Christmas Past Read online

  Gradually the pain had subsided but she still continued to lavish her pent-up affection on any young person available. If only the house had been nearer to town she would possibly have considered adoption, but, being an unselfish soul, by the time she realised it was too late for motherhood she considered herself too old to be a suitable companion for a child out here at the back of beyond.

  So a series of maids came and went again after a few months, and now another. Perhaps this one would be different. She certainly looked less flighty than the previous ones. Father Flynn had pointed out in his letter that Mary was hard-working and eager to be taught, but in the end what had persuaded Mrs Roberts to take her on instead of one of the local girls was the fact that Mary had been diagnosed as suffering from TB glands. Newcastle and the lack of nourishment endemic among miners’ families there could only restrict her recovery, so here she was, to be filled with as much food as could be stuffed inside her and more fresh air than she had breathed in her entire life.

  ‘Come in, come in. Whatever is Tom thinking of letting you carry those bags? You must be exhausted after your journey. Here, let me take your coat. We usually leave our outer wear down here in the hall – it saves so many journeys up and down stairs when we’re in and out of the garden or the outbuildings. The wind’s cutting up here in winter so don’t you be running around without a coat.’

  Mary’s coat was placed carefully on the hall stand along with the more expensive garments belonging to the Robertses. She felt her face burning at the sight of the threadbare sleeves, but Mrs Roberts didn’t seem to notice. She guided Mary by the elbow through the first door on the right. ‘This is the dining room. Don’t you think it’s lovely?’

  Mary managed to suppress the words ‘Holy mackerel’. Instead she stood there open-mouthed. The rectangular room seemed enormous, with a large marble fireplace furnishing one wall and three tall windows along the opposite one. A long table in the centre was surrounded by eight velvet-bottomed chairs and everything in the room seemed to shine like the new pennies in a Christmas stocking.

  Dumbfounded, Mary followed Mrs Roberts back into the hall and towards the door opposite.

  ‘This is the lounge, smaller but much more comfortable, I think.’

  ‘A piano!’ Mary couldn’t conceal her excitement. For years she had been fascinated with the school piano, pomming out ‘Chopsticks’ with one finger whenever Miss Williams happened to leave the room and receiving a crack across the knuckles with a ruler on numerous occasions for her efforts. Of course she would never be allowed to touch this one either, but she might hear someone else playing it.

  Mrs Roberts was flicking an imaginary fleck of dust from its lid.

  ‘Yes, and doesn’t it take up some space? Still, my husband loves his music. He’s the choirmaster, you know,’ she told Mary with pride. ‘We usually retire in here after supper. He’s obsessed with the wireless at present. World affairs, you know.’

  Mary didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

  Apart from the piano – a baby grand which really did take up some room – and a wireless set on a small table, all the room contained were two large leather straight-backed easy chairs and a long low sofa. Not one like Father Flynn’s with worn upholstery and a wobbly leg, but a beautiful, padded, leather one with two curved arms and a buttoned back. The leather matched the wooden floor and the walls which weren’t lined with books were also of panelled wood. The curtains and central carpet square were a warm honey beige. Mary wondered how she would keep a carpet of such a pale shade clean.

  ‘And now the scullery, my favourite room.’

  Mary loved it on sight. The long, white, scrubbed table, with chairs to match, was laid at one end with a folded checked cloth and a china tea set. The fire cast a glow on to the brass fender surrounding the nasturtium-patterned hearth tin, and the copper kettle, saucepans and bellows hanging on the wall. Two spindle-backed chairs were set in front of the fire, and long wooden cupboards lined the back wall. A side dresser was stacked with willow-patterned crockery, and shelves were crammed with colourful chutneys, jams and preserves. The alcove by the fire was brightened by gingham curtains, under which was a sparkling white ceramic sink.

  Mary had never seen anything like it. The contrast with the living kitchen back home was unbelievable. If only her ma could have a kitchen like this – no, a scullery. She must remember to call it a scullery from now on.

