Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

  ‘I am not your property.’ Poppy pushed past him, making for the exit.

  ‘Poppy, wait.’ Jean hurried to her side. ‘Don’t rush off like this. I’m sure it can all be straightened out.’

  Poppy hesitated. Tears of humiliation and anger burnt the backs of her eyes. She doubted if she could ever look Guy in the face again and she was furious with Dennis. ‘I’m going home,’ she said, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘Tell Guy I’m sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was that oaf you came with.’ Jean shot a venomous glance at Dennis, who was arguing with the waiter. ‘He’s haggling over the bill by the looks of things. He’s not good enough for you, Poppy. Hold on a minute and Algy and I will see you home.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. I know my way home. I’m an East End girl born and bred.’ Poppy fled from the restaurant, shutting her ears to Jean’s protests. Having collected her jacket and parcel of clothes from the cloakroom attendant, she slung her gas mask case over her shoulder and hurried from the building, thankful for the blackout as it enabled her to disappear into the darkness. She made her way to the tube station just as the air raid siren started to wail. The sound of anti-aircraft fire echoed around the city like thunder as the searchlights cut into the velvet night sky. She bought a ticket and had to walk down several flights of stairs as the escalators had been switched off. The stench from the crowded platforms hit her even before she reached the dimly lit area which was packed with people in sleeping bags, lying on wooden bunks or simply huddled on the ground covered with their coats. It was hot and stuffy and she had to tread carefully so that she did not step on anyone as she made her way to the edge of the platform. White lines had been drawn so that those sheltering from the air raids did not obstruct the passengers waiting to board the trains. The man in the ticket office had warned her that the service ceased at ten thirty, and she had to ask the time from the man standing next to her.

  ‘Ten fifteen, love. Let’s hope we don’t get stuck here all night.’

  ‘But that last train goes at half past ten.’

  ‘There’s an air raid. Anything can happen. Remember Bank station in January? Fifty-six poor souls killed in one go.’ He glanced round at the tightly packed bodies. ‘Could happen anywhere.’

  Poppy said nothing. At this particular moment her most pressing worry was that Dennis would turn up before the train arrived. She did not want to talk to him now, or possibly ever. It would be a long time before she could forgive him for the way he had behaved. She shifted her foot as a small child pushed past her carrying a cup of tea. The little girl carried it carefully along the platform and gave it to an elderly woman who was sitting on a battered cardboard suitcase. Families were huddled together in groups. Women were putting in their curlers and preparing to settle down for the night. From fragments of conversation that Poppy picked up it seemed that some of them had been down here for hours, staking their claim to a space big enough to spend the night in relative safety. She felt almost envious when she saw mothers and daughters making the best of the situation together. It was something she would never share again. Her entire family, except for Joe, had been annihilated by a German bomb in a matter of seconds. She shivered as a gust of warm wind preceded the rumble of the tube train as it emerged from the tunnel and ground to a screeching halt at the platform. The doors opened with a hiss and she followed the gloomy man into the carriage. He slumped down on the seat opposite and produced a folded newspaper from his coat pocket.

  As the doors closed and the train picked up speed, Poppy caught sight of Dennis standing on the platform. She bent her head, hoping that he had not spotted her. She could not help feeling sorry that he had missed the last train, but she did not trust herself to speak to him. Her skin crawled with embarrassment as she recalled the moment when he had all but carried her off the dance floor. As the carriages were swallowed up in the dark maw of the tunnel, she settled down on the seat with a sigh of relief. She was exhausted physically and emotionally. What had started out as an exciting birthday treat had turned in a debacle, and Guy had made it plain that he disapproved of her new outfit. Red dress, no knickers, Gran used to say. Poppy’s fingers plucked nervously at the scarlet silk-taffeta skirt. What she had thought was glamorous and smart now appeared cheap and tawdry. She realised with hindsight that she ought not to have accepted such an extravagant present. If she ever spoke to Dennis again she would tell him that this sort of thing had to stop.

