Women on the Home Front (122 page)

She stared at her wedding portrait. She was so pinched and laced up tight there was a look of agony and apprehension on her face. She needn’t have bothered, for Redvers Winstanley had been a thoughtful husband and a good lover.

Freddie had had those same blue eyes and thick lashes, wasted on a lad, but Lily had got her own pale face and brows, and identical scowl when under threat.

There in her son was Redvers’ cheeky grin, which had wooed her across a football pitch. There’d been such an uproar about her wearing a short divided skirt in public but Richard Crompton’s daughter was not one to be put off in those days by a bit of derring-do. Pity Lily, with her long legs, hadn’t got her own get-up-and-go…

Both her lads had that mop of curls. A wide grin and curls were a fatal combination with the ladies, she reckoned. Even little Neville was going to sprout a fine crop of dark curls.

It was a pity poor Lil’s fiancé, with his jug ears, had nothing to recommend him but height. They were both stay-at-home birds, not fly-by-nights. Perhaps they were well suited; neither would set the world on fire. He would run her ragged with that mother of his, and she
would be like a lost sock in the Acme, going round and round after them. From where Esme was sitting he looked a lazy lummock, but she could be wrong.

Redvers took life at thirty miles an hour round the bend, lived fast and died early. His loss was such a blow and left a gap no other man would fill in her life, but to lose a child went against nature; to lose two was more than she could bear.

She could see Lil and Levi were too stunned to take it all in. Ivy would do her best for her husband. That one knew where her bread was buttered. Sometimes Esme caught her eyeing up her china cabinet as if she was making an inventory of all her best pieces.

Ivy was a jumped-up factory girl who was put in Crompton’s office to help out and began to call herself a secretary. She had collared Levi almost off the troopship home. Now she did nothing but moan and groan how hard it was to rear a baby on starvation rations. The doctor said her insides were all mangled up and she must have no more babies. Neville was to be an only child.

What a sissy they made out of him, in his silk romper suits and smocked blouses! His hair was still in ringlets and needed a good cut, and Levi never put his foot down enough. It would all end in tears.

I don’t know what’s happened to this new world, Esme sighed. In her day the Almighty just dished out kids and that was that. He then took a fair few of them back again one way or another. She would have words with Him about that. With family planning they could pick and choose the size of their families but the country
was crying out for more babies now. Everything was topsy-turvy.

Lily was right. It wasn’t fair to go through all that bombing and shortages, worry and uncertainty, sacrifice and service. What a relief it had been when it was all over-and now this…

Crompton’s Biscuits had turned production into special orders. She had helped in their nursery and on the market stall, joined the WVS and Welfare Clinic. ‘Family First’ was the Winstanley motto.

The town had pulled together like a family: rich and poor, old and young, in one valiant effort against the enemy. Now the threat was over it was as if everyone was scuttling back into their burrows. Neighbours were becoming strangers again, scurrying away behind their net curtains, and the pews of Zion Chapel were emptying fast now the threat was over.

You shouldn’t deal with the Almighty like that, picking and choosing your moment when to worship or mow the lawn. It was a matter of trust. She didn’t understand what He was playing at, robbing her of half her family, ripping her heart with such pain, but He must have a grand plan, like those Turkish carpets the Reverend was on about last week.

Every carpet had a deliberate flaw in the pattern somewhere to prove that men were mortal and no match for Allah. Well, now it seemed as if the Almighty would have to explain Himself in due course. She wanted to shout in His face, ‘What do you think you’re playing at, taking my children? Have we been that wicked that we need bringing down a peg or two?’

No, she prayed. Forgive me. You gave us Your only son to show us the way…Help me bear this pain.

Solace would not be coming from the usual treats: a glass of Wincarnis Tonic Wine, the latest Mazo de la Roche novel by her bedside, afternoon tea with the old Suffrage Society members in the Kardomah Coffee House. This was a time when a family closed in on itself and drew strength from memories of happier times. She wanted her children wrapped tightly around her for company. Family First…

In the days that followed there was a constant stream of visitors to their door and it was Lily’s job to sit them down and give them tea, explain that they knew little more than what had appeared in the local paper. Freddie was buried in some far-off military cemetery with full honours. There were letters from his commanding officers and the padre, from his friends in the Military Police, cards of sympathy from neighbours and school friends.

Even the Grasshoppers sent a deputation to ask about the funeral: Barry Wagstaff and Pete Walsh stepped into the parlour, caps in hand, and sat while Lily rehashed the same story over and over again, trying not to cry.

‘If there’s anything we can do, Lily, you’ve only to ask. Freddie was always one of our gang,’ smiled Barry.

‘Just get promotion in the league, that would make him proud.’ It seemed a silly thing to say but she wasn’t thinking straight or sleeping. Dr Unsworth, their local doctor, brought Esme a sleeping draught, which made her groggy, but Lily had refused pills. Someone had to
keep alert when there were so many details to arrange. Levi had drowned his sorrows once too often and now had a bad cold, so Ivy was fussing over him.

Walter kept Lily company when he could but all their plans to talk weddings seemed out of order now. It was ‘Family First’ time.

‘The Winstanleys’ve always been good to the club. We’d like to send a wreath from the lads,’ offered Peter Walsh, the star centre forward and on stand-by for the England Reserves.

It was strange to see the boys with scabby knees, who had kicked balls between pullovers in the playground, now smartly dressed in navy blazers and grey flannels, full-time professionals earning five pounds a week.

Lily always had a soft spot for Barry when they were kids. He had once rescued her from a fierce dog on the walk home from school. He had lost his right back friend, Stewart Higgins, on D-Day The team was still struggling to get back some form and grow some good players from the youth sides.

