Home is Where the Heart Is

Smiling at his showmanship, Cathie queued at her favourite butcher’s stall, where she was a regular customer, and bought a few sausages for tea. He gladly took her order for a goose, offering to give it priority once he heard that her fiancé was returning from the war.

‘Can’t promise it’ll be big, mind, but I’ll do my best, and let you know if I don’t find one.’

Thanking him, Cathie moved on to the Maypole Dairy, which sold margarine, butter, cheese and bacon, also nuts and dried fruit. Checking her purse, she made a mental note to choose with care, as she certainly couldn’t afford to buy everything at once. But after careful browsing, and a very helpful shop assistant, Cathie purchased the necessary ingredients to at least bake a Christmas cake. She’d worry about the mock almond paste, icing sugar and mince tarts later.

Having finished her shopping and carefully negotiating the pram between the crowds of shoppers, Cathie went to meet up with her two best friends for a snack at the market café, as they loved to do on a Saturday. After greeting each other with hugs and a few moans about the cold weather, the three of them gave their orders then sat drinking tea together while Cathie told her good news.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Brenda said, instantly sharing her friend’s excitement.

‘When does he arrive?’ Davina politely enquired.

Davina Gibson, who worked on a second-hand clothes stall, was new to the area, having moved into Castlefield just a couple of months ago. Cathie had met her while buying some clothes for baby Heather. She’d been sympathetic of her loss, and so helpful in allowing Cathie to negotiate a low price on everything she needed, they’d become firm friends ever since. Brenda Stuart, on the other hand, was a best friend of some years’ standing, as she and Cathie had been in the same class at school all those years ago, and worked together at the rubber factory producing tyres for motor cars, army vehicles and trucks.

Both these women had been left widowed by the war, as had so many others. Davina was something of a beauty with her voluptuous figure, long dark hair, green eyes beneath winged brows, and full lips. While dear Brenda claimed to be a plain country girl with scraggy brown hair, plump figure and puffy cheeks. But her round face nearly always wore a smile, and there’d generally be a twinkle in her downward-sloping dark eyes.

‘I’m not sure, but in time for Christmas, or so he hopes. It’s so exciting. I can hardly wait to see him again.’

‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ Davina asked, the corner of her mouth twisting into what might pass for a smile. She wasn’t the most exuberant or lively friend Cathie might have hoped for, being slightly cool and distant. Whatever she’d suffered during the war had clearly badly affected her.

‘Not yet, but I know Alex is keen for us to marry as soon as possible.’

‘I do hope I receive an invitation,’ Brenda said, eyes sparkling at the prospect.

‘If and when it happens,’ Davina added.

‘Of course it will happen, fairly soon, I hope. How would you both feel about being bridesmaids? I have some lengths of parachute silk, which Mam managed to buy cheap from the mill. It has one or two flaws in it, which is disastrous for a parachute, but will scarcely show in a dress. We could sew them together.’

Brenda whooped with joy. ‘That would be wonderful, so long as you teach me how. Never was much good at sewing but I’m willing to learn.’

Looking slightly stunned by this request, Davina murmured, ‘Oh, that is so kind of you to ask me, Cathie, but I’m not sure I could cope with attending a wedding so soon after losing my own husband.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. I’ve no wish to upset you.’

‘When and how did you lose him, darling?’ Brenda asked. ‘You never did tell us.’

Davina’s lips tightened. ‘I don’t care to speak of it.’

‘Ah, I can fully sympathise with that feeling,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Painful things have happened in my life that I cannot bear to remember either. I’ve locked them in a box in my mind, never to open them again. However, sometimes it helps to talk.’ When no response came, Brenda leaned over the pram to tickle the baby’s nose, making her giggle. ‘So what about this little one, Cathie? Have you told Alex that you now think of her as your own?’

‘No, not yet,’ Cathie admitted with some reluctance. ‘I told him of Sal’s death and that we were safe, of course, but didn’t go into any details about her child.’

‘Why ever not?’

