by Anna King
The smile slid from Lenny’s face.
‘Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean ter…’
‘Look, just sit yerself down, will yer,’ Alfie said impatiently. Doing as he was bid, Lenny sat down on a rickety chair, his eyes downcast. Seeing his son’s abject expression, Alfie gave him a hearty slap on the back.
‘Gawd help us, son, yer look a right bleeding misery. Now then, tell me what happened,’ he said, leaning his head closer in order to keep their conversation private. Hearing the jovial tone, Lenny’s face brightened.
‘I did what yer said, Dad. I put the letter through the letterbox, then I ran fer it. I saw Emily come out, but she didn’t see me. I was hiding round the corner at the top of the street.’
‘Good lad. Now then, answer me truthfully. Yer didn’t see yer mum, did yer. ’Cos yer know she’ll only try ter stop yer if she finds out.’ The moment the words were out of his mouth, Alfie realised what a stupid question it was. If either his wife or daughter had caught Lenny, his son wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut for long and he, Alfie Ford, would have been locked up in a cell by now. His hand tightened around the glass of beer. He still couldn’t believe that Nellie had shopped him to the police. After all these years, and all he’d done for her, the bitch had gone and shopped him. All right, so he had gone over the top that night, but bloody hell, she had driven him to it. All he’d wanted was a few quid for some fags and a couple of drinks. But, oh no, she wasn’t going to give Emily’s hard-earned money to him to squander. That was what she’d said, the cow. Wait until Emily comes home, and ask her for it yourself, she’d added for good measure, knowing full well that their daughter wouldn’t have given him a brass farthing, not after she’d seen the black eye he’d given Nellie.
Well, he’d given her a bloody sight worse later that night, hadn’t he? And she had no-one to blame but herself, and Emily. ’Cos if they hadn’t been so hard-faced and mean, if Nellie had handed over some of Emily’s wages, then he would have gone off happy and nobody would’ve been hurt. Instead of which, all hell had broken loose, and when that nosy old cow from next door had barged in, he had totally lost control.
When he had fled the house he had been running scared, afraid for the first time at what he had done. He had watched unnoticed from the top of the street as his wife was carried into the ambulance, his heart sinking as he’d realised that this time he had gone too far. And it wasn’t only Nellie who had suffered that night, the old bat from next door had copped it as well. Thinking of that moment when his fist had connected with Dot Button’s eye brought a smile of pleasure to his unshaven face.
But the biggest stroke of luck had been running into Lenny in Bethnal Green Road. Mind you, it hadn’t been as easy to placate Lenny as he’d expected. At first the youth had been angry and upset, the image of his mother’s bruised face, as he’d run from the house, still etched in his memory. And even as Alfie had wheedled and apologised, his hands had been stained with Nellie’s blood.
It had taken a lot of cajoling on Alfie’s part, but finally he had managed to convince Lenny of his remorse, and of course had promised never to raise his hand to Nellie again. Afterwards it had been relatively easy to talk Lenny into staying with his father at a hostel in Mile End Road for a few days, laughingly saying that it would give the two women a chance to have a good old natter. And Alfie had also expertly managed to part the hapless youth from the small amount of money in his pocket. A week later, fed up with the cramped room and his son’s inane chatter, Alfie had been wondering if it was safe to return home when he had run into an old workmate, who had taken great pleasure in informing Alfie that the police were after him.
Draining the last dregs of his beer, Alfie laid the glass heavily down on the round table. He still wasn’t sure if the man had been lying, but he couldn’t take the risk. The police didn’t take much notice of domestic disputes as a rule, but there was a big difference between giving your wife a slap in the face on a Saturday night and nearly beating her to death. Left with only two choices, prison or enlistment, Alfie had quickly chosen the latter.
With a bit of luck he’d end up behind the lines, and if not – well, there was always the old dodge of shooting yourself in the foot. And if he was going to join up, he might as well take his son with him.
