by Mary Gibson
After dinner, the children wanted Sam to go with them to Southwark Park, but he hesitated.
‘Sam’s worn out, kids,’ Nellie jumped in. ‘He probably needs a kip, don’t you?’
‘I’ll go with ’em,’ offered Alice, and the boys rushed to the door before anyone could change their mind.
‘Thanks, Alice,’ Sam said, looking relieved, ‘but don’t let them keep you out too long.’
When they were alone, Nellie offered him her father’s chair. She liked the way he relaxed there, with his legs stretched out, getting in her way, so that she had to step over them to get to the scullery.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ she offered, and when she came back with their cups Sam was leaning back, resting his head on the antimacassar, his eyes closed, those two vertical worry lines creasing his forehead. His face was bronzed from being out on the cart in all weathers, and the heat of the steamy kitchen had forced him to take off his jacket so he was in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. She noticed that his sinewy nut-brown arms were those of a man now, not a boy. His strong expressive hands, which he usually kept jammed into his pockets, rested lightly on his thighs.
‘Sam,’ she called softly.
He roused. ‘I’m not asleep!’ he said groggily.
She handed him the tea. ‘What were you thinking about? You looked so worried.’
‘Not worried, just whacked out, I suppose.’
‘It was a hard job, then?’
He rubbed his face, trying to erase the tiredness, and groaned. ‘It was a long old haul and a lot of shifting to be done once I got there. Wicks loves giving me the worst jobs these days. Anyone’s got kids, he’s the same. I think it’s ’cause he’s got none of his own, he won’t make it easy for those that have.’
‘So you’re not worried about nothing, then?’ she persisted.
‘Well… I’ve been talking to Jock…’
Nellie’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, gawd, I forgot to tell you! Lily came round last night with some news!’
Sam looked uncertain. ‘Good news?’
‘She’s expecting!’
Sam grinned. ‘Good for Jock!’
‘Good for Jock? Lily’s got something to do with it too, I should think.’
‘Well, that’s what I meant, good for both of them,’ he said, flustered. ‘Good news might be in short supply, as far as Jock’s concerned.’
Nellie’s face fell. ‘Why? And what did you mean before when you said you’d been talking to Jock?’
She got up to open the scullery door into the yard. ‘I need to let some air in,’ she said, fearing to hear the answer to her question.
As she watched the steamy windows streaming with moisture, she felt sweat trickle down her spine. It pooled in the hollow of her back, like fear. Her legs turned to water as the comforting solid foundation of a day spent with a tired man and a houseful of children suddenly shifted beneath her. When she returned to the kitchen, she had already prepared herself for his answer.
‘We’ve been talking about the war,’ he said.
22
A Feather on the Wind
The threatened war, which had stalked their lives for so many months, had finally, by August of 1914, become a reality. Every day now she passed the growing line of eager recruits snaking halfway down Spa Road. Sometimes men four deep crowded the pavement, jostling each other, laughing and joking, as though they were lining up for a pub beano. Not one face looked worried; not one was sad. Nellie would be forced into the road to get round them and she would think, I wonder if your wife or your mother looks so happy today?
But it seemed not all women felt like her. She was saddened to find that some good women – mothers, wives and sweethearts – were vociferous in calling for their men to enlist and now, even at the factory, Nellie found she had to run the gauntlet of the White Feather League, an organization of women who thought it their patriotic duty to hand out feathers to any young man not in uniform. One dinner time, as Nellie was hurrying out, her way was barred by a group of women gathering at the factory gates. Nellie recognized a few from the jelly building, others from the print works and the packing room. A few held placards reading ‘Serve your country or wear a white feather!’ Others were dashing into the dinner-time crowd of workers, shoving white feathers into men’s hands. Many men seemed so astonished they instinctively held out their hands for the feathers, as though they were gifts. Nellie felt pity for the younger boys, who blushed and stammered that they were only sixteen.
