Time Goes By (9 page)

‘Well done!’ exclaimed Sally, handing him the bottle. ‘I’m very pleased it’s going to such a good home! You’re not teetotal, then, Mr Leigh?’

‘No fear!’ he chuckled. ‘I’m wondering – Miss Roberts – may we leave these bottles here and collect them later? It’ll save us carrying them all round the school. We’ve a lot to see, haven’t we, Kathy?’ Kathy nodded, quite pink-cheeked with excitement.

‘Certainly,’ said Sally. ‘I’ll put them in the cupboard. Don’t forget them, though.’

‘There’s no chance of that,’ said Mr Leigh, smiling warmly at her.

A nice man, she mused as they went away. He had a lovely smile; but she reflected, as she had done before, that he probably did not smile all that often.

Kathy was enjoying herself immensely, showing her dad and aunty all the interesting pictures
on the walls, and then leading them into the classrooms where the various stalls and games were going on. She chose the name of a doll from a long list of names.

‘I think she might be called Sally,’ she said, printing her own name carefully on the list. ‘It’s Miss Roberts’ name,’ she whispered to her aunt, ‘but I don’t think many of the others know that.’

It was a lovely baby doll with eyes that closed, dressed in a hand-knitted coat and bonnet. ‘You might not win, you know,’ her aunt told her. ‘It’s just luck, really, like the raffle and the tombola.’

‘I’m not bothered,’ Kathy replied. ‘I’ve got my prize from the tombola and these books, and I’m having a lovely time. Are you enjoying it, Aunty Win?’

‘Indeed I am,’ Winifred replied. She was pleased to see how delighted Kathy was by everything. She was such a good little girl and so easily pleased. Not like some badly behaved children who were to be seen in Woolworths on a Saturday afternoon, crying blue murder because they couldn’t get their own way. Winifred noticed that her brother seemed to be getting into the spirit of things too, in his own quiet way.

In the next room, where there was a
home-made
cake stall, they met Shirley with her dad. Her mum, who was a member of the committee, was serving on the stall. Shirley had told Kathy
that her dad would be able to come because he was on early shift that day and finished at dinner time. Introductions were made whilst Shirley and Kathy smiled at one another.

‘I’m pleased to see that most of my fairy cakes have been sold,’ said Winifred, ‘and the fruit cake that I made.’

‘Oh yes, they went very quickly,’ said Sadie Morris. ‘I didn’t know they were yours. You could say they sold like hot cakes,’ she laughed, ‘whatever that means.’

‘Can we go round on our own, me and Kathy?’ asked Shirley, after a whispered consultation between the two of them.

‘It’s all right with me,’ said Shirley’s mum, ‘but you’re supposed to be showing your dad round, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ said Mr Morris, winking at Winifred. ‘I think I’ll just nip out for a quick smoke in the playground.’

‘Behind the bike sheds, eh?’ laughed Albert, seeming in a very good mood.

‘I don’t think there are any bike sheds,’ Shirley remarked.

‘It’s just a joke, love,’ said her dad. ‘I won’t be long, then we could perhaps all have a cup of tea in a little while, before this important concert starts.’

They all agreed that this was a good idea and
Frank Morris hurried away, glad to make his escape, thought Winifred.

‘Off you go, then, with Shirley,’ she said, ‘and we’ll see you in the tea room in about twenty minutes. You’ve still got some money to spend, have you?’

‘Yes, and I’ve got a watch on,’ said Shirley importantly.

‘Well, here’s another shilling for each of you,’ said Kathy’s dad, reaching into his pocket for the two silver coins.

‘Thank you, Daddy …’

‘Gosh! Thank you, Mr Leigh …’ The two girls beamed with surprise.

My goodness! thought Winifred. Her brother was feeling magnanimous today.

‘Come on,’ said Shirley. ‘I want a go on the bran tub, don’t you? And I’ve seen some hair slides that I like, and now I can afford them.’

