Tuppence To Spend (26 page)

They shook their heads. Ruth called to Sammy and he left his game with Davie and came at once. The other boy came with him. ‘Can I come and see your parrot?’

‘If your mum says you can.’ Ruth helped Sammy button his coat. She looked at him. ‘Would you like to bring any of your other friends at school?’

He looked worried. ‘I haven’t got no friends.’

‘Oh, surely—’ Ruth began in distress, but Davie butted in before she could finish.

‘It’s because nobody knows him much, only Tim and Keith Budd. But if they could see his
parrot
…’

Ruth noticed with some amusement that Silver seemed to have stopped being her parrot and become Sammy’s. Well, that’s all right if it helps him make friends, she thought. He’s got Davie, of course, and the Budd boys look out for him, but he needs more friends than that, boys who will play with him and not pick on him because he’s smaller and quieter.

‘When you’re at school properly, after Christmas, you can bring two different boys every day,’ she said. ‘You can choose them yourself but you must tell them they’re not to poke Silver or pull his tail. Tell them he can bite hard with his beak.’

The two boys looked at each other. Davie’s eyes were sparkling and he quickened his steps. Sammy looked up at Ruth and she winked.

She might never have had any of her own, but she was rapidly learning just what little boys liked.

The whole family set themselves to give Sammy a happy Christmas.

‘Poor little mite,’ Lizzie said, knitting furiously to make him new mittens for Christmas. She had unpicked an old red jumper of her own specially to use the wool. ‘I don’t reckon he’s ever had a proper Christmas in his life. Well, it’s up to us to make sure he gets one, at least. He might not be here next year.’

‘I hope he is,’ Ruth said. ‘I want to keep him as long as the war lasts. Not that I want it to last that long, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘Though he’ll have to go back when it does end … oh dear, it
is
difficult!’

‘Well, there’s not much point in wondering about all that,’ Jane declared briskly, coming in from the kitchen with tea on a tin tray. ‘We just have to live for the day. It’s
this
Christmas that matters now, and like Lizzie says, we’ll make it as good as we can for Sammy. Are you getting him a present, Ruth?’

‘Of course I am! He’s getting a stocking too, on the end of his bed Christmas morning. Just a few bits and pieces, you know – a couple of those puzzles with balls you have to jiggle about to get into the right holes, and a few crayons and a colouring book, and an orange and some nuts. I found a jigsaw puzzle up in the loft the other day, one of Jack’s that he used to take to sea with him, he can have that, and then there’s an old compass. Boys like that sort of thing. And I’ll get him something new as well – a book, I thought. I’ve been reading to him from
Treasure Island
, he loves that, specially the bits about the parrot!’

‘That sounds lovely,’ Jane said. ‘We’ll give him something too. I wonder if he’d like a
Rupert
book? He’s not too old for that, is he? And Ben’s making him a wooden aeroplane. A Spitfire.’

‘And I’ve seen a ball I’m going to get him,’ Lizzie said. ‘A really nice, big red one.’

They went on talking about Christmas presents. There wasn’t all that much in the shops, but Jane had unearthed an old leather coat and was using it to make George and the boys new gloves, and Lizzie had her eye on it for a pair for Alec. She was knitting him a new pullover too, for best when he came home. The whole family had clubbed together to buy Terry a really good mouth organ, and Ben a gramophone and some records – one of Winston Churchill’s speeches, Harry James playing ‘Feet Dragging Blues’ and some Victor Silvester dance music.

Terry had just finished his six weeks’ basic training and was home on a few days’ leave.

‘You wouldn’t believe how he’s changed,’ Jane told her sister. ‘I don’t know how the Army does it, but in six weeks they’ve managed to achieve all the things I’ve struggled to do for twenty years! He’s so tidy now you don’t dare to put anything down for a minute, or he’ll either put it away or polish it. He won’t let me iron his trousers, and he gets the creases so sharp he could kill Germans with them. He looks after his uniform as if it was made of gold leaf. And his hair’s been cut so short he looks like a convict!’

Ruth laughed. ‘That’s the Services for you. Teach ’em to look after themselves and be smart into the bargain, and you can teach ’em anything. Of course, they know there’s not many young chaps have ever had to look after themselves in that way anyway, they’ve all come straight from home and had mothers to do it all for them.’

‘Well, I dare say he’d soon slip back if he was at home for long,’ Jane said. ‘Anyway, he’s pleased enough to take
your little lad out to kick that old football about for a while. More tea, Ruthie?’

