by Weaver, Pam
Bea shook her head and dug Ruby in the ribs. ‘You’re always organizing somebody, aren’t you?’ she scolded good-naturedly. ‘Bossy boots!’
CHAPTER 13
It was the best half a crown Percy had ever spent. He had read Oswald Mosley’s book, The Greater Britain, from cover to cover. What inspiration. What common sense. What genius! The more he read, the more he admired the man who had penned the words: ‘A corporate state and a government with absolute power to carry out the will of the people’. Now that really would get things done. If only those in power had listened to what Mosley had proposed when he was in government two years before, the country would be in much better shape. Faced with two million unemployed, Mosley had put forward a grand plan to get things moving. After the stagnation of the twenties, following the crippling debts brought on by the Great War, his ideas seemed so logical. Raise the school leaving age and embark on a huge programme of slum clearances – it was a bold move, but the fools in Whitehall had thrown it out, in what Mosley called a ‘spineless drift towards disaster’. Percy’s blood boiled every time he thought about it. He closed the book and smiled to himself.
‘Finished?’ said his room-mate.
Percy nodded. ‘Pretty good stuff.’ He swung his legs down and got to his feet with a stretch and a yawn.
The day he had walked out of his home, Percy had decided – just to spite his father – to join the Blackshirts. One thing was for sure: he didn’t want his father turning up at headquarters and demanding that his son get back to fishing. And so, thumbing a lift or two, he’d walked for miles to get to London. After meeting a few Blackshirt members, he’d spent a period of time at their training centre in Whitelands House, the building formerly used by the college of the same name. Now renamed the Black House, it was only a stone’s throw from Chelsea Barracks, with its own sleeping quarters, a drill hall and sports facilities. He paid his way by working in the kitchen and doing menial tasks that no one else wanted to do, like cleaning the bathrooms and toilets, as well as knuckling down to a strict routine of physical training and instruction. As if that wasn’t enough, he also had the opportunity to learn to drive and, because the leadership wanted its trainees to have an all-round knowledge of everyday life, Percy got to discover what lay under the bonnet as well.
During his very limited free time, he enjoyed walking in the extensive grounds and ate with the other men in the canteen. Of course he still had to pay thirty bob a week for his board and lodgings, but it was worth every penny of the money he’d saved. He’d almost forgotten the money; in the heat of trying to get away from Nelson, he suddenly realized that he’d left the money in its hiding place, and had to go back to the house to fetch it. He’d been terrified of being caught, but his father had already gone fishing. Ever since Linton Carver had told him that his father had done something awful with the other lads during the war, Percy had hated him even more. He’d tried to press Linton about what actually happened, but he wouldn’t be drawn. Percy could only guess, and his imagination knew no bounds. What a hypocrite! All that claptrap about being on the side of right and good, and all the while his father had a dark, hidden secret.
After years of being put down, ridiculed and squashed, Percy was proud to think he could be part of something that was going to make a real difference in the country. Although not a great reader, now that he’d finally waded through The Greater Britain he was positive that, once Mosley had convinced the British people of his sincerity, the takeover of power by the BUF would only be a matter of time.
The door burst open and Lance Corporal Willis came into the room.
‘Lieutenant Johnson wants to see you, Bateman.’
With her mother resting upstairs, Ruby noticed that her father’s best Sunday coat was still hanging on the nail by the back door. Somehow it had been missed in the great clear-out that her mother had started. Ruby took it down and studied it carefully. He’d seldom worn it, preferring older, more familiar things, even though they were shabby. A button was hanging by a thread, but that was easily remedied. Once the button was sewn back on, she went through the pockets, but there was nothing of any consequence. She brushed the coat with the clothes brush. The next time the suitcase came back, she would put it inside, and then everything that had belonged to Nelson would be out of the house.
As he followed the lance corporal through the house, Percy was racking his brains, wondering why he’d been sent for. He had earned the respect of his leaders and was often praised for his enthusiasm and agility, so he couldn’t imagine why he’d been summoned to see Lieutenant Johnson. After a brisk march down a long corridor, he found himself in the officers’ room. Percy stood smartly at the desk and waited.
