The Most Precious Thing
The Most Precious Thing
RITA BRADSHAW
headline
Copyright © 2004 Rita Bradshaw
The right of Rita Bradshaw to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2010
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eISBN : 978 0 7553 7589 9
This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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Table of Contents
Rita Bradshaw was born in Northamptonshire, where she still lives today. At the age of sixteen she met her husband - whom she considers her soulmate - and they have two daughters and a son, and a young grandson.
Much to her delight, Rita’s first attempt at a novel was accepted for publication, and she went on to write many more successful novels under a pseudonym before writing for Headline using her own name.
As a committed Christian and passionate animal-lover - her two ‘furry babies’ can always be found snoring gently at her feet as she writes - Rita has a full and busy life, but her writing continues to be a consuming pleasure that she never tires of. In any spare moments she loves reading, walking her dogs, eating out and visiting the cinema and theatre, as well as being involved in her local church and animal welfare.
Rita’s earlier sagas, ALONE BENEATH THE HEAVEN, REACH FOR TOMORROW, RAGAMUFFIN ANGEL, THE STONY PATH, THE URCHIN’S SONG and CANDLES IN THE STORM, are also available from Headline.
To my big sister, Tonia, who shares the memories of childhood - remember who used to eat her selection boxes for breakfast, dinner and tea on Christmas Day? - the joys and sorrows of being grown-up, and the prospect that we’re both getting steadily older!
I love you, Sis.
Acknowledgements
I owe much to numerous sources for the background material regarding the Depression and Second World War, but special mention must go to the following:
Life in Britain Between the Wars
by L.C.B. Seaman;
Southwick
by Peter Gibson;
Durham Miner’s Millennium Book
by David Temple;
Tommy Turnball
by Joe Robinson;
Our Village, Memories of the Durham Mining Communities
by Keith Armstrong;
Sunderland’s Blitz
by Kevin Brady;
English History 1914-1945
by A.J.P. Taylor and
British History
edited by J. Gardiner and N. Wenborn.
Life in Britain Between the Wars
by L.C.B. Seaman;
Southwick
by Peter Gibson;
Durham Miner’s Millennium Book
by David Temple;
Tommy Turnball
by Joe Robinson;
Our Village, Memories of the Durham Mining Communities
by Keith Armstrong;
Sunderland’s Blitz
by Kevin Brady;
English History 1914-1945
by A.J.P. Taylor and
British History
edited by J. Gardiner and N. Wenborn.
I would also like to thank those grown-up children and grand-children of the old miners, who generously shared stories, experiences and memories of the strikes and marches their forbears endured, and of their stalwart womenfolk who worked from dawn to dusk with a fortitude we can only marvel at now. Truly they had little time to dream . . .
When Ev’ning does approach we homeward hie
And our Domestic Toils incessant ply;
Against your coming home prepare to get
Our work all done, our House in order set,
Bacon and dumpling in the pot we boil
Our beds we make, our Swine to feed the while;
Then wait at door to see you coming home,
And set the table out against you come.
Early next morning we on you attend;
Our children dress and feed; their clothes we mend:
And in the field our daily task renew,
Soon as the rising sun has dry’d the dew.
Our toil and labour’s daily so extreme,
That we have hardly ever time to dream.
Part 1
The End of Childhood
1925
1925
Chapter One
‘His mam’s done everything she can to stop this wedding. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Aye, I do. You’ve told me often enough.’
‘I hate her and she knows it, but I don’t care. Upstart, she is. I said to Walter, your mam is an upstart and as tight as a tadpole’s backside, and that’s watertight.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He agreed with me.’
That didn’t surprise her. Carrie McDarmount grinned at her elder sister and Renee smiled back, her full-lipped mouth wide. Walter was fair barmy about Renee; if her sister had said black was white he wouldn’t have argued.
‘She might rule the rest of them in that house with a rod of iron but she’s not starting any carry-on with me. I’ll soon send her packing with a flea in her ear. I would, you know.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a minute.’ Carrie was laughing now, her mouth - smaller than her sister’s but just as full and bow-shaped - opening to reveal a set of perfectly even white teeth.
