‘Nobody arsked you!’ her mother said without looking at her. ‘You go an’ get the milk. Make yerself useful an’ stop being so jealous.’ Then changing the tone of her voice from slap sharp to soothing gentle, ‘Tell yer old Ma, Seamus, where’s it ’urt?’
‘’E’d get up quick enough if it was fish an’ chips,’ Ellie said angrily as she left the tent.
‘Have I to take me strap to ye?’ her father roared, displaying his authority for the admiration of the women and children gathered about him. ‘Be off wid yer!’ And his two mongrels barked their agreement.
It was chilly outside the tent. And spooky too. Silhouetted against the grey sky in the distance she could see the odd peaked shapes of the oast houses, like giants squatting on their haunches, waiting to jump out at her. Even the hop bines looked different in this odd half-light, taller than they did by day, and sinister, shifting and rustling as though they were whispering about her behind her back. She walked past them as quickly as she could, keeping her eyes on the distant envelope of yellow light that was the window of the farm shop, and concentrating her mind on her grievances. Seamus was a lazy little tike, that’s all it was. Now he’d be allowed to roll around in bed all day and she’d have to do all his work as well as her own and that wasn’t fair. It was bad enough having to pick hops and look after those two awful babies. Tessie’d done nothing but grizzle ever since they arrived. If it wasn’t for Cissie Henderson and her cousin Polly, there’d be no fun at all.
The Henderson family were working on the next bin along the alley and by dint of sitting on the side of their bins, the three girls could talk to one another while they were working.
‘Where’s your Seamus?’ Cissie asked later that day.
‘Pullin’ a fast one,’ Ellie said and told her two friends all about it.
‘That’s boys all over,’ Cissie said, nodding her tousled head wisely. ‘Proper lazy lot they are. I reckon they’re jest a nuisance. Worse’n babies, an’ that’s sayin’ something.’
All three girls had babies to look after, and they spent quite a lot of their picking time comparing notes on the weight and intractability of their charges.
‘I tell you what,’ Ellie said, pulling her next bine across her knee, ‘you won’t catch me ’avin’ babies when I grow up. Not likely.’
‘You won’t ’ave ter get married then,’ Polly said, skimming the hops from the bine with both hands. ‘You get married you ’ave babies sure as fate.’
It was very true. They’d seen enough of life in Dorset Street to know that. Weddings were always followed by babies. Look at that Minnie O’Malley. She’d only been married six weeks and she had a baby boy already, and a horrible yowly smelly thing he was.
‘Shan’t get married then,’ Ellie said. ‘’Cause I tell yer, you won’t catch me luggin’ babies about all me life. I got better things ter do.’
‘Like what?’ Cissie asked.
‘I dunno jest yet-awhile,’ Ellie admitted. ‘Better’n this though.’
‘You ready for your vittles, daughter?’ Mr Murphy called as he returned from one of his trips to the bushes.
‘’Course!’ Ellie said. When had she ever been known to refuse food? ‘Whatcher bet Seamus’ll be there wiv ’is plate,’ she said to her friends. ‘Just see if’e ain’t’.
But he wasn’t. And he didn’t eat any supper either, even though it was bangers and mash. So perhaps he was ill after all.
Her mother had no doubt about it. ‘D’yer think we ought ter go ’ome,’ she said, squinting her anxiety at her husband.
‘No, no, Nell,’ her husband said, putting their takings into his waistcoat pocket, ‘there’s no call for to be pre-mature. We will see how the little chap is in the morn, so we will. Onyway, I’ve a little matter uv business to attend to mesself this evenin’, so I have. So it’s all out of our hands, d’ye see. There’s no question of travellin’ till the morn.’ And with that he was off, his dogs trotting behind him.
‘Business, my eye!’ his wife growled to her companions round the camp fire. ‘’E must think I’m daft. Kid could be at deaf’s door, wouldn’t stop ’im. He’s off up the pub.’
‘That’s men for yer,’ Mrs Shaunnessy said. ‘A poor lot, so they are. An’ never where they’s wanted.’
Ellie, watching from the other side of their leaping fire, agreed with her entirely.
The next morning Paddy said he felt ill too, Tessie sicked up her breakfast, and Seamus, who’d been groaning and muttering and coughing and keeping Ellie awake all night, had a rash all over his face.
