The Running Years

by Claire Rayner

  ‘The hat,’ Bloomah said. It’s raining again.’

  ‘Oh, Momma, please, not the – ’

  ‘Do as you’re told!’ Nathan roared and almost in despair Hannah did, pulling onto her curling hair the pancake of black straw which creaked with every movement she made. To wear the coat was bad enough; the hat was hell on earth.

  ‘Be a good girl, Bobbalah, Bloomah said, and smiled at her, her face looking even more tired and white than it had. ‘You hear me? Be good, do what Poppa says. It’ll be all right. It will, really.’

  They went out into the street without a word to each other. Nathan stopped on the pavement and stared up at the sky. ‘You see?’ he said, almost triumphantly. ‘You see? Bad enough we got to go to the schnorrers’ shop. Has it got to start to rain again as well, already? What more do they want of me? I ask you, what more? Come on, Hannah, and keep you hat over your eyes. It’ll keep the rain out.’

  They began to walk, Hannah feeling her belly tighten into the sick familiar sensation it always got then they had to do what they were doing this morning.

  David Lammeck had woken in a bad temper, as the entire staff new before the clock struck ten. Her maid had been sent scurrying from her bedroom in tears; the butler had been mortally offended by the peremptory message she had sent him about last night’s dinner for Edward Albert, once the Prince of Wales who had long been a friend of Albert’s and who was now King; and the housekeeper had threatened to give her notice. Thirty-seven Park Lane was not a comfortable place to be on this wet March morning.

  The trouble was, of course, Master Daniel. Most of the servants still thought of him that way, even though he was now very much a man of the world, a young mane about town at nineteen with his own carriage and membership of his own clubs (one or two of which were decidedly fast, although, of course, irreproachable in a social sense).

  Freddy, the footman, who’d seen it all told them the story in the servant’s hall with enormous relish, embroidering a little as he talked, but not all that much.

  ‘There they was, Mr Albert and Mr Emmanuel, standing there all full o’ themselves, talking to the King in the ’all, an ’im as bouncy as ever, the rip, for all e’s’ been crowned an’ all and in comes Madam from the ballroom, all done up in ’er diamonds, lookin’ as smart as paint, and draggin’ that Miss Damont be’ind ’er – you know the one I mean. Lofty piece, she is, tall as a copper, and’ twice as ’aughty!’

  ‘Leontine,’ said Ellen the fifth housemaid. ‘She’s Madam’s cousin on ’er father’s side, daughter of ’er Dad’s youngest brother. He was in diamonds, ’ad interest in South Africa an’ all that. Madam’s took ’er up ever since ’er own mother died. ’Er mother was a Rothschild, you see.’

  ‘Well, spare us the family trees,’ the cook said. ‘Or we’ll never get to the really fruity bits. Go on, Freddy, tell us what ’appened.’

  ‘Right,’ said Freddy, with great gusto. I’ll tell yer, Up comes Madam, right?’ as bored as a pig in a bathroom.’

  Ellen giggled. ‘You shouldn’t talk about pigs, not ’ere. Madam’d ’ave a fit. She’d say you wasn’t kosher – ’

  ‘Yer bleedin’ right I’m not,’ Freddy said, and grinned. ‘Got all my bits an’ pieces the way they was born, ain’t I? No one chopped no bits off o’me.’

  ‘If you’re goin’ to talk dirty, you can get out ’o my kitchens,’ Cook said frostily. Tell us what ’appened, or shut up.’

  ‘So there she was, all bored lookin’ - until Master Daniel comes down from the drawin’ room, an’ I tell you, ’e looked a right treat. I wish I ’ad an ’alf of ’is looks I’ll tell you. An’ a tenth o’ what ’spends on ’is tailor – anyway, there ’e was, and you’d a’ thought someone ’ad switched on the electricity inside that Leontine madam, that you would. Bright and eager as – well I don’t know. Stood there lookin’ as though she’d got more front than Brighton. So, Madam smiles sweet as you like, sings out to young Daniel, ‘Daniel, my see-ar, come an’ talk to dear Leontine – she’s been dyin’ to speak to you all evenin’.’

