Welcome Home (36 page)

Edie was kneeling on the hearth black-leading the range. Although she had a modern cooker standing in the scullery, she still took pride in the shining appearance of the
fireplace in the living room. Every Friday she would wash the ornaments and dust the photographs standing on the mantelpiece and polish the two brass candlesticks, standing at each end. She stood
up, wincing a little as her knees protested for a moment. She removed everything from the mantelpiece, washed the top and then each item. She paused for a moment, holding the photograph of
Laurence, his handsome face smiling up at her from its frame.

‘What would you think to all these goings-on, eh?’ she murmured and then, with a sigh, she replaced it tenderly in the centre. Next came the fender and the brass companion set with
its poker, hearth-brush, tongs and tiny shovel, and then the toasting fork. It had always been Beth’s job to make hot buttered toast for all the family for Sunday tea. Edie polished them all
lovingly with Brasso and, last of all, the heavy black iron kettle would be cleaned and set back on the fire for the inevitable cup of tea that, by this time, Edie felt she had earned.

Usually, Lil would come in about now and they’d sit and chat, but, this morning, there would be no Lil.

Later that morning, despite her worries, Edie enjoyed the train journey. Much as she loved the town of Grimsby and its people – and she really did – it was good to get out into the
open countryside, to see the animals grazing, the gently rolling fields of the Wolds with the crops growing in the early summer sunshine. And best of all, it was so good to know that England was
now free and at peace once more. No more bombing, no more blackouts and soon, hopefully, no more rationing. If only all her family would come home. Frank was safe, but what a welcome home he would
get now! Her heart ached for the sadness that awaited him. After all he’d done to help fight a war to preserve freedom and make a better life for his little family, for Irene to betray him in
such a way, well, Edie couldn’t countenance it. And she certainly couldn’t forgive the girl. What would happen? She couldn’t begin to guess. She tried to turn her mind away from
that particular trouble; today – more than anything – she hoped to persuade Reggie to come back home. And yet, she was honest enough to admit that, once she got to the Schofields, the
temptation to ask about Irene would be too great.

But there was one more of her brood about whom she hardly dared to think: Beth. What had happened to Beth? She was so alone in her fears for her elder daughter. She couldn’t talk to Archie
about it; she didn’t want him to be any more worried than he already was. Beth was the apple of his eye – always had been – and if something had happened to her, she didn’t
think her poor Archie would ever get over it. Well, you don’t get over losing a child, she admonished herself sharply, just as she’d never get over Laurence’s death. You just get
on with it. And she hadn’t felt able to confide in Lil, either, though she’d wanted to often enough. The postcards had continued to arrive, albeit infrequently, so she must be all
right, mustn’t she? Though recently, she reminded herself, they had stopped altogether.

Out at sea, Archie was thinking about Beth too. It was peaceful out here, he mused. The life was hard, the conditions often cold, wet and uncomfortable, but it was the only
life he knew and, all in all, it was a good life, even though there’d been the added dangers recently. He still had his regular crew, mostly older, seasoned men – even more so now that
all the youngsters had gone off to war. Problems from home seemed very far away when he was at sea, yet even here he could not leave behind his concerns about Beth.

He’d never confided his anxieties to any other member of his family, though had Laurence or even Frank been at home, he might have taken one of them into his confidence. But Laurence was
gone and Frank had not been home for years.

It had been the postcards that had first made him suspicious. He knew they brought Edie comfort and she seemed to believe their authenticity, but to Archie there was something odd. At first,
they’d arrived with a strange regularity. Though Beth was bright and outgoing and very organized, he doubted that even she would have written on the same day every month and then the
frequency had lessened and he’d been very sceptical that the last few cards had even been written by her. Oh, the handwriting was hers – or if not hers, then an excellent forgery
– but it was the wording that troubled him – or rather the lack of it. In her earlier cards she had always mentioned a member of the family, or referred to Irene and her nephew,
Tommy.

‘Sorry you can’t write back to me,’
she’d written in one early missive.
‘But I’m moving about so much with the work I’m doing, letters would
probably never reach me.’

And then the postcards had started and recently the way she signed off was different. Her usual ‘
Stay safe’
message to them all was missing.

And that had been when Archie had really started to worry.

