by Beezy Marsh
‘You move like an angel,’ Albert whispered in her ear.
Seeing him close up for the first time, she realized that his green eyes were flecked with gold. His wavy, chestnut hair was slicked back with Brylcreem and in the half-light Kathleen thought he looked rather like Errol Flynn, one of her favourite actors.
‘You’re a good dancer yourself,’ she said, marvelling at how he moved so easily with her. She could feel his muscular torso beneath his shirt and found her fingers gripping his waist a little more tightly.
‘It’s the boxing. I have to be light on me toes. Maybe you will come and see me. I’m doing a few bouts up at the Manor Place Baths the week after next.’
Was he inviting her out on a date? Kathleen wasn’t sure but it sounded like it. She didn’t get time to ask him because another chap, who was much taller than Albert and older by five years, tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Come on, mate, give another fella a chance with the prettiest girl in the park.’
Kathleen blushed. Albert scowled but relinquished her. In an instant, she wished that she had said ‘no’ because he was clumsy and trod on her toes and they didn’t seem to be able to fall into that easy rhythm in the way that she had with Albert. To make matters worse, when the dance had finished he abandoned her for a striking blonde who was almost as tall as he was and Kathleen was left on her own again. She looked around to see if she could spot Nancy to get a drink but she was still whirling around the asphalt with a bloke from one of the barges.
Then she spotted Albert standing over at the ginger beer stand, glowering at her. She made her way over to him and gave him a little wink. ‘How about you buy a girl a drink, then?’ It was her instinct to try to lighten the situation, to make him laugh a bit. She couldn’t help it if she was so pretty that other men wanted to ask her to dance, could she?
Albert grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. ‘Let’s get one thing clear,’ he said. ‘I don’t like sharing. If you are with me, you are with me. Don’t make me look like a fool by going off with other fellas.’
‘I didn’t mean to do that, don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘He was a right clumsy oaf.’ She was shocked by his jealousy but also touched by it because it meant that he liked her, really liked her.
His hands were strong and they gave her little wrists a squeeze. ‘I’m not being silly. I want you to be my girl. Come and see me box. You can bring your mate.’
Nancy was hovering over her left shoulder. ‘It’s gone nine o’clock, Kath, we’d better get a shift on,’ she said.
Albert kissed her, full on the lips, and she felt her knees almost buckle.
‘I’m sorry, Albert,’ she whispered before she knew what she was saying. ‘I won’t let you down again.’
There was a knock at the door; it was too early for the tallyman to be calling. Kathleen was halfway down the stairs but her father beat her to it.
‘And who might you be?’ said her father.
Her heart lurched as she heard the reply.
‘I’m Albert. I work with your Kathleen down the jam factory.’ He was standing with his hands in his pockets. That would be bound to annoy her dad. Kathleen peered down at him. At least his hair was neatly parted and brushed.
‘And what do you want?’
‘I was hoping to come in and ask your permission to take Kathleen to see me box today at Manor Place,’ said Albert.
‘The doorstep will do just fine for this chat,’ said her father. He turned around. ‘Get back upstairs, Kathleen.’
She trudged back up to her room, leaving the door ajar. Her heart thumped in her chest. Albert had come all the way round to her house to ask permission to go courting. That meant he really liked her! It was like being a heroine in one of those films . . . Except there was no chance her dad would let her ride off into the sunset with her hero.
‘Now, Albert, I appreciate you coming round but a boxing match is hardly a place for a young lady, is it?’
‘She won’t be going alone; she can bring her pal Nancy and I will walk them both home and see they don’t get into any trouble.’
There was a pause. ‘All right, then. She can go – but only because you had the brass neck to come and ask me in person. But no funny business, see?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kathleen went to the window and watched as Albert walked jauntily back up Howley Terrace, his hands still in his pockets. He turned back and looked up, as if he knew she’d be watching, gave Kathleen a wink and she felt a swooping in her chest.
Her father shut the front door and then called to her, ‘Kathleen, get yourself down here. You’ve got some explaining to do.’
