The Camberwell Raid

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Not yet,’ said Freddy, ‘but he will.’

  ‘Don’t forget to put it in the bank,’ said Cassie.

  ‘All right, Cassie love, I won’t forget,’ said Freddy. ‘He’s recommended his own bank. It’s got a ’elpful bank manager, he said.’

  As for the other forthcoming bride, Miss Sally Brown, she had a bone to pick with Horace and did so in her mum’s parlour. She advised him, with her shop assistant’s polished plum in her mouth, that she wasn’t the kind of young lady to behave in a common way. Horace said he seconded that. He said what had first taken his fancy about her was the fact that she was a very uncommon and superior young lady as well as an eyeful. That knocked him right out, he said, as he’d always had rosy dreams about superior young ladies who were also an eyeful. Of course, he was fairly common himself, he said, but with any luck he might improve. Well, he hoped he would, he said, because he naturally wanted to live up to her, as if he didn’t, their neighbours-to-be might talk about him. He’d buy a book about how to become uncommon in six easy lessons, he said. There were books which taught you how to play the piano in six easy lessons, he said, so there were probably similar books about behaviour.

  Sally managed to get a word in at that point.

  ‘D’you mind puttin’ a sock in it?’ she said. They were sitting on the old parlour sofa, a very comfy piece of furniture because it sagged a bit in the middle, and the sag sort of drew them cosily together. Sally never complained about being cosy with Horace, and Horace, of course, was all for it.

  ‘D’you want to say something?’ asked Horace.

  ‘If I can,’ said Sally. ‘Did I ask for you to go on and on like a gramophone, Horace Cooper? I don’t remember I did, I just remember tellin’ you I wasn’t brought up to behave common. That wasn’t askin’ you to turn yourself into a gramophone, was it?’

  ‘No wonder my mother likes you, Sally, you’ve got a lovely way of talkin’,’ said Horace. ‘Anyway, what brought common behaviour up?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Sally. ‘I want – Horace, does your mum really like me? Only I think she’s a lovely woman.’

  ‘She says I couldn’t have picked a nicer young lady,’ smiled Horace.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Sally, ‘I want to know why you told Percy Ricketts, your best man, that he’d got a duty to inspect my weddin’ garter with me wearin’ it.’

  ‘Well, silly old Percy,’ said Horace, ‘what a daft haddock, considering he’s well past twenty-one.’

  ‘Wait a minute, you haven’t said if you told him or not.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Horace, ‘we were all talkin’ to him, Nick, Freddy and yours truly, but I don’t suppose any of us thought he’d take everything seriously.’

  ‘Well, he took my wedding garter seriously,’ said Sally. ‘D’you know he came round last night to say he desired to make arrangements to inspect it at a convenient time?’

  ‘Did he say that, Sally?’ asked Horace. ‘What a saucy bloke. Still, it was nicely put, I’ll give him that. Then what happened? You plonked him one, I suppose?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Sally. ‘I first asked him if he thought I was common, and he said far from it. So I invited ’im into the parlour, then went upstairs, put my garter on, came down again and showed it to him.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Horace.

  ‘He liked it,’ said Sally, ‘and made very nice remarks about my legs.’

  ‘Well, knock me down, I never thought that would happen,’ said Horace.

  ‘He’s goin’ to mention my garter in his speech,’ said Sally. ‘Oh, and he asked me if a joke about knickers would be all right, and I said all the guests would be disappointed if he didn’t. He said he and Nick had made up a little poem that he’d like to use.’

  ‘It’ll kill you,’ said Horace. ‘And listen, what’s the idea of showing your garter to my best man when I haven’t seen it myself?’

  ‘You’d like to see me wearin’ it?’ said Sally.

  ‘I’m not goin’ to say no, am I?’ said Horace.

  ‘Well, I’ll show you,’ said Sally.

  ‘I’ll be very appreciative,’ said Horace.

  ‘But not till we’re married,’ said Sally.

  Horace took that blow like a sport, and kissed her.

  ‘Well, I’m blessed,’ she breathed a few seconds later. ‘I don’t mind a kiss, but what’s ’appening to my dress?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Horace, and kissed her again.

