Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

  In the months that followed Poppy settled into a routine of work and evening classes, interrupted by frequent air raid warnings and dashes to the nearest shelter. Dennis was a frequent visitor to the house, and their trips to the cinema became a weekly outing for Poppy. He proved to be good company and there was never a hint of anything other than friendship in his attitude towards her. Mabel’s initial worries seemed to have been forgotten, or maybe it had something to do with the small gifts that Dennis brought her every time he called at the house. It could be anything from a bar of milk chocolate to a bunch of flowers, and he always had a packet of Kensitas cigarettes for Mrs Tanner, who said that the doctor had advised her to smoke as it calmed her nerves. Poppy had grown familiar with Mrs Tanner’s nerves, which Mum would have said were just an excuse for bad temper, but it would be a brave person who voiced that opinion to Mabel’s irascible parent. Dennis was the only one it seemed who could charm her into smiling, and he even made her laugh on occasions. Mabel hung on every word when he recounted stories of his boyhood escapades with Joe. Poppy was amazed that Dennis and her brother had not been arrested for some of their less worthy capers, and she was glad that Mum and Dad had been blissfully ignorant of their son’s activities.

  On Poppy’s fifteenth birthday, Dennis had offered to take them all out to dinner at the Seven Ways Restaurant, a mock Tudor building overlooking a busy roundabout at Gants Hill, which was within easy walking distance. He had borrowed a wheelchair, and although Mrs Tanner said she would not be seen dead in such a contraption, when faced with the alternative of being left alone and having to get into the Morrison shelter unaided in the event of an air raid she changed her mind, but that did not stop her grumbling. In the end, Dennis, who was limping badly himself, gave the chair a hefty push, shouting, ‘Whee. Off you go, ducks. Let’s see you get there under your own steam.’

  Mabel uttered a shriek of protest. ‘Catch her, Dennis. For the love of God, she’ll be killed.’

  Mrs Tanner’s language was choice as Dennis caught up with the chair and drew it to a halt. Mabel clapped her hands over Poppy’s ears, but it did not drown the string of expletives.

  ‘Now, now, Ma. You enjoyed the thrill,’ Dennis said, chuckling. ‘Admit it, Maggie. You ain’t had such fun since Granny was a boy.’

  Wielding her handbag like a morning star, Mrs Tanner caught him a blow on the shoulder. ‘Shut up, you hooligan. I’ll have the law on you for mistreating a poor old woman.’

  Dennis took a packet of Woodbines from his pocket and lit one, handing it to Mrs Tanner. ‘Have a fag to calm your nerves, ducks.’

  ‘Ladies don’t smoke in the street,’ Mrs Tanner said, snatching it from him. She inhaled deeply. ‘Doctor’s orders,’ she added, glaring at Mabel. ‘I’ve had a terrible fright thanks to that – that cripple, who ought to know better.’

  ‘Dennis isn’t a cripple,’ Poppy cried angrily. ‘That was a horrid thing to say.’

  ‘It’s okay, love.’ Dennis took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I know what I am, and I have to live with it.’ His serious expression melted into a grin. ‘Come on, girls. This is meant to be a celebration. We’re on a night out, no expense spared.’ He seized the wheelchair handle. ‘Okay, Maggie. I won’t give you no more frights and on the way home you can push me.’

  Puffing a smoke ring, Mrs Tanner glared at him over her shoulder. ‘I’ll push you into the boating pond, you bugger.’

  ‘You two are awful,’ Mabel said with feeling. ‘I hope you’re not going to spend the whole evening bickering like a couple of kids.’

  ‘Not me, honey.’ Dennis winked at Poppy. ‘I’ll be a gent just like Ashley Wilkes in that film we saw last week at the flicks.’

  ‘It was wonderful,’ Poppy said, sighing. ‘Scarlett O’Hara was so beautiful and she had all the men falling at her feet. You must see it, Mabel.’

  ‘I have seen it,’ Mabel said breathlessly as she quickened her pace in order to keep up with them. ‘Joe and I treated ourselves to a performance in the West End the night before our wedding.’

  ‘Poppy looks just like her,’ Dennis said, smiling. ‘Vivien Leigh, I mean. She’s our own little Scarlett.’

  Mabel shot him a warning glance. ‘Don’t talk soft, Dennis. You’ll give her ideas.’

  ‘I’m starving,’ Mrs Tanner said plaintively. ‘Can’t you go no faster, Dennis? There’ll be nothing left on the menu if you lot don’t stop gassing on about film stars and all that soppy rubbish.’

