Christmas is for Children

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘Don’t take no notice of ’im, Rev,’ one of John’s regulars muttered, jerking his head at the man’s retreating back. ‘That sort ain’t no good to anyone, least of all their selves. He’ll be from up north I reckon – and a bad ’un by the looks of ’im.’

  ‘I think you might be right, Michael,’ John agreed and smiled. ‘How are you now – your chest any better?’

  ‘That medicine your Nurse Mary give me done me a power of good,’ Michael asserted. ‘Brought me a big bottle of it she did, and I’m nearly through it – if she’s ’ere I was goin’ ter ask ’er fer another bottle if she’s got any…’

  ‘Go through to her room,’ John suggested. ‘I’m sure she’s seeing people now. I know she will do what she can for you.’

  Nurse Mary was handing out bottles of cough medicine now. She must have purchased it herself – unless she’d got it from the infirmary. He knew that she sometimes brought bandages and ointments that bore the name of the infirmary on the packaging. Strictly speaking, she was stealing from her employer, even though it was for an excellent cause. John hoped she knew what she was doing, because he didn’t want her to lose her job over it – or worse.

  10

  Ben left his sister sitting in Granda’s kitchen while he went down the road. The newsagent on the corner had a job for him sorting out his back room. He wanted a load of old cardboard boxes flattening and taking round the corner to the junkyard.

  ‘I’ll give yer a shillin’ to clear ’em for me,’ Mr Arnold offered. ‘Yer a decent lad, Ben, and yer made a good job of me winders last Saturday, so I’ll give yer this job. Sid Foster will give yer a tanner fer takin’ me junk to him. He sells cardboard once he gets a big enough load and I reckon you’ll need to make two trips with that little trolley of yours – are yer on?’

  ‘’Course I am, sir,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t mind what I do and a shillin’ will get me two sugar mice fer me sister fer Christmas…’

  ‘Is that what she fancies, lad?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s got ’er ’eart set on a pink one, sir – out of Miss Flo’s winder…’

  ‘Well, that’s a good brother she’s got ter buy ’er two,’ the newsagent said. ‘Look, why don’t yer call me Arnie like everyone else?’ He winked at Ben. ‘Mebbe, come Christmas I’ll ’ave a little present fer the both of yer – ’specially if yer continue ter do little jobs fer me. I might ask yer to run down ter the bookie with a little bet fer me… if I can trust yer? I wouldn’t ask most of the kids round ’ere ’cos they’d take me money and scarper…’

  ‘You know you can trust me, Arnie,’ Ben said and grinned. Arnie was generous if you did little jobs for him and Ben was up for anything that wasn’t actually wrong. His dad might not like him going to the bookies much, because it wasn’t strictly legal and if the coppers found out they’d cart him off to the station and give him a talking-to – but it wasn’t like being a thief or a burglar, was it?

  ‘That’s what I thought, lad,’ Arnie confirmed. ‘I like a little bet – and some of me customers feel the same, but they don’t like bein’ seen going into them places. Think of them as dives – well, they ain’t decent some of ’em, but the one I’ll send yer to is honest. He gives good odds and pays out if yer win – not like some of the cheatin’ buggers. Trouble is, all sorts hang around there; the women ain’t what they ought ter be and rough types an’ all – just go straight in and ask for Finney, give ’im the slip and the money and come straight orf – understand me?’

  ‘Yeah, all right, when do yer want me to go?’

  ‘Saturday mornin’,’ Arnie said. ‘Tell yer dad yer cleanin’ winders if he asks and I’ll give yer half a crown after yer get back – now how’s that?’

  ‘Cor that’s great, Arnie!’ Ben grinned at him. ‘I can buy Dad somethin fer Christmas as well as Ruthie.’

  ‘Yer’ll be rich if yer stick wiv me.’ Arnie winked again. ‘Now get that cardboard flattened and trundled round the corner to Sid Foster and you’ll be well on yer way to making yer first fortune.’

