by Mary Gibson
‘It’s a good idea, Matty,’ Tom said, ‘but we’d have to persuade someone to let us into their old house and their new flat.’
‘Oh, that won’t be a problem. I know just the family!’
***
‘I don’t know about that, Matty,’ Nellie said, as she boxed up her best bone-china tea set, a lilac-patterned fluted affair that was rarely allowed out of the cupboard. ‘I don’t think I could do any acting. Besides, we’ve got enough to do getting ourselves to Grange House without having a cameraman getting under our feet!’
‘We won’t get in your way, I promise. Tom’s doing the filming and you won’t have to actually be in it. I’ll be playing the mother. I’ve got to look worried and frazzled, which you, try as you might, could never do, Nellie.’ She gave Nellie a winning smile, but she knew Matty too well.
‘Don’t give me all the old soft soap,’ she said curtly.
Matty tried a different tack. ‘It’d be good if the boys could be in it. I bet they’d love it, especially Billy, and it might keep them out of your way.’ Nellie continued to silently box up.
‘We really need to show a family going from an old place into a new flat – so we can show what an improvement it is and how excited you all are...’
‘Well, the boys wouldn’t need to put that on for the cameras. They’re driving me mad. The first thing they want to do is get in a proper bath with taps. It’ll cost us a fortune in hot water! Here, wrap these photos while you’re standing there.’
Nellie pushed a pile of framed photographs across the table and Matty started to wrap them in newspaper. She held up one of her dad, Michael Gilbie, astride the old penny-farthing just after his long cycle down to London in search of work. Another showed her as a toddler with her parents, Michael and Lizzie; they each held a hand and were obviously helping her with her first steps.
Nelly caught her lingering over it. ‘They would have been so proud of you, Matty.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so! The way Lizzie used to get you to stand in the middle of the kitchen and sing for me when I came round! She knew what you were meant for. She’d have been glad you’ve started singing again, you’re just like your old self.’
Matty reached out for Nellie’s hand. ‘It wasn’t easy finding out Eliza was my real mother, but now I know... well, I’ve realized I’ve got a lot of her in me too.’
‘Oh, I’ll tell you one thing for a start – you’ve both always managed to get your own way!’
She laughed. ‘That’s true! But not just that. Since I’ve started working with Tom, I understand what made Eliza give up everything for her work. It’s heartbreaking some of the things I’ve seen. We filmed a homeless family last week, living under Gedling Street railway arch. The woman had the tiniest baby and no milk.’ Tears pricked Matty’s eyes at the remembrance of the infant that had searched in vain at her own breast while she held it, feeling an irrational desire to provide the milk its mother lacked. But as its wizened face creased in distress, so dehydrated it cried without tears, the old pain tore at her heart and she relinquished the baby, whose mother soothed it with a rag soaked in condensed milk. ‘In the end the mission took them in, found them a couple of rooms. Not much, but it was better than a railway arch.’
‘I do know how lucky we are, going into a new flat,’ Nellie said.
‘That’s what I mean. This film will be seen by high-ups in the LCC. Perhaps they’ll start giving us a bit of money for some new houses for a change, instead of leaving it all to the Bermondsey borough to pay for...’
Nellie sighed with a mixture of exasperation and resignation. ‘Oh, all right then, we’ll do it. See what I mean, you always get your own way!’
*
Before the Gilbies finally moved out of Vauban Street, they filmed scenes showing Matty struggling with the weekly wash, heating up the copper and transporting buckets of water to fill the tin tub in the yard. A contrasting scene in the new flat would show the hygienic and time-saving value of running hot water. The night before the move Matty and Tom went to film some more ‘before’ scenes. Nellie had always kept her homely house spotless, but it had been a losing battle over the years with damp lifting any new wallpaper Sam hung and bugs hiding in the crumbling old walls. Now bare of ornament and mementos it looked a suitably grim example of old Bermondsey. Billy, Sammy and Albie obligingly snuggled up in bed together under a blanket, while Matty, playing their mother, sat vigil with a candle, ready to chase away any bold rats making their way into the house from the nearby knackers’ yard.
