sent, especially the toys for the children, will help a little on Christmas morning and hope, despite the inevitable sense of loss, you still manage to enjoy the day.
As she read the letter, tears prickled behind Meg’s eyes at the kindness of her mother’s brothers and sister. Strange to think that she had relatives miles away that she would probably never see, though she knew plenty more were in the same boat.
Christmas Day began very early. The children exclaimed in delight as they pulled one item after another from the stocking they had hung on the bedhead, and declared themselves pleased as punch with everything. Despite the early hour they were so interested in playing with them that Meg had trouble getting them all ready for Mass in time.
After a wonderful roast chicken dinner, praised by everyone, followed by the sumptuous pudding they had all stirred, Charlie said that he would wash up the dishes and Terry could dry them and give Meg a break. She was really touched by such thoughtfulness and when all was finished she asked her father to give her a hand bringing something downstairs and so produced the crate. As they examined the contents they were almost speechless with pleasure and Meg blessed those kind people in America. The excitement the children felt at being given things they never in their wildest dreams imagined they’d ever own drove any sadness they might be feeling to the back of their minds, and the day took on an almost magical quality. Charlie smoked his cigar and treated himself to a small glass of whiskey, with a look of delighted pleasure on his face, and later, when the boys set out the clockwork railway, he was as interested as they, while Ruth sat on Meg’s knee and waved her arms excitedly, fascinated by the trains running around the track.
The girls had taken their rag dolls out on the street to be admired by their friends, and when the cold and darkness drew them in they did some colouring with the new books and crayons. No one was interested in much tea, but Meg made a few chicken sandwiches and put them on the table with the Christmas cake that was May’s present to them. There were mince pies as well, some of which Billy had helped May make, so they were a bit squashed-looking but they tasted all right.
When everyone had eaten what they wanted, Charlie led them all in carol singing. Her father had such a pleasant voice that Meg would have been happy just to listen, but Charlie would have none of it and soon she was singing along with the rest. They sang till the children were yawning and Ruth had fallen asleep on her knee, and when Meg got up to make a last drink for the children before bed she placed her in her father’s arms.
He was about to protest but Meg said, ‘This is your baby daughter and she has just enjoyed her first Christmas. Is it too much to ask that you nurse her while I make us all a drink?’
Charlie looked down at the sleeping child, her warm body snuggled into him. He knew he would never feel the same for her as he did the others, but that knowledge would upset Meg and he had no desire to do that today of all days. So he said, ‘No, Meg, ’course it isn’t.’
Meg made tea for them all with a smile on her face. Christmas Day was almost over and she had done more than just survive it, she had enjoyed it and she thought she could look to the future with confidence.
In late February, as the weather became just a little warmer, Ruth suddenly rolled over on the mat in front of the fire and drew her legs underneath her. May, who was having a cup of tea with Meg, chuckled. ‘That young ’un will be crawling afore long,’ she said. ‘Then the fun will start.’
May was right. The next day Ruth crept forward a few hesitant paces, but by the end of the week she was going at a hefty pace. ‘One body’s work, they are at that age,’ May remarked, and Meg knew she was right. The children were great at minding their baby sister when they were home, but there was still the washing and housework to be done during the day when Meg was alone now that Billy was at school too.
‘Without May next door I would be lost,’ Meg told Joy when they met in mid March. ‘She minds her when I am in the brew house doing the washing or ironing the stuff the following day.’
‘What about your auntie?’ Joy asked. ‘Rose – isn’t that her name? Doesn’t she give a hand?’
‘She used to, but she won’t be able to soon,’ Meg said.
‘Why not?’
‘She’s getting a job. Says the money will come in handy. It was a shock to me because there was no mention of her getting any sort of job before.’
‘Well, there weren’t jobs about for many people,’ Joy pointed out. ‘Lots of men couldn’t get jobs either. You’d see lines of them just standing on street corners.’
‘Yes,’ Meg said. ‘There’s not so many of them now.’
‘That’s because they think there might be a war and they are getting prepared,’ Joy said. ‘What’s your aunt looking into?’
‘Sewing parachutes,’ Meg said. ‘Says it’s really well paid.’
Joy grimaced. ‘Our dad says if there is going to be a war it will be fought from the air and they’ll drop bombs on us like the Germans did in that Spanish town a while ago. I suppose people are getting windy now because of the Anschluss a few days ago’
‘Oh, yes,’ Meg said. ‘My cousin Nicholas keeps going on about that. But I don’t see it’s that much of a problem. I mean, Hitler’s Austrian, isn’t he, and the Austrian Government seemed to welcome him with open arms.’
‘Hardly that.’
‘All right then,’ Meg conceded. ‘But there was no fighting or anything.’
‘No,’ Joy agreed.
‘So Hitler’s happy and Austria must be too or they would have done something about it, so what has it got to do with us?’
Joy shrugged. ‘I can see what you are saying, but I reckon we just might be dragged into it somehow. I mean, your Nicholas thinks there’s going to be a war, doesn’t he?’
‘He’s certain sure of it. He goes on about the way Germany is treating the Jews and how we can’t stand by and see it happen, but no one in their right mind wants another war.’
Meg was right: no one did, especially those who remembered the carnage of the last one. But the papers were full of the atrocities Germany was committing against the Jews; even the voices of the announcers on the wireless seemed doom-laden. ‘Fascism’ was the word bandied about a lot, like the Nazi Party that Hitler led in Germany, and Meg had been quite surprised that Britain had its own Fascist party, led by a man called Oswald Mosley, who seemed to dislike the Jews as much as Hitler did.
She didn’t really want to think too much about it, and when talking to Nicholas she tried to steer any conversation away from the subject of war. But it seemed like it was all Nicholas wanted to talk about until one day she snapped, ‘Oh, go on, Nicholas, you can clap your hands with joy at the thought of another war because you will be safe as houses away at school while others fight your battles for you.’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ Nicholas said. ‘If we were to go to war, I would enlist as soon as I was old enough, sooner if they’d have me.’
‘And what about your studies?’
‘What
