Christmas Past Page 5

‘We can keep an eye on her,’ Rowland said. ‘Better a bit of hard work than a nervous condition. Besides, I have a notion that if she doesn’t do something to occupy her mind she might take it into her head to go home.’

  Gladys had also been afraid that that might happen, feeling that if she did she might decide to stay now that Tom wasn’t here. The offer of the fare to Newcastle was still open, but Gladys silently prayed that she wouldn’t accept.

  Going home was the last thing Mary wanted. Not only did she consider Moorland House her home now, but she needed to be near Tom’s family, on hand in case any news arrived. Even so she missed her own family and felt rather guilty that she hadn’t written for some weeks, so she decided to make up for it with a long letter.

  Moorland House

  Long Lee Lane

  Longfield

  Near Sheffield

  April 1940

  Dear Ma and Da,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner but I have been rather busy spring-cleaning, and getting the garden ready for planting out. I hope you are all well and not in any danger from the war. Dr Roberts doesn’t think much is going to happen, but there are a lot of preparations going on in Sheffield anyway. He says they are fitting people up with gas masks, and Anderson shelters, though only as a precaution. How is Joyce getting on? Has she had the baby yet, and is Father Flynn all right? I miss you all very much. Has our Norah started working yet? If so not at Mrs Brown’s, I hope. I’ve decided to get a job in the works at Millington. It’s five miles away but I have Tom’s bike to go on so it won’t be too bad.

  By the way I have a surprise for you all. Tom and I have got engaged. I have a beautiful ring – I wish I could show it to you. I was going to come home for a holiday but what with the war I should only feel guilty. Still, I will come soon, once I hear from Tom and know he’s all right. Write and let me know the news. I worry about you all, with the war and everything.

  Love from Mary.

  PS Thanks for the Christmas card and the apron – I wear it every Sunday. Tell our Michael thanks for the picture he drew, and give him a kiss from me, and one for the others too, and you.

  Mary finished off with a row of kisses and placed a ten shilling note inside the letter. She addressed the envelope to her mother, knowing that if her father opened it the hard-earned money would be handed over the bar of the nearest public house.

  The next day Mary posted her letter in Lower Longfield. Since rationing had begun she had been collecting the groceries from the village shop, enjoying the walk when the weather was fine. It had been a hard winter but now the trees were in bud and fluffy pussy willows flourished in the hedgerow. Broken reflections danced on the reservoir and daffodils waved in the spring breeze.

  Mary loved this place where Tom and she had walked, huddled together from the biting wind, singing in harmony and laughing when a huge brown cow had startled them with a long loud moooo. She also loved the village shop, where Mrs Poppleton weighed up the sugar into blue bags, twelve ounces a person, and cut butter from a large round block, twelve ounces for the three of them.

  Mary handed over the basket of eggs she had brought and the bill was adjusted accordingly. In summer Gladys would supply Mrs Poppleton with vegetables too but at present most of the buying was done by Mary, glad of the opportunity to exchange gossip with the village wives who had watched her arrive from behind immaculate white net curtains and found some excuse to join her in the shop.

  ‘Bad job about owd Joss Shepherd,’ said one of them now.

  ‘What’s up wi’ ’im this time?’ asked Mrs Poppleton. ‘Got canned up again and fallen down the Plough steps, has he?’

  ‘Not this time.’ The other laughed. ‘Their Annie ’ad sneaked out ladding when she was supposed to be in bed, an’ left the cellar grate off so she could sneak back in again. Well, what wi’ the blackout and the drink, owd Joss staggering home never noticed, an’ next thing he knew he was down in’t cellar, one foot straight into’t heap of coal only delivered yesterday. Twisted ‘is leg under ’im. Black and blue he is, what wi’ bruises an’ coal dust.’ She finished the story almost hysterical with laughter, and then her face straightened again as she added, ‘Eeh, it’s their Annie I feel sorry for. She din’t ’alf cop it when she came ’ome. He took ‘is belt off to ’er by all accounts – I’ll bet she doesn’t leave grate off again in a hurry. Eeh, I’d ’ave given owt to see ‘is face though when he disappeared dahn that cellar.’

