Fur Coat, No Knickers

by Anna King

  The news of his sons’ fate had been delivered in a letter by his only surviving relative, a cousin living in Berlin. Benji hadn’t heard from him since.

  Benji peered into his mug, then lifted watery brown eyes to Grace and asked, ‘Would you mind if I went back upstairs, leibchen? I didn’t sleep very well last night, and to tell the truth…’ He winked and nodded in the direction of the shop. ‘I’d rather be back upstairs, it will be safer. Shalom, Gracie.’

  ‘Shalom, Benji. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.’

  The shambling figure making its way up the stairs didn’t turn, but raised its hand in farewell.

  Grace waited until Benji had disappeared then her eyes immediately found the clock on the wall, willing the minutes to pass quickly so she could go home and get some peace and quiet.

  * * *

  The noise hit her as soon as she opened the door. Somebody, probably Polly, had brought down the gramophone from Danny’s room and the sound of the Glenn Miller Band was blasting throughout the house.

  As she hung up her coat, Grace thought wryly, So much for a bit of peace and quiet.

  In the sitting room, Polly was dancing with Linda Castle, while Aggie, who had arrived home only twenty minutes before, tried to make herself heard over the throbbing music.

  Turn the bloody thing down, can’t yer! Yer’ll ’ave the neighbours in complaining if yer keep up that racket.’

  Polly, her face flushed with exertion cried happily, ‘Oh, Nan, don’t be such a wet blanket. It’s the new records from America. It’s called swing music.’

  ‘Swing music, be blowed!’ Aggie shouted back. ‘I’ll bleeding well swing fer you two if yer don’t turn down the noise.’

  But Polly, laughing gaily, came over to Aggie, gave her a big hug and said gleefully, ‘Come on, Nan. Why don’t you try it. It’s fun – honest.’

  Aggie’s face nearly turned purple.

  ‘What me, jiggle about like some lunatic, showing me drawers off to all and sundry? No thanks.’

  But Polly’s high spirits refused to be dampened. Taking hold of Linda’s hand she laughed. ‘Come on, Linda, let’s show Nan and Grace how to do the jitterbug.’

  ‘All right,’ Linda answered, her pretty face animated, her long fair hair shining with vitality. She was a friendly, outgoing girl who loved life and made the most of every minute of every day. Grace surmised that Linda must be nineteen by now, making her two years younger than Polly. Yet looking at the pair of them, you’d have thought them the same age. Both girls had their hair caught up in a ponytail, and were wearing full skirts, which ended just below the knees, and white cotton blouses.

  Now Linda was holding Polly’s hand, crying cheerfully, ‘Stand well back, ladies. There’s gonna be a lot of arms and legs flying about.’

  Grace, her good humour restored by the happy atmosphere, sat on the arm of Aggie’s chair and waited while Polly put on ‘In the Mood’. Then she watched in amazement as the two young women went into a wild routine of twisting and turning, their bottoms stuck out, sliding through each other’s legs, their arms waving wildly as their feet went out in all directions. Grace found herself laughing at the comical antics of the two girls, so much so that the tears began to roll down her face. Aggie, too, was finding it hard to keep a straight face. She glanced up at Grace, then towards the two sweating girls and let out a howl of merriment. But Polly and Linda weren’t put off, and when the record ended they both collapsed on to the sofa, their faces beaming with satisfaction.

  A frantic banging on the front door brought Aggie’s head up sharply.

  ‘There! What did I tell yer. Some Nosy Parker’s come ter complain about the noise, I bet. Well, I’ll soon see them off with a flea in their ear. Bloody cheek. Begrudging folk a bit of fun in their own homes, when there’s precious little of it to be had anywhere else.’

  The two sisters grinned at each other. Their nan was an enigma. One minute telling them to keep the noise down in case the neighbours complained, then ready to do battle if they dared to do just that.

