by Carol Rivers
Eve nodded thoughtfully. She was longing for a good wash. Her hair, hanging in tangled tails, needed a brush, but she didn’t have one. No one had anything. Like her and Peg, they had left most of it behind. Everyone was down to the bare minimum.
‘I’m all done in, gel. Don’t fancy kipping on them rush mats, but it’s better than nothing. Reckon I’d kip on a bed of nails tonight.’
Eve suppressed a yawn. ‘Do you think Jimmy is all right? He disappeared after rowing the boys to safety.’
‘You can understand why. He probably spotted them grasshoppers.’
‘Hope he’s not up to mischief.’
‘No more than anyone else in this day and age,’ replied Peg. ‘And a blue uniform is enough to send chills down anyone’s spine.’
‘At least they rescued us.’
‘Took their time, though.’
Eve knew that Peg distrusted the police as did most of the islanders. Old Bill was not well regarded in the East End. Tradesmen and flower-sellers were often targets, moved on from corner to corner by an unsympathetic constable. If there was a problem to sort, it was kept amongst the community where rough justice was preferred to the long arm of the law.
Peg gave a loud cough and her hair shivered like a windblown bush. ‘Right, let’s get our heads down,’ she sighed. Reaching under her skirt she began to loosen her stockings. ‘What you lot looking at?’ she growled to the family next to them who were all eyes.
‘Thought you was gonna produce a golden egg,’ laughed a man in a woollen hat and overcoat.
‘Wish I could, mate,’ responded Peg good-naturedly. ‘I’d flap me arms and cluck like a chicken all night long if gold was the prize.’
Everyone joined in the joke; they were the lucky ones and they knew it. The atmosphere in the church hall was one of relief and hope, despite the incoming bad news.
Soon Peg was snoring loudly on her mat, but Eve couldn’t sleep. Her mind was full of the events of the last two days. First the storm and then the flood. And finally the rescue by a smiling policeman who had courteously helped them on to dry land at Westferry Road.
Just as Eve’s eyes began to close she heard Albert cough. Sitting bolt upright, she looked across at him. He turned over, snuffling under his blanket. She hoped this wasn’t the start of a cold.
She lay down again listening to the coughs and sneezes filling the hall. The germs would be having a field day in the damp and confined space. Eve sighed, what would tomorrow bring?
Breakfast consisted of porridge and a slice of dry bread with a mug of weak tea. The windows of the hall were no longer streaked with rain but condensation; a grey but dry morning had dawned. Everyone was waiting for news of their homes as the Army members came round.
A young girl dressed in uniform, but with her bonnet tied rather crookedly, approached. She carried a notebook and pencil.
‘I’m Clara,’ she told them hesitantly. ‘Have you eaten breakfast?’
Eve, Peg and the two boys nodded. They had been told that there was to be a service for flood victims in the room next door. The congregation was going to pray for all the casualties of the storm. But no one paid attention. There were more important things to get on with, like going home.
‘Where is it you live?’ Clara sat down by the boys who shuffled up to make space for her.
‘Isle Street,’ Eve replied.
‘Oh, dear.’ Clara’s pale cheeks flushed. She glanced down at the notebook.
‘Go on then, gel,’ said Peg sharply. ‘Spit it out. What’s the damage?’
‘The captain’s made a list of the streets that are still flooded. I’m sorry to say that Isle Street is one of them.’
‘Bugger,’ muttered Peg, then sniffed. ‘Sorry.’
‘How bad is it?’ asked Eve.
‘I don’t know. But it won’t be possible for you to return yet. And even when you do – well, there will be a lot of clearing up.’
‘You mean the lavs overflowed?’
Clara blushed again. ‘It was unavoidable, I’m afraid. In such a storm.’
‘So is it gonna be like the Great Stink?’ Albert looked shyly up at the pretty young girl beside him.
She smiled gently. ‘No, not as bad. London’s got a better drainage system now. But the water rose so high, no one could have anticipated the damage that we’re hearing about.’
‘Is it true people have died?’ asked Eve.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Was it just the storm that done it?’ Peg wrinkled her brow.
