Annie turned on her with untypical vehemence. ‘No! I couldn’t bear it and you’ve no right to ask me to, Mabel – you don’t understand. They threw me out o’ the family and I couldn’t bear for Nell to see what I’ve come to now – I simply couldn’t bear it!’ And she covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud.
Mabel was at once filled with remorse. ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry – all right, all right, I won’t say another word, only don’t cry, please,’ she said, enfolding her mother in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry.’ For in Annie’s distress Mabel caught a glimpse of a deep and bitter hurt that had burdened her mother for a very long time: for the whole of Mabel’s life.
So the matter was not mentioned again, though Mabel privately wondered about that unknown aunt who had no children of her own. It seemed such a pity if she was destined to have no nieces or nephews either.
The last weeks of 1910 sped by, bringing Christmas round again with all its excitement and nostalgia, the yearly expectations and inevitable anticlimaxes. Annie shivered as the days dwindled and dusk fell soon after three in the afternoon, but Mabel loved the glowing shopfronts and the crowds around the costermongers’ stalls in Northcote Road, where she searched for Christmas bargains. On 5 December the whole family went to see the reopening of the Arding & Hobbs department store in St John’s Road, gutted by a disastrous fire in the previous December but now by a stupendous effort rebuilt and ready to rise phoenix-like from the ashes in time for Christmas shopping. Much as Mabel enjoyed looking in its windows, the prices were mostly too high for her, though she bought one present there: a glass necklace for Daisy that cost a whole shilling, an extravagance that would have horrified her mother. Her main purchasing was done at places like David Thomas’s in Falcon Road, who had a range of dolls and toys, haberdashery and all kinds of bits and pieces at affordable prices; and there was the parade of popular shops in Battersea Rise, which supplied something for everybody.
Hand in hand Mabel and Daisy went out to spend precious pennies on sheets of coloured paper to wrap presents and also to cut up into strips to make paper chains – or fold into ‘pokes’ to fill with boiled sweets. At 12 Sorrel Street there was a lot of whispering and secret wrapping and tying-up of oddly shaped packets that had to be hidden away from prying eyes.
Daisy’s face lit up when Mabel quietly showed her the sock she had knitted for a certain young gentleman. ‘Ooh, aren’t yer clever, Mabel! Is it for Albert? Are yer goin’ to make another?’
‘’Course I am, only goodness knows when I’ll find the time – only eleven more days to go! An’ remember that’s a secret, Daisy – don’t go telling Albert or anybody, will yer?’
When Jack came home with a Christmas tree to put in the front window, Mabel and Daisy happily set about decorating it with paper chains and George mysteriously produced a little fairy doll to stand on the top of it. Mabel promised to light candles on each side of the tree on Christmas Eve and draw back the curtains so that passers-by could admire it.
‘I always like it when Christmas Day falls on a Sunday,’ said Annie with a wistful smile. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to go to St Philip’s in the morning, all of us together, just as we used to do?’
Mabel at once agreed. ‘Yes, we’ll do that, Mum. We’ll put the joint in the oven to roast with the potatoes before we go, an’ leave the pudding simmerin’ on top,’ she said. ‘Then, when we come back, it’ll all be done and we’ll only have to put the sprouts on an’ make the gravy – oh, an’ the apple sauce as well, if we’re having pork!’ She spoke with childlike eagerness, winking at Daisy as she made these mental preparations days in advance.
‘Your father might even be back in time to come to church with us.’ Annie’s eyes brightened as she spoke, but Mabel made no comment.
After tea on Christmas Eve Mabel put all the presents around the base of the tree, assisted by Alice, George and Daisy. There was a great deal of speculation as to what each intriguing parcel contained. Some were wrapped in coloured crêpe paper, others in plain brown, tied with lengths of ribbon or string. And all were labelled.
To Mabel, wishing you a happy Christmas, from Mother and Father.
For my little sister Daisy from Alice.
To Gorge many hapy returns Daisy.
And so on. George’s December birthday meant that he often had to make do with one gift for both celebrations, but Mabel always gave him two.
Daisy had made cards and calendars at school, and Alice had embroidered handkerchiefs in Standard VI needlework class. There was an envelope from Mimi Court to each of her grandchildren, with a pound note inside; she had sent nothing for Annie, who had flatly refused Mimi’s invitation to Christmas dinner at 23 Macaulay Road, and none of them knew what she had given Jack, though he seemed to have plenty of ready cash to spend.
