Down an English Lane (10 page)

Anne thought, as the girl said goodbye at five-thirty – evening service started at six-thirty and she had to get ready to sing in the choir – that she seemed to be in a more positive and cheerful frame of mind than she had on her arrival. Young love could be devastating in its effect, she pondered, but Maisie was a sensible girl and she would learn to put it behind her.

And Maisie’s thoughts, surprisingly, were no longer solely of herself, but of Anne as well. Her friend and Miss Foster were too much in one another’s pockets, she mused. Like a couple of old spinsters, except that Anne Mellodey was not old, and neither did she look or act as though she was. So it was perhaps as well that the two of them would be parting company. But Maisie had reservations, too, about her friend applying for the headship, although she would not have dreamed of saying so. What Maisie hoped was that Anne would meet someone who might help to take her thoughts away from Bill. She did not want to see her mouldering away in the schoolhouse for years and years.

Chapter Six

‘
J
enner and Jackson’ read the sign in gilded letters over the door of the draper’s shop in the High Street. Lily had been the manageress there for four years, following the couple of years she had spent working at Tremaine House, helping Rebecca Tremaine with the land girls. Formerly, the rather faded sign had read ‘Jenner’s High Class Draper’s’, harking back to a time, twenty or more years before, when many shopkeepers had described their businesses in such terms. In truth, the little shop and living premises above still belonged to Eliza Jenner, an elderly lady in her mid-seventies, but not, in appearance, looking much more than sixty.

It was in 1941 that Lily, anxious to find a home where she could have all three of her children with her, had first become acquainted with Mrs Jenner. They had got on well together from the start, and Eliza had been only too happy to have the little
family living above, with Lily taking charge of the shop. They lived there rent free and Lily was paid a weekly wage for her services, but the property and its proceeds belonged to the Jenners, Eliza and her husband, Cyril.

The elderly couple had gone to live in a small house near the railway station where Cyril could tend a small patch of garden to the rear; this had been his chief occupation since his Home Guard duties had come to an end. Eliza, until very recently, had gone into the shop two or three mornings a week, anxious not to let go of the reins entirely. And it had been at her insistence, last year, that the sign above the door should be changed. Lily Jackson’s name should be included, she maintained, as the woman had proved to be worth her weight in gold.

Lily had been happy there right from the start, but more so, on a personal level, since she had become friendly with Arthur Rawcliffe, the man who owned the bakery next door to the draper’s shop. She had first met him when she had gone in to buy her bread and cakes; they had chatted about the restrictions and how they were affecting both their businesses. Bread had never been rationed throughout the war, but the only loaf available was what was called a National wheatmeal loaf, made from unrefined flour; somewhat unpalatable to those used to pure white crusty loaves and cobs. Arthur had told her how he was having to make do with dried egg in his cakes, when he could not get
what had become known as the shelled variety. Dried fruit, too, had been in short supply, and so cakes – wedding cakes in particular – were darkened by gravy browning, made moist with grated carrot, and flavoured with rum essence.

Arthur had had his hands full running the shop and caring for his wife who was ill with tuberculosis and never left the room upstairs. He had been helped, however, by his elder sister who served in the shop and his brother-in-law who worked in the bakehouse.

Mrs Rawcliffe had died early in 1942, and it was then that Arthur had decided to join up. He was just over the compulsory call-up age of forty; nevertheless he had felt that he wanted to do his bit. There had been nothing to keep him at home after the death of his wife – they had had no children – and Flo and Harry, his sister and brother-in-law, had offered to take over the running of the shop in his absence. The upstairs flat had been rented to a young woman with two children who had come to the country town to escape the bombing in Hull; and when Arthur came home on leave he stayed with Flo and Harry.

It was during one of his early leaves that Arthur had decided to further his tentative friendship with Lily, the attractive young woman who ran the draper’s shop next door. Bertha had been dead for more than six months and he could not go on mourning her for ever, especially as he was still in his early forties.

