by Beezy Marsh
‘Twelve,’ said Eva, swallowing hard. Well, she was nearly.
‘But the good news is, I am going to reward you for your work so far,’ Alice went on. She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out half a crown.
She held the coin between her thumb and her forefinger.
‘Ever seen one of these before?’
‘Yes,’ said Eva, ‘but not very often.’
‘Starting young, then. That’s keen. Well, there’s one of these a week just for being in my gang,’ said Alice. ‘And the thing is, I am always on the look-out for clever girls, just like you. I can teach you plenty and show you how to make better money, real money, to make a job out of it. Nicking from the till is a mug’s game, ain’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Eva found herself agreeing with Alice; she was scared not to.
‘Alice Diamond knows how to look after her girls. Maggie and Ada will tell you as much, won’t you, girls?’
Right on cue, two smartly dressed women in long coats and hats appeared in the doorway, laden with bags.
‘How did you get on?’ said Alice, taking a sip of tea.
‘Selfridges have got some new walkers but we managed to give them the slip,’ said Maggie, taking off her hat and running her hand through her red hair. She turned to Eva. ‘Who have we got here, then?’
‘This is Eva, the little magpie from down Waterloo I’ve been telling you about,’ said Alice. ‘Why don’t you take the weight off and have a cuppa? Are you still carrying?’
Eva’s mouth fell open as Maggie opened her coat and lifted her skirt to reveal the most voluminous knickers, stuffed full, with elastic at each knee. She proceeded to pull a fur coat from each leg of her drawers. She unrolled each coat carefully and laid it on the kitchen table, still on its hanger. She then rummaged in one of Alice’s cupboards and pulled out a bottle of rum, which she sploshed into her tea.
Ada, meanwhile, took off her hat to reveal a secret pocket inside, in which she had stashed a necklace and some diamond rings. She started to yank silk stockings, knickers and nighties out of pockets sewn into the lining of her coat. Alice’s eyes lit up. ‘Nice work,’ she said. ‘I bet you’ve never seen tom like this, have you, Eva?’
‘No,’ said Eva. ‘I ain’t.’ Her knowledge of jewellery extended to her mother’s thin gold wedding band.
‘Well, look,’ said Alice, flashing a row of twinkling diamond rings on each of her hands. ‘I’m Diamond by name and diamond by nature.’
‘But how do you do all that thieving without getting caught?’ said Eva incredulously.
‘That’s what we will teach you, isn’t it, Maggie?’
Maggie nodded, in between sips of tea, then she stood up and began to roll the fur coat, nimbly, into a tight little roll. ‘You have to do it on the hanger and quickly or the shop assistants will spot you,’ she said. ‘You can have a go, if you like.’
Eva took the garment and tried to copy Maggie, rolling it, but it ended up look like a fat, furry sausage. Maggie laughed at her effort.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Alice. ‘You will get plenty of practice around here with me and the girls before we let you do your own hoisting. But you can come along for a shopping trip to help us in the meantime.’
‘Can I?’ said Eva. ‘When will that be?’
‘Soon as you like,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m planning a little trip up to Whiteley’s in Bayswater tomorrow. Why don’t you come with me?’
‘I’m supposed to go to school . . .’
‘Tell me, what can they teach you in school that is going to be more use than this?’ said Alice, crossing her arms and fixing Eva with a steely glare.
‘Nothing, I suppose,’ said Eva, wondering what her parents would do if they found out.
‘I will meet you outside Waterloo Station at nine o’clock. Don’t be late. Now, hadn’t you better get off home?’
Dad was having tea of bread and dripping when Eva got back. She could tell by the look on her mum’s face that something was amiss.
‘Where have you been?’ he said, brushing a stray crumb from his moustache.
‘I was just out with friends and we played around Roupell Street and it got late . . .’ she ventured.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I ain’t lying,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips.
‘What have you been doing? And don’t you give me any cheek!’
‘Nothing,’ said Eva, looking at the floor.
‘Well, if you can’t confess to it, I’m going to beat it out of you.’