‘This one’s for me, and it’s big and soft – d’ye think it could be a pair o’ gloves?’ asked Alice.
‘An’ this one’s for you, George, and it rattles – listen!’ said Daisy excitedly.
‘Bet it’s a jigsaw!’
‘These little boxes are ever so small,’ remarked Daisy, shaking each one in turn. ‘It sounds as if there’s beads inside.’
‘Now, no more feeling an’ shaking, miss!’ Mabel laughed. ‘It’s time to light the candles.’
‘Well, don’t go burnin’ the blinkin’ ’ouse down,’ warned Albert, coming in from the back at that moment. ‘An’ ye’d better save the paper orf them presents to put out in Biarritz, ’cos there ain’t none left out there.’
‘Oh, Albert, use what brain ye’ve got – there’s more cut up ready in the cupboard under the sink.’ Mabel rolled up her eyes at the uselessness of males, though she smiled at her swarthy brother who was so like his father in looks and so different in character. He had called the outside lavatory Biarritz ever since he’d heard that the late King Edward VII liked to go on holiday there and the name had stuck.
George grinned. ‘In days of old, when knights was bold, before paper was invented,’ he began.
But Mabel cut him short. ‘We don’t want any o’ Albert’s vulgar rhymes in front o’ Daisy, thank yer, George.’
But naughty Daisy giggled as she completed the doggerel. ‘Folks wiped their arm on a tuft o’ grarm, an’ walked away contented!’
Albert exploded with laughter and it took Mabel all her time to keep a straight face as she reprimanded them. ‘Don’t yer ever dare to come out with that in front o’ visitors,’ she warned. ‘There’ll be real trouble if yer do.’
‘Why, was yer expectin’ ‘Arry to call an’ wish us ’appy Chris’muss?’ asked Albert innocently.
Mabel disdained to reply, though she had in fact been wondering all day if Harry Drover would call. His socks were finished and wrapped ready for him in the chest of drawers in the room she shared with Alice and Daisy, but of course she would not produce her gift unless he had one for her, otherwise it would be too embarrassing for words.
The candles were duly lit, the curtains pulled back and the gaslight turned off. The little tree and Daisy’s bright face glowed out for all to see, and smiling faces could be seen passing by in the soft light that streamed from the window.
Out of the dark street a familiar face looked in: a face that brought Mabel eagerly hurrying to open the front door. And there he was, looking up at her as if at a vision. ‘Harry! I thought ye’d be out with the Army tonight.’
‘No, I’m on me way home from work, Mabel. Father’s helpin’ at the Blackfriars Shelter, an’ I’m goin’ there tomorrow night, but, er, we’re havin’ an hour with the band in the mornin’, in the park, playin’ carols. Will yer like to join us, Mabel?’
‘Oh, yes, Harry, I would,’ she said, unable to deny it. ‘Only – what time will that be?’
‘I could call here for yer about half past ten and we’d join the band for eleven.’
Mabel’s face fell. She was committed to going to church with her mother and the others, but oh, she couldn’t turn
down an invitation to spend an hour with Harry on Christmas morning!
Alice stood behind her and had heard what was said. She knew how disappointed Mabel would be to have to refuse this nice young man whom they all liked. ‘You go with Harry, Mabel, and I’ll take Mum and the kids to St Philip’s,’ she now offered with a thoughtfulness unusual in her.
Mabel was touched and grateful, though she hesitated. ‘That’s good o’ yer, Alice, but I did promise Mum I’d go to church—’
‘But the Salvation Army’s the same thing, isn’t it? Oh, go on, Mabel!’ urged Alice while Harry stood waiting with bated breath.
Mabel succumbed. ‘Thank yer, Harry, that’d be lovely. An’ thanks, Alice, it’s good o’ yer.’
Harry beamed. ‘Yes, thank yer, Alice. Oh, and Mabel, I got a little present for yer.’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small box.
So he had brought her a present!
‘Just a minute, I got one for you as well.’ And off she flew upstairs to fetch the pair of socks she had knitted and wrapped in red paper.
