Tuppence To Spend (12 page)

‘Come in, come in!’ her voice cried impatiently. ‘Born in a field?’ And then, in a rougher tone, ‘You old bugger, you!’

If it hadn’t been for the change in tone from Ruth’s to that of the unknown sailor who had presumably been a shipmate of Jack Purslow’s, they would have thought it was Ruth herself chiding them. But Silver’s raucous cackle gave the game away completely, and they looked at each other and laughed.

‘That bird!’ Ruth exclaimed, popping her head through the door in embarrassment. ‘He’ll be the death of me yet!’ She stopped, her hand at her mouth, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry. She looked apologetically at the vicar. ‘I’m ever so sorry. I’ll put his cover on.’

‘Don’t do that, Mrs Purslow,’ Mr Beckett begged. ‘It’ll do us good to hear him jabbering away. And he’s right, too. Get that door shut, George, before we let all the heat out. Now, did someone say something about a glass of sherry? Just what we need to keep the cold out on an afternoon like this. Oh, and what a nice fire you’ve got going.’ He shrugged out of the long black overcoat and stood in his cassock, stooping his long thin body to come through the door into the living room.

There were only a dozen or so of the throng who had attended the funeral, but they were enough to fill the tiny room. They found seats or stood about, holding plates of ham and pickle, and reminiscing about Joe and, inevitably, their talk turned to the war. Most conversations did end up that way these days.

‘Dad was in the first lot, of course,’ George remarked. ‘Looked after the horses, he did, pulling the gun carriages. He was a wheelwright too, that’s how he come to be so good with the farm carts. He never talked much about it, though.’

‘They didn’t, none of them,’ said Ruth’s friend Joyce
Moore, who lived along the lane. ‘Just wanted to get home and forget it, if you ask me. My uncle was the same. Mind you, he was never the same man after he come back, so my mum told me. Quiet as a mouse most of the time, then used to fly into terrible tempers, all over nothing. Shell-shock, it was called.’

‘What d’you reckon’s going to happen in this lot, Mr Knight?’ Joan Greenberry asked the farmer. ‘It all seems pretty quiet so far, apart from all the rationing coming in and the evacuees being sent out to the countryside. I mean, there’s been hardly any fighting.’

‘Well, I don’t know what you think’s been going on at sea, then!’ Lizzie said sharply. ‘There’s been plenty of ships sunk. My Alec says the Germans are following the convoys all the time, trying to get close enough to torpedo them, and there’s been any amount lost. People don’t think of that until they can’t get the rations and even then they just blame the government.’ She felt the tears come to her eyes again and turned away, angry with herself for being so sharp. ‘Sorry, but it gets my goat when people forget that.’

Jane Travers moved to her daughter and put an anxious hand on her arm, and Mrs Greenberry bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I spoke without thinking. Of course we’re all worried about the boys at sea and we know how brave they are. It must be worst of all for chaps like your Alec, not even armed.’

‘Well, they’re not trained to fight, are they,’ Lizzie said, only partly mollified. ‘They never joined the Merchant Service for that. They’re just sitting ducks.’

There was a short, embarrassed silence. Then Ruth said, ‘I suppose if my Jack was still alive I’d be saying the same. But it seems to me it doesn’t matter what the men are involved in, it’s just as bad. And if the bombing starts …’

‘The bombing’s not coming here,’ Mr Beckett said firmly. ‘And our job in the country is to produce as much food as we possibly can, so that men like Alec don’t have to
take more risks than are absolutely essential, and to look after the children we’ve been entrusted with.’ He turned to Edna Corner. ‘How are you getting along with your two little lads?’

‘Oh, Tim and Keith are smashing little chaps. Settled in as good as gold, though they’re a lively pair. But they like helping Reg on the farm and they’re interested in everything. You should hear some of the questions they ask! We’re hard put to it to give them the answers sometimes.’ She glanced doubtfully towards the corner where she’d put the tin tray and thought there were one or two questions she’d like answered too, as soon as she got home.

‘Mrs Budd says they’ve always been an active pair,’ Joan Greenberry said. ‘She’s a nice little body too, and so’s young Rose. We’ve been lucky getting that family – specially when you look at some of the others.’

There was a general murmur of agreement and they began to talk about the other evacuees – Brian Collins, who was big for his age and strutted about trying to bully the village boys, and little Martin Baker who had run away. And there were the Atkinson children, who had been put with the Woddis sisters and were hardly ever seen playing with the others.

