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Authors: Rosie Goodwin
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You’ve got a good ’un there,’ she told Lois, who nodded tearfully in agreement, missing him more than words could say. Even so, she made an extra effort to help Briony with the dinner and tried her best to make the day special for the children. She even did the drying-up when the meal was over, although she refused to wash up because of her manicure, much to Mrs Brindley’s disgust.
On New Year’s Eve the neighbours gathered together in each other’s houses to welcome the New Year in, painfully aware that the women now far outnumbered the men, who were away fighting for their country.
Briony was grateful for an excuse to leave early, saying that the children were tired and needed to go to bed, because by eight o’clock it was more than obvious to everyone that Lois was drunk. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and there were two high spots of colour on her cheeks. On top of that she appeared to be having trouble walking a straight line from one house to another. In each home they visited, she accepted whatever drink was on offer.
‘Right Mum, shall we be off then?’ Briony suggested tactfully in the Douglases’ home. ‘The children are tired and ready for bed.’
‘You get them home for me, there’sh a good girl,’ Lois slurred, waving her hand distractedly as she took another gulp of the strong ale that old Mr Douglas had brewed himself. It was potent stuff and Briony was mortified to see her mother getting more sozzled by the minute.
Seeing Briony’s distress, the kindly neighbour chimed in tactfully, ‘I reckon young Briony is right, duck. Little Sarah is dead on her feet. An’ look at your Alfie – he’s yawnin’ his head off, bless ’im. Come on, gel. I’ll carry him an’ you can show me what room yer want him in, eh? I reckon he’ll be fast asleep afore we even get him home.’
Seeing no way to refuse, Lois rose reluctantly as Briony flashed him a grateful smile, and soon they were heading for home with Alfie tucked up nice and cosy in Mr Douglas’s warm coat and Sarah leaning heavily into her side.
‘Thanks, Mr Douglas,’ Briony said when they reached their front door.
‘No trouble at all,’ he smiled, passing Alfie into her arms as Lois staggered through the door ahead of them. ‘Happy New Year to you.’ And Mr Douglas disappeared off into the foggy night whilst Briony carried Alfie inside, wondering what the New Year had in store for them all.
Chapter Six
In January 1940, temperatures dropped well below zero. To even step outside was like venturing onto a skating rink on the icy pavements, and people were further depressed when food rationing came into force. Everyone was issued with a ration book and they had to register at their local grocer, baker and butcher and queue to get their allowances, which were pitifully small. Even then, many found that the food had run out before they got their turn and tempers became frayed.
‘They ain’t allowin’ us enough to keep a bird alive,’ Mrs Brindley complained bitterly. She had always prided herself on keeping a good table and was struggling to eke out her allowances. ‘God alone knows what my Clal would say if he was at home. I reckon there won’t be a blade o’ grass to be seen when the weather picks up. Everyone will be growin’ veg in their gardens, but there’s only so much yer can do wi’ vegetables an’ salad stuff. We’ll all turn into a load o’ bloody rabbits at this rate. An’ the sugar ration is laughable! Why, my Clal likes at least three good spoonfuls o’ sugar in his tea. The bit they’re allowin’ each person wouldn’t last him more’n a day! An’ then there’s the bread, o’ course – huh! It tastes more like sawdust now – an’ whoever heard o’ grey bread?’
Whilst Briony sympathised, she couldn’t help but be amused at her kindly neighbour’s outburst.
‘Well, there isn’t a lot we can do about it,’ she pointed out sensibly. ‘We’re all in the same boat and we’ve just got
On New Year’s Eve the neighbours gathered together in each other’s houses to welcome the New Year in, painfully aware that the women now far outnumbered the men, who were away fighting for their country.
Briony was grateful for an excuse to leave early, saying that the children were tired and needed to go to bed, because by eight o’clock it was more than obvious to everyone that Lois was drunk. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and there were two high spots of colour on her cheeks. On top of that she appeared to be having trouble walking a straight line from one house to another. In each home they visited, she accepted whatever drink was on offer.
‘Right Mum, shall we be off then?’ Briony suggested tactfully in the Douglases’ home. ‘The children are tired and ready for bed.’
‘You get them home for me, there’sh a good girl,’ Lois slurred, waving her hand distractedly as she took another gulp of the strong ale that old Mr Douglas had brewed himself. It was potent stuff and Briony was mortified to see her mother getting more sozzled by the minute.
Seeing Briony’s distress, the kindly neighbour chimed in tactfully, ‘I reckon young Briony is right, duck. Little Sarah is dead on her feet. An’ look at your Alfie – he’s yawnin’ his head off, bless ’im. Come on, gel. I’ll carry him an’ you can show me what room yer want him in, eh? I reckon he’ll be fast asleep afore we even get him home.’
Seeing no way to refuse, Lois rose reluctantly as Briony flashed him a grateful smile, and soon they were heading for home with Alfie tucked up nice and cosy in Mr Douglas’s warm coat and Sarah leaning heavily into her side.
‘Thanks, Mr Douglas,’ Briony said when they reached their front door.
‘No trouble at all,’ he smiled, passing Alfie into her arms as Lois staggered through the door ahead of them. ‘Happy New Year to you.’ And Mr Douglas disappeared off into the foggy night whilst Briony carried Alfie inside, wondering what the New Year had in store for them all.
Chapter Six
In January 1940, temperatures dropped well below zero. To even step outside was like venturing onto a skating rink on the icy pavements, and people were further depressed when food rationing came into force. Everyone was issued with a ration book and they had to register at their local grocer, baker and butcher and queue to get their allowances, which were pitifully small. Even then, many found that the food had run out before they got their turn and tempers became frayed.
‘They ain’t allowin’ us enough to keep a bird alive,’ Mrs Brindley complained bitterly. She had always prided herself on keeping a good table and was struggling to eke out her allowances. ‘God alone knows what my Clal would say if he was at home. I reckon there won’t be a blade o’ grass to be seen when the weather picks up. Everyone will be growin’ veg in their gardens, but there’s only so much yer can do wi’ vegetables an’ salad stuff. We’ll all turn into a load o’ bloody rabbits at this rate. An’ the sugar ration is laughable! Why, my Clal likes at least three good spoonfuls o’ sugar in his tea. The bit they’re allowin’ each person wouldn’t last him more’n a day! An’ then there’s the bread, o’ course – huh! It tastes more like sawdust now – an’ whoever heard o’ grey bread?’
Whilst Briony sympathised, she couldn’t help but be amused at her kindly neighbour’s outburst.
‘Well, there isn’t a lot we can do about it,’ she pointed out sensibly. ‘We’re all in the same boat and we’ve just got
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