Look here, girl, if you carry a sack on your back youll tumble right over the doorstep and fly off. We dont need any more shame, Grandmama Hilda warned Ethel as she shoved a bag of potatoes into the kitchen pantry. Ethel hadnt expected much more from the old crone, but shed heard ever since she was a tot that Hilda liked to gossip about her.
Five years we lived with Mick, no children, and thenbamshe took a trip to Blackpool, came back with a bundle of trouble, Hilda blurted, never minding her phrasing. The fact that the mother had been away three years before Ethel was born, and that shed travelled with Hildas own sister, Nadine, didnt change Hildas opinion. Ethels a wanderer, she kept insisting.
George, the father, stared at his wife like a wolf eyeing a rabbit, and what could he do? Day after day he was reminded that his wife was raising a disaster, yet the house stayed full, the roof stayed over their heads, and George, being the dutiful son, had to look after his ageing parents after he got married.
Grandmama Hilda never liked her daughterinlaw. Shes a nightmare, that one. She leans on my son, makes a mess wherever she goes. Not a match for you, shed mutter. But love the bastard, I do, Ethel would sigh, stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Now the granddaughter, sweet little Lucy, was a pearl: clever, pretty, and as dear as a warm cuppa. The other girllets call her Maggiewas a prickly sort, as unfriendly as a hedgehog at a garden party, spraying everyone with sharp remarks.
Lucy, dear, Hilda would coo, have a cucumber. No thanks, its bitter, the child replied. Bitter, just like you, you lazy thing, Hilda snapped, cursing the girl for being a slacker. Maggie, darling, why are your biscuits as hard as the pavement? shed add, shaking her head at the stubborn lad.
Lucy will have a proper home, my only grandchild, Hilda declared, or shall I throw you out on the street? Let your parents sort it themselves, or you can fend for yourself. And that, dear reader, was how Ethels life went on.
When Ethel decided to head to London for university, Hilda handed her a string of advice that sounded like a bedtime story. Ethel proved a quick studyshe was lively, witty, and enjoyed everything the city offered: ladies in frocks, lads in sharp suits, and the endless bustle of the tube.
How am I to get Mum to the city? Ethel wondered. The old hag and George werent about to let her off the leash. Shell be out with some rogue, they muttered, drinking their tea like it was poison.
Ethel soon befriended the hall warden, Annabelle Andrews, whose son lived up north and sent two grandchildren for a weekend. Your mothers been called to a parentteacher meeting, Annabelle whispered, so you can slip out. The plan worked. George grumbled, Hilda sniped, That girls just mixing with boys, not studying. The teachers praised Ethel, her mothers pride swelled, and she became a regular at the dormitory tea parties.
One night the ladies gathered over tea, and Annabelles friend, Mary, spilled her story. Ive spent my whole life in service, never had children but Ive watched you, Ethel, and thought perhaps I missed my chance. She laughed, Ive always been a good student, wanted to be a librarian, but fate had other plans.
Mary, a diligent accountant, asked, What do you do, Ethel? Im a clerk at the council, Ethel replied. Ah, so youre educated. Mary giggled, Well, perhaps you could move closer to town? Annabelle nudged, Come on, love, lets think of a fresh start.
Back home, Marys motherinlaw was a tyrant, her husband a grumbling bear. Mary rushed to work, hiding bruises with a smile. The next month she returned to the village meeting, still muttering about Ethels mischief.
Girls gone off with Mick, the bakers boy, and will bring a sack of potatoes into trouble, Hilda cackled. Micks found himself a new lover, and Im stuck covering his mess, Mary moaned. When Mick gave Mary a good thrashing, even Hilda was startlednot for Mary, but for Mick. She ran to the local constable with a halfeaten sausage and a slab of bacon, begging for help.
Mary finally packed a few belongings, wrote a resignation, and with a dramatic gasp the council released her. She leapt up, shouting, Mum, is that you? Its me, love, her mother replied, bruised but alive, Annabelle will sort it out. Will you ever come back? Mary asked. No, her mother said, clenching her jaw, Im doing this for you, so you live better.
Mary found a job at a factory, still on the books as an accountant, and got a room in a womens hostel. She started to bloom, strolling the streets with Ethel each evening. Word spread in the village, and Mick, a sourpuss, stormed in, Mrs. Mary, Im after you. Im not going anywhere, she snapped, enough of your threats. He snarled, Ill call the police. Police on my husband? she laughed, well see about that.
Mick tried to bluff, We were duped a month ago, you didnt get the letter? No, I didnt, Mary said, baffled. Sorry then. I love you, Mick, she whispered, but youre a wolf that tried to love a sheep. He snarled, Its my fault. She retorted, Off you go, you beast.
Mick stomped out, vowing to call the constable. He returned home, drowned his sorrows in a few pints, and shouted, Mum, wheres that letter with my name on it? His mother, bewildered, clutched her head. I dont know, love, she muttered, somethings gone wrong.
A week later Mick barged back home with a new bride, Katya, who rearranged the kitchen faster than a whirlwind. She was no sweet Mary; she was a schemer, whispering about proper grandchildren while the old granny watched from the doorway, horrified.
Katyas presence meant Lucy, the darling granddaughter, was left out. Shes a proper scamp, the village folk whispered, and shes taken my sweet girl away. The gossip grew louder, Lucys in the city now, looking for happiness, hohoho. The old ladies nodded, Shell learn to mind her own business.
Ethel, now a proper city girl, kept visiting Mary, who was finally free of Micks tyranny. Marys motherinlaw still snubbed the old granny at weddings, but the city folk had moved on. The whole saga ended with the line: If only Katya had a bit of kindness, maybe the whole mess wouldve been a proper teatime, not a stormy night.
And so the village, the city, and all the colourful characters carried on, each with their own cuppa of drama, a dash of irony, and a sprinkle of hope for a brighter tomorrow.
