Faded Glory

by David Essex

  “Here’s to our future together,” said Cohen with a wink.

  “Together we can take on the world,” said Costa.

  The men shook Danny’s hand, grabbed a bit of wedding cake and made their retreat.

  “They’re so nice,” said Wendy, turning her wrist to admire her new gift.

  “Yeah,” said Danny. “They’re all right, aren’t they?”

  The wedding was beginning to warm up now, helped by the beer and spirits on tap. More people took to the floor in a sparsely supported but spirited Gay Gordons.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Sid, “please take the floor for the twist!”

  The Gay Gordons were forgotten as the floor was immediately jammed. It seemed everyone had their own particular moves, all based on Chubby Checker’s hit. Ricky and Rosie led the way. Ricky’s legs seemed to be having an out-of-body experience as he sang at the top of his voice in a key that was very different to the Melody Kings’ rendition. Sid and his Melody Kings did their best to keep up. They weren’t the perfect combination, musically, for a bit of rock ’n’ roll, but they were effective enough.

  Lenny danced like a demon and was the centre of attention. Ricky’s furious legs were no match for Lenny’s natural sense of rhythm, and he retired to the side of the dance floor to glower.

  “They’re good at that, the darkies,” he told Rosie glumly. “Must be jigging about to those jungle drums.”

  The wedding day was perfect. No fights, no family feuds and a good time had by all. A special day to remember for Danny and Wendy.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE morning after the wedding saw Danny once again the worse for wear. Not being a drinker, he’d had more than his fill over the weekend, and was suffering.

  Wendy, on the other hand, out of respect to the unborn baby, had only sipped one glass of champagne during the whole function and nothing else. She had been up bright and early, packing for their honeymoon and raring to go.

  Mr and Mrs Bristow had kindly rented the couple a caravan for a week at Clacton-on-Sea. That, plus the whip-round from the boys at the boxing club totalling a generous twenty-one pounds and ten shillings, meant the honeymooners had a week of leisure ahead of them and money in their pockets to spend.

  Gingerly washing and shaving, Danny thought about the events of the previous day. It had gone well, he thought, but he still had Albert and his absence nagging at the back of his mind.

  There wouldn’t be time to talk to Albert before he left for his honeymoon. It would have to wait till he got back. Any liaison with Cohen and Costa would have to wait too.

  Wendy banged on the bathroom door. “Danny, hurry up, we’ll miss the train!”

  “Won’t be long!” he called back, and quickly got dressed.

  The honeymoon was an exciting prospect. A train ride and a week by the sea, a welcome change from the East End streets.

  “It would be nice to bring up the baby in the fresh country air, wouldn’t it?” said Wendy as they watched the countryside roll by out of the train window. “Now Mr Cohen and Mr Costa are going to help you make all that money, Danny, we could buy a nice house with a garden.”

  “We don’t want the baby talking like a country bumpkin,” Danny joked, still trying to circumnavigate the Albert conundrum in his head.

  Rolling down to the Essex coast, the train pulled into Clacton-on-Sea station. Baskets of flowers hung along the platform.

  “Ain’t it nice!” cooed Wendy.

  There was the smell of the sea in the air and seagulls circled noisily in search of any fish or chip they could nick from a unsuspecting holidaymaker.

  All was right in the world as Danny and Wendy found the bus to the Happy Valley holiday camp and climbed aboard.

  The camp wasn’t quite as impressive as the station. Dragging their suitcase into the wooden cabin marked , Wendy and Danny found a surly man with long sideburns waiting inside.

  “Name?”

  “Mr and Mrs Watson,” Wendy proudly announced.

  Danny grinned at her. It felt good to hear her say that.

  “One week,” stated their host. He handed Danny the key. “Row four, third berth down.”

  Wendy and Danny tracked down their love nest after about ten minutes: an ancient caravan called “Dream Days” which had obviously seen better days.

  “Ready, Mrs Watson?” said Danny, determined not to show a glimmer of disappointment.

