Dolly's War

by Dorothy Scannell

  In the midst of this plotting other mysterious happenings took place next door. The man was never at work and, having obtained a gun from somewhere he would spend all day long fashioning a bullet for it, then he would dash into the garden and fire this bullet up into the air. He ‘found’ a stopwatch and every morning he would stand at his bedroom window, curtains drawn back, and time all his neighbours on their way to the city.

  All this would have terrified me, but Olive became dangerously calm. She was determined to recover her stolen goods. It was in the midst of her campaign that we received notice to leave our flat, so we four clubbed together and bought a house at Forest Gate. The last I heard of Olive’s eccentric neighbour was a report that he was in hospital. He had taken to walking about his house, clad only in a shift, in full view of the passing populace (being English though, the neighbours simply sailed past with their heads averted) and whilst following one of his favourite pastimes, that of amorously chasing his yelling wife, a heavy door had slammed on him with disastrous consequences. His absence from home whilst at the casualty department of the local hospital was Olive’s long-sought-after opportunity to recover her possessions.

  The purchase of our house at Forest Gate was the speediest legal transaction ever known. We were the first customers at a new building society which had opened at Stratford. The owner’s solicitor acted for both sides in the transaction and Olive and I never saw him for the deal was concluded between Chas, Rob and the solicitor at the buffet counter at Liverpool Street station. They were told the solicitor would be there waving a red spotted handkerchief, and money and deeds were passed over in a surreptitious Fanny-by-Gaslight manner. My father, and also Chas’s father were very worried about it all and for some time Olive and I wouldn’t have been surprised if some mysterious caller had visited us with the statement that we were trespassers, especially as Chas said the solicitor looked like a ghost, very thin with sunken eyes, a bald skull-like pate, and a sepulchral voice. I am glad Chas went to this legal appointment instead of me for it had almost been decided that I would be, with Rob, the joint owner of the house as Chas couldn’t always get time off from his restaurant to carry on the negotiations.

  Then my mother would have been worried for, confusing the issue slightly, she always felt because I trusted ‘strangers’ I might one day be the victim of the ‘white slave traffic’. When I dismissed her fears as utter stupidity my father would wink and say, ‘Those old Sultans would give a lot of money for a girl with white skin like yours,’ then he would add, ‘They’d make you keep a veil over your face, of course.’ This always sent my brother David off into his thunder-like laugh, and I would flinch and ponder how my parents had not only kept their sanity but also their sense of humour with ten noisy lively offspring. My father always seemed to be trying to relax in his home-made barrel chair, my mother quietly sewing by his side. I often thought they should, like two little fairies, creep away from the noisy scenes they had so innocently created. They never complained of our noise, indeed my father thought all men should live their own lives and indeed he criticised no man (politicians excepted, and then only their policies, not their way of life). My mother was proud of her large family and possibly did not see it as the noisy writhing mass of which I was part. My father probably kept sane by having the gift of being able to stand aloof from it all and live his own life. I think the size of his family shocked him, I felt he suspected he had been ‘conned’ by love in some way. Love in the shape of Mother and in some secret way he ‘blamed’ her for his ‘surrender’. Yet Mother with her calm grey eyes would look any man in the eye without that secret ‘come hither’ look that a willing male could recognise. I often wondered if his home-made truss, which Mother obstinately insisted ‘Dad didn’t need’, was not a symbolic chastity-belt, a monk’s-hood of his own weaving. Ten children were enough.

  Our time at Forest Gate was to be a brief sojourn, although at the time of our holiday in Jersey, with Rob and Olive, we were unaware of the forthcoming break-up of our happy foursome. We were very excited because it was our first trip abroad. Well, for three of us; Chas had spent a marvellous holiday in Germany with the Rover Scouts of Poplar before we were married and before I knew him. It had been the holiday of his life, the warm welcome of the German people, appetising food, and he would tell me of the beauty of the Hartz mountains where he had met a very strange man who had insisted on telling Chas all about a man named Hitler who would change many lives, including Chas’s! I think this man frightened Chas who thought him crazy.

