Daisy raised her head from where she was busy slicing a freshly baked loaf into thick slices and glanced round the kitchen table. Tommy and three of his pals were busy devouring great wedges of ham and egg pie, meat roll, shives of cheese and pickles, and hot potatoes in their jackets. They had already drained three pots of tea. He caught her eye and grinned. ‘Been thinking of this all day.’
‘Go on with you.’ She flapped her hand at him, laughing, but the thought that her lad and his three pals could have been at the front if they had been just three or so years older was frightening. The four of them had been beside themselves when German cruisers had shelled the towns of Hartlepool, Scarborough and Whitby just down the coast, killing a hundred and thirty-seven people and wounding hundreds more in an attack just before Christmas last year, and the incident had sent a stream of northern lads to the recruitment offices. Thought he’d frighten us, the Kaiser, did he? had been the general opinion among Tommy’s age group and the older lads. Barking up the wrong tree then, wasn’t he? Didn’t know the British bulldog very well, did he, but he’d soon learn.
When Daisy had first heard Tommy and his friends talking this way she had taken him aside when the others had gone home. War was a terrible thing, she’d told him soberly, and it
was
frightening. Only a fool wouldn’t be scared. Men and lads were being killed and maimed and leaving their womenfolk half-demented with grief.
‘Aye, I know, Mam.’ He had taken to calling her this just after they had moved to Hendon from the fishing village. ‘But someone’s got to stop the Kaiser.’
She had just nodded while offering a silent prayer of thanks it wasn’t
her
boy engaged against the forces of that madman. And then she had prayed for the ones who were.
‘And where are the four of you off to tonight?’ she said now, as the last of the loaf was finished and she put a baked jam roll and a plate of gingerbread on the now virtually empty table.
‘The Palace. Jimmy’s got free tickets again,’ Tommy said, his mouth full of gingerbread. On leaving school he had secured an apprenticeship in the machine shop of the North Eastern Marine Engineering Company on the South Docks in Sunderland, along with his pal Joe. Phil had been taken on at the Castle Street brewery, while Jimmy had pulled off the by no means easy feat of inveigling himself into the Palace Theatre as general dogsbody and jack-of-all-trades. Consequently the four of them enjoyed many evenings of free entertainment, usually after a meal at Daisy’s. The other boys all came from large poor families, and having started feeding them after school when the four of them had chummed up while still knee-high to a grasshopper, Daisy had never really stopped. But she loved doing it, she loved them, and there was rarely an evening went by when the house didn’t resound with their laughter and chatter.
And Tommy appreciated it, like now. As the others all said their thank yous and left the house by the back door, he hung back until he and Daisy were alone. ‘Thanks, Mam.’ At fifteen years old he was an inch taller than her and still growing strong, but he never left without kissing her. ‘That meal was grand, an’ the lads love it round here, especially poor old Joe.’
Daisy nodded. Joe’s father was the type who thought nothing of using his fists on his family, and as a little lad Joe had often been black and blue. Many were the nights he had slept on a shakedown by the side of Tommy’s bed; in fact, Daisy thought Joe had lived more with them than he ever had with his own family. She just thanked her lucky stars she had been able to offer all Tommy’s pals a free meal and hospitality when it was needed.
Twenty months after starting work for Mr Shelton at the post office, equipped with new certificates for excellent speeds in shorthand and typing, she had left the kindly postmaster - with his blessing and good wishes - and taken a job with Woods & Company, bankers, for twice the salary. Swift promotion had followed, and by the time Miss Casey had decided to move to Newcastle to live with her recently bereaved sister, Daisy was in a position to take out a mortgage and buy a property of her own. The house had been modest, a two-up, two-down terrace in Maritime Terrace opposite the Almshouses, but when Tommy had just turned eleven another change of job and increase in salary had meant the two of them being able to move to a bay-fronted end of terrace with a tiny railed front garden and a patch of lawn at the back in Grangetown, in view of the old windmill which had ceased operating some time before.
Tommy first and then work was Daisy’s life. Although in latter years she had had several men friends they had always remained just that - friends. There had been two she had thought she might grow fonder of, but in the event the more serious they had become the more she had withdrawn. Tommy often teased her, saying she was too particular, and he might be right at that, but she couldn’t force feelings that weren’t there and that was that as far as Daisy was concerned. And it wasn’t as though her life wasn’t busy, what with him and his pals, work, friends including Alf and Kitty and their four children and the rest of her family at the fishing village, and now the fund-raising and such she was involved in for the war effort. Tank Week, Gun Week, Cruiser Week - they all demanded time and attention, and as a member of the Grangetown Women’s Support Group Daisy was heavily involved in delivering food and clothing to needy families whose menfolk were missing or killed, helping to man the twice-weekly soup kitchen, opening up her home for committee meetings and organising ongoing aid for the old folk.
It was the thought of the last venture that now made her say, ‘The others’ll be waiting, Tommy,’ as she gave her lad a hug and sent him out the door. She had three visits to make and the old folk didn’t like being disturbed too late at night, even if she did come bearing gifts!
The February night was raw, and Daisy was glad to get home again once she had done the rounds. By the time Tommy came in at half-past ten she had the kettle on and some scones singing on the girdle, which she and Tommy ate hot and dripping with butter while he told her about his evening.
‘Bought you a few sweets, Mam.’ His voice was casual but his eyes were bright as he sent a box of chocolates skidding across the table into her hands as he left the kitchen.
