by Carol Rivers
‘You’ve wonderful lungs, Daisy,’ she encouraged. ‘Let’s hear you make use of them.’
Daisy had done her very best and the applause after her solo of It Came Upon the Midnight Clear had been unexpectedly rewarding. Mother and Pops had watched from the second row and Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed sat to their left. Aunt Pat and Grandma who always stayed over at Christmas had joined Aunt Minnie, Uncle Leo, Matt and Will, in the row behind. The whole family had applauded so loudly, that Daisy’s moment of triumph had seemed a little embarrassing. But Miss Bailey had congratulated her afterwards and Daisy’s reward was in being chosen again this year.
’As the finale, you will sing a solo verse to Land of Hope and Glory,’ Miss Bailey decided. ‘Please learn the words carefully. I shall ask Mrs Jones to take you for practice. Nora, you will be Daisy’s understudy.’
Daisy glanced enviously at Nora Fudge, the class favourite. As school monitor, a day didn’t pass without her shiny brown hair being tied studiously away from her face. A waft of Sunlight soap followed her wherever she went and the perfection continued in her sweet singing voice.
Daisy abruptly reminded herself that it was she who had been chosen to sing the solo, even though Nora was cleverer and prettier.
As Daisy wrestled with her doubts, a soft ray of sunshine fell on the silver threads of the old tarpaulin. It lit up the five pointed star balanced on the top of the coat stand. A breeze spun the paper decorations hanging from the stick branches. Mr Potter’s dustbin had been secured for the ballast and a curl of excitement tickled in her stomach. She couldn’t wait for practice with Mrs Jones the music teacher. Even if Nora was present as understudy. Even if Nora looked down her freckled nose at Daisy as if she was smelling something unpleasant. None of that mattered. It was she, Daisy, who was to sing a solo verse of Land of Hope and Glory.
Miss Bailey gave a smile of approval. ‘Keep up the good work, girls. I fear this will be a Christmas to remember, so please make the very most of our celebrations.’
Later, at break, Daisy hurried to the cloakroom with her friend Sally Watson to put on their coats. Nora and her friends made a great show of excitement, but Daisy ignored them.
‘Me dad wouldn’t half give them cows a piece of his mind,’ Sally muttered as they dressed. ‘They need pulling down a peg or two if you ask me.’
Sally was a tall, thin girl who had attached herself to Daisy in her first term at Poplar Park School. Her uniform was faded and patched and once Daisy had noted the little white eggs nestling in the parting of her untidy ginger hair. Miss Bailey had sent her home to have it washed and cleansed of nits.
‘I don’t care about them,’ Daisy shrugged.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Sally with a grin.
’What did you think of our tree?’ Daisy asked as she slipped on her shoes.
‘For a coat stand it don’t look too bad.’
Daisy hurried with Sally along the corridor. ‘At least it won’t die.’
‘No, but we might,’ replied Sally.
Daisy came to a sudden halt. ‘Die?’
‘Yeah, when Hitler arrives.’ Sally was always eager to pass on the news gleaned from her docker father. ‘Dad said London will be the first to fall.’
‘Fall where?’ Daisy asked innocently.
Sally tucked her hair firmly behind her prominent ears. ‘Me dad says they - meaning the Germans - will sail up the estuary to cut the capital off. Like snapping the head off a chicken, Dad says. The rest of its body still runs about but its brains are dead.’
‘Sally, that’s awful,’ protested Daisy with a shudder. ‘Anyway, chickens don’t run about if they have no head. I used to live on a farm, so I know.’
Daisy had no intention of falling into the trap of discussing the war; she heard too much of it at home. But Sally was insistent.
‘What would you do if a German parachutist landed in your back garden?’ Sally demanded. ‘Me dad’s got a gun hidden under the bed. And he’s gonna shoot the first German he sees right between the eyes.’
Daisy turned on her friend with a gasp. ‘A gun?’
‘Would you rather be killed?’
‘No, of course not. But the German might not have a gun or anything. Not if he’s just jumped out of an aeroplane. He might even be friendly.’
