Rosie James - Lexi’s War - A heart-warming wartime saga to bring hope and happiness in 2018

As the years had gone on, nothing had changed Cecilia’s opinion of her first-born who was rather small for her age, but whose long, golden, wavy hair surrounded a cherubic face and the brightest green eyes and longest lashes she’d ever seen, convincing Cecilia that she had given birth to an infant just as regal as any born to Edward and Alexandra.

Then, slowly, and in the quietness of the room alone with her thoughts, Cecilia put her hand to her mouth for a second.

What if Lexi, her darling Lexi, had never existed? What if she had never taken her first breath, nor uttered that first infant cry? What if something dreadful had occurred while Cecilia’s baby had still been in the womb? Things, bad things, frequently happened to the unborn, either from a deliberate act or through an act of God…..

Cecilia shook herself, annoyed at these dreadful thoughts. Lexi was here, alive and well, and as beautiful as she would always be.

In the other small bedroom, Cecilia slowly got undressed. It was surprising how quickly she and the children had got used to this new cottage which had two bedrooms. Before, she and Albert had had to make do with a small curtained-off space in the kitchen for their sleeping quarters. Not only that, but now there was a small sitting room downstairs as well as a kitchen and scullery. When they’d moved in last year the place had seemed as big as a mansion.

Cecilia made a face to herself. Albert hadn’t even seen the new place yet, knew nothing of the sudden notice to quit which all the tenants in their old rank had received from Mr McCann last year. Everyone had been given a month to find other accommodation, or to accept one of the new cottages which would be double the rent. A familiar well of anger rose in Cecilia’s throat. Landlords had the whip hand every time and there was nothing that could be done about it. No law existed that favoured tenants.

Still, Cecilia had to admit that the new cottages were a distinct improvement. The rooms were lighter and airier, the kitchen was bigger, the fireplace quite posh – and they even had a small gas stove now for cooking and heating water. In their old kitchen the fire had never been allowed to go out – well, they’d depended on it for all their needs – but it had made the little kitchen so comfortable. Lexi and Johnny had loved going out into the fields to collect twigs and bits of wood to keep the fire alive and to supplement the precious coal. There was no need now to keep a bucket of coal dust, purchased for a penny or two, to damp the fire down and keep the glowing embers alive.

But the best thing of all was that they now had a bath in the scullery, the water heated by a gas boiler, and next to that there was a lavatory – so much more comfortable and convenient than everyone having to wait their turn for the outside privy, like they used to. There’d usually been a small queue of women there, smoking, sharing a joke, often someone eaten out with anxiety that their time of the month had come and gone with no sign … exchanging advice about all their personal problems. Cecilia bit her lip as she thought back. Some of that camaraderie, that female support, seemed to have –disappeared – not that it mattered to her now, nor ever would again. Cecilia Martin had everything she needed.

One extra advantage of the move was that they were now closer to the school so Phoebe and, eventually, Joe could get there safely by themselves. The snag – and it was a big snag – was that increase in rent. Yet somehow, by accepting more night work at the laundry and doing as much private tailoring as she could fit in, Cecilia had been able to afford it. There’d been others in the row who hadn’t been so lucky and who’d had to cadge accommodation from friends or relatives until they could find something more permanent and more affordable.

As she got into bed Cecilia’s lips tightened. Mr McCann had no idea how the other half of the world lived, no idea at all. But she always kept quiet, and had never, ever, indulged in gossiping with others about their landlord. With most people, his name was mud. But he paid his employees well enough, and Cecilia often did housework at Grey Gables, not to mention answering Mr McCann’s incessant need for new waistcoats and smart jackets – which she created from scratch. And there seemed to be always something that he’d bought which needed altering. His wardrobe must be bulging with clothes.

Cecilia was pensive as she drifted off to sleep. The thing she was finding irritating was trying to persuade Lexi that supporting the family was not her problem, and certainly not a child’s responsibility. Cecilia, was well able to cope alone – she’d had plenty of practice, after all. But she had at last accepted that the little job Lexi had at the sweet shop seemed to suit her daughter, who’d never seemed happier – it was a very respectable job, after all. And the money Lexi earned did come in very handy, although Cecilia would only take a little of it. Cecilia half-smiled to herself. Lexi had such grand ambitions, was so determined to save money, to be someone, do something special one day. Yet what chance did people in their class have, to raise themselves above the norms of the time? No chance, none at all.

Cecilia turned over restlessly. The best thing that Lexi could do was to become a lady’s maid in a grand household, where you were paid a good salary and your bed and board were thrown in. And most of all, you were respected. It gave you status. Lexi would be just perfect at the job – she’d done well at school, she spoke well, she wrote well, and people seemed to like her. Yes, that was the thing, Cecilia decided. If Lexi became a lady’s personal maid she would one day live in a grand house with a very superior address, and never have to worry about finding a roof over her head.

But if and when the time came, Cecilia would warn Lexi to be very cautious in her choice of husband – should she ever want to get married. Little Princess Alexandra could never have guessed what had awaited her – and neither had Cecilia’s mother who’d married a man who’d beaten her and all her children without mercy. Which was why Cecilia had run away from home at the age of twelve with nothing but the clothes she’d stood up in and a little money she’d secretly stored. Then, going from place to place, she’d found work wherever she could get it; shops, hotels, scrubbing, cleaning, a maid of all work. But it hadn’t taken long for her talent with a needle to be recognized and soon she was repairing hotel pillow cases, worn sheets, tablecloths. It all helped her to stay alive with no questions asked of her and with no one ever trying to find her. People of her class were invisible and if they disappeared, no one cared or even noticed.

It was late, and Cecilia had only just managed to finally get to sleep when she was roused by a gentle tapping on the front door. She sat up quickly and waited. Who had visitors at this time of night? There it was again – three short taps, and she got up, reached for her dressing gown and went downstairs. Before she opened the door, she peeped cautiously through the window, then let out a gasp of surprise.

‘Albert’!

Cecilia opened the door and her husband came inside. He was carrying his holdall and a plump, white chicken, still warm, which he put down carefully on the floor. He was the first to break the few moments’ silence.

‘Well now, isn’t my lovely wife after going to give her man a hug, then?’ He put his arms around her but she averted her face so that their lips didn’t meet. ‘Sure, and you’re pleased to see me, aren’t you, Cissy?’

Albert Martin was a stocky, well-built, muscular man, his hugs like those of a bear, and however angry Cecilia often felt about her husband and his erratic lifestyle, there was still a place in her heart for him. He was the children’s father, after all, the man she’d fallen for the moment she’d drawn a pint of Guinness for him at the bar where they’d first seen each other. Those wicked Irish eyes, that irrepressible laugh, his conjuring tricks, his deftness with a pack of cards … and his harmonica that he played with expert ease to anyone who would listen. All the favourites, the sing-along tunes that automatically drew people around him in the bars or pubs, wherever he went. He had certainly drawn Cecilia to him more than sixteen years ago, and he hadn’t had to ask her twice to be his wife … She had instinctively known that he was a kind man who would never treat her brutally, and he never had. He’d never laid a finger on either her or the children.