A Strong Hand to Hold

by Anne Bennett

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ Patty had said. ‘Any road, we need to hear the news, don’t we, or this flipping lot will be invading us and we’ll know nowt about it till the church bells start to ring.’

  ‘Oh, Mom!’

  ‘I’m only joking,’ Patty said. ‘But we do need to know what’s happening. If it gets too miserable we can always turn the dial to summat else, eh? They have good plays on, the girls at work were telling me.’

  The thing they enjoyed the most was singing together, and they’d join in the old favourites belting out from the wireless. Beattie loved to hear them. Patty and Linda had been singing together ever since Linda was just a nipper, but it had all come to a stop when Patty married Ted Prosser. Didn’t like to hear it, Patty had said. Didn’t like much, if Beattie’s opinion had been asked. Didn’t seem to take to Linda either and resented any closeness between her and her mother. But then he didn’t go great guns for his own babbies either. Funny man altogether and Patty was better off without him, not that she went around telling her like, but she was.

  Patty knew what Beattie thought, for even if she said nothing, her face spoke volumes. They’d been neighbours since she’d come on to the estate in 1930. Patty Lennox she’d been then, of course, and she thought she was in heaven getting one of the new houses on the Pype Hayes Estate, after living in one room in a rat-infested house in Aston since her marriage three years previously. She was so proud and kept the place like a new pin. She enjoyed looking after her husband and little girl, and hoped there would be more children to fill the house with their chatter.

  However, when she lost her dear husband Billy to TB in 1932, Patty was glad she only had Linda to see to. It was Beattie who’d been her support then and helped her to pull herself together for the sake of her child. Later it was Beattie, too, who minded Linda when Patty did cleaning at the Norton pub. Patty also worked behind the bar a time or two to make ends meet, and that was where she met Ted Prosser. She often rued the day, for the man had hard fists, a vicious temper and a short fuse which grew shorter according to the amount he’d drunk. Added to that, he kept Patty short of money and when he did give her any, often borrowed it back to supplement his beer money.

  Patty knew her daughter disliked him and there was something else, a wariness that had always come into Linda’s eyes when they spoke of him; and she never wanted to be left alone with him in the house. Patty had her suspicions, but didn’t know how to raise them with the child. What if she was wrong and put all sorts of ideas in her head? She’d thought Linda would come to her if there had been anything, but she hadn’t. That apart, Patty soon knew she’d made a grave mistake marrying Ted Prosser, one she’d pay for for the rest of her life, because she couldn’t see him agreeing to divorce. When she received word of his death, she felt little grief; her overriding concern was how she’d feed and clothe three children.

  But the letter from the corporal told her of a husband she didn’t recognise. He’d given up his place in a boat leaving Dunkirk for the corporal because he’d been injured and lost his life because of it. The corporal said Ted had been a brave fine man and her loss must be a grievous one and he said also he would be recommending him for a bravery award. His description of Ted Prosser bore no resemblance to the bully he’d become to his wife, and Patty knew if she’d glimpsed that brave and selfless soldier the corporal appeared to know, she’d have considered herself proud to be married to him. The fault must have been hers, she told herself. She’d failed to recognise Ted’s good points and had annoyed and frustrated him in some way, so he’d been forced to lash out at her and go to the pub to escape. It had been those feelings that had overwhelmed her. She’d thought she was no good as a wife or a mother and everyone, including the children, would be better off without her. Now she knew that wasn’t true. It was just possible that Ted Prosser would have returned from the war a changed man, but privately she doubted it. What she didn’t doubt was the love she had for her children, and that encouraged her to get better, helped by medication from the doctor.

  Linda was relieved that Sunday when the doctor said her mother would soon be up and about again. He said chest infections were rife in the winter and it was nothing to worry about, and she’d soon be back at work. Linda was glad she’d be leaving school herself in a couple of years, for then the money problems would be easier and her Mom might not have to work so hard. One thing she did know was that they didn’t need a man to look after them.

  Just once her mother had said, ‘Well, I’ve had two husbands and that’s one too many, but without Ted there would be no George or Harry, and I wouldn’t want to be without them, would you?’

