by Gwen Grant
I said to our Rose, ‘Oh, let’s go,’ because I was scared to death, honest, but then our Lucy said, ‘Look at that,’ and I looked up and our Rose looked up and there was this girl standing in the bedroom window and she was laughing. ‘She’ll laugh on the other side of her face in a minute,’ our Rose said happily. ‘She goes to our school,’ and Rose stood under the lamplight for a second so that the girl could see who she was, and then our Lucy went and stood at the side of her and I was dragged along behind them and laughing girl at the window suddenly looked as sick as a dog.
‘There’s no school till after Christmas,’ our Rose said. ‘But never mind. There’s all next year,’ and both of them grinned and, wonder of wonders, gave me a hand-carry all the way down the street.
When we got home we added up the money we’d earned and it came to sixteen shillings and ninepence and I got five shillings and our Rose five and sixpence and our Lucy got six and threepence.
‘Why do they have to have more than me?’ I says to our Mam and our Mam says, ‘You ought to share it equally,’ to our Lucy and Rose. ‘She’s done as much work as you have,’ our Mam said. So our Lucy and Rose said, ‘Here, you can have all the oranges and sweets instead,’ and they gave me three oranges and about eight sticky sweets. I didn’t reckon much to that but I thought if I made them mad they wouldn’t take me with them tomorrow night. Our Mam won’t let me go on my own and our Joe goes with the lads so I gave the oranges and sweets to our Mam and she put them in the cupboard for Christmas Day.
Our Mam made some cocoa and poked the fire and we all sat in the firelight drinking our cocoa and telling ghost stories and then our Joe came in and he says, ‘There’s a ghost lives under the stairs and it only comes out at night and it only goes in the back bedroom.’ That’s where I sleep and our Mam looks at our Joe and she says, ‘If I catch any more ghosts in this house, they’ll feel my hand on their legs,’ and our Pete laughed and said, ‘Ghosts don’t have legs.’ Our Mam says, ‘The ghost I’m thinking of does. In fact, it has six,’ and then our Pete and Tone and Joe started spluttering into their cocoa. They think they’re so funny. Personally, I think I’d rather live with a ghost than with them.
Perhaps not though.
When I got up in the morning, I had to go and help our Mam make the paper chains. Lick, lick, lick all morning but the chains looked ever so pretty and our Tone put them up. ‘Yes, very nice,’ our Dad says when he came in and then he walked straight into them and broke one. ‘Look what our Dad’s done,’ I said to our Mam and our Dad says, ‘I couldn’t help it. They’re too low.’ So then he hung them up again and they practically vanished into the ceiling. I says to our Mam, ‘I hope I get a magnifying glass for Christmas,’ and she says, ‘Why?’ and I says, ‘So I can see the trimmings,’ and she laughed and said, well, we couldn’t have our Dad walking around draped in paper chains all the time, could we? I asked if I could just nip down to the paper shop to see if my books were still there and our Mam said, yes, but don’t be long and when I got there, the most terrible thing in my life had happened. I looked in the window and the books had gone!
I said to the girl behind the counter, ‘What you done with them books that was in the window?’ and she said, ‘They’ve been sold, that’s what’s been done with them,’ and I said to her, ‘But you knew I wanted them.’ ‘I couldn’t hold on to them for ever,’ she says, all nasty. ‘They was there and now they has gone and that is all there is to it.’
‘Did our Mam buy them?’ I asked, all hope like.
She shook her head. She knows our Mam you see because she only lives round the corner from us. ‘She never bought them,’ she said, and so here I am and I wish I was dead.
I think I wanted those books more than anything in the world. More than a bike even.
As if that wasn’t enough to ruin my entire whole life, our Tone’s got himself a girl-friend now and he brought her round again tonight when I was sat looking out of the window thinking what a terrible Christmas it was going to be.
This girl sits down on the sofa and stares at our Mam as if our Mam’s got two heads or something. I says to her, ‘Do you like books?’ and she jumps about three feet in the air and says, ‘What? What?’ and I say, ‘Do you like books?’ and she says, ‘Depends what you mean by books,’ and I look at her and think, what does she mean, it depends what I mean by books? I was just going to ask her when our Tone says, ‘Buzz off!’ and I think, oh, how polite, and I wonder why this girl goes out with him at all. I reckon there must be something wrong with her.
