A Child's Voice Calling

by Maggie Bennett

  Annie’s face was streaming with tears and her best hat was askew as Mabel gently pulled her to her feet and smoothed down her skirt and jacket. She put Walter into his little wheelchair where he sat grizzling dolefully. ‘Let’s go, Mother,’ said Mabel again, taking Annie’s arm. ‘Sooner we’re out o’ here the better.’

  ‘Just a minute, young miss, I want a word with yer,’ interposed Mimi, seizing Mabel’s other arm. ‘’Oo gave you leave to—?’ But she stopped in mid-sentence when Mabel angrily shook off her hand and spun round to look straight into her eyes. The burning fury in the level blue-grey gaze was more accusing than any words and Mimi recoiled from it, biting her lip and clearly disconcerted. She cleared her throat and spoke in an almost conciliatory manner. ‘’Ere, I can let yer have ten shillin’s to see yer through till Jack turns up again,’ she muttered, taking the lid off a ginger jar on the mantelpiece and extracting two banknotes. ‘’E’ll be ’ome again on Friday, I shouldn’t wonder. An’ yer can take another ten for Walter, what with ’im bein’ sickly an’ all. An’ I’ll settle with the, er, Lawton woman for the piano lessons, rather ’n let ’er think yer can’t pay.’

  The suddenness of this concession took both mother and daughter completely by surprise and much as they would have liked to throw Mimi’s two ten-shilling notes back in her face, they knew they could not afford the luxury of refusing money. Annie kept her eyes lowered as she pocketed the notes and Mabel said ‘Thank you’ with cold dignity on behalf of them both. Mimi saw them to the door without uttering another word.

  It was a victory of sorts, because they had got what they went for, albeit at the high price of Annie’s humiliation, for which Mabel thought she would never forgive her grandmother. And yet she had shown that she was not afraid of the formidable woman, in spite of being beholden to her for money; nor would she ever be bullied into submission by anybody in the future. On reflection Mabel realised that she had grown up in some way today and it was a good feeling, though her heart ached for her mother.

  On the silent bus journey home, Mabel took Walter on her knee and pondered on some of the things she had heard said, certain mysterious references that had been made. What had her grandmother meant by the ‘fine Hampshire home’ and the ‘sisters who had grabbed the old man’s money’? What old man? And why had her mother not denied any of it? Mum never spoke about her own family and had only said that both her parents were dead; she had not mentioned any sisters, or a fine home or money. Yet Mabel had noticed certain things about her mother that did not seem to belong to Sorrel Street. She spoke differently from her neighbours, in a better kind of accent, like Dr Knowles or the vicar at St Philip’s church. Mum was more like a lady than Mrs Bull or Mrs Finch, and certainly Maudie Ling had been impressed, declaring Mabel’s mum to be ‘ever so posh’.

  Mabel glanced towards her mother sitting on the bus with her hat pulled forward to conceal her red, swollen eyes. Now was not a good time to ask, but Mabel longed to know more about the – what was it, the Chalcott family? – because any sisters of Mum’s would be her aunts, and Mabel longed to have an auntie, as so many of her school friends had.

  There was little opportunity for finding out more about her mother’s history in the weeks that followed. Dr Knowles’s predictions proved to be only too true, and as soon as summer gave way to September’s chillier days and early frosts, Walter developed a cough that racked his small frame and left him wheezing and blue round the mouth. Mabel’s time was taken up in looking after him and the others as Annie’s pregnancy advanced, and only she could get him to take Dr Knowles’s medicine from a teaspoon, bribing him with promises of sugary drinks, rubbing embrocation on his chest and back, and wrapping him in flannel for the winter. His constant coughing and whining got on Jack’s nerves, and Mabel had to comfort her mother when her son’s illness and husband’s ill temper reduced her to tears.

  Mimi Court began to visit Sorrel Street more often than formerly, bringing extra food and comforts, though she had few encouraging smiles for her grandchildren. She stood over Walter and shook her head gloomily – and rolled her eyes upwards at the prospect of yet another child. This time she had said nothing to her daughter-in-law: it was Jack who had been taken aside and scolded so severely that he’d quailed before her, and for a time appeared to turn over a new leaf, which is to say that he spent more time buying food for the family and handing over the greater part of his earnings into Annie’s keeping.

