by Rosie Clarke
He cursed as he thought of the days when he’d left the army with a trade as a carpenter and there had been lots of work on the docks, as well as on the building sites and he could turn his hand to anything that used wood. He loved the smell and the feel of it and took a pride in his work. It had broken his heart when he’d had to stand in line at the docks.
‘Are yer comin’ in, Robbie,’ a voice asked and he turned to see one of the men he sometimes stood in line with. Jack Goodrum had had better luck than him recently and he’d taken up a couple of quid at the end of the day. He didn’t need charity.
‘I don’t go in for charity…’
‘Nor me, mate.’ Jack Goodrum grinned. ‘No. I’m lookin’ fer a game o’ cards with some mates of mine. Yer can sit in if yer like…’
‘I ain’t got any money ter spare fer cards…’
‘Nor ain’t we,’ Jack said. ‘We play fer matchsticks – and then the one who loses the most buys the other a half on the way ’ome…’
Robbie hesitated. He had a couple of bob in his pocket, enough to buy a couple of half-pints if he lost. It was years since he’d played with other men – not since he was in the army. He’d joined up when his parents died and the war had been on… But the memories didn’t make for good thoughts.
So why not play cards for a change? The kids were next door with a neighbour. They would be all right for an hour or so and it was a long time since he’d done anything but work and go home to sit in an empty kitchen when the kids were in bed.
‘All right then, but I’ve only got two bob in me pocket so don’t expect me to buy more than a half…’
Jack grinned and Robbie followed him into the mission. It was packed, mostly with older folk, but a few men and women of his own age and one or two kids. Robbie regretted not bringing his, as John Hansen had invited him to do, because it would have been a bit of fun for them.
He followed his friend and sat down at a table with three other men – that was four half-pints, five if he had one himself. He might have enough left over for a bag of chips on Saturday for the kids…
Sitting at the table, he was asked what he wanted to play and given a box of matches to use as his stake. Glancing round the room, Robbie saw her. She was carrying two plates of food to a table, where people were helping themselves to sandwiches and cakes. For a moment Robbie thought she’d seen him and it seemed that their eyes met until she turned away.
Sighing, Robbie concentrated on his cards. He would much prefer that he was the one being bought a drink rather than having to spend what little he’d earned on beer instead of his kids…
*
Flo saw him sitting at a table with four other men. Robbie was playing cards for matchsticks. John wouldn’t allow them to play for money in the mission of course, but Flo suspected that the men went to the pub afterwards and who knew what changed hands then?
She looked round for Robbie’s children, but he hadn’t brought them with him and that made her frown, because if he was coming out for an evening of pleasure the least he could do was to bring his children for a treat. It would have cost him nothing and they might have won games and prizes, and enjoyed a nice corned beef and pickle sandwich. It made her wonder if he was a little selfish and she deliberately avoided looking at him.
Flo listened to the numbers being called for the tombola. She always bought a card and gave it to one of the elderly women to play, because she wanted to contribute to the funds for the mission. She bought raffle tickets too and sometimes she won a little prize, but if she did she always gave it back to John afterwards. He put it into the draw for the next week.
‘I don’t want to win anything,’ she’d told him the first time she won a packet of Bourbon biscuits. ‘I only buy a ticket to help out.’
Flo didn’t have much money for herself. By the time she replaced her flour, sugar and other ingredients, paid Honour a small wage, given her father the money he demanded, bought their food, and settled the other bills the shop incurred, it left only a few shillings for her own use.
She occasionally made herself a new dress or skirt, but because she wore a smart striped apron in the shop most of the time Flo didn’t bother about new clothes for herself much. She liked Honour to have nice things and when she could save a few pounds she gave them to the girl and told her to buy a new dress or some shoes. Honour took the money but often used a little of it to buy something for Flo, because she was a generous girl. She’d bought the lovely twinset Flo was wearing now for her birthday and it was Flo’s nicest thing and that was why she wore it at the mission.