  Straining to hear the conversation going on at the front door, all three young women jumped back in alarm as Aggie, her large frame moving quickly into the room, shouted excitedly, ‘Quick, all of yer, that was Rene. Our boys ’ave just shot down a German plane over the marshes. The pilots parachuted out, so yer know what that means, don’t yer?’ At the blank looks gazing back at her, she yelled, ‘The parachutes, you idiots. So don’t just sit there with yer mouths open, come on, otherwise there won’t be enough silk left fer a bleeding hankie by the time we get there… And pick up something heavy ter bring with yer, just in case the Germans wanna make a fight of it.’

  All three young women looked at each other apprehensively, then Grace lifted her shoulders and said, ‘I’m game. Anyway, we can’t let Nan go on her own. You never know what might happen to her.’

  Polly gasped in fear. ‘You mean she might get hurt, Grace?’

  Grace laughed. ‘No, you silly cow. I was thinking of those poor pilots if Nan gets her hands on either of them.’

  So, armed with a frying pan and two heavy saucepans, Grace, Polly and Linda followed the running Aggie down Well Street, round the back turnings, and were soon running up towards the Downs. Unfortunately, about fifty other women had the same idea, and by the time the four women reached the plane it was surrounded. The two German pilots, their hands held high over their heads, looked scared to death, as they stared at the horde of women, all of of whom were armed with pitchforks, spades or glittering kitchen knives.

  Pushing and shoving her way to the front of the mob, Aggie demanded of the woman next to her, ‘Well? Where are they?’

  The woman looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Where’s what?’ she answered, then, realisation dawning, she leant forward and whispered in Aggie’s ear, ‘We’ve hidden them til the law and the army’s been and gone. ’Cos yer know what them buggers are like. They’ll confiscate those parachutes, saying it’s spoils of war or some such cobblers. Then they’ll give them away to their girlfriends or wives. Nah!’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘They won’t find ’em, nor the two spare ones we found in the plane.’

  Aggie’s mouth dropped in amazement. ‘Yer ain’t been daft enough ter go into a burning plane, ’ave yer? Christ! Nothing’s worth taking that risk for.’

  The woman smiled proudly. ‘It wasn’t on fire, well not much anyhow, just the tail end. Me and a few others were in an’ outta there in five minutes. Look, over there, see!’

  Aggie peered in the direction the woman was pointing and saw the wrecked aircraft.

  Just then the local bobby arrived on his bicycle, its wheels wobbling dangerously.

  Assuming an authoritative air, he commanded, ‘Come on, ladies, the law’s here now. I’ll deal with this, so you lot can get yourselves off home before one of you gets hurt.’

  One of the women laughed scornfully. ‘Oh, yeah! I can see them two Jerries shitting themselves at the sight of you and your truncheon.’

  Before the red-faced man could make a suitable retort, he was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of two army trucks. As the bevy of troops disembarked, the women fell back, and the two prisoners, relief flooding their faces, went with the British soldiers silently and without fuss.

  A high-ranking officer stepped forward.

  ‘All right, ladies, there’s nothing more to see.’ Then, winking at the group of women, he said softly, ‘We’ll be gone in a few minutes, then you can collect the parachutes from wherever you’ve hidden them and divvy them up between you. Good day, ladies, and many thanks for keeping the prisoners under surveillance until we arrived.’ With a nonchalant salute, he strode off, issuing orders left and right, one of which was to deploy two soldiers to stand guard over the enemy plane until reinforcements arrived, and within minutes the trucks were trundling down the road, the lone policeman following as quickly as he dared on his teetering bike.

  As soon as the men had disappeared the women huddl
ed together in a wide circle, and suddenly four pregnant women were delivered of four healthy parachutes.

  To be fair to everyone, the women who had risked going into the plane got the biggest share of material. Large squares of the voluminous silk were cut with a pair of shearing scissors brought along especially for the occasion. As Aggie and the girls had arrived last they managed to get only a few yards between them, but they were satisfied with their haul. After all, they hadn’t done anything for it. Rene had fared little better.

