Maggs came out to find the playground absolutely deserted. There was about two feet of snow around, glistening in the bright moonglow of a bitterly cold winter’s night. For a moment, she just stood there, rubbing her arms to try and keep warm, for she had no top coat on and was only wearing her red and white velvet party dress. Frankie was obviously not out there, so she turned to go back inside again.
‘Miss . . .’
Maggs turned with a start. Someone was calling her.
‘Over here, miss. Wot’s up wiv yer? You blind or somefin?’
Maggs knew it was Frankie’s voice, but all she could see was a huge snowman that someone had built beneath the large oak tree in the school playground.
‘Come on then! Don’t tell me yer scared of someone like poor little me?’
With a broad grin on her face, Maggs went to the great white figure and looked closely at it. It had a friendly face, with two buttons for eyes, a tattered old scarf tied around its neck, and an old trilby hat that had been put on at a rakish angle. After a moment, she spoke to it directly.
‘Frankie?’
‘Sorry, miss,’ came the immediate reply. ‘Don’t know no Frankie. Will I do?’
Maggs smiled back, without giggling. ‘Depends. What do you want?’
‘I want ter marry yer, miss.’
Maggs was completely taken aback.
‘I’m sorry I can’t go down on me knees. But I do love yer, miss. And if yer could bear ter put up wiv a snowman fer the rest of yer life, I’d be ever so grateful.’
At that moment, Frankie himself stepped out from behind the snowman.
‘So wot about it, miss? Yes – or no?’
Little rivulets of tears were streaming down Maggs’ cheeks. But it was not because she was cold. Suddenly she threw herself into his arms and yelled. ‘Oh yes please, Mr Snowman! Yes! Yes! Yes!’
As the two of them stood there with snow half-way up their legs, the chimes of Big Ben could be heard booming out from at least three wireless sets in Pakeman and Roden Streets. And, as they chimed, the people from Merton Street joined together in song with all their neighbours from the other streets: ‘Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot . . .’ At the same time, the bells of the Emmanuel Church echoed out across the rooftops of Merton Street – Frankie’s Street. Most people agreed that the bells had never pealed so loud and clear, for everyone could hear them for miles around. Everyone, that is, except the two young lovers who were locked in a tight embrace in the playground of Pakeman Street School.
It looked as though it was going to be quite a year for them . . .
Our Street Page 36