Keep the Home Fires Burning

Sarah missed the clock almost straight away, but she said nothing because she could see from her mother’s sad face and woebegone eyes that she was heart sore that she’d had to take it to the pawnbroker. When her grandparents had been coming to tea every Sunday, one of the jobs that Sarah did on a Saturday was to dust the parlour. She used to dust that clock with very great care indeed, always afraid that she might drop it or damage it in some other way. Now she thought the mantelpiece looked terribly bare without it.

And so it did, but Marion needed the money. She was a week behind with the rent again, badly needed coal, and she would liked to have her leaky boots resoled. Also she wanted to pick up a trinket for the children for Christmas, which was only two weeks away. She knew that it would be a poor one for the family this year, with no presents and nothing in the way of festive food either. She made a bit of an effort, though, and brought the little Christmas tree down from the loft, and hung around the garlands the children had made over the years.

Sarah knew the twins still firmly believed in Santa Claus, though she wasn’t sure about Tony, and she thought she had better warn them about the lack of presents. ‘Santa won’t be visiting us this year,’ she told them one evening.

They all looked at her in amazement. Tony wasn’t sure that he believed in Santa any more. Jack said it was eyewash and it was just your parents filled your stockings and that, but though he usually accepted everything Jack said as gospel truth, Tony had held on to the belief that this time he was wrong and that his bulging stockings of the past had been filled by a genial man in a red suit and sporting a long white beard.

At Sarah’s words he saw at once that that wasn’t so. Jack had been right all along and that the hunting knife that he had coveted for so long would not be in his possession by Boxing Day, this year anyway.

‘Why ever not?’ asked Magda.

‘It’s because of the war,’ Sarah said.

Magda and Missie looked at one another. They knew all about the war, but that surely had nothing to do with Santa. ‘What about the war?’

‘Well, if he set off with a sleigh full of toys the Germans could capture him,’ Sarah said.

The twins’ mouths dropped agape at that terribly shocking news. They knew how horrid the Germans were because the adults were always talking about it and what they got up to, and the girls often saw the headlines of newspapers on their way to school. So Santa in German hands didn’t bear thinking about. What if they hurt him, killed him, even? Magda thought she wouldn’t put it past them. They were as bad as it was possible to be.

So when Sarah said, ‘He thought this year he is safer staying where he is at the North Pole,’ the twins nodded solemnly. They were disappointed, but keeping Santa safe was paramount in their minds.

SEVEN (#ulink_a3fe5842-b765-5c0f-a4eb-8ba213ce0168)

Marion had in the end taken the five shillings that Polly had pressed upon her so that the children could eat well on Christmas Day. To give the twins at least something to open Christmas morning she also got the two girls a couple of wind-up toys from a man in the Bull Ring selling them from a tray round his neck, but she could find nothing for Tony, and neither could Sarah and Richard. They all felt bad about that.

Then after breakfast on Christmas Day, Richard dropped a cloth bag into his young brother’s hands. ‘Happy Christmas, Tony.’

Tony’s mouth dropped open with astonishment. ‘Your marble collection,’ he said with awe, his voice choked with emotion, because it was the one thing that he had coveted for ages, which Richard would never let him touch.

Richard knew better than to comment on Tony’s reaction and instead he said almost nonchalantly, ‘You may as well have them. I never play with them any more.’

Tony tipped them out onto the table and examined them. He knew he’d be the envy of his friends when he hit the streets with those. Not even Jack had so many, or such fine ones.

‘Thanks, Richard,’ he said. ‘I’ll take real good care of them.’

Marion was glad that for Tony and the twins, a little magic of the day was retained.

After dinner Polly came around with a bundle of clothes for them all. She had a warm coat for Tony that she said was an old one of Jack’s, but Marion had never seen Jack wearing anything like it and it was rather big for Tony. However, before she was able to say anything at all, Tony exclaimed in delight and put it on, very glad to have it because the only coat that fitted him was very thin and did nothing to keep the cold out.

‘This is great,’ he said, and Marion saw his eyes were shining so, though her eyes met her sister’s over Tony’s head, she said nothing.

