The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  The boys fell silent, their eyes popping out of their heads. This was a man they scarcely recognized. The handsome face stared back at them, the hair long, the fists raised. Alex was close to tears of pride, touching the pictures, patting them. Edward looked at his father, then his mother. They were so close to the boys, had their arms around them, and yet it was as if they were alone. Evelyne bent to kiss Freedom, their eyes hungry for each other.

  ‘What happened then? At the big fight, Dad, what happened?’

  Freedom turned the pages, trying to change the subject. ‘This man was Sir Charles Wheeler, he was my promoter, an English knight he was . . .’

  Edward turned the pages back to look at the fight programme. ‘Well, did yer beat ’im, Dad? Jack Sharkey?’

  Freedom gave him a sad smile. ‘No, son, he beat me, wiped the floor with me, knocked me out of the ring.’

  Evelyne leaned over and pointed to the picture of Jack Sharkey. ‘He punched foul, that’s why, he punched low, and your Dad’s leg got paralysed. Sharkey was never world champion either, because he fouled again at his next fight. You shouldn’t run yourself down like that, Freedom! Your Dad would have won, but he had so many fights and not enough rest before the big bout . . . Your face had to have time to heal – there were cuts around his eyes, his ribs broken. No man in that condition should have been allowed to go into the ring. You ask your Uncle Ed about it.’

  Again, Freedom reached out and held her hand. ‘I dunno, suddenly your mother’s an authority on boxing, she who hated the very thought of it, now will you listen to her?’

  Evelyne laughed, and sat on his knee. ‘Ah, well, I hate it, and that’s the truth, but I’ll not hear you tell of everyone else. You were a champion, not many can say that. But neither of you two lads will ever have to go through what your Dad had to, fighting for money is a terrible way to earn a living . . . Have you never wondered why your father limps the way he does? That’s fighting for you . . .’

  Edward leafed through the book and then opened a folded page of newspaper. ‘What’s this? Dad, what’s this?’

  Freedom glanced at it and flushed, looked up at Evelyne. He couldn’t read it. Evelyne took it from Edward, bit her lip.

  ‘It’s the headline about Al Capone, Freedom.’

  Freedom laughed and jigged Evelyne up and down on his knee. The boys whistled and started in amazement as Freedom told them about the St Valentine’s Day massacre. Alex started jumping up and down. ‘Dad, Dad, there’s films about him, they have guns, bab-bab-bab-b-b-b-b, real machine-guns that kill hundreds ’n’ thousands at the same time.’

  Edward continued to read the article, but Alex was beside himself. ‘Tell us more, Dad, tell us more, Ma, make him tell us more.’

  Evelyne slid off Freedom’s knee and picked up the paper. Clearing her throat theatrically, she acted out her scene with the bell hop in the Chicago hotel. She did not mention that the trouble they had getting rooms was due to Freedom’s dark skin, but went on to tell how she had met the man in the lilac suit. She switched to a heavy Chicago accent, ‘“Well, Ma’am,” he said . . . ,’ and mimed smoking a huge cigar. The boys clapped their hands. They had never seen their mother behave in this way. Freedom roared with laughter and applauded. ‘We got sent flowers and fruit, and we’d never even heard of him. Then when Ed saw his name, well, he almost shit himself.’

  Evelyne cuffed Freedom’s head. ‘And we’ll not use any language like that! Well, come on now, let’s clear the table. Who’s hungry?’

  Edward held up a photograph of Evelyne, dressed in all her finery, on board the Aquitania, ‘Ma, is this you? This you?’

  Freedom took it from him and turned to Evelyne. ‘Yes, it’s your mother, and she turned every man’s head on the ship. Wearing her real pearls, she was.’

  The boys stared from the photo to Evelyne and back again. ‘Is that necklace real, Ma? The jewels, are they real?’

  Evelyne ruffled Alex’s hair and said they were, and she had to get on with the tea. Edward gave her a sly look, then a hooded glance at his father. ‘You still got yer necklace, have you, Ma?’