Mum started to cry and rushed over from the kitchen sink. ‘Please, James, don’t . . .’ she said, tugging at his sleeve, but he brushed her hands away and slapped her face for good measure.
‘Don’t interfere, Margaret,’ he said. She recoiled from the force of the blow. Then he seized Eva by the arm. ‘I have had questions from the police, Goddamn you!’ She knew better than to resist. He shook her like a rag doll. ‘Why is my child known to the police?’
‘I ain’t, it’s all lies!’ she shouted but he was already pulling off his belt.
He seized her by her long black hair and yanked her down, over his lap, pulling up her pinafore.
Mum ran sobbing into the back yard.
Eva’s nose was just an inch from the red-tiled floor. She studied it, trying to take her mind off what was to come, as her father folded his belt and grasped it in his right hand. He pulled down her knickers, the cold air of the scullery bringing goose pimples to her naked skin. She resolved not to kick her legs, as she had hidden the half-crown from Alice Diamond in her shoe and didn’t want to have to explain where that had come from.
He struck her and she felt the leather bite. ‘You will not break the law in my house!’ he shouted, bringing the belt down again and again on her backside and her thighs, until she felt hot tears of anger and shame spilling down her nose and sploshing onto the tiles. ‘I didn’t, I didn’t,’ she cried. Pain burned her like a fire and with every stroke she hated him more.
‘Goddamn you, Eva!’ He wielded the belt with such a fury that it cut into her, making her scream.
Just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. He thrust her off his lap in a sobbing heap, onto the scullery floor. Then he stood up without speaking, put his belt back on and left the house, slamming the door behind him.
Through her tears, Eva saw Mum approaching and felt her warm, familiar embrace. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ was all her mother said. There was nothing else to say, they both knew that. It would never stop. She reached down into her shoe and pulled out the half-crown. She handed it to Mum, who smiled and tucked it into her apron pocket. Eva’s mind was made up. Her father was a mug, he went to work and earned a pittance. She was going shopping with the Queen of the Forty Thieves tomorrow.
11
Peggy, July 1934
The General Post Office training school was more exciting than any classroom that Peggy had ever set foot in. For a start, there were little counters for the students, with real stocks and supplies, forms, envelopes and whole books of stamps. It would be months or maybe even years before she was let loose on the public, but for now the thrill of learning to tear those stamps correctly and franking and filling in forms was enough to make her head spin.
She’d already made a friend, a girl called Susan from over the water, in Clerkenwell. Peggy was beginning to wonder whether that was such a good idea because Susan always seemed to be in trouble for talking.
Their supervisor, Miss Oakley, was a tall, cheerless woman whose mouth turned down at the corners; she had eagle eyes as well as a sharp tongue.
‘Girls, and Susan in particular,’ she said. ‘You must remember, you have been selected for training at writing assistant grade because you are the most promising leavers among your year group at school and have come highly recommended. We are not a gossip shop. While we are learning there is to be no chatter. Understood?’
‘Yes, miss,’ the room of twenty girls chorused but Sus
an smirked as she did so and poked Peggy in the ribs, making her cough rather loudly.
Every day, Peggy had to be up at the new GPO building at Mount Pleasant to start at 9 a.m. sharp. She was so desperate never to be late that, more often than not, she was awake when her father left the house. The day was divided into lectures and practical training, with a forty-five-minute break for lunch and a fifteen-minute tea break in the afternoon, finishing at 5 p.m. precisely.
Peggy excelled at the written tasks – filling in and collating forms. They required quiet concentration, which she relished. There was usually so much noise in her neighbourhood, with doors banging and kids screaming, that to be in an environment of enforced peace and quiet and to get paid for it was a luxury. The students had to sit in silence at long wooden counters while Miss Oakley patrolled the lines, peering over her horn-rimmed spectacles to check their work and point out any errors. The only sound was the occasional shuffle of papers and the squeak of Miss Oakley’s leather shoes on the highly polished floor. Susan struggled to be as neat as Miss Oakley wanted and once even poked her tongue out at her back, which made Peggy laugh – a laugh which she disguised as another coughing fit, much to Miss Oakley’s annoyance.
