The Moon's an Illusion: The Ripple Effect

By Edwina Thomas

Every family has a story to tell - some more interesting than others...

 

Based on true events surrounding one family, The Moon’s an Illusion focuses on how life can go
terribly wrong on the basis of one bad choice and one single mistake. Set in
the strait-laced 1920s, the story revolves around one affluent family and how
each member’s choices tear the family apart. More than just the scandals, this
is a story of a family in crisis, with many strong characters with stories to
tell.

 

One daughter brings the family’s name into disrepute by claiming to have been raped. This claim sets events into motion that
pits family against family, with revenge taken by the accused. His people are
violent, unpredictable and will draw no line to take their so-called justice on
the daughter and everyone she loves.

 

Another daughter finds happiness, only to lose it, and as a
result is committed to a mental asylum. Later she remarries one of the most
eligible and handsome men in town - but disaster strikes again when it’s
revealed she had a brief affair with an Egyptian man who claimed to have psychic powers. The affair results in catastrophic consequences for everyone. Scandal and shock surround the family yet again, estranging the
daughter from the people she loves. The once close-knit family breaks apart -
all because of a few decisions that ripple down to affect everyone.

 

This emotionally-driven story has various twists and turns,
and the pace is relentless as it drives towards the inevitable conclusion, with
skeletons falling out of many cupboards along the way. Its general appeal and
the breadth of the subjects it covers will appeal to readers who enjoy both
character-based stories and general fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789011418

Edwina Thomas

Edwina Thomas grew up in a beautiful part of Britain with her family. She lives with her husband in an old converted chapel in a stunning location, with country walks on the doorstep, which they enjoy with their dog. This is her first novel.

Book preview

The Moon's an Illusion

The Ripple Effect

Edwina Thomas

Dedicated to my mother, Alice

Copyright © 2018 Edwina Thomas

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This book is a fictional dramatisation based on a true story. As names have been changed, any resemblance to actual living or deceased persons or actual events are purely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, places, some events and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.

Matador

9 Priory Business Park,

Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

Tel: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781789011418

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

The Moon’s an Illusion

I come as always, ever reliable, to return like clockwork.

Sometimes I shine brightly, sometimes I can’t even be seen, but I’m always there, shining down at night, watching.

Some think my presence is beautiful, some think the way I look at times is ominous. No one can touch me, they can just gaze, and wonder.

I can stand out against the dark night sky; sometimes I am invisible to the naked eye, but I am always there, peeping through at the big planet in front of me. I wonder too about the beauty of what I can see, and try to understand. Is the Earth an Illusion…?

by Edwina Thomas

Contents

The Moon’s an Illusion

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-two

Chapter twenty-three

Chapter twenty-four

Chapter twenty-five

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-seven

Chapter twenty-eight

Chapter twenty-nine

Chapter thirty

Chapter thirty-one

Chapter thirty-two

Chapter thirty-three

My Thoughts

Chapter one

It was the 19th of September; the day that I’d been longing for had almost arrived. Just two days to wait until my sixteenth birthday. The year was 1921; four years after women had finally got the right to vote. Three cheers for Emmeline Pankhurst and all the other strong-willed and brave women fighting for their cause!

Things were changing, especially for women; it was an exciting time in which to grow up. Women were no longer shackled and oppressed by their husbands. Not that any of our family were ever treated like that; on the contrary, Father actively encouraged Mother to be more independent and to learn and do new things. A lot of women who had helped in the war effort were not happy to return to their old lives, much to the displeasure of their husbands and families. Women were certainly finding their voices, and using them, loud and clear. The roaring ’20s were upon us and I wanted to be a part of it!

The excitement had been building up inside me for many days, with the typical thoughts of any sixteen-year-old girl about to start an exciting new chapter in her life. Something I had been dreaming about for months.

I had plans, big plans. I wanted to work like lots of other girls of my age; I didn’t want to sit at home being kept by my parents like some helpless female. I planned to travel; I had never been out of England and I had heard and read many books about the history and elegance of places like Paris, Venice, Rome, or even India to name but a few.

One of my old school friends had gone on a Grand Tour of Europe with her family and she came back a different person, always enthusing about the places she’d visited and the people she met along the way. That’s what I wanted to do; maybe my parents would accompany us all, to some exotic and far off places. It would be something wonderful to experience as a family.

