A Girl Called Hope Read online

  A Girl Called Hope

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  A Girl Called Hope

  Grace Thompson

  One

  Hope Murton pushed the pram closer to the front door of Badgers Brook, the house that stood just off the lane close to the wood. It had been a long walk, but she had wanted to bring Davy in his pram rather than take the bus, so she could get the feel of the area in which she and Ralph and their two-year-old son were going to live.

  She had seen the house twice; once with Ralph and once with Ralph and his mother, Marjorie Williamson-Murton, a hyphenated name on which Marjorie insisted, but which Ralph and she had refused to perpetuate. This time, having arranged to meet the owner, Hope wanted to explore the place with only Davy for company. Without the others’ opinions and queries and, in Marjorie’s case, doubts, she knew she would begin to think of it as home.

  She and Ralph had married very young. They had both been only twenty and since then they had lived with Ralph’s parents in the modest house which had attracted the socially ambitious Marjorie by its name, Ty Mawr – the big house – standing, as it did, close to bungalows and a couple of Victorian terraces near the shopping centre of Cwm Derw.

  The three years sharing a house with her mother-in-law hadn’t been easy, especially after Ralph was called up. Their only private place had been the bedroom. Although even there they weren’t safe from Marjorie bursting in to demand something or another. Living ‘through and through’ it was called locally, and Hope longed to leave.

  Marjorie didn’t approve of the quiet, shy young girl her son had married and she never tired of reminding Hope of how fortunate she had been to have been chosen by her son, who, she regularly insisted, could have chosen from the best the town could offer.

  At first Hope had been miserable, unable to cope with the strong and aggressive Marjorie, but when Ralph discovered the extent of his mother’s unpleasantness the misery vanished on the cloud of shared laughter. Ralph always turned a worrying situation into an excuse for laughter, although sometimes Hope wished he would deal with things rather than trivialize them. Now, when the end was in sight, she thought he might have been right. By smiling, turning away from the slightest disagreement, they had managed three years without a serious confrontation. It was easy to be benevolent towards Marjorie now, when everything was about to be perfect. With the prospect of a home of their own where she could live without constant criticism, Hope looked forward to nothing but freedom and happiness, and laughter based solely on joy.

  A van came down the road and, as it slowed, Hope looked expectantly towards the driver. Parking the hardware delivery van on the wide grass verge Geoff Tanner stepped out, and hurried towards her.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Mrs Murton. I had a customer at the last moment.’ He held up the key then opened the door. Taking hold of the pram, he said, ‘Let me lift young Niblo inside, then I’ll leave you for half an hour so you can do any measuring you need to do. I hope you like the improvements but if there are any questions you want to ask me, write them on this.’ He handed her a notebook and pencil. ‘See you in a while.’

  There were a couple of information leaflets on the large scrub-top table in the kitchen. They referred to a new bathroom, with a geyser and a lavatory and even a washbasin with a single cold tap.

  Davy was sleeping, rosy cheeked and content. After making sure the door was shut and no one could walk in and frighten him, she ran excitedly to see the house’s latest acquisition. In what had been described as a fifth bedroom, but was in fact hardly more than a box room, was a newly installed bath. The walls had been stripped of flowery wall paper and washed with white paint. A large bath on metal legs stood on the bare wooden boards. Perfect. She was longing to try her hand at decorating.

  Everywhere was clean, and apart from wallpapering and painting, which she and Ralph would surely enjoy, there was nothing to do before they moved in. If only Ralph’s mother would share their happiness instead of warning her that moving him away from the house he’d always called home was a huge mistake.

  She could hear Davy moving and guessed he was about to wake up. She quickly measured the windows, relieved to find that the wires were there ready to hang curtains. Friends had been generous and given her some, so the money they had saved could be spent on more extravagant things, like furnishings for Davy’s bedroom. Second hand of course, but good quality.

  It was time to leave. The November darkness was creeping into the house, yet she didn’t feel the expected chill. When she went to attend to Davy, he was warm and apparently content. She went to the door with him in her arms and looked out for the van returning. There was no sign of Geoff, so she tried to put Davy down on the floor so he could spend a little time exploring, but he hadn’t quite shaken off sleep and he clung to her, head resting on her shoulder, his warmth and tightly clinging arms a delight.

  The kitchen faced the lane, the direction from which people approached the house, and leading off a large hallway on the other side was a small breakfast room and a store cupboard. The front of the house was where the dining room and lounge faced the garden, which, as she walked around, carrying Davy, she saw had been well maintained since the departure of the previous tenants, Ivor and Marie Masters and their children. There was a greenhouse built from what looked like a collection of windows taken from various houses. Fruit trees and bushes filled an area and small plots had been roughly dug over for the frosts of winter to do their work.

  Returning to the house, sleep was put aside and Davy trotted from room to room, Hope following. He climbed the stairs on his sturdy legs, chattering about everything he saw, Hope walking behind him and laughing at his enthusiasm. She scooped Davy up as she heard the door open and called down, ‘We’re coming, Mr Tanner, Davy is just deciding which room will be his.’