But it wasn’t just men being targeted. She was pushing her way through the press of people, some of whom had simply come to gawp, when she heard raised voices. She was astonished to see of all people shy Annie being berated by Sally, another custard tart who’d recently joined the White Feather League. Sally was a hard-faced, opinionated girl, who Nellie had always instinctively steered clear of. Now she was pushing a feather into Annie’s hands.
‘Here, take this home for that coward brother of your’n!’ Annie tried to dodge round her, but Sally barred her way. ‘Don’t go without this one, that’s for your chap. You tell ’em to enlist and be men!’
Before she knew it Nellie had jumped to Annie’s defence. The poor girl could barely hold a normal conversation, she was so timid, and this smacked of bullying.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Nellie prised the woman’s hand off Annie’s arm.
‘What’s it to do with me? Only that I sent my two brothers off last week and my feller Alf!’
But poor Annie, too mortified to answer back, simply grabbed the proffered white feather and scuttled off. Nellie was about to run after her when Sally caught her by the arm.
‘Same goes for you, Nellie Clark! What d’ye want with that Sam Gilbie? He must be nineteen now, old enough to enlist! You should be ashamed of yourself walking out with a man not wearing uniform.’
The crowd at the gates was growing rowdy, with the more hot-tempered men beginning to shout back at the feather-wielding women.
Nellie turned furiously on the woman. ‘Whether I’m walking out with Sam is none of your bloody business, so keep yer big nose out of it! And if you’re so bleedin’ keen, why don’t you get out there yerself? Go and nurse some poor sod you’ve sent to get blown up!’
Not expecting to be crossed, Sally was taken off guard. Not all of the girls had Nellie’s spirit; most, like Annie, were too shamed by such insinuations to protest, and were often cowed into pressurizing their men to enlist. There was no way Nellie was going to be one of those. She wanted Sam to keep safe for her and the kids as long as he could. Grabbing a handful of feathers from Sally, she flung them into her face.
‘And that’s what I think of you and your white feathers!’
In the end, it was Mrs Arnold, one of Nellie’s neighbours in Vauban Street, who gave Sam the white feather. He was leaving the yard one evening after work and the woman, who had obviously been waiting for him, darted out of her door. She thrust the feather into his hand before he knew what was happening. Nellie knew that the woman had sent off two of her sons, dressed in khaki, only the week before.
Sam had come straight to her, holding the feather like a love offering, tears of shame pooling in his eyes. She took the feather from him gently, held it up, blew it on the wind and as it floated up towards the grimy rooftops, she knew she loved him.
‘I shall have to join up, Nellie. I’m not a coward, and I won’t have them talking about me – or you!’
She drew him into her empty kitchen. The house was still for once. Alice was at the late shift and the boys were out, delivering to the allotments. Looking at Sam’s white face, she understood the wretched humiliation he was feeling, but her need to stop him was overpowering. She would use every subterfuge, every argument, to dissuade him from signing up. Perhaps it was her patriotic duty to encourage him, perhaps his king and country did need him, but she needed him more and so did his family.
‘People who know you don’t think any the worse of you for not v
olunteering; you’re only thinking of the kids,’ she said, in a voice tight with urgency.
‘I know that, Nell, but you don’t have to face them day in, day out, with their snarky comments. One of ’em even stuck white feathers in Blackie’s harness while I was delivering. The thing is, I want to go! I want to go so badly!’ he said, with a vehemence she’d rarely seen.
‘No! Don’t say that…’ She found herself clinging to his arm. His gaze travelled from her hand as it lay on his sleeve and he looked into her frightened blue eyes.
‘Jock’s definitely going.’
Nellie groaned. ‘Oh, no, I knew he was thinking about it. Poor Lily.’
‘Nell, you don’t understand what it’s like for us men. All our old school pals, all our workmates, they’re all going. How can we watch them go off and do their duty and us stay safe at home? It’s not right, Nell. It’s not fair.’
‘Well, Jock’s not being fair to Lily! Leaving her when she’s having a baby – what if he dies out there and she’s got to bring it up by herself?’
Sam threw himself into her father’s old chair and ran his hands through his hair.
