The Ever Open Door

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘Go and find a nurse, I’ll ask her.’

  Sister was at a bed by the door when Jim enquired about Betty.

  ‘She’s to stay until tomorrow at least. You never know when they’ve been concussed. Not only that but she’s still in shock. We need to observe her for a while.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he agreed. ‘She looks awful.’

  ‘She’ll be fine. She can’t go home, though. Now I must get on, we’re having all on to cope.’

  When Sally and Amy arrived at visiting time, Betty was giving a baby his bottle. ‘His mam’s in a bad way,’ she explained as she removed the bottle to wind the little mite. ‘They were bombed out, lost everything.’ Betty was obviously upset but Sally didn’t think she looked too bad, considering.

  ‘I can’t come home yet.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance, I should never have left Ernie.’

  ‘He’s happy as a lark, with our Daisy and Dippy fussing round him.’

  ‘All the same, I should never have gone out.’

  ‘Has he finished?’ Sister came for the baby. ‘If you feel up to it there’s a little girl who could do with a bit of coaxing with her food. We can’t get her to eat and we haven’t the time to spare for persuading her.’

  ‘Sure, I’d love to. If I’m to stay, I might as well make myself useful.’

  ‘We’re going to miss her when she goes home,’ Sister told the visitors. Just then the bell went, signalling the end of visiting time. Betty didn’t mind. There was a little girl somewhere who needed her. It was good to be needed. Besides, she hoped that if it had been Ernie, some kind patient would have done the same for him.

  Jim was minding Daisy and Stanley while Sally and Mary were at the pictures. He had taken the kids down the Donkey Wood, searching for holly to brighten the walls. They had brought home pocketsful of fir cones and Jim had made some flour paste. They were dipping the cones in it and sprinkling them with glitter. They had also cut out stars and bells from an old Rinso packet which looked pretty, painted red and sparkling with more glitter. Daisy was excited at the thought of decorating the tiny Christmas tree in readiness for the family get-together on Christmas Day.

  Jim glanced at the clock. The wives should be home any time now, freeing him and Tom to spend a couple of hours at the Sun.

  Alfie Ramsgate was propping up the bar when they arrived. He quickly emptied his glass and began tapping it on the bar, attracting Jim’s attention.

  ‘What’ll it be, Alf?’ he enquired.

  ‘Pint o’ bitter, Jim.’

  ‘Three pints o’ bitter, Connie, please.’

  The conversation was of course concerning Christmas. ‘What’re you buying Mary, then?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Scent, I expect. She likes scent. How about you?’

  Jim grinned. ‘I might get her some nice frilly knickers from Judith McCall’s.’

  ‘That’ll be cheating,’ Tom laughed. ‘They’ll be for your benefit, not Sally’s.’

  Alfie had never bought their Kitty a Christmas present in his life. He could imagine Sally Butler in a pair of sexy frillies though. And then contemplated the sight of their Kitty’s belly, with all the layers of flab hanging down, and the great, floppy breasts drooping over the top of it. She might look better if she wore one of them brassiere things … then he realised she would need a bloody crane to lift a pair like that, never mind a brassiere! The conversation had changed back a couple of minutes ago and they were now discussing the death of Neville Chamberlain from cancer when Alfie suddenly announced, ‘I know what I’m buying our Kitty for Christmas.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m buying ’er one of them pink shiny brassieres from Miss McCall’s.’

  ‘Oh, aye? Do yer know what size she is then, Alfie?’ Alf hadn’t thought about size. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I can just get one in two hands.’

  Jim and Tom almost choked on their beer, before realising that Alfie Ramsgate wasn’t joking. He had never been more serious in his life.

  * * *

  Considering all the upset Betty’s accident had caused, the Christmas Day party was enjoyed by all. Everyone from both families was invited. A table was borrowed from Enid’s so that the meal could be served in both the kitchen and sitting-room. Some of the cooking had been undertaken by Betty at her mother’s house so that everything was ready at the same time.

