A Mother's Promise

by Dilly Court

  Hetty nibbled at her slice of bread as she watched Eddie swallow the last crumb of his food, and, despite his missing teeth, Sammy was not far behind. They were eyeing the remaining half of the loaf like a pair of hungry wolf cubs, but that was for their dinner, and must not be touched until at least midday. Hetty tore what was left of her slice in half and gave it to them. ‘Eat slowly and it will fill you up more.’ She turned to Jane, who was standing so close to the fire that her skirt was steaming. ‘Has the kettle boiled yet?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘Not quite. We’re in desperate need of some more kindling and coal. We need matches and candles and goodness knows how we’re going to find the rent on Saturday.’

  Hetty glanced anxiously at Sammy as she heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy. Jane and me will sort it out. If we can make three gross of matchboxes today, we’ll have a fish and chip supper.’

  Sammy beamed at her. ‘Really, Hetty? Is that a promise?’

  ‘Cross me heart and hope to die.’ Hetty made the sign of the cross on her chest. ‘Before we start work, you two take the bucket to the pump and get us some water.’

  ‘Aw, do I have to?’ Sammy groaned.

  ‘Yes, you do. Or there won’t be any fish supper for you, my lad.’

  ‘Come on then, Eddie.’ Sammy slid off his stool. ‘You get the bucket. I’ll open the door.’

  Hetty watched them through the cracked windowpanes as they ran up the area steps. She could hear their childish laughter and yet again she was amazed by their resilience. The last few months had been truly terrible with their mother’s dreadful suffering and subsequent agonising death. Money had been so tight that they had come close to being evicted from their one-room home. If she had not pleaded with the landlord, they would all have been out on the street or, worse still, in the workhouse. Hetty shuddered at the mere thought. Things were a little better now, although not much. They had borrowed money from Cyrus Clench, the tallyman, in order to pay for Ma’s simple funeral and it would take months, if not years, to pay it all off.

  Jane popped the last morsel of bread into her mouth. ‘Put what’s left of the loaf out of sight, Hetty. I’m still so hungry that I could eat the lot.’

  ‘The kettle’s boiling. You make a brew and I’ll wrap the bread to keep it fresh. If we all work hard we should be able to earn sixpence three farthings today.’

  Jane spooned tea into a chipped brown china teapot. ‘This is the last of it, and these leaves have been used so many times I could read newspaper print through each one. They won’t do another brew and that’s for certain.’

  ‘One day I’ll buy me tea by the pound,’ Hetty said, closing her eyes to shut out the cracked windowpanes, the fungus growing out of the brickwork and the worm-eaten beams above her head. ‘I’ll never use the leaves more than twice and if I wants two slices of bread for me breakfast, then two slices I shall have.’

  ‘And jam every day,’ Jane added wistfully. ‘And cake on Sundays. I can’t remember the last time we had cake.’

  ‘I had jelly once, at Gran’s house,’ Hetty mused. ‘Strawberry jelly. I never tasted nothing like it before or since.’

  ‘Well Granny Huggins don’t want nothing to do with us since Pa died, she made that plain, and she never even come to see Ma when she knew she was dying, so I’d rather you didn’t talk about her.’ Jane shook out her damp skirts. ‘Anyway, there’s no point going on about strawberry jelly and such; just the thought of it is making me feel faint from lack of nourishment. We’d best get started or we’ll not earn a penny today, and the tallyman will be round tomorrow for his money. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I ain’t likely to forget him, the dirty old man.’ Hetty shuddered; she had come to dread Clench’s regular Friday morning visit to collect the next instalment on the loan. He never failed to make suggestive remarks and he had a nasty way of licking his lips as he stared at her breasts. She sighed and wrapped the loaf in the brown paper bag and placed it on the top shelf of the crudely fashioned dresser. Her pa had made that piece of furniture with his own hands soon after he and Ma were married, or so Ma had told them. A real labour of love, she had called it. It didn’t matter that the shelves weren’t quite straight and things slid to the end, or that the doors didn’t fit exactly and often swung open on their rusty hinges. Ma always said it was the damp in the basement that had caused these things to happen; it wasn’t a reflection on her Samuel’s craftsmanship, because he was a perfectionist.

