‘Well, I suppose she thought—’
‘I’ll spit if you keep makin’ excuses for her, Jack. What’s goin’ to ’appen if she goes right over the top, and gets put in an institution? It would leave young Patsy ’aving to be mum to all of you. You don’t think I’ll stand for lettin’ Patsy take on that sort of responsibility, do you? A girl ’er age? It would take all the fun out of ’er life. I’d give up me job first, I’d—’ Aunt Edie stopped and bit her lip.
‘Now, Edie—’
‘Don’t you now Edie me. You’re a man, Jack Andrews, you’ve always been a man, only you’ve forgot it’s the duty of a husband an’ father to see his wife don’t play up at the expense of ’is kids. Don’t you know young Betsy has got so that she’s afraid of ’er mother? Don’t you know Patsy can’t stand ’er barmy ways, and that Jimmy couldn’t care less if she comes back ’ome or not? Well, if she don’t come back, and if she gets carted off to a loony bin, this fam’ly’s not goin’ to be without a mum. If Jimmy, Patsy an’ Betsy were all grown up, all of an age to get married, it would be different, but they’re not, and they’ve got to ’ave someone who’ll be a mum to them.’
Dad, shaken by her flying sparks, said, ‘You mean yourself, Edie?’
‘There’s not goin’ to be anyone else, except over my dead body,’ said Aunt Edie, who could have told him that for years she’d wanted to take Maud’s place. ‘So you’d better bring Maud ’ome and cure ’er before it’s too late, because the neighbours will ’ave something to talk about then.’
‘Edie, I couldn’t ask you to do a thing like that, give up your job and take the fam’ly on,’ said Dad.
‘No, you wouldn’t ask, would you? So I’d ’ave to volunteer, wouldn’t I?’
‘But, Edie old girl, you’d get talked about something rotten,’ said Dad.
‘Then you’d ’ave to move, wouldn’t you?’ said Aunt Edie, all sparks.
‘Ruddy coconuts,’ said Dad, ‘you’re a pearly queen and a sergeant-major all rolled into one.’
‘Oh, I am, am I?’
‘You bet you are,’ said Dad, ‘and I like you for it. That’s the trouble.’
‘What d’you mean?’ A little flush appeared on Aunt Edie’s face.
‘Never mind,’ said Dad.
‘I do mind,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘I want to know what you mean.’
‘Well, I’m not sure you’d be safe, love, if you set up ’ome with me and the kids.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ The flush deepened. Aunt Edie knew exactly what he meant, of course, but she wouldn’t have been the woman she was if she hadn’t wanted him to spell it out.
‘You’re special to this fam’ly, Edie, and to me, and I always did go for pearly queens.’
‘Say what you mean,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘I’ve said what I mean.’
‘Not in plain words, you ’aven’t.’
‘Listen, Edie, if there’s one thing I don’t want to do, it’s something that would make a mess of our friendship,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve been a friend to me for as long as I can remember, the very best friend, and that’s it, I’m not sayin’ any more, except if you came and lived with us, it could all go up the spout.’
‘I see.’ Aunt Edie drew a breath, knowing what she had accomplished. She had found out that her cousin Maud’s husband, the secret love of her life, wanted her. There were no more sparks. Her eyes were warm and melting. She might not ever get him, but it was a lovely feeling, knowing he wanted her. ‘Well, I think I’d best start sortin’ out the week’s washin’. I’ll be doin’ it first thing after breakfast tomorrow. I’ve got the mornin’ off.’
‘How’d you manage that?’ asked Dad, a little rueful because he knew he’d said far more than he should.
‘I asked for it.’
‘Edie, you’ll get docked a morning’s pay,’ he said, ‘and on our account.’
‘On account of your son an’ daughters,’ said Aunt Edie. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think it was for you as well, would I?’
Trying to make light of things, Dad said, ‘You’re a star turn, Edie, and that’s a fact.’
‘So’s your old sergeant-major,’ said Aunt Edie.
Saturday was an uninterrupted day for Jimmy. Mrs Gibbs kept a tight rein on Sophy, she knew what was happening. Sophy had taken a fancy to Jimmy, and was trying to add him to her belongings. It was all too preposterous, but utterly typical. She’d been like that with her brothers. By the time she was eleven, she’d made them her errand boys.
