PORTRAIT OF A LADY

 

                                                                          Chapter Two

                                                                                Twins

 

Joe Selby was never going to make it as an artist. Not because he wasn’t good enough. Just the opposite in fact; for everyone who saw his work - including those who knew what they were talking about – said that his was a rare talent. Indeed, at any other time he might easily have been considered to be a master waiting to be discovered. But it was nineteen thirty five. Work of any kind was hard to come by, and he had a wife a with a baby on the way who needed proper support. Most of the men he knew were in the same boat; either struggling to find a job, or if they had one fighting hard to keep it. Few people in those difficult times had the money or the inclination to commission paintings. Even the better off had other things on their mind, and indeed, of those who were inclined to take on such a project few would engage an un-established artist for their commission. All in all Joe counted his blessings that he was in work. He managed to get by on his modest wages as a council worker but only just; so he painted for himself as best he could within his limited means. Having been seconded to the fire service at least he would not face the uncertainty that was the lot of some of his contemporaries.

           In the fullness of time his wife Shelly was due and the midwife sent for, and after what seemed like an eternity Joe was summoned into the strictly - though temporary - female enclave of the bedroom, and found himself holding his new born son.

           What shall we call him? he asked his wife, but she did not answer.

           Nurse. he called, a little anxious at his wife’s behaviour. She was moving uncomfortably; clearly in some pain.

          A cursory examination was carried out whereupon Joe was unceremoniously pushed out of the bedroom, again. “This is no place for a man.” the midwife said in spite of his protests. “Go and get some more hot water.”

          He was kept on the wrong side of the door for another hour before once again he heard the sound of a baby’s squawk, and a few minutes later the midwife opened the door to him.

          “Come and meet your daughter.” she said, matter of fact.

          Joe was in a daze, hardly able to believe his eyes, for there, propped up was his smiling wife, and in each arm she was holding a baby.”

           “We got two Joe,” she said simply; “one of each."

           Joe leaned over and gently kissed his wife on the lips, and then he kissed each child on the brow.

          “I thought you might be angry.” Shelly said, “It will be hard bringing up two.”

          “That it will, but well manage.” Joe answered. “Twice the cost to feed and clothe; twice the effort to provide for you all, and to give my lovely wife the support she will need.” he paused a moment then kissed her again. “Twice the strain and sleepless nights, but twice the love and twice the joy.” Then he grinned. “Well just have to watch it for a year or two.”

           Shelly laughed a little laugh before she said, “Go and tell Granny; shell be dying to know.”

           Granny was Mrs Wilkins who lived next door. Not a granny at all but a kindly neighbour for whom they had developed a great fondness since they, newly married, had moved to live in the little terrace house next door to hers. Theirs was the end house in the row, so they only had the one immediate neighbour, but Mrs Wilkins more than made up for that. In the four years since their marriage a special bond had developed between them all, and Mrs Wilkins was very happy to be called Granny by Joe and Shelly, an honorary title not only used by the Selby’s but by many of the folk around.

          When Joe arrived with the news she was overjoyed, for now the name meant even more. It was as though she really had two new grandchildren - and who was there to say she hadn’t?

          The children grew up fast, as children do, happy in the loving environment created by their parents. But that happiness was soon to be tested, for, by their third birthday dark clouds had gathered , their special day marred by the impending war with Germany. By their fourth birthday the bombs had started to fall.

          That was to be the last birthday they would share with their parents. One short week later the family home was destroyed;  parents Joe and Shelly were killed outright by a stray bomb which had, some said, missed its target by a mile, choosing instead to score a direct hit on the end one in a terrace of eight small houses. Twenty feet to the left and it would have destroyed nothing more than Joe’s vegetable garden, but sadly while the house was totally annihilated, the cabbages and the potatoes remained almost unharmed.

            Not so the children whose broken bodies were lifted from the rubble and taken to the hospital.