by Cathy Sharp
Her sister and brothers squealed as she yanked the covers off them and then physically ejected them from bed; they were lazy devils and did little or nothing to help Mammy, even though Cate was old enough at nine to help with the simple chores.
‘Get up and wash now,’ Kelly said crossly, ‘or you’ll get no breakfast. I’ve got to get to work and I can’t wait about for you. Mammy isn’t well this morning so you can do the washing up before you go to school.’
‘There’s no school today ’cos there’s a hole in the roof and we wus told not to go in,’ her brother Michael complained bitterly. ‘I ain’t goin’ ter get up yet, our Kelly. You’re mean to get on at us like you do.’
‘Well, you may have a day off but I don’t,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m not telling you again. There’ll be toast and dripping and a cup of milk for you downstairs. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve washed up the supper things – and if I find Mammy worse tonight because you didn’t help her, Cate, you’ll feel the back of my hand.’
‘I’ll help Mammy,’ Robbie said. He was only five but more serious than the others and she knew he tried but he couldn’t do much other than set the table or fetch things from the shop.
‘Thank you, Robbie love,’ Kelly said. ‘Make the others help her too and make sure she doesn’t do too much. I’ve got to hurry or I might lose my job.’ She didn’t earn much but even a few shillings extra helped to pay the rent and make sure there was coal for the fire.
She took Bethy from her cot and into the bathroom, washing her face and changing her nappy. Bethy was nearly three and still in nappies; it seemed she wouldn’t learn to use the potty or perhaps Mammy was too tired to train her into it as she had the others. She’d never really been well since the birth of her youngest child.
Kelly ran back downstairs, knowing that her younger sister would get up even if Michael did not. In the kitchen she settled Bethy in her high chair with a piece of bread and strawberry jam; toast was too hard for the little girl and she liked to suck on her bread until it was soft and she could swallow it without having to chew. Kelly wasn’t sure if the child was backward or simply lazy, like most of her family seemed to be. She herself seemed to take after her Irish grandmother who had brought up a family of twelve and never stopped working until she dropped down dead in her mid-fifties of a heart attack.
Almost an hour later, Kelly had fed the baby, brought a semblance of order to the kitchen and abandoned her brothers and sister to their quarrel over who should do what, as she grabbed her shabby coat and left the house. She saw a bus coming that would take her close to Halfpenny Street and ran to catch it, sighing with relief as the cheery conductor collected her fare. At least she was on her way to work and perhaps Nan would let her off as she was only a bit late …
THREE
Angela popped out at lunchtime to pick up some shopping, taking it back to her flat before returning to Halfpenny Street. In the heart of Spitalfields, the street was typical of others in the neighbourhood with its rundown houses and shabby commercial properties. St Saviour’s had started life as a grand Georgian house with gardens at the rear and three floors plus attics above, but it had long ago lost its air of grandeur. People of all nationalities lived and worked in the surrounding streets, which had once formed part of the prosperous silk district, populated first by émigré Huguenots. In later years many Jewish synagogues and businesses had taken the silk merchants’ place, and they in turn had moved on as a variety of new, much poorer inhabitants flooded in. Even on a lovely September day, the street looked grimy and most of the buildings were dilapidated, but what had for a time been the old fever hospital was now a place of hope for the children who lived there. The window frames and doors had recently been painted and it looked more cheerful now that the attic windows were no longer boarded up, the roof space having been turned into two large offices.
On her return, Angela met Staff Nurse Michelle coming downstairs with a tray of dirty cups and plates as she entered the hall, and stopped to speak to her.
‘Is Muriel still behind? I think Nan gave her a hand earlier as Kelly Mason was late again …’
‘Kelly is having a bad time at home,’ Michelle said with a sympathetic look on her pretty face. She was a striking girl with midnight black hair and a pearly complexion. ‘Have a word with her before you think of sacking her, Angela. She isn’t lazy. I think it’s just that her mother can’t manage without her help.’
‘Give me the tray, Michelle. I know you have better things to do upstairs.’
Angela carried the tray through to the kitchen and discovered Kelly talking with one of the newer carers, Tilly. They were sitting at a table drinking tea and seemed intent on their talk until she entered, but their conversation died and she fancied Kelly looked a bit apprehensive.
‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ she said. ‘I came in the hope of a cup of tea.’
‘I’ll get you one, Miss Angela,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m taking my lunch break, miss, and we were only talkin’ about Ireland. Tilly was telling me her auntie married a man from Derry.’
‘Yes, you’re Irish, aren’t you?’
‘Only on me mam’s side,’ Kelly said. ‘Me dad is English; London bred and born. I was tellin’ Tilly how me mam’s been ill all year and I’ve been lookin’ after her as much as I could—’ The girl broke off, a look of anguish in her eyes. Angela understood instantly, because Michelle had warned her. It explained Kelly’s lateness and constant days off. ‘Only in me spare time, though …’
‘Yes, I see,’ Angela said. ‘Has your mother had the doctor, Kelly? Do you know why she’s so poorly?’
