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Pleasance could be so cruel. ‘And what wretched lives some of them lead,’ Plum snapped back. ‘I’m glad I’ve got the vote and have some say in things. Anyway, what has all this got to do with Dolly and Arthur? I just want them to be made welcome for Maddy’s sake.’
‘You’re getting too fond of that child, spoiling her. She’s not our responsibility now. We’ve done our duty.’ There was no budging Pleasance. No use carping at her.
‘All I’m asking you is not to hold up Gerald and me as paragons of virtue. This last affair almost came to a divorce, but we’ve talked it through and it’s sorted so you can sleep easy; end of subject. And who wouldn’t be fond of Maddy? She’s your only grandchild. Once that eye is realigned I bet our duckling will turn into a swan.’
‘Oh, don’t talk poppycock. I’ve never seen a plainer child. Now, if it was Gloria…she’s got spark and those green eyes, she’ll go far,’ said Pleasance. ‘Pass me my sherry.’
‘Do you think so? There’s something about her that worries me. I can’t pin it down. Madge Batty says she’s forever prancing in front of the mirror. Now there’s someone who ought to be on the stage…Don’t forget the school Nativity play on Monday. We’ll have to support our evacuees.’
‘Must we? The pews are so hard in the church.’
‘Come on, Sowerthwaite expects its most prominent citizen to do her duty.’ Plum smiled sweetly as she handed Pleasance the glass.
‘I’ve done my duty sending my sons to war, opening my home to refugees and evacuees and putting up with disruption at my time of life. But listening to Juniors caterwauling on the stage is not my idea of a night out,’ Pleasance snapped back.
‘Bah humbug!’ laughed Plum, her tension released. ‘Who needs Dickens when Scrooge is alive and well in Brooklyn Hall?’
‘Don’t be facetious, it doesn’t become you…making fun of a poor widow in her sorrows. Christmas is nothing without your family around you,’ Pleasance sighed, sipping her sherry as she gazed into the log fire. ‘Ugh! Is this the best we’ve got? Algie’s been at the decanter again.’
‘Hark at you. You’ve got a house full of relatives, a son and daughter on their way home, a hostel full of abandoned children and a granddaughter…Just thank God in His Mercy you have the means to give them all a wonderful time…The joy is in the giving.’
‘Just leave the sermons to the vicar, Prunella,’ came the sharp reply.
It was nearly Christmas and still no news of Mummy and Daddy. Maddy was so excited, waiting to hear their voices. Grandma didn’t believe in having a phone at the hall but the Old Vic now had one for emergencies and Aunt Plum promised to let her know as soon as the trunk call came through.
‘Can I go to the station to meet them with Mr Batty?’ Maddy pleaded.
‘Of course, but we must expect delays with the snow,’ Aunt Plum smiled. She was putting the finishing touches to the playroom decorations, with Mitch and Bryan standing on the table fixing up paper bells.
They were going carol singing round Sowerthwaite with the church choir and it was snowing hard. The village looked just like a Christmas card, full of prewar glitter.
Peggy was sulking because her mother wasn’t coming until Boxing Day. There was a special train for evacuee families to come out from Hull and Leeds. Enid had begged to go to the soldiers’ dance but Matron said she was too young, so she swore at her and was up in the attic bedroom having a screaming match, calling down the stairs the worst swear words she could muster.
Maddy was trying not to worry about Uncle Algie’s latest news bulletin from the wireless. ‘Convoys under attack. That means no bananas for tea,’ he joked.
Maddy had not seen a banana or an orange for years, not since she was at St Hilda’s. She thought of those poor sailors rowing open lifeboats in stormy seas. Thank goodness Mummy and Daddy weren’t crossing the Atlantic.
She’d helped Aunt Plum prepare their room, air the bed with a stone hot-water bottle, put on crisp sheets and a beautiful silk counterpane. They filled a vase full of pink viburnum from the garden that smelled so sweet. The fire was ready to be lit in the grate. The bedroom smelled of polish and soot. She just couldn’t wait.
Then she thought of their last Christmas together with Uncle George and Granny Mills behind the bar at The Feathers, Mummy singing ‘There’ll Always Be an England’ to the airmen, and everyone cheering. It had been such fun being all together…
Suddenly she felt sick and sad and shaky. Nothing would be the same ever again. Last year she’d been safe–now she’d come to live with strangers. Her eye had been straightened when she was seven but now it had gone all wonky again. The patching wasn’t working and sometimes she got two shapes, not one, before her eyes. Would they be disappointed like Grandma when they saw her, plain Jane that she was?
