A Sister's Duty

by June Francis

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘When the tram jumped the points.’

  Rosie almost choked with relief. A broken arm or leg, she thought, remembering what Violet had said about slippery pavements.

  A head popped into view above a shattered window. It was male, wearing a helmet with ‘MP’ on it. A large capable-looking hand shone a torch into their faces. ‘Anyone want out of there?’ asked its owner cheerfully.

  ‘Ask a daft question,’ murmured the woman, who had Harry and Babs in tow. She thrust the boy forward. ‘Could you get these kids out, mate?’

  ‘Sure, ma’am!’ He touched his helmet with the side of his hand, telling them to step back, and got rid of the jagged pieces of glass remaining in a side front window pretty sharpish.

  In no time at all, the four Kilshaw children were standing on the road. Several firemen, civilian policemen and transport workers were now on the scene, their offices in Hatton Garden a short distance away having been swiftly alerted. The headlights of the US jeep lit up a scene reminiscent of the Blitz and there was a smell of brick dust and hot metal in the air. A live cable swung dangerously above two trams lying on their sides and Rosie realised that the other tram must have been the first thing theirs had hit.

  She took Dotty and Harry by the hand, telling Babs to stick close, and began walking back to where the tram had jumped the points. Suddenly, a constable, past middle age and plump, loomed up in front of them. One of those, she presumed, who had been called upon after retirement when younger men had gone to war. Rosie could see where he had cut his chin shaving as, lowering his head, he gasped, ‘Where are you off to, kids? You’ve got a few cuts that’ll need seeing to. Wait for the ambulances. They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘We’re looking for Mam. She fell off the tram when it jumped the points.’ Rosie’s voice trembled despite all her efforts to stay calm.

  ‘Well then, I think I’d better come along with you,’ he said, taking Babs’s hand and falling in beside them.

  People were hurrying past towards the scene of the accident but one man was crouching over a figure sprawled on the pavement. Instantly, Rosie left the others and ran.

  ‘Take it easy now,’ said the policeman, catching up with her and placing a hand on her shoulder as she knelt on the pavement.

  Scarcely aware of him, Rosie gazed down at her mother’s ashen face. There was blood coming out of her nose, which made Rosie feel sick all over again. She was scared, just as she had been on the night of Harry’s birth. Removing her woolly hat and swallowing back tears, Rosie placed it beneath her mother’s cheek. Then, taking one of her hands, she chafed it, pretending not to have seen the blood staining the hoary pavement.

  ‘An ambulance’ll be here soon,’ said the constable in a would-be comforting voice, taking off his cape and covering Violet with it. It was true. Rosie could hear bells clanging as if to say, Make way! Make way! He picked up a handbag lying on the pavement. ‘Is this your mam’s?’

  ‘Yes!’ Rosie almost snatched it from him, looping it over her shoulder. Violet never allowed anyone to look in her handbag. She made jokes about keeping her secrets in there. She watched the policeman taking out a notebook and pencil, and was irritated. Surely he wasn’t going to start asking them questions now?

  But he was. ‘Now how about giving me some details about yourselves while we’re waiting?’

  ‘It’s my birfday,’ said Harry, breathing noisily through his nose while sucking his thumb.

  Babs said crossly, ‘Stop that. Only babies suck their thumbs.’

  Harry took his thumb out of his mouth and looked up at the policeman. ‘I’m five today, and we were going to the pantomime.’

  ‘To see Mother Goose. Mam was treating us,’ said Dotty in a shaky voice. ‘We won’t be able to go now and I was looking forward to it even though I wouldn’t have been able to see it. I’d have enjoyed the jokes and the music.’

  ‘Shut up about it,’ snapped Rosie. ‘What’s a pantomime when Mam’s bad like this?’

  ‘Now don’t be getting yourself upset,’ said the policeman. ‘Give me your mam’s name and address and, tell me, is your dad in the Forces?’

  The four Kilshaws shook their heads. ‘He was killed before he could go and fight,’ said Babs. ‘Crushed by a truckload of scrap iron on the dock road.’

  The policeman clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Shame! Any other family? Grannies, aunts, uncles?’

