Tuppence To Spend (43 page)

Sammy who, like most of the children at Bridge End, didn’t bother too much about the frightening news from other parts of the world, was looking forward to Christmas. He remembered the last one, when he’d hardly known what Christmas could be like, and hugged himself with excitement. There’d be carol singing by starlight, and a tree decorated with coloured glass balls and those special
baubles Auntie Ruth had, shaped like trumpets and spears, and a stocking hung on the end of his bed on Christmas Eve. When he woke on Christmas morning it would be full – there’d be one of those puzzles with tiny round balls you had to get into little dents and a rolled-up paper tube you could blow so that it would stick out and squeak at the same time, and maybe a book and a new ball, and in the toe there’d be a handful of nuts and perhaps even an orange. After breakfast they’d go to church and all the rest of the village would be there, and then they’d go up to Auntie Jane’s for dinner with all the family.

Only Silver wouldn’t be able to go. Auntie Ruth said it was too cold for him to go outside, and he’d have to stay at home by himself all day and miss Christmas. It didn’t seem fair.

‘He doesn’t know it’s Christmas,’ Ruth said sternly, remembering the last time Sammy had taken Silver outside. ‘Parrots don’t even know what day of the week it is, let alone anything about Christmas.’

‘He does know. He sings “Jingle Bells”.’

‘Only because I taught him to. He doesn’t understand what it means.’

Sammy wasn’t convinced. He sat beside the parrot’s stand and talked to him about Christmas. Silver listened, his head cocked to one side, and piped up whenever he heard a word he recognised.

‘And we’ll go out and sing carols and all the stars will shine. It’ll be starshine at night, like in Auntie Ruth’s poem. And there’ll be a chicken for dinner, and a pudding with sixpences in and—’

‘I’ve got sixpence,’ Silver butted in. ‘Jolly little sixpence. I’ve got sixpence, to last me all my wife—’

‘
Life
,’ Sammy corrected him. ‘The wife bit comes afterwards. It’s “Tuppence to lend, and tuppence to spend, and tuppence to take home to my wife”. Anyway, after dinner there’ll be washing up and then tea, and then we’ll
all play games. We’ll play jelly race and family coach and land, sea and air, and we’ll have a sing-song.’

‘Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye.’

‘Yes, and then we’ll have nuts and apples and things, and then we’ll be tired and come home to bed.’ Sammy gazed at the parrot, his eyes full of tears. ‘And you’ll miss it all. It’s not fair.’

‘So long at the fair,’ the parrot agreed mournfully and rubbed his head against Sammy’s sleeve.

‘
Couldn’t
we take him?’ Sammy begged. ‘If we put him in a box and wrapped it up in blankets? I wouldn’t mind carrying him.’

‘
No
,’ Ruth said, beginning to feel exasperated. ‘It’s not just the cold, Sammy – the house will be full of people and it’s a strange place for Silver; he really wouldn’t enjoy it. He’s much better off here.’ She saw Sammy’s woebegone expression and sighed. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what, you can come back just before tea and see him. You can give him some extra sunflower seeds as a special treat. How will that do?’

It wasn’t as good as being able to take Silver with them, but Sammy could see there was no point in any further argument, and he nodded reluctantly. ‘I’ll come straight after dinner,’ he told the parrot, who was now busy cracking open a walnut off Joyce Moore’s tree. ‘And we’ll have a proper sing-song, all to ourselves.’

‘Is Sammy’s dad coming out to see him at all over Christmas?’ Jane asked as she and Ruth rolled pastry for mince pies. The government had allowed extra rations of dried fruit for cakes and puddings, and Jane had made a couple of pots of mincemeat as well, with plenty of chopped apple to bulk it out. You couldn’t have Christmas without mince pies.

‘I don’t know.’ Ruth stamped out a dozen rounds with a teacup. ‘He sent Sammy a postal order for five shillings, so that’s something. And he put in a note, said he might
manage to get over on his bike, but he never said anything definite. It’s a shame, really, because I think the kiddy would like to see him. It’s not that they’re all that close or anything, but he’s his
dad
, isn’t he, and a boy likes to feel his dad thinks something of him.’

‘I wonder how they’ll get on when the war’s over and Sammy goes home,’ Jane observed, brushing milk over the tops of the little pies before bending to slide them into the oven. ‘It’ll be proper strange for Sammy to be back in Portsmouth after all this time. He’s settled down so well out here now.’