  She never thought she would be grateful for the elocution lessons Father Flynn had encouraged her to have, but she was glad of them now. At least Mrs Roberts could understand what she was talking about. Her Newcastle accent was not nearly as pronounced as it used to be, and anyway Mrs Roberts had a slight Yorkshire accent herself, although it was a lovely voice all the same.

  ‘Come and sit down, Mary,’ she was saying. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea. You must be parched. Or would you prefer nettle beer?’

  ‘Oh, tea please,’ said Mary, not sure what nettle beer tasted like, or if it would have the same effect on her as the beer had on her da.

  A slice of parkin was placed in front of her, sticky and hot with spices, almost as good as her ma’s.

  ‘Eat as much as you like. We really must fatten you up a bit and get some roses in your cheeks. We grow all our own fruit and vegetables, thanks to Tom. I really don’t know what we’d do without that boy. I do hope we aren’t going to lose him to the war service but Dr Roberts can see it happening soon. Still, I hope you’ll be a help to me when you become accustomed to things. Then I should have more time to spend in the garden. If there’s one thing I enjoy it’s my garden. Are you used to housework, Mary?’

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve been in service since I was fourteen, and learned from my mother long before that. My mother’s the best cook in our street: everyone comes to her for help at weddings and funerals. The trouble is she’s hard up most of the time so can’t afford the ingredients, but I can cook almost as good as she can. Even Mrs Brown who I worked for admitted that and she never says anything good about anyone.’

  Mary blushed as she realised she was rambling on but Mrs Roberts laughed and poured another cup of tea.

  ‘I think we’re going to get along fine, Mary,’ she said. ‘But now you must be tired. Come, let me show you to your room. We have supper in here at seven thirty, but don’t bother coming down tonight. I’ll bring you a tray and you can have an early night. We’ll discuss your duties in the morning.’

  Mary marvelled at her room. At home, the only privacy she ever had was in the lavatory and even there she’d rush in and out again, panic-stricken at the sound of scurrying rats from the midden round the back. And now, here she was, in this beautiful room.

  Though the sun had disappeared the room seemed to be filled with light. The yellow curtains were matched with the bed covers and the lino on the floor. A carpet square of green reminded Mary of the velvety lawns outside. She looked out of the window, unable to believe anything could be so glorious.

  If only their Norah and Kathleen could see her now, and her ma and da. Oh, she was going to miss them. She felt the tears prickling her eyes, but she mustn’t cry. Mrs Roberts might think she didn’t like her room and she seemed such a kind woman, it would be dreadful to disappoint her.

  Mary unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it. Then she poured water from the jug into the basin and began to wash, finally stepping out of her undergarments and washing her whole body, revelling in the silky feel of the water, softened by the scented soap and the fluffiness of the towel, yellow to match the furnishings. How lovely to smell of lemon instead of carbolic.

  The knock on the door startled her.

  ‘Can I come in? What was I thinking of, not showing you the bathroom? Slip on your dressing gown and I’ll take you now. Then you can eat your supper.’

  Mary blushed. She had never had a dressing gown; indeed, it was only thanks to Mrs Brown that she had a couple of presentable nighties. She slipped one over her head and stood waitin
g.

  Gladys Roberts suddenly realised the girl’s plight. Wishing she could recall her words, she left the room and was back immediately with a dressing gown of her own.

  ‘I wonder if you would like this?’ she said. ‘It’s far too small for me. Come along, the bathroom is just along the corridor. Don’t worry if you hear a banging in the night, it’s only the air in the water pipes. If you want a bath this is the best time – the water has time to heat up again then for the doctor. I usually take mine in the afternoon, when I’ve finished in the garden.’ She smiled.

  The bath was unlike anything Mary had ever seen, long enough to lie down in and decorated with a blue floral pattern. The water closet stood beside it. Mary was speechless.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you now, but don’t be too long or your cocoa will be cold. Goodnight, Mary. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

  Then Mary was alone, more alone than she’d ever been in her life, and she didn’t care at all.