I spoke a little French and couldn’t wait to practise it and although I didn’t speak any Italian, apart from the usual pleasantries, I had heard that the male inhabitants were more than willing to teach young ladies their beautiful language…!

There was a big wide world outside our front door, waiting to be explored.

For my birthday, my parents had promised I would be allowed to go to my first dance, accompanied by my two elder sisters, Elizabeth and Helena. I was full of expectation and couldn’t wait! It meant that I would no longer be left behind at home, missing out on all the fun they were having.

Over the last few years, I had witnessed my two elder sisters enjoying some newfound independence and freedom. They were always going out, having the time of their lives, with parties, new friends and of course many admirers. They always seemed to be enjoying themselves in one way or another, and preparing for their next weekend of social events. I was feeling lonely and abandoned. There was a time, not that long ago, when we did everything together. We were so close that we even shared the same bedroom, not because we had to but because we chose to. We’d always been inseparable. I was hurt and envious at times. They didn’t seem to care about me anymore, or at least that’s what I thought. Their lives had changed. The last thing on their minds was a trip to the seaside or a matinee at the cinema on a Saturday afternoon, those days were gone; instead they’d be engrossed in conversation about going to a party or a dance or a trip into town to buy a new party dress.

I was envious when I heard my sisters creeping in late at night after an evening out, giggling and whispering as they crept up the stairs to the bedroom we all shared. They would share secrets and stories with one another of how their evenings had gone, who they’d seen, what they’d done, who had done what, and so on and so on. I would wait up for them to come home, in the hope I’d be included in their chatter. I begged them to share their experiences with me but it was always the same answer, telling me that nothing had happened and, anyway, I wouldn’t understand because I didn’t know the people they’d been with. It was clear to me that instead of being part of their lives, I had become an irritation, and when I wasn’t being told to go away or stop being a nuisance, I had become invisible, or at least that’s how it seemed to me. It was definitely a case of two’s company and three’s a crowd!

Watching my sisters getting ready for parties or dances made me feel even more envious and excluded. I wanted to go with them too, to be part of their lives again. There was only an eighteen-month gap between each of us and I was trapped between what were my childhood days and entering my adult life. As Mother would say, ‘Too old for toys but not old enough yet for boys.’ She was full of these platitudes.

I would watch Elizabeth and Helena as they got ready for an evening out, going through their wardrobes, looking for the perfect dresses, trying on different styles and colours, asking each other’s opinions about what looked the best, only to fling them onto the bed where a small mound of clothes would form. They would be trying on jewellery and curling one another’s hair, creating sophisticated hairstyles, then finishing off the look with lipstick and rouge, then a dab of perfume behind their ears; how I felt tortured with envy! I remember the tiny dark blue glass bottle containing the perfume called Midnight in Paris, with its silver label and the little black rubber stopper and silver screw-top lid. Just the name took me into another world, which conjured up all sorts of romantic notions in my head.

Soon they’d be gone, and as usual, I would be left with the bedroom in complete disarray and the waft of perfume in the air. As soon as I heard the front door close behind them, I was deflated. I was sick of hearing everyone always saying, ‘You’re only fifteen; your time will come.’ Mother was always saying it and it certainly didn’t make me feel any happier. Elizabeth knew that on hearing it said, I would be furious, so she would say it too, just to annoy me even more. I would say, ‘But Mother you had met Father at my age and you were married at sixteen. I’ve never even had a sweetheart, it’s just not fair.’ Mother’s quick response was, ‘Well, I’m not going to argue with you, that’s your father’s final decision’; what she really meant was that she couldn’t think up a better reason!

The boredom of being at home with just a book to read for entertainment was driving me to distraction. I would sometimes peer out of the bedroom window and watch the trams going by, or people walking along, couples walking hand in hand, or the odd drunk stumbling along the pavement trying to find their way home. Even my little brother wasn’t around for company. James was already tucked up in bed. Mother could see how lonely I was feeling and would do her best to cheer me up or keep me company. She encouraged me to spend the evening with her sometimes if Father was at his club. We’d listen to music or sometimes play board games. Draughts and card games were no substitute for what I really wanted to be doing, and Mother was more than aware of that! Still, it was nice that she cared enough to try; she was a lovely lady and we were very close.