  Ben giggled to himself as he set to with a will, stamping on the old cardboard boxes to flatten them before loading them on to his little trolley. There were all kinds of boxes, from thin ones that had held chocolate bars to heavy-duty cardboard that was used for carting tins and other heavier goods. Arnie’s stock room was filled up with all sorts. Ben saw that some of the wooden crates had bottles of what looked like whisky in them and wondered what they were doing here. This was a newspaper shop that sold cigarettes, tobacco, sweets, magazines and birthday cards, also a few tins of mints and some tinned fruit. The whisky looked out of place and it was pulled out of sight behind boxes of other stock, but Ben had revealed it when he’d started clearing out the old boxes.

  Arnie came in just as Ben was about to leave with the first load. His eyes went to the boxes of whisky and he frowned.

  ‘One thing, Ben… anythin’ you see ’ere, you keep ter yerself, right?’

  ‘’Course, Arnie,’ Ben said and left through the back door. Ben was innocent but not so innocent that he didn’t know when he’d seen something he shouldn’t. That whisky didn’t belong in a shop that sold newspapers and sweets – you had to have a licence to sell spirits. Ben was sure that was right and it made him feel a bit uncomfortable knowing Arnie’s secret. He liked Arnie and he wanted to earn money for Christmas. Ben couldn’t tell anyone what he’d seen, but he was uneasy as he took the cardboard to the scrapyard.

  Sid told him that if he brought another load just like it he would give him sixpence.

  ‘Threepence for this one and the same for the next,’ he offered. ‘Is it a deal?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ben said and grinned at him. ‘What else are yer lookin’ fer?’

  ‘Scrap metal mostly,’ Sid told him. ‘Bring me a load of metal – and I’ll give yer twice or three times as much, more if it’s lead, but I don’t want pinched stuff, young ’un. I’m an honest man, see. I don’t get no trouble with the coppers and don’t want any – understand?’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t want none either,’ Ben agreed. Ben knew that life was hard for lads that got taken up by the law. His dad had told him that until earlier that year young boys were often birched for small misdemeanours. He walked back to Arnie’s shop, his mind busy. He often saw bits of metal lying around in the gutters or under sheds or on waste ground. If he picked them up and saved them until he got a load, he could earn money for his sister and his dad. Ben missed his mum and knew that his sister was pining for her. His dad was busy trying to find enough work to keep them going for a while, so it was down to Ben to make this a good Christmas despite everything.

  When he got back to Arnie’s stock room, he discovered that the boxes of whisky had gone, just as if they had never been there. Ben felt relief sweep over him. If he didn’t know where they were, he couldn’t tell anyone and that was a good feeling. He didn’t mind running errands for Arnie, but the idea of stolen goods had made him uncomfortable; now they’d gone and the shadow had lifted.

  With what he’d earned that evening, he could already buy Ruthie two sugar mice for Christmas, and that made him smile – and he’d keep a lookout for old bits of metal to take to the scrapyard.

  He could hear the Sally Army singing as he walked back to the Waters’ house to collect his sister. They had started to sing carols, which meant Christmas was coming ever closer, just over two weeks to Christmas Eve. Some of the shop windows were already decorated with bits of holly and cotton wool to look like snow. A shop that sold books, puzzles and games had a display of Father Christmas and his sleigh pulled by reindeer. Ben saw a large box of Meccano at the back of the window and sighed, because he knew there was no way he could ever afford to buy that for himself. He had a very small set that his father had bought him three years earlier and he’d made up the model that was displayed on the front of the box and then pulled it to pieces again; he’d done it many times, but try as he might he couldn’t make anything much different with the set he had. If
he had that large box of pieces, Ben could make all sorts of things – and it was what he liked doing for fun. Putting things together, working out how they went; he thought perhaps he would like to be a mechanic of some kind one day, though he didn’t know anything about engines.

  As he went into the big warm kitchen, Granda had the kettle on the range. ‘Have a cup of cocoa, lad,’ he offered. ‘We saved yer a bit of cake – and Ruthie has been making papers chains fer us. We’re goin’ ter decorate Millie’s room upstairs so she don’t miss Christmas. We’ve always put up decorations and Millie likes a tree – she likes the smell of a real one. I thought you could go to the market on Saturday and buy one for me. You can help me carry it upstairs, lad – and then we’ll all decorate it together…’