  But Walter’s condition steadily declined and he lay passively in his mother’s or Mabel’s arms, his hollow eyes pleading as if for help that none of them could give. It was heart-rending, and Dr Knowles worried about Mabel as the inevitable end approached. She had not been to school for a month and her piano lessons had lapsed. Her fair hair hung in rat’s tails and the dark smudges under her eyes told of disturbed nights; she wore a perpetual anxious frown and even snapped at Albert when he tried to tease a smile from her. He shrugged and slammed out of the house, returning later with a Cadbury’s chocolate bar for her, which so touched her that she did not ask where he’d got it.

  The doctor eventually took Jack Court aside and spoke seriously to him. ‘The boy’s dying, Court, and it can only be a matter of days. If it’s any consolation to you, I don’t think he’d have grown up to be a normal child.’

  ‘What d’yer mean – that he’d’ve been an idiot?’ asked Jack gloomily.

  ‘Well, let’s say a bit on the slow side. My impression is that his brain’s damaged, possibly at birth, or there may have been a fault in development. Be grateful for what you have, Court, the rest of your children are healthy and sound – and you have a real treasure in Mabel.’

  ‘Yeah, we don’t want her to go down with anythin’,’ said Jack wearily. ‘She’s the only one of ’em with any bloody sense.’

  Knowles turned away from him in despair and tried to have a word with the grandmother; but when he met her on one of her visits to Sorrel Street he distrusted her on sight. She nodded graciously to him, raising her eyes heavenward to indicate both Walter’s destination and the unsatisfactory household at number 12. She wiped her eyes on a lace-edged handkerchief, but the doctor suspected that she felt no real grief for her grandson. Something about her repelled him, though he could not say exactly what.

  The end came a few days later, on a raw November day. Mabel and her mother had had a terrible night with the little invalid who had alternately burned with fever and shivered with cold. His face took on a pinched appearance like a shrunken, wizened old man, and Annie had held him against her breasts until she had fallen into an exhausted sleep and Mabel had taken him from her.

  Now it was afternoon and Mabel sat by the living-room fire nursing Walter on her lap, wrapped in a blanket and mercifully asleep at last. Annie was in her bed, completely worn out, and George was quietly playing on the hearthrug with a bundle of kindling sticks that did duty as soldiers. As the room darkened in the winter dusk, Mabel’s head began to droop.

  She was roused by the banging of the front door and the clatter of Albert’s and Alice’s boots in the hallway. They had returned from school and Mabel was at once alert.

  ‘Hey, Mabel, d’yer know what?’ shouted Albert. ‘Yer friend Maudie’s been caught thievin’, an’ the coppers’ve taken ’er away!’

  ‘Oh, no, poor Maudie!’ cried Mabel in dismay. She had not seen her friend for some time. ‘Was it from a market stall?’ she asked, remembering how Maudie used to crawl under the street traders’ displays to pick up fruit and whatever scraps might have fallen.

  ‘Nah! She was ’elpin’ ’erself from the kitchens o’ toffs’ ’ouses up Belgravy way – y’know, them posh places!’

  Mabel clasped Walter more tightly as she asked, ‘And what about her poor little brother Teddy?’

  ‘Dunno. She was after summat to feed ’im on, I s’pose.’

  Tears filled Mabel’s eyes at the thought of her friend’s desperate plight. What would happen to Maudie and her brother now?

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nbsp; ‘What’s the matter with Walter, Mabel?’ asked Alice suddenly. ‘His mouth’s open an’ his eyes are all funny – oh, Mabel, look! Is he . . . is he dead?’ Her voice rose to a scream of fear. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead!’

  ‘Sh, Alice, sh, be quiet, ye’ll wake Mummy. He’s . . . he’s just asleep, that’s all.’

  But her fingers trembled and she felt sick at heart as she carefully pulled back the blanket from the little grey face. The body was still warm against hers but limp and lifeless. It was true. His heartbeat and breathing had stopped. Walter Court lay dead in his sister’s arms, five weeks before his second birthday.