Taking a bite of the cheese rarebit the waitress had just brought her, Cathie took her time to chew on it for a moment before answering. Her old friend knew her better than most, how she tended to be far too cautious and wary of making a mistake in life. She’d been this way ever since watching her parents’ marriage collapse after years of rows. Having Sal to cuddle her close in bed as they listened to them yelling and screaming at each other had been the only way to deal with her misery. The sisters had made a pact never to involve themselves in these arguments, and never to discuss what they’d heard.

Giving a pragmatic shrug, she said, ‘Letters to the Front need to be upbeat and cheerful. Mine to Alex were generally asking how he was coping, and chatting a little about myself, which was what he wanted to hear. I put in no bad news that might depress him. Besides, like Davina, I’d no wish to talk about Sal’s death.’

Davina said, ‘Keeping silent about painful subjects may be commonplace in these difficult times, but being open and honest with Alex about what you hope to do for the baby is surely very necessary.’

‘I’m afraid she has a point there,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Did he never ask about the child?’

Cathie frowned, struggling to remember. It had indeed been painful, a time of complete anguish. The weeks following Sal’s death had passed in something of a blur, almost as if she were locked behind a pane of frosted glass and not part of the real world at all. ‘I don’t think he did. But then I’m not certain I ever mentioned that she’d given birth to a daughter, as Heather was barely a month old when her mummy died. My memory of that time is very hazy. Then Mam kept putting me off, insisting it wasn’t right to dump this problem upon him when he had enough to deal with fighting a war.’

‘I’m sure he did have enough on his plate,’ Davina agreed. ‘Still, he does need to know, so the sooner you tell him the better.’

‘I’m ashamed to say that the longer I left it, the harder it became to broach the subject. I could never quite find the courage, and finally decided it would be better to wait and tell him in person, once he is home and can see for himself how adorable she is.’

Smiling down at the baby, Brenda gave her cheek a gentle stroke. ‘You might be right. She certainly is adorable, how could anyone resist her?’

‘Mam is not convinced Alex ever will accept her, which is absolute nonsense. He’s a real gentleman, so why wouldn’t he?’

‘Men can be a bit sniffy about such matters, certainly where children are concerned,’ Davina pointed out, rubbing a hand over her face, which Cathie noticed was suddenly looking rather pale and strained. What other problems did she have? she wondered. Her new friend’s past life was something of a mystery as she was reluctant to speak of the war, not unusual these days. Even so, Cathie had made several attempts to ask Davina about her past, where she’d lived before, what job she’d done, and what had happened to her. But for some reason she always avoided answering such questions. And, as she was still grieving for the loss of her husband, Cathie had decided not to pursue the matter for fear of upsetting her further. Their shared grief was what had cemented their friendship in the first place. Just as her own reluctance not to keep going over Sal’s death was perhaps the main reason why she had neglected to tell Alex the whole story.

Brenda, however, was the absolute opposite. Despite having lived in France during the German occupation, and becoming one of many British women arrested and confined, apparently for no other reason than her nationality, she firmly believed that talking about problems helped you to cope better. Even so, Cathie was aware of occasions when Brenda too would clam shut and find it impossible to speak of past pain, as she herself had just admitted.

‘I do agree that Alex must be told soon. Once he’s settled in, I’ll explain everything,’ Cathie said, with a smile that appeared more confident than she actually felt.

‘I think you should write and tell him now,’ Davina suggested. ‘If he’s going to be this child’s father, you’ll surely need his agreement and support in order to achieve that wish, or it won’t ever happen.’

These words had a disconcerting effect upon Cathie. It was kind of Davina to be so concerned for her, although echoing her mother’s negative comments was not exactly what she’d wished to hear. Poor Davina’s expression was looking even more pinched and doleful, perhaps because she was facing the prospect of life with no hope of a child of her own, as her husband had not survived the war. So many atrocities, so much grief. Cathie had to confess that the timing of Sal’s death couldn’t have been worse, not only because the war had been in the process of coming to an end, but as she herself was about to be married.

Brenda gently patted her hand. ‘I can understand that you might feel a little nervous about telling Alex of your wish to keep Sal’s child, but be brave, darling. He loves you, so not for a moment do I imagine he’ll refuse to accept her.’

