We were cock-a-hoop when our Billy said he was coming home. His Mam’s been up all hours polishing the copper and she’s scrubbed the front step until it’s gleaming. She’s busy baking enough to feed Billy, his lass, the bairn, and the entire street I reckon. It’s not as if Billy will even notice, he just wants to see us.
It seems like yesterday he was a babe in arms. He was hardly as big as a bag of sugar when he was born. Wouldn’t have given tuppence for his chances. His mam gave him sips of milk on her finger until he was strong enough to take a bottle. He soon got a taste for it, mind. Used to yell blue murder till he was fed. When she shoved the bottle in Billy’s gob and the yelling stopped, I used to think I’d gone deaf. You wouldn’t think he’d started off like that to look at him now. He’s grown into a fine lad.
Our Billy’s a dad himself now. We’ve never met his missus or the bairn. He married Ruthie when he was away in the war. Went away to fight and come back with a wife. Never expected that. A proper turn up for the books.
There’s a canny crowd here to meet all the lads and lasses off the bus. People are talking and laughing like I haven’t seen in many a year. Me, I’m dead quiet, so excited I can’t get my wits together to make a half decent sentence. According to my Da’s old pocket watch, it’s nearly time for the bus. That watch is on the button. It hasn’t lost a second in over 40 years. They should be here any minute now.
Champion, here’s the bus creaking up the hill. It’s going so slow I think it would be quicker to walk. It’s packed to the gills. Double decker and they’re squashed in like ninepins. Look at them hanging out of the windows hollering and waving for all they’re worth. There’s a dozen or more half-way out of the door. That’s our Billy whooping at the front. ‘Simmer down lad, you’d think the devil was after yer’. Is that Ruthie, carrying the bairn? Aye I reckon it is. She’s a right bonny lass. Our lad’s done alright for himself by the look of it. The bairn’s screaming his head off. I can hear him from here. Canny pair of lungs on him, just like his da.
They’re all spilling out of the bus and running up to meet us. I can’t get near our Billy. He’s still stuck on the bus. Clever move to be at the front. Not so clever now he’s trying to get off.
‘Over here, lad.’
He’s pushed his way through and he’s rushing over as fast as his heels will carry him. Our Ruthie can hardly keep up. I’ve got him in a bear hug before he can speak. ‘Welcome home, bonny lad’.
