CAN DREAMS COME TRUE?
BY
MARINA OLIVER
Kate wins a scholarship to a prestigious Edgbaston school, and meets wealthy people.
Robert offers her a ride in his motor car, and to take her flying. Kate's heroine is Amy Johnson, and she is ecstatic.
Her parents object, and Alf attacks Robert. She is expelled, and with no job, Kate's prospects grow worse when Alf is killed and Hattie becomes unstable.
Kate struggles to support them, but more disasters strike. Will her dream of flying ever come true?
Can Dreams Come True?
By Marina Oliver
Copyright © 2011 Marina Oliver
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Design by Debbie Oliver
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Author Note
I used to go past what had once been Walsall airfield on my way to school, and longed to experience the thrills of flying, but it was many years before I did.
I am highly indebted to the book 'Walsall Aviation', by Edwin Shipley and John W.T.Jeffries, which had some wonderful photographs and newspaper reports. I met John when I was signing some of my own books one day in Walsall, and he very kindly sent me a copy.
My husband Chris had learned to fly in a Tiger Moth, and I owe much of the detail to him.
CAN DREAMS COME TRUE?
BY MARINA OLIVER
Chapter 1
'The lass is staying at school next year an' that's final!'
Alf Martins glared at his wife. Why couldn't Hattie accept what a great chance it was for one of their family? But she'd always been cold to poor Kate, resented the child. He sighed and watched her as she lifted the kettle onto the fire and turned to face him. Her mouth was pinched, her hair, now grey and thin, scraped back into an untidy bun. She was nothing like the bonny, rosy-cheeked lass he'd married almost forty years ago, when the old queen was still alive.
'But Kate's nearly sixteen, Alf! All the other kids left school two year ago. It's high time she was earning a living, and with the way things have bin lately, we could do with an extra wage coming in. We still owes fer the new cart, and it don't seem to bring no more business.' Hattie turned her back on him and poked the fire viciously. 'Come on, boil, can't yer?'
Alf winced. She'd never forgiven him for buying the new cart, but he'd have been able to pay for it if he hadn't been ill with bronchitis last winter, unable to go to the fish market, or stand all day in the market. It wasn't her fault. Hattie had done her best, but it wasn't work for a woman, pushing the heavy cart laden with fish. She'd bought too much, and the wrong sort, and for a couple of months they'd had barely enough to pay the rent and feed themselves.
'We'll pay, in good time. But our Kate's stayin' at school. The lass has a good little brain on her, and it 'ud be a wicked shame ter stop her.' His voice softened. 'Just think, Hattie, our little Kate a teacher, wouldn't that mek yer proud as Punch?'
'Most like mek 'er too high and mighty ter speak to us. How would yer like that?' she demanded, taking down the tea caddy from the mantlepiece and carefully measuring a teaspoon of tea into the old brown pot.
'Nah, not little Kate!'
Hattie snorted. 'She could help a bit before going ter that posh school,' she muttered, tilting the kettle to pour water onto the tea leaves.
'I'll not have Kate tired out afore she starts. 'Sides, yer knows how the little bleeders in the first class kept saying she smelt of fish.'
'It smells everywhere, in our clothes, hair, everywhere,' Hattie muttered. 'And where is she now? Look at the time, she should have bin home an hour ago.'
'Probably with young Daphne Carstairs. She said summat about a tennis match they was down fer. Gone ter play on the Carstairs's court, perhaps.'
Hattie slammed the teapot down in front of him. 'Tennis! What good's that doing? Thinks she's another Helen Moody, I s'pose!'
'Don't be daft, woman! All the nobs play tennis, and if our Kate's gonna mix with them, best she learns.'
Before Hattie could reply they heard swift, light footsteps on the stairs leading to their rooms, and a moment later Kate burst into the room. She was out of breath, rosy-cheeked, and smiling broadly.
'Sorry I'm late, Mum, but the match went on longer than we expected. We won! Against the High School! It's the first time for ages, and even Mac smiled. What's for tea? I'm starving.'
Alf beamed at his daughter. She looked so like Hattie had when he'd met her, slim and pretty with her dark, curly hair and eyes so deeply blue they were almost violet. The Irish colouring was strong in his womenfolk. Maggie, their other daughter, was the same. Briefly he wondered what their sons would have been like, had they lived more than a day. Would they have taken after Hattie, or been fair like him? It was because they were twins, and came too early, they'd said. Hattie had never really got over their loss. He'd have liked a big family, but there's been no more babies till Kate.
'Sit down,' Hattie said brusquely. 'It's bread and scrape. Yer dad said he was fed up with fish, so he can mek do with what else we can afford.'
Alf felt guilty. He hadn't thought of the consequences of that idle remark, but he should have known his Hattie by now. He watched Kate swiftly lower her eyes and bite her lip, then reach for a thick slice of bread.
'Good,' she said after a slight pause. 'It's too hot for anything cooked, isn't it?'