  The crossing to Jersey was extremely rough. I loved this and stayed on deck revelling in the stormy sea while the rest of the party turned green and retired to a cabin. However, we had a lovely hotel at St Helier with superb food. There were lots of other young couples there and Olive and I looked forward to a happy social time, but Chas and Rob made friends with two elderly bachelors from Bow. They were ‘Brothers of Elim’ and wore badges to prove it. I think they had been tram-drivers, but were now retired. They were very happy to be with us but insisted on calling Olive and me ‘the females’. So it was, ‘Perhaps the females would like a picnic?’ or ‘What do the females feel?’ and ‘I am sure the females would like to share the last tomato.’ They wore dark suits with waistcoats over their pullovers, even though there was a heatwave on at the time, with white plimsolls, and they wore their hair like the singing barbers in the old American beer-halls, parted in the middle, with shiny waxed quiffs laying athwart their foreheads like varnished oyster-shells. Olive and I thought them very dull indeed and gazed enviously at the other young couples who had joined into jolly sociable crowds and whirled every night round the dance-floor. Our Brothers of Elim probably thought dancing and drinking the pleasures of the devil; we could tell that by the way they said ‘females’.

  That was until the night the Brothers decided to repay ‘our’ kindness by inviting us to their room for a ‘little’ drink. My dear husband rarely imbibed but the Brothers had obtained so many and varied bottles of the demon drink that Chas really fell in love with the champagne (later insisting he had only been ‘polite’), and when we left the Brothers’ room in the early hours of the morning we all felt very strange indeed. Chas had really had one over the eight. He had lost our room key on the way. It was too late, or too early, to wake up the hotel staff and Olive said we should have to share their room. Rob had already fallen into bed, and we thought, a deep coma. Olive suggested she and I creep into the bottom of the bed and Chas could take Olive’s normal place next to Rob. This we did with much giggling, but when the light was out, up jumped Rob. Switching on the light he glared furiously at Chas and shouted in a dramatic voice, ‘What man dares invade my marital couch?’ He then pulled the clothes off Chas and shouted, ‘Out, out, out.’ This woke little Geoffrey (I had already fallen out of Rob’s bed with fright at his Shakespearean act), who looked delighted and said, ‘Oh, goody, Uncle Charlie has come to play with me.’ Olive, realising that Rob was, to say the least of it, getting very bad-tempered, his jolly party feeling having suddenly left him, grabbed little Geoffrey, snuggled down with him next to Rob and switched off the light. This sudden quiet and darkness was quite frightening; the room was strange and I was afraid whilst feeling about for Geoffrey’s bed, which Chas and I would have to try to share, I might start getting into Rob’s bed and goodness knows what he would do then. His attitude had been one of outraged dignity and anger at our presence, as though we were invading enemies, not his dear relatives needing a place to rest our heads.

  A sudden groan from the corner of the room guided me to my couch for the night. My eyes, now a little used to the darkness, made out a nude figure on this single bed. Good grief, Chas was lying flat on the bed, arms and legs stretched out, he had not even left six inches of space anywhere into which I could crawl until dawn broke. First I tried to get his singlet on but he seemed so heavy and stiff that I couldn’t even get it over his head and each time I tried unearthly groaning emanated from him. I search
ed around on the floor in the dark to find the covers but each time I threw these over him he cast them off. I knelt by his bed for ages, trying to keep him covered for I was so worried for Olive in the morning. It might spoil her holiday had she viewed my husband not only in his birthday-suit but in so very abandoned a posture. I crouched on the floor replacing the covers like an automaton; my head ached, I felt sick, and a deadly hatred for my spouse overcame me. Three human beings were snoring away in that room; I had drunk less than any of them and I felt more than hardly done by. Chas always led people to believe he was the business-like partner, me irresponsible and even scatter-brained, always losing important documents and the like, yet he had lost our key, he had put me in this embarrassing situation with his brother. If I could have noiselessly punched my darling I would have done so willingly and enjoyably, but he even groaned like a cow in labour when I threw the covers lightly over him. Suddenly he moved his position and I squeezed into the few inches of space on the edge of the bed, intending to stay awake so that Olive’s first morning glance would be at two shrouded figures.

