One Perfect Family

Book 0: Ellindale Series

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Family Life; Sagas; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

The fourth novel in Anna Jacobs' beloved Ellindale series.

Lancashire, 1934. When Tam Crawford is unexpectedly bequeathed some money, he can finally realise his dream of settling down in the beautiful village of Ellindale.

Tam knows he can be impulsive — his nickname isn't Crazy Tam for nothing! — but this time he is determined not to be ruled by his big heart and hot head. Yet somehow, within just one day, he has taken on a fiancée and two children to keep them out of the poorhouse — or worse. Despite their unconventional start, as Tam and his new family get to know and love each other, they come to realise that his act of charity is the best thing that could have happened to all of them. But there are still problems, and they struggle to find somewhere to live.

Tam and his makeshift family are not the only ones facing difficulties. Local benefactor Finn Carlisle's attempts to help the unemployed are being sabotaged by an unscrupulous local councillor, and Tam's cousin-by-marriage Hilda Kerkham has been widowed and is struggling even to feed her son. Will the people of Ellindale be able to help one another in these hard times?

Release date: March 21, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 368

Sample

Dear readers,

I hope you enjoy the fourth book in this series, which is set further up my imaginary Pennine valley from the town of Rivenshaw (also invented) in a tiny village I’ve called Ellindale. All the stories in this series are set during the first half of the 1930s. It was fascinating researching that era. Part of my research was to scan my memories for tales of my parents’ teenage years.

I was going to focus more on Wilf in this book, but the minute I started to ‘see’ Crazy Tam, he took over the central role in the story. He is called that because he is so impulsive, especially when he sees an injustice happening. And that’s how the story started – both in my head and on the page – Tam saving a child from being bullied. He also changed age from about sixty-five to fifty as I wrote. It’s like that sometimes: characters leap into life.

Some authors plan their stories in great detail. I can’t do that – I know because in my early days as a storyteller, I tried to plan one, only to discard the plot I’d worked so hard on after I’d written a couple of chapters. Why? Because better ideas popped into my head about what was going to happen. Where do these ideas come from? I have no idea. I was born with stories humming round my skull, even at the age of two, which is the earliest I remember making up stories about imaginary people.

Once I get going, the details of my stories often come to me during sleepless nights and it’s like watching a movie. Even then I don’t see a whole story, just the next few chapters.

I remember a lot of things about my childhood that took place a decade after this tale. There were some children, especially those who were different, who were mocked and treated shockingly by nasty people. Maybe that’s why my father and sister got involved in social work and both made significant contributions, especially to the lives of children with intellectual disabilities.

My father became a Director of Social Services. He started the first youth club for such children in England, and I don’t know who had more fun when they attended the weekly meetings, him or them. He hit world headlines in the ’70s when he took over managing mental health services for a northern town and found several women who’d been locked up in mental asylums for fifty or sixty years – for having illegitimate babies. Of course, the babies had been taken away from them.

He got the women out of that place very quickly but some of them were too frail to be exposed to the media. A few of them had no family left, so he had them to tea every now and then. However, one of these women later got married – and my father was best man at her wedding!

I am very proud of my father. I’m just as proud of my sister, who ended up as headmistress of a special school for children with both physical and intellectual disabilities. She won a Lifetime Achievement award for her pioneering work in developing their social skills, both in and beyond her ‘day job’.

So it’s not surprising that I used an autistic girl as one of the main characters of this book, is it? There wasn’t even a word for that behaviour pattern in the 1930s. See how Jinna blossoms when included in normal life by Tam!

And see how his impulsiveness provides him with the family he’d always longed for as he helps two other children.

Enjoy your fourth visit to Ellindale!

Anna

NB. If you’re interested in what England was really like in the 1930s, try reading J.B. Priestley’s English Journey. He went round England and wrote about what he saw in a most entertaining manner, thus providing me with a great research resource and an enjoyable read. Thank you, Mr Priestley!

Tam stopped in a village on the outskirts of Wolverhampton. He’d visited Miss Parkins’ house each spring for the past decade, ever since work became scarce in Lancashire. He preferred to go on the tramp, looking for jobs here and there, rather than apply for poor relief. He had a knack for finding work, too. Most of the time, anyway.