Winifred bought some home-made flapjack. She made her own but it would be nice to try someone else’s baking for a change.

‘Would you like to buy a raffle ticket?’ asked one of the older girls in another part of the room. She and her friend were in charge of a small table with books of coloured raffle tickets and a dish of money.

‘What’s on offer?’ asked Albert genially.

‘Well, the first prize is a meal for two in a
posh restaurant in Blackpool,’ the girl replied. ‘Then there’s this box of fruit, and this big box of chocolates, and this tin of toffees.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Albert. ‘I’ll have two tickets, and two for my sister. Not that I ever win anything,’ he said as they walked away.

‘Don’t tell fibs,’ said Winifred. ‘You won that whisky, didn’t you? It might be your lucky day.’

‘Oh yes, so I did,’ he agreed. ‘Remind me to pick it up later, Winnie.’

She didn’t think he would need reminding. He had been in remarkable high spirits since his encounter with Sally Roberts.

There was a goodly crowd assembled in the school hall at half past five to watch the display of singing and dancing put on by some of the children. Winifred and Albert had met up again with Sophie and Frank Morris, and after they had all had a cup of tea and a buttered scone they had stayed together. Kathy and Shirley had gone off in great excitement as they were taking part in the musical entertainment.

Before the concert could start, though, it was time for the raffle to be drawn. The prizes were displayed on a table at the front of the hall, and the headmaster, Mr Williams, was asked to draw out the first lucky ticket. Everyone fumbled in their pockets and bags for the pink and green
tickets, then waited eagerly to hear the result.

‘Pink ticket, number 105,’ called out the headmaster. ‘First prize – a voucher for two for a meal at the Fishing Net; that’s the newly opened seafood restaurant in Blackpool, for those who don’t know. Now, who is the lucky winner?’

Winifred nudged her brother. ‘Albert, it’s yours!’ He was sitting there quite unconcerned, like most of the men were, not bothering to check the tickets that his sister had taken out of her purse. ‘Yours were the pink ones and I had the green. Didn’t I tell you it might be your lucky day? Go on …’ She gave him a push. ‘Go and collect your prize.’

‘Do I have to?’ he mumbled. ‘What do I want with a meal for two? I’d rather have that box of chocolates.’

‘Go on with you!’ she retorted. ‘I don’t think you’ve any choice. It’s the first prize.’ She waved her hand. ‘It’s here, Mr Williams. It’s my brother’s ticket. He’s coming …’

‘Congratulations, sir,’ said the headmaster, handing him an envelope. ‘Now, would you draw out the next ticket, please?’

Albert did so, and Mr Williams called out the next number. ‘Green ticket, number 59, for the voucher to spend at Sweetens bookshop.’

‘That might’ve been better,’ Albert murmured to his sister as he returned to his seat. ‘I could’ve given it to our Kathy to spend.’

‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!’ she chided him. ‘You miserable so and so!’

‘Well, we cook our own meals, don’t we?’ he persisted. ‘Whoever heard of going out for a meal when you can have much better food at home? Especially at Holmleigh.’

‘Shut up, Albert!’ she told him. ‘See, it’s time for the entertainment to start now …’

Winifred was pleased to see that he did stop muttering, and he watched with interest as the younger children filed in through the door and assembled themselves into three tidy lines, obviously well trained by their teacher – not Miss Roberts – who sat down at the piano.

About forty of the ‘best singers’, as Kathy had told her aunt, from the third-year infant classes, had been chosen to form a choir. They all looked very smart, the girls in their navy gymslips with the red and blue woven girdle, and the red and blue striped tie that they wore on special occasions. Most of the girls had red ribbons in their hair, Kathy’s topping her dark curls and Shirley’s tied at the end of her blonde plaits. The two friends were in the centre of the front row, smiling broadly, although Kathy had said they had been told quite firmly that they must not wave to their parents and friends in the audience.

