by Joan Jonker
Ada stood up and began to collect the plates. ‘Yer don’t have to butter me up, Paul, ’cos I have the same amount of love for all me kids. Danny gets a bit more, I admit, but then he’s a working man, and bringing a wage in. And he gives you and Monica tuppence a week pocket money, so he’s not a bad brother, is he?’
‘No.’ Monica and Paul shook their heads. Their brother was the nicest-looking lad in the street, and they were proud of him. But they weren’t going to tell him that.
Chapter Two
Ada was peeling potatoes by the sink when she heard the sound of the front door being pushed open so hard it banged against the wall. She always left the door ajar when the children were due home from school, but they never usually made that noise. She wiped her hands down her pinny and walked into the living room as her son came in through the other door.
‘What in the name of God d’yer think ye’re playing at, son? Yer nearly took the ruddy door off its hinges. And if yer’ve knocked any plaster off the wall, yer dad will have yer life.’
Paul was puffed after running, and moving from one foot to the other. ‘Can I have a jam butty, Mam? I’m starving.’
‘Why can’t yer walk home instead of running and making yerself out of breath? It would only take yer five minutes longer, and yer wouldn’t die of starvation in five minutes.’
‘I wanted to go down the yard, Mam, that’s why I ran. I was dying to go to the lavvy.’
‘Everything is a drama with you, son.’ Ada tutted. ‘Ye’re starving with hunger, and ye’re dying to go to the lavvy.’
‘I can’t help being hungry, Mam!’
‘Okay, you win! Go on, down the yard, and I’ll make yer a jam butty. But I warn yer, the jam will be scraped on and then scraped off again. We’re not made of money, and jam is a luxury we can do without.’
Paul grinned, then made a dash for the kitchen door. He was halfway down the yard when he heard his mother shout, ‘In case yer can’t taste it, I may as well tell yer now that if yer could taste it, yer’d know it was raspberry.’
‘Who are yer talking to, Mam?’ Monica slipped her coat off and threw it on the couch. ‘If it’s our Paul after a jam butty, then I’ll have one as well.’
Ada lifted her hands in the air. ‘I give up! The pair of yer are going to eat me out of house and home.’
‘Yer won’t be saying that in eighteen months’ time, Mam, when I leave school. I’ll be bringing in a wage packet then like our Danny.’
‘Don’t try throwing yer weight around now, on expectations that in eighteen months’ time yer’ll be bringing a wage in and we’ll all be rolling in money. At fourteen, sunshine, yer’ll only be earning peanuts. And while I admit that even peanuts are better than nothing, they won’t bring you the change in lifestyle yer seem to be looking for. Mind you, yer won’t be as badly off as I was at your age. I started work at fourteen earning seven and six a week. My mam took five, and out of the half-crown I was left with, I had to buy me own clothes. I didn’t know what it was like to have a pair of stockings that didn’t have a ladder in. And me dresses came from a second-hand stall at the market.’ Ada grinned as the memory of those dresses came back. ‘They weren’t the height of fashion, and they’d been well worn before I got them, but it didn’t stop the boys from giving me the eye. And me mam helped me as much as she could, even though money was scarce for there were a lot of men out of work.’
Monica was looking very glum. ‘I hope I get a job what pays more than seven and six a week. If I was left with half a crown, I’d have to stay in every night. A pair of stockings cost about one and eleven.’
‘Wages have gone up since I was fourteen, sunshine, so don’t look so miserable. I don’t know what the going rate is, but I would think yer’d be on at least thirty bob a week.’
The girl was bucked up by that. ‘Ay, Mam, if I did get thirty bob a week, how much would I have to give to you?’
‘That’s something I would have to discuss with yer dad when the time comes. But if I were you, I’d forget about work for another eighteen months. It’s no use talking about what might happen, ’cos things can change a lot in that time.’
Paul popped his head round the door. ‘Ah, ay, Mam, where’s me jam butty? Yer said yer’d make me one, and I’m starving.’
‘You wash yer hands, young man, before I do anything. No clean hands, no sandwich.’
‘I’ll wash me hands, Mam,’ Monica said, sticking her tongue out at her brother. ‘And I’ll have one of the raspberry jam sandwiches, even though I won’t be able to taste the jam.’
