by Anna King
‘There was every need for “that”, as you term it. Do you want your children growing up like the poor unfortunates that cram the tenements around us?’ Bernard was out of the chair again. Walking round the room, his hands clasped behind his back, he continued talking. ‘Do you blame me for trying to keep us apart from the riff-raff that surround us?’ He stopped pacing for a moment, his face red from either the heat of the fire or shame, Daisy didn’t know, but she knew better than to interrupt him. ‘The people I look down on are our bread and butter, yet even that knowledge doesn’t stop me from despising them. I know it’s wrong of me, but I can’t help the way I feel, and even…’
His words were cut off by the sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs as Ruby, George and Bertie all reached the bottom seemingly at the same time. Remembering the bacon and egg she had left in the pan, Daisy ran into the scullery, swiftly lifting it from the cooking range. Putting the food on a plate, she returned to the kitchen and placed it on the table before Bernard, who was now seated and waiting for his breakfast. Minutes later, the children were slowly spooning their thick porridge, their gaze directed at their father’s plate.
As Bernard forked a piece of bacon into his mouth, he became aware of their envious looks. At his sharp bang on the table with his knife, they all jumped and began to gulp down their porridge, their gaze downcast. When they had finished, they waited patiently for permission to leave the table. After what seemed an age, Bernard laid down his knife and fork and rose, inclining his head towards them, indicating that they might get down. Taking a penny from his pocket, he held it out to Bertie.
‘Run down to the corner and get me a copy of The Times, and don’t take all day about it.’
Bertie held out his hand for the money, his fingers curling round the smooth shiny coin. ‘I won’t, Father. I’ll run there and back.’
Pulling down his cloth cap over the dark curly hair, he put the penny into the pocket of his grey flannel trousers, the feel of them around his ankles instead of his knees making him feel like a man, as befitted his 12 years. Turning sharply, he opened the kitchen door that led out on to the street and made his way down to the corner where the newspaper boy could be found.
Ruby and George watched him go, then sat down again to wait for his return. As soon as he got back, the children would make their way to Victoria Park, as they did every Sunday, weather permitting. In the scullery, Daisy was busy making cheese and pickle sandwiches for their lunch. When she had finished, she put them, together with three apples and a large slice of cake, into a big wicker hamper. Glancing out of the window, she was relieved to see that the sun was shining, and although the day was chilly, it seemed pleasant enough for the park. She was always glad when Sunday came round. That was the one day she had to herself, as the children would spend the morning and most of the afternoon at the park. Bernard and Lily, together with Jack the cellar-man and barman, would take over the running of the pub while she got on with household tasks. Giving the hamper a final inspection, she picked it up and came back into the kitchen just as Bertie was entering the room, the newspaper tucked under his arm.
‘Here you are, Father,’ he said, slightly out of breath, as he handed the paper to Bernard. When the paper was pulled from his grasp he turned to where Daisy was standing. ‘May we go now, Mother?’
‘Let’s have a look at you first,’ Daisy replied, as they lined up for her inspection. First George, his face scrubbed and shining, beamed up at her. Bending down, she straightened his new blue jersey jumper and pulled up his grey knee-length trousers. Then she passed to Ruby, whose hair spilled around her shoulders and over the top of her white frilly blouse, over which she wore a plaid pinafore. Daisy looked at the long white stockings, and sighed; they wouldn’t remain that colour for long. It was a pity that women and girls didn’t wear trousers – well, not women of breeding. ‘Off you go, and mind you get back by three o’clock. It’s roast beef for dinner today,’ Daisy laughed as their faces lit up in anticipation, and then gently shooed them out of the house.
Closing the door behind them, she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece which showed eight-thirty. Jack and Lily were already in the bar waiting for the first customers of the day, she could hear their voices laughing as they shared a joke. Anxious to get on with the new dress she was making for Ruby, she began to clear the table.
* * *
‘Oh, come on, George! Just for a minute.’
