‘I’m not goin’ upstairs,’ she said, ‘there’s the vegetables to do.’
‘I’ll help Nellie do them,’ said Will, pouring the tea, ‘I’ve got to do something to make up for puttin’ you in the pushcart.’
‘Well, it’s kind of you,’ said Annie, ‘but I’m sure you’ve got to be on your way soon.’
‘Time’s my own until six,’ said Will.
‘We’d best let ’im help, Annie,’ said Nellie. ‘’E’s a corporal and can order people about, can’t you, Will?’
‘On top of that I’m bossy as well,’ said Will.
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Annie darkly.
Well, bless me, thought Nellie, two bossy people together, what a lark. And where’s our Cassie got to, that’s what I’d like to know. Wandering about in a dream, I shouldn’t wonder, and looking for the cat.
CHAPTER THREE
‘A SAILOR SUIT?’ said eleven-year-old Freddy Brown in horror.
‘A nice sailor suit would look lovely for Susie’s weddin’,’ said Mrs Brown, his affable mother.
‘Not on me it wouldn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘I ain’t goin’ to wear no sailor suit, not for Susie’s weddin’ nor anyone else’s. I’ll fall down dead. You wouldn’t like that, I bet, me fallin’ down dead in the church.’
‘But, Freddy love—’
‘I’m eleven, I’ll ’ave you know,’ said Freddy, ‘I ain’t six.’
‘Still, you’d look ever so sweet in a sailor suit,’ said Sally, his fourteen-year-old sister. They were just home from school. They lived in Caulfield Place, off Browning Street, Walworth. Easter was approaching, so were the school holidays and so was their sister Susie’s wedding. It was a time of excitement for the Brown family, and for the whole street. A cockney wedding wasn’t the sort of event that concerned only the bride and her family. Everyone wanted to know everything about it, and Mr Brown kept saying to Mrs Brown that the way things were going the bridegroom would finish up finding himself married to every female in Caulfield Place. And Mrs Brown kept saying of course he wouldn’t, he’d get charged with multiplied bigamy if he did.
‘No sailor suit, if yer don’t mind,’ said Freddy resolutely.
‘Perhaps Freddy wants to be a bridesmaid, Mum, and wear a pink frock,’ said Sally.
‘Here, leave off,’ said Freddy, eating a slice of cake to keep the wolf from the door until supper.
‘Well, all right, love,’ said Mrs Brown, a natural peacemaker, ‘perhaps a nice dark grey suit, then, that you could wear afterwards for Sundays.’
‘With long trousers,’ said Freddy.
‘Long trousers at your age?’ said Sally.
‘I’ve made up me mind I ain’t wearing shorts at Susie’s weddin’,’ said Freddy, ‘they ain’t important enough.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about long trousers,’ said Mrs Brown, cutting away surplus greenery from a firm cauliflower. ‘You are only eleven, Freddy.’
‘All right,’ said Freddy, ‘I won’t wear no trousers at all, just me shirt, waistcoat an’ jacket.’
‘Oh, yer rotten ’orror,’ said Sally, ‘I’m not goin’ in that church if you’re not wearin’ any trousers.’
‘Can’t ’elp it,’ said Freddy, ‘me mind’s made up, I’m not wearin’ no trousers unless they’re long ones.’
‘Well, listen to ’im,’ said Sally, ‘just wait till Dad comes in, I bet ’e’ll make you sing a different tune.’
‘I bet ’e won’t,’ said Freddy, ‘I bet Dad wouldn’t wear no trousers, either, if Mum tried to put ’im in shorts for Susie’s weddin’.’
‘Dad’s a man, you soppy date,’ said Sally, ‘you’re only a boy.’
‘Can’t ’elp that,’ said Freddy, ‘me mind’s made up.’
‘Now, Freddy love, stop actin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Crikey, what a life,’ said Freddy. ‘Me mate Daisy’s moved and me mum won’t let me wear long trousers. I ’ope this kind of bad luck ain’t goin’ to last me all year.’
‘I’ll speak sympathetic to your dad,’ said Mrs Brown placatingly, ‘but as for Daisy, she and her fam’ly couldn’t help ’aving to move, love.’
Young Daisy Cook had been Freddy’s best street pal. She and her family had moved because their house had a rather unhappy history. A grisly murder had taken place there twelve years ago, in 1914.
Freddy, eyeing his sister, took on a puzzled expression.
