Cockney Orphan

by Carol Rivers

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did you find the cloakrooms all right this morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Connie nodded slowly. It was, she could tell, going to be an uphill struggle. Ada never let you get a word in edgeways. She’d make a joke of anything when she was on form – Connie stopped herself there. If she was honest, Ada hadn’t been on form for weeks, months even. More often than not she’d bitten off someone’s head before the day was out.

  Connie glanced at the little figure beside her. Who was to say, underneath those thick spectacles and pink hamster cheeks, there mightn’t be another Ada waiting to get out? But, as Jenny silently studied the book in front of her with deep concentration, Connie doubted it.

  It was half past four when the office door opened. Clint Hershey’s tall figure appeared. The sergeant’s blue gaze swept towards her and with a soft smile he removed his cap. Then, striding past her, he approached Mr Burns.

  Connie strained her neck to see what was happening. The next moment Len was following Clint Hershey from the room, a worried look on his face. Under normal circumstances, Connie and Ada would have begun whispering furtively as they speculated on what could have happened. But Jenny had her nose in the ledger, her pen going at top speed as she wrote, unaware of the interruption.

  Ten minutes later Len returned. Mr Burns’s eyebrows rose higher and higher as Len talked to him.

  ‘Connie, something awful’s happened,’ Len gasped as he came towards her. ‘Mother must have escaped from Mrs Next Door. She’s downstairs, saying she’s lost her way to the theatre and needs to change into her costume.’

  ‘You mean she’s here at Dalton’s?’ Connie gasped.

  ‘Yes. She was wandering around the warehouse when Sergeant Hershey found her. He managed to persuade her into the W.C. Now she won’t come out.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just bring her up here?’

  ‘Because she hasn’t got hardly anything on.’ Len was so upset he could hardly speak. ‘Just her underwear.’

  ‘Oh dear, she must be frozen,’ Connie gasped.

  ‘You haven’t got any spare clothes at work, have you?’

  ‘No, but there’s an old coat hanging in the cloakroom. It’s been there years and doesn’t belong to anyone.’

  ‘Could you come and help us? Mr Burns has given his permission.’

  Connie slipped off her stool immediately. ‘There’s a bit of an emergency downstairs, Jenny. Will you be all right on your own?’

  The girl nodded silently.

  ‘Thanks, just put my books away if I’m not back, would you? I’ll stay late tomorrow to finish my work.’

  Sergeant Hershey was standing beside the green wooden door of the outside lavatory. ‘Gee, Len, she says she won’t come out till her costume’s arrived.’

  ‘This will have to do,’ Len stammered as he pushed Connie forward.

  Clint smiled. ‘Okay, we’ll give it a go.’ He opened the door slightly. ‘Okay, ma’am, uh . . . Miss Betty Grable is here with your costume.’

  The door opened slowly. A tall woman wearing a long silk petticoat and very old, discoloured slippers smiled graciously at them.

  ‘How nice it is to meet you, Miss Grable.’ Mrs English smiled. ‘Do come in.’

  Connie heard Len groan beside her. She stepped inside the dark, damp-smelling toilet. An audible sigh of relief came from the two men as Connie closed the door behind her.

  Once dressed in the ownerless coat, Len’s mother finally consented to being driven home in Clint’s ‘limousine’. Connie sat beside her in the rear seat of the truck as the elderly woman recalled the past in glowing terms. Len made several attempts to quieten her but all to no avail.

  ‘You will come in,’ she insisted when they arrived at the tiny terraced house in Cubitt Town. ‘We’ll have cocktails.’

  Both Connie and Clint accepted and Len made tea in the absence of alcohol but was clearly distraught at his mother’s eccentric behaviour.

  ‘I think you’d better escape while you can,’ he whispered as they sat in the small modestly furnished front room. ‘Thank you both for your trouble.’

  ‘No trouble,’ Clint assured him as they listened with one ear to his mother’s ramblings. ‘She’s a great gal,’ he added kindly.