‘Why would he be friendly?’ Sally asked as they left the cloakroom. ‘The Germans are our enemies, right? Me dad says everyone should have a gun in the house to defend their family with. They should be government issue really. Dad lost two fingers and four of his toes in the trenches. His hand and foot nearly dropped off from gangrene. He says he’s not going to give the bloody enemy any more body parts. Not likely.’
Daisy wondered if Mr Watson ever overbalanced with an almost toeless foot? Not that it would be less or more painful than being shot in the calf, as Pops had been. However, Pops rarely talked about his “gammy leg”. Everyone in the family knew he was reluctant to discuss his service in the Great War. Which was the opposite it seemed, to Mr Watson who frequently revealed the details to Sally who word for word, repeated the gruesome details.
Once outside in the playground, Daisy and Sally made their way to the corner set aside for playing marbles. But long before they got there, Daisy stopped still, unable to believe her eyes. Bobby was crouching on the ground, shielding his head with his arm. Above him towered Peter Brady. The first kick found Bobby’s ribs and he cried out in pain. The second blow went into Bobby’s exposed shin.
Daisy watched in horror as the assault continued. Where was the duty teacher? The playground seemed unattended. Only the children were present, gathering in groups around the spectacle of a smaller boy being bullied by a much larger one.
Bobby tried his best to crawl away, like a beaten dog, attempting to dodge the wicked boot that tormented it. Daisy felt a stab of revulsion. How could this possibly happen in broad daylight with everyone watching and doing nothing? It seemed to her that some of the children were even enjoying it.
Suddenly there was a high-pitched, searing scream. Daisy gulped. The sound appeared to be coming from her. She knew it was a frightful noise, yet she couldn’t stop making it.
All the faces turned towards her as she flew like the wind across the playground. It was as if her feet weren’t touching the ground. She didn’t care how she looked. The louder and uglier the better. She only cared about Bobby. Nor did she know what she was about to do. Her fingers tingled. Her hands stretched out, waving and clawing.
Before Peter Brady could move, she launched herself on him. Her nails met the unguarded skin of his face and and they fell to the ground.
Chapter 7
‘Daisy, what have you to say for yourself?’
Miss Bailey’s office stood in the corridor three doors before the First Aid Room. Daisy could hear the faint echo of Peter Brady’s cries as Mrs Potter, the caretaker’s wife, applied tincture of iodine to the raw scratches on his face. Daisy knew of course that Peter’s protests were exaggerated. His act was for the benefit of the headmistress.
‘Peter claims that you assaulted him without reason. Your brother, whilst being attended by Mrs Potter, asserts you were not involved. Now which of these stories am I to believe?’
Daisy kept her eyes down. She knew that her offence carried with it some kind of punishment. On the other hand, if she didn’t protest Bobby’s innocence and explain why she had flown at Peter Brady in a rage, how would the truth come to light?
The last thing she remembered was clinging to Peter Brady with some sort of miracle strength. Her nails had done their work without any thought on her part at all. When he’d bashed her on the mouth, she’d spat at him and made him blink so fiercely she’d managed to get in another blow, knocking him off balance. He’d soon recovered and was about to deliver a clenched fist when Bobby appeared. Dirt streaked her brother’s face and muddied his hair. But with arms around Peter’s neck, Bobby had strangled and jostled until Peter’s face had reddened, deepening the scratches on his ch
eeks to crimson.
At that moment the duty teacher had returned and the boys pulled apart. Daisy was left flattened, the inelegant subject of the entire school’s gaze.
Miss Bailey sat ramrod-straight under her woollen twin set. ‘Is there really nothing you’d like to say for yourself?
Daisy ached to say so much but how could she? Both hers and Bobby’s punishments, detentions or the cane, or inconceivably both, simply could not be avoided.
The headmistress took a thin sheet of paper from her drawer. ‘In that case, I shall write to your parents,’ she decided. ‘They will be extremely disappointed in you and your brother. A disagreement is one thing, but physical violence on another pupil will not be tolerated. I hope for your sake that Peter’s injuries are not serious enough to warrant a doctor. Mrs Potter is doing her best to repair the damage.’