  But, as so often happened with me, a few hours after a good intention has been sincerely promised, all memory of it becomes erased from my mind, and I awoke to blazing sunshine and the sight of a yellow dragon on a blue silk cloth. Olive had woken at the maid’s knocking with the morning tea, forgotten, for a moment, all the events of the preceding night and glancing at Geoffrey’s bed nearly froze with shock for Chas and I were lying two nude abandoned figures, my petticoat having in some mysterious way transformed itself into a neck scarf. Olive had scrambled out of bed, thrown on her Japanese kimono and was holding her arms in their wide sleeves stretched out in a yawn above us as the maid came in. I dressed a dazed and headachey Chas and as I put his jacket round his shoulders, out fell the key to our room!

  Olive was the most marvellous person to have around at times of crises. She was dark, slim, agile, and calm, and it was difficult sometimes to know what she felt or thought because, an entirely opposite character to me, she didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve. What we had in common was a sense of humour. Like me she didn’t laugh out loud, or long, or much, but the same funny situation would strike us both instantly, and her funny little squeak in the throat would amuse me too. She was very tolerant of the rest of us on that holiday for not only had she helped over Chas’s night of inebriation, but at his apology had insisted she had noticed nothing untoward in his behaviour or demeanour, so that knowing she was looking forward so much to the weekly fancy-dress dances at the hotel, we really ought to have been more co-operative about it.

  Oh yes, we all decided we would enter; not only were the prizes marvellous but there was a special prize for the entrant whose identity remained a mystery to the rest of the guests. Robin, intellectual and serious, wanted a dignified costume to match his character. Because I was plain and homely I wanted a glamorous costume and, much to Chas’s disgust, I was eager for a tutu or a slave costume with split georgette trouser-legs, lots of bangles, a bare midriff and golden brassiere separated in two. Chas, who was shy about the whole affair, would have been quite happy in his waiter’s uniform. By the time we had all made our choice all the glamorous costumes had gone from the fancy-dress shop. Rob refused any of the ordinary ones left and Chas felt it a good opportunity to stay in civvies as company for Rob. I refused to go as a witch or Dick Whittington and Olive casually chose my rejected Dick. We all told her she was wasting her time but she just smiled.

  It was a marvellous party with many fabulous costumes and ‘Ghandi’ was there, mystifying everyone. All the evening before the parade people were trying to guess the identity of the little dark man who looked so much like Ghandi. It was uncanny. Several people, after many drinks, insisted it was Ghandi himself. We assumed Olive had thought better of going in for the parade for just before it started she was missing, but towards the end of the march past came Dick Whittington and his cat. A real live cat was following Olive at her heels, he never left her, and the applause was so great she won first prize. She told us her secret afterwards. She had obtained a fish which she wrapped up in her Dick Whittington bundle, shown it to the hotel cat, then kept her bundle on the stick within a few feet of his nose.

  Little Geoffrey won the prize for guessing the mystery man, much to the mystery guest’s annoyance. Rob had gone upstairs and as Geoffrey had been awake had brought him down to see the parade. On catching sight of Ghandi, Geoffrey had yelled, ‘Hallo, Mr Pyjama Man.’ Mr Pyjama Man was Geoffrey’s name for one of the guests to whom he had taken a fancy. He would say good morning to this young man and his wife and had given him this nickname because of his club blazer which was pale and striped. The young man had shaved his head and his wife, an actress, had made him up professionally and had absented herself from the ballroom so that she wouldn’t be seen husbandless which might have given the game away. She was annoyed too, because she had been boasting that as an experienced actress, with make-up, she could disguise anyone.

  The following week, Olive, fired by her success as Dick, went as a pirate, with bare legs and feet, torn tight breeches, scarred face (with amateur make-up) and a knife between her teeth. With her slim boyish figure, her agility with such marvellous piratical leaps, no one guessed her identity. This was really heaping coals of fire on the heads of Mr Pyjama Man and his wife who for the rest of our stay were a little cool and distant, although little Geoffrey seemed not to notice and always bade them a cheery ‘Good morning’. The trouble was that he was absolutely fascinated, having discovered that Ghandi was toothless and was always requesting his friend to ‘do it again and have just gums’.