Watching some children playing pass the parcel, Flo smiled as they tore off each layer of newspaper wrapping the small treat inside. They were as excited as they would be on Christmas morning. Thinking of Christmas, Flo smiled as she recalled something she’d seen at the market that she wanted to buy for her sister. It was a silver bracelet made of twisted wires and had a little heart charm hanging from it. Flo had seen it and known that Honour would love it, but she hadn’t had enough money in her purse. She would go back on Tuesday morning, which was her day for shopping in the market, and buy it – but she would hide it away, together with the pretty hankies and an imitation silk scarf she had already bought as presents for Honour.
Flo did a bowl of washing up and left one of the other helpers to dry as she carried the last plate of food out to the table. She caught sight of Robbie rising from the table with the other men and frowned, because he looked so miserable. It seemed obvious to her that he’d lost the game of chance he’d been playing and she doubted – with the state of things in the East End - he could afford even the few pence he’d probably pledged. For a moment he looked directly at her and Flo felt so sorry for him that she forgot her earlier annoyance with him and smiled. A dark colour spread up his neck and he turned to leave until John Hansen tapped him on the arm and spoke to him. Robbie nodded agreement and then dashed off, as if he someone had poured hot water over him.
‘Have you finished now?’ John asked, coming up to her. ‘I’ve called time so we’ll be closing as soon as I can get them all to leave.’
Flo laughed up at him. ‘You make it too comfortable, Mr Hansen. No one wants to leave and go out in the dark…’
‘Apart from Jack Goodrum and his friends,’ John agreed and frowned. ‘I got Robbie to come this evening, but I didn’t think he would fall in with them… they think I don’t know they bet with matchsticks and then the loser buys the drinks later, but I’m not blind.’
‘I think Mr Graham lost…’ Flo bit her lip, because John looked at her oddly.
‘I dare say the idea of a free drink was appealing. It’s a good thing I offered him a few hours work. It won’t amount to much, I fear, but you never know what may happen…’
‘Now what are you plotting?’ Flo turned as Nurse Mary walked up to them. She worked at the infirmary but gave what time she could to the mission, treating men and women who couldn’t afford to pay for treatment and would neglect themselves rather than get into debt for a doctor’s bill. ‘Ah, Nurse Mary. Mr Hansen is up to something…’
‘I see you’ve finished for the night,’ Nurse Mary said. She smiled at Flo, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I just wanted to tell you, John, that I shall be here in the morning for my clinic as usual…’
‘Thank you, Nurse Mary,’ John said. ‘Mr Potter has a nasty cough – and I think Nellie Jones’s hip is playing her up again. I’m sure you will have your usual crowd waiting when you arrive.’ She smiled at him and looked content.
‘I’m leaving now,’ Flo told him. ‘I enjoyed helping, Mr Hansen. Goodnight, Nurse Mary.’
Flo went into the office and picked up her coat, wrapping her scarf around her neck. She had sensed the nurse’s silent hostility and wasn’t sure why the older woman did not like her. They were both interested in the same thing – helping John Hansen to keep his mission running. It was hard to find the funds because money was tight everywhere. Customers often asked for cr
edit, and though most paid as soon as they could, it meant that everyone had to cut their profit margins to keep going.
Flo knew that she and Honour were lucky, because although a lot of people could not afford much in the way of luxuries, a cake or a few squares of coconut ice were little treats that helped them to face their hard lives. With Christmas on the horizon, more people would use what they had managed to save to buy sweet treats for themselves and their children – but afterwards, when they all tightened their belts, Flo would expect a sharp drop in profits. It was as well that she still had a little of the money her mother had secretly given her just before she died.
‘The money is hidden from your father,’ Faith Hawkins had told her daughter. ‘Use it wisely, Flo, because you will find it hard to replace once it has gone. Your father has always grabbed a share of what the shop makes, though he has no right to a penny. I only gave in because he would make both your life and Honour’s a misery if I denied him – and I know I’ve been harsh with you, but you hurt me when you brought shame on us.’