Daisy was afraid to look up in case Miss Bailey read her angry thoughts. The bump on her head throbbed so violently she was sure it was vibrating. Her lip tasted salty-sweet. If Peter Brady’s injuries were only half as painful as hers, then she wished she had scratched him more.
‘Daisy, you will forfeit your opportunity to sing solo at the Christmas play. Nora will take your place.’
Daisy’s head jerked up. The world felt as though it was collapsing around her ears. Had she heard right? She was to be robbed of her solo! Yet what punishment had Peter received? Not even a reprimand? She choked back her sob. But she would not cry. Not even let the furious tears close. Well, not now anyway.
‘Tomorrow you will apologise to Peter. You have broken school rules. I hope this punishment will teach you to think carefully before acting on impulse.’
Oh, it certainly will, Daisy longed to say. If being deprived of her starring role in the choir was earth-shattering, apologising to Peter Brady was about the most awful, unjust thing she had ever heard of.
She hadn’t understood the words that Peter Brady had been yelling, but she knew they were bad. She recognised a bully when she saw one. Peter would grow up to be like the men outside Sammy Berger’s house; the same awful men who had daubed the words, “Filthy Yid,” on Mr Berger’s front door.
‘What kind of trouble have you landed us in now?’ Bobby demanded as they walked home from school. They were the last two pupils to leave, except for Peter Brady who was still being treated by Mrs Potter.
‘I’m not a telltale,’ Daisy protested, hurt that Bobby could even think such a thing. Once again, the tears of injustice pricked. Why was Bobby so angry with her? She had only tried to help him.
They marched on in silence through the shabby terraces of two-up two down houses of the Isle of Dogs until Daisy swiped her runny nose with the back of her hand.
Bobby stopped abruptly. ‘What’s up with you now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re crying.’
‘It’s all so unfair,’ she burst out. ‘Peter Brady isn’t punished, but we are.’
‘You’re too young to understand,’ Bobby said impatiently.
Her tears turned to anger again. ‘You’re my brother,’ she spluttered. ‘I couldn’t stand by and watch you get beaten up.’
Bobby reached out and grasped her shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t interfere in a boys’ fight.’
‘Peter Brady is beastly. He deserved what he got.’
‘It’s not your concern,’ Bobby persisted. ‘Peter’s parents are against Jews, so Peter bullies Sammy.’
‘Is that why you helped him?’
Bobby sighed quietly. ’He’s got no other mates.’
Daisy felt a swell of pride. Bobby was fearless. Even though Peter Brady had a gang, Bobby had defended Sammy.
‘I quite like Sammy too,’ she said, her eyes stretched wide. ‘Even though he’s a bit smelly and dirty.’
Bobby withdrew his hands from her shoulders. ‘Sammy and his dad are poor. Sometimes they don’t have anything to eat. Can you imagine starving?’
Daisy tried to imagine being hungry and not having a meal to look forward to. This, she discovered, was almost impossible. For Mother and Pops saw to it that their family was fed and clothed and given a happy, harmonious home to live in. Unlike the slum where Sammy lived.
‘You’ve got a great big bruise on your shin.’ Daisy pointed to Bobby’s injured leg. ‘It’s where Peter kicked you.’
Bobby pulled up his sock. ’Doesn’t show now.’
‘You can’t see my cut either.’ She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. ‘Lucky, it’s on the inside of my lip. But I’ve got a bump on my forehead.’
Bobby gave her a long, level stare. ‘Don’t worry, it’s under your fringe.’
They were half way home when Daisy realised the biggest challenge of all was still looming ahead. ‘What shall we tell Mother?’
Bobby replied in a tone that sent fresh shivers over her skin. ‘We don’t say a word!’
‘Why not?’
‘Grown-ups want to know why you’ve been in trouble, but really they don’t. Sorting it all out is a big problem for them.’
Daisy stared into her brother’s brave, bright blue gaze. This time she thought she understood. Aunt Betty, for instance, had a problem. So she had shared it with Aunt Minnie who, also unable to solve it, had passed it on to Mother.
