Christmas is for Children

by Rosie Clarke

  He wasn’t a good father, but he did what he could and they’d never yet starved, even though sometimes they didn’t get much.

  ‘I’m goin’ out in a few minutes,’ he said and he put a mug of milky tea in front of each of them. ‘I’ve got to see someone about a job – not on the docks but my real trade.’

  Ben looked at him for a few moments, chewing in silence, then, ‘You used to be a carpenter, didn’t you?’

  Robbie smiled at him. ‘Still am, son. I just need someone to give me a decent job so we can have proper food on the table and buy you kids a bit of a treat for Christmas.’

  ‘I want a sugar mouse,’ Ruthie piped up and picked up her mug with both hands, slurping noisily. ‘I saw them in the window of Miss Flo’s shop – a pink one and a white one. I want a pink one…’

  ‘We must see what we can do,’ Robbie said and turned away lest his kids should see the pain in his eyes. He ought to be able to buy his beautiful daughter a sugar mouse for Christmas! ‘What about you, Ben?’

  ‘I don’t care, Dad,’ his son said. ‘We’re goin’ round to Granda’s this afternoon.’

  ‘And who is Granda?’ Robbie asked the corners of his mouth quirking.

  ‘Bert Waters,’ Ben told him and finished his sandwich. ‘Granny Waters isn’t well so I thought we’d go round and help…’

  ‘Since when have you been callin’ them Granda and Granny?’ Robbie asked.

  ‘Since this mornin’. We go there to sit in the warm until you get home some nights, Dad. It’s cold here until the fire gets goin’ and she always gives us a drink and a piece of cake…’

  ‘You shouldn’t intrude on people, Ben.’

  ‘It isn’t intrudin’.’ Ben was defensive. ‘They haven’t got anyone else, Dad. Granda told me both his sons were killed in the war. They don’t have a lot of money and I wouldn’t take it if they offered, but I earn what they give us – cleaning winders and carryin’ in the coal. I do jobs fer others too, but they give me tuppence or sixpence if I do all the downstairs winders… I buy food for Ruthie and me sometimes, but I put some in your pot for the gas, Dad.’

  Robbie thought he’d fallen as low as he could get before this, but his son’s words were like a blow to the stomach as he recalled the one shilling and tuppence he’d wasted on drinks for those card players on Friday night. What the hell had he been doing? His son was not yet ten years old and he did jobs for neighbours for pennies, which he spent on his sister and added whatever was left to his dad’s fund for the gas. Robbie had seen pennies and a sixpence in the pot, in which he saved shillings for the gas meter – and, assuming he’d put the money there, he’d taken a few coppers out more than once to buy a half of bitter down the pub. The shame of it was like scalding water. He turned away fiercely, holding back the tears that sprung to his eyes. Anger swept the weakness away – he was a useless fool!

  ‘Well, that’s great, son.’ He hid his emotion. ‘I never knew what you get up to when I’m not here.’ He faced his children, who were both looking at him with innocent open faces, and forced himself to laugh. ‘I hope you won’t have to buy your own food for a while, kids. If I get this job it should mean I’ll have a little money for Christmas – and after that perhaps things will pick up.’

  Robbie knew that it was very unlikely things would pick up anytime soon. The depression was biting and more and more businesses were struggling to keep going, especially the kind that employed lots of men. Shipyards, factories, warehouses were all working short hours or closing their gates, and no one was taking on new men. This work John Hansen had promised him was like a gift from heaven and he hoped it was more than a couple of hours, which would hardly pay for the sugar mice his children wanted as their Christmas treat. He wanted so much more for them – toys, clothes and lots of good food.

  Robbie reached for his clean shirt, fastening the starched collar with a silver-plated pin he’d had as a young man. He didn’t wear a tie but thought it best to make a bit of an effort when going for a job at the mission. His scuffed boots had been polished with spit and a soft brush, and his trousers had an army crease down the middle.

  ‘You look posh, Dad,’ Ruthie remarked. ‘Are yer goin’ ter church?’