Paul got to the sink first, and he wouldn’t budge as his sister tried to push him aside. ‘Ye’re sneaky, you are. All girls are sneaky. Just ’cos I asked for a sandwich, you’ve got to ask for the same. And stop pushing me or I’ll kick yer.’
Ada stood at the kitchen door with her hands on her generous hips. ‘Stop messing and behave yerselves, ye’re not babies any more. And there’s room for both of yer at the sink if yer’d give each other a chance. Talk about sister and brotherly love, it’s a pity yer don’t show some for each other.’
Paul was first to leave the sink, and he reached for the towel hanging on a hook on the back of the door. ‘We do love each other, Mam,’ he said with mischief in his eyes. ‘We just don’t say it ’cos it would sound daft. I’d feel a real cissie.’
‘I’m not saying it,’ Monica declared with passion,‘’cos ye’re a little twerp.’
‘That settles it,’ Ada told them. ‘Yer’ve just talked yerselves out of a butty.’
With his tummy asking him if his throat was cut, Paul opted for desperate measures. Falling down on to one knee in front of his sister, and clasping his hands together, he said, ‘I do love you, Monica. I think you are the best sister any boy could have.’
His sister giggled. ‘And I love you, Paul, very much. I think we both deserve a butty now, even if we can’t taste the jam that our mam scraped on and off.’
‘I’m in two minds,’ Ada told them. ‘The pair of yer think it’s a joke, which it isn’t. Yer should love each other without me having to tell yer. It should come natural. Yer dad and his sister, yer Auntie Ethel, they love each other.’
Paul, still on one knee in front of his sister, asked, ‘Is that why our Auntie Ethel went to live in Wales, Mam, because she loved me dad so much?’
Ada couldn’t keep the laughter back. ‘Ye’re a holy terror, Paul, and if yer don’t get up off that knee I’ll be tempted to push yer over. And I wouldn’t let yer dad hear what yer’ve just said, he wouldn’t think it was funny. His sister met a man from Wales, fell in love with him and went to live there. But because they’re miles apart doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. They’re family, and the ties will always be there.’
‘We never see me Auntie Ethel, though, Mam. Why is that?’ Monica asked. ‘She could come here to see me dad, or he could go there.’
‘It’s about eighty miles to where they live, right in the middle of the country. They’d have to get a bus, a train, then another train. Same as us if we went there. And it would cost a lot of money in fares, which neither of us can afford.’
‘When me and Monica are working we could go,’ Paul said. ‘If it’s in the middle of the country, there’d be cows and sheep and forests. We could go there on holiday. That would be great, wouldn’t it, Mam?’
‘It would that, son.’ Ada pulled on the lobe of her ear, a habit she had if she wanted to stop herself from laughing. ‘There’s a lot of talk right now of when you two start work and are earning. I’ll be a lady of leisure then, and able to go into town to buy meself a new dress, or whatever takes me fancy. The trouble is, it’ll be eighteen months before Monica leaves school, and nearly four years before you do. In the meantime all I can do is try and manage from week to week, with dreams of life getting better in the future.’
Paul got to his feet and rubbed his knee. ‘Yeah, yer have got a long time to wait, Mam. Nearly as long as me and Monica have waited for thos
e butties yer promised.’
‘Ye’re a cheeky monkey, Paul Fenwick, and if it wasn’t for wanting yer out from under me feet, I’d change me mind and not make those butties. But I will make them on one condition. And that is that you and yer sister set the table for me. I’m sure that’s worth a butty what nearly has raspberry jam on. With a good imagination, yer could pretend yer were actually tasting it.’
‘With a really good imagination, our Paul, yer could close yer eyes and pretend yer were sitting in the middle of a field in Wales, with horses and sheep nudging yer shoulder, wanting some of yer butty.’
Ada looked at her daughter with pride. She was good at English, was Monica, always top of the class. And she was a marvellous storyteller, with lots of imagination. It would be a pity if she ended up working in a factory, which was all most working-class people could look forward to.
‘I’ll make yer sandwiches,’ she said, heading for the kitchen. ‘If I don’t put a move on, I’ll not have the dinner ready for the men coming in from work.’
