by Carol Rivers
‘Come in, Danny.’ She showed him into the front room and they stood in silence, gazing at the coffin. Danny reached for her hand and squeezed it.
‘Are you all right?’ Danny asked in the kitchen afterwards.
‘Not so bad.’
They sat down at the table. ‘What a rotten shock. Who’d have thought she had a bad heart?’
Lizzie held back the tears and nodded.
‘Tell you what, I’ll bring you some fruit and veg over on the cart.’
She knew Danny was trying to cheer her up. ‘That’d be nice.’
‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Friday,’ Lizzie told him. ‘The undertaker said it was the earliest he could fit us in, because of Armistice Day.’
‘Would you like me to take the family on the cart?’ Danny asked, squeezing her hand again. ‘We can lift the wheelchair in the back. Benji ain’t like one of them posh black horses with the feathers but it would save a few quid.’
‘That’ll be lovely.’ There was another knock on the front door and Lizzie knew their time was over. ‘It’s someone to see Ma, I expect.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘Send Bert to the shop to let me know the arrangements.’
When they got to the front door, Vi was there. ‘Not disturbin’ anything, am I?’ she asked curiously, giving Danny the once over as he walked out.
‘Danny was just leaving,’ Lizzie said as she caught his glance. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, and hoped that he could read the message in her eyes.
‘Couldn’t believe it when I heard,’ Vi was saying as Lizzie closed the door. ‘She never said nothing to no one about her heart. What a bloody awful shock it must have been for you.’
Lizzie showed her into the front room and even Vi stopped speaking for a moment in order to shed a tear.
Chapter Seven
Kate Allen was buried two days later. It was the day after Armistice Day, a bitterly cold November Friday. Lizzie was frozen to the bone under her old green coat. Babs wore a navy coat that the ladies of Hailing House had given her and Flo was in her gabardine school coat. They were all shivering.
Tom Allen sat in his Bath chair. He was covered by a thick rug. Vinnie, who had returned home that morning, was dressed in a brand new suit. Bert stood beside him, shoulders hunched under his shabby tweed jacket. It was a pauper’s funeral and it showed.
Earlier that morning, Lil had delivered three large homemade cakes. The wake afterwards was to be divided between the two houses: the food at Lizzie’s, the drink at Lil’s.
‘I ’ope we’ve made enough.’ Lil had frowned at the spread on the kitchen table. ‘Most of the street’s coming. And there’ll be a few more besides.’
‘I’d never have done it on me own, Lil.’
‘That fiver came in bloody handy, I can tell you,’ Lil sighed. ‘Have you paid the undertaker yet?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘We only needed the hearse. I’ve got three bob left over.’
‘It costs you to come into this world,’ Lil muttered grimly, ‘and costs to go out.’ She took her mirror from her handbag. Running her tongue over her teeth, she examined her reflection. ‘Ah well, could be worse.’ She tilted her small black hat over to one side. ‘That’s better, ain’t it?’
‘You always look nice, Lil.’ Lizzie covered the cakes with a cloth.
‘Thanks. I do me best. This little suit goes back before the war. I turned up the hem and let the skirt out. It’s done me a good turn one way and another.’ She glanced sideways at Lizzie. ‘How is everyone?’
‘Vinnie ain’t said a word about where he’s been,’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘And I can’t do nothing right in Babs’ book.’
‘You’ll have to make allowances. She don’t like you stepping into you mother’s shoes. What about Bert?’
Lizzie smiled softly. ‘Least you know where you are with Bert. He’s worn the Blakies off his boots with all them long walks of his.’
‘Getting it out of his system.’ Lil nodded slowly. ‘And Flo ain’t stopped crying, poor kid.’
Lizzie went over the conversation in her mind as she gazed down into the deep hole. Reverend Green, dressed in a black cape, intoned from the prayer book. ‘Go forth, O Christian soul, out of this world, to Him who has created you, and in the name of Jesus and all his angels, archangels, thrones and denominations, in the name of the patriarchs and prophets . . .’
Kate wouldn’t have appreciated a long-winded rigmarole, Lizzie reflected sadly. She hadn’t been one for patriarchs and prophets. She had her own kind of faith. It revolved around her family. But she was grateful for the presence of Reverend Michael Green. Not only had the ladies of Hailing House found a clergyman, but they had acquired a plot for Kate at the cemetery too. A rare privilege for a working class family.