Our Mam says there doesn’t have to be anything wrong with her just because she goes out with our Tone. ‘He’s a very nice boy,’ she says but you can’t go by what our Mam says about any of us because she thinks we’re all nice. Also, she’s not littler than the others, like I am.
We’re going to the Sunday School Christmas Party next week, if I live that long. I don’t feel very well and our Mam says it’s because I’m sickening for a cold. Personally, I think it’s because I’ve got a broken heart through that horrible girl selling my three lovely books.
14
‘Dad, is it Christmas now?’
I’ve been in bed a whole week now because I went down with a bad cold and I had to stay at home and all the snow went while I was in bed, so now it’s gone and I bet it doesn’t come back till next year.
It’s a good thing I’m better now, though, because the Sunday School had their Christmas Party last night and me and our Rose had to go to it. Our Rose didn’t stay long because she said to our Mam, ‘I’m too old for this now, Mam,’ and our Mam said, ‘All right, you can go.’ And she went, so I was there on my own, except for our Mam. All the Mams came. They do every year. They lay out the tables and serve all the kids and everything and then afterwards they sit and have a cup of tea together.
I thought it was going to be a terrible party but it turned out very good and I was really glad I went, mainly because of the magician. He said he was a magician and he pulled this rabbit out of a hat and dropped it and it ran under the tables and everybody had to get up and look for it. Poor little thing. Nobody found it though, and our Mam said, ‘I bet that’ll make somebody a good dinner,’ and the magician was having a fit. He kept shouting, ‘It’s got to be here somewhere. Nobody’s leaving this hall until I find it,’ but after a bit, he had to get on with his show. ‘Nobody leaves this hall until it’s found,’ he kept shouting.
Then he stood there and said, ‘And for my next trick, I shall change this plain white handkerchief into a coloured one,’ and he starts throwing this white hankie about in the air and catching it and one of the little Berry twins walks up to him and says, ‘Here, Mister,’ and pulls this coloured hankie from the magician’s sleeve. I thought he was going to kill the little twin but he patted its head instead. I don’t know which twin it was. There’s a boy and a girl but you can’t tell which is which because they keep swapping clothes with each other and they both have short yellow hair as well.
Our Mam says, ‘I’d make that little madam grow her hair,’ and the twin’s Mam says, ‘I’ve tried but they cut it off between them,’ so our Mam didn’t say any more. She just looked at me and said, ‘Twins!’ as if they’d got the plague or something.
Anyway, this magician stands there and he’s trying to smile and he says, ‘And now for my next trick, I shall make a bird fly out of my hat,’ and our Mam says, ‘He wants to watch it don’t fly right away, like his rabbit,’ and the magician stares round the hall and bends right over his hat and he brings out a little bird. Ever such a pretty bird and he says, ‘And now it will sing for you,’ and this pretty little bird starts singing and our Mam says, ‘That’s not a real bird,’ and the magician says, ‘What do you want for your money. A zoo?’ Our Mam says, ‘Oh! Sorry, I’m sure,’ and nobody claps at all because one of the twins shouts, ‘There’s a little box under your hat, Mister,’ and the magician looks as if he’s going to cry.
‘That’s the end of the show,’ he sa
ys and everybody claps him and starts cheering and he starts smiling then. ‘Well,’ our Mam says, ‘poor bloke. Not much fun losing your rabbit,’ and all the Mams are grinning away and the magician starts walking round the hall and crawling on his hands and knees going, ‘Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu. Where are you?’ Our Mam has a little laugh and then the magician gets up and goes away without his rabbit. ‘Shame,’ our Mam says.
Then we play musical chairs which is the worst game in the whole wide world. Miss Plum sits at the piano and she’s our teacher at school as well, so you can see how rotten it is anyway, and she goes, ‘Tum te tum te tum te tum,’ and then says, ‘Now, children,’ and we have to stand round these daft chairs and stop when the music stops and try and sit on one and there’s always a person left over and it’s usually me.
