Time Goes By (3 page)

And so the accommodation industry benefited, not only through the holidaymakers, but with the
arrival of Belgian refugees, and then by the billeting of British troops. During the winter of 1914 to 1915 there were ten thousand servicemen billeted in the town, along with two thousand refugees.

The Leighs’ boarding house played its part in accommodating both the troops and the refugees. Winifred was fascinated and, at first, a little shy of these men who teased her good-humouredly. But as the war went on – with, regrettably, the loss of many of the soldiers they had known – she began to grow in confidence.

It was not until 1917, though, when she was seventeen years old, that she fell in love for the first – and what she believed was to be the last – time. Arthur Makepeace was a Blackpool boy; he was, in fact, almost the ‘boy next door’, living only a few doors away from the Leigh family. He was three years older than Winifred and had joined up, as soon as he was old enough, in 1915. After a few outings together, when he came home on leave, they had realised that there was a good deal more than friendship between them. They had vowed that, after the war was over, they would get married. Despite their age neither of their families had raised any objections. Many young couples were ‘plighting their troth’ in those uncertain days.

Arthur was granted leave in the early summer of 1918, then he returned to the battlefields of France. It was universally believed that the war
was in its last stages and the young couple were looking forward to the time when they would be together for always.

Then, in the August of that year came the news that Winifred, deep down, had always been dreading. Arthur had been killed in one of the last offensives on the Western Front. It was his parents, of course, who had received the dreaded telegram, and they wept along with the girl who was to have become one of their family.

It was said that time was a great healer, and gradually Winifred picked up the pieces of her life and carried on with her duties in the boarding house. Like thousands of women of her age she had never married, had never even fallen in love again. She had settled down to a life of compromise. But there were compensations to be found: in her local church where she was a keen worker, and in the dramatic society – also attached to the church – where it was discovered that she was, surprisingly, quite a talented actress. And, above all, in her love for her little motherless niece.

Winifred was now fifty years of age and, by and large, she felt that life had not treated her too badly. She had missed out on marriage, though, and children of her own. And she still wondered, despite her quiet contentment with her life, what it would be like to experience the fulfilment of a happy marriage.

‘T
hat’s lovely, dear, really beautiful,’ said Winifred. She felt a tear come into her eye as Kathy proudly presented her, on Sunday morning, with the card she had made. ‘I love the flowers, such pretty colours. And this is your best writing; I can see that you’ve tried very hard.’

‘Miss Roberts said it had to be our very best, ’cause it was going home,’ said Kathy. ‘It says “Happy Mother’s Day”, and I know you’re not really my mum, but I couldn’t put “Happy Aunty’s Day”, could I? Because it isn’t. And Miss Roberts said it would be alright … And I’ve got you these as well, Aunty Win.’ She held out the small purple box she had been hiding behind her back.

‘Chocolates as well! And Milk Tray – my very favourites!’ exclaimed Winifred. She hugged the little girl and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Well, aren’t
I lucky? That’s very kind of you, Kathy.’

She didn’t say, as she might have done, ‘You shouldn’t go spending your pocket money on me’, because she knew that it must have given the child pleasure to do so. She, Winifred, had always encouraged her to be generous and thoughtful for others; and she knew that Albert, despite his gruff manner, tried to teach her not to be selfish.

‘I shall enjoy these tonight while I’m listening to the
Sunday Half Hour
on the wireless,’ said Winifred.

‘All the class made a card,’ Kathy told her. ‘But Timothy Fielding made a bit of a mess of his. He licked his bowl too much and it wouldn’t stick on, so I helped him to make another one.’

Winifred smiled. That boy’s name often cropped up in Katherine’s conversations. She gathered that he could be rather a pest in the classroom, but she suspected that Kathy had a soft spot for him.

‘He told me a joke,’ Kathy went on, ‘but I didn’t really understand it, Aunty Win, not all of it, though I told him I’d got it.’ She told her aunt the joke about the kangaroo and the sheep and the wooly jumper, frowning a little as she did so. ‘But a kangaroo and a sheep, they couldn’t have a baby one, could they? I didn’t know what he meant about crossing them, but I laughed because Tim expected me to.’

Winifred laughed too. ‘It’s just a joke, love,’ she said. ‘Quite a funny one actually.’ Oh dear! she thought, knowing that it would be her job, when the time came, to explain to her niece about the ‘facts of life’. And already, it seemed, she was beginning to question things. ‘No; a kangaroo and a sheep wouldn’t be able to … er … mate, to get together,’ she began. ‘It would have to be two kangaroos, a male and a female, or two sheep, a ram and a ewe, to … er … to make a baby kangaroo or a baby sheep. Just like you need a father and a mother, a man and a lady, to … er … produce a baby,’ she added tentatively.

But Kathy’s mind was already off onto another tack. ‘Baby sheep are called lambs,’ she said. ‘Everybody knows that. But Miss Roberts told us that baby kangaroos are called joeys. That’s funny, isn’t it? There’s a boy in our class called Joey, and everybody laughed when she said it. Did you know that, Aunty Win, that they’re called joeys?’

