‘I’m very well, thank you, Mrs Lewis.’
‘’Ow about a drink, gel?’ Reg Lewis got up. In his hand was a quart bottle of brown ale which was almost empty. By the way he swayed unsteadily on his feet, it was not the first bottle he had consumed that evening. ‘What ya say we douse those bleedin’ German gits once an’ fer all? OK?’
Ivy laughed with him, but shook her head. ‘No, fanks all the same Mr Lewis. I just come in ter see if ’Elen’s around?’
Gracie downed the last of her gin. ‘Last I saw of ’er, she was sittin’ out in the back yard. I tried ter get ’er out ’ere, but she don’t feel up to it.’
‘Would you mind if I go in and see er then?’
‘’Course not, dear. ’Elp yourself. The front door’s open.’
‘Fank yer, Mrs Lewis! Fank you!’
Gracie watched Ivy rush off, not really knowing why the girl was so grateful, or so excited. She was even more curious when the young man who was waiting for Ivy nearby, smiled across at her. Gracie smiled back, and raised her empty glass at him. She had no idea why she did it.
Ivy made her way down the dark hall passage of number 1, and out into the back yard. Although there was a hard wooden chair out there, Helen was nowhere to be seen. ‘’Elen! You out ’ere?’ There was no response, so she turned back into the house. But, just as she was about to make her way along the dark passage again, Helen’s voice called to her from the Anderson shelter.
‘Ivy? Is that you?’
‘’Elen!’
‘I’m down ’ere – in the shelter.’
For the past half-hour or so, Helen had been sitting in the dark. Although she felt guilty that she was not joining in the celebrations, the end of the war only meant to her that Eric would not be among those who would return to enjoy the peace.
‘’Ang on a minute ’Elen!’ Helen could hear Ivy’s voice competing with the distant festivities and fireworks from the street outside. ‘I’ll be right wiv yer!’
Helen pulled herself up in the uncomfortable old armchair that her mother always sat in. Then she waited for Ivy to pull back the blanket that covered the entrance. She couldn’t understand why she was taking so long to come down.
‘Ivy?’ she called tentatively. ‘Are yer there?’
Just a little concerned, Helen levered herself up and stood in front of the entrance. However, just as she did so, the blanket was pulled apart, although all she could see was a silhouette against the distant kitchen light.
‘Ivy?’
The silhouette came down into the shelter and drew the blanket across the entrance again. Then Helen heard a soft, gentle voice calling to her. But it wasn’t Ivy’s.
‘’Ow’s my gel, then?’
Helen felt a chill go down her spine as she heard the voice – a voice that, night after night, she had heard in her dreams. A voice she’d never expected to hear again in her waking hours. ‘Eric!’ She wanted to yell, but all she could do was to croak. And then, suddenly, she felt arms around her, holding her tightly, clasping her and their coming child against a firm, warm body. ‘Eric!’
For the next few minutes, no more words were spoken. But Helen’s tears of joy were quickly smothered in kisses, her hair pushed away from her face.
Outside, Ivy cried so much she had to blow her nose at least three times. By then she thought it was about time she went back to the party to find herself a boyfriend of her own.
It was almost midnight when Frankie got back to Merton Street with Elsa. The celebrations were still going strong and, for the first few moments nobody noticed their arrival. The Gorman brothers had organised a mass sing-song, and as the Merton Street roof-tops echoed to the sound of Don’t Fence Me In and She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain, Frankie and Elsa made their way to number 1, where Gracie and Reg were still sitting on the front coping-stone, singing their hearts out with everyone else. Just as they got there, several people caught sight of them and immediately stopped singing. Doris Simmons from number 37 stopped playing her harmonica, which caused the Gorman brothers to turn and, by the time Frankie and Elsa had reached Gracie and Reg, all heads were turned to look at them.
‘Mum. Dad. I want you to meet a friend of mine.’ Frankie was completely composed as he stood before his mother and father.
Gracie remained sitting, but Reg, his eyes glaring hard through a haze of brown ale, slowly raised himself up.
‘This is Elsa,’ Frankie said. ‘Mrs Elsa Barclay.’