At five o’clock Mr Gibbs went down to see Jimmy who had carried out all his work with willing enthusiasm from the day he’d started. The cleared areas, divided by lines of trees or specified copses, were all patterned with the ashes of bonfires Jimmy had built. George Thorpe, the landscape man in charge, had spoken well of him.
‘How’s it going, Jimmy?’ asked Mr Gibbs.
‘I keep thinkin’ it’s all a bit slow, Mr Gibbs.’
‘It’s that kind of work, Jimmy, so don’t worry, I like the way you’re tackling it. Have you managed to get a job yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Jimmy.
‘Well, I’m off to Devon tomorrow with my wife and our young monkey. We’ll be back next Wednesday week. It’s as long as I can afford to be away. You can carry on here while we’re away, Ada will look after you and Mr Thorpe will be around if you want him. Now, I’ve got a proposition for you. On the Monday after we’re back, would you like a job at my factory in Peckham as a junior hand among wood and sawdust, and an apprenticeship in furniture manufacture? You’d learn about wood and sawdust at first, you’d be at the bottom end of things, but you’d have prospects. Or, alternatively, you can continue here, as a help to the landscape gardeners, with a view to staying on after their work is finished and becoming one of my permanent gardening staff. For the factory job, I’d pay you a pound a week to start with. For the job as a junior gardener, well, I’d discuss your wage with you.’
‘A pound a week at the fact’ry, Mr Gibbs?’ Jimmy knew that was a good wage for an unskilled hand of his age.
‘Well, you could give the factory a go, Jimmy, and if it didn’t suit you, the job as a gardener here would still be open, as long as you didn’t take too much time to decide.’
‘Crikey, that’s really good of you, Mr Gibbs, but who’s goin’ to do the work I’ve been doin’ here if I try the fact’ry job?’
‘The landscape people. It was going to be done by them originally. Then I thought you might like the work until you found a job. Well, what d’you say, young ’un?’
‘I’ll give the fact’ry a go, Mr Gibbs.’ Jimmy knew Mr Gibbs, he knew him for a man who’d been born in Brixton and come up in the world. Brixton was a mixture of cockneys and other people, and theatre people had houses on Brixton Hill. Sometimes you could tell who Mr Gibbs had belonged to when there was just a trace of cockney in his voice. He’d be a good boss, Jimmy was sure of that. But he was also sensible of the fact that Mr Gibbs wouldn’t treat him at the factory as he treated him here. ‘I’ve got to thank you, Mr Gibbs.’
‘Well, fair do’s, Jimmy, I’m counting on you becoming an asset, whatever you end up doing in my employ. Right, then, you start at eight o’clock Monday fortnight. The factory’s in Canal Head, Peckham. And here’s your money for today’s work.’
‘Thanks, Mr Gibbs, thanks for everything.’
‘You’ll do, Jimmy.’
‘Hope you enjoy your holiday.’
‘I’ll be in trouble if I don’t,’ said Mr Gibbs.
Jimmy made his way up to the house at five-thirty, his finishing time. There was still no sign of Sophy. He put his head into the kitchen. Only Mrs Redfern and Ada were there.
‘Hullo, I’m off now. ’Ave a nice Sunday tomorrow. See you Monday.’
‘You’ll see Ada and Mr Hodges,’ said cook with a plump smile. ‘Ivy and me will be in Devon with the family.’
‘Well, you’re lookin’ happy as usual, Mrs Redfern,’ said Jimmy.
&n
bsp; ‘I always try not to look as if I’m goin’ to my own funeral,’ said Mrs Redfern.
‘That’s good,’ said Jimmy. ‘Young Ada there, she always looks as if Christmas has just come. Some fellers have all the luck, don’t they? Well, I’d better get off home.’
‘Yes, you’d better,’ said Ada, ‘or you’ll get us so we won’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’ll come and see you out.’ At the front door, she said, ‘Stop sayin’ things like some fellers have all the luck.’
‘All right,’ said Jimmy, ‘a joke can wear a bit thin, can’t it? I’ll give that one up.’
‘You don’t actu’lly ’ave a broken heart,’ said Ada.
‘Tell you what I have got,’ said Jimmy, ‘a job. At Mr Gibbs’s Peckham fact’ry, starting Monday fortnight. And if I don’t like it, he said I can ’ave a permanent job here as a gardener.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Ada, ‘except if you worked ’ere as a gardener, would I have to put up with you pullin’ my leg every day?’
‘Well, I expect you’ve got legs worth pullin’, Ada, I expect—’
‘Oh, cheeky devil,’ said Ada.
