Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Someone handed them mugs of tea; others were giving out sandwiches, sharing their precious food with anyone who needed it, but all the time they kept singing. It went on until the small hours when the grown-ups realized that it was time the children settled down to sleep, if any sleep were possible.

  Jenny, Bobby and the other youngsters, wrapped warmly in blankets, fell asleep but for some of the adults the night was long and restless. When they emerged into the daylight at the sound of the all-clear it was to see devastation all around them.

  ‘Let’s get home, Arfer,’ Dot said, suddenly subdued. ‘That’s if we’ve still got a home to go to.’

  Twenty-Four

  Their street was just as they’d left it. The house further down that had been hit the previous night was still in a state of collapse, but no other damage had been done.

  ‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Dot said, opening her front door. ‘Hello, door’s not locked. Didn’t you lock it, Arfer?’

  ‘’Course I did,’ he said irritably, then a look of fear crossed his face. He pushed past Dot and Jenny and hurried upstairs. He came down with a face like thunder. ‘Me stuff’s gone.’

  Dot gasped. ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yeah. If I catch up with whoever’s—’ He frowned and murmured, ‘I wonder.’

  He strode out of the house and banged on the Huttons’ door. Dot and Jenny stood watching.

  ‘What’s goin’ on, Mum?’ But Dot didn’t answer.

  ‘Ronnie – Ronnie, come on out here,’ Arthur shouted. Families, trooping back cold and tired after their night in the underground, glanced at him curiously.

  The door flew open and Elsie Hutton stood there. She was not her usual warm-hearted, friendly self. Jenny was shocked as Elsie folded her arms across her chest and said harshly, ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘Your son, that’s who!’

  ‘Which one? I’ve got three.’

  ‘Ronnie.’

  ‘He’s not ’ere.’

  ‘Yes, he is. He was coming along the road just after us, his arms full of blankets, so where else would he be going?’

  ‘Work. He’s gone to work. Got a job on the docks now, he has.’

  Arthur grunted. ‘I know that.’ He glared at Elsie. But the woman returned the scowl in equal measure and thrust her face close to Arthur’s with such menace that he took a step backwards. ‘You stay away from me an’ mine, Arthur Osborne. I know what your little game is. Black market, ain’t it? Now you listen to me a minute. ’Cos you’re shacked up wiv Dot now, you’re one of us. More’s the pity. And we don’t grass on our own even though the whole street knows what you’re up to.’

  ‘Then where’s me stuff, I’d like to know?’

  Elsie blinked. ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Stuff I’d got hidden in the house, in the girl’s bedroom.’

  ‘In Jen’s—’ Elsie gaped at him, robbed of speech for a brief moment before she spat, ‘You’ve been hiding your ill-gotten gains in that little lass’s bedroom? Is there no depths you lot won’t sink to? I suppose you thought no one’d look in a kiddie’s bedroom.’

  Jenny glanced at her mother, but Dot had disappeared back into their house.

  ‘It’s not nicked, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m no thief,’ Arthur added indignantly.

  ‘As good as,’ Elsie muttered. ‘Wheeling and dealing in black-market goods, I know. But I ’spect you get others to do your dirty work for yer, so you can come up smellin’ of roses. And I saw you talking to my Ronnie down the shelter. Trying to get him to nick stuff off the docks, were yer?’

  Arthur didn’t deny Elsie’s accusation. Instead, he changed tack as his voice softened. ‘Now listen, Elsie. Any time you want a bit of extra food for that growing family of yours, you just say the word.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Know what I mean?’

  ‘Oh I know what you mean, all right, and I wouldn’t touch it wiv a barge pole.’

  ‘Where’s the harm? It’s all bought and paid for, Elsie.’

  Grimly, Elsie nodded. ‘Aye, and well above the going rate an’ all, I ’spect.’

  There was silence until Jenny heard Arthur say in the tone of voice she’d heard him use so many times to Dot, ‘Aw, now come on, Elsie. I can put a bit of money your boy’s way if he’ll do me a few favours now and again—’

  He got no further for Elsie gave him a violent shove in the chest that sent him reeling backwards. He almost lost his balance but managed not to fall as she yelled, ‘You keep away from my lad, Arthur Osborne, if you know what’s good for yer, or I’ll tell my Sid when he comes ’ome on leave.’ Then she slammed the door with such finality that even Arthur, frantic to find where his ‘stuff’ had gone, dared not knock at her door again. And the thought of her burly husband, strong from years of work as a docker, coming after him with flying fists made him think more than twice.

