Although the incident was very funny, the reporter went on to say it might have been less funny for Mr. Walton, who it must be remembered
was bound over to keep the peace for twelve months, if it hadn’t have been for Mr. Barney Skel—ton, who had taken part in the practical joke. They were all a bit tight and it had just been done for a bit of fun, nobody had anything against Mr.
Walton. Mr. Skelton had pressed that Mr. Walton was a decent chap, he was sorry for what had happened and yes, it was true they had locked the back door and locked Mrs. Briggs out of her front door as well.
The magistrate had commented that he considered the members of the party had a warped sense of humour and he thought it was a pity that the old rule ‘an eye for an eye’ did not still maintain. He wondered how Mr. Skelton and his friends would like to be put naked in dustbins and rolled down a cobbled back lane at four o’clock on a winter’s morning. And did Mr. Skelton and his friends realize that there was still a war on, and did they, the magistrate had asked pointedly, stay away from work the following day because they had thick heads? It was a great pity, he considered, that the men concerned weren’t in the armed forces; men were dying at the present moment for people like them.
When Barney Skelton had come out of the court room he had said to anyone who had a mind to listen “That’s what you get for doing the right thing; I was the only bloody fool who came forward....”
The Headmaster could do little about this. He did not send for Jimmy but Jimmy was aware it was another black mark against him. The effect of the practical joke on him had been much worse than the business of the Market Place. He had come out of that affair with some dignity, at least he hadn’t been aware of the entire loss of it, but now he felt a butt, a fool; he knew if he had any gumption he’d pack up and leave.
But where would he go? There wasn’t a place in England where he could go these days and not be traced through either his identity card or ration book. Oh yes, if it was the last thing she did she would trace him and make him keep her. The only solace he had was Mary. No, that wasn’t true; there was one other that could be of solace to him, great solace. But he couldn’t go to her; as much as he wanted
he couldn’t go to her. Funny how you got to like people, and from liking to loving them; the most unusual people, people who weren’t your type, so others would say.
When he went along to Mary’s he said airily, “Well, seen the papers?”
and for answer she said, “Oh Jimmy! Poor Jimmy!”
“Aye, poor Jimmy.”
She stared at him lovingly and said quietly. You know, when the war’s over you want to get yourself away from here; you want to go far away. “
“Not a bad idea,” he said.
She looked out of the kitchen window on to the roof tops opposite, where the slates were of different shades showing the patchwork after blast damage, and she muttered, “That’s what I want to do, get miles and miles away.” She turned her tear-washed eyes on him now and said, “Your da’s in the front room, go and have a word with him.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, just the same. He’s like a child; so grateful for what you do, it hurts. Remember when he used to take me to the allotment from when I was small. It was like having little holidays to escape to the allotment; and it’s odd, but in a way I feel I’m back in those days, except that ... that the tables are turned. You know what I mean? It’s me taking him by the hand now.”
“He’ll likely pull himself together now he’s with you.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Are you keeping him for good?”
“What can I do, where else can he go?”
“Aye. Yes, that’s the question, where can he go? It’s going to be hard on you.”
“I don’t mind.”
She said she didn’t mind, and for most of the time she didn’t, but there were moments when she could see herself going right down the years burdened with one after the other of them. She wouldn’t mind anything if only she had Ben back. Oh, if only she had Ben back, She was so
lonely, lost, empty without Ben. Ben. Ben. Oh Ben.
Jimmy was saying, “I know how me da feels, as never before I know how he feels, because, like him, I’ve been stripped of dignity. I remember when I was about thirteen seeming to see him for the first time. He was standing at the corner with a bunch of other men and I thought, He’s humpty-backed, grey, skinny, and I felt ashamed of him. But just for a moment, for then I realized that all the others were stooped, grey and skinny, and they all had their hands in their pockets. I started to look at the men after that. There were groups at every corner and they all looked alike and they all lacked one thing. I couldn’t put a name to it then, but it was dignity. That’s what they lacked, dignity. Some of them have regained it, since the war gave them work, but not me da. And so I know how he feels.”
Don’t talk so, Jimmy. Look, pull yourself together, face up to it. You were the victim of a joke; nobody’s going to think the worse of you for that. “
“No, no,” he said; ‘they won’t think the worse of me, they’ll only see me with me pants off; particularly five hundred pairs of young eyes in the school hall looking at Lanky Walton with his pants off. “ He turned from her and went into the sitting-room.
She looked out of the window again and startled herself when she whispered, I will! I will! As soon as the war’s over I’ll get away, just Annie and me. I’ll put me da in a nice little house, and Cousin Anniewith him. They could look after each other for a time. And I’ll travel, and perhaps I’ll see some part of the country I’d like to settle in, some place softer, less harsh, where I wouldn’t have to look out on roof tops.