  Mr Firth had turned up trumps again and supplied a couple of fowls. Joe Denman supplied the vegetables from his allotment and declared the sprouts would be all the better for being out in the severe frost of the last couple of weeks. Betty had made the stuffing, and since rations hadn’t run to a traditional Christmas pudding a huge tin of prune pudding sufficed. A bottle of whisky brought from Mr Jessops’ put the men in a jovial mood, with a bottle of port for the ladies.

  Father Christmas had paid his annual visit bringing a home-made doll’s house for Daisy and enough books to keep her happy for weeks. Norah, a budding artist, had requested paints and sketch books. A home-made easel made her the happiest of girls. Pat, who considered herself too old for toys, was showing off her new wristwatch and making Grandma Denman sneeze with all the perfume she was wearing. Baby Ernie was testing his brand new tooth on various teething rings and rattles. Jim said he couldn’t wait to buy Ernie a train set, after all the dolls and other feminine things he usually had to pay for.

  With the meal cleared away and everybody full to the limit, Grand-dad Denman thought they should sing a few carols and things. Pat was happy to give them a solo of ‘In the Bleak Mid Winter’, and her lovely, clear voice could be heard by Tom and Mary next-door. Of course carols soon gave way to some war-time favourites. The songs of Vera Lynn, George Formby and Gracie Fields were sung with gusto.

  Then Grand-dad Denman said ‘Who wants a piana?’

  ‘What?’ Sally was taken aback that her dad should be considering parting with his beloved instrument.

  ‘I said, who wants a piana? Do you want one, our Enid?’

  ‘Not likely. We haven’t room for the furniture we have already. Besides, neither of our two wants to learn. I’ve offered them piano lessons but they aren’t interested.’

  ‘I should ’ave thought our Pat would be musical, with a voice like that. How about you, Sally?’

  She had been through a phase during her childhood when she had begged for lessons. Joe had taught her the easy exercises and scales, but when the music teacher on St George’s Road had been unable to take her she had lost interest. She’d love Daisy to play, though.

  ‘Are you sure you want to give it away, Dad? You pass many an hour on it in the dark winter nights.’

  ‘Aye, I did, but with the Home Guard I ’aven’t time any more. Besides, I’d rather listen to’t wireless. I fair enjoy ITMA and Band Waggon. Then there’s Music While You Work – I can listen to that when I’m on nights.’

  ‘Our Ernest might want it.’

  Lizzie Denman laughed. ‘Our Ernest? ’E’s been grumbling about that piano for years. Said if we got shot of that we could ’ave a nice sideboard.’

  Sally looked at Jim. ‘What do you think? Should we have it?’

  ‘Not here, but we’ll ’ave room at the other house, it’s up to you. Daisy, do you want a piano?’

  ‘Yes!’ She jumped up and down with excitement. ‘Can I learn like Carol?’

  ‘Oh, so that’s why you want it? If Carol jumped in the dam you’d have to do the same. All right, then. But I’ll write and ask our Ernest first.’

  The mention of him put a dampener on things for a few minutes as they all wished he was here to celebrate the festive season with his family. Jim decided to pop next-door then and invite the Porters round for a drink. ‘The more the merrier,’ he said.

  When they were all settled again and a few more drinks had been consumed, a game of blind man’s buff followed by postman’s knock livened up the proceedings, and everybody pronounced it the best party they’d had for ages.

  ‘Righ
t then,’ Joe Denman said, ‘before we go, let’s all raise our glasses to the absent members of our family, namely Ernest and Clarence, and may God bring them home safe. As for all the poor blighters left homeless in our city, may it please God to help them through this terrible time and put an end to all the suffering soon.’

  Betty couldn’t help shedding a tear at this. She hoped Clarence was safe. Even if she didn’t love him, he was still Ernie’s dad. Nobody who looked at the little boy could ever doubt it.

  When Kitty Ramsgate emerged from her front door after Christmas, nobody on Potters Row could believe their eyes. While Kitty was still outside number one, her chest was already at number three! She had hitched her new brassiere up so high that her chins were almost resting on her cleavage. Unfortunately she hadn’t bought new clothes to go with her voluptuous new body and the middle two buttons on her frock had to remain open, revealing the pink satin brassiere.

  ‘It won’t be long before that brassiere’s the same colour as ’er doorstep,’ predicted Mrs Firth.