There was a red postbox and street lamp opposite my bedroom window, which was quite interesting; every now and then someone would stop to post their letter. A lot of them I would recognise, and one person was particularly interesting as he always took a quick look over his shoulder before quickly dropping the letter into the postbox, as if the letter was red hot, and he would then scoot off at speed. What on earth was he doing out at this time of the evening, mysteriously posting letters?

I was curious as to why his visits to the postbox were so regular and always at around the same time of the evening. I used to make up stories in my head about the various people I saw. My mother always used to say, ‘Everyone has a story to tell, some more interesting than others, but we all have one.’ I wondered what their stories were; were they happy, were they sad, was the man who regularly sent those letters really a Russian spy or was he writing to his secret mistress or sweetheart? I was a romantic and believed the latter. I could spend hours at my window fantasising, making up these little stories for my amusement.

I watched the clock as the hours passed by slowly, wondering what my sisters were doing and what time they’d be back home, and thinking to myself that they would both be in high spirits on their return. I consoled myself by thinking that I wouldn’t be left behind for much longer. I wanted to start having some independence too.

I and my sisters had had fairly sheltered upbringings and I was fed up with the restraints put on me by my parents. I needed a bit of experience of the world outside our home and family. My time had finally arrived and the elation inside me was about to burst out. I wasn’t going to be ignored anymore.

My sisters were very different from one another. Elizabeth was feisty, full of fun, stunningly beautiful and had many admirers. She was daring and impulsive; her mantra was act first and think later, which caused quite a few problems. Sometimes she would have our mother in tears of frustration. She was a law unto herself. Mother would use the word challenging; what she actually meant was that trying to keep Elizabeth on the straight and narrow was not an easy task for her or Father. My sister Helena was the complete opposite; she thought Elizabeth was outrageous at times and sometimes very irresponsible, but nevertheless she loved her company; there was always something happening when Elizabeth was around, good or bad! She also possessed a wonderful sense of humour. She seemed to find everything funny and her attitude could be quite contagious.

Helena, on the other hand, was sophisticated, charming and kind. She was a bit of a romantic and could be quite prim and proper at times, which was something that annoyed Elizabeth profusely. She was always cautious and set herself high standards and expected the same from Elizabeth, but that was never going to happen.

I suppose I was a mixture of all of those traits, and perhaps a little naive; they would both laugh at me sometimes and tell me I was gullible, which would really annoy me. I was more of a deep thinker; I had plenty of time on my hands to do that. My ideas were a little different from everyone else’s; deep down hidden inside I was a bit of a free thinker, and yearned for a purpose in my life, not just having a good time, although I was certainly no killjoy. As well as having fun and a good time, I wanted to somehow make a difference. Maybe I was naive to believe I could but that’s how I felt.

Of the three of us, I suppose I was the plainest, my hair was very thick and frizzy and difficult to tame and I always felt I was too short to be elegant. I admired Elizabeth’s charisma and style. One thing they both possessed was a wonderful sense of joi de vivre.

I wasn’t exactly a plain Jane but I wasn’t too blind to see that my two sisters outshone me by far. I was very proud of them both and aspired to be like them. I looked up to them both and yearned to be accepted by them as an equal instead of always being just their little sister.

We were blessed to have the most caring parents. They couldn’t have loved us more. Our father William doted on us; he was a man whose only objective in life was to nurture and provide for his family. Mother and Father brought us up with a strong emphasis on honesty, decency and respect for everyone, especially for them and our elders, and loyalty was very important.

Father could be a little too lenient on certain issues but never on these strong principles. He never wavered from his values. We all knew that our family code of conduct was never to be broken under any circumstances. Nevertheless, we all knew he was putty in our hands being one man amongst four women!

Our mother Mary Ellen was loving with a kind and generous nature, and relied on our father as most women of her generation did. Our parents were always there for us which made us all feel secure.

Father loved Mother deeply and without condition; their love was mutual. Our parents met when Father, who was in the army at the time, was posted to the town where Mother lived. It was a textile town and her parents owned a small factory there.

