Paradise Court

by Jenny Oldfield

  The dance was held in a huge central room bedecked with strings of coloured electric lights. It buzzed with expectation as the band arrived on the raised platform to strike up the first tune. One novelty of the occasion was the array of uniforms on show. Recent recruits to the army and navy, or veterans sent home on leave strutted through the hall. Khaki mingled with navy-blue under giant coloured posters which displayed men at arms, women in nurses’ uniform or busy in munitions factories. ‘Are YOU in this?’ read the challenge below. It was the first time the war had seemed real to many of the young civilians gathered there, but the uniforms seemed to inspire rather than depress them. Many minds were made up as they talked, wide-eyed and eager, to the battle-scarrred heroes of the day.

  Teddy Cooper turned up in the grey-blue uniform of a pilot in the Royal Flying Corps; the most glamorous outfit of all with its belted jacket and breeches. After nearly a month of haggling at home, he’d conceded defeat and agreed to serve the war effort, but on his own terms. Not for him the mud and sweat of a Flanders field. He preferred the soaring blue reaches and a mission to bring back information on enemy positions. His mother complained of the danger involved in piloting the flimsy bi-planes, but Teddy declared they were safe as houses. He’d fight a clean war of darting raids across the Channel. A rumour that the Flying Corps was preparing to drop bombs on the enemy sounded to him an exciting but unlikely development.

  So he stepped into the dashing uniform and role in adventurous spirits. The Town Hall dance would be a good send-off; a chance to be admired and envied.

  Ugly duckling civilians like Walter Davidson and the Chalky White gang hung back in the shadows while the boys in uniform glided on to the dance floor with the best-looking girls. Chalky, adrift again from his latest girlfriend, eventually picked up Olwyn Williams, who’d recently ditched her job in the shirt sweatshop at Coopers’ and taken work as a bus conductress. The war had opened many jobs to women, and Olwyn was one of the first to seize the new opportunity. She liked the uniform: a military-style jacket, a shorter than usual plaid skirt and jaunty brimmed hat with its company badge. And she liked the independence. As she swung by on Chalky’s arm, she winked at Amy Ogden. Amy had picked up Syd Swan, regarded as a slimy customer by most of the girls. ‘That’s the ticket, clippie!’ Syd grinned inanely at Olwyn. Amy pulled him back on course to instruct him in elementary tango. He enjoyed the sweaty, grappling aspect, but the nifty footwork was beyond him.

  Soon the music and heat generated by hundreds of dancing couples set the evening in swing. Charlie danced energetically with Sadie, having picked up more handy tips from the American bioscopes, where women with crimped hair and pouting dark lipstick swooned in the arms of broad-shouldered, square-jawed heroes. Jess stood at the side with her arm linked through Maurice’s. She smiled at the new style of dancing. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to try nothing like that,’ she said, looking prim.

  Maurice was flattered by the effort Jess had put into her appearance this evening. There were complicated swirls in her thick hair, and tiny pearl-drop earrings in perpetual motion as she turned her head this way and that. Her sloping shoulders and full breasts showed to advantage in her new, tight-fitting bodice. Her arms were long and slender. ‘What, ain’t you never done the tango?’ he asked, taking her by the waist and leading her on to the dance floor. ‘It’s easy. You just slide around a bit. Let yourself go, trust me!’

  Jess laughed. ‘If you let go of me, Maurice Leigh, I’ll crown you!’ She felt herself tipped backwards in a dangerous, plunging motion, then pulled upright by the strength of his arm around her waist.

  He held her, his cheek against hers, feeling her soft, smooth skin against him. He felt her mouth smile. ‘Oh, I won’t let go of you, Jess, don’t worry,’ he whispered. He pulled her close, to breathe in the clean, perfumed smell of her hair.

  The strutting music of the tango merged seamlessly into a more sedate waltz, leaving only the romantically inclined couples on the floor. Sadie and Charlie went off hand in hand to the refreshment bar. Amy Ogden struggled into a more upright position with Syd Swan, whose arm still snaked around her, too close for comfort. Chalky threaded through the couples in the opposite direction to his ex-partner, Olwyn. He paused to wink at Syd and then considered Jess as she danced with Maurice. He knew enough street gossip to register surprise that she was out on the town. Slowly he lit up a cigarette, flicked the match to the floor and circled in their direction, preparing a cutting remark. He fancied somehow hitting the newcomer, Maurice Leigh, with the bombshell about Jess’s baby. With narrowed eyes he halted again arid exhaled smoke by jutting out his bottom lip and directing it straight up in front of him.