‘Yes, I believe so,’ replied Winifred, relieved that the subject had been changed. ‘Come along now; let’s have our breakfast. Bacon and egg this morning because it’s Sunday. I’ll keep your dad’s warm for him and fry him an egg when he comes down. He likes a bit of a lie-in on a Sunday, when he can.’

Albert was usually up with the lark, summer
and winter alike. During the summer months, of course, there were the visitors’ breakfasts to prepare for eight-thirty. And in the winter, too, he reckoned nothing to lying in bed when there were jobs to be done. On Sunday mornings, however – but only when there were no visitors in – he liked to take his ease for half an hour or so. Winifred took up the
Sunday Express
, if the newspaper boy had delivered it in time, and a cup of tea so that he could enjoy a little lie-in. It was something that the brother and sister had never been allowed to do as children, or even later when they had reached adulthood, and Winifred still did not think of ever allowing herself this little luxury.

Albert came downstairs just as Winifred and Kathy were finishing their breakfasts. He was washed and dressed – neither had they been encouraged to lounge around in dressing gowns – but not yet shaved, as far as Winifred could tell. She jumped up from the table to make some fresh tea and fry an egg, whilst Albert helped himself to cornflakes.

‘I had a lovely surprise this morning, Albert,’ she said, after she had placed his cooked breakfast in front of him. ‘Look what Kathy has given me.’ She showed him the chocolates. ‘And a lovely card too, see.’

‘Very nice,’ he replied. ‘So what is this in aid of? I haven’t gone and forgotten your birthday, have I?’

‘Of course not; don’t be silly,’ said Winifred. ‘You know very well it’s not till next month.’

‘No, Daddy; it’s Mother’s Day,’ said Kathy. ‘Look, it says so on the card. We made them at school, and because I haven’t got a mum, Miss Roberts said I should make one for Aunty Win.’

Albert’s face took on a morose look. He nodded soberly. ‘Oh, well then … Yes, I see. But it’s no more than you deserve, our Winnie.’ Then, suddenly, he smiled at his little daughter and his face looked altogether different. His blue eyes, still as bright as they had been when he was a lad, glowed with a warmth that wasn’t often to be seen there. Really, he was quite a good-looking fellow when he smiled, Winifred thought to herself. It was a pity he didn’t do it more often.

‘That was a very nice thought, Kathy love,’ he said. ‘Yes, your Aunty Win has been very good to you, and you must never forget it.’

‘I won’t, Daddy,’ replied the little girl.

‘Now, when you’ve finished, Kathy, you’d better go and get ready,’ her aunt told her.

‘Why? Are you two off somewhere, then?’ asked Albert.

‘To church,’ Winifred told him, although he must have known very well where they were going. ‘It’s a special service today, with it being Mothering Sunday.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he replied, looking morose again.

‘I’ll wash up before we go,’ Winifred told him, ‘and I’ll put the meat in the oven – I’ve got a shoulder of lamb for today – so you can see to it for me, if you will, please?’

‘Don’t I always?’ he replied a little gruffly. ‘I’ll do the veg an’ all, and knock up a pudding, no trouble. You go off and enjoy yourselves.’

There was a hint of sarcasm in his words, as Winifred knew very well. Albert didn’t go to church anymore, so she knew it was no use asking him, not even for special occasions now. He had never entered a church since he had lost Barbara. He didn’t understand, he said, how God could have been so cruel to him; in fact, he professed not to believe in him anymore.

Albert and Winifred had been brought up to go to Sunday school and church, as was the norm in those early days of the century. And the tradition was still continuing now, in the early 1950s, Winifred was pleased to see, though not to such a large extent. Winifred and Albert had both been confirmed at their local parish church, Albert and Barbara had been married there and Katherine christened. She, Winifred, still attended the morning service each Sunday, when there were no visitors in the hotel. During the holiday season, of course, it was more difficult and she was not able to attend regularly, but she felt sure that God would understand.

Kathy did not often go on a Sunday morning – she attended Sunday school, which was held for an hour in the afternoon – but today was a special occasion and she was accompanying her aunt there for the Mothering Sunday service. Winifred put on her best coat, made of fine tweed in a moss-green colour, with a fitted bodice and a shawl collar. It was mid-calf length, the style owing a lot to the ‘New Look’ brought in by Christian Dior a few years previously. She had bought it two years ago at Sally Mae’s dress shop. With the matching neat little turban hat and her black patent leather court shoes – the heels a little higher than she normally wore – she felt quite pleased with her appearance. She liked to look nice, although she didn’t overdo it; vanity was one of the seven deadly sins, wasn’t it? But the weekly visit to church was one occasion on which she dressed up a little more than usual.

‘You look nice, Aunty Win,’ Kathy told her, and she felt pleased at the compliment.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘We must look our best to go to church, mustn’t we?’ There was no one else to dress up for, she pondered, a little wryly, so she might as well dress up for God; although she was sure he would not care one way or the other. Winifred had kept her slim figure and so the new fitted fashions suited her very well.

‘And I like your little hat,’ Kathy told her. It was a new one, from the stall in Abingdon Street
Market. ‘The green matches your eyes, Aunty Win.’

