by Annie Groves
Exhausted, Olive felt she needed at least another eight hours in the day just to fit in a decent sleep. She hurried home to Article Row, as myriad thoughts filled her head. Since Agnes’s scare a few weeks back, she knew Ted had had a word with his foremen and requested his shifts were put back to Chancery Lane. The poor girl was a nervous wreck by the time this could be arranged.
Olive was so deep in thought after leaving the church hall that she jumped when she was approached by a man in a heavy woollen overcoat and a trilby hat who looked very official with his black leather briefcase.
‘Excuse me, I … I wonder if I … I could trouble you?’ he asked from under the rim of his hat. He didn’t look suspicious, thought Olive, in fact he looked a little nervous if anything, and if she wasn’t mistaken she thought he had a bit of a stammer.
‘Yes?’ she said, taking a little step back and trying to remember the rudimentary warnings of the self-defence class; one could never be too careful, that had been their first lesson. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I am looking for a girl called Agnes.’
‘There are plenty of girls called Agnes, is there a specific one?’ she asked, giving nothing away. The man went on to tell her that he was searching for a girl who was brought up in the orphanage and so Olive knew he was talking about her Agnes, as she had come to think of her, who had no family of her own to look out for her. But she wasn’t going to tell this stranger anything at all. The man, who had introduced himself as Sidney Wilson, told Olive he was a solicitor’s clerk, which immediately sent her warning signals.
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ Olive said efficiently. As she made to walk away he put his hand on her arm and then, after profusely apologising, told her that he had some good news to give the girl.
‘Pull the other one,’ thought Olive, still refusing to give him the information he was seeking, and silently vowed to warn Agnes to beware as soon as she came home from work, as she moved quickly away from him. Now that Dulcie was married, Tilly was away in the ATS and Sally was doing a lot of shifts at the hospital, there was only her and Agnes to protect little Alice from alien intruders who might be lurking and she had no intentions of making their jobs any easier. Solicitor’s clerk or no solicitor’s clerk.
Olive knew it would be a long time before Agnes left Article Row, as she had to wait for Ted’s sisters to grow up and take care of his oppressive mother. She gave a shaky, awkward laugh as she walked down the street; she wouldn’t have dared think that way of another woman before the war started, but if you thought every day might be your last it only made good sense to let your thoughts run riot sometimes.
Only a Mother Knows
SEVENTEEN
‘In the North African campaign,’ Dulcie said over the breakfast table as she read the news to David, avidly listening to his beautiful wife who blossomed and became more exquisite every day, ‘the British eighth army under Generals Alexander and Montgomery routed the Axis forces in the victorious Battle of Egypt fought at El-Alamein, in a major defeat of the Germans in the field …’ She looked over the top of the paper, her eyes gleaming. ‘Did you hear that, David? A major defeat of the Germans. Rick will be thrilled; his injuries will not have been in vain, now.’
‘I never thought for one moment they were, my darling, but you’re right, it is good news indeed. This seems to be a turning point, don’t you think?’ David said, scraping a thin sliver of marmalade on his toast and marvelling at how his wife could find such treasures now that rationing was so tight.
‘It does indeed, David.’ Dulcie, thrilled her husband felt her contribution to their morning conversation was so valuable, mimicked his style of reply as she covered his other round of toast in thick lime marmalade, which she just happened to have been offered by a young acquaintance she used to know back in Stepney, who had heard she was now a happily married woman and could acquire a bit of this and a bit of that – at a price of course, he’d said, insinuating to Dulcie that money was no object to her any more, the cheeky blighter!
However, she had agreed on the spot knowing that if she didn’t buy the marmalade, there was a long line of others who would and, as she always said, if you’ve got the readies what’s the use of hoarding them, it was always raining somewhere.
‘And how are you feeling this morning?’ David asked; his voice full of concern, as Dulcie hadn’t had the best of times with morning sickness every morning and then having to lie down until the nausea subsided, so he had engaged one of the best Harley Street consultants to take care of her.
