by Mary Gibson
Tonight, Nellie was first to arrive in the pub. Once, she would have felt shy of sitting there on her own, but since the war it was a common sight to see women drinking alone. And why not? thought Nellie. They were doing the work of men; surely they should have some of their privileges. Which brought her back to Ted; her thoughts hadn’t strayed far from him all day and she resented it. Still, she couldn’t deny he had a point about the munitionettes’ wages. If only he weren’t so extreme and careless of consequences. She smiled to herself, remembering Matty’s retort about soldiers’ pay. The young girl had stopped him in his tracks, a sight Nellie had rarely seen. She’d so often tried to best him in an argument herself, and failed.
The red velvet curtain round the pub door was pulled aside and in walked Lily. She was a little more buxom since the birth of Johnny, but she had lost the frazzled look of her early motherhood and now her bright prettiness had returned. She came over eagerly and kissed Nellie on the cheek.
‘Oh, good, you’ve got the stouts in!’ she said, undoing her coat. ‘I need this. Johnny’s been such a little bugger today I almost chucked him at Grandma McBride tonight!’ She took a long sip of the dark creamy stout and ended up with a frothy lip, which Nellie leaned over to brush away. She hated to spoil her friend’s good humour, but she was bursting with the news.
‘I had a visit last night. Guess who from?’
Lily paused mid-sip and shook her head.
‘Your brother!’
Lily put down the pint glass and groaned. ‘Oh, Nell, that’s trouble. What’s he doing back? He’s got a cheek, turning up on your doorstep! What did he have to say for himself?’
Nellie told her Ted’s excuse for not coming to see her and his plans for working with the No-Conscription Fellowship.
‘Typical Ted! Poor me! I’m scarred for life, so I can’t pick up a pen and write a letter to me girl, nor me family! I’m sorry, Nell, but he’s always got to be the centre of attention. That’s the only reason he’s working with the conchies. He wants to play the martyr, that’s all.’
Her friend’s dismissive analysis allowed Nellie a little more perspective, she thought gratefully. On her own, she could never seem to get the correct distance between herself and Ted, to be able to see him clearly. ‘He said he’d gone round your mum’s and your dad told him to piss off!’
Lily sighed. ‘Dad’s got no time for him, but Mum’ll find a way to bail him out.’
‘He tried it on with me,’ Nellie whispered.
‘Never!’ Lily’s eyes widened. ‘I hope you told him to sod off.’
‘’Course I did! But then Matty came home, and I tell you, Lil, I’d swear he was eyeing her up!’
‘Matty’s got more sense.’
‘More than me, you mean?’
Lily laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that!’
‘Well, I did. You can’t see it, ’cause he’s your brother, but there’s definitely something about Ted.’ She thought it over, trying to find the key to his attraction. ‘Even though he looks a bit rough now, he can still turn on the charm when he wants to… Oh, I’m probably being silly, it’s just put me all up the wall.’
‘Well, Matty’s got other things on her mind, what with the singing at night and then all day at the Arsenal, she’s too busy for fellers!’
‘That’s the other thing that put the wind up me, though. He’s trying to organize an unofficial strike at the Arsenal.’
‘Just tell Matty to stay well clear. You’re talking about prison for that!’ Lily now looked as concerned as Nellie, and the two girls sipped silently until Nellie decided to change the subject to sixteen-month-old Johnny, which soon had Lily in full flow about her son’s latest exploits.
The so-called summer months of 1916 dragged on, the coldest, greyest and wettest that Nellie could remember, the only sunny day marred by Ted’s return. Still, she had more important things on her mind than Ted. Day-to-day life was becoming much harder as the German blockade took hold, and basic foodstuffs were in short supply. The factory had been badly affected as their sugar had always been imported from Germany. Added to that, half the fruit growers of England were on the Western Front, so the jelly department was working at half-strength. Nellie got used to seeing new faces as women from jellies were moved to powder packing. One day Ethel came in with a basket full of jellies.
‘Free samples, girls!’ She went along the line, handing them out. ‘We’ve got to try ’em out and let jellies know if we like ’em!’ she announced.