  Hetty brushed the crumbs from the table and began setting out the makings of the matchboxes, just as Sammy and Eddie came clattering down the steps to the front door carrying the bucket between them and no doubt spilling most of it on the ground. She cast a warning look at Jane. ‘Don’t say nothing in front of the nippers.’

  ‘As if I would. I ain’t daft, Hetty.’

  ‘No, far from it, but you forget sometimes that little pitchers have big ears.’

  Before Jane had time to reply, Sammy and Eddie burst through the door, slopping water on the flagstones.

  ‘Right!’ Hetty said briskly. ‘The sooner we get down to it, the sooner we can have that fish supper.’

  They worked all day, squinting in the poor light at the tiny matchboxes that they worked on so painstakingly, each one handcrafted to exact specifications. Hetty couldn’t help noticing that Sammy held the work very close to his eyes and he often complained of headaches. She feared that the close work was making him nearsighted, but there was no way they could afford to have his eyes tested by a specialist, and, even if they did, there was no money for the purchase of spectacles. Perhaps it was just a growing thing. She had heard women talking in the queues outside the factory and they mentioned mysterious things like ‘growing pains’ and strange afflictions that might or might not disappear with the onset of puberty. So many infants died before they reached their first birthday that tiny coffins were as commonplace in East London as chocolate boxes were up West.

  They stopped for a dinner break at midday. Even though she scraped the margarine on the bread, there was only enough for two slices and Hetty gave those to Sammy and Eddie. She and Jane ate theirs dry, washing it down with cold tea. The fire had long since gone out and they had run out of coal and kindling. It was dark by mid-afternoon and the rain had turned to snow. Huge white flakes fell like feathers from a burst pillow, floating past the window and dissolving almost immediately on the wet ground. Sammy and Eddie were hugely excited and ran to the window to squash their noses against the grimy panes, begging to be allowed outside to play.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, but you ain’t going out there to get soaked to the skin and catch your deaths of cold,’ Hetty said severely, even though she longed to let her brothers snatch back a little of their childhood. She could see them growing old before their time, but they had to fulfil their quota or there would be no payout at the factory this evening.

  ‘Aw, go on, Hetty,’ Sammy pleaded. ‘Just a bit of a play in the snow afore it melts into slush, please.’

  Jane cast Hetty a meaningful look, shaking her head. ‘Don’t let them.’

  ‘No, you must sit down and finish your work,’ Hetty said firmly. ‘Maybe later, when we’ve finished the boxes, you can come to the factory with me to deliver them. If the snow is still around then you can have a play in it.’

  Reluctantly, Sammy left the window and went slowly back to his place at the table. ‘Don’t forget you promised us a fish supper, Hetty.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, love. I won’t forget.’

  At seven o’clock that evening Hetty and Jane were back in the queue outside the factory, but this time they had Sammy and Eddie with them and they were delivering the finished matchboxes. They had to wait for them to be checked and counted, and then they were given a chitty to take to the pay office, where they had to queue yet again to collect their hard-earned sixpence three farthings. The snow was falling heavily when they finally left the factory gates. It swirled around them in a dizzy dance,
blotting out the harsh outlines of the buildings and softening the unremitting greyness of the pavements. Sammy and Eddie made snowballs, throwing them at each other and laughing gleefully. Hetty and Jane stopped for a moment, chuckling at their antics.

  ‘I’m off then,’ Jane said, brushing the snowflakes from her face.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Hetty stared at her in disbelief. ‘What about the fish supper?’

  ‘You know I promised to meet Nat outside the gasworks. You can keep me a bit of supper, although, if I’m lucky, he might take me to the pub for a pie and a glass of port and lemon.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would go,’ Hetty said, hunching her shoulders. ‘I thought you said . . .’

  ‘Never mind what I said. I’m going and that’s that.’ Jane started to walk away but Hetty caught her by the sleeve.

  ‘Hold on, Jane. What would Ma say if she knew you was going off to meet a fellow all on your own?’