There seemed to be more girls than boys in the choir. Kathy had told her aunt that the boys were
inclined to ‘grunt’ rather than sing; but that her friend Timothy Fielding was one that had been chosen.

‘He sits on the row just behind me,’ she said. ‘He’s got a lot of fair hair that stands up like a hedgehog.’

A good description, thought Winifred, as she looked at the boy she had heard so much about. A shock of blonde hair and a rather cheeky face. He looked as though he might be a handful, but he was very clean and tidy, as were all the boys, dressed in their dazzling white shirts – she guessed they were not usually so clean – and red and blue striped ties.

The teacher played the introductory bars and the children started to sing, ‘As I was going to Strawberry Fair …’ They were surprisingly tuneful and melodious, and the parents and friends listened with obvious delight as the children went through their repertoire of folk songs and old English melodies, the same ones that they had sung at school many years before: ‘Early One Morning’, ‘Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron’, ‘The Miller of Dee’, and the most poignant song of all, ‘The Lark in the Clear Air’.

Winifred was pleased to see that Albert had got over his fit of pique by the time they had finished. He turned to her with a look of tenderness in his eyes. ‘They were good, weren’t they? I’m proud of
our Kathy; she was loving it, wasn’t she? By Jove, those songs take me back a bit.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Winifred.

There was another round of applause as the children and their teacher sat down at the front of the hall to watch the older children do their bit. These boys and girls were ten and eleven years old and they performed very ably the country dances they had been practising for several weeks: ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’, ‘Strip the Willow’ and ‘Sir Roger de Coverley’.

‘I think I’d have felt a bit daft if I were one of the boys,’ Albert observed, ‘but they didn’t seem to mind, did they?’

‘I don’t suppose it’s much different really from ballroom dancing,’ said Winifred, ‘and you’re quite good at that, aren’t you? Or … you used to be,’ she added. She remembered that he had hardly danced at all since the time he had used to dance with Barbara. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it.

‘That’s a thing of the past,’ he replied, but he didn’t look as morose as he usually did when reminded of the days gone by. ‘I’ve been thinking, Winnie,’ he said, as they went to find Kathy, who was waiting outside the hall. ‘You can have that voucher for the meal. I daresay you can find somebody to go with you, can’t you?’

For a moment she was tempted, but she had
a better idea. ‘No, Albert,’ she said. ‘You won it and you must use it.’ She wondered if she dared suggest what was in her mind. ‘Why don’t you invite Kathy’s teacher, Miss Roberts, to go with you?’ she ventured.

‘I wouldn’t dare!’ he replied. ‘How could I do that?’ But he looked as though he might well consider it.

‘Of course you dare,’ she replied. ‘You can say it’s a way of saying thank you for all she’s done for Kathy.’

‘But it’s free, isn’t it? It’s not going to cost me anything. Not much of a thank you, is it?’

‘You’d be buying drinks, wouldn’t you? They wouldn’t be free. Oh, go on, Albert,’ she coaxed him. I think it would be a lovely idea. We have to see her now to collect your other prize. And what did I hear you say earlier today? Nothing venture, nothing win …’

T
he Fishing Net had opened up in the centre of Blackpool some six months previously and was becoming one of the most popular places to dine, or to ‘eat out’, as people often said. Eating out rather than dining at home was a pastime that was only just starting to be accepted as a popular thing to do. The older generation still regarded it as something strange and unnecessary. Why should anyone want to go out for a meal when you could eat just what you wanted at home and for much less cost?

Food was becoming a little more plentiful in the early Fifties, after the restrictive war years, although food rationing was still continuing. The restaurants, however, such as they were, didn’t seem to have much of a problem in putting on a reasonable meal. Venues, though, were somewhat
limited. There were hotel dining rooms where outsiders could book a meal, and some department stores had cafés for a quick snack. Lyons Corner Houses were popular in London, but there was nothing of that ilk in the provinces.

