At half-past six he got washed and changed into a clean shirt and a new Tootal tie which Eric had given him. Tonight, as it was his sixteenth birthday, Elsa had invited him and Maggs to come round for supper. Even though Frankie had told her quite a lot about Maggs, Elsa had never met her before. The least he could do was to look clean and tidy, which meant borrowing some his father’s Brylcreem to make his unruly hair look a little more cared for.
At seven o’clock, Frankie collected Maggs from the bus stop just outside the Marlborough Cinema. It was quite a warm evening and Maggs was wearing a pretty plain blue cotton dress and a short navy-blue jacket. She was disappointed when Frankie didn’t make any comment about the way she looked, for she had deliberately tried to make herself look nice for his birthday supper.
As they crossed the Holloway Road and walked down Tollington Road together, Frankie was in a sullen mood, and when he told Maggs why, she got quite irritated by the fact that he was more interested in a bicycle than herself.
When they got to number 19, Elsa gave them such a welcome that Maggs adored her straight away.
‘People shouldn’t have long faces on their birthday,’ said Elsa, pulling up Frankie’s chin and staring straight into his face. But when Frankie told her about the bike that had disappeared from Pascall’s shop window, she shook her head sadly and gave him no comfort at all by saying that one just had to accept the disappointments that come in life.
Over dinner, Maggs gave Frankie her birthday present to him. But it only caused Frankie more despair, for it turned out to be an illustrated book about bicycling through the ages.
Maggs and Elsa spent a great deal of time talking to each other and Elsa was astonished how much Maggs knew about Germany before the war. Furthermore, Maggs could speak a few words of German, which sent her high in Elsa’s estimation.
‘Now comes the highlight of the evening,’ announced Elsa, as she disappeared from the dining-room. ‘Eyes should be closed tight,’ she called.
‘No cheating!’ warned Maggs, for Elsa had confided to her what was to come.
After a moment, the kitchen door opened to a blaze of flickering light. ‘Happy Birthday to you,’ sang Elsa, with Maggs joining in.
Frankie quickly opened his eyes to see a huge birthday cake with sixteen lighted candles illuminating the room.
‘Elsa!’ Frankie’s eyes lit up with excitement. It was the first time in his whole life that anyone had taken any trouble at all over his birthday and suddenly he felt he was no longer a child, but a man.
‘It’s my own special recipe,’ proclaimed Elsa, ‘with sultanas and apples. I’m not so good at the icing, but I guarantee it tastes good!’
Frankie and Maggs stared in awe at the cake. The white icing had blue writing on it which read: ‘Happy Birthday – my good friend Mister Frankie.’ Frankie felt like crying, for it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
‘Well – don’t just sit there you foolish boy!’ Elsa handed Frankie the cake knife. ‘If we’re going to get poisoned, let’s get it over with.’ And she added, with a wry smile, ‘And please don’t forget to take a piece for my friend, Winston!’
Frankie took the cake-knife, and positioned it on the cake.
‘Blow out the candles, Frank,’ whispered Maggs. ‘But close your eyes first and make a wish.’
Frankie closed his eyes and wished. But, even though he didn’t tell Elsa and Maggs what he was wishing for, they didn’t have to guess very hard. Then he took a deep breath and blew for all he was worth and every candle was immediately extinguished.
Elsa and Maggs cheered and applauded energetically.
‘So what did you wish for, Frank?’ asked Maggs.
‘Wishes are supposed to be secret,’ he said suddenly deflated. ‘But they never come true, so what difference does it make?’
At this point, Elsa, who had had a private conversation with Maggs before they ate, exchanged a pointed glance with the girl. ‘Wishes are like everything else, Frankie. They don’t come for nothing. They have to be worked for.’
Frankie cut three slices of cake. ‘We need plates.’
‘I’m feeling just a little worn out, Frankie,’ replied Elsa. ‘Be a good fellow and get some. They’re in the kitchen.’
Frankie put down the cake knife and went off to the kitchen. But he had hardly entered the room when Elsa and Maggs heard the loudest yell of delight they had been expecting.
‘No! It’s not possible!’ Frankie bellowed.
