by Anna King
When there was no answer, Grace assumed the elderly man had fallen asleep, as he so often did, and was about to leave when she heard the shuffling, slippered footsteps on the stairs and waited by the door.
‘Oy vey, Gracie, you should have woken me. I would sleep my life away given the chance, and at my age that isn’t a good thing.’ Laughing at her employer’s kindly face, Grace answered, ‘Come on, Benji, you’re not that old.’
Samuel Benjamin looked fondly at his assistant. Since Grace had started work, he had felt a giant weight lifted from his shoulders. At seventy-five, he no longer had the energy he had once possessed. He should have employed someone years ago, but had been afraid of being stuck with somebody who would have taken advantage of him, or helped themselves to his stock – or worse still, been light-fingered with the takings. With Grace he had no such misgivings; he trusted her implicitly.
‘Wait a moment, leibchen,’ he said softly as he disappeared into the back room. He returned with a small parcel and tapping the side of his nose, he whispered conspiratorially, ‘Here’s a little something extra for all your hard work, but don’t tell anyone where you got them from, else I’ll have a mob knocking down my doors.’
Grace peered into the bag and saw a packet of tea and a brown bag containing at least a pound of sugar. She leant down and kissed the withered face gratefully.
‘Thanks, Benji. I appreciate it, and so will my nan. She does love her tea, bless her.’
‘And why not! She’s a good woman is Aggie. If she’d been twenty years younger I would have taken her on full time, but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company.’
Slightly embarrassed, Grace coughed, said her goodbyes once more, and left the old man to lock up after her.
Grace hurried home, a bounce in her step as she anticipated the look on her nan’s face when she handed over the small items that were like gold dust these days.
She bounded into the kitchen grinning from ear to ear and cried out, ‘Nan! Nan, where are you? I’ve got a little treat for you. I—’
She stopped suddenly at the sight of her nan sitting at the large table, her face filled with anxiety. Grace’s mouth turned dry with fear. Something had happened; something awful!
‘Wha… what is it, Nan? What’s happened?’
Aggie raised a fear-filled face to her granddaughter before saying in a trembling voice, ‘I’m sorry, love. I… I should’ve brought it straight down the shop as soon as it arrived. But… but, I couldn’t… I couldn’t face you. I’m sorry, love, I’m really sorry…’ Sniffing into a large handkerchief, Aggie blew her nose loudly before taking a long brown envelope from her apron pocket and reluctantly put it on to the table, averting her eyes as she did so.
For a long, agonising moment, Grace stared down wordlessly at the official-looking letter, her heart beating erratically.
‘For Gawd’s sake, Gracie, open it,’ Aggie barked nervously, already guessing what it contained. It must be news about Stanley. If it had been concerning Danny, then the letter would have been addressed to Beryl.
With shaking hands Grace opened the envelope, her face turning white as she read the contents.
Seeing the blanched look spread over Grace’s features, Aggie slumped down further in her chair, her fingers beating out a nervous tattoo on the wooden table. When Grace remained silent, Aggie’s already frayed nerves snapped.
‘Fer Gawd’s sake, Gracie, what is it? What does it say?’
Grace tried to speak but found her vocal cords temporarily blocked. Then, clearing her throat loudly, she whispered hoarsely, ‘Stanley’s been captured. He’s been declared a prisoner of war. He…’ Tier voice broke. ‘Oh… Oh, Nan, poor Stanley. He’ll never survive, he’s not strong enough. Oh, Nan, Nan…’
Aggie, lumbering from her chair, gathered her granddaughter into her ample arms and found herself uttering useless words of comfort. And while she was comforting Grace an unbidden thought sprang to her mind. Any notion of her Grace getting together with Nobby Clark were now well and truly scuppered. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she felt a deep sense of shame. Poor Stan. He wasn’t a bad bloke, just weak and immature. And as Grace had just said, a man such as Stanley would have a hard time coping with the rigours of a prisoner-of-war camp. Everything she had ever said or thought about Grace’s fiancé came back to haunt Aggie, and she knew in that awful, gut-wrenching moment, that if Stanley didn’t survive the war, she would never forgive herself for all the thoughtless, unkind words she had heaped on the poor lad over the years.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Are me seams straight, Vi?’ Beryl Donnelly twisted her head to check the black pencil line that ran from her heels to the top of her thighs. ‘I can’t see properly.’