‘I’ll put the tablecloth on, Mam,’ Paul said, opening the sideboard cupboard to get the white cloth out. ‘And our Monica can put the knives and forks out.’
‘What are we having for dinner, Mam?’ Monica called through. ‘I hope it’s something I like. As long as it’s not tripe. I hate that.’
‘Bacon, egg and mashed potatoes,’ Ada shouted. ‘And ye’re going to eat it whether yer like it or not. It’s not a ruddy hotel, yer know.’
A few minutes later the children stepped into the street with their sandwiches. Paul turned left to call for his mate, Eric, whom he was going to play footie with, while Monica turned in the opposite direction to knock for her friend Freda. Before being called in for dinner, they’d spend the time making plans for what they’d do when they left school. It was the same every night, and they always ended up by both saying the first thing they were going to buy was a pair of long stockings.
Ada was mashing the potatoes when there came a loud hammering on the front door. She threw the masher down and ran through the living room, afraid something dreadful had happened to one of the children, Her heart beating like mad, she opened the door only to gasp in surprise at the sight that met her eyes. For in front of her stood a neighbour from a few doors away, Doris Smedley. And Doris’s hand was gripping Paul’s ear, practically lifting a very frightened boy off his feet. ‘This son of yours, this holy terror, has just broke me kitchen window, Ada Fenwick, playing bleeding football in the entry. What have yer got to say to that?’
‘The first thing I’ll say, Doris Smedley, is that if yer don’t remove yer hand from my son’s ear, I’ll clock yer one.’
‘My hand stays attached to his ear until yer tell me what yer intend doing about me broken window. I haven’t got the money to have a new pane fitted, and even if I had I don’t see why I should fork out when this terror was the one what done it.’
Paul kept screwing his face up with the pain. ‘She’s hurting me, Mam. Make her leave go of me.’
‘Take yer hand away, Doris,’ Ada said softly, ‘or I’ll do as I said, and clock yer one. Now that wouldn’t do yer window much good, would it? So let Paul go, and act yer age.’
It was with great reluctance that Doris let go of Paul’s ear, but she had a healthy respect for Ada Fenwick’s left fist, having seen it in action. ‘Well, are yer going to get me window fixed, or do I have to send my feller round to yer?’
‘No, yer don’t need to do that, Doris, I’ve got a feller of me own. And I will discuss your broken window, after I’ve asked yer how old your Fred is now?’
Doris’s eyes narrowed. ‘What the hell has my son’s age got to do with me blasted broken kitchen window?’
Unnoticed by the two women who were staring each other out, Danny Fenwick had been walking up the street when he heard, and saw, what was going on. He didn’t want to interfere, for he thought it wasn’t right for him to do so. It would mean taking his mother’s side against another woman and he didn’t think that fair. So he stood and watched, ready to get involved if necessary.
‘Your son’s age doesn’t have anything to do with your broken window, Doris, but when he was Paul’s age, he had a lot to do with my broken bedroom window. Or has your memory failed yer? I didn’t drag him by his ear to complain to you, did I? I came up to you, on me own, and explained what had happened. I asked yer in a civil manner if yer would pay for having a new pane put in, and what did yer have to say to that? Yer told me to bugger off ’cos yer had no money.’
A few of the neighbours had come out to see what the commotion was about, and they formed a little group. Arms folded, they waited with interest to see what the outcome would be. Doris could see them out of the corner of her eye, and was sorry she’d come down on the bounce. For she’d forgotten the incident with Ada’s bedroom window. ‘I didn’t have no money then, and I haven’t got no money now. My feller doesn’t earn very much.’
There were mutterings from the group of women, that her husband wasn’t so short of money he couldn’t go down to the corner pub every night. He was a dreadful man, a lousy husband who wouldn’t think twice about giving his wife a clout if she spoke out of turn.
Danny knew her husband well, and disliked him. In fact nobody in the street had a kind word for Dick Smedley. And it was rumoured his workmates couldn’t stand him, either. They’d nicknamed him Smelly Smedley. And although Danny remembered the incident all those years ago, he didn’t see how it would help anyone to rake it up now. He’d been brought up in a home where there was plenty of love, with never any violence, and he had sympathy for the woman. So he smiled at the group of neighbours as he passed, and walked up to his house. ‘So, our Paul’s been a bit heavy-footed, eh, Mrs Smedley?’