  Alice and Georgie began to wail in unison, while Albert stared open-mouthed at Mabel’s stricken face. She stifled the cry that rose to her own throat, knowing that she had to be brave for the rest of them and especially for her mother. ‘Albert! Run next door and fetch Mrs Bull – tell her to hurry up and get here before poor Mummy comes downstairs – oh, quick, be quick! And Alice, you go for Dr Knowles!’

  ‘Hush, Mabel, hush, hush, my child, you mustn’t blame yourself, I won’t have it. You did all that a good nurse could do for him.’

  ‘But I promised I’d look after him, Dr Knowles, an’ he died – he died, an’ I couldn’t save him!’

  Dr Knowles had never before seen Mabel Court give way like this, and he was touched to the heart by her grief and self-reproach. ‘My dear, there are times when nothing can be done – when there’s nothing anyone can do to save someone we love. Listen! I’m certain that Walter would not have lived as long as he did if it hadn’t been for your devoted care. No sick child was ever better served. Hush, Mabel, hush, my dear.’

  At the little gathering after the funeral the doctor tried to emphasise to Jack and Annie Court the importance of Mabel’s immediate return to school. ‘She’s an exceptionally bright girl, and must not be allowed to waste her time doing chores and running errands, however willing she may be,’ he told them, but Annie’s only response was to burst into helpless tears once again over the loss of her baby and Jack Court’s sullen mutter was hardly encouraging. Mrs Mimi Court shrugged her plump shoulders at the doctor and told him that he had better speak to Mabel herself, or he’d be wasting his breath in this house.

  The doctor stared at her for a moment, wondering why she made him think of a case he’d had a couple of years back, a single girl who’d threatened to kill herself because she was expecting a child; he’d directed her to a Salvation Army refuge for girls in her condition and when he’d met her a few months later she was no longer expecting. She’d told him about a woman . . . and he had decided not to know. Mabel’s grandmother had seen him looking at her, because she quickly took her leave, saying that there was nothing more she could do.

  Knowles found Mabel in the kitchen with Mrs Bull who was telling her that Walter had always been a little angel and not long for this sad world. ‘I said as much, soon’s I saw the poor little mite, di’n’t I, Mabel, my duck? And now ’e’s gorn back to ’eaven agin to be wiv the other little angels, so yer mustn’t cry.’

  Mabel’s eyes brightened at the sight of the doctor who smiled and beckoned to her. ‘I’ve got some news for you, Mabel, about your friend Maud Ling,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Dr Knowles, what’ve yer heard?’ she asked, clasping her hands together, half in hope, half in dread. ‘Tell me please! Is she in prison?’

  ‘No, no, no. After she was questioned by the police, she and her brother were put into the care for a society run by the church for children in need of care. It’s called the Waifs and Strays Society, and Maud and her brother are in a home at Dulwich for . . . well, for waifs and strays, where they’ll get enough to eat and won’t have to roam the streets any more.’

  ‘Is it a . . . a workhouse?’ asked Mabel fearfully.

  ‘Oh, dear me, no, children aren’t sent to workhouses any more, thank heaven. No, dear, this is quite a good place, homely, not too large, and Maud and her brother will go to school and be trained for useful work. The society will take good care of them, something which their parents completely failed to do.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Not like your little brother Walter, who was always loved and cared for, wasn’t he?’

  Mabel nodded, remembering Maudie’s shocking accounts of violent drunken quarrels and the deaths of three other children. ‘Yes, but isn’t it wicked, Dr Knowles, all the poor children who aren’t loved and looked after, like Maudie and Teddy!’ she cried with a sudden fierce passion that took the doctor by surprise. ‘Oh, how I wish I could take care of them all!’

  The doctor looked very thoughtful. ‘Not yet, Mabel, and not all of them,’ he said after a pause. ‘But one day I think you’re going to be able to help some of them, my dear. You’re a born nurse and you’ll have to train at a hospital, but for now—’

  ‘Oh, Dr Knowles, d’ye really think so? Did yer mean what yer just said? I want to be a children’s nurse more ’n anything else in the world!’ Mabel’s whole face was transformed as she told him of her dearest wish.