  Before they could reply, a man appeared, carrying a small black bag. Hastily, Rosie moved out of his way, holding her breath as he bent over Violet, willing him to be able to do something. But his inspection was brief, and he asked the policeman to direct the ambulance over to them before giving the children his attention. ‘You’d all better go to the hospital along with your mother and have those lacerations seen to.’

  ‘Mam?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Too early to tell.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder a moment and then left.

  An ambulance came and Violet was slid on to a stretcher. Rosie thought how lovely it would be if suddenly she regained consciousness because of the movement, just like in Snow White when the poisoned bit of apple had been dislodged and the heroine came back to life.

  ‘I’m frightened,’ whispered Dotty, her hand creeping into Rosie’s as they climbed into the ambulance.

  ‘“Don’t think it and it won’t be,”’ muttered Rosie. ‘Remember Mam saying that? Now smile or you’ll worry Harry.’

  ‘I’ll try. Honestly, I’ll try. But it’s not easy, Rosie. What’ll happen to us if—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she said fiercely, squashing her sister against Babs and putting an arm round Harry.

  The policeman joined them, asking the little boy about his birthday, going on to talk about steam locomotives and a journey to Yorkshire before the war with his own son.

  Within minutes, they’d arrived at the Royal Infirmary in Pembroke Place and once inside, Violet was whisked away. Rosie would have gone with her but was told to be sensible and look after her brother and sisters. There followed an unpleasant half hour while glass was dug out of faces and abrasions dealt with. Then the policeman asked them if there were any female relatives who could stay with them that night.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Rosie, expression defiant, folding her arms. ‘I’m staying here until I know Mam’s OK.’

  ‘There’s the aunts,’ said Babs. ‘And Grandfather.’

  Rosie glared at her. ‘Have you forgotten?’

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  Rosie continued to glare at her and Babs rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that! I bet half of it was Mam’s fault. You know how she gets.’

  ‘How can you say that? She’s only the way she is because of them!’ cried Rosie, her fury ready to erupt.

  Babs shrugged. ‘Aunt Iris was OK. Remember how she took us in the garden and played with us?’

  ‘Her? She’ll be no help! She was under their thumb. Remember Mam telling us that?’

  ‘What’s it matter now?’ Babs rested her chin on one hand. ‘It’s years ago. The war’s probably changed everything.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ muttered Rosie, tapping her foot on the floor.

  ‘Give us the address of one of them,’ said the policeman, coaxingly.

  Rosie said grimly, ‘Don’t you dare, Babs!’

  ‘Come on, Babs,’ said the policeman persuasively.

  ‘Having trouble?’ A woman dressed in the uniform of the Women’s Auxiliary Peace Corps stood at the policeman’s shoulder.

  Rosie nudged her sister in the ribs. ‘Not a word,’ she hissed. ‘Or it’ll be the worst for you when Mam comes to.’

  ‘You think she will?’ whispered Babs.

  ‘Just keep your mouth shut.’

  The policeman looked down at the two sisters and they stared woodenly back at him. He sighed. ‘I need someone to stay with these kids tonight. Their mam’s not too good,’ he explained.

  ‘Sure, I’ll look after them,’
said the woman, expression sympathetic. ‘What an evening it’s been for you, hey, kids? I bet you’re worn out. Shall we be off?’

  ‘I want to stay,’ insisted Rosie, scared all of a sudden that if she left the hospital she might never see her mother again.

  ‘I understand how you feel,’ said the woman brightly. ‘But think of your sisters and brother. They need you and their beds. Leave your mam to the experts.’ She placed a firm arm round Rosie, ushering her unwilling body to the exit.

  At home, the cat was mewing on the step. Rosie scooped him up, pressing her face against his fur a moment before thrusting him into Babs’s arms. She hurried ahead to light the gas mantle, tears threatening, remembering how they had been so looking forward to the evening a few hours ago. She rushed out of the room, not wanting to disgrace herself by giving in to her tears, and ran down the yard to the lavatory.