‘At ease,’ said Johnson languidly.
Percy relaxed. Was he going to be offered promotion and a more responsible position, or was he going to be asked to leave?
‘Someone from your family has been making enquiries about you,’ said Johnson. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘He has been to staff HQ in Worthing several times during the past few weeks.’
So his father was looking for him. The idea of Nelson turning up several times to look for him was hugely satisfying to Percy. He felt justified in leaving instructions that he was to remain uncontactable, whatever the circumstances. Perhaps now that his son wasn’t at his beck and call, the old man would appreciate him a bit more. Having no contact with the rest of his family was a small sacrifice to pay and, once his mother saw what he had made of his life, Percy felt sure she would understand. After all, it was only six weeks – and what could possibly go wrong in six weeks?
‘The memo-writer doesn’t say why there have been enquiries,’ said Johnson, looking at his fingernails, ‘but I’m sure, if there were something amiss, he would have mentioned it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Percy smartly.
‘You’re nearly at the end of training, aren’t you?’ said Johnson.
‘Five more days, sir.’
It had been a proud moment when Percy had gone to his first rally as a fully fledged Blackshirt steward. The shirt itself cost only a few shillings, and was fastened by a row of buttons on the left shoulder. It had been designed by Mosley himself and modelled on his fencing shirt, because it could be worn without a collar and tie. And it prevented anyone being half-strangled in the rugby scrum that often accompanied the meetings.
‘You could agree to make contact straight away,’ said Johnson, sitting up straight and picking up his baton as he rose to his feet, ‘but I’m sure a few days more won’t make any difference.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If, on reflection, you change your mind, talk to the lance corporal. That’s all. Dismissed.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘What’s it to be then, Bateman?’ Lance Corporal Willis asked, as he and Percy left the building.
‘I’d rather stick with it, without any distractions,’ he said.
‘Good man,’ said Willis.
Percy enjoyed the camaraderie in the barrack rooms. He had made two particular friends, Edgar Mills and Barnabas West – known as Barney to his friends. They were about his own age and, until they’d joined the BUF, both had been unemployed. Edgar came from the East End, which he said was ‘swarming with bloody foreigners and Jews now’, and Barney came from Kent.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Edgar, as Percy walked back in.
Percy nodded.
The men were relaxing after a hard day of physical training and lectures. Percy stripped down to his vest and sat at a small table to write a letter, while Edgar, already in pyjamas, lay on his bunk reading a book. Barney was sitting on his bunk in his bare feet while he darned a sock.
‘What are you fellows going to do, when you leave here?’ asked Barney.
‘A pal of mine knows a chap who is looking for long-distance lorry drivers,’ Percy said. ‘I got him to promise to take me on.’
‘Lucky sod!’ said Edgar, putting his book down. ‘I
ain’t got nuffink yet.’
‘You need to talk to Mick Clarke,’ said Percy. ‘He’s got contacts in the East End. There’s a whole network you can tap into, now that you’re a Blackshirt. What do you fancy doing?’
Edgar shrugged.
‘There’s plenty of builders looking for brickies,’ said Barney. ‘I fancy the idea of building for the future.’
‘There’s a rally over in Shoreditch next week,’ said Percy, writing the address on an envelope. ‘They’re looking for volunteers to help keep order.’
‘Those big rallies can get violent,’ said Edgar. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Barney leaned over the side of his bunk and nudged him playfully. ‘You great lummox! You’ve heard what Mosley says: “Ejection will only …”’
‘“… be carried out with minimum force.”’ The other two joined in, to finish the oft-quoted sentence, and then laughed.
‘You’ll only get trouble if the Communists are there,’ said Percy in a more sober mood. ‘They come in and stir up the locals.’
‘Who’s the letter for?’ asked Barney. ‘Girlfriend?’
‘My mother,’ said Percy. ‘I promised her I’d write. My father has been to our local HQ asking after me.’
