The Bells of Bournville Green

by Annie Murray

  And there was she doing all sorts. Two weeks ago the Seven O’Clock Club had gone to the Alpha TV studios in Aston to see them recording Thank Your Lucky Stars – and the Beatles had been on! It was ever so glamorous, the cameras and bright lights! Trev had been green over that, her seeing the Beatles in the flesh. But there were all sorts of other things going on – talks and sketches, music and outings, and he just poured scorn on them or said, ‘What d’you want to go and do that for?’

  Sometimes, she thought, all Trev ever wanted to do was sit in a pub with a pint and stare at the wall. More and more it made her want to scream. She took a deep breath, telling herself she was being unkind. After all, Trevor had good reason to be fed up with her as well.

  ‘Look, love—’ She went and stood behind his chair, hands on his shoulders. ‘We’ll go tomorrow. It’s a date – all right?’

  Trevor twisted round, his pale face eager, like a little boy. ‘Shall we, Gret? Eh – come here.’

  He pulled her round to sit on his lap.

  ‘Trev, the kettle’s about to boil – and I’m all grease down my front!’ She tried to get up, but he pulled her down.

  ‘Sit here – I want you to.’ He cuddled up against her, a hand on her breast once again, then ran his tongue along the lobe of her ear. ‘That’s my girl. Eh, Gret, before you go, can we . . . ? You know . . . You’ve got time, ain’t you . . . ?’

  ‘Trev! No I haven’t! You’re terrible you are!’

  Trev grinned in a sort of ‘Well, it was worth a try’ sort of way. Then his face became serious again.

  ‘I don’t s’pose . . . Is there any sign of . . . You know . . . ?’

  Trevor had no words for anything that went on with women’s bodies, periods, pregnancies, the very names of anything. He always trailed off, leaving her to guess what he was trying to say. But this time she knew exactly what he meant. It was what he always meant.

  The kettle started to whistle and she jumped up.

  ‘No,’ she said softly, her back to him. ‘There isn’t. Sorry, love.’

  She could feel him staring at her.

  ‘Our Mom says you’d oughta go and see the doctor,’ Trevor said. ‘You ain’t taking anything, are yer?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Our Mom says there’s pills you can have now to stop it. . .’

  ‘No! Why would I be doing that?’

  ‘She says no one takes this long to catch for a babby if there ain’t nothing wrong.’

  Greta put the tea and a mug on the table, still not looking at him, but her heart was pounding and she knew her face had blushed a guilty red. Two years they’d been married and Trevor had been patient at first and he hadn’t got a clue anyway. She kept telling him that it often took a long while.

  But two years! Of course they’d all be on about it – Ruby, Trev’s mother, even Marleen. Hasn’t our Gret caught for a babby yet? Ruby had said things to her, but Greta had fended her off. What business was it of Mom’s whether she became instantly pregnant the minute she got married? Didn’t anyone have anything else on their mind?

  But poor Trevor – she knew he longed for children. That was the whole point of getting married so far as he was concerned. He wanted a wife who was always in the kitchen with a gaggle of kids round her, and so far he had neither.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ she said gently, pouring milk into his cup. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  She knew she wouldn’t. There was no point in going to the doctor because Dr Lonsdale knew exactly why she wasn’t having a baby. It was he who prescribed the little cards of pills that she kept in a secret little soap box with a sprig of lavender painted on the lid, in the kitchen cupboard, behind the tins and packets, the pills she had been taking since the very week they got married.

  When she said ‘Yes’ to marrying Trevor, that summer, after things had ended with Dennis, everything seemed to happen very fast. She had gone running back to Trevor, to all that was easy and familiar, needing his adoration after her humiliation with Dennis, and Trevor had obliged with gleeful willingness.

  They married at the registry office. She found a long, pretty white dress in C & A and Trevor wore a suit which hung loosely on his skinny frame. He had beamed with delight the whole day long.

  ‘I can’t believe my luck!’ he kept telling everyone. ‘The prettiest girl in the world and she’s going to be Mrs Biddle!’

  Alf Biddle found them the house for rent in Glover Road.