  He made a move as if to send the wheelchair off on its own again, but Poppy caught the handle, shaking her head. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispered, smothering a giggle. ‘And stop teasing Mabel. You’ll have her turning grey before her time.’

  ‘Who says I’m joking?’ For a brief moment his hand covered hers and the expression in his eyes startled Poppy, but it also sent thrills running down her spine. She withdrew her hand hastily. There was an earthy quality about Dennis that, combined with his sense of humour and undeniable good looks, made it possible to forget his lack of stature and his physical disability. She found it all very confusing. ‘I wonder what they’ve got on the menu,’ she said, turning to Mabel. ‘I hope there’s cake.’

  The restaurant was crowded but Dennis had reserved a table in the window and the waitress who served them, a buxom, dark-haired woman called Betty, obviously knew him as a good customer. As if to make up for teasing Mrs Tanner, he made a fuss of her, lifting her bodily from the wheelchair so that she could sit at the table. He took her coat and Mabel’s, complimenting Mabel on her dress. It was the one she had worn on her wedding day, but Dennis did not appear to recognise it. He said that particular shade of blue matched her eyes exactly and Mabel blushed, giggling like a schoolgirl as she took her seat. Poppy had slipped off her tweed jacket, but Dennis took it from her with a smile that would have melted the hardest heart. ‘You look a treat,’ he said softly. ‘You’re a real smasher, Poppy Brown.’

  ‘He fancies her,’ Mrs Tanner said grimly as Dennis went to hang the coats on the stand by the door. ‘You’d better watch him, Mabel. He’s like a dog on heat.’

  ‘Mum,’ Mabel said in a shocked undertone. ‘Stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  Poppy picked up the menu, pretending not to hear them. She had felt a bit self-conscious in a dress that had belonged to Mabel before she began to put on weight. It had taken several evenings of painstaking needlework to alter it to fit Poppy’s slender frame. The eau de nil figure-hugging rayon had the feel of silk. Gathering beneath the bust emphasised her tiny waist and the skirt ended just below her knees, swirling sinuously with every step she took. She might not be as gorgeous as Scarlett, but Dennis seemed to think she looked pretty. It was slightly embarrassing, but it was also flattering to be taken seriously by an older man. He must be all of twenty-three, the same age as Joe and Guy. Her heart did a funny little flip inside her chest.

  She had done her best to put Guy from her mind. In her busy life working at the hospital and spending evenings at class, she had had little time to dwell on the past. It was still there, of course, tucked away in a secret compartment of her memory; a place sacred to her mind’s eye to be savoured and relished in moments when she was alone. She had not always been happy at Squire’s Knapp and the memories might be bittersweet, but they were still very much a part of her life.

  ‘Well, now, ladies, what’s your poison?’ Dennis said cheerfully as he took his seat. ‘A drop of mother’s ruin for you, Maggie?’

  ‘Cheeky blighter,’ Mrs Tanner muttered. ‘I’ll have wine. White and sweet.’

  ‘That will do for me too,’ Mabel said hastily. ‘You order, Dennis. You know what’s what.’

  Poppy sat back watching Dennis as he ordered their food and wine as if he did that sort of thing every day of his life. In deference to Mrs Tanner he chose a sweet white wine that tasted of grapes and sunshine, and although Mabel frowned when she saw him fill Poppy’s glass he forestalled her by saying that a drop or two on
her birthday was quite in order. ‘She’s fifteen, not five years old,’ he said, topping up Mabel’s glass. ‘Give the kid a break and let her grow up.’

  Mabel took a sip of her wine, shooting him a resentful glance. ‘She’s my responsibility while Joe’s away.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ Poppy said, frowning.

  Dennis reached across the table to pat her hand. ‘Sorry, ducks. We’re just trying to look after you, although Mabel here thinks I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ He grinned and winked at Mabel. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I wouldn’t do nothing to harm a hair of her pretty head. My little Scarlett O’Hara.’

  ‘Well, you ain’t Rhett Butler,’ Mrs Tanner said, glaring at Dennis with narrowed eyes. ‘And don’t look so surprised. I’ve read all about it in Picturegoer. Now where’s that fish and chips I ordered? Call that waitress over, and tell her to hurry the food along before I faint from lack of nourishment.’