Pete was a surprise find amongst the boys, who had come into form just at the right time. He looked very dashing, not a bit like the skinny mallinky long legs who used to tear round on his go-cart with Freddie hanging on for dear life.

Suddenly the days were racing on from that terrible Monday morning. Enid Greenalgh, ever the faithful friend to the family, stepped in to open the stall while Lily saw to the answering of letters and trying to coax Esme to eat.

There was still a pile of unopened mail on the mahogany hallstand waiting for attention, but Lily had neither the time nor the energy to see to everything.

Reverend Atkinson suggested a memorial service. ‘It will give you all a chance to say goodbye,’ he advised. ‘Freddie should be honoured in his own town and his friends given a chance to attend.’

‘Whatever you say,’ Lily replied, only half listening. She was too angry to pray. Then practicalities began to distract her flittering brain. How would they provide tea for hordes of guests? Where would they get the extra rations? Who should do the readings? What hymns would be suitable for a fallen soldier? Would Mother hold up under the strain? Would Levi stay sober enough to be of use?

Ivy produced a list of guests to invite, people Lily had never heard of from the Green Lane end of the street, the posher part of their district. Ivy took the hump when it was ignored in favour of chapel friends and Freddie’s pals.

Then Lily found herself awash with tears, fingering the letters he’d sent, full of jokes and rudeness.

He brought the fizz into the family when Redvers died. He carried on with the same practical jokes, silly songs and roving eye. The house was always full when Freddie was home. Now there was a sadness and silence that hung over them like a grey pall of fog, separating each from the other in their grief.

Neville was playing up, sensing the atmosphere, screaming and having tantrums at the slightest thing. Freddie would have been Walter’s best man, even though the speech he would have given would not have been for the minister’s ears. Lily had always been the shadow to his sun, stealing warmth from his glow. Now it was dark, grim and oh, so cold, and winter hadn’t even arrived.

Later that evening they all passed the cards and letters around the fireside, trying to work up some enthusiasm for planning the memorial service. No one was in the mood to make any decisions. Ivy was sulking, Levi was trying to catch the nine o’clock news for a bulletin on the situation in Palestine. There had been no mention of the explosion so far.

It was time to make another foray into the unopened mail that had progressed from the hallstand to the back of the mantelpiece. A London postmark took Lily’s eye. They had no relations down south so it must be from one of Freddie’s comrades’ mothers
who had heard the news and wanted to send her own condolences.

She opened it quickly, read it, read it again and passed it round.

‘What do you make of this?’ Lily asked. ‘Do any of you know a Miss Brown?’

Esme peered over her glasses at the thin blue tissuey paper. ‘I don’t understand. The woman says she’s “his intended fiancée”. What does this mean?’

‘Either she is or she isn’t,’ Levi quipped, not taking much notice.

‘Sounds as if she’s just arrived on a troopship from Burma. She’s been teaching in Rangoon,’ Lily added.

‘She must be a missionary then,’ offered Ivy. ‘He’s a dark horse, your Freddie. Not a word about a fiancée, was there?’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one…It’s nearly a couple of years since he left the Far East.’

‘Perhaps he was going to spring her on us when he came home. “Mother, meet the girlfriend. By the way, she’s soon to be my wife.”’ Levi mimicked his brother’s voice. ‘Trust our Freddie to keep a pretty girl up his sleeve. He never could resist a beauty but a missionary’s not exactly his style.’

‘She says they met in the church in Rangoon, wherever that is.’ Ivy turned the page over. ‘She’s in some centre awaiting instructions and will send us a telegram when she can come north…Funny she hasn’t gone home to be with her family.’

‘They’ll be serving out in Burma. Well, fancy, Freddie…’ For one dizzy second Lily was talking as if he was still alive, as if the joyful reunion was soon to happen. This poor girl knew nothing of his fate. What on earth would they say?

‘We can’t just let her go on thinking he’s coming back. Better write and tell her,’ Ivy advised.

‘That’d be too cruel. No, we must tell her properly. It will be such a shock. She might want to be at his memorial. Why didn’t he tell us about her?’

‘Don’t ask me! I’m only the brother-how would I know what went on in his mind? You’re the one who he wrote to, Lil. He was your blue-eyed boy,’ Levi sniggered.

‘Levi! That’s enough. All will be revealed in the
fullness of time,’ Esme sighed, and turned her face to the fire. ‘It’s out of our hands now.’

They didn’t have long to wait. The telegram announcing Susan L. Brown’s arrival at Ringway Aerodrome was in the post the very next morning. Someone was going to have to break the bad news, and quick.

‘Someone’s got to fetch that poor girl from the aerodrome,’ ordered Esme, still clutching the telegram as if it was going to bite her. ‘I think I’m going to have another of my turns. My head is spinning.’

‘Someone’s got to open up the market stall, I’m late already, Mother,’ shouted Levi as he waltzed through the door. ‘Count me out.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Ivy. ‘I’ve got to take Neville to the clinic. Lil can do it. It’s her morning off.’

Lily was making a list of arrangements for the funeral tea. ‘I was hoping you’d all come to give me support.’

‘Take Walter with you then,’ snapped her sister-in-law.

‘You know the seat in the van gets to his bad back.’

‘That’s not our fault, Lil. If he got off his backside a bit more…’ sniffed Esme, reaching for the aspirin bottle.

‘Don’t start that again. Leave him alone. He can’t help it.’ There was no getting out of this taxi service now.

‘What you see in that lad—’

‘I’m not listening.’ Esme could be so cussed when one of her heads struck without warning, but with this terrible blow none of them was on top of the job.

‘I’ll go on one condition-that
you
tell this girl…I’m not. Poor lass’ll be wondering why he’s not there to meet her.’