It had been a wet spring but the sun was finally out and the whole street was in the mood for a right royal knees-up at the coronation party for King George VI in May. But Kathleen was a little nervous because it was also the first time that Albert would meet her mother.
The Mason’s Arms in Walworth had become her mother’s favourite local haunt and as Kathleen walked proudly in, on Albert’s arm, she saw that Mum had an admirer too. It was the tall man with a ready smile whom Kathleen had seen singing years before at Flo’s birthday party in the Feathers. He had his hand firmly tucked around Mum’s waist and gazed at her with adoration as she held court around the piano.
‘Well, Kathleen, who is this fine-looking young man?’ said her mother, plonking her sherry down on the bar.
‘I’m Albert, Kathleen’s boyfriend from work,’ he said, taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. His green eyes twinkled as he spoke. He just had such a way with women and Kathleen loved that about him.
‘Quite the charmer there, Kathleen!’ said her mother with a laugh. ‘I’m Kathleen’s mother, Margaret. Now, you promise me, Albert: you are to look after my little girl because she seems very sweet on you.’
Albert smiled and hugged Kathleen, ‘Of course I will. I treat her like a princess, don’t I, Kath?’
Kathleen nodded. He really was like a Prince Charming – taking her to the pictures, buying her chocolates and always walking her home on time so she didn’t get into trouble with her dad for staying out late.
‘Let me introduce someone to you both. This is Patsy, my boyfriend,’ said Margaret. There were whoops of delight from the little gang around the piano. Kathleen beamed at her mum. So she was happy at last and had fallen in love with someone new. It seemed right, somehow. If the King could give up his throne for the likes of Mrs Simpson, why shouldn’t her mother have a second chance at happiness?
Patsy offered his hand to Albert and then clasped Kathleen’s hands in his own. ‘I have heard so much about you, Kathleen. You really are every bit as pretty as your mother said. And do you still like playing the piano? I was hoping you could give us a tune.’
‘Love to!’ said Kathleen. The pianist got up and shuffled off to the bar and Kathleen hammered out the tune guaranteed to get everyone singing along: ‘Knees up, Mother Brown! Knees up, Mother Brown!’
The whole pub erupted into an impromptu dance with couples swinging each other around the crowded bar, smacking into people’s pints, hooting with laughter. Nobody minded the chaos, it just added to the party atmosphere, although Albert didn’t seem to want to join in. He stood at the bar, supping a pint, staring over at a couple of blokes who were leaning on the piano, smiling down at Kathleen as she played.
He only got into the party spirit when Mum shouted at him, ‘Come on, Albert, give us a twirl, then!’
Suddenly, the fun Albert, whom Kathleen liked best, returned. Plonking his half-finished pint down on the bar, he slung one arm around Mum’s waist and another around Patsy’s shoulder as the three of them high-kicked their way across the pub and back, chortling all the while.
There was a lock-in that night and then, when the landlord finally called time, a gang of about ten bought out crates of beer and bottles of sherry and took them back to Mum’s flat in Walworth Road to continue the celebrations. Peggy was out at some political meeting or other with Geor
ge, who had been among the bus workers threatening a strike on the eve of the coronation. It had been called off at the last minute but Peggy and George always seemed to have some cause or other to go off and talk about. Kathleen couldn’t be bothered with that; she just wanted to have a day off work and a good time with Albert. Jim had spent the day glued to his wireless set listening to the coronation and was celebrating with his dad, Nanny Day and Grandad and the folks down in Howley Terrace.
One of the Irish fellas from down the road had brought his violin back to Mum’s flat and someone else had a mouth organ, and with an upturned crate as a drum, they had quite a party going. The neighbour downstairs banged on the floor with her broomstick to tell them to shut up but they stomped back even louder. ‘This is a bleedin’ coronation party, for Gawd’s sake. Give it a rest, love!’
They danced jigs and reels and when Eva came back from a party down at the Elephant with her mate Gladys, the atmosphere became even more raucous. Kathleen found herself pulled up to dance again and again, with one of the costermongers spinning her around the tiny living room. Albert glowered at her from the corner.
Eventually, he tapped his watch and said, ‘Come on, Kathy, it’s time to go home now.’