Lil Sharpe nudged Lizzie’s arm. ‘’Ere’s yer roses, love. You’d better throw them in.’
‘Ma would’ve had kittens wasting such lovely flowers.’
The stems were brittle but the blooms were perfectly formed. Six small buds of red velvet that curled around like a ballerina’s skirt.
‘Come on, love, you’ve done famously so far, don’t let her down now.’
‘Why did she have to die, Lil? She never done anyone any wrong.’ Lizzie choked back a sob.
‘No one knows the answer to that. Don’t torment youself with questions. Just try to accept it. Let’s get today over and done with.’ The cold made Lil’s long nose shiny as she sniffed, delving in her pocket for a handkerchief. Lizzie knew that, like everyone else, she was frozen to the bone.
The Reverend coughed politely. He was eager to be out of the cold, away from people with whom he had no connection.
Lizzie threw in the roses. Finally, it was over. The gravedigger picked up his spade and began his work. Lizzie led the way down the wet, mossy path to the gravel track. At the end, through the railings, she could see Benji. They would now make the journey through Poplar to Cubitt Town, her and Lil sitting beside Danny up on the seat of the cart, the family in the back.
It still all seemed like a bad dream. At least now she wouldn’t have to think of an excuse for not going to the Beggar’s Opera. But the thought was of no comfort at all.
‘There’s a good bit of ham in those, love, all sliced nice and thin,’ commented Lil Sharpe. She pointed to six large white plates overflowing with sandwiches. ‘We’ll take them in first, shall we?’ Lizzie lifted one of the plates as Lil said in an anxious voice, ‘How you feeling? You warmer now?’
‘Yes thanks, Lil. I dunno what came over me at the cemetery. Sorry about that.’ Curls of ebony fell over her white face. She felt as if the blood had drained right out of her.
‘No need to apologize. You ’andled youself well.’ Lil looked Lizzie up and down, her eyebrows raised. ‘That frock of Ethel’s looks really nice on you. Goes with yer green eyes. Did you have to alter it much?’
‘I just took up the hem and a bit at the sides.’
‘Did you do it on the treadle?’
‘No, by hand. The treadle’s in the front room.’
Lil realized her mistake. ‘Blimey, course it is. Trust me to put me foot in it. Well, you’ve done lovely repairs. Turn around and let’s have a look.’ Lil pushed Lizzie round in a circle, holding her by the shoulders as she inspected the dress. ‘You’re so tiny, love – well, I suppose the word is dainty.’ She laughed. ‘Ethel’s a dirty great lump compared to you – you’d never have believed she once took your size. I bought her the dress for her thirteenth birthday. She only wore it a couple of times before she’d grown out of it.’
Lizzie glanced down at the blue dress. It wasn’t very fashionable but it did fit her nicely. Her dream was to buy herself something new one day. A good quality dress or coat that was the height of fashion. She knew she had taste, and she loved clothes. Kate had seen this in her and encouraged her to use the treadle machine. Mending and altering was second nature to her. But one day, when she’d saved up and there were no bi
lls to pay, she’d treat herself.
‘It could have been made for you,’ Lil was saying as Lizzie tuned back in. ‘That long knitted top and pleated skirt with the dark blue collar, and them wide cuffs with the fancy stitching . . .’
Lizzie smiled gratefully. Lil’s idea of fashion was to keep everything in mothballs year after year. But Lil was right about this dress. Even though her eyes were a deep green, the blue complemented them.
‘Everything ready in the front room?’
Lizzie nodded. The dismantled iron bedstead was hidden under a cover. The wooden chairs were placed in a circle round the room ready for the guests.
‘I don’t know how many will come,’ Lizzie said as she glanced at the sandwiches and cakes, ‘but I think we’ve made enough.’
Lil placed her hands on her hips. ‘Well, there’s enough here to feed the five thousand. Langley Street are a greedy lot. They ate and drank themselves silly at the street party after the war. If we run short I can always pop next door and knock out a few more sandwiches. Flo can give us a hand. It helps to take her mind off things.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘She helped me set out the table and she’s done a bit of dusting. She even cleaned the front room window.’
‘Yeah, she ain’t done badly – in between bawlin’ her head off.’
Lizzie smiled. ‘Even Babs said she’d offer round the plates and do the teas. So all in all, it’s not bad going.’
Lil nodded. ‘No, it ain’t, gel.’
