Christmas Day Morning 1936

Margaret would have liked to have spent the whole of Christmas Day in her own home, then go and visit Nan on Boxing Day, before going to see her own parents later on.

As usual, Gordon was caught between the two strong-willed women's points of view. His mother wanted them to spend the whole day with her and Henry, Gordon's step-father.

Gordon came up with a just-about-acceptable compromise. They would have Christmas Dinner at Nan's and then transfer to Edward Street for tea. All of Boxing Day would be spent at Torrisholme with Granddad and Grandma Davies.

Michael was nearly four years old now, and well aware of what Christmas might mean. It was, along with his birthday, an opportunity to have big presents. Last year, he and his friend, Rob, had had their scooters, which they'd put to good use, pushing and riding them up and down the street when they played out. They liked racing each other. They enjoyed pretending they were aeroplanes or racing cars.

For months, Michael had been persuading his mother to let him look in the toy-shop windows when they went up-town shopping. He'd eyed-up everything there and decided he wanted a model train for Christmas. He was fascinated by trains. There were seven railway stations and three railway lines within a few miles of where he lived and his Dad or Granddad Henry had taken him on walks to see all of them, apart from the one at Heysham Harbour.

When he went with his mother to Cuthbert's chemist' shop, on the corner of North Road, he could see Green Ayre Station. He could hear engines and caught glimpses of steam trains all over town.

From near the Castle, where his Dad sometimes took him for a walk, you could see main line trains going over Carlisle Bridge and electric trains going underneath it to Morecambe. His Dad bought them a penny platform ticket each, one Sunday morning, and they explored Lancaster Castle Station. When his Dad told him where the trains went to from all the different platforms, he found it enthralling.

Rob had had a Hornby train for his last birthday and that was what Michael was hoping for.

"Can I have a train for Christmas, Dad, one like Rob's ?"

"Wait and see our Michael. Christmas is a long way off. Wait and see." Waiting seemed endless.

Come Christmas Day, there it was: the best one out of the "Hornby Train Catalogue". It had never occurred to Michael it would be that one, the beautiful Riviera Blue. There was the long brown engine and tender and two cream and blue carriages. One was a dining car and the other had sleeping compartments. There was a junction, a signal and a workmen's model hut. The family were hard-up and it had cost Gordon half a week's wages..

Nothing was too good for his Michael. He insisted on buying it, despite Margaret's reminding him that they were supposed to be saving money for one of those new houses over Scale Hall. He got round her objections by saying that most of the money had come from his occasional winning bet on the horses.

He had lots of other presents and so did Gwyn. She had a big doll which opened and closed its eyes and said, "Mummy," when you leaned it forwards. That did make Gwyn laugh. Michael spent a little time showing her how it worked. But playing with the train was what he did from early morning until it was time to go to Nan's.

"Oh, Mam do I have to go? I want to play with my train."
"Hurry up and put your coat on, we're late as it is."
"I don't want to go."
"Pick him up Gordon. I'll carry Gwyn. It's not far."

The protesting Michael was carried as far as Dalton Square. Gwyn was laughing at him so he pulled faces at her. Then his Dad plonked him down and said, "Now, straighten your face and be nice to Nan. I expect she'll have something for you."

"Can't see the point of having a train if I can't play with it!"
"One more word about that train and I'll put it away for a week."

Michael recognised a certain tone of voice of his father's and knew that he meant it. So he shut up. Gwyn was still laughing at him.

When they got to Nan's, all trimmed up, nearly as good as theirs, there was a big welcome and a lot of fussing of the baby. Margaret managed to rescue her from Nan's clutches while Michael sat on his Granddad's knee, fiddling with his gold watch chain and the gold sovereign attached to it.

"Presents after dinner," said Nan. "I've still a lot to do." The smell of the roasting chicken was coming from the oven next to the fire, potatoes were boiling in a saucepan over the red coals, along with other vegetables.

