A Cuckoo in Candle Lane

by Kitty Neale

  ‘Are you all right, Babs? You’re a bit quiet,’ Ken said now.

  ‘Yeah, of course I am. I just hope this won’t be another blind alley. I’m beginning to think we’ll never find the right house.’

  ‘Perhaps we’re aiming too high. If this is as hopeless as the others, we may ’ave to look for something smaller.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she sighed. ‘But if we don’t get a place with a decent number of bedrooms, we won’t make much money.’

  Leaving the seafront they turned into a wide road lined on each side with tall imposing houses. ‘This looks promising,’ Ken said, a hint of excitement in his voice as they walked briskly along, looking for number seventeen.

  They found it halfway along, sandwiched between two immaculately decorated houses, where it stood out like a sore thumb.

  Barbara gazed at the tall Victorian house with its filthy marble stairs leading up to a battered-looking front door, and her mouth drooped. ‘It looks a bit rundown.’

  ‘Nothing a lick of paint couldn’t put right, but it all depends on the state of the inside. Come on, the agent’s supposed to be waiting for us.’

  They followed behind the portly figure as he extolled the virtue of each room. Their eyes darkened with dismay as they took in the filthy chipped paintwork, the wallpaper stained and hanging from the walls, and the smell! It was awful, a mixture of damp wood and mildew.

  ‘The owner died recently and her heirs are anxious for a quick sale. They may be open to a reasonable offer,’ the agent said, his eyes roaming over them.

  ‘What! Recently, you say? This place looks like a bloody pigsty,’ Ken scoffed.

  The agent stiffened, but his manner remained polite as he said, ‘From what I understand, she was elderly and only used the basement flat. Apparently she had become somewhat eccentric in recent years. If you would like to come this way, I’ll show it to you.’

  They trailed down the stairs behind him, perking up as they entered a spacious and well-equipped kitchen.

  ‘As you can see,’ the agent said, indicating the area with a sweep of his arm, ‘this part of the house is in very good order. There is also a double bedroom and bathroom.’

  ‘Yeah, but the rest of the house is a dump,’ Ken told him.

  ‘Just think of the potential, sir. The rooms are beautifully proportioned and the property is structurally sound. I can assure you,’ he added pompously, ‘that the condition of the house is reflected in the price.’ He took a fob-watch out of his waistcoat pocket, flipped open the lid and stared pointedly at the dial.

  ‘Well, what do you think, Barbara?’ Ken asked, turning his back on the agent.

  Barbara’s eyes were misty; she could just see the refurbished bedrooms, cream walls and pretty chintz curtains, a vase of fresh flowers on each bedside table to greet the guests on their arrival. Oh yes, her bed and breakfast was going to be the best in Blackpool. ‘Let’s make them an offer,’ she said excitedly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Battersea, Sally was jumping about with excitement. Any minute now and her gran would be here. She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself with delight, and for the umpteenth time rushed into the front room to peer out of the window. It was strange to see the room empty now, except for two fireside chairs. A fire glowed in the grate and the pink curtains, donated by Elsie, cast a warm glow into the room. Would her gran like it, she wondered. Would she stay?

  It had been a frantic week. Gran’s letter had animated her mum and for the first time there was a sparkle in her eyes. She had rearranged the front room, moving the sofa into the kitchen to make room for gran’s bed, and disposing of the old sideboard.

  It was here, the van was here, and as it pulled into the kerb, Sally rushed into the street. ‘Gran, Gran!’ she yelled excitedly, yanking open the passenger door.

  ‘Hello, ducks. I look like royalty sitting up ’ere, don’t I?’

  Sally couldn’t help it. She clamped her hand over her mouth trying to choke it back, but it was impossible, and she burst into hysterical laughter. She had never seen anything so funny.

  Gran’s battered black hat had fallen askew, the large tatty feather that adorned it bent in half and dangling drunkenly over one eye. Her black coat with its moth-eaten fur collar was gaping round the middle, the buttons straining to cover her ample tummy. But funniest of all was the sight of her short dumpy legs, spread wide and exposing long pink flannel drawers, the elastic ending just above her knees.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked indignantly as her feet swung back and forth, unable to reach the floor.