Violet, already dressed for a night up West, put down the magazine she had been reading and glanced up from the bed.
‘Yes, they look OK to me. Hurry up, Beryl, we’ll never get out at this rate.’
Picking up a beaded evening bag, Beryl shrugged her arms into a fur coat of dubious origins and said, ‘All right, keep your hair on. Gotta look me best, don’t I? We can’t all have film-star looks naturally.’
The grudging remark held no malice, simply fact. Vi, as usual, looked stunning. She was wearing a long midnight-blue dress and her mother’s pearl earrings and necklace, an anniversary present bought for Hetty by Sam many years ago.
When the pair entered the dining room Aggie looked up first at her granddaughter, who looked like she’d just stepped off the big screen of a Hollywood movie, and then to the elder woman in a cheap black dress that ended just below her knees, a ton of make-up, huge paste diamond earrings, and the mangy fur coat, and snorted, ‘Like I’m always saying, fur coat no knickers, that’s you, Beryl Lovesett. It’s written all over yer.’
Beryl’s face froze. Tightening her blood-red lips she snarled, ‘Listen, you old cow, don’t push your luck. And it’s Beryl Donnelly now, and don’t you forget it. You keep forgetting this is my house while Danny’s away, so you watch your mouth, or else you might find yourself out on the street.’
Vi stepped in to Aggie’s defence.
‘Leave off, Beryl. You’re not going to throw anyone out. My uncle may be a bit soft, but he would never stand for that, and well you know it.’
With a look of grudging gratitude, Aggie looked up at Vi and said shortly, ‘By the way, that Chris chap phoned again this afternoon. He left a number where you could reach him, only you’d better be quick, he’s only got a three-day pass.’ When Vi shrugged her shoulders and made to leave the room, Aggie bounded forward in her chair, her face and voice showing her exasperation. ‘For Gawd’s sake, girl, what’s the matter with you? A nice fella like that falling over himself to see you, and you ain’t even got the common courtesy to answer his calls.’
Violet, her face stony, picked up a black cashmere shawl and carefully placed it around her white shoulders.
‘Look, Nan, I don’t want to see him, all right? And if he had any sense, he’d have taken the hint by now. Anyway, I can’t stand here chatting, or I’ll be late for work.’
Aggie peered at her granddaughter through narrowed eyes.
‘Bit dressed up for a hat-check girl, ain’t yer, Vi? Course, not that I’d know anything about it, seeing as I’ve never been in a nightclub in me life, and never likely to either.’
Very slowly, Vi picked up her clutch bag and, without looking at her grandmother, said softly, ‘I’m a grown woman, Nan, and answerable to no one, not even you. You get your housekeeping every week, don’t you? But if you’re that worried about my way of life, I can always move out.’ Moving languidly towards the door, Vi added over her shoulder, ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be home, so don’t wait up.’
Behind her, Beryl directed a smile of pure malice at the elderly woman she loathed, saying sneeringly, ‘Yeah, don’t wait up, Nan, you wouldn’t want to lose your beauty sleep, would you?’
But Aggie, shaking with rage, s
houted after the retreating couple, ‘I don’t need it, not at my age, but by God, a couple of months sleep wouldn’t do you any harm, you blowzy old tart.’
Any further retort from the furious Beryl was cut short by Vi, who quickly manhandled her sister-in-law from the house.
Alarmed to find she was trembling, Aggie rose stiffly and tottered over to the drinks cabinet, where she poured herself a good measure from the rapidly dwindling brandy bottle. After a couple of swallows, Aggie felt the warm liquid course through her body and she leant her head back on the antimacassar and closed her eyes restfully, glad for a bit of peace and quiet. But her contentment didn’t last for long, for as always her thoughts returned to her granddaughters, and the constant worry of what was to become of them.
