Chapter Two - Part One

The North of England

                              

As the first holiday was such a success, it was decided that Leila should visit every year, during the long school summer holidays.

Leila was ten years old when she first started visiting Uncle Fred’s Aunt Betsy. She and Dotty travelled on the top of a red and cream double-decker bus, Leila clasping a shopping bag on her lap, filled with the correct amounts of flour, lard and potatoes. Betsy was going to show Leila how to bake potato cakes.

Betsy’s small kitchen was dark and cool, even on a sunny day. The only window overlooking the back yard was tiny and rarely opened. It was overshadowed by the rows of terraced houses at the rear, effectively blocking off the sun at most times of the day, with a deep white sink and wooden draining board beneath. From this window could be seen the roof tops with chimney pots rising up into the sky like a row of turrets on a castle wall.

There was a cold stone-floored larder with an air vent facing towards the North. The icy wind blew through during the winter months, and it wasn’t very warm during the summer. It was perfect for keeping food cool, some of which could be stored for weeks with no undue effects.

In the centre of the kitchen, on the grey stone flags stood a solid wooden table with a top that had been scrubbed almost colourless over the years.  It was on this table that Leila rolled out her pastry for her potato cakes. She was very liberal with the flour under her rolling pin and a white film of dust covered the floor and the tops of her red summer sandals. But she was oblivious to this, so engrossed in her enjoyment of the pastry rolling.

Betsy would peel and boil the potatoes while Leila created clouds of white mist, which rose rapidly, and then wafted gently down, covering every surface. Betsy smiled indulgently all the time, never interfering.

Betsy was nearly seventy years old and not much taller than Leila. She was by no means frail, being a hearty eater of what she called ‘unfussy food’. “I never have a problem with my stomach,” she proudly proclaimed, “so I must be doing something right.” Her cheeks were full and her skin was almost unlined, except around her mouth as she was always smiling. Her eyes had lost most of their colour and were of the palest blue, but she wore no spectacles, claiming that she was quite able to see clearly, even in the dark. The sun and the moon were her guiding lights.

Sometimes an errant ray of sunshine would pierce the gloom and the minute white particles could be seen dancing in the light.

 “Fairy Dust,” said Betsy. “Well, I can’t have any fairies at the bottom of my garden as I have no garden, so they visit me in my kitchen instead.” Leila’s eyes opened wide. “It must be magic, don’t you think?  Otherwise how does the Fairy Dust enter my kitchen like that, in the shape of a long golden wand?” Leila stared at the shaft, which did indeed look like a long magic wand.

When the potato cakes were completely cooked, filling the kitchen with a warm, savoury aroma, they barely had time to cool  before they were devoured. When Leila tried later to describe the taste to her Aunt Dotty the only word that came to mind was 'hot'. There were never any left to take home, but this could have been because there was little food in Betsy's larder apart from a loaf  of bread and a pat of butter.

Chapter One - Part Four

Leila studied the rim around the large square window, thickly encrusted with grime. She was tempted to run her finger along it just to see how much grime would smear onto her finger, but she knew that her father would disapprove and she would have to ruin her perfectly folded clean white handkerchief that was thrust into her coat pocket before she left home.     

Just in front of her, at hand level, was an empty ashtray fixed under the window, next to a small table in the shape of a semi-circle. On the opposite side was another ashtray for her father’s use. She peered into the dusty interior wondering if it was ever cleaned out with soap and water or just tipped upside down, the contents dropping into the waste bag used by the cleaner at the end of each journey. Perhaps she could tip it upside down herself, just to see how it works and watch the grey dust particles float to the floor. Her father coughed, and she looked up to see recognition in his eyes. They flashed a warning, as though he’d read her mind and was not impressed with her thoughts.

This was going to be a long and tedious journey if he intended to be so vigilant. Perhaps he might fall asleep soon. The train was making its usual hypnotic music as it thundered rhythmically over the points. She could close her eyes and then he might follow suit, as people often did, for some reason.  She therefore shut her eyes tightly and dropped her head back against the seat. After a few minutes, she tentatively half opened one eyelid and peered cautiously through a veil of dark eyelashes, but her father was still staring out of the window, and frowning.