‘What’s ’appening to Sally?’ he asked. His young sister, who had fair curly hair and hazel eyes, was getting pretty. And something else. Crikey, she’d stopped growing short, she was shooting up. He’d been taller than her, even though three years younger. Now she was suddenly above him. All in a few months. ‘Here, what’re you wearin’, sis?’
‘Me?’ said Sally, her blue school gymslip short. 1926 was the year of exceptionally short hemlines. Legs were in. Or legs had come out, according to how one thought about the fashion. ‘What d’you mean, what’m I wearin’?’
‘Whose legs you wearin’?’ asked Freddy.
‘Not yours,’ said Sally, ‘or Susie’s.’
‘Look at ’er, Mum,’ said Freddy, ‘she’s standin’ on some kind of stilts.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ said Mrs Brown, and smiled proudly at Sally. ‘Yes, she’s goin’ to be as tall as our Susie.’
‘Something’s goin’ on,’ said Freddy. ‘Come on, you Sally, let’s ’ave a proper look at them legs of yours, I don’t want me friends sayin’ you’re walkin’ on someone else’s.’
‘Keep off,’ said Sally. Freddy, as larky as any Walworth boy, sped around the kitchen table to get at her. Sally yelled and rushed.
‘Mum, stop ’im!’
‘Now, Freddy, leave Sally be, there’s a good boy,’ said Mrs Brown placidly. In all her forty-three years, nothing had ever seriously ruffled her, except the possibility, during the war, that her husband Jim might not survive his terrible life in the trenches.
‘Mum!’ shrieked Sally, as Freddy kept after her.
‘Freddy, stop teasin’ her,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Someone’s got to see whose legs she’s wearin’,’ said Freddy, but gave up when Sally put herself behind their plump mother.
‘Oh, yer daft ha’porth,’ said Sally, ‘how can anyone be wearin’ someone else’s legs?’
‘Yes, it beats me,’ said Freddy, ‘unless you bought a pair of long wooden ones down the market. I dunno what I’m goin’ to do if me mates find out one of me sisters is walkin’ about on wooden legs.’
‘Now you’re talkin’ silly, love,’ said Mrs Brown, going into the scullery to peel potatoes at the sink, ‘our Sally’s got nice natural legs.’
‘Yes, but ’ave yer seen what’s been ’appening to them lately?’ asked Freddy.
‘Sally’s growin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘I remember Susie growin’ up once,’ said Freddy.
‘Now how could anyone remember Susie only growin’ up once?’ asked Sally.
‘Well, I was only little at the time,’ said Freddy.
‘You’re potty,’ said Sally. ‘Mum, don’t you think it’s lovely our Will bein’ ’ome for the weddin’? Susie nearly cried when she saw ’im.’
‘It beats me, girls nearly cryin’ when they’re ’appy,’ said Freddy. ‘Mind you, Mum, I dunno that me brother’s all that well.’
‘He’s just got a bit of a chest,’ said Sally.
‘He’ll be all right now he’s home and not ’aving to suffer all that terrible heat,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘’Ope so,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, I think I’ll go an’ see if Ernie Flint’ll lend me ’is bike on Sunday, so’s I can cycle to Brockwell Park.’
‘I’ll come with you as far as Cotham Street,’ said Sally, ‘then I’ll go an’ see Mavis.’ Mavis Richards was a close friend. They shared the giggly little secrets of schoolgirls.
‘I don’t know I want you ridin’ bikes, Freddy,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘not with Susie’s weddin’ next month, you might
fall off and hit your head on the road.’
‘With an ’ead like’s he’s got, I bet Dad would get a bill for road repairs,’ said Sally.
‘Our Sally’s nearly a comic sometimes,’ said Freddy.
‘Bless ’er,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘And ’er wooden legs,’ said Freddy.
Out he went with his sister. Sally was bare-headed, Freddy wearing a blue cap. From the open door of a house shot the figure of a neighbour, Mr Higgins. He was a tram conductor whose duties sometimes brought him home early, sometimes late. After him came a rolling-pin. It struck him between his shoulder blades. Down he went. Following the rolling-pin came Mrs Higgins. Mr Higgins was thin and bony, Mrs Higgins was buxom. Freddy and Sally could tell she was riled. She had a wealth of dark brown hair, the pins were loose and it was all over her head and face.
‘Get up,’ she said to her fallen husband, and she retrieved the rolling-pin.
‘What for?’ asked Mr Higgins, feeling safer on the pavement.
