A Distant Dream

by Pamela Evans

  He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘You’ll have your money, I’ll make sure of it.’

  ‘Thanks, George,’ she said, cheering up.

  Following her down the stairs he was thoughtful. Thanks to a persistent insurance agent who had called at the house every week, their father had taken out a life insurance policy, so Mum hadn’t been left destitute when he died. She had enough for rent and food and other essentials to keep the house running, but there wasn’t much left over for unexpected expenses such as his sister’s school trip. Of course he paid for his keep now that he was working, and bought his own clothes, so he was no longer a drain on Mum, but his sister still had a year left at school.

  The wages of an errand boy just wasn’t enough. It really was time he did something about it.

  After all the family tension earlier, George was so delighted to see May when she knocked at the door after they had finished their meal that he wanted to take her in his arms and smother her in kisses. But he didn’t have the skill or confidence to smother anyone in kisses yet and she was a decent girl, so he gave her a beaming smile instead.

  ‘Just wondered if you fancy coming for a bike ride with me,’ she explained. ‘We might as well make the most of the light nights.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d like that, May,’ he said. ‘I’ll just tell them where I’m going and I’ll be with you. Won’t be a minute.’

  While she walked to her bike at the front gate to wait for him, he went back inside.

  ‘Is it May?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘Yeah, and we’re going for a bike ride, that is if I can trust you two not to kill each other while I’m out.’

  ‘You can relax,’ said his sister, seeming calmer. ‘Mum is going to undo my plaits and brush my hair for me when we’ve done the washing-up, and we might listen to the wireless.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ he said, relieved that things seemed to have improved and his mother had finally stopped crying. Mum did seem to be better in the evenings – he’d noticed that before – and Sheila had apologised as she’d promised. So all was well, he thought; for the time being anyway.

  May and George sat on a bench by the river at Richmond, watching the river traffic go by, a medley of pleasure craft and working boats, listening to the gentle splash of the oars as the rowing crews practised along this stretch. The wildlife was abundant here; swans and ducks preening and pecking and gliding by in groups. The air was balmy, the orange sun low in the sky behind the trees on the other side of the Thames, the image softened by the beginnings of a pearly mist.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t ask you in when you came to the door earlier,’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, George,’ she assured him. ‘Is your mum not too good again?’

  ‘She was a bit dodgy earlier on and there was all-out war between her and Sheila,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to spare you the atmosphere of the aftermath.’

  ‘I didn’t mind, honestly,’ she assured him, smiling at him and melting his heart.

  ‘I’ve decided to try and get another job,’ he announced out of the blue.

  ‘Really?’ she said, surprised. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Dosh,’ he replied candidly. ‘I need more of it to put into the pot at home. It’s hard for Mum without Dad to support her, and Sheila still being at school.’

  ‘What sort of job are you hoping for?’

  ‘I’m thinking of trying one of the new factories over Acton way,’ he replied. ‘You can earn good money if you put in the hours, so I’ve heard.’

  She looked doubtful. ‘But I thought you liked the freedom of being out delivering.’

  ‘I do, but it pays peanuts and I have to face facts,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I can’t be an errand boy all my life.’

  ‘No, but you are only fifteen,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I have family responsibilities.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you do.’

  She thought it must be hard for George to be burdened at such a young age, and was sad for him too because she knew how much he’d wanted to work with his beloved father in the boxing business. He might have even become a boxer himself when he was old enough if his dad hadn’t been struck down as he had.

  His father’s murder had been a shocking thing at the time; the whole of the neighbourhood had been reeling and everybody had been talking about it. Joe Bailey had been a popular man in the area and the streets had been lined with well-wishers for the funeral procession.

  George had been amazingly brave but May knew he’d been devastated because his dad had been his hero and they’d been close. But he’d faced up to it and at thirteen years of age had become the man of the house.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve heard that one or two of the factories are looking for unskilled labour, so I’ll go to the Labour Exchange in my dinner break one day soon.’

  ‘If that’s what you think is best, I hope you find something soon,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, taking her hand and sounding gruff because he found it hard to cope with the strength of his feelings when he touched her these days.

  Of course he knew all about the birds and bees. Embarrassingly, his father had given him a rather garbled version and his mates passed on any information they had and it was the subject of much speculation and laughter. You had to pretend you knew as much as the others to avoid mockery. But it was all a bit smutty and on the quiet; no one ever talked openly or seriously about it.

  So he had no idea how he was supposed to cope with loving someone as he loved May. Fifteen-year-old boys weren’t meant to indulge in such sentimental feelings. It was supposed to be all about biology and restraint. There were times when he wished he was older and had more savvy. At this age he was still in between, neither man nor boy, even though his father’s death had made him grow up overnight in some ways.