‘Oh, you are so right, he does.’ Her worries and sadness dissolved as joy ricocheted within once again. With no one ever expressing any love for her but Sally, Cathie could hardly believe her good fortune. ‘And he is such a kind man.’

‘There you are then, no problem,’ Brenda said, kissing a cheek damp with the odd stray tear.

Davina put her arms around Cathie to give her a hug that felt just a little stiff and awkward. ‘Please know that I’m here to offer support too, should this Alex give you any problems.’

‘Thank you so much! You are both such good friends to me. Not that I think I will need your help, as I have every faith in him.’ The baby began to whimper and squirm, and Cathie got quickly to her feet. ‘Now, I really must go and see to some food for this little madam.’

Brenda jumped up too. ‘I’ll walk back with you, darling, at least as far as my gloomy little bedsit.’ And, saying their goodbyes, the pair walked off, Cathie oddly aware of Davina standing watching for some time as she wheeled the pram away. Something was troubling the girl, but she couldn’t make out quite what it could be.

CHAPTER THREE

Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie continued to work hard at the factory as well as take care of the baby. She also busied herself with cleaning and tidying the house from top to bottom, much to her mother’s irritation as she was moved from room to room, not offering to even lift a duster to help. Buying a pot of brown paint from the ironmonger, Cathie gave all the doors a quick coat, hoping the landlord would not object. But, as they’d been bombed out of their own home, and were now renting in a ramshackle street in a rather poor area of Castlefield, Cathie was anxious for the house to look as respectable as possible when Alex arrived home. She felt rather pleased with the result, and proud of herself for having picked up quite a few skills over these last years.

‘It costs very little to at least be clean,’ said her Aunt Evie, not for the first time when Cathie popped in to fill her in on what was happening, and ask her advice. Her aunt too had suffered a horrible war, not least by the fact her children had been evacuated.

‘Your Uncle Donald hasn’t been demobbed yet, although no longer a POW. He’s undergoing some help, or so I’m told, by the Resettlement Service or whatever they call themselves. But my little ones will be home soon too,’ she said, cuddling baby Heather on her lap. ‘Not that they’ll be little any more, and goodness knows what they’ll think when they see me again. I’ve turned into a real old crow.’

‘Don’t be silly, they adore you,’ Cathie said with a smile. Evie, her father’s younger sister, was very maternal, the kind of mother Cathie would have loved to have. ‘So when do you think I should tell Alex about little Heather?’

Her aunt considered the question with a frown. ‘Not easy to answer. Judge your moment when it feels right. Believe in yourself, sweetie.’

It felt like good advice, and surely her courage and sense of independence had increased throughout this long war. Or had it all vanished again with the loss of dear Sal? Uncertainty and panic swelled in her, which yet again had to be quelled as Cathie resolutely devoted the entire afternoon to baking a Christmas cake, and thinking positive thoughts about the future. It was admittedly rather plain but at least it had real fruit in it and not just prunes, as was the case last year. Wrapping it in greaseproof paper and storing it in a cake tin, she hid it safely away on a top shelf in the larder where Rona wouldn’t find it. Next, she set about making paper chains and tiny Chinese-type lanterns, which she strung up around the front parlour.

‘We need the house to look good as Father Christmas will be here soon,’ Cathie explained to the baby, as the pair of them sat together on the rug. Heather’s soft little lips pursed in concentration as she tried to help by flicking bits of paper about, some of them sticking to her little fingers, which made Cathie laugh. She’d also bought a tree, which she now decorated with home-made Christmas crackers, a few baubles and pipe-cleaner dolls dressed in scraps of wool and cotton that she and Sal had made when they were small.

Stepping back to admire her efforts with a glow of satisfaction, in her mind’s eye she could see Sal standing on a stool as she fixed a fairy to the top of the tree. As the elder of the two, her sister had always insisted on this being her job, carried out when the tree had been fully decorated. The thought that this would be the first Christmas without Sal, filled Cathie with fresh pain. Brushing away her tears, she strived not to dwell on past memories.

