Chapter Forty-Eight

Christmas Day

For Helen, Christmas Day began with an early-morning call to the Royal Infirmary. It was a call she made every day to check on her grandmother’s progress. As soon as she was put through to the ward, she was surprised to hear a broad North Yorkshire accent rather than the familiar local dialect of Annette, the day nurse.

Helen checked her watch. It had just gone eight o’clock. She knew the night and day shifts swapped at half seven. It was one of the reasons she always rang at this time as the new shift would have just been given an update on their patients. Helen also liked to make herself known to whoever was on duty and ensure they were aware that Henrietta was a family member, a relation of the Havelocks. It pained her to admit to anyone that she had Havelock blood coursing through her veins, but it guaranteed her grandmother first-class treatment.

‘Good morning,’ Helen said, keeping her tone soft and friendly. She had learnt over the years, especially during the time her father had been in this very hospital, that it paid to be pleasant and polite to the nursing staff; they were the ones who wielded the true power.

‘This is Helen Crawford calling … I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name. I normally speak to Annette at this time.’

‘Annette was called away on a bit of an emergency,’ the Yorkshire voice said. ‘You’re speaking to Nurse Taylor. I’ve been called in to cover.’

‘Oh, I hope it’s nothing serious?’ Helen asked, genuinely concerned. She liked Annette. She had been brilliant with her grandmother, not just with her physical welfare, but she had spent time talking to her, checking on her emotional well-being, knowing that she was a long-term patient from the asylum.

‘Actually,’ Nurse Taylor said, pausing momentarily, unsure how much to disclose, ‘she’s gone to Oldham. One of them blasted doodlebugs landed on the street where her aunty lives. Annette’s mother is beside herself. They’ve not been able to make any contact with her, so Annette’s gone there to find out what she can.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ said Helen. She had caught the news last night about a load of buzz bombs being dropped on Manchester and the surrounding area. She’d heard there’d been casualties. ‘What a terrible thing to happen – never mind at Christmas. Poor Annette. Please tell her I was asking after her if you do speak to her.’

‘I will.’ Nurse Taylor could hear that the Havelock girl was sincere. ‘I’m guessing you’re calling about Miss Girling?’ she asked. She’d been told to expect a call from Charles Havelock’s granddaughter.

‘I am,’ Helen said.

‘Yes, she’s had a good night,’ Nurse Taylor said. Helen could hear the shuffling of paper. ‘It says here there’s been a request for her to go out for a few hours today. It being Christmas Day.’

Helen held her breath. The nurse had the authority to refuse the request if she felt Henrietta wasn’t up to it.

‘Well,’ Nurse Taylor said, ‘I’ve had a chat with her and given her a check-over and she seems very determined to go to this party at the Ryhope. I have to stress, though, that she is still very weak physically – her body is still recovering. In herself, though, she seems well. Very well. I’m looking at her now and she’s sat up in her bed, chatting to the old lady in the bed next to her.’ Helen heard a light chuckle down the phone. ‘I think I need to inform your great-aunty that her neighbour is as deaf as a post.’

‘I’m sure Aunty Henrietta won’t mind one bit!’ Helen joked, relieved she’d been given the green light. It had only been just over a week since she’d been at death’s door, and although she’d amazed doctors with the speed of her recovery, she was still quite fragile. ‘I’ll be there around midday, if that’s all right?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Nurse Taylor said. ‘We’ll see you then.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen said. ‘And Happy Christmas!’

As she put the phone down, Helen really did feel that it was going to be a happy Christmas. Her heart still hurt when she thought of John, but she couldn’t let that override her joy that her grandmother had lived. And after hearing what poor Annette’s Christmas Day looked likely to entail, she knew she had much to be thankful for.

As she hurried back upstairs to get ready for the day of festivities, Helen heard the church bells start to ring out, calling parishioners to the early-morning Christmas service. Suddenly, she felt the joy of Yuletide wash over her. As she started to get ready for the day, her mind again wandered to John and she realised she was still holding on to a thread of hope that the barriers keeping her from the man she loved – from the man she now knew loved her back – were not insurmountable.

It had been decided that number 34 would be the meeting point for those involved in the Christmas Extravaganza. While Agnes and Beryl bustled about indoors getting the presents sorted, Lucille and Hope tore around the house with their new toys, still in a state of adrenaline-fuelled glee at the presents Santa had brought them.

