Authors: Sylvia Atkinson
“Well Maggie” Nan said, when they were out of earshot “you’re hame… left your man and found another.”
Margaret was staggered by the bitter tone, “No, Ben left me… I tried to make it work but…” Nan shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t let’s fight, Nan. I can’t bear the memories and seeing your children reminds me…”
“Maggie, dinne mind me. I canny hold ma tongue… I keep hoping it’ll be Davey off the bus… coming up the path… swinging the boys roond…” Nan silently cried into her apron.
She gave Margaret the standard letter from the war office that bleakly informed her of Davey’s death. “I dinne think I’ll ever rest knowing he’s lying somewhere in the jungle” Nan said, taking the letter back and carefully folding it along the original worn crease marks. “I keep thinking it might be a mistake.” She looked at Margaret, “It isn’t. Is it Maggie?”
The sisters commiserated with each other, not daring to show weakness in public in case it betrayed the dead, or upset those closest to them.
They talked of other things. Jean was in Germany doing something with accounts. Margaret learned that her sister had planned to become engaged to a pilot but he was shot down. Nan hadn’t met him. She didn’t think there would be anyone else. “Why didn’t she tell me?” Margaret asked, “You don’t suppose she’s still angry about Ben.”
“What put that into your heid?”
“I don’t know…”
“Tommy’s the one we should be speaking about.”
“I came home to nurse him but I don’t know if he needs it or what kind of life we’ll have.”
“He’s alive…”
“But…” Margaret said truthfully, “I don’t know if I’m up to it.”
“Well there’s only one way to find out. Go to England or let him come here. “
“He wants to come. I’ve sent a telegram but staying with Frances… She’s very kind but it’s not the same. “
“Bide wi me… your man too. Faither will be relieved. Things aren’t going well there.”
* * * * *
Margaret moved to Nan’s, sharing the girls’ bedroom. Five children made a great deal of noise, filling the house, leaving no space for solitary misery. And Tommy was coming.
* * * * *
The train came and went and there was no sign of Tommy. Margaret trawled the station looking for him. The next train from Doncaster wasn’t due until late in the evening. The station held too many memories of the past for Margaret to wait alone, so she caught the bus to Gowkshill. The aisle and luggage space were crammed with kit bags and haversacks. A sailor on leave gave Margaret his seat, saying that he was used to swaying on the ship so this was “a piece of cake.”
The conductor made a great show of punching tickets,
jostling his way up the bus, stopping to talk to people he knew, or to adjust the wooden clipboard holding an array of multi-coloured tickets.
A passenger at the front of the bus stood up, uncertain
whether he’d caught the right one. Margaret recognised
the voice. It was Tommy! He’d lost an eye! Burns and blast
marks gouged his face! He began to shake! Dumbstruck,
she elbowed her way down the aisle.
Tommy nervously gave her a crooked smile. Margaret flung her arms round him. Caught off balance they toppled onto his vacant seat to thunderous whistles and cheers.
The bus drew up opposite Nan’s. Her father was leaning on the gate. Tommy pulled himself as upright as he could and limped across the road. “Now son, looks like you’ve seen a bit of action,” Margaret’s father said, taking Tommy’s small suitcase. “A wee dram will put you right.”
Tommy laughed, “I’m… a… b… beer man myself.”
“We’ll soon change that!” the older man said giving Tommy a brotherly pat on the back.
Nan had made soup. Tommy ate slowly, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief to catch the dribbles. He had problems coordinating the spoon and holding a cup of tea. The children were reprimanded for staring but Tommy said it was natural and he didn’t mind. Margaret minded. She wanted to protect him and make him well again.
That night Tommy lay rigid in bed with his head turned away, “You see… w… what… you’re letting yourself in for…”
Margaret ran her fingers over the raw puckered scars. He turned to speak but she put her finger over his lips. “You once told me you loved me as I was. That’s how I love you. We’ll get through this together.” She kissed him again and again while he stammered out the brutal details of the accident, indebted to the surgeons for installing the metal plate in his head keeping him alive.
They didn’t make love but Margaret tenderly nursed him, pulling the blinds and curtains shut to keep out the light, holding him while the spasms of pain subsided.
* * * * *
“I… don’t… w… wwant… your pity…” Tommy stammered one day, as she tiptoed round the bedroom. Margaret hoped that the increasing clarity of his angry exchanges indicated progress but he followed her like a confused child, uncertain of today and unable to deal with tomorrow.
Nan said it was nice to have a man in the house. It gave her plenty to do. She made Tommy laugh but he couldn’t do with sitting around. “I can’t… sstay fffor… ever Margaret. I’ve got to get a job.” Margaret entreated him to wait for although his speech was improving, the sudden fits of shaking made him virtually unemployable. She couldn’t disillusion him. Consequently nothing was decided about their future and Tommy returned to Yorkshire for more treatment and to search for work.
Scotland
to
Yorkshire
1945-1955
Nan had squirreled away the bounty of luxuries brought from India: tea, nuts, dried fruits, sweets, cloth and table linen. Sometimes she made a cake using the dried fruit but eked out the treats to make them last longer. Margaret remembered the monkeys eating their fill, plucking the fruit straight from the trees at Aakesh. Everything was dull by comparison, except the pain of separation, which was as sharp as it had ever been.