‘The newspapers say it was a sudden thaw after Christmas and the heavy falls of snow at the river’s source, in the Cotswold Hills, combined with the storm.’
‘That don’t help us, much,’ said Peg crossly. ‘What are we going to do now?’
Clara shifted uneasily. ‘We’re trying to re-house the most needy first. That is, the children and the aged—’ Clara stopped and went scarlet as she glanced at Peg.
‘You’re calling me old and decrepit?’
‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
But Peg only laughed. ‘I’m only ’avin an ’at and scarf, love.’ She looked the young girl in the eyes, ‘But I can tell you this for nothing, your superiors have dropped you in at the deep end with this lot. Bet you ain’t been round the pubs yet?’
Clara shook her head.
‘They’ll soon toughen you up. You’re good sorts, the Sally Army. But don’t you go trying not to hurt people’s feelings. Just say it like it is.’
Clara gave a hesitant smile. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘And don’t go judging a book by its cover. I still got me wits about me even though me body works a bit slower these days. I may look past me prime, but me noddle is in full possession of its faculties.’
‘The Army is only trying to prioritize the situation.’
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me, I ain’t claiming priority attention.’
Clara looked hopeful. ‘In that case, I’m sure we can find the two boys a bed for the night.’
But now it was Eve who objected. ‘We’re not splitting up, we’re a family and staying together.’ She wouldn’t be parted from her boys, no matter what.
Clara looked confused. ‘But I’ve got no one on my list that would take all four of you.’
‘Why can’t we stay here?’ demanded Peg.
‘The chapel is already refuge to the homeless. We have little space now.’
‘That’s what we are,’ pointed out Eve, ‘homeless.’
‘Yes – temporarily, but you see, even when the water goes down—’
‘It will mean a lot of clearing up, yes, we know,’ said Eve, nodding vigorously. ‘And we’re not asking for any help, just somewhere to stay until we return.’
Clara looked at the two boys. She frowned. ‘Do you have any relatives you could call upon – temporarily?’
‘No,’ said Eve. ‘None.’
Peg grimaced, then looked at Clara. ‘Me sister lives up Blackwall in Bambury Street. Council tenement it is. I ain’t seen our Joan in years, nor her old man.’
Eve knew that Joan Slygo and her husband were estranged from Peg. She didn’t know why, Peg never spoke of it.
‘Well, perhaps this is the answer for a joyful reunion,’ said Clara, her eyes wide. ‘The Lord, you know, works in mysterious ways. In your case, this storm and its ravages could have been sent for a purpose.’
Peg stared in surprise at the young woman, then threw back her head and laughed riotously. ‘Well, dearie, if the Lord gets me and mine a bed to kip on under me sister’s roof tonight, I’ll bloody well go round sellin’ the War Cry meself.’
Eve couldn’t hide her amusement and the boys began to giggle. She knew they didn’t understand what was going on, but even Clara began to smile.
‘There’s always hope,’ she said quietly. ‘All the churches on the island are making a valiant effort to help the flood victims. Perhaps I could come with you? Sometimes the sight of our
uniform and all that it stands for, helps to pave the way.’
Peg, who had just managed to control her laughter, began to laugh once more. ‘You’re a card you are my girl! To tell you the truth, I ain’t had such a good laugh in years. And if I have another good chuckle standing outside Joan’s door, when she hears those pearls of wisdom, then it’ll be worth the fag of going over.’
Eve saw the mischievous light in Peg’s eyes and prepared herself for another eventful day.
Joan Slygo cautiously opened the door of her fourth floor tenement rooms accessed only by flights of narrow stone steps and peeling iron railings and frowned at the little group assembled on the grime-ridden balcony in front of her.
‘No thank you, don’t want none of your handouts, I’m devout C of E.’
‘My name is Clara Wilkins,’ said the young Salvationist. ‘I’m—’
‘I can see who you are and I said no. We go regular to church and are God-fearing Christians, so save your breath for the sinners.’ The brown painted door with a small opaque glass window began to close.
‘It’s me, you silly moo,’ said Peg stepping forward. ‘Your long lost skin and blister.’
The door stopped. The woman peered out suspiciously. ‘Christ Almighty, it’s you, Peg!’