Gracie and Reg just stared at Elsa, without replying. Suddenly the air was charged with tension.
Then Gracie put her glass down and stood up and held her hand out to Elsa. ‘’Allo, Mrs Barclay,’ she said, making a surpeme effort to smile. ‘We’ve met before – in’t we?’
Frankie was shocked, and swung a startled look back at Elsa.
‘Yes, Mrs Lewis.’ Elsa also smiled, and held out her hand. ‘It’s so nice to meet you again.’
Most people seemed absolutely astonished as they watched the two women shake hands with great warmth.
‘Reg,’ said Gracie. ‘In’t yer goin’ ter get Mrs Barclay a drink, then?’
Reg Lewis didn’t reply. Swaying, he turned tail, and walked off without saying a word.
It was Bert Gorman who lightened the atmosphere. Stepping forward from the crowd of subdued people who had been watching the whole exchange, he went straight to Elsa and said with a smile, ‘’Ere, Mrs Barclay. Yer wouldn’t care ter buy an old lavatory seat, would yer? Me and my bruvver ’ave got one goin’ cheap!’
Laughing, Elsa replied. ‘You have a deal, Mr Gorman. There is always a good sale for one of those!’
One or two people in the crowd chuckled, and then everyone erupted into laughter. Then Elsa, Frankie, and Gracie joined in and, within a few minutes, the party had resumed with gusto.
The revelry went on until nearly daybreak, and did not come to an end until everyone had sung a rousing and emotional chorus of Land of Hope and Glory, followed closely by God Save the King, which echoed around the rooftops of not only Merton Street, but was heard as far away as the main Holloway Road itself.
Elsa joined in the final rendition of the National Anthem. And why shouldn’t she? thought Frankie. After all, she was as British as anyone there . . .
Chapter Eighteen
A few days after VE Day, Winston was finally allowed home. His back leg was still encased in plaster, so he made it quite clear to everyone he met that he required a great deal of attention and from his reclining position at the foot of Frankie’s bed he graciously accepted any left-overs from meal times that anyone cared to offer. Frankie was his main supplier, but Helen was also good for the odd boiled potato or half a savaloy. Winston’s big surprise, however, was when Gracie Lewis started coming up the stairs to give him the odd tit-bit. At first he growled and bared his teeth at her, for Gracie had never been anything but hostile to him. But he very quickly accepted her peace offerings of shepherd’s pie and tinned peas with gratitude.
There was no doubt that, since the VE night street party, Helen’s reunion with Eric Sibley had been the main topic of conversation among the residents of Merton Street. It was, they said, nothing short of a miracle that Eric had been released from a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany and sent back home just in time for the VE Day celebrations. For Helen, of course, Eric’s return home was a gift from God and, although she wasn’t a religious person, the first thing she did after the VE night street party was to go to church. At last her life seemed to be taking a turn for the better, for Eric had immediately asked her to marry him.
Frankie was thrilled that his sister would now have a husband to look after her and their baby, but he couldn’t help feeling just a little sad when the couple announced that they had found a couple of rooms to rent in Tottenham, and would be moving there as soon as they could make the arrangements. Luckily, Frankie and Eric immediately got on like a house on fire, and when Eric asked his future brother-in-law to be best man at the Registry Office wedding,
Frankie was over the moon – although scared to death at what his ‘duties’ would entail. To everyone’s astonishment, Eric’s introduction to Reg and Gracie Lewis turned out to be far less agonising than had been thought. In fact, Gracie asked him over to Sunday lunch and Eric and his future father-in-law got through at least two quart bottles of brown ale, followed by nearly half a bottle of whisky.
Frankie watched his mother and father’s open-armed behaviour with incredulity. Times were indeed changing at number 1 Merton Street!
Winston, though, was not happy about the new contender for his master’s affections. Frankie had been seeing Maggs Fletcher for some time now and referred to her as ‘my girl-friend’, but though it was quite obvious that Maggs was a dog-lover who not only stroked him a great deal and had once given him a pork bone she had saved from her dinner, Winston did not take too kindly to the arrangement.
