A Stitch in Time (4 page)

Sarah glanced around and noticed that these three were the members of Danny’s crew.

‘And, anyway, what’s the point in getting our books out when we have no idea what the hell we’re supposed to be doing, eh?’

Sarah folded her arms and fixed Danny with a hard stare. ‘Right, Danny, you’ve just got your name on the board for being so rude. And today, everyone, we are going to be looking at the Blitz.’

She turned to write Danny’s name and the title on the board, only to be stopped by a barrage of Jelly Tots pattering across her back. She whirled round, glaring at the now silent class.

‘Was that you, Danny?’ she asked quietly, feeling her heart rate start to climb steadily up the scale.

‘Me?’ His lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. ‘Why is it always me?

‘Good, question, Danny!’ Sarah threw back.

‘You got no proof!’

‘Well, I was in the middle of writing
your
name on the board, so we have a motive.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. For your information, it wasn’t me it was her!’ Danny stood up and pointed at Kelly.

‘Kelly? I very much doubt …’

‘Yeah, it was smelly Kelly, with the big fat belly!’

A number of things happened next. Danny’s gang howled with laughter and banged their fists on the desk, Kelly howled with misery and threw a book at Danny, and Sarah felt herself teetering on the brink of insanity.

‘Stop that and sit down! Danny, you are in detention, I’m writing to your parents, and move to the front of the room where I can keep an eye on you. Kelly, put that bottle of water down. If you squirt it at him, you’ll be in trouble, too.’

Sarah put her hands on her head and watched the ensuing mayhem. Nobody took a blind bit of notice and Kelly drenched Danny with the water. Danny changed his expression from evil snarl to terminator mode and began climbing over the desks towards a cowering Kelly.

To Sarah, the whole grisly floorshow seemed to be happening in slow motion. One last plan to stem the tide of anarchy in the classroom suddenly entered her head.

‘Right! That’s it! I’m going to get Mr Lockyear from down the corridor!’

The head teacher only taught one lesson a week, and lucky for her, this was the day he taught, just three classrooms down from hers.
Thank God for Mr Lockyear!
Sarah rushed for the door, opened it, but instead of stepping into the corridor, she stepped into a place that looked like a picture in the World War Two textbook she’d had open on her desk.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. Open-mouthed, she gaped at her surroundings. She was in a street in the middle of a city. Everywhere was silent. People in wartime clothes with gas masks slung across their shoulders shopped, cycled, jumped on and off trams and generally went about their business. They called to each other and chatted, but she was deaf to their voices. It was as if Sarah were watching from behind triple glazing.

Shock released her momentarily, and she whipped round to the door, but both the door and the classroom had disappeared.

CRACK! A noise exploded inside her head like a firework in a dustbin. Sarah fell to her knees, holding her ears. As she did, her senses kicked into action. She could now see, hear, smell and feel her new surroundings. The immediate feeling seeping through the wet pavement to her stocking-clad knees was cold; freezing cold.
Stocking-clad knees? She hadn’t been wearing stockings; and freezing? It was May, for God’s sake!

‘Ee, Sarah, have you slipped on t’ice? Come on, love, give me your hand.’

Sarah looked up at an outstretched hand, and beyond that, to a moon-faced man of around fifty-five years of age. How the hell did he know her, because she’d certainly never seen him before. He sported a trilby hat and a neat moustache, and wore a brown suit. His eyes were blue, sharp and at the moment full of concern for her.

He waved his hand in front of her eyes. ‘’Ere, take my hand, love … You alright, Sarah? You look right pasty.’

Having no better plan, Sarah allowed him to help her up. It was then that she became aware of what she was wearing. Flat brown lace-up shoes, a sage green, thick, knee-length dress with a round collar, a heavy, black winter coat, and a hat which appeared to be, she pulled down the brim, ah, yes, red. Sarah extended a finger and poked the frowning moon-face on the shoulder. He felt solid.
Not a hallucination then
. She pinched her wrist and winced. Moon-face peered at her more closely. ‘What’s up, love, eh?’

