Amy's Seaside Secret

by Pam Weaver

  ‘Oh, Shirley, we’ve been over this before,’ said Florrie with a sigh. ‘It’s not safe. They don’t call round here “Draughtboard Alley” for nothing. You never know who’s out there, and I dread to think what might happen to you, especially if there was paper-round money in your pocket.’

  Shirley knew there was no malice in the nickname; after all, Canning Town was truly cosmopolitan. Being in such proximity to the docks meant that people from all over the world and every nationality roamed the streets: African, Asian, Chinese, French, Irish, West Indians . . . you name it, they were there. Most of them were fine, but of course there was always the risk of one bad apple in the barrel, and with whispered horror stories about white-slavers roaming the streets, her mother wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘The boys have no problem,’ Shirley retorted.

  ‘The boys can take care of themselves.’

  ‘I can take care of myself too,’ Shirley insisted, but by the look on her mother’s face she already knew her entreaty was falling on deaf ears. It was so unfair. Look at all the times she’d protected Tom from the bigger boys. She’d been ferocious and had even built up a bit of a reputation. Nobody took the mickey out of Tom Jenkins when she was around. Not any more they didn’t.

  Florrie coughed. Shirley turned to look at her, her luscious curls bouncing on her shoulders. ‘You really should go to the doctor again, Mum.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Florrie smiled.

  ‘But you won’t, will you?’ said Shirley. ‘You always make me and Tom go when we’re not well, so why won’t you go and see if he can’t at least give you a cough mixture?’

  ‘If I still have it on Monday,’ said Florrie, ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Promise?’

  Her mother nodded reluctantly, and her brother, Tom, came out of the scullery looking clean and tidy. Florrie stood up and straightened his tie, and then he sat down in front of the bowl of porridge Shirley had put on the table.

  ‘Are we going to see any animals, Shirl?’

  His sister scraped a little butter onto her toast. ‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘There may be donkeys on the beach, or perhaps a photographer’s monkey on the prom.’

  Tom’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up, son,’ Florrie cautioned. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  Tom glanced at Shirley and she motioned her head towards his spoon. If they let him talk too much, he’d forget to eat and that would make them late. Shirley had been looking forward to this outing for ages, so the last thing she wanted to do was miss the coach.

  At eight o’clock, Florrie stood at the door of the corner shop to wave them off. Excited, the two of them ran up the street with hardly a backward glance. Florrie’s emotions were mixed. She loved them equally, but she worried about Tom. At first glance, you would never believe that they were twins. Tom was as stocky and tough-looking as his sister seemed fragile. They were both wonderful kids and for fifteen years they had been model children. Whatever she asked of them, they both did their best, and they hadn’t given her a day’s trouble. Only ten minutes separated them and yet they were worlds apart. Shirley, the elder, was bubbly and vivacious, a pretty girl who was on the brink of becoming a lovely young woman. Her thick dark hair, so beautifully curled today, was the envy of all her friends. Her face was still slightly round, but once she lost her puppy fat, Florrie knew she’d be a real stunner. Before long, boys like Joseph Harper would be two a penny. Shirley was petite rather than small, but what she lacked in size she more than made up for in strength – both physical and mental. Shirley was gregarious. She made friends easily and she was fun to be around.

  Tom, on the other hand, was different. He had been born the wrong way round and although the doctor had assured her that he was fine, Florrie knew right from the start that he’d been damaged in some way. At school, he was considered ‘simple’ and his teachers had low expectations of him. In fact, there was only one occasion when he wasn’t bottom of the class, and that was only because the child at the bottom had missed almost a year of schooling while he battled polio. With less than a year to go before he went out to work, poor Tom still struggled. His marks were way down and in fact his name was synonymous with the words ‘bottom’ and ‘last’. Usually the boys who couldn’t do their lessons well were encouraged to do things like woodwork, but Tom was hopeless at that too. For that reason, he was teased mercilessly. She’d been up to the school a few times to complain, but the headmaster only promised to ‘look into it’.

  ‘You can’t fight his battles all his life, Mrs Jenkins,’ he’d said. ‘The boy has to learn to stand up for himself.’ The stupid man didn’t seem to understand that Tom was incapable of fighting his own corner and that a child like him needed protecting.