By this time he had one or two regulars like Miss Parkins, elderly ladies who wanted their gardens setting in order or needed odd jobs doing round the house and saved them up for him. He was handy at such tasks, if he said so himself.

But this year there was something wrong about the house. It looked – well, deserted. He hoped the old lady was all right. He’d found a lovely book in a second-hand shop to give to her, in return for all the books she’d given him over the years.

He opened the gate of the little semi-detached house and trundled his handcart round to the back door, as usual. As he raised his hand to knock, he saw a notice inside the glass window in the top half of the door: Tam Crawford, please contact Mrs Brown next door.

So he went round to see the neighbour, this time leaving his cart at the front.

Mrs Brown opened the door before he even got to it. ‘I saw you coming, Tam. I told the lawyer you’d turn up about now. Wait there.’

She reappeared with an unsealed envelope. ‘This is for you. It says you have to go and see Mr Eggleston as soon as you can.’

‘Where’s Miss Parkins?’

‘Dead two months ago, just slipped away in her sleep, poor dear.’

‘Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I’m sorry to lose a good neighbour. The house goes to her nephew and he’s moving his family in soon, now that they’ve settled all the legal fussation.’

‘Thank you.’

Since she didn’t offer him a cup of tea, he walked back to the road, where he pulled the letter out and studied it. The lawyer had an address in the village, so no time like the present. At a guess, Miss Parkins might have left him some books. He hoped so. She’d taught him to enjoy reading and he couldn’t do without books now.

Mr Eggleston kept him waiting for nearly an hour, but Tam didn’t mind because they’d set out newspapers for clients to read.

When he was called through, the lawyer studied him before gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk. ‘Please sit down, Mr Crawford.’

He did so and waited.

‘You’ll have heard that Miss Parkins has died.’

‘Yes. I was sorry.’

‘She’s left you a bequest.’

‘That’s kind of her.’ He waited.

‘It’s three hundred pounds.’

Tam choked and it was a couple of minutes before he’d finished coughing and spluttering, and even longer before he’d managed to pull himself together. That was a fortune to a man like him.

The lawyer was smiling slightly. ‘I’d guess this comes as a surprise.’

‘Aye. A big surprise. That’s a lot of money. Why would she do that?’

‘She said she’d enjoyed your company for the past ten years, but felt you needed a fresh start in life. She hopes you’ll spend the money on a house or shop, and settle down in Lancashire, instead of tramping all over the country. Oh, and she’s left you all her books as well.’

Tam swallowed hard and murmured ‘Mmm’ to show he was still listening.

‘She also wanted me to tell you she hopes you’ll use some of the money to help people whenever you can. She respected you greatly for sharing what little you had with other people in need.’

He shrugged, feeling embarrassed. ‘I do my bit when I can. People think it’s daft of me, but there you are. I don’t like to see children in trouble.’

‘Nor do I, Mr Crawford, nor do I. Now, let’s get down to practicalities. Do you have a bank account? We’ve been instructed to pay the money straight into a bank, you see. Miss Parkins was very emphatic about that. She said you were too kind sometimes and she didn’t want you carrying money around in your pockets and frittering it away. She, um, also said people called you “Crazy Tam” with some reason. May I ask why?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a bit of a temper, especially when I see someone hurting a child. And also, I’ve been known to rush into things without thinking them through.’

He didn’t want to dwell on that because he hadn’t done anything impulsive for a while now. ‘And, to answer your other question, I’ve got a little bit put by in the Yorkshire Penny Bank.’ Nothing like three hundred pounds, though!

‘Good.’ The lawyer stood up and shook his hand. ‘Congratulations on your bequest. I hope you’ll make good use of it. I’ll get my clerk to attend to the paperwork and then he’ll take you to the bank and make arrangements about giving you the books.’

And that was that.

When he came out of the bank Tam didn’t know where to go. He’d counted on a couple of weeks staying at Miss Parkins’ house in her garden shed, because it was still early spring and the nights could be quite cold.

He stopped dead as it hit him again. Three hundred pounds! It had taken him years of scrimping to save thirty pounds, and that would sound like a fortune to many people. Three hundred made him feel – unsettled, different. He’d better not tell people about his legacy. It was safer.