She soon gave up this idea and stared lethargically at the map above her father’s head. It was a map covering the area of their journey, from London to the North of England, and was securely encased in a glass-fronted frame. Her eyes noted the long list of stations that they would pass through on their way to Aunt Dotty’s, and once that was completed her gaze passed wearily across at the advertising hoardings, that meant nothing to her except further boredom.

She yawned loudly and her father stirred. He leant down to his bag and removed a flask. He unscrewed the top and placed two white cups on the small tabletop.

 “Have some coffee Leila,” he said, “that’ll stop you feeling tired.”

She sipped the sweet liquid reluctantly wishing it were orange juice instead, but was conscious of feeling revived once she had emptied the cup. There was no chance of not emptying the entire contents of course, because her father needed to place the tops back on the thermos flask, and there was nowhere to empty any residue – so finish it she must. The train was travelling much too fast to be able to open the window and throw any liquid out. It would end up being splattered down the windowpane of their compartment, and her father was in no mood to suffer that embarrassment. “Why don’t you read your book?” he asked and rummaged further down in his holdall, his hand emerging with the Famous Five book that she had been enjoying at home.

Leila was then lost in their adventures, page after page, and the story kept her engrossed for the rest of the journey. Her father continued to suck on his empty pipe.    

Leila had seen her aunt and uncle through her carriage window. They were both dressed in their matching beige raincoats, Aunt Dotty carrying a small brown umbrella, and Uncle Fred a very large black one. Both were dripping onto the platform leaving greasy puddles.

She waved at them frantically as the train passed them by, stopping further up the platform. As soon as her father had opened the door she flew out to greet them, leaving him to deal with the bags and suitcase.

The atmosphere in the station was heavy with a cool dampness, and the skies were grey and leaden with drizzly rain. People were dressed in raincoats and wet weather shoes or Wellington boots, huddled in small groups to avoid the sections on the platform where the rain dripped though cracks in the roof.

Dotty and Fred moved forward on seeing her, Dotty with outstretched arms and tears in her eyes. Fred carried on past, leaving them hugging each other, towards Robert, shaking his hand, exchanging pleasantries and taking the suitcase from him.

As they were about to leave the station, Robert bent over and kissed Leila’s cheek, lifting her off her feet in a gentle hug. “Just remember to phone your mother every other day, and reverse the charges or she’ll be worried about you. And make sure that you behave yourself and do as you’re told.”

He cupped her smiling, upturned face in both his large trembling hands, and swallowed hard. He was vaguely aware of the whoosh of trains arriving and departing from the various platforms, the hustle and bustle of many bodies clambering in and out of carriages and the slamming of carriage doors, and a tinny voice echoing from a loudspeaker announcing indiscernible messages.

He was acutely aware of the innocent face looking up at his, the intelligent and receptive young mind that could be permanently scarred by the events that she had recently witnessed, and his wholehearted wish that such memories could be instantly erased.            

This was the first time that he had left her in the care of someone else, the first time that she had spent any length of time away from home. He was frowning with anxiety. He stared into the faces of the two adults in front of him, assessing their commitment, and saw two people already smiling and seemingly happy at the prospect of looking after his child. She also looked very happy, radiating excitement and anticipation. There was no need for concern, and Amy was positive that this was the best thing to do. And she was usually right…about this sort of thing, anyway.

 “Have a good time,” he said finally, fighting his reluctance to let go.

Leila left the station arm in arm with her aunt, talking non-stop about the journey, her mind full of happy thoughts, while Robert sat alone on the cold iron bench on the platform, his head bowed, sniffing his tears away and rummaging in his raincoat pocket for his handkerchief. As he tugged at it, another object flew out and across the platform, landing under the highly polished heavy black boot of a Railway Policeman. To Robert’s horror, the officer stooped down, picked up the pieces and handed him his pipe in three separate sections.

 “Sorry mate,” he said. “Smoking’s bad for you anyway.”

Having safely delivered his daughter into the very welcoming arms of her aunt and uncle eagerly waiting on the platform, he caught the return train for the exhausting journey back home, crossing London again and eventually arriving on the early morning milk train.