  ‘You know none of it’s true,’ he said sadly when at last they left. ‘Mother worked in a cinema for years. It was her whole life. Now she seems to think she’s a film star. As you know our neighbour comes in to keep an eye on her in the day. It’s not usually a problem as Mother doesn’t like going out. Which was why I was so shocked at her appearance at work this afternoon.’ He walked out with them to the truck. ‘I’ll bring the coat in tomorrow, Con.’

  ‘Was it the Blitz that made her like it?’ Clint asked as he drove Connie home.

  ‘No, but it made her worse.’

  ‘Isn’t there somewhere she could go?’ He frowned through the truck’s dirty window. ‘I mean like a hotel for retired actresses, that kinda thing?’

  Connie smiled softly. ‘Do you have them in America?’

  ‘Honey, we have everything in America.’ He grinned.

  They drove on in silence until Connie said quietly, ‘Thank you for helping Len’s mother today.’

  He laughed. ‘You mean I shut her in the rest room!’

  Connie nodded. ‘She thought you were Douglas Fairbanks.’

  He roared with laughter. ‘First time I’ve been called that.’

  ‘And I’ve not been called Betty Grable before.’

  ‘You sure do look like her.’

  Connie laughed to cover her embarrassment. ‘I think I’ve had enough of Hollywood for one day. Could you turn down the next street, please?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s number eighteen, just there.’

  He pulled up at the kerb. ‘Is that your house?’

  ‘No, I live at number thirty-three with my parents and two brothers. Our neighbours Nan and Lofty take care of Lucky when I’m at work.’

  Clint Hershey frowned. ‘Lucky? Is that a dog?’

  Connie laughed. ‘No, he’s a little boy.’

  ‘Yours?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘No, not mine. He was orphaned in the Blitz. I’ve cared for him ever since.’

  ‘Gee, that’s swell.’ He rested his arm across the wheel. ‘Connie – can I call you Connie?’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘You know, I’m real sorry if I upset you before.’

  ‘I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression, that’s all,’ Connie replied quickly. ‘If you see what I mean.’

  ‘Understood. But I hope we can be friends.’

  ‘I hope so too.’

  He nodded to the house. ‘There’s a little boy waiting for you.’

  Connie turned round. ‘That’s Lucky,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Looks just like you.’

  ‘It’s a coincidence isn’t it?’ She pushed open the door. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Nan asked as she hovered on the doorstep, holding Lucky’s hand.

  ‘Douglas Fairbanks, would you believe?’ Connie lifted Lucky into her arms as he waved to the smiling sergeant.

  Nan nodded sagely. ‘Now, would that be senior or junior?’

  Connie smiled to herself as the truck roared off. It was nice being told she was like Betty Grable even though she knew it was flattery!

  That night, Connie was washing the kitchen floor when Olive appeared. ‘Oh, Constance, you shouldn’t be doing that after a hard day’s work.’

  ‘It gives me something to do.’

  ‘Why don’t you come and listen to the radio with Dad and me?’

  Connie leaned back on her heels. ‘I’ll be in when I’ve finished this.’

  Her mother paused. ‘Was it good news from Vic?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I left a letter on your bed this morning. Didn’t you see it?’

&nb
sp; ‘No.’ She dropped the rag. ‘Lucky must have knocked it off.’

  Her mother pulled her up. ‘Well, you’d better go and find it, hadn’t you?’

  Connie took the stairs two at a time. Lucky lay fast asleep in his cot, his breathing soft and gentle. Connie found the letter on the floor. ‘Oh, darling!’ she gasped as she hurried downstairs to read it.

  A letter before Christmas! Was there a card inside, or just a few lines? She didn’t care, as long as it was from him.

  Unfolding the blue sheet of paper she began to read. The smile slowly disappeared from her face as she read it over again and again.

  ‘Connie, whatever is wrong?’ her mother gasped when she walked into the kitchen. ‘It’s not bad news is it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Connie couldn’t stop a tear escaping. Irritably she brushed it away. ‘He’s staying at a hotel, a really wonderful one. Last night there was a dance to welcome the British navy.’ Connie recalled what Clint had said about the Americans having everything. She wondered if that included beautiful dance partners.

  Olive sat down beside her. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘I thought he’d be missing me.’

  ‘And that’s what’s upset you.’