  She arrived home just before midnight. Her feet were sore from walking a long way in unaccustomed high heels and as she let herself into the house all she wanted was her nice warm bed. But a light was on in the kitchen and Mrs Tanner was standing by the gas stove stirring something in a milk pan. She put it aside, peering myopically into the dark hallway. ‘Who’s there?’ Making a grab for her walking stick she advanced on Poppy with her flannelette nightgown billowing round her skinny frame like a bell tent, and her grey hair hanging limply around her face so that she looked like an agitated witch. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, Poppy. I’m sorry if I scared you.’

  ‘What sort of time do you call this to come home?’ Mrs Tanner hitched her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, staring at Poppy as she moved into the beam of light from the single bulb dangling from the kitchen ceiling. ‘What are you wearing? You look like a tart.’

  ‘You’ve never had a good word to say for me, have you?’ Poppy’s nerves had almost reached breaking point. ‘It wouldn’t matter what time I came in or what I was wearing, you’d find something to complain about.’

  ‘Don’t you speak to me like that, you trollop. I don’t know where you got that outfit but you weren’t wearing it when you left for work this morning.’

  ‘If you must know, it was a birthday surprise from Dennis. He took me up West for a meal and we got separated in an air raid. I caught the last train home and I don’t know where he is now. Are you satisfied?’

  ‘You snooty little bitch.’ Mrs Tanner clutched her hand to her chest. ‘I’m having one of my turns and it’s all your fault. I told Mabel not to take you in, but she’s as soft as a boiled carrot.’

  Poppy rarely lost her temper, but she was on the edge now. ‘Well she doesn’t take after you then, does she? You’re a mean old woman and you run her ragged.’

  Mrs Tanner shook her stick at Poppy. ‘No one speaks to me like that. You wait until I tell Mabel what you said to me.’

  Poppy shrugged her shoulders. She had had enough for one day and she made for the stairs. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve got an early start in the morning.’

  ‘You’re just like your mother,’ Mrs Tanner said through clenched teeth. ‘She was a hoity-toity cow when she was younger.’

  Poppy paused with one foot on the stair tread. ‘You leave my mum out of this. She was a wonderful woman.’

  ‘I was in service with her years ago and she was no better than she should be. We all knew that she’d been having it away with the master’s son.’

  ‘That can’t be true. My mum wasn’t like that.’

  ‘That’s all you know. She had to leave when her affair with Harry Beecham became common knowledge and Sir Hereward found out. It was hushed up, of course, but Mary was sent packing and Harry joined the army soon afterwards.’

  Disbelief and anger roiled in Poppy’s stomach. ‘That’s a pack of lies, and it can’t be true.’

  ‘It didn’t end there,’ Mrs Tanner said with obvious satisfaction. ‘When I left the manor house I took a job at the ABC teashop in the High Street. I used to see your mum all dolled up when she came there to meet Harry. They chose a table far from the window and sat staring into each other’s eyes and holding hands. It fair made me sick. Especially when I knew that your dad was away in the army.’

  ‘You’re making it up.’

  ‘Joe and Mabel were at the same school. I knew what was going on all right, but your dad only found out when it was too late. She was three months gone with you by the time he come hom
e for good.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re a wicked, spiteful old woman.’

  ‘It’s God’s honest truth,’ Mrs Tanner called after her as Poppy ran from the room. ‘You’re a little bastard, that’s what you are, Poppy.’

  Racing upstairs to her room, Poppy shut the door and locked it before shedding the offending garment. Her hands were shaking as she placed it on a coat hanger. It would have been satisfying to give vent to her anger and rip it to shreds, but she could not bring herself to destroy such a pretty dress. She hung it from the picture rail as a reminder of her own folly, even though she had no intention of ever wearing it again. Too tired to undress completely, Poppy went to bed in her underclothes, but sleep did not come easily.

