East End Angel

by Rivers, Carol

  She glanced at the clock and sighed. She’d go down and get the bacon; Jim would enjoy it, although there was nothing to fry it in but marg. Would it taste as good?

  But by nine thirty the bacon was burned to a cinder and Jim still wasn’t home. Pearl set off alone for her fire-watching duty. She left Jim a sandwich and a note saying she was sorry.

  It was a very warm afternoon in late August, and Pearl thrust open the small window of the Borough Surveyor’s office. But instead of a reviving breeze, only the noise of the traffic came in. The small room was stuffy as three tables had been squeezed in for the staff. Pearl lifted her hands and wiped her fingers on a cloth she took from her drawer. In the air-deprived conditions her speed on the typewriter was slower. Mr Hedley, her boss, had gone early, leaving her and Moira Bush to complete the outstanding paperwork. They were one clerk short and had to finish it all before going. Mr Hedley liked all the contractors, removers and tradesmen’s bills up to date. Head Office required duplicate copies, and the ink from the blue paper had smudged in the heat.

  ‘I’m melting,’ sighed Pearl, fanning herself with an envelope. ‘Even my blouse is wet.’

  ‘The council should improve our working conditions,’ nodded Moira, pouncing on Pearl’s unguarded comment. She hit the roller of her typewriter and snapped out the sheet of paper. ‘Don’t know what it must be like for your poor husband, crawling over some of these bomb sites in all the dust and dirt and now this heat as well.’ She tapped the paper she was holding. ‘This sounds like a deathtrap. The roof’s caved in where the incendiary went down the chimney in May. Last month the whole lot collapsed. By a miracle the terrace next door is still standing and people live in it, despite the six-inch crack in the wall from top to bottom. The poor sods mustn’t be able to sleep at night for fear they’ll crumble away too.’ Moira paused for breath. ‘And look at this, they’ve sent your Jim to assess the risks. That’s a laugh. It’s the risk to his life they should be assessing.’ After listening to Moira for the last four years, Pearl merely shrugged. ‘He can take care of himself.’

  But Moira ploughed on. ‘All these places still on fire and falling into the wharfs. Not that our engineers take unnecessary risks, of course.’

  Pearl looked back at her typewriter.

  ‘I suppose the worst things are unexploded bombs,’ Moira tried slyly.

  Pearl drew the damp hanky across her forehead. The eau-de-Cologne was refreshing. ‘I don’t think about that. I know he’ll come home at the end of the day.’

  ‘Course you do,’ Moira nodded. ‘Working for the council is better than fighting Jerry.’

  Pearl began typing again. Moira would be a nice person if she wasn’t full of woes. And it didn’t help that Pearl was thinking about Jim. Although they were speaking again and, more importantly, cuddling, there was a stony silence on the subject of Ruby and Ricky.

  ‘A bloke don’t know when he’s well off,’ Moira continued relentlessly, ‘but your Jim does, I’m sure.’

  ‘We’d better get finished.’

  Moira lifted her hand in an arc around the room. ‘Makes you dizzy, don’t it, seeing all this paperwork? Years and years of it. London is falling to bits and the LCC have to stick it back together. We’ve got our own work well and truly cut out, as well as the engineers. Let’s hope the war will be over soon.’

  ‘If only,’ nodded Pearl, quickly reminding herself she was lucky to have a husband at home and, no matter what the dangers of Jim’s job, they could never be as threatening as those overseas.

  ‘You all right, Pearl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You seem a bit down. Get your husband to take you to the pub. The beer’s not dried up yet. Be thankful for that.’

  Pearl smiled; it was a long time since they’d enjoyed a night out. Their fire-watching duties kept them busy, as did calling in to see Jim’s mum.

  ‘I’m glad I’m young, free and single,’ said Moira, banging on her typewriter once more. ‘I can enjoy meself.’

  But Pearl wasn’t listening. She was wondering if perhaps one evening they might go to the cinema, or treat themselves to a nice tea at Lyons. Perhaps she’d suggest it to Jim after they’d paid a visit to Villa Road tonight.

