by Anna King
Instantly Nobby was on his feet.
‘Is there somewhere else you’ve got to be?’
Chris Green fiddled with the brass buttons of his uniform, saying lightly, ‘Only my bed and a cup of cocoa.’
Nobby grabbed the man’s arm firmly.
‘In that case why don’t you stay and spend the evening with us? I could do with an extra man around. Like I told the girls, I can only dance with them one at a time.’
Now that Nobby knew the attractive man was interested in Vi, poor devil, and therefore posed no threat to himself, he was all the good-natured host.
Ordering another bottle of champagne, and two packets of De Rizers from the cigarette girl, the four of them settled down to a relaxing evening. Now and then Vi would glide on to the dance floor with her customer for the evening, but if Chris noticed, he didn’t make any comment. By the time they left the club it was gone eleven, and it was as they were waiting hopefully for a taxi that Chris, tapping at his breast pocket, exclaimed, ‘I must have left my lighter on the table. Won’t be a minute.’
Grace and Nobby exchanged glances, wondering if the lighter was an excuse to go back in to try to have a word with Vi. Polly, on the other hand seemed oblivious to everything around her, and it was no wonder the way she’d been knocking back the champagne and wine as if it was water, when the strongest drink she’d ever had in her life up until now was orange juice. Grace only hoped her nan would be in bed when they got home so she could smuggle Polly upstairs and into bed before Aggie saw the state she was in.
‘Sorry about that.’ Chris came hurrying towards them. ‘It was in my trouser pocket all the time… Here, quick, there’s a taxi.’ Jumping out into the road he waved down the gloomy shape of a black cab, its shrouded lights making it barely visible in the blackout.
They were no sooner sitting down when Polly laid her head on Grace’s shoulder and promptly fell asleep.
Grace laughed softly. ‘You two will have to help me get her into the house without nan seeing her, that is, if it’s not taking you out of your way, Chris?’
Instantly Nobby bridled with indignation.
‘It ain’t gonna take two of us to carry a little slip of a girl like Poll. I might have been a bit injured, but I’m not a cripple.’
Grace, ignoring Nobby’s outburst, leant towards Chris in the darkened taxi and said wryly, ‘A bit injured, he says. He only shot down two Messerschmitts after they’d almost wrecked his plane. Landed in a Kent field, got out, then went back for his navigator. A minute later the plane burst into flames and our reluctant hero here caught flying scraps of metal in his leg, arm and back. Not that that would stop him trying to carry Polly, even if he did do himself a worse injury, stubborn old begger.’ She tapped Nobby’s knee affectionately. ‘And we’re all very proud of him. He was awarded the DFC, so what do you think of that, Chris?’
Although it was dark in the taxi, Chris could feel the affection flowing between Grace and Nobby. He had to admit he hadn’t taken to Grace’s fiancé, thinking at the time that a woman like Grace could do much better than a man like Stanley Slater. But things were different now. You didn’t dump a man while he was being held in a POW camp. Not a woman like Grace anyway. Shrugging his shoulders, he dropped the idea from his mind. It was no business of his. After all, he hardly knew these people, although it didn’t feel that way – he felt as if he’d known them for years.
Nudging Nobby in the ribs, he said with admiration, ‘Congratulations, Nobby. I’ve never met a hero before. Well, not a properly decorated one. Well done. It must have taken some guts to do what you did.’
As always when his heroic actions were mentioned, Nobby became abashed, and swiftly changed the subject.
As the taxi drove slowly through the night, Grace felt her own eyes begin to close. The last thing she remembered hearing was Chris and Nobby discussing America’s reluctance to enter the war, both of them scathing in their remarks about the so-called super-power country that was sitting on its backside watching the world fall apart around it.
* * *
On 7 December that year, the Japanese bombed the naval base at Pearl Harbor, killing 3,300 service personnel in the process.
America had finally entered the war.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Now look, Mrs Collins, I’ve told you, we don’t deal with under-the-counter stuff in here, so it’s no good you going on about it. In fact we’re running very low on stock just now. Mr Benjamin is waiting for a delivery. We’ve got some dried eggs and some tins of spam and just enough to cover your tea and sugar ration for the week.’ Grace, her face set, stared at the shabby plump woman with distaste. Week after week she was in here demanding all sorts of provisions, refusing to believe that Benji’s cellar wasn’t well stocked for his favourite customers. It was now May 1943, and provisions were getting harder and harder to come by, but people like Mrs Collins would always believe shopkeepers kept a special stash under the counter or down the cellar.