  Mary almost wet her knickers laughing and had to ask Mrs Poppleton if she could use her lavatory out round the back.

  After handing out a bit of news in exchange, about what was happening in Sheffield, Mary left for a visit to Tom’s mother, knowing that the kettle would be singing a welcome on the blackleaded range and the brown teapot warming in the hearth. Mary loved the gentle woman, and enjoyed the quiet chat on a Friday morning whilst the girls were at work and Cyril was at school, and only little Douglas was at home, playing with a small ginger kitten. Mr Downing was always busy outside on the farm, ploughing, milking or mucking out, helped by his old friend Sid who should have retired years ago. From what Tom had told Mary his father made more out of the farm than he would admit, and the farmhouse was warm and comfortably furnished. In fact, the family didn’t seem to want for anything.

  Mrs Downing met Mary in the yard, asking immediately, ‘Any news, love?’ Her face fell when Mary shook her head. ‘Oh, well, no news is good news. I expect there’s a letter on its way somewhere.’ She smiled at Mary. ‘Come in, love, and have a cup of tea.’ The aroma of baking bread greeted them as they entered the kitchen. ‘How about a warm oven bottom cake with a spreading of rendered lard?’

  Mary was almost tempted but declined the offer, knowing Gladys would have dinner ready on her return. ‘I really came to leave a message for Bessie and Lucy. I’ve decided to go after a job in the works. I’ll ride over with them on Monday and see if they’ve anything to offer me.’

  ‘I’ll tell them to wait for you, then. At least it’s light in a morning, though it’ll not be very nice for you in winter coming round the reservoir on yer own.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. I think I know the road blindfold by now, and anyway I can’t go on hiding myself away up at the house, not now there’s a war on.’

  ‘You’ll need some thick trousers to protect yer legs. One of the girls lost a leg only last week on a length of steel strip so just you be prepared, and be careful.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ Mary smiled. ‘Anyway, I must be going. I’ll see you on Monday then. Bye bye, Douglas. He’s a lovely little boy, Mrs Downing.’

  ‘Aye. Came as a shock, he did, at my time of life, and so long after the others. Like a belated gift, yer might say, and he brought love with ’im just the same as the others did. Ta-ra then, love. Take care.’

  As Mary carried the groceries up the hill she marvelled at the friendliness of the people in this beautiful Yorkshire village, and thought she could quite happily stay here for ever. How Tom must be missing it all. She prayed silently that he would return safely, and her stomach turned over as she remembered she hadn’t attended Mass since Christmas. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to confess a sin that didn’t seem like a sin at all.

  If only Father Flynn was here. She thought she could have made him understand. Oh, well, perhaps she would ride up to the convent next week. There again, she might not have time if she began her new job.

  She started to sing to herself as she walked along the lane, a hymn she’d heard on the wireless, and somehow she gained comfort from the words.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Mary saw Millington for the first time she thought her legs didn’t belong to her. The journey had consisted of the hill down into Longfield, then up past the convent and down into the next valley, which Mary learned was called Cowholes. Then, they had yet another hill to climb and she found it impossible to pedal more than halfway up.

  ‘Come on, buck up, we’re going to be late,’ Bess
ie called. ‘It won’t be so bad after today, it’s just that you haven’t had enough practise on yer bike.’

  ‘I feel as though I’ve walked five hundred miles,’ said Mary. ‘I’m beginning to hope I don’t get the job if it’s going to be like this every day.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Never mind, it’s all downhill from now on. Can you see the works down in the bottom?’

  The road wound down past a church and through street after street of grey stone houses. In the bottom a row of stark black chimneys belched out smoke from the steelworks, which stretched the length of the valley, separated from the main street by the river. Mary’s stomach churned nervously. She hadn’t realised how vast the factory would be. Crowds of workers made their way silently in the direction of the entrance.

  Bessie told Mary where to go and whom to ask for, and then she and Lucy hurried away through a pair of swing doors. Mary parked her bike, walked across some railway lines and knocked on a door marked PERSONNEL. A voice boomed out for her to enter and her stomach gave another lurch.