‘I’m feeling much better this week,’ she said, not chancing the marmalade but instead munching on a dry arrowroot biscuit that her specialist, Oliver Springwell, had advised.
David had sought the advice of the private clinic as soon as they came back from their few days in the Cotswolds after their wedding and had wasted no time in taking her to see the Harley Street obstetrician.
‘Mr Springwell says I am in rude health and so is our baby,’ Dulcie informed David, who beamed at the news. She always made a point of including David in every aspect of her pregnancy, just as she would have done if the child had really been his, and every day he told her how glad he was that she had agreed to be his wife.
‘I can’t wait until we are a complete family, Dulcie,’ David said on a sigh. ‘It will be the proudest day of my life when we take our son …’
‘Or daughter,’ Dulcie interrupted him and he smiled, taking hold of her hand across the table.
‘… Or daughter, to the park together.’
Dulcie smiled. Initially she wondered if David would have married her if he hadn’t been so badly injured and hadn’t had to have his legs amputated below the knees. She knew they got on like a house on fire. However, as her pregnancy progressed, David was still powerless to consummate their marriage and gave no indication the situation bothered him, much to her relief. Dulcie knew their relationship was as good as it had ever been – better, in fact. If in the future things changed, so be it. David still treated her like the best friend he’d ever had.
Her world was now ordered and polite. The exclusive dinner parties they hosted for David’s colleagues and clients were the talk of London society, although that doubting niggle she had always been susceptible to occasionally put doubts into Dulcie’s mind.
She knew that some of David’s peers couldn’t hide their contempt of her, especially when David was not around; then, they would simply turn their backs and talk amongst themselves, like the night they were invited for dinner to the home of Hubert Henderson-Smythe, a colleague of David’s.
David, after excusing himself, was taking longer than usual to return, and Dulcie became worried; however she had nobody to ask to check on him as the hosts excused themselves in their turn and disappeared to other rooms, leaving her alone. When David eventually returned he was furious, knowing she had felt uneasy at going to the home of someone so distinguished. If he apologised to her once David apologised a hundred times for putting her through it and vowed never to do it again.
Dulcie suspected the Henderson-Smythes thought her common and uneducated, so much so that her empty little head wouldn’t even register the fact she had been ignored. But it wasn’t herself she was upset for, it was David; did they think that he was so shallow that all he wanted was a good-looking woman on his arm? Well, thought Dulcie, if that’s what they believed then they were wrong. And she would prove it.
Since then she had thrown herself into bettering herself, pouring over etiquette books and learning how to cook meals that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth could serve at a dinner party. She vowed never to be found wanting and would make sure her husband was the envy of the Inns of Courts. David warned that he would bring back Mrs Jessup when Dulcie gave birth as she couldn’t possibly manage with a house and a baby. What, Dulcie wondered, did all those poor mares in Stepney do without a live-in maid and a nanny? She would show him that she could cope with a house and a little baby. What was there to know?
/> In the meantime she had become almost obsessed with improving herself and David recognised this, to the point he told her it didn’t matter. People were dying all over the world, he’d said, what difference did it make knowing which knife and fork to use? Well, she thought, it might not mean anything to David, he was used to living a lifestyle that most of the people she knew could only dream of, but for herself, she had to be better than the best. Dulcie had to be the perfect wife for David. She owed him that much at least.
Even now she cringed when she remembered how gauche she had been that night at the Henderson-Smythes’, wearing a dress that was too low-cut, showing off her even more generous curves, her blonde hair too light. David gave her nothing but compliments, telling her anything she did was fine by him, and he was so angry at their hosts’ appalling behaviour he feigned a headache and they left early. And ever since, bit by bit, she changed into the woman he deserved and not the one who looked like a gangster’s moll. Surprised, David told her she didn’t have to change to keep him happy, but deep down inside it was what Dulcie had always wanted.