Elsa and Maggs, with wide grins, got up from the dining-table and made their way into the kitchen. When they got there, they found Frankie sitting on the saddle of the bicycle that had disappeared from Pascall’s window. Frankie was in such a state of ecstasy and excitement that he could hardly breathe.
‘Happy Birthday, Frankie!’ chorused Elsa and Maggs, hugging each other.
‘But how . . . when . . .?’ Eagerly inspecting the five-speed gear on the shining bike and impatiently trying out the pedals and bell, Frankie spluttered excitedly, ‘It was you, Elsa! You bought it.’
‘I was sick to death of seeing the thing stuck in that shop window.’ Elsa was beaming. ‘After all, you were going to get it sooner or later – so why not now?’
Frankie leapt off the saddle and threw his arms around her. ‘Elsa, you’re the most wonderful woman in the whole wide world!’
‘Oh yes!’ said Elsa. ‘I bet you tell that to all the young ladies!’
That night, Frankie didn’t sleep a wink. Now he really would be able to hold his own with the Merton Street gang on the Victory Rally to Southend the following Sunday. He had got what he wanted and the dream-bike was his. No one would take it away from him – no one. But at what sacrifice had he got it?
At nine o’clock next morning, he hurried along the Seven Sisters Road and stopped outside the door beside the Ladies Handbag shop, and rang the bell. After a moment he heard Prof’s familiar footsteps coming down the stairs, and when he opened the door they just stared at each other.
Prof looked bewildered, until Frankie said, ‘I’m sorry, Prof. I’m really sorry. Forgive me?’ Then he held out his hand.
Prof paused for only a brief moment, and then his solemn look turned into a radiant smile. ‘Nothing to forgive!’ he beamed, and shook his old pal firmly by the hand.
Half an hour later they were making arrangements for their entry in the great Victory Day Rally to Southend . . .
Chapter Nineteen
On Sunday, 2nd June, Finsbury Park echoed to the yells and laughter of nearly three hundred exuberant pedal cyclists. Although it was only six o’clock in the morning, there was already a good deal of warmth in the rising sun and, as the sky and trees and playing fields gradually became bathed in a spectacular red glow, the intrepid entrants in the great VE Day rally completed the last checks on their tyres, handlebars, saddles, and wheel-chains. Hopes were high that the weather would provide them with a radiant day, and even though war was still raging against the Japanese enemy on the other side of the world, this magical Sunday in June would be the first opportunity to celebrate, in style, the long-awaited peace in Europe.
Frankie and Prof were amongst the first batch of entrants to gather on the old playing fields on the Seven Sisters Road side of the park, Frankie astride his brand new Raleigh Sports and Prof on his old-fashioned ‘banger’ with the rusty straight handlebars. It was an odd feeling for everyone, for during the war those same fields had been taken over by the RAF who used them to operate their huge, silver-coloured barrage balloons, which had helped to save a great deal of Islington from aerial attack by low-flying enemy aircraft. Frankie was wearing his school football shorts and vest for the ride, but when Jeff Murray turned up, his old man had rigged him out in a flashy outfit that made him look as though he was about to compete in the Olympic Games. Patty also wore shorts, folded up as far as they would go, clearly hoping that she would prove a great attraction to the young male riders. Alan Downs turned up in an old pair of army trousers t
hat had once belonged to his elder brother.
‘So – who’s in the money then?’ Jeff strolled around Frankie’s new cycle, inspecting it condescendingly as though it was kids’ stuff. ‘Yer don’t reckon you’re gonna make it all the way to Southend on that ole heap, do yer? Yer’ll be lucky ter get ter the uvver side of the park!’
As usual, Jeff played to the crowds, who duly roared with laughter at his pathetic joke.
‘At least I won’t need an engine ter get there,’ quipped Frankie, referring to Jeff’s motorcycle. ‘Not like some people.’
To everyone’s delight, except Jeff’s, Frankie’s quick repartee got just as big a jeering laugh.
A few minutes later a great cheer heralded the start of the rally, and the mass of bicycles and their enthusiastic riders poured along the inner park road, and gradually headed out through the Manor House entrance. Jeff, Alan, and Patty immediately crept up into the advance group, but Frankie and Prof decided to take their time and enjoy every bit of the long journey.