  Pearl walked unhurriedly along Villa Road and felt the curtains twitching on either side. It was considered a respectable area, and, amazingly, most of the houses were undamaged. One or two chimneys had fallen away, and several windows blown out, but on the whole, the Luftwaffe had failed to make much impression. Pearl was smiling as she walked up to the front door, amused at the irony of Jim’s mother’s insistence throughout the Blitz that the German air force were deliberately targeting elderly spinsters and respectable people. If Germany was waging war on Villa Road, it had failed miserably, Pearl decided as she reached up to lift the polished brass knocker.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Pearl’s smile remained in place. She entered the dark hall, which was never lit, even in the depths of winter. To her left a flight of brown carpeted stairs were lost in the gloom. The parlour door was open and she walked in. No windows were ever opened, even in summer. The crisscross tape on the windows had been sealed not once but twice over and the thick curtains were drawn almost together in anticipation of the blackout.

  One small light was burning in the parlour. It spread thinly over the dark green upholstery of the couch and the stout metal guard in the fireplace. Above this was draped a mantel curtain and on the shelf were photographs in ornate frames. Jim as a baby, as a toddler, as a young man, but none of the wedding. The dear and departed Mr Nesbitt, complete with handlebar moustache, frowned out from a sepia impression, a younger Thora Nesbitt standing beside him.

  Pearl was shown to the uncomfortable wooden nursing chair, where, still in her coat, she sat down, a ready smile on her face despite the cool reception.

  ‘I’ve had a very bad few days,’ complained Jim’s mother, unsteadily taking her crocheting from the chair and dabbing her nose with her handkerchief. It was a quite remarkably long nose, Pearl decided, thankful that Jim’s didn’t follow suit. Over her grey head Mrs Nesbitt was wearing some sort of black cap, which made her look very severe. Her clothes were deadly dull, calf-length and shapeless, though Pearl always had the impression they were well-preserved quality.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Pearl shed her coat only because it was so warm in the room, full to the gunwales with heavy, ornate furniture. She didn’t want to give an indication she was uncomfortable, so she kept her perch on the edge of her chair.

  ‘The doctor tells me I’m overdoing it. Faint spells and such like, with a terrible head. He said I could do with a holiday.’

  Pearl leaped in fearlessly. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘By myself? It’s unthinkable.’

  ‘With a friend, then?’

  ‘No one quite understands . . . not like your own.’

  Pearl felt the cold chill of the pointed finger. Not at her, but at Jim, and almost rose to the bait. Then remembering that she’d fallen into this trap before, she began to talk about the one topic that was common to them both, and that was Jim. Nevertheless, when Jim’s whistle at the door came half an hour later, Pearl hurried to greet him, relieved that he’d managed to leave work early. Jim took her in his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back so passionately that he laughed.

  ‘Hey, what’s all this about?’ He glanced over her shoulder and frowned.

  ‘I’m just pleased to see you.’

  He eased his big frame from her arms and again glanced into the darkened hall. ‘Mum in?’

  Pearl nodded, reflecting that her mother-in-law never went out after midday, just in case of a raid.

  ‘Blimey, it’s like a furnace in here,’ Jim muttered as he pulled at the back of his dungarees. Pearl could see the ‘V’ of sweat under his braces. She loved him all the more for the hard work he did in a long and gruelling day and the effort he was making to keep his mum happy.

  Soon cam
e the change of note in Mrs Nesbitt’s voice as her son walked into the parlour. Knowing Mrs Nesbitt enjoyed time alone with her son, Pearl went to the kitchen where she busied herself with a little cleaning before she made the tea.

  In contrast to Villa Road, number twenty-four Roper’s Way could have been on another planet, Pearl decided as, one sunny late afternoon in September, she hurried up the path of her childhood home. Threading her fingers through the letter box, she pulled up the key and let herself in. Her spirits lifted immediately at the sound of pans clattering and the mouth-watering aromas that flowed from the kitchen.

  ‘Mum? Ruby?’

  ‘We’re in here!’ her mother called. Pearl hastened along the brightly lit passage. As a child, she and Ruby had rushed home from school to their favourite meals, even though, like the rest of the island, her parents were poor. Despite her dad’s regular boilermaker’s job at the factory, it wasn’t well paid. When war was declared and the government drew up new laws on austerity, it had no meaning for islanders. Even clothes coupons had been a joke, as everything they wore was second-hand.