‘Oy! What you got there?’ demanded Olive, carrying a bowl covered with a clean tea towel and gingerly making her way down the very frosty Article Row. Barney, with a hessian sack slung over his shoulder, had tried to sneak past her whilst she was on her way to number 50 to give Mr Whittaker the suet pudding she had made that afternoon. Having spent most of the morning queuing in the teeming rain for the shin of beef that went into the pudding and chancing pneumonia, Olive was in no mood for this young tyke’s excuses.
‘I didn’t see you there, Aunt Olive.’
Barney always called her ‘Aunt Olive’ these days, she noticed, and Sergeant Dawson’s wife was called ‘Aunty’; he didn’t use her Christian name, just ‘Aunty’.
‘You can’t miss me in this moonlight, I take up half the pavement,’ Olive said dryly. She was looking forward to her cocoa tonight, and her bed was beckoning. However, she was surprised that Barney was out so late. Archie told her that since his wife came home from hospital she liked Barney to be indoors before it grew dark; Mrs Dawson didn’t like to be alone in case the bombs came over again.
‘Is Aunty in, do you know?’ Barney, from what she could tell in the silvery beam of the moon, looked a little perplexed and even a bit worried if she was any judge.
‘As far as I know, she is, Barney. Why, what’s the matter?’ Olive knew it was very rare for Mrs Dawson to show her face outside the house since the treatment for her nerves had involved a prolonged hospital stay and she was still getting used to being home again.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Barney said, moving off, looking sheepish in the frosty gloom.
‘Come here where I can see you,’ Olive demanded. He wasn’t getting away with it that easily, she thought, her hands on her hips. He was becoming a bit of a handful again lately, and if someone didn’t get a grip on him soon he’d go astray.
Mrs Dawson was still bad with her nerves and, from what Olive could gather from Nancy, didn’t seem to be paying the boy much attention apart from wanting company whilst Sergeant Dawson was on fire duty or at the police station. Olive had told Nancy that it wasn’t true. Mrs Dawson loved the lad like her own and Sergeant Dawson had to work all the shifts God sent, as there was a shortage of younger policemen since so many had been called up, as she knew full well. Nancy had just sniffed and gone about her business.
‘What have you got there? And don’t say “nothing”!’
‘Nothing,’ said Barney automatically. Olive raised an eyebrow and gave him a hard stare whilst the lad hung his head, gazing at his scuffed leather shoes; no galoshes for this kid any more, she noticed.
‘Come on, tell me what it is, you haven’t got anything in there you shouldn’t, have you?’ Olive glared at the sack, which was moving, she was sure. She watched as the boy placed it on the pavement and proceeded to undo the string that secured the top of it. Olive was right, the sack did move. She stepped back a pace, not taking her eyes off it.
‘What’s in there?’ she asked suspiciously; you never could tell what this boy was up to any more.
‘Chicks,’ said Barney proudly as he took the string from around the sack.
‘Chicks?’ echoed Olive, leaning forward slightly to catch a glimpse.
‘You know, baby chickens!’ Barney looked at her and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Yes, Barney, I do know, thank you.’ Olive rolled her eyes.
‘Shall I show you?’ His voice was breathless with excitement.
‘I think you’d better had.’ Olive peered inside the deep, dark recess of the sack. Inside there were six yellow fluffy balls of cheeping baby birds.
‘Where did you get them from, my lad? And I want none of your stories!’
‘I got them off some woman for helping her off the boat down by the Thames. She ’ad loads in a crate,’ said Barney proudly.
‘A proper little entrepreneur, I must say.’ Olive was sure that Sergeant Dawson was going to be very interested in Barney’s story. She wished there was something she could do, knowing that Archie had enough on his plate without having to sort this out as well.
‘I don’t know what one o’ them is, Aunt Olive, but it sounds good.’ Barney nodded and grinned.
‘There’ll be skin and hair flying when your dad finds out you’ve been playing on the wharves.’
‘I’ll tell him I found them,’ Barney said with the uncomplicated air of a twelve-year-old.