It was one Sunday afternoon, when Mother was out walking along the river which ran through the town, that their eyes first met. Mother was just fifteen years old and he was twenty-one. The attraction was immediate and mutual; Mother said she was smitten as soon as she saw him. They fell deeply in love and were married just after Mother’s sixteenth birthday, at the town church… and that’s where their story began…

At the time, Mother’s parents were very concerned about the union; Father was a mature young man but Mother was still a mere girl in their eyes and this caused them a lot of concern. They were opposed to the marriage initially but eventually gave their blessing. The wedding went ahead despite their misgivings. They thought that Father was a decent enough chap with a sound profession, so were confident that he could provide a good life for their daughter. It was made very clear to Father that if he didn’t look after their daughter there would be a price to pay and it didn’t involve money! But there was never any danger of that happening – he adored our mother.

The wedding was a small affair, with mostly Mother’s family attending and just a few army friends of my father’s; and a lady who had been Father’s nanny and governess. The absence of any of Father’s family sparked a bit of curiosity and speculation. Everyone thought there must have been some sort of rift in the family.

William and Mary Ellen began married life full of optimism, with wonderful plans for the future. They were blessed with three daughters in quick succession. And two years after my birth, the youngest of three daughters, Mother gave birth to a much wanted baby boy. He was the son that Mother and Father had been yearning for. But sadly, tragedy struck; their adored son passed away at four weeks old. They were devastated and never got over their son’s death, whom they christened Edward days before he died. We never knew why Edward died and our parents refused to talk about it with us.

Some eight years after the birth of Edward and believing their family to be complete, they were unexpectedly blessed with the birth of another son, whom they named James. Finally their family was now well and truly complete and their lives were everything they could have ever wished for.

Mother always wore a gold locket, inside which, was a tiny lock of Edward’s hair; his date of birth and name were engraved on the back. Whenever she was distressed or sad and needed some comfort she would always kiss the pendant; it was her most sacred possession.

Father told us he didn’t have any brothers or sisters and went to boarding school when he was just seven years old. I couldn’t imagine being separated from my family at such an early age; I would have hated it. His parents died when he was still a small boy, which was very sad for him; he said he felt quite lonely and isolated as a child. He, of course, had friends at school, but when the school holidays came, most of the other boys would go home to their families, whereas Father had nothing more than an empty house to return to, with servants. Everyone tried to make up for the loss of his parents, especially his governess, who later became his legal guardian. They were extremely close by all accounts and he loved her like a mother.

The loss of his parents clearly affected Father; he loved them very much and when they died he became a bit of a lost soul. He didn’t like to talk about them, or other family members; clearly it was far too painful. When asked about any aspect of his life as a child, he would always clam up or avoid the issue and awkwardly change the subject. We all soon learnt not to broach the subject and we simply stopped asking. Sadly, we never knew our grandparents nor whether we had any other distant family members. We just accepted that not all families were the same and not everyone had a happy childhood, and as Father would always say, the only thing that mattered to him was our family, and indeed, he really did spend his life ensuring that we were all happy, and denied us nothing. Love was always in abundance.

Father was generous to a fault, not just with us but with anyone he cared for; he had a genuine love of people. Maybe he was trying to compensate for the things his childhood had lacked. Our every whim was taken care of but we never took him for granted. In return, he expected us to always treat him and our mother with the utmost respect, and we did that without question. He never needed to be angry or strict – one look was enough to communicate his disapproval that we had stepped out of line. Maybe it was his army training but it certainly worked. Our mother only had to say, ‘Your father is disappointed in your behaviour’, and we were all truly very sorry; in fact, we always did our absolute best to please him.

I was named Alexandra after the regiment in which my father was a sergeant: The Princess Alexandra Regiment. As a very small girl I remember seeing Father in his dashing army uniform. His army hat had the Princess of Wales badge pinned to the front and I thought how important he looked. We all thought he was very special and were proud that he was our father and we wanted him to be as proud of us as we were of him.

