Extract from Sons and Lovers by D.
H.
Lawrence He was coming at Christmas for five days.
There had never been such preparations.
Paul and Arthur scoured the land for holly and evergreens,
Annie made the pretty paper hoops in the old-fashioned way,
And there was unheard of extravagance in the larder.
Mrs Morrill made a big and magnificent cake.
Then,
Feeling queenly,
She showed Paul how to blanch almonds.
He skinned the long nuts reverently,
Counting them all,
To see not one was lost.
It was said that eggs whisked better in a cold place.
So the boy stood in the scullery,
Where the temperature was nearly at freezing point,
And whisked and whisked,
And flew in excitement to his mother,
As the white of egg grew stiffer and more snowy.
Just look,
Mother,
Isn't it lovely?
And he balanced a bit on his nose and blew it in the air.
Now don't waste it,
Said the mother.
Everybody was mad with excitement.
William was coming on Christmas Eve.
Mrs Morrill surveyed her pantry.
There was a big plum cake and a rice cake,
Jam tarts,
Lemon tarts and mince pies.
Two enormous dishes.
She was finishing cooking.
Spanish tarts and cheesecakes everywhere was decorated and the kissing bunch of buried holly hung with bright and glittering things spun slowly over Mrs Morrill's head as she trimmed her little tarts in the kitchen.
A great fire roared.
There was a scent of cooked pastry.
He was due at seven o'clock,
But he would be late.
The three children had gone to meet him.
She was alone.
But at a quarter to seven,
Morrill came in again.
Neither wife nor husband spoke.
He sat in his armchair,
Quite awkward with excitement,
And she quietly went on with her baking.
Only by the careful way in which she did things could it be told how much moved she was.
The clock ticked on.
What time does he say he's coming?
Morrill asked for the fifth time.
The train gets in at half past six,
She replied emphatically.
Then he'll be here at ten past seven.
He bless you,
It'll be hours late on the Midland,
She said indifferently.
But she hoped by expecting him late to bring him early.
Morrill went down the entry to look for him,
Then he came back.
Goodness man,
She said,
You're like an ill-sitting hen.
Then you better be getting him something to eat ready,
Asked the father.
There's plenty of time,
She answered.
There's not so much as I can say on,
He answered,
Turning crossly in his chair.
She began to clear her table.
The kettle was singing.
They waited and waited.
Meantime,
The three children were on the platform at Sethley Bridge on the Midland mainline two miles from home.
They waited one hour.
A train came.
He was not there.
Down the line the red and green light shone.
It was very dark and very cold.
Asking if the London trains come,
Said Paul to Annie when they saw a man in a tip cap.
I'm not,
Said Annie.
You be quiet,
He might send us off.
But Paul was dying for the man to know they were expecting someone by the London train.
It sounded so grand.
Yet he was too much scared of broaching any man,
Let alone one in a tip cap.
The three children could scarcely go into the waiting room for fear of being sent away and for fear something should happen whilst they were off the platform.
Still,
They waited in the dark and the cold.
It's an hour and a half late,
Said Arthur pathetically.
Well,
Said Annie,
It is Christmas Eve.
They all grew silent.
He wasn't coming.
They looked down the darkness of the railway.
There was London.
It seemed the uttermost of distance.
They thought anything might happen if one came from London.
They were all too troubled to talk.
Cold and unhappy and silent,
They huddled together on the platform.
At last,
After more than two hours,
They saw the lights of an engine peering round a way down the darkness.
A porter ran out.
The children drew back with beating hearts.
It was a great train bound for Manchester.
Two doors opened and from one of them,
William,
They flew to him.
He handed parcels to them cheerfully and immediately began to explain that this great train had stopped for his sake at such a small station as Sethley Bridge.
It was The table was set.
The chop was cooked.
Everything was ready.
Mrs.
Morrell put on her black apron.
She was wearing her best dress.
Then she sat pretending to read.
The minutes were torture.
Hmm,
Said Morrell,
It's hour and a half.
And those children waiting,
She said.
The train can't come in yet,
He said.
I tell you,
On Christmas Eve,
Their hour's wrong.
They were both a bit cross with each other,
So gnawed with anxiety.
The ash tree moaned outside in a cold,
Raw wind and all that space of night from London Ho,
Mrs.
Morrell suffered.
The slight click of the works inside the clock irritated her.
It was getting so late now.
It was getting unbearable.
At last there was a sound of voices.
Then a footstep in the entry.
Ah,
It's there,
Cried Morrell,
Jumping up.
And he stood back.
The mother ran a few steps towards the door and waited.
There was a rush,
A patter of feet,
And the door burst open.
William was there.
He dropped his Gladstone bag and took his mother in his arms.
Mother,
He said.
My boy,
She cried.
And for two seconds,
No longer,
She clasped him and kissed him.
Then she withdrew and said,
Trying to be quite normal,
But how late you are.
Aren't I,
He cried,
Turning to his father.
Well,
Dad.
The two men shook hands.
Well,
My lad.
Morrell's eyes were wet.
We thought he'd never be coming,
He said.
I'd come,
Explained William.
Then the son turned round to his mother.
But you look well,
She said proudly,
Laughing.
Well,
He exclaimed,
I should think so coming home.
He was a fine fellow,
Big,
Straight and fearless looking.
He looked round at the evergreens and the kissing bunch and the little tarts that lay in their tins on the hearth.
By Jove,
Mother,
It's not different,
He said,
As if in relief.
Everybody was still for a second.
Then he suddenly sprang forward,
Picked a tart from the hearth and pushed it in whole into his mouth.
Well,
Did ever you see such a parish oven,
The father exclaimed.
He had brought them endless presents.
Every penny he had,
He had spent on them.
There was a sense of luxury overflowing in the house that Christmas.
For his mother,
There was an umbrella with gold on the pale handle.
She kept it to her dying day and would have lost anything rather than that.
Everybody had something gorgeous.
And besides,
There were pounds of unknown sweets,
Turkish delight,
Crystallised pineapple and such things which the children thought only the splendour of London could provide.
And Paul boasted of these sweets among his friends.
Real pineapple cut off in slices,
He said,
Then turned into crystal,
Fair grand.
Everybody was mad with happiness in the family.
Home was home and they loved it with a passion of love,
Whatever the suffering had been.
There were parties,
There were rejoicings.
People came in to see William to see what a difference London had made.
And they all found him such a gentleman and such a fine fellow,
My word.