Ruth didn’t speak for a moment. Then she said, ‘I hope he doesn’t ever go back, Jane. I’d like him to stop out here. In fact, if it could be arranged, I’d like to adopt him.’

Jane straightened up and stared at her. ‘Adopt him?’

‘Yes. Why not? I haven’t got any kiddies of my own, nor ever likely to. I’m getting on for forty, Jane, and I’ve never seen another man to match up to my Jack.’ She hesitated for a moment, then went on quickly, ‘Anyway, I don’t know that I’d ever want to get married again. But a kiddy – a little boy – well, that’s different. And I feel as if Sammy
is
mine. I’m proper fond of him, and to tell you the truth, if he went away now I think it’d break my heart!’

They stared at each other for a moment. Ruth’s voice had broken on the last words and she wiped her eyes with the corner of her pinafore.

Jane moved towards her. ‘Oh, Ruth.
Ruth
. I knew you were fond of Sammy, but I didn’t really realise … Look, don’t you think you ought to try
not
to be so fond of him? I mean, he’s bound to go back eventually, isn’t he? His dad’ll
want
him back – he’ll take it for granted. And the authorities – I mean, how could it be arranged? I don’t know anything about how you adopt children.’

‘Nor do I,’ Ruth said with a little sniff. ‘But I can find out – when the time comes. Anyway, at the rate this war’s going on it’ll be years yet. Mr Hodges isn’t going to want
Sammy back before it’s all over, it stands to reason. Sammy’ll be here for a good while yet and by the time it’s all over he’ll be able to make up his own mind.’

Jane looked doubtful, but she went back to her pastry and said no more. Perhaps Ruth was right, she thought. It could be years before the problem ever arose, and a lot could happen before that.

Especially in wartime.

While Sammy was looking forward to carol singing by starlight and hanging up his stocking, Dan Hodges was sitting in the pub, trying to enjoy a Christmas drink with a few mates. The landlord had put up a few paper chains, a bit like the ones Sammy and Nora had made a couple of years back, and as Dan stared at them he felt the tears gather thick in his throat and stumbled to his feet.

‘Not going already, Dan, are you?’ one of his workmates said. ‘You haven’t stood your round yet.’

‘Bugger my round.’ Dan felt in his pocket and dragged out a few coins. He threw them on the bar. ‘Here, get it out of that. I’ve had enough.’

The other stared at him. ‘Dan Hodges had enough? Never thought I’d live to see the day!’ There was a roar of laughter, but Dan wasn’t listening. He was halfway out of the door, blundering past the heavy blackout curtain into the cold night air. With the thick, smoky atmosphere behind him, his head cleared a little and he stood for a moment gazing up at the stars.

He’d found a Christmas card from Sammy on the doormat when he got home from work the night before. It was another picture Sammy had drawn himself, of shepherds sitting on a hillside surrounded by woolly sheep, under a black sky studded with white blotches that were presumably meant to be stars. In one corner was the huge white globe of the moon and there appeared to be a creature half-bird, half-man hanging from it. The angel Gabriel,
Dan supposed. Still, it was a cheerful sight and looked all right on the mantelpiece. It was the only sign in the room that Christmas was happening at all.

Christmas. Nora had always tried to make something of it, for the boys’ sake. Decorated the place up a bit, got a tree from the market in Charlotte Street, got a few presents together. She’d knitted them all gloves, or jumpers, things they needed. Dan was still wearing the socks she’d made him, good thick socks they were too, just what he wanted for these bitter winters.

She’d bought them things as well, when she had the money: that red ball she’d given Sammy the last Christmas she was here; a toy gun she’d got for Gordon once, real as you like. He’d played cowboys and Indians for months with that gun, always the cowboy, of course. Nobody could say you had to be an Indian if you had a gun like that.

There’d been nothing like that this Christmas. All he’d managed to do was send both the boys a five-bob postal order. He’d thought about having them home – there’d been a chance Gordon could have been let home for two or three days – but the daft young fool had got in a fight a week or so ago and done a bit of damage, and that had put a stop to any hope of time off. And what sort of a Christmas could he give young Sam, all on his own, with not even a paper chain to cheer the place up?