There was a long pause before Lizzie said, ‘Lil, I hope I’m not gonna get upset when everyone comes. I dunno what come over me at the cemetery.’
‘I do,’ replied Lil briskly. ‘It’s called a whopping great shock. I had the same when our two boys died at the beginning of the war, one so quick after the other. Me and Doug didn’t know what hit us.’ For a moment Lil looked older than her forty-five years. Her face was sad despite her make-up. ‘I couldn’t believe it for weeks. Didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, wouldn’t speak to Doug. Your mother was the one who helped me then. If it wasn’t for her I dunno what I would have done. I just wanted to curl up and die.’
Lizzie remembered. She had been nine at the time. Her mother had called in to see Lil each day, trying to encourage her to eat. She’d made soup and hot bread and finally convinced Lil that life was worth living.
‘You’re gonna do just fine, gel,’ Lil said. ‘Now call Babs and Flo to give us a hand and we’ll do the honours. Doug and your two boys are seeing to the drink next door in my place. Front door’s open. The men can have a good piss-up.’
‘I dread to think what state your place will be in.’ Lizzie lifted a plate.
‘Don’t you go worrying about that,’ Lil cackled. ‘They can get as sozzled as they like without us having to watch ’em do it, silly buggers. They’ll not stint on the booze, that’s for sure. So off you go and keep yer pecker up. And when everyone’s gone, it’ll be the living you ’ave to think about, not the dead.’
‘Ta, love. Very nice, too.’ Violet Catcher from number seventy-nine was squeezed into the old chair that had been pulled out from the cupboard under the stairs. Her fat arms wobbled as she pounced on the sandwiches. ‘Lovely bit of ’am. Shame about yer poor mum. We always got on. Unlike some others in this road I could mention.’ Lizzie moved swiftly by. Vi was looking for an audience.
Babs and Flo were sitting on the floor beside Ethel Sharpe and her two children, Tim, three and Rosie, two. Lizzie held the plate whilst they all dipped in.
Babs turned up her nose. ‘Ain’t we got no egg and cress?’
‘It’s ham or cheese,’ Lizzie told her.
‘Don’t like either.’
‘Well, that’s the first I’ve heard of it.’ Lizzie reflected that Babs doing charity work at Hailing House had its disadvantages. Airs and graces in Langley Street were given short shrift and Babs was pushing her luck.
Babs straightened her back. ‘Miss Hailing tells Alice – that’s the maid – to tell cook to make cucumber sandwiches thin and cut off the crusts. Miss Hailing’d never have big thick slices with the crusts left on. That ain’t proper.’
‘Well, the motto in this house is waste not want not.’
Babs jumped to her feet. ‘Pardon me for opening me mouth.’
The two little children giggled as Babs stalked off.
Ethel laughed. ‘Rosie and Tim like the ham. Here you are kids, eat up.’
‘How’s life in Blackheath?’ Lizzie sat down beside Ethel. She got on well with Lil’s twenty-one-year-old daughter. Apart from having all Ethel’s cast-offs, they both liked fashion. Ethel worked in a haberdashers two days a week.
‘Not so bad, Lizzie. I was sorry to hear about yer Ma.’
‘Thanks, Ethel. It was a bit of a shock.’
‘How you coping?’ She poked Timmy in the ribs. ‘You eat up that crust young man.’
Lizzie smiled at the little boy. ‘Me biggest worry is the school inspector coming round.’
‘What’s he want?’
‘To keep an eye on Flo.’
‘Silly old busybody.’ Ethel sounded like her mother. ‘Don’t take no notice. He’ll soon get fed up. I’m putting Timmy’s name down for school soon. There’s one just around the corner. Trouble is, Richard thinks it’s a bit rough.’
‘Is Richard still working for Greenwich Council?’ Lizzie asked, recalling that Lil always said her son-in-law was a stuffed shirt.
‘Yes. And he’s due promotion soon.’
‘Does his mother still look after the kids whilst you’re at work?’
Ethel looked up to the ceiling. ‘Yeah, and still trying to teach them the king’s English – at their age!’
They laughed as Ethel pulled two-year-old Rosie on to her lap and wiped the crumbs off her mouth. Lizzie knew that on the quiet Lil thought Ethel’s mother-in-law was a snob.
‘You gonna have some more kids, Ethel?’ Lizzie asked.