  Maurice spotted Chalky’s intention to come over and upset things. He could see the sneering face draw near. Jess was oblivious, her head against his shoulder. This was awkward timing; Maurice could hardly snap Jess out of the slow, smooth movement of the waltz without alerting her to Chalky’s sly approach.

  Jess felt Maurice stiffen, and glanced up to see the cause. Chalky White stood close by, in the middle of the revolving pairs, his snake eyes fixed on them.

  ‘What’s he think he’s staring at?’ Maurice muttered, now that Jess had seen.

  ‘Take no notice,’ she pleaded She wanted the music to stop so they could walk swiftly away.

  But then luckily Chalky’s attention was diverted. Amy had spotted Teddy Cooper in his smart uniform and whispered something to her new boyfriend, Syd Swan, which made him swear loudly, then round up a couple of mates. They soon started to square up to Teddy and his officer-type pals, facing each other in a corner of the hall. A space had cleared and a ripple of excitement spread through the room. The band wavered, then played on, now almost ignored Chalky responded quickly, dropping his vendetta against Maurice and roughly pushing through the middle of the dance floor to side with Syd. Jess breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Time I went and rounded up young Sadie,’ she told Maurice. ‘I promised Pa I’d send her home safe and sound.’

  Maurice kept one eye on the trouble brewing in the corner; shirt-sleeves were already rolled up, each side taunted and mocked the other. He went with Jess to the refreshment table. ‘Let’s walk with them,’ he suggested. ‘There’s a bit of a scrap on the cards over there. They can sort it out while we take Sadie home, then we can come back and pick up where we left off.’

  Jess smiled and nodded. Charlie, who thought it was a bad idea, was soon overruled. Sadie left with a long face, pleading for half an hour more, but soon they were out in the cold, windy street, huddling together and half running for warmth, until they came under the railway arch on to Duke Street, when Maurice and Jess chose to walk diplomatically ahead, leaving the young couple to their midnight kiss.

  ‘Don’t she look lovely tonight?’ Jess glanced back, then slid her arm close inside Maurice’s. ‘Ain’t no wonder he’s smitten, poor boy.’

  Maurice glanced back. ‘Hm. He’s more smitten with himself than anyone else, if you ask me.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you think we’re past standing in an alley like them?’ He turned her towards him in the full glow of the street-lamp and took a bold kiss.

  ‘Just like a couple of kids,’ Jess protested. She steered him on down the street past Henshaw’s frosty window, past the unlit courts. ‘Come on, Sadie. It’s too cold to hang about,’ she called.

  Sadie grumbled and called them spoil-sports, but they got home just fifteen minutes late and delivered her into the anxious care of a tired-looking Frances, who stood wrapped in a shawl at the head of the stairs.

  Charlie watched her go with a lingering look, then trudged into the bar to meet up with his ma and pa.

  ‘Do you reckon it’s safe to go back, to the Town Hall now?’ Jess asked. Her feet felt like blocks of ice and her cheeks tingled, but she wanted to avoid any chance of Maurice getting involved in a brawl. If Chalky had it in for him in some way, they’d best steer clear.

  ‘Storm in a bleeding teacup,’ he told her. ‘But come down t
o my place to keep warm, if you like. Ain’t no rush, is there?’

  Jess let herself be guided down Paradise Court, and over Dolly Ogden’s whitened step. Caution went flying on the wind and she let her feelings surface. Soon she was clinging to Maurice in the safety of his room.

  He felt her willingness, and every fibre in his body wanted to take advantage of it. Her body seemed part of him already, open and defenceless. He held her close and ran the flat of his hand up and down her back. For a second his mind raced ahead; what if she regretted this later? She might be angry at being rushed into the situation and blame him for it. It might raise a terrible memory. So he pulled back a fraction and stared into her face. ‘Are you sure?’ he murmured.