‘Been a long time, ain’t it, Joan?’
‘What do you want?’
‘A good turn,’ interrupted Clara sweetly, also stepping up to the door.
Eve watched the expressions that passed over Joan Slygo’s face. After the first shock, it was fear. She was certain the door would soon close, but then Peg took hold of Albert’s shoulder and pulled him forward. ‘Say hello to your Aunty Joan, love.’
‘Hello, Aunty Joan,’ said Albert timidly.
‘Why the bloody hell did you tell him to say that?’ Joan glared at Peg who merely shrugged.
‘Thought it would break the ice.’
‘The ice is thick round this way,’ replied Joan sourly. ‘It don’t melt easy.’
Eve watched Peg’s sister visibly bristle. Her frizzy hair, identical to Peg’s, was coloured red. The close-set eyes and thin faces of the two sisters were alike, but there the resemblance ended. Joan was plump and dressed in a smart green tailored suit. ‘So what do you and them kids want?’ she demanded, ignoring Eve and scowling at the boys.
‘Mrs Slygo,’ interrupted Clara once more, ‘as members of the Church of England we are hoping that you might consider helping your sister. She and Mrs Kumar and her two sons are victims of the recent flood. They need shelter – as did the good Lord himself – just for a night or two, until the water recedes.’
‘You mean they all want to stay here?’ croaked Joan, clutching her chest. ‘And where am I supposed to put ’em? Hang them all from me ceiling?’
‘As I said, it’s quite a temporary arrangement. A space on the floor would be sufficient. And surely at times like this we are all members of God’s family?’
Eve saw Peg smile wickedly as Joan Slygo stumbled back as though someone had physically hit her.
‘Joan? What is it?’ A portly man came to the door. He was of average height and wore a Sunday suit, stiff collar and tie. ‘No thank you,’ he said to Clara. ‘We don’t want converting round here.’
‘I told her we’re C of E,’ said Joan flatly.
‘Indeed we are,’ he agreed, ‘and proud of it.’
‘Hello, Harold,’ said Peg with a chuckle.
‘Good Lord!’ he gasped. ‘Joan, it’s your sister!’
‘I ain’t blind, Harold,’ Joan snapped as she folded her arms across her chest.
‘But we’ve not seen you in years!’
‘Just after the war to be precise,’ said Peg tartly. ‘Give or take a month or two.’
Harold Slygo stretched his neck in his tight collar. ‘If I remember correctly, there was an epidemic at the time. We all had to be careful of our health, didn’t we Joan?’
His wife sneered, looking her sister up and down. ‘You ain’t changed a bit, Peggy.’
‘Nor have you by the looks of it. Older and fatter, but then you was always prone to a belly.’
Eve closed her eyes in dismay. When she opened them, Joan was mouthing a reply that seemed stuck in her throat.
Quickly Eve stepped forward. They had to have a place to sleep for the night and this was their only hope. ‘Perhaps I’d better introduce myself,’ she began in a friendly manner. ‘I’m Eve and lodge with Peg. These are my boys, Samuel and Albert.’ She added politely, ‘We’re sorry to put on you, but the Salvation Army have no room for us and we’ve no one else to ask . . .’ She looked hopefully into Harold’s eyes.
‘Come on now Harold,’ said Peg suddenly drawing everyone’s attention. Eve saw a curious light in her eyes. ‘Your wife might not have no Christian charity, but if me memory serves me right, you was always a champion of the poor and needy. Church warden, wasn’t it? Still doing all them good deeds and serving the community are you?’
For a moment all was silent. Then to Eve’s surprise, Harold smiled, his fat hands clasped together in a pious gesture. ‘Well,’ he mumbled vaguely, ‘yes, yes . . . I see you’ve not forgotten that er . . . me and Joan are always to be relied upon in an emergency. And, of course, this terrible disaster does throw a different light on things, doesn’t it Joan?’
‘No it flamin’ doesn’t,’ answered his wife angrily.
‘We can’t refuse our Christian duty.’
‘You must be joking, Harold.’
‘It’s only for one night.’
‘One night!’ Joan shrieked. ‘Where would we put them?’