‘He wouldn’t come to us, miss,’ Kelly said. ‘We live in a slum down near the Docks. Dad hoped Hitler would do us a favour and blow the cottage up, but it’s still standin’ and the council say we’re a long way down the list – but it’s damp see and Mam suffers from a heart condition. She feels the cold somethin’ awful – and I think I take after her; it’s why I’m always gettin’ a chill.’
‘Well, we shall have to see what we can do to help your mam,’ Angela said. ‘Would your family move into a better place if one were offered, Kelly?’
‘Oh yes, miss,’ Kelly’s face lit up. ‘Me dad would do anythin’ to make her well again.’
‘I’ll speak to some people I know,’ Angela said. ‘I’m helping a Church charity to provide deserving cases with decent housing they can afford. We don’t have enough houses for everyone and there’s always a long waiting list but … it would help if we had a doctor’s report …’
‘The doctor won’t come to our house; he doesn’t like the area – too many bad folk where we live.’
‘I know someone who will come,’ Angela said. ‘If I have your permission I shall bring him myself, Kelly.’
‘I’ll ask Dad and tell you tomorrow,’ Kelly said and put a cup and saucer in front of her. ‘It’s still hot, miss. We’d only just made it.’
‘I’d better get going,’ Tilly announced and stood up. ‘We’re rushed off our feet today.’
‘Yes, and I must too.’ Angela took a sip of her tea. ‘I should like Dr Kent to see your mother, Kelly; if her health is affected by the damp conditions it will help your family move up the housing list. I can’t promise anything. The charity I help out has to be fair and I’m only one small cog, but sometimes they listen to me. If your mother was better, you wouldn’t have to be late so often.’
Kelly’s cheeks turned even pinker and she hung her head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Morton – and I’ll try not to stop away too much. You see, Mammy has a little one still at home and another three at school, and if she’s ill …’
‘Yes, I do understand, Kelly,’ Angela said, ‘and I shan’t be reporting you to Sister for staying away from work – but you must try to come in on time; you know we need you too.’
‘I could always come in and make up me time when me sister gets home from school – I wouldn’t mind working in the evening to make up for being late. Me da’s home then �
�’
‘Well, let’s see what we can do for your mother first,’ Angela said. ‘Perhaps there is some treatment that will help her.’
She was thoughtful as she made her way to her office. If Kelly’s mother was suffering from the damp conditions in her slum house then the sooner she was on their list the better. Since the end of the war more and more building was taking place, but it took time to get all the kilns and factories producing at full capacity and progress was slow. So many people had been left homeless that pulling down the old slums that had remained standing was not a priority. In time it was hoped to replace all the substandard housing, but it could take years. It was the aim of the charity Angela assisted to help those who needed it most, but there were so many in bad housing and they couldn’t help them all. In some quarters there was resistance on the part of the slum dwellers themselves, who didn’t want to move out to the suburbs; for this reason, the charity had decided to renovate old properties rather than build new.
Families like Kelly’s were often overlooked, and the terrible poverty they endured often bred cruelty, which in turn led to battered children being brought to their door at St Saviour’s. If Kelly’s mother died, the girl would have to leave her job to look after her siblings or they might end up at St Saviour’s or some other children’s home.
Determined to prevent such a tragedy, Angela resolved to speak to Dr Kent about visiting Kelly’s mother. He was new to the area and keen to get to grips with the poverty and sickness he witnessed on his rounds; Angela hoped that would make him more likely to be interested in the Masons’ case.
Angela had no sooner started typing up her report than the door opened and Sister Beatrice entered. She looked thoughtful and rather anxious, as if something were playing on her mind.
‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘Wrong with me? Why should there be? I’m perfectly well,’ Sister snapped, and Angela wondered what she’d said to upset her this time. She was secretly counting the days to her forthcoming move upstairs to one of the new offices in the attic. Perhaps once their offices were no longer side-by-side and they met only to discuss business they would get on better.
‘No reason at all,’ she said. ‘I thought you looked anxious … perhaps over one of the children?’
‘Well yes,’ Sister admitted. ‘I am concerned about the new arrivals, Angela. Samantha and Sarah … As you know, they were discovered sleeping rough in a bombed-out house due for demolition. The police had cleared it of homeless vagrants once already, but they went back for a final check before the bulldozers moved in and found the girls close to exhaustion from lack of food and water …’
‘Have they told you why they were there? Or given their last names?’
‘Not yet. Though I’ve been informed they’re sisters and their surname is May. Samantha seems wary. Sarah is a gentle girl, very pretty and doesn’t say much, just sits there and looks at you.’
‘Can she speak?’
‘She speaks when she wants to – usually yes or no or thank you. They both seem to have nice manners and they haven’t caused a bit of bother … but something isn’t right. Sarah has old scarring and faded bruises, but Samantha was merely dehydrated and hungry; although when I examined the marks on her sister’s body she seemed to wince, almost as if she was feeling Sarah’s pain herself.’
‘Could they be twins? I’ve heard that sometimes twins feel each other’s pain and emotions.’