Tramp and Pup would normally have been racing around with them, but Agnes had procured them each a big marrow bone from the local butcher. By midday, the Elliot household was bursting at the seams and spilling out onto Tatham Street. Not that anyone minded waiting out in the cold as it had turned out to be a picture-perfect Christmas Day. The snow was thick on the ground and crisp, but the sun was out and the air refreshing, if icy. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, the festive feel added to by the children who lived around the doors getting up to high jinks, skidding about in the snow, throwing snowballs and building snowmen. The lack of traffic on the road meant that the entire street had become their playground.

Dorothy, Angie, Gloria, Polly, Martha and Hannah stood in a gaggle, chatting away. They cut a comic picture as they were all dressed up to the nines, wearing their best dresses, which could be seen peeking out from under the hems of their woollen winter coats, but on their feet they were wearing their hobnailed leather work boots. Their best shoes were in cloth bags hanging off their shoulders.

Dorothy was also holding a clipboard and looking very serious and official as she ticked off everyone’s names. She had organised this extravaganza with military precision and there were to be no hiccups as they approached the final furlong.

Bobby, wearing his navy uniform, and Joe, in his army attire, were standing chatting to Quentin and Olly. Bobby kept breaking off to chuck a few snowballs at the children, who screeched with excitement at the tall ex-seaman who lodged at the Elliot house joining in with their play.

When they all saw the army truck making its way down Tatham Street, there was a spontaneous shout of joy from everyone – the delight of the children further exacerbated by now having a moving target.

Jack was at the wheel of the khaki-coloured military truck and the Major was in the front passenger seat, sitting bolt upright in his regimental outfit, looking not unlike Father Christmas, with his grey-white beard and ruddy complexion. And like Santa Claus, he might already have indulged in a glass of brandy and a mince pie or two, which had given his cheeks their rosy glow.

‘Merry Christmas!’ he shouted out of the window. ‘Your sleigh has arrived!’

His jolly welcome was met with an equally festive cheer of ‘Merry Christmas!’

Jumping out of the driver’s side, Jack hurried round to the back of Santa’s metal sleigh and opened it up.

‘It’s cleaner than it looks,’ he said, turning to the women crowding around him, all dressed in their best outfits, stamping their feet in the cold. ‘And there’s plenty of blankets in the corner there to keep you all warm.’

Dorothy baulked on seeing the distance from the ground to the floor of the truck. Normally, it would not have proved a problem for the women, who spent their days climbing scaffolding and going up and down ladders, but that was with their overalls on, not tight, tailored dresses. Positioning herself at the side of their transport with her clipboard in front of her, she looked at Martha.

‘Can you help everyone in, please?’

‘I think I can do the honours,’ Bobby butted in, moving to the front of the women and putting his arm out to Martha to help her climb in.

‘Thanks, Bobby,’ Martha said with a chuckle. ‘But I can manage.’ Proving the point, she climbed into the back with no difficulty, her wide skirt not impeding her movement. She stayed standing so as to help the rest of the women up.

‘I’ll go and get the cargo,’ Jack said, grabbing a couple of old sacks from the floor of the truck.

‘And I’ll go and say bye to Artie,’ Polly panicked. She had been torn about leaving her son, now fifteen months old, but had convinced herself that he wouldn’t miss his mammy, not with the twins, a house full of children and a mound of toys to play with.

Quentin and Olly climbed on board, followed by Gloria, Hannah and Angie.

Shifting along the bench to allow Angie to sit next to him, Quentin checked his pocket. It was something he’d been doing all morning.

When everyone had been ticked off Dorothy’s list, Bobby took great pleasure in taking her clipboard off her, handing it to Martha, then sweeping her up in his arms and lifting her into the back of the truck, as though carrying her over the threshold.

Dorothy scowled at him as she stood up and straightened her clothes, although she was secretly glad as she could hardly move in her skin-tight black dress, never mind clamber into the back of a truck.

Seeing the front door of the Tatham Arms open, Dorothy spotted Pearl waving over to them, fag in mouth.

‘Holdyer horses!’ she shouted across, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and blowing out a plume of smoke. ‘The best is yet to come!’ Her cackle morphed into a hacking cough.

For a mad moment, Dorothy thought that Pearl had decided to invite herself and Bill to the do. A feeling of relief immediately followed when she saw Bill walk out of the pub with a heavy crate in his arms.

‘Our Christmas box for your extravaganza,’ he said breathlessly as he trudged across the road, taking care not to slip in the snow.