*
Kate lay in her narrow bed and waited for the door to close. It was early, but her parents started the day soon after sunrise, to get to the wholesale fish market and pick the best of the fish for their stall in the Bull Ring. When she was sure they had gone she slid from under the thin blanket and pulled on an old dress. She had to sit on the bed to do it, for it was crammed behind the big wardrobe in her parents' bedroom, with only a few inches of spare space beside it. When she'd started at her new school four years ago Dad had wanted to rent the small room next to their two for her, but Mum had objected, saying the expense was too much, and they could give her enough privacy by rearranging the furniture in their own bedroom. Kate had offered to sleep in the kitchen, but Mum had said it was too hot, and they'd disturb her when they had to get up early in the morning.
She longed for a room of her own. The snorts and wheezes from the big bed, her father's loud snoring, and the creaking of the old iron bedstead when they got up at dawn were, she was sure, far more disturbing. But she had learned early not to argue with her mother. One day she would have her own room, like Daphne did, and be able to have her books beside her bed and read them whenever she liked.
Her thoughts turned to a problem which constantly troubled her. Should she leave school, insist on finding a job and helping to support them? It was what Mum wanted, but Dad was always adamant she must stay to take her matriculation and go to college. She wanted to do that, wanted to please him, but agonised whether it was selfishness on her part, not right for her to let them work so hard when all she could contribute wer
e the few pennies she earned doing odd jobs round the Market Hall.
Even they only helped provide her with things for school, the expense of which she tried to keep from her parents. She needed notebooks and pencils, tennis shoes and materials for the needlework and cookery classes. She couldn't buy them secondhand, as she did her textbooks and uniform. Daphne was generous, like a big sister,giving her an old tennis racquet, but the rest she was determined to provide for herself.
She went into the kitchen. There was still some hot water in the kettle, and tea in the pot. She drank the tea thirstily, poured the water into the sink, refilled the kettle and put it back on the tiny fire. Then she dipped a piece of rag into the water in the bowl and wiped her face. She'd wash properly later. Depending on what work she could find, she might be filthy when she came back. She made sure all was tidy, then quickly left the house. There was over an hour before she must return and get ready for school, and there were always odd jobs available in the Market Hall when the stall holders were setting up for the day. As Dad had his pitch outside, in the Bull Ring beside St Martin's church, she was unlikely to encounter them and get a scolding from her mother.
As she walked through the streets towards the market, dodging the porters and the various carts and lorries delivering produce, she was busy calculating how much she needed for the rest of the summer term. She could make do with an old, unfilled notebook, but she had to pay for the trip to the theatre. Then there would be the books she needed for the following year. She had to have money ready to be able to snap up the bargains from girls who no longer needed them.
She frowned. Most of the girls could afford to buy new books, but they still preferred to buy old ones, especially if the previous owners, names proudly inscribed inside, had been popular. That left her and the other scholarship girls, who didn't have the choice, struggling to pay for essentials.
She had a couple of pence in her pocket, and might be able to earn a few more.
Though it was still early the Market Hall was busy, the stall-holders setting out their wares, bringing in crates and baskets of fruit, vegetables, fish and meat, and the hundreds of other goods which were sold there.
'You'm about early, Kate,' one of the women called to her.
'Have you any work for me?' Kate replied. 'I've an hour before I have to go home.'
'Sorry, luv, not terday. Mebbee ternight, when I'm packin' up.'
Kate nodded. She tried several more stall-holders, but none of them needed help, until she found Bella, an elderly lady who was only too glad to pay her twopence to clamber on a small pair of steps, hanging the goods on the top of the stall to help display her collection of pots and pans, brooms and mops.
Clutching the pennies she drifted across to the meat stalls, and smiled at Walter Thomson, a lad just a few months older than herself, who had been in her class at the board school, before she won the scholarship. He was busy hanging up sides of beef on huge hooks at the back of the stall.
'Hello, Walter.' Kate didn't particularly like him, but he was the only one from her first school who ever spoke to her. The rest, either jealous or scornful that she was going to a posh school, had taken delight in taunting her until, leaving school themselves, they found other interests.
He blushed, ducked his head, beaming at her, then glanced nervously over his shoulder. 'Kate. How's things?'
'Same as ever. How are you?'
He shook his head. 'Fed up with the travelling. We got moved out ter Kingstanding, new house,' he explained. 'Not as handy as Skinner Lane.'
Kate nodded and slid away. Five minutes later she was on her way home.
*
Maggie heaved her bulky body out of the chair and caught at her husband's sleeve. He tried to shake her off but desperation made her cling tighter.
'Sam, it won't take more'n a few minutes. Please. You can do it on the way back. I don't feel up to walking all that way this morning.'
'Send one of the kids, can't yer?'
'They can't carry spuds back all that way.'
'Why not? Jeannie's gettin' on fer ten.'
Maggie sighed impatiently. 'Talk sense! Jeannie's at school, and the little 'uns can't manage.'
'I'd got plans,' he muttered, resentment plain in his voice.
'Well, so had I, but bairns take no account of that! I think the pains have started. My back aches summat cruel.'
'Get old Ma Gamage in from down the road.'
