A Family Christmas (2 page)

‘He did touch me, on my arm,’ Lucy panicked.

‘Well, that doesn’t count, but don’t let him touch you anywhere else.’ Jane decided to ask their Mary to have a talk with Lucy and explain to her about boys and babies and things. Jane had learned everything she knew from chats in the playground with her friends but Lucy seemed rather ignorant about such matters. However, she was far too embarrassed to talk to her sister herself. Besides, she wasn’t sure if some of the things she’d heard were true or not.

Lucy was wondering why their Mary didn’t have a baby; Jacob touched her on her knee when they were sitting together in the front room on Sunday afternoons. She and Kitty had seen him once when they had peeped through the window to see what they were up to. And Jacob always put his arm round her waist when they walked home from church. If their mam saw him their Mary wouldn’t half cop it. Annie Gabbitas would think nothing of lashing out with the carpet beater, even if her young
man
was there. Lucy had had a walloping only yesterday for leaving the kitchen door open when the bread dough was rising on the hearth. Thinking of bread, she wondered what was for tea; the bread and cheese hadn’t been enough to feed a bird. ‘I’m hungry,’ she told Jane.

‘I am too. I could eat the coalman’s horse. I expect it’ll be stew again.’ Stew was the usual meal in the Gabbitas household. Mr Brown the greengrocer always made Top Row the last call and dropped off any greens that were turning yellow, half-rotten root vegetables and bruised fruit at their house. Annie repaid the man by sending young William to run errands for Mrs Brown on Saturday mornings. The old vegetables made a decent stew when simmered with a few neck of mutton bones. An oxtail would be added after a few days, providing dinners for at least a week.

‘I’m fed up of stew,’ Lucy moaned.

‘Aren’t we all?’ Jane rolled her eyes, then she blushed as she noticed one of the lads from Next Row walking towards them. Jane thought he was one of the most handsome lads in Millington, but he was sixteen and didn’t even glance at her. If any of the Gabbitas girls had attracted the attention of Josh Smith it was Nellie. At sixteen, Nellie’s curves showed through her frock – which she had long since outgrown. Nellie, like her sisters, would have to wait until Whitsuntide, when Mary, being the eldest, would have a new dress
made
by Annie, so that her old one could be handed down.

Poor Lucy, being the youngest, always had to make do with a faded fourth-hand dress. Not that she dared complain. So Lucy Gabbitas fixed a smile on her pretty, animated face and said her prayers every night that one day something nice would happen. Up to now nothing had, but Annie’s family had long since learned that if nothing good was expected, then nobody would ever be disappointed.

Bill Gabbitas was home when his two daughters arrived from work. Lucy’s heart seemed to miss a beat as she realised her father must be ill again to be home at this time. She ran to where he was lying on the old horsehair sofa. Lucy idolised her dad; he was a loving and generous man. Everyone loved Bill Gabbitas. It was only her mam who had changed and become miserable.

‘Hello, little lass.’ Bill held out his arms as Lucy fell into them. ‘How did yer day go?’ His daughter planted a kiss on her dad’s cheek, setting him off coughing. Lucy fetched a clean piece of linen from the cupboard by the fire and handed it to Bill. Her face turned pale as she saw the bright red streak of blood he coughed up onto the white rag.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Annie chastised Lucy. ‘Throwing yerself about. Get out to play.’

‘Leave her alone,’ Bill managed between the coughing. Just then Ben Gabbitas walked in and went towards his father. ‘Are yer bad again, Dad?’ He
placed
a cushion behind Bill’s head. ‘It’s time yer gave up that job. It’ll be the death of yer, if yer keep on much longer.’ Bill was a ripper in Millington Colliery, the same pit where Ben was employed.

‘He can’t. What are we to live on?’ Annie snapped.

‘We’ll manage; we’re all working now, except our Will. Isn’t me dad more important than money?’

‘The rent’ll ’ave to be paid if yer dad leaves work – have yer thought about that?’ The rent was deducted from Bill’s wages every week by the owners of the pit.

‘It’ll ’ave to be paid if owt happens to me dad anyway. Unless we get the house transferred into my name. We can do that.’

‘I don’t want owt to happen to me dad.’ Lucy began to cry.

‘What did I tell yer? Get outside and play.’ Annie grabbed the carpet beater and whacked Lucy hard.