Tears rolled down her face; from deep inside great sobs poured out of her. Grandma came to see what the noise was and stared down at her.
‘What’s up now, child? What’s brought this on?’ She patted her on the shoulder like a pet dog.
‘They won’t come…they won’t come…I know it,’ Maddy spluttered.
‘Now how did you come up with such an idea? Of course they’ll come. They’re on their way,’ Grandma argued, but Maddy was too upset to guard her tongue.
‘But you don’t like my mummy and they’ll go away again and never come back,’ she blurted.
‘Here, blow your nose,’ came the reply. ‘Now who’s been telling you silly tales? How can I dislike her? I’ve never met her. You’re too young to understand grownup affairs. We’ll have a perfectly pleasant celebration, so stop all this silliness, dry your eyes and go to the kitchen for a biscuit.’
‘I don’t want a biscuit, I want Panda,’ Maddy sniffed. ‘I just want my mummy and daddy to come home.’ She felt foolish and awkward now. She’d poured out all her fears and Grandma didn’t understand. How could she? She’d not even been to her sparents’ wedding.
‘You’re a big girl for cuddling toys, Madeleine.’
‘I want Panda and Aunt Plum,’ she argued, pushing past her grandma.
‘Oh, please yourself, but stop snivelling and pull yourself together. Crying gets you nowhere. I was only trying to help,’ said Grandma, turning towards her, looking hurt, but Maddy was off down the stairs in search of her beloved black and white companion.
Panda heard all her troubles and never answered back.
It snowed hard again overnight, drifting across the lanes into banks of snow, covering the railways lines with ice. Everyone’s pre-Christmas travel plans would be disrupted with this snowfall, Plum sighed. Sowerthwaite had tucked itself in for the duration, used to bad winters and being cut off for days. The school was closed for the holidays, the food bought in and the children in the hostel were trying to be good, itching to be out on tin trays and sleds down the sledge runs.
Matron was huffing and puffing about the extra work, frustrated that her leave to be with her sister near Coventry might be cancelled. The news from the city was bad and she was worried by no word from Dora that she was safe.
‘I’ll have to go and see for myself, Mrs Belfield,’ she insisted, and headed off into the snow to catch the first available train south.
Gerald sent a cryptic note from somewhere hot and dusty, but there had still been no word from Arthur and Dolly. That was only to be expected due to the weather conditions and delays. Everything was in place for their arrival and for the children to have a party at the Hall on Boxing Day. The excitement was mounting and once chores were done they were out on the hills having a great time.
Tonight was the Christmas Nativity play and they were all taking part except Greg, who was helping stack chairs at the back of the church. His voice was well and truly broken and he growled like a bear so that got him out of the fancy-dress parade.
Mrs Batty had warned them that Billy Mellor’s donkey was brought out of its shed to do its annual turn parading down the aisle on its way to Bethlehem, no doubt leaving its annual deposit, which the verger would sweep up for his roses before it gassed the congregation. Hitler might do his worst but the donkey would do its duty on cue. Enid, Peggy, Nancy and Gloria were all kitted out as angelic hosts with wire halos on bands round their heads.
‘I look daft in this costume,’ Enid moaned. ‘I’m too old for dressing up. Look, there’s Alf and his mates.’ She pointed out the line of soldiers in the back pew, sticking out her tiny breast buds in a silly pose.
‘You’re too young to be bothering about them,’ Maddy said, but Enid ignored her, turning to Peggy with a loud voice. ‘No one would look at her twice. She’s only jealous.’
‘No she’s not.’ Gloria stepped in to defend her friend. ‘You’re common.’
‘Hark at the kettle calling the pot black, Conley! Takes one to know one!’ Peggy added her pennyworth.
‘Shurrup, fat face!’ Gloria replied. The three angels jostled and nudged each other, knocking Nancy into the stone pillar until Maddy stepped in.
‘Shush! You’re in church. The play will be starting soon. It’s too important an evening for quarrelling. Thanks for sticking up for me, Gloria,’ Maddy whispered. ‘But we don’t need to bother with anything they say, do we?’
‘Ooh, listen to Miss Hoity-Toity,’ Enid giggled, and turned her attention back to the audience.