She had long stopped believing that tale Vi had first spun her about working as a hat-check girl. Aggie didn’t know how much those women earned, but it certainly wasn’t as much as Vi seemed to. The housekeeping money alone, which Vi gave her each week, was equal to a week’s pay. Not that Aggie wasn’t grateful, but it didn’t stop her worrying, especially now she was hanging around with that old tart Danny had married. Yet even though Aggie wasn’t sure what Vi did at that club she worked at, one thing she was sure of, and that was any money Vi earned was earned respectfully. Her middle granddaughter may have an eye for the men, but she was no tart. That much Aggie would bet her life on.
Raising her eyes upwards to where Grace and Polly were playing records in their room, Aggie gave a deep sigh. As much as she fretted about Vi’s dubious lifestyle, she sometimes wished her other two granddaughters would get out a bit.
Since Hitler had deemed his plan to bring London and the south-east to its knees by the constant bombardment a failure, he had turned his attentions overseas, thus giving the much-beleaguered Londoners a chance to rebuild their bombed homes. But although London had come through the massive onslaught, the price paid had been terrible. During the Battle of Britain and the subsequent Blitz, 915 RAF aircraft had been lost, compared to 1,733 Luftwaffe planes. And though Aggie had little sympathy for the destruction of the German planes, she often thought that the pilots and crew, although the enemy, had still been men and young boys with families, only following orders, the same as their own lads.
The bombs still fell over London, but nothing as horrendous and unrelenting as those terrible days between September 1940 to May 1941.
Now it was October, and England maintained an optimistic spirit in public, while beneath its bravado there lurked a great anxiety, wondering what each new day would bring. Even posters of their formidable leader Churchill, which seemed to beam down from every street corner, failed to bring them any new hope. But every now and then, his broadcasts, delivered in a strong, resolute voice would momentarily lift the spirits of the war-weary populace and instill in it a new inspiration.
With autumn just around the corner, the news broadcast from the BBC was decidedly gloomy. Tobruk and that tiny island Malta were under siege, added to which were the horror stories coming out about the atrocities committed in far-away countries such as Russia. According to the news reports, it wouldn’t be long before the German tanks were at the very gates of Moscow. And still those bastard Americans refused to come to Europe’s aid. Oh, some of them had sent their old cast-off guns to the Home Guard, a motley collection of out-of-date sporting guns and dilapidated tommy-guns, last used by Al Capone and his cronies, and for this magnanimous gesture they expected the people of England to fall on their knees with gratitude.
Then there were the rumours about concentration camps being set up in Germany to inter the Jews that Hitler despised so much.
As she shifted in her chair, Aggie tried to put the awful pictures from her mind. God knows they had enough problems of their own in this country without worrying about the fate of people thousands of miles away. Still…!
Aggie took another swallow of her brandy, looking regretfully at the small amount left in the bottom of her glass. For a few moments she was tempted to refill it, but decided against it. Who knew when she would he able to get her hands on another bottle? The one on the sideboard had been brought round by Chris, the officer who was still keen on Vi, despite the runaround she was giving him. Vi hadn’t been home at the time, and Aggie had been reluctant to accept such a precious gift, but the young man, well, he was young in her eyes, though he must be in his early thirties – well anyway, he had insisted she take the small bottle of brandy. Oh, he was a nice man. As well as the brandy, he had brought with him eggs, bacon, sugar and tea, then apologised for not being able to bring more. Aggie had been profusive in her thanks, but wisely decided not to ask how he had come by such treasures. Likely he had raided the supply quarters at the army barracks, but Aggie wasn’t about to ask any awkward questions.
Dancing footsteps overhead, accompanied by soft laughter, attracted Aggie’s eyes to the ceiling and brought a smile to her wrinkled face. At least she always knew where Grace and Polly were in the evenings. Grace had virtually taken over the running of the corner shop, and, thanks to young Linda Castle, Polly was back at work. Not only that, but she had started to go out to the social club after work, although she still hadn’t plucked up enough nerve to go out at night. Aggie had a great deal to be thankful to Rene’s daughter for, but it had to be said, and Rene had said it herself, Linda was a flighty piece, her eyes always firmly fixed on any pair of trousers that passed her way. Then again, she was still very young, and Aggie didn’t suppose there was any real harm in the girl. Even so, Aggie was always relieved when the nights drew in, and Polly was safely back home.
