The War Widows (22 page)

‘You know, it’s just a pagan ceremony. All that expense for a few days of indigestion.’

‘Oh, Mother, it’ll be different this year with Su and
Ana. They’ve never had a proper English Christmas. It’ll take your mind off things,’ Lily argued.

She loved Christmas: all the smells of spices and cooking, tinsel and lantern lights, carols by candlelight and the excitement of hidden presents. She wanted to see the faces of Dina and Joy on Christmas morning when they unwrapped their knitted dollies and toy cot.

It had taken an advert in the
Gazette
to acquire those items second-hand at extortionate prices. Walt mustn’t know that the cash came out of her wedding fund. He thought she spoiled them enough as it was. Perhaps when they had children of their own he’d understand how important it was to give them a good time. Poor old Walt had had so little fun in his life, she sighed. It was hard to ever imagine him young and acting daft.

Why must Christmas Day be a cold quick affair: overcooked chicken pieces, a currantless steamed pudding and no crackers? She wanted Ana and Su to feel the warmth of festive joy in this arctic weather; a Dickens of a Christmas that would sweep away the gloom and chill of this terrible winter freeze.

If they could find olive oil for their first thanksgiving dinner then somewhere they could scrounge spices and dried fruit, extra sugar for treats. Levi would not see Neville and Ivy short. Walt and his mother, Enid Greenalgh and
her
mother too, would come for their dinner, so all their rations would add to the feast. No one would want to be left out of the fun and games.

Since Diana was taking an interest in Susan and Ana, Levi’s wife was not so quick to miss out on any social events on offer. They were even going to attend
the
Messiah
in the parish church, much to Esme’s dismay.

‘I hope you’re not all going Popish on me,’ she sniffed, but in the end the feast of sacred music was too good to miss. Mother dolled herself in her best camel coat with a fox-fur tippet dangling, and a fierce military felt hat.

What a formidable bunch the Winstanleys were, Lily thought as they walked
en masse
down the tunnelled paths into town by torchlight and gaslamp, dressed up in furs and macs against the chill. Three generations of family in harmony for once, a show of strength, she hoped, for the future.

Next year Walt, by then her husband, would be taking her arm, but choral singing wasn’t his forte. Being tone deaf must be a terrible burden. Bless him! Walt was being so patient with all her busyness. The whole town was cockahoop since the Grasshoppers were into the next round of the Cup. This time she would not be missing the game. The paper was full of the team, and Pete Walsh in particular. She’d seen him stop to sign autographs at the end of the last home match. He’d looked up at her and waved, and she’d felt her legs go all wobbly. Feeling guilty, she’d scuttled off before he could catch her up.

If only Freddie and Father were here too. Christmas could be such a lonely time when childhood memories came flooding back.

They all enjoyed a good sing, and stood for the ‘Hallelujah’ Chorus. This effort to be sociable was
Mother’s one token to the season, however, and it was Lily who ended up buying gifts for the family on her behalf and overseeing all the food preparations.

If Christmas was ever to happen at Waverley House it would be up to her to organise the troops, but it was getting harder trying to fit in with everyone’s plans. Mother thought it disloyal to want any seasonal fun, but the children ought to have a bit of what she’d had as a child: carols and sleigh bells, parties and stockings too. It felt like treading on eggshells trying to please everyone but herself. Freddie wouldn’t begrudge a bit of singing and dancing, especially in this cold spell. Her chilblains were red raw.

When Lily was playing with Dina and Joy it was easy to forget there was a dark winter outside. She could almost forget that half the family was missing. Children stopped her looking back to what once was and made the future all there was to cling to now. Her promise to watch over them growing up was precious.

But what would have happened if Fred was still alive and they had both turned up? That would have been a right facer. Now there were only secrets to hide, she sighed, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Then there was the Guide and Brownie Christmas Review looming large.

It was funny how you never saw someone for ages and then kept bumping into them all the time, she smiled. Diana kept popping up in shops and round corners. At the first joint rehearsal there she was directing proceedings like an army drill parade.

The Guides were doing sketches and the various
Brownie packs individual items. ‘Daisy Darling and the Tin Soldiers’ was not going very well. It was the costumes that let them down, and the hats hadn’t even arrived yet.

‘There you are, Lily. Nice to see you again.’ Diana sprung down the hall. ‘Is this lot yours? Who made the rig-outs?’ she sniggered. ‘Quite an interesting interpretation of a military theme.’