  Thankfully, Shirley had become his champion. It took a while, but after giving Tom’s chief tormentor, a boy called Ivan Stokes, a bit of a bashing, much of the bullying stopped. Florrie wasn’t sure if she should condone such behaviour, but boys like Ivan didn’t want the reputation of being beaten up by a girl, and a little one at that, so she’d turned a blind eye and Tom seemed a lot happier.

  Her son’s appearance belied his temperament. He was a solid-looking boy with broad shoulders and the same dark hair as his sister, but if someone so much as raised his voice to him or put him down in any way, Tom found it impossible to retaliate. Florrie despaired of him. What did life hold in store for the likes of Tom Jenkins? How would he manage without someone there to look after him? He was kind and gentle with a passion for animals, but he had no friends at all.

  As she watched her children disappear round the corner, Florrie spotted Doreen Kennedy coming up the street. She waved, and moving the large box she was carrying under one arm, Doreen waved back. Florrie felt a shiver of excitement. After waiting all this time, Doreen had brought it with her! Florrie could hardly wait.

  Of the three of them, Doreen was the oldest. Forty-one and a spinster, Doreen had never found Mr Right, even though she had moved in far better circles than either Florrie or Betty. Betty always said she was too fussy, but Florrie was convinced it was more to do with Doreen’s mother. Elsie Kennedy was a bitter woman who seemed to take great delight in spoiling things for her daughter. Florrie had never quite forgiven her for the time she’d faked an illness to stop Doreen going out with Bill Powers. At least the years had been kind to Doreen – she could easily pass for a much younger woman. Even if she married tomorrow, though, it would probably be too late for a family, which was such a shame. Doreen would have made a wonderful mother.

  ‘The kids have got a lovely day for it,’ said Doreen as she came up to her. She leaned forward and gave Florrie a peck on the cheek. ‘And I’ve brought your order for you to try on.’

  As soon as the driver stepped outside, there was a surge to be the first onto the coach. The boys wanted the back seats, and preferably without too much overbearing adult supervision. There were several adults on the coach, and because it was impossible for Florrie to close the shop for a whole day, Mrs Keene, one of the women workers from the local Boys’ Club, had agreed to keep an eye on Tom and Shirley. Once everyone was seated, but before they left London, the curate of St Luke’s, Rev. Goose, affectionately known by the parishioners as ‘Father Goose’, briefed everyone about the trip.

  ‘We must all stick together as a group,’ he told them. ‘No sloping off on your own. Is that understood?’

  There was a collective groan from the boys.

  ‘We shall begin with a period of time on the beach, then after lunch, and I hope you’ve brought your sandwiches with you, we shall go to the Kursaal to enjoy the amusements.’

  That brought a much happier response.

  ‘And at the end of the afternoon,’ Mrs Keene interrupted, ‘we shall all line up and walk along the front to the Sunny Side Cafe, where we shall enjoy high tea.’

  ‘What’s “high tea”?’ somebody whispered.

  ‘You eat it on a stepladder,’ someone
else quipped, and there was a ripple of laughter.

  Shirley was halfway down the coach, sitting next to Tom, who was looking out of the window. Her friends Ann Bidder and Helen Starling were across the aisle. There was a loud cheer as the driver started the engine and the coach moved off.

  The journey was uneventful. They soon left the closely packed streets of East London and travelled on through main shopping thoroughfares, attractive leafy suburbs and finally the countryside itself.

  Her brother turned to her. ‘Can you tell me the story again, Shirl?’

  Shirley looked around. She didn’t like doing it with other people listening, but Tom was getting into a bit of a tizzy and it did help to calm him down. ‘Only if I can do it quietly,’ she said. Tom smiled and she leaned towards him.

  ‘The papers were saying that another girl had gone missing. Lucy Dacomb hadn’t been seen since last week,’ she began.

  ‘Do you think the children were scared?’ asked Tom.

  Shirley shrugged. ‘I think so. I’d be scared if lots of my friends went missing, wouldn’t you?’

  Tom’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She’d told him the story of the Birthday Thief several times already, but he wanted to hear it again and again. It was hard to remember every little detail of the story because she’d made it up as she went along, but if she missed an important bit out, Tom was sure to tell her. She glanced over her shoulder. Helen and Ann said it was babyish to keep on repeating the same things, but if the truth were known, Shirley enjoyed telling the story, and every time seemed more exciting than the last.