Anyway, I win this time and I get a book and it’s called The Little Children’s Prayer Book and Miss Plum says, ‘I am pleased to see you’ve won it, dear. I think you have as much need of it as anybody I know,’ and I say, ‘Thank you,’ and tell our Mam what she said and our Mam says, ‘And she’s only speaking the truth at that.’ Then Miss Plum comes up to our Mam and says, ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I was to hear of the death in your family.’ Our Mam looks at her and says, ‘Oh! Er, well, it’s a long time ago now,’ and I could see her thinking, death? There’s nobody died in our family. Then Miss Plum says, ‘It doesn’t seem very long,’ and our Mam says, ‘Pardon?’ and then Miss Plum tells her how I had told this teacher at school that my granny had died (that was the day old Gorilla Face was going to get me) and I can see our Mam going redder and redder and she just says, ‘Yes, well, thank you,’ to Miss Plum until Miss Plum goes away and then she grabs hold of my jumper at the back and she says, ‘Home, madam.’
Now I’m lying here in rotten old bed with that rotten old book that I won at that rotten old game and our Mam says I’ve got to recite every single prayer in the rotten old book and not to go downstairs until I can remember at least six without looking at the book once. They’re all about making people good, these prayers, and I don’t reckon much to them at all.
I never heard of anyone being made good by prayers, not yet I haven’t. I said that to our Mam and she said, ‘You don’t know. There’s more goes on than you can see,’ but if there is, why am I in bed again and why did Miss Plum have to tell our Mam about somebody being dead in the first place?
Every night before I go to sleep our Mam says, ‘Say your prayers,’ and every night for weeks I’ve been saying, ‘And please can I have those books for Christmas?’ Every night our Mam says, ‘Now start again because you know you should never ask for anything for yourself,’ so I says to our Mam, ‘But what’s the good of praying if you can’t ask for things for yourself?’ Our Mam says that’s exactly what the good of praying is, but all the same, three books, that wouldn’t have been a big thing for God to do, would it? And now because our Mam made me cross out my bit about the books every night, they’ve gone and got themselves sold.
It’s lovely lying in bed on Christmas Eve though. Our Lucy and Rose don’t come to bed till late and I lie and think about all the things I’m going to find in the pillow slip in the morning. We put a pillow slip at the bottom of the bed and our Mam ties a big pink bow on mine so that it won’t get mixed up with our Lucy’s and Rose’s.
I look at the candle and it’s still only burnt halfway down so I think I’ll have a puppet show on the wall and I make all these shadows with my hands and I can do a lovely swan and I think, a white swan in white snow at Christmas, and then I must have fallen asleep because when I look at the candle again, I can’t see it on account of it being pitch black in the bedroom.
I shout, ‘Mam! Mam!’ and our Mam goes, ‘Oh dear! Who’s that?’ I say, ‘It’s me, Mam,’ and she says, ‘What’s wrong?’ and I say, ‘There’s nothing wrong, it’s Christmas Day,’ and our Dad goes, ‘Oh!’ groan, groan, moan, moan – ‘Do you know what time it is?’ and I say, ‘It’s Christmas Day,’ and he says, ‘It’s two o’clock. It’s too early. Go back to sleep.’ So I lie down again and our Lucy kicks me and says, ‘Do you know what I wish for Christmas?’ and I say, ‘No,’ and she says, ‘That you’d disappear,’ and I say, ‘Ha, ha,’ and our Rose goes, ‘Oh!’ – sigh, sigh, yawn, yawn – ‘Shut up you two and let’s go to sleep.’
So I lay there staring into the dark for about four more hours and then I shout our Mam and she says, ‘Not again!’ Our Dad says, ‘It’s three o’clock. Go back to sleep,’ and I lay there for at least another fifteen hours this time and then I shout our Mam and she says, ‘If ever a woman suffered!’ Our Dad says, ‘It’s five o’clock. One more time and Christmas Day will be cancelled!’ so I think, ‘Huh! Some Christmas. Everybody getting mad at me before it even starts,’ and I lie there and this time I wait till Christmas Day is practically over and then I shout, ‘Mam!’ and she says ‘Dear Heaven!’ Our Dad says, ‘Oh!’ – groan, groan – ‘All right, get up’ and he says to our Mam, ‘It’s only quarter to six, you know,’ and our Mam says, ‘Well, we might as well all get up now,’ and by half-past six, we’re all sat downstairs drinking tea and surrounded by presents and paper and happiness.