‘I wish I could explain it, Nellie. He doesn’t want to shame her, no woman deserves to be hooked up to a man who won’t protect what’s his.’ His tone was almost pleading. Was he asking her permission to do the same as Jock? When she gave him only the stoniest of stares, he went on. ‘Any rate, the war’ll be over by Christmas, before the baby’s even born!’
Nellie shook her head, exasperated. Why was he being so dense about this? Yet Sam wasn’t a stupid man, she’d discovered, quite the opposite. He was a regular at the Spa Road library. She often met him coming back in his dinner break to Wicks’s yard with an armful of books. She always inspected his selection and noted he was partial to adventure novels. Now, thinking of his reading tastes, she thought she had an insight into his motives. It infuriated her.
‘Sam Gilbie, you’re talking a load of old codswallop!’ she shouted at him. ‘Why don’t you just be honest? You think it’ll be an adventure, like one of your stupid books!’
She slumped down in the chair opposite him and her yelling turned to quiet weeping. He jumped to her side.
‘Don’t get upset, Nell, please don’t think badly of me. I know the difference between a story and real life. I just want to do the right thing.’
His strong hand was light on her arm. He must be able to feel her trembling and she tried desperately to control herself, but the hollow pain was too great to bear. She had thought she knew the pain of love after Ted’s betrayal, but that was the merest paper cut, compared to the deep, wrenching agony she felt now. She felt bewildered, unprepared for her own reaction.
‘I don’t think badly of you. You’re the most decent feller I’ve ever met and whatever you decide… well, it’ll be the right decision.’ She grasped the hand that still lay on her arm. ‘And remember if you need any help, I’m here.’
‘You’re a rock, Nellie, you always seem to say the thing that’ll make me feel better. Whatever’s coming, I’m just glad I’ve got you for a friend.’ He got up from where he’d been crouching at her side and picked up his cap. Slapping it against his thigh, he seemed reluctant to go, as if he had more that he would like to say.
‘Best be going, duck, kids will be expecting me,’ was all he managed, leaving Nellie to ponder her own deepest feelings and the unexpected nature of a love that could steal up so lightly on a person, floating past all her defences into the very fortress of her heart. For it had come to her, light as that white feather on the wind, that she loved Sam. All the pain of it ripped through her at once; and now, with the long-rumoured war finally here, she feared she’d realized how she felt too late. He would enlist for certain, next week or next month, and sooner or later he’d go away to war and he would never know she loved him. From now on she knew she would live her days in an agony of dread, waiting for the day when he’d come to her with his army papers and those feverish, unnaturally bright eyes she’d seen shining from so many young men’s faces as they queued outside the recruiting office in Bermondsey town hall.
When Alice came home an hour later, she found Nellie still sitting as Sam had left her. It was so unusual to see her sister unoccupied that Alice’s face clouded immediately with worry.
‘What’s the matter, love, don’t you feel the ticket?’ she asked.
Nellie shook her head. ‘I’m all right. I was just sitting here, thinking about the war.’
‘Oh, all the chaps at Duff’s are volunteering, did you hear? They’re saying the women’ll have to do their jobs.’ She sank wearily into the chair next to Nellie. ‘Soon they’ll have us mending machines and boiling up the jellies. Bet they won’t be giving us men’s money, though.’
‘Sam’s thinking of volunteering.’
Alice looked at her, understanding dawning. There was not much that quiet, loyal Alice did not notice about her sister. Sleeping in the same bed gave them opportunity for many a late-night confidence and although Nellie had only just realized her love for Sam, Alice seemed to comprehend immediately.
‘You’d better say something before he goes, then,’ Alice said softly. ‘No good regretting it once he’s over there.’
Nellie blushed. ‘Say what?’
‘Oh, Nellie,’ her sister chided, ‘he’s been sweet on you for years and now, if you feel the same, what’s to stop you saying something?’
‘He’s not sweet on me any more, Al,’ Nellie said morosely. ‘We had it all out ages ago. It’s just friendship, that’s all he wants, and I will be a good friend to him, whether he stays or goes.’