  Evelyne looked hard at Edward, but he had the masked look on his face so similar to his father’s. Edward, who pried into everything, did he know? Had he seen her frantic search for her necklace that day? She couldn’t tell. Freedom, uncomfortable, tried to change the subject, but Edward persisted, asking again and again to see his mother’s jewels. Freedom stood up. ‘Why don’t you show ’em, Evie, go on.’ He left the room, and came back downstairs a few moments later to show the necklace to the boys.

  ‘Here you go, Alex, look at this. See, that was the time when I bought your Ma the very best.’

  How had Freedom got it back? When? She didn’t know, but Edward’s frown told her for certain that somehow the boy had known something.

  Chapter 28

  3 September 1940 – England had been at war for a year and the effect was shattering as the young men enlisted and went off to fight. Not that they noticed much difference in their streets, just that many faces were missing. Times were still hard, but as so many men were employed in the forces it left opportunities for work open to women. Hundreds of children were evacuated to safety in the country, but not Edward and Alex. Evelyne was adamant. They would remain in London and at school – they were not babes in arms and she and Freedom would keep their eyes on them. Edward, nearly eighteen years old now, was in the sixth form at the grammar school, taking his entrance exams for Cambridge University.

  Freedom had been turned down when he tried to enlist, because of his age and his bad leg. He was furious and felt slighted, but he got a job as a warden patrolling the streets.

  The bombs were hitting the East End and the dock areas worst of all, and blackouts every night was the rule. Buckingham Palace was hit in the same month, and the Queen announced publicly that she was glad, it made her feel she could look the East End in the face. The Royal Family committed itself to the needs of war with a zeal and conscientiousness that won the respect of the people.

  Jesse made an appearance and roped Freedom into black market activities, and although Evelyne was against it from the start she had to admit that the food they obtained helped their meagre rations to go round. She still did the accounting at the bakeries and still lent money, but she also went to work in a factory on the morning shift. Planes flying overhead and bombs dropping became an everyday occurrence, which left gaps in the rows of houses like blackened skeletons. There was hardly a family that hadn’t lost a relative in the fighting, and now they were being hit themselves they lived in constant fear of air-raid warnings. The raids usually took place under cover of night. Evelyne had seen families lose everything they possessed, and, always one to take care, she carried her savings book with her at all times, strapped around her waist under her clothes.

  At the factory Evelyne hemmed army blankets on a machine, and one day when the sirens sounded during work, they all ran for the shelter. As they crossed the yard, one of the foremen looked up into the sky. ‘Dear God, look at ’em, they’re like big, black birds, the bastards. In broad daylight an’ all.’

  Evelyne was in the shelter before his words struck home, and she remembered Rawnie’s words so many years ago. She screamed at one of the workers, shook the women. ‘What day is it? What day is it?’

  Thursday was the boys’ half-day at school, where they had a good shelter, but on Thursdays they came home. She ran from the shelter, forcing her way past the boss, who tried to hold her back. She yelled to them that it was Thursday, then she was gone. She couldn’t get a bus, they had come to a halt, and the whole area was bedlam. The planes were coming closer and closer, and looking up she could see them like big, black birds flying she knew, towards the city, towards number twelve.

  She ran until she was so exhausted that she had to lean against a wall. She looked up as the drone of the planes passed overhead. There was pandemonium as people screamed and ran. The glue factory took a direct hit, and the over
powering smell of glue and the black smoke choked the few workers who escaped, and the firemen alike. Evelyne gasped for breath but pushed herself on and on, towards home. Twice she was held back by firemen but dragged herself away. ‘My boys, my boys, lemme go.’

  At long last she reached the corner of the street to find it a nightmare of flames and charred buildings. Fire engines were trying to get through the rubble. Stumbling and crying, calling her boys’ names, Evelyne stopped in horror. Ed’s brother’s house was no more than a heap of rubble, and fire gushed from next door’s wooden window frames. Screams echoed around, the thick black smoke filled the street, and Evelyne pushed her way through the dazed people wandering around calling for their loved ones. One of Freda’s lodgers, one of the tarts, was sitting on the pavement sobbing, repeating over and over in a shocked, hysterical voice, ‘Me new dress, me new dress, I just got it, me new dress.’

  Evelyne could see Ed and Freda’s house burning, the roof on fire, and as she pressed on she prayed over and over again that her boys were safe.

