Birmingham Friends

by Annie Murray

  ‘You’re out of stera so I got Agnes to borrow us some,’ she remarked. ‘And Lisa, you ought to apologize for the coffin downstairs. It ain’t nice with people coming in.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Lisa looked at my father. ‘Auntie Glad. Dr Williamson came out to ’er, more’s the pity. Funeral’s tomorrow.’

  ‘No need to apologize at all,’ Daddy said. ‘Now, may I give the child a quick look over before you bath her? And then I must be on my way.’

  I watched him handle the tiny baby, her limbs still clenched tight, feeling her soft fontanelle, checking her hips and eyes.

  ‘I’ve got a scale with me today,’ I remembered, pulling the spring balance out of my bag.

  The baby squalled resentfully as we popped her into the weighing sack and she hung dangling as if from a stork’s bill.

  ‘Six pounds four,’ I said to Lisa. ‘She’s a good weight. And you’re going to carry on breastfeeding?’

  She nodded. ‘Oh yes – can’t be doing with bottles and all that.’

  ‘Much the best thing.’ I closed up my bag. ‘Much less chance of her picking up germs.’

  ‘The Health Visitor approves,’ Daddy joked.

  ‘What’re you going to call ’er then?’ Sandy had evidently been bursting to ask.

  ‘Daisy,’ Lisa said. ‘After my mom.’

  My father and I said our goodbyes. ‘I’ll see you in a few days after the midwife’s been in,’ I told her.

  Downstairs, Sid was sitting looking blankly out of the window, absently tapping one foot on the coffin lid.

  ‘Stop that.’ The older man cuffed him. ‘’Ave a bit of respect.’ Neither of them seemed to have taken in the arrival of Daisy upstairs.

  Daddy stood with me in the shadowy light outside. The sun had sunk behind the houses. Lines of washing were draped across the court, blocking the light even further and giving off a faint whiff of Hudson’s soap. More pungently I could smell the drains.

  ‘What happened to Lisa’s mother?’ I asked.

  ‘She died. Never came out of hospital after that time we had Sid. Puerperal infection. One of the worst I’ve seen. Sadly we lost the baby too. Lisa’s relied on neighbours all her life really, and they’ve been marvellous to her. And that uncle of hers – the old fellow. He’s a man of few words but he’s kept up the rent for her until she could manage it herself.’

  ‘Was that his wife – in the coffin?’

  ‘No, his sister. She’s been living with them for the past year or so. She had a bad chest. Lisa looked after her – she’s got a kind heart. She’d look after anyone, I think.’

  We stood in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Well, I’d better pop into Mrs Callaghan,’ I said.

  Daddy started feeling in his jacket pockets as he did sometimes when he had something on his mind. ‘You did very well today, Katie,’ he told me awkwardly. ‘I was proud of you. You’ll be a very good addition to the team in this area.’ He paused. ‘You’re looking very peaky. You won’t overdo it will you?’

  It was only later, when I was alone in my bedroom and found tears running down my cheeks, that I realized fully how much his words had meant to me.

  Chapter 15

  Daisy Turnbull was asleep, tucked in a deep drawer, taking quick, snuffly breaths.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ I told Lisa. She was sitting, dressed, but still wearing a pair of ancient slippers, a cigarette in one hand. The coffin was gone and the table now occupied the centre of the room. ‘Feeding all right, is she?’

  ‘Oh yes – loves ’er food. Can’t get enough of me. Bit of a nuisance at times, of course, but it keeps ’em quiet, don’t it?’

  ‘You are sticking to the four-hourly feeds though? You know that’s considered best for the child?’

  Lisa cocked her head to one side so that her hair tumbled over one shoulder of her milk-stained blouse. ‘You aren’t married, are you? No kids?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with you people, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’re full of instructions about what to do when you ain’t had a go at it yourself. All this about doing it by the clock – for a start I ain’t got a clock. It’s broke. And even if I ’ad, if my babby starts screaming, it’s not a clock I need to tell me to see to ’er, is it?’

  ‘But we’re trying to introduce the baby to regular habits – see her in good stead for the future . . .’