‘Not sweet on you! Do me a favour, Nellie Clark, and open your eyes, see what everyone else sees. If you could hear what the girls at Duff’s say – they’re having bets about which of you two soppy sods will do something about it!’
Nellie had got used to Lily’s constant teasing about Sam, but she was shocked that the delusion had spread. It certainly explained why Sally in the White Feather League had felt justified in challenging her.
‘If he wants to say anything to me, he can.’ Nellie got abruptly to her feet. ‘Where have those boys got to?’ she said irritably. ‘I suppose they’ll be off playing bloody toy soldiers in the street, with the rest of ’em.’
‘Oh, don’t be cross, Nellie, they’re out earning a bob or two. They’re good boys.’
Nellie relented, feeling guilty for her harsh words. ‘Sorry, Al, it’s not their fault, or yours or anyone’s fault – except the bloody politicians’.’
From nowhere came the memory of Ted’s bitter voice, complaining about those very politicians, who now seemed to be deciding her fate: War! he’d said. They shouldn’t be worrying about the Germans. Don’t they know we’re already at war, with them, the rich bastards… And for once she found herself agreeing with him. But Alice’s voice interrupted her musings.
‘Anyway, he won’t go to war, so you needn’t worry. He wouldn’t leave Charlie and Matty, would he?’
Over the next couple of weeks Sam’s misery only intensified. Nellie tried everything to lift his mood. She invited Matty over for more cookery lessons and the young girl was sent home with the fruits of her labour, basins of mutton stew and suet puddings. One day Sam accused Nellie of wanting to fatten him up so that the recruiting sergeant would reject him. To her chagrin, he had not been far from the truth. Sam and his family were now regulars at her dinner table on Sundays, but she noticed his normal gentle manner with Charlie and Matty was changing. He would be harsh with them if they misbehaved at the table, and his patience was in short supply.
Soon after the white-feather incident, Nellie confided in Lily; she simply could not contain her emotion any longer. They clocked off and, instead of turning towards Vauban Street, Nellie stayed with her friend, who now lived over the chandler’s shop in Rotherhithe Street.
‘What you coming this way for, ain’t you got no home to go to?’ Lily joked.
‘They can wai
t for their tea for once. I want to talk to you about something.’
Lily looked intrigued. ‘Ooh, have you got a bit of gossip for me?’
‘No! That’s the one thing it’s not, and if I tell you about it you’ve got to promise me it won’t get round the custard tarts!’
Lily dutifully promised and listened intently as Nellie confessed her love for Sam.
When she’d finished, Lily nodded triumphantly. ‘I knew it! I knew it! I was only telling Jock the other night, you two was made for each other, except one of you didn’t know it yet!’ She circled her arm round Nellie’s waist. ‘So, what shall we do about it?’
‘We?’
‘You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want my help.’
‘Oh, Lily, love, I don’t think anyone can help me. I’ve told him I only wanted to be friends and after the Ted business he’s never going to want me now.’
Lily waved away all her objections. ‘There’s ways round that. Don’t forget I’m married to his best friend!’
‘No! You mustn’t, Lil, you promised you wouldn’t tell—’
‘You said the custard tarts! You didn’t say nothing about telling me husband.’
Nellie pleaded and by the time they’d reached the river, had agreed that she could tell Jock, but he wasn’t to repeat it to Sam.
‘Sam told me Jock’s decided he’s definitely volunteering.’ They’d stopped at the river wall and now looked out over the Thames, silvered with early evening light, packed with tugs and barges hurrying to make the most of the long summer days.
Lily grew sombre. ‘He’s going down the recruiting office next week.’
‘Can’t you stop him, Lil?’
‘Stubborn Scotch git, he’s made up his mind. He won’t listen to me.’
Though Jock had been born in Bermondsey, whenever Lily was particularly exasperated with him, she brought up his Scottish parentage. It angered him, which was the point. Lily wasn’t the sort of woman to be bossed by her husband, and if she couldn’t stop Jock from volunteering, then Nellie despaired of ever influencing Sam.