But she was having so much fun. ‘Just one more dance, Albert, then we can go,’ she said with a laugh. He slunk deeper into a chair in the corner of the room and lit up a smoke, with a face like thunder. Kathleen was quite tipsy and didn’t seem to notice his brooding.
It was gone 2 a.m. when they finally staggered downstairs into the cool night air. The whoops and shouts of other parties in the neighbourhood could still be heard. There wouldn’t be much sleep in Walworth tonight, that was certain.
Kathleen was just buttoning up her coat when Albert pulled her to him and kissed her, roughly, ramming his tongue into her mouth. She tried to push him off and he grabbed her by the hair. ‘Don’t pull away from me, Kathy, not when you have been dancing with the other men. You know I don’t like that.’
‘Albert, please, it was only a bit of fun . . .’
‘You want to make me look a fool in front of them, don’t you?’
He kissed her again and bit her lip as he did so, drawing blood. Kathleen pushed him off and slapped his face. Albert put his hands around her throat. ‘Don’t make me hurt you! You know I love you, Kathy, more than anything.’ His eyes blazed with anger.
He squeezed; the strength in his fingers was immense, and she gasped for air, pummelling his chest. Then, just as suddenly has he started, he stopped and started to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’
She put her hand to her throat, instinctively, then held out her hand to him. ‘Albert, it’s all right. Please, don’t, it’s all right.’
He embraced her, resting his head on her shoulder. ‘You are my world, Kathleen, the most beautiful girl in the world.’ She raised her hand, shaking, and hesitantly stroked the nape of his neck, feeling the softness of his skin.
In the flat above them, a curtain moved, throwing a shaft of light onto the pavement. Kathleen glanced up.
It was Eva. She had seen everything.
19
Eva, October 1937
Hoisting just hadn’t been as much fun since Maggie got sent to Holloway. The judge gave her two years for blinding the cozzer with her hatpin and Maggie had shrieked her head off when she was sent down to the cells.
Eva had responsibility for her own team now, including her mate Gladys, and they went out to work three days a week. The rest of the time she served up cups of tea in the canteen at the railway station, to keep up appearances. She was determined that none of her girls should get caught and the weight of that responsibility had made her feel older, much older, than her fifteen years. So Eva took her gang to where the pickings were easy: over the water at Derry and Toms in Kensington and at Whiteley’s in Bayswater.
Eva always made sure she brought something nice back for her mum. The flat above the shop in Walworth Road was tiny but it suited her and Mum and Frankie. The three of them were happy enough. Mum really wanted her to build some bridges and get over the rift with Peggy. The sisters hadn’t spoken since the family split. Peggy was always out saving the world from something or other with George. Kathleen had told Eva that Peggy had even joined some book club where they had speakers talking about the dangers of the Nazis in Germany, the benefits of Communism and God knows what else. In any case, it didn’t stop Peggy being a grass to her own sister and Eva could never forgive that.
It wasn’t that she missed Peggy much in any case. She was too busy earning money, good money, to support her and her mother and she loved going out and living it up a bit with Gladys in the West End. She didn’t generally like to wear the stuff she’d nicked – that was a matter of pride among the hoisters of the Forty Thieves. Alice Diamond would sell it on through her network of fences and Eva would then have enough money to go shopping properly to buy what she wanted. She loved that feeling, of being independent and wealthy enough to walk into Gamages or Selfridges and buy some shoes, a coat, a dress, whatever took her fancy, really. And there was no need to have a fella to pay for it. She’d come a long way since she was a little girl who used to press her nose against the glass at the bakery over the water in Covent Garden as she waited for day-old bread to feed the family.
With her long dark hair and striking looks, Eva had plenty of admirers in the pubs around Walworth Road and the Elephant but she wasn’t interested in more than a drink and a laugh. Her mate Gladys couldn’t understand it and was forever trying to play Cupid.
Gladys already had a regular boyfriend. ‘Why don’t you come out with us and we will fix you up with a nice bloke, Eva?’
