Sophy, denied permission to spend time with Jimmy, became furious in the end, threatening to go up to her room, pull her bed to pieces and chuck it all out of the window. Didn’t her mother realize it was Jimmy’s last day here?
‘Yes, I realize it,’ said Mrs Gibbs, ‘but if you throw your bed out of the window bit by bit, then you’ll go down and pick it all up bit by bit.’
‘Doesn’t it give you a pain, Mummy, being such a dragon to your only daughter?’
‘It gives me more of a pain to know you’d actually do that to your bed,’ said Mrs Gibbs, ‘but very well, when Ada takes a cup of tea out to Jimmy, you can have a cup with him.’
‘It’s a relief you’ve got some good points, Mummy,’ said Sophy. ‘I expect when Jimmy’s working at the factory, you’ll let me invite him to Sunday tea once a week.’
Mrs Gibbs did not respond to that. Sophy, however, mentioned it to Jimmy during his tea break.
‘I expect you’ll come most Sundays,’ she said.
‘Oh, every Sunday,’ said Jimmy, ‘in me pony and trap and top hat, and with gold sovereigns flashin’ on me watch chain.’
‘You didn’t tell me your family had a pony and trap,’ said Sophy.
‘Didn’t I? We’ve all got one each, and Dad drives a carriage and pair as well. Well, a van with shire horses, actually, for a firm of grocery wholesalers.’
‘Oh, jolly good,’ said Sophy, ‘I bet that’s a lot more fun than minding a hole in the road, like some men do. But if your family’s hard-up, how’d you all manage to have ponies and traps?’
‘That was a joke,’ said Jimmy. ‘Anyway, I can’t come to tea unless your parents invite me.’
‘All right,’ said Sophy crossly, ‘don’t come, then.’
‘No, all right,’ said Jimmy, at which Sophy came to her feet, picked up the tin kitchen tray on which Ada had brought the tea and cake, and smote Jimmy’s head with it. The tray clanged and quivered. Jimmy blinked.
‘Sophy!’ Mrs Gibbs called in shock from an open upstairs window. ‘Come up here at once!’
‘Oh, blimey,’ breathed Sophy. She dropped the tray and looked up at her mother. ‘I just accidentally—’
‘Come up here! Now!’
Sophy, making a face, went into the house and up to the parental bedroom. There, her mother eyed her in anger.
‘Did I do something?’ asked Sophy.
‘You precocious horror,’ said Mrs Gibbs, ‘you’ve just placed one straw too many on the camel’s back. It’s a boarding-school for you.’
‘Boarding-school?’ Sophy looked aghast. ‘Mummy, you can’t, it’s all girls and hockey sticks, and it’s prison as well.’
‘Good,’ said Mrs Gibbs.
‘Mummy—’
‘No arguments,’ said Mrs Gibbs. She spoke to her husband later.
‘Isn’t it a bit late to start her at a boarding-school?’ he asked.
‘She can have four years at one, from now until she’s seventeen,’ said Mrs Gibbs. ‘It’s the only chance we have of civilizing her.’
‘She won’t like it.’
‘She’s running wild, Frank. We’ll take her down to Sussex tomorrow and see if the headmistress of Hurstfield School will enrol her immediately.’
‘I’d rather—’
‘Yes, I know, you’d rather keep on spoiling her. She’ll end up being burned at the stake. It’s our responsibility to save her from that. Take my word for it.’
Mr Gibbs was forced to concur.
‘Well, I’ll be off now, Mr Gibbs,’ said Jimmy, his work finished for the day. Mr Gibbs had been working with him for the last hour, and they had had some man-to-man talk.
‘Right, Jimmy.’ Mr Gibbs fished around in the back pocket of his trousers and came up with a ten-bob note. ‘Here.’
‘Thanks, Mr Gibbs, I’ve got some change.’
‘No, it’s all yours, Jimmy. You’ve earned a little extra. Treat yourself. You’re all set to start at Peckham on Monday?’
‘I’ll be there, Mr Gibbs,’ said Jimmy. ‘Thanks a lot for the extra money, it’s been a pleasure doin’ this kind of work. I’ve got an idea you’re goin’ to have something really worth lookin’ at when it’s all finished.’
‘If it isn’t,’ smiled Mr Gibbs, ‘somebody’s going to get the sack. Hop off home, Jimmy.’