  ‘It don’t matter, because she ain’t here.’ Jane shook off Hetty’s restraining hand. ‘We got to look out for ourselves now, Hetty. I have a good time with Nat, and he’s been sweet on me for ages. As far as I can see, the only way you and I have of getting out of this miserable way of life is to find ourselves a husband.’

  ‘You’re only just sixteen, Jane. That’s far too young to think about getting hitched.’

  ‘Ma was sixteen when she married Pa.’

  ‘That was different. Pa had good prospects at the match factory until he fell sick with lung fever. If you married Nat you’d have to get by on a labourer’s wage. You could do so much better, love.’ Hetty blinked away a snowflake as it landed on her eyelashes, but the chill was in her stomach as she thought of the risk that Jane was prepared to take.

  ‘You need to live in the real world, Hetty. There ain’t no knight in shining armour going to ride his white charger down Autumn Road to sweep you off your feet, nor me neither. We got to settle for what we can get, and if I can persuade Nathaniel Smith to marry me, then I’ll be more than satisfied.’

  ‘But – but he’s cross-eyed, Jane. Sometimes when he’s looking at you, both his eyes meet in the middle.’

  Jane tossed her head. ‘Well at least that stops his gaze wandering off and eyeing up other girls. I never said he was handsome, and maybe he ain’t clever, but he’s got a steady job and he’s a hard worker. If I can get him to the altar he’ll look after the lot of us, you and the boys included. Anyway, you’re wrong, Hetty. I do love him in me own way. I really do.’

  Hetty stared at her young brothers gambolling in the snow. She would have to rub Eddie’s chest with goose grease tonight before she put him to bed, or by morning he would be running a temperature. She turned back to answer Jane but was just in time to see her disappear into a swirling mass of snow. She sighed. Well, it was Jane’s life when all was said and done, but if Nat proved to be a bad choice she would have a lifetime of regret stretching out in front of her. ‘Come on, boys. Stop that now and let’s get to the shop to buy the things we need.’

  Sammy dropped his snowball onto the pavement. ‘And our fish supper.’

  ‘That too,’ Hetty said, smiling. A snowball, thrown by Eddie with deadly accuracy, hit her squarely in the face. ‘Why, you little . . .’ Half angry, half laughing, she wiped the melting ice from her eyes. ‘Right, you little monster. You’ve asked for it.’ She bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. Forming it into a ball, she tossed it at Eddie who screamed and ran away. Sammy responded by pelting Hetty with snowballs, and Eddie joined in, shouting gleefully. Hetty forgot all about being grown-up and sensible as she fought back, laughing and shrieking as loud as or even louder than her brothers.

  ‘Hey! Two on to one – that’s not fair.’ Tom came striding towards them out of the darkness. He scooped up handfuls of snow and made a huge snowball.

  ‘You wouldn’t . . .’ Sammy murmured, backing away.

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’ Tom lobbed it at them, but the snowball hit a lamppost, fragmented and fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Hetty pitched a snowball at Tom, catching him squarely on the back of his head and tipping his cap over his eyes. ‘Got you, Tom. That one’s for me brothers.’

  He spun round and caught her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. ‘Here, I was on your side.’

  A snowball hit him on the head and another clipped his ear, knocking his cap to the ground.

  ‘You see what happens when you take on the Huggins family,’ Hetty said, laughing.

  He bent down to retrieve his cap. ‘Fainites!’ he said, holding up his right hand and crossing his fingers. ‘I’ll go quietly.’

  Sammy and Eddie pounced on him, grabbing his hands. ‘We got him for you, Hetty. What shall us do with him now?’

  Hetty angled her head. ‘I think he should carry the bag of coal for us, for a start, and the kindling.’

  ‘You’re a hard woman, Hetty, but I know when I’m beaten. I’ll pay my penance, gladly. But on one condition.’

  ‘And what’s that, Tom?’

  ‘That you let me buy you a fish supper at Greasy Joe’s.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Sammy tugged at Tom’s hand. ‘And some wallies, please, Tom.’

  ‘I think I can run to a wally or two.’

  Eddie pulled Tom’s other hand. ‘How about a pickled egg?’

