The Most Precious Thing (38 page)
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ As Carrie and Sandy made to pass, one of the firemen caught at Sandy’s coat. ‘There might be an unexploded bomb near that gas main. Why do you think we’re evacuating the houses nearby?’
‘We need to get to Wellington Street.’ It was Carrie who answered. ‘My sister-in-law lives there.’
‘Oh aye? Go South Terrace way then and keep your heads down. There’s no knowing if this is the end of it for the night.’
When they reached the house Lillian and Isaac lived in Carrie’s heart was in her mouth. The house adjoining Lillian’s had been all but gutted, and the ones either side had been partially demolished. Some locals from a pub opposite were busy pulling people from the wreckage of the gutted building. Miraculously, all were relatively unscathed apart from cuts and bruises in spite of having lived on the first floor of the house. The family with nine children who lived on the ground floor had been sheltering in the pub cellar when the bomb had hit so they, too, were unharmed. But the old couple who lived in the house on the left had been killed by a ceiling falling on them. The street door to Lillian’s property was blocked by debris and rescuers were trying to ascertain if anyone was alive.
It was some twenty minutes before a way was made for Lillian and Isaac to pass their children through to waiting arms. They followed a moment or two later, with Olive Sutton bringing up the rear.
‘Carrie! Oh, Carrie.’ Lillian burst into tears at the sight of her friend, causing Luke and Katie, who had been grizzling with shock up to that point, to give way to full-blown howls.
‘It’s all right, lass, it’s all right. You’re safe, all of you.’ Carrie had Lillian in her arms and was all but holding her up.
‘I should’ve sent them away. I knew I should’ve sent them but I kept thinking another week wouldn’t hurt.’ Lillian was clutching her so tightly Carrie knew she’d have bruises come morning.
‘You can still send them, I don’t think the farm’s going anywhere. But for now you’re all unhurt and that’s the main thing.’
‘Me things. All me things are ruined.’
‘They can be replaced in time. People can’t.’ Lillian was shivering uncontrollably, and Carrie said, ‘Look, you’re coming home with me, all of you, and we’ll see what’s what in the morning, all right? For now you need a nice strong cup of tea and bed. Right, Isaac?’ She turned to Lillian’s husband and he managed a shaky smile.
‘Sounds good to me, lass. We’d just finished the last of our tea ration as it happens.’
‘That’s the way, lad.’ Sandy clapped Isaac on the back so hard he took a step forwards. ‘Spit in the Nazis’ eyes, damn ’em.’
‘And me?’ Olive Sutton stepped from behind Isaac, her voice tight and her eyes gimlet hard. ‘You including me in all this?’
‘Of course, Mam.’ Carrie made a huge effort to speak warmly. ‘You’re very welcome.’
‘Crowd you out, won’t we?’
There was a clear note of satisfaction in the words, and as Carrie held Olive’s gaze for a moment, she groaned inwardly. Crowding out was the least of her troubles if her mother-in-law was moving in.
‘Not at all,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ll sort things out as we go, eh, Lillian?’
‘This is so good of you, lass.’
‘You’d do the same for us.’
‘Aye, I would. I would that.’
‘We can go to Margaret’s,’ Olive interjected. ‘They’ve lots of room, as you well know.’
It was Lillian who now rounded on her mother, her voice sharper than Carrie had ever heard it. ‘Margaret is not well,
you know that
. Her father has had to engage a nurse to be with her most of the time since Alec left. She’s gone all to pieces worrying about him.’
you know that
. Her father has had to engage a nurse to be with her most of the time since Alec left. She’s gone all to pieces worrying about him.’
‘All the more reason to be with family, to take her mind off things.’
‘I don’t think it would work like that.’ Carrie stared her mother-in-law straight in the eye. ‘She couldn’t cope. Even a brief visit exhausts her these days.’
‘Huh.’ Olive drew herself up ramrod straight and despite the fact she was covered in brick dust and her hair resembled a busby, she cut an intimidating figure. ‘What do you know about it? All this molly-coddling by everyone. That’s why she’s in the state she’s in, if you ask me.’
‘This is not the time or the place to discuss this,’ Carrie said shortly. ‘The bairns need to be settled.’
‘Carrie’s right.’ Isaac bent down and lifted his children into his arms. ‘Let’s get the bairns out of this.’
‘Here, lad, give Katie to me.’ Sandy took the little girl, while Carrie kept a protective arm round Lillian who was now trembling violently with shock. Supporting each other in this way, with Olive Sutton following behind, they walked away from the ruins of what had been Lillian and Isaac’s home.
Chapter Eighteen
The last week of February saw Wearside gripped by severe winter weather, the worst in living memory according to all the oldtimers. Power lines were brought down by the weight of snow and ice, trams and buses struggled to run any sort of service at all, and the bombing raids continued most nights. The room where Carrie worked was given over to Lillian, Isaac and their little ones, and Matthew’s room was occupied by Olive, which meant Matthew was sleeping on a put-u-up in the kitchen. Carrie felt her life had been turned upside down but she could have coped with it all quite easily - it was Olive Sutton who was the real thorn in her flesh.
Carrie was now working as a volunteer in one of the day nurseries that were springing up wherever funding could be found for them. There was a vital need for women to work in munitions factories, tank and aircraft factories, civil defence, nursing, transport and other key occupations in order to release men for the armed forces. The responsibility for nursery provision was shared between the Ministry of Health and local authorities, but some officials were proving obstructive. There was still widespread antipathy to the idea of mothers with young children working, and this, together with the grudging release of the necessary funds and facilities, meant the nurseries already in place were desperate for volunteers prepared to work without a salary.