The back door opened and Terry came in, Sammy at his heels like an adoring puppy.

‘We played football,’ Sammy cried, running to Ruth’s side. ‘
I
played football. Terry says I could be a footballer if I wanted, he says I kick really well.’

‘Well, isn’t that lovely.’ Ruth beamed at him and put out a hand to stroke his fair hair. He beamed back and she gave him a hug. ‘Thanks for taking him, Terry.’

‘It’s all right.’ Terry was in old clothes and looked like his old self, except for his very short hair. His eyes gleamed when he saw the scones and he picked one up and handed it to Sammy before taking one for himself. He grinned at his aunt and fetched a couple of cups from the kitchen, pouring tea for himself and milk for Sammy.

‘Mm, home cooking,’ he said, his mouth full. ‘That’s what I miss most!’

‘I hear you’ve been learning to wash and iron your own clothes,’ Ruth said to him teasingly. ‘I thought you were supposed to be training to be a soldier, not a washer-woman!’

‘A smart soldier’s an efficient soldier,’ Terry said, obviously repeating what one of his officers had said. ‘And the enemy wouldn’t be very frightened by a crowd of scruffy oiks.’

‘So how are you enjoying it, then? Think you’ll like being a soldier?’

‘Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I didn’t think I would, really – I volunteered because it seemed the right thing to do – but I’m in with some really good blokes, and once we’re through our training and we can get out there and start putting the Jerries to rights, we’ll be able to feel we’re really doing something. And it’s interesting learning to fire a gun and use a bayonet and all that. We were throwing
grenades the other day. I tell you what, you don’t make any mistakes with those.’

‘Real grenades?’ Jane asked in horror. ‘You mean they could have exploded?’

He nodded. ‘That’s the idea of them, Mum! Once you’ve pulled out the pin, you throw as hard as you can. That’s why it’s good to teach little nippers like this youngster –’ he indicated Sammy, who was watching him with wide blue eyes ‘– games like cricket and football. Teaches ’em the skills they’re going to need, see.’

‘I hope he’s not going to need them for fighting,’ Ruth said sharply. ‘I hope it’ll all be over by the time he’s your age.’

‘It will be,’ Terry said confidently. ‘We’re going over the Channel soon and we’ll sort it all out then. But we’re always going to need an army, Auntie. There’s always going to be wars.’ He finished his tea and leapt up. ‘Come on, young Sam. Let’s go and have that boxing lesson.’

‘
Boxing
?’

‘It’ll be good for him,’ Terry said. ‘Learn to stand up for himself. Little blokes with yellow hair get picked on a bit. And he’s a plucky little chap. Doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll have a go.’

‘What have you been doing with him?’ his mother asked sharply. ‘You were supposed to be playing football, not doing basic training.’

Terry looked at her. ‘We’ve all got to be able to take care of ourselves, Mum. And even if this war’s over when young Sam’s grown up – and it
will
be, because we’re going to knock the living daylights out of Jerry when we get over there – there’ll be others. There’ll always be wars, Mum, and they’ll always need men to fight ’em.’

He pulled Sammy to his feet and propelled him out of the door. They could hear Sammy’s voice as the back door slammed and he sounded more excited than Ruth had ever known him.

The two sisters looked at each other. ‘I suppose he’s right,’ Jane said sadly. ‘There’ll always be wars. It’s human nature, isn’t it? But I don’t suppose there’s ever been a mother yet who’s really wanted her own boys to go and fight.’

Ruth looked out of the window at Terry and Sammy, sparring in the backyard. I haven’t got any boys of my own, she thought, and I know Sammy will go back to his own family in the end. But I know how Jane feels. Just the thought of that little chap going to fight a war turns me cold all over.

There must be mothers all over England who were feeling just the same.

All the same, she thought as she walked back to the cottage, I’m looking forward to Christmas more than I have for years. It’s having a kiddy to think about and do things for, it makes such a difference. She felt a pang of sadness for the years she’d missed, years that could have been filled with her and Jack’s children, but almost immediately she pushed them away. I’ve been sent Sammy instead, she thought, Sammy who doesn’t seem to have had a proper Christmas ever, even though he did know about paper chains and Christmas trees. And since this might be the only Christmas I do have him, I’m going to make sure it’s a really good one. We all are.