  Linda would not. To be without her brothers was unthinkable, but she remembered the times Ted had come home drunk from the pub and the sounds of slaps and punches and the screams of her mother. The next day Patty would host a black eye, split lip, or bruises on her cheek and Linda thought it was a bloody high price to pay.

  If her mother stayed up that evening, maybe she could get her to tell her about her real father again, she thought. They’d take the photographs out of the shoebox in the glass-fronted cupboard in the alcove and Linda would study her mother in her wedding dress and the father she could scarcely remember, stiff but smart in a suit anyone could see he was unaccustomed to wearing. There were others – one of him cuddling her in his arms as a baby, and one of him holding her hand in the wilderness of a garden he had eventually tamed, according to her Mom. There were more of them both in the tended garden, pushing her on the swing he’d built for her and another helping to blow out the three candles on the day of her third birthday party. After that she knew he became sick, but when her mother spoke about how much he’d loved Linda and how happy they were together, it often brought a lump to the young girl’s throat. Patty had told Linda how much she missed Billy when he died, and Linda supposed that was why she’d married Ted Prosser. She didn’t ask her, though; she never mentioned the man’s name if she could help it.

  She glanced out of the window. Although it wasn’t yet half past two, the dark autumn day had turned dusky and Linda knew she would soon have to attend to the blackout. She loved the cosiness of their house in the winter’s evenings. Once the supper things had been washed and put away and the little ones were in bed, the thick red curtains would be drawn across the bay window cutting off the hated blackout curtains. Then Linda and Patty would sit in front of the fire; Patty could now afford plenty of coal. They’d talk, or listen to the wireless, or play cards, or knit socks and balaclavas for the troops. Tonight, Beattie would be with them as her Bert was on nights at the Dunlop, but Linda didn’t mind that; she liked Beattie.

  Suddenly there was a pounding on the door, and Linda opened it to see Beattie herself outside, standing with Harry in the pushchair and George holding on to the handle. ‘Beattie,’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Let me in, girl, this cold goes through you like a bleeding knife.’

  Linda stood aside and Beattie marched into the living room, surprised to see Patty sitting by the fire. ‘What are you doing up?’ she asked.

  Patty’s mouth had dropped agape. ‘Never mind me,’ she said. What are you doing home at this time of day?’

  Beattie began unstrapping Harry as she explained. ‘Got a call about my sister Vera from the hospital. Silly bugger’s fell down the stairs and broke her leg bad. They’re keeping her in so it mustn’t be straightforward. She’s in the General. She wants me to go and see to their Vicky and her husband Lennie.’

  ‘Doesn’t she live in Sutton Coldfield?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Beattie said and added, ‘I hate the bloody place – all kippers, curtains and no drawers. Too bleeding posh for any air raids. And Vicky’s well able to look after herself and see to her dad – she’s a year older than Linda who could do it with her eyes shut. Any road, the doctor said she was getting upset and agitated, so I said to tell her I’ll go. I might then get to see our Vera herself at visiting time this evening.’

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p; ‘What a shame,’ Patty said sympathetically.

  ‘Ah well. My old man will have to look after himself and all,’ Beattie said. ‘I’ll go round and see him in a bit, before he goes down for the night shift.’

  ‘D’you want a cup of tea, Mrs Latimer?’ Linda asked as she unzipped a squirming Harry from his siren suit and put him down on the floor.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask, girl,’ Beattie said, pushing the pram out of the way into the hall. ‘Me tongue’s hanging out. And what’s your Ma doing up out of bed?’

  ‘You’d better ask her,’ Linda said, making for the kitchen with George behind her, his teddy bear, Tolly, trailing after him. He’d had Tolly since he was a baby and though he knew he couldn’t take the toy to the nursery, it went everywhere else and it was the first thing he made for when he came home in the evening.

  Inside the living room, Beattie looked across at Patty and thought her rather pale. ‘You’re not overdoing it, I hope?’

  ‘With our Linda in charge?’ Patty said. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘You gave her a right bloody turn, I’ll tell you,’ Beattie said. ‘Bloody great fool you were to go out with that cold on you.’

