Chapter 10 Lilias
Lilias
It was two weeks until Christmas, and Ruth had just arrived back from an overnight excursion to Norwich with a glowing face and a tiny Christmas tree she’d bought at Norwich Market.
“I know it’s not much of a thing, but I thought young David could dress it up. To be honest, I felt sorry for the stallholder in this cold. It’s bitter out there.”
“I know; I’ve been out with the dog. And fed the chickens.
” Lilias eyed the tiny tree sceptically.
As well as being extremely small, it had a definite lopsided look about it, with more branches on one side than the other.
In her opinion, the stallholder had seen Ruth and her glowing face coming, bitterly cold or not.
“I take it you had a good night at the theatre with your new friend,” she remarked dryly. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know why you should assume it’s a man,” Ruth said airily, propping the little tree against the hall wall while she peeled off her gloves.
“Her name is Gloria. She’s a bus conductress.
And the theatre was divine. We laughed and cried in equal measure, which, for me, is the sign of a perfect night out. ”
Lilias smiled, shaking her head as she reached out to steady the tree, which had begun to slide towards the floor. Goodness knew how her sister had befriended Gloria the Norwich bus conductress, but it mattered little since the friendship clearly made Ruth happy.
“David!” Ruth was calling up the stairs now.
“Come and see the Christmas tree I’ve bought.
” And as the boy came running, his face lit up with excitement, Lilias wondered what Christmas was normally like for him at home; whether the hard-boiled Nadine relaxed a little for the season.
She supposed she must relax occasionally, for how else could a marriage to someone as charming and as vital as Harry function?
Perhaps he teased her out of her high-and-mighty ways.
Or perhaps, in her home patch, surrounded by her friends and mod cons, Nadine was a different kettle of fish altogether.
“Can we decorate it now?” David asked excitedly, and Ruth gave him an affectionate pat on the head.
“Of course you can. Decorating is essential. But you’ll have to ask Auntie Lilias to help you. I’m bushed, and my feet have an urgent appointment with the fireside.”
Lilias retrieved the ancient box of tree decorations from the loft, and by the time the rickety tree had been festooned with baubles, strings of beads, and the obligatory angel, it looked halfway decent. David, of course, was delighted with it.
“Can we decorate the rest of the house, Auntie Lilias?” he asked, and so Lilias fetched some old newspapers, glue, and brightly coloured paints, and together they spent the rest of the afternoon making paper chains.
David hadn’t been used to making things when he’d arrived in Norfolk, but his time at school since he’d started there had been one long run of learning to knit socks and scarves for the troops and planting vegetables in the school garden, so he had quickly become more proficient at using his hands.
Remembering the appalling suffering of the troops she had encountered during the Great War, Lilias had positively encouraged David with his knitting, especially of socks.
The troops needed to keep their feet dry in order to prevent trench foot, which meant frequent changes of socks, and most evenings she and David would be busy with their knitting needles with the wireless on in the background.
By the time Ruth finally emerged from her nap, it was to find the tree decorated and a veritable heap of brightly coloured paper chains ready to hang up. “There,” Ruth said, suitably impressed. “I knew you didn’t need my help.”
Lilias just shook her head, well aware that the rest of the Christmas preparations would be her responsibility, also.
David’s presents were already in hand, for she had made him a freestanding target for his marbles, featuring archways worth different points.
She had also managed to find some more marbles for his collection and knitted him a new woollen hat.
There was a local farm sale coming up in a few days’ time, and she was hoping to find a few extra trinkets there, as well.
As for her gift for Ruth, Lilias was hoping the homemade rose water she’d made in the autumn was still fit for purpose. She’d decanted it into a dark bottle and added a little alcohol in an attempt to preserve it, but as a backup, she really ought to try to knit her sister a scarf.
“I can’t wait until Christmas day,” David said, looking around excitedly at all the decorations. “It’s going to be so good, even if I can’t see Mum and Dad.”
When his voice wobbled a little, Lilias squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll send you a little something,” she said. “And I know they’ll be thinking of you.”