  ‘Nice and near Trev’s work and yours, Gret,’ he said kindly.

  Greta had forced a grateful smile. She had hoped that getting away from home would entail going further afield than just round the corner in Glover Road, but still, the rent was reasonable and it was better than nothing. At least she’d got away from Marleen and Mom and flaming Herbert Smail. By the time she moved out he was starting to leave his slippers in the house.

  Forty-six Glover Road was owned by a fat, lazy landlord who did not keep the place in good repair. There were big patches of damp on some of the walls and both the front step and door frame were broken. Trevor, handier with his hands than Greta expected, was delighted with it.

  ‘We can soon sort it out,’ he said, arm round Greta’s shoulders as they first went in with the key. ‘Our little castle, that’s what it is.’

  Greta went through that whole time in a shocked daze. Ruby was pleased, of course. That was what you did, marriage and kids, and it was at least one of her daughters off her hands. She also liked the Biddles. Trevor was a good lad, she said, now he’d grown up a bit. Marleen just shrugged and said, ‘You might as well, mightn’t you?’ Pat tried to look pleased for her.

  ‘You sure about it, Gret?’ she asked once, as they walked home from work together. She sounded concerned.

  But Greta just said, ‘Yeah, course. Trev’s all right. Anyway – at least it’s not like the old days at Cad-bury’s when they gave you a carnation and a bible and a wave bye-bye if you got married. I’ll still be here, you know!’

  ‘Oh, that’s what you think. It won’t be long before you’ll be up to your eyes in nappies and bottles,’ Pat predicted.

  Greta had already decided that this was not going to happen, but she didn’t say anything. She squeezed her friend’s arm.

  ‘I expect it’ll be the same for you soon. But I’m not going anywhere, Pat. We’ve practically been brought up by Cadbury’s, haven’t we? All those days in the school and factory, and all the swims we’ve had – well, we still will!’

  Pat looked a bit comforted by this. They had often had lunchtime dips in the Girls’ Baths, where they had been taught to swim as youngsters.

  ‘Me getting married won’t make any difference – honest it won’t.’

  She knew, in a vague way, while she was in town buying her wedding dress, and she knew even as she stood in front of the registrar making her wedding vows, that this was all a terrible mistake. Trev loved her, that she did believe. She needed someone to love her and want her, and in a spirit of hoping for the best, she bet on that being enough. She knew she didn’t love him and felt badly about it, so she tried to be affectionate. After all she liked Trevor. He was a mate, someone she knew through and through. But she had barely yet admitted to herself that she’d married him on the rebound because she was angry: with Dennis for his snobby, superior assessment of her, with her Mom and Marleen and the way everything was at home. And she was angry with herself, for not doing more with her life, for not achieving more for herself.

  A few days before the wedding she went to Doctor Lonsdale for the pill. He was not a thorough doctor, and when she said she was about to marry and wanted to delay having a family, he said, ‘Very well,’ and handed her the prescription. She never said a word to Trevor.

  Marriage felt like a game, as if she and Trevor were playing at it like children, even if they were married solemnly, in the eyes of the law. But there was one thing she was sure about: there would be no babies, not for a long time.

  Chapter Twent
y-Two

  She couldn’t complain that Trevor was unloving. Not at first, especially. He practically worshipped her. Whenever he came in from work the first thing he always did was fling his arms round her and kiss her. And she was flattered and, for the first time in her life, enjoyed being at the centre of someone’s adoring attention.

  There was the new experience of having their own home, even if it was tatty and the landlord never seemed to bother with anything. It was all a bit like playing house, like children, having fun buying pieces of furniture from second-hand shops and painting and covering the walls with papers in bold, bright, patterns, orange and brown circles in one room, green leaves with big pink flowers in another.

  They bought a second-hand record player and Trevor started talking about saving up for a car. Greta suddenly felt very grown up, having her own frontdoor key, able to make her own decisions without her Mom bossing her about at every step. Best of all, she didn’t have to come home to a house full of Mary Lou’s tantrums, the squalling of Marleen’s new baby, Elvis, or Herbert Smail’s oily presence. And Trevor was her mate, she’d known him much of her life and was comfortable with him, as she was with his Mom and Dad. There wasn’t anything she had to make too much effort about. She didn’t feel all the time that she was trying too hard, the way she had with Dennis.