‘Nothing wrong, I hope,’ said Edgar.
‘I’m sure if there was, my father would have said,’ said Percy. He licked the gum on the envelope and stuck it down and then, propping it on his locker, added, ‘I might hang onto it for another couple of days, until I’ve got the address for my new digs.’
‘No point in buying two stamps just for your mother, eh?’ Barney teased.
‘But you’ve already stuck it down,’ said Edgar.
‘Blimey,’ Percy laughed. ‘So I have.’
‘Where do you come from, Perce?’
‘Worthing,’ said Percy. ‘It’s about thirteen miles from Brighton.’
‘Nice,’ said Edgar.
‘Not much there,’ said Barney, holding up his sock for them to admire, ‘except the fishing.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of fishing,’ said Edgar. ‘I had a go at it once. Only in the canal, mind, but it was quite good.’
‘You can keep it, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Percy, his expression darkening. ‘I hate fishing. My old man is a fisherman.’
‘You don’t fancy following in your father’s footsteps then?’ said Barney.
‘No, I bloody well don’t,’ replied Percy. He could feel the old anger rising in his chest. ‘I hate the sea. I hate the smell of fish.’ He dropped his voice. ‘And I can’t say I felt that great about the old man, either.’
‘Give you a bad time, did he?’ asked Edgar.
‘Something like that,’ said Percy, standing up. ‘All I know is, no matter what I bloody well did, there was no pleasing him.’
The two men watched him balling his hands into fists.
‘Some blokes are like that,’ said Edgar. ‘Was he in the Great War? My uncle was never the same when he came back. He ended up in the nut house.’
‘He never talks about it,’ said Percy bitterly, ‘and I never ask.’
‘Perhaps you should, mate,’ said Edgar. ‘He might be a bloomin’ hero.’
Percy scoffed out loud.
‘I reckon the next time you see him,’ said Barney with a reckless abandon, ‘you should ask him.’
‘There won’t be a next time,’ Percy frowned. ‘As far as I’m concerned, my old man is dead. It’s all over between me and him now, and he can rot in hell for all I care. If I never see him again as long as I live, even that will be too soon.’
He pulled a towel from his locker and threw it over his shoulder.
‘But surely you’d want to go back and see your mother?’ said Edgar, a little shocked by the vehemence in Percy’s voice. ‘What about your brothers and sisters?’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t got any,’ Barney observed.
‘I’ve got two sisters,’ said Percy, picking up his washbag. ‘Ruby is seventeen and May is seven.’
‘Well then,’ Edgar pushed, ‘you’ll want to see them, surely?’
‘I’m telling you now,’ said Percy, his eyes flashing, ‘while my old man is alive, I’m never going back.’ He headed for the door, then paused. ‘I have my reasons, but don’t ask me.’
‘You’d better hurry up with your ablutions,’ Barney called. ‘They’ll be playing “Sunset”, and it’s lights out in ten minutes.’
The door closed.
Edgar glanced at Barney. ‘Blimey. I’ve never seen him that worked up before.’
‘Not much love lost there then,’ Barney observed.
Edgar pulled down the blanket on his bed. ‘Poor ol’ Perce. I wonder what his old man did to him.’
It was Ruby’s first day off for weeks that she didn’t have to go to an inquest, see the undertaker, attend a funeral or have to sort out something to do with her father’s death. Freda Fosdyke had refused to give her any extra time off to settle her father’s affairs. With Percy being away, everything fell on Ruby’s shoulders, and she was tired: tired of having to put on a brave face; tired of having to think ahead; and tired of work. Apart from the rest of the formalities when the inquest would resume next Thursday in the new Town Hall, Ruby was back to the old routine.
She relaxed in bed for a bit, while her mother took May to school. Her Pall Mall magazine, which she’d smuggled home, had all but fallen to pieces, but she glanced through the pages again. There had been a terrible moment when her mother almost used it to light the fire, so now Ruby kept it upstairs with her other one.