‘Stop giggling now, Albie,’ Nellie admonished her youngest. ‘You’re meant to be fast asleep.’
And Sammy pinched him to emphasize the point. Once the boys were quiet, Matty sat on a kitchen chair at their bedside and moved her face into the candlelight, a picture of haunted worry. The caption was to be A mother guards her children. Tom had already gleaned plenty of footage of rats coming out of the boneyard into the night-time streets, to be shown with her recorded script: How can I sleep when my children could be bitten by rats in the night? If only I could get on the list for a council flat. Suddenly Matty jumped up, knocking over the chair. Waving her shovel, she chased away a rodent invader. Now the boys’ acting skills came into play as three heads poked up from under the covers, eyes wide with terror.
‘Cut!’ called Tom and the boys leaped out of bed.
‘What’s next?’ asked Billy, who’d been the most eager to appear in the film.
‘I’ve got a special part for you later,’ she said. ‘But that’s enough for tonight. You’ve got to be up bright and early tomorrow to help Mum and Dad!’
She and Tom joined Nellie and Sam for a farewell drink in the old kitchen.
‘I’ll be singing “My Old Man Said Follow the Van” tomorrow, Matty,’ Nellie said, raising her glass. ‘Sam’s borrowing the horse and cart to move us!’
‘Well, we won’t get it all on the cart. Freddie’s bringing his lorry too,’ Sam said.
‘We could get some lovely shots of the boys on the back of the cart, waving the old place goodbye.’
‘Good riddance, more like,’ Sam said and shook his head indulgently. ‘How’s that song go, “I dillied, I dallied”? I guarantee we won’t be in the new place before midnight by the time we get this lot out of here.’
But Sam was wrong. At the end of the following day there was still enough light left for them to film the final outdoor shots of the move. They filmed the boys being porters, ferrying chairs and boxes up the stone staircase to the new flat, and then Billy’s special scene, which Matty had choreographed.
‘I want a shot of you dancing along the balcony to your new front door,’ she explained. ‘Imagine you’re so happy you can’t help but dance, imagine it’s to the tune of “Happy Feet”. Do some shuffle-ball changes and side-swing your arms as you go, then when you get to the door we’ll have some scissor steps? OK?’
Billy nodded and Matty sang so he could get the rhythm. ‘Happy feet, I’ve got those happy feet, give them a low down beat, and they begin dancing...’
He performed the routine just as she’d instructed.
‘That boy’s got to go on the stage!’ She grinned as she ran to sweep him up and in through the open front door to join the others.
*
After a long day’s filming and unpacking, Freddie offered to give them a lift home in his lorry.
‘Fancy stopping off for a drink at the Red Cow first?’ he asked them. ‘It’s thirsty bloody work this moving lark.’
‘Won’t Kitty be expecting you?’ Matty asked. She knew that Freddie didn’t get out much these days. His growing family and business left him little leisure time, and he’d surprised them all by settling down to be a model husband and father, in spite of his odd skirmish down memory lane with Wide’oh and a few boxes of hooky.
‘She does give me a night off now’n again!’ Freddie winked at Matty. ‘Come on, I’ll stand the drinks. Besides, I wanted a word.�
�
It was a quiet night in the Red Cow and they found an empty table easily. When Freddie went to buy them drinks, Matty asked Tom, ‘Do you know what he wants to talk about?’
‘No idea, family news?’
Matty shrugged. ‘Could be another baby on the way. Kitty’s Catholic.’
But when Freddie returned, he didn’t look like a man who’d come to impart good news. His handsome face clouded as he lowered his powerful frame on to the seat next to Matty’s. He leaned in and dropped his voice.
‘Bit of news about that business of Matty’s. I saw Sugar yesterday. He’d been looking for you, Tom, but you was out so he come over the yard to me.’
‘We were filming at Vauban Street all yesterday,’ Tom said. ‘What was the news?’