‘Holy Mary Mother o’ God, it’s the measles,’ Mrs Shaunnessy diagnosed, crossing herself fervently. ‘An’ a mortal high fever, poor little soul. He’ll be delirious be nightfall I shouldn’t wonder. They always gets worse be night. May the good Lord preserve him, Mrs Murphy.’
Measles, Ellie thought with a flickering of alarm inside her chest. Tha’s bad, ain’t it? Her mother looked at though it was.
‘I knew ’e was sickenin’!’ Nell said, smoothing the child’s sticky hair. ‘We should never ’ave come ’ere, Mrs Shaunnessy. Out in the wilds like this, wiv no doctors or nothink. What’s ter become of ’im?’ She was tremulous with indecision and worry.
‘Sponge him down for a start,’ Mrs Shaunnessy advised. ‘Nip down the tap, Ellie, there’s a good little girl, an’ see if you can’t get a nice fresh bucket o’ water for your poor little brother.’
The way they order you about, Ellie thought mutinously as she trailed through the mud of last night’s rain to the tap at the far end of the field. Now that Shaunnessy woman’s doing it too. Why does it always ’ave ter be me? It’s not my fault the kid’s got the measles. Why can’t Pa get up and fetch the water for a change? The full pail was extremely heavy. She could only carry it by leaning over sideways, and that made her back ache from her neck to her bum. ‘I hate ’em all!’ she said between gritted teeth.
But as she drew near to the tent again, she forgot about the measles and hating people and the weight of the pail because her father was shouting like he did when he was going to hit somebody, and the note of violent anger in his voice made her instantly afraid. She fancied she could see his shadow on the canvas, right arm raised to strike, and she struggled on fearfully, with the slopping bucket banging against her legs. until she fell in through the tent flap, her heart thumping. The little space was full of people, all on their feet and all shouting, their shadows mimicking them on the green canvas behind them.
‘You will not!’ her father was roaring. And he was threatening to hit her mother. ‘How mony more times have I to tell yer? I’ll not have my son and heir killed by your stupid folly, not if I have to break every stupid bone in your stupid body to do it. D’ye hear me, Nell? Travellin’ is out o’ the question. Out o’ the question entirely.’
‘Oh that’s lovely, innit!’ Mrs Williams was yelling. ‘Stay ’ere, I should. Selfish brute! Give it to all the kids in the camp, I should! We got kids too, yer know. We don’t wanna catch your rotten diseases. You keep right away from that bed, Elsie!’
‘If you poke your great nose into my affairs, I’ll lay one on ye, so I will!’ Paddy shouted, menacing her.
‘That’s all ye’r fit for, Paddy Murphy! Lammin’ inter women!’ Mrs Williams yelled, standing toe to toe with him, and not a bit afraid. ‘Clear off out of it, why dontcher. We don’t want yer! That’s a killin’ disease, the measles. Yer got no business bein’ ’ere, none of yer.’
Killing? Ellie thought. It ain’t. But the note of hysteria in the tent was unmistakable, and it got through to her, despite her determined opposition to it. Mrs Williams was gathering her things. She meant it. Kids died a’ the measles. It was true. They died. Holy Mary Mother o’ God, don’t let it be me, she prayed, glancing at the two flushed faces on her straw bed.
‘It ain’t my fault, Mrs Williams,’ her mother was saying, in her whining placating voice. ‘I’ll be off like a shot, the minute ’e gives me the tickets.’
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br /> ‘Do what yer like, mate,’ Mrs Williams said. She was busy bundling her belongings inside her shawl. ‘Makes no odds ter me. We’re off out a’ this tent. Come on, kids! Bring yer things. We ain’t stayin’ ere ter be defected.’ She tied the ends of the shawl into a furious knot and stamped out of the tent, pushing her two bewildered children ahead of her.
‘Stay ’ere!’ Nell begged, running after her. ‘You don’t ’ave ter go. We’re goin’ ’ome!’
The tent was full of moving bodies and flailing bundles and terrifying noises, kids crying and grown-ups shouting and both dogs howling as though it was the end of the world. A killin’ disease, lurking inside her two brothers and waiting ter jump out an’ get them all. She could see it leaping from their open mouths in sharp blue sparks, springing from the straw, stirred up into the air by every move they made. Sharp, evil, blue sparks that could kill yer, in the air all around her, and being blown her way by all the shouting. She was very frightened. Then she noticed that Pa was taking off his belt, and self-preservation of a different kind urged her into action. She crept round to the other side of the tent to get out of range, lugging the bucket with her.
