Polly's War Read Online Free PDF Page A

problems, worrying about her children, about Tom and how it would be for them after a married life spent mainly apart. She even found herself anxiously going over Polly’s business plans. All wishful thinking, in Lucy’s opinion. Once, Polly Pride Carpets had been busy and prosperous, had made them enough money to escape the mean streets of Ancoats and move them up in the world to a smart new house in Cheetham, but since the outbreak of war nobody had wanted carpets, even if such an item could be found, and the family had been forced to move again, to a more modest house in Castlefield for all it was better than many in Pansy Street, where Charlie could get work on the wharfs and the womenfolk too.
    They’d got by well enough but starting up the business again would need capital as well as will power, and more hard work than perhaps her mother realised. Polly no longer had the youth or the energy she’d once enjoyed in abundance. Not that Lucy would mind having a go herself, given the chance.
    As for Benny, his mother’s pride and joy, perhaps he was no longer the biddable boy Polly fondly remembered. He’d always been streetwise, good at living by his wits as they all had once, yet also ambitious and filled with unrealistic dreams. Lucy wondered what these would be now, after six years of war.
    Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet, then Sean was beside her, face scarlet with excitement. ‘There’s someone outside. I’m only allowed to say it’s a soldier Mam, and he’s asking for you.’
    Lucy froze, then made a dash for the door, knocking a plate of fairy cakes to the floor as she ran, hardly noticing as she trampled over these fatless sponge treats. The soldier striding down the street towards her had light brown hair cut close to his bullet shaped head and eyes a familiar greeny-grey. Broad, almost stockily built with powerful shoulders and a ramrod back he did not carry a kit bag. The children gathered about him were carrying it for him. But he did swing Sarah Jane high on his shoulder and caught a giggling Sean as the little boy leapt into his arms.
    Joy warred with disappointment as her pounding heart slowed to normal, this being her brother Benny, miraculously materialised out of her thoughts and, pleased as she was to see him, he was not her lovely husband. Then Lucy became aware of an eery silence.
    Somewhere a blackbird trilled its piercingly sweet note, not even the sound of a tram or shunting train marring the suddenly silent street. Nothing but the squeak of the telegraph boy’s bike.
    Not a soul spoke as he rode slowly towards the group of women hovering about the tables. Hearts stopped, mouths went ash-dry, skipping ropes dropped to the ground as even the children were attuned to the implications of such a visit.
    He paused by one old man but only to ask a question, then the bike squeaked on as the boy struggled to pedal over the setts, carefully avoiding getting his wheels caught in the tramlines. Why didn’t he get off the damn thing and walk!
    Seconds later the waiting was over, the orange envelope was in her hands and Lucy knew, even before she opened it that Tom wouldn’t be coming home next week, or even next month. He wouldn’t be coming home at all.

    Locked in a state of disbelief, Lucy felt too numb to grieve, though a part of her was only too keenly aware that her world had fallen apart and nothing would ever be the same again. She hadn’t set eyes on Tom since before Sean was born when he was sent out to Italy and God-knows-where since, yet she should surely feel something other than this terrible sensation of resentment. To lose a husband at the end of the war seemed especially unfair somehow, as if war could ever be fair. She ached now to tell him all the things she’d never got the chance to say, to ask forgiveness for the quarrels they’d had, few as they were. She wished they’d made more of their marriage, that she’d been a perfect wife for