Ben grabbed the beater out of his mother’s hand. ‘Leave her alone. The child’s done a day’s work. She wants some food inside her. Not that we get much to say we’re all tipping up our wages; I’d like to know what yer do with it all.’ Ben snapped the handle of the beater in two and threw it out of the door. Lucy couldn’t help admiring him for standing up to her mother.

‘What did yer do that for? Yer like a mad man.’

‘Aye well, it’s time somebody opened their mouth around here. Our Lucy’s a good lass; yer always
on
at her. Besides, what do yer want with a carpet beater when we’ve no bloody carpets?’

Bill began coughing again, the rag turning scarlet when he couldn’t stop.

‘Fetch the doctor, Jane,’ Ben ordered.

‘We can’t afford no doctor,’ Annie snapped.

‘Fetch him, go on.’ Ben ignored his mother. He had had enough of her penny-pinching ways. Jane ran all the way down past the three other rows of houses, all identical to Top Row, and up the hill by the clock till she reached the doctor’s house. She might as well have saved herself the trouble. By the time Jane returned with the doctor, Bill Gabbitas had breathed his last breath.

All Top Row was in mourning. Neighbours came from every house offering help, a loaf of bread – though God knows they had hardly enough to feed their families – and most importantly they offered a shoulder to cry on. Annie did her fair share of weeping, never considering the sadness her children were experiencing, and regardless of the fact that she had given little thought to the suffering of her husband over the last few years. In fact Annie seemed incapable of caring for anyone.

Ben comforted William and Lucy as best he could, knowing they were the two closest to their father. Mary sent Nellie and Jane off to work, knowing not only that it would be good for them but that her mother would expect a full wage packet
from
them at the end of the week. She kept Lucy at home. The lass couldn’t be expected to master a new job in the state she was in.

Arrangements were made for the funeral at Cragstone Parish Church, even though Annie grumbled that the carting of the coffin all the way to Cragstone would cost more. Ben put his foot down and insisted that as his father’s birthplace had been Cragstone and as he had been baptised there, he would be buried and laid to rest close to his parents and grandparents. Ben considered his father would be at peace away from his nagging misery of a wife. Annie complained, but Ben told her she could argue till kingdom come; if he was arranging the funeral that was where his father would be interred. He sent William to the insurance agent’s house with a message and was relieved when the man came with the news that the premium was up to date and money for the funeral would be forthcoming.

Annie set Lucy to work cleaning the front room so that Bill would look nice laid out in his coffin. After that Lucy baked a batch of loaves. She thought she’d be better off at work, but didn’t dare say so, even though the broken carpet beater had been dumped in the midden behind the lavatories. The heartbroken girl sobbed all the time she was kneading the dough, grief-stricken that her kind, loving dad had gone for ever. Lucy hated her mother on that day, remembering how she had tried to prevent their Jane from fetching the doctor. She hoped her mother
would
cough herself to death, just like her father had from the consumption. It would serve her right if she did. Then she wondered who would look after them if their mother died as well. Perhaps Lucy shouldn’t wish her dead after all; she didn’t love her, though. Her mother had been mean to her father and Lucy would never forgive her for that.

She wondered if the others were remembering all the times their dad had been too ill to go to work but had gone anyway, knowing his life wouldn’t have been worth living if he hadn’t made the effort. Lucy could remember when her mam had been different, affectionate and smiling a lot. She didn’t know why she had changed, but she vowed that if she ever had a husband and family she would never treat them the way her mother had treated her dad and her brothers and sisters.

It was the first Christmas without Bill Gabbitas and even the younger ones would be glad when it was over. The older ones could remember a time when the house had been a wonderland of holly, ivy and even a mistletoe bough. Even in the latter years when their mother had moaned about the extra work Christmas caused – not that she had made much of an effort – there had been the excitement of Christmas morning. A sugar mouse, a penknife, a picture book or a pretty lace hankie, all supplied by their father. Even Annie complaining about the wasting of money hadn’t spoiled the fact that their father had given
each
of them something personal, and given it to them with love. There had been the carol singing, accompanied by Bill on the old melodeon brought down from the attic, with neighbours calling in to join in the jollity. Now it was just like any other day, except that the fact that it was Christmas meant that their hearts were heavier and the memories more poignant without the presence of their beloved father.