  She opened the door and saw not Geoff Tanner, her soon-to-be landlord, but a man of about thirty, wearing a battered trilby and heavy country-style clothes. His eyes were bright blue and creased with a smile in his weathered face.

  ‘Sorry I am to interrupt you, but I wondered if you’d like me to call each week with a vegetable order?’ He held out a hand. ‘Peter Bevan’s the name. I usually call on Saturday mornings, but any day to suit, really.’ He winked at Davy, who buried his head in Hope’s shoulder. Not discouraged, Peter asked his name then he tapped the child’s shoulder, saying ‘When you’re settled in, young Davy, you must come and meet Jason. He’s my horse,’ he explained to Hope.

  Hope agreed to give an order to be delivered each Saturday morning, and Peter left, still trying to coax a smile out of Davy. He was almost at the gate before Davy called, ‘Bye-bye, man,’ to their amusement.

  They were halfway up the stairs when there was another knock at the door, again Hope called, ‘All right, Mr Tanner, we’re coming.’

  ‘Not Geoff Tanner,’ a loved voice teased. ‘You’ll have to make do with me.’

  ‘Ralph! Look, Davy, it’s your daddy!’ Ralph ran up the stairs to meet them and they hugged as though their parting had been days instead of hours.

  They walked from room to room, looking out of the windows at the garden, and the trees edging the lane. The narrow roadway with green verges on either side was invisible, making the trees lining it appear to be a part of the extensive
woodland on the opposite side.

  ‘Badgers live in the wood.’ Ralph told her. ‘The stream giving the house its name is where they cross on their nightly foraging. The wood is so close to the house it’s almost like living among its trees and sharing their home, isn’t it?’

  ‘We’ll be so happy here,’ she said.

  Geoff appeared a few minutes later and smiled at their excited faces. ‘No need to ask if you’re still happy about renting Badgers Brook.’ he said. ‘You look as though it’s woven its magic around you already.’

  ‘Magic?’ Hope queried.

  ‘People say there’s a special atmosphere in Badgers Brook that calms people, helps them to sort out their difficulties, that tenants come with problems or even despair, and leave having found peace.’

  ‘We’ll be the exceptions, we’ll bring our peace and happiness with us,’ Hope replied with assurance, hugging Ralph and Davy. ‘It’s going to be absolutely perfect.’

  They discussed the few remaining queries, Geoff explaining the workings of the geyser and the water pump in the kitchen, and the gas lighting, and when their conversation widened Hope admitted that she wanted to change the colour of the kitchen walls from a dull beige to something more cheerful.

  Geoff sold paint in his shop and he ran to the van and collected a colour chart. Hope looked at the colours on offer and pointed to a bright sunshine yellow.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, showing it to her husband.

  Ralph nodded agreement but added doubtfully, ‘I think Mum will find it a bit bold, though,’ which only confirmed her opinion that it was a good choice. As they walked home, pushing Davy in his pram, neither Hope nor Ralph could imagine a single cloud on their horizon.

  Geoff watched them go. There was a local superstition that everyone who lived in that house moved in with a burden of unhappiness and left at peace with themselves. But there didn’t seem to be anything threatening this family’s happiness. He shrugged. Superstitions were for bored old women. It was a happy house in a beautiful setting, nothing more.

  Although if the superstitions were true he might do worse than live there himself. He was happy enough, but when he saw young families like Ralph and Hope Murton and their son, a melancholy overcame him, a wistful dream of what might have been, if he hadn’t stayed with his father and been a dutiful son after he was widowed at the beginning of the war.

  After the years fighting in Hitler’s war, he had been anxious to move away, find some new way of earning his living, perhaps go to college and pick up an interest he’d had in history, even become a teacher. But his father had almost run the hardware shop’s business into the ground over the years he’d been away, and he had stayed, for a while that grew longer and longer until it seemed impossible to leave.

  Now his father was dead and he was thirty-five and locked into a life he hadn’t chosen without the energy or enthusiasm to try something different.

  *

  Hope and Ralph hurried home through the lanes and narrow streets of Cwm Derw, talking excitedly about their plans for when they were living in Badgers Brook.

  As they passed the Ship and Compass, they saw Freddy, Ralph’s father. ‘I wonder what he’s doing there?’ Hope queried. ‘It isn’t open yet and he's going in through the side door.’

  ‘Probably giving Betty Connors a hand with something. I believe he’s done some decorating for her, and he and a few others help with shifting heavy barrels and the like.’

  ‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’

  Ralph laughed. ‘I don’t think she knows, so don’t say a word. The truth is, Dad’s bored since he sold the business and retired. I think he’s glad of something to do. He’s done some work for Stella and Colin at the post office. He and Colin built a bathroom extending out from what was once a pantry. Very smart by all accounts. He’ll help us, too, if we need anything done.’

  ‘I wish your mother was more enthusiastic about our move,’ Hope said as they approached Ty Mawr. ‘I’d have thought she would be pleased to see you starting out, making a home of your own.’

  ‘She lost my two brothers, remember. I’m all she’s got left.’

  ‘That’s not really true, Ralph, love. Sadly, Richard is dead, but Phillip is alive. He isn’t lost, he simply left Cwm Derw and doesn’t bother to keep in touch.’