"Smells like lovely grub!" said Dad. It used to annoy Margaret the way that Gordon went out of his way to praise his mother's cooking. "I'm as good a cook as her any day of the week," she thought. Presently Margaret handed the baby over to Gordon and she helped Nan by setting the table.

"Where's Frank?" she asked Nan.

"He'll be here in a minute. He's gone to meet his new girl-friend."

It was a big surprise for Gordon and Margaret when he did arrive, by taxi. Frank's new girl-friend was Joyce Jackson. Frank had been to Morecambe to collect her.

"He must be keen," thought Margaret, "going to all that expense."

She was pleased to see her because she had known Joyce all of her life. They had been good friends back in Wales where they were both brought up. There'd been a coldness between them when Margaret and Gordon had first started going steady, after Gordon packed Joyce in for Margaret, but that hadn't lasted long.

Michael liked Aunt Joyce, she was always laughing and she smelt of lipstick and perfume and scented soap; you could smell how nice she was when she picked you up and hugged you to her.

She lived at Morecambe and came to see Margaret sometimes on one of her afternoons off from the laundry, where she worked mornings ironing clothes, mainly from nearby boarding houses. The work made her back ache but she enjoyed the money, which her father let her keep all for herself.

She always seemed to be bursting with energy when she visited and it cheered Margaret up to see her. She swore a lot and what was usually absolutely forbidden she got away with in Margaret's house. All Margaret said to her was, "Shh! Keep your voice down Joyce! Not so loud in front of the children!"

Some evenings, especially in the season, she worked behind the bar in her father's pub. Her father, Glyn Jackson, was one of the very few Welsh exiles who had left Wales with much money in his pocket. No-one was sure exactly how his wealth had been acquired. It must have been a considerable sum because he'd bought quite a big pub, a free house, half-way down Queen Street, in Morecambe.

Joyce was the joy of his life. She looked just like the mother who had died giving birth to her. He spoiled her rotten.

When Joyce visited Edward Street, Michael would be playing, as usual, on the floor and over-hearing what the two women said.

It was, "Bloody this and Bloody that," as Aunty Joyce told her friend all about her most recent escapades, usually with visitors, staying at the pub for bed-and-breakfast.

Queen Street, known as Morecambe's 'Barbary Coast' could be very lively. Some visitors called Joyce 'The Queen Of The Barbary Coast'.

Every season, just before the war, Joyce ensured that some of her dad's visitors got very good value for their money, a lot more than they'd expected.

Both Margaret's and Joyce's families had fled the unbearably hard times in South Wales during miners' strikes of the Twenties and ended up in Lancaster and Morecambe in 1927.

Margaret was very fond of her friend and despite her behaviour, her heavy make-up, blonded hair, cigarette-smoking and swearing she always made her welcome. Not like some, who Margaret branded as 'Common'! and to whom she gave the 'Frost.' Michael's Dad, said Joyce got on his nerves. She visited the house only when he was at work.

When she arrived at Nan's, with his brother, Frank, for Christmas lunch, Gordon was far from happy. His early friendship with Joyce had been much more than a casual affair. He felt embarrassed seeing her again. She reminded him of what he'd got up to with her before he met Margaret. He knew that she sometimes visited his wife during the day, when he was at work, and he'd never discouraged it. But he did not want to see her. She departed before he arrived home. This was normal procedure. Any daytime visitor would say, "I'd better be going, before your husband comes in from work."

As usual, Joyce was dressed a bit flashily. It was fashionable to wear dresses which flattened the bust but Gordon knew from personal experience that she had plenty hidden up-front to get hold of. The woolly material of her frock clung to her backside and you could just see the outline of her knickers. Gordon could not help noticing and remembered the dates with him when she hadn't bothered wearing any. Blue suited her pale complexion and fair hair. She had real silk-stockings on and high-heeled shoes. Gordon remembered that her bare legs were as smooth as silk to his touch.