Father always used to say that war was a last resort, and in reality nothing was ever resolved through death and destruction. War ruined families, causing terrible heartache to millions of people. It wasn’t the bravest or strongest that survived; it was just the lucky ones. The ripple effect was set in motion. He said the only positive thing he had experienced during the war was the camaraderie in his regiment; in some ways it had become his surrogate family. He never spoke of the horrors of war; he did his best to erase them from his memory, like most soldiers did. Father said, ‘Unless you have experienced the horrific suffering of war at first hand, no one can possibly imagine the atrocities that took place.’ Sometimes Father would start to talk about old friends, then stop all of a sudden, remembering how they’d died; we could see he was haunted by dreadful flashbacks. He said that he saw so many young men being used as mere cannon fodder; everyone was expendable on all sides. A horrific waste of decent good men, all fighting for the same cause, no matter which side they were on. God forbid another war!

Chapter two

My birthday had finally arrived. I woke early to rays of sunshine filling the bedroom. At the foot of my bed I could see a small pile of envelopes and brightly coloured packages. I could hardly wait to open them; I loved surprises. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and gathered the cards and packages. Whenever I got out of bed the spring base sounded like someone plucking a harp, followed by the sounds of the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. My sisters were still sleeping but started to stir on hearing me. I tried to step as lightly as possible but the floorboards always groaned under the weight of my footsteps. There was one floorboard in particular that I always tried to avoid; it was loose, and creaked like an old garden gate. I opened the bedroom door as gently as possible, trying hard not to let the door slam shut. As I started to close it behind me, it was caught by a draught blowing up the stairs, and closed with a loud bang, catching the back of my dressing gown. I quickly opened the door to release my clothes and the door shut with another loud bang. I heard Elizabeth shout, ‘For goodness’ sake, Alexandra, are you intentionally trying to annoy us and wake us up? You couldn’t make more noise if you tried.’

‘Sorry!’ I called. It was impossible to creep around our house unheard.

Our home was beautiful, I loved the house, but as with all old houses it groaned a lot. Father used to say, ‘This house is like an old relative – it’s always groaning about something, its joints are stiff and creaky, and it needs constant attention and sometimes the odd operation or remedy to deal with its various minor illnesses!’

I thought to myself, Today is going to be everything I ever dreamed of. I’m sixteen years old at last and today is going to be the best day of my life.

I ran down the stairs, almost falling on the sharp turn halfway down but managing to regain my balance. As I entered the breakfast room, there, sitting at the table, were my parents, with young James waiting for me. James broke into a rendition of Happy Birthday, which was very sweet, and in doing so he spat porridge all over the tablecloth. Mother stood up and hugged me tight and then Father put his arms around us both, with me in the middle; how happy I felt.

I placed my gifts and cards on the table and sat down, filled with expectation of what was to come. Mother walked into the hall and called to my sisters to come down for our special birthday breakfast. I heard Elizabeth and Helena shout out, ‘We’re on our way’, then heard them coming down the stairs. They then walked into the breakfast room, hiding presents behind their backs, with big smiles across their faces.

‘Happy Birthday, Alexandra! How does it feel to be sixteen at last?’ Elizabeth then said, ‘Do you feel any different this morning?’, which I thought was a serious question and said, ‘Yes, I do!’ Elizabeth then said, ‘Oh good, maybe you’ll stop being such a pest and annoying me all the time!’

Mother then stared at her with one of her looks and told her to stop trying to spoil the day. Elizabeth just couldn’t help herself; if she thought someone was getting more attention than her she could be quite mean. I don’t think she even realised she was doing it somtimes, it was just a natural reaction.

They then gave me the presents they were hiding.

‘There you are, Alexandra,’ Helena said, ‘chosen by us, especially for you. We hope you like our gifts.’

Elizabeth then said, ‘Well, if you don’t, we’ll keep them for ourselves!’, then started to giggle. Mother tutted and rolled her eyes!

I felt quite emotional. I suppose I saw this day as a turning point in my life, with new doors opening, a bit more freedom, and a time to be taken more seriously, to have a bit more trust from everyone. I don’t know, but I definitely felt that things were about to change for me. I was tired of my little girl persona. I wasn’t that girl anymore; I’d grown out of that and I was more than ready to start a new journey in my life, and it excited me!

I opened Helena’s present first, carefully unwrapping it, trying hard not to tear the gorgeous paper and putting the ribbon to one side. Inside was a beautifully bound little diary with a miniature pencil with a gold tassel on the end; the book was embossed with my initials on the front. The diary was bound in red leather and the edges of the pages were painted metallic gold. I was so grateful and thanked her. I was a bit emotional and was expecting Elizabeth to make some embarrassing remark; she was always making fun of me.