  Lisa made a dismissive sound. ‘She’ll grow out of this. Then she’ll be eating what there is, regular with the rest of us. Won’t be any choice about that. The way I look at it, Miss Munro, this is ’er one chance in life to get as much grub into ’er as ’er wants. Won’t be like that for long, will it?’

  I could see I was on a losing wicket with Lisa. I may have been fresh out of training with all the ideals and regimens of Truby King fresh in my mind, but in the end I couldn’t force anyone. I had more luck with my middle-class ladies who’d read the childcare books and took it all very seriously, but then some of them got rather over-concerned and nervy about it all.

  ‘Cuppa tea?’ Lisa asked, jumping up. ‘While I’ve still got my ’ands free?’ I was warmed by her hospitable ways, the enthusiasm with which she had greeted me when I arrived. My delivering her baby had formed a bond between us.

  ‘That would be lovely. I’ve got a few minutes to spare,’ I said. ‘And I missed my morning break today.’

  Several mornings of the week we Health Visitors made our way into the middle of town to attend to our patient records which were housed in the majestic Town Hall. As often as not we’d stay on for coffee and cakes afterwards, but I hadn’t been this morning.

  Lisa shuffled round in her slippers on the grimy brick floor, then planted her round behind on the chair across the table from me, much as we had sat when we first met as children. She stirred her tea and looked anxiously round the room. There were unwashed plates and cutlery on the table, a pile of dirty washing in one corner and a bucket of nappies with a stick poking out from it. On the range stood two badly stained pans.

  ‘Sorry the place is in such a mess,’ she said. ‘Usually is, I’m afraid.’

  As she took a sip of tea a high mewling sound came from the drawer. Lisa rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Wouldn’t you know it?’

  ‘What a plaintive noise.’

  ‘Just like a little cat, int she?’ She picked up the baby, whose face wore an expression of outrage, and lifted the edge of her blouse just enough to attach the baby to her swollen breast. The child’s body was so small she could cradle it on one arm. She drank, making tiny squeaking noises. Lisa was one of those mothers who made me feel redundant. Despite the chaotic look to her house she exuded an air of competence. Nothing I might say would make much difference to her. I watched her with admiration, sipping her tea with one hand, cigarette burning on a saucer, the baby balanced on the other arm and a patch of damp darkening the material of her blouse over her other breast. There was something comforting about her.

  ‘Where are your other three?’ I asked.

  ‘Two. Asleep.’

  ‘But that woman – Sandy – said Daisy was your fourth.’

  ‘We lost the first one.’ Her voice was clipped ‘Stillborn. ’E were a lad and all. Terrible it was. Don took it even worse than me. ’E cried. Never seen ’im cry other than that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lisa.’ I hesitated. ‘Where is Don – the army?’

  ‘Yes, with the Warwicks. God alone knows where. I’ve ’eard from ’im of course but I ’aven’t seen ’im for months. She – ’ she jerked her head towards Daisy – ‘she was the last time. ’E’ll be like a kid when I’ve writ ’im about ’er. Always wanted a little girl.’ She smiled directly at me, and I was startled by the transformation of her face. She had widely spaced front teeth, and her large mouth dominated her face. The pale eyes were full of life. I warmed to her further, to that smile. It lifted me and I smiled back.

  ‘You got a fella?’ She lifted Daisy and
transferred her to her other breast, stroking her little head.

  ‘I don’t . . . know,’ I said hesitantly. I never usually discussed my private life when I was working and few people would have been bold enough to ask. But Lisa was different. ‘I think he’s dead.’

  The smile dropped from her lips. ‘Oh, Kate – you poor thing.’

  Her calling me by my name like that, like a friend, brought tears to my eyes. I cried so easily at that time.

  ‘We had a letter saying he was missing. He’s – he was – in the RAF. His parents have been in touch with the Red Cross for months, of course. We heard nothing for ages. But I’ve been sure, well, almost sure, that he’s dead. I could feel it. Last week they had some more information. He was almost certainly shot down over the sea. They won’t be able to recover his body.’

  ‘But was it ’im? Are they sure?’

