A Ration Book Christmas

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘To be honest,’ Tommy replied, ‘after spending the past week shifting rubble, I’m having trouble remembering my own name let alone working out some toff ’s puzzle.’

  Mr Grossman rolled his eyes. ‘Oy vey! I haven’t seen you since you started; but tell me, how are you getting on in the heavy rescue squad?’

  Tommy gave a hard laugh. ‘Every bone in my body is screaming and I feel like I could sleep for a month but,’ he raked his fingers through his hair, ‘I’m no better or worse than anyone else.’

  ‘One of my regular Mills and Boon ladies who works in the WVS canteen at the Cubit Town depot said it’s been bad,’ said Mr Grossman.

  Tommy gave him a wry smile. ‘That’s one way to describe it, but “sheer hell” would be more accurate. Our first job on Monday was in Rope Walk Terrace. A high-explosive bomb had collapsed all the houses on one side of the street and we spent hours hand-searching through the rubble looking for survivors.’

  ‘Were there any?’ asked the librarian.

  Tommy shook his head. ‘We located the ten residents but we were too late. Two of them were just kids.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘Even Reggie stopped larking about when we carried them poor little mites out.’

  ‘Baruch dayan ha’emet,’ the librarian muttered, shaking his head.

  ‘It was the same in the houses opposite the paper factory in Duckwood Road. Those old houses went over like a row of kids’ building bricks, crushing everyone inside. The only bright spot in the whole night was when we found a family and their pet dog alive in their Anderson under three ton of rubble,’ said Tommy. ‘Then when we got back to the post at six, almost asleep on our feet and with our hands raw and bleeding, the Canning Town sirens sounded and the Luftwaffe dropped by for their evening visit so we were sent out again.’

  ‘What did Reggie say to that?’ asked the librarian.

  ‘I couldn’t repeat it,’ Tommy replied. ‘But we spent the next twelve hours digging out casualties and shoring up houses. I could barely keep my eyes open when the all-clear sounded at five but as we got back, a full twenty-four hours after we clocked on, the control room at the Town Hall rang through, telling us that Bow Common Post needed help as there were people trapped in the basement of a factory so us and White team were sent over.’

  ‘My goodness, when did you get home?’

  ‘Just after lunch,’ Tommy replied. ‘After a few hours lying dead to the world in bed I went back on duty at eight. It’s been the same all week. I’ve got a day off at the end of my nights but the way I feel at the moment, I doubt I’d wake even if the siren went off next to my head.’

  ‘My poor boy,’ said the librarian, his eyes soft with sympathy.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Tommy. ‘I’ll survive, but it’s the old ’uns who’ve been bombed out of their homes and lost everything I feel for.’ He clenched his fist. ‘Makes me even angrier that I’m not free to volunteer.’

  Mr Grossman gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Perhaps if you ask Reggie again—’

  ‘There’s no point,’ Tommy cut in. ‘As far as he’s concerned he hasn’t got a mother and I can’t say as how I blame him for that, but if I don’t look after her now I’d be no better than she was.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘And when all’s said and done, she’s flesh and blood.’

  ‘You’re a good son,’ the librarian said with a sigh. ‘So may God reward you for it.’

  Tommy gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, if he does he can start by helping me put things right between me and Jo.’

  He told the librarian about her unexpected arrival the week before.

  When he’d finished the librarian pulled a sour face. ‘What a tsures.’

  Tommy raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you mean a schmuck?’

  ‘That, too,’ agreed the older man. ‘But don’t tell me you haven’t tried to tell her the truth?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘I found out she was helping at the junior Irish dancing class at the Catholic Club on Wednesday afternoon, so after getting home as the milkman was on his rounds, I snatched a couple of hours’ sleep. Then I dragged myself out of bed, but as I walked down the side of the church, the siren went off and so I only managed to catch a glimpse of her as she herded the children off in the opposite direction towards the shelter,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Oy-yo-yo,’ said Mr Grossman, throwing his hand up.

  ‘I know, but to be honest, although I know Jo finding me with Lou like that looked bad—’

  ‘Bad?’ cut in Mr Grossman. ‘She walked in on you and a scantily dressed woman. And you call it bad.’