  ‘Hello, love!’ Amy Jenkins, dressed in her pinny, lifted her flour-covered hands. ‘Don’t want to dirty that lovely frock,’ she grinned. Ruby, also in a pinny, was sliding a tray of potatoes into the oven. She looked up in surprise. ‘On your own, are you?’

  ‘Jim’s on a call-out.’

  Amy rolled her eyes. ‘Poor love.’

  ‘Either that or he’s got a bit on the side,’ laughed Pearl, taking care to keep her dress clean and slide her chair back a few inches from the table.

  ‘Your Jim has only got eyes for you,’ Ruby admonished as she closed the oven door. ‘That’s a nice dress. Is it new?’

  ‘It was from that little shop in Poplar near the Queens. I had a few clothing coupons left.’ Pearl had been extravagant, but the dress was just her size and not too expensive. And hadn’t Ruby had that lovely new jacket? Anyway, Jim had given her the money for the dress and forbidden her to spend it on groceries.

  ‘So what’s the emergency?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Up at the Aldwych. Remember St Clement Danes church last year when it was bombed? How the tower stood after the bells all fell down? Someone’s reported a pipe sticking up near the bombed site. Jim’s got to make sure it’s not dangerous.’

  ‘On his day off too,’ said Ruby.

  Pearl smiled. ‘I don’t mind. I thought we could all go down the market.’

  ‘You girls go and enjoy yourselves,’ Amy said as she took off her apron. ‘I’m popping along to see your dad. He’s at the allotment, digging me up a few nice veg. If you’re still here when he gets home, Pearl, you can take some spuds with you. What’ve you got Jim for tea?’

  Pearl was ashamed to admit that she had nothing. ‘Gwen’s saved a tin of sardines for me,’ Pearl ventured hesitantly.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Amy nodded. ‘Sardines are very versatile. Now tell me, what are you going to do with them?’

  Pearl didn’t know. Other than squeezing the disagreeably smelly fish out of the tin and holding her nose at the same time, she didn’t have a clue what to do with them.

  Both Amy and Ruby burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Pearl went scarlet.

  Amy waved her hand. ‘The look on your face, that’s what. Don’t worry, I was only teasing.’

  Pearl grinned. ‘I dunno why Jim don’t complain about me cooking. I think he’s even lost weight since we got married.’

  At this they all laughed. But Amy patted Pearl’s shoulder. ‘Your hubby looked all right to me; in fact, I’d say he was in the peak of health.’

  Pearl knew Jim was happy but it certainly wasn’t because of his stomach. She was only too willing to forget about housekeeping and leap into bed. Any time they had spare, they were at it like rabbits, as the old saying went. Tiffs aside, or perhaps because of them, their lovemaking was very exciting. She’d heard girls at work say they had to lie back and think of England when it came to sex. But England was the last thing she thought of when in bed with Jim.

  ‘Even so,’ said Amy, adjusting her scarf, ‘I know you won’t take your husband’s good nature for granted. If that boy needs feeding up, then you are the one to do it.’

  Pearl made a face. ‘Yes, Mother.’ And grinning at Ruby, she shared the joke.

  Later, as they were walking arm in arm to market, Pearl and Ruby discussed anything but food. It was all fashion, make-up and hairdos, and Pearl was pleased to announce the works’ Christmas dance. ‘I’ve got me eye on this little bolero,’ she said dreamily as they approached West Ferry Road. ‘It’s in the same shop as I bought this dress.’

  ‘Have you got any coupons left?’ Ruby asked curiously.

  ‘No, but the dance isn’t till November.’

  ‘You might get something on the old girl’s clothes stall at market.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Pearl shrugged, imagining the new bolero she had in mind. ‘She won’t have anything like I want.’

  ‘Hark at it,’ pouted Ruby mischievously. ‘You’d think there wasn’t a war on.’

  ‘Well, I reckon a girl should take pride in her appearance. Have her hair trimmed and wear nice underwear,’ said Pearl casually, ‘so even if she wasn’t accomplished in the cooking department, keeping attractive for her man was something she knew about.’