Daisy came running to the door, followed by George. ‘Ooh, i’n’t it cold out here? D’ye think the pond in the park’ll be froze over tomorrow, so’s we can skate?’ Daisy jumped up and down as she spoke, while George, who had become interested in astronomy, looked up at the twinkling stars and offered to show Harry the Plough.
Mabel returned with her gift, flushed and self-conscious. ‘I made ’em meself,’ she said shyly. ‘I hope they fit all right.’
‘Oh, Mabel.’ Words failed him as he turned the wrapped packet over in his hands and gazed up with frankly adoring eyes at the most beautiful girl in the world. Dumbly he handed over his own gift.
‘Shut that door!’ cried Annie sharply from inside the house. ‘You’re letting in all the cold air.’
So regretfully Mabel had to close the door on her young man and brace herself to tell her mother of the change of plan.
Annie was so disappointed that Mabel felt she had been very selfish, but could not deny herself the joy of going to the park with Harry. In the end it was arranged that Annie and Mabel would attend the Holy Communion service at eight o’clock, then Annie would stay at home to cook the dinner while Alice took George and Daisy to church. Albert would be working until one and Jack said he was visiting his mother overnight but would join them for dinner.
Mabel always blamed herself for what happened.
Christmas morning was cold and frosty, and Daisy was awake when Annie and Mabel slipped out to the early service, having first lit the fire in the range oven.
‘Go back to bed, dear, and we’ll have breakfast together when Mummy and I get back,’ Mabel told the excited little girl. Albert had already left for work on the early shift.
‘Merry Christmas, Mummy! Merry Christmas, Mabel!’ Daisy’s shouts greeted them on their return. ‘Can I make toast in front o’ the range?’ she begged, wielding the three-pronged fork.
Annie was still shivering after the coldness of the church, and she and Mabel kept their coats on until the kitchen had warmed, by which time Alice and George had joined them for breakfast.
Daisy was clamouring to open some presents.
‘We’re not supposed to have them until after dinner,’ Mabel told her. ‘But all right, then, just one each.’
Mabel had already opened her gift from Harry and drew in a breath of sheer surprise when she saw the little silver cross on a chain. She had kissed it and held it to her heart. And to think she had only given him a pair of socks! How she wished that she had bought the book she’d seen, a collection of spiritual addresses to young men, published by the London Tract Society.
Daisy picked out a present for each of them from the pile around the tree and watched eagerly as each one was opened. Alice was delighted with the woolly hat, scarf and gloves she got from her parents, and so was George with his book from Mabel, The Night Sky Illustrated. Annie had a cameo brooch from Mabel and Daisy got a set of dainty handkerchiefs from Alice with a ‘D’ embroidered in the corner of each. Mabel could not resist opening her present from Albert and gave a cry of delight at finding a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. She passed it round for all of them to have a sniff and dabbed a little behind her ears to smell nice for Harry. Reproaching herself for opening it while Albert was at work, she rewrapped it so as to be surprised all over again when he came home. Daisy promised not to say anything if she could open just one more present and was allowed to unwrap the glass necklace that Mabel had chosen for her. The beads sparkled with the colours of the rainbow and Daisy’s delight was more than enough reward for the shilling it had cost her sister.
‘No more now,’ said Mabel firmly, getting up to clear the table. ‘Mummy and I must get the dinner ready and you must all get ready for church – come on, Alice, get moving!’
As she prepared the vegetables she smiled to herself in delicious anticipation of Harry’s knock at the door, and could hardly wait to thank him for his present and hear what he thought about hers. By the time he called the leg of pork was in the oven, and Alice was ready to leave with George and Daisy.
‘Oh, Mabel, those beautiful socks,’ murmured Harry in a low voice. ‘I’ll always treasure ’em because you made ’em for me.’ He had slept with them under his pillow and clearly had no intention of doing anything so gross as putting them on his feet.
For answer Mabel pointed to the cross and chain she was wearing, and they briefly clasped hands in wordless joy.
But no sooner were the children out of doors in their mufflers and mittens than they begged to go to the park instead of church. Alice wanted to show off her new tam-o’-shanter and scarf, and so they trailed along close behind the young couple, eagerly chattering about the dinner they would have and the games they would play afterwards. Once at the park they all dispersed, and Harry had to go to take up his place in the band. There were a fair number of people strolling around and some came to join in the singing of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and ‘Christians Awake’.
