Magnolia Square

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘Go vay,’ she had said brusquely in her gutturally accented voice. ‘I don’t like English children. I don’t like English dogs. Go vay and leave Anna alone.’

  In vain he had protested that he hadn’t yet shown her over the house; that there was milk and tea and sugar in the kitchen and that he had intended making a cup of tea for the two of them; that he had hoped he would be able to answer any queries she might have, and give her any reassurance she might need.

  ‘Go vay,’ she had said again and then, to his stunned disbelief, she had manhandled him, Amazon-like, back over the doorstep and slammed the door on him, ramming the top and bottom bolts firmly home.

  As he and Kate climbed the five broad, shallow stone steps leading to the still-closed door he said, ‘I’m afraid Miss Radcynska has locked herself in, Kate. It’s an understandable enough reaction in the circumstances. There were a few . . . incidents . . . on our journey from central London to Lewisham and it’s only to be expected that she is feeling uncertain and insecure.’ They came to a halt on the top step. ‘It is, however, an embarrassing reaction,’ he said, his kindly face deeply troubled. ‘Anna needs to be introduced into our community in a sympathetic manner, and if she sends out the wrong signals so early on . . .’

  If she sent out the wrong signals so early on, it would be impossible to win people’s understanding. She would simply be regarded as a freakish curiosity, best avoided, and her life would be even lonelier than if she had been sent to a displaced person’s camp.

  Apprehensively he knocked on the door in what he hoped was an unintimidating manner.

  ‘Go vay!’ Anna roared. ‘I vant to be alone!’

  It was such a parody of Greta Garbo’s often-quoted request that, in other circumstances, he would have been vastly amused. Instead, he raised his voice loud enough for her to hear but not, he hoped, loud enough to attract public attention.

  ‘I have a young woman with me, Anna. Her name is Kate. She’s one of your new neighbours and she’d like to say hello and make friends.’

  There came the sound of long, low muttering in Polish and then a heavy object was thrown at the door. Bob slipped a finger inside his dog collar to loosen it and give himself a little more air. In retrospect he realized he should have taken Ruth, or Kate, with him when he had gone to collect Anna. That way she might have been a little more trusting. As it was . . .

  ‘Miss Radcynska?’ Kate’s voice was gently calming. ‘I live two doors away. Would you like to share a cup of tea with me? I have a dog, and I know you don’t like dogs very much, but Hector is very friendly.’

  No sound came from behind the closed door. Bob Giles held his breath. He had known the minute he had found himself on the wrong side of the barred door that if anyone could gain Anna Radcynska’s confidence, it would be Kate Emmerson.

  ‘I’m in the middle of baking a treacle tart for tea,’ Kate continued, just as if she had received vocal encouragement. ‘I’m doing a second one for a friend and I could quite easily make some more pastry and do a third one, so that you have something in for tea. I know that Reverend Giles will have stocked your kitchen cupboards with essential groceries, but I doubt if he’s thought to leave anything freshly made.’

  Again there was no reply. Nellie Miller who, from the chair in her front doorway, had seen Anna’s lurching arrival, was stumping with equal lack of grace up the far side of the Square towards the Collins’s house, her eyes fixed avidly on number eight as she did so.

  Bob Giles again loosened his clerical collar, knowing that in another few minutes Nellie would be sharing her news with Hettie, and that when she had done so, Hettie would shoot straight out of the house in order not to miss a second of the bizarre scene now taking place.

  ‘Miss Radcynska?’ Kate said again, not allowing the faintest sign of anxiety to show in her voice. ‘Mr Giles tells me you are Polish. During the war lots of young Polish airmen were posted at Biggin Hill Aerodrome, which isn’t too far from here. They were very handsome and brave and popular.’

  Bob Giles quelled a spasm of near-hysterical mirth. The Poles’ good looks had certainly made them popular with the women of the area. It had been rumoured that Mavis had enjoyed the attentions of a Polish boy-friend, and certainly Eileen Dundas, in nearby Dartmouth Hill, had had a Polish boy-friend. Her little boy’s Slavically high cheekbones were clear enough proof of that.

  ‘Go vay,’ Anna said again, though this time without the same vehemence. ‘No like dogs. No like children. No like men.’