  She saw Edward first, he was scrambling over the rubble calling out for Auntie Freda, Uncle Ed, his hands bleeding as he clawed at the bricks. A fireman tried to haul him away as burning timbers came crashing down. Evelyne ran towards him, and Alex appeared, black from head to foot, his tear-stained face hysterical with fear as he pointed back to number twelve, still gabbling as Evelyne held him tight, tried to calm him down. An unexploded incendiary bomb was sticking through the roof of their house, and the firemen were trying to clear the street. It could go off at any time.

  ‘Where’s your father, Alex? Alex?’

  Evelyne had to slap his face, he didn’t even seem to know that he was in her arms.

  ‘Get the bloody fool outta there, it’s going up at any time.’

  Knowing both her boys were safe, Evelyne headed for number twelve. A fireman grabbed her, shouting that the house would blow at any minute, everyone had to get back.

  ‘He’s inside, Ma, he went in for Rex, he’s gone to get Rex.’

  The hoses drenched her as she screamed out for Freedom. The smoke was so thick now that their eyes were red and smarting, and the fumes from the glue factory hung in the air like an overpowering cloud.

  ‘Freedom . . . Freedom?’

  As the roof blew, Freedom hurtled out of the house, clutching the terrified, snarling dog to his chest. Evelyne, her arms wrapped around her boys, almost collapsed with relief. They all stood together and watched the house blaze. Alex clung to her, holding his beloved dog at the same time. The hoses sprayed them as they stood in the debris of their street. Freedom went back to help with the fire.

  Freda had been at her sewing machine, and Ed had obviously tried to warn her – his body was found in the passageway between the rooms. Ed’s brother and sister-in-law and two of their children had been trapped in the kitchen. They had not stood a chance.

  The realization of how lucky they were did not dawn until later that night as they lay in the underground shelter. They huddled together, clinging to each other. Alex whispered to his mother that Edward had known it would happen, he had known.

  ‘What are you talking about, love, how did he know?’

  Edward was sleeping, his filthy face resting on his arms. Evelyne wrapped the blanket closer around him, tried not to cry.

  ‘He knew, Ma. We were out in the yard and there was no sound of the planes, nothing – no sirens even, an’ as it was day we didn’t worry, like – an’ suddenly he grabbed hold of me and said go and warn Auntie an’ Uncle Ed. The planes weren’t even overhead.’

  Freedom left the shelter and went off to do his warden’s duties, and in the morning he was back and said they could return to their house. The roof was badly damaged and they didn’t have a single window left, but at least it was still standing.

  The sad, bedraggled group made its way home. The street was full of rubble, and the ambulances were still taking the bodies of the dead away. Firemen were digging in the bombed-out buildings looking for survivors, for bodies. The family kept their eyes down, not wanting to see Freda’s frilly curtains, charred and sodden, lying in the gutter. They stepped over puddles, charred furniture, shattered glass, until they stood outside their house. Evelyne shuddered, it looked so derelict, so black, so deathly.

  ‘Freedom, I don’t want to go in, is there anywhere else we could go?’

  He was carrying Rex in his arms, and he paused. Was she reading his mind? ‘It’s our home, and the way you look at it is, they hit us once, be a miracle if they get us again . . . Come on, lads, let’s make some tea and get the place cleaned up.’

  Freedom could feel the horror, the house closing in on him, and he gasped for breath. The acrid stench from the glue factory hung in the air, burning his nostrils. He put his shoulder to the door and it crashed open.

  The impact of bombs all round had made the house subside. The passageway was waterlogged and strewn with broken glass, and over everything was thick, black dust. It broke Evelyne’s heart. Ordering the boys to search for what could be salvaged, Freedom began to clear away the ruined furniture. In the centre of the room was the scrapbook – not one page was left intact. He picked it up, and all he could think of was Ed, how he had looked with his warden’s tin hat on the back of his head. He gritted his teeth and threw the remains of the book out of the back door along with everything else. But he couldn’t get Ed’s voice out of his mind, heard again the last words Ed had said to him, ‘Now, look, lad, I’m not one wiv words, but I want you ter know somefink should anyfink ever happen . . . I love you, like you was me own son, an’ I’m depending on you ter take care of Freda. I’ve not much, but what I ’ave is yours, that includes all me memorabilia.’