Matty felt the hairs on her arms lifting. Sugar had become a little like an unpredictable guard dog in her mind. She never got any sense of security from knowing that Tom had set him to keep his ears open for news of the Clerkenwell mob doing Frank’s dirty work. Whenever she saw Sugar, his squashed, bulldog features signalled danger, and she was never sure if that danger came from him or what he was reporting.
‘It might be nothing, but you know there’s already been business between Frank’s outfit and the Clerkenwell boys – they’ve supplied him with a few bodyguards, usually they’re boys that need to get out of this country quick. Anyway, now there’s a rumour one of ’em’s helping Frank get out of Canada – hands across the pond and all that. Seems Frank wants some of what they’ve got going over here and they think he can add them a bit of clout...’
Matty swallowed as a heavy silence fell over the table.
‘I don’t want to frighten you, Matty. It might come to nothing, but...’
‘It’s not like I haven’t known it might happen,’ she said firmly, remembering her vow to herself as she’d stood over the gap in Tower Bridge. ‘But I’m not frightened.’
‘Good,’ said Tom, squeezing her hand. ‘If he comes at least we’ll all be prepared.’
Matty was about to say that no one could really be ‘ready’ for Frank, but instead she asked ‘All?’, looking from Tom to Freddie. ‘What do you mean, all?’
***
It wasn’t until Winnie’s springtime wedding that she got an inkling of the extent of Tom’s ‘protection programme’. They were waiting with the other guests outside St James’s Church. The borough beautification department had filled the flower beds with daffodils and primroses, and though they hadn’t put on the show solely for Winnie’s day, it did make a pretty setting for a wedding. Winnie had managed to ignore the temptations of Peek’s for the last few months and had lost the weight she’d gained since working there. Matty had helped her choose the dress and was now excitedly waiting for her to arrive. But the bride had turned up and promptly been sent away in her hired Bentley. The Peek’s Tiller Girls were all there, dressed in matching bridesmaids’ dresses. Matty could see them bobbing up and down, trying to get a glimpse of the bride’s progress along Frean Street. The Bentley came into view a second time and, turning in through the park gates, it drew up outside the church steps.
The driver was about to hop out and Matty could see Winnie’s eager face staring out through the window.
‘Bloody hell, where’s he got to?’ Tom said, waving the car away again, and Matty blew Winnie a kiss, mouthing, ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here!’
Winnie’s car left to do another circuit of Spa Road, and it was then Matty spotted the groom approaching through the opposite churchyard gate.
She nudged Tom.
‘Oh my God, no, he’s not. Tell me when it’s over, Matty.’
Tom covered his eyes with his hand. For Wally, beautifully dressed in wedding suit and white carnation, was wobbling precariously towards them atop his unicycle.
Encouraging shouts echoed round the churchyard. ‘Here he is, Wally the Wonder Wheel! Come on, Wal, you can do it!’
Staying upright had always been a problem for Wally but today proved the exception. Waving to his well-wishers, he managed to keep his seat and was looking very pleased with himself. But braking was also a problem and now it appeared that the stone steps of the old Waterloo church were the only impediment to Wally’s progress. The crowd parted as he came to a crashing halt on the bottom step. His one wheel buckled and Wally leaped off, somersaulted and somehow landed on the top step, giving an extravagant bow to a burst of applause. Wally was a better acrobat than he was a cyclist.
‘It’s over,’ Matty said. ‘You can look now.’
‘Stone me, I just hope he hasn’t persuaded our Winnie to leave with him on a tandem.’
‘Well, he did ask me if I’d sing them out with “Daisy, Daisy”!’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle made for two!’
‘My poor sister.’
‘I’m joking, you idiot!’ Matty giggled as Tom picked up Wally’s unicycle and stowed it out of sight.
On her third circuit, Winnie was allowed out of the car and into the church to be married. It was the unlikeliest of unions and yet, as he stood beside Winnie at the altar, Wally’s face lost all its usual bumbling clownishness and Matty saw an intensity in his eyes that she thought boded well for them.
Bernie had offered the bar at the Star for the wedding reception. The place had been smartened up and decorated for the occasion and Winnie had asked Matty to sing later on.