What an observant child, she thought. ‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ she agreed, although she considered her eyes to be more hazel than green.

Just a little of her mid-brown hair showed below her close-fitting hat. She wore her hair in a short style which was easy to manage, as she had done for years. She had not, as yet, found any grey hairs, which she thought was quite surprising. Just the slightest dusting of face powder and a smear of coral-pink lipstick added the final touch to her Sunday appearance.

‘And you look very smart too,’ Winifred told her niece.

Kathy’s coat was quite a new one, bought just before Christmas from the Co-op Emporium on Coronation Street. Both Winifred and her mother were keen supporters of the local ‘Co-ops’. The ‘divi’ – the dividend awarded to each shopper on every purchase – came in very useful when it was collected each year, just before Christmas. The little girl had gone with her aunt to choose the coat. It was cherry red with a little black velvet collar, and complemented her dark hair and brown eyes. Her aunt had knitted her Fair Isle beret, fawn, with a pattern of red, green and black. A complicated knitting pattern, but Winifred had been determined to master it. Those woollen hats
were quite the fashion amongst the younger girls and she liked Kathy to have whatever her school friends had. She had been delighted when she had received it on Christmas morning as an extra little present. Her black fur-backed gloves had been a Christmas present too, and her patent leather ankle-strap shoes that she wore with white knee socks.

‘Now, are we ready? You’ve got a clean hanky in your coat pocket? Righty-ho then, let’s go. We don’t want to be late … Bye then, Albert,’ said Winifred. ‘We’re going now.’

‘Bye-bye, Daddy,’ echoed Kathy.

Albert was ensconced in his favourite fireside chair in the family living room at the back of the hotel. He was puffing away at his pipe, engrossed in the sports pages, and he grunted from behind the newspaper. ‘Hmm … See you later, then. Have a nice time …’

It was only five minutes’ walk to the parish church, which had been built in the early years of Victoria’s reign; greyish-yellow sandstone with a square tower and a clock which now stood at twenty minutes past ten. The organ was playing quietly as they entered and took their places in a pew a few rows from the front. Kathy’s friend, Shirley, was in a pew on the opposite side of the aisle with her mother, but not her father, Kathy
noticed. The two friends grinned and waved to one another.

At ten-thirty precisely the organist struck up with the opening bars of the first hymn, and the choir processed from the little room called the vestry to the back of the church, and then down the central aisle to the choir stalls. They were led by a man carrying a sort of pole – it was called a staff, said Aunty Win, and he was the churchwarden – and the vicar in his white gown and a black stole edged with green. In the choir were men, women, and boys and girls as well. The boys and girls were a few years older than Kathy. She recognised some of them from the junior school, especially Graham, Shirley’s brother, who was ten years old and had joined the choir quite recently. He did not even glance in his sister’s direction as they passed by, but kept his eyes glued to the hymn book. No doubt they had been warned not to wave or grin. Kathy reflected that he probably felt a bit of a fool with that ruffle round his neck.

The men and the boys all wore white gowns – called surplices – but it was just the boys who had the ruffled collars. The ladies and the girls wore blue sort of cloak things, and the grown-up ladies had squarish hats on their heads. Kathy liked singing and she hoped that she might be able to join the choir when she was old enough. ‘
Awake, my soul, and with the sun, Thy daily stage of duty
run
…’ sang the choir and the congregation. Kathy tried to join in as well as she could. She could read quite well now and she soon picked up the tune, although she didn’t understand all the words. ‘
Shake off dull sloth and joyful rise, To pay thy morning sacrifice
.’ What was dull sloth, she wondered? She must remember to ask Aunty Win afterwards.

It was quite a short service, really, although there seemed to be a lot of standing up and sitting down again. Prayers, with the choir singing the amens; a reading from the Bible about Jesus and the little children; another hymn; then some more prayers … Kathy’s thoughts began to wander a little. She was fascinated by the windows of coloured glass; stained glass, Aunty Win had told her. The morning sunlight was shining through the one nearest to her, making little pools of red, blue, green and yellow on the stone floor. The picture on the window was of Jesus standing up in a boat, talking to some of his disciples: Peter, James and John, she guessed – they were the fishermen. And behind him the Sea of Galilee was as blue as blue could be …

Aunty Win nudged her as they all stood up for the next hymn. It was ‘Loving Shepherd of Thy Sheep’, and Kathy was able to sing it all as they had learnt that one at school. Then the vicar gave a little talk about families and the love that
was to be found there. But he didn’t just talk about mothers; he mentioned fathers, sisters and brothers, and aunts and uncles as well. Kathy was glad about that, especially the bit about aunties.

Then the children were invited to go to the front of the church where ladies were handing out bunches of daffodils from big baskets. The children took them and gave them to all the ladies in the congregation, not just the mothers but the aunties and grandmas as well, and some ladies who might not even have been married. They all received a bunch of bright-yellow daffodils. ‘
Here, Lord, we offer thee all that is fairest, Flowers in their freshness from garden and field
…’ they all sang, and the organist carried on playing until all the flowers had been presented.