As he walked slowly along the street pushing his handcart, he passed a place selling used cars and as usual, he stopped to look at them. He’d learned to drive in the army during the war, like a lot of chaps, and had done odd jobs that involved driving over the years, so had kept his hand in.

He thought of how far he’d walked in the past month to get here and how he got tired more quickly these days. Well, he’d be fifty next birthday, wouldn’t he? He’d just have a look at the cars, he decided. The ones here were nice, but too expensive for a chap like him.

A few minutes later he spotted a small Morris van round the back of the display area and went to have a look at it. It was several years old, of course, but vans like this were usually good runners.

A salesman came out of the building, studied him and hesitated.

Yes, Tam thought, look down your nose at me, why don’t you? I can’t wear good clothes for tramping the roads. Just to put the chap in his place, he called out, ‘How much is this van?’

Looking surprised, the man hurried over. ‘Thirty pounds, sir.’

‘You’re kidding me. It’s been in an accident. Look at the back of it, all battered those doors are.’

‘But the motor is good and so is the rest of the bodywork. The van would be more expensive if there weren’t a few little dents.’

‘A few big dents, you mean.’ Tam walked round it again. ‘I’ll give you twenty pounds for it.’

‘What? Now who’s kidding?’ The salesman forced a laugh.

Tam shrugged and turned as if to walk away.

‘Twenty-five pounds, then.’

‘Twenty and not a penny more – as long as the engine is in good condition. I’d have to check that first.’

‘I’d lose money on that.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. You can’t have paid more than ten pounds for it with all those dents.’

They haggled for a while, then the salesman got the engine running and it did sound smooth. Tam asked if he could drive it round the block, so they both got in.

Eh, it was good to be driving again. And the man was right. It was a nice little runner. The brakes were good and the tyres still had plenty of wear in them. It was just the bodywork at the back that was a mess.

When they got back, Tam folded his arms across his chest and said firmly, ‘Twenty pounds.’

‘You’ll bankrupt me.’ The man stuck out one hand and they shook on it.

It wasn’t till then that Tam realised what he had done. He’d turned into Crazy Tam again and done something on sheer impulse.

He could still say he’d changed his mind. Couldn’t he?

He looked at the van. No, he wasn’t going to change his mind. He reckoned he’d be able to make a living with it as a carrier of small loads. ‘I’ll have to go to the bank to get the money out. I hadn’t planned to buy a van today.’

‘It’ll be waiting for you here. Though I’d rather you just told me if you’ve changed your mind.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind. Can I leave my handcart here? Will that convince you I want to buy it?’

The man brightened. ‘Yes, sir. Of course you can. I’ll keep my eye on it.’ He gave directions to the nearest Yorkshire Penny Bank.

Tam strode off down the street and when he turned the corner he had to lean against the wall, because he felt all shuddery.

He’d promised himself not to do anything without serious thought.

Crazy Tam had struck again.

Well, this would probably work out all right, but it would be the last time he gave way to an impulse, the very last.

Definitely.

A week later a stallholder at the Rivenshaw weekly market nudged the woman at the next stall. ‘Hey, look. Isn’t that Crazy Tam?’

She looked round. ‘So it is! Haven’t seen him for ages, must be a couple of years or more since he’s passed through. I thought he might have died somewhere on his travels.’

‘Not him. He’s a tough one, good for years yet.’

‘He must be getting on though.’

Ozzy shrugged. ‘Tam’s the same age as me, nearly fifty. That’s not old, not if you don’t feel old.’

‘I wonder where he’s been this time.’

‘Who knows? He told me once he just sets off without knowing where he’ll end up. I’ve never seen him driving a van before, though. He was pushing a handcart last time he came to Rivenshaw. I wonder if the van’s his? How can he afford that?’ Ozzy waved one hand to the man getting out of the shabby little vehicle.

Tam waved back and yelled, ‘Be back soon.’ He hung a scuffed leather satchel crosswise on his body and started to walk in the other direction. He’d only gone a few steps along the edge of Market Square when he stopped dead, staring into the yard at the side of the pub. He turned round and started running back to the stalls, looking furiously angry.

‘Uh-oh! Watch out for storms,’ the woman said. ‘When he gets that look on his face, there’s no telling what he’ll do.’