Helen Lewis had set her alarm clock for six-thirty. It was a bit on the early side for a Sunday morning, but she and Eric had decided that they would go down to the High Street and wave Frankie on as he cycled by on the Rally to Southend.
The two rooms they had rented in St Anne’s Road, Tottenham, weren’t exactly paradise, but to Helen they represented the kind of home she had always dreamt of sharing with the man she loved. And since he came home from his days as a POW in Germany, Helen had confirmed to herself that she was indeed hopelessly in love with him. It wasn’t just that the father of her child had returned from the dead, or even that she was able to set up her own home. What she really cherished was just being with him, to sit and talk with him, to feel his arms around her in bed at night. Helen was now nearly six months pregnant and, when her baby arrived during the coming August, she was determined to show Eric that he would not regret having put her in ‘the family way’.
The only problem in Helen’s life now were her parents. It wasn’t her father she worried about so much, but her mother. Although Gracie Lewis had more or less accepted Eric as a future son-in-law, the prospect of being a grandmother was clearly upsetting her. Helen felt totally depressed about her mother’s persistent refusal even to discuss her future grandchild. But Eric had ideas of his own how to deal with that little problem.
Which was why Gracie and Reg Lewis were being invited to tea that Sunday evening.
A few miles away, in posh Canonbury Square, Maggs Fletcher was also having a few problems with her parents. Sidney and Jennifer Fletcher were nice people, and Maggs loved them very much. But, because she was an only child, they were very possessive of her. Whatever she did, they had to know about.
Although they had never actually met Frankie Lewis, the Fletchers were very apprehensive about their daughter having regular dates with someone from ‘the other part of Islington’. To them, Holloway might have been the slums of Calcutta, and the people who lived there – especially around the Nags Head – were – well, ‘different’. So when she was told on Sunday morning that she could not go to Finsbury Park to see Frankie off on the Rally to Southend, Maggs threw the type of tantrum that she had never shown to Frankie.
‘You’re just doing it because you’re prejudiced!’ Maggs yelled at her father, as he and her mother packed some picnic things in the back of their Rover. ‘I’ll be seventeen years old this year, yet you’re treating me like a kid in nursery school!’
‘Then stop behaving like a kid in nursery school!’ her father snapped back. ‘You’re going out for the day with your mother and me – and that’s final!’
Jennifer Fletcher was more conciliatory. She looked a lot like her daughter, with the same violet-coloured eyes and fresh complexion, although her honey-blonde hair was just showing the first signs of grey beneath her headscarf. ‘It’ll be a lovely day, Maggs dear. There’s some beautiful countryside down in Surrey, and while your father goes off to play his silly old golf, you and I can go for a stroll.’
‘I don’t want to go to Surrey, and I don’t want to go for a stroll!’ Maggs’ voice was now raised far beyond the accepted norm in Canonbury Square. ‘You know very well you’re just trying to get me away from Frankie. You object to him, even though you haven’t met him!’
Maggs’ father was becoming very irritated with his daughter ‘Now you listen to me, young lady . . .’
As always, Jennifer Fletcher acted quickly to avoid a scene. ‘It’s all right, Sidney, dear,’ she said, doing her best to soothe her husband’s rising temper. ‘Maggs is just a little tired that’s all. After all, she’s got her exams in a few weeks’ time, and it’s very early in the morning to get her out of bed.’
Sidney Fletcher sighed in exasperation. Once again his wife was giving in to their daughter’s tantrums. He gave a dismissive wave of the hand and started cleaning the front windscreen of his car.
Jennifer put her arm around Maggs’ shoulder, and whispered in her ear. ‘Come inside and help me finish making the sandwiches.’
Reluctantly, Maggs followed her mother back into the house. Their feet echoed on the black and white marble tiled floor of the front hall as they made their way into the ornate kitchen at the back of the house.
‘You mustn’t keep upsetting your father like that, Maggs.’ Jennifer was at the kitchen table, cutting in half fish paste sandwiches that she had already made. ‘He loves you very much, you know. He just doesn’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.’