She was very natural, at ease and chatty, taking the baby from Gordon and making eyes at him as she did so. She made eyes at all the men. Nan had told Frank that he was courting trouble with that one but he didn't care.

"You always have something to say against my girl-friends," he'd laughed. "Anyway we're not serious. Not yet!" And he'd laughed again.

Now he came and sat next to Henry and Michael.

"How's the Boss then?" he asked Michael. Michael liked it when Frank called him 'Boss'. He told him all about his new train.

"I'll show it to you later," he said.
"Not today Boss," Frank said, then he turned to Nan.
"After we've eaten, Joyce and I will be going to spend the rest of the day at Joyce's."

Lucky brother, thought Gordon. With Joyce, living in the pub, in Morecambe, no doubt it would be one hell of a lively evening, behind closed doors, because it was Christmas Day, with her family and a few merry, favoured guests.

Frank was only two years younger than Gordon and shared his good looks and even-temper. But he was more carefree. He never took life seriously like Gordon. Unlike his brother, he had no time for politics or unions.

"You'll never put the world to rights. Have a good time while you can!" was his motto. He was determined to stay single, and on the loose, at least for the near future.

"Plenty of new pebbles on the beach, our Gordon!" he'd boast. Somewhat ruefully, Gordon could see the sense of it.

Nan frowned but didn't say anything. She'd hoped the family, and only the family, would be together all day.

Margaret had to admit, her mother-in-law was a good cook. The meal was a great success.

Afterwards, there was an exchange of presents. Everyone was pleased with what they received, mainly items of clothing for the grown-ups; a hundred cigarettes, from Frank to Joyce. For Michael, pride of place was given to a railway turntable, to add to his Mam's and Dad's train set. He could hardly wait to go back home and fit it to the rails which he'd left set out, awaiting his return.

Because it was Christmas Day, the two brothers did all of the washing-up. This meant boiling lots of water over the fire. There was no kitchen. The dishes were carried through to the scullery, more like a bit of a shed, attached to the only downstairs room.

The cold water, for rinsing the dishes, was from a tap, shared by others, out in the yard. There was a stone sink and a sloping slab to drain the dishes on. The water off them dripped down into a bucket. Nan had a washing-up bowl in the sink. When the water got dirty, it was thrown out into the yard and it drained away from there.

It took three kettles-full to do all of the dishes, cutlery and pots and pans. The washing-up took over half-an-hour.

"Glad I haven't got that lot to do every day," remarked Frank.

While Gordon and Frank were still larking about, flicking each other with tea towels, there was the honking from outside of the taxi Frank had ordered. He and Joyce embraced everybody in turn, apart from Gordon, who shouted his farewell from the scullery. A chorus of, "Merry Christmas!" and off the pair went. Soon, it was time for the rest to transfer to Edward Street.

They waited in the street until Nan had put out the gas-light and locked the back door. Henry brought plenty of coal up from the cellar, ready for when they came home. Nan locked the front door and they all walked down Thurnham Street to Dalton Square. For once, there was no traffic on the main road and very few people out walking. The Town Hall clock was already glowing in the very early dusk of a foggy afternoon.

"What nasty weather," Nan moaned, "it's a pity we had to turn out in it."

Henry responded, "Oh I don't know, I think the walk will help to settle our stomachs. I think we all ate a bit too much."

"Yes mother, you certainly did us proud. It was a smashing meal," Gordon flattered.

As they turned into Edward Street, Margaret said, "I hope the fire's not gone out. There's nothing worse than going into a cold house."

Luckily, it was still alight. Gordon used the poker to shake out the ashes and pile coal on the glowing embers. In no time at all, there was a blazing fire.

"One thing less for her to moan about," thought Margaret, wondering what her mother-in-law would be picking holes in, once her eagle eye had orbited all the way round her place, looking for something to criticise.

Margaret got off lightly. Nan looked at the new furniture and sniffed, "Very nice! Must have cost a pretty penny! Don't know how you can afford it, with only one wage packet coming in!"

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