  ‘Dad’s goin fer a job like he told us,’ Ben answered her. ‘Good luck, Dad.’

  Robbie smiled and thanked him. ‘Well, be good, both of you,’ he said. ‘I’ll call for you and say hello to Mr Waters when I get back – if that’s all right?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, we’ll be there for a while,’ Ben said seriously. ‘I think Granda needs a bit of help in the kitchen. Granny wouldn’t like to see it the way it looks now so I’ll be doin’ a bit of cleanin’.’

  Robbie nodded but didn’t say anything more. He felt choked as he inwardly vowed to find the kind of work that would give him back his pride and put proper food on the table for his children.

  *

  Honour held Roy’s hand as they walked slowly through St James’ Park. It was very cold and hardly anyone lingered as they did; a few children ran laughing down the paths between the greens and past the lakes, one of them with a hoop that he hit with a little stick to keep it going, but no one sat on the wooden benches and only a few stood listening to the Salvation Army band playing hymns.

  ‘I love it when they come round at Christmas singing carols,’ Honour said, smiling at Roy. Her breath made little patterns on the cold air. ‘Flo always gives them two shillings in their tin. She gives the children who come a cake rather than money, but the Sally Army is a good cause, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ Roy agreed and smiled down at her. He looked so handsome in his uniform that Honour’s heart jerked and fluttered in her breast. She was almost sure she loved him as much as he said he loved her, even though Flo thought she should be cautious.

  ‘You won’t mind that Flo says we have to wait until the summer to get married? She says she will make it right for us – though I don’t know how she’ll get Dad to sign his name…’

  ‘Perhaps she has her own methods.’ Roy grinned. ‘She’ll refuse to feed him if he says no…’

  ‘Flo couldn’t be so hard-hearted,’ Honour asserted and then giggled. ‘She’s been the best sister to me, Roy. I was miserable when Mum died, but Flo took me in her bed and held me all night as I cried. She’s looked after me better than most mothers. She never has much for herself, but she makes sure I have nice things to wear and there’s always a lovely present for me at Christmas.’

  ‘What sort of ring would you like me to buy you at Christmas – do you like rubies or sapphires or just diamonds on their own?’

  ‘I don’t know… Anything,’ Honour said and blushed, because she was too shy to say that she loved the colour blue. She was wearing a dark blue coat with a little velvet collar and her cloche felt hat was pale blue with a satin band and a bow at the front. The coat was new, when she’d had it last winter, but it had been Flo’s gift and came from a shop and not the market. She wasn’t sure yet that she was ready to marry but she couldn’t tell him that because he might take offence.

  ‘We’ll make it a surprise then.’ Roy squeezed her hand. ‘I know it seems a long time to wait until the summer… I want us to be together more, Honour. I want to kiss you and…’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘We have to be careful, though, because I’d hate you to get in trouble…’ He sighed and Honour wondered what he meant.

  Flo was never critical of the young women in their road who sometimes got married in a hurry. She just smiled and said as long as they were happy in the end it didn’t matter. Honour had seen one of those young women pressed up against the wall, kissing her fellow and wrapping her arms and legs around him. It was soon after that she ordered a small wedding cake. Honour thought that perhaps passionate kissing led to babies but wasn’t quite sure how. Flo had told her to be careful when she went out with Roy and she knew that she meant something about not doing things that led to having babies but wasn’t sure what that was. She ought to
ask her sister, but until now it hadn’t mattered and Flo was always so busy.

  ‘I trust you, Roy.’ Honour smiled up into his eyes lovingly. ‘I know you’ll always look after me.’

  Roy made a little noise that sounded like swearing but he didn’t say it out loud, just bent and kissed her softly on the lips – right there in the middle of the park. A smartly dressed woman wearing a fox fur round her neck was strolling past with her husband and a little boy, who was carrying an expensive sailing boat under his arm and walking just ahead of his parents. The woman raised her eyebrows as if she didn’t think it was quite right for Honour to be kissing her boyfriend in public, making a sound with her tongue that indicated disapproval, and that made Honour blush. She squeezed Roy’s arm and tried to ignore the woman’s look but thought that she would ask Flo if there was anything very wrong with kissing in a public place.

