Guest Blog Post: A Short Story 'The Homecoming' by Jacqueline Mulligan

A change from the factual to historical fiction for this post, with thanks to Jaqueline Mulligan for letting us publish it here. It was entered into the Beverley Literature Festival Writing Competition a few years ago, which was judged by the author Val Wood and was a joint runner-up.

 Nothing was as it appeared to be, not the road that led to the house, not the house itself or the garden and certainly not the occupants of the house who were waiting on the steps by the front door. This was not a good beginning...There was a sudden erratic shuffle forwards by the people on the step accompanied by an uproar of yapping that sounded like it belonged to at least three dogs, but on looking down at the source of all the noise there was just one very excited Jack Russell. Leaving everyone in disarray it leapt across the small path and on to the flagstones before me. Stopping almost at attention at my feet the little dog paused, and in quick succession sniffed boots, puttees, trousers and finally, standing up on his back legs resting his front paws on my shins, stared up at my face. Its bright eyes surveyed my face and its scars, found nothing wanting and went back to the far more pressing question of whether I had any eatables in my pockets.  A name, the first one to appear in long while without a struggle, popped into my head.

                  “Ruff?”

  “That’s right and he’s still thinks he’s the king of Hull.” Father’s voice had an edge of tiredness. He and my brother Sid had been my companions all day.

“Come on Norman. It’s been a long day on those trains. Look, everyone’s waiting.” Sid sounded determined and sensing my hesitation steered me by the shoulders into the house.

                  We moved down the short corridor, with Ruff leading the way into a room at the end that smelt of baking. The room had a table and chairs near a window and a pair of comfy chairs drawn up in front of a warm kitchen range.

                 Suddenly small pair of hands was tugging at my own in an effort to gain my attention.

                  “Ethel?” Another name remembered but this time accompanied with a face that was familiar too. Round, soft features surrounded by long messy hair with lopsided ribbons.

                 “Why, you look just the same.” Her gentle hands gave mine a squeeze as she took in the change in my appearance. Standing up on her tiptoes she whispered conspiratorially as she leaned closer, “Mam’s made mince pies and its weeks to Christmas.”

                 “Well, that’s because they’re my favourite,” I whispered back and I knew that it was true.

                The figure of a woman appeared in a far doorway. With the light behind her it was hard to make out her features but I found that I could already picture them quite easily.

                “Mother?”

Suddenly a voice piped up from behind me.

 “Is he remembering us now?

“Robert-!” The shocked tone in Mothers’ voice silenced anymore questions from the small boy who now came forward, head bowed and stood in front of me.

                “No- it’s alright mother. Bob’s only saying what everyone’s thinking.” I shot Bob a quick wink with my good eye. “But of course, they’re all too polite to say.” Bob grinned back at that, looking mightily relived.

Then the young miss who had been standing by Bob drew him gently aside, caught me by the hand and motioned me towards the comfy chairs.

 “Norman – sit down here near the fire”

I wasn’t sure but, no it couldn’t be.

“Topsy – no, you’re all grown-up. It is you – no, it can’t be  . . . “

With a laugh that left no doubt in my mind, Topsy held me tight and gave me a kiss on my good side.

“Aye, and she’s got herself sorted with a situation at a wool shop on Holderness Road.” This latest remark came from the young lad with the broad grin and sharp clothes who‘d been hanging around at the back of the group all of the time. Stanley, I knew it was he.

Stan piped up again. “The girls have already got a trip out to Fields Cafe planned for you and I think Topsy should pay! We’ll soon have you out and about and remembering stuff, won’t we?”

                 “They’ll be no trips to Field’s, not just yet.” Dad’s voice silenced the room. “We had our orders given us by the Red Cross nurses at the hospital. The Doctors think being at home will aid Norman’s recovery – help his memory like. But, Norman has to rest up, get plenty of fresh air mind you, but he’s not to over tire himself.” Pausing to cast a stern glance around everybody, as if daring anyone to interrupt him, Father continued on. “No, first thing tomorrow we’ll have some fresh air at the allotment. Never mind pulling a face Stan, those vegetables don’t pull them-selves out of the earth you know.”

                 This raised a laugh and I found myself joining in, for I knew, somehow, that Stan hated getting his hands dirty. I looked around the kitchen at all of us and realised that I could put a name to every face there; Father, Mother, Sid, Stanley with a red face, Bob sneaking a mince pie from the table , Topsy, Ethel, and I knew I was home.

This short story was suggested by a collection of letters belonging to the William’s family from Hull. ‘In the Pink’, published by the East Yorkshire Local History Society, details the experiences of their son Edward Stanley as a teenager at the front in the Great War. Many of the letters are addressed to Stan’s older brother, the ‘Norman’ of the story. Norman’s own war had been a short one. After been severely wounded at the Battle of the Somme he was invalided out with serious head wounds early in the war. Stanley however, undaunted had enlisted by 1917 and had his own adventure, thankfully, returning home unscathed in 1918.  As for Norman he recovered and lived a full and interesting life which amongst other enterprises included taking on a pub at Aldbrough on the Holderness coast. He died aged 63 in 1958.

Words (c) Jacqueline Mulligan (@JackMulligan5)