‘They’re awful. Susan’s tried to re-jig them but they can’t stand up like that,’ Lily replied, looking at the costumes with dismay.

‘Can’t you make them sailors, then?’

‘Nope, they are meant to be tin soldiers,’ she said. ‘The hired hats with pompoms will look good.’

‘In my book, best to keep it simple. Get them to wear a school shirt and make some epaulettes with tassles for their shoulders. That’ll do.’

‘We can do that in a jiffy, thanks.’

‘Wish everything was so easy,’ Diana sighed. ‘I have to keep telling myself that if I can open a field hospital in a desert storm, with sand and flies and dust, I can lick a few Guides into shape. I did enjoy the supper. You must all come to me next. Eva was thrilled to be asked too. She wants to cook some South African dish, billy bong, I think she said. Ana and her olive oil did well, not tasted that for years. How’s Maria’s husband?’

‘They settled him down again. He’s hoping to be out for Christmas.’

‘Frightful shame about his chest wound. It must have done some damage for it not to heal. Still, where there’s life there’s hope, and he’s young.’

‘So are we,’ Lily sighed.

‘Sometimes I feel about fifty in this dreadful Guide uniform. There are plans to change the design. Why do I live my life permanently in uniform? Boarding school, then the FANY, now guides-where will it end? I suppose it saves on clothing coupons. My hunting jacket is so threadbare, Mummy threatens to carve up Great-Grandmama’s riding habit. Listen to me, must dash…Jennifer Wolstencroft, I can see you slouching. Stand up straight. You’re too young for a dowager’s hump!

‘Don’t forget the dress rehearsal, Lily. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve. You don’t fancy being the back end of a cow, do you?’

And that was how Lily came to be slithering across the stage in a dusty old pantomime costume instead of sitting in the pictures with Walt.

She was coughing and blind as a bat, with Diana pushing her forwards. ‘One two three, collapse, one, two, three, kick out…’ Damn, that was her shin! When would she ever learn to say no?

The following evening, Ana was tearful, watching the faded paper twirls being fixed to the corners of the room, trying to explain to anyone who would listen how different Christmases in Crete used to be.

‘We have feast of Agios Vasilios, we sing
kalenda
songs with Christmas pie and special bread, roasted kid, oregano, potatoes. On Christmas Eve we give thick soup and sausages, smoked meats-the nine cooked dishes-and afterwards honey and sweetbreads.’

‘Stop! My mouth is watering,’ Lily laughed.

‘It was before the war. We share our food around the village,’ Ana sighed. ‘I know it is not the same here. If only Freddie was here…but I will do best for Dina’s sake,’ she whispered, hoping Esme was out of earshot.

There was still the one unspoken rule in Division Street that Freddie’s name was never mentioned, especially in front of Esme. The shame of his antics and the sorrow at his untimely death were her daily burden. He was banished to the top right-hand drawer of the cabinet.

Cedric, the mysterious cousin, lived in there too, brought out and dusted down like some best china ornament, put out on display for company if awkward questions were asked. His photograph had been cut out from a magazine and stuck in a frame. He explained Su and Joy’s presence in the family home. Everyone was told that her husband had died of some awful wounds somewhere far enough away for no one to enquire further.

Then the phantom husband was put back in the locked drawer full of secrets in the mahogany dresser, which contained strange birth certificates, letters of sponsorship and the one photograph that showed Freddie under a pagoda in Pagan alongside a smiling Susan.

Then Su decided to bring out this snapshot to share in the celebrations.

‘Put that away,’ said Ana.

‘Why should I?’ snapped Su. ‘He is family, my family. Why does he have to stay out of sight? I want Joy to see her daddy on Christmas morning.’

‘You tell her, Lily. Put it away! He is my husband. I am number one wife, not her!’

‘That is rubbish. This is me and him, not you. Find your own photograph. I am number one wife. He will stay…’

Everyone knew Ana hated that photo and would have shredded it many times. Now she lurched forward to flatten it down. Su pushed it up again. Up and down the poor snapshot went

‘Miss Lily, I am number one wife.’

‘She is big liar!’