‘You must be joking!’ Ethel threw back her blonde head. ‘One kid at eighteen, the other at nineteen. Sometimes I wonder where me brains were when I married so young. But there you are. I was bowled over by me fella’s good looks and extreme wealth.’ Both girls laughed again. ‘Oh, I’m not being rotten,’ Ethel smiled. ‘I’m happy with me lot, really. I like working at Rickards. All the lovely materials and that. I like bringing in a wage.’
‘Rickards is a lovely shop.’ Lizzie felt a moment’s pang of envy. Ethel not only had her kids but a good job, too. She’d been to Rickards once, a long time ago, when Ethel had put aside some cheap lace for Kate. Shelves overflowing with roll upon roll of materials, trimmings, buttons, zips and fastenings.
‘You’d do well in a shop,’ Ethel commented. ‘You was good at figures at school, I remember me mum saying. And you’ve had a fair bit of training now, selling stuff with your pa.’
‘I couldn’t do a job as well as look after the family,’ Lizzie sighed. ‘I have to consider Flo.’
‘Yes, but it would have been nice to have the choice, I ’spect.’ Ethel blushed. ‘Sorry Lizzie, I didn’t mean to put me foot in it. Just seems a lot for you to take on, that’s all.’
Lizzie changed the subject quickly. She looked down at her dress. ‘Recognize this?’
Ethel frowned. ‘I think I do . . .’
‘Your mum give it to her, Ethel,’ Flo interrupted, arriving on the scene in time to hear the last of the conversation. ‘It was yours.’
Ethel and Lizzie grinned. Lizzie pushed the plate of sandwiches under Flo’s nose.
‘I’ll have one of each.’ Flo reached out to grab a handful.
‘No you won’t, you’ll have one at a time.’ Lizzie pulled the plate back.
Flo muttered, ‘bossy boots’ under her breath. Lizzie ignored it. There would be no family row today. She thought of Lil’s words earlier. ‘You’ve got to be mother to your lot now and put food in their mouths and clothes on their backs. You ain’t got time to cry, gel, not if you’re gonna keep the family together, you need to l
ay your own rules down, ’cos believe me, those girls will need ’em.’
Another fleeting pang of envy went through her as she looked at Ethel. Lovely kids, a nice job and a new house in a posh part of London. Lizzie pulled herself up short. Ethel’s life wasn’t hers and she mustn’t wish for it.
Flo grabbed hold of Rosie’s hand. ‘Does she wanna come out in the yard, Ethel?’
Timmy piped up. ‘I do.’
‘You be a good boy, then,’ Ethel said and gave him a wink.
‘I’d better go and hand these round,’ Lizzie said. ‘See you in a minute, kids.’
In the passage there was chaos. The market traders had arrived. Fat Freda, Boston Brown, Dickie Potts and Elfie Goldblum stood squashed together, trying to assess where the drinks had disappeared to.
‘Sorry we couldn’t get to the cemetery, Lizzie.’ Dickie grabbed the last sandwich with his black nails. ‘But better late than never, eh?’
‘Thanks for coming, Dickie.’
‘Wouldn’t ’ave missed it for the world. Where’s yer dad?’
‘Next door. Lil’s putting him up till we get sorted. The beer’s in there too.’
Dickie pushed Elfie towards the front door. ‘We’ll be having ourselves a pint or two, then. Where’s Danny and the ’orse gorn?’
She hadn’t seen Danny since they’d arrived back from the cemetery. After helping to get the drinks ready he’d driven Benji back to the shop. ‘Bert said he’s gone back to fetch Mr Flowers and Frank.’
‘Frank coming, eh?’ Dickie nodded slowly. ‘Oh well, see you in a bit, gel.’
Lizzie knew Frank wasn’t popular amongst the tradespeople. He hadn’t joined up in the war. Instead he’d got a job in the docks as security. People never trusted him after that. But the war had been over two years. Frank was always polite and had a civil word for her when she went in the shop.
As the traders left, a big black car stopped outside Vi’s. A man in uniform got out and opened the back door. Miss Hailing and another girl climbed out.
‘I’m so sorry we are late, Elizabeth.’ Miss Hailing extended a gloved hand. Tall and slim, she always looked very regal, despite the hard work she did in the soup kitchens. Kate had taken Lizzie up to the House for sewing classes, held once monthly. It was there that Lizzie had learned to sew properly.