  ‘Nothing, Gran,’ she gulped, trying to compose herself as Bert came round from the driver’s side.

  ‘Come on, Sally, move out of the way. Let me get your gran down.’

  He tucked his arms under her lap and despite her bulk, managed to lift the old lady gently from the vehicle, standing her on her feet. Sadie swayed unsteadily for a moment as Bert doffed his cap and gave a little bow. ‘There you are, Mrs Greenbrook, delivered safe and sound.’

  ‘Sadie, love, call me Sadie. Thanks for fetching me; it’s the first time I’ve been in a van and I really enjoyed it. When my husband and me moved into our first little house, we only had a handcart to carry our bits and pieces.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mrs Gree … sorry, Sadie. Now then, Sally, help your gran inside and I’ll unload her things.’

  Sally scurried to her side. She’s so tiny, she thought, why haven’t I noticed that before? As she took her gran’s arm the pungent smell of mothballs assailed her nostrils, making her cough.

  ‘I know, Sal, awful ain’t it, but this coat ain’t seen the light of day in years. Come on, let’s get inside, these shoes are too tight and me bunions are killing me.’

  Sally felt an overwhelming surge of affection. ‘Oh Gran,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

  Sadie’s heavy iron-framed bed had been bolted together and placed against the far wall. Her oak dresser was under the window, the top covered with a white crochet runner, and her pretty rug added a splash of colour to the grey lino. ‘It looks lovely, Ruth, I’ll be fine in here. Though it’s a shame that you’ve got to give up yer sitting room for me.’

  ‘Nah, it doesn’t matter, Mum. We never used it anyway.’

  Sadie smiled at her daughter, and after another quick glance around, said, ‘Now come on, Sally’s in bed, so you and me can have a good old chinwag.’

  They returned to the kitchen, Sadie smiling sadly at the shabby room. An old grey sofa sat in front of the fireplace, with a worn fireside chair on each side of the hearth. At the other end of the long room a rickety kitchen table and chairs, ancient gas cooker and a battered kitchen cabinet filled the space. There was no Ascot, just a cold tap over the square sink in the corner. Poor Ruth, she thought, what a difference from her sister’s elegant home.

  Ignoring the sofa, Sadie made herself comfortable in one of the chairs, leaning towards her daughter. ‘Right now, let’s ’ave it, Ruth. All your letter said was that you haven’t been well and that Ken’s left you. There’s more to it than that, ain’t there?’ she added shrewdly.

  Ruth raised her head and Sadie was heartbroken to see the depth of pain reflected in her daughter’s eyes. ‘Oh Mum,’ she began.

  When Ruth’s story came to an end, Sadie sat back, closing her eyes momentarily. My God, she thought, I didn’t realise how bad it was. ‘How ’ave you managed for money, sweetheart?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I’ve got a job in the grocer’s shop on the corner. The pay’s only five quid a week, but if you don’t mind chipping in a bit, we’ll manage.’

  ‘What!’ Sadie sat up indignantly. ‘Did you think I was gonna let you keep me? No, I’ve got me pension and a nice little bit of dosh tucked away too. Mary wouldn’t let me give her any money so I’ve got a fair bit in me Post Office book.’ She kicked herself when she saw Ruth’s face flush. ‘Now then, don’t look at me like that. I hated it when she wouldn’t let
me pay my way. It always made me feel so beholden.’ She leaned forward earnestly, adding, ‘Honestly love, I’d prefer to give you some of me pension.’

  Ruth nodded, looking reassured. ‘Thanks, Mum. Elsie next door has been wonderful too. She nursed me and Sally back to health, then lent me enough money to get by on until I got me first wage-packet, and Bert, well, he even put a few bags of coal in the bunker.’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve got smashing neighbours, but tell me how much you owe them and I’ll give you the money to pay it back.’

  ‘I can’t let you do that, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Ruth. Look, I’ve got the money and I want to help. This is a new beginning for us, so let’s start as we mean to go on.’

  When Sally awoke the next morning she hurried downstairs, grinning as she entered the kitchen. ‘Gran, you’re still here!’ she cried happily.