The door opened and Cousin Annie came in. She was limping more than usual and she flopped on to a chair, saying, “Oh, me leg’s playing me up. They said I’d have to have the hip joint seen to, and it’ll likely come to that in the end. I would have had it done ages ago only I was afraid it would stop me walking altogether. But I’ve got to face up to that I suppose. Are you making a cup of tea, lass?”
ia i77
“Yes,” said Mary.
“Yes, I’m making a cup of tea.”
“And I’ll have a scone and butter,” said Cousin Annie.
“We’ll have marge the day,” said Mary.
If an unexploded bomb had dropped in the kitchen Cousin Annie couldn’t have looked more startled.
“Why?” she demanded, her small body bristling.
“Because, Annie, it’s about time we did.”
“Time we did?” queried Cousin Annie.
“But you’re not short of butter?”
“No, but we should be. We should just get our rations like everybody else.”
“Oh!” Cousin Annie wagged her head.
“It’s going to be like that now, is it?”
“Yes, Annie, it’s going to be like that.”
Mary hadn’t known when she would make the stand about the rations, but ever since her particular bomb had dropped, she had as it were, become conscious that there was a war on. Itwas 1944 and she hadn’t really felt the war up till now. It had laid waste various parts of the town but had caused them nothing but inconvenience, such as blackouts and working late at night with coupons. It had, on the other hand, made them quite a bit of money even with the restrictions on foodstuffs; as for their table it had been no different from what it had been in 1939.
Her new moral outlook was going to make her very unpopular, she knew that. Mr. Gregson would cut down her meat. Well, let him. And then there were the clothing coupons. Well, she could do without those.
They would say she was turning into a holy Joe. They’d have to say that.
It wasn’t only the day or yesterday that she had been vitally aware that there was too much fiddling going on, but she hadn’t been able to do much about it because they were doing their share of it. Now, however, she felt forced to take a stand. She couldn’t really explain why except that in a mi
nute way it would help to get back at those who had killed I lie four people dearest to her.
Cousin Annie was hobbling from the room as she said, “It’s
going to be a poor look-out for the lot of us if you’re going to turn sanctimonious. I would have thought you could have put your mind to better ends. “
She mashed the tea and ignored the remark; then went down the stairs, across the yard and into the shop, and there, calling Teresa into the storeroom, she said, “I’ve made a cup of tea. Go up and get it; I’ll see to things. And by the way, Teresa, in future just weigh up Mr.
Gregson his rations. That also includes the Richardsons, the Browns and the Gonnellys; if they want any explanations tell them that’s your orders and to come to me. “
Teresa screwed up her eyes and looked at Mrs. Tollett, but she didn’t immediately say anything, she just thought her employer must be going a bit funny, the bombing business had turned her head. Then she muttered, “As you say, Mrs. Tollett, as you say.”
Mary had been serving in the shop for about five minutes when the door opened and a tall man entered. She hadn’t put the light on yet and the shop was dim with the blackout covering most of the windows, but she sensed he wasn’t one of the regular customers. When he stepped further into the shop she saw it was Hughie Amesden.
It was ten years since she had last seen him in the shop. She had seen him once or twice during that time in the street with a girl, a pretty girl. She didn’t know whether she was the one who had become his wife because she had only caught a glimpse of her that day at the funeral.
He waited until the rest of the customers were served before he came to the counter. He did not ask for anything straightaway but looked at her and said, “How are you faring?”
“Oh, not too bad, Mr. Amesden. And how are you yourself?”
He jerked his head.
“Putting up with it “ How is your wife? “
“Oh, she’s taken it pretty badly. She ... we thought the world of her, Christine, you know.”
As she put in, “Yes, yes, I know,” she wanted to add, “But there’s one solution for you and your wife, you can have others.” But she didn’t, because she knew that would be no solace at the moment.
They stared at each other over the counter, then she said, “It’s getting dark,” and moved from behind the counter to the window where she pulled the middle black-out blinds down, drew the grey blanket curtain across the door, then switched on the light. All the while he watched her, until she lifted the hatch and went behind the counter again. Then, looking steadily at her, he said quietly, “I was very sorry to hear about your husband and son. I... I didn’t know him but I’d heard of him, he was highly respected.”
“Yes, yes, he was.”
“And... and I’ve popped in the day because ... well, I’ve just heard you lost your grandmother and grandfather at the same time. That was a terrible blow.”
“Thank you, it was kind of you. Yes, it was a terrible blow.”
He smiled faintly at her.
“I remember the old people. You used to go round there a lot. I used to see you when we walked round there, Paul Connelly and I. You may remember him?”
“Oh yes; Paul Connelly.”
“He went down with his ship last year No!”
Tes. “
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“He was an only son an’ all. It... it seems years since those days, doesn’t it, the times when we used to meet on the streets?”
She stared at him, her eyes widening slightly. The times they’d met on the streets, he said, yet he’d never opened his mouth to her;
only once in all those years had he said “Hello’. She remembered the card from a silent admirer. She had it upstairs somewhere now. Jimmy had brought it when he had sneaked her few possessions out of the house.