With a loud sniff, Mrs Collins cast a withering look at the young woman behind the counter and said tartly, ‘Don’t give me all that old cobblers, Grace Donnelly. The whole street knows about your gentleman friend supplying you and the rest of your family with black market stuff. And him supposed to be a hero an’ all – huh!’
Grace’s face turned scarlet at the nastiness in the woman’s tone. Resisting the urge to lean over the counter and slap the woman’s mottled face, she said between clenched teeth, ‘For your information, Mrs Collins, and you can pass it on to your cronies, Mr Clark is a legitimate businessman, and any little treats he kindly gives us is more for my nan’s sake than the rest of us, and—’
‘Bollocks! You can tell that tale to the next flying pig yer see go by, miss,’ The outraged woman’s chest was heaving with indignation, so much so that the buttons on her shiny black coat seemed in danger of popping off. ‘I heard yer nan down the market last week bragging about the joint of beef you’d all had for your Sunday dinner, and fresh strawberries and cream for afters. And you stand there bare faced and tell me Nobby Clark’s not running a black market scam with you an’ your family reaping the rewards.’
Her eyes glittering dangerously now, Grace moved from the back of the counter.
‘Get out… Go on, get out of this shop before I do something I’ll regret, you nasty, evil-minded little woman.’
But the woman, believing herself to be in the right, stood her ground.
‘You can’t order me about, yer cheeky little madam. It ain’t your shop, yer just the hired help. I wanna see old Benji.’ Bristling with rage now, the woman bellowed, ‘Well, don’t just stand there gawping, go and get the old Jew boy out here. Can yer ’ear me back there, Benji. Get yerself out ’ere and face me yerself, yer bleeding old Jew boy, I – ’Ere… ’ere, wot you doing yer little bitch. Take yer hands off of me before I land yer one.’
But Grace, infuriated by the contemptuous manner in which the woman had addressed her beloved friend was past caring. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed Grace grabbed the woman by the back of the neck and tried to push her from the shop. But even with her temper raging to boiling point, Grace could budge the woman no further. Sweating now, and beginning to feel foolish, Grace valiantly gathered all her strength, but the woman was built like a Sherman tank. Determined to throw the woman out, even if she gave herself a heart attack in the process, Grace continued to push and shove, but all to no avail.
Then salvation arrived. The bell over the shop door tinkled, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the formidable figure of Aggie. Not one to waste words, she said sharply, ‘Need a hand, love?’
And Grace, the sweat now pouring down her face cried, ‘Oh, yes, please, Nan.’
At the sight of Aggie Harper, the irate customer suddenly seemed to lose her confidence. Blustering wildly, she stuttered, ‘This ain’t no business of yours, Aggie Harper. This is between me an’—’
She got no further. Two strong, brawny hands grabbe
d the woman at the back of her neck, and with Grace pushing from the rear, Mrs Collins found herself thrown bodily from the shop on to the cobbled pavement, much to the amusement of some passers-by.
Struggling to regain some of her dignity, the humiliated woman stepped back a few steps and yelled at Aggie, ‘You’ve got some nerve, Aggie Harper, acting all righteous, when the whole street knows you’re in with Nobby Clark and his black market scams. I’ll bet you don’t have ter eat dried eggs and spam fer yer breakfast, do yer? Or queue up fer hours outside the butcher’s and grocer’s.’
As Aggie advanced on the shouting woman, her fists clenched by her sides, Mrs Collins, either through bravery or sheer stupidity, added sneeringly, ‘And then there’s those two whores coming home every night with a different man. Our own boys were good enough fer them before, weren’t they, but now the Yanks are here, our soldiers don’t get a look in. But then they don’t have the money to throw around like the Yanks, do they? Or have packets of nylons and chocolates to hand out to whoever takes their fancy—’
A heavy fist smashed into the woman’s mouth sending her sprawling flat out on the pavement. Then Aggie was standing over her, her face contorted with fury.