  ‘No one’s entirely sure. It seems it’s the only thing that could have happened. But his parents can’t accept it – especially his mother. They don’t know whether to hold a service for him or to carry on hoping he might be alive. They’ve aged twenty years, both of them.’ Tears ran down my face which I wiped away hastily. ‘If we had his body we could mourn him properly.’

  Lisa watched me in silence, her eyes sad.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, blowing my nose. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this. Very unprofessional. I’m supposed to be here to help you, not carry on like this.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lisa replied straightforwardly. ‘I don’t think I need any ’elp really.’

  I smiled, still sniffing. Daisy looked the picture of contentment. ‘No, you don’t, do you?’ Pushing my unneeded leaflets back into my capacious blue bag, I went to the door. ‘I’ll come back and see you, though. Find out how you’re both doing.’

  ‘Come whenever you like,’ Lisa said, standing up to open the door. I gestured at her to sit down again. ‘Any time you want a natter, Kate. I’ll be glad to see you. I like a bit of company. And we go back a long way don’t we – sort of?’

  In the spring of 1943 Mummy ran into the mother of one of my old school friends, Marjorie Mantel, which of course set them exchanging news about their daughters. Marjorie was soon expected home on leave from the WAAF. A fortnight later I got back from work one evening to find a note waiting for me.

  Home for a spot of leave and Roly too, so we’re planning to hold a hop next weekend and would be chuffed if you could make it. It’ll be a kind of reunion! A song and dance to cheer the Home Front troops! It’d be marvellous to see you. Do bring a friend if you can. Hope you can make it. RSVP, Marjorie Mantel.

  I hadn’t seen her in years and only dimly remembered that she had a brother called Roland. Marjorie was always rather ‘jolly hockey sticks’ when we were at school, and I was intrigued by the thought of seeing her. I found myself smiling, missing Livy. The old Livy. We would have laughed together about this invitation.

  It was such a long time since Livy and I had met, let alone laughed together. Once again she had been reposted, and I wasn’t sure where. I wrote several times asking if she was recovered, was anything wrong? She assured me in a tight sort of way that she was better. But there was another change in the letters: they were no longer bright and over-excited; they were determinedly factual, flat – actually dull – something which would have been unheard of before. But I kept writing. When the war’s over, I thought, we’ll sort this out. We’ll talk properly and everything will be all right.

  I took Brenda Forbes along to Marjorie’s with me.

  ‘Hello,’ Marjorie brayed, swinging her front door wide open to the dark evening. ‘Kate Munro – how absolutely marvellous to see you! It must be how long? And who’s this?’

  I introduced Brenda ‘. . . we did our nursing together.’ Brenda said a curt ‘Evening’, in her rather graceless way.

  Marjorie had grown from a buxom girl into a sizeable woman. She had a wide face with a large, beak-like nose and very thick dark eyebrows, and her black hair was curled and piled round her head. She wore a bright pink dress and a leafy brooch which put me in mind of a Christmas decoration. Brenda, who was short and stocky, was dwarfed by her.

  ‘Nursing!’ Marjorie boomed at me. ‘How heroic. I simply couldn’t do it.’ An elderly black Labrador stood panting at us. ‘Don’t mind Wally,’ she went on distractedly. ‘He wouldn’t dream of hurting you, would you darling?’ As she patted his gaunt head the doorbell rang again. ‘Oh – someone else! No rest for the wicked. Do dispose of coats . . .’ She shimmered towards the front door again.

  Brenda shot me a look of amazement.

  ‘She’s very good-hearted,’ I reassured her.

  The Mantels had a very large drawing-room at the front of the house with a smooth olive-green carpet and green curtains to match covering the blackout blinds. The chairs had been pulled back round the edges of the long room and a row of tall red candles were burning in front of a huge gilt-edged mirror above the fireplace. The effect was a blaze of warm light adding to the more discreet table lights arranged round the room on the piano, a sofa table, a chest of drawers.

  ‘I expect she hoped you’d bring a bloke,’ Brenda said in a low voice, ‘since they’re probably in short supply. I expect you’ll find half your school here.’

  ‘God forbid,’ I murmured. ‘I must say I did get the impression we were asked to make up numbers . . .’

  We must have been almost the last to arrive. The room was well filled by a throng of people all talking loudly, and it felt very warm. A shout of laughter met us from one corner as we walked in. There were plenty of men there, too – a few in uniform, most not.