‘That’s right, Barney, you find sacks of chicks lying around all over the place, we’re surrounded by farms, don’t you know,’ Olive said dryly, re-tying the string around the sack.
‘Then I’ll tell him the truth. That I earned them.’
‘Then he’ll knock your block off,’ said Olive, mildly amused at his audacity.
‘But I’ll tell him that he can have the eggs an’ I won’t do it no more.’
Olive wasn’t too sure about that. Most people around these parts hadn’t seen a fresh egg for months, and although the thought of a nice soft-boiled egg and slice of toast was mouth-wateringly good she knew Sergeant Dawson, being a very fair upholder of the law, would want to return the baby chicks to their rightful owners. However, Barney being in possession of such prized contraband worried Olive greatly right now and she feared he might be running with that crowd of rough boys again. Something would have to be done and soon.
‘They’ll be on someone’s plate, come Christmas, you mark my words.’
‘Ahh, don’t say that, Aunt Olive.’ Barney looked heartbroken at the thought, but Olive knew that unscrupulous persons would find a way of making money from this. First they’d sell the eggs, then sell or eat the chickens.
‘You’d better take them into my house,’ Olive decided, looking up and down the row, ‘otherwise somebody might take them from you.’ Not that anybody would have dreamed of doing such a thing before the war, not in this district anyway, but a lot had changed since then and there were some people who didn’t like to go without their little luxuries, and a succulent, golden roast chicken was a prize to behold.
‘See, you understand, don’t you, Aunt Olive,’ Barney said with a satisfied nod as he picked up the sack.
‘It’s not me you’ve got to worry about.’ Olive looked at the wriggling sack. ‘Your dad’ll make you take them back.’
‘I’ll tell him that they’re orphans!’ Barney beamed at the suggestion as if it would make everything all right.
‘Tell him what you please, but he won’t have it, and if I know anything, after a long day trawling the streets of London and then doing another four hours’ fire-watching, he’ll be in no mood for chicks.’
‘Where is he now?’ Barney asked nonchalantly.
‘Gone to buy a hat,’ Olive said dryly. Barney shrugged and moved towards her house.
‘Will you cook us somethin’ to eat, Aunt Olive? I’m starving,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Just put that sack in the Anderson shelter and th
en stay with Sally until I get back. I’ve got to go and see Mr Whittaker and make sure he’s had his supper.’ Olive tried to sound stern; he was becoming a bit of a handful of late, was Barney, and she didn’t know what had got into him.
Sally had just put baby Alice’s nightdress on and was combing her curls when the child suddenly looked up and, throwing her chubby little arms around Sally’s neck, gave her a huge hug. Sally, delighted, wondered how she could ever have wanted nothing to do with this beautiful little girl, who had been through so much in her young life. Already she had lost her mother and father and had to get used to a new home in a new city with people she had never seen before; it must have been terrifying for her.
But all that was behind her now, Sally vowed, and she would never let the child feel unloved or insecure ever again, especially when she had such a loving ‘family’ here in Article Row. And when George came home, whenever that might be, he too would lavish every ounce of love he could muster onto this wonderful child.
Looking at her now, all clean and shiny and smelling of talcum powder that Dulcie had managed to get from who knew where, Sally hugged Alice with all the love her heart could hold. But their rare moment of privacy was soon shattered when Barney came into the front room carrying a hessian sack that was making a heck of a racket.
‘What have you got there, Barney?’ Sally asked, putting Alice onto the rug in front of the guarded fire as Barney brought the sack over to her.
‘Mrs Robbins told me to bring these in here and put them in the Anderson,’ Barney said, opening the sack and showing her the contents. Sally’s mouth fell open as baby Alice shot out a podgy hand to try and grab a tweeting chick, her eyes bright with delighted wonder.
‘Don’t let her get hold of them, Barney, she’ll squeeze the living daylights out of them!’ Quickly Barney dived across the rug in front of the fire and tried to snare the speeding escaped chick that had just run beneath the table under the window.
