Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

‘I think we’ve already got a date,’ she said.

  ‘Have we? I didn’t know.’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ she said and whisked away up the stairs to her out-of-bounds sanctum. Her stocking seams were arrow-straight.

  I called on Jim that evening. In the twilight. Halfway down the village street, I met Minnie. What a walking advertisement she was for all that the rural life of Suffolk could do for a cockney girl. Not only had she acquired a healthy country look, but her fair hair was the colour of ripe corn. But was it Suffolk or Camberwell that had made a minx of her?

  In a blue dress, she danced up to me. ‘Oh, you Tim,’ she said in her usual scatty way.

  ‘All right, you Min, take it easy, I’ve had a long day.’

  ‘Blessed old war,’ said Min, ‘but bliss meetin’ you. I’ll put it down in me diary tonight, like I always do. I’ll put down I met Tim and ’e give us a good ’un.’

  ‘What good ’un?’

  ‘Kiss,’ said Minnie.

  ‘Not likely, I’m fighting that.’

  ‘Won’t do you no good, Tim,’ she said, her smile stunning. ‘Glad you got off, Mum said if you didn’t she’d knock Dad’s block off.’

  ‘How’d you know I got off?’

  ‘Little dicky bird flew in, didn’t it?’ she said and laughed. Then she gave me an accusing look. ‘Dad said you’re gettin’ to know that American girl sergeant. You’d better not.’

  ‘Better not what?’

  ‘Break ’er legs, I will, both of ’em,’ said young Miss Beavers.

  ‘Listen, you daft infant—’

  ‘Ain’t an infant,’ she said, ‘nearly a woman, I am. You Tim, don’t you go takin’ American girls out or I’ll fall down dead. You wait for me, I’ll be old enough soon.’

  ‘I’ll fall down dead myself in a minute. Why aren’t you indoors doing your homework?’

  ‘Done it, now I’m going to see Aunt Flossie.’

  ‘You ever going back to London to live?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t know, do I?’ she said. ‘Except I like it here. D’you like it here?’

  ‘Well, it’s got to be better than Burma.’

  ‘I know one thing,’ said Min and laughed and went on her way. She turned. ‘Goin’ to be your best girl, that’s what I know.’ And she laughed again.

  I went to Jim’s cottage and knocked on the front door. His missus appeared. I was fond of his missus. She was thirty-seven and as handsome as a squire’s wife. Suffolk had laid its rich rural mark on her too. She was brimful of female health. Her brown hair was thick, her brown eyes full of milk chocolate. She was generous and warm-hearted. Her smile showed it. And she looked a picture of Suffolk ripeness in a white sweater and a pleated brown skirt. The sweater was her own knit. She was what Aunt May would have been if life had been kinder to her, a complete wife and mum.

  ‘Why, Tim ducky.’ Her smile became even warmer. ‘Come in, do, there’s a love.’

  We were friends, me and Missus. I’d done one or two odd jobs for her, like re-hanging a door and fixing a couple of disjointed banister rails. Jim only did outside jobs. He couldn’t stand messing about in the house. There was no profit in it.

  ‘Jim in?’ I asked, stepping through the front door into a little hall and accompanying Missus into the parlour which was full of good old-fashioned furniture.

  ‘Jim’s down the pub,’ said Missus, ‘he’s had an ’ard day. Sit yourself down, Tim, you been up against it yourself lately. Still, it’s all come right, we heard.’

  ‘Yes, I heard you heard. How did you hear?’

  ‘Dicky birds, love. One come by and flew in.’ Missus sat me down on the sofa and plumped cushions up for me, her bosom softly brushing my shoulder. ‘All that fuss over a bit of petrol with a war on and all. You’re a nice young chap, Tim, like Jim was when I met him in Camberwell years ago. I’ll make us a cup of tea while you wait for him, he’ll only be a couple of hours.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Don’t you worry now, you and me can have a talk. And would you like a ham sandwich? I’ll make one.’

  ‘I don’t know I ought to be here two hours, Missus, with Jim at the pub and Minnie at your Aunt Flossie’s.’

  ‘Oh, you met her on the way did you?’ smiled Missus. ‘Growin’ up, that girl is. I sent her to Aunt Flossie’s so Aunt Flossie could give her a talkin’-to about growin’ up. Best if girls get talked to by their aunts and not their mums. Now you sit there, I won’t be a minute.’

  She wasn’t long. A pot of tea and a ham sandwich appeared in no time at all. Like Aunt May, she was a marvel in a kitchen. In a kitchen, women do wondrous works. Women are born to make men fit to face life. We all ought to have one. It hardly matters that some of them are a bit barmy.

