would be her and George. Betty had often flirted with him and they had all taken it to be just a bit of fun, but now it seemed as though it had been more than that. Pregnant at sixteen, though; she wondered how Betty felt about that.
In an isolated place like Ashburn you became institutionalised and distant from the outside world. Now she realised that life beyond these rolling hills was moving on without her. It had to, of course. People didn’t stop living and progressing just because she was ill, and why should they take her into account when she wasn’t around? One thing was for sure, she had to end any romantic notions about George. He was going to be a married man. Even the thought seemed ludicrous, because he was still just a boy.
A less charitable side of May’s nature made her feel spiteful towards Betty for stealing the boy she had known May loved. They had told each other everything, so Betty had been very well aware of May’s feelings. Still, that was the stuff of childhood and May felt very grown up suddenly. Of course she wanted to stay friends with George and she would reply to his letter. But not now, not yet. She needed time for the pain to subside.
It was Sunday morning and George was standing at his father’s graveside in the autumn sunshine. He often came here when he was confused or miserable, both of which he felt overwhelmingly at the moment.
Whereas his mother was worried by the scandal of his predicament, his dad would have been more likely to understand. He wouldn’t have been pleased about George’s misdemeanour – in fact he would have given him a thorough trouncing – but he would have listened to what he had to say and somehow helped him through it man to man. As it was, George was living in a house full of women – three now that Betty had moved in – and had no one to talk to about his turmoil. His mates, while intrigued about the act that had led to his current situation, thought he should do a bunk rather than tie himself down at such a young age. Being extremely immature, they were of the view that he shouldn’t have sown his wild oats so close to home, but that as he had, he should disappear pronto.
Unfortunately, George didn’t have it in him to do such a cowardly thing, as much as he hated the situation he was in. He was sixteen and not ready for marriage to anyone, least of all Betty, who was even less mature than he was and to whom he had never felt even remotely drawn. All of this because of something he could barely remember and that had only happened because he was drunk. He was still reeling from the shock, having not seen Betty since the coronation party until she’d turned up at his door a couple of weeks ago to tell him that she was pregnant and her parents had disowned her.
He felt as though his life was over, which was probably a huge exaggeration, but things were certainly going to change with a wife and child to support. Fortunately his sister had left school and was working at a local greengrocer’s now, so that was one fewer financial burden, but he still had to help Mum out when he could. Betty had her job at Bright Brothers, but she would have to stop working after the wedding, as they didn’t employ married women.
He didn’t earn bad money at the factory, and there was often the chance of overtime. If he was desperate for cash, there was always bare-knuckle fighting to fall back on. It was a last resort but it paid well and he would do it if he had to, strictly on the quiet, of course, as it was illegal and dangerous. His father would turn in his grave if he knew he was even considering it. Dad had been a stickler for the straight and narrow, sadly as it happened, as it had brought about his early death.
As usual when he thought of his father’s demise, his murderer came into his mind with blinding fury. In his imagination he saw the inscription on Dad’s headstone. Murdered aged forty by Bill Bikerley, a thug and a bully. But no . . . he
In an isolated place like Ashburn you became institutionalised and distant from the outside world. Now she realised that life beyond these rolling hills was moving on without her. It had to, of course. People didn’t stop living and progressing just because she was ill, and why should they take her into account when she wasn’t around? One thing was for sure, she had to end any romantic notions about George. He was going to be a married man. Even the thought seemed ludicrous, because he was still just a boy.
A less charitable side of May’s nature made her feel spiteful towards Betty for stealing the boy she had known May loved. They had told each other everything, so Betty had been very well aware of May’s feelings. Still, that was the stuff of childhood and May felt very grown up suddenly. Of course she wanted to stay friends with George and she would reply to his letter. But not now, not yet. She needed time for the pain to subside.
It was Sunday morning and George was standing at his father’s graveside in the autumn sunshine. He often came here when he was confused or miserable, both of which he felt overwhelmingly at the moment.
Whereas his mother was worried by the scandal of his predicament, his dad would have been more likely to understand. He wouldn’t have been pleased about George’s misdemeanour – in fact he would have given him a thorough trouncing – but he would have listened to what he had to say and somehow helped him through it man to man. As it was, George was living in a house full of women – three now that Betty had moved in – and had no one to talk to about his turmoil. His mates, while intrigued about the act that had led to his current situation, thought he should do a bunk rather than tie himself down at such a young age. Being extremely immature, they were of the view that he shouldn’t have sown his wild oats so close to home, but that as he had, he should disappear pronto.
Unfortunately, George didn’t have it in him to do such a cowardly thing, as much as he hated the situation he was in. He was sixteen and not ready for marriage to anyone, least of all Betty, who was even less mature than he was and to whom he had never felt even remotely drawn. All of this because of something he could barely remember and that had only happened because he was drunk. He was still reeling from the shock, having not seen Betty since the coronation party until she’d turned up at his door a couple of weeks ago to tell him that she was pregnant and her parents had disowned her.
He felt as though his life was over, which was probably a huge exaggeration, but things were certainly going to change with a wife and child to support. Fortunately his sister had left school and was working at a local greengrocer’s now, so that was one fewer financial burden, but he still had to help Mum out when he could. Betty had her job at Bright Brothers, but she would have to stop working after the wedding, as they didn’t employ married women.
He didn’t earn bad money at the factory, and there was often the chance of overtime. If he was desperate for cash, there was always bare-knuckle fighting to fall back on. It was a last resort but it paid well and he would do it if he had to, strictly on the quiet, of course, as it was illegal and dangerous. His father would turn in his grave if he knew he was even considering it. Dad had been a stickler for the straight and narrow, sadly as it happened, as it had brought about his early death.
As usual when he thought of his father’s demise, his murderer came into his mind with blinding fury. In his imagination he saw the inscription on Dad’s headstone. Murdered aged forty by Bill Bikerley, a thug and a bully. But no . . . he
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