The Forgotten Daughter

by Mary Wood

  ‘You have to go to the doctor, Aunt Pru, I’m worried out of my mind about you.’

  ‘It’s me grief, lass. From the moment that envelope came, I’ve felt ill. Before that, I was fine and nothing ailed me.’

  ‘It could be the shock and, like you say, your grief. I have a sick feeling inside me, and have had since it all happened, but for you it is much worse. And you’re not eating, love. You’re not getting any sustenance. You need to have a check-up. Between us, we can afford to have the doctor call on you.’

  They hadn’t discussed money since she’d returned, but there was a worry niggling away at Flora. On her visit to the bank, she had found that her funds were very much depleted. She’d arranged for Aunt Pru to collect a weekly sum to keep her and Alice while she was away, and knew that she had to keep taking care of Aunt Pru for a while, as she couldn’t possibly work to take care of herself.

  At least the Red Cross owed her a few months’ salary. And she had her allowance from Cyrus’s army pay to collect, so maybe things wouldn’t be too bad, but she would have to consider getting a job. That couldn’t be nursing. She knew she could never do that again. But if not that, then what else was there for her? Her music maybe? There must be a way to earn a shilling or two playing the piano.

  She was jolted out of these thoughts by Aunt Pru’s sobs. ‘Oh, my dear, let me help you.’

  With Aunt Pru leaning heavily on her, they made it to the sofa. Alice looked up from where she was playing on the rug in front of the fire and her bottom lip shook, before she let out a wail, then crawled over and tugged at Flora’s skirt. Lifting her onto her knee while keeping Aunt Pru supported wasn’t easy.

  ‘Aunt Pru is not feeling well, darling, Mummy needs to help her.’

  Alice offered her teddy to Aunt Pru, who took it and held it close to her breast, rocking backwards and forwards.

  ‘Talk to me, dear Aunt Pru. Would you like to hear how Freddy died? Would that help you?’

  ‘Yes, tell me what happened, lass.’

  Missing out the part that haunted her – Freddy saying he didn’t want to die – Flora told of how he was in her arms, and how he said that he loved her. And she added to what she knew he would have said, if he’d had time. ‘His last words were “Tell Ma I love her.”’

  ‘Oh, my Freddy, my Freddy . . .’

  Flora held Aunt Pru with her one free arm.

  ‘What made me lad die? I – I mean, what was the cause – how was he hurt?’

  This Flora had dreaded. But she knew that she would want to know, as knowing as she did gave her peace, thinking that she wouldn’t have wanted Freddy to live, just to suffer all his life. Once more she left out what she thought would be too much for Aunt Pru, and told her how Freddy had died of a massive haemorrhage that had covered her with his blood.

  ‘H – his legs . . . Oh, Aunt Pru, I’m sorry, but they did all they could. Ella was his nurse, you remember her? My friend, who I met in Belgium and again at Moorfields? She loved Freddy, and Freddy loved her, but she couldn’t save him.’

  ‘Eeh, Flora, the letter said that he was one of the bravest young men his officer had ever known, and a very nice, willing and pleasant young man. He said me Freddy would be getting a posthumous medal for gallantry, as he took actions that saved his friends, but he didn’t say what, he just said, “Above and beyond the call of duty.” That makes me proud.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. That’s our Freddy, eh? Always thinking of others. We’re going to miss him.’

  ‘I’d give owt to hear him play his violin once more. And the music he composed.’

  ‘Would you like me to play some of it on the piano for you, one day? If you dig it all out, I will try to learn it, though composition for a violin is different from a piano.’

  ‘That would be grand, lass. And I’d like a service for him – a memorial – to help me, as I wasn’t able to be there for his burial.’

  ‘Yes, that would be a good idea. We’ll set about arranging it. Now, will you let me call out the doctor to examine you, Aunt Pru?’

