Where the Heart Is

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘And I haven’t got any stamps for my album. Good job we went to the sweet stall first, or we wouldn’t have got any sweets either!’

  Betty placed Ernie in his smart new pram, carriage painted in navy and cream, and wheeled him proudly down St George’s Road. People paused to admire the fair-haired little boy and remark on how closely he resembled his mother. She could see no resemblance at all, in fact, and believed he was the image of Clarence. If he grew up to look like his father he would certainly be a handsome man, though Betty realised now it was too late that looks were the least important thing in a husband. Clarence had given her security, though, by leaving her financially independent; she was grateful to him for that. But the money wouldn’t last for ever. She didn’t dare to think what would happen when it was all gone.

  She turned the corner towards the Co-op, just as Florence Ramsgate got off the bus. The other girl was wearing the uniform of the Women’s Army Corps. She looked so smart it was a few seconds before Betty recognised her friend of many years’ standing. On the other hand, Florence had to look twice at Betty, what with the change of hairstyle and the big new pram.

  ‘Florence!’ Betty stopped in her tracks. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Betty, this is never yours?’ Florence pulled down the pram cover and peeped at Ernie. She looked so sad then as she congratulated Betty on her beautiful little boy. Betty knew Florence must be remembering her own baby, and because she and Florence had been friends from the day they were born she couldn’t not mention it.

  ‘Yes, it’s mine. What about yours, Florence, or would you rather not talk about it?’

  ‘No, it’s quite all right … I had her adopted. They took her away when she was born. It wasn’t easy, but the best thing for her. Well, I didn’t want to bring her back to my mother’s place, you know what she’s like. Oh, but it is good to see you, Betty!’

  ‘You too. How long are you home for? Hey, and how about this?’ Betty patted Florence’s uniform.

  ‘Yes, well, I didn’t want to come back here, so joining up seemed my best way out. I’m here for a few days, though, duty visit. I do miss my dad, you see.’ She pointed at Betty’s wedding ring. ‘So you married Clarence then?’

  ‘Yes. Mistake, though.’

  ‘I thought you and he were well matched?’

  ‘Oh, we were well-matched, all right, for a bit of fun, not for life.’

  ‘So where is he? Still at the pit?’

  ‘Gone to do battle, don’t ask me where.’

  ‘Well, I’d better go, but we’ll catch up later.’

  ‘Yes, come on and see my mam, she’d love to chat to you.’

  ‘Sure will. After tea maybe?’

  ‘Yes, that’ll be okay.’

  Betty felt sorry for Florence, having to part with her baby, but she envied her all the same. She looked so good in that khaki uniform. If only Betty could be free to do something, go somewhere. Then she looked at Ernie, staring up at her with big blue eyes, and knew she wouldn’t swap him for all the fancy costumes in Lewis’s, let alone a dull, brown twill cotton thing with no shape at all.

  All the same Betty was itching to become part of the outside world again, and wondered now why she had found her job in the wages office so boring. There had been the chats with the other girls, the jokes the men had told, and the tricks they had played on the young lads on their first day.

  Betty giggled as she remembered the day young Derek Flint had begun work. Mabel the canteen lady had brought a neatly folded overall for young Derek to wear as he cleaned the machines. ‘Go behind the filing cabinets and take off yer shirt and trousers,’ she had told the shy young lad. ‘Pass them over and I’ll give yer the overall.’ Young Derek had passed his clothes to Mabel and then stood waiting, wearing nothing but a string vest and underpants. No one had taken any notice as he stood there, shouting for Mabel to come back. It had been an hour before she decided he had waited long enough.

  The fun had lasted much longer than an hour, though, as one of the office girls had sneaked a picture on her Brownie box camera of Derek cowering behind the filing cabinets in underpants down to his knees! Betty wondered what the people at Kodak had thought about that photograph. At least it would have given them a laugh.

  She continued her walk to the Co-op, where she bought Johnson’s baby powder and Dettol in readiness for Ernie’s bath. She decided to treat herself to a new lipstick, the first thing she’d bought for herself since Ernie was born.