Their relationship had developed slowly at first. Arthur had come to learn something of Lily’s disastrous marriage and had realised he must proceed with caution. Lily, moreover, was a very moral sort of person, and until her divorce from Sidney Bragg had been made absolute, she had not permitted anything other than a chaste kiss or two. Nor would she admit, until she was a free woman again, that she was fond of Arthur – extremely fond – as he was of her.

And now at the end of August, 1945, Arthur was coming back home for good. His wartime service had not taken him very far; no further, in fact, than to Catterick Camp near Richmond, less than twenty miles away. He had enlisted in the Army Catering Corps and his talents had been put to good use in the Officers’ Mess.

Lily looked at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece with a critical eye, patting her short dark curls into place, and fingering the stray silver hairs by her temples. There was nothing she could do to disguise them nor did she want to. She applied a touch of pink lipstick, the only make-up she needed to wear. Her skin had taken on a natural healthy glow since she had been living away from the grimy city, and her brown eyes had begun to shine again as they had done in her youth. She was not dissatisfied with her appearance, especially
when she recalled the way she had looked at the start of the war when she had been married to Sid: dull of complexion, with greasy lack-lustre hair and dark-rimmed eyes that had lost their sparkle. But those days were long gone, and now, at last, the future was full of promise.

She sat on the settee, idly turning the pages of a magazine, awaiting Arthur’s arrival. It was fortuitous that Maisie was out, having tea with the ladies at the schoolhouse, and Joanie and Jimmy were at a birthday party. They were going home after Sunday school finished with one of Jimmy’s pals and would not be back until after six o’clock. Joanie had been invited as well because she and the boy’s sister were in the same class at school. Lily had not planned it that way; it had just so happened that she was on her own. Arthur seemed kindly disposed towards the children and she had never tried to hustle them out of the way when he was there. If he wished to continue their friendship and if it should lead to a more permanent relationship, then he must know that her children could not be ignored.

A knock at the back door, the entrance used when one was not entering through the shop, told her that he was here. With a final pat at her hair and a straightening of the seams on her new nylon stockings, she hurried down the stairs. Arthur stood on the threshold with a bunch of red roses in his hand.

‘Hello, love,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’ve brought you a few flowers, see. Best get ’em in water, quick; I want ’em to last.’

‘Oh, Arthur, they’re lovely,’ she exclaimed, kissing his cheek in return. It was the first time he had brought her flowers and she was very touched. He was not one for sentimental gestures or for throwing his money about. She read into his words that he had spent good ‘brass’ on those roses and, like a true Yorkshireman, he wanted value for his money. ‘And how nice it is to see you again. Come on in…’

‘Grand to see you too, love.’ He wiped his feet cursorily on the doormat and followed her through the stockroom and up the stairs. ‘You’re looking real bonny today; a sight for sore eyes. Where are the children?’ he asked as they entered the living room.

‘Er…they’re at a party, and Maisie has gone out to tea.’

‘All the better! Come here then…’ He put his arms round her and kissed her more thoroughly on the lips. ‘I’ve missed you, Lily. Aye love; it’s grand to be home for good.’

‘It’s only three weeks since you last saw me,’ she said, smiling. ‘But I agree. It’s good that you’re back to stay.’

They stood, fondly appraising one another. ‘You look…different, Arthur,’ she said. ‘It’s odd to see you in civvies.’

‘You’ll soon get used to it,’ he chuckled. ‘I couldn’t wait to get rid of that there battle-dress. Talk about itchy!’ He was dressed in grey flannel trousers and a checked sports jacket, with a cream shirt and striped tie. He looked smart and, somehow, younger. ‘This lot feels a bit strange, I must admit, after wearing uniform for so long. But wait till you see my demob suit!’

‘I’ve already seen a few of them around,’ said Lily. ‘Is it a grey one with white stripes?’