Harold smiled again at Eve, giving her a cold shiver. ‘In mother’s room dear. We could move the furniture around.’
Joan glared at him. ‘Well, be it on your own head, because I ain’t going in there and breaking me back, I can tell you that for a start.’ She turned and walked away.
There was a long silence before Clara Wilkins began to thank Harold. Eve noted that she was soon dismissed as they entered the dark hall of number thirty-three Bambury Buildings.
Chapter Four
They stood in the front room of the tenement flat and gazed at the faded rose-patterned wallpaper, the ugly wooden dresser adorned with Sunday best china and a draw-leaf table under which stood two wooden straight-backed chairs. A pair of elderly upholstered armchairs were positioned either side of a hearth filled by an iron fireguard. The brown linoleum floor was covered by a thin, multicoloured carpet and the room smelt of mothballs and stale food.
Joan stood stiffly, staring at her husband. Eve knew she was annoyed with him and that they weren’t welcome, but Joan was not prepared for a public showdown. Eve hoped Peg wouldn’t try to start a row, as she wrinkled her nose visibly at the surroundings.
‘Not good enough for your ladyship?’ demanded Joan unable to disguise her displeasure at their arrival.
Eve was relieved when Peg merely shrugged. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured. ‘Where you gonna put us?’
‘Out on the balcony if I have my way. There’s no room in this place. You must be mad, Harold, agreeing to that woman.’
‘They can have the spare room, dear. It’s only one night.’
‘It’s full up with our valuables!’ Joan glared at her husband. ‘There ain’t room to swing a cat.’
‘Perhaps we can put some of it to one side.’
‘Not so much of the “we”, Harold. You offered, you do it.’ Joan went to one of the fireside chairs, sat down with a huff and picked up the Sunday newspaper.
‘Yes, Joan, go on, ignore us and have a good butcher’s at the paper,’ said Peg provokingly, ‘and whilst you’re about it, have a nice cup of tea and rest your weary legs. ’Spect you’ve been cooped up in church today praying hard for the sinners like us.’
Eve gripped Peg’s arm warningly. The tension in the room was palpable as the two sisters glared at one another.
‘You’d better follow me.’ Harold hurriedly pushed them all into t
he dark hall again. ‘It’s er, the next door on the right. He bustled ahead of them, clearly agitated and Eve felt a moment’s pity for him. At least he had offered them shelter. ‘In you come.’
They all squeezed in to a freezing cold room half the size of the previous one and twice as cluttered. The light from the small square window was obscured by a wall of furniture. Amongst other things, Eve could discern two large armchairs, a bureau, a large brown oak cupboard and a single brass bedstead turned on its side.
‘These things were my mother’s,’ said Harold, pushing back the door as far as it would go. ‘She lived with us until she died three months ago. Joan is selling the furniture. It was never to her taste.’
‘Nothing wrong with this,’ said Peg examining the polished cupboard. ‘It’s maple, ain’t it? If you ask me your old girl had an eye for good quality.’
‘Oh, well, er, thank you. Mother had her likes, but they weren’t Joan’s.’
‘So me sister decided to cash in on—’
‘It’s good of you to put us up,’ Eve interrupted, casting a warning look at Peg. ‘We shan’t be no trouble.’
Harold tore his gaze away from Peg who was now inspecting the contents of the bureau. His plump face, moustache and slicked down fingers of thin hair across his bald pate added to the stiff Sunday collar under his chin gave him an upright air. He turned to Eve. ‘I don’t know about blankets and so forth, I will have to ask Joan if she has any to spare. It is rather cold in here.’
Eve feared a request such as this would only make the situation worse. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t trouble her again.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Harold said quickly. ‘If you look in the wardrobe you’ll find Mother’s clothes. I think her bed linen must be in there too. There’s no mattress for the bed though. We had to dispose of it after her death.’
Samuel tugged Eve’s arm and whispered, ‘What about the lav, Mum?’
Harold overheard. ‘The toilet at the end of the balcony is used by the residents of this floor, six flats in all. I would suggest you er . . . pay a call before retiring.’
‘Do we have to walk out there in the dark?’ Albert glanced into the hall.
