Christmas Past (15 page)

‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if I might use your telephone. It wouldn’t be a long call, and I’ll pay for it.’ He paused. ‘Only my wife’s had
a baby and I’d like to let her folks know the news.’

Mrs Davenport’s face seemed to take on a glow, and she stood aside, ushering Jack into the hall. ‘How exciting for you,’ she enthused. ‘What did you get, a
daughter?’

‘Yes,’ said Jack, rather taken aback.

Mr Davenport gathered his coat and hat from the hall stand, smiling as Jack passed. ‘My wife considers herself something of an expert in that field,’ he said. ‘Reckons she can
tell the baby’s sex by the way the mother carries it. Only said last week she thought your child would be a girl.’

Jack entered the room indicated by Mrs Davenport. The telephone stood on a highly polished occasional table alongside a box of cigars and a box of chocolates. A pink squashy three-piece suite
cheerily crowded the room, and a large roaring fire filled the fireplace, casting a glow on the display of Christmas cards arranged on the mantelpiece. He tried not to stare round the room, but
couldn’t help himself. Gazing down at him from a narrow shelf all round the walls were dozens of Toby jugs; a cabinet close to him was also filled with laughing, frowning and curious
porcelain faces.

He found a scrap of paper on which he had scribbled Gladys’s number, and dialled it with trembling fingers. Unused to the contraption, he felt relief when it rang and Gladys’s voice
answered.

On hearing the news she bombarded him with questions as to health, weight and time of the baby’s birth. As Jack answered the Toby jugs seemed to smile their congratulations, and the warmth
of the cosy room filled him with a feeling of well-being.

Gladys promised to ring Father Flynn immediately and send him to give the news to Mary’s family.

‘I’ll be over the moment Rowland can bring me,’ she said, and Jack knew it would be no use telling her there was no need.

‘You’re welcome any time you need a telephone.’ Mrs Davenport was in her element. She was actually a kind woman, but probably because of her former profession she was also a
rather bossy one and tended to order people about. She pressed two paper bags into Jack’s hands. ‘Here’s a little something for the baby, and this is for your wife.’

Jack was speechless.

‘And if she needs anything you must let us know. Not that we neighbour, you understand, but we are here if we’re needed.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Isn’t that
correct, James?’

‘That’s right Mr ... ’

‘Holmes, Jack Holmes.’ Jack fumbled in his pocket for some change. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Oh, we wouldn’t hear of it,’ Mr Davenport said. ‘One good turn deserves another, that’s what I always say. Well, you must excuse me, Mr Holme duty calls and all
that.’ He bent to kiss his wife, missing by a couple of inches, and picked up a brown leather briefcase as he made his way to the door. ‘My regards to your wife, young man.’

Jack turned to Mrs Davenport. ‘Thank you for the, er, presents,’ he said, not knowing what was inside the brown paper bags.

‘Don’t mention it. I always keep a stock of knitted garments, in case one of my husband’s employees leaves to begin a family. Besides, the knitting prevents my fingers
stiffening, from the rheumatism, you understand.’

‘Oh, and thanks for the phone call. I won’t bother you again.’

‘Don’t mention it, Mr Holmes, you’re most welcome. Perhaps your wife will bring your daughter to see me, when she’s up and about again of course.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ Jack said, grinning as he wondered what Mary would say when she knew how well he’d been received by the posh folks.

He hurried home, easier in his mind now the news was on its way to Mary’s family.

Mary was touched when she saw the tiny knitted matinee coat threaded with pink ribbon, and a pretty pink bed-jacket for herself.

‘But I hardly know the woman,’ she said, almost in tears at the kind gesture.

‘Well, she’s obviously had her eye on you. She’s been taking notice of the way you’ve been carrying the baby ... our Jacqueline.’ He grinned. ‘It takes some
getting used to, doesn’t it? Having a new member of the family, I mean.’

Mary smiled, looking over the side of the secondhand cot which had been used for Una a few years ago. ‘Isn’t she like you?’

‘Like me? Oh, no, you can’t be serious,’ he said, looking down at the wrinkled face.

‘But she is. She has your hair.’

‘Oh aye, she’s going to be dark, I’ll grant you that, but as for her being like me ... ’

‘She will be, I have a feeling. It’s the shape of her chin and her nose.’

