Life in the Army was dreadful hard on Mary, and after more than ten years that had seen her follow John as far as the Caribbean and back it was not getting any easier. Woolwich, England The winter of eighteen-twenty-two came upon us quick and hard. By December twenty-third it was so cold that there was ice to be seen floating upon the River Thames. I was pregnant again and remember spending that bitter Christmas Eve huddling up in bed alone, because John had drawn guard duty for that night and well on into most of the following day. I got up on Christmas morning and made ready to go to church with the childer, but it was so slippery outside that I had turned back before even reaching the end of our street for fear of falling on the cobbles. So the childer and I returned to our tiny cold room where I lit the fire and settled to boil up the nice big beef bone I had got from the butcher the day before. As I began to cook it with dried peas, carrots and potatoes, I was determined to welcome my husband home that night with a tasty and hearty Christmas meal. Thomas eagerly helped me to peel the potatoes, and then, when he had finished, went off towards the common in search of more wood while I cooked and did my chores. By the time Mary-Ann woke up, her brother had returned with two fine faggots of sticks tucked under his arms. He placed them by the fireside and then sat on the bed and played with his little sister, taking up the wooden doll that John had whittled for her and making it dance a merry jig, while Mary-Ann lay snug and warm beneath the shabby old moth-eaten Army blankets. By two in the afternoon, the sky had clouded over and turned that strange shimmering pewter colour, as it always does just before letting forth buckets of snow. And so it fell, softly at first, like goose feathers drifting gently down through the still cold air to settle finely upon the window ledge outside. But then it came faster and thicker, with flurries of snowflakes swirling in the air in all directions. Soon it had covered the cobbled street beyond our window and the rooftops of the mean terrace of houses on the opposite side of the road. ‘When is Da coming home?’ Thomas asked expectantly. ‘Not until tonight,’ I replied. ‘He is on guard duty and so I do not expect him until late.’ ‘I’m fierce hungry Ma!’ he groaned. With that I helped him, Mary-Ann and myself to a cupful of the stock from the cooking pot. Then I pulled the ill-fitting wooden window shutters across the cracked panes of glass in a brave effort at attempting to keep in some warmth. After this, I moved the cooking pot to the edge of the hearth where it would not spoil, and then damped down our one last remaining large log and put it on the fire to burn down slowly. Then I joined Thomas and Mary-Ann under the covers of the bed for a much needed sleep. It was pitch dark when I woke with a start. I had just heard the street door opening and then felt the house shudder slightly as the door was quickly slammed shut again. Then came familiar footsteps upon the bare boards of the hallway towards our room. The door suddenly burst open and in walked John. Wet snow from his shoulders rolled down the surface of his wool great coat and his ears and nose were as scarlet as rosehips. But instead of his nice warm hat being on his head, it was clutched firmly to his chest with one hand while from the other a bucket full of coal swung at his side. ‘Goodness me, John!’ I exclaimed. ‘You look fair foundered! Haven’t you dhe good sense to be wearing your hat on such an awful night as dhis? And where did you get dhe coal?’ With that he walked across to the table and put his hat down on it. Then, quick as a wink,he lifts it up again to reveal great bundle wrapped in muslin. ‘What is it?’ I asked John smiled wryly as he opened up the cloth to reveal a great pink lump of fancy roast ham with a golden crust all studded with cloves. And sitting with it, if you please, was whole plum pudding. ‘Dhat? Dhat’s from the officers’ Mess!’ he laughed. ‘No! You didn’t t’ieve it did you, John?’ ‘No, I did not, Mary!’ he insisted. ‘More like ‘liberated’ so it was! And widh dhem officers all being as drunk as lords from toasting dhe Duke of Wellington in his weight in brandy, I t’ought dhey wouldn’t be missing dhe going of it.’ The four of us feasted like kings that Christmas night. It was the best Christmas I can ever recall, with John, and the childer and me all snug and warm and the unborn child within me kicking about with all the force of a buck rabbit…
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 16:48:07 +0000
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