Aggie knocked back the last of her brandy, sighed and put the empty glass on the coffee table by her side. Then she smiled warmly as she picked up a framed newspaper clipping and gazed fondly at the grinning face of Nobby Clark. Nobby Clark the hero, a hero whom she regarded as a very dear friend. Pride swelled her body as she read for the hundredth time the account of Nobby’s brave actions. He and his crew had been on the way back from a bombing raid over France, when three Messerschmitts had appeared out of nowhere over the Kent countryside. Caught by surprise, the small Mosquito aircraft had taken a direct hit to the wing tail, followed by a savage burst of gunfire on the left side of the plane. Nobby’s navigator, Bill Williams, had taken two bullets to his chest. Somehow Nobby had kept the plane flying, although he knew it was only a matter of time before it crashed. But if they were going to go down, he was going to take some of those bastards with him. With expert skill, Nobby managed to evade the heavier aircraft and shoot down one, while badly crippling another, whereupon the remaining Messerschmitt moved in for the kill. Opening up with all guns blazing the German fighter hit the left wing of the smaller plane, and Nobby felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as the plane spiralled out of control and dropped like a stone towards the green countryside below. With only one wing intact and the tailgate on fire, Nobby miraculously managed to keep the plane from plummeting too fast. Without his expert skill both men would have been killed instantly. But the story didn’t end there.
The plane caught fire, black, oily smoke pouring from the damaged engine rapidly filling the cockpit. It was only Nobby’s immense skill that brought the plane down safely in a jerking, stomach-turning crash-landing.
Knowing he hadn’t much time, Nobby had quickly unbuckled his safety harness and jumped from the blazing plane. But instead of running for cover, he raced around to the other side of the plane and dragged the seriously injured navigator from his seat.
They had barely moved a hundred yards when the small aircraft exploded, sending large chunks of metal hurtling through the air.
Three pieces had lodged in Nobby’s body, one in his arm, one in his leg and another in the small of his back.
Two farmers, who had watched the fight in the skies, came running to Nobby and Bill’s aid, but both men were beyond awareness of their saviours’ presence.
Now, some six months later, Bill Williams was still in a military hospital, and wo
uld be for some months yet, but Nobby was back in Hackney, honourably discharged from the airforce and decorated with the DFM for his gallant action in saving his navigator’s life at the risk of his own.
Aggie rein her fingers lovingly over the grainy picture. If only Stanley hadn’t been captured, she was sure Nobby and Grace would have gotten together by now. But while poor Stanley was incarcerated in a POW camp neither of them would even contemplate such an alliance. Even she, Aggie, could understand their feelings. It would be the utmost betrayal to Stanley if Grace started a relationship with another man while he was suffering in such terrible conditions.
But that didn’t mean Nobby couldn’t come round and visit them as a friend, which he did often. It was one of the few bright moments in Aggie’s life when she opened the door to his smiling face. He was now running two stalls, left to him by his late father, and by all accounts he was making a good living. But then who could resist those mischievous eyes and that cheeky grin, certainly not the women who frequented the markets. He had one stall in Roman Road market, which he ran on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and another one in Petticoat Lane on a Sunday morning. The other three days he spent building up his supplies. Aggie didn’t know how to describe the nature of Nobby’s stalls, for, like old Benji, he seemed to sell everything under the sun.
The sound of running feet down the stairs brought Aggie’s mind back to the present. Looking up, she smiled at her granddaughters, gratified to see the happy, flushed smiles on their faces.
‘Been having a good dance, ’ave yer? I thought you was gonna bring the ceiling down the way yer was clumping about.’
Grace came over and sat on the arm of Aggie’s chair, her eyes immediately going to the photo Aggie held in her hand. As always, Grace’s heart gave a painful leap when she saw Nobby’s face, but she was always careful not to show her feelings.
‘Vi and Beryl gone out already?’ she asked quickly before her grandmother could start regaling Nobby’s virtues.