  As he turned, he saw Jenny standing against the wall. He crossed the space between them and stood over her. Though she was quaking inside, fearing that somehow she was going to get the blame for his belongings having disappeared, Jenny faced up to him squarely. But he was not angry with her; instead it seemed he needed her help. ‘You’re mates with those lads, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ Jenny admitted.

  He squatted down in front of her, bringing his face down to her level. ‘Then do your uncle Arthur a favour, will you? Ask ’em if young Ronnie took my stuff, will yer?’

  Jenny stared at him. ‘It was still there when we went to the underground shelter.’

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘Because I wanted to take Bert with me and he was on the floor, half under the bed, and when I fished him out I saw all the boxes still stacked there.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Jenny nodded vigorously.

  ‘You wouldn’t tell your uncle Arthur porkies, would you?’

  Now she shook her head just as vehemently. ‘Cross me heart . . . And,’ she went on, ‘Ronnie was in the shelter with us. The whole family was there when we got there and they were walking home behind us when we came home, so he couldn’t have nicked your stuff, Uncle Arthur, could he?’

  ‘Mm. It was a long night, Jen. He could have slipped out when we was asleep.’

  Jen laughed. ‘He wouldn’t have dared. His mam would have leathered him up and down the street if he’d so much as poked his nose above ground during an air raid.’

  ‘We-ell,’ Arthur said slowly, ‘you could be right.’

  ‘’Sides, you know what Aunty Elsie’s like? Where would Ronnie hide it away from her beady eyes?’

  ‘That’s true. Now that is true. I can see that.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Fiery piece, ain’t she?’

  ‘Aunty Elsie?’ Jenny smiled too. ‘She can be, but she’s lovely really. She’s—’ Jenny stopped, afraid that what she’d been going to say would sound very disloyal to her own mother. But it seemed Arthur understood, for he squeezed her shoulder and said softly, ‘I know, I know. Elsie’s good to you, ain’t she?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I really don’t think she’d have any truck with her lads being involved in – well – anything,’ she added lamely, not quite sure exactly what it was that Arthur did. She’d no idea what the term ‘black market’, which she’d heard Elsie use, meant. But from the tone of the woman’s voice and the accusation in it, it didn’t sound good. To the young girl, it sounded next door to stealing.

  Arthur was thoughtful. ‘If it weren’t him, then who was it?’

  Jenny shrugged. ‘It could have been anybody. Aunty Elsie said everybody in the street knows.’

  Arthur looked grim as he patted her curls and said, ‘Well, you just keep your ears open for yer uncle Arthur and if you hear anything, you let me know and I’ll buy you a nice present. How’d that be?’

  Jenny smiled thinly. Though she didn’t dislike Arthur now, she really didn’t want him buying her presents; it always made her mum resentful and Dot took it out on her.

  Arthur and Dot were twitchy; th
at was the only word Jenny could think of to describe how they were acting. Both the front and the back doors were securely locked day and night, even though East Enders never normally locked their doors. Warm-hearted and friendly and secure in their own community, there’d never been the need. But now Dot and Arthur were decidedly nervous about something. They were forever looking out of the front windows. They jumped physically if a knock came at the door and they wouldn’t even answer it until they knew who was there.

  ‘Don’t you go opening the door to anyone, Jen. You tell me, see?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ She paused and added, ‘But it’s all right if it’s someone I know, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it ain’t. Aren’t you listening to what I say?’ Dot raised her hand and Jenny said swiftly, ‘Yes, Mum.’

  This state of affairs carried on for the next two days. Arthur stayed in the house the whole time, peering out of the front windows yet keeping well back so that he could not be seen. The slightest sound made him jumpy and even Dot got irritated with him.

  ‘I’m going shopping,’ she announced.

  ‘No, yer not,’ Arthur snapped. ‘Yer not leaving this house.’

  ‘But we’ve no food and—’

  ‘Send the kid. No one’ll bother her.’

