Tuppence To Spend (28 page)

‘That was a good idea of yours,’ Ruth said to Jane, shaking her cocoa tin to hear the satisfying rattle. ‘I know a few people were saying the evacuees were getting a lot done for them – and so they should, poor little mites – but it’s a good thing to give our kiddies a party too. It’s not easy for them, having to share everything with strangers.’

They went up the drive to Mr Knight’s farm and gathered outside the big front door. Sammy walked close to Ruth, slipping his hand into hers. She looked down at him and smiled.

‘Have you seen the stars, Auntie Ruth?’ he asked in his hoarse little voice. ‘Look, there’s millions of them. All over the sky.’

Ruth lifted her eyes. The stars of the Milky Way were clearly visible, so many and so tiny that they seemed to merge into one another to form a broad path of light across the heavens. Why, it’s really beautiful, she thought, and wondered why she hadn’t looked up at the night sky for so long.

Jack used to tell her about the stars at sea, she thought. He used to recite a poem to her. She tried to remember it.

‘I will make you brooches and toys for your delight,
Of birdsong at morning and starshine at night …’

‘I’ve never seen them like that before,’ Sammy whispered. ‘We had the street lights in Portsmouth, till the blackout, and I had to be indoors then. Are there always that many?’

‘Yes. There must be,’ Ruth said softly. ‘But you don’t always see them like this …’ They were both quiet for a moment, gazing upwards, then she looked at him again. ‘Are you enjoying the carol singing?’

He nodded. ‘It’s smashing. I like “While Shepherds Washed their Flocks” best. It’s like me having a bath on Saturday nights, to be ready for Sunday.’

Ruth opened her mouth and closed it again. Why correct him? she thought. The picture of shepherds sitting on the hillside earnestly washing their sheep so as to be ready for Christmas was rather a nice one. She might even get him to draw a picture of it.

Sammy had begun to show quite a knack for drawing. He’d made cards for all the family, most of them pictures of fat robins sitting on uncomfortable-looking holly twigs, and he’d sent one to his father and brother too. Ruth had wondered if his father might want to come and see him at Christmas, but there’d been no word. However, a card had arrived containing a brief scrawled note hoping he was being a good boy and a postal order for five shillings. Sammy had stared at it as if he’d never seen such a thing before – well, probably he hadn’t, Ruth thought – and it had been quite difficult to get him to hand it over at the post office in exchange for money. She’d suggested he use the money to buy himself something he really wanted, but he’d shaken his head and as far as she knew he still had it.

The sound of ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’ rose into the clear air. It seemed especially poignant tonight, during this brief reprieve from the bombing. Nobody doubted that the mayhem would break out again after Christmas, over London and over other towns as well, but just for a night or two it did seem that there was to be a lull. The Germans kept Christmas as well, after all, so it was probably intended as a holiday for them rather than the British, but it was a relief just the same.

The Knights’ farm was their last call. They sang three carols, then the door was flung open and they crowded into the passageway, cramming together so that it could be closed before the lights were switched on. Mr Knight was there, his red face beaming, and his wife bustled out to urge
them all into the big kitchen. There, laid out on the big table, were platters of mince pies and jugs of steaming mulled ale, with lemonade for the children, all to be served in an assortment of tankards, glasses and cups.

‘It’s just like old times!’ Ruth exclaimed in delight. ‘It’s just like before the war.’

‘It’s a real Christmas,’ Jane agreed. She looked down at Sammy, almost swamped by his brown coat, his fair hair hidden by the cap he’d borrowed from Ben and his blue eyes wide. ‘And all because we wanted to give this little chap a good time. It’s turned into a good time for us all!’

Mr Knight filled their glasses and rapped on the table for silence. He looked around the little crowd.

‘We’ve been listening out for you all evening,’ he said. ‘We went upstairs and opened the window, and we could hear you singing all round the village, and I don’t mind admitting it brought a bit of a lump to my throat. Like Ruth Purslow here just said, it was like old times. And I dunno what you all think, but it showed me that it don’t matter what the Germans do to us, they won’t stop us living the way we’ve always lived. The country’s been through a bashing lately and it’ll go through more before this lot’s over, but they won’t stop us singing carols. They won’t stop us keeping Christmas the way we’ve always done and they won’t stop us being good, God-fearing British folk. Because that’s nothing to do with bombing and fighting, that’s what’s inside us and nobody can change what’s inside you. Not even Hitler.’ He stopped, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Well, that’s all I want to say and more than I meant to say, and all I want to do now is wish you all a Merry Christmas.’ He lifted his tankard and everyone echoed his words: ‘Merry Christmas.’