Maddy took her place in the choir, hidden behind the chancel screen. Everything shimmered in the candlelight. The church windows were boarded up in case any light shone through. How comforting that blitz and bombers had not stopped the Christmas festivities. How confusing that in Germany they would have their own carols and candles, all of them, allies and enemies, praying to the same God. It didn’t make any sense.
When they all returned to the Vic and the children were in bed on pain of being given a sack of coal by Father Christmas for being naughty, there were still stockings to fill and parcels to wrap for tomorrow night. At least being busy there was no time to worry about Gerald. The Nativity had gone well and for once the donkey did his dump in the churchyard, not the aisle. The children had behaved impeccably and everyone was saying what a credit the Brooklyn children were to the Old Vic. She had to admit they played their parts on cue. Gloria sang out like a bell and Mitchell read his lesson like a trooper. There was hot fruit cordial in the church hall and spiced buns flavoured with home-made mincemeat that were wolfed down in seconds. The vicar gave a vote of thanks. Pleasance had made an effort, wearing her thick fur coat, Algie and Julia alongside, so the Hall was well represented. Poor Miss Blunt was stuck somewhere between here and Coventry and unlikely to return. It was turning out to be a good Christmas after all.
Plum’d enjoyed all the children’s preparations, making sure they made presents for each other, all the secrets and surprises, letters and cards home, and the parcels arriving for some of the children who lived far away.
Without children the Brooklyn Christmas was a stodgy affair of much wine and little cheer, sherry gatherings and small talk and gossip, church and long walks. This was going to be a real Dingley Dell festival at the Brooklyn: the excitement of parcels unwrapped, extra food rations and treats, decorations in every room and fires lit, a great tree cut down and decorated, and above all the chatter of little voices singing carols. All they were waiting for was Dolly and Arthur’s arrival by train to complete the picture.
Pleasance was fooling no one by pretending it was all a waste of time and expense, for even she had given a hand wrapping up parcels and sending cards this year. No one could say Sowerthwaite didn’t look beautiful in the snow, icicles spiking down the rooftops.
Lost in these thoughts, Plum didn’t hear the bell ring.
‘Mrs Belfield! Phone!’
Plum raced over to the hall shelf. ‘Sow’thwaite 157,’ she smiled. At last! What perfect timing! ‘It’ll be Maddy’s parents,’ she yelled to Mrs Batty, who was preparing the morning’s vegetables in the kitchen. She smiled at her ruffled reflection in the mirror.
Then her expression went from grin to grimace in two seconds, her mouth tightening. She slumped on to the hall chair in a daze. ‘When…? How…? I see…Yes, Yes…I see…Thank you for letting us know…Is there any hope?…I see…Yes…It is dreadful…’ She slammed the phone down and sat winded. Some disembodied voice had just shattered hopes of a cheerful Christmas. Mrs Batty was hovering, curious.
‘What is it, Mrs Belfield? Not bad news? Not Master Gerald? You’ve gone white,’ she said.
‘No, it’s not him. I’m afraid it’s Maddy’s parents. Their ship was overdue, reports are coming in that it went down en route home in the Atlantic, somewhere off the coast of Ireland…enemy fire. They’re not among the survivors…Oh dear God, what am I going to tell the poor child? It’s almost Christmas Eve!’
6 (#ulink_dadaadb0-e2fb-5a2f-9e39-97cf56af590b)
‘Mrs Plum, was I good in the show? Do you think Father Christmas’ll know where me and Sid live?’ whispered Gloria as she and Maddy skidded along the ice on the lane home from church, with little Sid and Mrs Batty, past the tall trees, their branches arching with snow. ‘He won’t know we left Elijah Street and if there’s no one there, somebody’s sure to nick the presents if he leaves ’em on the doorstep…Mrs Plum?’
Plum wasn’t listening at all.
‘Don’t be a chump,’ laughed Maddy. ‘He’s magic, he knows everything, doesn’t he? We put our letters up the chimney at the hostel. He’ll take them there or to your cottage, won’t he, Aunt Plum?’ Maddy turned round but their escort was not listening, walking behind them, lost in another world.
She’d been very quiet all day and Maddy had seen her dabbing her eyes when they were singing carols. She must be missing Uncle Gerald, who had come to visit them for a few days last month. He didn’t look like Daddy at all. He’d ignored the children in favour of chatting to Ilse and Maria in the kitchen, but then popped half a crown in her hand when he left, so he wasn’t that bad.