  She did not believe a word that Mrs Tanner had said, but doubts niggled at her brain. Odd remarks made at home that she had not understood came to mind. Her father’s obvious preference for Joe had been hurtful but Mum had explained it away by saying that dads always favoured their sons, and Joe was the first born. Not that her father had ever treated her with anything other than kindness, but there had always been a reserve between them, whereas Mum had spoiled her whenever she had the opportunity. She had always told her she was different from the other kids in her school. Perhaps that was why she had wanted her to stay on at Squire’s Knapp. It was something Poppy would never know for certain.

  Eventually, she slipped into a troubled sleep but she was awakened at the crack of dawn by the sound of horse’s hooves and the rumbling of cartwheels. Dennis. She knew it was the dray even before she rose from her warm bed to peer sleepily out of the window. She blinked, rubbing her eyes as she took in the scene below. Dennis was not alone. Seated next to him was Mabel’s Uncle Fred and behind them perched amongst the beer barrels were the two aunts, Ida and Dottie. Forgetting that she was not speaking to Dennis, Poppy slipped on her serviceable navy blue cotton skirt and a short-sleeved jumper. Barefoot, she made her way downstairs to find that Mabel had opened the front door and was standing there shivering in her flannel dressing gown with her hair still in curlers.

  Looking over Mabel’s shoulder, Poppy saw Auntie Ida and Auntie Dottie making their way along the garden path. Auntie Ida was wearing her coney fur coat over her nightdress, and Auntie Dottie wore a hand-knitted woollen hat which did not quite conceal the rows of snail-like pin curls secured in place by hairgrips.

  ‘Auntie Ida, what happened?’ Mabel cried anxiously.

  ‘I’m in shock, dear. The house went down like a pack of cards. If we hadn’t been in the Anderson shelter we’d all have been killed.’ She turned to her husband, who was struggling beneath the weight of something heavy. ‘Have you got the strong box, Fred?’

  ‘Of course I have, Ida. Go indoors before the whole street sees us in our nightwear.’ Fred hustled Auntie Dottie into the hallway before setting his load down on the floor. ‘Put the kettle on, Poppy, and fetch the brandy bottle, there’s a good girl.’ He stomped off into the front room, leaving his wife to her own devices.

  ‘Thank you very much, Fred,’ Ida said bitterly. ‘Such a gent. You’d think a man would be concerned for his wife after she’s lost absolutely everything.’

  ‘And me,’ Dottie added plaintively. ‘Everything I owned was in your house since you persuaded me to move in with you, Ida. You aren’t the only one who’s been affected.’

  ‘You poor things, but at least you’re safe,’ Mabel said, making an obvious attempt to sound cheerful. ‘Why don’t you both go into the front room and sit down?’ She shot a desperate glance in Poppy’s direction. ‘Poppy will make tea and I’ll fetch the brandy.’ She went to close the front door, almost shutting it in Dennis’s face. ‘Oh, sorry, Dennis. I thought you were in already.’

  He entered the house giving Poppy a sheepish grin. ‘So you got home all right then?’

  ‘It looks like it.’ Poppy took in his dishevelled appearance with a cursory glance. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ Mabel said with a sigh. ‘I thought you was going to see her home, Dennis, or I’d never have given you the go ahead to take her up West.’

  ‘We got separated in an air raid and I caught the last train.’ Poppy had no intention of going into details now or ever. Last night was something she wanted to forget.

  ‘We’ll sort this out later, but right now I’ve got more important things to do, and the first one is to break the news to Mum. The shock of hearing what’s just happened might bring on one of her attacks.’ Shaking her head, Mabel hurried into the dining room leaving Poppy and Dennis alone in the hallway.

  ‘Why did you run off like that?’ he demanded in a low voice. ‘Anything could have happened to you.’

  ‘You had no right to behave as you did. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it now. I’ve got to make tea for the aunts and Uncle Fred.’ Turning her back on him, Poppy went into the kitchen and picked up the kettle to fill it at the sink.

  He followed her, pausing in the doorway. ‘I was worried sick about you.’