‘You are not!’ Paddy screamed, flicking at her mother with the belt. ‘How mony more times? I have the tickets, so you will stay where you are, so you will. If that blamed fool woman wants to make an exhibition of herself, then let her do it. You will obey your lord an’ master.’
‘I will not!’ her mother shouted back, as the belt descended again. ‘We’re going, an’ that’s flat! Kids die a’ the measles.’ Her face was wild, eyes bolting and flesh strained from her cheekbones. ‘D’yer wanna deaf on yer ’ands! Two deafs? Free? It spreads like wildfire. They’ll all catch it. That what yer want?’ She was struggling to force Frankie’s stiff arms inside his coat and the child was screaming and threshing about on her lap.
‘You are not goin’ onywhere, Nell Murphy!’ Paddy boomed. He threw the belt on the bed and, seizing Frankie’s right arm, pulled it out of the coat again so that the child screamed louder than ever from the pain of his pinching fingers and the terror of his voice.
‘That’s right, pull ’is arms off, I should,’ Nell shouted. ‘That’ll be a fine thing to explain ter the cops.’
The coat was ripped from the child’s back and thrown into the corner of the tent, where both dogs leapt upon it and began to worry it. Frankie had screamed himself purple in the face. The tent was leaping with blue sparks.
‘God rot the lot o’ ye!’ Paddy said. And he took his belt and whistled his dogs and went.
Ellie realized that her heart was beating violently and her forehead was damp with sweat. If I don’t get out this tent this very minute, she thought, I shall catch the measles as sure as eggs is eggs. But she couldn’t follow her father, because he’d hit her.
‘Beecham’s Powders!’ Mrs Shaunnessy said calmly into the silence. ‘That’s what you need. Beecham’s Powders.’
‘What?’ Nell asked. Her face was still screwed up against the next expected blow and in the flickering light from the kerosene lamp it looked distorted as though the bones had been bent and the flesh pushed sideways.
‘Best thing in the world for bringing down a fever,’ Mrs Shaunnessy said. ‘Two o’ them today, an’ you could be travellin’ tomorrow. Or the next day maybe.’
Nell caught her breath and gathered her wits. ‘Where’d we get ’em in a place like this?’ she asked.
‘Maidstone,’ Mrs Shaunnessy said, tying her shawl over her shoulders. ‘Market day today, so it is, an’ I’ve a notion I heard young Jamie say they were taking the cart.’
‘Run an’ catch ’im, Ellie,’ Nell instructed. ‘See if ’e’ll give yer a lift. Ask ’im nicely mind.’ But the child was already out of the tent.
By the time young Mr Jamie had been found and persuaded, the measles and the fear of the measles had spread to several of the other tents. Soon Ellie had been given eleven different commissions for Beecham’s Powders and a shopping basket to carry them all home in, and Cissie Henderson had been told to go with her and help her. She was very glad of the company, because Cissie was a sensible girl and knew about things.
They rattled along the narrow earth lane towards Maidstone, between rustling orchards and the long, neat alleys of the hop fields, as the sky deepened to summer blue, and the leaves stretched and spread in the gathering sun, and the pickers buzzed among the bines. It was going to be a lovely day. A lovely peaceful day.
‘’Ark at them birds,’ Cissie said.
But Ellie could still see the sparks, rising from their wheels with every jolt, leaping between the horse’s ears, darting in the air whenever she blinked. ‘You don’t die a’ the measles, do yer?’ she asked her friend, trying to sound casual about it, and failing.
‘I never,’ Cissie said, and her bland round face was suddenly like a shield, shining with sunlight.
‘Well, there you are then,’ Ellie said, much relieved.
‘Izzy Isaacs did.’
‘No ’e never. ’E ’ad the new-monia.’
‘After the measles. New-monia after the measles.’
‘Well, ’e was only one.’
‘Oh there was ’undreds uv others,’ Cissie said cheerfully. ‘Kid at the corner shop. You remember ’im. And Johnnie Andrews’ baby’. And the twins …’
But Ellie didn’t want a litany. She’d heard enough already ‘You didn’t die though, did yer?’ she said.
‘No. I never.’
But the knowledge wasn’t so comforting now. And the blue sparks followed them all the way into town.