Sarah looked around again at the busy scene.
Shit, this is all real then
! She gawped, slack-jawed, at him. Not only was she really here, in the past,
she
had a life to save. This was ‘way random and weird’ as the kids would say. No wonder Norman had bottled it.

‘So, do you feel able to walk, love? Take my arm; I think I’d better walk you ’ome.’

Sarah looked at him and said, ‘Home … Sheffield?’

‘Of course. You don’t have an ’ome anywhere else do you? Now, I think you’ve had some kind of a turn. Hold on to Albert’s arm, yes that’s right. Just take a few deep breaths and we’ll trot on.’

Sarah trotted on with Albert, along what she imagined was the High Street. She could just about recognise it, but most of the buildings they walked past were long gone in Sarah’s time. For a few moments she put her fears behind her and was entranced as she walked through the past. The history that she’d only read about and seen in photos lived and breathed all around her.

The smell of wartime Sheffield amazed her most. As the main ‘steel city’, the smoke from the many factories and foundries lay heavy in the air. People passing in the street looked relatively clean, but had a mixture of odours emanating from them that were hardly Chanel. Mothballs fought with hair oil, stale sweat and nicotine for precedence. The number of people, young and old, smoking like chimneys, really shocked her. Even though she knew that the dangers of smoking were not yet known, it was still hard to take in.

‘So let’s ’ope Violet has made that bread she was on about, eh? I could do wi’ a cuppa and some nice bread and drippin’,’ Albert said, smacking his lips.

‘Violet?’ Sarah looked up at him.

‘Aye, Violet, yer auntie. Crikey, lass, you must ’ave bumped yer head. I think you need a nice lie-down after we get back.’

Sarah realised that amnesia might be the best tack to take. That would account for her being totally bemused with the situation and would minimise suspicion. She glanced sidelong at Albert as he stopped and shook a cigarette from a packet. ‘Want one, duck?’

‘No, I don’t smoke thanks, Alb—’

‘Don’t smoke, and I’m a Dutchman!’ Albert chuckled, lighting up.

Sarah wondered if he was somehow linked through time to Janet. He stuck out his arm and they set off again.

As they walked, she figured the main thing she needed to do was to find out who she was, how Albert knew her and this auntie Violet woman, where
exactly
she was in time, and crucially, who she had to save. The sooner she did that, the sooner she could go back. Her heart did a little somersault; well at least she hoped she could get back.

‘Albert, what day is it?’ she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘I think you’re right, I have got a touch of amnesia. Must have happened when I fell.’

Albert stopped and stared, his cigarette stuck to his bottom lip. ‘Bloody ’ell, you don’t know what day it is? I reckon we’d best go to ’ospital, lass.’

‘No, I’ll be alright soon, no worries.’

‘No worries? You’re talking a bit odd, too,’ Albert muttered, taking her by the elbow and setting off again.

‘Yes, sorry, so what’s the day and date?’

‘Thursday, the 12th of December.’

‘But what year is it, Albert?’

He stopped again and shook his head. ‘Are you sure you’re not just pullin’ my leg?’

‘No, I’m not, Albert … I wish I was.’

‘It’s 1940.’ He sighed and took her elbow again. ‘Now come on, let’s get ’ome, it’ll be dark by four o’clock and I’m bloody freezin’ already. I’m due to go back out later and I need a warm first.’

Sarah hurried along next to him, numb from the cold, but mostly from the revelation that it was December the 12th. She knew that on that day, the Sheffield Blitz began in earnest around 7 p.m. and lasted until about 4 a.m. There would be another attack on the 15th and 16th, leaving over 660 people dead in total and over 80,000 buildings destroyed.

These grim facts circled around her head as they hurried through the darkening streets. After 10,000 incendiary bombs had done their work, 40,000 people would be homeless and large areas of Sheffield would resemble the fires of hell. Sarah shook her head and blinked back tears. Just before, in the classroom, she couldn’t remember anything about what she was supposed to teach. Now, everything she wanted 9CM to learn screamed in her mind.

The weird and awful thing was it hadn’t even happened yet. But it would, in just a few short hours, and she’d be right in the middle of it.