  It was almost pitch black with the door closed because the storm lantern placed there to prevent the pipes from freezing had gone out. Placing her mother’s handbag on the wooden seat, she allowed the tears to fall. She remembered Joe hanging that very same lantern here year after year when she was a child and wished fervently he had not died. Her father had had eyes which could change from sadness to humour and devilment as quickly as you could say ‘Flash Harry’.

  They had never had much money, though their house had been a happy place with him in it. But she knew little about his family background, she realised. He had seldom mentioned his mother who, Violet had told her, had been as against the marriage as her own family and had cut her son out of her life after he set his will against hers. As for his father, Joe himself had said he remembered there being a row and his sailor father Walter Kilshaw leaving in a hurry. His mother had told him Walter had gone to join his ship, but he had never returned and Joe, only a small boy at the time, had mourned his passing, believing him lost at sea.

  Rosie felt doubly sad now, regretting she had never got to know any of her grandparents. Violet had been convinced Joe’s mother, Maggie Kilshaw, was dead. She had lived not far from the docks where the city had been heavily bombed. The houses there were a far cry from the one in West Derby. Rosie found herself thinking again of her Grandfather Needham and aunts and of that visit after Joe’s death.

  Her mother had been quite cheerful, convinced she could persuade Grandfather Needham to give them money. After all, she had said, she had once been his favourite daughter. That was why it had hurt him so much, her marrying against his will.

  Rosie shivered, remembering the humdinger of a row with Aunt Amelia’s angry contralto voice joining in. They could be heard in the garden where Aunt Iris had taken the children to play. Rosie had immediately rushed to press her face against the French windows and been scared almost out of her wits by the sight of her grandfather’s face. His eyes were bulging, his cheeks scarlet, and she had moved away quickly, thinking he might explode. But not before Amelia had spotted her and given her a furious look.

  Within minutes, Violet had come searching for them, hurting their wrists as she seized hold of them, storming out of the garden, yelling she would never return and that they’d better never darken her doors, ever! And they never had.

  Footsteps sounded in the yard and a voice called, ‘You haven’t fallen down, have you, luv?’

  ‘No, I’m coming.’ Rosie dragged automatically on the chain but it did not release a torrent of water. The pipes had frozen and in the morning they would have to carry a bucket of water down to flush the lav. It was enough to make her weep all over again.

  ‘You OK?’ said the woman cheerfully, meeting her at the back door and hurrying her inside.

  ‘Fine,’ she said tersely, realising in an almost heart-stopping moment that the woman must have used nearly all the coal to have stoked the fire so that it glowed deep red. Babs was making toast before it.

  ‘Where’s the kids’ night things?’

  ‘We don’t have any. Just underpants and vest or knickers and vest,’ said Rosie, embarrassed.

  ‘No problem,’ said the woman, still cheerful. ‘It’ll save warming them up. I’ll bunk down on the couch.’

  ‘You could have Mam’s bed,’ said Dotty eagerly, turning her face towards her. ‘Me and Babs sleep in her room in a single bed.’

  ‘No, you’re OK, luv. The couch is fine.’

  ‘I sleep with Rosie,’ said Harry, pushing his new engine back and forth on the linoleum. ‘We couldn’t afford another bed when I got too big for me cot.’

  ‘Shush,’ muttered Rosie. ‘You don’t have to tell everyone. It would have been difficult getting one anyway with shortages.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said the woman, adding casually, ‘Does your mother have any family?’

  Before Rosie could prevent her, Dotty said, ‘Two sisters and a father.’

  ‘And where do they live?’

  Rosie shot a warning look at Babs and said swiftly, ‘We’re not going to tell you! We’ll manage without them.’

  From her perch on a sagging easy chair, Dotty said, ‘I’ve only met them once. When Dad died and Mam took us to see Grandfather. I was only eight. It was a lovely house with a huge garden. I remember the flowers smelling all spicy and sweet.’

  ‘I was nine,’ said Babs, forking another slice of bread.

  ‘It was just after I caught measles and my eyes went funny,’ said Dotty. ‘Mam went there for money. D’you think—’ She turned her face in Rosie’s direction.

  ‘I think you should shut up,’ muttered her eldest sister, scraping margarine on to the toast.

  Harry looked up at her and without a word left his engine, resting his head against her thigh. ‘Don’t get upset,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘Don’t get upset, Rosie. You know Mammy doesn’t like it when we get upset.’