  ‘And so you will one day, I’m sure, Mabel, but first of all it’s very important that you learn all you can now while you are still at school. I don’t want to hear of you missing any more school days, do you understand?’ His words were stern, but his face so kind that Mabel smiled and promised to work really hard at her lessons and regain her place at the top of the class.

  ‘Take that gin away, woman – out of the room, out of the house!’ ordered Dr Knowles. ‘I won’t have the vile stuff near a woman in childbirth!’

  Mrs Lowe indignantly denied all knowledge of the offending jam jar on the window shelf and a flustered Mrs Bull hastily removed it from the bedroom. It had been her contribution towards Annie Court’s ease in labour and having decanted the colourless liquid into an innocent-looking jar, she thought it would escape notice. Knowles had detected it as soon as he entered the room.

  Annie’s pains had begun on an afternoon halfway through February and Dr Knowles had asked to be notified as well as the midwife. On arriving at Sorrel Street he found Mabel in the kitchen seeing to the children’s tea and keeping the kettle on the boil for Mrs Lowe. ‘Mm-mm, something smells good. What is it, Irish stew? Any chance of a taste, Mabel?’

  She dipped the ladle in the big blackened saucepan, but as she lifted it up a shout and a bump was heard upstairs. ‘It sounds as if me mum might be having the baby, Dr Knowles.’

  ‘Then I’d better go up and see what Mrs Lowe’s doing,’ he answered with a smile. He knew that the midwife was sensible and reliable, better than some of the untrained handywomen like Mrs Clements who still practised as midwives among the poorer neighbourhoods. The new compulsory registration would eventually phase them out, but he knew it would be some years before registration could be enforced.

  Apart from banishing the gin jar, he stood aside and let Mrs Lowe go ahead in her own way while he held Annie’s hand and talked her through the contractions. They had not long to wait and a baby girl was born within twenty minutes. Her lusty cries greeted her father as he arrived home in no happy mood.

  ‘A daughter for you this time, Court, and your wife’s due for a rest,’ said the doctor pointedly. ‘If you’d care to come and see me we can talk about preventive measures.’

  Jack nodded, frowned and finally forced himself to smile upon the newcomer who was to be called Daisy.

  What had gone wrong with his life, Jack Court wondered. Take today, three consecutive races won by the favourite and Dick Sammons swanking at the wheel of his own motorcar, while he, the best bookmaker between here and Goodwood, had come home to a houseful of chuntering women, bawling children, yet another baby and God only knew what mess being ladled out at the kitchen table and masquerading as a man’s supper – talk about a bloody workhouse! And now this old know-all of a doctor telling him what he should and shouldn’t do with Annie in bed. Huh! Chance would be a fine thing these days. If she wasn’t having a child or feeding a child or bleeding or moaning about being tired or sighing
over that poor little imbecile whose life had fortunately been snuffed out – God! Here he was at thirty-four, in the prime of his life and stuck with this lot. He could hardly be blamed for sometimes accepting what was on offer elsewhere . . .

  Mabel’s days were now filled with housework, running errands, going to school and escorting younger children to and from Hallam Road with her – and always hurrying back to her darling baby, her little Daisy, a dark-haired little thing who cried a lot but always responded to Mabel’s soothing voice and touch. The first word she spoke was not ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ but ‘Maby’, accompanied by a broad smile and holding out her little arms to be lifted up.

  ‘I loves ’oo, Maby – I loves ’oo!’

  Albert too was a favourite with his youngest sister and would pull comical faces to make her laugh. One of his tricks was to get under the table and then pretend to bang his head on it. Out he would come on his hands and knees, loudly boo-hooing and rubbing his head, which made the little girl shout with laughter and beg him to ‘Do it again, Alby!’

  ‘Nice to be appreciated.’ He grinned at Mabel who was glad to see him in a good humour. A lot of his time was spent out with other boys who found ways and means of making a sixpence or two. One way was by discreetly taking scrawled notes from back doors and bringing them to Jack Court with small sums of money. ‘Running messages’ they called it and Jack gave a warning frown if they ever opened their mouths.

  It was during Daisy’s first year that Mabel found an opportunity to ask her mother about something that had long been on her mind. They were in the kitchen together. ‘Mum,’ she began, ‘yer told me I was named after yer mother.’

  Annie stiffened slightly. ‘Yes.’