  Kate’s eyes held Bob’s. Hettie and Nellie were now out on number three’s doorstep, enjoying a grandstand view. Leah was standing at the Robsons’ gateway, quite obviously imparting news of Anna’s arrival to Charlie. Another group, who had trailed them up Magnolia Hill from Lewisham, were congregated beneath the shade of St Mark’s magnolia tree.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said to him apologetically. ‘I don’t think Miss Radcynska is going to open the door knowing you’re still here.’

  Bob didn’t think she was going to either. ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly, aware that their audience was growing larger by the minute. ‘But I have to warn you that—’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Kate said swiftly, knowing what he was about to say. ‘I’ve already guessed.’

  Still Bob hesitated. Anna Radcynska had manhandled him out of her new home with all the strength of a Samson. If she should turn that strength, in fear and anger, on to Kate . . .

  ‘’Ere, Vicar! Is it true you’re collecting people from funny farms to live in Magnolia Square?’ A lout he had never seen before in his life shouted from the vantage point of St Mark’s grassy island. ‘Do you ’ave to be bonkers to get an ’ome round ’ere?’

  Bob’s face tightened. If he didn’t abandon his stand-off on number eight’s doorstep, there was every chance of an ugly public incident erupting. ‘I’m going,’ he said to Kate tersely. ‘Give it five minutes and if Anna still won’t open the door to you, abandon the attempt. Meanwhile, I’ll try and disperse this growing crowd of onlookers.’ He turned away from her, trusting her sensitivity and judgement utterly. ‘I don’t know where you’re from, young man,’ he said seconds later to the lounging youth. ‘But your remarks show a great lack of Christian charity.’

  ‘I ain’t from round ’ere,’ the youth smirked, enjoying the high feeling he was creating. ‘An’ I’m glad of it. I wouldn’t live ’ere. Not with all these barmies. It ain’t safe.’

  ‘There are no “barmies”, as you so ignorantly put it, living in Magnolia Square,’ Bob began stiffly and was broken off by the sound of a door being flung hard back on its hinges. He swung his head round, certain he was about to be met with the sight of a violently agitated Anna. Instead he saw that it was the Sharkeys’ front door that was swinging open, and that the person cumbersomely propelling himself down the front steps was Wilfred, placards swinging. Never in his life had Bob Giles blasphemed, but the present temptation was nearly overpowering.

  ‘See!’ the youth shouted, pointing triumphantly towards Wilfred. ‘’E’s a barmy! See wot’s written on ’is placard! “THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH”! An’ the war only just over. If that ain’t barmy, I don’t know wot is!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was Charlie who saved Bob Giles the extremely awkward task of shepherding Wilfred on his attention-getting procession down Magnolia Hill and into Lewisham. ‘I’ll take care of ’im,’ he had said, aware that the Vicar’s dog collar would only draw more attention to Wilfred’s bizarre behaviour. ‘’E likes to stand outside Lewisham clock-tower when ’e’s in this kind of a mood. I dunno why. No-one takes a ha’porth of notice of ’im.’

  Bob wasn’t at all convinced that Charlie’s summing up of the situation was accurate. Lewisham clock-tower, standing on what had become a traffic-island at the confluence of three major roads, was the best-known landmark for miles around. Every autumn a gypsy woman appropriated the site, selling lavender from it at sixpence a bunch. To local pe
ople, she was as much an indication of the passing of summer and the drawing-in of winter as the change in weather, and Bob couldn’t help feeling that Wilfred might very speedily become another such fixture.

  Dragging his thoughts away from his mentally troubled churchwarden, deeply thankful that neither Doris nor Prudence were adding to the free show by trailing into Lewisham in their patriarch’s wake, he concentrated once more on the tragic problem of Anna Radcynska. Why on earth hadn’t he realized just how deeply disturbed she would be? How was he to integrate her into the community? What plan of action could he possibly take that would have a happy outcome? With a relief so intense, he groaned aloud in thankfulness, he saw that Kate was no longer standing on number eight’s doorstep. At some moment when his, and everyone else’s attention, had been focused on Wilfred, she had obviously been invited inside, no matter how reluctantly. And once inside, Kate would do a magnificent job of winning Anna’s confidence, of that he didn’t have a second’s doubt. He began to breathe a little more easily. He would go back to the vicarage and wait for Kate there, and he would call in at her house on the way in order to let Carrie know that Joss Harvey had agreed to her and Danny tenanting number seventeen.