Tam had hauled off the leather satchel as he ran and now flung it at Ozzy. ‘Look after that for me, lad.’ Then he ran back to the half-open gate, pausing for a moment to stare into the yard, keeping most of his body out of sight.

Ozzy said abruptly, ‘It looks like he’s found trouble. He goes mad if he sees someone getting hurt, even an animal.’

‘Yes. He’s a nice chap. But crazy.’

‘He might need help. You keep an eye on the satchel and on my stall as well, Hetty lass. I bet it’s that bunch of nasty youngsters who’ve started hanging around in that yard. They think no one’s noticed the way they sneak in and out, but me an’ some of the chaps are keeping an eye on them on market days. You can’t be too careful when there’s money changing hands.’

Tam peered into the yard again but still couldn’t see exactly who the group of lads had cornered, only he knew what he’d heard. It must be someone smaller than them because he couldn’t see who it was.

One of the lads was chanting, ‘Dummy! Dummy! Cry for your mummy.’ That was what had caught his attention – that and a child’s shrill cry of pain.

He still couldn’t see the victim but he heard a whimper, so stayed where he was for a moment or two, trying to work out who was doing what. He didn’t recognise the thin lad towering over the others in the group, but he seemed to be the ringleader.

The lad laughed and yelled, ‘Who wants to poke the dummy next? Let’s see who can make her cry the loudest!’

Raucous laughter followed.

As the lad grabbed the arm of the person hidden by the group and tugged her forward, Tam saw that it was a girl. Her clothes were torn and she was trying desperately to pull away. But her tormenter held her arms above her head while another lad jabbed her hard in the chest, making her cry out again.

‘She can’t talk but we can make her squeal.’

‘My turn.’

As the next lad pulled back his hand for a jab, Tam erupted into the group of lads before they realised what was happening. Grabbing the one about to jab the lass with his hand, he hurled him sideways, sending him bouncing against the wall so hard he fell to the ground.

He turned to the leader, who was still holding her. ‘Let go of her, you!’

The lad, who was taller than him, laughed. ‘Who’s going to make me? Not you, old man. If you—’

Tam took him by surprise, punching him on the side of the jaw and sending him staggering backwards. But the lad quickly regained his balance and shoved his victim forward into Tam, who had to grab her or she’d have fallen.

‘You’re wasting your time, old man. I’ll find her again whenever I want to. See if I don’t.’

As the bully turned to run away, Ozzy hurried into the yard and moved forward to help Tam with the remaining lads. One of the two men who’d followed him shut the gate behind him with a thump.

The ringleader immediately changed direction, jumped on to a barrel and clambered over the high wall, disappearing from sight before anyone could catch hold of him.

The other two backed away from the men.

The girl was struggling now to get away from Tam, but he shushed her gently. ‘It’s all right, lass. It’s all right. I won’t let them hurt you again. Shh, now. Shh. Stand still.’

They’d called her ‘Dummy’ but as she looked up at him, he was sure there was intelligence shining in those bright blue eyes. She didn’t speak but she must have understood what he’d said because she stopped struggling and stood stiffly beside him.

‘That’s a good lass,’ he murmured. ‘Stay near me till we’ve got rid of the other two lads who were hurting you.’

Keeping one arm lightly round her shoulders, he turned to ask them, ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

‘It was just a bit of fun. She’s a dummy. Can’t speak. No use to anyone.’

‘And you think that’s a reason to torment her?’ He looked at Ozzy. ‘Get rid of these louts before I forget myself. If I see them hurting anyone again, I’ll knock them into the middle of next week.’

Ozzy clouted the one who’d poked the girl and shoved him towards the gate. ‘Don’t come anywhere near this yard again, either. I’m like my friend, can’t stand bullying. If I see you hurting this lass or anyone else, I’ll teach you what painful feels like, by hell I will.’

Both lads rushed for the gate, nearly falling through it in their eagerness to get away.

The girl was left standing beside Tam, stiff and wary but not moving away from him. He wondered for a moment why no one had come out of the pub to investigate the noise, but now wasn’t the time to find out. If his baby daughter had lived, she’d have been about this age, he reckoned. Twelve or so. He sometimes wondered what his child would have been like if she’d grown up.