  Wendy smiled up at him as he carried her over the threshold. There was an almost reassuring smell of mustiness and past fry-ups inside.

  “Oh it’s lovely,” Wendy said. “Look, if you stand on the sofa, you can see the sea.”

  There was a moment of silence, followed by uncontrollable laughter.

  “Mum’s hop-picking cow shed was better than this,” said Danny, grinning.

  He and Wendy were in love, and the run-down honeymoon suite was going to be a comical experience. Now they were alone together, the surroundings didn’t matter. They would be content in a cave.

  After unpacking, they decided to do a recce of the Happy Valley holiday camp and its facilities. There wasn’t that much to see: rows of caravans, a couple of tents, the com-munal washrooms and, the cherry on the sundae, a social club.

  Wendy and Danny watched all the toddlers tottering about and talked about the forthcoming baby. A few names were suggested, but nothing settled on.

  “Look!” Wendy pointed out a poster heralding the Knobbly Knee Contest the following afternoon. “You should enter, you’ll definitely win that.”

  “Oi!” said Danny, laughing.

  They were both anxious to get to the beach, so Wendy packed a few things in a bag and Danny sought directions from a jolly caravan neighbour.

  The weather for September was decent and the sun glistened on the calm grey ocean. Danny splashed out on a bag of chips, and they found a spot they liked near the pier where they sat side by side to watch the never-ending motion of the waves, kissed by the seahorses.

  “Why do they call them seahorses?” Wendy asked.

  “I didn’t know they did,” Danny replied, putting his arm around her.

  Sand castles were built and then washed away by the gentle never-ending waves. Children played, while grandparents slept in rented deck chairs. It was a typical English bucket-and-spade seaside scene, and Danny and Wendy were happy to be a part of it.

  After a stroll down the pier, a cheeky look at the “What the Butler Saw” machine and a couple of goes on the pin tables, they decided to head back and get ready for a night out at the social club.

  Wendy didn’t think much of the communal washroom, although for Danny, it was not unlike the many changing rooms he had spent hours in at boxing tournaments.

  Ready for the night and dressed to kill, with Wendy looking lovely in a dress with pink roses on it and Danny in a smart blue jacket and black shirt, they made their way to the club. The early-evening bingo session was reaching its climax, and the concentration of the participants was tangible as they waited, pencils poised, holding their breath and listening intently for that elusive winning number.

  The Master of Ceremonies looked slightly bored, with his hair parted in the middle and the look of a nineteen twenties movie star about him.

  “Two fat ladies, eighty-eight!” he announced. “On its own number eight, see you at the garden gate!”

  “House! Over here!” rang out from a hysterically excited fat lady in the corner. Making her way to the stage through the groans of the losers, arms raised in celebration, she collected her prize bottle of sherry and returned to her table like the conquering hero.

  “I don’t much fancy this, Wend,” said Danny, eyeing the door.

  Wendy held on to his arm as the tables and chairs were cleared for the shindig ahead. “Come on Danny,” she said, “it’s our holiday. We should have fun. There’s an empty table over there, look.”

  *

  After settling Wendy down, Danny went off to the busy bar to purchase a couple
of lemonades and a bag of crisps. After fighting to be served and with his purchases in hand, he made his way back to their table.

  Wendy had been joined by a group of other campers there for the beer and entertainment. Danny squeezed his way to his seat. Introductions were more of a middle-class thing; working-class folk tended not to do them.

  “How long you down for?” asked one of their new neighbours.

  “Me and my husband are down for a week,” answered Wendy with a smile.

  Danny loved hearing her say that. It felt good every time, proper and as it should be.

  The three-piece resident band struck up with a vengeance. This seemed to be a signal for every child in the room to head for the cleared dance floor. They ran, they slid, they chased each other, they fell over. Amidst the chaos, two very well turned-out ballroom dancers held their heads high and moved like stately galleons to the band’s rendition of Let’s Face the Music and Dance.

