On Mother Brown's Doorstep

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Boots got her off,’ said Sammy. ‘Our respected Ma said he gave his evidence like the Lord of creation, and juries take notice of the Lord of creation.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Susie. ‘It must’ve been awful, a woman accused of murderin’ her own mother. Em’ly said she wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Yes, I can imagine Boots bein’ impressive. He’s got such an air, don’t you think so?’ Susie smiled teasingly. ‘We all adore him, of course. Doreen says he makes her bosom rise and fall.’

  ‘Might I remind you that I’ve told you before I won’t have any adorin’ on these premises, it interferes with business. Nor don’t I want to see any bosoms risin’ and fallin’. Tell Doreen a decent corset will solve her breathin’ problems. Let’s see, where was I? Yes, the point is, Susie, after the trial geezers from newspapers haunted the street for weeks. When they’d given up, along came the Nosey Parkers to look at the house and to ask questions. They kept comin’. Morbid curiosity, don’t yer see, a bit of wordage Boots acquainted me with. It’s goin’ to be like that at Bennondsey, partic’larly if the police find the murderer and hang him. I don’t want your dad to have to put up with staring eyeballs and queer questions. So I made the Council an offer of the yard, which they’re considerin’, and after that I made an offer for Rodgers and Company’s scrap yard off the Old Kent Road. Which old man Rodgers accepted on the spot. That’s the yard for your dad, Susie.’

  ‘Sammy, oh, you lovely feller,’ said Susie.

  ‘Sound as a bell, your dad is,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Sammy, I’m goin’ to be your best and only wife ever.’

  ‘I’ll try not to mind the expense,’ said Sammy.

  ‘I’ll try not to as well,’ said Susie. ‘Tommy said he thinks you’re usin’ Mr Greenberg to corner all the textiles held by London wholesalers. I told him I was grievously afraid you are.’

  ‘Well, we might get lucky,’ said Sammy.

  ‘It’s just not fair,’ said Susie.

  ‘So you said before, Susie, but it’s rattlin’ good business. Now, kindly inform Ronnie to mount his bike and ride off to our Brixton shop with this box. They’re expectin’ it.’

  The cardboard box, white, was on Sammy’s desk.

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Susie.

  ‘Silver-white bridal stockings,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Silver-white? Oh, let me see,’ said Susie.

  ‘You’ve already got your weddin’ stockings, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, white, but not silver-white.’ Susie picked up the box and sped into her office with it, closing the door behind her. Sammy grinned. Susie’s legs in silver-white. Even a high-class reputable businessman could hardly wait.

  When Ronnie, the office boy for two months, rode off to Brixton with the box, one pair of stockings was missing, a note from Susie in its place.

  Sammy, having heard from Susie that Polly Simms wouldn’t be at the wedding, after all, because she had to go abroad, felt a bit sorrowful about it. He liked Polly, the whole family did. She might be upper class, but could mix with all kinds. They’d miss her, the family, but it was just as well she was going abroad. She was a lot too fond of Boots, and Chinese Lady would raise the roof if Boots let it get out of hand.

  Yes, just as well she was leaving.

  A business acquaintance, a Covent Garden wholesale florist, popped in to see Sammy at twenty minutes past eleven. Susie had left at eleven – she had a hundred things to do, all in respect of the wedding. Josh Walker, who had gravitated from a flower stall in the East Street market to Covent Garden, owed Sammy a small favour. It was one of Sammy’s profitable principles, to contrive for business friends or acquaintances to owe him favours.

  ‘Well, ’ow’s yerself, Sammy? In the pink, I see. Bloomin’, as yer might say.’

  ‘I might, if I didn’t have headaches, Josh,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Oh, we all got those, Sammy. I’m just on me way to Peckham, so I thought I’d just look in on yer and ’and yer something for your fiancée, seein’ yer doin’ the honours with ’er next Saturday.’ Josh Walker placed a long cardboard box on Sammy’s desk. Sammy lifted the lid and saw at least a dozen bunches of magnificent King Alfred daffodils.

  ‘Josh, I’m overcome,’ he said.

  ‘Pleasure. Good luck, mate. I can tell yer, marriage don’t actu’lly kill yer.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ said Sammy. ‘Well, it suits me, one of me main business ambitions is to stay alive.’

  ‘I admire an ambition like that,’ said Josh Walker, and shook hands and departed, a large grin on his face.