Eh, what was he thinking about that for? It had happened years ago. ‘Anyone know who the lass is?’

Ozzy moved closer. ‘I don’t know her name but she lives out at Backshaw Moss with her mother. She comes to the market with Sarey Timmins every now and then, because the mother’s not been well for a while. Kind woman, Sarey. It isn’t easy to look after a dummy as she can’t think or speak properly. Most folk wouldn’t even try.’

Tam noticed the girl glare at Ozzy as he said that, so he continued to watch her. Once again, it seemed to him that she’d understood perfectly well what people had been saying. Was she unable to speak or didn’t she want to?

‘Can someone fetch Sarey?’ he said. ‘I don’t want to take the poor lass out into the market till we can get her decent. Eh, what’s the world coming to? Those young devils have even ripped her blouse and skirt.’

‘I’ll fetch Sarey.’ One man ran off.

‘They’re a bad lot, them lads,’ Ozzy said. ‘The leader’s Johnny Houghton’s eldest. Like father, like son, eh? If they had a job to use up their energy, they’d not get into mischief so often. They tried to steal from my stall last week but we stall keepers not only keep our eyes open ourselves, we watch each other’s stuff, so the lads didn’t get away with it.’

‘Them Houghtons have been causing trouble since I were a lad,’ Tam said grimly.

‘You’re right there. I’ve no time for people like them, thieving and bullying because they’re too lazy to work. I feel sorry for folk who steal food because they can’t find work, and are hungry and desperate, but we’re all doing it hard these days, and I can’t help all the world, can I?’

‘Better times are coming,’ Tam said confidently. ‘I’ve seen it down south.’

‘Huh! I’ll believe that when they arrive here in the valley.’

A woman came hurrying into the yard just then, her face lined and worn, her clothes shabby. ‘Eh, Jinna, why did you wander off?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but said to Tam, ‘The lass doesn’t speak much but she talks to me a bit when she’s not frightened. I bring her to market sometimes to give her poor mam a rest and she usually sits there good as gold, drawing. Only I couldn’t find much paper for her today, and her pencil’s worn down to a stub, so she wandered off.’

She looked at Tam again, frowning slightly. ‘Jinna doesn’t often go to strangers.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m fond of children, most of ’em anyway. What’s wrong with this one’s mother?’

‘She’s not at all well.’ Sarey glanced at Jinna and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen to the poor creature when her mother, um, leaves us, but it won’t be long before we find out.’

He took her point. ‘That bad, is it?’

‘Aye. It’s a cruel world.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘Backshaw Moss, upper end. They’ve got a room in Mossy Row, same house as my friend Phyllis. That’s how I know them.’ She looked back towards the stalls. ‘I see you’ve got yourself a van. You wouldn’t have time to take Jinna home for me, would you, Tam? She’s a bit restless today and I can’t watch her all the time. I daren’t miss the market. My family relies on what I can buy and sell here.’

He looked sideways and once again, it seemed to him that Jinna had understood every word spoken, because she was looking sad now. ‘Aye. I’ll take her home. I’m going up to Ellindale, so Backshaw Moss isn’t far out of my way. But first we’ll need to get her a new blouse and skirt. Look what they’ve done to her clothes! If I give you some money can you find her something at the second-hand clothes stall?’ He held out a couple of coins.

She looked at him in surprise as she took them. ‘That’s kind of you. Yes, of course I can. I won’t be long.’

As she left, the girl tried to follow her and Tam said gently, ‘Stay here till she gets you some new clothes. That blouse is torn and so is your skirt, and they’re too small for you anyway.’

She looked down at herself with the gaze of an innocent child, not a young woman aware of her own body.

It wasn’t long before Sarey returned, carrying some clothes over one arm. ‘I think these will fit her. Turn your backs, please, gentlemen.’

When the men were allowed to look again, Tam saw that Jinna was wearing the new clothes and stroking the blouse, which was a pretty shade of blue.

Sarey looked back towards the market. ‘I really do have to go. There’s someone waiting at my stall. Better come and get Jinna’s drawings before you set off, Tam. She won’t go back without them.’

He nodded and turned to Ozzy. ‘Thanks for your help today, lad. I’ll see you around.’