  ‘Will you meet me tomorrow evening?’ Roy asked as they approached the bus stop. She’d told him they had to catch this one so that Flo could go out when they got back. ‘I might be sent away for a while soon and I want to make the most of our time together, Honour darling.’

  The passion in Roy’s voice sent little shivers of delight down her spine. She looked up and promised that she would get out for a little while, even if she couldn’t come for the whole evening.

  ‘We bake at night if it’s something that will still be fresh in the morning. Otherwise we have to be up at five to get ready – and one of us has to answer Dad’s bell.’

  ‘Don’t you have a parlour downstairs?’ Roy asked, frowning as Honour shook her head. ‘He could have his bed there and save you having to run up and downstairs all the time.’

  ‘Flo says we should never have a moment to ourselves if he could hear us in the kitchen. I think I would rather run up and down than have him listening to all we say.’

  ‘Can’t be much of a life for any of you.’ Roy looked thoughtful. ‘Wouldn’t he be better off in one of those homes where they look after old folk? My mother is well looked after in hers.’

  ‘Flo says the ones she’s seen are awful. She told me it made her feel sick to see the old folk lying in the infirmary – and she said the smell was terrible. They were left to lie in their mess for hours. I wouldn’t want him put in a place like that, Roy. Flo should get someone to help her with him…’

  ‘She may have to when we get married,’ Roy said. ‘I’d like to live somewhere near your sister for your sake – but we might have to go further afield to get a decent workshop. If it meant a bus ride you couldn’t be there so often – especially when we have a family…’

  ‘I know…’ Honour bit her bottom lip. It made her feel guilty to think of leaving her sister to cope with everything. She knew that Flo wouldn’t manage it all on her own. ‘I’ll help her in the shop if I can…’

  ‘I thought you might like to work in our place when it’s set up,’ Roy suggested. ‘You can help me design the things we sell in our showroom – and you could model them for the customers too…’

  Honour giggled at that, because she couldn’t see herself parading up and down to show off clothes. Yet the idea of working with him, of learning how to cut out beautiful suits and dresses, as well as draw them, was attractive. Much as she liked making her fancy cakes and sweets, clothes were more exciting. The idea of marriage was becoming more real – besides, she didn’t want to be stuck with her father forever.

  ‘It might be fun,’ she said and looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent. ‘I’d never have thought you could make clothes for women…’

  ‘Both Dad and my uncle were men’s tailors, but I liked making smart things that women could wear; I made Mum a suit when I was fourteen and she told everyone it was the best she’d ever had. Uncle Ken wants me to work for him when I’m demobbed, but I’ve got plans. I don’t want to settle for a small tailoring workshop in the East End. I’m heading up to the West End as soon as I can afford it. If you can come up with more ideas as good as that dress you wore on Saturday night, we shall soon be able to expand. One day I want a big store in Regent Street as well as several workshops in the East End…’

  ‘You’ve got ambition. You’re so clever, Roy. I never thought I’d do anything exciting with my life…’

  ‘When we’re rich we’ll have a beautiful house and we’ll travel – to Paris and Italy,’ Roy said. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Honour agreed that she would, but felt as if a rushing wind had swept her off her feet. Roy seemed as if he were in a hurry. He wanted so much and he wanted it quickly. She found it exciting but also a little scary. A part of her needed to cling to Flo, to stay where she was warm and safe and knew what she was doing – and yet Roy’s ambition was catching and she’d started to see how much more there was to life than working every day in a small cake shop in the East End.

  The only thing wrong with the future that Roy was promising her was that there didn’t seem any place in it for Flo… and that made Honour feel guilty and a little sad, because she did love Flo.

  ‘Don’t look sad, darling,’ Roy whispered and squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll find someone to look after your father so that Flo has a life too…’

  8

  Robbie was whistling as he made his way home that evening. He could hardly believe that he’d been given what looked like a month or more’s work at the mission hall. It was an old building and John had explained that he wanted a good job made of the repairs.