  Luckily for everyone Betty appeared at that moment, expertly balancing four plates of food on her upturned arms. Poppy held her breath in case she dropped one, but Betty had obviously done this many times before and she served the food without mishap. Mrs Tanner had her cod and chips, and even though she complained that the peas were like bullets it did not prevent her from clearing her plate, downing three glasses of wine in the process. Mabel and Dennis both had the meat pie, although Mabel complained that there was more carrot and swede in it than meat. Dennis had no complaints. Poppy had fish pie. There was more potato than fish but the cheese sauce was tasty and she was hungry. They all chose the jam roly-poly pudding for dessert with a generous helping of custard. Whether it was the food or the second bottle of wine that had helped it go down, Mrs Tanner was in a spectacularly good mood. She even thanked Betty for waiting on them and complimented her on her clean fingernails, which Poppy found excruciatingly embarrassing, but Dennis made up for it by leaving a tip large enough to make Mabel’s eyes widen.

  ‘That’s too much, Dennis,’ she hissed.

  ‘Makes his money on the black market I should think,’ Mrs Tanner said in a voice loud enough to turn heads. She pointed at Dennis, mouthing ‘spiv’ and shaking her head as if to disassociate herself from him.

  Dennis lifted her into the wheelchair. ‘I love you, Maggie. Will you marry me?’

  ‘You’re only saying that because a wife can’t give evidence against her old man, you cheeky blighter.’

  ‘Let’s get you home, Mum,’ Mabel said, smiling apologetically at the woman on the next table who looked distinctly affronted. ‘She’s had a drop too much. Sorry.’

  It was pitch dark by the time they reached South Road. A thick blanket of clouds hid the moon, but in the distance they could hear the crump of ack-ack guns, and then the wail of the air raid siren. ‘Get inside quick,’ Mabel said, unlocking the front door. ‘Into the Morrison shelter with you.’

  Dennis lifted Mrs Tanner out of her chair and carried her into the hall. ‘D’you need help, Maggie?’

  She shook her head. ‘I ain’t a complete cripple, like some.’ Grabbing her walking stick she hobbled towards the dining room where the Morrison shelter had replaced the table.

  ‘Sorry about Mum,’ Mabel said apologetically. ‘It’s just her way.’

  Dennis kissed her on the cheek. ‘I know. Go and sort the old besom out. You’re a saint to put up with her, Mabel.’

  ‘Come on, Poppy. You too, Dennis.’ Mabel tossed her coat over the newel post at the foot of the stairs and hurried into the dining room.

  Poppy made to follow her but Dennis caught her by the hand. He drew her into his arms and kissed her on the lips. ‘Happy birthday, Poppy.’

  Shocked, she pushed him away. ‘What did you do that for, Dennis?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Because you’re lovely and I wanted to.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’ She wiped her lips on the back of her hand. ‘Don’t ever do that again. Not ever.’ She turned and ran upstairs, shutting her ears to Dennis as he begged her to take cover in the Morrison shelter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS DAYS before Poppy could bring herself to face Dennis again. He had called at the house several times, bringing flowers for Mabel and cigarettes for Mrs Tanner, but Poppy always managed to be otherwise engaged. If she heard the sound of Napoleon’s hooves on the road outside and the rumble of cartwheels, she either pretended to be asleep or slipped out of the house by the back door and climbed over the fence into the neighbour’s garden. Old Mrs Kemp had been widowed for more than twenty years and was always glad of company. She invariably wore black and lived mainly in her sombre back room which also seemed to be in permanent mourning. The walls, once cream, were darkened to taupe by smoke from the coal fire and nicotine from the cigarette that habitually dangled from the corner of her mouth. The carpet and curtains were brown velveteen and the chenille cloth that covered the dining table was a similar colour. On the wall above the table was a sepia print of a choppy sea, unrelieved by any type of vessel or hint of land. Mrs Kemp’s husband had gone down with his ship in the Great War, and Poppy wondered if this was supposed to be the spot where the tragedy had occurred. She had never liked to ask in case it brought back painful memories, but Mrs Kemp was always good for a cup of tea and a biscuit.

  If Mabel or her mother noticed, surprisingly neither of them remarked on Poppy’s reluctance to see Dennis, but it seemed that he was not going to be put off easily and a week after her birthday she found him waiting for her outside the hospital. He was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. With a flick of his fingers he sent it arcing into the gutter. ‘Hi. Haven’t seen you for a while, Poppy.’

  There was no way she could avoid him without being downright rude. She was on her own as Mabel had worked the night shift and would not be arriving at the hospital for another hour at least. ‘I’ve been busy,’ Poppy murmured, wrapping her coat around her as a bitter east wind hurled bits of grit into her face.

