by Anna Jacobs
Eva put her book away and sat down. Tonight the little room seemed hot and overcrowded. She thought with longing of Miss Blake’s pretty kitchen and elegant little parlour. What it’d be like here with two lodgers sitting at the table as well didn’t bear thinking of. For a moment, she almost envied her elder sister, eating on her own in the evenings. Then she thought of the lukewarm leftovers that sat on a plate by the fire waiting for Lizzie to come home and changed her mind.
* * *
Having the Misses Harper living with them made life a bit easier for Lizzie, because her mother didn’t shout at her or slap her in front of the boarders. Mam had never slapped them like this when Dad was alive, but she was always doing it now—well, she slapped Lizzie and Johnny a lot, and Polly sometimes—though usually only when Percy was out. She never slapped Eva, though she shouted at her. It wasn’t fair.
Lizzie continued to miss her father very keenly as the weeks passed. It seemed to the grieving child that no one really cared about her now. Her mother only spoke to order her to do jobs around the house or to tell her off about something. When Percy was at home, Mam usually hovered near him, but quite often nowadays he went out for a drink in the evening with Sam, saying if there was no point studying, he might as well enjoy himself a bit, and he could make a half last all evening.
Polly was her usual quiet self, rarely speaking up, just watching everything the family did with her wide, pale blue eyes. And Johnny was a typical little boy of four going on five. He had started school in the babies’ class at the beginning of the year because their mother said it got him off the streets. But the little children all had to have a nap in the afternoons, so when he came home at tea-time, he was always full of beans, rushing out to play with his friends or coming back in bawling to have an injury bathed or else to whine for something to eat. And if Lizzie was around she was the one who had to see to him. In fact, if she was around in the afternoons, her mother hardly lifted a finger.
Sometimes it all got to be too much for the child, this strange new life. It was at those times she went out and sat in the lav by herself, the darker the night the better, because there was something comforting about darkness and people didn’t disturb her there. Well, not unless they were desperate to go.
Even her sister Eva, with whom she had previously been quite close, now spent a lot of time round at Miss Blake’s, since the teacher was giving her private coaching in return for more help in the house. And since Miss Blake lived quite a way away, she had lent Eva an old bike and Mam had given her permission to be out after dark—so long as she came back by the main road and didn’t cut through the back lanes.
Only—when Eva wasn’t there to do the chores, Mam always gave the extra work to Lizzie. So much work. Would it never end? What with Dearden’s and school and housework, not to mention the extra washing up, Lizzie was always exhausted by bedtime. She would go up to bed early sometimes and lie there in the darkness, listening to the quiet murmurings from the lodgers upstairs, vaguely comforted by them. Sometimes she would try to tell herself stories like the ones she used to read in the comics—only Mam wouldn’t let her buy comics now. And she took all the money Lizzie earned at Dearden’s, every farthing. Life was rotten.
* * *
At the beginning of December, Miss Blake came to Bobbin Lane again to speak to Mrs. Kershaw about Eva and school. On her pupil’s advice, she chose a time when Percy would be at home.
Meg showed the teacher into the chilly front room, rarely used because the lodgers always sat up in their attic room in the evenings.
“I’ve come to speak to you about Eva and the scholarship,” Alice Blake began.
“She’s going half-time next year, so she won’t need to sit for it,” Meg said promptly. She was looking forward to having another addition to the family income and had even started to build up the savings account her husband had once opened and rarely paid into. Money was much safer in the bank than sitting on your mantelpiece where people could pinch it.
“That’s what I’ve come to ask you about—does she have to go part-time? If she did get a scholarship, couldn’t she stay on at school for a year or two?”
“No, she couldn’t. You know how we’re situated.”
Percy looked at his mother sideways, frowned, then turned back to the teacher. “Why do you ask?”
“Eva is such a clever child, it’s a pity to take her away from school. Is there no way…” Alice paused delicately.
“What would be the point of her staying on?”