Although it hadn’t yet occurred to him, there was no doubt that Maggs Fletcher was beginning to mean something to Frankie. She was after all a lovely girl with bright, violet-coloured eyes, a fresh complexion with just a few freckles on her cheeks, and honey-blonde hair that tumbled down over her shoulders. Frankie loved to listen to her, for she had a velvet soft voice, although her laugh sounded really quite infectious. The only other slight problem for Frankie was that Maggs came from a fairly posh family. Her father was a bank manager and her mother helped out at the WVS and held afternoon bridge parties at their home in smart Canonbury Square, just behind Highbury Corner.
About a week before his birthday at the end of May, Frankie took Maggs to the pictures. They decided on the old Rink Cinema at Finsbury Park for there was a spooky ghost film playing there called, A Place of One’s Own with James Mason and Margaret Lockwood, and although it had an A Certificate, both Frankie and Maggs could now easily pass for sixteen year olds.
For their first visit to the ‘flicks’ together, Frankie lashed out on the top-priced one shilling seats which took them to the exclusive but limited seating area in the circle. As the Rink used to be exactly what its name implied, a roller skating rink, the cinema still resembled exactly that. It was an oval-shaped barn of a place, with the narrowest of circle seats which seemed miles away from the very distant screen. But it was a great favourite for courting couples, and, very self-consciously, Frankie and Maggs chose two seats in the dark and secluded back row.
When they arrived, the March of Time magazine film was still playing, so they paid very little attention to it. The B feature was one of the Dagwood Bumpstead films, but all through it both Frankie and Maggs sat absolutely upright in their seats, almost nervous to say anything to each other. When the house lights went up, Frankie bought two tubs of ice-cream which lasted until the main feature started. For some time, however, there continued to be no real communication between the two, even though neither of them was really concentrating on the film.
Luckily, the spirit world came to the rescue. During a particularly spooky moment when ghostly goings-on were emerging on to the Rink’s distant cinema screen, someone in the audience screamed. To Frankie’s absolute astonishment, Maggs was so shocked she threw herself straight into his arms and buried her face in his chest. It took both of them a moment or so to take in what had happened, but when it did they both enjoyed the outcome. Their hearts thumping with an excitement which neither could understand, Frankie put both his arms around Maggs and held her as tightly as he could right to the end of the film. All the way through, Frankie found himself either squeezing Maggs’ hand or brushing the hair from her face. Both of them felt a warm glow surging through their blood, but it was only just before the film came to an end that Frankie gathered all his courage, raised Maggs’ head, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. In the darkness, Maggs could feel herself blushing, but she wanted Frankie to do this, and returned his kiss with a full one on his lips. They were still locked in this position when the lights went up, and an impatient usherette yelled: ‘Show’s over!’
Frankie and Maggs strolled down Seven Sisters Road as though there was no one else in the whole wide world. With his arm around Maggs’ shoulder, and her arm around his waist, Frankie compared the kiss he had given Maggs to the way Errol Flynn had kissed Olivia de Havilland in The Adventures of Robin Hood. But he reckoned that Maggs kissed far better than Olivia de Havilland. As for Maggs, well, though she had had a couple of casual boyfriends before Frankie, her feelings for him were different from anything she had known before . . .
Frankie’s birthday turned out far better than he expected. Not only did his mother and father buy him a new Bing Crosby record, the first birthday present he had ever had from them, they also gave him ten shillings towards the bicycle he was saving up for. And Helen and Eric, who had now moved into their rented rooms in Tottenham, sent him a birthday card with a postal order for five shillings enclosed.
Soon after school, Frankie collected the money he had saved in his money-box and called on Prof. They made their way to Pascall’s Bicycle Shop. On the way, all Frankie could talk about was the great bike rally to Southend that was taking place on the following Sunday week to celebrate VE Day, and the fact that by then he would be able to raise the last five shillings to buy the bike of his dreams and join the Merton Street gang on the best day’s outing they had ever known.
By the time they reached the corner of Hadleigh Villas, Frankie’s heart was thumping so hard with excitement he felt his legs would collapse beneath him. As they waited on the corner to cross the road, Pascall’s was in clear view, just waiting for Frankie to get there and put a deposit on the Raleigh sports bike that had been gathering dust in the shop window for at least the past six months.
