The Most Precious Thing (42 page)
They were halfway home in the taxi cab when the sirens sounded, and within minutes the whole sky was filled with lights and bombers, the flares so bright it seemed like day. But for once Carrie welcomed the diversion, if not the actual raid itself, because Matthew had just been voicing his opinion of events. ‘Fancy Aunt Margaret giving Mrs Browell the right to stay at the Ridings,’ he said peevishly, ‘instead of Gran. That’s not fair. Gran said Mrs Browell was going to go and that I could go and stay with her if I wanted, seeing as it would make more room at home for Lillian and everyone. Nothing ever works out for me.’
Part 5
Truth Will Out
1944
1944
Chapter Twenty
Carrie felt her heart begin to thud so hard it actually hurt her chest as she stared at the calendar on the kitchen wall. She must have made a mistake surely. She counted the days again, and then once more. Then she walked over to the rocking chair to one side of the range and sat down, her legs weak.
Two periods.
She had missed two periods now; the second had been due over a week ago. Admittedly she had been the odd few days late in the past, but never anything like this. And she had been feeling off colour for a couple of weeks and had been sick three mornings in a row. Why on earth hadn’t she cottoned on before?
She had missed two periods now; the second had been due over a week ago. Admittedly she had been the odd few days late in the past, but never anything like this. And she had been feeling off colour for a couple of weeks and had been sick three mornings in a row. Why on earth hadn’t she cottoned on before?
And then she answered herself. Because the thought of having another bairn hadn’t crossed her mind in months. The last year had been so busy, she hadn’t had time to think, let alone brood about a baby.
The first half of 1943 had seen parachute mines, firepots and incendiaries rain down on Sunderland incessantly; large areas of the town had been flattened and many lives lost. Even David and those working underground hadn’t been safe; a bomb had dropped down the mine shaft in one colliery and sealed the fate of dozens of men. After this Carrie hadn’t known which was worse, David and Matthew and her father and brothers working down the pit when a raid was on, or being above ground where fire-watching and warden duties were proving more and more dangerous.
Carnage and destruction had become a way of life, and there was barely a family in the whole of the north-east who had not lost loved ones to the onslaught. But all that had occurred the year before, and since the previous summer no more bombs had fallen and the barrage balloons that had arrived within days of the last two heaviest raids had been hardly used.
This cessation had been too late for two of Carrie’s loved ones, however.
Early in March 1943, a parachute mine had exploded virtually in Ada’s backyard. The warden who had been patrolling the area said he saw an orange flash and an explosion, and when the rescue services reached the house they found a large crater next to where Ada’s shelter had been. Ada had been found crushed into the ground with her cats in her arms, and Carrie’s only comfort was that her friend had died instantly.
A week later the bombers were back, and this time it was Isaac who was killed. Lillian’s husband had been engaged in fire-watching duties when a row of houses close to the North Dock shipbuilding yard had been hit and all but flattened by several 500kg bombs. Isaac, two Special Constables and a warden had tunnelled into the wreckage at a point where they could hear children crying. After an hour’s hard work they succeeded in reaching two girls, sisters, the eldest of whom was only six years old. The children had been trapped under a stout kitchen table, which was what had saved them; it had provided a three by five foot shield against falling debris.
When the little girls had been safely handed to waiting neighbours, Isaac and one of the Special Constables attempted to reach the mother who was clearly seriously hurt but still alive. Working in a space no more than a foot or so high, they had just uncovered the woman’s legs when the rest of the house collapsed, burying both men and the injured woman.
Lillian had broken down at the funeral, and Carrie - still struggling to come to terms with the loss of Ada - had suggested that she and her children come and stay for a few days. After several weeks Lillian still hadn’t been able to face the thought of returning to the rented property she and Isaac had shared for the last two years, though, and so it was agreed that Carrie’s front room would again become a permanent bedsit. After a while Lillian had begun to pull round, her depression lifting a little.