  Most of the kids had vented their spleen by now, and the dance floor was starting to feature more grown-ups. The ballroom dancers were still at it, ranging from cha cha to foxtrot for anyone that was interested, but most of the other couples were content enough to just shuffle round. Two little girls danced on their dads’ toes and loved it.

  “Dance with me,” said Wendy as the band launched into a suitably slow tune.

  Danny was reluctant at first, but it felt good to be swaying to the music with Wendy in his arms.

  “These are the good times and this is us having ’em,” he whispered in Wendy’s ear.

  “I love you,” said Wendy and kissed Danny gently on the cheek.

  “I love you too,” said Danny.

  The Romeo on the drums gave all the girls the once-over as the band took a break and the raffle was drawn. Danny watched him eye up Wendy, but decided not to react. The drummer winked at another girl sitting close to the stage, and Danny saw him furtively disappear backstage with the girl in tow. Both of them returned after about fifteen minutes, looking flushed but happy.

  There was something moving in the way that these salt-of-the-earth people sang the last song en masse.

  “Good night campers, see you in the morning, good night campers, I can see you yawning... drown your sorrow, bring the bottle back tomorrow, good night campers, good night.”

  Happy Valley was indeed a happy place.

  *

  The holiday seemed to fly by. Danny and Wendy visited the amusement park almost every day, and had a lot of fun on the rides: Danny’s favourite was the Big Dipper while Wendy loved the Big Wheel. There was only one dicey moment, when Danny was short-changed by a shady showman on the Waltzer. But sensing Danny’s fighting skills, the showman grunted an apology and rectified the “mistake”.

  In a week of candy floss and fish and chips, Danny and Wendy were happiest going for a dip in the cold North Sea.

  “You want to watch out for sewage,” a beach neighbour told them gloomily towards the end of the week. “London’s waste is deposited directly into the sea, you know.”

  This kind of took the edge off the swimming, and a quick paddle became the order of the day.

  Nights at the camp were magical. Wendy and Danny would sit on the beach watching sunsets, and would cuddle together till well after the sun had gone down.

  “Look,” Wendy said one night. “They’ve got stars here. So many stars, twinkling in the sky.”

  “We get stars in London too.”

  “Not often.”

  “That’s because at home there’s too much light in the streets, so you can’t see ’em,” Danny explained.

  Wendy looked up at the star-filled sky. “Which one of those do you reckon is our baby?” she asked.

  Danny laughed. “I don’t know. But I reckon he’ll be our little star.”

  “How d’ya know it’s a he?” said Wendy. “It might be a she. Imagine that! A little me. Two of us! Do you think you could cope?”

  “It won’t be easy, but I’ll try,” answered Danny, and kissed Wendy gently on the lips.

  *

  As the end of the week approached, Danny’s thoughts returned to reality. He had a career choice to make. Wendy was pushing for stronger connections with Costa and Cohen and more security. But Danny was still troubled by Albert’s absence at the wedding and his hostile reaction to Danny’s hopes and dreams.

  On the train home, Danny felt that odd combination of looking forward to going home and feeling sad that the honeymoon was over. For Wendy, it was back to the sugar factory. For Danny, it was time for some life-changing conversations. He had to start shaping the future now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BACK in East London, Albert was collecting glasses at the Live and Let Live as usual, and keeping an eye on Patsy’s boxing gym upstairs.

  “Ain’t you got a clapped-out Ford Anglia engine to be reconditioning, Lenny?” he asked as Lenny ordered another pint of brown and mild.

  “That can wait, man,” said Lenny. He studied Albert. “We need to talk about Costa and Cohen, and Danny’s future.”

  Albert turned back to the glasses. “It’s up to the boy,” he said.

  “You keep pushing the subject away,” said Lenny, tutting as he drained his pint.

  “You ain’t going to get nowhere with Albert, Len,” said Patsy, coming to the bar.

  Lenny eyed Patsy. “What’s your professional opinion then?”

  “He’s a contender. What will be will be.”

  Patsy sounded almost proud. It sounded to Albert as if the big Irishman was weakening on the subject of Cohen and Costa. He’d put a lot of time and energy into Danny’s progress, and Albert sensed that he had no plans to let go.