  Sammy, left with a plethora of superb blooms, decided this was ladies’ day. He called Doreen in, gave her three dozen and told her to share them out among the girls.

  ‘Mister Sammy, oh, ain’t you an angel?’ said Doreen.

  ‘Glad you mentioned that,’ said Sammy, ‘in me modesty I sometimes forget it.’ He took another four dozen blooms through Susie’s office to Emily’s little sanctum. She was at her typewriter. She worked from ten to twelve on Saturdays, the rest of the staff from nine to twelve-thirty.

  ‘Sammy?’ she said, gazing huge-eyed at the King Alfreds. Sammy winced a little at her thinness. His affection for Emily, who’d been a godsend to the family when they lived in Walworth, was deep-rooted. ‘Sammy, what’re all those daffodils doin’ against your waistcoat?’

  ‘Nothing useful,’ said Sammy. ‘Josh Walker’s just handed me a box of them. Here’s some for you. There you are, Em. Look a lot better against your bodice than my waistcoat.’

  ‘Sammy, all these?’ Emily, always demonstrative, positively sparkled. ‘I’ll stand them in a vase in the hall, where everyone can enjoy them. And you can give us a kiss for bein’ a lovely bloke.’

  ‘Cost you tuppence,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Oh, still chargin’, are you?’ smiled Emily, cuddling the blooms. ‘All right, let’s go mad, give us fourpennyworth.’ Sammy gave her two smackers, one on her cheek and one on her good-looking mouth. ‘Here, that’s not a brother-in-law’s kiss.’

  ‘Just a tuppenny one,’ said Sammy. ‘All right, Em, are you?’ He hadn’t the heart to refer directly to her thin look.

  ‘Me?’ said Emily, who hated what was happening to her, and only talked about it with Boots and Chinese Lady. Chinese Lady was doing her best to stuff her with lightly cooked liver and almost raw red meat. ‘Me?’

  ‘I like to ask after the health of me close relatives,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Well, this one’s fine, Sammy love.’

  ‘Tower of strength, you are, Em, as our shorthand-typist and a close relative.’

  ‘Well, bless yer cotton socks for sayin’ so, Sammy, and you’re not so bad yourself. We’re all lookin’ forward to the weddin’, and me and Boots are prayin’ marriage won’t ruin you.’

  ‘Kind of you, Em. You had a wartime weddin’, so did Lizzy. If mine’s as good as yours was, I’ll face up to the consequent ruination.’

  ‘Same old Sammy,’ said Emily.

  ‘Good on yer, love,’ said Sammy. On his way back to his office, he said, ‘By the way, you owe me fourpence. Pay me later.’ Emily laughed.

  Sammy then called Ronnie in, the office boy having just got back from Brixton. Sammy had finally given in to demands from the general office staff for a runabout lad, and sixteen-year-old Ronnie Jarvis of Camberwell, looking for a job and eager for anything, had been taken on two months ago. Sammy already had his eye on the lad. He was willing, adaptable and good-natured. He stuck stamps on letters as readily as he helped Mitch, the firm’s van driver, to load and unload. And he assisted in the shop below whenever he was asked to. Sammy liked anyone who liked work.

  ‘Right, Ronnie, got your bike at the ready still, have you?’

  ‘At your service, Mister Sammy, sir,’ said Ronnie, slim, lanky and pleasant-looking. Sammy approved the fact that he didn’t sport a quiff or put brilliantine on his hair.

  ‘Good. Saddle up, then, me lad, and kindly deliver this box to Miss Brown. I’ve
scribbled her address on the lid. Mind you hand it in with my compliments, and don’t damage the contents or you and your bike will be hanged upside-down, which will hurt considerable.’

  ‘Mister Sammy, I can frankly tell yer I don’t like bein’ hurt considerable.’

  ‘Highly sensible,’ said Sammy. ‘Kindly get movin’, and when you’ve made the delivery you can go home, which you’ll be entitled to if it takes you up twelve-thirty. Here’s a tanner for doin’ this special delivery.’

  ‘Well, thanks, sir,’ said Ronnie, ‘and I’d like to say I’m pleasured to be included with the staff at your weddin’, seein’ I’ve only been workin’ here for two months.’

  ‘Can’t leave any of you out,’ said Sammy, ‘or there’d be ructions. Off you go.’