  They were halfway down Homerton High Street, past the Hackney Hospital, when the first explosion rent the air, followed moments later by another deafening blast. Thinking a bomb had dropped nearby, all the women fell to the ground, their hands covering their heads. But it wasn’t a bomb that had caused the explosions. The plane had suddenly, and without warning, exploded.

  Within minutes the army trucks were racing back to the scene, and as the women rose shakily to their feet, Aggie said hoarsely, ‘Bleeding hell! If that had gone up half an hour earlier those women would’ve been killed, and all fer a bit of silk. Makes yer think, don’t it?’

  Thoughtfully and not a little shaken by the fright they’d had, the women carried on walking until, breaking the silence, Linda said to Rene, ‘Me and Polly was thinking of taking a walk round the shops, Mum. I know they’ll all be closed by now, but we just wanna do some window shopping.’

  Rene turned and looked at her daughter suspiciously.

  ‘As long as yer don’t go over the park, or if yer do, you’ll stay well away from that POW camp. Now, I’m warning yer, Linda. If I hear you’ve been over there chatting up those Germans, I’ll have the skin off yer back, understand?’

  The opening of a POW camp in Victoria Park hadn’t gone down too well with the East Enders, many of whom had their menfolk overseas fighting the very people that were now strutting around the compound, calling out to any girl or young woman walking by. It was also well known that a few of the women weren’t averse to climbing over the heavy wire gates that housed the prisoners.

  Linda returned her mother’s gaze steadfastly and said indignantly, ‘What d’yer take me for, Mum! I wouldn’t go within a mile of the place. Besides, I’m not a little kid any more, an’ I can take care of meself, yer know I can.’

  Breaking into the conversation between mother and daughter, Aggie looked at her friend and said cheerfully, ‘Aw, let ’em go, Rene. Like Linda says, they’re not children, and besides, it’ll mean we can have the place to ourselves, while we sort out the silk over a nice cuppa tea without having ter listen ter that infernal record player blaring away.’

  As they headed home, Aggie said gleefully, ‘I’ll bet Jeannie will be flaming mad at missing out on this. Trust her to pick today ter go an’ visit her sister. Still…’

  Grace walked on behind her nan and Rene as they carried on their conversation, both of them in high spirits. Stifling a yawn, Grace looked back at the retreating girls, her brow furrowed. She liked young Linda, but still couldn’t help wondering if she was the right sort of person Polly should be going out with. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she shook her head in amusement. She still thought of Polly as a little girl, but her sister was now twenty-one and could do as she pleased. Besides, it would do Polly good mixing with an outgoing girl like Linda.

  Chapter Twenty

  At the same time as the German plane had crashed over the marshes, Nobby Clark was holed up in a locked warehouse in one of the many backstreet warrens in Bethnal Green. There were three other men in the warehouse, all dressed in smart three-piece suits and wearing large hats that almost obscured their faces, and as Nobby stared at his companions, he cursed himself for ever getting involved with the Davidson family. It had seemed like easy money at first, now as he was now learning to his cost, nothing in this life was ever easy.

  When Nobby had taken over his late father’s stalls, he had found his father had plenty of loyal and regular customers. Unfortunately as the war bit deeper into the nation’s economy, it had become increasingly difficult to find anything worthwhile to sell. Not a man to be defeated easily, Nobby had racked his brains for a way to replenish his dwindling supplies. First he had looked up some old army friends and, with the aid of a few backhanders, had managed to obtain tins and other perishable foods, discreetly smuggled out of the army barracks and into the back of his old van. This he did once a month. It was so easy it was almost laughable. He would drive up to the army gates in the van, where he was instantly recognised by the guard on duty, and once into the barracks he would open the back doors and help his friends load up the back of the van. And if he was lucky, he would get a couple of gallons of petrol as well – all for considerable remuneration of course.