‘Samantha says they are twins, but they aren’t identical and Sarah seems younger and quieter … perhaps she’s in her sister’s shadow. I think I might ask Mark to have a word with them, next time he visits.’
‘Yes …’ Angela frowned. ‘We don’t want the kind of bother we had with poor Terry.’
‘No, certainly not.’ Sister shuddered as they both remembered the frightened, troubled child who had attacked her. ‘I feel so responsible for what happened. I know his sister blames herself too, but I doubt anyone could have prevented it.’
‘Nancy is coping very well for the moment. Muriel was telling me she’s very good at making pastry – in fact she made the treacle tart some of the children had at lunch.’
‘Yes, well, I’m glad she’s coming along nicely – but I don’t want anything like that to happen here again, Angela. Nancy refused to be parted from her brother and Samantha is behaving in much the same way. She says her sister might be frightened if she woke in the night and she was not there.’
‘Does it really matter if they stay together?’ Angela asked reasonably. ‘As we discussed, we’re moving Mary Ellen and Marion into the new wing next week; they will have one of the smaller rooms with four beds. Perhaps we should put the twins in with them. They’re much the same age, but Sarah seems younger and Samantha needs to get comfortable with us. It is very strange for children who’ve been accustomed to doing chores and taking care of their siblings when they suddenly find themselves having to follow our rules.’
‘Do you imagine I am not aware of that?’ Sister Beatrice was clearly not in the best of moods, reverting to the hostility that she’d shown when Angela first came to the home the previous year. ‘I’ve no intention of repeating the mistakes that were made with Nancy and Terry …’
‘None of us could have foreseen such an outcome,’ Angela said. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Sister. Terry had been badly damaged by his father’s brutality, not to mention the trauma of the fire that killed his parents. We shall never know exactly what took place, but Terry’s mind was so badly warped by his father’s torture—’
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ sniffed Sister Beatrice. ‘Anyway, I’ve been informed by Constable Sallis that the police have managed to trace the girls’ aunt. She may be willing to take them, in which case their stay with us will be a short one.’
‘That’s a good thing, I expect.’
Sister’s gaze flickered and Angela thought she saw distress in her eyes, but then the older woman was turning away, leaving her to carry on with her work. The report was almost finished, which left two letters to compose and type up before she would be ready to meet Mark. But as her fingers rattled the keys of the typewriter her mind kept drifting back to Sister Beatrice’s hostility, and wondering what could have provoked it.
Beatrice entered her own office, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. She had no idea why she’d been so annoyed to find Angela busily typing away at this hour; her assistant was very efficient and saved her endless hours of paperwork, something she’d found irksome in the past. Mark had assured Sister Beatrice that the Administrator’s role was not intended to usurp hers and that the children of St Saviour’s would continue to depend on her experience and her understanding.
She touched the heavy silver crucifix she wore hanging from a long chain about her neck, and then closed her eyes. She must conquer this feeling of anxiety and anger that came over her sometimes in the younger woman’s presence.
‘Forgive me, Lord,’ Beatrice said. ‘Pride and ambition are unworthy sins and I must submit to Thy will for me …’
Yet even as she mouthed the words she knew she would fight with all that was in her to retain her position at St Saviour’s … but why was she feeling threatened? She’d thought she’d managed to put this behind her, to accept that Angela’s position as Administrator was of benefit to all.
She’d felt so inadequate when Terry’s illness had made him a danger to himself and others. Ever since that terrible incident she’d felt tired and strained – and there was something about the two most recent arrivals that made her uneasy.
Feeling a sudden pain in her side, Beatrice gasped and clutched at herself. Perhaps it wasn’t the silence of little Sarah that had brought on this attack of self-doubt and soul-searching. These terrible stabbing pains had been troubling her for a while, and though she rose above it stoically, it was getting steadily worse – and that was what frightened her. What was the source of her pain? Had it been higher in her chest she would have thought
it indigestion and ignored it, but this was low on her left side and could be severe, though it didn’t last long.
She drew a sighing breath of relief as the pain receded. It was foolish of her to imagine that she had some dreadful illness. Beatrice knew she ought to visit a doctor and let him examine her, but she was reluctant. If it turned out she had something unpleasant, she might be forced to take a lot of time off work – she might lose her position here.
A quiet existence in the convent did not appeal to her after a busy life at St Saviour’s, and the prospect of being forced to retire due to ill health was one that sent her into the darkest of moods. She loved the hustle and bustle of Halfpenny Street and the surrounding lanes and alleys – so many people going about their work and the rattle of trams in the distance; bicycles, horses and dray carts, and lorries as they passed, and the cry of costermongers as they pushed their hand-carts and offered fruit and veg for sale – and she was not ready for the quiet of the secluded convent. She did not have time to be ill – not when there was so much to do, and so much to lose. St Saviour’s would manage without her, Angela would see to that, Beatrice had no doubt – but she needed her place here.
Her thoughts were interrupted as someone knocked at the door and then Nan poked her head round. She smiled at the woman who was her closest friend; the only person who knew anything about her life before St Saviour’s.