  Patty shrugged. ‘Least it gives you a chance to say, “I told you so”,’ she said with a smile, and went on, ‘Don’t fuss, Beat, I can’t bear fuss and I was bored stupid upstairs. I’ll go to bed early tonight and be as right as rain in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t think of coming into work this week,’ Beattie lectured. ‘And don’t forget, I won’t be able to take the babbies to nursery tomorrow, being as I’ll be living it up in Sutton-bloody-Coldfield. My Bert will have to see to himself tomorrow morning.’

  ‘He can come here for his breakfast if he wants,’ Linda said, coming in with the cups of tea on a tray.

  Beattie accepted a cup from Linda and said, ‘No ducks, you got enough on your plate as it is looking after the nippers and all. For Gawd’s sake, Bert can make himself a few slices of toast and a cup of tea. Won’t kill him, will it? Might even make him appreciate me a bit more, eh?’

  ‘Aye, and pigs might fly,’ Patty chuckled and to Linda she said, ‘Pull the curtains, bab. We need a light on in here – it’s as black as pitch.’

  Linda did as she was bid, glad to shut out the cold night. The rain hammered on the panes like hailstones and she shivered. ‘Hate to be out in this,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, pity them Londoners trekking down the Underground night after night,’ Beattie said. ‘God, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘Yeah, and the papers going on as if it’s some great party, as if they choose to do it,’ Patty said. ‘Bleeding fools. I’m glad my sister Lily’s out of it, any road. She was right down by the London docks, you know? How she was supposed to look after all those kids down the Underground, or somewhere just as bad, I don’t know. Any road, she was all for going back home when no bombs fell. It was only her hubby Sid who made her stay; he’d got himself a good job and the kids were settled into schools. I told her to stick it out. I bet she’s bloody glad now.’

  ‘Basingstoke she was sent to, weren’t she?’ Beattie said. ‘Where’s that then?’

  ‘Down south somewhere,’ Patty said vaguely. ‘Don’t rightly know for sure, just know it ain’t in London.’

  ‘Point is,’ Beattie said, ‘my Bert said it shows you now, after the raid on Coventry, that being so very far from the coast is nothing – and you got to admit, Birmingham makes a lot of stuff – armaments, tyres, planes and lots of military vehicles. If Jerry gets wind of it, he’ll come for us, I reckon.’

  Both Linda and Patty shivered and Patty scooped the toddling Harry into her arms and hugged him as she cried, ‘For Gawd’s sake, Beat, put a sock in it! Proper Job’s comforter you are. If Hitler’s got something special up his sleeve for us, I hope he waits for the warmer weather, that’s all.’

  Beattie drained her cup of tea and getting to her feet she remarked with a laugh, ‘Well, now I’ve cheered you up right and proper, I’ll go and do the same to me old man. Bye, all.’

  Linda saw Beattie out, and as she came back in Patty remarked, ‘Right little ray of sunshine, ain’t she, our Beat?’

  Linda laughed and took the tray of cups back into the kitchen, but it was really no laughing matter. She didn’t know what Beattie was on about anyway because Hitler had already gone for them. Maybe not as bad as Coventry, but bad enough all the same. The raids in August, the start of the bombs in Birmingham had been quite frightening enough she’d thought at the time, but they had got much worse through September and those in October and the early part of November had been really scary. They had all hid away in the Anderson shelter and she had joined in with her mother singing songs to the children to calm them down. Eventually they both would become drowsy enough to be laid in the bunks made ready for them, but Linda had no such release for she would be so anxious for them all. she would feel as if she had lead in her stomach and her throat would become as dry as dust.

  She gave herself a mental shake. What was she doing, worrying about things before they had happened, getting nervous because of something Beattie had said. Her mother was right, she was a prophet of doom all right was Beattie. She saw George looking at her frowning face and wondered how much he had understood of Beattie’s words. No need for him to be worried anyway and she smiled at him and said, ‘D’you want a drink of milk, George?’

  The lad nodded his head. ‘Can I have summat to eat and all?’

  ‘In a bit,’ Linda told him. She knew both boys had a cooked meal at the nursery. ‘Tell you what, I’ll do you some toast on the fire later and I’m sure we’ve got a bit of jam left in the jar.’

