Lou leant across and whispered to Babs, ‘It’s yer dad, ain’t it? I thought yer said he’d gone down the Aberdeen ’cos Jim had shouted at him.’
‘They must have chucked him out and all.’ Babs bowed her head. ‘This is turning out to be a right night, innit?’
Percy took Babs’s hand in his. ‘Don’t worry. Yer dad’ll be all right.’
‘It ain’t just him.’ Babs looked nervously towards the door where Georgie was still wrestling with the blackout material. ‘It’s Evie and all. I dunno what’s got into her, the way she was acting.’
Chalkie butted in. ‘Ain’t it obvious? It’s that ugly brute Albie Denham. Right fancies yer, he does.’
Babs looked appalled.
Lou shoved Chalkie in the chest. ‘Why don’t you shut up? Yer getting right on my nerves, you.’
‘I’m gonna get some more drinks,’ snapped Chalkie. He stood up and went storming over to the bar. He was closely followed by Georgie who, having finally fought his way inside, had come stumbling in, almost dragging the curtain down from its pole.
‘Hello, Ringer,’ said Nellie. When she saw that her husband was about to say something to him, she nodded over towards Babs and shook her head. ‘It’s all right, Jim, I’ll deal with this.’ She handed Georgie his usual pint of half and half. ‘Thought yer’d deserted us. Where yer been?’
Georgie took a deep swig of the foaming beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Down that Aberdeen, but couldn’t stand it in there. Yer should have heard ’em all going on about all the bloody heroes going off to war. Dunno what all the fuss is about. London’s as safe as houses and they’re all acting like a right load o’ nancies fretting and fussing about invasions and gas and gawd knows what else. But just look at all them barrage balloons.’ Georgie waved his arm vaguely in the direction of the Gents. ‘And the ack-ack guns and everything. All over the place, they are. Even if he was interested in us, Hitler wouldn’t stand a chance with that lot. I mean—’
‘Two pints of best,’ Chalkie said loudly, leaning across the bar, ‘and two port and lemons.’
‘Oi!’ Georgie tried to focus on Chalkie as he spun round to confront him. ‘I was talking, if yer don’t mind.’
‘And I was ordering a round.’
‘Just ’cos yer in uniform, it don’t impress me, son.’
‘I’ll have to get Dad home,’ said Babs and went to stand up.
Percy stopped her. ‘I’ll go,’ he said with a sigh.
Lou patted Babs’s arm. ‘You stay here with me.’
‘All right, Mr Bell?’ Percy smiled at Nellie who smiled gratefully in reply.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘It’s me, Percy Bennett. Didn’t yer recognise me, all grown up in me uniform?’
The smile disappeared from Nellie’s face. ‘Yer said the wrong thing there, Perce,’ she said and went to the other end of the bar to serve a customer. ‘You keep an eye on them lot,’ she said to her husband, jerking her head towards Georgie and the two young soldiers.
‘Thanks,’ said Jim.
‘Uniform? I’ll tell yer about uniforms.’ George’s words might have been slurred but the menace in his voice was all too clear.
‘What do you know?’ Chalkie jeered. ‘Yer ain’t even in the bloody Civil Defence. Even old Frankie Morgan’s doing something.’
‘You saying I’m too scared to do me bit?’
Chalkie took another gulp of his beer. ‘You work it out for yerself.’
‘Listen here, son.’ Georgie poked Chalkie on the shoulder. ‘I was in the Great War.’
‘Aw yeah?’
‘Yeah, only a kid I was but I did my bit driving down the docks.’
‘Aw, pardon me, right bloody hero,’ Chalkie sneered.
Percy went to take Georgie’s arm but he was having none of it. ‘Leave me be,’ he roared, ‘while I tell this snotty-nosed kid about heroes.’ Georgie was swaying alarmingly. ‘My mate Ron, who I used to work with, he was a hero. Went off to Spain, he did, to fight with that International Brigade lot. What a brave feller, everyone said. Fat lot of good it did him. Lost a leg out there and when he come home he’d lost his wife and his job and all.’
‘Least he could say he’d done something.’ Chalkie finished off his drink and slammed his glass down on the counter. ‘Yer lost yer wife and yer job and all. So what was your excuse?’
