A wing and a prayer, p.13
A Wing and a Prayer, page 13
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Her mother came occasionally at the weekend to help Helen sort Alice’s belongings. Helen’s job at the estate agency, which she was enjoying very much, and her increasing social commitments meant that she had little spare time.
One Saturday afternoon as they were sorting out a kitchen cupboard Helen decided to find out if her mother knew any more about Alice than she had, so far, divulged.
‘Mum,’ she began, ‘who did Aunt Alice stay with when she came to Yorkshire? I mean the first time, when she had the baby.’
‘Oh, Helen, you’re not still worrying about all that, are you?’ said her mother. ‘Surely it’s best to try and forget about it? Aunt Alice had a love affair and she gave birth to a baby. We know all that, but it’s in the past. Isn’t it time we just let the past go?’
‘I’m not worrying about it, Mum, but I’m interested. I’m discovering a whole lot of things about Aunt Alice that I didn’t know, and I really feel that there are things she would like me to find out for myself.’
‘But surely, if she’d wanted you to know her story she would have told you about it? She was very fond of you, and you were closer to her than the rest of us were. That was why she left you her house, and you deserved it, love. You were very good to her.’
‘I liked her, Mum. I loved her, but she was a very private sort of person, and maybe she didn’t want to admit about the baby and everything. You told me what a disgrace it was in those days, but I feel she’s trying to tell me something now.’
Helen hadn’t told her mother about the photos of Jennifer and James and what she thought they might mean. She could be entirely wrong. But she had shown her the book of poems and how the page fell open at the one called ‘Remember Me’, as though it had had a special meaning for Alice.
Megan smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll go ferreting away until you find something out, but it’ll be amazing if you do. Are you thinking you might find out who the baby was, and where he or she is? But does it really matter now, after all this time, especially now Alice is no longer with us?’
‘I just feel it would be right to find out, if we can. She stayed with a relation, didn’t she? One of Great-Grandma Ada’s sisters, wasn’t it?’
‘Ada was my grandmother, and she’s long gone. It was her sister, Maggie, I believe, but she died a long time ago. She had a daughter; she was called Sally, and I think she was about the same age as Alice, so she could still be around. After all, your gran’s still hale and hearty at seventy-eight. That’s why it was such a shock when Aunt Alice died.’
‘Sally – she would be Alice’s cousin then, and Gran’s cousin as well. So she’s your second cousin, Mum? Or cousin once removed, is that what it’s called?’
Megan laughed. ‘Goodness me, Helen! I don’t know. We’ve lost touch with them all, but I have Sally’s address somewhere, if she’s still at the same place. She lived in Baildon, near Bradford.’
Relationships within families had always fascinated Helen. What relation was so-and-so to so-and-so? Cousin by marriage, or step-cousin, or what?
‘I think it’s a pity we’ve lost touch,’ she said. ‘I might have a whole lot of relations that I know nothing about. And I’m living in Yorkshire now, aren’t I? Maybe it’s time to do something about it.’
Megan laughed. ‘I know you won’t be satisfied until you’ve done some detective work. Proper little Miss Marple, you are! I’ll find Sally’s address when I get home. Sally Townsend, that was her name after she got married. I can’t remember what her husband was called. They had two children, a boy and a girl, then another boy a long time later, if I remember rightly.
‘Alice went back to live in Yorkshire in the early fifties, before you were born. It was all very mysterious. She lived in a couple of places before she settled in Thornbeck.’
‘Do you think she might have found something out about her child, Mum?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I have no idea, Helen. It was never talked about. My grandma, Ada, must have forgiven her to a certain extent, because we all used to go and visit her in Thornbeck. Well, you remember that, of course, don’t you? But it was a closed chapter until you decided to open it all up again.’
‘I’m only doing what I feel is right, Mum,’ said Helen, a trifle sharply.
‘Yes, I know that. But be careful, love. You never know what skeletons may lurk in cupboards. I shan’t tell your gran, of course, but I’ll let you have Sally’s address, and then it’s up to you.’
