A Ration Book Christmas

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so; I doubt the royal family are squashed into a damp Anderson shelter in the back garden like Cathy is.’

  Her mother gave Jo a tight-lipped look but didn’t reply.

  ‘How’s your mother-in-law with the bombing?’ asked Jo.

  ‘She lies on the bunk all night with her eyes tight shut and crosses herself every time there’s an explosion,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Is she upstairs?’ asked Ida.

  Cathy shook her head. ‘There’s a jumble sale at St Philip’s this afternoon so she’s giving a hand with the sorting this morning.’

  ‘Did you hear that school in Canning Town that the council were using as a rest centre had a direct hit?’ said her mother.

  ‘I did,’ said Cathy. ‘Someone said the coaches that were supposed to fetch them got lost. It’s all the Government’s fault for not organising things properly and now they’re trying to stop people sheltering in the underground.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ve got your own shelter,’ said Jo. ‘Not like us being wedged in with a load of sweaty cattle in the Tilbury.’

  ‘I heard it was bad,’ said Cathy.

  ‘It’s not bad, it’s appalling,’ said Jo. ‘After just two days stuck in with a load of drunks and crying babies, I can understand why Gran’s happy to take her chances up top. There was even a couple of prostitutes from Wellclose Square touting for business under the arches at the back last night. As shelter warden, Mattie’s supposed to be down there to keep order but—’

  ‘Don’t mention her name to me,’ cut in Cathy. ‘She and that husband of hers are the reason my Stan’s not allowed to see his son—’

  ‘I thought Stan was in the army,’ said Jo, giving her sister a puzzled look.

  ‘That’s enough, Cathy!’ said their mother, giving her middle daughter a fierce look.

  Cathy gave her mother a baleful look and buried her nose in her teacup.

  The second hand on the carved ebony clock on the mantelshelf ticked off a minute and then Cathy looked at Jo.

  ‘So, Jo,’ she said, with a heavy sigh, ‘what are you going to do now you’re back?’

  ‘I’m not too sure,’ Jo replied.

  ‘The Queen said you should sign up for war work,’ said her mother. ‘Cos the country needs everyone to do their bit to fight the Nazis.’ She crossed her arms and adjusted her bosom. ‘And apart from it being your patriotic duty, with Charlie gone and the government fixing the price of scrap metal and with the prices rocketing, you’ll have to start bringing something in to the house.’

  ‘There are posters on every wall asking people to sign up for war work,’ said Cathy. ‘So I’m sure they’ll snap you up, especially now you’ve passed your school certificate. What do you fancy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jo replied, truthfully.

  ‘You could sign on as a full-time ARP warden like Mattie,’ said her mother. ‘She earns good money.’

  ‘What, stuck in a shelter all night with a bunch of screaming kids and trying to stop people fighting over the best billets?’ Jo scoffed. ‘Not likely.’

  ‘What about joining the ATS or WRNS?’ said Cathy. ‘Or even the WAAF—’

  ‘She ain’t joining the army,’ cut in their mother. ‘I’m grey enough worrying over Charlie without having your sister in the army too.’

  ‘All right, the Land Army, then,’ said Cathy.

  Jo gave her sister a wry look. ‘I’ve just come home from the ruddy country, why would I volunteer to go back?’

  ‘A pity you can’t drive, as the ambulance service is crying out for drivers so—’

  ‘I can drive,’ cut in Jo.

  Cathy looked surprised. ‘Can you?’

  Jo nodded. ‘I got my provisional licence while I was away so I could use the shop’s van for deliveries. In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think about the ambulance service myself. I’ll go along to the Town Hall first thing tomorrow and enquire.’

  Cathy drained her cup. ‘Shall I top up the pot?’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Ida, placing her empty cup in the saucer. ‘Your dad’ll be in the Catholic Club having his lunchtime pint and I want to catch him before he sets off for the afternoon.’

  Ada rose to her feet and so did Jo. They all went through to the kitchen. Jo and her mother unhooked their coats from the back of the door and put them on.

  ‘Nice to have you home,’ said Cathy, hugging her sister briefly once she was all buttoned up.