  ‘She doesn’t know how to shop. Yer ’ave to queue for hours just to get a bit of scrag end. They’ll do ’er.’

  ‘Jen’s got more nous than you give ’er credit for,’ Arthur said, turning away from the window. ‘Let her go this once and see how she gets on. You never know.’ He grinned. ‘If Jen puts on her pathetic look and smiles nicely, they might take pity on her.’

  Dot regarded her daughter steadily. ‘It might work, I suppose.’

  Arthur laughed – the first time he’d done so since he’d discovered that his hoard had gone missing. ‘I know she can’t flash her tits at ’em like you do, Dot, but she’s got a cheeky little smile that might work just as well.’

  Dot’s eyes narrowed. ‘You saying I can’t work me magic any longer?’

  ‘Nah, Dot, would I?’ He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, ‘And while she’s out . . .’

  Dot hurried to find her handbag.

  Twenty-Five

  Jenny joined the long queue of women outside the butcher’s shop. After a few moments, someone else came up behind her.

  ‘Hello, darlin’. Where’s yer mum?’

  Jenny turned to smile up at Elsie Hutton. ‘At home.’

  ‘Is she poorly?’

  ‘No.’

  Elsie’s face darkened. ‘Then, why . . . ?’ She stopped and her mouth tightened in fury. Had Dot Mercer no shame? Sending a young girl to queue for hours to get a tiny piece of meat? But, no, she hadn’t, Elsie thought, else she wouldn’t have shacked up with that rascal, Arthur Osborne. She forced a smile on to her face for Jenny’s sake and tried to think of something they could talk about, anything to steer the conversation away from Jenny’s home life. ‘Have you heard from those folks you were staying with in the country?’

  Jenny bit her lip and shook her head.

  ‘Have you written to them?’

  The girl nodded and whispered, ‘Three times. Mum said she’d put stamps on them and post them, but they’ve never written back.’ From the tone of Jenny’s voice, it was obvious to Elsie that the girl was deeply hurt and her next words tugged at Elsie’s heartstrings. ‘I thought they’d have written to me.’

  ‘I’m sure they will, love. You just keep writing to them.’

  ‘Mum ses it’s a waste of paper and her money buying stamps. She – she ses they must’ve been glad to get rid of me.’

  Was there nothing Dot wouldn’t stoop to? Elsie had to clamp her lips together to stop herself from saying exactly what she thought. Forcing her tone to sound casual, she said, ‘I’m sure that’s not true, Jen. I bet they loved having you.’

  ‘They were very kind and Georgie . . .’ Her voice broke and she stopped.

  ‘Who’s Georgie?’ Elsie asked gently, noticing the catch in the girl’s voice.

  ‘He – he was – is – a fighter pilot. He was posted missing.’ Her head shot up as she met Elsie’s sympathetic eyes. ‘But he’s coming back. I know he is.’

  Elsie could think of nothing to say, so she just squeezed the girl’s shoulder. Instead, she changed the subject to the matter uppermost in their thoughts. ‘Now, when you get to the counter – if we ever get to the counter – don’t you let Mr Chops diddle you.’

  Jenny’s eyes widened and she giggled, her thoughts turned away – as Elsie had hoped they would be – from sadness. ‘Is that his name? Is it really “Mr Chops”?’

  Elsie chuckled. ‘No, but it’s what we all call him. He’s always saying “’Ow abart a nice pawk chop?’ Elsie broadened her own cockney accent even more to imitate their local butcher. Then she pulled a face. ‘But I don’t reckon there’ll be many pork chops left by the time we get to the front, Jen.’

  At last, Jenny was standing in front of the rotund figure of Mr Chops.

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ he said, his eyes twinkling behind his round spectacles. He was a big man, rotund and jovial. ‘And what can I get for you today?’

  ‘A nice piece of brisket, if you please, Mr Chops,’ Jenny said in her best, grown-up voice.

  There was a ripple of laughter amongst those in the queue just behind her, who had heard her words. Elsie nudged her and whispered, hardly able to keep the laughter from her voice. ‘His real name’s Mr Bartholomew.’