‘You little …’ Georgie pulled his fist back as though about to land a right cross to Chalkie’s jaw, but Percy grabbed him and pushed him forward, sending glasses flying across the floor.
‘That’s it.’ Jim lifted the flap in the counter and stepped round the other side of the bar. ‘That’s enough.’ He grabbed Georgie by the collar of his jacket. ‘I’ve had enough of yer, Ringer, yer making a right fool of yerself.’ Nellie joined her husband. ‘Don’t start, Jim, yer know young Babs is over there.’
Jim looked at Georgie disgustedly. ‘I dunno how them girls put up with yer. If I was lucky enough to have kids …’
A fat, self-pitying tear dropped onto Georgie’s cheek.
‘For gawd’s sake.’ Jim pulled a red-spotted handkerchief from his trouser pocket. ‘Pull yerself together, man.’
Babs bowed her head in humiliation.
Lou beckoned to Percy and then touched Babs gently on the shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘Sorry about the glasses, Jim,’ said Percy, taking a half-crown out of his trouser pocket. ‘Will this be enough?’
‘Don’t worry, son,’ said Nellie. ‘You just look after Babs.’
Percy nodded his thanks and goodbyes to Jim and Nellie and, taking Chalkie by the arm, guided him towards the door. ‘We’ll have one over the Railway,’ he said and ruffled his mate’s hair affectionately.
Georgie was unable to resist getting in the final word. ‘I wouldn’t waste me time going over there,’ he slurred. ‘Beer’s like piss over there.’
‘Yer mean you was barred from there, don’t yer?’ Jim said with a weary shake of his head.
Nellie went over and said goodnight to Babs, Lou and the boys, assuring them that it was all nothing, and closed the door behind them.
Then she went back behind the bar and poured herself a straight gin which she drank down in one, throat-burning hit. ‘Yer know. Ringer,’ she said, ‘it really beats me. Yer’ve got two smashing girls there, and like my Jim said, we should all be that lucky. And what do you do? Act like a bloody fool, that’s what. And what d’you have to start on them boys for, eh? Tell me that? Off to bloody training camp in a couple o’ days and then off to gawd alone knows where. Why d’you have to go on at ’em like that?’
Georgie looked round at all the stern faces in the bar. ‘It ain’t my fault.’ He looked and sounded pathetic. ‘If Violet hadn’t have gone and done a runner like that and left me with the kids, I’d never be in this state.’
‘Aw, stop moaning, Ringer.’ Jim shoved a wet rag in his hand. ‘Yer’ll drive all the bleed’n customers away. Now come on, buck up yer ideas and clear them empty glasses off the tables or this is another job yer’ll be losing.’
‘That you, Eve?’ Babs fumbled around in the dark trying to find the switch to turn on the bedside lamp.
‘Who d’yer think it was, bleed’n Father Christmas?’
‘There’s no need to talk to me like that. You’re back early, that’s all.’ Babs sat up in bed blinking in the light. ‘Here, is everything all right? You look terrible.’
‘Thanks.’ Evie kicked off her shoe, sending it crashing across the room. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘We had words. Satisfied?’
‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘Suit yerself. Come on, yer must be perishing. Hurry up and get in.’ Babs lifted the bedclothes. ‘The bottle’s still nice and warm.’
Eve got into the bed she shared with her sister and dragged the covers roughly out of Babs’s hands. ‘Do you have to be so sod
ding nice all the time?’
‘Eve?’
Evie didn’t answer her; she turned her back on her twin and pulled the eiderdown up over her head.
Babs switched off the lamp and said softly, ‘Good night, Evie, see yer in the morning.’
She was just about to lie down when Evie sat up and shouted, ‘The whole bloody night, that’s all I heard from him – that sister o’ your’n, what a good girl she is.’
‘Eh?’
‘All he wanted to know about was you. That’s why I come home. I’d had enough. Happy now?’
‘Don’t be daft, he was just getting you at it, that’s all.’
‘And what’re you defending him for? I thought you couldn’t stand him.’
Babs turned the lamp back on. ‘Eve. Don’t be so—’
‘You’ve been crying,’ Evie interrupted her.
Babs smiled. ‘I’m all right. Dad come in the pub and caused a bit of a scene, that’s all.’
Eve’s angry expression softened to one of concern. ‘Aw, Babs. Was he horrible?’
