by Rosie Clarke
‘Mr Rolf…’ Flo felt a little uncomfortable, because she recalled telling her customer of the mission’s loss. ‘Well, it was very generous – and I’m sure you are grateful to him.’
‘Yes, I am and not just because of the money. He told me that he thought the mission was even more important now than it had ever been – and he promised that he will recommend the roof repairs be funded.’
‘I didn’t realise that you needed repairs to your roof…’
‘Very few people do,’ John told her ruefully. ‘It isn’t just a case of a few slates falling off. The rafters have rotted and it will mean a major overhaul. I hadn’t dared to ask until recently, because I feared they might try to close us down – or move the mission to another building. Mr Rolf was very understanding and it seems he hates to see the old buildings torn down and so we have an ally in him…’
‘Well, that is wonderful,’ Flo said and looked about her again. ‘I’d better go through to the kitchen and see what I can do to help.’
‘You mustn’t spend all your evening in there,’ John told her. ‘You should come and join in the carols later, Miss Hawkins. It will be after Father Christmas has given the presents to the children…’
‘I shall come and watch that,’ Flo said. Christmas was surely for the children and the children here this evening would not receive gifts from their parents; unless they came to the mission they might not even have a cooked dinner on Christmas Day. ‘It looks as if most of the food has been donated by your helpers tonight so I’ll just help with the washing up…’
She heard a shriek of laughter and turned to see some children playing a game of trying to stick the tail on the donkey blindfold. She caught sight of Mick, Ruthie and Ben chasing some balloons and felt pleased that Robbie had brought his children. Her eyes eventually discovered him beneath a red suit with a hood and a long white beard. Clearly, he’d been dragooned into playing Father Christmas for the children that evening. John Hansen was very good at getting people to do things for the mission, but Flo was a little surprised that Robbie had been drawn into his net.
Most of the children wore shabby clothes, some with holes in their boots. One or two had bare feet, lank greasy hair that was thick with nits and grimy faces. She felt tears sting her eyes. There was so much to cause concern these days: men standing on street corners because they had no work aroused her sympathy, but hungry kids made her want to cry. This poverty was all wrong! Most of these kids would hardly know it was Christ’s birthday if it were not for the mission and John Hansen. Yet tonight they were shrieking with laughter, not a care in the world and that made a warm glow start inside her.
Feeling happier than she had when she left home, Flo went through to the kitchen to join the ladies who were supplying more sandwiches, endless cups of tea, fruit squash and cocoa for those who preferred its chocolatey taste.
*
Robbie saw Flo go through to the kitchen. He wondered if she’d seen him in this uncomfortable outfit and wished himself rid of it, but John Hansen had asked because his usual Father Christmas had let him down at the last moment. Robbie could hardly refuse after John had told him the news that the inspector from the Commissioners had approved his work and assured John that he would recommend the work needed on the roof to the Board.
‘Mr Rolf could not guarantee it,’ John had told him earlier that evening when he’d brought the children to the Christmas party. ‘But he is going to give it his approval – and he has told me he thinks your work is excellent…’
‘I don’t know what to say… but thank you,’ Robbie had said emotionally. ‘I’ve been offered some small jobs locally. They pay me enough to keep food on the table and I shall manage a proper dinner and a couple of little gifts for the kids…’
‘I doubt they will expect more,’ John had told him. ‘You have good children, Robbie. I’ve heard they are kind and thoughtful to others and that is a credit to you.’
‘I think it’s more down to their mother,’ Robbie had said with a twisted smile. ‘Madge was a good woman and she looked after them – even if we didn’t always get on.’
‘I imagine life has been hard for a while…’
‘For the majority of the working men in this country,’ Robbie had said, refusing to accept sympathy. ‘The hunger marches in October were an eye-opener for me. I went to watch as they marched into Trafalgar Square and I saw the police set on them with truncheons.’