  A large sepia photographic portrait of Sally’s whiskery maternal grandfather on the parlour wall closed its eyes. Victorians considered ladies’ legs should be covered up.

  As for Annabelle and Nick, who were to be married in June, they spent one evening looking at a house in Ferndene Road, off Denmark Hill, not far from her parents’ house. Nor, for that matter, was it all that far from the homes of her uncles, Boots, Tommy and Sammy. Chinese Lady, informed of Annabelle’s interest in the Ferndene Road property, informed Annabelle in turn that she had her best wishes. A place in Ferndene Road would be very suitable as it would keep her and Nick close to the other families, and she didn’t believe in any of her close relatives living in foreign neighbourhoods like Norwood or Streatham. Suppose they got struck down by a serious complaint, she said, they’d get ill at not having their relations close by. Annabelle said it would be awful to be struck down by a serious complaint, and then get ill because her uncles and aunts couldn’t pop in to put the kettle on and do some kind nursing. Chinese Lady said yes, you don’t want to have to suffer like that, Annabelle. All right, Granny love, said Annabelle, I promise Nick and me won’t go and live in a foreign neighbourhood. There, that’s a sensible girl, said Chinese Lady, I’ll always be close by myself. Granny, you’re the best there is, said Annabelle, and meant it. Chinese Lady had her cherished place in the lives of everyone.

  The house was lovely, owned at the moment by a well-off couple in their late forties whose son and daughter were both married. They wanted a smaller house now, so had put this one on the market at six hundred and fifty pounds, which might have given Chinese Lady a grievous turn if she’d known. She would have considered such a sum a shocking amount for a young couple to pay. Nick knew a fifteen-year mortgage would mean an average outlay for the first five years of at least two pounds a week. He was presently earning four pounds a week, but having already looked over the house with Annabelle, he knew she’d fallen for it. This second visit was to help them decide. The house with its central door, was double-fronted, with large handsome ground floor windows. Downstairs, there were four rooms and a very spacious and bright kitchen which Annabelle loved. Upstairs, there were three large-sized bedrooms, a smaller one, a play room, an attractive tiled bathroom with its own loo, and a separate loo. Mr and Mrs Lawson, the owners, were more than happy to show Annabelle and Nick over the house again, since they’d taken to this engaging couple. When they reached the smaller bedroom, Mrs Lawson smilingly said it had been used as a nursery bedroom for their children when they were infants, and she pointed out the cot was still there and as good as it had ever been.

  ‘We’ll leave it, if you like,’ she said, ‘as we shan’t want it any more.’

  ‘Not unless lightning strikes,’ said Mr Lawson, and laughed.

  ‘Oh, we’re in the market for being struck,’ said Nick, and received a little dig in the ribs from a slightly pink Annabelle. At the end of the guided tour, he said he and Annabelle would like another day or two to consider, would that be all right?

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Lawson.

  ‘We do have another couple coming to look tomorrow,’ said Mrs Lawson.

  ‘All right, we’ll let you know before then,’ said Nick.

  When they were out of the house, Annabelle said she really did like it. It was easily better than other properties they’d looked at. Nick said he concurred, but pointed out that the mortgage repayments, especially for the first few years, could mean that with all the other outgoings, he might not be able
to keep her in the manner to which she’d become accustomed. Annabelle, a girl with as much sense as her dad, was aware that all her life she had never lacked for anything, that she’d never had to suffer the kind of poverty her mum had known during her years in Walworth. Lizzy indeed, with Ned’s willing financial help, had seen to it that none of her children ever went short of essentials, especially good clothes. Lizzy had never forgotten her days of patched and shabby garments, or the time when she first met Ned and there were holes in her stockings. Ned always assured her he hadn’t noticed anything except her big brown eyes. Just like village ponds in the sunshine, he said once during the sixth year of their marriage, which so overcame Lizzy that she went all loving and Emma was born nine months later. Ned thought the arrival of Emma was an exceptional reward for a natural compliment. Actually, his admiration for Lizzy’s sterling qualities, reflective of her mother’s, was constant. She had never failed him or their children.