  Tommy frowned.

  ‘All right, bloody terrible,’ he conceded, as the scene in the kitchen flashed through his mind again. ‘But you think she’d know me better than to think I’d two-time her. And she’s the one who hasn’t sent me a letter in weeks.’

  He raked his fingers through his hair again as misery pressed down on him.

  An indulgent look spread across the elderly librarian’s long face. ‘Can I give you a bit of advice, my boy?’

  Amusement tugged at Tommy’s lips. ‘Is this one of your old Yiddish sayings about goats or fig trees?’

  ‘No, this is an old married man’s one about women,’ Mr Grossman replied. ‘A wise man who wants a happy life with a full belly and a warm bed admits immediately, no matter what the argument is about, that he’s the one at fault, preferably with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. Although in your case, son, as you’re up to your neck in dreck, you might want to consider swapping the flowers for diamonds.’

  Tommy raised an eyebrow. ‘And those are your pearls of wisdom, are they?’

  ‘How else do you think I’ve managed to stay married for thirty years?’ Mr Grossman replied.

  Tommy regarded the old librarian sitting across the desk from him for a long moment then grabbing his bag from the floor beside him he stood up.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll give it a go,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Although Jo’ll have to make do with flowers as I can’t run to buying diamonds just at the moment.’

  ‘You might if you enter this.’ Mr Grossman offered him the newspaper clipping about the competition again. ‘There’s a hundred-pound prize for the winner.’

  This time Tommy took it, scanning down it quickly.

  ‘It looks straightforward enough,’ he said, folding it carefully and slipping it into his inside pocket. ‘I might give it a whirl if I get a spare minute or two. I don’t suppose you know if the book I reserved about Caesar’s Teutonic campaign is in?’

  ‘It arrived yesterday and it’s under the main desk,’ Mr Grossman replied.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tommy, adjusting his bag strap. ‘I’ll pick it up on the way out. See you next week.’

  ‘If Jehovah wills it,’ the librarian replied.

  Tommy turned but as he reached for the handle, his old friend spoke again.

  ‘Tommy.’

  He looked round.

  ‘My boy, the truth about dealing with women is showing them in everything you do and say that you love them,’ said the older man.

  Tommy smiled. ‘I know, and if I can persuade Jo to give me a second chance that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

  Trotting down the library steps some twenty minutes later Tommy turned right to head off to Dolly’s pie shop but as he entered Watney Street someone called his name.

  ‘Oi! Sweete!’

  Squaring his shoulders, Tommy turned.

  Standing some hundred feet behind him with their hands in their pockets and their fedoras pulled down over their foreheads, looking like extras from a gangster movie, were a couple of very familiar faces.

  ‘Inspector Tovey,’ said Tommy with a broad smile. ‘And Sergeant Flowers. Fancy meeting you here!’

  ‘It’s Detective Sergeant to the likes of you, boy,’ sneered Tovey.

  ‘Or sir, Sweete,’ added Flowers, earning an approving look from his superior officer.

  Leonard Tovey, Arbour S
quare’s longest-serving detective, was a thick-set individual with a ruddy face, virtually no neck and stumpy fingers. As a beat officer, he’d given Tommy many a clip around the ear for various misdemeanours, real or imagined.

  The pride of Arbour Square’s CID was dressed at his usual level of sartorial elegance in a baggy-kneed grey suit, with a crumpled shirt beneath. A stain on the collar indicated that either his wife or his girlfriend favoured an orange shade of lipstick.

  Detective Sergeant Eric Flowers, in contrast, was seven inches taller than his boss’s five foot eight and so lean that he’d be hard pushed to get wet in a passing shower.

  ‘Where you off to, then?’ asked Tovey, sidling up to Tommy.

  ‘For a bite to eat after a day at work,’ Tommy replied.

  ‘Work!’ snorted Flowers. ‘When did a Sweete ever do a day’s work?’

  ‘How’s Reggie?’ asked Tovey.

  ‘Well enough,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Not hurt himself yet, then, catching stuff falling off the back of lorries?’