There was great excitement when the girls found out that the class was to be given a tour of the sorting office, which was staffed exclusively by men.
Miss Oakley marshalled her troops. ‘Now, girls, this is to be a learning experience. The sorting office will give you an idea of the vast workload of the GPO and its staff. You will not be required to work in the delivery and sorting sections but it is important that you understand how they work.’
Susan whispered in Peggy’s ear, ‘I think there is a bloke down there who fancies me. He was eyeing me up on the way into work this morning.’
‘And Susan, no talking!’ said Miss Oakley, knowing by now that she was fighting a losing battle.
They filed down into the sorting and delivery hall, which was a hive of activity, with blokes wearing a kind of apron over their suits, picking out parcels and bundling them into wicker trolleys which were wheeled out to the vans in the yard. Letters were sorted into little pigeonholes. The men reminded Peggy of worker ants, everyone playing his part. Supervisors patrolled gantries overhead and ran up and down the metal staircases to the manager’s office.
‘If you think this is busy, you should see the Post Office at Christmas!’ said Miss Oakley, beaming with pride. ‘That is our busiest time of the year and it really is all hands on deck as the Post Office workers stretch every sinew to maintain the standards we expect and get the post out on time,’ said Miss Oakley, with a wave of her hand.
They hadn’t got far before Susan started turning heads. Peggy could have sworn she was exaggerating her wiggle more than usual, just for attention’s sake. They rounded a corner and were nearly run over by a handsome man wheeling a post trolley, his hair slicked back and cropped high above his ears. He had a toothy grin and gave a little wolf whistle as Susan shimmied past. Miss Oakley tutted at him loudly. ‘Come along, girls!’ But Susan ignored her and stopped to chat for a minute, earning a firm rebuke from the supervisor. Peggy noticed how she leaned in to him as she chatted, making his eyes light up.
‘Who was that?’ whispered Peggy, as they made their way back for more form-filling.
‘That was him,’ said Susan. ‘The bloke I was telling you about this morning. He’s going to meet me at the bus stop later.’
‘Don’t do anything daft, will you?’ said Peggy, who was beginning to realize that her new friend was about a hundred times more daring than she was.
The next day Susan was desperate for a gossip. Bert apparently was on his own; his wife had died but he still wore a ring out of respect. ‘He wants to take me on a date, a proper date,’ she gushed. ‘Thing is, me dad will kill me. Can I say I’m going with you, and you cover for me if you’re asked?’
‘Fine,’ said Peggy, who was secretly jealous that she wasn’t going on a date. Susan had just turned seventeen and was only a year older than Peggy, but seemed so much more grown up, smoking and going out with boys – well, men.
Peggy was eager for the next instalment of the new romance and didn’t have to wait for long. The next day, while they were on a break in the loos, Susan lit up a sneaky fag and was blowing the smoke out of the window.
‘You ever kissed a boy, Peg?’
‘No,’ she said, blushing. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Well, it ain’t exactly like they show it in the movies. There’s a lot of swishing of tongues,’ said Susan. ‘But it feels nice and leads on to other things, which feel even nicer.’
‘You haven’t, have you?’ said Peggy, her eyes growing wide.
‘No, of course not. What do you take me for?’ said Susan. ‘I’m going to get a ring on my finger before he gets any of that.’
‘Are you going to get married, then?’
‘Married?’ shrieked Susan. ‘Don’t be daft! We are still at the romantic stage. Bert is very charming. A proper gentleman.’
‘But . . . what about your parents, if they find out?’ said Peggy, imagining for a moment the beating she would get from her father for even thinking about kissing a boy, let alone anything else.
‘Oh, what they don’t know can’t hurt them,’ said Susan, twiddling with her hair. ‘Bert will ask me, I’m sure, all in good time. But it ain’t wrong to give him a bit of what he fancies. He’s a man, not a wet-behind-the-ears boy, Peg. Plus he’s grieving for his wife. I know what I’m doing.’
The bell rang, signalling the end of their tea break and the girls filed back into the office for more monotonous sorting and form-checking.