  ‘And ’er winders,’ added Amy Butler.

  With Christmas over, the next bit of excitement for the kids was a trip to the pantomime at the Empire. This year it was Cinderella, starring Adele Dixon, Jack Buchanan, Nat Jackley and Fred Emney. Daisy was mesmerised by the magic of the theatre, and playing at pantomimes became the favourite game for the kids of the rows until it was time to return to school.

  Fortunately Millington School was kept open while the ones in the city centre were taken over as billets and rest centres for bombed-out families. Forty thousand people were known to have lost their homes in the blitz. Several of the large city shops were damaged, though most managed to relocate to cinemas and other such premises.

  Stanley was most disappointed that school was to resume as normal. Ironically, Daisy, who couldn’t wait to get back to her lessons was suffering from another sore throat which was diagnosed as tonsillitis, so she was unable to return.

  A few days later a taxi drew up at number nine Potters Row. It was such an unusual sight that everybody came out to see what was happening. When Sally bundled her daughter into the back seat, Daisy almost danced with excitement.

  ‘Where are we going, Mam?’ What a treat to be riding in a car! She only hoped it wouldn’t be spoiled by travel sickness. When the car stopped they were outside the hospital.

  ‘Come on.’ Sally hurried her inside. The stench of antiseptic and carbolic greeted them.

  Daisy was suddenly filled with apprehension. ‘What have we come here for?’ But children weren’t told about such things in the 1940s. Daisy was undressed and wrapped in a red blanket. Then Sally decided to explain what was happening.

  ‘You’ve come to have your tonsils and adenoids out. We won’t be long, we’ll be home by teatime.’

  ‘What’s tonsils and adenoids?’ she cried, clinging tightly to Sally’s coat, burying her head in the June-perfumed cloth.

  Then a nurse came and dragged her away, screaming blue murder, to the theatre where they put her on a trolley. Somebody placed a pad or something over her nose, making her struggle violently. The ether filled her nostrils with a sweet, cloying, hideous smell – and then the nightmare began.

  The trees came for her, black branches reaching out long, twig-like fingers towards her. Closer and closer they came, clawing at Daisy’s face, until she awoke with the smell of ether still filling her nostrils. She was lying on a rubber sheet on the floor, head to toe with other children, and by her side was a bowl of something red and terrifying.

  A stiff, starched nurse came to take her to the end of the room where a doctor was waiting with a scissor-like instrument in his hand. Waiting – or so Daisy thought – to cut out her tonsils and adenoids, whatever they might be. She tried to scream for her mam but her throat was too sore.

  ‘You’re fine,’ the doctor said, after examining inside her mouth and her ears. ‘You can go home now.’

  Daisy slept the whole way home. What a waste of a taxi ride! However, there were other treats in store: jelly and custard, new crayons and drawing books. A fire in the bedroom and, best of all, no more tonsillitis. But the smell of ether and the tree nightmare were to haunt Daisy for many, many years.

  The new house was ready for them to move into. Even the piano had been brought on the back of the coalman’s lorry. The move was to take place at the weekend, after fires had been lit every day in order to air the place. Jim was convinced that Potters Row had contributed to Daisy’s ill health, what with the damp walls and the draughty windows.

  Daisy herself wasn’t at all sure about the move; she didn’t want to leave Mrs Firth and Grandma Butler, and especially not little Ernie. Nor would she like being away from Norah or Stanley. She looked up at the damp patch on her ceiling which had spread out so that it resembled an angel. She was convinced it protected her from the monsters in the cupboard.

  Then she realised that there wouldn’t be a cupboard at Taylors Row, just a lovely wardrobe Dad had built into the alcove near the fireplace. She would miss her sycamore tree, though, except on moonlit nights when its scary shadow swayed on her wall. There wouldn’t be any tree shadows at Taylors Row. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad living there after all. Besides, it was nearer to school and to Carol’s house.