  ‘That coving and the door frames are both Victorian,’ he’d told Robbie. ‘I need you to go to the scrapyard and find something that will blend sympathetically with what is here. If you buy new wood it will show and the Church commissioners are very particular about having things right…’

  ‘I understand,’ Robbie said. ‘You’re looking to restore rather than rip out and use new wood and plaster coving.’ He’d smiled then, because he knew just the place to buy what he needed. ‘Too many old buildings are being torn down and replaced by modern. The slums do need replacing but they’re tearing down the good with the bad.’

  ‘This place is old and it suits us that way,’ John explained. ‘We couldn’t afford to pull this down and build new – but some of that coving is about to fall and that wood is rotting. I have a small budget to repair what I can – but if you make a good job my bosses will be pleased.’

  ‘It’s just the kind of thing I like doin’,’ Robbie had told him and looked round at the various jobs. Some of it wasn’t carpentry, but there was nothing here he couldn’t manage, even a bit of brickwork. He’d turned his hand to all kinds these past years and this would be a pleasure. At least that was one good thing the depression had brought, a temporary pause to the constant destruction of the heart of London.

  Robbie looked at the street he was walking down. He knew it was on a plan somewhere for demolition but had been reprieved until money was less tight than it was now. The little terrace where his son and daughter were right now was one of those destined to disappear in the push for progress – and then what would happen to the elderly folk who lived there?

  ‘Wot yer, Mr Graham!’

  Robbie saw the lad who had greeted him and smiled a welcome. ‘How are yer, Mick?’

  ‘I’m all right, sir. Me dad’s sleepin’ it off at ’ome – but I cooked some sausages fer dinner so I ain’t ’ungry.’

  ‘You can have a cup of cocoa with us later if yer like…’

  ‘Thanks…’ Mick grinned at him and ran off but turned back to call out: ‘Me dad sent me to see someone… he wants a bet on fer the first race tomorrow…’

  Robbie watched him disappear round the corner. Mick’s father was a fool betting the few shillings he earned with illegal bookies. Robbie had never fallen into that particular trap, because he knew it was always the bookies who won in the end. Often they had the police on their payroll, overlooking their activities. A lot of them were gangsters and Robbie stayed clear of them; even when he hadn’t two pennies to rub together he refused to
give way to the temptation to steal or work for those that did…

  He arrived at the second from last house in the terrace and he stopped, and then knocked at number six. Ruthie opened the door to him.

  ‘You’re to come in and have tea and cake,’ she announced importantly. ‘Granda wants to say thank you for lettin’ us help him.’

  Robbie smiled and followed her into the kitchen, which was the main room of the house and had a black range at one end with an oven, a pine dresser – its shelves filled with crockery – at the other, and a big pine table in the middle. A hotchpotch of wooden chairs stood round the table, which had been set with plates, cups and saucers. A fruit cake and some bread and butter and a dish of jam were on the table – and making the tea was Flo Hawkins. Robbie could smell her perfume, which didn’t come out of any bottle, but was a mixture of soap and her own freshness.

  She turned as he approached the elderly man who had stood to welcome him. Robbie was conscious of her eyes on him as he shook hands with Bert Waters.

  ‘How is your wife, sir?’

  ‘Not well, Mr Graham, but Flo took her a cup of tea and a piece of her cake up and she did eat a little. We have to just wait and see… the doctor came a little while ago and said it is a nasty case of bronchitis…’

  Robbie nodded, because there was nothing else they or anyone could do but see how she went on. Millie was in her seventies and like her husband she’d worked hard all her life, but the upside of that was that she was strong.

  ‘Miss Hawkins,’ he said as he turned to greet Flo, his heart racing wildly. ‘What a pleasant surprise seeing you here. I came to fetch my two – and now I’m invited to tea.’

  ‘We all are,’ Flo told him and her cheeks were a little pink. He thought she was as much affected by their meeting as he was. ‘Bert insisted and I shall enjoy having tea with your children, Mr Graham – they are a credit to you and Mrs Graham.’