  ‘I’d be ashamed to come on that strong with a fella, no matter ’ow much I liked the look of ’im,’ Ellen said, self righteously.

  Different for the like o’ them,’ Cook said, jerking her chin up to indicate above stairs. ‘They’re arrangin’ things all the time. Keeps the money in the family, don’t it?’

  ‘Are you interested or ain’t you?’ Freddy demanded. ‘Right, then listen. Miss Leontine surges forwards like, and you know what Master Daniel did? ’E stands there on the steps lookin’ at ’er, and then just nods, all cool like, and turns round and goes back up the stairs. Well! You should’a seen Madam’s face” A study, it was, she was that put out, and Miss Leontine she goes as red as beetroot and then as white as a sheet and says as she’s got an ’eadache and she’ll go to the boudoir for a bit, and off she goes. The King, ’e sees all this and ’e laughs and says all jovial like, “Well, Mrs Lammeck, it seems our young man isn’t interested in doin’ ’is dooties by marriage as ’e should be, hey? You’ll ’ave to start a lot h’earlier an’ be a lot craftier to drag that young man into matrimony, I’m think’!” And o’course Mr Emmanuel Lammeck e’laughs too, and so does Mr Albert. Which makes Madam right livid, although she can’t say nothin’, can she, seein’ as it’s the King – but I wouldn’t like to be in Mr Albert’s shoes this morning, nor Master Daniel’s come to that.’

  ‘Our Master Daniel’ll look after ’isself well enough, never you fear,’ Cook said. ‘’E’s no Mama’s boy, though she’d like to think it! No one makes ’im get married till ’e’s good and ready.’

  They’re funny, these Jews,’ Ellen said knowledgeable. ‘They reckon it’s wrong for a man not to be married by the time ’e’s twenty. That’s why Madam’s so keen. An’ of course she’ll want ’im to marry one of ’is own, won’t she?’ She launched herself into an account of the Lammeck family’s connections, talking about Damonts and Rothschilds and D’Avigdors with great fluency. They all listened respectfully; Ellen was Park Lane’s acknowledged expert on the aristocracy. She probably knew more about Mrs Lammeck’s relations than Madam herself.

  ‘She, upstairs in her great blue and gold bedroom, was dressing, choosing clothes she could easily dispose of because today, to add to her general sense of being hard-done-by, was her day for the ‘Girls.’

  She thought, briefly, of the possibility of sending a message round to Eaton Square to tell Mary she just couldn’t cope today, that she had a headache, but had to dismiss it. Mary was often ill, genuinely so, and she never missed, while Davida had missed her last two days of duty. If she did that again, people would notice and start to talk, and no one was ever going to be given the chance to say that Davida Lammeck was less assiduous in her charitable duties than her sister-in-law. No matter how upset she was by Daniel’s outrageous behavior at last night’s ball, and the King’s silly comments, she would go to that dreadful Settlement and Do Her Duty.

  But how nice it would have been if only they had succeeded in what they had tried to do when the Daughters of Sarah was first founded almost twenty years ago. They should have been able to keep those hundreds of thousands of Jews from the Pale out. It was absurd that they should have continued to pour in in such numbers, and so poverty stricken too. She had herself written many letters to the rabbis, far away in the hinterland of Eastern Europe, pointing out how bad it would be for all Jewry if England were overwhelmed with immigrants, but it had made no difference. Still they had come, and had become poorer and poorer. At least some of the earlier influx had had some property with which to support themselves. The later waves had been the dregs of the villages and tiny towns of Russia and Poland and still they came. Thank God the government had seen sense at last and had brought in the Aliens’ Bill. From next year it would be better, with checks at the ports and immigration officers with rules and regulations with which to turn the worst of them away. Meanwhile, the Daughters of Sarah had to work hard as they ever h
ad, and this morning Davida was in no mood for it. It was too bad, she told herself pettishly, that people should have to put up with such matters. As if she hadn’t enough of her own problems to concern herself with.

  ‘Esme! Fetch me the purple sarsanet. It’s a shade out of date now I come to think of it, and will do perfectly well for the East End. You can send it to the Settlement immediately I get back.’

