by Beezy Marsh
Annie walked out into the yard. She’d been lurking with Vera and Bessie just behind the sorting room door. ‘You’re riding out with Ed into town. Keep your wits about you. There’s strikers about and I am not having them making off with any of my customers’ dirty linen!’
Ed and Annie had barely exchanged a word since the trip to the Chiswick Empire. She’d stopped feeding Moses and kept herself to herself, out of embarrassment really, that she’d obviously got the wrong end of the stick, thinking that he’d fancied her. Well, either that or he’d been hedging his bets between her and Vera.
On the rare occasions they’d seen each other – mainly when he was hanging around to take Vera out somewhere after work – he avoided her gaze too. Now she was going to have to share a ride in the cart with him all the way into town and back. It was mortifying.
‘Annie,’ he said softly, as he picked up the reins, ‘I wanted to . . .’
She decided to take the bull by the horns. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. ‘You don’t have to explain anything,’ she said, clambering up beside him. ‘It isn’t as if you had actually asked me out properly before you started courting Vera, is it?’
‘You’re a great sort, Annie,’ he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze, making her heart flutter in a way which she was powerless to prevent. ‘I knew you’d understand. Vera’s a lovely girl, definitely the type of girl to be a girlfriend, but you are different, you know.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Annie, who knew she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Vera, so why couldn’t he just come out and say it?
‘I mean you are a nice girl, someone who wouldn’t . . .’
‘Who wouldn’t go and sit on the back row of the fleapit with you, in the double seats, you mean?’ said Annie, with more than a note of irritation in her voice.
‘Well, if you put it like that, yes,’ said Ed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘The sort of girl I can talk to and be friends with is what I mean. I miss our chats. And you can come and feed Moses like you used to, if you want.’
‘If I have time,’ said Annie, realizing she’d missed seeing Moses and talking to Ed more than she’d care to admit. ‘But I’m busy these days. Mum’s asking me to help her train up some of the younger girls, and they’re a giddy lot.’
She wasn’t saying it to make herself feel better, either. Mum did rely on her a lot to help and she was getting older. She was twenty-one now – and that meant she was a qualified laundress, not just a laundrymaid. She wasn’t going to mess that up by hanging around in Antrobus Road, whiling away the time with Ed, whose eyes still had a way of making her stomach feel all floaty. Besides, he was Vera’s boyfriend.
The journey into Notting Hill was much slower than usual because of the sheer number of motor cars on the roads. There were a few buses running, but they were packed to the rafters and it seemed every bicycle from as far west as Hounslow was wobbling its way along the crammed route. Ed took a few side roads around the back of Notting Hill and then turned along the Bayswater Road to do some more collections.
Annie was shocked to see policemen sitting alongside volunteer bus drivers, and once they got near Hyde Park the grass was filled with razor wire and some temporary buildings had been hastily put up. They were guarded by armed motor vehicles filled with soldiers. Annie clasped Ed’s arm in fear: ‘Do you think there is going to be trouble?’
‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I think it’s all a show of strength against the strikers.’
Just then, there was the sound of horses’ hooves down the Bayswater Road, followed by a convoy of lorries. A column of cavalry soldiers came riding by, making such a racket that Annie had to cover her ears and Ed had to hold the reins tightly to steady Moses, who threatened to break into a fast trot. Behind them were more than a dozen lorries and after that came armoured cars, packed with soldiers, bringing up the rear. A policeman held up the traffic as the cavalry led the convoy on its way into Hyde Park.
‘My dad said that a load of food had landed at the docks yesterday,’ said Ed. ‘I suppose this is where they are storing it, to let everyone know that they have supplies.’
Annie didn’t like any of it – things not being how they normally were. It didn’t seem right to have soldiers with guns on the streets of London. It made her think of the sacrifice her dad had made for his country. Did he do all that, just so the managers could mistreat the workers and the workers could walk out and have a pitched battle in the middle of London? Why couldn’t people be paid enough to live on? Life was already such a struggle, and this wasn’t going to make it any easier for the poorest, she felt it in her bones.
