The Letter (29 page)

*  *  *  *  *

Daisy was a widow whose husband had been killed by a roof fall underground. Small, bird-like, head-bobbing, she was the unofficial bookies runner for Cliff View. Her son Jack had fought in France and recently returned with a shy bride who spoke very little English. Margaret resurrected her rusty French, translating what Claudette said for Daisy.

The two women were refugees, for that was how it felt to Margaret. Claudette told Margaret that she had a son, the result of the German invasion. Her family had stood by her but the boy faced an uncertain future in France. Jack accepted him and they were arranging to bring the child to England. Claudette didn’t know if she was doing the right thing. Margaret couldn’t confide her own circumstances but said that these days, after the war, a lot of people were escaping from something, especially if they ended up in Denaby. They could only survive by putting aside their past and looking forward. It was easy to advise someone else.

*  *  *  *  *

Daisy had taken to occasionally looking after Elizabeth. It made Margaret consider returning to work. Albert was usually up by two o’clock in the afternoon. If Daisy and he agreed, they could share Elizabeth between them. Margaret got a job at The Western Hospital, on the maternity unit, where she’d given birth to Elizabeth. It suited everyone except Tommy.

“I’m useless, Margaret” he said, “I can’t look after my own daughter. I don’t like her going to Daisy.”

“She’s kind, Tommy, and only across the road. You can
go over…”

“It’s not the same as having her here, Margaret.” He hung his head, “I know you miss your Indian children. They should be with us… and Elizabeth.”

How could Margaret explain without hurting him or his family? It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Denaby. She had experienced nothing but kindness since she arrived, but she wasn’t alone in her quest for a better future. Many brave men returned from the war actively seeking something other than the pit for their sons. Jack and Claudette had gone to London with Daisy’s blessing and if Tommy hadn’t had his accident?

It was no use thinking what might have been but the labour government and trade unions were changing the country. There was a free health service and scholarships for miners’ children who passed the Eleven Plus Examination. Bursaries had taken Margaret as far as University. One day, the ‘Scholarship’ might do the same for Elizabeth. Until then, Margaret must be strong and somehow get them out of Denaby.

*  *  *  *  *

Florrie’s husband left her. Broken hearted, unable to pay the rent and with no man working at the pit, she was evicted and landed on the doorstep with four young children. At night during the week they slept in Albert’s bed. In the morning they got up and he got in. At weekends Albert and Tommy shared a room with Florrie’s boys. Margaret and Florrie shared with the girls.

Florrie cooked, cleaned and ran the house. Up at five, she battled boiling water, scrubbing, mangling and rinsing clothes; stringing a line of washing across the backs before seven o’ clock in the morning. They were overcrowded but Florrie’s good nature, Tommy’s affection for his sister and Margaret’s willingness to compromise kept relationships steady. The price was the terrible toll on Tommy’s health.

*  *  *  *  *

The local council had started building houses in Conisbrough, high above the rocky limestone ridge of the Crags, overlooking Denaby. Smog and dense chimney smoke was blown away over the other side of the Don Valley. Margaret added their name to the ever-growing housing waiting list.

*  *  *  *  *

The parish priest arranged a pilgrimage to a holy shrine at Walsingham to pray for a house for Tommy and Margaret. Donations from religious denominations, pubs, clubs, and the National Union of Mineworkers financed the venture. The selfless generosity of Denaby people was worth more than the empty words of politicians who so often maligned them.

Four months later Tommy and Margaret walked hand in hand up the Crags to see the progress on their house. Singing skylarks soared from nests in the swaying grass, cream and purple clover burst over variegated grey rocks, buttercups spilled onto the rocky paths dividing the two communities. Men exercising their dogs called out ‘All the best Tommy’, or stopped and shook his hand. It was almost too good to be true.

Chapter 37
 

Conisbrough
1948-1956

The new house in Conisbrough boasted a bathroom with a door that locked. There was no abrasive coal grit to scratch Margaret’s legs in the smooth white bath, no one waiting impatiently for their turn and no shared tepid water. All she had to do was turn on the tap for a constant flow of hot water.

Jean had sent her a round art deco blue and gold tin of talcum with a velvety powder puff and matching Lily of the Valley bath cubes. Margaret crumbled these into the hot water, squashing them with her toes. She stretched out, sinking into the milky scented water. She thought of the luxurious baths prepared by Muni, of girls talk, relaxing massages and idling the day away. One more cherished memory to let go. These days there was scarcely time to wash her face.

Left alone while Margaret was at work Tommy became moody, with no sense of purpose, wandering back to Denaby, taking Elizabeth. The
ad
hoc
arrangements with Daisy had worked when they lived in Cliff View but she was seventy seven and Margaret couldn’t expect her to step in until Elizabeth started school. It was no use asking Peggy and Michael who lived next door. They were willing to help but couldn’t provide the extensive support Tommy required to keep him stable.

The pension’s tribunal categorized him as 100% disabled. The findings listed him as having:
‘
 . . .
lost
his
right
eye:
sustained
gunshot
wounds
to
the
wrist:
wounds
to
the
head
and
face:
confused:
rather
simple
and
childish:
obviously
mentally
deteriorated
 . . .
’

Margaret couldn’t read any more but the facts were daily in front of her. There was nothing mentioned about Tommy’s courage. They’d written him off. Well she wouldn’t! She hid the letter with the tribunal’s findings.

Margaret had longed to have Tommy and Elizabeth to herself, without Albert. She’d felt mean about it. He’d been so kind to them but she genuinely believed Tommy might make more progress without his father always helping him. The last few weeks made her realise she was wrong. It was wishful thinking, made more painful by the acknowledgement that Tommy needed all the help he could get to function normally. If Margaret was to be able to work, she would have to ask Albert to live with them.

