‘Old Mr Turbot-Watts? Stop being so fanciful!’ He didn’t sound too certain himself.
They’d been spotted. A face appeared on the other side of the window, staring at them. A man, with a broom in his hand.
‘Yes?’ he called. ‘Do you want me? Come round to the front, if you do.’
‘We can’t admit to just being nosey,’ Rose Marie shivered. It was chillier here in the evening than in London. ‘We’d better apologize . . .’
‘Come in, I can do with some company,’ the man said cordially. ‘It’s a trifle spooky in here, but I had an hour or two to spare, so I drove over to get on with the sweeping. I bought the old place at an auction: I hope to live here when it’s habitable once more, and make a studio up in the gallery. I’m an artist, or rather, I want to be. My profession was as a bookkeeper, not a bookseller, and suddenly realizing I was dull and almost middle-aged, I made up my mind to be reckless, as I wasn’t permitted to be in my youth . . .
‘You knew the previous occupant, you say? How about giving me a hand in here for an hour, and telling me about him. I’ve heard he was very eccentric. By the way, my name is Graeme, and you are?’
‘Rose Marie.’ She almost added Flinders. ‘And Russ. We’re staying at the White Hart.’
‘Rather late in the season for a holiday,’ their new friend said cheerfully.
Rose Marie was glad it was dim in there, so he couldn’t see her blush.
They told the story of the old bookseller, and smiled as they recalled their meeting.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said, as they were about to leave. ‘I’ve got something of his you might like to have as a memento. I found it up on the gallery, luckily in a dry corner.’
It was a book entitled Exploring the Australian Outback, with colour plates interleaved with tissue. Inside, was inscribed, ‘Elmo T-W, 1876’.
‘It was published in Sydney. I wonder if the uncle went there when he was younger? I think we should give it to our Elmo,’ Russ said, as they walked back to the inn. He added, ‘It makes me wonder if we should do something like that, before we settle down.’
‘Well, why not? But I’m ready for bed now, after all that brush work,’ Rose Marie told him.
‘So am I. I hope you’re not too tired . . .’
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’
They exchanged a lingering kiss under the porch of the White Hart. The door swung open and they were caught in a beam of light.
‘Just about to send out a search party,’ their jolly landlady remarked. ‘We called last orders half an hour ago. Thought you must be lost. Newly-weds! You’re all the same, lose all sense of time. Going straight up?’
‘We are.’ Russ sounded sheepish. He brushed a cobweb from his jacket.
‘Have a good night then, my dears.’
‘We will, I’m sure, in that comfortable bed,’ Rose Marie said.
‘No hurry for you to get up in the morning.’ The landlady had the last word.
*
Flynn had deigned to fall asleep at last. Florence and Manny settled thankfully into bed.
‘It seems so quiet here, doesn’t it,’ said Florence, with a catch of her breath, ‘without Rose Marie. No one up top, either. Just the three of us. It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
Manny patted her arm. ‘You’ll miss her; we both will. About the flat upstairs: Annie mentioned she might be interested in renting that. What d’you think?’ He didn’t quite have the nerve to mention Buck, too.
‘She’s a real good sort. She works well with Buck. Yes, why not.’
‘He likes her, I can tell. You never know . . .’
‘What are you trying to say, Manny? Out with it!’
‘You’d better talk to Annie. Seems she and Buck, well—’
‘They’re a couple, is that it? That doesn’t surprise me. Did you think it would?’
He nodded. ‘That’s all right then. Florence . . .’
‘Yes, my dear?’ She encouraged him with a kiss, snuggled up to him.
‘Now we can, well, relax a little, do you think we can, you know . . .’
‘Get back to normal married life, is that what you mean? I thought you’d never ask!’
TWENTY-FIVE
SPRING 1927
THERE were daffodils with golden-frilled trumpets in the municipal flower beds along the front at Hastings. Clear blue skies above with a watery sun gave the illusion that it was much warmer than it was. The sea was more honest in its grey swell, and the beach was visited only by the swooping, querulous gulls.