‘So’s I can give yer another one,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘I don’t like ’itting you when yer on the ground.’
‘I can’t get up,’ said Mr Higgins, ‘I’m wounded, and me leg’s broke as well.’
‘I’ll give you wounded,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘Look at ’im,’ she said to Sally and Freddy, ‘would yer believe ’im capable of it?’
‘Capable of what, Mrs Higgins?’ asked Sally.
‘Kissin’ and cuddlin’ ’is lady passengers, that’s what.’
‘Is he supposed to?’ asked Freddy.
‘Is’e what?’
‘Well, I only asked,’ said Freddy.
‘’E’s forbidden,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘but ’e done it. Stay where you are,’ she said to her husband, giving him a rap on his head with the rolling-pin. ‘Mrs Blake saw it all this mornin’, at the market tram stop. Me own ’usband, would yer believe, and in front of everyone in Walworth.’
‘Now would I do that?’ said Mr Higgins, his conductor’s uniform dusty from the pavement. ‘I’d lose me job.’
‘That’s what I’ve been tellin’ yer,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘and don’t answer me back in front of Sally an’ Freddy, they’ll think I don’t get no respect from you. Mrs Blake told me that when she saw it ’appen, she near dropped dead with shock.’
‘Pity she bleedin’ didn’t,’ muttered Mr Higgins.
‘What’s that? What’s that you said?’
‘I said I think me leg’s bleedin’.’
‘Shall I get ’im a bandage an’ some ointment, Mrs Higgins?’ asked Sally.
‘’E don’t want a bandage, not yet ’e don’t,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘I’ll give ’im what for when I get ’im back indoors. ’E’ll need a doctor then, not a bandage. To think after all these years I’m burdened with the shame of what ’e’s done today, and in public too.’
‘Look, me pet,’ said Mr Higgins, ‘I just ’elped a lady off me tram with ’er foldin’ pram and baby. Yus, and a shoppin’ bag as well. She ’appened to be overcome with gratitude, I suppose—’
‘She what?’ said Mrs Higgins threateningly.
‘She was overcome with gratitude, Mrs Higgins,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, that’s what Mr Higgins just said.’
‘Well, what else would’ve made ’er give me a kiss?’ said Mr Higgins. ‘I asks yer, me love, what else? I didn’t kiss ’er meself, nor cuddle ’er, it’s against the regulations.’
‘You’re answerin’ me back again,’ said Mrs Higgins.
Along came Mr Ponsonby, a lodger in a house farther down the Place. An eccentric, he was fifty years old, his lean body clad in a black frock coat, black drainpipe trousers, and a grey waistcoat. He also wore a bowler hat, a red bow tie and elastic-sided boots. And he carried a rolled umbrella. At first glance he seemed a dapper man, but a closer inspection revealed crumbs on his waistcoat, wrinkles in his bow tie and a dent in his bowler. And his boots were dusty. On the other hand, his smooth unlined face had a very neat look, as if nature had taken pains to put each feature tidily in place. Sometimes his expression was querulous, and sometimes that of a kind and gentle man. He could often be heard talking to himself. ‘Dear me, dear me, what a day, what a day.’ That sort of thing.
Up he came in dainty pigeon-toed fashion and looked down at Mr Higgins.
‘Mr Higgins? Dear me, what’s this all about?’ His voice had a piping lilt.
‘I ain’t sittin’ ’ere of me own accord, yer know,’ grumbled Mr Higgins.
‘No, of course not, of course not,’ said Mr Ponsonby.
‘’E fell over,’ said Sally.
‘Ah, who is this I see?’ enquired Mr Ponsonby, and peered at Sally. He smiled. ‘Ah, yes, a young lady.’
‘She ain’t a young lady, she’s me sister,’ said Freddy.
‘Now now, Freddy,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘course she’s a young lady, anyone can see that. My, ain’t yer growin’ up nice, Sally? Yer goin’ to rival Susie in a year or two. What’re you doin’?’ she demanded of her husband.
‘I was thinkin’ of gettin’ up,’ said Mr Higgins.
‘I’ll knock yer block off,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘I ain’t finished with you yet.’
‘Come now, Mrs Higgins, have a peppermint drop,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and produced a paper bag from his pocket. He always had peppermint drops somewhere on his person, and offered them generously to all and sundry. The street kids knew this, and sometimes ran after him, asking for one, and he always obliged. He sucked them regularly himself, and breathed peppermint fumes.
