Women on the Home Front

by Annie Groves

  ‘Hampstead,’ the fellow announced. ‘You should have let her have a day off,’ he said to his wife. ‘And I should have just gone into work on time, as usual, on the train,’ he added cuttingly, making his wife shoot him a glare.

  ‘Wouldn’t have got far, mate,’ Chris said. ‘I heard on the wireless that nothing much is running. Even the underground is out.’

  He turned about as a fellow from another car approached him, feeling his way along the vehicle’s coachwork.

  ‘What’s down the bottom there?’ The man pointed vaguely while squinting a frown at the boarded-up houses he could just make out lining the street.

  ‘Seven Sisters Road,’ Chris answered. ‘I’ll guide you down there with the torch and out into the road. With any luck you can find a bus to follow that might be going your way.’

  By the time he got back to the house – led there by the sound of Billy coughing so violently he was in danger of bringing his guts up – Chris realised they might just as well pack up and go home. In winter, the interiors of these properties were dingy in normal conditions. Without doors, or glass in the windows, the foul atmosphere that had descended was swirling everywhere.

  Once Vic had joined Ted in clearing his chest every five minutes, and Billy had tripped over the toolbox for the umpteenth time, Chris had had enough. ‘That’s it … let’s go … wasting time staying …’

  ‘Waste o’ time coming in the first place,’ Vic grumbled.

  ‘Alright with getting a day’s pay docked, are you?’ Chris shot back.

  ‘Ain’t our fault we can’t do no work.’

  ‘Ain’t the guvnor’s fault neither, is it? And he’s gotta take the losses.’

  ‘Give us a lift?’ Vic meekly asked Chris, after that spiky exchange. ‘Be bleedin’ midnight time I get home if I wait fer a bus. Be better off walking …’

  ‘Yeah, make him walk, Chris, after givin’ you lip,’ Billy called with a wink at Ted.

  ‘You can shut up ’n’ all …’ Vic snapped narkily. ‘You ain’t offered to give me a lift, have yer, selfish git.’

  ‘Just get packed up, all of yers, and I’ll drop Vic off home,’ Chris said with a sigh.

  Chris was coaxing the old girl’s damp engine to start when he saw, through the van’s window, a woman coming towards him, head down and hand over her nose and mouth. As she got closer and looked up he realised it was Noreen Murphy. Considering the lack of visibility Chris realised she was moving quickly. He immediately wound down the window to speak to her.

  ‘Have you seen Kieran?’ she burst out, looking anxiously up at him.

  Chris could see she was very agitated and on the point of tears. ‘Haven’t seen him this morning. Has he gone out to work?’

  ‘He hasn’t found proper work, just a day here and there. Yesterday he bumped into one of O’Connor’s men and made him tell him where that cheating divil is now. Kieran set out early to catch him in Camden Town to make him hand over his wages. He says he won’t wait a day longer, and he won’t come back empty handed either.’

  ‘He hasn’t paid Kieran yet?’ Chris’s voice rose in astonishment. The pikeys had been gone from the street a long while.

  Noreen Murphy shook her head and swung a look to and fro. ‘O’Connor gave him some, but not all what he was owed. We need it badly. Kieran wouldn’t have gone out in this otherwise.’ Her teeth started to chatter and she cleared a wet film from her cheeks with shaking fingers.

  ‘He’ll be alright, luv, don’t worry,’ Chris soothed. ‘Just take him a while to get himself back here; everything’s slowed right up and there’s no transport running …’

  ‘It’s not him I’m worrying over.’ She raised her glistening eyes to Chris’s face. ‘Little Rosie’s chest is so bad.’ She took a look back the way she’d come as though fretting about leaving the children to come out searching for her husband. ‘She’s struggling to get her breath, the poor little soul. She needs a doctor … where is Kieran? He’ll have to take her to hospital, so he will. I can’t keep dosing her with linctus. It’s no use …’ She twisted around, muttering about having left the children alone for too long.

  With a sigh Chris turned off the engine and jumped out of the van. Noreen was again striding so swiftly towards home that she was already lost to view. As he followed her he almost collided with Vic coming towards him, pulling his balaclava down over his head.

  ‘We off then … ?’ Vic mumbled through the wool.