The light was fading fast as they hurried along the freezing city streets. Sarah pulled the coat collar more closely about her neck, sniffed a few times and searched in her pockets for a hanky. The pockets were bare, so she dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand. Why did your nose always run in cold weather? Perhaps she should ask Albert; she was sure he’d love a conversation about snot after everything else she’d said to him so far.

A little while later, realisation dawned that they were making for Pitsmoor, the area where she had lived as a child. Sarah lived in Stannington now, and hadn’t been back for years, but the railway viaduct of the Wicker Arches looked just the same, and she took some comfort from such familiarity in an alien world. Then she remembered Pitsmoor would be hit badly and the old arches would suffer damage by the morning.

Presently, Albert led her along a narrow street of back-to-back houses, very different from the 1930s’ semi she lived in now, and turned into a narrow ginnel. At the other side was a large yard, containing six houses opposite the same number of outside toilets. These types of houses would be long gone in the present. Albert led her to the end house, knocked on the door and walked in.

‘Violet! You ’ere? I found Sarah in town and she’s gone a bit funny!’

Sarah sighed and shook her head. If only you knew the truth, Albert, you’d go a bit bloody funny!

A woman wearing a blue-and-white flower-patterned apron appeared from a door at the back of the house. She looked to be around her mid-forties, plumpish, with auburn hair rolled in the classic wartime fashion, and a kind open face in which two emerald-green eyes twinkled.

‘Gone a bit funny? She was alus a bit funny weren’t you, love?’ Violet chuckled, drawing Sarah towards a cosy fire roaring in the grate.

Sarah was divested of her coat and made to sit in the chair by the fire. She took in her surroundings while Albert and Violet talked of rumours going around about the best place to get fresh meat and even a turkey for Christmas.

The living area was spotlessly clean, but tiny. Again, Sarah knew that houses like this were small and cramped, but to actually step inside one was a different matter. There was a ceramic sink and draining board under the window, a row of cups on hooks next to it on the wall, a kitchen table and chairs, upon which a teapot and sugar bowl sat, two wing-back chairs either side of the fire, and a few shelves, mostly empty save for a few items. These items were a jar marked flour, a smaller jar which looked to be jam, and various pickles.
Must have a cellar; that’s where the cheese, milk, eggs and any cold meat would be.
Centrally on the floor was a large piece of flowered carpet that had definitely seen better days.

‘So what’s this about you being funny then, lass?’ Violet was saying, sitting opposite.

‘I think I have a bit of amnesia, think I bumped me ’ed when I fell on t’ice,’ Sarah said, noting that her Yorkshire accent had suddenly become much broader than it was normally.

‘Oh, dear. Well you know who I am, don’t you?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Auntie Violet.’

‘Well, she knows that only ’cos I told her,’ Albert butted in.

‘And how long have you lived ’ere with me?’ Violet ignored Albert.

Sarah shrugged.

‘By ’eck, you don’t know?’

‘That’s nowt, Violet; she didn’t even know what year it was!’ Albert said, taking his hat off and running his hands over his balding pate.

‘Alright, Albert, can’t you see that you’re upsetting the poor lass? Look, love, you came to me nearly twenty year ago when your mum, my sister, passed on. She got tuberculosis. Your dad died of it five years before that.’ Violet leaned across and took Sarah’s hat off. ‘We’ve been great company for each other ever since. You were on your own, and so was I, after my poor Billy was killed in t’ Great War. Now, do you remember ’owt of that?’

‘Err … yes, a bit. I think I’m starting to remember now,’ Sarah said. She figured that if she said no, they may cart her off to the hospital. That thought made her shudder.

‘She’s not that bad, Albert. Now you best be off, your Aggie will be wondering where you are.’

Albert remained where he was. ‘I think she is, Violet. Ask ’er summat’; you’ve not asked ’er ’owt yet. And didn’t you say you were baking bread? Thought I’d ’ave a slice before I went home.’

Violet laughed. ‘Him and his bread, says I bake the best bread in t’ yard. ’Ee’d better not let Aggie ’ear him say that.’

‘Aggie’s his wife and they live next door?’ Sarah said, hoping she’d guessed right.

Violet’s eyes twinkled and a huge smile lit up her face. ‘That’s right, love. Well, next door but one.’