‘Yer could say that. Yer was well out of it.’
Evie flopped back onto the pillows. ‘Turn the light out, eh? Let’s get some sleep.’
‘Yeah, night night.’
They lay there in the dark, the only sound coming from their breathing, but then Evie suddenly said, ‘I ain’t like Dad, yer know, Babs.’
‘What?’ Babs sounded half asleep.
‘If I ever found out Albie was seeing someone else, I wouldn’t be like Dad and just sit back and take it.’
Babs yawned. ‘Wouldn’t yer?’ she asked sleepily.
‘No. And it wouldn’t matter who it was neither. Cos I’d kill her, whoever she was.’
8
Life in London was really getting people down. The winter of 1939 had been the coldest for more than fifty years and, even with the coming of the New Year, there looked to be no improvement; if anything, the weather in early 1940 was even colder and the snow continued to fall. To make matters worse, rationing had begun. At first it was butter, sugar, bacon and ham, but there was the constant threat of further shortages to come. Worse than having to make do all the time was the frustration of having to put up with hardships that seemed so out of proportion to anything that was happening. Not only the dearer food and the shortages but the queuing up while short-tempered shopkeepers cut out coupons, the messing around with the palaver of the blackout and all its petty regulations every night, and of course the sadness and loneliness felt by those who were parted from their loved ones. And all for no apparent reason.
More and more were asking exactly why they had to put with all these things when there was still no actual sign of war, or at least not the sort of war that everyone had expected. The Phoney War they were calling it, whatever that meant. And people were just about sick and tired of it. The only casualty that Darnfield Street had seen was Georgie Bell blacking his eye when he’d walked into a wall of sandbags in the blackout on his way home from an unfamiliar pub. It didn’t exactly make the street feel that they had a war hero in their midst. Bill Chambers, Rita and Bert’s boy who had joined the RAF, hadn’t sent home any stories that could make even a mother feel proud. So it was with rude replies rather than a feeling of inspiration or patriotism that most Londoners responded when, from February, posters of Britannia began to appear all over the place exhorting her subjects with the cry: It’s up to you!
If only they could have seen some results, of whatever kind, coming from all the deprivations and inconvenience they were suffering, then it might have made a bit of sense to carry on making do, but most people were just feeling angry.
Most people, that is, except for the likes of Albie Denham. The weather and the war might have been bleak for others, but the outlook for Albie had never been brighter. He was in his element, raking in more money than ever before and he was enjoying flaunting it – taking gifts round to the Bells was one of his favourite ways of doing so.
Albie had been sitting in his car in Darnfield Street, waiting for opening time, when he knew Georgie would be leaving the house. He checked his watch. Any minute now.
Inside number six, Georgie had also just checked the time. The Drum would be open in a couple of minutes. He made sure his overcoat was tightly buttoned up to his neck and then slipped behind the blackout curtain that shielded the street door. Practice and Frankie Morgan had made all of Darnfield Street experts at ducking out of their houses without breaking the blackout, but even he hadn’t managed to solve the problem of bashing into people and things in the time it took for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.
‘Bloody hell! Yer nearly give me a heart attack.’ Georgie stumbled back into the passage. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me.’ Albie stepped into the passageway and shut the door behind him.
‘Stupid sod,’ muttered Georgie. ‘Yer should look where yer going.’
‘How did I know yer’d be coming through the street door just as I was knocking?’ Albie winked. ‘Here y’are, Georgie boy, perhaps these’ll make up for yer shock.’ He dangled two plucked chickens by their legs, holding them up to Georgie’s eye level. ‘I know a feller down Laindon way with a smallholding, what owes me a few favours.’
The sound of Evie giggling made both men look up the stairs. ‘I bet you do,’ she said. ‘Yer know everyone, don’t you, Al?’
‘Sure do, babe, and with me around you won’t have to worry about no rationing.’
‘You make me sick, Denham,’ sneered Georgie, shoving his way past Albie. He opened the door and was just about to go into the street when he turned round and said, ‘Yer know what yer have to do with chickens, don’t yer? Stuff ’em. And that’s exactly what you can do with ’em. Stuff ’em right up your arse.’ With that he slammed the door behind him.
Evie ran down the stairs and threw her arms round Albie’s neck. ‘Hello, Al,’ she said, her eyes shining.