‘The papers reported that it was unruly youths who caused the fighting by smashing car windows and setting fire to things…’
‘Yes, I saw some of that,’ Robbie had agreed, ‘and I know that elements of the crowd were communist led out to cause trouble – but the majority of those men had marched all the way from Lancashire to protest against the means test; they were just ordinary workin’ men who were desperate.’
‘Yes, I do understand. That is why we’re always so busy here. The men on that march asked for bread, and that’s what we give our people – bread and soup. An evening like this is made possible only by the generosity of those who often have little enough themselves, but also by those who can afford it and do what they can to help.’
‘I’m not a radical,’ Robbie had said and relaxed. ‘I didn’t throw stones that day or jeer at the police, but I felt sorry for the men who had marched so far and were blamed for riots that were none of their doin’.’
‘We must hope that the Government can find a way to improve the unemployment figures in the coming year,’ John had said. ‘Anyway, this evening we’re doing what we can to make it happier for at least a handful of people.’
‘You help more than a handful,’ Robbie had told him. ‘Without this place, a lot more people would be starvin’. I want you to know how grateful I am for what you’ve done for me.’
‘I did very little and your work speaks for your worth, Robbie.’
‘You made me remember that I had a skill. It was so long since anyone had offered me carpentry work that I’d forgotten I could…’
‘You won’t go back to the docks?’
‘Not if I can find enough work,’ Robbie had said. ‘I’ve turned a corner, John, and I’ll try my utmost to be a good father to my children.’
‘I think you already are,’ John had said.
John had left him to struggle into the heavy Father Christmas suit and gone off to greet the people who came to the mission on Friday nights. They were not the same people who queued for bread and soup every day, but the ordinary working people of the area, some who struggled on poor wages but still supported the mission with their tuppences for raffle tickets and their sixpence entrance fee, and others who ran the little shops and businesses that had managed to keep going during the depression, and also the elderly who managed as best they could on what they’d saved. The women had contributed some of the food and the men put a couple of bob in the collection tin when they had it. None of them had much money to spare, but all of them pitied those of their community who had been driven to the breadline. Britain was struggling under its war debts, some of which had had to be repaid this year. Bonds were issued and those who could afford them bought them to help the Government fund the debt, but the people here seldom bought a newspaper and only heard second-hand of the political and financial problems that had brought the depression; they only knew that life was harder than it had ever been in living memory, and it wasn’t just here in London, but all over the country.
Yet tonight in this hall, it was warm and there was light, laughter and good humour. Women gossiped with friends, children played games and the men drank a cup of tea and played cards with their mates or slipped away for a crafty half at the pub down the road, returning in time for Father Christmas and the giving of gifts. It was a tradition that had gone on for some years now, and it was accompanied by squeals of delight as boys ripped the paper from a Little Jimmy, Mickey Mouse or Rupert comic, or a little tin toy car, and girls had bead bracelets, colouring books or paper dolls to dress; little pack
ets of boiled sweets were also given to every child.
Everyone waited for the carols. Nurse Mary played the piano and everybody gathered together to sing the old favourites: ‘Away in a Manger’, ‘The Holly and the Ivy’, and others that they all knew the words to and could sing lustily.
Afterwards, mothers collected children and started to leave in small groups to walk home. The party at the mission would be the highlight in many homes this year as it had been for several past. Food of some kind would be on the table for Christmas Day, but only a few thrifty mothers had managed to save enough to buy a small gift for their loved ones.
Robbie called Ruthie and Ben to him, and Mick tagged along behind; he lingered until Flo said her goodbyes and moved towards the door. Robbie smiled at her as he caught her up.
‘We’ll walk you home, Miss Hawkins.’
‘You should call me Flo, as the children do,’ she said and looked at Ruthie and Ben, as he walked and Ruthie skipped beside them. Mick hung back a little, giving her an uncertain look until she nodded and smiled at him. ‘Did you all enjoy the party?’