‘Don’t mind if I do, I need something,’ said Mrs Higgins. As she helped herself from the bag, Mr Higgins came to his feet and disappeared indoors. It didn’t fool Mrs Higgins.
‘Gotcher!’ she cried. ‘I’ll learn yer!’ And she went bouncing in after him.
‘Tck, tck,’ said Mr Ponsonby and peered at Sally again. ‘Ah, yes, Sally, our pretty young lady. Have a peppermint drop.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ said Sally, and took one. In return, she gave Mr Ponsonby a happy little smile. Life was doing her proud at the moment. Not only was she going to be a bridesmaid in three weeks time, she had also started to grow again after a gloomy year of thinking she was going to end up as a real tich of a girl. She was positive she could actually feel her legs getting longer every week. Not every day, of course. Every week. With fashions so short, and flappers showing their knees, no girl who had just had her fourteenth birthday wanted to have legs that hardly went anywhere. It was bliss that she’d shot up inches in just a few months. Mind, she still had to wear dreary old black lisle stockings for school, but Susie had recently bought her imitation silk ones for Sundays. They made her lengthening legs feel ever so posh. Susie, her sister, though, wore real silk nearly all the time. Well, she had ever such a good job, of course, as personal assistant to her fiancé, Sammy Adams, who was boss of Adams Fashions and other enterprises. Sally could hardly believe he was going to be her brother-in-law. When she left school at the end of the present term, perhaps she could get a job in one of his shops.
Mr Ponsonby blinked in the sunshine of her smile.
‘Charming, charming,’ he said. ‘Well, good afternoon, good afternoon, I must get to my lodgings.’ He put the bag of peppermints away, then turned and began to retrace his steps. Freddy and Sally went after him.
‘Excuse me, Mr Ponsonby,’ said Sally, ‘you’re goin’ the wrong way.’
‘No, no,’ he said, stopping, ‘I’m going to my lodgings, I have things to do.’
‘Yes, but you’re still pointin’ the wrong way,’ said Freddy.
Mr Ponsonby blinked again.
‘Dear me, so I am, so I am,’ he said.
‘It’s back there,’ said Sally, ‘in Mrs Mason’s ’ouse.’
‘Thank you, thank you, how kind. My, you are a pretty girl. Have you had a peppermint drop?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Sally.
‘One can’t be too careful.’ Mr Ponsonby regarded brother and sister cautiously. ‘One is never sure
who has had one and who hasn’t. Dear me, what a day, good afternoon.’ And off he went to his lodgings, the point of his umbrella clicking on the pavement. He stopped to inspect a chalked hopscotch design. ‘Bless my soul, what’s that doing there? Never mind, never mind.’ He hastened on.
‘Ain’t ’e funny?’ said Freddy.
‘You didn’t get a peppermint drop,’ said Sally, as they turned into Browning Street.
‘Nor I didn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ll take two next time ’e offers, ’e won’t mind.’
‘Bet he won’t even notice,’ said Sally. ‘Don’t he talk posh, though? Mum says ’e’s prob’bly come down in the world.’
‘Yes, ’e prob’bly ’ad a wife that took to drink an’ drove ’im to ruin,’ said Freddy. ‘Still, ’e don’t go around cryin’ about it.’
‘No, but he blows ’is nose sometimes,’ said Sally.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Well, lots of people blow their noses to ’ide they’re cryin’,’ said Sally.
‘Susie blew her nose a little bit when our William came ’ome,’ said Freddy.
‘There you are, then,’ said Sally. She parted from him at Cotham Street, where her school friend lived. Freddy stopped for a moment to watch her. He grinned. She was walking as perky as anything in her short school gymslip. Showing off, just because her legs were getting longer. But he couldn’t help grinning, he was fond of Sally, the cheeky one of the family.
He called after her in the fashion of a street urchin.
‘Oi, darling, ’ow’s yer farver’s tadpoles?’
Sally turned, saw him grinning, put a thumb to her nose and then went on. A man coming the other way took notice of her. Tall and muscular, his eyes were dark and hollow beneath the peak of his flat cap, as if he didn’t sleep very well, and his black serge overcoat was unbuttoned, his watch chain showing. Sally bridled because he was staring at her all the time during his approach. She didn’t like his eyes one little bit, nor their fixed stare. And he was coming straight at her, as if he was going to knock her down and walk over her. Sally had to dodge aside, and as he passed her his body seemed to bruise the very air.
On Mother Brown's Doorstep Page 3