  Chapter Two

  During the months that followed only three things worried Mary. One was the electricity. For the first few days she managed to avoid switching the contraptions on and off by busying herself with other things until Mrs Roberts did it for her. Finally she had to tackle the frightening thing herself, and was surprised to find it quite painless. After that she was delighted to use the huge, noisy vacuum cleaner which made the carpets look almost new again, and she always made sure the lounge was bathed in light by the time the doctor and his wife retired there in the evening after supper.

  The second thing she worried about was the injections. The doctor had given her two so far, and even though they didn’t hurt she felt quite sick at the thought of them. Dr Roberts had examined her carefully and gently, given her a large bottle of Scotts Emulsion with which she was to dose herself every night, and done her more good than all the medicine in Sheffield by telling her she was like a ray of sunshine flitting about the house with her freckled face and shimmering hair. She was still rather scared of him, with his booming voice and his infectious laughter.

  ‘Hello,’ he would bellow every time he passed her as she went about her work. ‘And what has my little town mouse been up to today then?’

  At first Mary had blushed and stood there tongue-tied, but gradually she had found herself beginning to enthuse over the day’s activities: how she’d dared to feed the hens without Tom’s assistance, or had made five pounds of bilberry jam, learning quickly from Mrs Roberts how to test the fruit – which had cropped late this year – for setting.

  After a while the doctor sought Mary out most evenings for a chat, on the pretext of asking if she was feeling better, an unnecessary question, for Mary was blooming like the beautiful bronze chrysanthemums which were at present growing in profusion in the glass lean-to round the back of the house. She gradually overcame her shyness and chatted away as though she’d known him for ever. His little goat’s beard and curled moustache fascinated her, and once she had grown accustomed to the volume she found his deep voice beautiful. Once she heard him singing to his wife’s accompaniment on the piano and she opened her bedroom door to hear more clearly, overcome by the deep bass rendering of ‘Linden Lea’, and other songs she had never heard before.

  The third worry, which Mary harboured long after the others had been solved, was what to do about her religion. She had written a carefully worded letter to Father Flynn, along with one to her mother, giving them to Tom to post in Longfield. She had explained how she had not been to Mass since leaving home as the only church within reach was Protestant, and it was time she went to confession. So far the only reply had been from her mother, and that was no help at all. Ma assured Mary that the family were all well, and then went on to tell her about Joyce Bailey, who had been her best friend. Joyce, to everyone’s dismay, was expecting. The young man, who had been in Newcastle looking for work, had moved on before Joyce had realised the plight she was in, and her father had thrown her out on to the street. Joyce had been taken in by One Shilling Lil and everyone knew how she’d turn out living with a woman like that. Everybody was sorry for the girl’s ma, being shamed like that, and Mary must remember not to do anything which would put her in the same position.

  Mary, who had been looking forward to her first letter, felt quite depressed after reading it. Poor Joyce. All her life she had been deprived of affection. Her parents had been even worse than her da for the drink, and Joyce had been brought up hanging around pub doorways waiting for closing time. Maybe she’d be better off with One Shilling Lil. At least Lil’s house was clean, and she had often given Mary and the other children a penny or a slice of bread and jam when they were little. Then her ma had found out and forbidden her to go there again. Mary had learned later that Lil had come by her name by entertaining men during the evenings, but she still liked her. She was a kind woman. Maybe that’s why the men liked her, too: because she was kind and laughed a lot. Besides, she was ever so pretty. Yes, Joyce would be all right with Lil. Mary knew she shouldn’t be thinking such things and felt ashamed. She really ought to go to confession, but she couldn’t ask Mrs Roberts, her being Church of England.