  ‘It’s nice to be home,’ Jo replied. ‘I’ll pop by again in a few days, and give that little sweetie a kiss from his Auntie Jo when he wakes up. I’m looking forward to giving my new nephew a cuddle next time I come.’

  ‘Stay in the warm,’ said Ida, shoving aside the blackout curtains and opening the door.

  There was a bit of a nip in the air so, tucking their collars up, Jo and her mother stopped only briefly to admire the youngest addition to the Brogan family as he slumbered in the fresh air before heading through the back gate and down the side alley to the street.

  As they started off towards home, Jo surreptitiously glanced at her watch.

  ‘Mum, can I pop around to see Daisy Kemp?’ she asked as they reached Commercial Road. ‘She said that she’s signed on for war work so I could find out a bit more about it from her.’

  ‘You can, but like I said before,’ said Ida, ‘if the sirens go off, you go straight to the shelter, do you hear?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Jo gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  Leaving her mother heading off down Sutton Street towards the Catholic Club at the back of St Bridget’s and St Brendan’s, Jo turned and headed off in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Eight

  SCRAPING THE RAZOR down his jaw, Tommy flicked the suds in the kitchen sink and turned his head so he could see the other side of his face in the mirror on the window sill.

  In the other room, Billy Cotton’s Band were playing their signature tune, signalling the start of their midday music programme.

  He’d laid awake for at least an hour after he’d rebuffed Lou’s advances but despite the regular boom of bombs landing and the artillery batteries along the Thames firing, he must have dropped off to sleep sometime around three, only to be woken again an hour or so later by the all-clear sounding. Since then he’d been dead to the world and only woke up when the postman shoved the mid-morning delivery through the letterbox.

  Knowing Jo must have got his letter telling her how much he loved her and that he planned to visit on Saturday, he’d rushed out, hoping there might be one from her telling him the same, but when he’d sifted through the government pamphlets and bills his battered heart had sunk even further. Of course, there might be something in the afternoon post but . . .

  He’d had a strip wash and had put yesterday’s vest and shirt into the bucket under the sink to soak and was now standing in his trousers with his braces dangling from his waistband and the cold tiles chilling his bare feet.

  Raising his chin, Tommy scraped the razor up either side of his windpipe then rinsed it in the enamel bowl in the sink. Twisting this way and that, and satisfied no stubble remained, he dropped the razor into the handleless jug. He picked up his bottle of Clubman Spice just as the front door banged shut.

  ‘Oi, oi!’ shouted Reggie.

  ‘In here,’ Tommy called back.

  Emptying aftershave into the palm of his hand, Tommy splashed it over his face, feeling it tingle on his freshly shorn skin.

  Reggie strolled in. He was dressed in the new chalk-striped brown suit he’d picked up from Maxi Cohen’s the week before, his lucky green tie and a fresh shirt.

  ‘I see you found somewhere to kip last night,’ Tommy said, recorking the bottle and putting it back on the window sill.

  ‘I did, although I didn’t get much sleep.’ Reggie winked. ‘What about you?’

  ‘An hour or so after the all-clear,’ Tommy replied.

  ‘And what about Lou?’ asked Reggie.

 
Picking up the towel, Tommy shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask her when she gets up.’

  Reggie gave him a pitying look. ‘Sorry, Tommy boy, I thought she’d have been all over you.’

  ‘She was,’ said Tommy, dabbing his face, ‘but I’ve got other things on my mind.’

  His brother rolled his eyes. ‘Bugger me. Not that bloody Paddy . . .’

  Tommy shot him a hard look.

  ‘All right, all right.’ Reggie raised his hands in surrender. ‘I’m saying nuffink more except if you’re starting to turn down a bit of ’ow’s your father with crackling like Lou you’d better trot along and ask one of those head-quacks to take a look at yours because you ain’t thinking right.’

  Tommy threw the towel over the clothes dryer suspended from the ceiling above the cooker. ‘You’re a bit spruced up for a swift half in the Admiral, aren’t you?’

  ‘I thought I might go and see what’s happening up west later,’ Reggie replied, dusting an imaginary speck of dirt from his sleeve. ‘Want to come?’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘I’m on fire watch later. I’m going to show the bloke who’s replacing me the ropes. Have you got the crew together yet?’