Lenny’s eagerness to join up had been pathetic to see. Even Alfie, hard as he was, had felt a momentary jerk of shame at his son’s excited willingness to take up arms and fight for King and country, but his brief spasm of conscience hadn’t lasted long. Whatever love he had once felt for the boy had vanished the day he’d discovered that his son would never be right in the head. Now Alfie wanted vengeance on the woman who had forced him to put his life at risk, and what better way to get his own back than to take her darling son to war?
It had been easy enough to sign up. Although he had primed Lenny to lie about his age, when they had both presented themselves at the recruiting office, Alfie had held his breath when the recruiting sergeant asked how old they both were. But Lenny, his chest puffed out with pride, had looked the man straight in the eyes and said loudly, ‘Eighteen, sir.’ Though Alfie needn’t have worried. By now the powers that be had become so desperate for new recruits that the age-limit was frequently breached, through the patriotic complicity of enthusiastic applicants and blind-eyed recruiting sergeants.
The medical, too, was passed without incident, and in a few days’ time they would be heading for the Isle of Wight for their training period, and then…
‘Are we gonna stay in the hostel tonight, Dad?’
Jerked from his reverie, Alfie looked into the bottom of his glass and grimaced. In a way, he would be glad when he donned his uniform. At least then he could be sure of a bed and decent food.
‘I earnt a few bob down Roman Road today, Dad. I can get yer another drink if yer want.’
Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, Alfie grinned and slapped Lenny hard on the back.
‘Yer a good lad, Lenny… ’Ere, what d’yer reckon to that over there?’ Following his father’s gaze, Lenny looked across the crowded bar to the snug, blushing furiously when a heavily made-up woman, obviously the worse for wear, winked broadly at him over the rim of her raised glass. ‘Bleeding ‘ell, look at the state of it! I wouldn’t know whether to shake ’er ’and, or throw ’er a bone.’ Chuckling loudly, Alfie took the proffered florin from Lenny’s hand and weaved his way through the crowd towards the bar.
Lenny watched him go, his eyes thoughtful. Remembering Mrs Button’s words, he smiled. He wasn’t as daft as people thought, and if his father had ever spent some time with his son, Alfie would have realised it. And though Lenny was frightened – well, scared to death of what lay ahead – he was also proud of himself.
For the first time in his life he was going somewhere he would be treated like an equal. He would have to be careful, though. Sometimes, usually when under stress, he would act like a young boy, but if he kept his mouth shut and copied the other men in the training camp, he should be able to bluff his way through without any trouble. And when he went, he would be taking his father with him. He had agonised for years over how he could make his adored mother safe from his father’s brutal behaviour. Now he had done it. His mum would be safe from harm now, and that was all that mattered. Raising his eyes to the bar, he caught his father staring at him and smiled.
His dad thought he was so clever, but this time Lenny had got the better of him. For a moment he thought of his mother, his eyes misting over. He knew she would be worried about him, even with that last note he’d slipped through the letterbox, saying he would be back home before Emily left. That bit had been his dad’s idea, in the hope that it would stop Nellie from pestering the stall-holders, trying to find the whereabouts of her son. Lenny felt bad about lying to his mother. But he couldn’t have told her his plans. She would have stopped him straight away.
Still, it was for the best. In a few months’ time he would be eighteen, then he would write ag
ain, telling her where he was.
He glanced up once more and saw his father making his way back to the table and thought grimly: No, I ain’t as daft as you think, Dad. In fact right now, I don’t feel daft at all.
Chapter Twelve
‘Oh, come on, Em, say yes. It would be great working together, and it would mean yer didn’t have ter leave yer mum on her own. What d’yer say, Em? Yer could at least think about it.’
The two women were seated in a small booth in a fish and chip shop just off the Roman Road market. They had spent the best part of the morning browsing through the stalls, without actually buying anything, which was unusual for Doris, who loved nothing better than haggling with the stall owners in search of a bargain. But on this Saturday morning Doris had other, more pressing matters on her mind. Two days earlier, one of the women in the munitions factory had lost two of her fingers, when the TNT she was packing had gone off without warning. The experience had badly shaken Doris, causing her to rethink her profession. Not one to stand idle, she had set about finding alternative work. The idea of working on the trams had always appealed to her, but it would be a lot better if she could persuade Emily to join her. Taking another mouthful of plaice and chips, she chewed rigorously, her eyes fastened on the young woman opposite.