Soon after midday Mabel rounded them all up. ‘Come on, everybody, we’ll be late for dinner,’ she said, becoming uneasy at the thought of her mother finding out that the children had not been to church as arranged.
Harry walked back with them to Sorrel Street, happy just to be at Mabel’s side.
As soon as Mabel walked through the front door she knew there was something wrong. Very wrong. A smell of roast pork filled the house; she ran straight to the kitchen.
No saucepans on the range. No pudding simmering.
Annie lay stretched out on the floor, her eyes closed, her mouth open.
‘Oh, my God.’ Mabel knelt down beside her mother, smelt her breath. Saw the empty jam jar and quickly pushed it behind the bread bin, out of sight. Oh, no, not today of all days. ‘George, get Daisy out o’ the way, take her out again. Alice, give me a hand to get Mum up on her feet. Wake up, Mum, come on, get yerself up off the floor, for pity’s sake.’
Her voice was unusually sharp as she pulled Annie up into a sitting position while Alice stared in horror. ‘Harry’s still at the door, Mabel,’ she said. ‘He’s asking if there’s anything he can do.’
‘No!’ Mabel almost shouted. ‘No, no, tell him to go, Alice, get rid o’ him – send him away, for God’s sake, and then come and help me.’
Annie gave a groan. ‘Sorry, Mabel – sorry, Alice, please, I’m sorry, little girls,’ she muttered thickly.
‘Thank heaven, she’s coming round,’ panted Mabel. ‘Come on, let’s get her on her feet and sit her at the table.’
Somehow the two girls managed to heave Annie up on to a chair, where she sat with drooping head. ‘Sorry, little girls, sorry, little girls,’ she repeated stupidly, though with an underlying anguish that cut Mabel to the heart.
‘Is it serious? Ought I to go for the doctor?’ faltered Alice.
‘No, no, make a pot o’ tea for her, and make it strong,’ Mabel ordered. ‘I’ll get the sprouts on, but there’s no time to boil the pu
dding. Oh, Mum, I shouldn’t’ve left yer to do it all on yer own!’
‘She’s not ill, she’s drunk, isn’t she?’ gasped Alice.
‘Hush, Alice, she didn’t mean to be,’ muttered Mabel with a note of pleading. ‘Come on, talk to her, help her, this is my fault, not hers – let’s hope Dad’ll be late.’
But he wasn’t, not on that occasion. He arrived a few minutes afterwards, shortly before Albert and unsteady on his feet, having taken on board enough brandy to put him in a good humour for dinner with his family on Christmas Day. Until he saw his wife slumped in a chair with her head on the table between her knife and fork. Her face was flushed and her hair dishevelled, and she was moaning something about being sorry. Jack swayed slightly as he surveyed the scene. ‘What the devil’s goin’ on ’ere? Christ! This is a fine sight f’r a man to come ’ome to!’
‘She fainted, Dad, and it’s all my fault,’ pleaded Mabel. ‘I left her all on her own to do the dinner, an’ we came in an’ found her – give me half an hour an’ I’ll have dinner on the table an’ we can all sit down to eat it,’ she gabbled, breathless in her agitation.
But Jack had decided that he was hard done by. ‘Christ Almighty!’ He brought his fist down on the table with a force that set the knives and forks dancing, and caused Annie to lift her head painfully.
She turned unfocused eyes on Jack. ‘Sorry, Jack. Sorry, Mabel, sorry little—’
‘Shut up!’ Jack roared at her. ‘Shut up, yer silly, stupid woman! I work me bloody balls off to keep this lot goin’, an’ what do I find when—’ He lurched towards her.
In an instant Mabel lunged forward, throwing herself between them. ‘Don’t yer touch ’er! Don’t yer dare!’ she cried, lifting her hands to fend off any blow that might be about to descend.
The next thing that she and Alice knew was that Albert charged in like an enraged bull, still in his dirty working clothes, and grabbed his father by his coat collar. ‘Bastard.’ The single word was accompanied by a punch between Jack’s eyes that sent him reeling across the table. He pulled on the cloth as he fell to the floor in a clatter of cutlery and Annie was dragged sideways as the cloth slid from under her head.
A Child's Voice Calling Page 10