  ‘More or less,’ Reggie replied.

  ‘Who you got?’

  ‘Apart from you and me, there’s Fred and Jimmy plus I’ve asked Sunny Merton, Lofty “the cat” Innis and Ugly Ore,’ said Reggie, reeling off the names of his most trusted henchmen. ‘Plus Squeaky McClean.’

  ‘Squeaky?’ asked Tommy. ‘He couldn’t dig his way through a bowl of semolina let alone a half hundred weight of rubble.’

  ‘But he can lay his hands on some quality picks and shovels and save us sweating our balls off using council rubbish,’ Reggie replied. ‘So, I said I’d cut him in as the driver.’

  ‘“Cut him in”?’ Tommy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re not—’

  ‘I mean be part of the crew,’ said Reggie, giving him a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, force of habit.’

  ‘It had better be,’ said Tommy. ‘Because I’ll tell you straight, Reggie, I’ll shop you myself if I find you or anyone else on the crew pinching stuff.’

  His brother looked hurt. ‘Honestly, Tommy, what do you think I am?’

  Raising one eyebrow, Tommy gave him a wry smile.

  ‘All right, all right, but on my life, Tommy, I promise.’ Reggie put his hand dramatically on his chest. ‘Me and the fellas will play it straight.’

  ‘I hope so, for your sake,’ said Tommy. ‘And it will be your life because they’re hanging looters now.’

  He went to walk past his brother and into the lounge.

  ‘Ain’t you forgetting something?’ asked Reggie. ‘Like your bleeding vest and shirt.’

  ‘They’re in my wardrobe. I was hoping Lou might have got up by now,’ said Tommy. ‘But as she hasn’t, I’ll have to go up and fetch them.’

  ‘Well, you walk in on her half naked like that,’ said Reggie, ‘and she might try and get you to change your mind so I’ll get what I came for and head off to the Admiral.’

  Giving his brother two fingers, Tommy left the kitchen and, while Reggie delved into his money stash hidden under a floor slate in the larder, he made his away upstairs to his bedroom.

  Half an hour after leaving her mother, Jo stood under the awning of Wenger’s tobacconist and gazed down the row of Victorian workmen’s cottages in Tarling Street.

  She chewed the inside of her mouth.

  Perhaps she could just wait until Tommy came out and then pretend to be strolling past. It would look as if she was there by chance and they just happened to meet. It would be the best way, of course, but she was already getting funny looks from customers going in and out of the corner shop and she didn’t even know if Tommy was actually at home.

  She waited for a second and then, fixing a nonchalant expression on her face, she pinched her cheeks to give them a bit of colour and strolled slowly down the street towards Tommy’s house.

  Usually, on a bright autumn day such as today, the street would have been full of women gossiping while toddlers ran up and down under the watchful eyes of their mothers. However, as the whole neighbourhood had spent the last few nights under constant bombardment from the Luftwaffe, the street was uncharacteristically quiet as people caught up on some sleep.

  As she reached Tommy’s front door, Jo glanced through the front window, trying to see if there was any movement inside. Nothing!

  She walked on and around the corner then stopped and looked at her watch.

  Twelve thirty.

  The Admiral would be open so perhaps . . . Jo dismissed the idea.

  Her mother would hear that Jo had gone to see Tommy in a pub and would not only skin her alive but probably put her on the next train back to Essex for good measure.

  Jo glanced down the street again.

  Just one more quick look, she told herself as she strolled back the way she’d just come, and if she still couldn’t see anything she’d come back later.

  She was two strides from Tommy’s front door when it opened.

  Excitement shot through Jo as her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

  Feeling a little light-headed she smiled, expecting to see Tommy’s much-dreamed-off face appear. Instead, Reggie Sweete stepped out.

  He was dressed as always in a flashy chalk-striped brown suit with wide lapels and turn-ups, which stretched to accommodate his bulky frame. His apple-green tie with small playing cards printed on it was tied at his throat with a massive Windsor knot, a gold pin anchoring it to his shirt.