  ‘You’ll have to get Billy to drop you off,’ Chris told Vic as his face appeared. ‘I’m gonna offer to give Mrs Murphy a lift to the hospital. Her youngest has got a bad chest. I know she ain’t exaggerating ’cos I’ve heard the little mite coughing all week. Now this fog’s come down …’ Chris’s words tailed off as he shook his head.

  He caught up with Noreen as she was running up the stairs. The sound of a child’s whimpering could be heard.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift to the hospital if you want,’ Chris called after her.

  Noreen came down a few steps and gave him a grateful look. ‘Will you? Thank you … I’ll bring them down. Kathleen will have to come too I suppose … not that I want her out in this, but I can’t leave her on her own …’

  ‘Me aunt’ll watch her while I get you to the hospital,’ Chris said. He knew Matilda was a diamond at giving assistance when it was needed – especially where children’s welfare was concerned. And he knew she was very fond of little Kathleen.

  Chris didn’t bother bawling up to Matilda to announce himself today. He went straight in and up the stairs with Kathleen in his arms to bang on his aunt’s door.

  Matilda opened up and gawped at him. ‘Where you found her?’ she asked. ‘Under a gooseberry bush?’

  ‘Can you look after Kathleen for a bit for Mrs Murphy?’ Chris asked without preamble but with an appreciative little chuckle for his aunt’s drollery. ‘The baby needs to go to hospital and Kieran ain’t about to take her.’

  Even if Noreen’s husband had returned from tackling O’Connor over his wages, Kieran hadn’t any transport, and would have needed to beg a lift rather than carry the child through the streets to the hospital.

  ‘’Course I can.’ Matilda held out her arms and Chris handed the child over.

  ‘Cor, you’re getting a big girl, ain’t yer, Kathleen,’ Matilda said with a huff and a grimace at the cold, slight figure in her arms. ‘See if we can find a few biscuits, shall we, and a nice hot cup of tea to warm you up.’

  Kathleen nodded and, as Matilda put her to the floor, she scampered to where she knew the biscuit box was kept on a shelf and gazed at it expectantly.

  ‘How’s little Rosie, did you say?’ Matilda whispered when sure Kathleen was out of earshot. The tot might only just have turned four years old but she was bright as a button and Matilda didn’t want to make her fret over her baby sister. ‘I know the poor little mite’s chest’s been rattling for weeks. Thought it might be Rosie’s teeth worrying her ’cos I know Noreen said she teeths with bronchitis.’ Her nephew’s bleak expression made Matilda give a heavy sigh.

  ‘She’s coughing all the time and is as white as a ghost,’ Chris said. ‘Can see why Noreen’s anxious to get her to the hospital as soon as she can.’

  ‘You’d best get off then.’ Matilda shooed him on his way.

  ‘Kieran’s got a nice welcome home, ain’t he.’ Chris shook his head. ‘I hope the poor sod has at least managed to get his wages out of that thieving git, O’Connor.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him and give him a shout out me window if I manage to spot him through the fog.’

  ‘Right; won’t be too long, I hope,’ Chris said, moving towards the door. ‘But can’t see a hand in front of your face out there. D’you want anything brought in today, Auntie? Bread? Milk? Save you going out later.’

  ‘Could do with a loaf and a bottle of milk, Chris.’ Matilda spoke while getting the lid off the biscuit box. ‘You get going and make sure you drive carefully. Kathleen’s gonna be f
ine here with me so make sure you tell Noreen that ’cos it sounds as though she’s got more’n enough on her plate to worry about.’

  Chris reckoned Noreen did have enough to worry about too. As the van crept along slowly through the fog he could hear Rosie’s laboured breathing interspersed with pathetic little mewing sounds. It seemed the baby was too weak even to cry properly and Chris felt anxious and frustrated as the bus in front braked, forcing him again to a stop. He turned his head and squinted through the misty half-light at Noreen. Her face was dipped close to the precious bundle in her arms and Chris glimpsed the tears dripping from the end of her nose as she wept silently. Cursing beneath his breath at their snail-like progress, he took a chance and pulled out to overtake the bus in front. The road ahead seemed empty of vehicles so he put his foot down, praying for a clear run the remainder of the way to the hospital.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘’Ere, Vic, I ain’t sure about this …’ The woman’s voice sounded whiny. ‘I think I wanna go home.’