‘You ever say anything about me family again an’ I’ll put yer into hospital. D’yer understand, yer vicious bitch, you? Now get outta me sight before yer get me toe up yer arse to help yer on the way!’
The injured woman rose unsteadily to her feet, her mouth pouring with blood.
‘I’ll ’ave the law on yer, Aggie Harper, you see if I don’t…’
But Aggie was already walking away, pulling a horrified Grace alongside her.
Back in the shop, Grace had to sit down before her legs gave way. She had seen her nan in a temper many times, but had never realised how violent she could be if provoked.
‘You stay there a minute, love, an’ I’ll slip out back and brew us some tea. By the way, what was that all about? She another one thinks you’ve got mountains of supplies hidden away?’
Grace nodded ruefully. ‘I’m afraid so, Nan. And she’s not the only one, but she is the nastiest. Still! I don’t suppose she’ll be back here in a hurry.’ Reaching up she took hold of Aggie’s gnarled hand. ‘Thanks, Nan. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.’
Clicking her tongue Aggie retorted, ‘You’d ’ave managed somehow, love. I’ve never known you to give up without a struggle. Anyway, where is Benji? I’d ’ave thought he’d have come out to see what all the rumpus was about. He ain’t going deaf, is he?’
Weakly, Grace shook her head.
‘No, at least not that badly. He’s having his afternoon nap, and once he’s asleep nothing wakes him. I worry about him, especially at night, because he never hears the siren go off.’
Aggie patted Grace’s shoulder.
‘Well, let’s hope he goes on leading a charmed life then, eh! Anyway, you sit there and I’ll go and brew up.’ Aggie walked away but then stopped in her tracks. ‘’Ere, he won’t mind me using his tea, will he, love? I know he doesn’t mind when he’s down here and I pop in fer a chat and a cuppa, but seeing as he’s upstairs asleep, I don’t want him thinking I’m taking liberties.’
Grace shook her head. ‘No, he lets me make as many cups as I want. Besides, you know how much he enjoys your company. He wouldn’t begrudge you a cup of tea, whether he’s here or not.’
Aggie grinned slyly. ‘Better not let Ada Collins hear yer say that, love. Especially after that smack in the mouth I gave her defending old Benji.’ Chuckling to herself Aggie went behind the heavy curtain that partitioned the shop from the living quarters and, as she’d done on numerous occasions, made herself at home in the kitchen.
And as Gracie listened to her nan humming out in the small kitchen she reflected wryly that Aggie hadn’t picked up on that odious woman’s references to Vi and Beryl. And even though it went against the grain to admit it, there had been a ring of truth in the woman’s spiteful words. That crack about Nobby supplying them with black market goods had hit home. Although whenever Grace tackled him about it, he always had a plausible explanation as to how he had come by the treats he was always bringing around the house. The eggs, butter, fruit and occasional joint of meat were, he had told her on numerous occasions, bought from a farmer out in Kent, a man Nobby’s father had apparently fought with in the first war and had remained friends with until his death. The tea that Aggie loved so much came from an army warehouse, together with the extra sugar that always accompanied it. For although Nobby had been in the RAF, he still had many friends serving in the army.
Grace still had her doubts, yet what could she do? Refuse to accept the gifts and risk the wrath of her nan who had become used to eating and drinking as well as she had before the war? Worse still, openly accuse Nobby of theft and lose his friendship, maybe for good? Grace shivered at the thought. Life now was only made bearable by Nobby’s visits and the Saturday night excursion up West to a club or to see a play, always with Polly in tow, of course, as chaperon. Not that Grace didn’t trust Nobby; it was her own feelings she was wary of. The very thought of spending an evening alone with Nobby always reduced her limbs to jelly, and then guilt would set in, as she remembered Stanley and the barbarous conditions under which he was living.
Uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were heading, Grace squirmed on the straight-backed chair and thought instead of the other accusation thrown in Aggie’s face. It was true Beryl and Vi had become friendly with the visiting Americans, and indeed at first there had been a different one knocking on their door almost every day. But for the past four months, both women had settled down with two American officers. Vi’s friend – an amiable, attractive man in his mid-thirties, a colonel no less, named Chuck Downing – was always made welcome by Aggie. Of course, the fact that he always brought Aggie either chocolates or a small bottle of brandy had nothing to do with her affable acceptance of him! But Beryl’s gentlemen friend, a top-ranking general by the name of Donald Laine, like all the other men she had tried to sneak into the house, had never got his nose past the door. They had all seen him, standing on the doorstep, a portly man in his late fifties with a kindly face, and wondered how on earth Beryl had managed to snag a general, even one who was getting on a bit, and was certainly nothing to set any woman’s pulse racing.
Maybe, as Grace had pointed out, the man was probably lonely and desperate for some female company. To which Aggie had retorted loudly, ‘Female company, be blowed. He just wants ter get his leg over, like all the rest of ’em. And we all know how accommodating our Beryl is, don’t we?’
When Beryl had complained in loud, colourful language that this was her house and she could bring who she liked into it, Aggie would calmly say that in that case Danny wouldn’t mind knowing about her entertaining other men in his absence. This threat always shut Beryl up quickly, but the murderous looks she directed at Aggie on these occasions showed only too clearly what would happen to the old lady if Danny didn’t make it back home. Grace shivered. Poor Uncle Danny. He was so trusting and obviously adored his wife, as was proved by the letters that frequently tumbled through the letterbox from overseas.
‘’Ere yer go, girl. Get that down yer. There’s nothing like a nice cuppa to steady the nerves.’
For a moment Grace was tempted to ask Aggie if she had any suspicions about Nobby’s activities, then decided against it. Aggie thought the sun shone out of Nobby’s backside, and even if she did know something, she would defend his name to the death.
The tinkling of the shop bell led both women’s eyes to the door, and as Grace stood up to serve the three women who entered, they ignored her completely, directing their attentions at Aggie.
‘Is it true, Aggie? Did yer smack old Ma Collins in the mouth?’ A small, sharp-faced woman who lived across the road from them was looking at Aggie with open admiration, as were her companions, who also lived in the street.
Aggie’s huge breasts appeared to swell with pr
oud satisfaction, and as she related the incident to the avid listeners, Grace sighed and went out the back.
It was nearly five o’clock, and Grace always brought Benji up a cup of tea if he hadn’t come down to the shop by now. As she waited for the kettle to boil she wished it was six o’clock so she could go home. She was tired and still shaken by the violent confrontation that had taken place. If she asked, she knew Benji would let her go early, but she didn’t like to take liberties. So she waited for the kettle to boil, her ears picking up on the slight embellishments Aggie was adding to the story.
A shuffling sound behind her made her jump, then she relaxed.
‘I was just going to bring you up your tea, Benji.’ She smiled at the elderly man dressed as always in a shiny black suit with a dark grey waistcoat.
The elderly man came further into the kitchen and sat down at the small table. He smiled warmly.
‘Oy vey! And who could sleep with all that noise going on, tell me that, Gracie.’
Grace laughed. ‘You seem to manage to sleep through the warning sirens at night, or are you just too lazy to get out of bed?’
The old man took the mug of tea, his face suddenly solemn. Putting down his tea, he looked up at Gracie and said softly, ‘You don’t have to defend me, leibchen. I am used to being called much worse than Jew boy.’
A flush rose over Gracie’s cheeks. So he had heard after all. Oh, Lord! If she could have got her hands on Ada Collins at that moment, she would have smashed her in the mouth herself for belittling this kindly old man who had never done anyone any harm in his life. Nor had Grace ever heard him complain, despite the horrific tragedies he had suffered.
Benji had arrived in England back in 1928 with his wife Eva and their two sons. After Benji and Eva had established themselves in the shop, their sons, by then in their early twenties and unable to find work, had returned to Germany, where they had found work as labourers. That had been back in 1937. A year later, Benji’s beloved Eva had died suddenly from a heart attack, leaving him devastated. His sons had come over to England for the funeral, begging their father to go back with them to Germany, while at the same time Benji tried desperately to keep them in England. The rising power of Adolf Hitler and his army of Nazi thugs was becoming a dangerous threat, particularly to the Jewish population. Already there was talk of concentration camps being built to dispose of this unwanted race. But Benji’s sons had laughed off the threat as sheer propaganda. Now they were dead, tortured then gassed in the Holocaust.