  ‘I couldn’t think of enjoying myself without him. I even told Len I wasn’t going to the Christmas party. I didn’t know my fiancé was going to be dancing the night away.’ Connie looked miserable. ‘Oh, Mum, I’ve got this ache inside me and it won’t stop.’

  ‘You’re lonely, love,’ her mother said gently. ‘And if you’re not careful a bit of green-eye will creep in and make it much worse.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘That’s no excuse,’ her mother said sharply. ‘You’ve got a good man in Victor Champion, a man who could have stayed home and played it safe. But his conscience wouldn’t let him and off he went to war. You should be relieved he’s fetched up in America for a while. I expect he’s not telling you about the dangerous part and is just trying to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘Well he hasn’t. I’m dead worried now.’

  Her mother sniffed noisily. ‘Constance, I’ve worried all my life and look where it’s got me. A bundle of nerves. And, yes, I’ve been jealous too, though I wouldn’t admit it to your father’s face.’

  Connie looked surprised. ‘You’ve never told me that before.’

  ‘I’m not too old to forget what jealousy feels like.’

  Connie looked down at the letter and Vic’s bold writing. She knew she was being unreasonable and imagining things that hadn’t happened. Vic would be faithful, she was sure of that. But she still couldn’t stop feeling this way.

  Olive stood up. ‘Now let’s have a nice cup of tea and listen to the radio.’

  But Connie didn’t want a cup of tea or to listen to the radio. All she could think of was Vic.

  In bed that night, she gave way to tears. She didn’t know what a swanky hotel like the Barbizon Plaza on 6th Avenue looked like, or the women inside it, but imagining was bad enough.

  ‘Come to the party tonight,’ Len said when Connie told him about Vic on Saturday morning.

  ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  ‘You’re being daft now.’

  ‘Mum said that.’

  ‘Well, she’s right. When did you last go out?’

  Connie shrugged. ‘With Vic, in August.’

  ‘And now it’s Christmas!’ Len wagged his finger in her face. ‘You might as well be a nun. You should try and break the habit.’

  Connie glanced at her friend. They burst out laughing. Len could always bring a smile to her face, just like Ada.

  ‘Listen, Con, odds on Jenny won’t say a word, and she don’t dance either. I’ll be sitting there all night like a blooming great wallflower!’

  Connie knew that Jenny hadn’t mixed with any of the staff, despite all hers and Len’s encouragement. To cap it all, yesterday she had informed them she didn’t drink or dance and was quite content to sit and ‘watch’ at the Christmas party.

  ‘Come,’ Len urged mischievously. ‘For my sake. It’ll be the only bit of life I’ll see over Christmas.’

  Eventually he talked Connie round. That afternoon Pat suggested she borrow her pearl grey dress with the sunray pleated skirt. It wasn’t as frivolous as the little peach number she’d borrowed from Ada, but it was her size and quite tasteful. She washed her hair and let it fall in waves on her shoulders. By the time she was ready to catch the bus, there was a big smile on Olive’s face.

  ‘Have a good time,’ she told her daughter. ‘And enjoy yourself.’

  Connie caught the bus feeling nervous. She hadn’t been out of an evening for a long time. But as soon as she arrived at Dalton’s, she felt better. Everyone was looking forward to the evening, as they hurried in groups up the stairs to the canteen. Laughter and insults abounded. There were no raids to worry about, at least not like the Blitz. And it was an opportunity to eat, drink and make merry.

  Connie stood at the canteen door, looking for Len. She hoped nothing had happened to stop him from coming. The room looked very festive, nothing of course like the Barbizon Plaza, all glass and marble and shining surfaces, apparently. But the bare, scuffed boards of the canteen floor were now cleared for dancing. Someone had strung paper chains across the ugly blackout material of the windows and the upright piano was standing as usual at Christmas, beside Ted Lavender’s ancient drum set. Queenie Wright, the canteen manageress, had pinned bunches of genuine mistletoe to the ceiling, already gaining much attention. The black market refreshment was said to be hidden in the kitchen, under lock and key.

  ‘You’ve got that look on your face again,’ a voice muttered beside her. Len, dressed smartly in a dark blue suit and tie, was frowning at her. ‘You’re not about to do a bunk, are you?’