It was market day in Maidstone and the High Street was crowded with stalls, because the hop pickers brought plenty of custom, especially on a Saturday when work had stopped for the weekend, and even in the middle of the week some of them could be expected to wander down to pick up a bargain.
It was just striking nine when the cart ground to a halt outside the Red Lion.
‘You got an hour,’ young Mr Jamie told them. ‘Back ’ere when it strikes ten, mind, or I’s’l go ’ome be mesself.’
It didn’t take a minute to buy the Beecham’s Powders, because they sold them at the Post Office ready wrapped in little packages. They emerged from the darkness of the little low shop into the warm haze of September sunshine like children let out of school. They had a whole hour of freedom, and Ellie knew exactly what she was going to do with it.
‘Come on,’ she said to her friend, ‘let’s go shoppin’.’
‘We ain’t got no money,’ Cissie protested.
‘Oh do me a favour,’ Ellie said, settling her tatty hat so that the ostrich feathers trailed down her back and not across her shoulder. ‘Gotta see what I’m doin’,’ she explained.
She and Cissie joined the crowds ambling around the stalls, now loitering beside a particularly tempting display, now slipping like minnows between earth-stained skirts and leather-thonged moleskins towards a more available prize. Soon their shopping basket contained a colourful selection of apples and oranges and pears, a rather battered slice of pumpkin, which had squashed in Ellie’s quick hand, and two thick rinds of cheese which had been set to one side while the stall holder served one of his friends with more gossip than was wise.
‘You’re a one!’ Cissie said admiringly. ‘You’ll cop it if they catch yer.’
‘I’m fly!’ Ellie said proudly. ‘Nothink I couldn’t nick if I put me mind to it.’ And even as the words were in her mouth a daring idea came into her head.
There was an old clothes stall directly in front of them, the usual pile of torn shawls, carefully folded to disguise the worst of their wear, and the usual array of battered boots and shoes on the stall itself, and some quite presentable coats hanging from the rails on either side. One was just her size and hardly worn at all, even though it was very old-fashioned. She wandered forward and after waiting till the stall holder was busy with a customer, examined it carefully. It was made of dark green wool, pleasantly thick between her e
xploring fingers, and the row of little cloth buttons all down the front of it were in very good condition, not even scuffed at the edges. It was in rather a severe style, with a high collar and very straight sleeves, and the arms would be rather long for her, at least until she grew a bit, but it would do. For both her purposes.
‘Nip round the front an’ ’ave a look at the shawls,’ she told Cissie. ‘Pick ’em over. Make out yer might buy. Keep ’im busy.’
‘You ain’t never gonna nick a shawl!’ Cissie said, her eyes round at the audacity of it.
‘Never you mind what I’m gonna do,’ Ellie said. ‘You jest keep ’im occupied. Gi’ me the basket.’ The clock had just struck the three-quarters, the street was full of people, and her mind was made up. She had thrown out a challenge to fate, and now she couldn’t go back on it. If she could steal that coat and get away with it, then the measles couldn’t touch her. Until that moment, she’d never tackled anything bigger than a meat pie. A coat would need planning and daring and even more speed than usual, but she was already warm with excitement and hope. This was the way to beat infection.
She waited until Cissie had ambled to the other side of the stall and was picking over the shawls, and as she waited, she planned. The stall holder was a slow-moving man, and too fat to run far, even if he saw her. The stall on her left was piled with saucepans, which gave her very good cover from any eyes that might be casually looking at her from that direction. If she crouched down as soon as she’d grabbed the coat she should be able to crawl round to the back of the stall without being seen by anyone. Then she noticed that the stall was covered with a thick layer of green baize, which hung down at the back like a tent flap, and she knew at once how the thing could be done. Go on, she thought, silently urging the stall holder, she’s making a right mess a’ your shawls. Go an’ tell ’er off. And at last the stupid man saw his unwanted customer and rolled across to deal with her.
The coat was off the rail, hanger and all, and slung onto the pavement under the stall. Quick, oh so quick, and no one the wiser. She didn’t even have to crawl. All she had to do was walk calmly round to the back of the stall and sit down on the pavement as though she was tired. Then when she was quite sure nobody was looking, she put her hands behind her underneath the green baize and dragged her prize out of its hanger, rolled it into a bundle and shoved it into the basket. It was done. As simple as that.
A Time to Love Page 10