A Child's Voice Calling

by Maggie Bennett

  ‘Yeah, but ’e won’t stop long if ’e don’t get some coppers in ’is ’at, an’ I ain’t got a bleedin’ farthin’.’

  ‘Neither have I, but Alice has got a bit o’ change in her pocket and somebody’s bound to have some more. Come on, let’s ask him to play “After the Ball”!’

  And with a hop, skip and a jump Mabel Court led half a dozen girls to start dancing on the asphalt surface of the road. Others heard the barrel organ and ran from adjoining streets to join in; in no time a score of girls surrounded the organ grinder and gleefully danced to his tune.

  Dr Henry Knowles had never cared much about the kind of image he presented to the public at large. He found it convenient to do his rounds on a bicycle now that the roads were becoming so congested. His father had driven a little two-wheeler gig and he had no doubt that his son Stephen, now in the first year of his medical studies at the London Hospital in Whitechapel Road, would eventually own one of these noisy motor-driven contraptions, as smelly as they were unreliable and a real hazard to horse-drawn vehicles. On his ‘bone-shaker’ the tall, lean figure of the doctor could regularly be seen dodging between milk carts, coal vans, street sellers and the hordes of children who swarmed the streets when school was out, as now; boys playing football and girls with skipping ropes competed for space on the paving stones. Knowles frowned at the sight of children being sent into public houses with jugs to fetch beer for their parents and probably taking a sip or two on the way home, for it was a hot day; he had seen too much of the ruinous effects of drunkenness on family life and health.

  He was now on his way to Sorrel Street to see little Walter Court. The family was on his panel and it was his habit to make quick check-up visits for which he did not charge, on the principle that prevention is better than cure.

  But a wave of music broke upon his thoughts this morning and rounding a corner, he found his way blocked by a large crowd of children, mainly girls, dancing in the sunshine, filling the whole width of the street, so that the doctor had to dismount and lean his bicycle against a wall. He stood and watched, finding himself unexpectedly moved by the sight of their booted feet skipping lightly, their pinafores twirling; a few wore straw hats but most were bareheaded, their hair flowing loose or plaited. Some danced in pairs, some in circles, while others gyrated alone. And all were happy, all were smiling as the shabby Pied Piper turned the handle of the cylindrical barrel on its wheeled stand, grinding out a popular music hall tune. Some of them knew the words and all were soon gaily singing the refrain: ‘And her golden hair was hanging down her back!’

  The doctor picked out the Court girls, Mabel and Alice, but there were some he had never seen, like the scrawny, barefoot girl dancing with Mabel. The music had brought together the rough and the respectable in a shared moment of freedom from the lurking shadows that waited to claim their young lives. How many of them would fall victim to TB and infectious fevers, Knowles wondered, and what lay in store for the survivors? Poverty, endless childbearing and poor health in too many cases, as he well knew.

  At the kerbside was an ancient perambulator that had seen better days, probably once pushed by a smartly dressed nanny, wheeling out her charge in Kensington Gardens or some such fashionable park. Now it was battered and rusted, lacking many of its parts, including the hood, and it was crammed with young brothers and sisters of the dancing nymphs, their little faces goggling at the scene. Knowles recognised Walter Court, twenty months old, his dull eyes gazing up at the sky. The doctor knew that he’d be called out to see Walter as soon as winter returned with its cold, damp air and fogs.

  And that Mabel would miss more school days as a result, Knowles thought, frowning. That girl was a rare treasure and it was due to her unceasing care of Walter that the poor child had survived as long as this, in the doctor’s view, though neither parent truly appreciated her worth. Mabel was one of those ‘little mothers’ who had the potential to make something of her life if she ever got the chance and Knowles wondered what she would do on leaving school. If he could ever help her by a word in the right quarter, he most certainly would.

  Suddenly Mabel caught sight of the spectator. She stopped dancing and glanced towards her little brother in the old pram.

  Dr Knowles waved his hand and shook his head. ‘Keep on dancing, Mabel! I’d much rather watch you all enjoying yourselves,’ he called out to her.

  But the tune had come to a stop and the music man was preparing to move off to more lucrative suburbs. A murmur of disappointment rippled over the crowd and Mabel’s eyes watched wistfully as he counted the few copper coins in his greasy cap.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ shouted Knowles and all eyes turned towards him as he strode forward. ‘Aren’t you going to give them another tune?’