  ‘I can look after myself.’ Poppy struck a match and lit the gas, placing the kettle on the hob. Sending him a sideways glance beneath her lashes she could not help feeling a bit sorry for him. He was covered in brick dust from head to foot, and there were smudges of soot on his face. He looked more like a circus clown than the dashing young man he had been attempting to portray last night. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I missed the bloody train and I had to walk all the way to the brewery. I hitched up the horse intending to come straight here. I needed to make sure you’d got home okay, but the shrapnel was flying about and I had to wait for the all clear. Then, just as I was driving through Leytonstone, I saw that the Barkers’ street had caught a packet. I went to see if I could help and found them standing outside a pile of rubble that had been their house. Nothing left. Not a thing.’

  Despite the gravity of the situation and her own heartache, Poppy could not quite smother a hysterical bubble of laughter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘But you do look like a clown, Dennis.’

  He did not seem to appreciate the joke. ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny because I bloody don’t. What were you playing at, running off like that? You might have been killed in the air raid.’

  ‘You should take a look at yourself in the mirror,’ Poppy murmured, turning away to search for clean teacups.

  ‘I walked halfway home looking for you last night. I took Napoleon out in the dark because of you.’

  Suddenly it was no longer funny. She whirled round on him. ‘You had no right to behave as you did. You made a fool of yourself and of me. You embarrassed me in front of my friends.’

  ‘I suppose I’m not good enough for you. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what it’s been all along, and it’s got nothing to do with you being too young or wanting to put your studies first. It’s all about you thinking that you belong to that toffee-nosed set we met last night. Well, let me put you straight on that score, ducks. You don’t fit in with them any more than I do. They’ll be nice as pie to your face but behind your back I bet they call you that snotty kid from the East End.’

  ‘I may be a kid to you, Dennis Chapman, but all the more shame on you for dressing me up like a tart. That’s what Mrs Tanner called me when she saw me in that red dress, and that’s what Jean was trying to tell me only she was too nice to put it in so many words. You’re a hypocrite and you only do things to suit yourself. I’m sorry if you wasted your time looking for me, but you needn’t bother another time. I don’t want to see you ever again. D’you understand, Dennis? Never again.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE BARKERS AND Auntie Dottie moved in. Fred and Ida invaded the back bedroom and made it their own, giving Poppy no alternative but to offer her room to Auntie Dottie. It might only have been a tiny boxroom with a lumpy mattress and a window that did not fit properly so that the wind whistled about her head like a screaming banshee on storm
y nights, but it had been her own private space. Deprived of that, the only place where Poppy could sleep was the saggy old settee in the lounge, but this meant that she had to wait until everyone else had gone to bed before making herself as comfortable as possible on a piece of furniture that had seen better days. She found springs sticking through the cushions in a different place almost every night. Mabel’s sheets were worn and thin in the centre and Mrs Tanner said they ought to be cut and turned sides to middle, but somehow nobody seemed to have the desire or the energy to take on such a boring task.

  The bombed-out aunts sat about all day complaining about the loss of their possessions and their homeless state. Mabel bore it all with her customary good nature, but Poppy’s patience was stretched to the limit. She had to leave the room sometimes or she might have told them that they were lucky not to have suffered the same fate as her parents and grandparents. Uncle Fred still had his business, whatever that was, and shortage of cash did not seem to be their problem. In fact, the only time Ida and Dottie showed any spark of enthusiasm was when they collected the extra clothing coupons allocated to people who had lost everything in air raids. They went out on a spending spree, but Poppy noted grimly that they did not include Mabel or her mother in these forays into the West End, which included lunch at a swanky restaurant. They seemed blissfully unaware that their presence put a strain on everyone else in the house, and neither of them lifted a finger to help with the household chores.

  Every morning Poppy folded up her bedding to make room for Ida, Dottie and Mrs Tanner. Each of them had their own special place where they sat all day, marking their territory with a magazine or an unfinished piece of knitting and woe betide anyone who unintentionally encroached on their space. Poppy made them tea and toast before slipping out of the house, leaving them huddled round a desultory fire like the three witches in Macbeth. She half expected them to start chanting ‘Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble’, but they were usually arguing about something trivial that had happened years ago in their youth, but for which they had borne a grudge until the present day.