Time Goes By by Margaret Thornton

could help with the washing-up. ‘It’s a mammoth taskwhen we’re fully booked,’ said Aunty Win. ‘At the height of the season we might have as many as thirty guests.’
    But Mrs Morris just smiled. ‘It’s all in a day’s work,’ she said. ‘I’ve never minded washing up.’
    ‘What I could really do with, though, is some help with the bookkeeping,’ said Winifred. ‘Albert leaves all that side of things to me, and it’s a bit of a headache sometimes. The books have to be kept in order for the taxman, and maths has never been my strong point. We’ve muddled through so far, more by good luck than good management, but the laws are getting stricter now. I don’t suppose you could …?’ She looked hopefully at Mrs Morris.
    ‘I’d be delighted,’ said Sadie. ‘That’s a job I could do at home, if it’s all right with you. I studied bookkeeping at night school. I’ve got a typewriter too – I’ve had it since I was doing my studying – so I could do any letters you want typing.’
    ‘Do you know, this is like an answer to a prayer!’ exclaimed Winifred. ‘Except that I’d never have thought of asking God for help with my office work!’
    The two ladies settled down to a long chat over a cup of tea. Kathy’s bedtime seemed to have been forgotten, so she kept quiet. So had little Brenda’s and Shirley’s, she thought. She hoped that Mrs Morris wouldn’t be in trouble with her husband when she got home.

Chapter Five
    W inifred had been a member of the dramatic society ever since it had started, back in 1920. She had felt the need of an interest outside of the home which, in her case, was also her place of work. In some ways it had been a lonely sort of life compared with some of her friends, girls of the same age who had jobs outside of the home; that was until they married, when it was expected that young women would stay at home, caring for their husbands and families. But the recent war had taken its toll, and many young women, bereaved, as Winifred had been, viewed the future as one of inevitable spinsterhood.
    The boarding house had been very much a family affair, with her mother, Alice Leigh, at the helm. Alice was just one of a vast army of seaside landladies, veritable matriarchs, whowere becoming quite a force to be reckoned with. Blackpool landladies, in particular, were often the butt of music hall jokes and comic postcards, and even more so were their husbands. It was said that these downtrodden little men spent most of their lives in the kitchen, peeling endless amounts of spuds, and tackling great mountains of washing-up . This was not strictly true in all cases. William Leigh, Alice’s husband, for instance, had had a job outside of the home. He was a painter and decorator by trade, the job he had been apprenticed to on leaving school and in which he was employed when he met Alice.
    Alice’s parents had ‘not been short of a bob or two’, as Lancashire folk were often heard to say. Soon after the marriage of the young couple they had helped Alice and William to buy the North Shore boarding house, and it had proved to be an excellent investment. It had been intended at first that Alice should run the business on her own, with just a little paid help. Later on, however, it had seemed only sensible that William should put his weight behind it as well, taking decorating jobs for other people during the winter months, at the same time doing the painting and decorating that was continually needed at the boarding house.
    Now, in 1950, William and Alice were thankfully and happily retired. Albert was more or less in the same position as his father had been.His skills as a painter and decorator had been taught to him by his father. The difference was that Albert had also learnt to cook – in fact he was considered to be an excellent cook – something his father would never have dreamt of doing, and unheard of in the days of the old Blackpool landladies. And the boarding house – now