‘No, Ruby, you know Father doesn’t allow us to visit the horses unless he’s with us.’
Putting her hands on her hips in a gesture George knew only too well, Ruby faced him, her head set on one side as she waited for him to capitulate.
George’s heart sank. He wished he had the strength to say no to his sister, but he knew he would give in as he always did. He reluctantly nodded. ‘All right, but just for a minute. I want to get to the park.’
Ruby’s face split into a wide grin. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and ran with him to the stables. Bertie had already walked on, not wishing to be included in his sister’s madcap schemes. Entering the stables, they walked over to where the two horses were tethered.
‘Hello, Lady.’ Ruby put her hand up to the horse’s neck, stroking it affectionately. Then, putting her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a slice of bread and jam she had made in the scullery while her mother’s back had been turned. ‘There’s a good girl.’ Lady sniffed at the outstretched hand, then quickly gulped at the offered delicacy.
George, standing by the door, stiffened as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. ‘Ruby, quick,’ he whispered urgently, his eyes wide with fright. ‘Someone’s coming!’
Ruby turned quickly, and it was as she made to move from the confines of the stall-box that she tripped. As she fell she reached out and grabbed Lady’s tail, causing the startled horse to rear and lash out with her back legs. Stifling a scream, Ruby fell to the straw-covered floor as an agonising pain shot through her left leg.
Seeing his sister fall, George covered the distance between them in three long strides. Pulling Ruby away from the horse’s flaying hooves, they both fell into a corner, gasping for breath. The footsteps paused outside the stable and he watched the door slowly open, his mouth agape, his heart fluttering. As the familiar figure of his brother strode towards them, George felt his body go limp with relief. For one awful moment he had thought it was his father. Seeing the look on Bertie’s face, George raised his hand to him.
‘Don’t start, Bertie! Ruby’s hurt, Lady kicked her in the leg.’
Bertie’s head snapped back, the words of censure dying on his lips. His eyes grave with concern, he dropped to his knees beside his sister, his arms going round her shoulders to pull her clear from the stalls. ‘Are you all right, Ruby? Where does it hurt?’
Her head cradled against her brother’s chest, Ruby fought down a wave of nausea. Her leg did hurt. Oh, it hurt really bad! The sound of her crying brought the two boys’ eyes upon her. They had never seen her cry before. They had seen her in a temper tantrum where she had shed tears of rage and frustration, but never tears brought about by grief or pain.
Thoroughly alarmed now, George rose to his feet. ‘I’d better go and get Father.’
‘No, don’t. I’ll be all right in a minute.” Ruby grabbed at his sleeve.
‘We’ll all get into trouble if Dad finds out.’ Putting out her hands, she attempted to pull herself up from the floor, and immediately the two boys were beside her, helping her to her feet. ‘It doesn’t hurt so much now,’ she lied bravely, as she wrapped an arm around each of their necks. Over the top of her head, the boys looked at each other, neither knowing what to do. ‘Hurry up! Dad will be coming in soon to feed the horses.’ Her voice was muffled, her head hung low to prevent the boys from seeing the tears that were coursing down her cheeks.
Following her lead, George bent down and picked up the hamper, then, tightening his grip on his sister, he helped Bertie to half carry her from the stables.
Once outside, they looked quickly to either side of them, then, seeing the coast was clear, they made their way to the park with Ruby limping as she clung on to their arms.
Chapter Three
Victoria Park, or ‘Vicky Park’ as the East Enders called it, was one of the few places where the public could listen to music on a Sunday. Men in high hats played their instruments at the bandstand, affording great pleasure to their appreciative audience. Mothers rested beneath the trees, their babies laid out on blankets placed under the large leafy branches that protected the newborn infants from any strong sunlight. Boys ran wild playing their favourite games of football and rounders, while the young girls happily bowled their hoops, their high childish laughter ringing out loud and clear. The men drew on their pipes and chatted with their friends and wives, determined to enjoy this one day of freedom, the only day of the week they could call their own.