  ‘Well, of course I am,’ Sadie told her. ‘I’m here to stay.’

  Sally sat opposite her gran, unable to stop smiling. She was glad her dad had gone away. No more violence, no more being stuck in her room all the time. And now, with gran living with them, life was just perfect.

  ‘What do yer want for breakfast?’ her mum asked.

  ‘Can I ’ave toast, please?’ she answered, unable to tear her eyes away from the halo of light surrounding her gran. Frowning, she focused her eyes, noticing darkness in places. She felt a strange tingling sensation in her palms and there was an overwhelming urge to reach out – to touch the dark areas, and to smooth them away.

  ‘What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’ Sadie asked.

  Sally shook her head, not understanding these new feelings in her hands, but was distracted when her mum put a plate of toast on the table, saying, ‘Now, what are you going to do with yourself today?’

  Forcing her eyes away from her gran, the tingling in her palms diminishing, she asked, ‘Can I go to Battersea Park with Ann?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno, Sally, it’s a long walk.’

  ‘Let her go, Ruth. The poor kid’s had her wings clipped for years and it’s about time she had a bit of freedom.’

  ‘Mum, she’s still only ten.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, she’s old enough to look after herself. It ain’t that far, and you went to the park often enough at her age.’

  Sally looked from one to the other, then her eyes settled appealingly on her mum. ‘Please,’ she begged.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she huffed. ‘But I shouldn’t count your chickens yet, Sally. Don’t forget that Ann’s only just got over another bout of tonsillitis so Elsie may not want her going far.’

  She hurriedly swallowed the last of her toast. ‘I’ll go and ask,’ she said excitedly, rushing next door.

  Elsie agreed, saying that a bit of fresh air might do Ann good, but only if they promised to be home by two o’clock.

  The two girls eagerly made their way to the park, but finding that the sixpence they had between them didn’t stretch far enough to visit the funfair, they went off to the swings. Their disappointment was soon forgotten as they vied to see who could swing the highest, whooping together on the seesaw, and becoming thoroughly giddy on the roundabouts.

  With her newfound freedom Sally became inseparable from Ann, and they spent all their free time together. The spring weather was gentle and as the season changed to early summer, there was a buzz of excitement in the Lane. There was talk of Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation on 2 June, with neighbours in and out of each other’s houses, and kids being told to go out and play while their parents made plans.

  On Saturday Sally was sitting beside Ann on her doorstep, both trying to decide what to play. Hopscotch, skipping, and dabs had already been suggested, when Sally’s eyes were drawn to the roof of the house opposite. ‘What do you think that is?’ she asked Ann, pointing to the funny H-shaped thing attached near one of the chimneys.

  ‘It’s a television aerial, and we’ll have one soon,’ Ann answered.

  ‘What! You’re getting a television?’

  ‘Yes, next week. Dad said he’s getting one so we can watch the Coronation.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Sally sighed. ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be able to watch it with us,’ Ann consoled.

  Turning her head, Sally saw Nelly Cox bustling along the Lane, knocking on one door after another. Now that she was allowed to play outside she had come to know many of the residents, and Nelly was one of her favourites. She was short and dumpy like her gran, and always seemed to have a cheery smile on her face. With no children of her own she made a great fuss of all the local kids, many calling her Auntie.

  After getting no reply when she knocked on Joan Mason’s door, she now approached them, saying, ‘Hello, you two. Is yer mum in, Ann?’

  They both stood up, moving to one side. ‘Yes, go on in, Nelly.’

  ‘Bless yer, love, but I ain’t got time. You know what will happen if I go inside, don’t you?’ she chuckled, giving them a cheeky wink. ‘Yer mum will put the kettle on, then we’ll ’ave a chat, and before you know it an hour’s gone. I’ve got the whole Lane to call on this morning, so can you just give yer mum a shout for me.’

  When Elsie came to the door both Ann and Sally listened in amazement to the conversation, grinning at each other with delight.

  ‘I’m collecting for the street-party, Elsie.’

  ‘But when we had the meeting last week I thought we’d decided to all muck in to provide the food.’