They drank and then turned to each other and began to chatter and laugh. The mince pies were handed round and glasses refilled. For an hour or so, and for the first time in months, the war seemed very far away.

Nobody wanted to leave. They sang carols again and then moved on to other songs – songs like ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Who Do You Think You Are Kidding, Mr Hitler?’ that were becoming popular, and others like ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ that came from the last war. They went even further back and sang songs from music halls – ‘Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer, Do’ and ‘Two Little Girls in Blue’ and ‘Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage’. They sang ‘Tavern in the Town’ and ‘The Ash Grove’ and ‘What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor?’ It seemed that they would never run out of songs to sing.

‘We’ll have to go,’ Ruth said at last. She looked at Sammy, almost asleep in a corner of the settle in front of the big log fire. ‘It’s been lovely, Mrs Knight, thank you so much. I don’t think this young man’s ever had such a good time in his life.’

‘Poor little chap,’ the farmer’s wife said, looking at the sleepy face. ‘Well, whatever happens to him in the rest of his life, Ruth, you know he’ll never forget this. You’ve given him one good country Christmas to remember.’

‘And it’s only just started,’ Ruth said with a smile. She touched Sammy’s shoulder gently and he stirred and looked at her. His smile broke out over his face and she felt her heart turn over. How am I ever going to part from him? she wondered.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Time to go home. You’ve got to be in bed fast asleep with your stocking hung up before Father Christmas comes.’

Christmas had been celebrated in April Grove as well. Most of the evacuated children had come home and although there was a shock when one bomber came over, late on Christmas Eve, and demolished almost an entire street, there were no other raids. It was awful for the Conway Street people who had been bombed out, but they’d all been taken in by friends or relatives and there was no point in everyone else letting it damp down their enjoyment.

Tommy and Freda Vickers celebrated with their daughter Eunice and Tommy’s sister Molly and her husband Ron and son Clifford, who lived in Fratton. It wasn’t too far to walk, and they arrived just before dinner and all sat down together to a turkey that Tommy had managed to obtain, and a Christmas pudding that was as much vegetable as fruit, with mashed potato, grated carrot and cooking apple added to the sultanas and raisins their rations had allowed.

‘It’s a lot better than you’d expect,’ Tommy declared, holding out his plate for a second helping. ‘Nearly as good as pre-war, in fact. I reckon there’s something to be said for these new recipes, you know.’

‘The silver threepenny pieces are just as good anyway,’ Ron said, scraping pudding from the one he’d found in his helping. ‘Nearly cracked my teeth on this little beauty.’

There were six coins in the pudding, and somehow or other Freda managed to see that each person got one. Cliff was last to find the treasure and his freckled face turned almost as red as his hair with delight. He winked at his
cousin. ‘What’s your New Year resolution, Eunice? Going to volunteer?’

Freda looked annoyed and answered before her daughter could speak. ‘Let’s get Christmas over first, Clifford, if you don’t mind. I suppose you’re like all the boys, can’t wait to get into uniform.’

Clifford had already volunteered and was due to go off to join the Army early in January. He nodded, his blue eyes bright with excitement. ‘We’ve all got to do our bit, Auntie. Can’t stand by and let old Hitler smash us to ruins.’

‘Maybe so, but I don’t see that we’ve got to talk about it now,’ his mother said sharply. She was trying not to think about Clifford going into the Army. ‘It’s Christmas Day and we ought to be celebrating and happy, not talking about war.’ She turned to her sister-in-law. ‘What’s happened next door? Has that little boy been evacuated after all?’

‘Oh yes, he went off several weeks ago. He’s out at Bridge End, where the Budd boys are. Living with a widow, so Jess Budd told me.’

‘Well, I hope she’s treating him better than that woman treated poor little Martin Baker. He could have died of that appendicitis, you know. I saw his mother in the street only the other day. She says she’ll never let him go away again, no matter what happens.’