‘What do you think?’ she asked her mother, keeping her voice deliberately bright and with a cheerful smile on her face.

Rona gave a careless shrug. ‘The tree’s a bit small but I expect it will do. But all them decorations seem like a lot of effort for just the two of us.’

‘The war is over, and there won’t be just the two of us. Alex is coming home, remember, and it’s Heather’s first Christmas. I mean to make it very special.’ Cathie fully intended to honour Sal’s memory by giving her precious child a wonderful time. Even if Heather was only a baby and had never even heard of Father Christmas, Cathie had already found her a stocking to hang up, and bought a few small toys to put in it, together with a few jelly babies and chocolate creams.

‘Don’t expect me to look after the nipper over Christmas, even if your boyfriend does get home in time. I have my own plans, and it doesn’t include going back to child-minding and washing nappies. I had my fill of all that with you two.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of expecting you to,’ Cathie caustically replied, feeling this comment proved what a neglectful mother Rona had been. ‘I did wonder though, if you would be willing to babysit for one evening at least, so that we could go out for a meal together to celebrate his homecoming. I haven’t seen Alex in nearly two years.’

‘I’d need to meet him first, to give my approval. Why don’t you ask him to join us for tea one day, or Sunday dinner perhaps?’

Whenever he’d walked her home after they’d been out on a date, he’d never actually stepped inside, claiming a reluctance to intrude upon her life. In reality it may well have been the lack of welcome from her mother. Now, despite them living in a much shabbier property, Cathie smiled with relief. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll do that. I’m quite certain that you’ll like him.’ She made to give her mother a kiss in gratitude, but Rona moved quickly away, as ever resisting any show of affection from her daughter, although she rarely refused a kiss from a man.

Fortunately, Cathie reminded herself, she no longer depended upon her mother for love, not now she had Alex, and the baby. She ached with longing to see him again, but everything was ready: the goose ordered, mince tarts made, and having failed to find any icing sugar she’d coated the Christmas cake with a mock butter cream. Cathie had even treated herself to a new dress in Christmas rose red, and Davina had trimmed and styled her corkscrew curls for her. Half her personal savings were gone, but Cathie was delighted with all the preparations she’d made.

When later that day the postman delivered a second letter from Alex asking her to meet him at Victoria railway station at eleven o’clock the Sunday before Christmas, her heart turned over with happiness. She rushed to tell her friends at the very first opportunity.

‘So pleased for you,’ Brenda said, giving her a delighted hug.

‘How exciting. When does he arrive exactly?’ Davina coolly enquired.

Cathie read out the necessary details from her precious letter, without revealing his private comments to her. ‘I can hardly wait.’

Now her life would truly change for the better.

At the end of the week, as she clocked in as usual at the tyre factory to start her morning shift sharp at eight, she found a note from her boss. Answering his call to enter, she breezed into his office with a happy smile on her face, her heart feeling as if it was bouncing with happiness. ‘You wanted to see me?’

Glancing up from the account sheet upon which he was working, he removed his spectacles and gave a brief nod. ‘I wish to thank all you ladies personally for the sterling work you’ve done throughout the war, and can now release you from those labours as the men are returning.’

Cathie stared at him in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The war is over, if you haven’t noticed. The soldiers, sailors and airmen are all coming home and need their jobs back. So while you women have done splendid work, you are now free to return to your domestic duties.’

Her mind in a whirl at this unexpected announcement, the last thing she’d wanted to hear right now with a baby to feed, Cathie couldn’t think of a polite way to protest, however much she might feel the need to defend her own rights. Women who had refused to take a war job back in 1941 had been threatened with prison. She’d been happy to do her bit, young as she’d been at the time. She’d loved her work, the independence it had brought her, as well as the companionship of other women. ‘I do appreciate what you say, boss. Of course fighting men have the right to get their jobs back, but do women need to be dismissed entirely in order to achieve that? How are we supposed to survive without a wage coming in?’ she asked, attempting to sound reasonable.