This process, Daisy decided, was like giving someone a cold. It gathered pace, and infected lots more people. If Aunt Betty had never stood close to Mr Calder, then she wouldn’t have passed the cold to Aunt Minnie and Aunt Minnie to Mother.
It was quite clear to Daisy now, from what she had learned from Bobby, that the more people who got involved, the worse it became.
‘Did you get detention from Miss Bailey?’ Bobby asked.
‘No,’ she replied resentfully. ‘Nora Fudge has been given my solo.’
Bobby whistled through his teeth. ‘Poor old you.’
‘I don’t care,’ she insisted, though of course, she did. ‘What should I say to Mother when she reads the letter?’
‘Don’t say a word. Leave the talking to me.’
Daisy’s heart filled with admiration. Bobby was her brother, but more than that, he was her hero.
She would never, ever let him down. Showing him she was loyal had been worth losing her solo.
Chapter 8
‘It was just a scrap,’ Bobby explained after Mother had read the letter.
‘What caused it?’ Mother enquired from her chair beside the fire.
‘I can’t even remember what it was.’
‘So it wasn’t serious?’ Mother questioned. ‘Not something I should know about?’
Bobby shook his head. ’We don’t get on. I think he’s an idiot. He thinks I’m one.’
Daisy watched her brother shrug and automatically, she shrugged herself. This gesture caused Mother to glance her way. ‘And you, Daisy. How did you get involved?’
‘She was meddling as usual,’ Bobby answered before Daisy could speak. ‘Got in the way like she always does.’
Daisy wanted to protest but Bobby kept talking.
‘Not that she meant to scratch his cheek,’ he elaborated. ‘Girls are useless when they fight. Like cats.’
‘Is this true, Daisy?’ Mother asked.
Daisy chewed on her sore lip. ‘I s’pose.’
‘Miss Bailey writes she is most upset,’ Mother said sadly. ‘And I am too. You fought over something so trivial that neither of you can remember what it was. Yet this boy has been physically injured.’
Daisy felt as if she had been dealt a stomach blow. More, she felt ashamed. Guilty, even. But it simply wasn’t fair! The fight had not been over something small, but very big indeed. A grown-up problem passed like a cold from Peter’s parents to their horrid son and eventually to school and Bobby and then Miss Bailey. No one knew the real cause.
‘Have I your word this won’t happen again?’
Bobby nodded. Daisy forced herself to follow.
Mother folded the letter back into its envelope. ‘Of course, Mr and
Mrs Brady will have something to say about their son’s injuries. Scratches on the face can be most painful.’ With a quick glance at Daisy she added, ‘They are also tremendously obvious.’
Daisy raised her eyes carefully and met Mother’s gaze. She quickly looked down again.
‘You’ll both apologise to Peter tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bobby.
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, ’but I don’t see why - ‘
‘We’re sorry,’ Bobby interrupted, pressing his arm hard against hers.
‘Such a pity,’ sighed Mother. ‘We all look forward to the Nativity play. Really, Daisy, has your involvement in something that was never your business in the first place been worth losing your solo?’
Despite the insistent pressure of Bobby’s arm on hers, Daisy had the most enormous urge to defend herself. To reveal that Peter Brady was the architect of their misfortune. It was Peter Brady who was the nastiest, cruellest, slyest bully in all of London.
‘And it won’t happen again?’ asked Mother.
Bobby shook his head firmly. Daisy, asserting a good deal of will power, followed suit.
Their mother’s face was full of suppressed feelings; love and sadness, pride and regret, trust and suspicion. Tears threatened Daisy again at the wrongness of it all.
‘I love you both,’ said Mother. ‘But you must learn that life doesn’t always work in the way we want it to.’
But why should they apologise to Peter when there was nothing to apologise for? Grown-ups, Daisy decided, just as Bobby predicted, inhabited another world altogether.
The following day Daisy apologised to Peter. He grinned smugly and put out his hand for her to shake. As Miss Bailey was present, she had to take it. He squeezed her fingers so hard she almost cried out in pain. He’d done the same to Bobby too. Oh, how she loathed Peter Brady!