  Sadly, however, I went down with sunstroke and got ticked off by the doctor, but since I had spent the holiday wrapped up like a cocoon out of the sun as my red hair made me prone to sunstroke, I thought him extremely unfair.

  On our return from Jersey, Rob’s firm offered him a grocery business, on which they had been losing money, and Rob, feeling he and Olive could make something of this opportunity, accepted, and soon after our return they left Forest Gate. They worked, indeed slaved, in this business and the following Christmas we went to stay with them. On the Christmas tree was an envelope addressed to ‘Charlie and Dorothy’. It was a gift to us of their half of the house at Forest Gate!

  Chapter 4

  Just the Job

  My youngest sister, Marjorie, my mother’s tenth and youngest child, was now to be married to her Alfred. They had been busy searching for a flat so that although we were sad when Chas’s family moved, it meant there was. an empty flat for Marjorie at Forest Gate. Everything went so smoothly for her wedding that I was a little envious and she looked so pretty too in her white classical gown with four bridesmaids in diaphanous spring green. I wore a dark purple suit with a grey crepe-de-Chine blouse which had stitched collars and cuffs and in a Jewish hat shop in the Mile End Road they made me a little grey hat the same colour as the blouse. They really were clever those Jewish hat-designers, for not having a ‘hat-face’ I had never possessed a hat which looked even passable, but this one really did do something for me. Enhancement was too mild a word for this miracle, and the grey with the purple suited my auburn colouring. I knew I looked really stunning for on my arrival at the church my fashion-plate sister, Amy, eyed me up and down and announced, ‘The suit’s too small for you, Dolly, but I will buy it from you.’ In a warm sisterly mood I said, half-believing that my figure ‘showed’ too much, ‘Thanks, I’ll let you have it,’ which I did, but with her dark skin somehow it never really looked anything again but an ordinary suit. But it was my own fault for not believing the rest of the family when they said, ‘Dolly, you look marvellous.’

  The reception was held in the Institute of All Saints Church and we had dancing and games and Marjorie’s wedding was voted ‘the wedding’ of the family. Certainly I enjoyed it much better than any of the other weddings we had had, including my own. Secretly I wished Marjorie a smoother honeymoon than I had experienc
ed and she came back brown and happy but confided in me that her honeymoon night was a little frightening for she thought she had been ‘wounded’ and her panic scared her bridegroom so much he lit his pipe to try to keep calm, but somehow got the bowl of the pipe upside down and set fire to the bedroom carpet.

  Since the disaster of my own honeymoon we had decided that birth control was not for us, we were not clever enough to manage this scientific non-arrival paraphernalia, and had philosophically decided to let nature take its course. Well nature had decided to laugh at us for no babies wanted to be parented by Chas and Dorothy. I was a little miserable about this for I began to look at all the lovely babies in their prams and wonder what ours would be like if ever we were fortunate enough to manage such a miracle. At the same time I felt that I wouldn’t like my baby’s father to be a waiter and work for such long and arduous hours. I tackled Chas about this and he said of course he would like another job, but was terrified of being unemployed and in any case jobs were still difficult to obtain in the late 1930s. I thought he had no adventure in his soul and although I nagged him about it constantly it did no good. Therefore I began to scheme for the future, and decided if jobs were scarce in shipping, for which Chas had the necessary qualifications, I must think further afield for another ‘respectable’ job. One evening the Prudential agent called with the District Manager canvassing for business and I enquired as to the prospects of an agent’s position. ‘Oh,’ said the District Manager, looking at Chas’s occupation on the new endowment form, ‘waiter’. ‘Our agents have to have a good education, a smart appearance, be clever with figures, and be able to sell insurance and advise people about savings.’ Because he had touched my pride on the raw, over-sensitive I assumed that a waiter was not considered a man of education. I wrote to the Prudential, in my best handwriting, and signed the letter ‘Charles W. Scannell’. I said nothing to Chas for I knew it would worry him, and then THE FORMS came. I filled them in with beautiful printing and writing, telling a few white lies as to education and I believe I made him a supervisor at his restaurant. A week later came an epistle inviting Chas to an interview and a written examination. If he was accepted, then a stringent medical examination would follow.