As they passed through the open wrought-iron gates, Ruby breathed a silent sob of relief. Soon she would be able to sit down on the inviting green grass that stretched as far as the eye could see. She had thought they would never get there. The weekly journey that normally took half an hour, their young legs running and jumping, eating up the miles, had taken over an hour as the boys had half dragged and carried her. George’s face was red with exertion, and tiny drops of sweat ran down his cheeks. For a moment Ruby forgot the pain in her leg as a pang of guilt ran through her. Poor George! Throughout the nightmare journey he had uttered no word of complaint, no censure about her latest escapade that had landed them, once again, in trouble. They were on the grass now, walking past the shimmering water of the large circular lake where the smaller children sailed their home-made wooden boats under the watchful eyes of their mothers.
‘Can’t we stop now, Bertie?’ Ruby pleaded, trying desperately to keep the quiver from her voice.
‘Yes, please, Bertie? I’m so tired.’ George added his voice to Ruby’s.
Bertie looked at Ruby’s white pinched face and felt again a tremor of fear. They should have gone back home, no matter what punishment would be meted out. It would have been better than this awful predicament they had landed themselves in. His arms ached from holding Ruby steady, and poor George was breathing so hard he looked as if his chest would burst.
‘Just a bit further,’ he answered, his voice faltering as he tried to catch his breath. Ignoring their protests, he urged them on towards the centre of the park where the drinking fountain stood. He wanted to make sure Ruby didn’t have to walk too far to get a drink. ‘All right, we can stop now,’ he said, as he eased Ruby’s arm from round his aching neck, and as if of one body, they sank slowly onto the clean-smelling grass.
The three figures stretched themselves out, their arms flung wide, their eyes closed, as they waited for their breathing to return to normality. Bertie was the first to recover. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he looked down at his brother and sister and suddenly grinned.
He playfully punched George on the arm, chiding him, ‘Come on, weakling, get up. Don’t tell me a little stroll like that has tired you out.’
George looked up at his brother and, taking his cue, gave a watery grin. Lifting himself on one elbow he said, ‘How about something to eat? I’m starving!’ Turning to his sister, who was still lying on the grass, he nudged her gently in her side. ‘You all right, Ruby? How’s your leg? Is it still hurting?’
Ruby swallowed hard, fighting down the sick feeling in her throat. Her leg was still throbbing something awful, but the shivery faint feeling had gone. With a supreme effort she raised herself and gave what passed for a smile. ‘It’s not so bad now. Pass me one of the sandwiches, please.’
Upon hearing their sister speak in her normal tone, both boys gave an audible sigh of relief. Neither of them had relished the same hazardous journey home.
Soon the three of them were tucking in, and it was as Ruby bit into the last sandwich that she looked up and stared at her brothers as if seeing them for the first time. A feeling unfamiliar to her flooded through her body. Then in a voice totally different to her usual strident tone, she said quietly, ‘Thanks.’
Both George and Bertie bowed their heads in embarrassment, not knowing how to answer her. Then the tension was broken by a large rubber ball bouncing into their midst, followed quickly by its owner.
‘Sorry, mate!’ A boy about Bertie’s age, shabbily-dressed but clean, stood before them.
Bertie jumped to his feet, the ball under his arm. Grateful for the diversion, he handed it back, saying cheerfully, ‘That’s all right,’ then, looking over to where a small group of boys stood waiting, he asked hopefully, ‘Can we play?’
The owner of the ball looked at Bertie doubtfully. He didn’t speak like a Cockney, but he wasn’t a toff. They didn’t come to the park on a Sunday. It was an unspoken rule that this day was reserved solely for the working classes. No, he wasn’t a toff, but he did talk nice, sort of posh. Looking into Bertie’s eager face, he made up his mind. ‘Come on, then, and your mate if he wants to,’ he added, looking at George. Taking his ball, he ran off, calling over his shoulder, ‘Well, come on then.’