  ‘Maybe, but only if you’re a good boy and do everything your sister says.’

  Sammy and Eddie whooped for joy and bounded on ahead as Tom linked Hetty’s hand through the crook of his elbow and started off in the direction of the grocer’s shop.

  ‘You spoil them,’ she said with mock severity. ‘But thanks anyway.’ Hetty knew that she ought to have refused his generous offer, but the thought of saving a few pennies was too tempting. She would be able to give Clench a little extra when he called next day. The sooner they paid him off the better. She smiled up at Tom. Although he was only just twenty-one, two years her senior, he had been labouring at the gasworks for more than seven years, and if she was being honest, she had to admit that he had matured into quite a good-looking young man. Any girl would be proud to be seen out with such a fellow.

  The interior of Greasy Joe’s café was filled with steam and the slightly rancid odour of hot fat mixed with the wet sheep smell of damp woollen clothes drying out in the fuggy heat. The other customers, all working men who had just come off shift in the gasworks or the carbolic acid factory on the banks of the River Lea, sat smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and drinking tea. Hetty prepared to queue at the counter, but Tom directed them to a bench, insisting that it was his treat and he had no intention of standing outside in the snow eating his supper from yesterday’s newspaper. Sammy and Eddie took their places at one of the wooden tables, staring around wide-eyed. Hetty hid a smile as she watched them sitting primly on the form, unusually silent, as they absorbed their unfamiliar surroundings. She could not remember the last time she had sat down to eat in a café. Greasy Joe’s might not be grand like the chop houses and restaurants up West that she had read about in old copies of magazines, but at least it was warm and cosy in here, and tonight for once they would go to bed with full bellies.

  Tom threaded his way between the tables holding an enamel plate in his hand. He set it down in front of Sammy and Eddie. ‘Here, boys. Get your choppers round them for a start. The fish suppers won’t be long.’

  Sammy grabbed the largest wally and bit into the sweet pickled cucumber with an expression of bliss on his face. Eddie snatched another and crammed it into his mouth.

  ‘Steady on,’ Hetty said sternly. ‘You’ll get bellyache if you gobble your food.’

  ‘Let them be. They’re enjoying themselves,’ Tom said, taking a seat beside Hetty. ‘This is most pleasant. We should do it more often.’

  Hetty eyed him suspiciously. ‘What d’you mean by that, Tom? I ain’t a charity case, you know. I was going to buy us a fish supper tonight even if you hadn’t offered. I can pay me way.’
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  ‘Don’t get all huffy with me, girl. No offence intended. I just meant it was nice to have your company, and maybe we could step out together, proper like.’

  Sammy paused with a wally halfway to his lips, scowling. ‘Are you spooning with me sister, Tom?’

  ‘Of course not, silly,’ Hetty said hastily. ‘Look, our supper’s ready.’ She half rose, intending to go to the counter to collect the food, but Tom pressed her back onto her seat.

  ‘No, you sit there like a lady. I’ll get the grub.’

  Hetty watched him with a feeling of unease as he returned to the counter. She was fond of Tom, but she had no intention of getting tied up with a bloke, not yet anyway. She had ambition and it didn’t involve getting hitched at nineteen and being saddled with a baby every year. She wanted something better out of life than the back-breaking daily grind suffered by her poor dead mother. She hadn’t worked out how she would achieve her ambition, but there must be something she could do that would earn good money. The solution to all their problems would come to her one day, of that she was certain.

  When Sammy and Eddie were so intent on stuffing fish and chips that the roof could have blown off without their noticing it, she turned to Tom, speaking in a low voice. ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, just because I let you buy us supper.’

  His smile faded into a puzzled frown. ‘I ain’t sure I get your meaning, Hetty.’

  She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Oh, Tom. We’re good friends and always have been. I want it to stay that way.’

  ‘And I do too, ducks. But that don’t mean to say we can’t be better than friends.’

  ‘That’s just it. I don’t need any complications in my life. I got a family to raise and a living to earn.’ She laid her finger on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘No, hear me out. I got plans, Tom. Plans for a better future, and they don’t include romance – at least not yet.’