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hear you’ll be married soon, Cathie, so what’s the problem? A woman’s role is to produce babies and support her husband.’

‘And no doubt clean fire grates, knit baby clothes and mend socks,’ she said, with a sharp edge to her tone. ‘But what if I have no wish to be confined to the kitchen sink?’

He seemed to find this remark so amusing he laughed out loud. ‘That is something you must discuss with your dearly beloved. I’m sure hubby will take you out from time to time. And, as it’s Friday, the job ends today, so don’t forget to collect your final wages and card on your way out.’ Having said his piece, he put his spectacles back on and returned to the task of adding up company profits, which might well drop now they’d be paying higher men’s wages.

Walking back to her bench in a complete daze, Cathie felt tears prick her eyes. How on earth would she cope without any money coming in? It felt as if a whole different world was opening up before her, one where she would have very little say over her own future. But once she’d listened to the woes of the other women, many of them war widows with children of their own to feed, she swallowed her own worries and said very little. She, at least, would have a loving husband to depend upon, one who would be home in just over a week.

‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’ Brenda snapped, also complaining bitterly about being sacked. ‘I certainly have no wish to return to my late husband’s family home out on the Pennines.’

Judging by the expression on her friend’s face, Cathie thought it wise not to ask for an explanation on that point, and instead gave her a consoling hug. ‘I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find other work, even if it’s only part-time. We do have considerable experience at our fingertips, after all. Surely all these years of hard work we’ve done must count for something?’

‘I do hope so. We should have seen this coming, of course. Those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back. I’d just never got around to thinking how that might affect me. Nor did I expect it to happen so suddenly.’

‘Me neither. A little warning might have helped, or better still an alternative offer of a job here in the factory, one that involved us in work we know so well.’

According to the general conversation buzzing around them, other factories were likewise laying off women workers, so a new job might not be easy to find. And thinking of the busy week ahead in preparation for Christmas, helping with a charity event at the local Co-operative Society, and with a goose to pay for, Cathie attempted to mentally calculate how much money she had left to live on.

As for Alex’s homecoming, her feelings were becoming increasingly muddled. Much as she longed to see him, she really had no wish to be dependent on her fiancé from the outset. In any case, war might have badly affected him too, and she had no wish to add to his distress by expecting him to be entirely responsible for earning all the money they would inevitably need. It was necessary to be practical as well as supportive and loving.

The rest of the day passed largely in gloomy silence and, as the factory clock chimed six strokes, the women packed their bags, collected their wages and walked out grim-faced, into what they’d believed would be a brave new peaceful world, and now wasn’t looking quite as good as they’d hoped.

‘Have you considered asking for a job here at the Co-op?’ This question came from Steve Allenby, an old friend who had returned from the war some time ago with serious injuries. Cathie was helping him to organise a Christmas concert in the Co-operative Society rooms above the shop, and had casually mentioned the fact that she’d lost her job, although she felt she really had no right to complain too much. A V1 rocket had exploded close to an airfield where Steve was working in Holland. It had so badly damaged his leg an amputation had been necessary. He now had an artificial limb on his right leg from the knee down, and walked with a slight limp. He was making a good recovery, if still suffering from pain and post-war traumas, looking even thinner and more raw-boned than when he was a scraggy kid. But then losing a leg was far more serious than being dismissed from a job, however worrying that might be for her.

In between blowing up balloons that were piling up all around them, she turned the idea over in her head, a little hope lighting up within. Could that be a possibility? She wondered. Cathie knew that in the past the Co-operative movement had supported workers during strikes, as well as throughout the war, keeping tally sheets for folk who couldn’t settle their household bill till their next wage was paid. Whether they would be willing to offer her a job was another matter entirely.

‘I’m not intending to work here for ever,’ Steve was saying. ‘I do have other plans. But Cyril Leeson, the manager, generously kept my job open and I’m proud to be employed by a business that has been in operation since the mid-nineteenth century and an important part of the community. They are expert at juggling prices to suit customers’ needs, give dividends, and run holiday clubs in which money can be saved for Wakes Week. Generally a week in Blackpool, as we know.’ He laughed.