  Freedom felt the loss swamping him, overpowering him, and he hurled a chair out through the broken window with all his might. Edward started screaming, and Freedom’s heart lurched. He turned in panic, to see Edward waving a telegram, his face shining.

  ‘Ma, Ma, it’s come, I’ve won a scholarship to Cambridge. I’ve won a place at Cambridge University . . . I’ve done it!’

  Before Evelyne could congratulate him, Freedom slammed his fist into the last intact pane of glass, shattering it into the yard. His fist bleeding, he turned on Edward, his face dark with rage.

  ‘Don’t you ever think of anyone but yerself, boy? There’s Freda an’ Ed dead, an’ all you can scream about is that you won a bloody scholarship! I’ll knock that smile off your face!’

  Edward was taken aback for a moment, then he glared. ‘You just try it – come on then, try it.’ He threw a wild punch at his father, and Freedom blocked it with a swift movement of his arm. Edward tottered backwards, off balance.

  ‘You better stay away from me, Eddie, I mean it.’

  Edward charged, head down, and butted Freedom in the stomach, then swung his fists like windmills, but again Freedom threw him off as though he were a small child. This time Edward lurched backwards, striking his head on the mantelpiece. His face red, his mouth tight, he picked himself up. ‘That’s the last time you’ll ever hit me, you bastard, you bastard.’

  Reaching out, Freedom grabbed Edward and pulled him closer, slapping his face, the blows jerking his head back and forth. ‘Don’t try fighting me, sonny, you don’t stand a chance. Go and join the army like the rest of the lads, like a man, instead of a nancy boy tied to your mother’s apron strings.’

  Edward dodged behind the table. ‘Only nancy boy round this place is you, the great champion fighter, an’ the army wouldn’t even take yer.’

  Alex ran from the room into the hallway, calling for his mother, ‘Ma, Ma, come quick, Dad and Eddie are fighting!’

  Panic-stricken, he ran up the stairs. Freedom kicked the door shut, and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘You’ll not have your Ma to help you now, son, you’ve been asking for this for a long time.’

  Evelyne ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of her voice. ‘Freedom, Edward, what’s going on?’

  Free
dom stood with his back against the door and shouted for her to stay out of it. She tried to push the door open, but he slammed it shut. Rex ran to Freedom, whimpering, but he kicked out at the dog.

  ‘That’s right, kick the dog, he can’t kick you back, can he? I can and I will. What you ever done for us, you with your big mouth an’ even bigger fists? Ma’s provided for this family, not you, it’s never been you. Go back to prison an’ leave us alone!’

  Freedom clenched his fists, fighting for self-control, trying to keep his blind fury in check. Suddenly he was pushed forward as Alex forced his way into the kitchen. He grabbed Freedom’s arm. ‘Dad, Dad, don’t, he doesn’t mean it! Tell him you didn’t mean it, Eddie, please, Dad, don’t!’

  ‘I meant every word, we were better off when he was in jail, at least Ma didn’t have an extra mouth to feed.’

  Evelyne came in and moved right between Edward and Freedom. ‘I’ll talk to him, just don’t fight, let me talk to him.’

  Freedom pushed her aside. ‘No, Evie, not this time, you’ve always protected them, protected him. He’s going to have to learn.’ Freedom’s voice was icy calm. He moved closer and closer to Edward. ‘You’re going down to that recruiting office right now, if I have to drag you there meself.’

  Edward spat at him and ran round the room, ducking behind Evelyne. She put her arms out, pleading, ‘Don’t, Freedom, ah, don’t, don’t do something you’ll be sorry for, please, please, don’t.’

  The belt slithered from Freedom’s trousers and he wound it around his hand. Edward shrieked, suddenly afraid. ‘I’m going to university, tell him Ma, tell him.’

  ‘You’re going to work, lad, we can’t afford no university, not with the house burnt down round our ears. You are gonna earn your keep like every other lad around here.’

  Evelyne made a grab for Freedom, shouting, ‘That’s for me to say, Freedom, it’s my savings, mine!’

  Deflated, Freedom turned a beseeching look on her. She ran out of the house, shouting for help. Heartbroken, Freedom watched her go. Once again she had taken her son’s side.