  In fact she didn’t feel much for Trevor at all, except a familiar fondness. Certainly there was no passion, although when it came to the bedroom, she was touched by his enthusiasm in that department. Trevor couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  ‘We’ll soon have us a nice little family, won’t we, Gret?’ he used to say in the early days, as they lay in their little bedroom overlooking the street, where they heard the postman whistling along from house to house in the mornings.

  Greta would smile at him and say something like, ‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, love?’

  After a few months had passed she started to say, ‘There’s no hurrying Mother Nature. She takes her time.’

  Trevor was very patient to begin with. ‘I suppose it’s nice to have a bit of time on our own,’ he said. ‘Once kiddies come along there’s no turning back – that’s what our Mom always says. All the same – it’d be nice if summat happened soon.’

  ‘Oh I ’spect it will,’ she said, comfortingly.

  Six months after Greta and Trevor’s wedding, Ruby had persuaded Marleen to have a christening for Mary Lou and Elvis. Both Greta and Marleen were puzzled by her making an issue out of this, and it only became clear why later in the day.

  It was February, and they all gathered at St Francis’s Church on the Green in Bournville huddled up in warm coats. Herbert Smail was there, to Greta’s disgust.

  ‘Anyone’d think he was part of the family,’ she complained to Marleen.

  He seemed to have put on even more weight and his jacket buttons were under strain. His hair was combed over his bald patch and even in the cold he looked hot and bothered, yet also very pleased with himself.

  Marleen was still as thin as a rake and had on a short dress in black and white diagonal stripes which made Greta’s eyes go funny every time she looked at it. Marleen had bleached her hair and back-combed it up into a big beehive and she was heavily made up with eye-liner and mascara. Even with all the makeup on, she looked exhausted.

  Greta and Ruby had to help her keep Mary Lou and Elvis under control while the ceremony took place. Meanwhile Ruby stood smiling proudly, holding Herbert’s arm. Elvis was a proper little bullet-headed bruiser, who was just beginning to crawl and wriggled and squirmed constantly, wanting to be put down, and Mary Lou kept yanking at her mother’s skirt, trying to get her attention. They had to keep a tight hold on them by the font. Eventually their small party emerged out of the church into the cold grey day.

  ‘Right now, you lot,’ Ruby said. ‘We’ll all go back to ours and wet Elvis’s head.’ They walked back to Selly Oak, and almost as soon as they were through the door, coats still on, Ruby seemed bursting to speak.

  ‘Just listen a tick before you all start.’ She was pink-cheeked. ‘This is a double celebration. We’ve got a surprise for yer.’ She eyed Herbert, taking his arm with a coquettish smile which made Greta’s stomach lurch with embarrassment. ‘Thing is, Herbert and I have a surprise for you . . .’ She paused dramatically and Herbert beamed with revolting bashfulness. ‘He and I got married yesterday – on the quiet with a couple of witnesses. We just wanted a quiet wedding – no fuss. So – we’re now man and wife!’

  Greta looked at Marleen, who mimicked being sick. But everyone else tried to sound pleased, and soon Ruby was opening bottles and putting out plates of sausage rolls and there was nothing they could do about any of it anyway. Greta even felt sorry for Marleen.

  ‘It’s a bit much,’ she said to her, ‘Mom making you have a christening so she can take it over and tell us about her and Herbert getting married by the back door!’

  Marleen rolled her eyes. ’I just let them get on with it. Here – take him off me a minute. Give over, will yer!’ she snapped at Elvis, who was throwing himself backwards as she tried to hold on to him. They were all in the front room, the small family and a very few of Ruby’s Cadbury’s friends. Greta noticed that her mother had not invited either Edie or Janet. Wouldn’t they have approved of her marrying Herbert? Was that why she didn’t ask them, even though they were such old friends – they knew her all too well!

  She was sitting on the sofa holding a squirming Elvis, amazed at his eight-month-old strength, when Trevor came over in his baggy suit. He squatted down beside them.