'Yes, when I'm sure. But will you get the spuds and a loaf of bread?'
'I ain't got no money.'
Maggie glared at him. 'You had enough last night to spend on beer! You stank, Sam Pritchard! You made me feel sick, breathing beer fumes all over me!'
'Can't a chap let a good pal treat 'im? It weren't my money. I don't have none.'
She didn't believe him. Sam was rarely without the coppers to buy a pint. When he found an odd job, she had to be quick to get any of the cash away from him. Without the money she earned they'd have been in the workhouse long ago. With a deep sigh she pulled her purse out of her apron pocket and shook out a few coins.
'That the last I've got, and if you don't bring back spuds and bread, and the change, so help me, I'll brain you!'
*
Daphne Carstairs was waiting for Kate in the usual spot, looking worried. Kate grinned at her as Daphne began scolding. She was a loyal friend, but sometimes Kate thought she took life too seriously.
'Did you bring the paper? Was there anything about Amy Johnson in it? There must have been when she got back to London on Friday. After all, she broke the record to Cape Town and back, less than thirteen days.'
'Yes, but you're not seeing it till later, after the exam. Kate, come on, we'll be late, and there's the Maths exam this morning. We don't want to miss that, or that swat Jane Dodd will be crowing. She was saying yesterday, on the way home, that she would come top, and we all know you're the best in the school!'
They began to walk down Calthorpe Road, joining the stream of girls heading towards the large mansion which had been turned into a school twenty years before. Kate held her hat in her hand, relishing the slight breeze ruffling her hair. It felt so fresh after the all-pervading fishy aroma at home, the stuffiness and constant noise and bustle of the market and the streets surrounding it.
'I want to fly!' she said, waving her arms like wings. 'I want to pretend I'm Amy Johnson!'
Daphne suddenly grasped her by the arm. 'Look out, put your hat on, there's prosy Pamela.'
Kate glanced across the road and saw the Head Girl glaring at her. Then she was hidden by a large motor van.
Daphne wrinkled up her nose fastidiously. 'I hate that smell, and the noise they make. There are more of them each year.'
How would Daphne like the early morning market, Kate wondered. There motor vans and horse-drawn carts and porters wheeling barrows jostled for room, everyone seeming to shout, and the stink of horses and meat and beer mingled with the smell of petrol. One day, she vowed, she'd escape. She'd save enough money to take flying lessons. Then reality hit her. It was an impossible dream. How would her parents manage without her?
Her attention came back to the present as Pamela began to cross the road and Daphne nudged her. 'Put on your hat, Kate!'
'Why do you always have to ignore school rules?' Pamela demanded, loud and imperious.
'It's too hot to wear hats,' Daphne began in defence of her friend, but Kate, despising the placatory tone, and suddenly unable to bear the petty restrictions any longer, cut across her.
'If I choose not to wear this silly, unfashionable hat, that's my business!'
'And mine. You're on report, Kathleen Martins, for disobeying school rules and for impertinence. Miss MacDonald will want to know why you, a scholarship girl who ought to be honoured to come to such a school, seem to despise it.'
Daphne pulled a face as Pamela turned away, but Kate laughed harshly. A couple of curious first formers ran past them, giggling at Daphne's expression.
'I may
as well leave now,' Kate said.
'You have to take your school cert, matriculate,' Daphne said. 'Then you can train to be a teacher.'
'But after Dad's illness there's so little money at home. It's expensive to go to college. Anyway, I don't think I could bear to be a teacher. I've had enough of schools and their silly rules. I want to earn money, to help out at home.' More money, she added to herself, than the few shillings she earned now, which all went on essential things for school.
Daphne frowned. 'But what else can you do, without matric? Of course, you could be a film actress. You're prettier than most of them, but how do you find out about being that?'
Kate laughed, her spirits miraculously restored. 'Don't be so daft, Daffy, I'm not pretty at all. I thought I'd try to get a position in a shop. I love clothes,' even though I rarely have new ones, she thought wistfully. 'I'd like to sell them.'
'I don't think shopgirls are paid a lot,' Daphne added thoughtfully. 'Not enough to afford the clothes they sell, even if they do get special prices.'
Kate looked affectionately at her. Daphne lived in Edgbaston with wealthy parents. She'd never been short of money, and Mrs Carstairs probably spent more on one hat than her family earned in a week.
'I'd manage,' she said. 'Look, there's Moaner Mac staring at us. There, behind that rhododendron bush.'
Daphne shuddered. 'He's weird! Why does Mac let him stay here?'
'He sweeps the paths and cuts the grass. I suppose he earns his keep.'
'The little ones are terrified when he jumps out at them, pulling faces and making that endless momomo sound.'
'He's her brother, I suppose she feels responsible for him. She must be twenty years older.'
'Their mother must have been very old when he was born. I wonder if that's what addled his wits?'
'I'm twenty years younger than Maggie,' Kate told her indignantly. 'And my wits aren't addled!'
Daphne laughed. 'Sorry! I forgot.'
'You can study that when you're a doctor,' Kate said.
Can Dreams Come True? Page 1