And so the Fishing Net was something of an innovation. As its name implied, it served mainly fish dishes. Crabs and lobster, usually served with salad; oysters and mussels for those who wished to be a bit more adventurous and were not too squeamish; and the more usual fish dishes – hake, haddock, halibut or plaice – served with chips or another potato alternative and an accompaniment of vegetables. One could also order gammon or steak, but the majority plumped for fish as the restaurant was best known for its good variety and excellent cooking of this commodity.

It was Sally’s first visit to the Fishing Net, although she had often walked past it on her shopping trips to Blackpool and had thought how nice it would be to have a meal there. Which was why she had not hesitated for more than a few seconds – the delay in answering had been due to surprise rather than reluctance – when Mr Leigh had invited her to share in his raffle prize.

‘Well … yes, of course I will,’ she had replied, feeling quite dumbfounded. ‘Thank you for asking me, Mr Leigh. How very kind of you … Yes, I would love to go.’

The poor fellow had gone quite pink with embarrassment – she guessed he had been plucking up courage to ask her – and she tried to put him at his ease.

‘It’s … it’s just a little way of saying thank you … er … Miss Roberts – for all you have done for our Kathy,’ he managed to say, with a little hesitation. ‘She’s very fond of you, I know. She never stops talking about you. It’s Miss Roberts this, and Miss Roberts that, all the time.’

She smiled at him. ‘Children are often like that about their teachers in the infant school. Sometimes we’re a sort of mother figure, you see. They’ve had to leave Mummy at home and … well … I suppose we’re the next best thing.’ She had stopped then, aware of what she had just said. She could have kicked herself. Little Katherine, of course, didn’t have a mother. But to apologise might only make things worse. She had noticed that Mr Leigh had looked a little disturbed; not angry, but the diffident smile had vanished from his face for a moment.

Then he replied, ‘Kathy’s mother died. She doesn’t remember her, but she thinks the world of her Aunty Win. I don’t know what I’d have done without Winnie.’

‘Yes, I know she does,’ Sally replied, a little confusedly. ‘She thinks a lot of you as well, Mr Leigh. She often talks about you both … I was
only speaking generally – about mothers. I didn’t mean—’

‘That’s all right.’ He smiled again, then he said, ‘Shall we arrange a date, then, for this meal? It doesn’t state any particular time.’

They had decided on the following Tuesday. This was an evening that appeared to be free for both of them. Mr Leigh mentioned that his darts match was on Thursday that week, and Sally’s only regular engagement was night school on a Monday.

‘I don’t have a car,’ he told her almost apologetically. ‘I’ve never really seen the need for one so far, although it’s something I’ve been considering.’

‘Neither have I,’ she answered. ‘More to the point, neither has my father,’ she added, as she could see that Mr Leigh was a little worried about his lack of his own transport. ‘Dad works in town; he’s the manager of a gents’ outfitters, but he says it would be too much trouble to park. Shall we go on the bus, then?’

‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. No, I shall get a taxi, and if you give me your address I shall come there and pick you up. What time shall we say?’

They decided on six-thirty, then they would be ready to dine at seven o’clock. He didn’t think it would be necessary to make a reservation but decided to do so just to make sure.

As Sally watched him leave the classroom with his bottle of whisky – it certainly had been his lucky evening – to meet his daughter and sister who were waiting outside, she started to wonder what she had done. Was it ethical, she asked herself, to accept an invitation such as this from the father of one of her pupils? (She was reminded of the old joke about a woman teacher meeting a man on a crowded bus and exclaiming, ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere? Oh yes, of course; you’re the father of one of my children!’) She smiled at the thought, telling herself that it was, as Mr Leigh had said, just his way of saying thank you. But she had noticed a hint of regard in his eyes as he looked at her, not only tonight but at their previous meeting at the open evening. She was not averse to a bit of admiration from a member of the opposite sex. He was quite an attractive man, too, when he smiled, and she guessed he might be altogether different from the aloof and rather stern person that he seemed to be at a first acquaintance.