Aunt Plum was behaving very oddly, not looking a bit Christmassy at all in her black coat and hat. Every time she’d asked when Mummy and Daddy were coming she just shrugged her shoulders and turned away. ‘It’s this wretched weather spoiling everyone’s plans and we can’t change the weather, Madeleine. It’s in the Lord’s hands.’ What a funny thing to say? Was Plum cross with her? No one called her Madeleine except Grandma.
They’d sung their hearts out in church although she loved the quiet ones best, like ‘Away in a Manger’. The donkey pooed in the yard and made a stink, and Gloria sang her solo without forgetting her words.
The gang from the Old Vic had a great snowball fight outside church on the way home and Gloria got hit and had a hissy fit when her costume got soaked.
‘Gloria in Excelsis!’ they teased her.
‘Shurrup! I’m not Gloria Chelsey,’ she screamed back.
Maddy thought she looked silly in the long white gown made out of a tablecloth, and the halo, but now the two Conleys were so excited and Sid was racing ahead.
‘Jungle bells!’ he shouted. ‘I’m listening for the Jungle bells.’
‘It’s bed and no nonsense, the both of you,’ Aunt Plum said, shoving them through the gate of Huntsman’s Cottage. ‘The quicker you go to sleep, the earlier the day will come, won’t it, Mrs Batty? There’s church in the morning and dinner at the hostel. Tomorrow I want everyone to have a lovely day. Now shoo! Remember, we’re last on Father Christmas’s round so no disturbing Mrs Batty at all hours of the morning or you’ll be disappointed.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Gloria waved, much too full of herself to listen to a word she was saying.
‘Is there really a Father Christmas in the sky?’ asked Maddy. ‘Greg says it’s all fairy tales. He’s never had a proper Christmas and all his presents came wrapped up in the same paper from the Council. “It was the matron what done it,” he said.’ Maddy took hold of Aunt Plum’s hand for the last lap home.
‘Well, if Gregory doesn’t believe, he’ll just have to go without presents, won’t he? He’s jolly lucky to be staying here,’ she snapped, and Maddy was surprised by her outburst.
‘But he has no mummy and daddy, not ever,’ she defended her friend.
‘Lots of children have no mummies and daddies because of this damn war,’ Aunt Plum answered in a cold voice, looking ahead. ‘Come on, up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, it’s been a long day. We don’t want to spoil the surprises, do we?’
‘I just wish the telephone would ring for me,’ Maddy sighed. ‘Good night and God bless. See you in the morning.’
‘Not too early,’ came a tired reply. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have a lovely day, I promise.’
How can I say such a thing? How can Christmas Day ever be lovely again for the child? How can I spoil Christmas with such terrible news? Plum paced her bedroom floor, hugging herself to keep from shivering.
She should have taken Maddy for a walk in the snow and told her the truth when she had the chance but she’d flunked it. Why? What did it change? Why cast a gloom over the whole day, put the house into mourning for people they’d never even met?
The news would dampen all the joy of the surprises in store for the children, just for the sake of another twenty-four hours or more. Why not just let her open her presents and have their big party on Boxing Day as promised? Time enough then to break the terrible news.
She’d sworn Madge Batty to secrecy and not told her mother-in-law yet, but held the secret to herself. It hung heavily in the pit of her stomach like a cannon-ball, making her feel sick. She sat in the candlelight wishing she could take the pain away from the child herself. It was making her shake just thinking of ways to break the news gently–but there was no easy way to tell this news. Perhaps the vicar could do it? Perhaps Pleasance would see it as her duty, or they could do it together?
No, she was going to break it to Maddy and try to explain why she had not come straight out with it.
Oh, how she wanted to put off the moment when the child’s face crumpled in disbelief, the moment Maddy realised she too was an orphan of war, that her future was now in the hands of others and that she must face life alone.
No, that wasn’t strictly true. Maddy wasn’t alone. They must take her on here. She was a Belfield child and no one would turn her away from Brooklyn Hall.
Plum shivered in the darkness as she shoved the little trinkets into the girl’s red knitted stocking with trembling hands: ribbons, nuts, a mouth organ, a book, a little sweet shop, a cut-out theatre, a comic and some home-made toffee. The dress and the second-hand bike were waiting under the tree in the hall as her special presents.