She wondered if it were he who had sent it. But no, no; it would have been Paul, Paul Connelly.
The shop bell rang and two children entered.
He said now, “Well, I just wanted to say how sorry I was.”
“Thank you, Mr. Amesden.”
He still continued to look at her and when she glanced back from the children to him he said quietly, I never thought I’d want to get back into the thick of it again. I was discharged last year. “ He tapped his chest.
“A bit of shrapnel did its best to stop me breath.” He smiled weakly.
“But now, every hour of the day I crave to be back.”
She nodded at him as she said, “I know how you feel, it’s had the same effect on me, but, but in a different way.”
“Well’—he moved a step from the counter “ I’ll say goodbye. “
“Bye-bye, Mr. Amesden.”
When he had gone she stared at the door for a moment before saying to the children, “Yes, what can I get you, hinny?”
And as she served them she thought that he hadn’t come to buy anything, he had come just to pay his respects. That was nice of him.
And he had remembered ten years ago, ten years ago when they had been young,
Chapter Seven
life for Jimmy on the surface looked as if it had slipped back into the normal. The weeks passed and ran into months; spring came and went; the war would soon be over, victory was in sight; D-Day had taken place in June, everyone in the world who had access to the wireless and the
B. B. G. knew all about the beach-head at Arromanches. People still talked of Monte Casino that had been taken in May, and it was prophesied that the war would be over by Christmas, that is Hitler’s war there was, of course, still the Japs. Things were going marvellously Jerry was on the run men were still dying in their hundreds but things were going marvellously.
Jimmy taught as well as ever; at least he thought he did. His temper was apt to flare up a little more often, but that was the only difference he noticed in himself, in his relationship with his pupils, and the fact that he didn’t joke with them now, except on rare occasions.
Then something happened that altered the view he had of his whole future and brought a glow to him; the glow was dim and distant, but it was there nevertheless.
Albert Briggs died, he was killed. He was working on the deck of a ship when the chain slipped from a loading crane. It wrapped round his body like a snake and he was dead when they picked him up.
He commiserated with Mrs. Briggs but did not go to the funeral, although he could have, since it took place on a Saturday morning.
Mrs. Briggs became the talk of the street, and of his own home, because she had gone to her husband’s funeral in her ordinary clothes, without even a black band around the arm of her grey coat.
Indecent! Betty said. It was thoroughly indecent. But then she was bats. She had certainly earned her name of Doo-lally-tap, if anybody had. Everybody knew clothes were hard to come by, but she could have worn a black band, couldn’t she?
“Perhaps,” Jimmy put in quietly, “she’s not a hypocrite.”
“Of course you would stick up for her.” Betty came back at him, and he looked at her and replied quietly, “Of course.”
He had seen Lally only three or four times since the night of the dustbin episode until Briggs’s death. The first time he had met her he had thanked her for coming to the court and she had said, “Well, it was as little as I could do, Mr.
Walton. “ Twice he had walked home with her in the blackout. But on each occasion he had been sober and so had not read poetry, or tried to explain its mysteries, to her.
But following Briggs’s death he made a point of going to a certain public house near High Street where he had seen her the last time they had met. On Tuesday and Friday nights, when he would stroll casually in, there, seated in the corner of the saloon, would be Mrs. Briggs, and he would say, “Oh, hello there, Mrs. Briggs,” as if he was surprised to see her. And she would reply, “Oh, hello, Mr. Walton. How are you?” Then he would say, “Do you mind if I sit down?” and she would answer, “No, of course not, Mr. Walton. Not at a
ll.”
The polite addressing of each other became laughable, until last Tuesday night he had said to her, ‘you know it’s daft, this Mr. Walton and Mrs. Briggs. I’m going to call you Lally. “
“Oh!” She blushed like a girl as she replied, “That’s nice of you, Mister Wal—’ And then they had laughed together.
“What’s your real name?”
“Jessie. I used to be Jessie MacAnulty; it was Albert who gave me the nickname of Lally. I didn’t like it at first because Doo-lally-tap means ... you know.” She tapped her temple with her finger.
“I’m not very bright, but on the other hand I’m bright enough to know that I’m not what it means, ami?”
He looked at her sadly for a moment, and he hated Briggs as he conjured him up in his mind. Yet the man might only have said it in a joke when she had done something silly:
“Aw! you’re Doo-lally-tap.” But he had kept it up, and others had picked it up, and it had stuck.
“Not that I mind really,” she said.
“I’ll call you Jessie,” he said.
“No, no, call me Lally. I like Lally, it’s soft soundin’.” She flapped her hand out to him.
“The things I say. I condemn me self don’t I?
That’s what they say, the prisoner condemned himself out of his own mouth. “
He didn’t answer but he gas’ed at her, into her blue eyes,
Pure as the Lily Page 19