Sophy was waiting for him on the terrace and full of the woes of being sent to a boarding-school. There’d only be girls, she said, and they’d all be soppy. Jimmy said cheer up, you’ll be able to lick them all into shape, and the teachers as well, probably. Sophy said she didn’t think that was very funny, and that he had better write to her or she’d send somebody to throw a bomb at him. She asked for his address. Jimmy demurred. Sophy said she’d kick him off the terrace if he didn’t give it to her. He gave it to her to save himself having to go home in an injured state, but said she need only send him a Christmas card.
‘Just do as you’re told,’ said Sophy, ‘when I write to you, you write back. All right, you can kiss me farewell now, but I don’t want a soppy one.’
Jimmy, looking up at a window, said, ‘Hullo, is that you, Mrs Gibbs?’ Sophy fled.
Mrs Gibbs came out by way of the conservatory. ‘Did I hear you call, Jimmy?’ she asked.
‘I thought I saw you up at the window, Mrs Gibbs.’
‘Well, I’m here now. So, you’ve finished here and are starting at Peckham on Monday. We’ll miss you.’
‘And I’ll miss you, Mrs Gibbs, all of you. You’ve all been really kind to me. Mind you, Mr Gibbs said I can come back here as a junior gardener if I don’t get on too well at the factory.’
‘I think you’ll get on very well,’ said Mrs Gibbs. ‘And thank you, Jimmy, for putting up with Sophy.’
‘I hear she’s goin’ to a boardin’-school,’ said Jimmy.
‘I hope she doesn’t set it on fire,’ said Mrs Gibbs, thinking not for the first time how much she liked the boy.
‘Well, if she does, I expect she’ll take charge of the fire brigade when it arrives,’ said Jimmy, ‘I expect she’ll see they put it out. Thanks for everything, Mrs Gibbs, and goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Jimmy.’
He went into the kitchen next to say goodbye to the staff.
‘Best of luck, Jimmy,’ said Mrs Redfern who was busy preparing dinner.
‘I am pleased to hoffer you my own best wishes, my boy,’ said Mr Hodges.
‘What a young ’ero,’ said Ivy. ‘’E’s still alive, would yer believe, Mr ’Odges, and ’e’s still got both ’is arms and legs.’
‘Where’s Ada?’ asked Jimmy.
‘She’s busy in the dining room,’ said Mr Hodges, ‘but we will convey your kind regards to her.’
‘Yes, wish her luck,’ said Jimmy, who would have liked to say goodbye in person. ‘Well, so long, everyone, thanks for all the tea and toast and everything else.’
Going down the drive to the gates, he heard quick footsteps on the gravel behind him. He stopped and turned. Ada came running up, the skirt of her dress whisking.
‘Oh, you mean thing, goin’ without sayin’ goodbye to me,’ she said.
‘Well, I meant to, but you were busy,’ said Jimmy. ‘Yes, it’s me final farewells, Ada. You’ve all been corkin’, as good as me own fam’ly. Give me best wishes to your dad when you next see ’im.’
‘What for?’ asked Ada, little white cap looking as perky as ever. ‘You don’t know my dad.’
‘No, but I do know he’s got your welfare close to his heart,’ said Jimmy, ‘you told me so. Well, more or less, like.’
‘You’re still dotty,’ said Ada.
‘Look at that up in that tree,’ said Jimmy, ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before.’
Ada looked up at the tree. Jimmy kissed her. Ada went quite pink.
‘Oh, cheeky,’ she said.
‘Sorry, Ada, couldn’t help meself.’
‘I didn’t mind, silly. Oh, I’ve got to get back, but you’ll come and see us sometim
es, won’t you? I mean, whenever you’re near enough.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Jimmy, ‘and send you a Christmas card as well. You’re a nice girl, Ada, I wish you all the best. So long.’
‘So long, Jimmy.’ Ada watched him go, her eyes moist. She wrote to Percy that night, telling him she didn’t want to go out with him any more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
On Monday morning, Jimmy and Dad both had to be at work by eight o’clock, and Aunt Edie, rising early, saw to it that they put a good breakfast inside them before they left. She wished Jimmy luck on his first day at the factory.
Mr Gibbs had two factories, one at Peckham and one near the Old Kent Road. In the latter, reproduction furniture was manufactured. War profiteers of an earthy kind bought it. The larger building at Peckham was really two factories, one for making furniture designed by Mr Gibbs and an assistant, the other for turning out wooden boxes and crates. Mr Gibbs divided his time between the design room, the furniture workshop, the administrative office and the Old Kent Road factory. At Peckham, he had a lady secretary who did all his typing, a girl who wrote out invoices and did the filing, and a book-keeper who looked after the accounts.