Am I doing the right thing to hold back? What would Arthur and Dolly want me to do but love and comfort her like the daughter I never had? I must give her one happy day after all she’s been through. Surely it’s not wrong, Lord, to let the day pass uncluttered with gloom, but how do I tell her?
It was the one special day in the year when all the evacuees could forget this wretched war, stuff themselves with treats and have a big party. She had to think of the other children: Gloria, Sid, Greg and the rest. She must pin a smile on her cheeks and make sure the celebrations went ahead as planned. She thought of all the sad children in London, Coventry and Birmingham, children with no homes or toys, living as best they could. Her children were the lucky ones. It was so safe here. It was if there was no war going on at all.
As for Pleasance and Uncle Algie and the oldies, they would doze by the fireside waiting for their blow-out dinner, loosen their belts, dress up in their jewellery, drink sherry and pass pleasantries.
She would wait for a suitable moment after Boxing Day. It was not as if there were bodies to claim, nothing but the hush-hush phone call, perhaps further discreet communications to follow. It would not be announced on the wireless for days, if ever. No one wanted to hear such news around Christmas.
‘The first victim of war was always truth,’ she’d once read. Nothing was done to disturb public morale. Who wanted to know that a troopship was caught by submarines only a hundred miles off the Irish coast?
All over the country there would be other sad hearts receiving this call or telegrams around Christmas Eve. ‘I regret to inform you that…’ Her first thought had been that it was Gerald and then she was flooded with relief that it wasn’t him. But now she was sickened by guilt at what she was withholding from the child.
Plum stroked her red setter Blaze for comfort. He nuzzled in for more. What have I done? I just want to give Maddy a few more hours before I destroy her world. Every Christmas for the rest of her life will be spoiled by this news. It’ll be a time of dread and sorrow. I just want her hope to last a while longer. What harm can that possibly do?
Gloria could hear Mr and Mrs Batty whispering in the kitchen, after lunch on Boxing Day. It was something to do with terrible news at the Hall but when she popped her head round the door they drew back and changed the subject.
She was good at earwigging, hovering behind doors at Elijah Street, listening to stuff she shouldn’t. That’s how she’d learned from her aunties about the birds and bees and how babies got made, how rubber johnnies stopped them and how Old Ma Phipps could get rid of them if you was caught. Manchester seemed a long way away, and she wondered if Mam was thinking about them. Would she send them a present?
She’d never had a Christmas like this one. Elijah Street was just pop and sweets, singing and fighting and waiting outside the public in the dark. There was always a toy but it was broken by teatime. There was nothing about Baby Jesus in the manger and candles in the church, singing carols in the snow and making presents for each other. Everyone went to church in Sowerthwaite; only Freda and her mam went to the Kingdom Hall and they didn’t believe in Christmas Day.
At Elijah Street they were sent to Sunday school to get out of the house of an afternoon but it was just a tin shack hall with no candles and decorations. She’d never seen such a big Christmas tree as the one in Brooklyn Hall. It smelled of disinfectant and melting wax. They spent ages decorating the one in the hostel with tinsel and paper chains. It was lovely.
Did Mam ever think about the two of them? How could she just shove them on a train with no word that they were safe? Sid had already forgotten their old home. He looked blank at her when she asked him about Mam. Gloria got hot and cold just thinking where she might be. One minute she was sad, the next spitting flames. What Mam had done wasn’t right but coming here was great. She didn’t want to worry about someone who didn’t care about them, not now.
They were getting ready for the Boxing Day party at the Hall, and she was dressed in her new pinafore dress and shirt. It was navy-blue corduroy with rick-rack braid where the hem had been let down–not very partified at all but it was better than her other skirt and jumper.
Sid had on his new Fair Isle jumper that itched him, and his ginger curls were plastered down with Mr Batty’s Brylcreem. Father Christmas had got the right address and Sid was thrilled with his toy farm and tractor, and she was pleased with her crinoline doll in its own box until she saw Maddy wobbling on her new bike on Christmas Day. Why hadn’t he brought her one too?
Greg was helping her ride it on the path where the snow and ice were cleared away. Maddy was wearing a new velvet dress, all shiny and soft, the colour of peacock’s feathers, under her school mac. It wasn’t fair. She’d had two Christmasses–one at the Hall and the other at the hostel.