When Ben tried to add a little cheer to the special day by handing each of them a few shiny new pennies and a small bag of sweets, his mother accused him of being uncaring, with his father not yet cold in his grave. Ben knew he would only cause a scene if he spoke his mind and, not wishing to make the day even more miserable for his sisters and brother, walked out of the house and along the row. He would go for a walk in the peace and quiet of the Donkey Wood until he had calmed down. He brushed the tears from his cheeks as memories of his dad invaded his thoughts.

‘A bloody right family Christmas this has turned out to be,’ he muttered. As he turned down Side Row Ben wondered if he would ever know a merry one again. Not in his mother’s house, that was for sure.

Chapter Two

IT WAS A
lovely April day and Lucy’s sixteenth birthday, though no one except Kitty Marshall had remembered. Kitty now worked next to Lucy on the same bench and had grown tall enough to dispense with the box she used to stand on.

‘It’s your birthday, Lucy,’ she said as they walked to work.

‘How do you know?’ Lucy asked, surprised.

‘Me mam said. She said your birthday’s on Primrose Day, that’s how she remembers.’

‘Is it Primrose Day today then?’ Lucy wondered why Kitty’s mam had remembered and her own mam hadn’t.

‘Well me mam says it is.’ The girls hurried as the buzzer sounded. Their Jane would be late again; she was staying out too late talking to the lads on Next Row. Her mam’d go mad if she got the sack and she wouldn’t be given a second warning. Lucy had almost dragged her out of bed but she was still nowhere in sight. Mr Blackmore was standing in his usual place by the door, glancing at his watch as each employee entered the building.

‘Good morning, Mr Blackmore. It’s a lovely day.’
Lucy
tried to engage the boss in conversation in order to distract his attention from the fact that her sister wasn’t with her.

‘And it’s Lucy’s birthday today, Mr Blackmore,’ Kitty added.

‘Is that so? How old are yer today then?’

‘Sixteen, sir.’ Lucy really missed her dad on special days like birthdays and Christmas. It never felt the same without her warm and loving dad.

‘And never been kissed, eh?’ The man chuckled at his own humour.

‘She’ll not tell you even if she has,’ Kitty laughed.

Lucy sighed with relief as Jane came rushing up the steps.

‘Oh well, many more happy ones to follow, Lucy.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ The girls hurried to their bench and began work.

Lucy sang as she worked. She would be getting a rise in wages now she was sixteen. She wasn’t sure how much, but it would be better than the nine shillings she was taking home now. Not that she would see any of it. Her mother was waiting at the door every Friday for the wage packets to be handed over. She would give them back a measly one and sixpence for spending money. Kitty’s mam gave her half a crown, but then Kitty had a dad, and her mam wasn’t a tyrant like Annie.

When they got home that night Ben gave Lucy two shillings as a birthday treat. He gave it to her on the quiet, telling her not to let her mother know
or
she wouldn’t rest until she got her hands on it. Lucy hid it in the brass knob on the black iron bed she shared with Jane. Unlike Ben, who still lived at home, Mary had left home now and married Jacob, who had been her young man since school days. Of course she had been forced to leave work on her wedding day, but Mr Blackmore would often send for her back if they had a rush order, then Mary would be given the sack again when the work was done. Mary didn’t mind; she loved Jacob and was quite content cleaning for one or two Millington ladies such as Mrs Rawlings and Mrs James, the wife of the schoolmaster. Jacob had found them a little house on the opposite hillside. Like Mary told her sisters, the further away from her mother, the happier she would be.

Annie Gabbitas’s temper was worse than ever, not helped by the pain in her leg, which sometimes became so swollen it felt near to bursting. Lucy was the only one who seemed to feel any sympathy for the woman, despite her mother’s foul moods. Ben scowled as the dinner was served out. ‘I thought we might have had summat a bit different than stew seeing as it’s our Lucy’s birthday,’ he said.

Annie sniffed. ‘What’s so special about birthdays? All they do is make you a year older. Though now she’s sixteen I’ll look forward to a rise in her board.’

‘Oh aye, I didn’t think yer’d forget that.’ Ben took a mouthful of bread dipped in stew, swallowed
it
and then said, ‘Anyway, I’ve decided our Lucy’s to have a new frock. You can wait an extra week for the rise. Next week you can go to Sheffield, Lucy. I’ll take yer. You can buy some material and if me mother won’t make it up for yer we’ll ask our Mary.’