‘Oooh, look at lady bountiful!’ Maggie Tyrell took one, then dipped her hand in the basket for another.
‘Oi, one each!’ Ethel slapped Maggie’s hand.
‘I’ve got six kids, Ethel. It’s no good me taking home one jelly, there’ll be murders.’
‘Oh, all right, then, here y’are!’ Ethel’s massive hands scooped up a handful, dumping them into Maggie’s lap.
Nellie looked at the packet, it was branded as ‘War Jelly’.
‘Listen to this, Mag,’ she read. ‘It’s made from rhubarb and beets! Do you think your kids will eat it?’
‘My kids’ll eat anything,’ Maggie assured her. But next day she told Ethel to report back to jellies that ‘War Jelly’ was vile and that even her perpetually hungry brood wouldn’t touch it.
Bread, potatoes, milk, butter, all had doubled in price, and now a government soup kitchen had opened next door to the Salvation Army. Spa Road was constantly packed with shuffling humanity: there was a queue of tramps outside the Sally Army, a queue of women and children for the soup kitchen, and still the long line of recruits snaking down the steps of the town hall. This was the queue that Nellie saw most of, for she would walk to the town hall every day during her dinner break to check the casualty lists posted there. It was a harrowing ritual, for there was never a day when some poor woman didn’t find the name she’d been hoping not to see. Some would merely collapse into the arms of the nearest woman; others would have to voice their grief. The wail would start so pitifully, a feeble moan, building to an unbearable keening that grew louder, till it pierced Nellie’s heart. God only knew what sort of effect it had on the eager recruits, lining up to become statistics on such a list.
Food shortages meant she’d long ago abandoned any scruples about Freddie’s odd contribution to the household. In fact, she blessed every tin of corned beef or sack of potatoes he came home with. But even he could do nothing when the government started watering down her beloved Russian Stout. ‘It’s like a glass of gnat’s piss!’ was Lily’s gloomy opinion of the brew now being served up at the Green Ginger.
In spite of her fears, Ted hadn’t crossed her path again. But a month or so after his visit Matty told her Ted had been frequenting the Star. He’d taken to waiting at the stage door for her.
‘He’s started bringing me flowers, walks me home, and we sometimes go for a drink in the Golden Fleece,’ Matty said, seeming a little embarrassed. ‘I’ve been seeing a bit of him over at the Arsenal too, he still thinks he can organize a strike… I thought you’d want to know, Nellie.’
Nellie felt fear catch in her throat. The thought of Ted’s attention being directed towards Matty was horrifying, like witnessing a bird being fondled by a green-eyed cat, and Nellie’s instinct was to snatch the little canary from his grasp. She didn’t know how much the girl knew of her past with Ted and she wasn’t certain how much to tell her. Matty’s revelation filled her with a sense of failure too. She’d promised Lizzie Gilbie she’d look after the children, hadn’t she? How would letting Matty fall into Ted’s dangerous hands be protecting her? She was about to forbid Matty from seeing him again when she remembered her own father, sitting in his chair, picking away at his pipe, ordering her to have nothing to do with ‘that Bosher boy’. It was ironic to find herself in the same position, and she wouldn’t let panic at her own impotence lead her into the same mistakes her father had made. All the warnings or beatings in the world hadn’t prevented her from doing exactly as she’d wanted. Giving
Matty a direct order generally tended to bring out her stubborn streak, and usually prompted her to do the opposite. Perhaps she should just gently warn Matty off Ted.
‘We used to walk out, me and Ted,’ she explained, ‘but he didn’t treat me well and my advice is steer clear, love. He might be handsome enough, but he’s a wrong ’un.’
Matty gave her a long look. ‘I do think he’s handsome, Nell, and he’d make a lovely hero on the stage, but he’s not that good an actor.’
Nellie should never have doubted that Matty would see beyond the veneer of Ted’s charm. ‘No? Well, he took me in, love, and I paid for it. I don’t want you doing the same.’
‘Oh, Nellie, I know he’s just a charmer, but don’t blame yourself. It’s just I’ve had a lot more stage experience!’ She laughed. ‘The thing is, Nell, all the young boys are at the front and it’s just nice to have a bit of attention.’
