Walter kept Lily company when he could but all their plans to talk weddings seemed out of order now. It was ‘Family First’ time.
‘The Winstanleys’ve always been good to the club. We’d like to send a wreath from the lads,’ offered Peter Walsh, the star centre forward and on stand-by for the England Reserves.
It was strange to see the boys with scabby knees, who had kicked balls between pullovers in the playground, now smartly dressed in navy blazers and grey flannels, full-time professionals earning five pounds a week.
Lily always had a soft spot for Barry when they were kids. He had once rescued her from a fierce dog on the walk home from school. He had lost his right back friend, Stewart Higgins, on D-Day The team was still struggling to get back some form and grow some good players from the youth sides.
Pete was a surprise find amongst the boys, who had come into form just at the right time. He looked very dashing, not a bit like the skinny mallinky long legs who used to tear round on his go-cart with Freddie hanging on for dear life.
Suddenly the days were racing on from that terrible Monday morning. Enid Greenalgh, ever the faithful friend to the family, stepped in to open the stall while Lily saw to the answering of letters and trying to coax Esme to eat.
There was still a pile of unopened mail on the mahogany hallstand waiting for attention, but Lily had neither the time nor the energy to see to everything.
Reverend Atkinson suggested a memorial service. ‘It will give you all a chance to say goodbye,’ he advised. ‘Freddie should be honoured in his own town and his friends given a chance to attend.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Lily replied, only half listening. She was too angry to pray. Then practicalities began to distract her flittering brain. How would they provide tea for hordes of guests? Where would they get the extra rations? Who should do the readings? What hymns would be suitable for a fallen soldier? Would Mother hold up under the strain? Would Levi stay sober enough to be of use?
Ivy produced a list of guests to invite, people Lily had never heard of from the Green Lane end of the street, the posher part of their district. Ivy took the hump when it was ignored in favour of chapel friends and Freddie’s pals.
Then Lily found herself awash with tears, fingering the letters he’d sent, full of jokes and rudeness.
What’s fresh in the street, Sis? How’s the Acid Drop [his pet name for Ivy, whom he had never met but summed up accurately]? When are you and Walt going to name the day? If there’s not a date on the calendar when I get back, I’ll be buying you two a ladder and bus tickets to Gretna Green. How’s the old canvas on two tent poles? Have you straightened out that bad back of his yet? In Burma there were lovely ladies to do that sort of thing most effectively. Believe me, once he’s had a massage he’ll be able to go five rounds with Joe Louis.
He brought the fizz into the family when Redvers died. He carried on with the same practical jokes, silly songs and roving eye. The house was always full when Freddie was home. Now there was a sadness and silence that hung over them like a grey pall of fog, separating each from the other in their grief.
Neville was playing up, sensing the atmosphere, screaming and having tantrums at the slightest thing. Freddie would have been Walter’s best man, even though the speech he would have given would not have been for the minister’s ears. Lily had always been the shadow to his sun, stealing warmth from his glow. Now it was dark, grim and oh, so cold, and winter hadn’t even arrived.
Later that evening they all passed the cards and letters around the fireside, trying to work up some enthusiasm for planning the memorial service. No one was in the mood to make any decisions. Ivy was sulking, Levi was trying to catch the nine o’clock news for a bulletin on the situation in Palestine. There had been no mention of the explosion so far.
It was time to make another foray into the unopened mail that had progressed from the hallstand to the back of the mantelpiece. A London postmark took Lily’s eye. They had no relations down south so it must be from one of Freddie’s comrades’ mothers who had heard the news and wanted to send her own condolences.
She opened it quickly, read it, read it again and passed it round.
Dear Family Winstanley,
It gives me pleasure to introduce myself to you as the intended fiancée of your son, Frederick.
He told me to write to you if ever I came to England and inform you of my immediate arrival in your town.
The kindness of your loving son is manifold. We met at Church Parade in Rangoon where I was of assistance in the canteen of the Women’s Voluntary Service, Burma. Distance has separated us many years, but not affection. I have carried your address with me for just such an occasion. I look forward to meeting you.
Yours sincerely,
Susan L. Brown
(Certified teacher, Rangoon College)
‘What do you make of this?’ Lily asked. ‘Do any of you know a Miss Brown?’
Esme peered over her glasses at the thin blue tissuey paper. ‘I don’t understand. The woman says she’s “his intended fiancée”. What does this mean?’
‘Either she is or she isn’t,’ Levi quipped, not taking much notice.
‘Sounds as if she’s just arrived on a troopship from Burma. She’s been teaching in Rangoon,’ Lily added.
‘She must be a missionary then,’ offered Ivy. ‘He’s a dark horse, your Freddie. Not a word about a fiancée, was there?’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one…It’s nearly a couple of years since he left the Far East.’
‘Perhaps he was going to spring her on us when he came home. “Mother, meet the girlfriend. By the way, she’s soon to be my wife.”’ Levi mimicked his brother’s voice. ‘Trust our Freddie to keep a pretty girl up his sleeve. He never could resist a beauty but a missionary’s not exactly his style.’
‘She says they met in the church in Rangoon, wherever that is.’ Ivy turned the page over. ‘She’s in some centre awaiting instructions and will send us a telegram when she can come north…Funny she hasn’t gone home to be with her family.’
‘They’ll be serving out in Burma. Well, fancy, Freddie…’ For one dizzy second Lily was talking as if he was still alive, as if the joyful reunion was soon to happen. This poor girl knew nothing of his fate. What on earth would they say?
‘We can’t just let her go on thinking he’s coming back. Better write and tell her,’ Ivy advised.
‘That’d be too cruel. No, we must tell her properly. It will be such a shock. She might want to be at his memorial. Why didn’t he tell us about her?’
‘Don’t ask me! I’m only the brother-how would I know what went on in his mind? You’re the one who he wrote to, Lil. He was your blue-eyed boy,’ Levi sniggered.
‘Levi! That’s enough. All will be revealed in the fullness of time,’ Esme sighed, and turned her face to the fire. ‘It’s out of our hands now.’
They didn’t have long to wait. The telegram announcing Susan L. Brown’s arrival at Ringway Aerodrome was in the post the very next morning. Someone was going to have to break the bad news, and quick.
‘Someone’s got to fetch that poor girl from the aerodrome,’ ordered Esme, still clutching the telegram as if it was going to bite her. ‘I think I’m going to have another of my turns. My head is spinning.’