There were also scarves, gloves and smart berets for the twins, and a smart cap with ear flaps, the same brown as the coat, for Tony. Polly even had a couple of dresses and a cardigan for Marion she said she had no use for. Marion was moved to tears by her sister’s kindness and generosity. When she tried to say this, however, Polly waved her thanks away almost impatiently.

‘Think nothing of it. How many times did you help me out?’

‘That was nothing,’ Marion said. ‘It was just a bit and, anyway, I didn’t do it so you would feel you had to pay it back.’

‘And I didn’t do it for that, like a kind of duty,’ Polly said. ‘You made life much more comfortable for me and mine for years and years.’ She put her hand over Marion’s. ‘Now, through no fault of yours or mine, the positions have reversed a bit. It pleases me to be able to help you. Let me do it while I have the means to do so.’

Marion couldn’t speak, the lump in her throat was too large, and tears trickled down her cheeks.

Polly stood up, jerked Marion to her feet and put her arms around her. ‘Come here, you silly sod,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be crying on Christmas Day.’

Marion made a valiant effort and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but it’s made me feel … I don’t really know … Anyway, Happy Christmas, Polly.’

‘And to you,’ Polly said, and her smile seemed to light up her whole face.

Marion thought that although that Christmas was one of the poorest she had ever spent, because of Polly and her kindness she felt suddenly filled with warmth and happiness.

The year turned, though Marion had no great hope that 1940 would be any better than 1939. All they had to look forward to was rationing starting on 8 January.

‘We’ll have to register with a grocer and a butcher,’ Marion told Polly. ‘Everyone gets a ration book, even the nippers.’

‘Well, that’s not that surprising, is it?’ Polly said. ‘I mean, the smallest has to eat.’

‘Well, they won’t get much on the ration,’ Marion said. ‘It’s only bacon, butter and sugar that are rationed so far, but they reckon there’ll soon be plenty more.’

‘Yeah, I think every damned thing will be rationed in the end,’ Polly said. ‘They’re just breaking us in gently. Shall we go down this afternoon and get ourselves sorted?’

‘If you like, but I’ve got to do something first.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve got to pawn Bill’s watch,’ Marion said. ‘I hung on to that till the last minute, but I’ve fallen behind with the rent and need more coal.’

‘Do you want me to come?’

Marion shook her head. ‘I must do this on my own,’ she said. ‘I can’t keep relying on you holding my hand all the time.’

‘Well, don’t let yourself get fleeced,’ Polly cautioned. ‘Don’t accept the first offer.’

Marion, though, was too saddened at having to pawn all the things she had treasured so much to argue overly about the value of the watch. She knew the money raised would buy food and coal and pay off her rent, but she was very much aware that she had pawned the last item of value that she possessed apart from her wedding ring. She knew that would be the next thing to disappear and she was filled with depression at the thought of losing that golden band that she had never taken from her finger since Bill had put it there in 1922.

Just a day or so after this, Tony and Jack were once more serving at early morning Mass. Tony felt very miserable because the previous evening meal hadn’t really filled him up and he had gone to bed with his stomach grumbling. And then he had to get up early in the coal black of a winter’s day and go out into the frost-rimed streets with nothing to eat or drink at all because he would be taking Communion. By the time he got to the church, despite his good thick coat, he was cold all through and feeling very sorry for himself.

Jack was already in the vestry when he got there and he took one look at Tony’s glum face and said, ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing,’ Tony growled out. ‘I’m all right.’

‘God, are you really?’ Jack said ironically. His dark eyes sparkled with humour. ‘Hate to see you when you’re not all right, that’s all I can say. You have a face on you that would turn the milk sour.’

‘Oh, shurrup, can’t you?’ Tony cried.

‘Now, boys,’ the priest said, coming in at that moment, ‘what’s all this? I hope you’re not arguing in God’s house.’

‘No, Father,’ the boys said in unison, and the priest, not believing them for an instant, said, ‘Good. Now I have to go out for a while. One of my parishioners is very ill and asking for me and I want you to wait here until my return.’

‘What about school, Father?’