‘The cunning old so-an’-so tried to make out she wanted us to wait because of the strikes and such, said it wasn’t a good time to think of getting wed with the slump worsening. I said to Walter, when
will
be a good time as far as your mam’s concerned then? We live at the wrong end of the street, that’s the thing. And then there’s Da.’
will
be a good time as far as your mam’s concerned then? We live at the wrong end of the street, that’s the thing. And then there’s Da.’
Renee’s voice had hardened on the last words and now Carrie wasn’t smiling. She had never understood the antipathy between her father and his eldest child but ever since she could remember their rows had rocked the house. There was Billy, who at sixteen was just a year older than herself and two years younger than Renee, and then the twins, Danny and Len, the babies of the family at seven years old, and never a cross word with their da, but Renee only had to walk into the same room as him and there were ructions. Their mam said it was because the pair of them were like peas in a pod under the skin, and maybe she was right.
‘And you needn’t frown at me, Carrie McDarmount.’ Renee tossed her head, causing her wedding veil to flutter like a trapped bird. ‘I’ve nothing against a man having a drink, but Da! He can’t hold it, you know he can’t, and it’ll be the same old story later, him dancing and singing and acting the cuddy, likely as not in the street, and poor Mam not knowing where to put herself.’
‘Renee--’
‘No, don’t come out with your endless string of excuses for him, not today of all days. Knowing he’s going to show us all up as usual has taken the edge off me wedding day, and that’s not fair. I don’t know why you stick up for him like you do, I don’t straight. He’s big enough and ugly enough to look after himself.’ Renee’s voice trembled slightly as she finished her tirade and, as always happened when her sister’s brash façade slipped a little, Carrie immediately softened.
‘Oh, lass, don’t take on.’ She sprang up from the edge of the old iron bed she shared with Renee and put her arms round her sister who was sitting on a hardbacked chair in front of the spotted mirror fixed to the back of the wardrobe door. ‘Look, I’ll try and keep an eye on him once we come back to the house, all right? See if I can stop him drinking too much. How’s that?’
‘No you will not.’ Renee gave the slender figure a hug, her own voluptuous and well-padded curves straining against the cheap satinette of her wedding dress. She sniffed loudly, before pushing Carrie away, saying, ‘I want you to enjoy me wedding day, Caz. Do you hear me? You’re not going to look after anyone. I wish you could’ve been my bridesmaid, lass, but with what it cost for the dress and then the bits of furniture we’ve bought . . .’
‘I know, I know.’ Renee’s use of the pet name told Carrie she was forgiven. ‘I didn’t expect it, honest. You’ve had more than enough to do with making your dress anyway.’ She stood back a pace, surveying her sister in the long-sleeved, high-necked shimmering gown. ‘You look bonny, Renee. Just bonny.’
‘Walter’s mam’s managed to let me know she thinks a white wedding’s a waste of money.’ Renee wrinkled her nose, her brown eyes taking on their normal wicked sparkle. ‘She was referring to the cost, of course; she doesn’t know the horse has been out of the stable for some time. She’s such a cold fish she probably doesn’t think a woman could like a bit of making on. How she’s managed to have four bairns is beyond me.’
Carrie smiled wryly but said nothing. The sisters shared a bedroom in the cramped terraced cottage in Sunderland’s Southwick district. The curtained-off area provided just enough room for the pallet bed that the twins slept in, top and tailed; Billy slept on a desk bed in the sitting room. The enforced intimacy meant it was not Carrie’s mother but Renee who had explained to Carrie what the blood on her nightgown meant some twelve months before. Renee had also gone on to expound a little about the birds and the bees when she had seen her sister’s total ignorance of the facts of life, adding airily that she and Walter had been doing ‘it’ for some time, and that there was nothing to be frightened of. ‘Don’t say nowt to no one though,’ she had warned after she had sorted out a chunky homemade linen pad with ties each end for her younger sibling. ‘Mam and Da’d go mad if they knew.’
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