  ‘Naw. I think I’ll be reet now, lass. I feel me grief and allus will, but I feel that a peace has settled in me, now that I knaw how Freddy died. You see, I can thank God for taking him, as I wouldn’t want him to suffer for years and years in pain, and not being able to walk; and worrying about him not having someone of his own, as not many lasses would take on a man so badly injured. And to knaw that he were calm and accepting, and able to tell you that he loved us. And to think that you were with him – being me, so to speak – and that the nurse who tended to him loved him an’ all. Aye, it’s all given me a peace, as I were in turmoil, with me imagination showing me horror.’

  ‘It’s like his doctor said to me: we’re to think of him as lucky that he didn’t die alone. Around us at the time were a dozen or so bodies of young men, and most had died without anyone at their side; and those who did have someone, it was a nurse or a doctor, who they’d never met before.’

  ‘Aw, their poor mams – what a thought. What a terrible thought. Aye, I’m to think on that, and give thanks. Now, d’yer knaw sommat, lass. I’m hungry. I could eat a scabby cat, I’m that starving.’

  Flora laughed. Alice copied her and laughed and clapped her hands.

  ‘Eeh, me wee one, there’s not a lot to applaud, but there’s sommat, and it’s enough to help me go forward. Shall we have some fish and chips for supper, eh? Our Freddy loved fish and chips for his supper.’

  ‘Mmm, yes, please. What do you say, Alice?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Alice gurgled, and her mimicking of Flora whilst nodding her head had them both laughing.

  The queue at Ma Tatley’s house for her fish and chips stretched around the corner of her street, when Flora joined it. Ma Tatley cooked the delicious meal in her front room. She had two huge cast-iron pots full of lard bubbling away, and a bowl of batter on her table. Next to the bowl was a pile of flour, for coating the fish, before she dropped it into the batter and then the hot fat. Her childlike son, Billy, sat next to the table, peeling dozens and dozens of potatoes and cutting them into chips. Sometimes, if there was a child in the queue, he would carve the potato into a face and do a puppet show, mimicking different voices and making everyone laugh.

  The air had a nip in it, reminding Flora that winter would soon be upon them. For some unknown reason, she thought of her parents and her brothers. Would they ever know the pleasure of eating fish and chips out of a newspaper wrapping? Would they ever enjoy the delicious smell, or feel the vinegar catch their throat, or chase it down their chin? She doubted it, and she knew in that moment just how much she too would have missed it, if she had been loved by them. Life would have passed her by, too – real life, that is. And she felt glad. Glad to be part of this gossiping queue, and to be accepted by them. Everywhere she went she was welcomed back, and commiserated with; told how much pride they had in her and, yes, asked if she would start up the classes again, as Pru had left them off when the news had come through.

  Mrs Larch came towards her. ‘’Ello, love. ’Ow’s Pru?’

  ‘She’s doing all right, thanks, Mrs Larch. Well, better than all right – she’s hungry, which she hasn’t been for weeks. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘’Ere, you lot, let Flora come to the front. Pru’s feeling hungry, and for the first time since . . . well, you all know what ’appened. Shift yourselves.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s all right, no . . .’

  Calls came of ‘Come along, love’ and ‘You’re welcome, you’re our hero’, whilst people moved out of her way and, with their hands on her back, propelled Flora forward.

  ‘You needn’t, no, really.’ But they were having none of it. Behind her a voice started singing, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s . . .’

  Flora blushed, but had a feeling as she smiled at them that all she’d done and all she’d been through had just been made worthwhile.

  It was lovely and warm in Ma Tatley’s front room and brightly lit.
The woman who had just been served turned. ‘Flora, it’s good to see you.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Clark.’

  Jostling the bundle of fish and chips in her arms and putting them back on the table, Mrs Clark picked up one of the pieces of newspaper that were ready for wrapping. ‘Look, hold on a minute. I’ve been practising. “The use of tanks at—”’

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sure.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t mean . . . I – I’m very pleased with your progress – you have done me and Pru proud. Well done. It’s just, well, I can’t hear about it, as it brings it back . . . I—’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Forgive me.’