Florence and Manny didn’t mind the buffeting wind at their backs, and Flynn, bouncing about in his new pushchair, peeped over the mackintosh cover which shielded him, and pointed at the things which caught his attention, like the pony and trap bowling by along the road; the noisy motor with blaring horn, an open-top charabanc, where the folk sat huddled under blankets and grimly held on to their hats.
Flynn was eight months old, forward for his age, his proud parents believed. He was already trying to pull himself up by the furniture at home, and attempting to balance on his chubby legs. Today, he wore a wool coat and leggings, with tiny lozenge – shaped buttons, not an easy garment to remove in an emergency, as Manny and Florence knew to their cost. Despite the fact that he couldn’t yet toddle, his feet were encased in smart kid boots, and on his head he had a woollen cap with earflaps and ties under the chin, knitted by Florence, which he was intent on taking off, so that he could throw it overboard.
‘Foolish child,’ his mother chided. ‘I’m aware I don’t look my best in a cloche hat, but I’ve got the sense to keep it on.’
Manny, propelling the chair, grinned. ‘Nothing like a blast of fresh sea air, Florence.’
‘I know. I’m not grumbling; it was my idea to come here for the weekend.’
‘Let’s sit on that bench for ten minutes. It’s difficult to discuss the situation with the couple in the house hovering around. I realize they’re anxious to sell to us, but—’
‘We’ve got a lot to consider before we make our minds up,’ she finished.
Florence prudently tucked a square of muslin in Flynn’s collar. She fished in her bag and brought out a rusk. ‘That should keep him happy, until it gets all soggy and disintegrates. Now, you’ll agree it was a good plan to stay in the boarding house to see how it is run?’
‘Well, yes. But it’s still hard for me to take in that you want to leave the pie shop.’
‘I’ve been there all my life, until now! Our honeymoon was the first time I spent a night away from there. It’s not really the place to bring up a family, as I know from when the girls were young.
‘When Lilli sold that necklace for all those thousands of pounds, she was really generous, not only giving half the money to her mother, so she could be independent of her brother-in-law, who appears to have been the one behind all Lilli’s troubles, but seeing Annie all right too. Annie confiding in us that she was thinking of buying an established business, and running it with Buck. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have suggested right away how about Paradise pies? You’d have to promise to keep the name, I said to Annie.’
‘You didn’t give me a chance to think about it, either.’
‘I’m sorry, Manny! Did you feel I would be depriving you of your livelihood?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t that. Since we married, well, you’ve shared everything with me. I’ve been determined not to let you down.’
‘You haven’t! My dear chap, now Flynn’s weaned, I need to return to work. Not the slog of making pies day after day, but another business where we can work and thrive together. This seems ideal. Guests all summer, we can share the cooking, and out of season, we’ll be able to live on the proceeds! Enjoy taking Flynn out and about. Having the family to stay. Think how Josefina would love it here.’
‘You’ve won me over, Florence,’ Manny told her. ‘As you always do!’
It was a brisk walk, some of it uphill, to the sm
art white-painted villa with green shutters and a small front garden enclosed by black railings embellished with gilt paint. The Hollies Guest House – Vacancies, a swinging sign announced.
‘Six bedrooms,’ Florence marvelled, ‘and not a whiff of a pie!’
‘Fully furnished,’ Manny said. ‘That’s a good selling point.’
‘Well, we can leave all our furniture behind, too!’
Florence lifted Flynn from the pushchair. ‘There, your daddy can fold that up! This is going to be your new home in a short while, Flynn. We’ll have to make it May, after Stella’s baby comes, because I must be there for that. Well, are you pleased?’
She hadn’t noticed the baby had rusk smeared all over his glove. With a toothless beam, he proceeded to transfer the gooey mess to her cheek, as she bent to give him a kiss.
*
Mrs Short worked more flexible hours than her son had. She usually arrived at the bookshop around ten in the morning. Elmo was grateful for her help, so he had the kettle boiling and the biscuits out on a plate before she made her entry.