It had been over the Christmas period, some months later, that Lillian had admitted to Carrie that her despair in part had been due to the prospect of Olive seeing Isaac’s death as a means to moving in with her, should she rent a property or rooms of her own.
‘I could manage Mam when Isaac was here, he wouldn’t stand any nonsense from her and she knew it, but now . . .’ Lillian gazed at her friend with tragic eyes. ‘She’d be up to all her old tricks and the bairns are frightened to death of her as it is.’
‘Look, lass, there’s a home for you and the bairns with us until you decide otherwise,’ Carrie said stoutly. ‘Your mam might not like being Mrs Browell’s skivvy but it was her choice, and she was lucky to get offered a roof over her head after how she’d been. David and I want you with us, all right?’
Lillian had cried and hugged her, but Carrie had noticed her friend had gone into the new year with a much more positive frame of mind, and now - a full twelve months after Isaac’s death - she was almost her old self again.
Carrie now rose from the rocking chair, deciding she needed a fortifying cup of tea. A
baby.
Oh please, God, let me be right about this, please don’t let it be another false alarm or something like that. But it wasn’t, she just knew it wasn’t now that the idea had taken shape. She walked over to the range, lifted the kettle which was already full of water and placed it on the hob before resuming her seat once again.
baby.
Oh please, God, let me be right about this, please don’t let it be another false alarm or something like that. But it wasn’t, she just knew it wasn’t now that the idea had taken shape. She walked over to the range, lifted the kettle which was already full of water and placed it on the hob before resuming her seat once again.
She lay back in the rocking chair, her hands going over her flat stomach in a protective gesture. She felt pregnant now that she thought about it; the sickness and deadening tiredness she’d suffered the last couple of weeks were just the same as she’d felt early on with Matthew. That should have given her a clue if she’d stopped to think. Oh, David, David, a baby.
Your
baby. But would he be pleased, the way he had been lately?
Your
baby. But would he be pleased, the way he had been lately?
The thought brought her up short. Make the tea first, she told herself. One thing at a time. She sat at the kitchen table and drank two cups in a leisurely fashion, one hand on her stomach, despite the fact she had to see about getting the dinner on.
Things had been . . . difficult between them lately. And then she bowed her head. More than difficult. Last autumn she had suggested they find a house where the ground floor could be designated a work area - a sewing room, fitting room and eventually, perhaps, a sales room. Of course they would need a bigger place than they already had, maybe even shop premises with a flat above, and at least one girl to assist her. But she’d be her own boss -
they
would be their own bosses, because she’d suggested David leave the pit and be part of the enterprise. She had expected him to be enthusiastic. She knew he had never really liked her working for Mr Horwood so she thought he would be all in favour of her working for herself. But he hadn’t wanted to consider it or even talk things over with her, and the row that had followed had been short but unpleasant.
they
would be their own bosses, because she’d suggested David leave the pit and be part of the enterprise. She had expected him to be enthusiastic. She knew he had never really liked her working for Mr Horwood so she thought he would be all in favour of her working for herself. But he hadn’t wanted to consider it or even talk things over with her, and the row that had followed had been short but unpleasant.
He had been unhappy since then, sort of closed in on himself, and the gulf between them had widened with each passing month. It frightened her. Again Carrie touched her stomach but now with a nervousness to the gesture. The loss of the old David had shown her just how much she loved him, and she did love him, so much. But she wasn’t sure if he loved her any more. When they made love now it was different,
he
was different.
he
was different.
She shut her eyes, resting her chin on one hand, her elbow propped on the table. All their married life he had constantly told her how much he loved her in the warmth of their bed at night. He’d said she was beautiful, amazing, all sorts of things, things which could never be voiced in the cold light of day, but he didn’t do that any more and the loss was more than she thought she could bear at times. But she wouldn’t beg him to love her. Her eyes opened again and they were misted. She would never do that. But with a baby on the way she needed to find out where she stood - and before she told him she was expecting.