‘Oh, you’re imagining things. Anyway, who cares who she’s like so long as she’s healthy and happy.’

The knock on the door startled the pair of them, and even the baby started, her tiny hands opening wide.

‘Oh, no,’ Jack said. ‘It’ll be that bloody woman again – that’s if she is a woman. I have my doubts.’

Mary giggled and then sobered as the clomping feet climbed the stairs. Jack rushed to the door, hoping the water in the boiler was hot. He escaped downstairs and filled the little zinc baby bath
with water, adding a few drops of Dettol. Cotton wool, baby powder, clean binder, vest, nightgown, nappy. He hoped he’d remembered everything. He didn’t fancy a reprimand from that
woman. She ought to be on the front lines, he thought. She wouldn’t half make the bloody Jerries run.

Mrs Holmes arrived in time for Jack to go on the afternoon shift, knowing that if he didn’t complete the full week he would lose his bonus. Besides, it was two days
before Christmas and the day the Christmas club money was to be paid out. After seeing to her daughter-in-law and fussing over her second granddaughter she took it upon herself to bake a batch of
mince pies to add to the fruit loaves Mary had already made. Then she washed the soiled bedding and dirty nappies, popping them in the copper to boil. By the time Gladys and Rowland arrived the wet
things were already drying on the rack over the fire.

Gladys promised to prepare supper and stay with Mary until Jack returned from work, allowing Mrs Holmes to go home with an easy mind, knowing mother and baby were in excellent hands. Marjory
popped in and out at intervals, and Margaret arrived after work, intent upon spoiling her new niece. Little Una gazed at the baby with large round eyes and told her mother she hoped Father
Christmas would be bringing her one just like it.

Mary worried that everyone seemed to be caring for her when they must have loads to do at home with the Christmas festivities almost upon them, but nobody seemed to mind. They organised the
shopping, cooking and cleaning between them, and refused to let Mary have her own way and come downstairs.

‘Everything’s under control, lass,’ said Mrs Holmes. ‘There’s not a thing for you to do except see to yer bairn. She’s more important than all the feckling
and fussing, just for the sake of a couple of days’ holiday.’

Rowland also put his oar in. ‘You must rest now. You’ll only suffer in years to come if you get up too soon. Ten days in bed now will prevent trouble later.’

So Mary stayed in bed, and Jack, on holiday on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, revelled in the task of spoiling his wife and daughter, and playing Santa Claus for the first time. And although he
would never admit to harbouring religious thoughts, he couldn’t help comparing Mary and Jacqueline to the Madonna and Child on the Christmas card sent to them by Father Flynn.

On Boxing Day Mary insisted on Jack’s joining his father and brother for a drink at the Rising Sun. Gladys and Rowland had come over for the day, and Rowland had joined the Holmes men for
the annual afternoon get-together. Though the doctor wasn’t a beer drinker Jack knew he would enjoy the gathering, which would undoubtedly develop into a hearty sing of all the local
carols.

This year the taproom was less crowded than usual owing to the number of regulars away fighting for their country, but despite their depleted strength those present raised their voices in all
the old favourites, as if to make up for their absent friends.

Rowland was in his element, his fine voice leading the men in ‘Hail Smiling Morn’, and ‘Hark Hark What News Those Angels Bring’. By closing time he had downed quite a few
whiskies, not realising that Dolly the landlady, fascinated by the stranger, who was quite obviously class, was topping up his glass in an effort to keep him singing until closing time.

Mary was glad of a respite from Jack’s spoiling and was enjoying the cosy togetherness she and Gladys were once used to. Gladys was rocking Jacqueline in the chair by the bedroom fire, her
thoughts travelling far away to some unknown place where her nephew Richard, now a sailor, was spending his Christmas. She thought back to last year when the family were together, and even further
back to the Christmas before Tom was killed. She prayed her nephew would return safely after the war was over.

She hugged Jacqueline closer. A new life, a new generation, and what was it all for? Surely not to be blown to kingdom come, or to be left fatherless, just because certain statesmen had decided
to play a game of soldiers. She sighed.

‘You’re deep in thought.’ Mary smiled between counting her rows of knitting. ‘A penny for them.’

‘Oh, just feeling a little sentimental, that’s all. I always do at Christmas. I was just wondering about Ruth and the boys.’