‘It was lovely,’ Ruthie said, clutching her colouring book and pencils, her sweets already almost gone. ‘Ben got a Rupert comic and some crayons… he’s always wanted some…’
Ben grinned. ‘They’re great for drawin’, but I’d like a Meccano set if I could afford it. I’d like to build a crane or a lorry or something…’
‘Ben is going to be a mechanic when he leaves school, I think,’ Robbie said. ‘Did you have a good evening, Flo? I didn’t see much of you. I was hiding in that suit most of the time and struggling out of it ready for the carols.’
‘I was helping in the kitchen, but it was fun,’ Flo said. ‘Mrs Goodison brought in some cooking sherry and we all had a glass and a mince pie. I watched Father Christmas give presents to all the children.’
‘That was Dad,’ Ben said. ‘I knew him all the time, but I didn’t let on – some of the kids still believe in Father Christmas…’
‘The real one comes on Christmas Eve, doesn’t he, Dad?’ Ruthie said. ‘Mum told me he did. She said because everyone was hard-up last year Father Christmas was too – but he still brought me that set of covers for my dolly’s cot and some sweets – and we got a silver threepenny bit in our Christmas puddin’!’
Ben looked at his sister but shook his head. Robbie smiled and ruffled his son’s hair.
‘I think Father Christmas might have a little something for us this year, don’t you, son?’
‘He might,’ Ben agreed and winked at him. ‘Are we goin’ ter walk Miss Flo right home, Dad?’
They had reached the corner where their ways parted. Robbie hesitated, wishing he could take her home but uncertain what to do. His eyes met hers, but she settled it for him.
‘Mr Waters still has his light on. I’m just goin’ to pop in and see how he is – goodnight, Robbie, Ruthie – Ben, I’d like you to come into the shop one day before Christmas. I’ll have a little something for you all… and you, Mick.’
‘Thanks, Miss Flo,’ Ben said and took Ruthie’s hand. ‘Tell Mr Waters I’ll be round in the mornin’ as usual – goodnight, Miss Flo…’
Robbie watched Flo as she walked the short distance to the Waters’ front door and then followed in the footsteps of Mick and his children, whose happy voices echoed on the still frosty air. They were still caught by the excitement of the evening. It was the first Christmas party they’d attended at the mission. Madge wouldn’t have let them go if she’d been alive, because she’d come from better things. Before she was married, she’d been an upper parlour maid to a titled family. She would have considered the folk at the party beneath her. Madge had gone back to her home town for the funerals of both her parents. Her mother had died a year before her father and she’d been left to pack up the house and dispose of the contents herself. She’d brought all her mother’s silver and linens back with her and she’d made a point of setting the table with a cloth for the children’s tea – but once Ben lost his job and couldn’t get another, the silver had started to disappear and so had his wife’s smile.
Madge had blamed Ben for bringing her down. She didn’t belong in this shabby cottage close to the docks. Her father had lived in a pleasant house with a big garden within sight of the sea, and she’d played on the beach as a child. She’d been proud of the family she’d worked for and used to a good living. Robbie had met her on holiday when he was in the army and they’d fallen in love – at least it had seemed that way then.
Perhaps it was his fault. He hadn’t been able to settle in her home town once he’d left the army and started work as a carpenter. All he been able to afford was a couple of rooms in a shared house and the legacy of his grandfather’s cottage had seemed a godsend, and, at first there had been more work for him in London. At least the years in the army had given him a trade, one that he’d excelled at. It wasn’t Robbie’s fault that he’d had an accident at work and been flat on his back for weeks afterwards. He’d gone back to work as soon as he was fit enough, but then the recession started to bite and that meant that he was the first to be laid off. It had led to months of humiliation, but at least he had money to make a good Christmas for his kids this year.
Robbie quickened his stride and caught up to the children as they arrived at the door of their home, taking the key from his pocket. Mick waved as he walked off on his own, and Robbie hesitated. He felt he ought to offer the boy a place to sleep, but if he took Mick on it would be another mouth to feed, so he reluctantly let him walk away.