Margaret heard from Tommy. She had given up so much to be with him, but he’d had no luck in finding a job and was living with his father and stepmother in Denaby. He had written a disjointed letter but sending the address of a hospital at Mexborough, a short distance away. If Margaret could get a post there accommodation would be provided. It was a splendid idea. They could meet without the pressure of sharing someone else’s home and the lack of money.
Throughout her stay at Nan’s, Margaret ached to hear the voices of her own children. She consoled herself that they were better off in the luxury provided by their father, than being homeless with her.
* * * * *
My
Dearest
Tommy
I
have
wonderful
news.
I
have
a
nursing
post
at
Mexborough
Montague
Hospital.
I
didn’t
tell
you
I
was
applying
in
case
I
didn’t
get
it
and
you
were
disappointed.
I
am
to
have
some
sort
of
training.
Of
course
I
will
have
to
live
in
as
Nursing
rules
are
still
strict,
but
it
won’t
be
forever.
I
will
travel
straight
there,
settle
in
and
if
it’s
alright
with
your
father,
I
can
visit
you.
Even
better
I
start
in
two
weeks.
It
won’t
be
long
my
darling.
We
will
make
a
life
together
so
keep
your
chin
up.
Nan and her father understood. Margaret would miss them.
* * * * *
A square woman approximately five feet tall, dressed in an ill-fitting navy blue suit and black peaked hat, marshalled the small railway station. At Margaret’s request for a porter to unload the luggage from the guard’s van the woman threw her head back and burst out laughing, “You’re looking at everybody love, station master, porter, and taxi service. Nelly’s the name,” she said wading in to help the guard throw Margaret’s endless bags from the train.
A wicker basket spilled, scattering nuts. “Looks like you’ve come to stop,” Nelly wheezed, shovelling up the nuts with workman like hands. Margaret began to help. “Eeh lass, leave it to me… them fancy clothes weren’t meant for jobs like this. It’s not for ladies. I’ll ’ave it done in a tick.”
Wiping her brow on the back of a straining sleeve, Nelly produced a handcart from behind a shed, loaded it with the rest of the luggage and asked Margaret where she was going.
“A place called Mexborough.”
“Last train that stops at Mexborough’s gone.”
“Yes, I know but I thought I’d get this far and take a cab.”
“There’s no cab ’ere love.”
“Well can I get to Barnburgh Street in Denaby… Do you know it?”
“Know it? It’s where I live. Hang on a minute. You’re the woman that Tommy Waters met out in India? Going to work at Montague?”
Margaret was glad she’d worn gloves or this knowing woman might have noticed the faded mark of Ben’s wedding ring on her finger.
After briskly rubbing her hands together the indomitable Stationmaster grabbed the handles of the cart. “Right, there’s no train for a bit. Them that wants me’ll have to wait” she said, setting off to walk at a cracking pace. Margaret teetered behind in high-heeled shoes, taking care to avoid the numerous stagnant puddles and potholes barring the way.
The station lay in a dip opposite the colliery. A black-watered canal navigated by coal-laden barges ran parallel to the rough road. The surrounding landscape blighted by monstrous slag heaps smoking like menacing volcanoes.
Nelly took a rest, “Look back way we’ve come and there’s Castle.” Margaret followed Nelly’s outstretched arm and in the distance, shielded by trees, were the remains of a ruined stone edifice high on a hill. “That’s Conisbrough, but you’re alreet, we’re not going among them hoity toities. Can’t stand’em miself” Nelly said, striding sturdily out in the opposite direction.
Margaret was disappointed. Conisbrough looked likely
to be a pleasant place, whereas rough smudged-black men with bright eyes outlined in coal dust peopled their treeless route.
“Now then love them’s only pitmen” Nelly reassured. “Day shift’s finished. That there’s tobacco juice they’re spitting. Gob it out wit’ dust to clear lungs…”
In Bombay Margaret had mistaken the red betel juice splashes on walls and floor of the railway station for blood but there was no mistaking the thick tar-like substance ejected by the coughing miners. It made her want to vomit.
On one side of this walk through hell, row upon row of sooty brick terraced houses stretched back into the distance. On the other side identical dwellings were squashed together against the railway track, bordered by the dismal canal. A run of solid bay-windowed double-fronted shops proudly displayed their owners’ name above the door. Dark grey smoke spewed in unison from countless chimneystacks. In the distance the enormous winding wheel of a second colliery was silhouetted against the mean skyline.
Thin, grimy children, playing on the mucky roadside, disappeared inside warren-like houses, reappearing with a gaggle of the inhabitants.
Nelly stopped and hammered on a door. “Anybody at home?” She hammered louder. “This must be only house in Denaby with everybody in it.”
Margaret smiled grimly as the door was opened by a dapper man, with a silver pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat.
“Come in. Come in. Tha must be Margaret. I’m Albert, Tommy’s dad. Make thisen at ’ome. Mother, brew a pot of tea. Poor lass’ll be gasping.”
Margaret wiped her feet on the clipped rag doormat.
The delicate shoes and nylon stockings were ruined. What
a fright she’d look when she arrived at the hospital.
A woman, her face reddened from cooking on the fire, shook Margaret’s hand, “I’m Shirley, Tommy’s stepmother.
I’m very pleased to meet you.”