Pearl stayed in the doorway, her cardigan wrapped around her skinny frame, puffing on her cigarette.

‘Tell them it’s compliments of the Tatham ’n they’re to patronise us when they’re back on their feet!’ she shouted over.

‘Will do! Thanks, Pearl!’ Dorothy shouted back.

Bobby took the crate off Bill and dumped it in the truck.

When Dorothy viewed the contents, her eyes nearly popped out. There were bottles of whisky, port, brandy and rum, along with some lemonade and ginger beer.

Dorothy looked up to thank Pearl again but just caught her disappearing back into the pub in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

‘Thanks, Bill!’ Bobby said. The two men shook hands.

‘Have yourselves a good time.’ Bill looked at everyone seated on the benches running along the inside of the truck. ‘And Happy Christmas!’

His words were punctuated by a snowball hitting him on the side of the head.

Everyone chuckled as he bent down, scooped up a handful of snow and went in search of his attackers, bellowing ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum’ as he did so. The shrieks of the children as they scattered pierced the air.

‘Now, you two, behave yourselves!’ Beryl shouted out from her front doorstep, slippers on her feet, curlers in her hair and a pinny tied around her substantial girth.

‘Yes, Mam!’ Iris and Audrey called back. They were each carrying a sack of presents.

‘You keep an eye on them!’ she commanded Dorothy. ‘I know what these young soldiers are like.’

‘Of course I will, Beryl!’ Dorothy replied, keeping a straight face. ‘Like a hawk!’

Martha took the two sacks off Iris and Audrey and put them in the truck as Bobby helped them both clamber in.

Dorothy gave them the once-over. ‘Angie’s got the make-up,’ she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth.

Polly hurried out of her front door, also carrying a sack. As she was climbing into the back, Maud and Mavis Goode from the sweet shop came hurrying over.

‘Stocking fillers!’ they announced. They were each holding a small box filled with little paper bags stuffed with an assortment of sweets. They handed them to Polly, for whom they had a soft spot, having watched her grow up.

‘Thank you,’ Polly said, taking the boxes. Seeing how much was there, she gasped. ‘Oh my goodness, your shelves are going to be empty!’

The two women looked at each other. ‘You just tell them young men thank you from us.’

‘I will,’ Polly promised, seeing how much their words were meant.

Dorothy looked down at her clipboard.

‘Now, we’re just waiting for—’

Before her words were out, they all saw Georgina hurrying around the corner of Hudson Road.

‘Sorry!’ she shouted out. ‘Sorry I’m late!’

She stopped on reaching the truck.

‘I managed to get some extra film!’ She held up a small cylinder in her hand with a gleeful look in her eye.

‘Well done, Georgina!’ Dorothy put her hand out and helped her on board.

Jack appeared round the side of the truck.

‘We ready for the off?’ he asked.

Bobby jumped in.

‘We are now,’ he said, putting his arm around Dorothy and giving her a quick kiss.

Jack pulled the wooden doors shut, smiling as he did so at the happy, chattering faces lining either side of the truck.

Hobbling over to give Bel a kiss goodbye, Joe ruffled Lucille’s hair and kissed the foreheads of the twins, who were nestled in their mammy’s arms. Using his stick to navigate the snow, he walked to the passenger door, where Jack gave him a hand up.

Hurrying round the front, Jack jumped into the driver’s seat and slowly pulled away. As he beeped the horn, the snowball-throwing children rearmed themselves and gave Santa’s sleigh a good send-off.

*

Meanwhile, Rosie, Peter and Charlotte were being chauffeur-driven to the Ryhope by Lily’s fiancé, George, in his red MG, which he insisted was his Christmas treat as he rarely got to drive ‘the old gal’. When he’d got up that morning and had seen the street outside and the cricket ground opposite the house covered in a fresh thick white blanket of glistening snow, he had been even more enthused about his chauffeuring duties. He loved driving in challenging conditions. Lily, Maisie and Vivian had waved them off from the front door, after it had been arranged that George would pick them up later on and then bring them back home, along with Kate, for their own little Christmas soirée and swapping of presents.

‘I want the whole family together!’ Lily had demanded.

*

Matthew was also driving to the extravaganza in an MG, although his was a more up-to-date model and was glossy black. He had been invited due to the fact that he had persuaded the owners of Doxford’s and Thompson’s to pool their resources and organise the delivery of a huge Christmas tree, complete with decorations and fairy lights.