  ‘I’m hungry now though,’ he complained.

  Linda poured some milk into a cup and handed him one of the apples they’d got from the market on Saturday. ‘Have this for now,’ she said. ‘I’ll get your tea later.’

  Mollified, George sat up at the table cuddling Tolly in his arms and swinging his legs as he watched Linda bustling around, preparing a nourishing meal for her mother. ‘D’you think we’ll be bombed, Linda?’ he asked. ‘Beattie does.’

  ‘She’s Mrs Latimer to you,’ Linda said sharply. ‘And I don’t know, George. But we’ll be all right – we’ve got the shelter, haven’t we?’

  Her brother wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like that shelter, it’s smelly and cold and dark,’ he whined.

  ‘It ain’t dark, George,’ Linda said. ‘I’ve put a hurricane lamp in there and that will soon light the place up. We can take blankets to wrap ourselves in if we have to go down there. ’Fraid I can’t do much about the smell.’

  She ruffled his dark hair and said, ‘But why are you worrying, eh? It might never happen. Hitler’s probably finished with us now. Maybe it’s someone else’s turn.’

  She didn’t believe it, but George did. In a way Linda wished she was still small and could be reassured so easily. But at least she’d taken the worry away from her little brother’s eyes and she bent and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

  THREE

  Jenny realised almost as soon as the door clicked behind her that night, that she’d forgotten her torch. No wonder – she’d been in such a state of agitation after the row, when she’d insisted on reporting for duty that night. The point was, it was a disaster not to have any light at all on those blacked-out nights, for you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face. Instead of going back indoors and facing her family again, she began to pick her way cautiously over the ground.

  So many people had been killed on the roads during the first months of the war because of the blackout that Stan Walker, who worked with her at the warden post, said he reckoned it was Hitler’s secret weapon. ‘He ain’t gonna fight us at all,’ he said with his wheezy laugh. ‘He’s just going to let us kill ourselves in the bleeding ’orse road.’

  White lines were painted along the kerbs and on the running boards of cars and, though they were now allowed shielded headlights, it
had made little difference. There were few cars on the Pype Hayes Estate anyway and the white lines were barely visible on a dark moonless night.

  Everyone hated the blackout. Norah never stopped going on about it and made no effort to comply with regulations. She would have sat by uncurtained windows, the light shining like a beacon outside, and eaten the entire butter ration in one meal if Jenny hadn’t watched her. Ignoring the blackout carried a fine of £200 and Jenny couldn’t afford to indulge her mother.

  As usual though, pangs of guilt began to stab at her as she made her way to the ARP post and she wondered whether she should have stayed at home that night with her mother. She hoped that Norah and Eileen would be all right but she doubted, even if there was a raid that night, that they’d use the Anderson shelter in the garden which her brothers had erected before they went away to war. Being sunk into the earth, it was inclined to flood; her next-door neighbour Mr Patterson had helped Jenny to pump it out just the previous week. He’d floor-boarded it for her too, as he’d done his own at the beginning of the war, and put a seat one side and two bunks at the other. He’d even loaned her his old oil-heater to warm the place up, and she had bought a kerosene lamp that lit the shelter up well enough and while it wasn’t the most comfy place in the world, it wasn’t that bad.

  Her mother was adamant, however, that she would not go grubbing in some underground tin shack like an animal, and that was that! Eileen felt the same. The two women had taken shelter under the stairs in the pantry that opened off the living room when the bombs came a little close. People said you were just as safe there – and maybe you were. Jenny was powerless to do anything about it, anyway. She could hardly force them to take shelter if they didn’t want to.

  She hadn’t quite reached the post when the siren wailed out a warning. Before it had faded away she saw the planes approaching, though in the dark it was the drone of them that alerted her first. They were nearly overhead before she saw the shapes of them in the sky. The first planes dropped incendiaries, making the blackout irrelevant as the night was suddenly lit up like daylight; now she saw the second column of planes flying in formation behind them. She actually saw the bomb doors open and the bombs topple out fins first and then nose down towards their targets. She heard the first crashes and crumps and, remembering where she was supposed to be making for, she increased her pace.