Matty really was growing up and Nellie would just have to trust her judgement and rely on the little canary’s native intuition. After all, she’d always had that uncanny ability to sniff out the smell of gas.
So, over the following months, Nellie allowed herself to relax and tried to forget Ted’s presence in Bermondsey. It was towards the end of September before he came up again in conversation. This time it was Eliza James who mentioned him, in one of her letters to Nellie. Eliza’s visits to London were now longer and more frequent. She often spoke at the Fort Road Labour Institute and since the moratorium on strikes she’d been called in to help arbitrate many local disputes. During her extended London visits, she usually rented a couple of rooms in the Morgans’ house. Frank Morgan was now driving an ambulance in France and his wife had taken over as manager of the Co-op. She often put up visiting speakers, or union officials, in their pleasant terraced house in Reverdy Road, one of the more respectable Bermondsey streets, where doctors and professional people chose to live. Eliza wrote that she was coming to Bermondsey the following week to give a speech for the No-Conscription Fellowship and went on to mention Ted.
I hear he has become one of their most committed workers. Though he risks arrest, he’s trumpeting the Absolutist cause now! Sadly, I’ve come to realize he is rather a heedless young man, and stories are filtering back to me that suggest he’s a little cavalier with his own and other people’s safety. The Bermondsey NCF has always been staunchly pacifist, but I hear Ted’s militant ways have put the cat amongst the pigeons. I wonder if I did right to put him in their way… or yours. Has he been in touch with you?
It had the air of an apology. It sounded like Ted was making his true reckless colours known. Nellie didn’t send a reply; she thought it best to save the news about Ted and Matty till Eliza came down. She was glad her initial mistrust of Eliza’s motives had been overcome, and since her engagement to Sam she’d certainly felt more at ease with Eliza, more on an equal footing. It meant that they could be friends – of a sort – and it made it easier for Matty. For the young girl’s loyalties were so hard won and so fiercely held she would never have been able to be friends with Eliza, if Nellie had not. And for that reason alone, Nellie was glad she’d made the effort to befriend Eliza.
When Eliza arrived in Reverdy Road with her son, she blessed the bright remnant of the waning moon. It was no more than a fingernail, but she judged there would be no Zeppelin raid tonight: they only attacked when the moon was dark, so for the moment they were safe. Her journey had been full of delays and she was exhausted. The train timetable had been suspended while a horde of Tommies entrained at Hull Station. Only after the troop train pulled out was she able to board the London train. After hours in a cramped, smelly carriage, the motor taxi had been a necessity, not a luxury – she simply couldn’t face a tram ride from London Bridge Station with her tired child. She scooped a sleeping William out of the taxi and picked up her bag with the other hand. Ruth Morgan, Frank’s wife, was already at the front door and came hurrying to take her bag. The woman was a stalwart type, who could turn her hand to anything. She’d taken over the organization of the Co-op seamlessly and had even been known to do delivery rounds in an emergency. Now she was all domestic bustle and welcome, and the house was cosy with supper already laid out in the dining room. Today, like all the others this summer, had been chilly and the fire in the grate was welcome. After William was settled into bed, Mrs Morgan served her a light supper and began her cheerful chatter: for all her qualities, the woman was a notorious gossip. She knew details of all the political in-fighting at the institute, and the Co-op gave her contact with half of Bermondsey, so her gossip coffers were full tonight. ‘When is your No-Conscription speech?’ she asked.
‘Not until Monday. I’m visiting my family tomorrow.’
‘There’s been murders at the NCF. It’s that young feller Bosher that you sent down.’
Eliza felt a pang of guilt. She had suspected something of the sort, but knew no details.
‘What’s he been up to? He’s not the only Absolutist in the ranks, surely?’
Ruth Morgan shook her head and pulled up a chair, while Eliza ate. ‘Of course, there are others, but you know most of the COs there are happy to do land work, or drive an ambulance, like my Frank – which is dangerous enough, I can tell you.’
Eliza reached out to squeeze her hand – just because the woman was calm and capable, it didn’t mean she could escape that ubiquitous fear for loved ones at the front.