‘I don’t think your dad likes me,’ grinned Albie.
Evie snuggled into his chest. ‘He’s jealous,’ she whispered. ‘Just like everyone else is, ’cos yer so big and handsome and rich.’
Albie lifted Evie’s chin with his finger and looked into her face. ‘We ain’t gonna have no more o’ that old jealousy nonsense again from you though, are we?’ His voice was cool, menacing.
Evie shook her head. She knew better than to speak when he was like that.
‘’Cos I told yer, didn’t I? I don’t like no one telling me who I can talk to or who I can look at. Right?’
Evie nodded again.
‘Good. Now stick these somewhere and we’ll be off.’
Evie took the chickens into the kitchen where Babs was leaning over the sink pouring a jug of rinsing water over her hair.
‘Do something with these, Babs,’ Evie commanded her.
‘What? I can’t hear yer.’ Babs peered round, her soaking wet hair over her eyes.
‘Nothing,’ Evie called. ‘See yer later.’
Babs groped on the draining board for the towel and wrapped it round her head. She rubbed her eyes dry with the flannel. ‘Now, what were you saying?’ She looked round but there was no one else in the kitchen. She heard the street door slam shut. ‘See yer,’ she said to herself and dropped down onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs. ‘And what the hell’re these?’ She stood up and carried the two chickens to the back door, intending to put them in the meat safe in the yard. She only opened the door a crack and a swirl of snow flew in. ‘Blimey,’ she said to the two plucked birds as she put them back on the table. ‘Yer’ll have to wait till I’m dressed before I put yer out there.’ She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece – seven o’clock, and Lou wasn’t coming round until eight. She lit the two front gas rings, one to boil the kettle on and one to warm herself by, and pulled a chair over to the stove. Then she sat down again and began lethargically towelling dry her hair.
She again looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece – nearly a quarter past seve
n. Listlessly she poured herself another cup of tea. She could just about be bothered to drink it. She stared at the chickens. She’d have to shift herself and get dressed soon or they’d start cooking right there on the table, the stove was making the kitchen so warm. Babs sighed to herself; it wasn’t just the heat that was making her feel listless, it was everything. Everything seemed so pointless. She and Lou had been out with so many fellers lately, some really nice ones, but they’d all been on their way somewhere, not staying or coming, but going, every single one of them. She sipped the tea. It was nearly cold. She got up to refill the kettle. Just as she turned on the tap, there was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock – twenty past. Surely it couldn’t be Lou already.
‘Hang on,’ she called as she took her coat off the banister and slipped it on over her underclothes.
She opened the door and peered round the blackout curtain. ‘Bloody hell, what are you doing here?’
‘Charming. Ain’t yer gonna let us in then?’ It was Blanche standing there on the doorstep, her head and shoulders gradually being coated with a layer of snow.
‘Course, come in.’ Babs practically dragged her in by the arm. ‘You’re a real sight for sore eyes, Blanche Simpkins. I’ve been that fed up about everything.’
Blanche kissed her on the cheek and laughed. ‘So you ain’t pleased to see me but just glad I’m here to sort yer out and tell yer yer fretting about nothing as usual. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Babs with a grin and took Blanche’s and her own coat and threw them over the banister rail. ‘Come in the kitchen and have a cuppa and tell me all about it.’
When they’d settled down at the table, Babs pushed a cup of steaming, freshly brewed tea towards Blanche. ‘So? Get talking.’
Blanche blew across the top of her cup then sipped gingerly at the scalding brew. ‘Handsome.’ She set the cup back in its saucer and stared down at her feet. ‘Where shall I start? The people down there was such snobs. They didn’t like us Londoners at all. No, that’s not fair, it wasn’t all of ’em. The people we was staying with, they was all right – well, in their way. But some of the others …’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘Right lot they were. And, I’ve gotta be truthful, there was fault on my side as well. I hated the countryside. The animals stink and make funny noises.’ She took another sip of tea. ‘It ain’t like hopping when you’ve got all your mates with yer and yer sharing and that. It’s like yer the odd ones out, a freak or something. When we got there, to the station, we was all right ’cos, as yer know, our Ruby’d already sorted out somewhere for us to stay. And I’ve got a few things to say to her and all when I catch up with her.’
The Bells of Bow Page 14