‘What on earth do you want to keep that old thing for?’ Bea had asked. ‘You’ve already read it, haven’t you?’
Yes, she had … but that didn’t stop Ruby wanting to read it over and over again. She was excited today. Jim had the same day off, and they planned to catch the bus to Brighton. The summer season was over of course, but in the run-up to Christmas the shops would be festive and it would be a welcome change of scene. Ruby dressed warmly because the weather was chilly, although thankfully it was dry. She hurried towards the pier head, where they had promised to meet. Jim waved as she came into view and she returned his greeting. Her excitement mounted. A whole day with Jim. What could be nicer?
He paid her fare and they sat at the top of the Southdown bus. Someone got off at Shoreham, which meant they could sit in the front seats. Ruby felt like a queen surveying her country as they looked down on the narrow streets and the winding road beside the port. Then they came to the wider roads of Hove and Brighton itself, busy with traffic and heaving with shoppers. Once they saw the great statue of Queen Victoria looking out to sea, Ruby knew it wouldn’t be long before they got out. The West Pier, then the Palace Pier, and they’d arrived at Pool Valley bus station. It was time to get off.
‘Shops or pier?’ asked Jim as their feet touched terra firma.
‘Pier,’ said Ruby. It was no contest. She longed to feel the wind in her hair and to fill her lungs with the salty sea air.
‘It’s the next inquest on Thursday,’ she reminded him, as he paid their tuppence each to walk on the Palace Pier.
He nodded.
The ice-cream kiosks, the kiss-me-quick hat stalls and the deckchairs were gone, but Jim bought a stick of rock for May, and Ruby bought them both a plate of cockles, after she’d noticed his lean and hungry look as he spotted them. The seller sprinkled them with a little white pepper and some vinegar, and they sat on a wooden bench to eat them. ‘When I was a kid living in the Home,’ said Jim, ‘we used to do this.’ He had his back half turned and, when he turned back, he pretended to take a winkle from his nostril, looked at it and ate it.
‘Ugh, you’re disgusting!’ she laughed as she gave him a playful shove. ‘I hope somebody gave you a smacked bottom.’
‘Nobody saw us except we kids,’ he said with a grin.
‘Were they all right with you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I mean, they weren’t unkind to you or anything?’
Jim shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a bed of roses, but it was all right. The only thing I missed out on was having my own family. I never felt like I belonged.’
‘I wish Percy was here.’ Her voice was small.
‘I’ve been back to the BUF HQ four times now,’ said Jim, ‘but they still won’t tell me where he is.’
‘I don’t think that’s right,’ Ruby complained.
‘Neither do I,’ said Jim. ‘All they do is tell me he’s safe and being well cared for.’
‘He’s missed Father’s funeral,’ said Ruby, ‘and it looks like he’s going to miss the inquest as well. Do they realize his father has died?’
‘I’ve told them every time,’ said Jim.
He reached for her hand and enclosed it in his own. Ruby’s heartbeat quickened. His hand was warm and big and gave her a delicious feeling. It was almost worth not having her brother around if Jim did this sort of thing. She didn’t think Percy would be heartbroken about his father, but she thought he should know about his death. Technically he was the head of the family and should take on his responsibilities. Why should it fall solely on her shoulders? Perhaps he’d enjoy fishing, now that he didn’t have to be with their father. She knew Nelson’s caustic criticisms were the cause of a lot of the trouble between them.
‘How are you getting along with Isaac?’ Jim asked.
‘We’ve got him fully installed in the old parlour,’ Ruby smiled. ‘He thinks it’s heaven on earth. Do you know, the only thing he brought from Germany to remember his family by was a half-finished place mat that his wife made.’
‘So sad,’ said Jim.
‘Right now,’ Ruby went on, ‘he’s trying to get the outhouse ready to use as a workshop. It’s a bit small, but he reckons he can fit everything in.’
‘It’s a marvellous thing you’re doing,’ said Jim, giving her hand a squeeze.
Ruby’s heart soared. ‘It benefits us all,’ she smiled.