  Impulsively Flora took the woman in her arms. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll heal.’ Mrs Clark was bright red when Flora let her go. Flora was reminded of how she had felt when she’d first met Mags. She laughed. ‘Sorry, we’re not used to showing our affection for each other, are we? We should all move up to the North, they all hug up there.’

  A voice said, ‘They ’ave to, they’re all bloody freezing.’

  ‘Well, I’m freezing now. Give us a hug, Mazie.’

  ‘Gerroff, Bert Smith, what’s your game?’

  Everyone burst into laughter at this. Flora joined in with them and, as she did so, she knew she was one of them, and wanted to be. Forget her posh schooling and having been looked after by maids – that was a cold place to be. Here amongst the cockneys she was loved and welcomed and, yes, needed.

  ‘I haven’t got all day, yer know. What’s you wanting, Flora?’

  ‘Two fish and chips, please. Thank you.’

  ‘And they’re on the house, love. A gift from me. But will you do sommat in return for me?’

  ‘I will, Mrs Tatley, anything.’

  ‘Will you teach me son how to play the piano? He loves his grandma’s piano that stands in me back room, and makes a nice sound when he sits at it, but I think he could learn proper notes, and I ’eard as you play.’

  ‘I would love that.’

  ‘I’ll pay. I don’t expect you to give your time for nothing.’

  Knowing the proud cockney way, and sure that Mrs Tatley could afford it, Flora accepted. ‘We’ll discuss terms when I visit. I’ll pop round tomorrow, when you’re not busy cooking.’

  ‘Ta, love. And I’ll add all the fish and chips you and Pru want, into the bargain.’

  As Flora left, more than one person caught her arm and asked her if she would teach their child, too. Most said they couldn’t afford much, but had a piano in their front room and wanted to hear it played. Flora suspected that the pianos would all need tuning, but she could deal with that later, so she nodded her head and began to feel that maybe she was being taken in the direction that was meant for her – to share her music knowledge with others.

  Before she left them, her future seemed set, because other people had asked her to start up the reading lessons again, and many more than had previously attended were saying they too wanted to learn. As she said goodbye, she told them that she would be in touch soon and would put a notice on the church-hall door, as to when lessons would be.

  Walking home, holding the warm fish and chips close to her body, Flora felt a little more secure about the future, and her mind returned to her family and the privileges they had. And she knew that she would never want to go back. But she would ask Aunt Pru to find out from Cook how they all were. A part of her needed to know that.

  It was a few weeks before she found out. Preparations were well under way for Christmas when Cook paid them a visit. It was good to see her, to find that she’d often thought of Flora and to hear her say, ‘All the staff that knew you are always asking me to get news from Pru about you. It hurt us a lot, how you were treated.’

  Flora listened with shock to find out that, only two weeks ago, Harold had been conscripted.

  ‘But you know him, he got out of it. None of us know how or why.’

  This was typical of Harold. ‘And Francis, is he abroad?’

  ‘Yes, he’s been in France for some time. Your mother has took to her bed and refuses to get up. Your father is weak in his body now, as well as in his mind . . . Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss. I—’

  ‘No, it’s all right. Don’t worry. My father is a weak man, but tell me more about his health: how does he manage?’

  ‘He has a man to look after him. Mr Symans. He lost three of his fingers in the Boer War, and since then has been working as a manservant in various houses. He tells us that he was always ridiculed for his affliction, so he looked for a position in a smaller household. He quietly lords it over us all. But he’s not a bad man, and he thinks a lot of your father. He takes him for walks in a bath chair, and goes with him two days a week when your father insists on going into the office.’

  All of this made Flora feel sad. She wished she could help her father with his businesses and be of some comfort to her mother, but she wouldn’t dwell on it. She had made up her mind where she belonged and, unless they asked for her help, she would never go back.

  Not having heard from Mags for a long time, she asked, ‘Has Harold or Francis taken up with a young lady?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Mr Harold spends most of his time up in the North, so he may have a girlfriend there, but I don’t know.’

  This concerned Flora, because although she knew Harold made frequent visits up north, he hadn’t ever spent most of his time there. He was bound to have been in contact with Mags, as they had got on so well. Flora wondered if she would rue the day that she had introduced them.