Seeing the pleading look in Doris’s eyes, Emily shook her head in wry amusement.
‘Good Lord, Doris, I’ll say one thing for you, you’re persistent, I’ll give you that. You could talk a glass eye to sleep with your chatter. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my dinner in peace.’
‘Does that mean yer’ll think about it? Oh, all right, I’ll leave yer in peace,’ Doris said, her face and tone filled with exaggerated acceptance.
For the next few minutes they concentrated on their meal, but as soon as Emily had laid down her knife and fork, Doris resumed her campaign.
‘It’s good wages – not as good as I get now, but at least it’ll be safer. And I won’t have that awful journey back an’ forward every day. As I said, the money’s not as good on the trams, but it’s a lot more than you get, so what…?’
‘Doris, please, give it a rest,’ Emily pleaded. Pushing away her plate, she leant her elbows on the marble- topped table and said, ‘You know how I’m fixed. I can’t just leave the Winters. They’ve been good to me, and, well, they depend on me…’
‘Play on yer good nature, more like,’ Doris interrupted.
‘That’s as may be,’ Emily retorted. ‘But there is such a thing as loyalty. Now, I’m not saying I won’t leave them; in fact I’ve been thinking about doing just that for some time, but I’ll have to wait until they find someone to take my place.’
Doris leant forward eagerly.
‘Yer never said yer was thinking of leaving service. Why didn’t yer tell me? I am yer best friend, ain’t I…? Oh, it don’t matter…’ She waved her hand in front of Emily’s face. ‘So… what yer saying is, yer’ll leave the Winters as soon as they can get someone ter fill yer place,’ she gave a short laugh. ‘That’ll take some doing, Em. Especially on the money they’re offering. Still, I suppose there’s plenty who’d do it for a roof over their heads, and a full belly – and I thought yer told me once it was bad manners ter lean yer elbows on the table.’
‘What! Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I?’ Emily smiled affectionately at her friend. She was about to make a suitable rejoinder when a woman of about their own age appeared by their table, with a clean, wet cloth in her hand. Nodding towards their plates she asked, ‘You two finished?’
‘Yeah, we’re finished, love. Here yer are,’ Doris said cheerfully, holding her plate out for the waitress to take. The woman’s eyes flickered over Doris’s smiling face, before lowering her gaze to the yellow-tinged hands, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Doris was quick to notice the look and would have let it pass without comment, if the woman hadn’t used the cloth she was holding to pick up Doris’s plate gingerly, as if touching a dead rat.
‘Don’t worry, it ain’t catching,’ Doris spat out angrily, as she moved along the bench and out of the narrow booth. She had become accustomed to the hurtful looks and comments, and would have let the matter drop, but Emily, outraged at what she saw as an open attack on her dear friend, wasn’t about to let the incident pass without notice.
Sliding along the bench, Emily stood up in front of the sullen waitress and said icily, ‘How dare you treat my friend in such a disrespectful manner, you stupid, ignorant woman.’ All chatter ceased as the other customers craned their necks to see what the disturbance was about. ‘If you had any sense at all, you would realise what courage it takes to work in munitions. Women like my friend risk their welfare, and their lives, every day for this country and the men fighting overseas. They should be treated with respect, not scorn. What the hell do you think gives you the right to look down your nose at. .
‘Leave it, Em, she ain’t worth it.’ Doris had hold of Emily’s arm and was pulling her towards the door, but Emily hadn’t finished.
Turning her attention to the owner, a burly, red-faced man who was staring at the scene, she said scathingly, ‘Rest assured, sir, we won’t be frequenting this establishment again. Good day to you.’ The last thing she saw was both owner and waitress staring after her with open mouths.
Once outside in the market, Emily pulled out her gloves, angrily shoving each finger into its allotted place, her body still quivering with anger. Then she heard the laughter, softly at first, then rising to an infectious, full-throated bellow of glee. Spinning round she saw Doris, her hands holding her side, doubled up in mirth.