Doris nodded. ‘Yes, he has, lad, and I want to know who’s going to pay to have a new pane of glass put in?’
Danny looked up at Ada. ‘How much will it cost, Mam?’
‘Bob Gibbons from the next street, he’ll do it for half a crown. He’s very obliging, and he’d do it tonight, after he’s had his dinner. No mess, quick and tidy. But I don’t know whether I’ve got half a crown in me purse right now. It might have to wait until yer dad gets in.’
Danny put his hand in his trouser pocket. ‘I’ve got one handy, so yer may as well take it, Mrs Smedley.’ And believing her husband would use the broken window as an excuse to cause a rumpus, he added, ‘If yer went straight round to Mr Gibbons right now, he might do it straight away, save having any mess when yer husband comes home from work.’
Doris grabbed the money, and after a hurried, ‘Thanks, lad,’ she scarpered. There’d be ructions if her husband came home and found the broken window. She’d get the blame for it because she was handy for him to bawl at. But with a bit of luck he might be working late, and that would give her time to have it fixed. Bob Gibbons was a nice bloke, and noted for being understanding. A glazier by trade, he always had a sheet of glass handy, ready to cut if one of the neighbours needed help.
Later, across the dinner table, Ada told the family she’d never been so glad to see anyone, as she was to see Danny. She would have given Doris Smedley the money to have the window fixed for she knew the poor woman would get merry hell off her husband when he came in. But Ada admitted she was in a bit of a temper because of the way her Paul had been hurt and frightened. ‘She had no right to take it upon herself to punish the lad. It was that what got my goat. If there was any punishment to dish out, she should have left it to the parents.’
Paul had hardly spoken since the incident; it had really scared the life out of him. There’d be no more playing footie for him, unless it was in the park. ‘I won’t do it again, Mam, honest. And our Danny needn’t give me any pocket money until I’ve paid him back.’
Ah, God love him, Ada thought. It wasn’t often he got into trouble, and he wasn’t cheeky like some of the kids. ‘Consider yerself lucky, sunshine, that me and yer dad are going to give a shilling each towards the window, an
d Danny said he’ll pay the other tanner. But because ye’re getting off light, that doesn’t mean what yer did wasn’t naughty, ’cos it was.’
Jimmy kept his face set when he looked at his son. ‘There’ll be no more playing football in the entry, or in the street. Play in the park if yer must kick a ruddy ball, but don’t let me see yer or yer’ll really be in trouble. We can’t afford to be forking out for windows, so just bear that in mind next time yer mate Eric brings his football out.’
‘He was stupid playing football in the entry,’ Monica said, thinking her brother was getting off scot-free. ‘He should have had more sense. But then boys don’t have much sense. If they’re not playing football, it’s cowboys and Indians.’
Paul gave her a look to kill. ‘Listen who’s talking! It’s not as stupid as playing with silly dolls. When you had a doll, yer used to talk to it as though it was a real baby. And if that isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is.’
‘All right, that’s enough now,’ Ada told them. ‘An hour ago yer were swearing undying love for each other, just to get yerselves a jam butty. If that’s your idea of love, then I’m ruddy glad yer don’t hate each other, or life wouldn’t be worth living. A little understanding and tolerance would go a long way. Boys have boys’ games, and girls have their own. I had a rag doll when I was a kid, and I used to talk to it, and take it to bed with me. I used to love that doll because it was something of my very own.’
Her husband chuckled. ‘Seeing as it’s confession time, I may as well tell yer that when I was Paul’s age I broke a neighbour’s window, when me and me mates were having a game of rounders. In fact I broke more than her window, ’cos the ball was a hard one. It went right through the window and knocked an ornament off the mantelpiece. And I ended up getting a hiding off me dad. He put me across his knee and belted me with me mam’s shoe. I couldn’t sit down for a few days, but it taught me a lesson.’
Paul’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Did yer mam have to pay for the ornament, and the window?’