Megan didn’t really approve, but she sent her daughter the address in Baildon as she had promised. Helen wrote the letter, addressing the envelope to Mrs Sally Townsend. She was not sure what to call the lady, but she decided to be informal, so she started the letter:
Dear Sally,
You may not remember me. My name is Helen Burnside, and I am a distant relation of yours, third cousin or something, I’m not sure. But you will certainly remember Alice Fletcher who was my great-aunt and your cousin, I believe? I am sorry to tell you that Alice died earlier this year from a sudden heart attack, which was a great shock to us all.
Aunt Alice left her cottage in Thornbeck to me. We had become very close when I looked after her following her hip operation, but it was a great surprise to me when I found out. I am living in the cottage now because I decided to leave Blackpool and make a new start in Yorkshire. But I still see my parents and my grandma, your cousin Lizzie, quite often. I work at an estate agency in Pickering but I am free at the weekends.
I wonder if I could come over and see you one Saturday or Sunday, if it is convenient and agreeable to you? I said to Mum that it was a pity we had lost touch, and it is nice for me to think I have relations in Yorkshire, not too far away.
Hope to see you soon.
With best wishes,
Helen
She felt it was not appropriate to send love to this scarcely known aunt or cousin or whatever she was.
She did not know, of course, whether Sally was still at the same address, or even if she was still living. When ten days had passed and there had been no reply she was beginning to think that it might be a wild goose chase. Then, the next day there was an envelope with unfamiliar writing waiting on the doormat as she returned from work. She guessed, and hoped, that it might be from her relation, but she decided that she must wait a few minutes while she made a cup of tea first, as she always did, and opened a tin of meat for Trixie. The cat had followed her in and was rubbing round her legs, glad to see her home again.
A little while later she kicked off her shoes and sat down to read the letter, which was, as she had guessed, from Sally.
Dear Helen,
I was pleased to hear from you but sad to hear that Alice had passed away. We did keep in touch but not as much as we used to do. We were both getting older and neither of us was able to drive a car. Well, I did years ago, but I don’t see too well now.
I’m sorry I lost touch with my relations in Blackpool, so it’s nice to hear from you now. I have been away on a coach tour to Torquay with a friend so that is why I have only just replied to your letter.
Of course I would be delighted to see you. I remember you as a little girl but that was a long time ago. My husband died a few years ago and I live on my own now. No, I tell a lie, as they say. My younger son, Matthew, is staying with me at the moment while he looks for a place of his own. My other son and my daughter have married and have moved away so I don’t see them very often. I am on the phone, Matthew persuaded me that I should have one so you will be able to ring me which will be quicker than writing. I am getting used to it now but it seemed odd at first.
I will look forward to hearing from you and seeing you, very soon I hope.
With love and best wishes from Sally.
No time like the present, thought Helen when she had warmed up and eaten the meat and potato pie she had bought from the bakery in Pickering, and finished her meal with a banana. She rinsed the plate and cutlery, then rang the number at the top of the letter.
‘Hello,’ replied a rather anxious little voice. ‘Sally Townsend here.’
‘Hello, Sally,’ said Helen. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you Sally. It’s Helen … I’ve just got your letter, and I’m so pleased to hear from you.’
‘So am I, love,’ said Sally in the broad Yorkshire accent that Helen was now so used to hearing, especially from the older people. ‘What a lovely surprise it was to get your letter. And of course you must call me Sally. You were a little girl the last time I saw you. Let’s see, how old are you now, Helen?’
‘I’m thirty-three, still single, or “on the shelf” as my gran might say.’ She laughed. ‘I’m very happy as I am, and I love living here in Yorkshire.’
‘Aye, it’s best to wait till Mister Right comes along. Your gran, that’s my cousin Lizzie, Alice’s older sister.’
‘Yes, Gran doesn’t know I’ve got in touch with you, but my mum does. My mum is Megan, you know, and she’s married to Arthur.’