  ‘Sorry, guv, but I bin ’ere ’alf an hour an’ I’ve come to the end o’ me repertaw.’

  The doctor dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a shilling. ‘Will this be enough to start it up again?’

  ‘Cor!’ The man’s face registered delighted amazement. ‘Thanks, guv – not ’alf it won’t!’

  ‘The show’s worth it,’ replied Knowles.

  To cheers and shouts of ‘Thanks, Dr Knowles!’ the music and the dancing began again, and the doctor turned and wheeled his bicycle away. He could always call back later, and meanwhile Walter was getting fresh air and sunshine, and Mabel was enjoying a brief respite from her responsibilities.

  The old pram belonged to Maudie Ling who used it to push her brother Teddy around: other children’s younger siblings also got dumped in it, especially during school holidays.

  Mabel called to Alice and Georgie. Albert had gone off somewhere with a gang of boys and a go-cart. ‘Can I wheel Walter home in the pram, Maudie? My mother’ll be lookin’ out for us and I dare say there’ll be a cup o’ tea going.’

  Maudie eagerly agreed, but her hopes were dashed when they arrived at Sorrel Street.

  Annie Court was furious at seeing Walter sitting up in the old pram with Teddy Ling and other grubby passengers. ‘Whatever were you thinking of, Mabel? I trusted you to take proper care of him, not to let him mix with ragamuffins and pick up all sorts of nasty complaints!’ she cried, holding out her arms to gather Walter to her heart.

  Mabel stood uphappily aside, feeling the slight to Maudie who was longing to be offered tea, as on former occasions when she had come home with Mabel. ‘Wait there, Maudie, I’ll see if there’s some lemonade left, and then ye’d better go,’ she apologised, though like Dr Knowles she felt that Walter had benefited from the outing, and when he arrived a little later he sensed the troubled atmosphere and backed her up, assuring Annie that the airing could do Walter nothing but good.

  She refused to be persuaded, her anxiety aggravated by the fact that she was expecting again, in spite of all her warnings to Jack to be careful. The trouble was that after he’d had a good day on the course and did not get drunk but came home in a mellow mood and ready to share his winnings with his family, he also expected to enjoy the connubial bliss that Annie had come to dread. While she could hardly confide these intimate problems to Dr Knowles, he had a fair idea of her situation and pitied the plight of women who could do little to prevent conception, other than to refuse their husbands and so cause marital disharmony. The use of rubber sheaths for the penis was something he could only speak of to men and then only when consulted by them; to give that kind of advice to women would soon attract suspicion. It was a constant chagrin to him and he privately applauded the movement among some of the better-educated women to make birth-control information freely available; a great deal of prejudice would have to be overcome before that day dawned.

  It was the same when he talked about healthy food: milk and butter, fresh fruit and vegetables: Annie could only see them in terms of money – money that she had not got. Jack had not been home for a week and there was no guarantee that he would be in funds when he reappeared.

  Which was why she had decided to do something she had never done
before in ten years of marriage. ‘Mabel, I’m going over to Tooting to see your grandmother tomorrow, and I’ll take you and Walter with me,’ she announced. ‘Mrs Bull will keep an eye on Alice and Georgie for me, and Albert’s out every day with that gang of his – but I daren’t let Walter out of my sight, and – well, I’d like you to be with me.’

  ‘All right, Mum,’ replied Mabel. ‘But why are we visiting Grandmother on a Wednesday?’

  ‘I need some money,’ replied Annie bluntly. ‘More than you can earn, Mabel. She gets paid plenty for whatever it is she does and it’s time she helped her only son’s family.’

  Mabel stared in surprise, for there was no love lost between the mother and daughter-in-law. Then she supposed that it was Walter’s needs that had forced Annie to pocket her pride.

  The next morning they dressed as if for church on Sunday. Annie fiercely thrust a long pin through her brown broad-rimmed hat trimmed with velvet flowers, and Mabel put on her best pinafore and her straw hat with the blue ribbon. They had a little pushchair for Walter that folded up when they boarded the motor-bus, where Mabel sat with her brother on her lap to avoid creasing Annie’s outfit. Little was said during the ride and the walk up the familiar half-mile to 23 Macaulay Road, but Mabel sensed her mother’s nervous tension.