‘Up those stairs and into bed,’ he told his two and bent to kiss Ruthie. He looked at his son and smiled. ‘Do you want some cocoa or have you both had enough for tonight?’
‘I’m fulled right up,’ Ruthie announced.
‘It’s filled up,’ Ben said with all the knowledge of his superior years. ‘I am too, Dad. It was fun. Did you have a good time?’
‘I enjoyed myself,’ Robbie said. ‘Get some sleep both of you. I’m going to bank up the range and then I’ll be up myself…’
He bent to pick up the coal chute, which was filled with coke and tipped most of it onto the range. It was good stuff and would hold in overnight.
He heard the kids scampering upstairs, laughing and giggling and looked round the kitchen that had seemed unbearably empty to him until recently.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband, Madge,’ he whispered. ‘I never stopped loving her…’ He’d tried, because the humiliation of his rejection and the beating Flo’s father had given him had made him angry, but he’d always known deep down that it was his fault. He’d let Flo down and her father had the right to be furious.
Robbie dusted the coke from his hands and hung up his jacket. He had a job to do in the morning that would bring him in a couple of pounds. Life was looking better and he would be a fool to want or expect more… and yet Flo’s smile as she left them that evening had made him want so much that he knew he could never have…
16
Nine days before Christmas Eve and trade in Flo’s shop that Saturday was the best she’d known it for ages, as if people had decided that they were fed up with the depression and lack of money and they were going to buy treats for themselves and their children no matter what. Honour could hardly keep up with the demand for their deliciously soft home-made rum truffles and the sugar mice.
‘You just can’t buy things like this anywhere else,’ one lady wearing a warm wool coat with a fur collar and a matching fur hat told her as she bought box after box of the truffles. ‘I want these for my party – and those marzipan fancies look wonderful. I always buy your lovely ice fruit cakes, Miss Hawkins, but this year I decided on the truffles as presents for my friends. The ones that come from a factory in a box are not as nice. Besides, your sister makes them look so elegant in all that cellophane and we’ve had to stick to a budget this year…’
As the customer handed over the two crisp white five-pound notes and received only a few coins in
change, Flo smiled and nodded until the customer left the shop with her baskets filled to the brims with all kinds of treats, but inside she was fit to burst. She was grateful for the trade, which had nearly doubled her normal takings, but the woman’s attitude made her smart with anger.
‘Most people think buying one box of truffles is a luxury but she took fifteen – because she is cutting down on what she gives her friends this Christmas and they make a nice little gift…’ she said to Honour when the shop was empty for a moment. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears… as if those truffles were just cheap trifles…’
Honour giggled. ‘You looked so red in the face I thought you would pop,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind if she does think she’s economising – think how much profit we’ve made from her purchase…’
‘I wish I could charge someone like her double,’ Flo said vengefully and then laughed as she saw the teasing look in Honour’s eyes. ‘I know that is nonsense and I wouldn’t do it if I could – but she was so…’
‘Rich is the word,’ Honour said. ‘There are lots of people like her, sis. She may be feelin’ the pinch a bit if she’s had to cut down on how much she spends this year, but it just shows how bad things are…’ She sighed. ‘Roy told me his parents had it hard when he was young. His father had an accident on an icy road one winter and died after being bedridden for a year – and his mum was left almost penniless.’
Sadness had come to Honour’s eyes now and Flo knew she was thinking about the man she’d fallen in love with, from whom she’d had no word. ‘That was sad for Roy and his family, darling, but he’s a man now and I expect his mother managed somehow.’
Honour looked at her oddly. ‘We’ve been lucky, haven’t we? I know I grumble about Dad – but we’ve never gone short of anything and I think that’s because of how hard you’ve always worked…’
‘I do a job I love and I’m happy here,’ Flo assured her. She wanted to say more, but the brief respite was over and two women entered with their children, a boy and girl home from boarding school. They were smartly dressed and had clearly come to spend money.