  As Cook left, she promised to come again. ‘And I’ll tell them all back there how well you are, and how lovely little Alice is. And, Prudence, I know they will all be sorry to hear your sad news.’

  ‘Aye, well, tell them all thanks, and give them me regards.’

  As she closed the door on Cook, Flora turned to Aunt Pru. ‘Ha, we have a spy in the camp. Though it seems a bit underhand, but you know, Pru, something in me still wants to know how they all are.’

  ‘Blood’s thicker than water, lass. It’s only natural. What ain’t natural is how they don’t seem to want to bother about you. That breaks me heart. But then they don’t knaw what they’re missing. Come here and give me a hug.’

  In Aunt Pru’s arms Flora found the comfort she had always found, and a soothing of the pain caused by being rejected by her family. A hurt that she tried to deny, but knew was always there.

  With Aunt Pru, and with her little Alice, she was almost complete. If only the war would end and my Cyrus would come home.

  PART FIVE

  London, 1918–19

  Flora and Cyrus

  Let No Man Put Asunder

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Pass those cakes along, Flora. Do you want them all to yourself?’

  Flora laughed as she passed the plate of iced fancies along to Mrs Larch. The sound of the children chattering away as they sat on the long benches, at the equally long table in the church hall, was deafening. Aunt Pru came towards her with a huge pot of tea in her hands. ‘This is for the grown-ups. Come on, lass, I’ve all the cups laid out on that table at the back.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Pru, give me that before you drop it. You couldn’t have put the table further from the kitchen, could you?’

  Aunt Pru let out a howl of laughter, her too-thin body shaking with the force of it. ‘You know me. Allus working backwards.’

  As she followed her, Flora let her worry over Aunt Pru drift from her as she took in the bunting hanging from the ceiling, and the balloons floating around, as the children hit them from one to the other. All around her was a sea of joy.

  Flora thought she would always remember this day, Wednesday, 13th November 1918, the first day they could all gather to have a tea party to celebrate the end of the war, with the signing of the Armistice two days ago. Her own joy gripped her stomach. Surely her Cyrus would be home soon?

  But home to what?

  How things
had changed in the last couple of years. After her allowance from Cyrus’s pay had stopped about a year ago, with no reason given – other than that there was an error in the authorization, so payment was suspended until such time as this could be sorted out – she and Aunt Pru had eked out a living from what they could earn teaching, which was little more than a couple of pounds a month. Aunt Pru could only manage one lesson a week: a one-to-one with the shopkeeper’s son, who, though he went to school, struggled with learning to read. She was doing an amazing job with him and was finding a way to unlock his understanding. As for herself, there was the class in this hall, which was thriving; and her music lessons, which had recently brought in more money, as she was teaching the children of a wealthy family, who could afford to pay the proper going rate. It had been one of her neighbours who had got her the job. She cleaned for the family and had told her employer about Flora. Her hope now was that this kind of work would grow, as word about her spread amongst the better-off.

  Getting a job wasn’t easy. Aunt Pru’s health had never recovered; if anything, it had deteriorated, and she wasn’t strong enough to look after Alice full-time. And so the work that Flora did get had to be somewhere she could take Alice with her or, as with her pub job, work at night when Alice was asleep.

  One of the measures taken, to help her cope, was to sell her house and live in Aunt Pru’s, which was bigger. That had been a wrench for them both. Aunt Pru had never wanted to return there, and Flora had so wanted to have a home for Cyrus to come back to.

  The price she got for her house was far below the market value, and she’d only been able to put a small amount in the bank, after paying the debts she owed. But that had dwindled weekly and was nowhere near enough to set up home again in the near future.

  ‘Eeh, lass, that were a big sigh. I thought we said we’d forget our troubles for the day. You can’t change owt by worrying, lass. Perk up and enjoy yourself.’

  As she smiled at Aunt Pru, a voice called over to her, ‘’Ere, Flora, ’ow about we clear the tables and you play us a tune. Let’s have a good old London sing-song, eh?’