‘I think Sammy’s all right. It’s his dad we’ve got to worry about now. Hardly ever there, letting the house go to rack and ruin—’

‘Well, he don’t have much chance to do anything else,’ Tommy broke in. ‘I mean, be fair, Free, he’s out at sea most of the time from what I can make out, and when he does come home he looks like a ghost. If you ask me, Frank Budd’s right when he says the poor bloke never got over what happened to him in the first war. And now he’s lost his wife and both his kids are away, what comfort’s he got?’

‘Well, yes, I feel sorry for him, of course,’ Freda said a
little uncomfortably. ‘But that don’t excuse him coming in drunk when he is here. I’m sorry, Tom, but you know I’ve never liked him, and he treated Nora and those boys like dirt. That’s the truth of it and I don’t mind who hears me say it.’ She looked defiantly round the table.

Tommy didn’t think it was the truth, not really, but he didn’t want an argument at the Christmas dinner table. He pulled the pudding dish towards him and began to scrape off the last few shreds, knowing that Freda would tell him off, and when she did he gave her his cheeky grin.

‘Sorry, Free. I’ll never learn me manners, no matter how hard you try to teach me.’

‘And that’s true, too,’ she scolded him, but she smiled as well, knowing perfectly well why he’d done it. ‘All right, since it’s Christmas … And once we’ve cleared up, we’ll have a game of Monopoly, shall we? We gave Eunice a set for Christmas and she’s dying to play it. And we’ve asked young Kathy Simmons from October Street over for tea. It’s a shame for her to be all on her own with the kiddies on Christmas Day.’

Kathy Simmons and her two little daughters had been bombed out of their home in Porchester Road during one of the earliest raids last summer. Her husband Mike was in the Merchant Navy and away most of the time, and Kathy had given birth to her third child during the raids in November. She had gone into labour early and Tommy had been the only person available to help her. It had been a nightmare at the time, for he’d never seen a baby born before and scarcely knew what to do, but between them they’d managed and Kathy had called the baby Thomas after him. The two families had become friends, and Freda would have had Kathy and the children over to dinner as well, but Kathy had shaken her head.

‘We’ll stop home for dinner, but we’d like to come over for tea, if that’s all right. It’s a bit lonely in the evenings.’

So it must be, Freda thought, in that dark little house.
The old lady who’d lived in number 16 before Kathy hadn’t had electricity put in, so there was only gaslight downstairs and upstairs they had to use candles. All the houses in the area had been like that till a few years ago, but now almost everyone had electric light, apart from houses, like Dan Hodges’ next door, which were rented out. Freda couldn’t imagine living without it now.

Tommy went across to fetch Kathy and the children just before darkness fell. He swung Stella and Muriel into his arms and admired Stella’s
Rupert
book and Muriel’s new rag doll. Then he leant over the baby’s pram and chucked him under the chin. ‘He gets more good-looking every day. Just like his mum.’

‘Oh, Tommy!’ Kathy gave him a shy smile. The night of Thomas’s birth, with bombs exploding all around, seemed almost unreal now, like a dream – or even, at times, a nightmare – yet it was an experience she and Tommy had shared. You couldn’t be stiff and formal with someone who’d been through that with you, yet it was embarrassing too. Best not to dwell on it, she thought, and Tommy seemed to think the same.

He winked at her as he lifted the baby from the pram. ‘Let’s get this little chap over the street and into the warm. Freda’s got the kettle on and there’s jelly for tea.’

‘Jelly!’ Muriel gave a skip of delight. ‘What colour jelly? Is it red? I like red best, but Stella likes green.’

‘You’ll both be pleased then, because we’ve got both.
And
a pink blancmange rabbit.’

A pink blancmange rabbit … The girls’ eyes lit up and they scurried across the street and along to number 1. Tommy and Kathy followed more slowly, and as they stopped by the front door they saw a tall figure making its unsteady way round the corner of March Street.

‘That’s Mr Hodges, isn’t it?’ Kathy murmured, and Tommy nodded. He handed her the baby and felt in his pocket for the door key.

‘Bit the worse for wear, by the look of it.’ He raised his voice. ‘All right, Dan?’

The figure stopped and stared at them. It was almost dark now and it was impossible to see his face. He swayed a little and put one hand out to steady himself against the wall. ‘That you, Tommy Vickers?’