  Connie grinned. ‘Course not.’

  ‘If you hadn’t turned up, I’d have done one myself.’ He steered her towards the serving hatch. ‘Now, what’s your fancy?’

  ‘Port, please. Don’t suppose they’ve got any lemon.’

  Len ordered the drinks. ‘I bought one for Jenny too,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth as they looked for her. ‘There she is, by the piano. At least the noise will drown the silence.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr English, but I never drink,’ Jenny refused politely as he placed the glass of shandy in front of her.

  ‘It’s Len,’ he reminded her again as they sat down. ‘And shandy’s not really a drink, it’s mostly lemonade.’

  Jenny braced her plump shoulders. She was dressed as usual, in a dark skirt and a sensible blouse to match. ‘I don’t like lemonade either.’

  ‘What do you like then?’

  ‘Water or tea, Mr En— I mean, Len.’

  ‘I’m drinking port, Jenny,’ Connie said, holding up her glass. ‘It’s very nice, a lady’s drink. Would you like a sip?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  Connie met Len’s gaze and stifled a grin. She breathed a sigh of relief when Elsie Drinkwater took her seat at the piano. Placing her pint of frothy ale on its splintered top, she nodded to her burly son, Norman, the accordion player. Ted Lavender joined them and banged heavily on his drums. Soon no one could hear themselves think.

  By nine o’clock Connie was breathless. Neither she nor Len had missed a dance, in an attempt to avoid Jenny’s silent gaze. In this way, Connie had enjoyed herself thoroughly and didn’t feel the least bit guilty either. Trevor Black had commented on her hair and Bob Cummings had told her how well she danced. Len, too, looked as if he was feeling more his old self, having danced with every available female. When at last they collapsed on their seats, even Jenny’s flat smile didn’t seem to bother them.

  ‘Are you enjoying yourself, Jenny?’ Connie asked as the band took a breather.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Would you like more water?’

  ‘No, I’ve still got some left.’


  Silence ensued until Elsie bawled at the top of her voice. ‘Let’s put our hands together, boys and girls, for two very talented lads from the United States of America!’

  There was a slow, mystified applause as a young GI took his place at the piano, the other seating himself on a stool.

  ‘It’s Clint!’ Len whispered hoarsely. ‘He never said he played the trumpet. Now that’s a dark horse for you, if ever I saw one.’

  No one danced, spoke or attempted to eat as the duo played. The only trumpet player Connie had seen before was a man at the Queens on Variety Night who’d struggled his way through the National Anthem. Clint was playing music like she’d never heard before. At first she didn’t know if she liked it, but half an hour later, like everyone else in the room, she was demanding more. Couples began dancing and Len pulled her up. No one wanted the music to stop. Once more, the two musicians finished to huge applause.

  ‘Bloody brilliant!’ Len roared at the top of his voice as Elsie, Norman and Ted returned to their instruments.

  Clint laid his trumpet on the piano and walked over to their table. ‘Mind if I take a seat?’ he asked, and everyone made space.

  ‘That was amazing,’ Len said. ‘What was the first number called?’

  ‘“Body and Soul”,’ the young GI told them.

  ‘What kind of music is it?’

  ‘Jazz,’ he explained. ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘Not half. Where did you learn to play like that?’ Len asked excitedly.

  ‘My old man,’ Clint explained.

  ‘He’s a musician?’ Connie asked.

  Clint smiled softly into her eyes. ‘He was, till he died. Taught me to play as a kid. I still do a little jamming at Jimmy Ryan’s on 52nd Street. You know it?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘No, but I know the Barbizon Plaza,’ she burst out before she could stop herself. ‘My fiancé Vic is staying there with the British navy.’

  Clint looked impressed. ‘Then he’ll be having a swell time, you can be sure. Some of your English boys were arriving when I left. We’re sending them back with these lil’ ol’ boats that open up at the front.’

  Connie didn’t know what he meant and wasn’t able to ask, as Len began to talk about the music. Soon Clint was explaining that it was jazz he liked to play. ‘Though Bop and Swing are all the go Stateside,’ he ended, taking a gulp of the beer he had brought with him.