‘Thanks, hinny.’ Daisy’s voice was soft. It was rare a week went by that he didn’t buy her something: a bunch of flowers, a women’s magazine, sweets or chocolate, in spite of an apprentice’s wage being next to nothing.
He thought of her as his mam, she knew that, and it was precious, although she had been careful to talk often about Margery and Tom to the boy, trying to draw a mental picture for him of how they had looked, what sort of people they had been and so on. She had waited until she’d felt he was old enough before she had told him the full story about his parents not being married - she hadn’t wanted him to find his birth certificate some day and see the bald details in black and white, or for some kind soul to acquaint him with the facts before she had had a chance to do it properly. She had stressed that Margery and Tom were planning to marry, that they had loved each other with a love known to few people, and that Margery had been comforted after he had died to learn that she was bearing his child and in that way Tom would live on.
Tommy had taken it well but had been quiet for a few days. After that he had come to her one day when she was in the kitchen preparing a meal and said very softly that he wished he had a picture of his da. ‘We never had the money for things like photographs or pictures,’ Daisy had said gently, ‘but if you look in the mirror, hinny, you’ll be seeing your da. You are the spitting image of him, anyone would tell you that. Your hair might be a bit curlier but that’s all.’ And after that Tommy had been his old self again, although she had noticed from that point he spent some time each morning trying to straighten his hair with brilliantine.
Daisy sat on for some time in the quiet kitchen when Tommy had gone to bed. There was talk of conscription for married men now, where was it all going to end? Two of the three old couples she had visited that evening had lost sons and grandsons in this war; as one of the old gentlemen had said, ‘It’s not just them as die out there that stop livin’, lass. Me wife used to be a big girl, but since we lost our two lads she’s nowt but skin an’ bone. Don’t want to go on, see?’
She had seen, and her heart had bled for the old woman who had looked at her with vacant lost eyes.
After a while she cleaned the girdle and put the kitchen to rights, preparing Tommy’s bait-can for morning before she went quietly upstairs. She paused at his open bedroom door, looking across at the boy who was fast asleep under his eiderdown, one arm flung out across his pillow as always. The temperature could be minus ten and thick ice coating the inside of the window, but still that arm would be out.
She walked across, as she did most nights in the winter, to tuck it under the covers again, but this time she stared down at the sleeping form. His hands had been so plump and dimpled as a baby, so soft and small, but now it was a man’s hand she was looking at. She reached out and took his fingers in hers, looking down at the rough oil-stained skin that spoke of his work in the machine shop. She stroked the callused flesh gently. Pray God this war would be finished before he was eighteen and called up. Pray God . . .
When Daisy got home from work the next evening she knew immediately something was wrong. Tommy was always back before her, usually with one or all of his pals in tow, and invariably the house was filled with chatter and activity. Tonight it was cold and empty.
She called his name as she walked through to the kitchen, and then she saw it. A note propped against a vase of flowers. And the breakfast things had all been cleared away, the crockery washed and the table scrubbed. Something was terribly wrong.
She picked up the note and sat down hard on a kitchen chair, her heart pounding in her throat as she slit the envelope open. She read the single sheet of paper it contained right through to the end, but in fact she had known the minute she’d seen it what he had done. Oh, Tommy.
Tommy
. She screamed his name in her head.
A frantic knocking at the front door brought her to her feet, and when Phil’s mother all but fell into her arms on the doorstep Daisy had to help her through to the living room.
They had lied to the recruiting sergeant, all four of them, and even now were on their way to France. They had all been well over the minimum height of five foot three inches admittedly, but the sergeant must have known they were still just bairns, Phil’s mother moaned. But the army didn’t care whether they were old enough or not, that was the thing. By, if she could get her hands on that man for just one minute . . .
Daisy listened to the woman going on and on, feeling frozen with fear. Tommy hadn’t gone to work that morning. He had joined up the day before and now he was gone, they all were. And not one of them a day over fifteen.
She had gone into the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea at some point, and there she had read his letter through again.
Don’t be mad, Mam, but I have to go. I’ve wanted to for months and months and I can’t wait any more. I’ll be all right, I promise, but you never know when it’s going to end and I don’t want to miss it.
He didn’t want to miss it. Oh, God, God, help her.
I’ll write as soon as I can and please don’t worry. I’m doing what I want to do. I’ll see you again soon. Love, Tommy
Daisy spooned tea into the pot, adding the hot water and then placing the kettle back on the hob. She put the teapot, along with the milk and sugar and two teacups, on to a tray, and then she saw the bait-can on the side of the cupboard. It was standing all alone, the top half open and hanging forlornly to one side . . .
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was May, and a brilliantly sunny Sunday the day before had marked the start of a new scheme to put the clocks throughout Britain forward an hour at two o’clock to launch ‘daylight saving time’ as it was officially known.
This scheme would produce hundreds of thousands of tons of extra coal for the war effort by lengthening working hours, and, apart from vehement objections by farmers, the prospect of lighter evenings had been welcomed generally. Daisy had left for work that morning knowing that in spite of the late meeting which took place every Monday, she would be returning home in daylight.
In the three months since Tommy had been gone, she had often thought she would have gone mad with worry but for the exacting nature of her job. Tommy’s letters home said little to worry her, but she would have expected that. However, she knew full well the true character of the war. The newspapers had long since finished their first love affair with it and were now full of reports of men being slaughtered in fruitless offensives. Women were receiving letters from loved ones who spoke of being driven out of their wits by living with the unrelenting bombardment and daily likelihood of a violent death.