Flo had not touched a penny of the little nest egg her mother had saved. She never went near it, because she did not want her father to discover it and snatch it away from her; it was for Honour when she needed it.
Going out into the cold night air, Flo heard a loud bang and saw the Austin 7 car backfiring at the other end of the lane. Not many motorised cars were seen in these streets, other than the occasional baker’s van and the bus. The brewery and a lot of other small tradesmen still used horses to pull carts or waggons and only the visiting businessman or the gang members ever had a car.
Flo knew that criminal gangs still held sway in some of the worst streets of the area, though she’d never actually met anyone or seen anyone she knew to be a gang member. She’d heard whispers there was an illegal bookie somewhere about, but she’d never tried to discover where it was situated; it would be behind a normal house door, for all the world just another home, and somewhere in the back room bets would be taken and laid.
Shivering, she hurried through the streets, suddenly wanting to be home. It was easy to tell those families that carried on illegal forms of gambling and other vices; they were the ones with money and cars. She wondered if some of them came to buy sweets at her shop. If they did she didn’t know, but the thought was enough to make her glance uneasily over her shoulder. However, the street was empty.
6
‘I can’t wait until Roy comes this evening,’ Honour said on Saturday morning as they were tidying the shop. She’d spent the previous night with her hair wound up in rags and it looked bouncy and fresh, drawn back off her face with clips.
‘What will you wear?’ Flo asked and smiled as Honour told her exactly what she’d chosen. The excitement of being courted was in her eyes and Flo could see just a trace of colour on her lips; she’d been experimenting ready for her trip to the cinema.
Singing to herself, Honour went back to the kitchen to fetch some freshly baked cakes and Flo got on with her cleaning. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Honour so happy and wondered if her friendship with the young soldier was more serious than she’d imagined. At first she’d thought it was just the fun of being taken out, because he was her first boyfriend, but now after they’d been dating for some months, she thought she’d noticed a change.
Flo frowned, because if Honour had fallen in love with Roy it would mean Flo would have to speak to her father. She wouldn’t allow him to forbid Honour to see her young man, but he would be angry – as much because they hadn’t told him, as anything else. Perhaps she ought to have made him aware from the first, but Flo didn’t see why Honour should suffer the way she had. If he had his way, Honour would never be allowed out of the house! Yes, Flo had once made a mistake, but Honour was more sensible. They’d spoken briefly about behaving modestly when out with a young man, but Flo had been too embarrassed to say more – she would have to if Honour was thinking of marriage.
When her beloved daughter returned with the cakes, her eyes sparkling and a spring in her step, Flo felt tears on her lashes, which she hastily blinked away. Honour was beautiful and Flo ought to have known she would find a man to love one day. Of course she was too young to wed; at eighteen she could not marry for another three years unless Flo gave her permission. Ernest Hawkins might try to stop her but Flo was her mother, even though the world believed otherwise and hers was the last say. She knew that when the time came she would not stand in Honour’s way…
*
Ben looked at Bert Waters’ eyes when the old man let him in that Sunday morning. They looked red and puffy and he thought his friend had been crying.
‘Is there anythin’ I can do, sir?’ he asked. ‘If you’re not too good I can fetch in the coal, chop the wood if yer like?’
‘No, lad, I’ve chopped the wood, but you can bring some coal in for me…’ Bert sighed. ‘It’s my Millie. She started coughin’ terrible in the night and this mornin’ she looks proper bad. I think she needs the doctor, but she says she doesn’t want him to come.’
‘Mum used to say that when she was ill,’ Ben said wisely. His tenth birthday was not until the following January, but his mother’s death had forced him to grow up swiftly. ‘You ’ave ter get ’im anyway.’
‘Yes, I think so,’ Bert nodded. ‘She worries about the money, you see. We’ve got a little bit tucked away but not much – but I think she needs the doctor and I’m goin’ to ask if you will run and get ’im fer me?’