‘You’re a nice girl, Ada. See you Monday, then.’
‘So long, Jimmy.’
She watched him go. Then, about to close the door, she saw a figure dart into view. That young madam. She’d been lying in wait for Jimmy.
Sophy, catching Jimmy up, said, ‘Well, I like that, going off without saying goodbye to me when we’re off on holiday tomorrow.’
‘All right, have a nice holiday,’ said Jimmy. ‘Don’t get lost round the haystacks, don’t fall out of trees, don’t let farm dogs chase you, don’t muck about in ditches and be a good girl to your mum. Oh, your dad’s offered me a job in his Peckham fact’ry, I’m startin’ the Monday after you get back.’
‘I know that,’ said Sophy, looking wickedly pretty, ‘but you don’t want to work in a factory, not when Daddy’s said you can work here. We can still have fun together here.’
‘I’m givin’ the fact’ry a go,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ll be safer there.’
‘Jimmy, you’re just the rottenest boy ever sometimes, but I bet you won’t like factory work, I bet you’ll come back here.’ Sophy cast a winsome glance. ‘Still, you can kiss me as I’m going on holiday tomorrow.’
‘Not likely, I don’t want to get the sack before I’ve started – here, hold off—’
Sophy, arms around his neck, came up on her toes and kissed him. Oh, the little minx. Ada closed the front door and went back to the kitchen in a temper.
‘Gosh,’ said Sophy, ‘don’t you kiss nice, Jimmy?’
‘I’ll wallop you,’ said Jimmy. ‘Not now. When you come back. You wait.’
Sophy was laughing as he ran for the gates.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aunt Edie brought enjoyment to the weekend, as usual. She liked jokes and laughter and fun. Betsy and Patsy loved the attention and affection she gave them. Some people might have said she was undermining the standing of her cousin Maud with the family. Aunt Edie would have said she was doing her best to make life happy for them. Actually, she was behaving as she’d often wanted to, by taking the family to her heart. It was a joy to her to be so close to them and to be looking after them, Dad as well. Dad especially sometimes.
‘Now don’t get under my feet, Jack Andrews.’
‘I thought I’d give you a bit of help.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and read your paper, and have a smoke of your pipe? Or give Betsy a tickle? You know ’ow much Betsy likes a tickle.’
‘Got to catch ’er first,’ said Dad.
‘Bet you can’t, Dad, bet you can’t!’ cried Betsy, and off they went, Betsy shrieking in and out of rooms, and up and down the stairs, Dad chasing her and letting her escape until the moment was right and Betsy had collapsed in yelling delight.
Everyone was happy, of course, about Jimmy’s new job. Aunt Edie gave him a kiss for being a clever young man. Jimmy asked for an encore.
‘That boy,’ said Aunt Edie, shaking her head. ‘He’ll be askin’ to take me out next.’
‘Crikey,’ said Betsy, ‘Jimmy can’t go out wiv Aunt Edie, can ’e, Dad? She’s older than ’im, ain’t you, Aunt Edie?’
‘Not much older,’ said Dad, ‘say a couple of years or so. And what’s more, me pickle, our Jimmy’s growin’ older all the time, as you can see, and your Aunt Edie’s growin’ younger, which is as plain as me old sergeant-major’s hooter.’
‘Lor’, fancy that,’ said Betsy, astonished at the news. ‘Could our Jimmy marry our Aunt Edie, then?’
‘He’d ’ave to ask her first,’ said Dad.
‘Yes, you ’ave to propose,’ said Patsy.
‘Crumbs, would yer, Jimmy?’ asked Betsy.
‘D’you fancy a honeymoon in Brighton, Aunt Edie?’ asked Jimmy.
‘I know what I fancy,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘a saucepan lid. I could do some people a lot of good with a saucepan lid. I’m livin’ in a monkey house at weekends, and I know who the chief monkey is, Jack Andrews. You and your sergeant-major’s hooter.’
‘Yes, plain as the nose on ’is face, it was,’ said Dad. ‘Still is, probably.’
‘Who’s laughin’?’ asked Aunt Edie.
Everyone was. So Aunt Edie went for Dad with a saucepan lid.
‘Crumbs, it ain’t like this when Mum’s ’ere,’ said Betsy to Patsy in a whisper.
‘What a palaver,’ said Patsy, ‘and we don’t ’ave to repent, either.’