‘No; I could’ve had one like that, but they make you look like a ruddy spiv! No, it’s brown… I thought it’d match my eyes.’ He grinned at her. ‘An’ it’s sort of checked. Not exactly Savile Row, but at least it’s free. I mustn’t grumble, I suppose. I can’t wait, though, till this lot grows again.’ He ran his hands through his regulation army haircut. ‘I feel like a bloomin’ convict.’ Lily realised that it was just a figure of speech, but she could not help her thoughts flitting to her ex-husband, not long out of gaol.

‘Don’t they all,’ she smiled. ‘Never mind, Arthur. It’ll soon grow.’ Before he joined the army he had sported a fine head of light brown wavy hair which he had worn rather longer than was usual. His crowning glory, she supposed, and maybe he had been deservedly proud of it because it was his only outstanding feature. Arthur was short in stature, no taller than Lily herself at five foot five or so, and inclined to be corpulent. His stomach, protruding
slightly over the waistband of his trousers, his toffee-brown eyes and the kindly expression on his unremarkable face put her in mind of the teddy bear that Maisie had once owned.

‘Come and sit down, Arthur,’ she said, taking hold of his hand and leading him to an armchair, ‘and I’ll go and make us a cup of tea.’

‘Ne’er mind the tea,’ he said. ‘I reckon I’ll be staying to a proper tea, like, won’t I? Boiled ham and best cups and saucers an’ all that? It’s what I’ve been looking forward to.’

‘Of course,’ she laughed. ‘Just you and me, as the children are all out. We’ll have it in a while. Well, if I can’t make you a cup of tea I’d best go and get these flowers in water.’ She buried her face in the deep red petals, breathing in the sweet fragrance. ‘They’re beautiful, Arthur. Thank you so much.’

‘Well, special occasion, isn’t it?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t expect ’em every time, mind.’

Feeling very light-hearted she went into the kitchen and reached for a glass vase from the top shelf of the cupboard. Not real cut glass; she had never been able to afford that. But this one was not too bad as a substitute – Woolie’s best – and the long-stemmed roses looked just right in it. She placed it in the centre of the sideboard and sat down in the chair opposite to Arthur.

‘So…what’s the news?’ she asked. ‘You’re staying with Flo and Harry, are you, for the moment? And
what about the bakery? You’ll be taking up your former position there, will you?’

‘Hey, steady on; one question at a time.’ Arthur held up his hand. ‘Aye, I can’t wait to get back to the bakery. I suppose you mean will I be in charge again, don’t you? It was always my business as you know – well, mine and Bertha’s – and Harry worked for me for a wage; so did Flo. But he’s been such a godsend while I’ve been away, and Flo too, of course…so what I’ve done is this. I’ve asked ’em if they’ll go into partnership with me, equal shares in the bakery and the shop.’

‘And…they’ve agreed?’

‘Yes, they have. They were surprised, like, but they didn’t need much persuading.’

‘It’s very generous of you, Arthur,’ said Lily, ‘but it’s no more than they deserve. They’ve worked their socks off while you’ve been away. And it can’t have been easy for Harry, leaving home at five o’clock in the morning to get the ovens going. It isn’t as if they’re living on the premises, like you were. I suppose it’ll be just as difficult for you, though, won’t it, whilst you’re staying with them?’

‘Ah well, I’ve got news on that front an’ all,’ said Arthur. ‘Pamela’s given me notice; she’s leaving next week.’ Pamela was the young married woman with two children who had been renting the upstairs premises ever since Arthur joined the army. ‘I’d never have asked her to go, you know, and she’s not been under any pressure. I know she liked it here
and there was some talk of them staying here permanently; well, in Middlebeck at least. But her husband’s being demobbed quite soon, she hopes – he’s been in the Far East, poor devil – and her mother’s not been too well, so they’ve decided to move back to Hull. She’s going next week, so everything’s hunky-dory, as you might say.’

‘So it is,’ agreed Lily. ‘It’s worked out just right for you. So…you’ll be moving back next door, of course?’