  Tommy said nothing.

  ‘Stuff like three dozen crates of cigarettes that were taken from Taylor and Sons’ van while it was parked up in the company’s yard last week,’ continued Tovey. ‘Heard anything about it, have you, Tommy?’

  ‘Perhaps he don’t need to have heard about it, Sir, cause he was there, unloading the gear,’ said Flowers.

  Tommy regarded both officers with a cool, unwavering gaze but again said nothing.

  The two policemen matched his stare for a moment then the sergeant’s piggy eyes alighted on Tommy’s canvas bag. He snatched the bag from Tommy’s hands and opened it.

  ‘What’s this, then?’ he asked, grabbing the weighty volume that the librarian had stamped out on loan not ten minutes before.

  ‘It’s a book,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Why have you got it?’ asked the constable.

  ‘To read.’ Tommy gave him a wry look. ‘You should try it. You might learn something.’

  Flowers glared at him and Tommy smiled.

  ‘Give him the once-over,’ said Tovey.

  Flowers dropped the bag. ‘Come on, Sweete, you know the drill.’

  Tommy turned out his trouser pockets and spread his arms. Keeping hold of his rising temper, he forced himself to regard Inspector Tovey impassively as Flowers patted him down. Shoving his hand in Tommy’s jacket pocket he pulled out his handkerchief and discarded it then investigated his inside breast pocket and dragged out Tommy’s ARP wage packet.

  ‘Whose is this?’ Flowers asked, waving it in front of Tommy’s face.

  ‘Mine,’ he replied. He took it from the officer and returned it to where it had come from. ‘You can check at the Town Hall if you like.’

  The Sergeant looked at his superior.

  Tovey gave a quick jerk of his head and Flowers stepped back.

  ‘All right, you can be on your way, Sweete,’ said the sergeant, his stale breath wafting in Tommy’s face as he spoke. ‘But watch it.’ He jabbed Tommy in the chest with a chubby index finger. ‘Cause I’ve got you and that low-life brother of yours in my sights.’

  Tommy smiled coolly.

  Tovey eyeballed him for a moment then he and his sidekick retraced their steps back to Wapping High Street.

  Scooping up his scattered tools, Tommy put them back in his canvas bag then turned and carried on down Brewhouse Lane.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘HAVE ANOTHER SANDWICH, Charlie,’ said Ida, holding a plate of pilchard sandwiches under his nose.

  ‘Not for me, Mum.’ Jo’s brother tapped his stomach. ‘I’m full.’

  It was just after two on Saturday afternoon and Jo and her family were sitting in the back lounge. Jo’s letter of acceptance had arrived and she was looking forward to reporting for duty with the ambulance service on Monday morning.

  As Queenie was having a lunchtime drink at the Catholic Club, Mattie was taking advantage of her absence by sitting in her gran’s chair with her feet up on the leather pouffe.

  ‘You sure?’ persisted their mother.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No, honestly, Mum. I couldn’t eat another thing.’ He turned to the young woman sitting beside him on the sofa. ‘What about you, Stella luv?’

  Stella Miggles was a curvy blonde an inch or two shorter than Jo. She’d been in the same class as Cathy at school so at twenty was four years younger than Charlie. However, Stella had always been older than her years and by the second year of secondary school she was participating in extra-curriculum activities behind the bike sheds with the fourth-year boys. With a 36D bust that was forever spilling out of her blouse or dress and a skirt so tight she couldn’t sit without flashing her stocking tops, it was little wonder she’d caught Charlie’s eye. Although why he’d let himself become engaged to her was a complete mystery as Stella lavished her favours on anything in trousers.

  Stella shook her head.

  ‘No ta, Mrs B.’ She snuggled up to Charlie, pressing her breasts into his upper arm. ‘I’ve got to watch my figure to stop my Charlie looking elsewhere.’

  Basking in his fiancée’s extravagant adoration, a smug smile spread across Charlie’s face.

  Men, thought Jo, the image of Tommy flashing through her head. As Gran says, they all think with their cods.

  ‘So,’ said Stella, turning her attention to Jo. ‘You’re starting on the ambulances on Monday.’