  Suddenly, Mary’s worry was resolved by Dr Roberts. Once a month he visited the orphanage at Upper Longfield. His duty was to keep an eye on the children, treating any colds, tummy upsets or more serious complaints which affected them from time to time. The orphanage was run by nuns from the convent, a dark dismal place hidden completely by trees so that passers-by rarely noticed it, and even if they did they were deterred from exploring further by the locked iron gates.

  The young novices’ only worldly pleasure was working at the orphanage, when at least they were allowed to speak freely and enjoy caring for the children, who would have been in a sorry state without them. Dr Roberts was the only male, apart from the priest, they were allowed contact with and they had even been known to laugh on occasions during his visits, as he narrated anecdotes to them from the outside world. He knew he was their only link with it and made sure he passed on any items of local gossip, feeling pity for the poor girls cooped up away from reality.

  It was on one of his visits to the orphanage that he mentioned Mary, and was told she might attend Mass in the chapel once a week. Tom was to take her every Wednesday, when she could also make confession. Dr Roberts found it difficult to imagine what she could possibly have to confess, but he knew from a letter he had received from Father Flynn that she was worrying about it. Why in God’s name hadn’t the girl told him? And there was he thinking she was nicely settled in and able to talk to him without reservation now. Well, at least she didn’t hide away from him any more, or blush crimson at the sight of him. Besides, she had certainly done Gladys a world of good. He hadn’t seen her so animated in years; teaching the girl to dressmake now by the looks of things. He must arrange with Tom to take them into town next week when he dropped him off at the hospital.

  Gladys could buy some material then and have the girl make herself some pretty dresses, instead of the dismal things she was wearing now, even when off duty.

  Mary was in seventh heaven. They had set off at eight o’clock along the road to Sheffield. The moors resembled a large golden-brown carpet, and the hedgerows were a mass of scarlet rose hips and luscious juicy blackberries. Hazelnuts clustered together on branches overhead.

  She spoke not one word on the journey to the infirmary. Dr Roberts had to be dropped off at eight thirty and had promised to show them the new operating theatre block before Tom took them into town.

  Mary, who had never been in a hospital before, would rather have stayed in the car, but had to admit the place was impressive. Mrs Roberts left Mary alone and went off to chat with her husband’s colleagues, and when Mary caught a glimpse inside an opened door she felt quite faint at the sight of a small boy lying on a rubber sheet on the floor. A nurse, seeing her scared white face, assured her that he was only recovering from having his tonsils out.

  ‘The recovery room will be full before the da
y is out,’ she said. Even so, Mary hoped she would never need a tonsillectomy herself, and was most relieved when they were on their way again.

  Tom weaved his way in and out amongst the tramcars. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and pointed out various landmarks as they passed them by. He knew just where preparations were being made in case of attack. The announcement that Britain was at war had been made a few days ago. Dr Roberts had come sadly home from church and told them the news, his eyes filling with tears as he did so. By now most of the halls throughout the town had been either closed or taken over for military recruiting and other purposes. Tom seemed to know all about it, and told Mary how the city had undergone a trial blackout as long ago as last year, so that things would be in order when the war finally came.

  Now the worst had happened. Everybody was living in fear and a kind of panic had set in. Children were being sent to schools out in Derbyshire, and some had already been evacuated. However, Sheffield seemed not the least bit frightening to Mary, and when Tom dropped them off at the market she almost skipped with excitement by the side of Mrs Roberts.

  Gladys Roberts didn’t usually shop in Castle Market, but today was Mary’s day. If she was to settle in Sheffield, as Gladys hoped she would, she would need to know her way about. They bought a few yards of fine material, which Gladys let Mary choose herself. She didn’t interfere except to suggest that Mary would look lovely in green or lemon, which would bring out the colour of her hair. Mary took her advice and left the stall thrilled with the chosen fabric.

  They also found fresh herrings for tea, and Mrs Roberts bought some extra for Tom to take home for his family. Mary was fascinated by the fish market, and Gladys bought her a tiny plate of cockles to eat at the stall. She thought they were delicious.