  I didn’t ask where the ham came from. It was off the bone. Jim and Missus both had ways and means. She shared the pot of tea and the sofa with me.

  ‘Minnie says she likes Suffolk, Missus.’

  ‘Likes you better, Tim, a bit gone on you, that she is.’

  ‘Can’t you find her a growing Boy Scout?’

  ‘Our Min? That girl’s gone past Boy Scouts, love. Got her eyes on you.’ Missus frowned. ‘We can’t let her get you, though, not at her age, can we? Mind, she’s comin’ up for sixteen soon and fancying her chances. Jim and me can’t have that, sixteen’s still too young. Not that she won’t make a nice bride when she’s eighteen.’

  ‘I’ll be old enough to be her dad by then.’

  ‘Course you won’t, Tim, what a daft thing to say and she’s got a dad anyway. She’s got female curiosity too, you know how it is with growin’ girls.’

  ‘Don’t know a thing,’ I said, ‘I’ve never been a growing girl. I’ve been a growing boy, but that’s all in the past now.’

  ‘Ah, you’re a manly young chap,’ said Missus in Suffolk fashion and smiled softly. ‘You got nice ways too, but you’re a bit shy, like. Haven’t you never had a girl, Tim?’

  ‘I’m saving myself for when it’s legal, Missus.’

  ‘Legal wedlock I expect you mean, ducky. Best we talk about these things. You don’t want to hold back, not when you could be a pleasure to a woman.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Mrs Ford across the street now, she said you’re the nicest soldier she ever met. Look at the way you mended her shed when you had a Sunday off.’

  ‘I didn’t mend it, Missus, I stood it up and rebuilt it. Somehow her evacuee, young Wally Ricketts, had managed to push it over.’

  ‘Yes, all the trouble you took over it,’ said Missus warmly. ‘She was that grateful, what with her hubby bein’ away at the war and all. She said you didn’t want payin’, not a farthing, not anything.’

  ‘Just a small good turn, Missus. Who wants paying for that?’

  ‘Still,’ said Missus.

  ‘And she did give me several cups of tea and some cake.’

  A laugh escaped Missus. Rich and creamy, it was, like Minnie’s. Thoughts of my future at that point took in a picture of a healthy country girl.

  ‘Pity you never had a girl, Tim, you wouldn’t go backin’ off if you had.’

  ‘Well, I don’t feel desperate,’ I said. ‘Mind, I do feel nice girls are getting less. I think it’s these GIs, they’re all over the place. Still, I’ll take a chance on finding one eventually, one who’ll make a nice wife.’

  ‘Yes, legal wedlock’s best, Tim.’ Missus smiled again. It was like melting honey. ‘But it’s best you know how to be a pleasure to your bride, best you know what she’d like you to know.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Pardon?’

  ‘A bridegroom ought to know what he’s doin’, lovey, and the bride won’t ask questions, she’ll just be grateful like.’

  These were deep waters to me. ‘How’s the chickens, Missus? Still laying all right, are they?’

  ‘There you go, Tim, backin’ off and bein’ shy.’ Missus shook her head at me. ‘You ought to learn a bit of lovin’ before you get married, it won’t be no go
od bein’ a shy bridegroom. It’s brides that’s shy, it’s natural with brides.’

  ‘Virgin brides, you mean?’ I asked.

  Missus looked shocked. ‘Now don’t you go marryin’ no girl who isn’t,’ she said. ‘Jim and me wouldn’t like some tarty girl gettin’ hold of you. I’ll help you, love.’

  ‘Kind of you, Missus, but if I can’t manage to find the right kind of girl myself—’

  ‘I don’t mean that, lovey, I mean I’ll help to learn you how to be a pleasure to her.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It’s what nice married women are for, bein’ helpful to nice young chaps.’

  ‘Now watch what you’re saying, Missus, I don’t fancy—’

  ‘Don’t lay down no law, Tim. Married women like to be helpful, so don’t go discouragin’ them. I’d be terrible pleased to be a lovin’ help to you.’

  ‘Holy cows,’ I said, ‘I’ll faint in a minute. Are you saying—’

  ‘Yes, course I am, love.’ Missus cooed. ‘I could start learnin’ you now.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ I said. ‘And over Jim’s,’ I added for good measure.