He almost always arrived at the same time as his workers, eight in the morning. He was already there when Jimmy appeared at five to eight, and he placed him in the charge of the box factory foreman, Alf Roberts. To Jimmy, the box factory was wood, benches, circular saws and sawdust. There was a market for sawdust.
‘Right, Jimmy,’ said Alf, ‘come along with me.’ Jimmy followed him to a bench on which were slats of wood, hammers and other carpenters’ tools. There was also a large tin of nails. ‘Now, you can make an oggle box, can yer?’
‘A what?’ said Jimmy.
‘Yer don’t know what an oggle box is?’ said Alf, a balding character of fifty years old.
‘Well, I’ve got to be frank, Mr Roberts, I’ve never heard of oggle boxes,’ said Jimmy. ‘What are they?’
‘Just wooden boxes with ’oles for the oggles,’ said Alf. ‘We made a lot of ’em durin’ the war. Yer first job is to make one yerself. Two feet wide, three feet long, nine inches deep. Them slats there is nine-inchers. Them boards there is for the tops an’ bottoms. Yer’ll ’ave to do some sawin’. There’s a saw. I’ll get you a drawin’ to ’elp you along. ’Ere, Dusty, before you start work, bring young Jimmy ’ere an oggle box drawin’.’
‘I gotcher, Alf,’ said a man. He opened the drawer of a wooden cabinet, rummaged around, drew out a folded sheet of paper and brought it over. ‘’Ullo, young ’un,’ he said, ‘bein’ apprenticed, are yer? Well, we all ’ave to know ’ow to make oggle boxes.’
‘That’s a fact,’ said Alf, taking the sheet of paper from Dusty Miller and unfolding it. ‘The guv’nor’s liable anytime to come and ask for someone to knock ’im up an oggle box quick. ’Ere y’ar, can yer foller this drawin’?’
The drawing was a neat pencil sketch of a box perforated by holes along the sides and in the top.
‘I did some woodwork at school,’ said Jimmy. ‘I can follow this all right, Mr Roberts.’
‘Well, yer sound a promisin’ lad,’ said Alf. ‘All ’oles an inch in diameter. There’s yer ’and drill, with an inch cutter. You can get goin’.’
Work had started. The circular saws were going, cutting through wood like a knife through butter. Sawdust was falling into large deep trays. At one end of the factory, men were assembling slats of cheap wood to put kipper boxes together at astonishing speed.
‘Right, Mr Roberts,’ said Jimmy. ‘Could you tell me what an oggle box is for?’
‘Made ’em particular special for the war, Jimmy,’ said Alf, ‘but I ain’t allowed to tell yer what for. The guv’nor might tell yer when you show ’im yer finished one. Leave yer to it, lad. Oh, yer got to put ’oles in the bottom as well as the top.’
‘I think I can put one together,’ said Jimmy.
He went to work, measuring and sawing and cutting out holes. He wore a pair of overalls that he’d bought out of the money he’d earned at Anerley. Being fairly useful with his hands, he found the work no great problem. At ten o’clock, mugs of tea appeared, and he was given one. The men drank while working.
Mr Gibbs entered the workshop at ten-thirty to speak to Alf. He stopped at the bench Jimmy was using. ‘What’s that you’re doing, Jimmy?’ he asked.
‘Makin’ an oggle box, sir,’ said Jimmy, beginning to worry about the time it was taking. Cutting out the holes and chiselling dovetails did take time.
‘I see. Very good, Jimmy. Carry on.’ He smiled and crossed the floor to speak to the foreman.
Jimmy finished the box at a quarter to twelve. He was quite proud of it, it had dovetailed together very nicely, with the aid of glue. He felt the box might have a livestock use. You could transport rabbits in it or pigeons. Alf came to inspect the results.
‘Well, whadder yer know, that’s an oggle box all right,’ he said, ‘yer can be proud of yerself, lad. Let’s just ’ave a close look at yer dovetails. Well, not bad, not bad at all. Don’t need much of a push to pass that as yer first bit of carpentry. Got all the ’oles in it, ’ave yer?’
‘Six in the top, six in the bottom, four in each side and three in each end,’ said Jimmy. ‘I must say it looks a funny kind of box to me, Mr Roberts.’
‘Funny? You better not tell the guv’nor that, me lad. All right, go an’ show it to ’im.’
Men glanced as Jimmy carried the box through the workshop.
‘Good luck, young ’un.’
‘Nice job you made of that, Jimmy.’
‘Dunno as I could put a better oggle box together meself.’