It was late by the time they got back to Soapsud Island and Vera was waiting for Annie in the wash house, looking agitated.
‘You took your time getting back with my boyfriend,’ she said, plonking a load of dirty whites in the sink to be treated for stains.
‘Don’t be like that, V,’ said Annie. ‘There’s nothing going on, I promise. It was just work. The strike made it difficult for us to get here.’
‘I bet you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him, once my back was turned,’ she said, her eyes flashing with anger.
‘No,’ said Annie. ‘Vera, that is not true. I told him I am happy that you two are walking out together. I would never do anything to spoil your relationship with Ed.’
Vera leaned against the wash house sink, her fingers gripping the sides. Her knuckles were almost white. She looked down at the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t mean to be a cow to you. It’s just . . .’
‘What is it, Vera?’ said Annie, moving closer to her friend, to try to comfort her in some way.
‘I’ve ruined everything with Ed anyway. I think I’ve gone and got myself pregnant.’
12
May 1926
Annie felt the wash house floor moving from under her as news of her friend’s pregnancy sank in.
‘How far gone do you think you are?’ she asked Vera, whispering in case any of the nosy laundrymaids were still lurking nearby.
‘I’m not sure: two, maybe three months,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve never been that regular, so my mum hasn’t clocked yet that I haven’t thrown anything on the fire for a while. But she will do soon and then I’ll be out on the street.’
‘Are you sure you’re pregnant?’
Vera patted her rounded belly under her apron. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t notice me going off to throw up in the mornings,’ she said. ‘I’ve been right off me food but I’m putting on weight like nobody’s business.’
Annie was open-mouthed. She’d never expected this and she didn’t know what to do or say to help.
‘Can’t you talk to Ed, tell him, make him do the decent thing . . . ?’
‘No, I can’t tell anyone,’ Vera cried, with a wild look in her eyes. ‘I’m done for when me dad finds out. He will kill me and then he will come and slit Ed’s throat.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Annie, helplessly.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Vera. ‘He told me not to let anyone touch me, that I’m his and if I did and I wasn’t married he would kill them because he killed people in the war and he knows how to do it. And now he will know that me and Ed . . .’
‘When you say you are his, do you mean . . . ?’ The thought was too terrible for Annie to say it out loud.
‘He is just possessive of me, says I’m the prettiest of all of his girls and he wants to protect me,’ said Vera, shifting uncomfortably. ‘It started after the war. I think he had seen so much death he wanted to look after me, that’s all. He made me promise to wait until I was married.’ Vera started to snivel a bit.
Annie knew that all parents wanted to make sure their girls didn’t get themselves into trouble, but there was something wrong about what Vera’s dad had been up to. It was just not right for a father to say those things to his daughter, she felt sure of that. She remembered the finger marks around Vera’s neck all those years ago at the Empire Day parade as well. W
hat else had he been doing to her?
Vera went on: ‘I had to hide the fact that me and Ed were going out together. I told him I was going out with you . . .’
‘Oh,’ said Annie.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Vera. ‘I know it was a terrible liberty, Annie, but I didn’t think you’d mind.’
That was the least of their problems now, for sure. They hugged each other for a moment, like two frightened schoolgirls.
‘We have got to find a way to put this right,’ said Annie.
There was only one person experienced enough in the ways of the world they could share this with.
The penny dropped for both of them: ‘Bessie.’
Bessie lived at the opposite end of Stirling Road to Vera’s parents and it wouldn’t be out of place for two laundry girls to pop in and see her after work, so Annie was confident that the first part of their plan would be all right.
But Bessie was rather surprised to see them – she’d left work only an hour before. She opened the door with her face wrapped in a bandage and a poultice against her cheek, which had swollen up.
‘Well, you’re not seeing me at my best!’ She laughed. ‘Me tooth is killing me, girls, but I’m not going up to the High Street to get any more oil of cloves until this blessed strike is over. Can’t be doing with all the argy-bargy in the shops, for one thing. Now, what brings you round here? Not planning a walk-out over pay, I hope, because the Missus will sack you both, I can tell you that for nothing.’
‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ said Annie. ‘We’ve got something we need to ask, that’s all.’
‘I see,’ said Bessie. ‘You’d better come in.’
They followed her inside.
She lived in two rooms in the upstairs of one of the scruffy terraced houses, which had a rickety wooden staircase out of the back, leading down into a garden, with scrawny chickens scratching around in it. A zinc bath hung on a peg just outside the back door at the top of the stairs. Annie suddenly felt very grateful for her family’s home; it seemed like a mansion compared to Bessie’s.
‘Well,’ said Bessie, sitting down on a creaky old chair which was so tiny that her haunches spilled over the sides of it. ‘What’s going on?’
Annie and Vera exchanged glances. All those years together scrubbing at the washboard had brought the three of them close and Bessie sensed it was something serious. She lowered her voice; noise carried and the people downstairs were a right nosy lot. ‘Is one of you in some kind of trouble?’
Vera nodded. ‘I think I’m about three months gone,’ she said. ‘Give or take.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Bessie. ‘Well, there’s no point asking how it happened. I suppose it’s that good-for-nothing carman that’s knocked you up?’ She got up and put the kettle on the stove.
Vera blushed and nodded.
‘I’m not your ma, Vera, so it’s not my place to tell you off. And it’s too late for modesty, so you can spare your blushes in my house. The question is, what are you going to do about it?’
‘We were rather hoping you might be able to help with that,’ said Annie, struggling to keep her hands still in her lap. She felt guilty, just being here talking about this.
‘I don’t suppose you can tell him about it and ask him to marry you?’ asked Bessie.
‘He’s not the marrying kind,’ said Vera, ‘I’m quite sure of that. But I’m more afraid of what my dad will do to me. And him.’
Bessie got some teacups from a wooden shelf over the sink. Annie noticed there was a picture of a young lad in uniform which took pride of place up there. It was Bessie’s son who was lost in the Great War. There was a bronze medallion next to it, in a display case. That must be one of the Dead Man’s Pennies that Vera had told her about. It was still a mystery to her why she didn’t have one to commemorate her father’s bravery; other girls had lost their dads in the war and then their mothers had remarried and they still had pictures of them and medals and so on.
‘All right,’ said Bessie, eyeing them both as she plonked the cups down in front of them on the table. ‘This is grown-up talk now and you must both swear you will not repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you – not least because your mothers would skin me alive. There is a woman locally who can help girls in this sort of trouble.’
‘Is there?’ said Vera, brightening.
‘Yes,’ said Bessie, pouring some water from the kettle into an enormous brown teapot. ‘But it’s dangerous. It’s the wrong side of the law, for a start, and it doesn’t always work, so you might still have the baby anyway. But, whatever happens, you cannot go telling anyone about it or how you heard about it. And I will need to make the introduction for you.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Ask no questions, Annie, and I will tell you no lies,’ said Bessie, sploshing milk into their cups. ‘She’s just a woman who helps babies come into the world, but she can also help them disappear when they are not wanted. For a price.’
‘I haven’t any money!’ said Vera.
‘Well, you should have thought of that before you went and got yourself in the family way,’ said Bessie, chucking a lump of sugar in her tea and stirring it. ‘You’ve got a wage packet. You’ll have to use that or go to a money-lender – but I wouldn’t advise that, because they will have you in their grasp then and it is hard to get out.’ She raised her eyes heavenwards: ‘God knows, I learned that the hard way.’
Annie thought for a moment and then said, ‘I can help. I’ve been putting money by to get myself a coat for winter. Why don’t we use some of that?’
‘Oh, Annie,’ said Vera, ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘I’m offering to help,’ said Annie.
‘Well, if you lend me a bit from your savings, I could use some of my pay because my mum doesn’t always ask for it straight away,’ added Vera. ‘And my dad is always too drunk to notice what’s going in the pot anyway.’