Tommy’s dad was looking for an excuse to be with his son. He signed over his house in Cliff View to Florrie and Matt, a soft spoken Irish miner, who was courting Florrie.

*  *  *  *  *

Tommy was happy to have Albert living with them, a boy chumming up with his dad, who would do anything to please his son. They set to digging and planting potatoes to clean the garden soil. Carrots, onions, leeks, sprouts, French beans, peas, lettuce and radishes were planted according to the season. Rhubarb, raspberries, gooseberries, black and red currants, interlaced with a netting of twisted paper and string to keep off the birds. There were lawns and rose beds, sweet peas, lavender and lilac trees and Elizabeth’s patch of garden with a giant scarecrow.

Seeds sprouted on every window ledge. Albert rotated the trays to catch the sun, commandeering the kitchen table for potting up. Compost, plant pots and twine were likely to become the meal of the day. Margaret banished them outside. Albert bought a green house.

*  *  *  *  *

Margaret’s father came from Scotland to stay. The two old men’s pipes sat adjacent in the ashtray on the mantelpiece next to Tommy’s cigarettes. There was a stream of visitors, friends of the men. Florrie was seldom away. She had married Matt and flitted to Conisbrough. Their family had increased to six, too many children for Cliff View.

Tommy attended Doncaster Infirmary for physio-therapy
. Albert took him to the hospital and the men made
a day of it, having a couple of pints in the town. It wasn’t
enough for Tommy. He combed the district knocking on
doors, searching for a job. The local post master asked
Margaret if Tommy could manage to deliver the post in
Conisbrough. It would be temporary, for six weeks. Albert
offered to carry the post bag.

In uniform, with the peaked hat set jauntily hiding his missing eye, Tommy was a man again. Up at five o’clock whistling his way to work, back home for a cup of tea about eleven. Dinner cooked by Albert at one. Out again for the afternoon collection, calling at Florrie’s for home baked buns and tarts.

He took messages; was first with the news of marriages,
births and deaths. Handed in the milk off the doorstep and checked on the sick and elderly. Tommy didn’t need Albert to help him. The whole of Conisbrough watched out for him.

The annulment of Margaret’s marriage to Ben freed her to discreetly marry Tommy in the vestry of Saint Alban’s Catholic Church, and make peace with God.

The pension board reduced Tommy’s meagre allowance
because he was working.
Margaret continued saving; enough for a washing machine and a holiday with Jean, Nan and Rosemary, Nan’s youngest daughter.

*  *  *  *  *

The glittering globe at Blackpool Tower threw coloured
lights across the polished ballroom, highlighting Tommy’s
smile and Margaret’s gold satin dress, made from material
stored in one of the suitcases. He confidently waltzed her
round the floor. They made plans. Perhaps they should buy a house or a car. She’d drive. It looked easy. Tommy teased, “Driving easy… like roller skating?”

“Well I can’t be much worse at driving.”

“Just let me know when you plan to start, so I can get my bike off the road.”

Nan, Jean and the girls were fast asleep when Tommy and Margaret got back to the boarding house. “Another day to look forward to tomorrow,” Tommy whispered.

The rest of the week the weather was perfect. They reclined in deck chairs on the beach. Tommy built sand castles with the children and buried the women’s feet in the sand. He rode beside Elizabeth and Rosemary on the donkeys, making his go faster across the sand. Margaret and her sisters were certain he’d fall off, but he didn’t. He bought plaster figurines and heaps of bargains at auction houses on the sea front, too many to fit in the cases. He gave them to the landlady to keep until next year. Stress-free and golden brown, they were sorry when the holiday ended.

*  *  *  *  *

Tommy’s job, as a postman, was made permanent so Elizabeth spent the school holidays in Scotland with Nan. Margaret put her on the train at Doncaster and she was collected in Edinburgh. Sometimes Margaret wished her daughter wasn’t quite so enthusiastic to go, but there were outings to the seaside at Gullane and Portobello and the companionship of her cousins. Elizabeth liked Mary’s boys. They were full of bright ideas and things to do.

The year Elizabeth was nine Tommy missed her terribly and kept asking when she was coming back, “I don’t like it when Elizabeth’s away. She’s my little ray of sunshine on bad days.”

Margaret agreed. Their daughter was a distraction
from the fact that Tommy’s condition was rapidly deterio-
rating. It was as if he was unravelling. His stammering was hardly noticeable unless he was under stress but his unpredictable temper was easily triggered, and innumerable murderous headaches sent him stumbling upstairs to lie down.

He pleaded, “Don’t let me lose my mind Margaret! I couldn’t stand it.” Her heart went out to him as he fought to retain his loving personality, “I don’t want you looking after a gibbering wreck and I don’t want Elizabeth to see me like that. Promise me you’ll put me down first.”

“Tommy Waters we’ll have no more talk like that. Elizabeth loves you. I love you.”

“But it’s not going to make me better?” There was nothing she could say.

“I’ve been lucky to have these years,” he said thinking aloud.

“There’s lot more to come,” she said, trying to focus on the future, “Wait until Elizabeth goes to university.”

“Do you think she will?”

“She’s your daughter and…” Tommy joined in, finishing the sentence “only the best will do.” Margaret’s lion-hearted husband laughed and kissed her.

Bringing Elizabeth home early was easily remedied but was it right to keep the severity of Tommy’s condition from him? Margaret was convinced he was aware of what was happening. It was almost as if he’d read the years of detailed assessments, securely hidden in the tin hat box, each one worse than the last. He had unknowingly defied the experts by leading a worthwhile life, but how long could it last?