  ‘Yes, I’m all set,’ Jo replied.

  ‘Well, I think you’re very brave,’ said Stella. ‘Driving around with all those bombs exploding around you.’

  ‘No more than anyone else,’ said Jo.

  ‘As Her Majesty the Queen said when we were chatting,’ said Ida, as if she and the sovereign had met in the queue outside Sainsbury’s, ‘everyone has to do their bit. Just like my Jo in the ambulance, my Mattie as a warden and me,’ she turned so Stella could see the grey band around her arm with WVS stamped more clearly, ‘as the street’s WVS organiser.’

  Stella glanced at the insignia then turned her attention to Mattie.

  ‘Are you still managing all right?’ she asked, giving Mattie a syrupy smile. ‘I mean, now you’re getting bigger.’

  ‘I’m doing fine,’ said Mattie. ‘Once I’m down in the shelter I’m in the same boat as everyone else and just have to wait until I hear the all-clear.’

  ‘Have you heard from your husband?’ asked Stella.

  A tight emotion flitted across Mattie’s face for a second and she forced a smile. ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘It’s a pity he hasn’t been to see if you’re all right, like Charlie did,’ said Stella innocently.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Mattie flatly.

  Jo assumed that, for all her supposed cleverness, her sister Mattie had done what thousands of women had done before her and fallen for some flash fella who, after being forced to do the right thing, was now enjoying the single life again in the army.

  Although Jo kept telling herself that after the way she’d behaved it served Mattie right if her husband had forgotten about her, something in her sister’s tone caught in Jo’s chest.

  The sound of the back door opening cut through her pondering and Francesca walked in, slightly red-faced and breathless.

  ‘You’re early, luv,’ said Ida, rising from her chair. ‘The pot’s still hot. Do you want a cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, please, Mrs Brogan,’ Francesca replied. ‘I managed to get away on time and catch the earlier bus.’

  Casting a look around the room, she smiled at everyone until her gaze alighted on Jo’s brother.

  ‘Oh, hello, Charlie,’ she said, her brown eyes softening as they rested on him. ‘I wondered if you’d still be here.’

  ‘My train doesn’t go from London Bridge until four so we’ve got half an hour yet before me and Stella have to leave,’ Charlie replied.

  Francesca looked at the woman clinging onto Charlie’s left arm.

  ‘How are you, Stella?’ she asked, forcing a smile.


  ‘All the better for having Charlie home,’ Stella replied, giving Charlie a wrinkled-nosed smile and pressing her breasts against his arm again.

  Pain flitted across Francesca’s face as Ida returned from the kitchen. She handed Francesca her tea and then resumed her seat.

  ‘Park yourself here,’ said Mattie, swinging her feet off the footstool.

  Francesca sat down and cupping her drink in her hand took a sip.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re wearing your new dress to work?’ said Ida.

  A blush coloured Francesca’s cheeks.

  ‘Well, I change into my overall when I get there, Mrs Brogan,’ she said, straightening the front pleats of the powder-blue dress over her knees.

  ‘Even so,’ said Ida, ‘what with the price of clothes being so dear, I’m a bit surprised you chanced ruining it jumping on and off the bus.’

  ‘Perhaps Francesca just wanted to cheer herself up, Mum,’ said Mattie, earning a grateful look from her friend.

  ‘And that would do it too,’ said Charlie, ‘because that colour suits you.’

  Francesca’s face lit up.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she asked, gazing adoringly at him.

  ‘I do,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I’d go as far as to say blue is your colo—’

  ‘Perhaps we should be making a move, Charlie,’ Stella cut in. ‘In case there’s a hold-up on the underground.’

  Ida looked aghast. ‘You’ve got bags of time yet—’

  ‘I know, Mrs B,’ Stella continued, ‘but you wouldn’t want Charlie to be up on a charge for reporting late or AWOL because we girls were chatting about dresses, would you?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Ida.

  ‘And haven’t you told me often enough it’s better to be early than late?’ Stella concluded.

  ‘I suppose so but—’

  ‘So.’ Stella wiggled to her feet and held out her hand. ‘We’d better be off.’