  It would be nice catching up with Florence’s news. She’d missed the friend who had shared all her secrets, though Betty was secretly ashamed of some of the things she and Florence had got up to in their early-teens. Well, they had both paid dearly for those mistakes and one thing Betty was sure of: from now on her reputation would remain unblemished. She had made enough mistakes to last her a lifetime.

  Millington Council School was built in four wings surrounding a central garden plot. The garden had been taken over by the senior boys as an allotment for the duration of the war.

  It was Daisy’s long-awaited first day at school. She set off excitedly with Norah in charge of her. The baby class was bright and cheerful, and Miss Robinson the mistress in charge of it was kind to Daisy. The walls were hung with colourful pictures and the letters of the alphabet, which Daisy already knew from beginning to end. In the corner was a sandpit, and little fold-up beds where the children were expected to rest in the afternoon. What Daisy liked best of all were the boxes of crayons. They were each allowed to choose two colours to make a pattern on grey paper; she chose purple and orange. Later Miss Robinson pinned the pictures on the wall.

  On her first day Daisy made a new friend called Carol, a beautiful child with long, golden curls. Daisy’s own curls were rapidly turning mousey-coloured. Carol and Daisy soon became inseparable and were firm friends.

  Daisy loved the baby class, especially Friday afternoons when they were allowed to bring in a toy each to play with. Sometimes Daisy would take in two after she’d noticed one of the other children didn’t seem to have any toys. This little girl came from a very large family and Daisy enjoyed lending her a toy; it made them both happy. Carol lived close to the school in a large, stone-built house with a wonderful overgrown shrubbery. She had a little sister, whom she mostly ignored, and a whole family of cats whom she adored. It wasn’t long before Daisy was invited to play at Carol’s. Their favourite game was dressing up the cats in baby bonnets and bootees – that was, until one of them weed on Daisy’s new gaberdine coat.

  She took it home, hung it on the hook behind the door, and every day afterwards Sally complained about the smell. She scrubbed out the doorway with Dettol, cleaned the doormat, and bitterly blamed Mrs Firth’s cats. It wasn’t until one rainy day some time later that she realised it was the coat that stank. By that time the cat game had been forgotten but the friendship between Carol and Daisy was to endure for the rest of their lives.

  Daisy skipped happily along to school every morning, wearing her gymslip and blouse. She also wore a V for Victory badge and carried a tiny shoulder bag containing a clean handkerchief and, on Mondays, two shillings to be invested in the school bank. Miss Robinson found Daisy advanced for her age, due no doubt to Grand-dad Denman having already taught her to read short words and to write her name.

  The only lesson Daisy didn’t like was Physical Training. She found the exercises difficult and couldn’t catch a ball, no matter how hard she tried. It wasn’t long before she was having nightmares about cartwheels she couldn’t turn and forward rolls in which she never got off her feet. She soon learned to sneak to the back of the queue to avoid her turn. How she wished she was Una Bacon, who could manoeuvre her body any way she chose. Daisy worked hard, though, especially on her reading books, and soon left Dick and Jane far behind. She was reading anything and everything she could lay her hands on.

  Sally was determined to keep cheerful as she let herself into Miss Appleby’s one morning. ‘Hello,’ she called,
‘and how are you this lovely morning?’

  ‘Oh, yer know, usual.’ The woman’s already gawky neck stretched like a giraffe’s as she attempted to catch any sign of activity down on St George’s Road.

  ‘Look, there’s another visitor down there … that’s him I was telling yer about, the young one. Wearing sunglasses so that no one will recognise him, I expect. He’s probably got a wife and kids at home.’

  ‘Good morning, Sally. How are you feeling today?’ she mouthed to herself as she washed two days’ worth of dishes that had been waiting for her. ‘If he’s driving he’ll need sunglasses on a day like today,’ she said out loud.

  ‘I’ve heard that car drawing up in the middle of the night sometimes.’

  ‘How do you know it’s that car?’ Sally glanced out of the window at it.

  ‘Well, it sounded the same to me. She wants reporting … men coming and going at all hours of the day and night.’ Ida Appleby suddenly moved closer to the window, eyes gleaming. ‘Look, they’re getting into the car together, bold as brass! Just look at her, dolled up like the woman of the streets she is. Look at the height of them heels.

