your dress yet?’

Now was not the time to tell Mother that the idea
of a long white gown had never appealed. It would drain what little colour she had from her cheeks. Anyway, what an extravagant waste of coupons to wear a dress only once. It smacked more of Victorian custom than the modern ways of doing things. All the extra coupons had been spent on beautiful material for the little bridesmaids and Neville’s pageboy suit in cornflower-blue satin and velveteen-if Ivy could be persuaded to let him come.