  ‘You’re right, darling, but Mum doesn’t see it that way. Apart from a forty-eight-hour visit when Phillip was demobbed in 1945, she hasn’t seen him. His letters are few and as brief as possible. She considers both Richard and Phillip her lost sons. So I’m all she’s got.’

  ‘Apart from your father. And little Davy and me,’ she reminded him gently. ‘We’re her family too.’

  ‘And she knows how lucky she is to have you.’ He tightened his arm around her waist and touched her cheek with his lips. ‘But I think we’ll have to be extra kind to her after we leave home. Invite her often, ask her advice about things.’

  ‘What things?’ Hope tried to keep her voice light.

  ‘Well, she’s got such excellent taste and we could do worse than ask her advice about furnishings.’

  ‘But I have my own ideas, Ralph. Choosing what we like, that’s the fun of having a place of our own.’ She determinedly kept her tone uncritical, disguising the disappointment flowing over her like an icy waterfall.

  ‘In fact,’ Ralph went on as though she hadn’t spoken, ‘I think we’ll make sure to give her a key so she can call whenever she wants to.’

  ‘To walk in when she likes, as she does now? Or to check up on me, make sure the place is as clean and as well run she thinks it should be?’ It was no longer possible to hide her dismay.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Ralph gave a derisive laugh. ‘I know you’re teasing me. Mum is very thrilled about everything. She won’t want to interfere, but because she’s so lonely I want her to feel very much a part of our lives, don’t you?’

  She wanted to shout, ‘NO, I do not want to share what we have, Marjorie is demanding, possessive, greedy, she’ll take over everything, including the way I bring up Davy.’ But she knew the words must never be spoken. Ralph’s loyalty to his mother was understandable, and good. She would hope for such affection and love from her own son. She just wished Ralph would accept that his mother had too strong a need to run their lives. Why couldn’t Ralph see what his mother was doing? Was he saying the house would be Marjorie’s second home? To decide what they needed and how things ought to be done? That wasn’t what she wanted at all. She stopped, tucked a blanket unnecessarily around Davy as he sat in his pram, shouting at things he saw and pointing as another light came on in one of the houses they passed.

  ‘What is it, Hope, darling? Is something wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said sadly. ‘I suddenly feel very cold.’

  *

  Marjorie Williamson-Murton sat in the darkening kitchen, only the light from the hall revealing the table and the silent figure. Saving power was a constant governmental demand and no lights were lit unless absolutely necessary. She would turn the kitchen light on when the others arrived to eat. She glanced at the big clock in the hall and her fingers began tapping irritably on the old Welsh oak table.

  Once she had reigned there over her three boys and her husband as they had eaten their meals or argued about homework, her husband getting as heated as the boys when there was a problem. A smile touched her lips and she looked across the hall towards the lounge door, beyond which her husband Freddy sat for hours, between visits to friends or to the Ship and Compass, day after day, doing crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles or playing endless games of patience, and in between just staring out of the window at some memory that he was unable to share with her.

  Richard and Phillip had been called up but had survived until the last few months of the war without injury. Then, only weeks before Germany surrendered, a flying bomb had hit the building where they were staying and Richard had been killed. Soon after the funeral, Phillip came home and, instead of unpacking, he anno
unced that he was going to live in North Wales and become an artist.

  She kept telling herself this – chanting the train of events over and over, those few days that had ruined her dream of their returning to fill her home once again, to show how much she was needed – but sometimes it was impossible to believe. Even now, November 1947, more than two years later, it was still only a bad dream, a nightmare from which she would wake up to see them both walking towards the front door, demanding food and a bath, and clean clothes as they had a date with two fabulous girls.

  Voices disturbed her and for a fleeting second she imagined it was her boys, then reality struck and she was abrupt as she opened the door to Ralph and Hope and the baby. Ralph was laughing, and he had no right to be happy, not when she couldn’t feel anything but grief. ‘You’re late, I set the table for David half an hour ago,’ she said briskly. ‘He’ll have to make do with a boiled egg, as the meal I prepared has dried up.’

  ‘I promised him a few baked beans on toast, it’s his favourite.’ Hope said hesitantly.

  ‘What a meal to offer a child of David’s age! This isn’t a “Joe’s Café” you know. He’ll have a boiled egg. Then once he’s in bed we can start on supper. There’s a little of that boiled bacon left for Ralph and his father – if he gets home from his nightly visit to the Ship and Compass before it’s ruined. You and I can manage with the last of yesterday’s corned beef.’

  Hope turned to Ralph and mouthed, ‘I hate corned beef.’

  ‘I’ll sneak you some of my bacon,’ he whispered back. ‘When she isn’t looking, of course!’ His blue eyes were laughing as he nodded conspiratorially towards his mother. Hope smiled. Only a few more weeks and, within the confines of rationing, she would be able to choose what she put on the table.

  ‘Geoff Tanner thinks it will only be a week or so before we have the key and can move in,’ she said later as she was peeling potatoes beside Marjorie, who was washing and chopping cabbage.