‘I’ll leave you two to work out who is paying for what,’ said Bessie. ‘Last I heard, she asks for a week’s wages up front, so whatever you do, make sure you go with the money ready, or she won’t take kindly to it. I will put the word out to her and see what she says. I ain’t promising, but it is the best chance you’ve got, Vera.’
‘It’s the only chance,’ said Annie, staring into the murky depths of her tea.
On Friday morning during their tea break, Bessie handed Vera a piece of paper with an address on it.
‘It’s all arranged,’ she whispered, as they sipped their cuppas in the yard. ‘Go straight there after work and knock twice. It’s going to cost you twenty shillings. But don’t tell me no more about it. I don’t want to know. Is that clear?’
Annie and Vera nodded. ‘I have probably done more than I should have already,’ muttered Bessie, chucking the dregs of her drink on the ground. ‘I don’t want your mums knocking on my door about this, so let this be the end of it.’
Annie had her ten shillings of savings in a brown envelope, which felt as if it was burning a hole in the pocket of her cardigan. It seemed the older she got, the more secretive she had become, and she wasn’t sure she liked that. More than anything, she felt guilty to be sneaking off behind her mum’s back to do this; she’d told her that she was off out to the cinema with her friend after work.
The hours seemed to drag by through the afternoon. The Missus seemed to take ages totting up everyone’s wages. She sat in the hallway with the ledger on her knee, and a tin box full of cash by her side. The ironers were paid first, with every piece they’d worked on carefully recorded, so that those who had worked extra were fairly paid. Annie feared that Vera would give the game away because when she picked up her pay packet, her hands were shaking.
‘Whatever’s the matter with you, girl?’ asked the Missus. ‘Not planning to elope with that boyfriend of yours on my wages, are you?’
‘No,’ said Vera, forcing a smile, ‘’course not! Just the pictures for me and Annie tonight, Mrs Blythe.’ Annie knew she lo
oked as guilty as sin as she collected her own pay. They were in this together now and there was no going back. They waited until the other laundrymaids were busy scrubbing the floors before hurrying out of Hope Cottage and towards The Steyne – an area even poorer than Soapsud Island, just off the High Street – and the address that Bessie had given them.
‘I promise I will pay you back, a shilling a week, Annie,’ Vera told her, as they scurried along. ‘You are such a good friend to come with me.’
‘I couldn’t let you go through it alone,’ said Annie. Besides, Bessie had said it was best if they went together, that way Annie could help Vera get home safely afterwards.
They stopped outside the house. The door was brown, with peeling paint, but the windows sparkled, the net curtains were starched and ironed nicely and there were some pot plants on the window ledge, making it look cheery. Vera stepped forwards and knocked twice. A round little woman answered, wearing a housecoat and slippers. ‘You must be Vera,’ she said, looking her up and down, before turning to Annie: ‘I’m only doing one of you – who are you?’
‘I’m her friend, Annie, Annie Austin,’ she stammered. Were they even supposed to give her their names?
‘Well, don’t stand around on the doorstep,’ she said, bustling them both inside.
She showed them through to her scullery, where a Singer sewing machine stood against one wall, and there was a wicker basket of seamstress’s work neatly folded beside it. Some crocheting was resting on the arm of a rocking chair, and there were embroidered pictures of flowers on a shelf in the corner. Annie peered at the needlework, seeing that this woman was a very skilled seamstress indeed.
The kitchen table had been pulled into the centre of the room and covered with an old white sheet. A cushion had been placed at one end and a fat, stripy tomcat had made himself comfortable on it. ‘Shoo!’ said the woman, brushing him off. The cat stalked out of the back door with his tail in the air.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Have you got the money?’
Annie carefully unfolded the envelope with her savings and pulled out a ten-bob note while Vera counted out ten shillings from her pay packet. The woman took the money and tucked it into the pocket of her housecoat, before going over to the sink and washing her hands with a big block of carbolic soap.