“She wants to train as a teacher, and I think she’d make a good one. It’d be such a shame to waste her talents, Mr. Kershaw.”
Percy could see his mother shaking her head and sat for a moment, thinking. He’d lost his chance in life, but surely they were managing all right, even without Eva’s earnings as a part-timer? “What exactly would all this entail?”
Meg leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter, Percy. She can’t—”
“Shh, Mam. Let Miss Blake tell us.”
Alice explained about how a teacher was trained, and he nodded, asking occasional questions, proving, though he didn’t realise it, that Eva wasn’t the only clever one in the family.
“We’ll have to think about it for a few days,” he said when she had finished speaking. “It’s not something you decide in a hurry.”
Meg breathed in deeply, feeling betrayed, but she wasn’t going to argue with him in front of a guest.
“Let me show you out, Miss Blake,” said Percy, standing up.
As he fumbled with the front door, he whispered, “Leave it to me. Give me a few days to talk Mam round.”
She clasped his hand and nodded. “Eva is worth it. She’s one of the cleverest girls I’ve ever taught.”
He went back to face a tirade from his mother about how careful they had to be nowadays and how they couldn’t possibly afford for Eva to stay on at school.
Only when she’d run herself down did he say mildly, “It does bear thinking about, you know.”
“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said, Percy Kershaw? It’s not just her staying on, there’s the uniform to buy—and books—and other things, too. We simply can’t afford it.”
“I know it’d be hard, Mam. But teachers earn good money, you know. Our Eva would be better placed to help you in your old age if she was a teacher, don’t you think?”
Clearly, that possibility had not occurred to Meg. She gaped at him for a moment, then said sourly, “Well, we still can’t afford it. It takes them years to become teachers nowadays. They can’t go as monitors first, as they did in the old days. And anyway, she’s a pretty lass. She’ll get married as soon as she’s finished, whatever she says now, and then all that schooling will be wasted. They can’t stay teachers if they get married, you know.”
“Not everyone gets married, though teachers meet a better class of person to marry, don’t you think? It wouldn’t be a chap like me.” One with no prospects. “So she’d still be better placed to help you.” And if he knew their Eva, she’d not do anything stupid with her life. She wasn’t a madcap like Lizzie.
His mother’s face crumpled. “Oh, Percy lad, it’s you who should be getting some more schooling, not a lass.”
“Leave it, Mam. That’s over and done with.”
“But—”
“Leave it, I said!”
But he had the satisfaction over the next few days of seeing his mother studying Eva, looking thoughtful. And she stopped complaining when his sister got her schoolbooks out.
In the end, it was decided just to see how they went. After all, as Mam said, Eva still had to get the scholarship.
Listening to the discussions, Lizzie felt more left out than ever. Eva spent most of her spare time, apart from helping round the house, with Miss Blake, now that she had that bicycle.
Life was rotten. The only time Lizzie felt happy was at Dearden’s—and that was partly because of young Jack Dearden. He was only a bit older than she was, and was going to leave school
that summer, to work in the shop full-time. He was such fun, Jack was, and could make you laugh when everything seemed black. And he didn’t mock you because you were a girl, like other lads did. In fact, all the Deardens were nice, really lovely people.
So long as you worked hard. There was no place at the shop for slackers and when Fred left to go and work with cars, Mrs. D said it was good riddance. But Lizzie enjoyed shop work. It was all so interesting, even the packing and sorting, because stuff came from all over the world. Mr. Dearden had told her one day about how tea was grown, and Peter had told her about coffee plantations. He was nice, Peter was. Jack was so lucky having a family like that.
* * *
Twenty lessons for twenty shillings, the advert said. Next course begins in January. Emma knew it wasn’t a very good commercial school, and in fact “school’ was an ambitious term for two rooms over a shop, but they could afford fees like this without dipping too deeply into their savings.
“Are you sure?” Blanche worried. “I don’t like the thought of you going out to work.”