  The first thing they saw when they got there was a smart hansom cab standing outside the house.

  Annie frowned and clucked her tongue. She had not considered that Mimi might have company. The family usually visited on Sunday afternoons when they were expected, and determined as Annie was to confront her mother-in-law with the facts of Jack’s improvidence, it would be awkward if there was somebody else around to hear. But she had worked herself up to such a pitch of indignation that she would not be put off. ‘We’ve come all this way and I’m not going back without saying what I’ve come to say to her,’ she declared, marching grimly forward. ‘Come on, Mabel, get Walter out of that chair and fold it up.’

  She opened the wrought-iron gate and raised the polished brass door knocker as Jack had done when he first brought her to this house. Was it really ten years ago? Ten years of struggling to keep up appearances with a growing family and shrinking resources. And now at twenty-eight Annie told herself that she’d had enough of it. Mimi Court was going to hear what she had to say and what’s more, she would have to do something about it.

  Her reverberating knock-knock-knock-knock sounded like the knell of doom to Mabel whose heart was sinking by the minute while they waited for the door to open.

  A pert maidservant whom they had not seen before stood before them in a snow-white apron and frilled cap. She raised her eyebrows at them.

  ‘I want to see Mrs Court,’ demanded Annie in an unsually loud voice.

  ‘Mrs Court’s engaged at present, ma’am. ‘Oo shall I say’s callin’?’ squeaked the girl, obviously reciting what she had been taught to say.

  ‘I’m Mrs Court, her son’s wife – her daughter-in-law and I want to see her now,’ replied Annie. ‘And I don’t care to be kept on the doorstep.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ The maid withdrew into the dimness of the passage behind her. They heard a brief exchange of voices and then she reappeared. ‘Will yer wait in the livin’ room, Mrs Court? Mrs Court’s in the parlour wiv a visitor, but she’ll see yer in a minute.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Annie shortly as they followed her into the middle room where Annie sat down and removed her gloves. They could hear a man’s voice in the front room where Mimi interviewed her special clients and their relatives.

  Annie looked around at the damask wallpaper, new since she had last visited the house. The old stone fireplace had been replaced by a marble surround and mantelpiece, its side columns carved with vine-leaves and grapes. Mimi Court was clearly doing well at her profession.

  After ten minutes that seemed like an hour, they heard Mimi showing her visitor out. The hansom departed and Mabel saw her mother bracing herself.

  When Mimi entered the living room, resplendent in a maroon silk gown with heavy lace trimming at the neck and wrists, she looked none too pleased. ‘Yer might have let me know yer was coming, Annie,’ she said in her company voice, sounding all her hs and gs. ‘It so happens that I have had important business to deal with.’

  Annie had risen and stood rigidly facing her. ‘Well, I’ve got important business, too, Mimi,’ she retorted, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. ‘I’ve come to tell you that I can’t manage any longer on what your son gives me to live on. Little Walter needs proper food and medicine that I can’t afford to give him, and the other children go short. And we’re behind with the rent for the house. Mabel does her best, poor child, earning a little money to help out—’

  Annie glanced at Mabel and in that moment of hesitation she lost the thread of her rehearsed speech, giving Mimi a chance to cut in. ‘So ye’ve come here to plead poverty, is that it?’ she said with a sneer. ‘And ye’ve brought young Mabel to back yer up.’

  This had the effect of taking the wind out of Annie’s sails, for she could not deny it: she had needed Mabel’s presence for moral support. ‘Well, you are Jack’s mother, after all,’ she returned. ‘You brought him up to be what he is and so you ought to know – you—’ Annie’s words died on her lips as she began to tremble all over with the suppressed resentment of years. It now rose up within her and overflowed in a torrent of rage and frustration. ‘We hardly ever see him, he spends his whole time going from one racecourse to another, everything he earns ends up in other men’s pockets, he can’t keep it in his own – I can’t put up with it any longer – I’m not going to. I haven’t even paid Miss Lawton for Mabel’s piano lessons this week!’

  Walter let out a wail, clinging to his mother’s skirt as he sensed the tension in her body, the unfamiliar high pitch of her voice.

