A Daughter's Choice, page 23
Jim was due to leave from the station on Friday morning, so we made the best we could of the few remaining days, until midweek, when I suddenly developed a rash. As soon as she saw it, Mother dabbed gentian violet on the spots, leaving mauve blotches all over my face. I looked such a sight that I didn’t dare go to work that day. I’d have frightened away the customers’ children!
So I sent Jeffrey before school to tell a girl round the corner who worked at the Post Office to let them know that I couldn’t come to work today.
As soon as he left, there was a familiar knock on the door and Mother opened it, to let Jim into the vestibule.
‘Where’s Margaret?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t she ready yet?’
‘Don’t let him in,’ I cried.
‘She’s got a rash on her face,’ explained Mother.
‘You can’t see me like this,’ I called out to him. ‘I’m covered in gentian violet.’
‘What?’ I don’t suppose he had a clue what I meant. ‘Please let me in to see you. I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, I’m not going out anywhere,’ I said as he came through the door to our sitting room. I held up a cushion to hide part of my face.
‘Nobody will see you if we just go for a walk.’
‘Why can’t you talk to me here?’
‘Because I’d like to have a serious talk with you and . . .’ He looked around. Jeffrey had just come back to collect his school bag. Alan was trying to chop up an apple on the tablecloth with a blunt knife and Mother was clearing the breakfast things.
‘It’s time you left for school, Jeffrey,’ she told him. ‘Alan, put that knife down and help me clear up. We have to get you to school too or you’ll be late.’
Jim and I sat together yet apart on the sofa, watching all this with some amusement and, in Jim’s case, frustration.
‘Come on, Margaret. It’s a lovely day. Let’s go out for a walk.’
‘But somebody might see me.’
‘Who are you afraid of seeing you?’
‘Anyone from the Post Office.’
‘But how can they see you if they’re at work?’
‘Oh . . . all right, then, but maybe later, when my face isn’t such a bright colour.’
Of course, we could have had the talk that Jim wanted at home, but he was unusually determined that nobody should interrupt us, even my mother who would return shortly. So I went and washed my face to try and remove some of the vivid colouring, then cut us some sandwiches and off we went.
‘Let’s go to Corporation Park first,’ he suggested.
‘We went there the other day, why don’t we go somewhere in the country instead?’
‘Well, we’ve got all day – we can do both.’
As we walked through Little Harwood, I remember feeling guilty not to be at work. After all, it was only a rash . . . but it was on my face, except that it seemed better now.
‘I feel a fraud,’ I confessed. ‘I hope nobody sees me.’
‘Never mind. If anyone should recognize you, they will probably just assume you’re having a day off.’
‘Y-e-s, maybe.’ I wasn’t too certain about that.
As we approached the grand Victorian entrance to the park, Jim slowed me down to a stop. ‘Have you heard the song “Macushla”?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’ve heard it on the radio, when Mother listens to songs in the evenings.’
‘It’s one of my favourites.’ He paused. ‘Because of what the word “Macushla” means.’
‘Oh yes? Is it a real word, then?’
‘Yes, it’s an Irish word. In Gaelic, “Macushla” means “my pulse” or “pulse of my heart”. Isn’t that wonderfully romantic?’
‘Yes, it is rather.’
‘Sometimes people in Ireland use “Macushla” instead of “Darling”, so that’s what I’m going to call you.’
We walked through the gateway and along the paths round the park, then came to the seat we’d sat on last time. Jim seemed a bit tense and I was just about to ask him if he was all right, when he put his hand in his pocket and brought something out, then opened it to show me. I could see it looked like gold, but it was quite unusual.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘It’s called a rosary ring,’ said Jim. ‘Try it on.’
So I slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand, held it away and admired it. ‘It looks very pretty,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen one of these before. Why is it called a rosary ring?’
‘Because . . . can you see these ten little knobs on it? They’re the rosary.’
‘Oh, that’s clever.’
‘It used to belong to my grandmother when she was young.’
‘Oh. Shouldn’t your sister have it?’
‘No, she has another of our grandmother’s rings.’
‘Well, I really like it, thank you.’
So there we were, sat on a bench in Corporation Park, when Jim shuffled himself forward and got down on one knee. He took my hand and said, ‘Will you agree to become engaged to me?’
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed there were some people walking down the path towards us. ‘Will you ask me again, so that these people can see?’
Jim looked a bit surprised, then smiled, kissed the back of my hand and asked me again, a little louder this time, ‘Will you agree to get engaged to me?’
‘Yes,’ I replied in a clear voice.
The elderly couple smiled at us as they walked past.
‘Good luck,’ said the woman.
‘Be happy,’ added the man.
‘We will,’ responded Jim. ‘Won’t we, Margaret?’
‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘I really think we will.’
Jim gave me a big hug, lifting me off my feet and twirling me round.
‘Why did you make me do it again?’ he asked with a quizzical expression.
‘I just wanted other people to see.’ I paused. ‘I’m a terrible show-off, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, even with your gentian violets.’
‘Oh, I had forgotten about that!’ We had a giggle together.