‘I don’t know about them, I’m sure,’ Joyce said. ‘It hardly seems right, two maiden ladies like that suddenly having kiddies to look after. I mean, what do they know about children? That little Wendy, she looks like a worried little old woman sometimes, and Alan doesn’t have a word to say for himself.’ She sighed. ‘I’d have taken them in myself if I hadn’t already had four of my own.’

‘They’re probably just shy,’ the vicar said. ‘But I’ll call round and see them one day soon.’ He set his sherry glass on the table and bent his long thin back to go through the doorway again. ‘I must be going now, Mrs Purslow. Thank you again for the sherry. Now, you will let me know if
there’s anything you need, won’t you, and I’ll call in again soon for a chat.’ He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment and smiled down at her. ‘You did everything possible for your father,’ he said, ‘and you looked after him well. He wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn for too long, you know.’

Ruth smiled back, but her eyes were full of tears and she could find nothing to say. The same did not, however, apply to Silver. When the vicar went out to the kitchen to give him a crumb of fruit cake, they heard his voice again.

‘You thieving blighter,’ he said disgustedly. ‘You old bugger, you.’ And then, in the quavering voice of an old man, ‘Chubbleduck …’

They were all gone at last, except for Jane and Lizzie who had stayed to help clear up. They washed up and put away all the crockery and glasses, and then came back into the living room where the fire was just glowing. Ruth put on a couple of logs and stirred it into life.

Lizzie was carrying a tray of tea and she set it down on a small table. ‘At least Silver can come back in here now,’ she remarked. ‘I must say, it did seem queer without him. He’s been in this room as long as I remember.’ She bit her lip, thinking of her grandfather who would never sit here again. I’m going to miss him so much, she thought. It’s like a hole being torn out of my life.

‘I’ll bring him in tomorrow,’ Ruth said. ‘I’ll keep the room as it is for tonight. It seems a bit like pushing Dad out to change things too quick.’

They sat for a while sipping their tea and gazing into the fire. Outside, it had begun to snow again and the flakes danced and fell softly against the window-panes. It was one of the coldest winters anyone could remember, with some of the lanes filled to the tops of the hedges with snow and the ground so frozen that poor old Bert Barford, the gravedigger, had had to use a pick and shovel to dig Joe’s
grave. It reminded him, he’d said, of his old grandad’s tales about Dartmoor, where he’d grown up. Bodies had to be taken miles for proper burial and they’d had to be kept for months sometimes, before the journey could be made. ‘Didn’t smell, though, ’em didn’t,’ he’d added reflectively. ‘Cold kept ’em nice and fresh, see.’

‘Well, we’re not keeping my dad till spring comes,’ Ruth had told him tartly, ‘so you just stop leaning on that shovel and get on and dig him a proper grave at the proper depth, as is fitting.’

‘What will you do now, Auntie Ruth?’ Lizzie asked after a while. ‘You’ll be lonely with just Silver to keep you company.’

Ruth laughed a little. ‘I’ll never be lonely with that old rapscallion! It’s like having a whole crowd of people in here when he gets going in all his different voices. But you’re right, he’s not like proper human company. It won’t be the same without Dad.’ She sighed. ‘I’d like to bring Jack’s parents out from Southampton, but they won’t budge from their own home.’

Lizzie thought that even Grandad hadn’t been what you’d call
proper
human company just lately, what with never being able to find the right words, but she didn’t say so. Auntie Ruth had always insisted his mind was all right, it was just his tongue that had the problems, and once you’d learned what his words meant you could have a sensible conversation with him. What made it difficult was that they were liable to change, so you were kept forever on the hop. And he’d always had a smile on his face and kept his interest in the village.

‘I’ll miss Grandad too,’ she said softly. ‘He was a sweet old man. I remember when I was little and he used to let me plant beans in the garden. He always gave me one to grow in a jam jar, so that I could see the roots. And I remember when that swarm of bees settled in the school playground and he came to fetch them away. We were all
scared stiff but he just walked up and scooped them into his basket, and they went like lambs. I felt really proud of him.’