‘Are you going to stay in the valley for a while this time or are you just passing through?’

‘Depends. I won’t stay in Rivenshaw because I’m not one for towns, but maybe I’ll find somewhere to live further up the valley, in Ellindale. I like it up the top near the moors.’

He turned to Jinna. ‘Come with me, lass. I’ll give you a ride home in my van.’

She looked at Sarey, who said slowly and clearly, ‘Go home with Tam. In his van. Go home now. Get your drawings first.’

The girl nodded and followed her to the stall.

There, he thought. She does understand. Definitely.

Back at the market, Tam retrieved his satchel from Hetty, explained what he was doing and waited next to Sarey’s stall while Jinna gathered up some crumpled pieces of paper that were obviously precious to her, trying in vain to smooth them out.

‘She lives at Number Eight, Mossy Lane, think on,’ Sarey called after him.

When he led the way across to the van, Jinna followed. He opened the door to the passenger seat but she hesitated, looking across at Sarey once again. The woman made a shooing motion with her hands.

‘You’ll have to show me which is your house,’ he said once Jinna had got in.

She nodded.

He was, he admitted to himself, intrigued by this scrawny scrap of a girl. He’d met other folk who couldn’t speak, but they were usually dim-witted with it. Unless he was very much mistaken, Jinna was just as clever as the next person.

So why didn’t she speak?

Eh, kids were strange creatures and yet he wished he had a house full of them. He’d only had the one child – Pansy they’d called her – and she’d died when she was three. Measles was a terrible scourge for small children. His wife had simply faded away after that from grief and had died of a bad cold that had gone to her chest. Years ago, that had been. He’d have trouble even remembering Bertha’s face if he hadn’t kept his one photo of her and Pansy.

People had told him he should remarry. They meant well, but it had taken him time to get over such terrible losses and anyway, it’d been hard to find work that lasted, with jobs getting fewer and fewer all through the twenties. He couldn’t have afforded to support another wife then and anyway, that’s when he’d started travelling south to find work.

It had been a good decision. At first he’d gone hungry, but he’d gradually learned to sniff out temporary work nearly everywhere he went.

He hadn’t sniffed out anywhere to settle permanently, though, because he always came back to the moors near which he’d grown up. He’d have stayed in Lancashire, or even across in Yorkshire, but the trouble was, work was mainly to be found in the south.

Things were changing, though, whatever Ozzy said. Tam had seen it with his own eyes. There were schemes being set up in some places to help the unemployed and since the government started giving out grants to encourage it, more house building was going on in the south.

Miss Parkins, the old lady he’d worked for every year for a week or two in spring, had let him sleep in her garden shed and fed him a meal in return for chatting to her in the evenings. Poor Miss Parkins! She’d been lonely, he reckoned. She used to be a teacher till she grew too old and had taught him all sorts of things.

One of them was that as far back as 1924 there had been an act of parliament to give grants to local councils to build houses, and quite a lot of towns had taken advantage of that. He’d been astonished to find that out. Why hadn’t Rivenshaw Town Council done something to earn a grant, eh? He’d like to ask the mayor and councillors.

Then there had been another act of parliament four years ago in 1930, Miss Parkins had said, giving local councils grants for slum clearance, on condition they rehoused the people who’d lived in the slums. There had only been a token attempt to do that in Rivenshaw, as far as he could tell.

Eh, they needed some people on the council with a bit of fire in their bellies, they did that.

He’d read a lot on his travels after Miss Parkins had started him off with the gift of a couple of books. He hadn’t had much choice about what he read. It was just a question of what he could get hold of, so he’d read all sorts of books.

He didn’t know where the years had gone, only that it was too late now for him to start a family, more’s the pity. But not too late to do something with the money that the old lady had left him.

He was sorry Miss Parkins had gone. He’d miss her sharp insights into the world. He didn’t intend to tell anyone about his windfall when he got back to Rivenshaw. It seemed a huge amount to him and would set him apart from any new friends he made.

Tam drove to the northern end of Rivenshaw and turned right off Reservoir Road, heading towards Birch End. The girl sat stiff and silent on the seat beside him and he realised suddenly that he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even tried to chat to her.

His possess. . .