  That was another thing; every time she went to that hateful East End she had to throw away every stitch of clothes she had been wearing, for how could any lady with any pretentions at all to self respect bear to wear such garments again? And it was irritating to have to do it, for often the gowns she had to part with she quite liked.

  By the time she reached the Settlement house she did have a headache, for she had sat in the corner of her carriage and chewed over in her mind last night’s episode again and again. What was the matter with the boy? What did he think was wrong with Leontine? A sweet child, and so well reared, and a considerable heiress, after all. Not that it mattered to Daniel, for he would eventually inherit all her own as well as Albert’s money, but it would be silly to let Leontine’s considerable wealth got to waste outside the family, Foolish, headstrong boy! She must talk to him. Today, when he collected her from the Settlement, as he knew he had to, after she had done her wretched tasks.

  Mary was already there, wearing her deep blue serge with the French braid, and Davida sniffed slightly. She’d worn that gown for a whole season already, and had worn it here several times. Mary was no fastidiousness, none at all.

  They had little time to talk, for the line of supplicants was already long, and Davida had felt her irritation increase as she sailed past the line of bent, shuffling figures, her handkerchief held delicately to her nose. Wretched creatures! Why couldn’t they do a decent day’s work and earn their keep? Coming begging like this. It was shocking. Really shocking.

  ‘Mary, my dear. How are you? Better, I hope? I heard you’d not been well, and I was so wowwied, weally I was.’ Davida could in fact pronounce her r’s quite easily, but it was fashionable at present to make them redundant, so redundant hers were.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you, Davida.’ They clashed cheeks in the time honoured way of women who are related but do not particularly care for each other. ‘And you? Last night was very splendid. I hardly spoke to you, of course, but … ’

  ‘Yes, well, the King seemed to enjoy it. Davida said, brushing it aside. She had no wish to give her wretched ball another thought. ‘I suppose we’d better start. They’re out there like flies.’

  ‘Yes, and it’s raining so hard too, poor things, I thought I’d let them all in and we’d talk quietly, you know? I wouldn’t want to distress them unduly, and it’s never easy for them, with others listening, but the rain is really so dreadful.’

  One of the more officious of the paid employees heard her and went at once t the doors and flung them open. The line at once broke up, became a pushing eager crowd thrusting its way in through the double doors. Immediately the heated room began to steam with the smell of wet serge and tired humanity. It was not an agreeable smell.

  Davida sat behind her table, her cash box in front of her and her register of applicants beside it, her face was icy and controlled as a glacier and her eyes blank with disdain as she stared at the people who came before her. And she was harsh, very harsh indeed with all of them.

  Mary, on the other side of the room with her own table and cash box and register was uneasily aware of Davida’s voice, high and frosty as she questioned the people who slid into the bentwood chair in front of her. She sounded so cold, so angry, so very uncaring that Mary wanted to tell her to go away, that she would see all the people herself, That Davida didn’t look well, should go home. But it had been a long time since Mary had tried to influence her masterful sister-in-law. As the years had gone by Mary had done more and more of the real work performed by ‘the Girls’, but never had Davida lost her grip on the organization. She came to Hanbury Street just often enough to keep her status as chairwoman of the Committee and her place in the men’s eyes as the Most Important Member. Each year the Committee of the Society for the Relief of Indigent Jews sent Davida an illuminated address as their thanks for her sterling efforts. Each year Davida accepted it with a, long suffering smile. And each year Mary looked at her, and liked her less and less, and said less and less. This morning was no exception. So she bent her head to her own cash box, and spoke as gently as she could to her own line of applicants.

  By the time Nathan and Hannah reached the bentwood chair in front of Davida’s table Hannah was feeling very miserable indeed. Her wet coat hung on her like a piece of dead ice, her feet were solid with cold, bare inside Jake’s old boots, and her ears ached with the chill. She was hungry too, for it was now almost noon and a long time since her breakfast of black bread and jam at seven.

  She stared at the lady on the other side of the table. She had the smoothest thickest black hair, the whitest skin and most lustrous dark eyes she had ever seen. She also had a very disagreeable expression, her narrow nose seeming lifted at the tip with disapproval.

