Freda Lightfoot - Home is Where the Heart Is

Were it not for having to care for the baby, she might never have found the will to carry on, or even get up in a morning. She’d needed to locate a nursery, of course, to look after the child during the day, as Cathie couldn’t afford to give up her job at the tyre factory down by the docks. She’d also queued at the Citizens Advice Bureau for hours, to ask them if she was entitled to extra clothing coupons for the baby. They’d agreed that she was, and had told her to ask for form CRSC/1. All such a fuss, but money was tight and Cathie had very little in the way of savings in the post office.

There was a tidy sum stashed away in an account left by dear Sally and her husband, but that was for their precious daughter when she grew up, not to be wasted on trivial bits and bobs now.

Breathing in the sweet scent of her as she cuddled the baby in her arms and kissed her soft cheek, Cathie murmured, ‘You were so loved by your mummy, and if Sal were still with us, she’d be celebrating Alex’s return along with me, despite having lost your lovely father. I promise that you will never feel unwanted, sweetie, even if there are only a few of us left. The war is over and it’s time for a fresh start.’

But how would her fiancé react to taking on someone else’s child? Did she even know Alex well enough to be certain? Of course he would, as he was such a kind, sweet man. As Cathie warmed some milk for the baby’s morning porridge, she kept glancing across at his letter, her heart radiating with hope and pride. She’d loved Alex Ryman from the moment she’d met him over three years ago, back in 1942.

One Saturday, as Sal’s husband Tony had been home on leave, they’d treated themselves to a night at the Palais. It wasn’t cheap, being ninepence a ticket, but it proved to be worth the expense when this gorgeous man had approached her to ask for a dance.

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You are so lovely with your long curly red hair, that smattering of freckles on your cute little nose, and the sweetest smile,’ he’d said.

Cathie remembered how she’d flushed with pleasure at the compliment, never for a moment having thought of herself in such terms. ‘Not strictly red, more a strawberry blonde,’ she corrected him, with a smile more shy than sweet, or so she thought.

‘Still beautiful, however you describe it, as are your hazel eyes. I’m not the greatest dancer in the world, but please would you do me the honour?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ and, taking his hand, she’d allowed him to lead her out on to the dance floor. She felt entranced by the fact that this tall handsome man, with his crop of short brown hair, chestnut brown eyes and square jutting chin, could be at all interested in her. His quiet conservative manner, and the respect he showed her, also proved him to be the perfect gentleman.

They danced almost every dance, the feel of his arms wrapped about her slender body, as if she were too precious to let go, filling her with joy. Was this how it felt to fall in love? Something she’d never experienced before. By the end of the evening, Cathie happily accepted an offer of a date, all too aware of a dazed longing in her eyes as she cast him a shy sideways glance from beneath her lashes. Could this be the man of her dreams? It most certainly felt like love at first sight for both of them.

After he returned to base, they’d exchanged letters almost daily. At that time he was stationed at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which before the war had been a holiday camp but was now used for army training. Barely able to put him from her mind, she’d gone out with him at every opportunity. Most wonderful of all, when he was granted a week’s leave before being sent overseas early in 1943 following weeks of training in Silloth, he’d presented her with a ring.

‘I wish I could afford to buy you something more splendid, but the thought of not seeing you again is devastating. I need to be sure that you’ll be here, waiting for me, when I return.’

‘Oh, I most certainly will,’ she’d assured him with love and pity in her heart, utterly thrilled and excited by his proposal.

Sadly, she hadn’t seen him since, or received quite as many letters as she would have liked, but then he’d been stationed in Egypt, and goodness knows where else. Now he was coming home at last, and she could hardly wait to become his wife.

Cathie’s new-found happiness was very slightly curtailed as she considered what his reaction might be to the fact that this little one now occupied a large place in her heart too. She certainly had every intention of keeping her, not least because she understood how it felt to be deprived of parental love. And she owed it to her sister. For little Heather’s sake, and to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, Cathie fully intended to push these concerns from her mind and make this the best Christmas ever.

‘It may only be October but Christmas will be here before you know it, which means I must start shopping and preparing right away, as rationing makes everything so difficult,’ she told her giggling niece, as she popped her safely back in her cot.

Oh, she really couldn’t wait to welcome Alex home, and to be in his arms again. He too had no doubt lost friends and loved ones, maybe suffered injuries in battles and campaigns he’d been involved in. So surely he would appreciate how necessary it was to move on and live with the consequences of whatever this dreadful war had thrown at them. Cathie was quite certain he would come to love her little niece as much as she did.

‘Never in a million years,’ said her mother later that day when Cathie showed Rona the letter and spoke of her intention to ask Alex to agree they adopt little Heather. ‘No man is willing to take on another chap’s child. Why would he agree to do such a thing?’

‘Because Alex is a lovely kind man. Why would he not?’ As so often when dealing with her mother, Cathie felt instantly irritated by Rona’s sarcasm and negative attitude. She had always been a dogmatic, stubborn person, obsessed with her own needs and busy social life, with little thought or care for those she was supposed to love. Even her show of grief had been entirely self-centred, worrying more about how she would cope without Sal’s help in the house, rather than any genuine sense of loss.

‘Who’ll do the washing and ironing now?’ she’d moaned. ‘Who will clean the house, mop the floors, make the beds, and keep the fire going? You’re not half as good at housework as our Sal was.’

‘Who cares about such things?’ Cathie had sobbed in her distress. ‘It’s losing my lovely sister that hurts, like a knife in my heart, not the loss of the work she used to do around the house.’ Sal had been like a mother to her, as well as an elder sister, something Rona never could be.

‘Well, someone has to do it, and I’m certainly not up to all that hard work any more,’ had been her mother’s sharp response, and still was to this day as she made herself comfy now in her chair by the fire. She began filing her already perfect nails as she patiently waited for Cathie to tell her when tea was ready. She was an attractive woman, despite being well into her forties, with her smoothly styled blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely oval face completely wrinkle-free, pencilled brows and red lipstick. She would even rub some of the lipstick on to her powdered cheeks. Not for a moment did it enter her lazy head that perhaps she should help, if only to lay the table, let alone peel the potatoes.

‘You could brew the tea,’ Cathie politely suggested, striving to keep her temper.

‘You’re the one standing by the stove, so why don’t you do it? And you’re the one with energy, being young, so be quick about it as I’m meeting Tommy at seven o’clock at the Pack Horse.’