“I need to earn my living, dear, you know I do. I’ll go and see about the lessons this afternoon.”
Miss Aspinall, who ran the school, was a very plain woman with a tired face, but she seemed to know a lot about office work and Emma took to her at once.
“I can probably help find you a position afterwards, as well,” the proprietor said as she wrote out a receipt. “Employers know I train the girls properly and some come to me for staff.”
“I’m a bit older than your usual pupils, I think. Will that make a difference?”
“Not at all—so long as you don’t mind working at the same things the other girls do?”
“I can’t afford to mind.” Emma hesitated. “And you can really get me a job afterwards?”
“Oh, yes. It won’t be a good position, because you’ve never worked before, but I’ll find you one where you’ll be able to get some useful experience and at least you’ll be earning something while you learn, even if it’s only fifteen shillings a week.”
“As little as that? I thought people got about a pound a week for office work.”
“They do when they’re experienced. Still, with your looks and background, you’ll not have too much trouble finding something better once you know the work.”
So Emma walked home feeling she’d taken a positive step—and bought herself a quarter of her favourite caramels to celebrate.
Chapter Six
December 1908–March 1909
Lizzie missed her dad even worse at Christmas. Her mam kept crying and they only had a small present each, because Mam said they couldn’t afford to spend much this year. Miss Harper looked terrible after a bout of influenza, and even Miss Emma wasn’t as cheerful as usual.
Lizzie, who had been run off her feet at Dearden’s where she was working full-time over the holidays, was glad to sit quietly once the special dinner had been served—a lovely roast chicken their Percy had brought home. Mrs. D had given her a box of chocolates, one with the corner bashed in, but she didn’t show it to her mam or the chocolates would have vanished into the sideboard to be kept for guests and she’d be lucky to get any of them for herself. She waited until everyone had gathered in the front room, opened the box in the kitchen, selected a couple of her favourites and ate them slowly, with great relish. Only then did she take the box in to hand round.
Mam glared at her, of course. “Where did you get those?”
“Mrs. D gave them me for a Christmas present. She gave us all something.”
“You didn’t have to open them, though.”
“The box was already broken in one corner.”
“We could still have kept them for guests.”
Lizzie swelled with indignation. “We never have any guests. And anyway, the chocolates are mine.”
“You mind how you talk to me, young woman, or you’ll go up to bed, Christmas or no Christmas.”
Percy stepped in yet again to keep the peace and saw Miss Emma looking at him sympathetically from across the fireplace. Even the lodgers couldn’t help noticing how down Mam was on her eldest daughter sometimes. Well, everyone in the street knew that. “Let her eat her chocolates, Mam. It is Christmas and they were her present. It’s kind of her to bring them in and share them.”
Meg looked sour. “They’re opened now, anyway.”
Lizzie tossed her head and took another chocolate, cramming it into her mouth before offering the box to her mother—who took the two biggest!—then offering the box round.
For the first time, as they were all sitting there lazily in front of the fire, talking of this and that, Lizzie found herself really talking to Miss Emma, who asked her what it was like to work in the shop.
“It’s lovely. Ever so interesting. Of course, I don’t serve in the shop most of the time. I work in the packing area because stuff comes in big crates and boxes, an’ we have to pack it in small amounts ready for selling. Mr. Dearden,” whose name nobody shortened, for some strange reason, “goes round to the big houses in the pony trap for the orders, all dressed up smart. An’ he sees the trade reps, too, though Peter sees some of them now. An’ I have to make tea for everyone—the fellows in the stables as well—an’ go across to the baker’s for our buns in the morning. Oh, there’s always somethin’ needs doing. But we’ve been a bit busy this week, I can tell you, so I’ve helped out in the shop an’ we’ve had to stay back some nights to stock the shelves. On Saturday we didn’t close till after ten.” Lizzie thought about that. “I like it when we’re busy, though.”