  ‘Ah, Jim, now he got help from my Aunt Flossie,’ beamed Missus. ‘She liked him when he was a shy young chap like you and learned him very lovin’. On our weddin’ night—’

  ‘No, save it, Missus, I can’t listen to any more.’

  ‘Yes, you can, love, it’s educatin’.’ Missus seemed determined to paralyse me. ‘I was a terrible bundle of nerves on our weddin’ night, even though Aunt Flossie told me not to worry. She was right, Jim performed magical.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased for you, Missus, but I’m not sure we’re in the same room together. And suppose Jim was listening, he’d have kittens.’

  ‘Course he wouldn’t, love.’ Missus smiled reassuringly. ‘He knows I’m set on helpin’ you. I told him I’d give you some learnin’ and he said I was born kind and helpful. Best you let me learn you, love, you don’t want some tarty girl doin’ it, you never know where they’ve been. Tim, is that you blushin’?’

  ‘Well, I tell you, Missus, I’m hot all over and that’s a fact. It’s not on and Jim ought to be executed for agreeing to it. Look, a bit of porridge in exchange for some eggs now and again, I can live with that, but I can’t go in for this sort of stuff. It’s ruddy social anarchy.’

  ‘Bless us,’ said Missus, ‘don’t you talk lovely, Tim? Now we’ve got plenty of time for learnin’—’

  ‘Not tonight, Missus,’ I said, ‘I think a sergeant friend of mine is waiting for me in the pub.’

  ‘Ah, that female American sergeant,’ said Missus knowingly. In this village they knew about everything before it happened. ‘Best you be careful with her, our Min can get terrible jealous.’

  ‘Nothing to do with Min.’

  ‘I told you, she’s a bit gone on you, love. Now, let’s—’

  ‘Nothing doing,’ I said and escaped before she had a chance to paralyse me.

  She followed me to the front door. ‘There, you’re still shy, Tim, I can see that,’ she said. ‘We’ll wait till next time, say tomorrow or the evenin’ after. Get Jim to treat you to a Guinness. Give you iron that will and turn you into a real manly young chap. There.’ She kissed me, her lips warm and luscious. What a saucy woman.

  I left feeling life in the country wasn’t simple any more. Out of the dusk, a boy appeared.

  ‘Watcher, Tim.’ It was Wally Ricketts, ten years old and an evacuee from the East End who was living with Mrs Lottie Ford. If Minnie was a holy terror, so was young Wally. Small village girls ran all ways whenever Wally was about and even some of the bigger ones were arming themselves. ‘’Ere, I got news for you, Tim.’

  ‘If you’ve pushed Mrs Ford’s shed over again, I’ll break your leg.’

  ‘Me? Course I ain’t. ’Ere, would yer like a couple of rabbits?’

  I knew who would. Aunt May. She liked baked rabbit and rabbit pie. ‘Fresh?’ I said, thinking. Gunner Simpson was going on leave tomorrow. He lived in Kennington.

  ‘Course they’re fresh, they was alive up to an hour ago,’ said Wally, capable of undermining the existence of anything that moved. ‘Would yer like ’em for a bob the pair, Tim?’

  ‘Hand ’em over,’ I said.

  ‘Be a tick,’ he said, and disappeared. Back he came, with a pair of large dead rabbits in a paper carrier bag. ‘’Ere y’ar, Tim, done ’em in special for you, I did.’

  ‘I bet.’ The carcases still felt warm. I gave him a bob, which melted his wayward heart and went on to the pub. Jim was in the public bar, at the far end of the mahogany counter. I swam through the crowd in a light-headed way. Cecily and Frisby were at a corner table with Cassidy and Top Sergeant Dawson. Cecily didn’t seem quite so much a hunted and haunted doe. She was even drinking, she was even talking to Frisby.

  I wasn’t quite sure how to look at Jim. But I had to. I had to do something about my head. He moved and we met on the outside of the crowd.

  ‘You old bugger,’ I said.

  He eyed me from under his hat and over his pipe. He was a tall wiry bloke, with slightly stooping shoulders. ‘Been with Missus, ’ave yer, lad?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I did knock and she did invite me in.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jim cryptically.

  ‘Ah what?’

  ‘Thought you might knock tonight. Treated you nice did she, Tim?’ Jim couldn’t have been more himself.

  ‘I’m having trouble talking,’ I said.

  ‘Missus done you a mite of good, did she?’

  ‘No, she didn’t, she turned me into a nervous wreck. I’ll have a Guinness.’

  ‘I’ll have old and mild,’ said Jim, ‘it bein’ your turn, Tim boy, and also seein’ yer didn’t get crimed this mornin’. Got to be your treat.’

