‘Me?’ said Jocelyn. ‘I’m invited?’
‘I believe so,’ said her father. ‘Matthew Henderson said Stephen and your girls, though I don’t think he was talking about Ruth. I expect you’ll get a proper invitation card soon enough.’
‘I say,’ said Jocelyn. ‘Does this mean I’m out ?’
Already coming out was becoming an old-fashioned concept – how much had changed since the War! – but Margot supposed people still did it. Of course, as a vicar’s daughter, Jocelyn wouldn’t have a coming-out ball like Marjorie Henderson had had. But it was still an occasion, one’s first grown-up ball as a young lady.
Her mother’s face fell.
‘Oh heavens,’ she said. Then, seeing Jocelyn’s expression. ‘Oh, Jos, I’m sorry. It’s just – well – if you’re coming out, I suppose the grey velvet really won’t do, and you’ll need proper shoes and – heavens, why can’t little girls stay children for ever?’
Margot looked at Jocelyn, whose face was a picture of horror. Swallowing, she said, ‘Jocelyn can have the blue taffeta if she wants.’
‘But what will you wear?’ said Jocelyn. The blue taffeta was beautiful, supposing it fitted. But Jocelyn should have something nice for her first ball.
‘I expect I’ve got something from my flapper days,’ Margot said, trying to remember her adolescent wardrobe. ‘The red, perhaps?’
Her mother said briskly, ‘I’m afraid the moths have rather gotten into the bodice. I wonder – shall we have a look in Glory Days?’
Glory Days was the chest where their mother kept her old ball-gowns and cloaks, the children’s outgrown party dresses and bits and pieces of material for rainy days. As children, Glory Days had always been like something out of a fairy tale.
‘There surely can’t be anything left in Glory Days now, can there?’ Margot said doubtfully.
‘Well – when Granny died there were some things we inherited,’ her mother said. ‘Nothing you could wear as it is, but perhaps we could alter them...’
Opening Glory Days was an event in itself. The chest lived on the landing which led to the servants’ quarters; their mother opened the lid, and they peered inside. Every dress and wrap had to be lifted out and considered, and everything had a story, which had to be told. Most were family legends.
‘That’s the dress you and Nana made me for Peggy Burrows’ tenth birthday – do you remember?’
‘I certainly do! And you spilled lemonade all down the front of it and I could have spanked you there and then – the trouble Nana and I took over it.’
‘Look! There’s the dress you wore to the dance where you met Daddy.’
‘So it is.’ Their mother looked at it fondly. ‘Heaven knows what I was thinking. I’m surprised your father looked twice at me.’
‘But he danced six dances with you and came round to call the next day. And Granny was horrified because he was only a poor curate, but you loved him anyway.’ The children knew the story off by heart.
‘Is this one of Granny’s dresses?’ It was black crepe de Chine, very long and fussy. Ruth dragged it out of Glory Days, staring. ‘Goodness! It’s ugly!’
‘Granny had that made when Queen Victoria died. Everyone wore black. You and Stephen had little black skirts, Margot, and black bonnets. Your father’s church warden had eleven children and he said to me, “Ma’am, I’m very sorry the Queen has died, but if she had to do it, I do wish it wasn’t just after Christmas when money is so tight.” Poor fellow! He wasn’t the only one who thought that, I’ll be bound.’
‘There’s a cloak as well.’ Margot held it up. It was black velvet, gloriously soft, and remarkably undamaged by moths. ‘Couldn’t we do something with this? Just something simple.’
‘You always did look well in black, with that hair.’ Their mother took the cloak and spread it out on the floor. She was a keen dressmaker. ‘It’s lovely quality, and there’s plenty of it. I couldn’t do anything before Christmas, mind.’
‘Naturally. I could help perhaps?’
‘Well... if you could...’ She got up suddenly, holding the black cloak against her. ‘Why don’t you have a look through my patterns and see if you can find anything you like? I dare say there’ll be something in there that we can make up in time.’
And for a moment, it was almost like being a girl again.
5 Watery Lane
Thwaite
North Yorkshire
20th December 1919
Hullo!
So lovely to see you today. (I said that already, didn’t I? Well it was.) And lovelier still to come home to your letter.
Please may I come around tomorrow afternoon? Would 2 o’clock suit?
Harry
The Vicarage
Church Lane
Thwaite
North Yorkshire
20th December 1919
Dear Harry,
It was very lovely to see you too. Many thanks again for all your help with James.
I’m afraid we’re not allowed to receive visitors on a Sunday. And I have to help Mother with a party on Monday morning. Would Monday afternoon suit?
Yours,
Margot
5 Watery Lane
Thwaite
North Yorkshire
20th December 1919
Monday afternoon it is! Tell your mother to expect me at 2 o’clock sharp.
I really am ever so pleased to see you again, you know.
Harry
Church-Going
Church on Sunday: James looking an absolute doll in grey knickerbockers and a little grey jacket. He was quite the sweetest child in the Sunday School. Ruth in a hideous green dress Margot had worn herself as a child.
All the Churchy Ladies twittering around her, ‘So lovely to see you back, dear. And so grown-up! Your dear father must be so proud.’
Tight smiles back. A self-deprecating, ‘Oh, well...’ and a quick change of subject.
The old church was absolutely freezing. Ice on the windows, and the congregation all in coats and hats and scarves. The roof-beams all decked out with holly and ivy, and the nativity laid out in front of the altar, the manger empty and waiting for the Christ child. As a little girl, Margot had always loved coming into church on Christmas morning, and seeing the baby in the manger. That was the moment when Christmas really began.
No Harry – he was a confirmed atheist, she knew, though he always used to come to the Christmas services – but his mother was there with the younger children. She was rather cold but very polite when Margot’s mother insisted they went to say hullo. (How had her mother managed to stay on speaking terms with them all this time? The English were incredible.) Yes, Harry was well and home for Christmas. Yes, he was going to study Agriculture. (Agriculture?) He’d worked on a farm out in Germany, and got the taste for it. His uncle had a dairy farm near York, so it was in the family. (Actually, she could picture Harry as a farmer. He was a hard worker, and he loved the outdoors. He’d be miserable cooped up inside.) Yes, it had been a worry, he’d had pneumonia very badly, but he was much better now. He’d had a hard time of it this last year. (This with a meaningful look at Margot.)