The Orphan Thief

25th December 1940

The tiny Christmas pudding sat on its plate in front of Ruby. She sliced it across the middle and placed a portion into another dish. The smell made her mouth water as she poured a small dribble of watery custard. Although she’d called it a Christmas pudding, it was more like a marmalade suet sponge.

The smell transported her back to the previous Christmas. No matter how hard she tried to ignore the memories, she could not help but think back to the days she’d spent embroidering a tray cloth for her grandmother, a pinafore for her mother, wrapping a twist of fudge, hidden inside hand-knitted mittens for her siblings, and restoring a pipe stand for her father. She’d sanded and polished it until the perfect grain of wood shone. His face had lit up when he’d seen it, and he’d immediately placed his four favourite pipes in the appropriate holes and stood it beside the hearth. Every gift offered to her family had received a rapturous shout of glee. Ruby, in turn, had received a new hair ribbon and band, a pair of pink lace gloves which frilled at the wrist, a small bottle of peach perfume and a small raffia handbag. She remembered the smells of the day, the laughter, the joy of listening to the King give a slow, deliberate speech of reassurance about the onset of war. They had stood united in the best parlour and held hands. When he’d finished, they’d hugged each other. What she’d give to have that day again. The fear had been there still, but so was her family.

Today, her Christmas was shared with Fred, who sat snoring in his chair by the fire. He’d moved in with her two days previously. She knew she’d taken on a great challenge, especially if she had to find a new home for them both, but he represented the last link with her grandmother, and he needed her just as much. They’d enjoyed a meagre meal; she’d purchased a small piece of beef with his meat ration.

She watched him sleep, grateful for the occasional snore reminding her she was not alone. He looked so peaceful and she wondered when she’d sleep for more than two hours of a night without waking herself from a bad dream. She envied Fred.

‘Pudding, Fred,’ she said and gave him a gentle shake of the shoulder.

He gave a yawn and broke free from his snooze with a last snort, rose to his feet and sat at the table. ‘Looks good,’ he said.

‘Simple but filling. Next year we’ll have a proper plum pudding with creamy custard,’ Ruby replied.

‘This is tasty enough. Better than nothing,’ Fred said and shovelled a large spoonful into his mouth.

Ruby remembered he’d probably been without during the Great War, and so her pudding effort was appreciated. She opted to do the same and appreciate what she had in front of her.

‘You’re right; it is tasty, and better than nothing. Fred, there’s a bottle of rum in the cupboard; I found it when I cleared out papers. Would you like a tot? I know Dad enjoyed one at Christmas, and recognised the bottle, so I suspect it was a gift to Stephen last year.’

Fred scraped his spoon around his dish and ate the last spoonful. He leaned back in his chair. ‘A small rum would be acceptable, considering the day. Thank you. And Ruby, thank you for your company. You remind me of your grandmother – generous and thoughtful. You look like her too, but a taller version.’

Handing Fred his drink, Ruby giggled. ‘I think everyone was taller than Gran. She was a tiny thing.’

‘Feisty, though. I’ve seen her chase off a grown man for ill-treating a dog, and that man ran for his life,’ Fred said and laughed.

‘She loved animals, but would never keep one as a pet.’

‘Talking of pets, did you hear that cat again? I thought I heard a meowing in the yard earlier this morning.’

‘Not since yesterday. I’ll keep an ear out. Stephen had a cat, so there’s a chance it ran away after the bombing and has found its way home. Ooh, look, time for the King to say his piece,’ Ruby said and turned on the radio. They both stood as the National Anthem played. When the King spoke of Christmas being for children, no matter where they might be, the words hit Ruby hard.

At the end, Fred gave a huff of indifference. ‘A happy Christmas. We’ve coped, but can’t say either of us, nor any of them poor buggers – excuse the language – fighting are having a happy one, and some won’t ever again. Words are all very well, but this war needs to end. We were told it would be over by now. What’s the point of carrying on living? Politicians. Pah.’

He drained his glass and Ruby held back from offering him another. His flushed cheeks and fired up temper told her she’d been generous enough the first time around.

‘It’s tough for us all, Fred, I agree, but we have to find a way forward. Tomorrow, I’m going to write a list of the stock I’ve collected. I’m going to label it all with the street and, where possible, the number of the house I found it, so if anyone claims it as theirs I can give it back. If not, I’ll sell it on. You can help and polish a bit of brass for me, and I’m sure you’re a dab hand with a screwdriver and paintbrush. We’ll make it work, Fred. Me and you, we’ll get through this.’

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