‘It was a good funeral,’ Jane said. ‘You could see how well liked he was. The church was full right up. I thought with the weather being so bad not many would have managed it, but they all got there somehow.’ She finished her tea. ‘Well, I must get back. George will be getting on with the milking and wanting his supper when he comes in. You coming, Lizzie?’

‘I’ll sit here a bit longer,’ Lizzie said. It didn’t seem right, leaving Auntie Ruth all by herself. It would have to happen soon, of course, but only half an hour or so ago the cottage had been full of people and it was going to seem very empty when they’d all gone. She poured another cup of tea for them both and sat back in the armchair.

‘When d’you expect Alec home again?’ Ruth asked. ‘He’s been away getting on for six months now.’

Lizzie shrugged. Her mouth turned down despondently. ‘Haven’t a clue. The convoys are dodging about all over the place, trying to shake off the Germans and half the time they don’t even know which port they’ll be docking at. If they get low on fuel they just have to put in anywhere that can take them. It’s chaos.’

‘It must be. But he’ll be home soon, surely. You were expecting him for Christmas.’

‘I know. I just hope it won’t be too long.’ Lizzie looked at her aunt. There was a special bond between them, both having been married to merchant seamen, and sometimes Lizzie thought Ruth was the only person who really understood. Other women had husbands who were either already in the Forces or expecting to be called up, and seemed to think the Merchant Navy had it easy, not having to fight. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t be attacked. And that was on top of all the usual dangers to be faced at sea.

‘This weather doesn’t help,’ she said. ‘Imagine what it
must be like out there, Auntie. Blizzards and huge waves, and everything covered in ice, and it’s not as if the ships had any comfort. I wish he’d give it up and get a shore job, I really do.’

‘I know. I used to think the same. But once the sea gets into a man’s blood … well, you just can’t fight it. He’ll tire of it in the end and be glad to settle down.’

‘If he’s not killed first,’ Lizzie said bitterly. She got up suddenly and loaded the tea things on to the tray. ‘I’ll just wash these up for you and then I’d better get back. There’s another three inches of snow come down while I’ve been sitting here.’

She went out into the kitchen. As soon as he saw her, Silver began to shift from foot to foot on his perch, tilting his head to one side and looking hopeful. She grinned at him and scratched his neck.

‘You’re an old scoundrel, you are. I suppose you want something nice to eat.’ His bowl of sunflower seeds was on the table and she put two or three in the little bowl fixed to his perch. He winked at her and picked one up delicately in his big grey beak.

‘Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall,’ he said conversationally. ‘Who pushed him in? You old bugger, you.’

‘You old scallywag, you,’ Lizzie said, unable to help smiling. No wonder Auntie Ruth said she would never be lonely with Silver for company.

‘Splice the mainbrace,’ he suggested in a gravelly voice. ‘Sippers or gulpers. I love you, my darling. Let me be your sweetheart.’

‘He sounds more like my Jack every day,’ Ruth said, coming out to the kitchen and regarding him with affection. ‘That’s what Jack wanted, you see. He taught him all those things so that when he was away it would be like him talking to me. Trouble was, he learnt a lot of other things too, while they were on their way home from the Far East!’

Lizzie giggled. Some of the things that Silver had
learned had brought a blush to her mother’s face and caused her father to threaten not to allow Lizzie, Terry and Ben to visit their aunt if the bird’s language couldn’t be moderated. But Auntie Ruth had taken no notice. Parrots always swore, she said, it was part of their nature, and the children didn’t have to repeat what they heard. They wouldn’t even have known the words were bad if George hadn’t pointed it out.

‘No,’ he said, ‘they’d just go out and use them in the street or at school, and it’d be me that’d get the blame.’ And, giving his son and daughter a severe look, ‘Just don’t repeat
anything
that bird says, you understand? Then there won’t be any risk of you saying something you shouldn’t.’

The result was that for years Lizzie and Ben had been under the impression that expressions such as ‘splice the mainbrace’ and ‘sippers or gulpers’ were some of the rudest swear words in the language, and only repeated them in whispers in the corner of the playground. Even later, when they realised that ‘splice the mainbrace’ merely meant serving out an extra rum ration and ‘sippers or gulpers’ referred to the way you drank it, the family continued to use them as a joke; so that when she dropped her mother’s milk jug or Ben stubbed his toe on the fender they exclaimed, ‘Oh, sippers and
gulpers
!’ and when surprised by something they would remark, ‘Splice the mainbrace, is that really true?’