  ‘I’m not collecting food money. It’s for booze for the adult party in the evening.’

  ‘Oh right, how much do you want?’

  ‘Whatever you can spare. Me old man’s gonna order a couple of barrels of beer from the off-licence, and maybe some port or sherry for the ladies. What do you think?’

  ‘Sound all right to me, Nelly.’

  ‘Oh, and another thing. We need bunting and flags – ’ave you got any?’

  ‘Christ, the last time anything like that came out was at the end of the war, and God knows where it is now. But don’t worry, I’ll have a rummage around to see what I can find.’

  ‘Other streets will be having parties too, don’t forget, and we don’t want them putting on a better show than us.’

  ‘I’m sure that with all the planning that’s gone into it, the Lane will look wonderful,’ Elsie assured her.

  ‘I hope yer right, love. Well, I’d best be off and thanks for yer contribution.’ Turning, her eyes alighted on Ann and Sally, and with a grin she said, ‘Are you looking forward to the fancy-dress competition, girls?’

  Ann gawked. ‘What competition?’

  ‘Oh blimey, ’ave I put me foot in it, Elsie?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, they had to know some time.’

  The day of the Coronation dawned chilly and wet, with rain threatening as Sally, with her mum and gran, rushed next door to join their friends. Nelly Cox and her husband George arrived shortly after, followed by a few other neighbours, and the small room became packed.

  They all gathered in front of the television set, children sitting on the floor, gazing in wonderment at the black and white picture on the small flickering screen.

  ‘Cor, look at that huge coach, Ann,’ Sally gasped. ‘It’s just like Cinderella’s.’

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely, and doesn’t the Queen look beautiful?’

  ‘That coach is gold, girls,’ Bert told them.

  ‘What! Made of real gold?’ Sally squealed.

  Bert laughed, ‘No, love, it’s just gilded, but if it was real just one of the spokes from those enormous wheels would set us up for life.’

  Sally sighed, her imagination alight as she stared at the Queen waving to the crowds that thronged the streets.

  The huge procession finally reached Westminster Abbey for the ceremony. The majestic music, the pageantry, with Richard Dimbleby’s commentary, held them all enthralled, with only Sally finding the long ceremony boring at times. Her eyes were slowly closing, a
nd her head beginning to droop, when she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind.

  ‘Wake up, girl,’ her gran admonished. ‘You’re missing a bit of history. This is the first time a Coronation has ever been televised, and it will be something to tell yer kids about one day.’

  Sally forced her attention back to the screen and found she was just in time to see the crown placed on Queen Elizabeth’s head.

  The next morning preparations for the street-party were already in progress as Sally jumped out of bed and scrambled to her window. Long trestle tables, covered with an assortment of white tablecloths and sheets, lined the Lane. Streamers of colourful red, white and blue bunting swayed in the gentle breeze and balloons were in evidence too, attached to front doors and lampposts.

  She hugged herself with excitement. Her angel costume was ready for the competition. The white dress, with a top layer of net, had sequins sewn all over it that sparkled in the sunlight, and the wings, fashioned out of wire coat-hangers, were covered in silver tinsel.

  Dressing quickly and running downstairs, her eyes popped at the assortment of delights strewn across the kitchen table. Nearly everyone had agreed to contribute food for the party and her mum had made red and yellow jellies, fairy cakes covered with bright pink icing and a huge bowl of trifle.

  ‘Mum, can I put me fancy-dress outfit on now?’ she asked, her voice high.

  ‘No, Sally, it’s far too early. The competition ain’t starting until three o’clock.’

  ‘Can I go round to Ann’s then?’ she begged, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

  ‘Yeah, all right, but eat yer breakfast first.’

  Sally gulped down her porridge and as she hurried next door, her mum shouted, ‘Oi, and don’t get under Elsie’s feet. She’s still got lots of sandwiches to make.’

  Ann opened the door, grinning as she drew Sally inside. ‘We’ll have to go up to my room, Mum’s running around like a blue-arsed fly.’

  ‘What did you say!’ Ann’s dad bellowed as he stepped into the hall.