Should she tell the rest of the staff about it? she pondered. She decided to think about that over the weekend. She had been wondering whether another invitation from Phil Grantley might be forthcoming, to another football match or to something that might be considered more of a proper date. But since their visit to the match last
Saturday he had said very little to her. Not that he had deliberately avoided her; he had just spoken to her in the same casual way that he spoke to the other members of the staff. Sally was hurt; she couldn’t understand him at all. It really seemed as though there was something on his mind, but if he didn’t want to confide in her – which he clearly didn’t – then there was nothing she could do about it. She wondered if, unwittingly, she had accepted Mr Leigh’s invitation as a way of getting back at him? That could only have some effect, though, if Phil knew about it.

When it came to the crunch she told no one about it except, of course, her parents. She didn’t see the point in telling the rest of the staff. School would be breaking up on Wednesday for the Easter holiday and she wouldn’t see any of them for the next two weeks. But she had to face something of a cross-examination from her mother.

‘What do you know about this man?’ she asked. ‘I mean, what’s his background, and should you really be doing this? Couldn’t it be construed as unprofessional conduct, getting involved with one of the parents?’

‘I’m not getting involved, Mum,’ Sally had replied, rather testily. ‘I’m old enough to look after myself and I know what I’m doing. He’s a perfectly respectable man. He owns a hotel. He’s the chef there, and his wife died several years ago.
For heaven’s sake, I’m only going out for a meal with him!’

‘All right, dear. I’m sorry,’ her mother had replied. ‘We just want what is best for you, and what is right for you, your dad and me, that’s all.’ Sally knew that although her parents were proud of her status as a teacher, they still thought, on the other hand, that she should be married by now with a couple of children.

However, her mother kissed her cheek and said, ‘Have a lovely time, dear’, when the taxi pulled up at the door. Mr Leigh didn’t make any move to come to the house door, which Sally was glad about, nor did her mother remain on the threshold to have a ‘nosey’, but went inside and closed the door.

Mr Leigh got out and opened the taxi door for her, and she sat on the back seat next to him. He looked very smart in a navy suit with a faint stripe, a pale-blue shirt which, she noticed at once, matched the colour of his eyes, and a maroon tie with a quiet paisley design.

Sally had deliberated about what she should wear. She liked her dusky-pink dress and she knew it suited her; then she remembered she had worn it at the open evening and that Mr Leigh might remember it. If he was anything like her father, though, and like a lot of men, she suspected, he would not have noticed what she was wearing.
How many times had she heard her dad say to her mother, ‘Is that a new dress, dear? No? I don’t remember seeing it before.’ Anyway, what the heck did it matter? she told herself. It was just a casual dinner with someone who was little more than an acquaintance. She always liked to look her best, though, and in the end she had decided to wear her moss-green suit with the fashionable wing collar and the accordion-pleated,
mid-calf
-length skirt, with a pale-green silky blouse underneath in case she took off her jacket.

Mr Leigh smiled as though he was pleased to see her. ‘Hello, Miss Roberts,’ he began as the taxi drove off. ‘I hope you’re looking forward to this meal as much as I am.’

‘I certainly am, Mr Leigh,’ she replied. ‘But I wonder if we might be a little less formal tonight? My name is Sally. I feel like a real old school ma’am when you keep calling me Miss Roberts.’

‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘I was waiting for you to suggest it, actually. I didn’t like to, with you being Kathy’s teacher an’ everything. Anyway, I’m Albert.’ He grimaced. ‘Not surprising really, is it, that I was reluctant to tell you? I hate it, but that’s what my parents called me and unfortunately I don’t have another name, so I’m stuck with it.’

‘A popular name at the time, I suppose,’ she said, thinking to herself that she didn’t like it much either. ‘Queen Victoria’s husband was
Albert, wasn’t he? I suppose that’s why it became popular.’