  ‘Yanks, a lot of them,’ Brenda observed. ‘Seem to look bigger than our lot, don’t they?’ Brenda, who wasn’t much interested in men, often talked about them as if they were some queer breed of squirrel.

  The two of us stood looking round the room, at a loss.

  One man – small, English – peeled away from the crowd. ‘Hello, you look lost,’ he said amiably. He had a thatch of dark hair like Marjorie’s and a chubby pink face. ‘I’m Roly, Marjorie’s brother. Come and have some punch? It’s fearfully good. Made by her own fair hands. In fact there’s homemade wine, too. We’re disreputable soaks in the Mantel family, I’m afraid. Make it out of anything that’s going. This is a brew from back in ’38. Those fair, halcyon days . . .’

  For a moment I thought he was going to break into poetry. More usefully he poured us some of the fruit cup.

  ‘The fruit’s a bit limited, of course. Nearly all apples and pears from the garden.’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ I said politely. ‘Marjorie said you’re both home on leave?’

  ‘Yes, bang on. I’m army and she’s a WAAF. Marvellous spot of luck being able to take leave at the same time. Not often we coincide. I’m due to be posted soon, so I’m making the most of home.’

  Looking at Roly’s face, I realized he was much younger than he seemed. His manner was already so middle-aged.

  ‘I say – it’s Katie, isn’t it? Kate Munro?’

  A face swam towards me which I recognized instantly. The sight of her brought back the classrooms, the very smell of school.

  ‘Celia Oakley!’

  As I stood reminiscing with Celia, Marjorie appeared and pounced on Brenda, saying there was someone she ‘must meet’.

  ‘And what’s happened to Olivia Kemp?’ Celia wanted to know. She had a very pale face and almost white blond hair and lashes. ‘You were always such friends. I found her a bit, well, odd myself. Rather stand-offish. I always presumed it was because she got fed up with people carrying on about her father. It surprised us all when you two teamed up.’

  ‘Livy’s in the Wrens,’ I said. Celia made impressed sounds. ‘I haven’t seen much of her, of course, though she was home for a stint of sick leave – ages ago now – end of ’41 it must have been. Went down with pneumonia. I think she’s quite taken to service life apart from that.’

  ‘She al
ways did look delicate,’ Celia said. ‘Though as I say, I didn’t have a great deal to do with her. Kept out of her way really.’

  ‘Now everyone!’ Marjorie hooted suddenly in her huge voice. ‘Shall we have some music? Does anyone fancy a dance?’

  ‘Let’s have a singsong,’ someone called out. ‘Cheer us all up. And then we can carry on drinking!’

  There was a flutter of agreement round the room. ‘Come on, Marj – play us a song!’

  ‘She’s very staunch, isn’t she?’ Celia said, mouth near my ear. ‘You know the other brother’s missing?’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Oh yes – air force. They’re all worried stiff, poor things. But Marjorie’s got such guts – look at her. You’d never guess.’

  Marjorie advanced on the piano, looking serene.

  As people began to move towards the edge of the room to claim chairs, I suddenly saw someone sitting in the corner next to the mantelpiece, who had been hidden before by all the chattering bodies. I squinted, pushing my specs further up my nose to see more clearly.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said distractedly to Celia.

  As I walked across he looked up at me. That face with the prominent cheekbones, vivid eyes, a scar worming down his left cheek.

  ‘Douglas Craven?’

  He frowned, taking his cigarette from his mouth. ‘Yes, officer?’ Looking at me more closely, his face broke into a smile which seemed to take it by surprise, pulling the pink scar tissue tight across his cheek.

  ‘Florence?’ he called out loudly. Marjorie had started playing ‘Hands, knees and Boomps-a-Daisy’ with heavy-handed enthusiasm, and a group were bottom-bumping in the middle of the room.

  ‘Kate,’ I corrected him. ‘Florence Nightingale is dead. As is Queen Victoria.’ Already, before we’d exchanged more than a few words, I felt the same combination of prickliness and attraction towards him that I had when we first met.

  He smiled cautiously. ‘Are you always so tart with everyone?’