  But the butcher was laughing uproariously, his great belly shaking. Jenny smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily, her blue eyes dancing. She could see that he hadn’t taken offence in the slightest. ‘I ain’t got no brisket today, but you give me your ration books and I’ll see what I can find for yer.’ As he placed the ration of meat for three people into a newspaper parcel, he reached beneath the counter and winked at her. Then he slapped three sausages on top of the portions of meat and wrapped it up swiftly. Only Elsie, standing close behind Jenny, saw his actions. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘Tell yer mam, them’s for you. Nobody else, just you.’ He winked again, straightened up to take her money and then glanced at the loose coupons Jenny had shaken out of an envelope on to the counter. For a moment his smile faded. ‘Ain’t you brought your ration books, love?’

  ‘Mum said I might lose them, so she cut them out,’ Jenny said innocently. It was what Dot had told her to say, although the girl hadn’t actually seen her do it.

  ‘Mm.’ The butcher was frowning worriedly. He picked up the coupons and scrutinized them carefully. ‘All right. I’ll take ’em just this once, but you tell yer mam to sent the books next time, eh?’

  Above her head, he exchanged a glance with Elsie, raising his eyebrows in a question. He knew Mrs Hutton lived next door to Dot Mercer. But Elsie shrugged, thankful that she didn’t know whether the coupons were forgeries or not.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ch— Mr Bartholomew,’ Jenny said politely.

  ‘Oh, Mr Chops to you, darlin’,’ the man said kindly, fully aware that if there was anything dodgy about the coupons she’d handed over, it wasn’t the little lass’s fault. ‘We’re mates now, ain’t we?’

  Again, Jenny gave him her most winning smile as she turned and wove her way amongst the lengthening queue out of the shop. Outside, she waited until Elsie joined her so that they could walk home together.

  The house was quiet when she let herself in by the front door and Jenny knew better than to disturb Dot and Arthur, so she put her bag of shopping on the table and slipped out again to the Huttons’ house, remembering to lock the door carefully behind her.

  ‘You playing out, Bobby?’ she asked her friend, who was lounging against the front door frame of their house.

  ‘Nah. I’m waiting for Sammy. He reckons he can get me a job as a delivery boy for the butcher.’

  ‘Mr Chops?’

  Bobby blinked. ‘Eh?’

/>   ‘I mean – Mr Bartholomew?’

  Bobby grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s him.’

  ‘Me an’ yer mam have just been up there. He gave me three sausages, he did.’

  ‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’

  But she didn’t feel so lucky when she returned home later to find Arthur sitting at the table and tucking into her sausages.

  ‘They were for me,’ she said, standing beside the table, eyeing the disappearing sausages enviously. ‘Mr Chops said so.’

  Dot tweaked her ear painfully. ‘We share in this house, young lady, and don’t you forget it.’

  But Arthur looked up with an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Tich. I didn’t know. Look, there’s one left. You have that.’

  ‘Arthur . . .’ Dot began warningly, but he pushed the plate towards Jenny and insisted she should eat the last one. Dot, pursing her mouth in disapproval, turned away. For once, there was nothing she could do.

  There was no air raid that evening and some families stayed in their own homes, thankful for the respite and the chance to spend just one night in their own beds, though Jenny saw the Huttons setting off as usual to the underground armed with food and blankets.

  ‘I ain’t goin’,’ Dot declared. ‘I could do with one night’s proper sleep.’

  But in the middle of the night, there came such a banging on the front door that Jenny woke up, startled by the sudden noise. She sat up in bed, her heart thudding, her whole body shaking.

  Dot rushed into the room, her hair tousled, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t go down, Jen. Arthur ses not to answer it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Do as ’ee ses.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Jenny whispered, catching her mother’s fear.

  ‘The coppers.’

  Jenny gasped. ‘The – the – why?’

  ‘Why d’yer think?’ Dot snapped.

  Jenny blinked in the darkness, her mind working rapidly. ‘Is it about the stuff that was under my bed? Has Uncle Arthur told the police that it’s been nicked and—’

  Dot stared at her. ‘A’ yer stupid, or what? ’Course he’s not reported it. Haven’t you heard of the black market? It were stolen goods. Oh, I don’t mean he stole the stuff,’ her mother added swiftly, realizing that in her agitation she was saying too much. ‘He was keepin’ it for a mate.’