‘Stop it, you two! No one is number one wife,’ Lily snapped, at the end of her tether. ‘Stop this quarrelling. I’m tired of everyone snapping and snarling. This is supposed to be the season of goodwill to all men. I’m sick of it. Do your own Christmas!’ She fled upstairs to her back bedroom and flung herself down on her blue satin eiderdown.

Let them all go hang. She’d had enough argy-bargy. Even Walt was acting peculiar because she hadn’t made their date. Every time she had called at his door he was down the pub, or so his mother said. Let them make Christmas happen without me. See if I care. She stamped her fist on the pillow.

Earlier that week, preparations for the Review had been frantic. Lily had thirty excited Brownies to contain, all wanting to be front of stage. Kathleen Walsh had a sweet singing voice and she was Daisy Darling, the heroine. She was the young sister of Pete, whose mother was ‘caught on the change’, Esme had whispered once. This
unexpected happy event was the talk of the neighbour-hood at the time.

The paper hats were dished out on pain of death of tearing them, and the simplified uniform was passable. Diana was trying to organise everyone, despite a hacking cough and an obvious temperature.

‘Go home,’ Lily suggested.

‘Not until I get the girls singing “Nymphs and Shepherds Come Away” in tune,’ she croaked.

‘I don’t think they’ll make the Manchester Children’s Orpheus Choir, however many times you practise. Go home.’

‘I should have chosen “White Christmas”,’

‘If you don’t go home, there’ll be you in bed and us without a director. Go home!’

‘We need to practise the cow with the pianist.’

‘I’ll find someone. Go home.’

‘Are you sure? You will all be coming on Boxing Day to our gathering? I’d like Mummy and Daddy to meet you all. They are intrigued. Bring the whole family, if you like.’

‘We’ll see, but if you don’t go home, Nurse, it’ll be your hospital bed we’ll be visiting.’ Lily found herself being as bossy as Diana for once.

The Guides soon disbanded in a thunderous rush from the stage and the little ones were put through their paces. Mothers were gathering at the back of the church hall, waiting to collect their offspring, waving and distracting the artistes from their performing.

Muriel, the pianist, wanted to practise the cow dance. Lily didn’t see the point.

‘I need to get the timing right,’ Muriel insisted, turning to the waiting relatives and asking for a volunteer.

‘Come on, will anyone give Brown Owl a helping hand?’ No one spoke.

‘Will a chap do?’ yelled a familiar voice as Pete Walsh, who often came to collect his sister, came striding down the hall with a silly grin on his face.

‘There’s no need.’ Lily blushed beetroot. ‘We can skip it, Muriel, for tonight.’

‘Not so fast. There’s a volunteer. Let’s be having you, hero of the hour. Oh, it’s you, Pete…saw you on Saturday. Like a stag, you were, leaping across that pitch. They must feed you on Guinness. They said there was an England scout in the stand. Wait till my husband hears about this…’ Would Muriel Scott
ever
shut up?

Lily didn’t want Pete up so close. She hadn’t made it up with the footballer since the morning of the tickets in the hall, even though he always tried to be friendly.

‘Do you want me front or back?’ He burst out laughing at his words. ‘No offence.’

‘What’s he on about?’

‘Don’t be saucy, young man. Lily here is far too innocent. She leads and you follow.’ His mischievous eyes got Lily all confused.

‘She’s the gun turret and I’m in the rear?’ he asked.

‘Now stop your cheek and concentrate,’ said Lily. ‘We haven’t got all night. Kathleen needs to be going to bed. I stand and you grasp my waist and listen to the counting. We’ll do it without the costume so you’ll get the gist,’ she ordered, trying to pretend this was not in front of all her girls.

‘I see…like this,’ he chuckled, and grabbed her by the waist.

‘Not so tight. I can’t breathe,’ she croaked. ‘It’s one, two, three, and lift your left leg…’

They fumbled and tried again. It was a disaster and everyone roared as they collapsed in a heap on the stage. His weight was dragging her down. She looked up into his eyes, all hot under the collar.

Muriel banged out the chorus line from a Laurel and Hardy film. ‘Doop di doop. Doop di doop, Tiddly pom. Tiddly pom…Doop di doop,’ came the voice in the rear.

‘Stop it, you’re making me laugh,’ Lily giggled. If Walt could see her now, he’d have a fit. She was glad she had clean underwear on.

‘Synchronise your legs,’ yelled Muriel. ‘One, two, three, up. One, two, three, down, and change over. Then turn.’