The next present was from Elizabeth. It was larger in size and I tried to guess, before opening it, what was inside. It was a strange shape and very hard. I could feel tissue paper inside but I couldn’t guess what it was. I opened it by carefully removing the beautiful wrapping paper. As I pulled the packet open I could see something shining inside – it was the prettiest hand mirror. The back of the mirror was engraved with my initials. The handle was encrusted with rhinestones of every colour of the rainbow. I couldn’t believe it was mine!

‘Oh, that is lovely, Elizabeth. Thank you so very much. I shall treasure it and look after it, I promise.’

There were still more presents to open.

Father said, ‘Why don’t we eat breakfast and you can finish opening your gifts afterwards? Rachel has prepared something nice for us, so let’s all sit down together and have a lovely birthday breakfast.’

Rachel had worked for my parents for many years and was a real gem – a very good cook and housekeeper. Over the years she had become an essential member of our household.

In came Rachel, carrying a large platter of eggs, sausages, bacon and freshly picked mushrooms, fried in butter. The aroma was mouth-watering. What a treat! We all tucked into the delicious food and chatted away light-heartedly, laughing and joking amongst ourselves. Rachel scurried around clearing the breakfast plates and pouring more tea for everyone. She loved working for our family and we all knew how lucky we were to have her.

Rachel was employed to look after the day-to-day running of the home and to help Mother with the growing family. I had known her all my life. She had the utmost respect for my parents and the respect was mutual… She had this funny habit of occasionally dipping into a small curtsey when Father made any request, which, although completely unnecessary, my father found rather amusing! On occasion, he would bow back to her, which always resulted in Rachel blushing and us trying not to giggle. She was lovely and became the seventh member of our family.

Rachel believed that if she was cooking for six, she should prepare enough for eight. There were always delicious meals on the table, in abundance, and she made sure the house was spick and span and the cogs of the household kept turning.

When we had finished breakfast, Father then said, ‘Alexandra, why don’t you open the rest of your presents now.’

James climbed down from his chair at the table and ran into the parlour, returning with his present. He could hardly see above the box he was carrying and ran around to my side of the table.

‘Happy Birthday, Alexandra,’ he said, planting a large box upon my lap. He had an expression of glee on his face. I think he was more excited than me about the present. He was such a dear little boy and smiled up at me saying, ‘This is for you, Alexandra. I chose it myself.’

‘Oh my,’ I said, ‘what can this possibly be?’

James giggled, saying, ‘You’ll never ever guess. I know you won’t. You have to guess before you open the package,’ while jigging on the spot.

‘Well, could it be a ladder?’ I asked. He laughed. ‘Or maybe a box of washing powder?’

‘No, silly, of course not!’

‘Well, in that case, I’ll have to open it and see for myself.’

He had a huge smile and sparkly brown eyes.

‘Open it, open it!’ he said with such excitement.

I opened the box slowly to prolong the suspense. Finally, the package was open, revealing lots of small presents inside, all individually wrapped by him, with about a mile of paper and string, tied in dozens of knots. I had quite a task ahead of me, opening all the presents without tearing my fingernails.

Each packet contained something chosen by James: chocolates; sweets; a lovely scented bar of soap; a tub of talcum powder that smelt divine; and a beautiful little evening bag, which clearly had been bought on his behalf by one of my sisters. The little bag was exquisite and covered with tiny golden beads, with a gilt handle.

‘Oh, James, you really have spoilt me! What can I say? I can’t believe you have given me so many lovely things. I think you deserve something in return, young man.’

At that, James said, ‘Well, if you really want to give me something, I quite like the sweets.’

I laughed saying, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the little evening bag?’

He looked disappointed and confused, at which point we all laughed.

‘Of course you can have the sweets, James. I was just joking!’

I gave him a big hug and kissed him on his forehead. I felt such a strong sense of love for my little brother.

The last present to open was from my parents. Father passed me a small box wrapped in red and gold paper, tied with red ribbon. I untied the ribbon and unwrapped the paper to find a square box inside, which was covered in purple leather. I knew before opening it that I was about to reveal something very special. I was right. I pushed a brass button on the side of the box, which released the lid.