‘Anyway, the Absolutists are totally against the war. But young Ted’s stirring ’em up to fight another war… at home! All I will say is that I’ve heard some of his ideas just don’t fit with the pacifists.’ She leaned forward and mouthed, ‘Anarchist ideas!’
Eliza shivered: the fire in the grate was dying down and she felt as though a chill wind had blown through the room. Ruth Morgan noticed. ‘I’m sorry it’s a bit chilly, but you just can’t get the coal…’
‘I’m not cold, just a long day,’ Eliza excused herself.
Mrs Morgan took the plates out and called from the scullery, ‘Will you be at Nellie Clarke’s tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes, visiting Charlie and Matty.’
‘Matty’s turned into a lovely girl. I saw her at the Star the other night. She was marvellous, better than Vesta Tilley! I suppose you know she’s been walking out with that Bosher feller?’
It hit her like a blow in the stomach; she barely had wind to answer the woman.
‘Is there anything more you’ll need tonight?’ Mrs Morgan asked as she came back in, drying her hands on her pinafore.
‘No, thank you, Mrs Morgan, I’ll go up to bed, I think. I know where everything is.’
Ruth Morgan gave her a gas lamp to take to her room. It was connected to William’s by a double door, which she eased open. Her son was sleeping soundly and she softly retreated. Eliza was glad to be alone. Ruth’s news had totally stunned her. Matty at fifteen had indeed blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and it was inevitable she would attract attention, especially from the stage-door johnnies, but Ted must be more than ten years older and totally unsuitable. He was the last person she’d want Matty involved with. What was Nellie thinking, letting it go on?
The next morning was a Sunday and Eliza dressed three-year-old William carefully in his newest sailor suit, his dark hair curling out from beneath the straw hat. She gave him his toy boat and asked, ‘Would you like to sail your boat on the pond today, William?’
‘Yes! Sail the boat!’ The little boy spun round with the boat, ploughing it through imaginary waves. ‘Now!’
She planned to visit Vauban Street that afternoon, but this morning she took a tram to Greenwich Park. Fortunately, the rain had held off and huge clouds scudded across Blackheath, moving swiftly enough to allow patches of sunshine to warm her and William. She walked hand in hand with him to the boating lake and sat down on a bench. She saw Ernest from a long way off, dressed in a tailored tweed jacket, with a brown trilby, and a cane swinging with every step. He strode purposefully towards her, shook her hand
and turned to shake William’s.
‘I am Mr James,’ he said formally, ‘a friend of your mother’s.’
William shoved the sailing boat into Ernest’s extended hand and ordered, ‘Sail the boat, now!’ Then he grabbed Ernest’s other hand and began dragging him towards the pond.
Ernest looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she was just about to defend her son’s ungentlemanly behaviour when Ernest remarked, ‘I have been commanded by the admiral. Will you join us?’
She followed them to the pond edge, watching in wonder as her bossy toddler took charge of the man she’d once cast in the role of gaoler. She smiled secretly to herself. Ahhh, she thought with satisfaction, the biter bit!
There followed tea and cakes in a café in Greenwich, during which Eliza was thankful William chose to mind his table manners. Towards the end of their visit, Ernest concluded, ‘He seems a remarkably intelligent young fellow, and strong-willed! You must put him down for a good day school and let me have the details.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. She needed no formal arrangement. Ernest would keep his word, she was sure of it, and she would keep William.
‘How could I let it happen?’ Nellie was incensed with Eliza. ‘When you’re the one who sent him back down here!’
‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got a tongue in my head. I could tell him where to go if I wanted to!’ Matty was equally angry. ‘But I don’t want to… not yet, anyway!’ she said provocatively.
Matty and Nellie were facing Eliza across the kitchen table. The boys had taken William out to play and were now running him up and down Vauban Street on the penny-farthing. Every now and then they would run past the front window, whooping as the little boy bounced up out of the saddle.
‘All I said was that his anarchist talk has got everyone worried at the NCF and if Matty’s connected in any way,’ Eliza shot a meaningful glance at Matty, ‘then she could be implicated!’