  Puzzled, he looked her over for a second then a smile spread across his face. ‘It’s Jo, isn’t it? Jo Brogan.’

  Jo was taken aback that he recognised her. ‘Well, yes, it is but I’m surprised you remember me.’

  ‘Course I remember you, Jo.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re Tommy’s girl.’

  ‘I am?’ Jo’s heart took flight. ‘I mean, yes. Yes, I am.’

  ‘He was talking about you only a minute ago,’ continued Reggie.

  A little glow started in Jo’s chest. ‘He was?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Reggie. ‘He was telling me what a lovely girl you were but he said you’d gone away.’

  ‘I was evacuated with my brother but I came home on Saturday,’ said Jo.

  ‘I suppose you’re down here to see Tommy,’ said Reggie.

  ‘No,’ Jo replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. ‘I . . . I was just passing.’

  The corners of Reggie’s fleshy lips twitched for a second.

  ‘Well, he’s in if you’ve got time to say hello. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, Jo.’ Smiling, he placed a pudgy hand on the door and pushed it open. ‘Go on. Surprise him.’

  Jo’s heart thumped again and, unable to speak, she walked in.

  Standing in the square-shaped hall, Jo glanced up the stairs to the two bedrooms above.

  ‘Hello!’

  No one answered.

  Taking hold of the curved Bakelite handle she walked into the Sweete brothers’ main living room.

  Like the rest of the houses in the street the one downstairs room ran from the front to the back of the house. However, unlike the other homes in the street, which usually had one family living upstairs and another downstairs, Tommy and his brother were the sole occupants. Well, except for whichever woman Reggie was currently shacked up with.

  The front room itself was just fifteen by twenty, with one window overlooking the street and a door leading to the minute scullery. The stairwell cut across the room, creating an alcove in which stood a squat sideboard with a crate of beer on it.

  Apart from being a bit dusty the room was clean enough but it lacked a woman’s touch: there were no ornaments on the shelves, no photos over the mantelpiece or antimacassars on the back of the four easy chairs. Instead, there was an over-spilling ashtray, a copy of the Racing Times tucked in the side of the chair and one of Reggie’s boxing periodicals on the box-shaped radiogram under the back window. Although there
was a decent set of curtains at the front window, the window overlooking the rear of the property was bare.

  The door to the kitchen area was ajar so Jo walked over.

  ‘Anyone there,’ she said, pushing it back and stepping through.

  Like the lounge, the kitchen was devoid of all the home comforts you would expect to see and it was clear that Reggie was between women as the pots on the stove were encrusted with dried food and there were the burnt remains of fish and chips in a greasy newspaper on the kitchen table.

  Casting her gaze past the pile of dirty crockery clogging the sink to the shaving mirror on the window sill, she noticed the safety-razor with a stick of soap and a bottle of Clubman Spice next to it.

  Trailing her fingers along the edge of the table, Jo walked over to the sink and picked up the aftershave. Uncorking the top, she held it closer and breathed in.

  Images of Tommy’s smile, Tommy’s twinkling eyes and Tommy’s hard mouth pressing on hers flooded Jo’s mind, sending a bolt of disturbing yet enjoyable emotion through her.

  Shutting her eyes, she heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘Jo?’

  She spun around to find Tommy standing in the doorway behind her.

  He was dressed – or rather undressed – in just his trousers, which fitted snuggly and rather too low on his hips as the unfastened waistband revealed a line of hair tracking down. Of course, it took her eyes a minute to shift down there as they seemed glued to his chest covered with dark chest curls that stretched upward to his collar bones and tracked down the middle of his muscular stomach. His arms too, although relaxed, were textured with veins and corded sinews under a generous dusting of hair. The unsettling emotion that should have sent her straight to the confessional settled in the pit of her stomach as her gaze ran slowly over him and came to rest on his blunt chin, angular face and finally his dark eyes.

  Jo gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Hello, Tommy.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Jo!’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, Reggie let me in,’ she said, recorking the bottle and putting it back where she found it. ‘Pleased to see me?’

  ‘Well yes, of course,’ he replied, looking baffled. ‘But I thought you were still in the country—’