  Then there was the old farmer friend of his father in Kent. Nobby could remember golden summer days when he and his family had visited the farm for a day out, and the young Nobby would run wild all over the farm playing with the animals and riding the farmer’s old bike over the green hilly fields. The elderly farmer had welcomed Nobby with open arms the day he had arrived to give the old soldier and his wife the sad news of his parents’ deaths. They had talked for hours, reminiscing about old times, and when Nobby had told of his difficulty in getting enough foodstuffs to stock his stalls, the farmer had immediately offered to help. It was what Nobby had been hoping for, but he would never have brought up the subject himself, for he was genuinely fond of the old couple, and would have hated for them to think he had only made the visit to line his pockets.

  So a deal was struck, and once a fortnight Nobby would visit the farm and come away with fresh eggs, butter, vegetables and fruit. And if an animal had been slaughtered that day, he would also receive a goodly portion of the carcass. All of this cost Nobby money, but whatever he paid out, he trebled instantly. All of the women who came to his stall were only too pleased to pay over the odds for some decent food, although Nobby was careful who he sold his prohibited supplies to, as the local bobby patrolled the markets regularly, on the lookout for black market goods.

  But since the authorities had started to clamp down on the farmers selling their produce to civilians, Nobby had found it difficult to obtain his regular supply of fresh produce. The old farmer still managed to hide away a goodly assortment of supplies for his old friend’s son, but Nobby, knowing the penalties the farmer could face if found out, had reluctantly brought their brief partnership to an end. He still visited the farm and, despite his protests, never came away empty-handed. Like last week, when three punnets of strawberries, a dozen eggs and a joint of beef had been thrust into his hands upon leaving. When he had attempted to pay for the goods he had been sent on his way with a fond laugh and an extracted promise to come and visit again soon. These particular presents had landed up in Aggie’s kitchen, and for once he had been able to look Grace straight in the eyes and tell her they had been given to him by an old friend.

  Then his army supplies had started to dry up, due to the fact that the two guards who supplied Nobby had been caught red-handed pilfering from the store rooms, and were presently languishing in an army jail awaiting trial.

  Just as things were getting desperate for Nobby, he had gone to his local pub one night and had started chatting to the Davidson brothers and their cousin. It had been a pleasant evening with much beer supped, and when they were all sufficiently inebriated the Davidsons had offered him a deal. With much nudging and winking, they had implied they had plenty of contacts, and if Nobby was interested they could keep his stalls stocked from now until the end of the war. Warning bells had gone off in Nobby’s head, but, slightly drunk and desperate to maintain his livelihood, he had agreed to join them. However, only by way of buying the stuff, he had added – he wanted no part in the obtaining of it, nor did he want to know where it came from. The men had agreed and shook hands on the deal.

  As good as their word, the Davidsons had kept Nobby well supplied, and as the months went on Nobby found he was being offered more go
ods than he could handle. To rectify the problem he had hired a garage in the grounds of his flats, and prayed a stray bomb wouldn’t land on his spoils of war.

  However, of late his conscience had started to trouble him, not from buying black market goods but because of the way they were being obtained. The papers had been filled recently with stories of lorries being hijacked, warehouses being turned over, and consignments of goods being brought in by merchant ships mysteriously vanishing while being unloaded. Even then Nobby hadn’t worried unduly – not until an elderly man guarding a warehouse in Stepney had been viciously beaten about the head during a robbery and was at present fighting for his life in Hackney Hospital. That had been the end for Nobby. Although he couldn’t be sure the Davidsons had been responsible, he had a gut feeling it had been them. Now he wanted out, only it was looking as if it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Phil Davidson, the elder of the brothers, was sitting on an upturned crate, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips, his eyes hard and cold.

  ‘So, our war hero’s lost his bottle, has he?’

  Nobby felt his hands clench into hard fists by his side, although he knew he couldn’t take these men on single-handedly. If he even tried, they would kill him, or leave him so severely maimed he would never be whole again. He also knew that to show fear would be fatal.