It was only when they reached the entrance to the shop itself that Frankie felt as though his stomach had dropped out.
‘It’s gone!’
The bike was no longer suspended on a wire display and, even though Frankie and Prof were pressing their noses hard against the shop window, they could see no sign of the bike anywhere.
‘It’s around somewhere.’ Prof did his best to sound reassuring. ‘It’s been in the window a hell of a time. Perhaps they’ve put it round the back of the shop or something?’
Crazed with anxiety, Frankie didn’t wait another minute before rushing into the shop.
The shopkeeper was a huge, rotund man, who looked as though there was no bicycle in the world that could hold his weight. ‘Yes, young man,’ he called, emerging from the counter at the back of the shop, a pipe smoking in his mouth. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘The Raleigh,’ Frankie was spluttering out his words. ‘The one in the window. It was there for ages.’
‘The blue Sports, you mean?’
‘Yes! Yes! I want ter buy it.’
‘Ah!’ The man raised his head just enough to blow out a puff of pungent pipe smoke. ‘Took ’er out a couple of days ago. ‘Ad a good run for ’er money’.
‘But where is it?’ There was a note of sheer desperation in Frankie’s voice. ‘It is still ’ere, in’t it?’
The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, son. Sold it to a customer. Paid ready cash for it.’
Frankie’s heart missed a beat. ‘But yer can’t! Yer can’t ’ave sold it! ‘I’ve ’ad my eyes on it for ages, ever since yer first put it in the window.’
‘Well that’s not my fault, son. If yer wanted it so badly, why din’t yer buy it before now? If yer’d asked me nicely, I’d ’ave knocked off five bob or so just ter get rid of it. This is a shop, yer know. We ’ave ter sell when we get the chance.’
Frankie felt as though his whole world had collapsed around him. It was gone. After all his hard efforts it had gone, and he would never get the chance to join the Merton Street gang on the VE Bike Rally.
‘It’s not the only bike in the shop, yer know. ‘There’s a coupla nice secondhand BSA’s out the back. If yer like I’ll go an’ bring ’em out?’
By the time the man had finished speaking, Frankie and Prof had already left the shop.
>
Frankie slouched his way back along the Seven Sisters Road, totally dejected. He had dreamt about owning that bike, of being part of the great throng of cyclists who would be gathering together on the great Victory Rally to Southend. And now, instead, he would be a laughing stock among the likes of Jeff Murray and Patty Jackson. Frankie could think about nothing but the hateful person who had robbed him of that bike, of the one thing he had set his heart on.
‘Look, Frankie,’ said Prof. ‘I know how much going to the Rally means to you. So you can take my bike. I don’t care if I go or not and anyway, the doctor says I’m not supposed to do too much cycling. Not good for my heart, he says.’
‘I don’t want yer bike,’ Frankie grunted, his hands sunk deep into his pockets.
‘But you’d only be borrowing it for the day.’
Without thinking, Frankie, eyes blazing, suddenly turned on his friend. ‘’Ow many times do I ’ave ter tell yer! I don’t want yer bike. I don’t want no one’s bike. I saved up fer this one. It should’a bin mine! Mine!’
‘But you’ll get another one, Frankie, far better than that one, you’ll see. And you could take mine just for the Rally.’
Frankie’s response was snarling and ugly. ‘You stupid little ponce! Don’t you understand that when yer’ve set yer ’eart on somefin’, yer don’t want nuffin’ else! Nuffin’! That’s the trouble wiv you – yer in’t got a brain between yer ears!’
To Prof’s absolute horror, Frankie suddenly turned away from him, and ran off down the Seven Sisters Road.
Prof had never known Frankie behave like this before and he went home, his thoughts bleak. Frankie clearly hated the sight of him, so from now on it would be best if he kept away from him . . .
All Frankie could think about was the Raleigh Sports that had disappeared from Pascall’s shop window. The thought that some spoilt rich kid was at this moment riding around the streets of Islington on his bike was killing him.
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