As Matthew’s secretary and Helen’s personal assistant were also playing such a large part in the extravaganza, he had offered to transport them both to the do. ‘We can’t have the two stars slumming it on public transport, can we? Or in the back of a truck,’ he’d said.

The women all knew, though, that Matthew’s eagerness to spend Christmas Day at the Ryhope Emergency Hospital was not so much driven by his need to be charitable as by the chance of romance. For, of course, Helen Crawford would be there.

The women had wondered amongst themselves if Helen would ever succumb to Matthew Royce’s charms, or if she would continue to pine for her doctor – for a man, it was clear to them all, she could never have.

*

As the truck started along the long stretch of coastal road to Ryhope village, Dorothy checked her watch. Rina’s ‘admirer’ should be turning up at the café around now. She had worked out that would give them plenty of time to load up his van, drive there and unload at the other end. Feeling that everything was in order, she turned her attention to her workmates.

‘So, Polly—’

They all jerked forward as the truck hit another pothole.

‘—was your ma really not put out you’re not spending Christmas Day at home?’

‘Yeah,’ Gloria said. ‘Agnes told me she wasn’t, but I couldn’t tell whether she might be, deep down.’

‘No,’ said Polly, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise of the engine. ‘I really don’t think she was.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘She’s invited Dr Billingham over.’

They all knew that Dr Billingham had become friendly with Agnes after he had helped Polly with a troublesome pregnancy. But not that friendly.

‘Really?’ Dorothy’s voice rose several octaves.

‘What’s that?’ Angie asked. She had been chatting to Quentin, who seemed a little ill at ease.

‘Agnes is having Dr Billingham over for Christmas dinner!’ Dorothy said, wide-eyed.

‘Really?’ Angie said. ‘Do yer think they might get it together?’

Polly laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, but they’ve certainly become good friends this past year. Anyway, what about everyone else’s mams and dads?’ She looked around at everyone in the truck. ‘Are they all right with you all going AWOL most of Christmas Day?’

‘Mine still aren’t talking to me,’ Dorothy said, glancing at Bobby, who gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Nor me them.’

‘Mine are keeping me a plate warm for when I get back,’ said Martha.

‘Mine are happy because I gave them a ten-shilling note in compensation,’ Angie said.

Everyone looked at Hannah. They were quiet for a moment. Not knowing what to say.

Gloria leant forward and squeezed her hand.

In the front of the truck, Jack, Joe and the Major chatted about the latest news reports. The Belgian transport ship SS Léopoldville had been sunk off the coast of France on Christmas Eve, with more than eight hundred lives lost. Closer to home, a stray V-1, having been launched by German bombers flying over the North Sea, had landed in the mining village of Tudhoe. Thankfully, there’d been no casualties, unlike in the north-west, where buzz bombs had caused the deaths of at least twenty-one civilians and obliterated hundreds of homes.

The main topic of conversation, though, was what was happening in the Ardennes, where Allied troops were fighting a major counter-offensive launched by Hitler just nine days previously.

‘The papers are calling it the “‘Battle of the Bulge”,’ the Major said, puffing on his cigar and blowing the smoke out of the open window.

‘Why “bulge”?’ Jack asked, driving carefully along the long coastal road, which was thick with snow, making it hard to avoid the dips and pits.

‘The bulge is the wedge that Jerry has driven into the Allied lines,’ the Major explained. ‘It’s put back our plans for a final offensive on the Western Front – although it’s also going to exhaust Jerry’s resources. We’re still heading for victory, but it’s going to cost more lives.’ The sadness in his voice was clear.

*

When Helen went to pick up her grandmother from the hospital, she found her sitting in the chair by the side of her made-up bed.

Seeing her granddaughter appear through the swing doors of the ward, Henrietta’s face lit up. She waved excitedly.

Helen smiled. Her grandmother’s joie de vivre was infectious. It never ceased to amaze her that after all she had been through, Henrietta could still love life. All the badness that she had been subjected to had not corroded some kind of inherent innocence that seemed to form the bedrock of her personality.

Henrietta watched with bright eyes as Helen had a quick word with the brusque but friendly ward nurse, who, she had learnt, was from the town of Skipton on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales.

‘Merry Christmas, Aunty.’ Helen gave her grandmother a little wink. They were both keen to keep her real identity under wraps – Helen for fear of what her grandfather would do should he find out, Henrietta because she preferred the make-believe to reality.