  ‘I suppose we’d better set off for home soon,’ said May. She too had only a basic knowledge of the facts of life but guessed that all these new feelings she was experiencing had something to do with them. As the subject was absolutely taboo, she kept the way she felt when she was with George to herself. She didn’t even want to talk to Betty about it. It was far too personal and embarrassing; even a little shameful. ‘Before it gets dark.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’

  They got on to their bikes and cycled along by the river for a while, then through Richmond town with its winding and elegant high street and up the hill and onwards to Kew Bridge, heading home with the scent of a summer evening and wood smoke in the air. Until they passed through the less fragrant Brentford, where the noxious pong of the gasworks prevailed.

  Back on home ground, with dusk falling and the amber glow of a London night all around them, May was aware of joy so strong it almost brought tears to her eyes. She and George had spent a lot of time together comfortably for most of their lives, but lately she had noticed a new intensity between them. Now, though, the atmosphere was as warm and soft as the air around them.

  When they reached her house they stood under the lamp-post opposite, talking for a long time, not wanting to part but knowing that they must. When the time finally came, he brushed his lips against her cheek briefly, got on his bike and rode away. She stood looking after him until he turned the corner, then went indoors.

  Chapter Two

  ‘My mother was in tears after the King’s broadcast last night,’ May mentioned to Miss Matt one Saturday morning in December as they were preparing for the store to open its doors to the customers for the day’s trading.

  ‘I very much doubt if she was the only one,’ said the older woman. The King’s abdication speech had been broadcast from Windsor Castle the night before and had attracted practically the entire nation to within earshot of a wireless set. ‘It’s a sad thing indeed for our country.’

  ‘It isn’t very nice for him either, is it?’ said down-to-earth May, who found the other woman to be quite chatty when she was in the mood and her stron
g opinions about absolutely everything rather entertaining. ‘I don’t see why they couldn’t have let him marry the woman he loves and carry on being king.’

  ‘The reason you think along those lines, my dear, is because you are a young girl with a head full of romantic notions,’ stated Miss Matt unequivocally. ‘Mrs Simpson is a divorced woman and therefore not suitable to be the King’s consort. Not suitable at all.’

  ‘But he’s had to give up the throne so that he can be with her, and that seems very harsh,’ May pointed out. ‘It also speaks volumes about his feelings for her.’

  ‘His duty is what matters and he’s turned his back on that and left it for his brother to do,’ stated Miss Matt with cutting disapproval.

  ‘But he doesn’t feel able do the job without Mrs Simpson by his side, does he? He said as much,’ May reminded her.

  ‘Tosh,’ said the authoritative Miss Matt. ‘What sort of a world would it be if we all just did what we wanted the whole time? The royal family set an example and it has to be beyond reproach.’

  ‘Seems rather inhuman to me.’

  ‘Look, the man can do exactly what he likes now that he’s turned his back on us, so he’ll get what he wants anyway. Don’t waste your sympathy on him.’ Miss Matt checked that the sales pads were all in place, patted her hair as though to make sure it was tidy, stood up straight to correct her posture and smoothed her grey woollen dress over her middle with her hands. ‘Anyway, that’s quite enough idle gossip. The store is now open, so let business for the day commence. With Christmas almost upon us, our sales should be well up or the management will want to know why not. Put on your best smile, Miss Stubbs, and let’s liven this place up and get those overhead wires buzzing.’

  Dressed in a black skirt and cardigan over a white blouse, her blond hair falling loosely to her shoulders, May glanced around the store and thought it would take more than a few Christmas decorations to liven this place up. The powers that be on the management had made some sort of an effort with a few paper chains and a Christmas tree in the entrance hall, but the atmosphere was determinedly tasteful and traditional, which created an air of gloom.

  She had little time to brood on it, however, because customers were flooding in and a lot of them were heading her way.

  May’s favourite moments in the course of a working day were those immediately after a sale when she made out the bill and put that and the payment into a metal container, which she hooked to an overhead wire. Then she pulled a cord, which would ping, and the cylinder would whizz across the shop to the cashier at the other side, who would, eventually, return the capsule containing the receipt and the customer’s change. When all the departments in the store were busy, there was a positive fury of activity overhead.

  ‘There you are, madam,’ she said now to a woman who had purchased some woollen vests as she handed them to her in a Bright Brothers paper bag. ‘A merry Christmas to you.’

  ‘Likewise, I’m sure.’

  May turned away to cough discreetly behind her hand before serving the next customer, which was a much more interesting sale, being a satin petticoat with bra and pants to match. That’s more like it, she thought.

  The Pavilion was busy that same Saturday morning and there was no lack of Christmas spirit despite the royal goings-on the night before, about which there were mixed opinions, from outrage at the King’s dereliction of duty and fury with his lover for stealing him away from his people to those who couldn’t care less and some who simply wished him well.

  Paper chains garlanded the ceiling, tinsel was in abundance and the paraffin heaters were going full blast. Dick was looking after the café while Flo served at the shop counter and sold raffle tickets for a well-stocked Christmas hamper provided by the management, all proceeds to go to the poor. She hadn’t forgotten the misery of that predicament and knew it was still rife, especially in other parts of the country. The recent march of the Jarrow unemployed to London was proof of that.

  ‘So what will be in this Christmas hamper then, Flo?’ enquired a regular female customer while Flo weighed up a quarter of tea for her.

