neither did she look or act as though she was. So it was perhaps as well that the two of them would be parting company. But Maisie had reservations, too, about her friend applying for the headship, although she would not have dreamed of saying so. What Maisie hoped was that Anne would meet someone who might help to take her thoughts away from Bill. She did not want to see her mouldering away in the schoolhouse for years and years.
Chapter Six
‘ J enner and Jackson’ read the sign in gilded letters over the door of the draper’s shop in the High Street. Lily had been the manageress there for four years, following the couple of years she had spent working at Tremaine House, helping Rebecca Tremaine with the land girls. Formerly, the rather faded sign had read ‘Jenner’s High Class Draper’s’, harking back to a time, twenty or more years before, when many shopkeepers had described their businesses in such terms. In truth, the little shop and living premises above still belonged to Eliza Jenner, an elderly lady in her mid-seventies, but not, in appearance, looking much more than sixty.
It was in 1941 that Lily, anxious to find a home where she could have all three of her children with her, had first become acquainted with Mrs Jenner. They had got on well together from the start, and Eliza had been only too happy to have the littlefamily living above, with Lily taking charge of the shop. They lived there rent free and Lily was paid a weekly wage for her services, but the property and its proceeds belonged to the Jenners, Eliza and her husband, Cyril.
The elderly couple had gone to live in a small house near the railway station where Cyril could tend a small patch of garden to the rear; this had been his chief occupation since his Home Guard duties had come to an end. Eliza, until very recently, had gone into the shop two or three mornings a week, anxious not to let go of the reins entirely. And it had been at her insistence, last year, that the sign above the door should be changed. Lily Jackson’s name should be included, she maintained, as the woman had proved to be worth her weight in gold.
Lily had been happy there right from the start, but more so, on a personal level, since she had become friendly with Arthur Rawcliffe, the man who owned the bakery next door to the draper’s shop. She had first met him when she had gone in to buy her bread and cakes; they had chatted about the restrictions and how they were affecting both their businesses. Bread had never been rationed throughout the war, but the only loaf available was what was called a National wheatmeal loaf, made from unrefined flour; somewhat unpalatable to those used to pure white crusty loaves and cobs. Arthur had told her how he was having to make do with dried egg in his cakes, when he could not getwhat had become known as the shelled variety. Dried fruit, too, had been in short supply, and so cakes – wedding cakes in particular – were darkened by gravy browning, made moist with grated carrot, and flavoured with rum essence.
Arthur had had his hands full running the shop and caring for his wife who was ill with tuberculosis and never left the room upstairs. He had been helped, however, by his elder sister who served in the shop and his brother-in-law who worked in the bakehouse.
Mrs Rawcliffe had died early in 1942, and it was then that Arthur had decided to join up. He was just over the compulsory call-up age of forty; nevertheless he had felt that he wanted to do his bit. There had been nothing to keep him at home after the death of his wife – they had had no children – and Flo and Harry, his sister and brother-in-law, had offered to take over the running of the shop in his absence. The upstairs flat had been rented to a young woman with two children who had come to the country town to escape the bombing in Hull; and when Arthur came home on leave he stayed with Flo and Harry.
It was during one of his early leaves that Arthur had decided
Chapter Six
‘ J enner and Jackson’ read the sign in gilded letters over the door of the draper’s shop in the High Street. Lily had been the manageress there for four years, following the couple of years she had spent working at Tremaine House, helping Rebecca Tremaine with the land girls. Formerly, the rather faded sign had read ‘Jenner’s High Class Draper’s’, harking back to a time, twenty or more years before, when many shopkeepers had described their businesses in such terms. In truth, the little shop and living premises above still belonged to Eliza Jenner, an elderly lady in her mid-seventies, but not, in appearance, looking much more than sixty.
It was in 1941 that Lily, anxious to find a home where she could have all three of her children with her, had first become acquainted with Mrs Jenner. They had got on well together from the start, and Eliza had been only too happy to have the littlefamily living above, with Lily taking charge of the shop. They lived there rent free and Lily was paid a weekly wage for her services, but the property and its proceeds belonged to the Jenners, Eliza and her husband, Cyril.
The elderly couple had gone to live in a small house near the railway station where Cyril could tend a small patch of garden to the rear; this had been his chief occupation since his Home Guard duties had come to an end. Eliza, until very recently, had gone into the shop two or three mornings a week, anxious not to let go of the reins entirely. And it had been at her insistence, last year, that the sign above the door should be changed. Lily Jackson’s name should be included, she maintained, as the woman had proved to be worth her weight in gold.
Lily had been happy there right from the start, but more so, on a personal level, since she had become friendly with Arthur Rawcliffe, the man who owned the bakery next door to the draper’s shop. She had first met him when she had gone in to buy her bread and cakes; they had chatted about the restrictions and how they were affecting both their businesses. Bread had never been rationed throughout the war, but the only loaf available was what was called a National wheatmeal loaf, made from unrefined flour; somewhat unpalatable to those used to pure white crusty loaves and cobs. Arthur had told her how he was having to make do with dried egg in his cakes, when he could not getwhat had become known as the shelled variety. Dried fruit, too, had been in short supply, and so cakes – wedding cakes in particular – were darkened by gravy browning, made moist with grated carrot, and flavoured with rum essence.
Arthur had had his hands full running the shop and caring for his wife who was ill with tuberculosis and never left the room upstairs. He had been helped, however, by his elder sister who served in the shop and his brother-in-law who worked in the bakehouse.
Mrs Rawcliffe had died early in 1942, and it was then that Arthur had decided to join up. He was just over the compulsory call-up age of forty; nevertheless he had felt that he wanted to do his bit. There had been nothing to keep him at home after the death of his wife – they had had no children – and Flo and Harry, his sister and brother-in-law, had offered to take over the running of the shop in his absence. The upstairs flat had been rented to a young woman with two children who had come to the country town to escape the bombing in Hull; and when Arthur came home on leave he stayed with Flo and Harry.
It was during one of his early leaves that Arthur had decided
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