Dan walked slowly down March Street. In almost every house people were getting ready for Christmas. Nippers were being brought home from the countryside to be with their families again, just for a few days. Because of the blackout, he couldn’t see into the lighted rooms, but he knew they’d be hanging up paper chains and putting coloured lights on trees – even if you didn’t turn them on because of the electricity, they’d still look pretty – and stringing Christmas cards over the mantelpiece. And the women would be making puddings and mince pies – Freda Vickers had told him there was an extra allowance of dried
fruit and asked if he’d like her to make him a cake or a pudding along with her own. He’d shrugged, but said yes, she might as well, even though he knew he’d be eating it on his own, and a couple of days ago she’d brought him in a nice fruit cake – not iced, of course, but he wasn’t bothered about that. He’d had a slice already. There didn’t seem to be much point in keeping it for Christmas.

Dan went up the back garden path, past the Anderson shelter and the abandoned tumble of cold, half-dug earth, and the tangle of dead vegetation. He opened the back door and went into the scullery. It seemed even colder inside than out. He struck a match to light the gas and then went on into the living room to do the same there. The yellow light flickered and steadied, dulled by the film of grime on the glass shades. There was no need to worry about the blackout – Dan went to work before it was light and came home after dark, and only took down the shades at weekends, if then.

He looked around the room, at the two grubby, sagging armchairs, the scratched and battered table with its four wooden chairs. Once, there’d been a family of four sitting round it for meals; now, only one place was used and the plates Dan had been eating from for the past four days were still there, greasy and unappetising. The room was icy, the fireplace still full of ashes from the fire he’d lit last Sunday.

‘Blimey,’ he said, staring at it all. ‘It’s a bloody slum, that’s what it is. A bloody slum.’

He dropped into one of the chairs. The place didn’t look as if it had been touched for years. Dan and Nora had certainly never done any redecorating, and the wallpaper was dull and yellowed, with smoke stains where the gaslight had guttered and blotches where food had got spattered or someone had leant against the wall, by the door. There’d been a dog here too once, a biggish one – you could tell by the marks about two feet above the floor.

It hadn’t been much better when they’d moved in, but
Nora had at least tried to keep it clean, until she got too poorly to do it. Even then, she’d got the boys to do a bit. Gordon hadn’t been much help, but young Sam had tried, little as he was. He’d always tried to please his mother.

Dan leant forward and rested his head in his hands. The house had never seemed so empty, so cold. It wanted someone in it. It wanted a family again, a Christmas, with decorations and a bit of a tree and some presents. It wanted Sammy.

‘I’m going to get him,’ he said aloud. ‘Buggered if I’m not. I’m going to clean this place up a bit, and get those paper chains out what he and Nora made a couple of years back, and get Alf Hines to put by a chicken for me, and I’m going to get him. He’s going to spend Christmas here with me. He’s coming back to April Grove where he belongs.’

Christmas Eve came in a flurry of snow showers. No real snow had fallen yet, although it was very cold, and as the afternoon light began to fade the clouds drifted away, leaving a bright, clear sky. There would be a moon later, so the carols this year would be by the light of the moon rather than that of the stars.

‘When will it be time to go carol singing?’ Sammy asked for about the twentieth time as he and Ruth put up the last of the paper chains.

‘When it’s dark, after tea. You know that, Sammy, from last year.’

‘It seems a long time to wait.’ He sighed, looking out of the window.

‘It’ll soon come.’ She looked down at him as she pinned up the last paper chain. He was nine now and beginning to grow, but he still had an endearing ‘little boy’ roundness to his face, and his fair curls and blue eyes had won a good many hearts around the village. They also, she knew, won him a few taunts of ‘cissy’ and ‘baby-face’ from some of the other children, but Terry’s boxing lessons had been effective and Sammy was now well able to defend himself. He had Tim Budd on his side as well and Tim was a match for any boy in the village, even Brian Collins.

Ruth got down from the kitchen chair she’d been standing on. She had already filled Sammy’s stocking – the twin to the one he’d be hanging up empty that night – and wrapped up her present to him. It was a game of ‘Sorry’ that she’d found in the cupboard where she kept Jack’s
things – a cupboard she went to increasingly these days, looking for bits and pieces to give Sammy – and a new book,
Swallows and Amazons
. Jane had told her that Ben had read it when he was nine or ten and said he was sure Sammy would enjoy it too.

‘Well,’ she said, glancing at the clock, ‘I think we could have a cup of tea now, don’t you? I’ve just got a jelly to make, ready to take to Auntie Jane’s for tea tomorrow, and then I think we’re almost ready—’