‘Yeah, ’course I will.’ Ben grinned at him. ‘She’ll have a go at yer, Mr Waters, but you’ll not mind that…’
‘Why don’t yer call me Granda?’ Bert asked with a smile. ‘You ain’t got a grandfather and I ain’t got no grandchildren. My boys both got killed in the Great War – the bloody Germans killed ’em both on the Somme…’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Ben said, because he’d heard the story before, from Bert and others. Ben was always running errands for neighbours and they told him things, about the terrible war that had taken the flower of Britain’s young men. ‘I reckon that was rotten luck fer yer, Granda.’ He grinned at him as he used the name for the first time. ‘I like that – I reckon Ruthie will too. We ain’t got nobody but Dad and each other.’
‘Well yer ’ave now,’ Bert said. ‘Cut along and get that doctor then, lad. Yer know where Doctor Miller lives, don’t yer?’
‘Yeah, I know. He came to Mum,’ Ben said. ‘I were with her and he weren’t much good, though he done his best – but she still died and left us…’
‘Yes, I know, lad. I was sorry about that – yer mum was a nice lady…’
‘Yeah…’ Ben caught back the tears that might shame him. Boys of his age didn’t cry, even if their mum was dead. ‘I reckon I’ll go and fetch the doctor. He’ll probably charge yer double fer comin’ out on a Sunday.’
Bert nodded grimly, but Ben knew there was no other choice. Mille needed the doctor now and if he didn’t come she might die…
*
Flo was wiping out the shop window when she saw Ben running by. He was plainly in a hurry and she wondered who was ill, because the look on the boy’s face told her it was urgent. She remembered Robbie going off with the regular card players. He’d looked desperate – but he wouldn’t do anything foolish would he?
Flo’s father had started banging on the floor upstairs with his stick. She ignored him as she finished her work. He hated her working on Sundays, and said both she and Honour needed to sit and read the bible. Flo hadn’t had a chance to ask Honour if she had an enjoyable time with her friend at the pictures. Her sister had got up early and was busy making sugar mice, rum truffles and some biscuits with coffee icing on the top. She was going to make little boxes of mixed treats and wrap them in cellophane. One box would go in the window and she would have another two inside the shop on the glass counter. If people liked them and ordered them, she would make lots more ready for Christmas week, which was still some way off yet.
Flo had already made
two dozen rich fruit cakes, which were stored in tins in the large pantry. She would ice them Christmas week so that they were fresh and the icing was soft. The cakes themselves had been made a month ago because they got better if you tipped a little brandy into them once a week and let them mature ready for Christmas.
Flo was looking forward to trying one of Honour’s biscuits with a cup of tea and having a good chat about the previous evening, but she was waiting until Honour was ready to tell her. She didn’t want to pry into Honour’s secrets, because she knew how that felt – her father had done that to her for years.
Hearing her father’s stick bang on the floor again, Flo drew the little net curtains behind her window and was about to leave the shop and go upstairs when she saw Ben returning. She went to the shop door and opened it, calling out to him, ‘What is wrong?’
‘I went fer the doctor,’ Ben said. ‘Millie Waters was taken real bad in the night. The doctor weren’t there. His missus said he was out but he’d come when he could…’
Flo nodded, because it was often the same. There was a great deal of sickness in the lanes and ancient courts of London’s East End, and often the doctors here were overworked.
‘Is there anythin’ I can do to help?’
‘Nah, I doubt it. Granda is lookin’ after her, but he says her cough is somethin’ awful…’
‘I know someone who might come,’ Flo said. ‘You go back to Mr Waters and I’ll telephone the infirmary and ask for Nurse Mary. I think she might be finished her work soon and she might call on her way home…’
‘Right, ta,’ Ben said and nodded. ‘I’ll tell Granda that…’
‘Tell him that I’ll pop round later too…’
As Ben set off at a run again, Flo returned to the shop and then popped up to see her father. Having settled him, she went through to the kitchen, where Honour had just finished tying up an open box of biscuits and chocolate truffles in cellophane and a pink ribbon.