  Rosie placed her cheek against his hair. ‘You’re right, love. But she’d like it even less if her sisters set foot in this house. So let’s have no more said about them, Dotty. It’s time we were all in bed, anyway.’

  The woman looked at her but said nothing more about the aunts, and after having a slice of toast each and a hot drink, they went upstairs.

  Rosie woke early, slipping out of bed cautiously so as not to wake Harry, dressing and creeping down the wooden stairs.

  In the kitchen she found their local bobby, drinking Camp coffee with the WAPS woman. He stood up immediately Rosie entered, a solemn and unhappy expression on his face. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. But they said she didn’t suffer at all.’

  Although half expecting the bad news, it knocked her sideways and if she had not sat down hurriedly, she would have fallen. Rosie sank her head into her hands, struggling with tears.

  ‘You cry if you want to, luv,’ said the woman, standing at her shoulder and patting it.

  Immediately, the girl lifted her head. What was the point in weeping? she thought. It wasn’t going to bring her mother back. She rose and made herself some tea, drinking it piping hot. But even the heat did not melt the icy lump inside her chest.

  ‘These aunts, Rosie.’ The bobby straddled a dining chair, gazing at her with a whole world of sympathy in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to tell me where they live.’

  ‘No! I can look after us,’ she said desperately. ‘I’ll leave school and get a job. I’ve been used to caring for the others when Mam’s been out evenings.’

  ‘It’s not on, luv. You need your aunts if there’s no one else.’

  Rosie was silent, twisting a handful of the chenille tablecloth between her fingers. ‘You’re wrong. I could look after us with Mrs Baxendale next door’s help. She’s very respectable, sings in the choir.’

  He sighed. ‘She’ll do for today, luv. But you’re going to have to tell me where those aunts live. What are you going to do for money, like? You couldn’t earn enough to keep you all.’

  Rosie jumped to her feet, dark hair flying about her shoulders, a wild look in her eyes. ‘The last thing they’ll give us is money! They wouldn’t g
ive it to Mam. They’re not going to care about us. You don’t know that family. Mam said . . .’ She stopped, sinking on to her chair, knees shaking, realising she would never hear her mother saying anything ever again.

  ‘Families do fall out. There could be reasons you don’t know anything about,’ said the bobby with careful patience. ‘So where do they live?’

  Rosie stared at him, full lower lip pressed against the thinner upper one. Then she swallowed. ‘You’re not going to wear me down.’ She rose to her feet, adding loudly, ‘I’ve got to get the kids’ breakfast ready before we go to school. I’ve had the oats in soak.’

  ‘You’re not doing yourself any favours. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to tell me,’ said the policeman, exasperated. ‘With your mam dead, yer don’t have a choice.’

  From the doorway a thin voice said, ‘They live in West Derby.’

  ‘Don’t say another word!’ yelled Rosie, incensed.

  Dotty came further into the room, padding on the linoleum in her bare feet, clutching a disreputable golliwog in one hand and wearing her underskirt and liberty bodice. She collided with the chair which the bobby had pulled out, yelping, ‘Who moved that?’

  ‘Serves you right,’ said Rosie coldly. She turned to the policeman. ‘She won’t remember. She was only a kid.’

  ‘It smelt of lavender and beeswax polish,’ said her sister, sitting down. ‘It’s in Honey’s Green Lane, Babs said.’ Dotty’s face turned in Rosie’s direction. ‘She said if Mam died we could be put in an orphanage and I don’t want to be put into an orphanage, Rosie, so what else can we do? Aunt Iris was OK.’

  Rosie made no reply, her own face pinched and drawn. Placing the trivet over the fire and putting on the porridge pan, she said, ‘I’m going to wake the others and then we’re going to school.’ She walked out of the kitchen, head held high.

  ‘Stubborn, isn’t she?’ marvelled the woman.

  ‘She’s like Mam.’ A tear escaped to roll slowly down Dotty’s left cheek. ‘Poor Mam. But they will help, won’t they? They’re family. They’ll have to. They live in Honey’s Green Lane. It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?’