‘Nah, I honestly can’t be bothered with it all. I’m better off on my own. No man will ever be the boss of me,’ she said. In truth, seeing how her father had treated her mother had put her right off marriage and everything that went with it. Mum was doing fine now with Patsy, who just doted on her and was so gentle and fussed over her, just as she deserved, but Eva never wanted to risk being the downtrodden one stuck at home with the kids.
And Kathleen, well she was like a little lovebird with Albert but Eva had her suspicions about him, too. She’d seen him grab Kathleen round the throat when they’d both had a bit too much to drink a few months back. When Eva tried to mention it, Kathleen just brushed it off. ‘Oh, I was being a bit mouthy, Eve, that’s all. Got a bit silly and he’d had a few too many. He doesn’t ever treat me like that, in fact he would never lay a finger on me!’ Albert might be a boxer but Eva had already made a promise to herself that she would wallop him one if he ever hurt her sister again. She wasn’t afraid of anyone and she had Alice Diamond and the girls to back her up.
Some of the other girls in the Forty Thieves liked a good scrap. Fighting wasn’t really Eva’s thing but there were times when she was expected to provide back-up, just in case, and today was one such occasion. Alice had ordered her and Gladys to meet at a pub down in Long Lane in the Borough on Sunday afternoon, which was usually their day off.
‘There’s a score I’ve got to settle and it might interest you,’ she’d told her. Eva had been racking her brain all day to think about who might be on the receiving end of Alice Diamond’s knuckle-duster but she’d drawn a blank. When she got to the pub, she was amazed to see it rammed to the rafters and had to push her way to the bar to get port and lemon for herself and Gladys. They huddled in a corner, listening in to the conversations around them.
‘Place is full of Commies,’ said one bloke. ‘Hundreds of them have come in from over the East End.’
‘Better them than the Fascist lot,’ said another. ‘All the dockers have come out to give them a hiding.’
Eva recognized Joe from Howley Terrace at the bar, drinking with some workmates, and she realized, with a stab of guilt, that she hadn’t seen Mary and little Florrie in ages. She rarely went near Howley Terrace these days, for fear of bumping into her father. She was just about to go over and tell Joe to
pass on her best to his wife, when Alice Diamond strode in, with four of the Forty Thieves behind her.
A hush fell over the pub as she made her way to the bar. Then she picked up a pint glass and smashed it. The noise made Joe turn around. In an instant, Alice had stuck the glass in his face. ‘Grass!’ she said. ‘I know you told the cozzers about one of my girls from Howley Terrace a couple of years ago. Got her in trouble with her dad, too. Do yourself a favour, keep it shut from now on.’ He staggered backwards, blood spurting from the cut. Nobody tried to stop Alice as she turned briskly and left. Someone offered Joe a handkerchief, which he held to his face, the blood pumping through it and splatting onto the floor. Eva’s mouth fell open. So Peggy had been telling the truth all along and hadn’t spilt the beans to their father about her hoisting. But Eva would never have wanted Joe to get cut like this, no matter that he had grassed her up. There was no time to say sorry to him because a huge roar went up outside and brick flew through the window, spraying the pub with shards of broken glass.
In an instant, the pub had emptied, men arming themselves with chairs, bottles, anything they could lay their hands on. Eva and Gladys followed to see what the rumpus was all about. At the top of the lane, costermongers had built a barricade with their barrows and a crowd had gathered behind it. They were lobbing rotten fruit over the top at the police and a pack of Blackshirts who were marching to the beat of a drum and singing something in German. They looked so bloody ridiculous with their high-necked shirts, their trousers held up with huge belts and silver buckles, their hair slicked back and their shoes polished so you could see your face in them. ‘What a bleeding shower they are,’ hissed Eva to Gladys, who was jeering at them, with the rest of the pub.
From the other end of the lane came the sound of the Communists singing ‘The Red Flag’. A banner had been hung from a house over the road from the pub, reading ‘Bermondsey against Fascism!’ The men from the pub broke into an impromptu chorus of ‘Land and Hope and Glory’ in an attempt to drown out both sides. Eva, still carrying her port and lemon, threw it into the crowd of Blackshirts, just as the mounted police cantered into view, the officers whacking heads here and there with their truncheons.