Lost in her thoughts, Edie almost missed Fotherby Halt where she had to alight. Hastily, she gathered up her coat and handbag. Leaving the platform, she passed through the gate
and walked eastwards down the long lane at the end of which was White Gates Farm. She came to the farmyard gate and paused for a moment, catching her breath. Hens scratched in the dirt and ducks
and geese waddled about the yard, squawking. Three geese came towards her, menacingly, it seemed. She liked to see the countryside but she didn’t think she could ever feel a real part of it.
She was a townie.

Ruth Schofield appeared at the back door of the farmhouse and then hurried across the yard, shooing the birds away. They protested loudly, but obeyed, far more frightened of the farmer’s
wife than she was of them.

‘Better than a guard dog, they are.’ Ruth smiled. ‘Come in, my dear. Reggie’s not here at the moment. He’s out in the fields with Mr Schofield and the land
girls.’ She grimaced as she pulled open the gate in invitation. ‘I ’spect we’ll be losing them soon now. Still, it’s wonderful news it’s all over, isn’t
it?’

Edie nodded and stepped through the gate and into the yard.

‘Come along into the house and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

Edie beamed. ‘They’re the most welcome words I’ve heard all day.’

Minutes later, seated across the kitchen table from the farmer’s wife, between mouthfuls of home-made shortbread, Edie asked, ‘Is Reggie all right, Mrs Schofield?’

‘Ruth, dear,’ the woman reminded Edie gently. But then a wary look crossed her face as she added, ‘He’s fine, but I can guess why you’ve come to see him.’

‘I got a letter from him,’ Edie blurted out, ‘telling me that he wants to stay here – that he doesn’t want to come home. Why?’

‘He’s happy here – oh that sounds awful,’ Ruth said swiftly. ‘What I mean is, he wants to make working on the land his job. He says the only thing back in Grimsby
would be fishing and he doesn’t want to go to sea.’

Edie felt the relief flood through her. At least she and her son were agreed on that. ‘But I want him home,’ she said, as tears filled her eyes. She brushed them aside, embarrassed
by a show of weakness in front of this comparative stranger.

‘I know you do,’ Ruth said gently, ‘but he’s taken to the life so well here. He’s got a real love for the land – an instinct. He’ll make a wonderful
farmer in years to come. Joe thinks the world of him and,’ her face fell into sorrowful lines, ‘to tell you the truth, Edie, we’re not even sure our own two sons want to take over
the farm when we’re too old to manage it any more. We’re only tenant farmers, mind, we don’t own it, so it’s not as if there’s an inheritance as such, but we’d
still like to think that the land we’ve toiled over will be in good hands.’

‘But they’re both all right – your boys?’ Edie asked hesitantly. ‘I mean – they’re coming home?’

‘Oh yes, yes. We’ve been lucky – we know that.’ Ruth bit her lip. She knew that Edie had lost her eldest son. In that moment, she felt the twinge of guilt of a mother
whose sons had survived.

Edie sighed heavily. She’d always vowed she’d never rule her children’s lives – not once they were grown-up. But, to her, Reggie was still a boy. Could he really be
expected – or trusted – to make such an important decision? And what would Archie say? She smiled inwardly. She knew exactly what her husband would say.

‘Let the boy have his way – if that’s what he wants. It’ll be a hard life, but a good one for him. But it’s a sight better than fishing, love.’

Archie loved the sea and his way of life. It was what he had been brought up to know, for his father had been a trawlerman too, and Archie had wanted no other job, but he was not blind to the
many dangers; dangers which had got even worse over the six years of war. No, Archie wouldn’t want to stop Reggie doing what he wanted.

‘So, you want him to stay with you? Live here, like?’

‘We do, Edie,’ Ruth said promptly. ‘And I promise you we’ll look after him. And we’ll make sure he comes to see his family regularly. Joe will be going into Grimsby
more often now and he can bring Reggie with him.’

Edie forced a smile, but could not trust herself to speak as she was obliged to accept the inevitable.

It wasn’t long before they heard noises in the yard and four people came into the kitchen that was at once alive with chatter and laughter. And amongst it all was Reggie.

‘Hello, Mam, what’re you doing here?’ He grinned and then, seeing her expression, his smile faded. ‘Ah, I bet I know why you’ve come. Well, I aren’t coming
home.’