‘So we’re engaged?’ asked Jim, as if wanting to make sure he hadn’t dreamt it.
‘Yes, we’re engaged,’ I confirmed. ‘Isn’t it great?’ It wasn’t a surprise, but it was exciting, though I didn’t take it too seriously at the time after the fracas with Joe, although this was entirely different. Everybody wanted to get married after the war, but my friendship and easy familiarity with Jim had grown into love, rather as it had with Ray, though this time it had been over a much shorter time and still needed developing.
‘I’ll save up and buy you a proper engagement ring as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘But I’ll just put the rosary ring on your left hand for now.’ It fitted perfectly.
‘Let’s go and tell someone,’ I suggested. ‘We could go and tell my mother. I think I know what she will say.’
‘What’s that?’ He looked a bit worried.
‘I’ll let you find out. But don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,’ I laughed.
When we got back to the house and told her, she seemed genuinely pleased. Then she turned to Jim: ‘I’ll tell you what I’ve told all the others. Margaret can get engaged as many times as she likes, but she hasn’t to marry till she’s twenty-one.’
He turned to me. ‘Have there been a lot of others, then?’
‘Not many,’ I said. ‘I’ve already told you about them, but I was younger then and most of them were lost in the war.’
‘But will you give us your blessing to marry after that, Mrs Holden?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a nod of her head. ‘I can see that Margaret thinks a lot of you, Jim, and so do I. But I’m afraid you may have a different response from other people.’
‘Do you mean Joe?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m sure Joe won’t be happy. But also, more importantly, I’m thinking of Bobby. You know how protective he’s always been of you, Margaret. And he still thinks of you as his little sister – far too young to make your own decisions. He wants to make them for you. I think he may have something to say about it, but you’ll have to tell him yourself, not me.’
I knew Bobby’s next leave wasn’t till after Jim had gone, so I would have time to work out the best way to tell him. And at least Jim wouldn’t be there to complicate things.
The next stop was Jim’s parents and they were delighted for us, though I found out later that his brothers were not so happy. I didn’t know why. Perhaps because they hardly knew me, and it had all happened so quickly.
We spent our last two days visiting other relatives and meeting up with friends to announce our engagement. Everyone seemed happy for us. Of course, it would be more than a year before we could marry, as I would only be twenty the next month, and Jim could be away in India for up to two years before his next leave. My emotions were all over the place as these idyllic four weeks came to an end.
As I lay in bed that last night before Jim’s departure, I was in quite a state – a mixture of happiness, sadness and anxiety. Our four weeks together had been a blur of happiness and I knew that Jim was the one I loved. But now he was going off, far away, and leaving me for goodness knows how long without him.
I dreaded having to tell Bobby. I was frightened of angering or upsetting him. I knew he had my best interests at heart, but he didn’t always have a clear view of what my best interests might be. I desperately wanted his blessing. I hoped for the best, but feared the worst.
In the end, whatever Bobby said, it was Jim that mattered most now. If only I could be sure he would not be killed.
I slept fitfully that night.
20
A Long Goodbye
1946
The dreaded day dawned – Friday, 19 April 1946. I met Jim at the station, as planned. He was back in his uniform, complete with the bush hat that had first attracted my attention just four weeks before. He dropped his kitbag and gave me a long embrace, twirling me off my feet and right round.
‘Didn’t your parents want to come and see you off?’ I asked, once he’d put me down.
‘Yes, but I told them I wanted it just to be you and me and I think they understood. I said all my family goodbyes at home.’
We went straight to the platform, sat on a bench and waited for the train, holding hands and chatting non-stop, trying to be cheerful for each other’s sake, but feeling the opposite inside.
Far too soon, the train pulled into the station, then screeched and clattered to a halt in front of us. One last kiss and Jim climbed aboard. He sat by the window next to where I stood, and as the guard blew his whistle and waved his green flag, the train slowly clanked and trundled into action. As it began to move out along the track, he waved as furiously as I did, through the clouds of steam, until well after he and the train were out of sight. How long till we could be together again?
I don’t remember doing as much work that day as I should have done. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jim, watching the clock for the time he would change trains and then when he was due to arrive at Southampton. I wondered what his quarters would be like and how long it would be before he embarked on the troop ship, bound for India.
By the end of Friday afternoon, I felt drained. On my walk home, I weighed up the alternatives – stay in and mooch about Jim not being around any more, or go out on the town. So I went dancing at Tony’s, caught up with my old friends and told them about Jim’s proposal. They all seemed very pleased for me, but perhaps also a bit uncertain.
‘Do you think it’s serious this time, Margaret?’ one of the boys grinned. ‘Or do we still have a chance?’
The music, the fun and of course the dancing lifted my spirits and a funny lad I used to play with in the rec walked me home, telling me jokes all the way back to my house.
The weekend stretched out ahead of me, but I went back to my Fair Isle knitting, playing Lexicon with Jeffrey and Alan, plus of course dancing in the evenings.