  Jess stroked his forehead. ‘Don’t frown.’ Then she kissed his face. The voices of her upbringing had fled; the elderly chorus of Sunday schoolteachers and maiden aunts who stood in line down the years, shaking their heads and speaking of respect, decency, reputation. All she saw was Maurice’s face, his deep brown eyes and the desire there. ‘Kiss me again,’ she whispered, drowning in the warm moment.

  He unhooked the small fastening of the blue-green silk bodice. There was a layer of thin white silk beneath, held in place by a tie on each shoulder, which easily slid away. Then he ran his fingertips over her breasts, felt her shiver as he bent to kiss them, felt himself driven on beyond thought by a desperate need to have her.

  Jess felt him lift her and gently lay her on the bed. Her eyes were closed. She heard the small snap of his collar studs, the rustle of his shirt lifted over his head. She opened her eyes as she felt the side of the bed dip, and reached out to touch the smoothness of his shoulder and chest. She rested her forefinger in the shallow dish beneath the Adam’s apple, then she raised her finger and brushed it across his mouth. He bent with an urgent groan to smother her neck and breasts with kisses, before he pressed her back with the full weight of his long, strong body and kissed her mouth until her lips ached.

  Now he roused her with his hands, caressing her in open celebration of her beauty as she consented to more and more intimate moments. He stroked the sleek line from hip to thigh, resting his head against her belly. For the first time in her life she felt delight pass from a man’s touch into her own body, and she responded with unselfconscious pleasure. They taught that you gave away something precious to the man you loved, but they had it the wrong way round. She felt Maurice offered her the gift of himself, unguarded, utterly whole. That men could be like this stunned her mind and roused her body. She thrilled and held him to her.

  Their love-making over at last, they lay intertwined, falling from breathlessness into gentle contentment and then the strange, redundant moments of shyness, when she gathered the sheets around her and wondered what was the next move. Her clothes lay scattered on the floor. She gazed at him, not knowing what to do or say.

  Raised on one elbow, he smudged away signs of her tears, as he had done once before. ‘Don’t go and cry on me,’ he whispered. ‘I ain’t no good with a handkerchief!’ He seemed to read her mind, for, without rushing, he went and gathered her things and put them on the end of the bed within reach. ‘You’ve got lovely hair,’ he murmured, running one hand back from her brow across the shining dark mass on the pillow. ‘Listen, you get your things on while I go down and make us a cup of tea.’

  She laughed. ‘You’ll give Dolly the fright of her life if they’ve just got back and you go down like that!’

  ‘The thrill of her life, you mean.’ He grabbed some clothes. ‘Anyhow, Dolly’s up at the Duke, well away by now, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He went off down the dark stairs.

  Jess lay flat on her back for a few moments, staring at the shapes made on the sloping ceiling by cracks in the plaster; a human profile, a starfish. Then she roused herself and got dressed, glad when she went down of the low fire in Dolly’s kitchen grate. Maurice kissed her and they hugged close together while they sipped the tea. It was midnight when he took her back up the court. The last drinkers spilled out of the pub. Charlie, Dolly, and Arthur met them fair and square on the doorstep.

  Dolly, her free and easy tongue loosened by an evening’s sociable drinking, hollered blessings at them. ‘That’s a girl, you enjoy yourself. You only live once and that’s a fact!’ She winked at her lodger. ‘Mind you treat Jess right, Mr Leigh. She needs someone to look out for her. Don’t we all?’ She gave Arthur, as inert as his wife was lively, a hefty nudge which unbalanced him on top of Maurice. Maurice set him straight with a good-natured smile.

  By this time, Jess could feel herself blushing from head to toe, so she gave Maurice a hasty kiss on the cheek and fled upstairs.

  Hettie had spent part of the evening with Mary O’Hagan, and become a willing helper in the crowded bed-time routine of the three older children, who washed in cold water at the restored kitchen tap, scraped a comb through their hair and climbed into one big bed, at the end opposite to the three younger ones, already sound asleep.

  She noticed signs of improvement. Besides the running water, there was a white cloth on the kitchen table and a piece of net curtain draped across rough twine to block out the worst of the grimy outlook down on to the back court. Mary herself had tidied her hair and made sure her blouse was clean and decent. The washing she’d taken in that day was already laundered. It awaited the iron in neat piles. She welcomed Hettie with a calm smile and offered tea, making only half-hearted attempts to keep the children from clinging to the visitor’s skirt.