  ‘Yeah, great,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve got a couple of errands ter run fer Arnie at the newspaper shop, but then I’ll fetch the tree fer yer. Ruthie loves Christmas decorations. We’ve got a box in the attic. I’ll ask Dad to ’elp us put them up on Sunday…’

  ‘Will Dad want us to decorate this year?’ Ruthie asked doubtfully and a tear welled in her eye and ran down her cheek. ‘It’s the first wivout…’

  ‘Wivout Mum, I know,’ Ben said and put his arm about her shoulder. He sniffed hard to hide his own emotion. ‘Mum would want us ter ’ave a good Christmas, Ruthie. You know she would…’

  ‘Yes…’ Ruthie smiled a little wobbly smile and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘This is lovely cake – Miss Flo’s sister brought it for Granny and Granda… but they shared it wiv us…’

  Ben realised he was hungry. He’d earned his shilling treading all those boxes flat and trundling them round to the scrapyard, but it was worth it, because he knew Ruthie would squeal with delight when she got her sugar mice on Christmas morning.

  ‘That looks good,’ he said and then tasted the coffee icing on top of the slice of plain sponge cake, his taste buds bursting to life as he came to the butter icing in the middle. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve never had anythin’ quite like that…’

  ‘Miss Flo is a lovely cook,’ Granda agreed and his eyes looked a little watery. ‘People are so kind…I know my Millie is touched by what they’ve done for us and it has cheered her up no end…’

  Ben nodded, because it was true. Folk like Miss Flo and her sister were kind, but he knew that not everyone was as nice. As he was leaving Arnie’s shop to come here, he’d seen a big bloke with a thick beard hanging round the back of the shop. He’d nipped back in and whispered to Arnie what he saw, who just nodded and said it was all right… but Ben had a prickly feeling at the back of his neck. He didn’t like the look of that stranger at all and he wondered if he had anything to do with the whisky that didn’t belong in a newspaper shop…

  *

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me going out again tonight?’ Honour asked as they closed the shop and went through to the kitchen at the back. ‘I know I’ve been out every night this week and it isn’t fair on you…’

  ‘I shall want to go out on Friday night as usual,’ Flo said and hesitated. ‘If you promise not to do anythin’ silly, I’ll let you invite Roy here that evenin’. Dad is often asleep after I give him his cocoa and he doesn’t stir until I go in to see if he needs anythin’ when I get back… but you must be quiet, because I don’t want him tryin’ to come downstairs again.’

  Her father had been down a couple of times since the evening Honour had left him alone in the house. Flo had watched him inching his way stair by stair, but he’d refused her help, though he could never get back up alone. He’d sat in his chair by the range and watched her as she cleaned and then made some of the sweet treats ready for the morning.

  ‘Don’t yer ever stop?’ he’d asked. He sounded humbled, concerned for her, something he hadn’t shown her for years.

  ‘I like to be busy,’ she’d told him. ‘The kitchen has to be spotless or they might stop me making cakes here. Besides, it’s our living, you know that…’

  ‘Don’t rub it in that I’m a useless idiot…’

  ‘I wasn’t and you’re not. You always worked while you could…’

  ‘Too much! If I hadn’t taken that job up north…’ He shook his head. ‘You were a fool, Flo – but your mother was a bigger one, and it was her fault. She ought to have told you or stopped yer goin’ out with blokes. I hope yer told that girl of yours what’s what?’

  His words sent prickles down her spine, but Flo had concentrated on moulding the soft sugar paste into different shapes, not letting him see that he’d unsettled her. Besides the sugar mice, she was making other fancy bits and pieces to sell in the shop; she’d bought some more moulds that she could use to cut out marzipan and decorate in various ways. Marzipan was too expensive to sell all year round, but there were only a couple of weeks until Christmas now and so she was trying something new. She’d made a little family of rabbits, some stars and a Christmas tree shape, which she was decorating with tiny pieces of angelica, sugared fruits and nuts.

  Flo had felt shivery, because this was the closest her father had ever come to speaking of their secret. ‘If you mean have I told her to be careful, yes, I have.’

  Flo could feel his eyes burning into her as he muttered, ‘I’m not a fool, girl. I always knew she couldn’t be mine. I thought at first yer mother had cheated on me and I made her pay for it – but then I realised that you mothered the brat too much and there was something in yer eyes when I spoke harshly to her. I knew then that yer mother had been protecting yer.’