  ‘I’ve never seen her in the same outfit twice. Slimmed until there’s no flesh left on her, and I bet she’s put her make up on with a shovel. Spends money like water does that one. Still, we all know where she gets it from, don’t we?’

  Sally knocked the photo frame over as usual and stood it up, only for it to topple over again.

  ‘You did that on purpose! I don’t think you’ll be satisfied until you’ve broken that frame.’

  ‘You need a new one, it’s unsteady.’

  ‘No, it isn’t! I’ll bet it cost our Donald a lot to have that framed.’

  Sally continued with the dusting, muttering her thoughts to herself.

  ‘It’s a pity he doesn’t come and visit instead.’

  ‘What did yer say?’ Miss Appleby was supposed to be deaf but she never missed a thing.

  ‘I said, Mrs Simms said his hair’s an unusual shade of red.’

  ‘Hmm, now, where were we? Oh, yes, her going gallivanting in that car … Well, we all know how she earns them treats, don’t we?’

  Sally put away the Mansion polish and got out the clean sheets and pillow cases to change the bed. ‘From what I’ve heard she comes from a very well-to-do family, and she’s certainly a very accomplished pianist. A member of the examining board too, which could account for her income. Not that it’s any of our business.’

  ‘Some folk’ll believe owt! I know how she comes by her money. You’ve only to watch the men going in and out. A disgrace to the neighbourhood, she is.’

  Sally took out her anger on the pillows. ‘I think you’re imagining things. You spend too much time by that window. When was the last time you went to the shops?’

  ‘I don’t think I shall ever get to the shops again, not with my legs.’ A knock on the door prevented Sally from protesting at this.

  ‘That’ll be Emily Simms,’ Miss Appleby said. ‘Nobody else comes here any more – and she only comes round nosing. I don’t think I like her discussing our Donald wi’ folk.’

  Emily came bustling in then and Sally thankfully prepared to leave, relieved that she’d managed to keep her temper with the spiteful old woman.

  Charlotte Kaye heard the clock strike one. She moved closer to Mark but daren’t wake him in case he decided to move to the spare room again. She heard the dogs snarling, and then the sound became more aggressive and she felt the eiderdown being tugged as they approached her side of the bed. Charlotte screamed in fright and her husband jumped out of bed and switched on the light.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter?’

  ‘The dogs! They were coming for me, trying to climb up on to the bed …’

  ‘Where? Just show me these dogs.’ Charlotte was silent as she stared around the room, perplexed.

  ‘You can’t, can you? Because there are no dogs. There have never been any dogs in this house.’

  ‘I told you, they’re the dogs from the pictures. I want you to take them away!’

  ‘They’re yours. Do what the hell you like with them, but don’t involve me.’

  Mark Kaye had had enough of hearing about the pictures, the clocks, the books, the jewellery he’d stupidly left behind. And, most of all, he’d had enough of his wife mithering about the non-existent dogs. He switched off the bedroom light and went back to the spare room. She’d had her chance; he was out of her bed for good this time.

  Charlotte cowered beneath the eiderdown, trembling with fear. She heard the clock strike two, then three, then four. When daylight came she was still staring at the wall, already dreading another night spent listening to the dogs.

  As soon as autumn came and the colder weather set in, Daisy started with her sore throats again. Sally hoped it wouldn’t be a repetition of last winter, when nearly everyone in Sheffield went down with influenza. Daisy was dosed with Veno’s and, when that didn’t work, with balsam and aniseed. She was muffled up in a warm new Liberty bodice from which were suspended her long, black woollen stockings. She moaned because Norah had brown ones, which Daisy considered more grownup.

  She also hated the pixie hats that Grandma Butler busily knitted in order to prevent her fingers from stiffening up with the rheumatics. Daisy wished she dare wear the fur-lined hat Uncle Ernest had bought her instead, but it was too precious to risk losing. So she conveniently ‘lost’ the dreaded pixie hats by dropping them behind the hot water pipes in the school cloakroom. The sore throats didn’t stop her from playing out with the big boys and girls, and Sally threatened to keep her indoors unless she took more care of her clothing and kept warm.