Bertie looked at George, a wide grin on his face, then, giving a whoop of delight, he bounded after his new-found friend with George close behind. They had covered only a short distance before coming to an abrupt halt. Looking back to where Ruby was still sitting, they both felt a twinge of guilt. For the first time that day they had forgotten all about her, and with dragging feet they started walking back.
Ruby saw them coming, and immediately called out, ‘Go on! I’m all right, really. I feel like a nap anyway.’
The lie stuck in her throat, causing her voice to break, but, taking a deep breath, she forced a smile to her lips. She watched as her brothers were torn between a sense of loyalty binding them to stay with her and the burning desire to leave and take the unexpected chance to play football. Moving her hands in a dismissive gesture, she watched with envy as they ran off. If she hadn’t hurt her leg, she would have gone with them, and woe betide any mere boy who objected to a girl intruding on their male territory!
Getting slowly to her feet, she was relieved to find she could put her foot to the ground, and gingerly limped over to the drinking fountain, blessing Bertie for his foresight in making them walk that extra few feet. Ignoring the metal cup that hung by a linked chain to the side of the fountain, she cupped her hands under the gushing stream of water and then ran her wet hands over her face. It wasn’t a very warm day, but she still felt clammy. She limped back to the hamper and sat down beside it, plucked a blade of grass and began chewing on it, her mind working furiously. Her leg was definitely not hurting as much as it had been, but she’d probably have an enormous bruise in a couple of days and she wondered how to explain it to her parents. She would just have to make sure she wore her stockings all the time until the bruise faded. She could hear the boys shouting above the music from the bandstand, and wondered why it sounded so far away. Slowly her eyelids drooped, and to the sounds of chirping sparrows perched in the tree above her, she fell asleep.
* * *
Daisy looked out of the kitchen window for the fourth time in as many minutes. Where were they? It was well past their usual time of coming home from the park. Bernard had refused to wait for his dinner and had insisted she eat with him. The children’s plates, filled with beef and roast potatoes, were in the oven keeping warm, the boiled cabbage stewed in a saucepan on the range. At first, when they hadn’t put in an appearance, she had been angry, but that anger had long since faded and in its place was fear. Just as she was about to let go of the net curtain and fetch Bernard from the pub, she saw the three of them coming down the road. With a sigh of relief she dropped the curtain and hurried to the door.
‘Come in, come in! Where on earth have you been? I’ve been so worried, I was just about to get your father.’ Bustling round, she ushered them all into the kitchen, the angry words forgotten in the relief of seeing them back safe a
nd sound. Soon their dinner was before them on the table, with Daisy sitting in the armchair watching them eat.
When they had finished and had asked one by one for permission to leave the table, she laid down her sewing and, turning to Bertie, said, ‘Well now, are any of you going to tell me why you’re so late, or do I have to call your father?’
Before either of the boys could speak, Ruby said quietly, ‘It was my fault, Mum.’
‘Well, wonders will never cease! Your fault, you say, and what was it this time, madam?’ The words were delivered in a bantering fashion as Bertie and George waited with bated breath for Ruby’s answer.
‘I was skipping along a wall on the way home and slipped and hurt my leg,’ Ruby said quickly. ‘It really hurt, and… and I couldn’t stand up for ages. Bertie and George had to carry me most of the way home. That’s why we’re so late. It’s not their fault, Mum. Bertie told me not to climb the wall, but… but I didn’t take any notice. I’m sorry if you were worried.’
As she uttered the words, she felt a deep sense of shame. She might be many things, but she wasn’t a liar. If it had just been herself who would get into trouble she would have owned up to her misdeed that morning, but it was too late for the truth. If she came clean now, Bertie and George would also suffer, and she couldn’t let that happen, not after the way they’d been so good to her all day. They had argued all the way home as to the best solution to adopt. The boys had been all for telling the truth and taking their punishment. She had seen the determined look on Bertie’s face as he’d faced their mother, and had spoken quickly before he could get the damning words out.