  ‘Come ’ere mate – I’ll take him for a bit, shall I? Give Marleen a rest.’

  Greta felt a pang of guilt and she saw Elvis look up awestruck at Trevor and move eagerly into his arms. Trevor was good with kids, it was obvious. And she was depriving him of having any. But the thought of it, of being stuck with it all and with Trevor, appalled her, she was shocked to realize how much. That wasn’t how you were supposed to feel, was it?

  Marleen sat smoking and watching without much apparent interest as Trevor played with Elvis, holding him high in the air until the little boy let out delighted chuckles. Marleen had calmed down a bit since having Elvis. Either calmed down or had the stuffing knocked out of her, Greta couldn’t decide which. She just seemed rather lifeless now.

  A burst of laughter rang across the room. Ruby, Herbert and one or two others were sharing a joke. She watched her Mom, laughing, self-satisfied yet somehow vulnerable as well, and the sight dragged her down. Was this the fate of women in her family – to keep marrying any old bloke who came along? Her own wedding had only been six months ago, and hadn’t she done just the same thing? She pushed the thought away. She and Trevor were OK! They were happy enough weren’t they?

  But hard as she tried to persuade herself, a sinking, desperate feeling came over her as she watched her mother link her arm through that of a man who none of them could stand and who she didn’t think Ruby loved either. He was just someone, anyone in trousers to have around the place. Watching her mother that day, it was as if she had suddenly woken up and found herself in a place she didn’t expect. How had she come to be married to Trevor? How could she have done it all so lightly, just rushing into it? How could she ever make anything of herself now? She had slipped somehow into marriage and now there was no turning back.

  This thought, as she stood there on her mother’s third wedding day, a match so ghastly that even Ruby had kept the ceremony a secret, made her feel utterly desolate.

  When they got home later, Trevor was all lit up. He had spent most of the afternoon entertaining Mary Lou and Elvis, making them laugh, tickling them and clowning around. They kept hearing Elvis’s gurgling laughter.

  ‘Wasn’t that lovely?’ he said as they got into the house. Greta went wearily and put the kettle on.

  ‘Umm, s’pose, so.’ She slammed it down on the hob.

  ‘What d’you mean, s’pose so? Your Mom’s done w
ell for herself there, I reckon. That Herbert’s all right – and he’s got a bit of money behind him.’

  ‘Has he?’ she asked, indifferently. ‘Maybe that’s why she married him then.’

  Trevor looked shocked. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it? They looked very happy together.’

  ‘Have you looked at him, Trevor? Can’t you see, he’s just vile!’

  ‘No he’s not! And anyway – you’re the one who’s always saying looks aren’t everything!’

  Greta stared at him furiously, wanting to lash out in her frustration. Damn Trevor and the whole bloody lot of them! All she said was something she had been thinking about all afternoon. It was when she had decided for certain.

  ‘I’m going to go to French lessons,’ she announced.

  ‘What?’ Trev’s brow crinkled. ‘What’re you on about? I don’t get it.’

  ‘No,’ Greta snapped. ‘I don’t s’pose you do, Trevor.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The other thing that had finally propelled Greta into attending classes and trying to better herself was a chance meeting with Edie one day, in the girls’ dining room at Cadbury’s. Edie was carrying a bowl of soup on a tray, her russet hair tied up neatly.

  ‘Oh hello, Greta!’ Edie greeted her warmly, her smile including Pat as well. ‘How are you, love?’

  ‘All right,’ Greta said, blushing. She liked and admired Edie.

  ‘Come and sit with me,’ Edie invited, and Greta followed her small but robust figure to a table where they all sat together.

  ‘They’ve taken me on for seasonal work now I’ve got Peter,’ Edie said, ‘so I’m back along with your Mom – just like old times! We work three days together – she’s off today and I’m off Fridays. They’ve taken me on for the great Easter egg rush – I’m packing them into the Waddies.’ The Milk Tray eggs were packed into Waddington’s cartons. ‘Oh it’s really nice to be back, I can tell you. I’ve missed it.’

  Her freckly face was full of enthusiasm and Greta saw she was looking at someone who was radiantly happy.