  ‘Did you ever visit England before the war?’ Kate asked Anna as she filled a kettle of water for a pot of tea.

  ‘Many times,’ Anna responded gruffly, sitting full-square on a kitchen chair that the Binnses had conveniently left behind. ‘My mother was English. She came from Vandsworth.’

  ‘Wandsworth?’ Kate flashed her a wide, sunny smile. ‘Wandsworth is only seven or eight miles away. Do you still have relatives there?’

  ‘No.’ A closed, shuttered look came down over Anna’s large-boned features. ‘No relatives. No children. No dogs. No men.’

  Kate searched for cups or mugs and found them in a cupboard above the sink. Bob Giles, or most likely Ruth, had done a good job of scratch furnishing number eight, though there was still room for vast improvement. She had already mentally ticked off lots of things she could spare from her own home which would make number eight cosier and more comfortable. She poured milk into two mugs, reflecting that the mug of tea she had made for herself a little earlier was still standing on her kitchen table.

  ‘The fact that your English is so good will make it easier for you to feel at home here,’ she said, her slightly husky voice full of warmth and sincere friendliness. ‘And people are friendly here, Anna.’

  Anna shook her head vehemently. ‘Not to Anna. People are afraid of Anna. People shout and laugh.’

  Kate hesitated. She didn’t know just how self-aware Anna was of her own condition, yet it had to be spoken of. Only by frankly accepting that it was her appearance and manner that caused the name-calling and cruel laughter, could steps be taken to mitigate it.

  In her own mind, Kate had already decided what those first steps should be. Top of the list was suitable clothing. As far as Kate was concerned, the person responsible for dressing Anna so unsuitably from a ragbag of charitable cast-offs, deserved to be shot. The obscenely skimpy dress only emphasized her masculine physique and ungainliness. Her lack of stockings, or even socks, was a cruel oversight when her legs were as muscular and hairy as a navvy’s. As for the monstrosity of her gaping boots . . . Kate intended burning them and replacing them with a pair of light brogues, or sandals, at her first opportunity. The dress would be added to the flames also, replaced by a tie-neck blouse and a skirt that reached well below the knees.

  Taking the bull by the horns, she said gently, ‘People are often unkind about what they don’t understand, Anna. What happened to you during the war shouldn’t be kept a secret. Your neighbours in Magnolia Square should be told, not in order to pity you, but so that they can understand and come to terms with you as you are, as you are going to have to come to terms with the person you now are.’

  There was a long, long silence. Kate waited, taut with nervous tension. The expected violent outburst didn’t come. Instead, tears glinted on Anna’s sparse eyelashes and slowly began to trickle down her ravaged face. In vast relief, Kate closed the couple of feet separating them and, while Anna remained sitting on the chair, put her arms around her. Anna leaned her head against Kate, who cradled her as if she were a distressed child.

  ‘It’s going to be all right, Anna,’ she said soothingly, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Just trust me and you’ll see. You’ll be happy here. You’ll make friends. You’ll belong.’

  An hour later she was saying fiercely to Bob Giles, ‘I don’t care what advice the Red Cross gave. People have to know what Anna suffered in order to be able to understand why she looks and behaves as she does. And they have to be told quickly, before they form judgements they’ll be reluctant to abandon.’

  ‘But the Red Cross thought it would awaken an interest entirely prurient—’

  ‘Not here,’ Kate said, her eyes ablaze with conviction. ‘Not in Magnolia Square.’

  His eyes held hers, and then he nodded his head in agreement. ‘And what else?’ he asked, knowing she was burning to say far, far more.

  ‘We have to treat Anna as if there was nothing odd about her. And the less outwardly odd she looks the better. She shouldn’t step over the doorstep of number eight in that monstrosity of a frock! Nothing I have will fit her, but Harriet is Junoesquely built. I’m sure Harriet will be only too happy to give Anna some blouses and skirts. I think Anna’s feet will be far bigger than Harriet’s, but a pair of men’s sandals will be a million times better than the boots some oaf thought fit for her to wear! And then there is her hair . . .’