  ‘Go on,’ said Tom eagerly. ‘First of all, Billy’s nan spots him sneaking out on his bike. What then?’

  ‘“Where do you think you are going?”’ said Shirley, acting out the voice.

  ‘“Nowhere,” said Billy.

  ‘Nan put her hand on her hip. “And where’s nowhere?”’

  ‘Mum says it like that sometimes, doesn’t she?’ Tom interrupted.

  ‘Are you going to let me tell you this story or not?’ said Shirley crossly.

  Tom became silent and his sister carried on. ‘“I’m only going over to Dan’s house,” he said.’

  ‘But he’s not, is he?’ Tom chipped in.

  Shirley ignored him. ‘“Have you and your brother been fighting again?” said his nan.

  ‘“No.”

  ‘“Then why not take him with you?”

  ‘“I can’t hang about, Nan,” he said. “Danny’s waiting.” He put his leg over the saddle of his bike and pushed off down the path.

  ‘“Don’t go near the field, will you?”’

  Tom began chortling with excitement.

  ‘“I won’t,” said Billy. Billy hadn’t been in the field since Megan disappeared.’

  Shirley had to speak up now. The further they were away from home, the louder the noise levels grew. After a while, Tom found it difficult to handle and ended up with his hands over his ears.

  A little later, they had reached Basildon and the boys at the back were pelting him with screwed-up bits of paper. Shirley tried to stop them, but in the end, Rev. Goose, who was sitting at the front near the driver, came and told the boys on the back seats that if they didn’t stop messing around, he would personally tan their hides. The rowdies quietened down after that.

  They stopped at the toilets near the war memorial in South Benfleet and then boarded the coach for the last leg of the journey. Before long, someone spotted the sea and the excitement in the coach reached its peak.

  ‘I wish we had time to go round the shops when we get there,’ Helen whispered. ‘I wanted to buy a lipstick.’

  Ann’s eyes grew wide. ‘Will your mum let you wear lipstick?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Helen. ‘I’d only put it on when she’s not around.’

  ‘They’re very expensive,’ Shirley remarked.

  ‘Well, I’ve seen them in Woolworths for one and eleven,’ said Helen with a defiant shrug of her shoulder.

  Shirley was suddenly tempted to buy one herself. Everybody said she looked more like seventeen than fifteen. If she wore lipstick, she might even get into the pictures to see an X-film on her own. They said Edward G. Robinson was very good. She’d always wanted to see him. ‘Why don’t we go to Woolworths?’ she said, feeling deliciously naughty. ‘If we get caught, we could always pretend we got lost trying to find the toilets.’

  The three of them looked at each other with sparkling eyes as they savoured the idea of their own wickedness.

  Ann took in a breath. ‘Go on, then. Let’s do it.’

  ‘Can I come too?’ Tom’s voice boomed through the coach and several people turned round. Shirley jumped. He’d been so quiet since they’d all got back in the coach she’d almost forgotten he was there. Helen and Ann sat up straight and gazed out of their window, doing their best to pretend they didn’t know what he was talking about.

  ‘Shh,’ Shirley said, elbowing him as she looked around nervously. ‘And no, you can’t.’

  Tom was puzzled. ‘Why not? I’d like to go to Woolworths. I could get a lipstick too. Mum said I should stay with you all the time.’

  Listening to the stifled giggles all around her, Shirley felt her heart sink. Now she was torn. She desperately wanted to be with her friends, but it would be no fun at all with Tom tagging along, and besides, he was bound to give the game away.

  ‘Let me come, Shirl. Please. I want to go to Woolworths.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Shirley. ‘Just keep your voice down, will you?’

  He stayed silent for about thirty seconds and then said in a voice just as loud as before, ‘Why do I have to keep my voice down? Is it a secret, Shirl?’

  ‘We’re not taking him, Shirley,’ Helen hissed when Shirley glanced at her, and rolled her eyes.

  Shirley looked at them helplessly, but Helen and Ann just glared at her and she knew then that she wouldn’t be going to buy lipsticks with them. Now she was annoyed with Tom. His crass behaviour had spoiled something that promised to be a little bit exciting, but at the same time, she knew she wouldn’t be angry for long. Her brother couldn’t help the way he was.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere without you, Tom,’ she said. ‘All right?’