  “Do you remember that conversation we had way back, Patsy?” Lenny asked. “When I asked, why do you do what you do? Why are you so committed to training these boys?”

  “Some of them had got into bad company. If, by giving them a direction and a reason, I was saving them from a life of crime, that was reason enough.” Patsy’s eyes darted towards Albert. “And you never know. I might just unearth a future champion.”

  Albert silently took the glasses into the kitchen. Being a part of Danny’s rise was a dream come true for Patsy. Why wouldn’t he go along with Cohen and Costa’s plans for the boy? Albert felt sad, for reasons he couldn’t explain.

  *

  Back home at the Bristows’, Wendy had been sent a rather large bunch of flowers from Costa and Cohen. There was also a message for Danny to give them a call and meet up.

  “Good news, Danny,” said Mr Bristow, clapping his new son-in-law on the shoulder. “You’re going up in the world, eh?”

  The thought of calling Cohen and Costa filled Danny with both excitement and trepidation. He felt he needed to talk to Albert first. Although he knew Albert lived in Canning Town, he’d never discovered Albert’s actual address. Albert would most likely be at the park feeding the ducks in the morning. He’d find him there.

  That evening, Wendy went through the holiday adventures with her parents, recounting everything from the surly man on reception to the musty old caravan, from the camp to the shady showman on the Waltzers and everything between. Danny did the best he could to enthuse alongside his wife, but his mind kept wandering to the coming meeting with Albert. So he kept quiet, nodding at the right time and shaking his head when needed.

  It was good to be back in a proper bed. The caravan had been fun, but pretty uncomfortable, with its drop-down bed that had felt as if it was still occupied by a previous tenant. Danny took his mind off his worries by reaching for Wendy, and, eventually, a good night’s sleep was had by all.

  *

  The Monday-morning blues hit hard.

  “I wish we were back at Happy Valley,” Wendy sighed as she got ready for work.

  “Me too,” was Danny’s short reply. He probably should have been a bit more supportive, but had his own blues to turn purple.

  With her sugar-factory turban on her head, Wendy gloomily left the house. D
anny looked at his watch, the wedding present from Costa and Cohen. It was only eight-thirty. Albert didn’t usually get to the pond till about ten, so Danny decided to pop in on his mum on the way to the park.

  But by the time he got there, Rosie had already left for work. Only the sound of Ricky’s snoring filled the house. Danny went upstairs to his old room. Taking the tin box from under the bed, he opened it.

  “I got married, Dad,” he told the open box softly. “She’s nice, you’d like her.”

  Outside the window, homing pigeons were circling from the pigeon fancier two doors away. Danny thought how wonderful it would be to fly like a bird. Perhaps his father was that free, up in heaven, above the early wintering sky.

  Downstairs, the hall clock was striking ten. Danny was shaken from his thoughts and remembered the job at hand.

  At the park, he headed for the duck pond. It seemed right that this meeting should take place there. After all, it was where they’d first met seven years earlier, when Danny had been just sixteen and set to run wild.

  On the path by the weeping willow tree, he saw the familiar figure of Albert surrounded by ducks, brown paper bag in hand, sharing the spoils.

  “Albert! Hey Albert, how are you?”

  Albert’s face was expressionless. Danny tried again.

  “All right, mate? I’ve been away on my honeymoon.”

  “I know,” was Albert’s response. “Nice.”

  Danny could see there was work to do here. He sat on the bench behind Albert and waited for him to finish with his feathered friends.

  “I’m pleased to see you,” he said hopefully. “Sorry you missed the wedding. Do you feel better?”

  Still nothing from Albert. Just the sound of battling, quacking ducks.

  Danny swallowed hard. “I wanted to talk to you about this Costa and Cohen thing,” he said. “Get some advice.”

  “Don’t matter what I think,” said Albert. “It’s down to you.”

  Danny realised this was it. It was time to let Albert know how he felt about him.