  During the evening, Mary pieced together the family’s latest news; Tommy was still on the scene, putting his mind to earning good money in place of poor Daisy. ‘Poor boy, he never believed she’d been done in first off. I had to hang on to him to stop him racing straight over the Palace to bring her home. It was all right for us, we had time to get used to it, but poor Tom, it hit him like a hammer. I never seen him look so bad.’ Mary’s thin, serious face went distant. Hettie took her hand. ‘He never got a chance to come to the funeral, see. He never seen her laid in the ground.’

  Hettie sat with Mary, marooned in grief, waiting for the sad tale to continue. She said silent prayers.

  ‘At any rate, the poor boy had to believe it in the end. Now he’s up with the lark every day, off to Covent Garden, working his barrow to bring back the pennies.’ Mary sighed. ‘I’m proud of that boy, Hettie. And you’ll not believe this, but his poor pa’s found work as well. He heard of a job going down at Coopers’, and he went across right that minute and they took him on. He came home grinning fit to bust, all swelled up with pride. Now he’s bringing in a few shillings again.’

  Hettie smiled. Her talk with Edith Cooper had eventually paid off.

  Mary patted her friend’s hand. ‘Joe’s not a bad man, only he’s been down on his luck. What’s a man to do without work, I ask you, except sit on his backside and get down?’

  ‘And worry about rent day coming round,’ Hettie agreed. She tried to imagine doleful Joe O’Hagan grinning fit to bust.

  Mary nodded. ‘We done many a moonlight flit, me, Joe and the kids, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it to you. But please God, things will be different now. We turned a corner, thanks to you!’ She returned Hettie’s hand to her own lap. Through the doorway, six tousled, sleeping heads lay without pillows. The women sat on in companionable, peaceful silence.

  A week later, on the 11th of November 1914; a day engraved on their minds for ever, Edith and Jack Cooper stood among the proud parents at Victoria Station, waving their son off to war.

  Young men swung up into the carriages, feeling their importance, knowing their destiny. Individual differences faded, marked only by a tartan band on this soldier’s cap, a line of gold braid around that sailor’s cuff. To a man, they looked down from the open windows with a mixture of defiance and fierce bravado. Instructions from mothers centred on food and frequent letters. Fathers stood by silent, hands behind their backs, feet apart, heads raised to look at the gathering clouds of steam under the giant glass canopy.


  ‘Write soon, Teddy!’ Edith Cooper cried, strangled with guilt now that the moment had arrived. Perhaps it was too great a test, merely to restore their good name. He looked young and vulnerable, too fair and soft to face the harsh realities of war. But it was too late.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Mother.’ Teddy frowned. His Flying Corps uniform encased him in a tough, worldly shell. He leaned out and shook his father by the hand. The train whistle shrieked, the wheels began to shunt. His mother cried along with all the rest.

  Teddy leaned out until he lost their heads in a sea of waving hands. Then he ducked inside the carriage and sat down heavily on the buttoned cloth. Soon he was in conversation with an army captain, exchanging regiments, training camps, news of the front and so on. Edith and Jack sat in silence as they drove along suburban streets beneath skeletal trees all swirling in November fogs, between faint pools of gaslight.

  Next day before dawn, a heavy knock on the doors of the Duke announced the arrival of a telegram.

  Duke came down and slid back the bolts with dread certainty. It was Robert. He held the door open a fraction and took the envelope without speaking, then he closed the door and stood in the empty hallway. The paper shook in his hand.

  ‘I’ll open it, Pa.’ Frances had come quietly down in her shawl. She put one hand on his shaking arm. The other girls had gathered at the top of the stairs, clutching the necks of their night-dresses. Florrie soon joined them.

  He handed the telegram to her.

  Frances tore it open. She read the official message and sighed. ‘Robert’s wounded. He’s in the field hospital.’

  ‘Alive?’ Duke breathed.

  ‘Wounded. It don’t say how bad’ She had to lean on him for support now. She looked up at her sisters.

  ‘But alive.’ He took the message and reread it. ‘They don’t tell you nothing. What we supposed to think?’