  ‘Well?’ said the voice, its owner not looking up from the desk.

  ‘I – I’d like a job,’ Mary faltered.

  ‘What can yer do?’ asked the balding head.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t worked in a factory before.’

  The man looked up at last, appraising her as though she had been dragged in by the cat. ‘Been mollycoddled, have yer? How old are yer?’

  Mary felt the blood rush to her face.

  ‘I’ve been in service and I’m seventeen. I’m here because there’s a war on, but if you don’t want me then I’ll be going.’ She turned on her heel and reached the door.

  ‘Here, hold yer horses. Come back here. Don’t yer know it’s Monday morning, and I’m not in the best of moods on a Monday. Anyway, yer look like a lass with a bit of spirit, and we can do with a few like you. Did yer have owt in mind? I mean, do you know anyone who works here?’

  ‘I know Bessie and Lucy Downing in the spring shop.’

  ‘Oh, well, if yer pull yer weight like those two yer’ll not go far wrong.’ He reached out and opened a book, scanning the pages. ‘Hmm, I don’t know about the spring shop – set a bunch on only last week. We’re desperate in the strip department, though. I’ll give yer a try in there.’

  He wrote something on a card and asked her name and address, raising an eyebrow when she mentioned Moorland House. ‘Take this to the strip across the lines, third door on the left, and watch the loco’s.’

  When Mary found the place she opened the door to a dazzle of artificial light, the smell of paraffin and the noise of at least a dozen slitting machines all working at once. A young lad whistled at her even though she felt like a frump in the brown melton trousers and overall which showed inches below her coat. Another man in a brown overall came and took the card, beckoning for her to follow him. She walked up the aisle between the machines until he stopped and spoke to a woman quite a bit older than Mary.

  ‘Yer’ve got a new mate, Madge,’ he said. ‘Show her how to go on, will yer, an’ fit her up with an apron and some gloves.’

  Madge showed Mary where the stores were and Mary went in search of gloves and an apron which seemed to be made of cardboard rather than cloth. She returned to the bench in front of one of the machines and Madge explained how it worked.

  ‘What’s yer name, love?’ she asked.

  ‘Mary O’Connor.’

  ‘Right then, I’m the pairer, you’re the packer. I cut the coil into strips and your job is to lift the coiled strips off the machine and secure them with pieces of flat band ready for the inspector,’ Madge said, demonstrating as she spoke. ‘Then they’ll be taken to the warehouse. All right? Now you have a go.’

  Mary lifted the next coil off the machine and began to spin it to remove the centre.

  ‘Now then.’ Madge put out a hand. ‘Never do that without gloves or you’ll cut your hands to smithereens.’

  Mary donned her gloves and had another go, fastening up the coil with flat band.

  ‘Good,’ said Madge. ‘Now see how fast you can do it. More tonnage we get out, more money we take home on a Friday.’

  Mary liked Madge. Not only did she work with her, helping her to pack, but she explained what the different-sized coils were to be used for. Most of them would go through to the spring shop; some would be made into razor blades and watch springs but most would end up as cartridge clips for machine guns.

  ‘It was mainly umbrella strip before the war started,’ Madge explained. ‘Now I suppose the poor buggers’ll just have to get wet.’ Mary smiled, grateful to have found a mate like Madge.

  At one o’clock Madge asked, ‘Did you bring some snap?’

  Mary looked at her blankly.

  ‘Sandwiches. Snap,’ Madge said.

  ‘Oh, yes. On the table with my coat.’

  ‘We’ll find a locker for you tomorrow to put them in.’

  Suddenly the buzzer went and everybody downed tools and made for the end of the mill.

  ‘Bring your snap,’ Madge said.

  They all went into a room which Madge said was the canteen. Pots of tea stood on a metal table and everybody grabbed one and found a chair.

  ‘Have you a spare pot, Doris?’ Madge enquired of a small plump woman. ‘We’ve a new lass here.’

  Doris produced a huge pint pot and slammed it in front of Mary. ‘Here you are, love. Pay on Friday when yer get yer money.’

  The tea was strong and delicious and Mary enjoyed listening to the chat of the girls and a couple of young lads.