‘How’s me darlin’ Cockney Canary?’ Bernie put his arm round her. His moustache tickled her cheek and as usual he smelled of cigars and whiskey, a smell that could take her back in an instant to her fourteen-year-old self and her early days on the stage in this place. ‘I hear you’ve gone up the ’Dilly on us,’ he said, laughing.
‘I’ll have you know I’m a reputable artiste in a private club!’ she said, and swiped the back of his pomaded head for his cheeky reference to Piccadilly’s other more disreputable claim to fame. He sat beside her, looking on at Winnie and Wally’s first dance. The piano player was the regular cinema organist, but his technique was not the best.
‘He spends all his time playing that Wurlitzer. You’d think he could remember how to play a bloody piano!’ Bernie complained. ‘Anyway, how are you, kid? Still making your bedbug films?’
Matty nodded. ‘We’ve gone into talkies!’
Bernie looked impressed. ‘But you’re back singing.’ He put an arm round her. ‘That’s the important thing, couldn’t be more pleased to hear it. I’ll have you back on that old stage...’ He nodded towards the Star’s auditorium and Matty smiled, feeling a moment’s sadness for the excitement of those old times.
‘The clubs suit me better nowadays, Bernie.’
‘Look, I know why you’ve been staying off the circuit.’ Bernie lowered his voice. ‘We all do, all the old crowd – every hall in London and the provinces... Anyone comes asking after our canary, we know to tell your Tom. Your feller’s even recruited him.’ Bernie nodded towards the dancing couple.
‘Wally? What, to protect me?’ She threw back her head and laughed, so that she caught Tom’s attention, who smiled back. But Bernie was looking deadly serious.‘You do know where that silly sod’s true talent lies, don’t you?’
Matty shook her head.
‘Well, me darlin’, let’s just hope you never have to find out,’ Bernie said, tapping the side of his nose.
***
The Modern Woman films were to be launched with more than the usual fanfare, with a special first screening at the Spa Road Library hall, with the mayor and other local bigwigs in attendance, as well as special invitations for the Bermondsey ‘extras’ who’d played so many parts. They had also booked showings in fifteen factories and twelve mother and baby clinics, as well as Goldsmiths College. They had high hopes for this third film, The Modern Woman and Health, as D.M.’s feeling was that if a woman looked after her own health, then it followed her family would be healthy too.
Matty had found i
t hard when it came to portraying a sickly woman, for she had never felt healthier, nor happier. She wasn’t entirely sure when the corner had been turned, but whenever she considered the contentment that she felt in Tom’s arms or the satisfaction she got from her film work or the excitement of her nights singing at the Blue Lotus, the image that flashed into her mind was of standing with Tom in the centre of Tower Bridge at dawn. When she’d declared herself unafraid, it hadn’t only been Frank she was thinking of. It had also been the fear of giving her heart to a man again. Tom had offered her protection from Frank, but not from love. And over time she’d gradually come to see that it was as impossible to protect herself from either. They were both coming for her, so she’d decided to stop running from both.
The only sadness was that Tom’s father was failing. Tom thought it had less to do with his health than his pride, for he’d never fully accepted that the end of his working life would be spent living on the grudging handouts of the state. In his mind it was ‘outdoor relief’ and as demeaning as the workhouse. He’d managed to attend Winnie’s wedding, but had then retired to his bed.
One evening Tom came to Reverdy Road, more upset than she’d ever seen him.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked as soon as she opened the door.
He came in, pulling off his trilby, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s the old chap. I think he’s given up, Matty. Win’s had the doctor out, but he said Dad’s heart’s failing and there’s not much to be done. I’m sorry, love, I don’t think I can come with you tonight.’
She was booked to sing at the Blue Lotus and Tom had said he would go too.
‘Oh, that’s the least of your worries, Tom. Neville will take me. You go to your dad.’
‘I just wish I could have done more for the old feller. I tried to help him out, but he hated taking anything from me. I ended up giving it to Mum on the quiet.’