Edie stared at her son; she hardly recognized him. He had grown so much. He was tall and thin, yet his shoulders were broadening, already giving promise of the strong, well-built man he would
one day be. His brown hair still curled, though it was cut shorter now. His face and hands were tanned with working outdoors in all weathers, but his cheeky grin was still the same until
overshadowed by the mutinous look he now wore.

‘Sit down, Reggie,’ Ruth said, getting up from the table and bustling about her kitchen. ‘And talk to your mam.’

Now his face took on a little boy’s appealing look. ‘Mam, I love it here. I love the land and the work’ – he grimaced comically – ‘even though it’s hard
sometimes. Besides, I
can’t
come home, Mam. Mr Schofield needs help. Now the war’s over, the land girls’ll be going home. He’ll have no one.’

‘He’ll have his sons back.’ Edie couldn’t quite hide the edge of bitterness in her tone. The Schofields were lucky; both their sons were coming home and now it seemed
they wanted to keep one of hers too.

‘Tell you what,’ Reggie said, his eyes lighting up. ‘Why don’t you and Dad come and have a holiday here on the farm at harvest time?’

Ruth Schofield took up the plea. ‘The Government have warned folks not to flock to the seaside all at once, so the farmers around here are advertising for Harvest Holidays for town and
city folks to come and have a working break.’

Edie laughed, though her laugh was a little strained. ‘We
are
at the seaside. We don’t need to go there.’

Ruth laughed too, ‘Of course you are. How silly of me. But perhaps you’d like a few days in the countryside.’

‘Helping with the harvest, you mean?’

‘Only if you wanted to. We’d be pleased to have Reggie’s family any time. We’ve plenty of room.’

‘But you want him to stay?’ Edie repeated her earlier question in front of Reggie. ‘You want him to live with you?’

‘It’s what he wants, Edie.’

‘But you’ve not tried to persuade him to come home, have you?’

‘Well,’ Ruth glanced uncomfortably at Reggie, ‘no – I must admit, we haven’t.’

‘Mam, please see it from my point of view. And,’ Reggie added craftily, ‘you don’t really want me to go to sea, do you? And what else would I do if I came back to
Grimsby?’

‘They’ll stop the ten-and-six-a-week they’ve been paying you.’ It was Edie’s last shot across Ruth’s bows. She saw the woman and Reggie glance at each
other.

‘We know that,’ the farmer’s wife said softly. ‘It’s not about the money. Besides, we’ll be paying him to work for us.’

‘They’ve been paying me already, Mam, for what I’ve done after school and at weekends.’

Edie felt herself beaten. If only Archie were here. She’d know what to do then. She would have been guided by his common sense and reasoning. Edie was honest enough with herself to know
that her argument stemmed from her overwhelming desire to have all her chicks back under her roof. But it seemed now that that was never going to be possible.

‘I’ll see what your dad says when he’s next home,’ was all Edie would promise. ‘We’ll both come out to see you. We might be able to borrow your Uncle
Harry’s car. It’s been laid up all the war but he’s taken it to the garage to have it put into working order again. Aunty Jessie says they’re waiting for a new battery for
it and new tyres and they’re hard to come by at the moment.’

The Kelseys had never owned a car, but Harry and Jessie had bought a second-hand Morris 6 painted green and black in 1935.

‘It’s a nice motor, Harry,’ Archie had said, as he stood looking at it, ‘but you’d do best not to be seen driving it around Grimsby.’

‘Eh? Why ever not?’

‘Fishermen don’t like the colour green. Edie knows better than to buy a green dress. The only green that ever gets into our house is vegetables. I thought you’d have known
that, Harry, working on the docks.’

‘Oh lor’! Yes, I do, but, to be honest, I was that delighted getting such a bargain, I never thought about it. Mebbe that’s why it was so cheap. I’ll get it painted
over.’ Harry had been as good as his word. He would never want to bring ill-luck on Archie and his fellow fishermen and so the car had been repainted a maroon colour. But for the duration of
the war, it had stood idly in the narrow alleyway behind their house.

Now Edie murmured, ‘I was just counting the days until you all come home, that’s all.’

Reggie, who had every faith that his dad would agree with him and would be the one to persuade his mother to agree too, touched her hand and said huskily, ‘I know, Mam, I know.’