Nothing that related to the Lord’s work was too much trouble for the members of the League of Repenters. While Father Luke or Mother Joan drove the horse and van around districts inhabited by people more affluent than those of the East End, and accompanying Repenters knocked on doors and asked for clothes for the poor, others went different ways. They worked in pairs, pushing handcarts or barrows. Mother Mary’s endeavours were more notable than ever, for Father Peter had bought her a new umbrella and bestowed it with a blessing, a gentle touch of her shoulder.
She was out with Mother Magda one day, Mother Magda pushing a barrow on which lay clothes donated by householders approving the cause. Owning a splendid body, Mother Magda was suitably equipped to do the pushing. They were in Hampstead Road, about a mile from their Temple, and some of the houses looked as if they were overflowing with affluence.
‘Stop,’ commanded Mother Mary, slender and bossy.
‘All right,’ said Mother Magda, fulsome and friendly, although she was repentant of what these characteristics had led her to in her recent past.
‘I’ll knock,’ said Mother Mary, ‘you stay with the barrow, we don’t want sinful ’ands thievin’ what we’ve collected so far.’
‘Yes, all right, ducky, but would you mind addressin’ me more friendly, like?’ said Mother Magda. ‘I ain’t used to bein’ bossed about.’
‘We won’t ’ave no arguments, sister. The Lord’s spoken to me an’ told me what me duties are.’ Mother Mary approached the door of a promising-looking house and used the shining brass knocker. No answer. She knocked again. The door opened, disclosing a man in a dark blue dressing-gown. He had a five o’clock shadow and looked as if he’d only just got up, although it was past eleven in the morning.
Reprovingly, Mother Mary said, ‘I had to knock twice.’
‘Sorry, no servants here at the moment,’ he said, and blinked as he saw her black costume. ‘Damn me, what’s this? The funeral’s not until Thursday.’
‘What funeral?’ said Mother Mary. ‘I ’aven’t come about any funeral. Still, will it be a Christian burial?’
‘The old bitch’ll kick the coffin to pieces if it isn’t,’ said the man who was raffishly masculine.
‘I don’t like to hear anyone speakin’ like that of the dead,’ said Mother Mary.
‘Well, take it from me, she never said anything good about anyone herself, the old biddy.’
‘All the same,’ said Mother Mary sternly, ‘kindly don’t speak ill o
f the dead.’
‘Who the devil are you? A distant relative on the distaff side?’
‘I’m from the League of Repenters, collectin’ clothes for the poor an’ needy,’ said Mother Mary. ‘I’m sure you’ll give something, that’s a nice dressin’-gown you’re wearin’, it would be just right for someone that feels the cold.’
‘I’ll give you the shirt off my back as well, of course,’ said the man.
‘No, we don’t want shirts straight off backs,’ said Mother Mary primly. ‘We only want clean shirts and other clothes. I’ll be pleased to come in and ’ave a look at what you’ve got.’
The man cast a speculative eye over her. ‘Yes, come in,’ he said, ‘don’t wait for an invitation. You can take what you want from the old girl’s wardrobes. Not the furs, though. This way.’ He led her through the hall and up the stairs, whistling as he went, which Mother Mary thought a bit disrespectful to the departed. He took her into a palatial bedroom. She blinked at its opulence. He opened up two wardrobes, disclosing an array of coats, dresses, costumes, blouses and skirts. And furs.
‘Well,’ said Mother Mary reprovingly. ‘I never saw anything more sinful. What these things must’ve cost. I don’t know we want such sinful clothes for the poor. Still, our minister can say a blessin’ over them before we give them out, so I don’t mind unburdenin’ you of them. ’Ave you got a large cardboard box or something?’
The man, looking amused, took a leather suitcase from the bottom of a wardrobe. ‘Here you are, you can have that as well,’ he said, ‘it’s been to Nice and back a few times.’
‘That’s more sin,’ said Mother Mary, and poked the suitcase with her new umbrella. ‘I don’t know, wherever a Christian body turns, there’s more sin. Perhaps you’d kindly pass me the clothes one at a time, it’s all for the Lord.’
‘Frightful thought, that, the Lord wearing these things,’ said the man. Mother Mary gave him a stern look. He grinned and began to unload the wardrobes.
Outside, a lady of haughty looks approached Mother Magda and the barrow. ‘Pardon me, my good woman, but you can’t sell second-hand clothing here, nor stand your barrow there. Take it away at once.’
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