  At the end of October the Dawson boys announced that it was Kay Kay Night.

  ‘What does kay kay mean?’ Daisy always liked new words.

  ‘Don’t know.’ Trevor thought about it. ‘It’s just an owd rhyme that we sing at doors at this time of year. Me dad used to do it, and me grand-dad before that.’

  ‘Can I come?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘If yer like.’

  The children went from door to door, singing at each one:

  Kay kay kay,

  Hole in me stocking,

  Hole in me shoe.

  Please can yer spare us a copper or two?

  If yer haven’t a penny,

  A halfpenny’ll do.

  If yer haven’t a halfpenny,

  God bless you.

  Daisy knew if her mam found out she wouldn’t let her join in, so she didn’t tell her. Instead she followed Norah, Stanley and the Dawsons. Most of the neighbours parted with a penny or two or even a threepenny bit, fondly remembering the times when they themselves had gone kay kaying, many years ago. Shared amongst six of them the money didn’t amount to much but Derek Dawson said that didn’t matter.

  ‘What matters,’ he said, ‘is that we get our own back on the ones who were too skinny to give us owt. We’ll do that on Mischief Night.’

  Mischief Night was the last night of October. As soon as it was dark enough they set off along the rows, starting with Barkers Row. ‘That Mrs Broomsgrove never gives us owt,’ Trevor moaned. ‘She doesn’t like kids, she’s scared of us muckying her doorstep. I know … we’ll tie all the doors on her side together so they can’t get out.’

  ‘But all the folks who did give us summat won’t be able to get out either,’ Norah pointed out.

  ‘Oh, no, but that’ll only be for fun. When we’ve tied all the doors together we’ll do the bull roar at owd lass Broomsgrove’s.’

  ‘What’s the bull roar?’ Daisy didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Wait and see,’ Trevor told her. He looked at the bag his brother was carrying. ‘ ’Ave yer got the string?’

  ‘Yer, it’s ’ere.’

  Trevor took the large ball of string, which had been found – or so he said – in the allotment at school.

  ‘You lot, keep hidden,’ he said. The rest of the gang crouched behind a wa
ll and Trevor set off along the row, where he fastened the string tightly to the first door handle and threaded it through each of the snecks, all along the row, until he reached the last one where he tightened it and made it secure. Then he dashed back to the others. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘did yer bring the papers?’

  ‘Yer, they’re ’ere,’ Derek answered, him.

  ‘And the matches?’ His brother handed the bag to Trevor, who dashed off in the direction of the Broomsgroves’.

  It was a dark night and they could just make him out as he stuffed all the paper up Mrs Broomsgrove’s drain pipe. Then he lit it and dashed back to their hiding place behind the wall. They waited in anticipation. Suddenly the paper began to roar up the pipe. Mrs Broomsgrove was the first to try opening her door, next was Mr Bacon, but the doors were held firmly shut by the taut string. Suddenly Mrs Broomsgrove appeared round the corner of her house, having used the back door. This was the signal for the gang to disappear across the field, enjoying the thrill of the chase and hysterical with laughter. Little Daisy was terrified of being left behind but revelled in being included in the gang. Their next stop was Potters Row.

  ‘It’s no good going to our row,’ Trevor said, ‘one house is empty and the other one’s Mrs Simms. We’re not scaring her, she gave us sixpence. Besides, she’s an owd woman.’

  ‘Mrs Broomsgrove’s an owd woman,’ Stanley reasoned.

  ‘I know, but she’s a miserable owd woman.’

  ‘Whose house is next then?’ Norah hoped it wasn’t theirs.

  ‘That Miss Appleby’s. She gave us nowt.’

  ‘Not the bull roar, not when she lives by herself. She’ll be too scared,’ Norah pointed out.

  ‘Oh, no, summat better than that for her.’ Trevor ran round the corner by the lavatories and came back with an old, dead rabbit. Norah backed away. ‘Don’t bring that thing near me,’ she whispered.

  ‘No, Daisy can do this, she’s the littlest.’ Daisy looked terrified. ‘But I don’t like dead animals,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you’ve only to ’old it by the ears, open the door, throw it in and run away. Being the littlest, she won’t notice you.’