a contribution towards the cost of her care.
As for offering to babysit, that hadn’t happened in the entire seven months since Sal’s death. Not that this troubled Cathie one bit, as she’d been far too sunk in grief to be interested in going anywhere. But things would need to change in the future, and she had every faith that Alex would support her, as well as provide her with the love she’d always longed for.
‘You haven’t even agreed to meet him yet, so how can you possibly judge?’ Cathie said, returning to their original difference of opinion as she placed two plates of corned beef hash on the table.
‘Men are men and not interested in babies. You are such an innocent. It’s long past time you grew up and entered the real world.’
‘I think the war ensured I did that, Mam,’ Cathie sharply responded. ‘I’m twenty-two, if you recall, no longer a child.’
‘So you are, and with a face on you like a line of wet washing. Stop sulking, girl.’
‘Actually, I’m feeling much better, really quite happy now that Alex is on his way home.’
‘Aye, well don’t be too naïve, or expect too much from that fella of yours. He’ll have his own plans for the future, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’m sure he will, but I’m entitled to my wishes too.’
‘Ooh, what an independent little madam you’ve turned into.’
‘That could be the result of the war too,’ Cathie said, thinking that she really hadn’t been given much choice in the matter with a young baby to care for, a useless mother and a living to earn.
After lifting Heather into her high chair and tucking a bib about the baby’s neck, she began to feed her the soft hash from her own little dish and let her mind drift away from her mother’s nagging. Despite her ignorance so far as baby care was concerned, the nine-month-old was doing well. She’d sat up at six months, and was now showing every sign of wanting to walk. Precious little Heather had been successfully weaned and was doing well with her eating, though she did have a tendency to fling her dish on to the floor if she didn’t care for whatever was on offer, or grew bored with the process. Today, she seemed to approve of the mush she was eating, which was a great relief. Feeding spoonfuls to the baby as she ate her own food, Cathie focused her thoughts upon her happy news.
The biggest worry she and Alex faced was where they would live when they did marry. The idea of moving in with her mother as newly-weds was too dreadful to contemplate, even supposing Rona would agree to such an idea. Cathie had already made a few enquiries about finding a house to rent, so far with no luck. So many homes had been destroyed by the bombing that they were in very short supply. ‘Homes for Heroes’ they’d been promised by the government, but there was little sign of any so far, apart from a few prefabs. She could but hope something would turn up soon.
Everything would work out just fine, she was sure of it. Father Christmas was about to deliver the best present possible by sending Alex home to her. Now she would give her fiancé the best present she had to offer, her love forever, and a beautiful ready-made family to start their wonderful life together.
The next day being a Saturday, Cathie set off early to Campfield Market, intent upon making a start on her preparations for Christmas. Most of their food was purchased from the local Co-op where she could benefit from an annual dividend and other special offers. At Christmas they would allow customers a little extra sugar, butter and a tin of condensed milk. But she still loved to visit the market for bargains.
Cathie had carefully written out a list, which included little gifts to put in crackers and some sticky strips to make paper chains. She already had a box of Christmas tree baubles and ornaments that she and Sal had collected over the years, many of them home-made. Later, Cathie meant to buy a small tree, which she would decorate. Right now she must find the right ingredients to start cooking. Dried fruit for mincemeat and a Christmas cake, dried egg, prunes or dried apricots, spices and vanilla essence to make everything taste good, and ground rice for some mock marzipan. Hopefully there’d be an end to rationing soon, but while it continued, this would not be an easy task; so the sooner she started searching, the better.
The food shops and stalls were mainly in the top section between Tonman Street and Liverpool Road, and that was where she headed first. A brisk wind made her tighten the scarf about her neck, sending scraps of grubby paper bags and rotting cabbage leaves flying everywhere. But the baby was tucked up safe and warm in her pram with the hood up and the apron clipped in place over the blankets.
Cathie decided she would try ordering a goose from one of the butchers, although sometimes it was better to come to the market late, just before it closed as prices were cheaper then. The problem with that was there might not be anything left, and Cathie really had no wish to make do with another mock goose comprised mainly of lentils and onions. If this was to be the best Christmas ever, to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, genuine poultry was essential.
Cathie loved exploring the market, with its huge iron girders arching across the roof beneath a range of dusty windows, the supporting pillars beautifully decorated with red roses in patriotic honour of Lancashire. She would lovingly stroke a hand over one as she passed by, as if to bring herself luck, something she still felt in need of despite the war being over. Outdoor stalls jostled for space from here on Tonman Street right across to Deansgate, many of them piled high with second-hand goods, as anything new and cheap was quite rare with rationing still in place.
As always the market was heaving with people: harassed mothers scolding their children for wandering off, old men in flat caps and mufflers huddled together by the hot baked potato cart, no doubt busily putting the world to rights. Perhaps discussing how the General Election in July had brought a Labour landslide with Clement Attlee now Prime Minister in place of Churchill. The terrible bombs that had been dropped since on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the fact Britain was pretty well stony broke.
Nevertheless, morale remained high, despite the threat of austerity and restrictions growing ever tighter as young men returned from the war. It was true that ex-servicemen were not always in one piece, or a happy state of mind, often damaged either physically or mentally. But families were delighted to see their loved ones safely home.
Cathie could barely wait to see Alex again.
She studied various grocery, vegetable and biscuit stalls, happily pausing to watch a man in a bowler hat cleverly juggling pots, pans and plates, appearing to let one fall then easily catching it in order to gain people’s attention. ‘I’m not asking five shillings. I’m not asking one shilling. I’m not even asking sixpence. A threepenny bit and this beautiful plate is yours,’ he shouted to the large crowd gathered about his stall.
Smiling at his showmanship, Cathie queued at her favourite butcher’s stall, where she was a regular customer, and bought a few sausages for tea. He gladly took her order for a goose, offering to give it priority once he heard that her fiancé was returning from the war.
‘Can’t promise it’ll be big, mind, but I’ll do my best, and let you know if I don’t find one.’
Thanking him, Cathie moved on to the Maypole Dairy, which sold margarine, butter, cheese and bacon, also nuts and dried fruit. Checking her purse, she made a mental note to choose with care, as she certainly couldn’t afford to buy everything at once. But after careful browsing, and a very helpful shop assistant, Cathie purchased the necessary ingredients to at