Except for our Joe. He says, ‘You ought to do something about her,’ but really I think he’s glad to be up as well because he’s got a bell for his old bike and a lamp and other stupid things boys get.
I got a pen and pencil set and some games and an orange and an apple and a mouth organ which I was very pleased about because I really wanted a mouth organ and, right at the bottom of the pillow case, there were the books. The whole three books from the paper shop window. I said I was sorry to God about the things I’d thought about prayers and then I opened my books and they are so beautiful that I’m going to keep them in the box with this paper so that nobody touches them and dirties the pages. Nobody goes in my box because it’s got Private – Keep Out written on it in big black letters and when I showed it our Mam she said, ‘Oh yes, that’ll keep people out all right.’ So that’s where my books are going to go. Even our Joe doesn’t go in my box because he has one exactly the same and he knows if he goes in mine, then I’ll go in his.
I also got a doll – yuk, yuk, yuk. Old Flo bought me this doll and she gives me this big box and she says, ‘You make sure you look after it, my lass, else I’ll be after you,’ and I hadn’t even opened the box by then. I thought, oh crikey, whatever it is, Old Flo will be coming round every minute and saying, ‘Now then, my lass, are you looking after it?’ I opened it and there it was, this doll.
It was as old as anything but its clothes had all been washed. ‘It were mine when I was a little lass myself,’ Old Flo says. It’s not a bad doll. At least it doesn’t have big blue eyes and yellow curls like Gloria Hottentot, who I hate very much.
It has eyes that are painted on and they just look at you and she has little pink lips and they only just smile and you can’t see any teeth at all. She doesn’t have any proper hair, but she has some plaits made out of wool and when you take her bonnet off the plaits come off as well because they’re sewn on to the bonnet. I like her.
‘What’s her name?’ I said to Old Flo and she says, ‘I expect you’ll want to give her a new name?’ and I said, ‘Oh no. How will she know who she is if she’s got a new name?’ So Old Flo says, ‘Her name is Matilda Virginia Anne.’ I say to Old Flo, ‘I think that’s the nicest name I ever heard in all my life,’ and then I says to our Mam, ‘Why didn’t you call me something nice like Matilda Virginia Anne?’ and our Mam says, ‘Because you’re a little madam and that’s always suited you down to the ground,’ and so me and Matilda V. A. went upstairs and I’m writing this in my room.
But that’s it. I’m not writing any more because I’ve decided I don’t want to be a writer when I grow up after all. I’ve decided to be a lady boxer instead.
The Backstory
Writer Lucy Mangan told us about her favourite children’s book, Private – Keep Out!, which was first published i
n 1978 but was sadly out of print. We read it and loved it so much we decided to publish it in Vintage Children’s Classics. Lucy hopes you’ve loved reading Private – Keep Out! as much as she did, and she has created this extra-special ‘Backstory’ to tell you more about the book and its author, Gwen Grant.
Who’s Who in Private – Keep Out!
The heroine: The youngest of six children in the Hall family, the name of the narrator of this book is never mentioned. She lives in a colliery town in Nottinghamshire, in the north of England and she wants to be a writer when she grows up so she is keeping a diary of her year – 1948, just after the Second World War has ended – as practice.
She never means to cause trouble, but somehow – somehow – trouble always seems to find her. And she has a lot of questions about life that grown-ups never seem to want to answer properly. Her older brothers and sisters tease her quite a lot. She does not think this is very funny.
Mam: The heroine’s mother Lissy is a very busy woman. She looks after the whole family and does cleaning work for other people as well. Sometimes it seems as though most of her time is spent looking after her youngest child when she is ill or injured, or sending her to bed for being naughty again. She works very hard at trying to teach all her children to be good. “They’re going to grow up decent if it kills me,” she tells their dad. “And them as well.” Overall, she is a very patient mother.
Dad: The heroine’s dad was a soldier in the war and works as a miner now. He comes home most evenings to scenes of chaos caused by his large family. He too is very patient, and tries to help their mother as much as possible when he’s there. His name is John.
Pete: At 18, Pete is the oldest child in the family. The heroine thinks he is a real know-it-all. Pete works on a farm nearby. He is engaged to Miss Ruby Brown and is about to leave home to do his two years of national service.