When the day of the farm sale came round, Lilias hitched up Rosie to the cart Symonds had resurrected from the recess of one of the barns.
The pony had been in peaceful retirement, but now she was needed once again to save fuel, and much as Lilias loved driving, it felt good to be clopping along the lanes again.
David was delighted to ride next to her, especially when she allowed him to take the reins.
“Whose farm is it?” David wanted to know as they travelled along, wrapped up against the cold. “Why are they selling everything?”
“Old Mr. White who used to own the farm has died, and with his sons both away at war, there’s nobody to take the farm over,” Lilias explained. “It’s very sad, really.”
As they arrived, people were emerging from the property, and, holding Rosie’s reins, Lilias slowed the cart, looking at the items which had formed an important part of Albert White’s daily life slowly emerging, one by one.
At war or not, Albert’s twin sons had always been somewhat footloose, and, with Albert being a widower, there had been no one to fight for the farm’s continued existence.
“Come on,” said Lilias, flicking the reins to make Rosie move forward faster. “Let’s see if there’s anything we can make use of.”
With Rosie tethered safely, Lilias perused the items laid out on tables and on the ground, everything from ploughs to teacups that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since Ma White had died years ago.
A biting wind was blowing across the farmyard from the sea, and time and time again Lilias found herself sorting through a pile of useful-looking objects only to get lost in the contemplation of how very sad life was, when all that was left of your efforts to survive and thrive were a pile of assorted oddments on a table, lying exposed to the elements.
What would the twins return to, if they came back at all? And what would they think of and fight for while they were away at war?
Rummaging through a box containing horse brasses and gardening implements, Lilias thought sadly of Geoffrey, her fiancé.
Geoffrey had never been in any doubt about what he was fighting for.
He’d fought for Norfolk, for its fields and coasts and people.
For cricket on Sundays and taking the little sailing boat out from Wells Harbour.
Fishing for crabs with his nephews. Evening walks hand in hand with Lilias, hoping to spot barn owls over the marshes, and the promise of their shared future as husband and wife, nurturing their children together.
And Lilias wondered what Harry had fought for when he had been on active service. Did he love the patch of ground he lived on? Had he had family he cared about? Yes, she imagined he would have. Harry would have been a good son. A loving grandson. A friend to many.
Her mind still occupied with her thoughts, Lilias returned a pair of secateurs to the box she had taken them from and peered into the box next to it.
Meccano! Oh, what treasure. It looked well used, but still perfectly serviceable.
Casting an eye around to make sure David was nowhere near, Lilias quickly paid for the box of precious model-making materials and concealed them in a purloined sack.
What a treat they would be for David on Christmas morning.
All she had to do now was think of something dreadfully boring to explain away the telltale bulge in the sack when David inevitably asked what she’d bought.
“Hey, missus! You wants to keep an eye on your vaccie lad! He’s running amok.”
Snatched from her happy thoughts, Lilias looked up to see Percy Cook, dressed in his usual ancient tweed jacket, its buttons straining over his belly.
Hands on hips, he was surveying David and two or three other evacuee boys, who were having a high old time chasing each other beneath and around the tables.
Lilias’s hands were pinched with cold, and she shoved them into her coat pockets, searching fruitlessly for her gloves.
“It looks like a jolly good way to keep warm to me, Mr. Cook,” she said, disliking the way the man’s beady dark eyes seemed to be singling David out.
It was the first time she’d met him face to face since his beleaguered wife had come away from the village hall without an evacuee of her own.
Cook moved a few steps closer to her, hands on hips, his expression a sneer. “That why he throws stones at my house, is it? To keep hiself warm? I catch him again, he’ll pay for it, the little sod.” And with this, he spat on the ground and walked away.
Lilias, who was breathing heavily now at the injustice of Cook’s accusation, pressed her lips together, refraining with great difficulty from picking up one of the two horse brasses she had sorted out and throwing it at the back of Cook’s greasy grey head.
There was no point in pointing out to the odious man that, since David was too young to be out alone, he couldn’t possibly have been throwing stones at his house, even if he wanted to. Which he never would.