  Mimi’s eyes narrowed and she turned to Mabel. ‘Take that poor child out round the back, Mabel,’ she ordered. ‘I’m not having scenes in front o’ children. Go on, take him out directly. And you’d better sit down, Annie, and take a hold on yerself.’

  Mabel glanced at her mother’s flushed, angry face, then picked up her little brother who whimpered in protest, and took him out through the kitchen and scullery to the backyard where there was a wooden seat. She sat him down beside her and put her arm round his thin body. ‘Don’t cry, Walter, dear, I’m here – your Mabel’s here,’ she whispered. Then she noticed that Miss Lawton was hanging out some washing on the line and smiling nervously at the children.

  Since her elderly mother had died she had remained at 23 Macaulay Road, a woman with no status in the household, largely ignored by Mimi and despised by the maids. ‘Er, hello, Mabel. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Miss Lawton. Say hello to Miss Lawton, Walter.’

  Walter’s only response was to hide his face against Mabel’s shoulder, and she shrugged apologetically at her piano teacher who bent down to stroke a black-and-white cat sitting on the path. The seat was placed below a wide sash window and through its open top came the sound of upraised voices from the living room beyond the kitchen.

  Mimi was berating her daughter-in-law and Mabel listened in growing dismay, knowing that Miss Lawton could also hear. ‘And what did you bring from yer fine Hampshire home, eh?’ they heard Mimi demanding. ‘Not a penny. Them sisters o’ yours grabbed the old man’s money and yer never once went back to fight for yer fair share. Yer let yer husband an’ children lose the lot, just ’cause yer was too proud – huh! Too ashamed to show yer face there again, more like!’ As always, Mimi’s refinement was forgotten as her anger rose. ‘Yet yer got the barefaced cheek to come ’ere expectin’ me to fork out from me own savings, just ’cause ye’re hopeless at managin’!’

  ‘Oh, yes, and suppose I had brought money with me, what would’ve happened to it?’ cried Annie shrilly. ‘I’ll tell you – he’d have gambled it all away on the damned horses, every last penny of it. Any cash in Jack’s hand is a bet, nothing mor
e. His wife and his children could starve to death for all he cares. Tell me, Mimi Court, what kind of a man was Jack’s father? Was he a hopeless gambler, too?’

  ‘You mind yer tongue when yer speak o’ Jack’s father, Mrs Somethin’-or-nothin’,’ retorted Mimi. ‘’E was a gentleman, better ’n any jumped-up country draper, but that’s neither ’ere nor there. Let me ask you a question: what’ve you done to keep ’im at ’ome an’ away from all this bad influence? All ’e comes ’ome to is an ’ouseful o’ mouths to feed, no idea o’ discipline, an’ yerself lookin’ as if yer was dressed from a Jew’s second-’and clo’es shop!’

  ‘And why is that?’ screamed Annie hysterically. ‘Who is it gives me the children year after year, and doesn’t pay me to feed and clothe them properly? Oh, it was a black day for me when Jack Court crossed my path!’

  ‘I’ll tell yer what, Anna-Maria bloody Chalcott, it was even blacker for Jack – the biggest mistake ’e ever made, marryin’ a useless creature like you. Can’t even use a needle and thread to make clo’es for yer children! Oh, ’ow I wish I’d tried ’arder to make ’im change ’is mind an’ look out for summat better – though Gawd knows I did me best.’

  Mabel gave a gasp of shock at hearing these bitter words and when they were followed by the sound of her mother’s pitiful sobbing she could listen no longer. It was not to be borne. She jerked up from her seat. ‘Come on, Walter, I must go an’ help poor Mummy.’

  ‘Oh, but Mabel—’ began Miss Lawton, white and scared-looking. ‘H-hadn’t you better leave the little boy with me while you go and—’

  But Mabel had already picked up her brother and marched indoors, through the kitchen and into the living room. If they were going to leave, she did not want to have to come back for Walter and besides, he would be frightened if she was out of his sight. She found her mother sitting and weeping inconsolably. Mimi had turned contemptuously away from her, but as Mabel entered she raised her head and seemed about to speak; Mabel brushed past her and went straight to Annie. ‘Come on, Mother, let’s get out o’ here and go home,’ she said, ignoring Mimi. ‘We won’t get anything out o’ her, she’s as hard as nails. Come on.’