  Ruby burst out laughing again. ‘Oh, Pearl, you ain’t never gonna change.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘So when’s the dance?’ Ruby asked as they rounded the corner.

  ‘Saturday the twenty-second. Can you come? Jim can get the tickets.’

  ‘And play gooseberry? No, thanks.’

  ‘But it’s a works do! There’s bound to be a few blokes there.’

  At this Ruby’s face dropped and she stared at Pearl. ‘What would I want a bloke for?’

  ‘To dance with, of course.’

  ‘As long as you don’t try palming me off.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  Ruby shrugged. ‘As long as you understand I don’t want no one but Ricky.’

  Pearl looked away. ‘You’re old enough to know what you want.’

  ‘He’s not a five-minute wonder, you know.’

  ‘I never said he was,’ Pearl murmured guiltily.

  ‘I had a letter yesterday. Ricky writes so lovely, just like he speaks,’ Ruby said eagerly. ‘You can read it, if you like.’

  ‘No, thank you. It’s private.’ It made Pearl feel ill to think that Ruby was following in her footsteps. Ricky had charmed her, just like he was doing to Ruby, but what could she do to stop it?

  ‘Then I’ll tell you what it said,’ insisted Ruby as they approached the market. ‘He couldn’t write where the ship was or what he was doing on it or when he’d be home, because of the censor. But at the end he asked me to wait for him and the minute he got home he’d come round. But the best thing was at the end. He signed it, “With all my love, R.” And there were three kisses at the bottom.’ Pearl walked the rest of the way to market feeling very upset. She had managed to persuade Ruby to come to the dance. But what use would it be if she wouldn’t look at anyone but Ricky?

  Chapter 5

  The weather changed in October and, along with the struggle to cook, clean and share in her duties of fire-watching, Pearl was now faced with the problem of damp. Their rooms were unheated except for the living room. Although she’d seen her dad light the fire many times, getting damp coke to light was a new experience. Her dad had seemed to do it effortlessly. But then they’d had a coal bunker, keeping the nuggets dry. Here, there was nothing more than a piece of corrugated metal in the corner next to the outside lavatory.

  Pearl was accustomed to going outside for the toilet, but heaving a scuttle up the stairs was no fun. And if Jim hadn’t covered the coal, then she hadn’t thought to, either. Jim insisted she leave lighting the fire to him. But he worked late and she was the first to be home. Pearl didn’t like the coal dust over her cl
othes or the sharp splinters of the kindling. Her newspaper balls lit very well, but died rapidly – unlike those that her dad had made, which soon had the fire blazing as she and Ruby had stood the wooden horse in front of the hearth to air their clothes. No such luxury now!

  It was on a dull Monday morning in the middle of October when Pearl realized that winter was beginning to set in. The draughts were lifting the checked curtains from the windows and the kitchen smelled musty. She sipped her cup of tea thoughtfully as she sat listening to the wireless. How could she brighten the day? Looking around the kitchen, she was amazed at how dreary the place looked. In summer their new home had seemed like the perfect love nest. But then she’d had the door wide open and a soft summer breeze had blown the smell of dampness away.

  Turning off the wireless, she prepared for work. Day-to-day life went on, whatever else was happening in the world. Wearing her heavy coat for the first time, and taking her umbrella, she set off. A few spots of rain fell and the bus smelled of camphorated oil. Pearl smiled as the bus conductress took her fare. The ting of the machine now brought back happy memories of Margate.

  When Pearl arrived at work, the talk was all of Russia. ‘Dad says the Russians would cut their throats rather than being taken by the Nazis,’ Moira Bush said the minute Pearl walked in. ‘I suppose you’ve heard? Or are you still on cloud nine?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I am,’ Pearl replied breezily, sliding into her seat and brushing the sleeves of her immaculate white blouse for minute specks of dust. It had taken her almost an hour last night to press her clothes properly. The old iron that had to be heated on the stove dated back to the Ark. Thank goodness Jim didn’t need his overalls and dungarees pressed. Taking her compact from her drawer, she raised it to hide the spectacle of Moira’s pinched face. Pearl tweaked into position the glossy wave that fell over her eye. She went to great lengths to maintain her Veronica Lake hairstyle. Should she have it cut? Bobs were popular. But Jim liked her hair long.