  Ronnie had contributed to the staff collection for a wedding present, and the money had been used to buy Susie and Sammy a chiming clock.

  Off went the whistling office boy to Caulfield Place, Walworth, the box strapped securely to the carrier. A knock on the door of the Browns’ house was answered by Sally. She blinked at the caller.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, the cardboard box balanced on his hands.

  ‘Hello yerself,’ said Sally, looking pretty nice in a Saturday frock.

  Ronnie, who hadn’t worked in the offices for two months without taking educational note of the verbal attributes of Boots and Sammy, said, ‘Am I addressin’ a lady member of the Brown fam’ly?’

  ‘You ’ave that honour,’ said Sally, deciding he was putting it on.

  ‘Might I ’ave the further honour of speakin’ with Miss Susie Brown?’ asked Ronnie, deciding he wasn’t in any hurry.

  ‘Alas,’ said Sally, who’d never yet played second fiddle to a boy’s chat.

  ‘What?’ said Ronnie.

  ‘Alas.’

  ‘Alas what?’

  ‘Miss Susie Brown, my sister, don’t ’appen to be in,’ said Sally, ‘she’s gone shoppin’ from ’er work.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Ronnie, ‘p’raps I might have another further honour.’

  ‘You’re comin’ it a bit with all these honours, ain’t you?’ said Sally.

  ‘Could I enquire your name?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I think I like you,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Sally, ‘ev’ryone likes me, even me brother Freddy. What’s that box you’re ’olding?’

  ‘Special deliv’ry to Miss Susie Brown, with the compliments of Mister Sammy Adams. I’m ’is assistant.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Sally, ‘that’s Susie.’

  ‘Yes, I’m his junior assistant,’ said Ronnie. ‘Shall I come in and wait? I don’t mind havin’ a chat with you in your parlour.’

  ‘I’m thrilled,’ said Sally, ‘but alas.’

  ‘Alas what?’ asked Ronnie, grinning.

  ‘Alas, I’m just goin’ to have poached eggs on Welsh Rabbit with me fam’ly,’ said Sally. ‘You honestly on the firm’s staff?’

  ‘I have that honour,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘You’re not comin’ to the weddin’, are you, with all the staff?’

  ‘I have that further honour,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘You’re a sad case, you are,’ said Sally, ‘you talk like someone’s butler.’

  ‘Funny thing, I was once—’

  ‘Well, never mind, you’re a junior assistant now,’ said Sally. ‘You can give the box to me.’

  ‘Pleasure. I’m Ronnie Jarvis, by the way. Who did you say you were?’

  ‘I didn’t. Well, all right, I’m Sally Brown.’

  ‘Pleased to meet yer, Sally. D’you go out with fellers?’

  ‘No, course I don’t, I’m still only fourteen.’

  ‘I used to be fourteen,’ said Ronnie. ‘You soon grow out of it. Here.’ He placed the box in her arms. ‘I might come and sit in your parlour with you sometimes, and bring my mouth organ.’

  ‘’Elp, I can ’ardly wait,’ said Sally.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Ronnie, and rode off whistling. Sally giggled and took the box to her mum, who lifted the lid and saw it was full of daffodils. She was so overcome by Sammy’s flowery gift to Susie that she hardly heard anything of what Sally said about the boy who’d brought them. So Sally had to say most of it twice.

  Coming to, Mrs Brown said, ‘Oh, was he a nice boy, then?’

  ‘Well, ’e was honoured at just standin’ on our doorstep,’ said Sally.

  ‘Why, is our doorstep special, then?’ asked Freddy.

  ‘No, but he probably thinks Sally is,’ said Will.

  ‘Our Sally’s only fourteen, she’s only just left school,’ said Mrs Brown.

  ‘Oh, you soon grow out of only bein’ fourteen,’ said Sally.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Annie and Will took to the winding paths of Ruskin Park along with other people, of whom there were plenty. The weather had warmed up. A fine Sunday always brought the cockneys of Camberwell and Walworth to the park, as well as better-off people from the neighbourhood of Denmark Hill. Annie had been able to put on her second best Sunday dress and to wear it without a coat. Will said it was nearly as highly fashionable as her white one. Annie said she was keeping that for his sister’s wedding, that she’d be able to get to St John’s Institute by a quarter to five. Was there really going to be dancing in the evening? Yes, to a three-piece band, said Will, and ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’ would be performed.