Maggs crossed her arms and watched her mother. ‘Then why does he object to my seeing Frankie?’
‘He doesn’t object! It’s just that – well, he’s a little nervous about who you’re seeing. After all, you’re the only daughter we have.’
‘It’s because he lives in the wrong part of Islington, isn’t it?’
‘That’s silly, Maggs. I won’t have you talking like that!’
‘Then why don’t you let me do the things I want to do – meet the people I want to meet?’
‘Now you’re being selfish.’
‘I like Frankie. In fact – I’m in love with him.’
Jennifer turned with a start. ‘Love? At your age!’
‘Stop being so pompous, Mother. This is 1945. Everything is different to your day.’
Now it was Jennifer’s turn to get angry with her daughter. ‘Love is not the prerogative of young people!’ Then, slamming down the knife she was using to cut the sandwiches, she snapped, ‘Going out with this boy has got nothing to do with love. Love is something that has to grow. And before that happens you have to get to know someone awfully well.’
Suddenly, Jennifer felt guilty for having spoken so sharply to the girl. She turned to her and tried to smile sympathetically. ‘All I’m saying Maggs is that you’re too young to be talking about such things. In time you’ll get to know lots of boys. Eventually, you’ll find the right one.’
‘As long as he doesn’t come from the wrong part of Islington!’ Maggs’ otherwise pretty jaw was fixed stubbornly as she glared back defiantly. ‘Isn’t that what you mean, Mother?’
Jennifer sighed deeply. She was clearly making no impression on her daughter. ‘All I’m saying, dear, is: be careful. If you get too involved, well – I think you’re old enough now to know what could happen.’
As she turned back to her sandwiches, Jennifer was totally unprepared for her daughter’s response.
‘I’m sorry, Mother. It’s a little too late for that now.’
Jennifer Fletcher dropped her sandwich knife on the floor and turned back to Maggs with a look of horror.
Behind them, Maggs’ father was standing in the open kitchen doorway. What he had just heard made him feel as if he had just been hit by a doodle-bug.
Despite the early hour, the people of Tottenham turned out in force to cheer the three hundred or so cyclists who were huffing and puffing their way along the Seven Sisters Road. By the time they reached the cinema on the corner of Broad Lane, there was a sizeab
le crowd which included Helen and Eric.
Frankie and Prof were almost lost amongst the great mass of Raleighs and other bikes that were being clicked into gear. When Helen finally caught a glimpse of Frankie near the tail end of the winding procession, she rushed into the road and yelled out for all she was worth. Eric joined her and pushed something into Frankie’s hand. As the cyclists had to keep on the move, it wasn’t until he had left Helen and Eric behind that he was able to see what his future brother-in-law had passed on to him. It was a ten shilling note. In great excitement, Frankie turned back and yelled at the top of his voice: ‘Eric! Fanks . . .!’ Helen and Eric waved back, waited for the last of the procession to disappear down Bruce Grove, then slowly made their way back home.
Within an hour or so the Rally had thinned out considerably. The route planned had taken them via Walthamstow and then out on to the Southend Road, where the bike lanes alongside the main road itself were already jammed with cyclists riding single file for miles out into the Essex countryside. It was very nearly forty miles from Finsbury Park to Southend-on-sea, and those who were not used to pedalling such long and arduous journeys soon found it hard going. Frankie was one of them, and despite the joy of at last owning his long-cherished bike, even in top gear he had to work hard to get up some of those hills. On the whole, however, most of the cycle-paths were quite long and straight and Frankie had the opportunity to savour for the first time the English countryside in early summer, lush green fields dotted with an explosion of flirting yellow buttercups, and rows upon rows of bungalows and little terraced houses that all looked the same. He adored the ecstasy of the wind rushing against his face, and the hot June sun beating down on to his head and bare arms. All along the route small groups of cheering people had gathered to wave flags or hold up encouraging ‘V’ signs and, in some of the smaller villages, trestle-tables were set up with bottles of free lemonade and slices of home-made bread. The Southend Rally had provided everyone with the chance to show their joy at the end of a long and ugly war.
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