  I got the drinks. The scrum at the bar swayed and heaved, much to the happy confusion of hemmed-in village maidens.

  ‘All right, get that down you,’ I said, ‘but you don’t deserve it, conniving with Missus to make a goggle-eyed man of me. You bleeder.’

  ‘Now, Tim lad, it’s just that Missus is an obligin’ woman. Takes after ’er Aunt Flossie.’

  ‘Blow Aunt Flossie,’ I said, ‘she’s the cause of Missus going off her chump.’

  A squeezed maiden squealed. Jim frowned. It was his opinion that Hollywood GIs weren’t the best thing that had happened to the eligible females of Sheldham. What a character. He didn’t mind his Missus learning me but he did mind the learning Sheldham girls were getting from the GIs.

  ‘Now you oughtn’t to talk like that about Aunt Flossie, Tim,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’ll admit, I don’t know her and I’ve never seen her. But I’ve just heard about her. Ought to be burned at the stake. So ought you, for conniving with Missus.’

  ‘Do yer good, Tim. Bring you on a fair treat. You got the makings of a man, lad. Just need a bit of ’elp, that’s all. Missus is willin’ to give that ’elp. She’s a lovin’ woman, yer know. She won’t spoil you, just make you good at it.’

  ‘Good at what?’

  ‘Pleasurin’. You don’t want to be ’eavy- ’anded, Tim, like some of these Yanks. A lady customer of mine, a young widder woman, told me she accidental give in to a Yank once, said it was like a ’aystack fallin’ on ’er. Missus wouldn’t like you to be like that, yer know.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about your lady customers. You’re unbelievable. And so are they, probably. As for Missus, what about my respect for her? I happen to think you should respect women.’

  ‘’Ere, I respect Missus too, Tim lad,’ he said, swallowing some of his old and mild. I sank some Guinness. It seemed all right, dark as night it was and thick with richness. ‘I told yer, Missus is a lovin’ and ’elpful woman, like ’er Aunt Flossie. I ain’t complainin’ about that, so you shouldn’t. Not when it’s all in the fam’ly, like.’

  ‘You unprincipled old goat, I’m not in the family.’

  ‘Good as. Besides, you’re Walwor
th an’ we’re Camberwell an’ now we’re all Suffolk as well.’ Jim took a long draught of his ale, then a suck at his pipe. ‘Missus is fond of yer, means to turn you into a pleasurin’ young bloke, not an ’aystack. Tim lad, there’s more to life than fixin’ doors an’ just talkin’. I grant yer, yer a good talker, but you ought to get some learnin’ into yer before you get sent to France with them there guns o’ yourn. It’s got to come, this ’ere invasion of France. Missus won’t want you goin’ off without a fair bit of learnin’ inside yer. She might not get to see yer again, she’ll worry about you not bein’ able to do yer bride proud when you’re churched. Missus don’t believe in disappointed brides.’

  ‘Well, good old Missus, ta very much for that bit of news, but she’s already banged my ears with it. And I dare say she is loving and helpful. Unfortunately, she frightens me to death.’

  ‘There you go, just talkin’ again,’ said Jim, shaking his head.

  ‘Ruddy hell, what—’

  ‘Don’t get excited, Tim. We don’t want people ’earing, nor foreigners.’ Jim wagged his pipe at me. The public bar was bursting with noise but Jim always liked private talking to be carried on in undertones, even if there were no ears around. ‘Keep it in the fam’ly, lad. Missus is a busy woman but she’ll find time to give yer some reg’lar learnin’.’

  ‘Is that a fact? But it’s not compulsory, is it? I don’t have to turn up, do I?’

  ‘Best yer do, Tim, be good for yer, like I already said.’

  ‘You fiddling old ratbag, d’you realize you’re talking about your own Missus committing adultery?’

  ‘Not adultery, Tim, not when it’s just doin’ yer a good turn. You talk long words sometimes, but that ain’t enough. You got to realize there’s a fine young woman out there waitin’ for yer, not just Lottie Ford’s shed or this ’ere cantankerous war. Missus’ll feel hurt if you back off. I can’t rightly think of anyone she’s more fond of than you. Well now, I got it back this afternoon.’

  ‘Got what back?’ I asked vaguely.

  ‘Me porridge drum,’ he said. ‘Brought it back, your lot did. Said it wasn’t no kind of petrol. Said it ’ud blow up a ten-ton lorry if it was put in that.’

  ‘So you’re as clean as a whistle now, are you?’