Carrie now rose at half past five every morning in order to leave the house at half past seven with Luke and Katie, for whom, by volunteering, she’d gained places at the nursery. This left Lillian free to take a job in the same steelworks as Isaac, where she was immediately put on cutting shell cases. Having lost everything in the bombing, and with their house under order to be knocked down because it had been rendered unsafe, the couple were anxious to save every penny they could in order to buy essential furniture and move into rented accommodation. On Lillian’s first shift a red-hot shaving of steel hit her across the face and loosened her teeth, necessitating an hour in the Sunderland infirmary and many stitches, but she was back at work the next day - badly bruised and hardly able to open her mouth, but back at her machine.
Carrie normally arrived home at half past four in the afternoon after her eight-hour stint at the nursery and she did this three days a week. The other three days she worked at Horwood & Sons in a small stuffy room which had been provided for her. She arrived at eight in the morning and left any time between six and nine at night. In spite of the long hours, cramped working conditions and poor lighting which made her eyes ache and her head pound, she much preferred these days and she was grateful that the talk of clothing rationing had not come to anything as yet. On the days she worked at the nursery she saw too much of her mother-in-law in the afternoon for it to be comfortable.
Despite broad hints from Lillian and Isaac that with Katie and Luke now in nursery six days a week, Olive was free to find work herself, she seemed determined to resist the call to take employment. This meant she saw far more of Matthew than Carrie did, especially when Matthew was on the 6 a.m. shift and got home at just after two in the afternoon. Carrie would often walk in to find the pair of them settled over a cup of tea and a plate of girdle scones or sly cake, despite the number of times she had pointed out to Olive that rations were short.
Matthew had always liked his grandmother: she indulged him to the point of stupidity, but lately his affection seemed to have grown. Indeed Olive was the only person he really spoke to. The brief rapport he’d had with David when he first started down the pit had evaporated since his grandmother had arrived in the house. Carrie was aware of all this, and suspected that Olive was conducting some sort of murmuring campaign directly against her, but she had no concrete proof and deemed it wisest to say nothing rather than risk alienating Matthew.
This finished abruptly in the last week of February. Carrie had just got home with Luke and Katie whom she’d sent through to the kitchen which was warm from the range. She was standing in the scullery, taking off her hat and coat which were thick with snow, conscious that her feet were like blocks of ice and that one of her boots was leaking. Through the scullery door she heard Luke say loudly, ‘That’s not fair,
I
want one,’ and then came the sound of a ringing slap, followed by howls from the little boy.
I
want one,’ and then came the sound of a ringing slap, followed by howls from the little boy.
Carrie fairly leaped into the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter?’ Luke flung his small body against her legs and buried his head in her skirt. ‘Did you smack him?’ Carrie demanded. ‘What did he do?’
Olive and Matthew were sitting at the kitchen table, and as Olive raised her head and looked straight at her, Carrie thought, you haven’t changed a bit, not a bit. Olive was still the dominant, cruel woman she’d always been; the meekness she’d shown after Ned’s leaving and during her years with Lillian and Isaac was no more than a thin façade. Olive was staring at her with an expression that proclaimed she thought she was looking at something unclean, something beneath her notice. The rage that her mother-in-law had brought to the surface once before was kindled again now.
‘Did you smack him?’ Carrie repeated, her tone cold and her face white with anger.
‘Aye, I smacked him.’
Katie had joined Luke and was nestling into Carrie like a tiny fledgling seeking security in the feathers of its mother.
‘Why?’ Carrie asked.
‘Because he won’t take no for an answer, that’s why. Lillian’s spoiled him.’
‘Luke is a very well-behaved boy.’ Carrie had a hand on each of the children’s heads but her back was straight and her chin was up as she glared at the woman who hated her. ‘And I repeat, what did he do?’
‘He wanted a scone.’
It was Matthew who answered her and his voice was low but cool, with a quality to it that notched up Carrie’s anger even further. ‘Well? What’s wrong with that?’ she asked, ignoring the fact for the moment that in making the girdle scones her mother-in-law had probably used the last of the currants for the month, something she’d specifically asked her not to do.
‘Your son’ - Olive placed a slight emphasis on the last word as though pointing out that Carrie’s loyalties should be with Matthew and not Luke - ‘has just endured another day down that hellhole, and I baked for him, not Lillian’s brat.’
‘Don’t you dare call Luke a brat.’ Carrie knew this confrontation had been coming from the moment Olive had stepped into her house months before, but she’d never imagined the showdown would arise over something as trivial as a girdle scone. ‘And you’ve no right to refuse him a scone. Of course he wants one, it’s only natural. He’s hungry and he’s three years old, besides which the food in this house is for everyone. You say you made them for Matthew. You haven’t had one then.’
Olive’s sallow face flushed. ‘Luke doesn’t know his manners,’ she said, ignoring the question. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child, that’s what the good book says.’
‘Don’t quote scripture at me, not in these circumstances.’
‘Now look, Mam, Gran didn’t mean anything,’ Matthew chimed in, his tone protective, and the thread which had been holding Carrie’s patience since her mother-in-law’s arrival in the house snapped.
She turned to her son, her tone icy as she said, ‘No, Matthew,
you
look and you’ll see we all pull our weight in this house except your grandmother. No one is entitled to special treatment, do you understand me? Your father works just as hard as you do, and the steelworks is no picnic for your aunt and uncle. I work all the hours God sends and I’m thankful for what it brings in, but the point is we
all
work. We all pull together. We all share whatever there is. There will be no more cooking when I’m not here.’
you
look and you’ll see we all pull our weight in this house except your grandmother. No one is entitled to special treatment, do you understand me? Your father works just as hard as you do, and the steelworks is no picnic for your aunt and uncle. I work all the hours God sends and I’m thankful for what it brings in, but the point is we
all
work. We all pull together. We all share whatever there is. There will be no more cooking when I’m not here.’
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