  ‘Just keep hold of me hand.’ Vic Wilson was picking his way through debris, dragging her with him. His foot knocked against a chunk of rubble and he sent it skittering sideways with his boot and started up the stairs. On reaching the landing he turned right and fumbled in his pocket for candles and matches. He got the light going and led the way to a pile of dustsheets beneath which were stashed a couple of old blankets. He dripped wax onto boards then stuck the burning candle on the floor. Its flame elongated, throwing leaping shadows on the walls of the derelict property.

  ‘It’s too cold ’n’ creepy, Vic, I wanna go home.’ The woman started retreating towards the door.

  Vic leapt up and grabbed her hand. ‘You was alright last week, Sandra. Just ’cos there’s a bit of fog about don’t mean you need to get all frightened. Ain’t Halloween is it, you silly mare? Come ’n’ see what I got under the floorboards.’ He tugged her back with him to the dustsheets and prised up a loose board to reveal a bottle of gin and a few brown ales. With a flourish he produced a couple of dusty tumblers from the same place.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve brought any orange to go with that gin.’ It was a peevish complaint but Sandra was already cleaning out the glass with the sleeve of her coat.

  ‘Do us a favour …’ Vic muttered, spearing her a sour look. He lunged for her, pulling her down beside him on the makeshift bed. ‘What more could any gel want, eh? Candlelight … nice drink … even got you some chocolate …’ He drew from his pocket a bar of Dairy Milk and broke it in half.

  She snuggled up to him, unwrapping her share of the chocolate to take a bite. ‘Pour us a gin then, Vic.’

  He half-filled her glass then got the top off his brown ale and took a swig. ‘Bottoms up.’

  ‘What you said to Deirdre?’ Sandra wound a dark curl about a finger while sliding a sly look at him.

  ‘None o’ yer business, I’ve told you that before.’ Vic took another gulp of beer and put down the bottle.

  ‘Your wife ain’t gonna believe you’ve gone out with mates on a night like this.’

  Vic took Sandra’s glass of gin and put it down on the boards then rolled on top of her buxom body. ‘Never mind about her …’ he growled, sinking his hot mouth against her throat and drawing deeply. ‘Thinkin’ about you now, ain’t I, and it’s about time we got you out o’ them clothes …’

  ‘It’s bleedin’ freezin’,’ Sandra protested, trying to hang onto her coat as he shoved it roughly off her shoulders.

  ‘I’ll soon warm you up gel, don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘What was that?’ Sandra struggled to sit up, snatching at her coat to cover her plump bare breasts.

  Vic had heard the noise too. He scrambled onto his knees and went on all fours towards the door. Through the cloudy darkness he could just make out a pinprick of light moving down below. He sped back to retrieve his trousers and yank them up, thinking all the while he was glad he’d had the foresight to bring a weapon of some sorts with him, just in case they were disturbed.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he roared out. ‘Show yer fucking self before I come down and put a crowbar over yer crust.’

  Sandra was soon at his side, pulling on his arm, terrified. ‘Who is it, Vic? Has some dirty old sod been spying on us at it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have seen much, would he, in this?’ Vic snarled, shaking her off. He crept out onto the landing, feeling his way, and peered over the banister into the opaque blackness. He heard a few whispered words then and the accents were unmistakable. ‘If that’s you, O’Connor, I’m on me way down to break yer fuckin’ neck.’ In fact Vic knew he was going to do nothing of the sort. He was shaking like a leaf. He didn’t mind a tear-up with the pikeys when he was mob-handed, but he didn’t fancy taking them on alone, especially with Sandra cramping his style.

  But it seemed he wasn’t going to need to worry about defending them. He heard a few more guttural mutterings, and somebody stumbling and cursing, before an engine roared. He fumbled back past Sandra to peer out of the front window at the street. It was impossible to see any more than a shifting shadow as the vehicle pulled away but he’d recognised the sound of Declan’s cranky old motor.

  The pikies had been back under cover of the fog, no doubt to see what they could pinch. Vic knew that thankfully nothing was left behind in the way of tools in the evening. Everything got cleared out and taken away on the vans. He knew there’d be no reason to mention this little episode to anybody. No harm was done. He let out a sigh of sheer relief and turned to give Sandra a winning smile. Overlooking the fact that a mop of brown curls was sticking to the tears streaming down her face, and she was vibrating from head to toe in shock, he said jauntily, ‘Scared ’em away, see, now … where was we?’