  Hannah let her eyes flick sideways at her father, sitting on the edge of his chair with his hat held in both hands on his lap, and his head bent a little nervously. Tell her not to stare at you like that! She wanted to say. Tell her to smile!

  ‘Well?’ Davida said. I don’t like your dress, Hannah though scornfully. That purple is ugly. But it wasn’t really and she knew it. It was a beautiful gown, cut with perfect lines, with lace of the purest cream Chantilly on the high boned collar and on the bodice. A beautiful dress.

  ‘What do you want? Have you been here before?’

  Have we been here before? Of, we have, we have. So many times, facing the jeers of the children who taunted people like them who went begging at the schnorrers’ shop for handouts when they couldn’t eat. We’ve walked the long painful miles all the way from Whitechapel to Spitalfields, out feet biting the grey pavements in an eternity of trudging. We’ve faced interrogation and nagging and the sheer shame of it, over and over again. We’ve been hungry more often than we’ve been fed. None of it came into ten year old Hannah’s mind in so many words, but oh feelings did. The humiliation did. The sheer sick misery did.

  ‘Because we’re not here to be made use of by the shiftless, and you may well know it,’ Davida went on. ‘Genuine hardship and twouble we twest with compassion, of course, but it is hardly genuine hardship if the same person keeps coming over and over again. Have you no work you can do? You look able bodied enough.’

  He began, awkwardly at first and then gaining confidence, explaining about Bloomah and the need to be there to look after her, about the boys at their charity school, for boys must learn to read and write and be Barmitzvah, about the rent, about the way people in the streets and alleys no longer needed the services of a scribe like himself to write their letters for them. About his well off brothers and sisters-in-law who had cheated him of his rightful share, so long ago, and who did so little about his army service and his medal and …

  ‘Don’t. Oh, Poppa, don’t. Don’t crawl to this woman. Again it wasn’t the words that filled Hannah’s mind; just feelings. Raw angry desperate ashamed feelings.

  It went on and on, the cold questioning. Nathan’s almost whining answers and then it seemed to Hannah that the room was brightening as she stared at the table and the implacable face behind it and everything began to glitter with light and the glitter was inside her chest and belly, pushing upwards, needle sharp against her throat, trying to get out. And then it did, in one great shout of fury.

  To the onlookers it was a commonplace enough sight. A small child screaming and kicking in rage.

  To Nathan, though, it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. His Hannah to behave so? His quiet sweet little Hannah? He put out one hand, almost tentatively, to try to stop her.

  It made no difference. Hannah threw herself at Davida across the table
and hit out at her horrified face. Her small fist made no contact at all, she was so tense, but her rage expressed itself in every taut line of her body. The she scrambled off the table and turned and ran, not knowing where, just anywhere to be out of this dreadful place, and away from that hateful woman.

  As she reached the door she cannoned into a hard firm shape. Strong hands gripped her beneath her arms and she was lifted high, dizzily high into the air, her head swinging and her vision still blurred by the glitter of her fury.

  ‘Well, well, and what have we here?’ David Lammeck said, his voice a little high and drawled. ‘A termagant? A little spitfire? How very quaint!’

  He held her out at arms’ length, while she kicked and struggled in his grip, one of her oversized boots falling from her foot in her struggles. She was silent now, her teeth clenched and her eyes like narrow blue slits in her chalk-white face, but she was still strong and her kicks were sharp and he had to hold her well away to avoid injury.

  There was hubbub everywhere now as the waiting supplicants muttered and exclaimed and disapproved loudly, and then there was another voice, a quiet but somehow insistent one that cut through the noise. Hannah looked over her shoulder aware of the calm in it, suddenly needing calm very much indeed.

  ‘Give her to me, Danny, The poor child is upset. Give her to me,’ Mary said, and Daniel, with just a moment’s hesitation, did. Hannah felt the strong arms go around her and after a second rigidity, let your exhaustion take over. She relaxed back into those warm welcoming arms, and dropped her head on Mary’s shoulder, and closed her eyes.

  21

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Bloomah said again, and shook her head. ‘It’s meshuggah – a child her age! How can you even thing of it? Bad enough children have to go to work when they do, but a ten year old? It’s mad. I don’t understand.’