She went indoors and started to teach Silver to sing ‘Jingle bells’.

Having realised that he was to have a ‘proper’ Christmas, Sammy wanted to do it all.

‘Can we go carol singing, Auntie Ruth? Can we send Christmas cards? Can I write a letter to Father Christmas and put it up the chimney? Can I really have a real stocking? One of yours?’

Ruth laughed. ‘So long as you don’t make the holes
worse! Stockings are getting harder to come by these days. Now, what presents are you going to give?’

Sammy looked at her.

‘For everyone else,’ Ruth said. ‘Auntie Jane and Uncle George, and Terry and Lizzie.’ She hesitated. ‘And your mum and dad of course, and your brother.’

Sammy said nothing.

He turned his head away and Ruth moved slightly so that she could see his face. There were tears in his eyes.

‘Sammy,’ she said gently, ‘can’t you tell me about your brother? And your mum and dad? Why is it they never write to you?’

Sammy gave her a swift glance and then looked down at his feet. The room was very quiet. Even Silver seemed to be listening.

‘I haven’t got a mum,’ he said at last in a very small voice. ‘My mum’s dead.’

Ruth stared at him. ‘
Sammy
!’

‘It was my fault,’ he went on, trying to sound matter-of-fact although his voice was shaking. ‘I was too long up the shops. I was in a queue and they wouldn’t let me through, and I was gone
hours
, and when I got back—’ His voice wobbled again and the tears began to roll down his face, huge, fat tears that seemed to have been growing through all the weeks he had been with Ruth. He tried to wipe them away with his sleeve, with the back of his hand, but they still kept coming and after a minute or two he gave way and began to cry properly, great tearing sobs that wrenched their way up from his chest and burst out in a long chain of sound, a howl of pain and misery and unbearable loss.

Ruth stared at him, horrified, then pulled him into her arms. ‘Sammy! Oh, you poor,
poor
little soul! Sammy, don’t cry like that.’ And then she hastily amended her words. ‘No, you cry all you want to. Cry as long as you want. I’m here to hold you. Ruth’s here. You just stay with me and cry as long as you like.’

She held him against her, the fair head cradled against her breast, and as he wept her own tears began to flow too. The poor, poor little boy. His mother dead, his father and brother goodness knew where, lost and bewildered, brought to this strange place where nobody knew a thing about him. Surely they knew, she thought angrily, surely the billeting people knew, surely that Mrs Tupper had known when she brought him in so hurriedly that cold afternoon. Why on earth had they not told her?

Sammy stopped crying at last. He lay against her for a little longer, his body still shuddering with leftover sobs, and then he slowly raised his head. Ruth put her hand under his chin and lifted his face towards her, her heart twisting at the sight of his ravaged face, his puffy, red-rimmed eyes, his running nose.

‘Here,’ she said, feeling in her sleeve for her handkerchief, ‘have a good blow. That’s better. Now, I’m going to make you a nice cup of cocoa and you can have a couple of the biscuits I was saving, and then if you feel like it you can tell me about your mum. Do you think you can do that?’

He nodded and Ruth went out to the kitchen to fill the kettle. Sammy was left alone in the room with Silver. They looked at each other.

‘I’m a little teapot,’ Silver suggested in an unusually subdued voice. ‘Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall. Poor old Joe … Let me be your sweetheart …’

Sammy got up and went over to his perch. He held out a sunflower seed and Silver took it delicately in his beak. He cracked it, keeping one eye on Sammy, and Sammy bent closer and began to talk to him.

‘Sammy, Sammy, shine a light, ain’t you playing out tonight …?’ His voice wobbled again and he turned away, feeling the skin of his face tighten. He heard Ruth coming in and returned to his place on the hearthrug.

‘There,’ Ruth said, setting the tray down. ‘That’s cocoa for us both, and biscuits with chocolate on. I was saving
them for Christmas, but it won’t hurt to have a couple now. Did I hear you talking to Silver?’

‘He was talking to me,’ Sammy said, eyeing the biscuits. ‘I told him a rhyme but he didn’t say it back.’

‘Well, he usually needs to hear it a few times before he’ll do that.’ Unless it’s something you don’t want him to repeat, she thought ruefully, remembering the ‘bleeding eagle’. ‘But you just say it to him every now and then, and I expect he’ll pick it up. What rhyme was it?’

Sammy shrugged, staring at the fire. ‘It was just something my mum used to say.’