“I like to keep busy, too. I’m going to take a commercial course after Christmas and then find myself a job, so that’ll make two of us women working.” Emma smiled at the child, who always looked so sullen and unhappy, and was delighted to win a hesitant smile back from her.
“What do you do on a commercial course?”
“Don’t pester Miss Emma with stupid questions!” Meg snapped from the end of the sofa.
Tears came into Lizzie’s eyes again, and she stared down at the chocolates, which suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Not until Percy had got his mother talking did Emma say quietly, “I’m going to study typing and bookkeeping and things like that, so that I can work in an office. I went to pay for my lessons this week and I’ll be starting in the New Year.” She chuckled. “I’ll be the oldest student by far.”
Lizzie took another chocolate and offered the box to Polly, sitting quietly on the rug at her feet. “I didn’t know ladies went out to work.”
“They do if they need to earn some money.”
Lizzie saw her mother frowning at her again and slumped down on the couch.
Emma closed her eyes and prayed for patience. When the chocolates were finished, she fumbled in her pocket and produced a paper bag of caramels. Two bags in one week—of such things were her Christmases made now. This was her one remaining extravagance. She went into Dearden’s specially to buy them, and had seen for herself how happy Lizzie looked there and how even the grumpiest of customers would be drawn into a shared smile or two as the smallest assistant bustled round, helping the seniors and opening the door for customers with an air of triumph as if she had accomplished something marvellous. But Lizzie looked very different at home, really downtrodden.
Later on, Blanche roused herself to lead them in singing carols.
Lizzie joined in the general chorus and smiled at Polly, who loved to sing—though her mam didn’t like them singing round the house since Dad had died. Miss Harper was doing the descant while Polly’s voice led the rest in the tune, and it sounded really nice.
It was strange that Miss Harper had such a lovely voice, because nothing else about her was lovely. She was so thin she looked as if underneath she was made of sticks with no flesh on. She had started going to church with them and had joined the choir there. Lizzie loved listening to her sing, which she did sometimes on special occasions like this evening, though she always said it�
��d be better if she had a piano accompaniment. They’d had to sell theirs when their father died.
Horrid things happened to everyone, it seemed, when their fathers died, Lizzie had decided, not just to her and her family. She found that thought vaguely comforting.
To Polly, watching everything as she always did, the singing was the best part of Christmas and it also stopped Mam from scolding Lizzie.
“Your voice is developing very nicely, Polly,” Miss Harper said after one song. “You’ll have a lovely voice when you grow up.”
Polly treasured that compliment. It wasn’t often anyone praised her. She loved singing, but not like they did it at Sunday School. The mixed-up noises the other children made there hurt your ears. Why couldn’t they hear the right notes?
Meg muttered that nice voices didn’t earn you your daily bread, but no one paid any attention to that.
Polly nudged her sister’s leg and winked.
Lizzie stared down at her for a moment, then smiled. Her little sister was a great comfort to her lately.
As if she knew that Lizzie was thinking about her, Mam looked across the room. “I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.” There was a chorus of agreement. “Lizzie, go and put the kettle on and get the tea things out.”
“Why can’t Eva do it? Me an’ Polly did the washing up.”
Eva began to get up, but Mam snapped, “Stay there! An’ you can just stop cheeking me, Lizzie Kershaw. You act like a baby sometimes, not a big girl of nearly thirteen.”
Lizzie dragged herself to her feet, feeling left out again.
Then the kitchen door opened. “I’ll help you, shall I?” said Polly.
“Thanks.” Lizzie felt better not being on her own. She started telling Polly about the decorations in Mrs. D’s sitting room upstairs and the huge pile of presents on the sideboard there for the family. No one in Bobbin Lane had decorations like that, so bright and beautiful, or so many presents.
* * *
Shortly after Christmas, Sam was drinking in the Carter’s Rest one night when his friend Josh murmured, “Fancy earning a bit extra tonight?”