  After snap time she quite enjoyed her new job, but she didn’t know how she was going to pedal her bike up those hills after standing for an eight-hour shift.

  The first week Mary wanted nothing on her return from work other than a hot meal and bed, and she thought she would never become accustomed to the long daily routine. But gradually she found the energy to resume some of the household tasks, insisting on doing the washing on a Saturday instead of the usual Monday. Gladys quite enjoyed pampering Mary by preparing a lovely hot meal on her arrival home in the evening, relieved to see her back to her normal cheerful self.

  By the end of the second week Mary had got to know all the slitting shop girls by name, and some of the mill men as well. She had also discovered that Madge wasn’t only money-mad but man-mad too. If she was to be believed she had been with quite a few of the mill men, regardless of whether they were married or single.

  ‘I could tell you stories that’d make yer hair curl, if it wasn’t curly already,’ she said proudly.

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Mary laughed.

  Madge also tried to draw Mary into telling her if she had had any sexual experiences herself, but Mary simply kept quiet, though she did ask once, ‘Is that all you can talk about? I think you’re manmad. No wonder they call you the merry widow.’

  ‘Jealousy, love, that’s all it is. Take that Doris on the oiling machine. Never had a man in her life, wouldn’t know what to do with one if she got chance, so she simply makes out she doesn’t want one. No, lass, you’re only young once; enjoy yerself while yer can, that’s what I say. Mind you, when my Walt was alive it was a different matter.’

  Madge’s face clouded over for a second and suddenly Mary realised that the brittle exterior was actually a sham to disguise the sadness at the loss of her husband. After a moment Madge continued, once more her cheerful self. ‘Now, when my Walt was alive I would never have looked at another man – never needed to. A lovelier man you couldn’t wish to meet, nor a better one in bed. Still, you can’t bring them back, and if you do right by them while they’re here you’ve nothing to reproach yourself for when they’ve gone, that’s what my mother told me after he’d died, and nobody can say I didn’t do right by Walt. Never left his side at the end only to wash the dirty linen, and though I say it myself his bed was kept spotless. I was right relieved when he finally went, poor soul, nothing but skin and bone. They wouldn’t let a dog suffer like
he did. They’d have had it put down. Oh, well, you can’t live in the past. Like I said, enjoy yerself while you’re young, love.’

  Mary thought she was lucky to be working with Madge, but the other girls didn’t like it when they earned more bonus than anyone else in the shop, and Mary soon realised that she would have to work full tilt to keep up with her mate. Instead of using the small portable crane which had to be brought from one machine to the other, Mary felt obliged to lift the heavy coils manually in order to work at twice the speed. She soon got the knack of supporting the weight on her stomach and swinging the coils from machine to bench, though it was heavy work and according to the other girls it was against the rules. Madge told her to use the crane if any of the bosses were about and they’d be all right.

  It was during the third week on her new job that Mary made friends with one of the other packers, a girl named Theresa Murphy, who invited Mary to go with her to the Saturday night dance in Millington. Although she was tempted, she declined on the grounds of not being able to get home, knowing she wouldn’t enjoy it without Tom anyway.

  ‘You could stay at our house. My mother won’t mind, and you could go to church with us on Sunday morning before you went home.’

  ‘Got to go in the sin bin to confess after Saturday night, have yer?’ Madge laughed.

  ‘Don’t class everybody with yerself,’ Theresa retorted, to much laughter.

  Mary said she would think about it, but that was as far as it went. She mentioned Theresa’s invitation over dinner on Sunday.

  ‘You ought to go out more often,’ said Dr Roberts. ‘It would do you good.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be right, not while Tom’s away. I wouldn’t mind going to church, though. It isn’t the same at the convent, which is why I don’t go very often.’

  ‘Then go you shall. I shall take you over in the car next week. A visit to my friend Ernest is long overdue. I need some sheet music for the choir, though when we’ll get round to practising I don’t know, since they’re all occupied with this home guard business at present. I know we ought to be grateful, but I’ll be darned if I can see the need for it out here. So you arrange it with your friend, and I’ll visit Ernest and pick you up when the service is over.’