Albert shook his head. ‘Any fool could ’ave worked that out. I still think she needs looking at.’

‘Be off with you, Albert. I ’aven’t got round to making bread yet. I’ll do it in a minute. Pop back in a few hours, should be ready then.’

Albert looked a bit crestfallen but did as he was bidden. ‘Alright, I’m off then. I’ll bring our lad round for a slice before we go out.’

After Albert had gone, Violet busied herself making a pot of tea. ‘You’ll feel much better after this, love. And I’ve a bit of tripe we can ’ave. I’ll boil a few onions to it; you know it’s one of your favourites.’

Sarah smiled politely but tried to stop the bile rising in her throat. Wasn’t tripe cow’s stomach?
God, if she puts a plate of that in front of me, I swear I’ll puke.

‘I’m not that hungry thanks, Violet; just a cuppa will do
.
’

‘Nay, you must ’ave summat, lass. What about a bit of cheese on toast? I’ve got a bit of cheese on t’ cellar head.’

Sarah nodded. She had got a cellar, then. The cheese may not be as fresh as she’d been used to, but anything would be preferable to tripe and onions.

Sipping her tea by the fire, Sarah began to feel a little more like herself. But of course she wasn’t herself. She was Sarah, Violet’s niece, and living in 1940! How could that be? A thought munched its way into her mind like a grub through an apple. What if she wasn’t herself at all?

Jumping up and nearly dropping the china cup and saucer in the process, she looked at her reflection in the mirror above the fire. No, she was herself. No make-up, apart from some garish red lipstick and pencilled eyebrows, but certainly herself. She placed the cup on the chair and patted her hair. It was rolled into a hairnet and looked quite glamorous. She was reminded of the old film star, Bette Davis. Karen, eat your cold little heart out!

‘Here you are, love, take your toast. Now, I’m just going to put me feet up for two minutes, before I get to work on that bread.’ Violet sat in the chair opposite Sarah and yawned loudly. ‘I feel exhausted. It’s all go at that factory.’

Sarah sniffed the cheese on toast and took a small bite. It was very cheesy but surprisingly good. Violet nodded off after a few seconds, snoring and whistling like a jet engine. Sarah polished off her snack and wished she had more. How could she have an appetite in this totally surreal situation?

She picked up her tea and drained what was left. She coughed and spat it out again into the cup.
What the
 …
?
She swirled the cup.
Ah yes, tea leaves; these are the days of loose tea. Most folk didn’t have teabags until the late 1960s.

Sarah picked the remaining tea leaves from her tongue, stretched in the chair and yawned. The fire was making her feel sleepy and Violet snoring the house down didn’t help.
Come on, Sarah, pull yourself together. You have a mission to complete and a plan to formulate.
She guessed that a plan to mirror Violet like two bookends, at each side of the fire, snoring for England, wouldn’t be a good one. Nevertheless, two minutes later she was asleep.

Was she awake or asleep? She thought she’d heard someone’s voice. Peeping from under her lashes, she sleepily realised where she was, and who was talking. Sarah groaned inwardly.

‘Yes, they
are
in, they’ve just fallen asleep by t’ fire … which is almost out,’ Albert called to someone over his shoulder, flicked the light on and poked the dying embers. ‘Good job we came by; they’d ’ave woken up bloody freezin’.’ He threw a handful of coal on the now more lively looking fire.

Violet sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Blimey, ’ave I slept all this time?’

‘Aye, lass and young Sarah’s still asleep. Does this mean there’s no bread?’

‘Albert, for goodness sake, yer obsessed wi’ my bread! I’ll get to it now.’

Sarah was not still asleep but really wished she was. Perhaps if she stood up and cleared her head, the whole scene would disappear. Hauling herself out of the chair, she rubbed her eyes; nope, no good. She blinked and gawped idiotically at Violet and Albert. ‘I’m still here in 1940, then?’ she asked.

‘You weren’t joking, then, Dad,’ said a voice behind her, ‘Sarah really ’as gone a bit funny.’

Turning, she met the eyes of a man in his thirties, dark haired and suited. The eyes were a sea-green … and belonged to John, the Time-Needle.