That evening on the way home, Peggy was walking across Waterloo Bridge when she spotted George Harwood. He seemed to have grown taller and his shoulders were broader than she remembered. With his sleeves rolled up, he almost looked quite handsome. She smiled at him.
‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ he said, falling into step with her. ‘How’s the job?’
‘It’s nothing special, but my mum says the Post Office is a good career for a girl like me, so I’m pleased about that,’ said Peggy, standing a bit taller. There seemed to be a gulf between them now. She was a working girl, he was still a schoolboy; how could he understand what life in an office entailed?
‘I will be leaving school soon, you know,’ he said. ‘My dad says I should get a job on the buses. It’s a growth industry.’
Peggy made a little noise of approval. Working on the buses was a good job, she was sure of that.
‘I miss our little chats,’ he said, kicking a pebble along.
‘Me too,’ she said eventually. They turned down by the river and wandered along looking at the barges filled with rubbish and the little tug boats going past.
‘I’ve got a new book for you, if you are still interested?’ George said, searching her face.
‘Yes, I am, I think,’ said Peggy. They had reached the Waterloo Road now. It seemed to be full of drivers forever leaning on the horn and scaring the poor old horses dragging the rag-and-bone cart or the brewer’s dray.
‘George,’ she said, turning to him just as they were about to cross. ‘Would you like to come to the pictures with me? I mean, nothing serious, just as friends because that is what we are, isn’t it?’
George’s mouth fell open. ‘I’d love to, Peggy,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘And I can bring that book along too, if you like. See you next Thursday? It’s half price then. Can I bring my little brother?’
After six months of learning the ropes and nearly another four months’ probation, Peggy and Susan were informed that they were to graduate as lower-grade clerks. Some of the girls in their class were not so lucky and were dismissed. Nobody was sure why – possibly they hadn’t made the grade in the final exams. For all her chatter, Susan was naturally bright and found it easy to retain rules and regulations. ‘I like to break ’em,’ she explained with a laugh. ‘So I need to know what they are, do
n’t I?’
They had a further fortnight at Mount Pleasant before they were to start their new jobs over at Blythe House in West Kensington, working for the Post Office Savings Bank. They’d heard all about it; it was an austere place, a red and white brick Victorian building, nothing like the modern surroundings of Mount Pleasant, which were so new they weren’t even finished yet. The women at Blythe House were kept strictly segregated and even had their own entrance to work, in the south block of the building. Peggy was just relieved to have been kept on. She needed this job and the family needed the money. It was only fifteen shillings a week but that was enough to help her mother and have a bit left over for herself.
Peggy was hoping to save up to buy a new dress. She’d seen one in the window of the dressmaker’s up the Cut, in viscose with little rose print and puffed sleeves. Susan had one quite like it and it clung to her and made her look womanly. Peggy felt a bit clumsy next to Susan, if truth be told. She was always presentable but her two white blouses and skirt finishing at mid-calf and flat shoes seemed boring. Susan always had an extra pleat in her skirt or an interesting ruffle on her blouse. Peggy tried to do things with her hair to make it nice; she put a ribbon in it or tried a plait but it just made her look childish. Susan’s mother did people’s hair in the street and even had a set of curling tongs, which explained why Susan had enviable curls around her neck. In return for lending out those tongs – which were as lethal as a red-hot poker in the wrong hands – she was paid in kind: a dress here, a bit of material. That was how Susan got her fashionable look.
On learning of their imminent departure for West Kensington, Bert was apparently angling for another date with Susan – a proper date, not at the local fleapit like last time, but at one of the big cinemas up in the West End. ‘I’ll need you to come and meet my folks, if we are going to get away with it,’ she said one Friday afternoon, puffing away conspiratorially in the ladies’ loos. ‘Will you help me, Peg?’
‘Of course I will,’ said Peggy, who was pleased that Susan had taken her into her confidence like this. She’d always been a bit of a loner at school, with her nose stuck in her books. Now she was working, at least she was on the same wavelength as other girls. Susan said they were best mates.