It was a puzzle to Jimmy, exactly what it was for. Leaving the workshop, he knocked on the door marked OFFICES.
‘Come in,’ said a female voice.
He went in. A thin woman sat at one desk, a plump girl at another.
‘Hullo,’ said the woman, ‘are you the new hand, Jimmy Andrews?’
‘That’s me,’ said Jimmy, ‘good mornin’. Can I take this in to Mr Gibbs? The foreman asked me to.’
‘Well, bless us, look at that,’ said the plump girl. ‘It’s an oggle box.’
‘So it is,’ said the woman.
‘Mr Gibbs’ll like that,’ said the girl.
‘I’m sure,’ said the woman. ‘Knock on his door and take it in.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jimmy. He crossed to an inner door and knocked.
‘Come in,’ called Mr Gibbs, and Jimmy went in. Mr Gibbs, his jacket off, was in waistcoat, shirtsleeves and trousers, a sheaf of papers on his desk.
‘Mr Roberts said to bring this to you, Mr Gibbs,’ said Jimmy, showing the box that was full of circular holes.
‘The oggle box? Stand it on the floor, Jimmy, end up.’
Jimmy did so. Mr Gibbs got up and walked around it, giving it an inspection.
‘Is it all right, Mr Gibbs?’
‘It’s not bad, not bad at all, Jimmy.’
‘Excuse me for askin’, Mr Gibbs, but what’s an oggle box for?’
‘For oggles,’ said Mr Gibbs. ‘This one should be good for several.’
‘Excuse me for askin’ again, Mr Gibbs, but what’s an oggle?’
Mr Gibbs consulted his pocket watch. ‘Well, I’ve a minute or so, Jimmy, and I think I know you well enough to be able to let you into the secret. But keep it under your hat. It’s like this.’ Mr Gibbs explained. During the war he’d managed to get a contract for ammunition boxes. The product satisfying the War Office, the Admiralty asked him to tender for three hundred oggle boxes, sending a diagram of the design. The tender was accepted, the work secret, the purpose of the boxes secret too. They were delivered to Portsmouth and taken aboard a battleship. The crew asked what they were and were told oggle boxes. What were they for? No-one could say. Their purpose was secret. The officers asked the captain what they were for. The captain said he had no idea, he had only been advised that their purpose would be made known if the G
erman Fleet attacked. Well, the German Fleet did attack, and the battleship was sunk. The captain and his crew took to the boats, and as the ship went down the sea was dotted with oggle boxes. They began to sink. ‘And as they sank, Jimmy, their purpose was made known. They all went “Oggle, oggle, oggle.”’
‘Pardon?’ said Jimmy.
‘Yes, oggle, oggle, oggle,’ said Mr Gibbs gravely.
Jimmy yelled with laughter. ‘Mr Gibbs, I’ve been diddled an’ done,’ he said.
‘It happens to every new hand in the box factory, Jimmy,’ said Mr Gibbs, and then he was laughing too.
‘What a sell,’ said Jimmy.
‘Not a bad oggle box, though,’ said Mr Gibbs, ‘you can take it back now.’
The hooter sounded then for the hour’s midday break. Jimmy carried the box back, the plump girl giggling and the thin woman smiling as he passed through their office.
‘I’m a mug,’ said Jimmy.
The men roared with laughter when he returned.
‘The guv’nor passed yer first bit of carpentry, lad?’ asked Alf, the foreman.
‘Yes, he said it would oggle all right.’
The men roared again. Jimmy grinned. He sat with them in the workshop, and while they ate their sandwiches, he ate those Aunt Edie had made for him. More mugs of tea came up.
After the break, he found what his real job was, carrying the trays of sawdust to an adjoining loading bay and emptying them into a huge crate. There were two crates, one for clean sawdust and the other for sawdust swept up from the floor. And he did the sweeping. The saws were always going, and there was always more sawdust.
‘Don’t fret, lad,’ said Alf, during the afternoon. ‘You’ll get taught carpentry an’ joinery, we’ll turn yer into a chippie.’
‘Well, I like a job with prospects,’ said Jimmy.
‘So yer should, Jimmy, so yer should.’
The family sat down to supper that evening. Aunt Edie had been seeing to meals at weekends, and during the week Patsy, with a little help from Betsy, was making a good job of the suppers. The two girls shopped in the East Street market, using money supplied by Dad, and Patsy knew how to spend it to the best advantage. Being on holiday she had taken her time, but she and Betsy would be back at school tomorrow, then they would have to shop after classes were over.
The Pearly Queen Page 28