  ‘Crikey,’ said Annie, ‘will the vicar be there?’

  ‘Yes, just for the knees-up,’ said Will, sauntering beside her.

  ‘I bet,’ said Annie. ‘Anyway, I’m not goin’ to do any knees-up in me highly fashionable dress, not with you lookin’.’

  ‘And the vicar,’ said Will.

  Annie bubbled with laughter. The exciting little undercurrents of being in love exhilarated her, but she kept her head, she didn’t make the mistake of falling all over him in a manner of speaking. Of course, if he fell all over her – in a manner of speaking – she wouldn’t mind that. She asked if he’d thought any more about leaving the Army. Will, who felt the Army’s medical experts would make the decision for him, one way or another, said yes, he’d thought more about it, and that he’d make up his mind before his leave was up. Annie said she supposed it was sensible for him to take his time. It didn’t occur to her to ask him how long he’d signed up for simply because she didn’t know enough about the conditions imposed on a man when he entered the Army. Will said as soon as he’d made the decision she’d be the first to know outside his family.

  ‘Me?’ said Annie.

  ‘Well, you’re—’ Will checked. Better not to say because she was his young lady. If he was going to suffer asthma all his life, he didn’t think he could ask a girl to suffer it with him. Suppose, for instance, it took hold of him every time he made love to her? That wouldn’t make any wife rapturous, she’d think she’d married a wheezing old man. Mind, he’d only had one attack these last few days, and that was when he woke up on the morning after taking her to see Tom Mix. So he’d attended Dr McManus’s morning surgery. Dr McManus wanted to know exactly what had preceded the attack. Will said eight hours good kip. Dr McManus asked if he had feather pillows. Will said the Army doctors in London had mentioned feather pillows, but there’d been none in India, and in any case, this was the first time he’d had an attack while still in bed. Dr McManus wanted to know what was the last food he’d eaten the night before. Will said fried fish and chips. Might have been the frying fat, said the doctor, you might be allergic to its acidity. Will asked if he might also be allergic to being close to a girl, and he mentioned his evening out with Annie, their closeness in the tram and their extreme closeness when he kissed her.

  ‘Are we talking about physical excitement, Will?’ asked Dr McManus.

  ‘You did mention that,’ said Will, and the doctor said he supposed the Army medical specialists had mentioned a hundred and one possible elements. Will said they’d mentioned
over-exertion as something to avoid, but hadn’t said a word about physical excitement. Ruddy hell, doctor, he said, if he couldn’t even kiss a girl without his bronchial tubes taking a hiding, what was the point of marrying one? Dr McManus said thousands of asthmatic men and women were married. Yes, said Will, but perhaps they can all do what comes naturally without wheezing and coughing over it.

  ‘Well, do those two things again,’ said Dr McManus.

  ‘What two things?’

  ‘Kissing your young lady and eating fried fish and chips. But not on the same day. Let’s see if one or the other affects you. If not, then do what you did before, enjoy them near to each other.’

  ‘Sounds barmy,’ said Will.

  ‘It might well be,’ smiled Dr McManus. ‘Do you carry your tablets about with you?’

  ‘I do now,’ said Will.

  ‘You should.’

  So there it was, then. It wouldn’t do at this stage to give Annie any impression that he was courting her. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Annie deserved a bloke who was a hundred per cent fit.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘what’s on your mind?’

  ‘Oh, just the Army,’ he said, ’and if I’m goin’ to be in or out of it.’

  Annie wondered if his relationship with her had been anything to do with his idea about giving up the Army. She hoped he would.

  They stopped by the tennis courts, all of which were being used.

  ‘Let’s sit and watch for a bit,’ she said. There was a bench vacant and they seated themselves. On another bench were a strong-looking man and a handsome woman. They were watching a tall man in a white cricket shirt and light grey flannels playing against a young and deliciously pretty girl in a white dress. Will recognized the players. The man, whom his family called Boots, was Sammy’s eldest brother. The girl, Rosie, was Boots’s daughter. Will had come to know them when Susie took him to meet the Adams family.

  They were playing a typical father-and-daughter game, Boots teasing Rosie by making her chase from side to side, using his racquet in a lazy-looking way but making the ball fly over the net. Rosie, utterly involved, ran and scampered, the skirt of her short dress flying, her legs in white socks. She did more than chase after the ball, she yelled.