On Tuesday I received my first letter from Jim. He was still in Southampton, awaiting his ship. It was a very long letter – several pages, so he must have been bored . . . or besotted with me! Perhaps both, judging by what he wrote.
I took it unopened up to my bedroom and shut the door before I looked at the envelope with his neat writing and the Southampton postmark, then slit the envelope and took out the letter, written on several pages of thin white paper. I began to read it:
Transit Camp,
Southampton.
Sunday morning, 10 a.m.
My own darling Macushla,
I have just had my breakfast after coming back from Church. The atmosphere in the Church just suited my mood, peaceful and quiet. I was waiting in the Church for quite a while before Mass started and as I was waiting, you were in my heart and talking to me, just as if you were sitting beside me, telling me of the day we will be joined together in Holy Matrimony, and of the joy and happiness we will be experiencing on that day.
Macushla, I love you with all my heart and soul, and the day of our reunion cannot come too fast. That Heavenly day when time stands still and everything is hushed . . . We shall be oblivious to everything else, time and people.
Jim had written each page in the same vein as the first – very loving and longing. I felt that too as I read it, right the way through to his last paragraph.
The clock on the civic building outside has just struck four. Every four hours the clock chimes out a few bars from a hymn. I know the tune, but I can’t name it. With every chime that sounds, I am coming nearer to you, Macushla. I may be sailing vast oceans or in foreign lands, but I am always with you in Blackburn, as you will always be by my side. We shall be waiting patiently and saving and planning for the happy and joyous day we are together again.
I will close to catch the early post of the day, so until this evening, au revoir, my darling Macushla. I am yours, body and soul.
Your loving Jim x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
I shall love you and keep on loving you till my breath fails me, and my heart stops beating. From my heart to your heart, Macushla.
‘I’ll walk beside you through the world today’ [written entirely in kisses]
Letters from Jim arrived daily, sometimes two or three a day. I used to take some of them to work with me to read extracts out to the other girls. I also read out the more descriptive parts of them to Mother, as she liked to hear about the things he had to do while he waited for his ship to come. I wrote to him too, almost as often as he wrote to me.
As Jim was still in Southampton the following weekend, I took the train down to see him. This was how I knew he was different from all the others. I really wanted to spend more time with him, while we still could. I left early on Saturday morning and bought a return ticket to arrive back home again on Sunday evening. The night in between I was booked in to stay at the Girls’ Friendly Society in Southampton.
I got up very early, boarded the Blackburn ‘milk train’ to London and settled down for a long journey. At first I seemed to be the only person in my carriage, but a few stops later a young RAF lad got on. We said hello to each other and, being me, I started chatting, asking him about himself and where he was based. His name was David.
‘Why are you going to Southampton?’ I asked. ‘Are you on leave?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I’m going home to stay the weekend with my parents.’ He paused. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m going to Southampton for the weekend too,’ I said. ‘To visit my fiancé.’
We carried on chatting and looking out of the windows at the passing countryside. It helped pass the time, but we were glad when we arrived at Euston station in London. Then we had to find our way to Waterloo station. I was relieved I didn’t have to navigate London on my own. It seemed such a huge, busy, noisy city and we had to walk, of course, carrying our overnight bags, as neither of us could afford buses on top of the train fares. It was quite a long walk, but on the way I was amazed to find we were crossing London Bridge, the one in the rhyme, but it wasn’t falling down at all.
By the time we had reached Waterloo, found the platform and boarded the train, I was tired out. Before long, with the movement of the train, I felt more and more sleepy. David seemed to notice it.
‘You look tired,’ he said.
‘Yes, it’s been a very long journey, all the way from Blackburn.’
‘Why don’t you just lie down across the seat and have a sleep. I’ll keep guard.’
I was a bit unsure at first . . . would I be putting myself in danger? But he was such a nice, innocent-looking young man that I had the feeling I could trust him . . . and I did need a nap.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a smile, as I lay down along the bench seat and put my coat over me as a cover. The rhythmic sounds of the train lulled me straight to sleep and I only woke up as it slowed to a stop.
‘That was well timed,’ David said with a grin. ‘I hope you enjoy your weekend.’
‘You too,’ I said as we parted ways.
He turned, put his kitbag over his shoulder and strode off towards his home.
It was wonderful to see Jim in the station forecourt, waiting for me with a huge smile. He ran towards me and, being a whole foot taller than me, swept me off my feet.
‘I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to have you in my arms again,’ he said. We walked on a few paces, arm in arm. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘A bit,’ I admitted. ‘But I’ve got two rounds of sandwiches with me. Shall we find somewhere to sit and share them?’
After we’d eaten and I’d told Jim how I’d fallen asleep on the train he suggested going to the pictures. ‘It’s nice and dark in there,’ he said with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘And we could sit on the back row.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ I agreed. So we did. I can’t remember what the film was – I don’t think we watched much of it. But I do remember the lovely time we had in the interval, when the organ played and the whole place was in an uproar, singing ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’.
At the end, we all poured out of the cinema into the street. By now it was about teatime and Jim carried my bag for me. ‘What time do you have to be at the Girls’ Friendly Society hostel?’ he asked.