She rubbed her hand across her face and stood up. She walked across to the rack where the potatoes were, but then her gaze alighted on the pile of fabric and old clothes sitting on a chair against the wall. The rationing of clothing had been introduced in June 1941 and it operated according to a point system whereby a person could buy one complete new outfit a year. This had meant her hours at Mr Horwood’s shop had gradually seen a reduction, until she was only working there one day a week. However, the ‘make do and mend’ order of the day had meant her own knitting and dressmaking expertise had been called on more and more by friends and neighbours.
Women’s magazines were packed with handy tips on how to turn an old lace curtain into a ‘dashing little bolero’ and a blanket into a beautiful swagger coat, but Britain’s new race of working women didn’t have the time or skill to make the clothes. Very quickly Carrie had found she was having to refuse orders. Space was at a premium with Lillian occupying the front room, and what with her work at the nursery and at Horwood’s shop, she was pressed for time too. Her hand rested on some parachute silk which a prospective bride had asked her to make into a nightdress and matching negligee. If David had been willing to move, she could have finished at Horwood’s and perhaps reduced her hours at the nursery to concentrate on their fledgling business. It would be a success. She
knew
it would be a success and now was the time to do it so that when the war was over - and pray God that would be soon - she would have built up a loyal clientele who would continue to buy from her when fabric was more plentiful again.
knew
it would be a success and now was the time to do it so that when the war was over - and pray God that would be soon - she would have built up a loyal clientele who would continue to buy from her when fabric was more plentiful again.
The back door opened and she turned, expecting to see Lillian with Luke and Katie. But it was David who entered, bringing a gust of icy-cold March air with him.
‘Hello.’ Ridiculously her new knowledge had made her shy. ‘I didn’t expect you yet, I thought you and Walter were staying up the allotment till dinner time.’ David was working the 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift at the moment, which meant most of his afternoons and evenings were free.
‘The ground’s like iron.’ Their gaze held for a moment. ‘You can smell the snow in the air and the sky’s so low you can reach up and touch it. We’re in for a packet, I reckon.’
Carrie nodded. ‘There’s tea in the pot if you want some. Mrs Fearn paid with some of her ration coupons for those grey trousers I cut down into a skirt for her lassie, so we’ve extra tea and sugar this week.’
‘I could do with a cuppa.’ He sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a mug of black tea. Carrie filled a bowl with enough potatoes for dinner and brought them across to the deep white square sink to scrub and peel.
She was aware of him sitting in brooding silence and could feel his eyes on the back of her neck, but she didn’t look at him. At one time, just a few months ago, he would have kissed her if no one else was here when he came in.
‘They’ve asked for extras to work the night shift; some of the Bevin boys claim they’re sick with the flu.’ David’s voice was mordant. Ernest Bevin had brought in a scheme whereby lads of eighteen who were eligible for call-up were sent down the pit instead of into the forces if their name began with a certain letter, and most miners were loudly vocal in their condemnation of what was a desperate measure to increase output.
‘You don’t think they’re really sick?’
‘Sick of the pit but that’s all. Most of ’em are terrified of the dark, of the machines, of being cooped up miles underground, and of us most likely. They’ve no background in the pit, they do the least amount of work possible and even that’s not handled properly. They’re a danger, that’s the thing. A danger to themselves and everyone else. They don’t understand the way things are done, and why should they? Most of ’em are office boys or something similar. Anyway, I’ve said I’ll work tonight.’
‘You have?’ Carrie turned to face him now. ‘Walter too, I suppose?’ They normally worked together if they could.
‘Aye, he’ll be there.’
Why had he said he’d work an extra shift, and the night shift at that? As the war had dragged on, coal had become even more vital and Bevin had increased wages and improved working conditions as far as possible. David now averaged four pounds a week or more, a sum undreamed of before the war. But the pits weren’t any safer and there were more accidents every day because of the extra shifts and the inexperienced newcomers. Carrie didn’t pause to consider her words. ‘I don’t want you to go, David.’
David did not reply to this. His voice softer than it had been for some time, what he did say was, ‘You look tired, lass. You’re on the go from morn to night, it’s time to cut back on a few things.’
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