  ‘Thank Christ fer that.’ Stevie had opened the door to a bright clear day. ‘Come ’n’ take a look, Chris.’ He turned, smiling happily, to see his son coming along the passage eating a piece of toast.

  ‘About bleedin’ time too,’ Chris said with a relieved sigh. He’d been bored stiff cooped up at home while waiting for the dreadful smog that had blighted the capital for four days to disperse. During that time London had come to a virtual standstill due to the hazardous atmosphere.

  When he got to Whadcoat Street the first person he saw was Kieran Murphy. Chris realised the man had been loitering by the railings, waiting for him to turn up, so he could talk to him.

  ‘Need to thank you very much for what you did for us the other day.’ Kieran bashfully rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. ‘Already said thank you to your aunt Matilda for looking after Kathleen while you took Rosie to the hospital. Mrs Keiver’s a fine woman.’

  ‘Yeah, she is,’ Chris said. ‘And I was pleased to help get the little ’un to a doctor. How is Rosie?’

  ‘She’s fine and back home, thank you for asking.’

  Chris noticed Kieran’s eyes filling up and he gave his arm a small comforting shake. ‘I know the poor little mite’s had a cough for a while, so it’s good to know she’s better.’

  ‘They kept her in the hospital overnight and dosed her with strong medicine,’ Kieran gruffly explained. ‘Noreen has the bottle and must give Rosie some every day this week. A lot of people had the same complaint because of the terrible smog. A very busy place, it was …’ He paused, looking bashful. ‘We should have taken Rosie to a doctor sooner but we were worried they’d find out we lived here …’ Kieran glanced at the slum behind him.

  ‘Right … got you …’ Chris said, immediately understanding the couple’s fears. He’d heard his aunt recounting tales of Bunk children being forcibly removed from their parents when the authorities deemed them in danger of neglect.

  ‘I thank the lord the hospital was as busy as it was, for few questions were asked of us. I thank the lord we have the National Health Service too,’ Kieran admitted with a grimace.

  ‘Don’t know how we managed before without it,’ Chris agreed. ‘You still lookin’ fer work?’ he asked abru
ptly in an attempt to buck Kieran up.

  Kieran nodded and shuffled his feet. ‘Noreen told you that I’d gone after O’Connor for my pay on that day.’

  ‘Did you get your money?’

  Kieran shook his head. He angled his face to show Chris the bruise on a profile he’d been keeping averted. ‘Got that instead. He’s an evil man.’

  ‘He’s that alright. No work in Ireland for you?’

  ‘I had work but …’ Kieran sighed. ‘There was a lot of bitterness between my kin and Noreen’s. We come from different sides of the troubles and we didn’t want our children in the middle of a feud. Better that Kathleen and Rosie have just the two of us than know a lot of uncles and cousins who hate one another.’

  ‘Right … I’m with you …’ Chris said sympathetically. ‘Well, I can let you have a day a week for about a month, that’s all though. Guvnor won’t wear more’n that ’cos there’s nothing in the price, y’see. But you might be able to pick up a bit elsewhere and make yer money up, and it’ll get you past Christmas.’

  Kieran’s drawn expression transformed into a smile. ‘That’s grand, thank you. When can I start?’

  ‘No time like the present,’ Chris answered.

  Kieran pumped one of Chris’s hands then turned to rush back towards his house to tell Noreen the good news.

  Chris grimaced ruefully to himself. He knew his uncle wouldn’t pay out another penny on the job – he was going to have to dock his own pay to give Kieran his wages. Yet he didn’t regret doing it, although he knew he’d keep his generosity to himself. The lads wouldn’t understand. But Grace would; she’d know why he’d had to help out a man who wanted desperately to provide for his family when Christmas was coming for two little girls …

  ‘You’ve got a damned cheek, d’you know that?’

  ‘Just wanted to speak to you, that’s all.’

  Grace shot a look at her friend Wendy. But Wendy shrugged and rolled her eyes, letting Grace know she was equally astonished at this unexpected meeting with Hugh Wilkins. She had seen Grace’s ex-fiancé some months ago when out shopping, but she’d not bumped into him since.