‘And a very Merry Christmas to you too, my dear.’ Henrietta put her arms out and kissed her granddaughter lightly on both cheeks. ‘You look quite stunning.’ She looked at Helen in her figure-hugging, vibrant green dress. ‘Quite beautiful.’

Helen smiled her thanks. She might not be able to tell John she loved him, but she could still spread out her tail feathers. Her deal with Dr Eris had not included walking around with a bag over her head.

Nurse Taylor brought the wheelchair to the bed.

‘Doesn’t she look the belle of the ball?’ Henrietta said as she reluctantly allowed the nurse to help her into what she was calling her ‘getaway transport’. She had to concede – even if it was just to herself – that her spirit felt strong, but her body was still lagging behind somewhat.

‘She most certainly does,’ Nurse Taylor agreed, turning the wheelchair around so that it was facing the main entrance. She moved to the side to allow Helen to take over.

‘Your aunt’s still a little weak, so be careful she doesn’t overdo it,’ she said directly to Helen.

‘I am here,’ Henrietta said, affronted. ‘My legs might be a little shaky, but my ears are working perfectly well, thank you very much.’

Helen and Nurse Taylor exchanged looks.

‘Cinderella is going to the ball!’ Henrietta declared.

Nurse Taylor chuckled. ‘She might well be, but this Cinders has to be back by four o’clock – and not a minute later.’ She put a blanket over Henrietta’s lap and tucked her in.

‘Of course. I’ll have her back safe and sound before her carriage turns into a pumpkin,’ Helen reassured, looking at the nurse and showing her she understood that her grandmother was still recovering. If it had not been Christmas, she doubted the day trip would have been sanctioned.

Nurse Taylor watched as Helen wheeled Miss Girling off. She couldn’t help but smile. What an odd couple.

Having reached the main foyer, Helen helped Henrietta out of the wheelchair. They walked slowly out of the main doors and down the steps to where Helen had parked her car. Helen opened the passenger door, wondering if her grandmother would be thinking about the last time she had been in it. If she was, she didn’t say. And she didn’t need reminding. This was Christmas. A day for happy thoughts and remembrances.

‘What a shame your mother couldn’t come too,’ Henrietta said. ‘I would have thought Miriam would have enjoyed going to such an “extravaganza”. She did love to go to parties as a child. She would talk endlessly about what she would wear and who would be there.’

Helen had to bite her tongue. Her grandmother could not – or perhaps would not – see any bad in her daughter. If Miriam turned up, she’d be shown the door. She’d caused too much grief to too many people.

‘I don’t think wild horses would keep Mother away from the Grand – especially on Christmas Day,’ Helen said.

A few minutes later, they had pulled up outside the Maison Nouvelle.

Kate was waiting, looking out of the window, watching as couples and families walked past. She was indulging in her favourite pastime – people-watching, or rather, looking at what people were wearing.

As soon as Helen and Henrietta got out of the car, she opened the door.

‘Come in!’ She ushered them inside.

Stepping into the boutique, Helen was hit by the warmth, which was a relief. The hospital had been warm, but as soon as they’d stepped outside, the icy air had hit them like a slap in the face. She didn’t want her grandmother catching a cold.

‘I do love it here,’ Henrietta said, looking around at all the fabrics. ‘I feel like a child in a sweetie shop.’

‘Can you remember what your new outfit looks like, Grandmother?’ Helen asked tentatively. John had warned her that as Henrietta had been unconscious for several hours, she might have suffered some neurological damage, memory loss being his main concern.

‘Of course I can,’ Henrietta said, her eyes looking around and finding her stylish navy blue skirt suit, which had been laid out on the front counter. ‘How could I forget.’ She looked at Kate. ‘You are such a talent, my dear. Although I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘Come on then, Grandmother,’ Helen said, sensing Kate’s discomfort at being praised. ‘Cinders needs to get changed.’ She led her to the back room, enjoying playing the part of fairy godmother.

Twenty minutes later, having changed into her elegant skirt and jacket ensemble and allowed Kate to do her make-up, Henrietta was ready to go to the ball. It took another ten minutes for Helen and Kate to pack up the car with the Christmas decorations and a huge pile of second-hand suits, and then they were off. Helen was driving, with Henrietta in the passenger seat and Kate in the back, her pale face and bobbed dark brown hair just about visible amongst the piles of second-hand clothes and mounds of tinsel.