‘Yes, of course I know. My goodness, it’s a long time ago … So when are you going to come and see me, love?’
They decided that Saturday would be the best day. Helen said that she sang in the church choir, and Sally said that she liked to attend morning service at her local church on Sunday morning. And so they agreed on the Saturday after next, which would be the second Saturday in the month of August.
‘Would you like to come for dinner?’ asked Sally, and Helen guessed she meant for the midday meal.
But Helen didn’t want to cause Sally a lot of work, not for a first visit. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to spend a lot of time washing up, do we? I’ll come early afternoon, it that’s OK, and have tea with you. I’m sure you’re a good cake-maker like my mum and my gran, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, I still make all my own cakes and pastries. So you’ll come around two o’clock, will you? Then we can have a good chat.’
‘Yes, that’ll be lovely. And it’s still quite light in the evenings, so I won’t need to rush back.’
‘Now mind you take care on them roads. It might be busy on a Saturday.’
‘Yes, I will; don’t worry. See you a week on Saturday then, Sally. Bye for now …’
Helen guessed it would take her two hours or so to reach Baildon. She was not very sure of the route but she had a good map, so on the appointed day, after a quick snack lunch she set off around midday. She was a competent driver, not afraid of going at a good speed if the roads were clear. She took her usual route, as she did each day, to Pickering, then across to Helmsley and Thirsk, and over the moors to what was once known as the West Riding but was now called West Yorkshire.
She didn’t remember the village of Baildon although she knew she might have been there before, a long time ago. Sally had given her clear instructions and she soon found the terraced house, just off the main street.
She could tell at a glance that Sally was house proud. The window frames and the door were a glossy green as though they were recently painted, the curtains were a dazzling white and the small patch of grass and the rose bushes were well-tended. Helen parked her car and walked up the short path. The door opened before she had time to knock, and she guessed that Sally had been looking out for her.
She did not appear to be an elderly lady despite her seventy-odd years. Helen could see a certain family resemblance to her gran, Lizzie, in the shrewd blue-grey eyes behind her spectacles and her plumpish cheeks, but she seemed to be much more modern in appearance than Lizzie. Her dark hair showed only a hint of grey and was nicely permed, and she was dressed in casual trousers and a flowered top. She put her arms round Helen and kissed her upon both cheeks.
‘How nice to see you again, Helen, love. I can’t say I would have recognized you, it’s been so long, but I can see a likeness to your mum, what I remember of her. Did you have a good journey?’
‘Yes, no problems. I found my way without any trouble and the roads were not too busy.’
‘Well, come in and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
How often Helen had heard those words, the usual northern welcome. She followed Sally along the short hallway to the room at the back of the house, which was deceptively large. This was obviously the living room, and Helen supposed there would be a smaller room at the front – a lounge or sitting room.
‘Now then, sit down and make yerself at home,’ said Sally. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Not too hot, though. Just right for driving.’ Helen took off her cardigan and sat down in one of the two easy chairs at the fireside, although there was, of course, no fire.
‘Now, I’ll just mash the tea. No, I can manage on my own,’ said Sally as Helen made a move to stand up. ‘To be honest there’s hardly room for more than one in my poky little kitchen.’
Helen looked round the cosy room as Sally disappeared, and noticed that the house was centrally heated. She had the impression that Sally was quite ‘comfortably off’ as her gran might say. There was a drop-leaf dining table covered with a red chenille cloth beneath the window, and two dining chairs stood nearby. The large mirror-backed dark oak sideboard held the usual family paraphernalia: a fruit bowl, framed photographs, a bulging letter rack, a couple of library books, a dish holding keys and loose change, and a figurine of a lady in a crinoline.
Sally returned with two mugs of tea, a sugar basin and a plate of biscuits.