‘Oh, they must be missing Richard terribly, especially yesterday.’

‘Perhaps I should have insisted they come to us as usual, keep to the normal routine. But I suppose Ruth was right: her parents would need them this year, what with her brothers being
overseas too. Besides, it worked out for the best, really. I wouldn’t have missed playing nursemaid to this little angel for anything.’

‘Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you all.’

‘You’d have managed. You’ve got a good man to look after you.’

‘I know, but I wanted my mother just the same, and you were here to take her place.’

Gladys beamed. ‘It’s a pleasure, and now I’m a granny too.’

When Jacqueline Mary Holmes was baptised Millington was cold, white and beautiful. At the beginning of 1942 twelve inches of snow covered the town in a few hours. However, the
weather seemed of little importance compared to other incidents taking place in the area. In February fourteen soldiers were tragically killed when a steel plate ripped through a passing troop
train; thirty-five more were injured and taken to hospitals in Sheffield. In the same month an explosion at Barnsley Main Colliery caused the deaths of fourteen miners. Millington colliers were
amongst those who volunteered to be part of the rescue team.

One of the happier occasions was the Princess Royal’s visit to Sheffield, helping to boost the morale of various organisations throughout the city. Mary wished she could have gone to join
the cheering crowds who turned out to see her, but very soon realised she would rather be with her husband and daughter than with all the royal families in the world.

Mary hardly knew she had the baby for six weeks. The little one did not do much but sleep, and Dr Roberts said she was thriving well, but for the last two days she had cried
continuously, and Mary was at her wit’s end to know how to console her.

She lifted the baby from the pram in the kitchen and rocked her gently, supporting the dark little head with her left hand. She felt how hot the head was, and when she laid Jacqueline down she
noticed the hoarseness of her cry. Alarmed, she ran upstairs to where Jack was trying to sleep after the night shift.

‘Jack!’ She pulled down the covers from over his head. ‘Jack, get up. It’s our Jacqueline, I think we ought to have the doctor.’

Jack was out of bed, struggling with his trousers, before Mary had finished explaining. ‘What’s wrong?’ he enquired anxiously.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s only a chill, but we’d better be on the safe side.’ She ran quickly down the stairs, Jack following behind. He picked up his daughter
and held her close. He could feel that her breathing was causing her distress.

‘Get the doctor.’ He went towards the fire as Mary almost flew out of the door. ‘Oh God,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let her die, please God don’t let her
die.’

Within minutes Dr Sellers was with them. ‘We must get her temperature down.’ She grabbed a sponge from the sink and poured the water from the kettle into the washing-up bowl.
Wringing out the sponge, she placed it behind the neck of the tiny baby. ‘Try to get her to drink some water’ she said. ‘That’s all I can suggest in a child so
young.’

‘What is it?’ Jack asked, touching his daughter’s cheek gently. The tiny face had turned white, but her pulse was slower and her head cooler. She coughed a wheezing cough and
began to cry fitfully.

‘Pneumonia, as far as I can tell. It’s always difficult to diagnose in one so young, but it certainly looks like it to me.’

‘Oh, God,’ Mary said. ‘What can we do?’

‘Keep her warm. Her temperature will fluctuate, so use a hot water bottle if she seems chilled, and on no account move her. Can you bring her cot downstairs?’

‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll do it now. Will she be all right, doctor?’

‘I don’t know. I won’t pretend it isn’t serious – with a premature child any infection is serious – but we’ll do our best. I’ll be back in the
morning; in the meantime watch her constantly, and call me if you’re worried.’

Jack saw her out. ‘Thanks for coming, doctor, so quickly I mean.’

‘Not at all, that’s what I’m here for,’ she called as she reversed her car down the bumpy street.

Jack stayed at his daughter’s side all day and all night. It never entered his head to go off to work. He told Mary to go to bed. ‘You’ll need all your strength tomorrow,
love.’

‘I shan’t be able to sleep. What if you drop off? What if she takes a turn for the worse and you’ve dropped off?’

‘I won’t, I’m not so daft,’ he snapped.

‘I know.’ Mary burst into tears.

‘Now now, come on, love. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound irritable. Come on, there’s nothing to cry for. She’ll be all right. Let’s try some more water in
the feeding bottle.’