Inside the box was the daintiest little rose-gold bangle. It was decorated with filigree leaves and three small precious stones: two sapphires and a little diamond in the centre. I couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so lovely. On the inside of the lid of the box was the name of the jewellery shop from which it had been purchased. My mother leant over and asked if I recognised the bracelet. I paused and thought… then realised! I had seen the bracelet before! It was a piece of jewellery that my mother kept in a locked jewellery box at the back of her wardrobe. She seldom wore it as she was so frightened of losing it. I then remembered seeing it on my mother’s wrist a long time ago when I was a little girl. My father had originally given the bracelet to my mother on their wedding day, when she was just sixteen. I couldn’t believe they had given this to me. I was speechless and emotional. I couldn’t think of what to say. Somehow ‘thank you’ just wasn’t enough.

I gradually opened the other presents that had been placed earlier at the foot of my bed. The presents were from some of my old school friends. The packages contained a book, a fountain pen and a box of lace handkerchiefs. Everyone had been so kind.

The morning so far had been more than I could ever have hoped for. My father took the bangle out of the box then opened the clasp and placed it on my wrist. I was dumbstruck with disbelief. I knew my birthday would be special but, so far, it was all my birthdays rolled into one. Everyone was admiring the bangle, when Rachel, self-consciously, placed a small box on the table next to me. The gift was wrapped in green paper and tied with ribbon. She’d placed a fresh flower from her garden under the ribbon for decoration; it was so pretty. I looked up and thanked her, but before I had finished opening the gift Rachel had scurried off back to the kitchen. When she emerged again, I took the lid off the little box. Inside was a silver Saint Christopher charm on a chain.

‘Oh, Rachel, thank you so much. It’s beautiful. I shall treasure it.’

Rachel then said, ‘It will always keep you safe and sound; it has very potent powers.’

I got up from the table and hugged Rachel, who looked embarrassed by my gratitude and the attention! She was such a shy person and was uncomfortable at any display of affection towards her. She was so dear to me; a lovely, kind and modest lady.

We had a tradition in our family to make by hand the presents we gave to one another, but this birthday was different. We were all skilled in various handicrafts, etc. and my favourite pastime was embroidery, so I would decorate handkerchiefs or crochet lace doilies, as little gifts. Helena was musical, so she would often write a short piece of music as a present for loved ones. Elizabeth was a very good storyteller, so she would write a short story or poem. We were all encouraged to make or create things, as Mother said these things were priceless; money just couldn’t buy what came from within.

After breakfast, I went upstairs to get ready to go out with Mother. Later that day, Father was taking us all out for tea to a very smart hotel in town. It was a beautiful day with bright blue skies and a gentle breeze, and somehow everything looked brighter and clearer than usual. I felt so happy and blessed to have such a wonderful family whom I loved more than anything. I always felt safe and comforted in their presence. Father always used to say to us all, ‘If you have a worry or a problem, I want you to give it to me and I will deal with it, as I do not want any of my girls worrying about a thing – I want you all to remember that.’ He spoilt us, but it was what he loved to do and we were certainly not going to complain.

We got ourselves ready to go into town. Mother and I said goodbye to everyone and off we went, arm in arm. Mother and I jumped onto the tram which took us into town. I was very excited. The previous month we had visited a local department store and chosen an evening dress for me to wear for the dance. The gown was a little bit too big and needed to be altered, so we were going to pick it up. It was my first grown-up evening gown. The dress was made from mauve silk, with draped lengths of silk that clipped on to the shoulders and hung down over my arms. It had a matching cape that fastened with a silver clasp. To finish off the outfit, Mother bought me a pair of beautiful silver leather shoes from my favourite shoe shop in the High Street. The shoes had a small heel and ornate silver buckles on the side; they were simply the most elegant pair of shoes I had ever owned.

The tram drew to a halt at the terminus. It was the final stop of the journey and everyone rushed to get off quickly. The tram wasn’t going anywhere but everyone hurried anyway to the door clamouring to get off… It was always a bit of a bun fight trying to exit the tram at its final stop. As Mother stepped off the tram in front of me, a child pushed past and almost sent Mother flying. She scolded the boy for his bad manners. His father caught up with him and gave him a whack on the head and a good telling off!

Mother sighed and said, ‘What