It was already three months since Russ and Rose Marie had announced that they were off on their great adventure to Australia.
‘I won’t be leaving you in the lurch,’ Russ assured Elmo. ‘Mother will hold the fort until we get back!’
‘Oh, and how long is that likely to be?’ They couldn’t say, they admitted.
Rose Marie had been with him, having already advised Mrs Belling that as usual, she was acting on impulse, but that Russ would look after her, and she hoped to come back to Belling’s with lots of fresh designs.
Elmo told them they had his blessing. ‘Better go now. I suspect the country is still heading for a financial crash. If times get really hard, you’ll have a good time to remember.’
Now, he said to Alma, as he was permitted to call her, ‘I think you deserve a few days off. I’m sure you’d like to visit your daughter . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I could drive you there this Sunday, if you like.’
‘That would be nice. Why don’t you shut the shop and have a break as well?’ she asked. ‘Sadie and Jack would make you very welcome, I know.’
What am I letting myself in for? Elmo thought. Then he smiled. ‘I’d like that,’ he said.
*
Others were house-hunting, too. Lilli’s new baby was due in four months. Sam came up with a surprising suggestion.
‘The Regal Cinema, they’re on the lookout for a new manager. I’d like to apply for the post. It’s rather rundown, but you’ve got the know-how haven’t you from your Golden Domes days. It would give us a good excuse to move further from my mother, without hurting her feelings. There’s a new estate of family houses not far from the Regal. What d’you think?’
‘Well, if you think being a cleaner at the cinema qualifies me to advise you, I say yes!’
Lilli was so happy nowadays, she would have agreed if he’d wanted to go to the moon!
She rather hoped the baby would be a girl, because then they could please Yvette and call her Pearl.
*
Rose Marie and Russ were sitting under a gum tree, poring over a map. The weather was still hot, and the flies bothersome. She took a swig of lukewarm water from a billy-can.
‘Haven’t you located that spring yet?’ she asked. She moved her sun helmet, wiped the sweat from her neck. She thought, oh, to be in England now that April – or rather March – is here. I wouldn’t care how much it rained – I’d dance about in it and get soaked.
As if he could read her thoughts, Russ said, ‘I fancy being back in London and I could just do with one of Florence’s pies. Do you want to go home?’ He signalled the driver of the truck that they were ready to move on.
‘I don’t want to sleep in a tent tonight.’ Rose Marie sounded petulant. ‘No gazing up at the stars, back to the homestead tonight. By home, do you mean England? We haven’t finished adventuring yet.’
‘What does that matter?’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m homesick too. Shall we do it?’
‘Why not?’ she said. ‘We’ve still got plenty of tales to tell. It’ll be so good to see the family again; I’ve missed them. I’m still one of Florence’s girls, after all. Everything will be just as it was . . . won’t it?’
Read on to meet the author and hear
stories told to her by her mother and aunt
about life in the 20s. And then, why not try
out a recipe for your very own pies?
Meet Sheila Newberry
I’ve been writing since I was three years old, and even told myself stories in my cot. So it came as a shock when I was whacked round the head by my volatile kindergarten teacher for daydreaming about stories when I was supposed to be chanting the phonetic alphabet. My mother received a letter from my teacher saying ‘Sheila will not speak. Why?’ Mum told her that it was because I was scared stiff in class. I was immediately moved up two classes. Here I was given the task of encouraging the slow readers. This was something I was good at, but I still felt that I didn’t fit in. Later, I learned that another teacher had saved all my compositions, saying they inspired many children in later years.
I had scarlet fever in the spring of 1939, and when I returned to our home near Croydon, I saw changes which puzzled me – sandbags, shelters in back gardens, camouflaged by moss and daisies, and windows re-enforced with criss-crossed tape. Children had iron rations in Oxo tins – we ate the contents during rehearsals for air-raids – and gas masks were given out. I especially recall the stifling rubber. We spent the summer holiday, as usual, in Suffolk and I remember being puzzled when my father left us there.‘War’ was not mentioned, but we were now officially evacuees, living with relatives in a small cottage in a sleepy village.