  ‘A Christmas pudding and cake made by my own fair hand, a tin of ham, chocolate biscuits, a quarter of tea, a bottle of ginger beer, an assortment of sweets and any other little treats I might decide to put in as a surprise for the winner.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll take a couple of tickets please, dear.’

  Flo was in her element. There was a queue in the shop and every table in the café was taken, the scones and jam sponges she’d made last night at home had sold out and the sandwiches were going the same way. It wasn’t just the fact that they were taking money, as satisfying as that was; it was the warm atmosphere and the sense of camaraderie, that put a smile on her face. The weather outside was cold and cloudy – not a soul sitting on the veranda today – but in here it was positively glowing.

  In a lull between customers that afternoon, Miss Matt took May aside for a quiet word.

  ‘I think you should get some medicine for that cough of yours,’ she suggested. ‘It’s getting to be a nuisance.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ May responded. ‘I must have got a chill or something. I just can’t seem to shake it off.’

  ‘It isn’t good for business for you to be coughing while you’re attending to customers,’ she lectured.

  ‘I realise that,’ said May, though she was taken aback by Miss Matt’s callous attitude.

  ‘I know that might sound heartless, but it’s a fact of life I’m afraid, my dear,’ the older woman went on. ‘I realise that it can’t be pleasant for you, but people don’t want to be picking up coughs and colds when they go shopping, do they?’

  ‘Mum did get me a bottle of cough mixture from the chemist,’ May told her, feeling embarrassed and guilty, ‘but it doesn’t seem to have made any difference at all.’

  ‘Then you must get something else, because you’ve had it for quite a while now,’ she said. ‘Lemon juice with honey is supposed to be very good. And you must get some cough lozenges to control it while you are on duty here.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ May assured her. ‘I really am very sorry. I feel terrible about it.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault, of course. It’s my duty as head of the department to mention it, that’s all.’ Miss Matt regarded May studiously, her grey eyes softening slightly. ‘You look a bit tired. You’re not feeling poorly with it, are you?’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  Miss Matt peered at her. ‘That’s all right then. We can’t have you falling sick at this time of the year. You don’t want to miss all the fun, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said May, but suddenly she didn’t feel very much like having fun. Her superior had managed to make her feel somehow gauche and inferior.

  Christmas passed pleasantly in the Stubbs home, though they all missed Geoffrey terribly at this time of year. May tried to keep her irritating cough at bay with linctus and lozenges and attempted to ignore the fact that she felt a bit off colour.

  On New Year’s Eve things livened up considerably when George’s pal Henry invited him, and anyone he cared to bring with him, to his house to listen to records on the gramophone. As no one else had one of these amazing music machines, George, May, Betty and Sheila – who had begged her brother to let her go with them – were delighted to go along.

  ‘Mum and Dad are out for the evening, or a part of it anyway,’ Henry informed them and a few other young people who were there, ‘so we’ve got the place to ourselves. Let’s hope they don’t come back too early, though they’ll definitely be home before midnight, so everybody out well before then.’ He produced a bottle of gin, smiling broadly. ‘Look what I’ve managed to pinch from the sideboard. One drink each so they won’t notice we’ve been at it, especially if I add some water to make up the difference. We’ll take turns to wind up the gramophone.’

  Everyone agreed, and the evening got under way with Bing Crosby singing
‘Pennies from Heaven’ and Sheila turning the handle on the side of the gramophone, which was housed in a large polished wooden cabinet with space to store records. Everyone except Sheila, who had been deemed too young for alcohol by her brother, had a glass of gin, and May and Betty, who had learned the basics of the quickstep from an older girl at work who went to dance halls, were trying to pass their knowledge on to George and the others.

  It was all quite hilarious and May felt better than she had for ages; the drink had given her a real lift and she was feeling quite giggly and a little daring. Even the fact that Betty was flirting outrageously with George didn’t bother her tonight.

  They danced to Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra, Fats Waller, and Fred Astaire singing ‘The Way You Look Tonight’, and the small front room resounded with music and laughter as the young people had what felt like proper grown-up fun.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked George as he and May jigged around the room while it was Betty’s turn to rotate the handle.

  ‘I’ll say,’ she replied. ‘It feels good to be out enjoying ourselves with people of our own age, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘This is just the beginning, George,’ she said excitedly. ‘There’s more fun to be had for us. It’s time we started going to dance halls. Proper glamorous ones like the Hammersmith Palais, not just dances at the town hall. This is our time.’

  ‘I’m game for anything,’ said George. He now worked in a factory so was better off financially.

  Because they had to leave before midnight they did ‘Auld Lang Syne’ early. There was a lovely sense of good will in the air and they sang their hearts out. May was with the two friends she loved most in the world and felt happy.

  When she started to cough she went outside into the hallway for reasons of courtesy and coughed into her handkerchief until the need subsided. When she came back into the room her mood had changed completely, and she knew that her life would never be the same again.

  Her mother was doing her best to be reassuring, but May could tell that she was as frightened as she was herself.