‘You don’t mind mugs, do you?’ she said. ‘Saves washing up. We’ll have the best china at teatime. You’ll be able to meet Matthew then. It’s cricket season and he’s gone off to Leeds, but he said he’d be back for tea. He’s looking forward to meeting a relation he knew nothing about.’
Helen laughed. ‘I hope he won’t be disappointed then.’ She also knew nothing about this distant cousin.
‘No, love, he’ll be pleased to see you, I’m sure of that … Now, tell me all the news from Blackpool.’ Sally leaned forward in her chair.
‘It’s a real shame we’ve all lost touch like we have, but there it is. We’ve been busy getting on with our own lives.’
Helen told her that her gran, Lizzie, was quite fit and well, and didn’t seem to mind living on her own. Her mum, Megan, was busy at her market stall, and her dad, Arthur, was still contented teaching at a local secondary school.
‘And you had a brother, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, Peter, he works at a bank in Skipton, so I’m nearer to him now. They have two children …’
‘It was a shock to hear about Alice,’ Sally said after a while. ‘I was really upset about that, though, like I said, we’d not been in touch for ages.’
‘Yes, it was a tremendous shock to us as well,’ said Helen. ‘We had no idea she had a bad heart; there had been no sign of it. I think I may have felt it more than my mum and gran because I’d been very close to Aunt Alice. She had a hip replacement a couple of years ago, and I went to stay with her while she recuperated. I came to know her quite well, and since she died … I’ve learned a great deal more about her.’
Helen knew she must tread carefully now. She did not want Sally to think she had looked her up just so that she could find out more about Alice’s stay in Baildon, but she was pleased that Alice had been brought into the conversation.
Sally nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I got to know her quite well when she came to stay with my mam and dad during the war …’ She hesitated. ‘You know about that, I suppose?’
‘Yes, I do now,’ said Helen, ‘but it’s only since she died that I’ve been told about it. My mum has told me something of what she remembers, but she was only a child at the time and my gran is still very tight-lipped about it all.’
‘Yes, I felt sorry for poor Alice,’ said Sally. ‘Her mother had more or less disowned her and packed her off to Yorkshire until it was all over. My parents were very kind to her and we became good friends, Alice and me. I’d been in the same boat meself, you see.’ Sally gave a little laugh. ‘Our Charlie came on the scene a bit too early, but then, of course, we got married. No such happy ending for poor Alice. It was while she was living with me mam and dad, not long before the baby was born, that she found out the young man was dead.’
‘Oh … how awful! How did she find out?’
‘She had his parents’ address; he lived in Malton, so she wrote to find out why she hadn’t heard from him for quite a while. She didn’t say she was pregnant, y’know, just that she’d been friendly with Tony … I remember he was called Tony. Anyroad, his mother wrote her a nice letter and it was what Alice had thought all along. He’d gone on a bombing raid and never returned.’
‘Yes … I guessed so,’ said Helen quietly. ‘I found a box of mementoes in her bottom drawer; letters and souvenirs and a photo of the young man. So I put two and two together and I asked Mum about it. She told me what she knew, which wasn’t very much, and it was all very hush hush, I believe.’
‘Aye, it was in them days. It’s different now. Poor Alice! She really did love him, you know.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she did, but she never mentioned it; not a word or a hint. I knew very little about her when I was a child. She’d gone back to live in Yorkshire before I was born. I don’t know where she lived at first, but I seem to remember that she moved to Thornbeck when I was in my teens; fifteen or sixteen, I think. By that time my great-grandma Ada had died and I suppose Alice was no longer regarded as the black sheep of the family. I’d gathered – by eavesdropping on the conversations of the grown-ups – that Ada had done what was right in the end and left her money to be shared equally between her two daughters, my grandma Lizzie and Aunt Alice.’
‘Aye, I dare say that was what made it possible for Alice to buy that little cottage in Thornbeck. I never went to see her there, more’s the pity. I wish I had done now. I knew she’d moved. We sent Christmas cards and the odd letter. What a shame it all was! I do hope she was happy and that she found what she was looking for.’