‘I’m not as old as all that!’ he retorted, but fortunately he was laughing. She laughed too.

‘No … sorry … I wasn’t suggesting that you are. But the next king – Edward VII – he was an Albert as well, wasn’t he? Didn’t they call him Bertie?’ She guessed that Mr Leigh – Albert – would have been born during the reign of that monarch. She, Sally, was born in 1916, during the reign of George V, which made her feel very old when she thought about it; and she guessed that Albert Leigh must be quite a few years older than herself.

‘You have a good knowledge of history,’ he commented, ‘but then you would have, with you being a teacher.’

‘It’s not terribly relevant to being an infant teacher, though,’ she replied. ‘But I’ve always been interested in history, especially modern history, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, the First World War is being regarded as history now, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I wasn’t old enough to be in that one, but I did my bit in the last one. Anyway – Sally – I’m pleased you agreed to come with me. I hope we’ll have a very pleasant evening.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ she smiled.

The taxi dropped them right outside the
Fishing Net and Sally waited whilst he settled up with the driver. There was a welcoming feel to the restaurant even from the outside. The paintwork was sea green and curtains that resembled fishing nets were draped across the windows.

There was a pleasant friendly ambience, too, when they entered the place. Albert gave his name, and a waitress in a smart green dress with a paler green apron and cap showed them to a corner table for two. The tablecloths were of green and white checked cotton, the silver cutlery was bright and gleaming and the table mats depicted seascapes of various resorts and fishing ports of the British Isles.

The same theme was continued on the walls. There were looped fishing nets, lobster pots, and sepia photographs of fishermen and trawlers; stormy seas; herring girls – as the women who used to follow the fishing fleets around the coast of the British Isles were called – engaged on their task of gutting the herrings; and well-known fishing ports of Britain, with Fleetwood, a few miles up the coast, being featured more than once.

The menus were large, both in shape and in content, and the waitress handed one to each of them, at the same time lighting the candle in a green glass bowl in the centre of the table.

‘Hmm … We’re quite spoilt for choice,’ observed Albert. ‘Shall we have something to start
with? I think the allowance they’ve given us will run to that … But it doesn’t matter, of course,’ he added hurriedly, as though realising that that might sound rather stingy. ‘You choose whatever you want, Sally. We’re here to have a good time.’

The list of starters was not quite as extensive as the main menu. Neither of them fancied hors d’oeuvres or soup. ‘I’d rather like some shrimps,’ said Sally.

‘Yes, I’ll go for that too,’ agreed Albert. ‘Morecambe Bay shrimps potted in butter; sounds good. Yes, let’s push the boat out, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

When the waitress returned in five minutes or so they had both agreed to order scampi with chips – plus vegetables – for the main course, a dish that was becoming very popular. From a separate wine list Albert ordered a bottle of Chardonnay.

‘I’m not a connoisseur of wines,’ he told her. ‘Far from it, but I’m told that Chardonnay is considered to be rather superior to the ordinary Liebfraumilch.’

They all sounded quite glamorous to Sally. Wine drinking was becoming rather more fashionable now because many folk had discovered that pleasure on holidays abroad, but this was something that she had not yet experienced, apart from a short trip to France a couple of years ago with her parents.

‘Do you serve drinks at your hotel?’ she asked. ‘Alcoholic ones, I mean.’

‘No, we don’t,’ he answered. ‘We don’t have a licence. Very few of the smaller hotels have as yet. It’s just the larger ones like the Norbreck and the Imperial, and lots of others, of course. Maybe one of these days …’

Conversation lagged a little while they were waiting for their meal. But just as Sally was searching in her mind for an opening remark the wine waiter arrived with the bottle of Chardonnay. He poured a little of the golden liquid into Albert’s glass. He tasted it knowingly and when he nodded that it was acceptable the waiter poured out a glassful for each of them.