  Flo had turned to look at him. ‘You can’t prove anythin’…’

  ‘I might if I wanted to but I don’t…’ he’d muttered. ‘I’d have been angry if yer mother had told me. I might have slapped yer a few times, but then it would’ve been over. She made me hate her – and then I hated you for what yer put me through, the pair of yer. I loved yer mother once, Flo. I ain’t a man fer showin’ me feelings – and I’ve always had a mean streak and a temper. Yet I cared fer her and it cut me up when I knew she’d shut me out…’

  Flo was stunned. She could see the pain working in his face and it had struck her like a hammer fist. Neither she nor her mother had considered his feelings when they had hatched their plans to protect Flo from scandal.

  ‘I’m sorry. We thought you would never know – that you didn’t need to know…’

  ‘That was what made me so very angry. At times, I wanted to kill her – and I nearly threw you all out, but it was her shop and, in the end, she told me that she would prefer that I left her if I couldn’t accept your child and keep my mouth shut…’ He glared at her. ‘All she cared about was the shame you might bring on us… I kept quiet, but I made her pay by giving me a share of her profits.’

  So that was why Flo’s mother had started giving him money every week!

  ‘You won’t tell Honour she’s mine?’ Flo had felt hot all over. ‘She might not understand… One day, I’ll tell her myself.’

  ‘She should be grateful for all you gave up for her.’

  ‘I didn’t give up anything that mattered…’ Flo had turned her face so that he couldn’t see her pain.

  ‘No? You might have been married, had a husband and a home of yer own if she hadn’t been born – Oh, I know yer own this place, but yer could have sold it. Yer might have had a nice little nest egg, but once yer soiled yerself with that no good begger yer had no choice. No man would want yer if he knew yer were a slut… had a kid afore yer were seventeen.’

  Flo hadn’t answered him. She’d felt bad for him, for his loss – but he was just using it to taunt her again. He’d done it enough times in the past, but this time she’d let him in.

  ‘I shan’t tell the girl or anyone else,’ her father went on. ‘What good would it do me? If I’d been goin’ ter expose yer I’d have done it years ago – but I won’t be put in the infirmary, Flo. I heard that girl of yourn talkin’ about it and I’m warnin’ yer – make any move to send me orf and I’ll tell her what a slut yer are…’

&
nbsp; Flo had raised her head proudly. ‘Luckily for you, I’ve got a sense of decency, which you clearly don’t have. I never intended to send you there – but if you say one word to Honour, you can lie up there in your own dirt and I’ll leave you to rot.’

  She’d walked out of the kitchen door into the little yard at the back of the shop, the tears falling. Sometimes, she hated that man in her kitchen, sometimes she almost wished he would die – and yet she knew that when her storm of grief was over, she would go back inside and help him back to bed.

  *

  Ben saw the man selling Christmas trees from a barrow at the side of the market. He’d got a notice up saying they were five bob each, but most of them were too big for Ben to carry home, and he thought they would dwarf Millie’s room. He sidled up, looking the trees over and saw a much smaller one at the back of the stall. It was a nice shape but a quarter of the size of the others.

  ‘How much fer that?’ he asked. ‘It ain’t worth a patch of them others…’

  ‘It’s a bit on the small size, but yer could ’ave fer half a crown – if yer’ve got the money?’

  Ben had, but he wasn’t willing to part with it. ‘I reckon there ain’t much more than a tanner’s worth there…’

  ‘Cheeky monkey, get orf wiv yer!’

  ‘I’ll give yer a bob fer it,’ Ben offered. ‘Go on, mister, I can’t afford no more and me granny ain’t well…’

  ‘It’s worth two bob…’

  ‘You’ll never sell it,’ Ben persisted. ‘I’ll help yer unload them ones at the back… if I can have it fer a bob…’

  ‘Persistent little bugger, ain’t yer?’ the man said and sniffed. ‘All right, help me get the rest of me trees off the van and yer can ’ave it fer a bob – though I’m losin’ me profits.’

  ‘I bet they chucked that one in fer nothin’,’ Ben said and grinned, and the man aimed a light blow at his ear, but he was chuckling and Ben knew he was right.