‘’Cor, blimey, Em, I ain’t had such a good laugh since me Aunt Flo caught her tit in the mangle. Yer should have heard yerself in there.’ Wiping her streaming eyes, she placed a hand on her hip and, in a pseudo-posh voice, said loftily, ‘We shan’t be using this establishment again. Bleeding hell, Em, it’s a fish and chip shop, not the blooming Ritz.’
Emily stared at the figure convulsed in laughter and felt her own lips begin to twitch.
‘Well, maybe I did overdo it a bit, but she made me so flaming mad, treating you like that. Did you see her apron? It must have had a month’s chip fat on it, and she had the cheek to look down her nose at you.’
Arm-in-arm the two women walked slowly down the market towards the tram-stop.
‘Yer know, Em, before the war, yer couldn’t walk down the market – any market – without saucy comments and whistles flying after yer. Now yer could walk the length of Hackney Wick in yer drawers without risk of being molested.’
‘You sound as if you’re complaining.’ Emily smiled.
Doris shrugged her shoulders. ‘Being chatted up by the stall-holders used ter be half the fun of shopping down the markets. Mind you, yer still get the odd bloke who fancies his chances, even though most of them are coffin-dodgers, but it ain’t the same.’ Suddenly she shivered and huddled closer to Emily. ‘I wonder where Tommy and Andy are right this minute? I hope neither of them is silly enough to try to be a bleeding hero. There’s enough have done that already.’
‘I know, I read the papers too, though just lately I’ve tried to avoid reading about the war. It’s different now that men I know, and care for, are among those fighting. They’re not just faceless uniforms any longer, but real people, just like Tommy and Andy – and Captain Winter.’ Shivering inside her thick green coat, Emily pulled the cowl collar up around her ears. ‘It’s funny, but I never thought of Captain Winter being in danger. I mean, I knew he was away fighting, but I never dwelt on it. Maybe that’s the best way to cope – not to dwell on things, I mean – but it’s not so easy as it sounds.’
Seeing the tram rounding the corner the two women inched up closer in the queue, ready to repel any latecomers who might try to push in.
Once inside, Emily hurried to the front of the tram where she could see some empty seats. Sliding across the slatted wooden bench, she stared out of the window, deep in thought, while Doris made herself busy trying to find out
about wages and hours from the young conductress.
Grateful for a bit of time to herself, Emily pondered on the future. She would dearly love to join Doris on the trams – that is, if there were any vacancies, but she still felt herself bound by loyalty to remain with the Winters until a replacement could be found to take her place. She didn’t need Doris to remind her that it would be no easy task. And aside from worrying about her employers, she still had her mother to contend with. A mother who still clung to the hope that her only daughter would marry someone like Captain Winter – or even the man himself! Smiling to herself, Emily imagined what the captain would say if he realised that Mrs Ford had him down as a possible candidate for son-in-law.
‘What yer smiling ter yerself for?’ Doris nudged Emily in the ribs. ‘If yer’ve something funny on yer mind, yer can share it around; we could all do with a bit of a laugh.’
Shaking her head Emily replied, ‘No, it’s nothing important, honestly.’ As dear as Doris was to her, Emily knew that if she got wind of her mother’s aspirations, she, Emily, would never hear the end of it. Later, as they parted company outside Emily’s house, they made arrangements to go out for a drink later on that evening.
‘I’ll come and knock fer yer about seven. See yer.’ Emily waited until Doris reached her door, then, with a final wave, she entered the house.
‘Hello, love. Did you buy anything nice?’ Nellie came out of the scullery, wiping her hands on a floral apron tied around her waist. Taking her coat and hat off and hanging them behind the door, Emily wiped a strand of hair from her eyes and looked up. Once again she was amazed at the change in her mother in such a short space of time.
Nellie was wearing a royal blue jumper and a black skirt that Emily had altered to calf-length, both garments from the parcel that Emily had brought home. Nellie had protested at first, alarmed at the thought of showing her ankles, even though it had been the fashion for many years.
‘No, there was nothing I saw that I really wanted.’ Flopping down in the armchair, Emily took off her boots and held her cold feet out towards the roaring fire.