  Between St George’s Road and the Donkey Wood stood an old sprawling house in a large overgrown garden. This house belonged to Dr Sellars and, unknown to their parents, Carol and Daisy had found they could climb through a hole in the garden’s stone wall and lose themselves in this mysterious place. At first their games just consisted of hide and seek or climbing trees. Then they decided to make a house for themselves in a dark hollow, amongst the holly bushes and rhododendrons.

  Every day something else would be added to their hideaway. An old piece of carpet, unwanted in the new house; Daisy’s doll’s teaset with pandas on it; old curtains from Carol’s. A tea chest used in the move from the old house served as a table, and a couple of cushions completed the furnishings. All might have been well if the pair hadn’t found a tin of paint behind the shelter – in fact, a dozen tins of paint. Carol brought a paint brush from home and they set about painting the bushes surrounding their house bright blue.

  Daisy came home from school one day to find the policeman, known to everyone locally as Bobby Jones, sitting in their kitchen enjoying a pot of tea. Bobby Jones was feared by all the kids, who would scatter in all directions once he came into view. So Daisy decided to try and sneak out again even though she couldn’t think of anything in particular she had done wrong. However, she had already been seen.

  ‘Hello, Daisy,’ the policeman said to her departing back.

  ‘Hello.’ Daisy began to tremble.

  ‘Have you or your friends seen any tins of paint anywhere?’

  Daisy thought he must know they had or he wouldn’t be here.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But we found it, it was thrown away.’

  ‘It’s all right, you’re not in trouble. Can you just show me where you found it?’

  Daisy didn’t believe she wouldn’t be in trouble if he knew about their secret hideaway, and could feel her heart beating like a drum. She imagined herself in prison, or something even worse. But she led Bobby Jones down to the air-raid shelter, behind which a dozen tins of the blue paint had been hidden by a local burglar, apparently stolen from the local decorator’s store room. Until the girls had removed one. Bobby Jones didn’t comment on this.

  ‘Right, that’s a good girl. You can go home now.’

  Daisy ran all the way home in case he should change his mind. Nothing was ever said about the bright blue bushes behind Dr Sellars’ house – perhaps he didn’t know about them. They were abandoned by the girls along with the carpet, curtains, and worst of all the teaset with the pandas on it. Daisy never dared go back through the wall to rescue it. Bobby Jones might be watching.

  Chapter Six

  AMY WAS WORRIED about Betty. Not that she was doing anything to cause con
cern, it was more her state of mind. Just the slightest thing, a sad song on the wireless or the news of yet another raid, could reduce her to tears. She didn’t want Ernie out of her sight for a moment, even taking him across the field with her for the bread.

  ‘I don’t know what to do about our Betty,’ Amy told Sally. ‘She won’t even go out to’t pictures, the lass’s worriting herself to death.’

  ‘She needs something to occupy her mind,’ Sally said. ‘She’s probably worrying about money too.’ Neither Betty or Amy had told anyone about the money Clarence had left. Sally considered the problem.

  ‘She needs to be doing something useful, Ma. Did you notice how she was in the hospital when she was helping with the children?’

  ‘Aye, I did, but there’s our Ernie. I couldn’t look after him full-time, I only wish I could.’

  ‘No, but what if we did it between us? He’s a good little lad, so placid. If you could just see to him while I do Miss Appleby’s, I’d do the rest. Or maybe she could find something part-time. After all, they’re crying out for women workers. Just think about it.’

  Jim and Tom organised a fire-watching team. Mr Firth, Bernard, Mr Dyson and even Alfie Ramsgate volunteered to work on a rota basis. The group were to watch the school, the football ground and the council estate. The school was considered the building most at risk as it was thought some children might hate the place so much they would have a go at setting it on fire, and blame the war.

  Sally hoped this would help take Jim’s mind off her suggestion that she should look after Ernie – her husband hadn’t liked that at all. ‘I thought we might have had a bit of peace when we moved across ’ere,’ he’d said crossly. ‘Now it looks like we’re to be invaded again.’

  Sally knew he would get over it, though, so she didn’t take much notice.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do about my bedding,’ Ida Appleby fretted. She had seen a notice in the paper that laundry deliveries might be delayed.

  ‘Well, as far as I can see, you’ve plenty of sheets upstairs. What does it matter if it’s a bit late?’