  Bob sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenwards. With Kate as her champion, Anna was as good as integrated already.

  ‘. . . Carrie is quite a good amateur hairdresser. A trim and a home perm will transform Anna just as it transforms any woman. And Anna must have stockings. The kind of lisle stockings Miriam and Hettie wear. And she needs far more creature comforts in her house. If everyone in the Square made a search of their attics for things in good condition that they have no further use for, we could have her comfy and cosy in no time.’

  Feeling like a new man, Bob rose to his feet. ‘I’ll take the left-hand side of the Square,’ he said, picking up his pipe, ‘you take the right. We’ll knock at every door and state Anna’s case to everyone we find at home.’

  As they walked out of the vicarage, it occurred to him that he could do worse than to ask Kate’s advice where Wilfred was concerned. Once put in the picture about the situation at number ten, her compassionate nature would be invaluable in giving Doris and Prudence the kind of support they so desperately needed.

  ‘. . . and so if you have any spare suitable clothes, Anna is in great need of them,’ Kate finished saying to Harriet Godfrey.

  Harriet, who had listened to Kate’s explanation of Anna Radcynska’s history in grim-faced silence, said, ‘I have two dirndl cotton skirts I bought when going for a holiday in Eastbourne last year. They’re elastic-waisted, so there’ll be no problem about fit. And I have several blouses going spare, both long-sleeved and short-sleeved. And a cardigan. And a capacious raincoat.’

  Fifteen minutes later Kate staggered through her own front doorway hardly able to see where she was going for the mound of clothing she was carrying.

  ‘What’s this? Jumble sale time?’ Carrie asked equably.

  ‘They’re Harriet Godfrey’s cast-offs,’ Kate said, dropping her cargo on to the nearest available chair, ‘so “jumble” is certainly not the right word. The skirts have Harrods labels on them, and at least one of the blouses is silk.’

  ‘They’re going to be a little on the large size for you, aren’t they?’ Carrie asked teasingly, knowing full well that Kate hadn’t purloined them for herself. ‘Or are you thinking of growing?’

  ‘They’re for our new neighbour, Anna Radcynska.’ With gratitude Kate saw that Carrie had not only finished baking the treacle tarts but had made a batch of scones as well. ‘When I’ve told you a little a
bout her, I’ll take you round to meet her. I’ll take my treacle tart and the scones around as well. And this afternoon, when you go and collect Rose from school, could you stop off at the shops and buy a home perm kit?’

  ‘I think I could do that,’ Carrie said incuriously, bursting with her good news. ‘In fact, I think I could pop in for a home perm kit just as soon as I’ve picked up the keys for number seventeen!’

  Though Kate urgently wanted to tell Carrie Anna’s story, in order that she could continue with her task of telling Anna’s other neighbours, she shared in Carrie’s relief and joy first and then, her eyes darkening, said, ‘I’ve something to tell you, Carrie. Something almost beyond words.’

  Carrie’s reaction was just as intense as Kate had known it would be. She had been sick, and hadn’t blamed her physical reaction on her pregnancy. Next she had been furiously, ragingly angry. Then she had said, ‘Let’s take these clothes round to her now, then I’ll stay with her while you finish calling in at the rest of the houses on this side of the Square. And make sure Mavis knows to have a word with Billy. She won’t be able to explain fully to him, but if she tells him Anna is ill, it’ll be enough to make him mind his manners.’

  Leaving Carrie cheerily displaying Harriet Godfrey’s largesse to a bewildered Anna, Kate continued on her errand. Outside the Sharkeys’ house she paused. Doris would undoubtedly be at home as, if rumour was correct, would Prudence. The front room curtains were, however, forbiddingly closed. The charitable said this new habit of Doris’s was occasioned by Wilfred’s illness; that he had a virus infection, that he hadn’t been able to work since just before VJ Day and that his eyes were susceptible to light. The less charitable said it was because Doris didn’t want anyone seeing the kind of shenanigans now taking place in her home.

  ‘I’ve seen ’im myself dahn Lewisham High Street,’ Albert had said, shaking his head in disbelief, ‘wearing “THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH” placards and shouting at people to repent.’