  Dennis jerked his head in the direction of the dray parked alongside the kerb where Napoleon waited with an air of stoical resignation. Poppy could not help comparing the sturdy Shire horse with the thoroughbred Goliath. Both were beautiful in their own way, but she experienced a sudden wave of nostalgia for the green countryside and the rolling hills of Dorset. She could almost smell the damp earth and the salty tang of the sea. She jumped as Dennis wrapped his scarf around her neck. It was still warm from his body and smelt of Brylcreem, Gibbs Dentifrice and cigarette smoke. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘To keep you warm, ducks. You look perished and it’s getting dark. I came to give you a lift home.’ Without waiting for her response, he took her arm and guided her across the pavement, which was already slippery with a film of ice. He lifted her up onto the driver’s seat as if she weighed less than a feather, and he clambered up taking his seat beside her. ‘You’ve been avoiding me, Poppy.’

  It was a statement said without rancour but she did not feel the need to defend her actions. She huddled deeper into the camel coat that she had purchased for a shilling at a jumble sale in the local church hall.

  ‘All right,’ Dennis said equably. ‘I plead guilty to unacceptable behaviour and I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark. How’s that? Are we friends again?’ He flicked the reins. ‘Walk on, Napoleon, old chap.’

  His rueful expression was so comical that she found it impossible to keep a straight face. ‘Yes, of course. Just don’t do it again.’

  ‘Don’t you like being kissed?’

  ‘Can we change the subject?’

  ‘Or is it just me you don’t like? I’m no Rhett Butler or Ashley Wilkes, but I’m not a bad bloke, Poppy.’

  ‘I like you lots, but I’m not ready for that sort of thing. Perhaps you should find someone your own age, Dennis.’

  ‘Ouch!’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m not that old, girl.’ He reined in Napoleon as they came to a crossroads. It was almost dark, and with their
headlamps partially obliterated it was difficult to see oncoming vehicles until they were almost on top of them.

  ‘Perhaps I should get off and walk,’ Poppy said uneasily. ‘It’s not fair to keep the horse out in this icy weather and it’s dangerous. He might get knocked down. Anyway, shouldn’t you have the wagon back at the brewery?’

  ‘You worry too much, ducks. Napoleon can see in the dark and I’ve got mates in the brewery stables.’

  ‘I’m used to walking home alone,’ Poppy said lamely.

  ‘If you don’t want to see me again I’ll understand. You’re a great girl and I really enjoy your company, but if you think I’m too old or if it’s because of the way I am …’

  ‘Stop it, Dennis.’ She laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘Don’t talk like that. I like you a lot, and age doesn’t matter if two people get along well. I’m just not ready for anything other than being just friends.’

  ‘Just friends it will be then.’ He flicked the whip so that it tickled Napoleon’s ear and encouraged him to walk on. ‘But if Joe gets suspicious and thinks I’m after his Mabel, I want you to back me up and tell him that it’s Maggie I fancy. I’m not too proud to admit I like older women, so you’ll have to put on a few years before I start courting you.’

  She linked her hand through his arm, giggling. ‘Dennis, you are funny.’

  ‘Funny’s good. I’ll settle for that, for now.’

  In the weeks that followed Poppy was still a little wary of Dennis, but gradually they resumed something like their old easy companionship. He continued to take her on regular trips to the cinema or to the local pub where he drank shandy while she sipped lemonade. There was always someone who was prepared to strum away on the piano and more often than not it was Dennis who was called upon to play a tune. Everyone enjoyed singing the popular songs. Dennis had a good baritone voice and his renditions of ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Any Old Iron’ or ‘Knees up Mother Brown’ had the whole bar joining in. He was a born performer and Poppy could not help thinking that but for his disability he might have made a living on the music hall stage. Everyone knew Dennis Chapman and wanted to buy him a pint or two, but he was not much of a drinker and usually suggested that the money was put in the Red Cross collecting tin, or some other charity. Poppy felt a rush of pride when he did this, although sometimes his loud behaviour was embarrassing. She knew he would be mortified if she said anything, and she resisted the temptation, waiting until they were on their way home before giving him a piece of her mind. Unfortunately this only seemed to amuse him and he would slip his arm around her shoulders and whistle ‘The Lambeth Walk’, dancing along the pavement and exaggerating his lopsided gait until she saw the funny side of the situation and laughed.