  He nodded cheerfully. ‘All right, Shirl.’

  When she turned her attention back to her friends, Helen and Ann had their heads together and were whispering. Shirley felt her stomach tighten with disappointment. She loved her brother, but because of him, she was often left out of things. Helen and Ann were busy planning, and once again Shirley wasn’t included.

  While Betty served in the shop, Doreen and Florrie were alone in the sitting room. Doreen placed the big box on the table and jerked her head towards it. ‘You open it. Go on. I know you’re dying to.’

  Florrie tore the brown paper from the box and ran her hand lovingly along the beautiful copperplate letters on the lid, which were silver-embossed. Spirella. She glanced up at Doreen and smiled. ‘I’ve waited a long time for these,’ she said as she lifted the lid and pulled back the layers of soft tissue paper. A little air escaped her lips as her brand-new, made-to-measure corset first saw the light of day. It looked amazing. She fingered the ivory-coloured material and ran her fingers along the thick lacing.

  Three months before, in her role as a Spirella representative, Doreen had come to the house to measure Florrie. For years Doreen had saved every penny she could so that she could afford to pay for her training as a corsetière and in 1935 she had finally made it. She’d spent several months at the Factory of Beauty in Letchworth Garden City learning her craft. For Doreen, it had been a magical time. Spirella were world-renowned for the way they looked after their staff. The factory girls themselves could have lessons in shorthand, book-keeping and typewriting if they wanted, all paid for by the company. She was expected to work hard, but the company also provided plenty of things to do in her leisure time. If she wasn’t in the reading library, Doreen enjoyed folk dancing, outings
and even taking part in the Spirella Olympics! At the end of her training, she bought herself a franchise and set to work building up a clientele. All her hard work paid off because last year Doreen was awarded a certificate for having the largest customer base in the country.

  Florrie pulled her new corset out of the box and held it up to the light. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ said Doreen.

  ‘No,’ said Florrie. ‘You won’t be here to do it for me every morning, so I’d better do it myself.’

  ‘That’s true,’ smiled Doreen, ‘but it will be easier if I show you the best way to get it on and make sure that the lacing at the back is really snug.’

  They spent the next twenty minutes or so ensuring Florrie was fitted properly and that she felt comfortable. ‘I never would have thought of lying on my back to do it up,’ she said as Doreen helped her to her feet.

  ‘Just make sure you remember to put a cushion under your bottom,’ said Doreen. ‘That way, when you’re lying flat, all your internal organs are in the right place.’

  ‘Will I have to get someone to undo the lacing at the back when I get undressed?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Doreen. ‘I suggest you leave that alone. All you need to do is do up the front and pull the straps here and here.’

  Florrie patted her flat stomach. ‘I can’t believe how slim I look.’

  ‘Get used to it,’ said Doreen. ‘A Spirella corset will last you for years.’

  When she emerged into the shop, Betty was lavish with her praise. ‘You’ve done an amazing job there, Dor,’ she said. ‘And I swear you look twenty-one again, Florrie.’

  The three friends laughed together.

  Florrie dragged three upright chairs onto the pavement outside the shop. ‘We may as well enjoy a bit of the warm weather ourselves,’ she said. ‘There’s little passing trade today and it wouldn’t take much for one of us to get up and serve a customer, should one materialize.’

  With a pot of tea on the card table, the three friends sat down to enjoy a decent natter. It was a strange time. In some respects, life went on as normal, although the streets were quieter than usual. A couple of weeks ago, several families left for Kent to enjoy a break from the overcrowding and pollution and do a bit of hop-picking. Canning Town was changing anyway. The long traffic queues to get into and out of the dock had been alleviated by a new approach road called Silvertown Way, and earlier in the decade, the council had embarked on a slum-clearance programme. Long-term residents relocated to new homes with indoor plumbing and, more importantly, space to move. The area boasted new clinics, children’s nurseries and even a lido. That building programme had slowed down in the last two years as the sabre-rattling between Britain and Germany had increased. There was a lot of talk about working for peace, but already sandbags had been placed around important buildings, and public air-raid shelters were springing up everywhere.