On and off, we returned to London at the wrong times. We were bombed out in 1940 and dodging doodlebugs in 1943. I thought of Suffolk as my home. I was still writing – on flyleaves of books cut out by friends – and every Friday I told stories about Black-eyed Bill the Pirate to the whole school in the village hut. I wrote my first pantomime at nine years old, and was awarded the part of Puss in Boots. I wore a costume made from blackout curtains. We were back in our patched-up London home to celebrate VE night and dancing in the street. Lights blazed – it was very exciting.
I had a moment of glory when I won an essay-writing competition which 3,000 school children had entered. The subject was waste paper, which we all collected avidly! At my new school I was encouraged by my teachers to concentrate on English Literature and Language, History and Art, and I did well in my final exams. I wanted to be a writer, but was told there was a shortage of paper! True. I wrote stories all the time and read many books. I was useless at games like netball, as I was so short-sighted – I didn’t see the ball until it hit me. I still loved acting, and my favourite Shakespearian parts were Shylock and Lady Macbeth.
When I left school I worked in London at an academic publisher. I had wanted to be a reporter, but I couldn’t ride a bike! Two years after school I met my husband, John. We had nine children and lived on a smallholding in Kent with many pets (and pests). I wrote the whole time. The children did, too, but they were also artistic, like John. We were all very happy. I acquired a typewriter and wrote short stories for children, articles on family life and romance for magazines. I received wonderful feedback. I soon graduated to writing novels and joined the Romantic Novelists’ Association. I have had many books published over the years and am over the moon to see my books out in the world once again.
1925, And All That
This was before my time, but I heard so much about the era from my mother, Bella, and my aunt, Nell. My mum had moved to London after she married at nineteen and they told me stories of bobbing their hair, the short skirts they wore, dancing the night away and exploring London. I knew I would write a book about it one day . . .
I could picture the pie shops, run by enterprising women like Florence, many of them middle-aged and single, or widowed
due to the loss of many men in World War One. There were ex-servicemen, some blind or maimed, trying to make a living by selling small items on street corners, and some reduced to begging. The pie shop provided good, cheap food – maybe the only meal the workers would have that day.
The tram cars took Bella and Nell to their their favourite store in Brixton, Bon Marche, and the market where Bella bought a large plaster spaniel because it resembled Nell’s dog in Suffolk. It survived when we were bombed out in 1940, and now sits on the hearth in its latest home.
The girls were also great devotees of the cinema. When Nell visited, Bella took her along to the Golden Domes Cinema in Camberwell where they saw the film The Great Gatsby. This silent film version starred Warner Baxter as Jay Gatsby and Lois Wilson as Daisy Buchanan. Scott Fitzgerald, the author, and his wife Zelda disliked the interpretation of the book and walked out half way through their viewing in America. There are no copies of the film now, but it was one the girls never forgot. They also went to the theatre on special occasions, but the music hall was considered too ‘rowdy’ for well brought up girls!
Lilli, Florence’s lodger, works in the Golden Domes. I was always intrigued by the grand beginnings of this picture palace, which was owned at that time by my husband’s great grandfather, John House, a wealthy carriage maker at the Elephant and Castle. When The Golden Domes was sold, after several changes of name and style, it was demolished, and a supermarket was built in its place.
The Big Depression of 1929 changes the lives of all the characters in the book. But I can still conjure up the irresistible smell of the pies that Florence was cooking in her kitchen . . .
A Recipe for a Paradise Pie
(As Baked by Florence)
Florence was making her pies during the Depression years. She used beech wood moulds, but these days using individual pie tins works just as well. The pies are made in batches and the fillings are simple but good – cheap cuts of meat, like loin of pork, a hock of ham, or mutton, which require slow cooking until tender.
Hot Pies on the Tram Car Page 23