  Annabelle knew a lot about her mum’s earlier life and background, and she knew too that Nick and his family had known the same kind of hardships as her mum and her uncles. Nick, like them, had overcome similar disadvantages to turn himself into a lovely young man, just as she thought Uncle Boots had done, even if he had been called Lord Muck. If Nick decided to take out the mortgage on the Ferndene Road house, they would start their married life in a property even better than that of her parents.

  ‘Nick darling?’ she said, walking arm in arm with him through the dusk of the April evening.

  ‘I’m here,’ said Nick, deep in thought.

  ‘Yes, isn’t that nice?’ she said. ‘I’m fond of togetherness. Nick, if we really can’t afford it, I shan’t mind. And, anyway, perhaps it would be more sensible to start off in a smaller house, like Mum and Dad have.’

  ‘On the other hand, if we went for a twenty-year mortgage, that would help a lot,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, could we do that, could we manage more easily then?’ asked Annabelle. ‘Only it’s such a lovely family house. I could keep on working for a while and we could put all my earnings into the bank.’

  ‘You’re not going to keep on working,’ said Nick. ‘Your Great-Uncle John would have me executed if I let you. No, you can’t go out to work, Annabelle, not with a house like that to look after. And there’s the garden too.’

  ‘Me?’ said Annabelle. ‘Me look after the garden as well? That’s your job.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Nick. ‘You sure?’

  ‘You bet I’m sure,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘All right, I’ll look after the garden,’ said Nick. ‘Mind you, I’ll be a novice at it.’

  ‘You’ll learn,’ said Annabelle. ‘Nick, are you really going to say yes, to go for a twenty-year mortgage?’

  ‘I’m going to see that we start off in a house you’re already in love with,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, rapture,’ said Annabelle, and hugged his arm. ‘Nick, you’re lovely to me. I don’t know if I’m as deserving as that.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to have enough spare earnings to be able to keep you in decent style,’ said Nick. ‘You deserve that and more.’

  ‘Nick, I really won’t mind if we have to make do a bit,’ said Annabelle earnestly.

  ‘You still deserve the kind of clothes you like, and so on,’ said Nick. ‘The kind I like to see you in.’

  ‘What’s so on?’ asked Annabelle.

  ‘Woolly vests?’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, yes, I wear those two at a time, I don’t think,’ said Annabelle. ‘Listen, when we get home, can we phone the Lawsons and tell them we’ve decided?’

  ‘Would you like us to?’ asked Nick.

  ‘Nick, I really would,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘And we’ll also tell them, shall we, that they can leave us the cot?’

  ‘Not likely,’ said Annabelle, ‘they might think I’ve already been struck by lightning, and we’re not married yet.’

  ‘All right, I’ll just say it might come in handy sometime,’ said Nick.

  Annabelle laughed. As they turned into Denmark Hill, she asked, ‘Nick, have you ever had a girl?’

  ‘What, one I carried about with me and put in a cupboard at night?’ said Nick.

  ‘No, you daft thing,’ said Annabelle, ‘you know what I mean.’

  ‘Are you asking me if I’ve ever made love to a girl?’

  ‘Well, some young men get the urge, don’t they, and some girls say yes, don’t they?’

  ‘And some of ’em get into trouble,’ said Nick, ‘and ruin their lives. Ma brought me up not to go in for ruining any girl’s life. So I channelled all my urges into football. I expect even Jesus had urges, and what did He do with them? He channelled them into performing miracles.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you get urges now you play so much football?’ asked Annabelle.

  ‘What’s going on?’ enquired Nick.

  ‘I’m only asking,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘It’s a funny conversation,’ said Nick.

  ‘No, it isn’t, not between you and me,’ said Annabelle. ‘Anyway, urges are natural, aren’t they, when you’re in love?’

  ‘Hello, d’you get urges too?’ asked Nick.

  ‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Annabelle. ‘I mean, if we didn’t have them, something would be wrong with us, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose we’d both have to have an operation,’ said Nick. ‘But I don’t feel I need one at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, good, because I don’t either,’ said Annabelle. ‘You don’t mind us talking like this, do you, Nick?’

  ‘It’s making me feel June’s a long way off,’ said Nick.

  ‘Crikey,’ said Annabelle, ‘d’you mean you’ve got an urge now?’

  ‘I’m giving up talking like this,’ said Nick.

  ‘Nick, you’re shy,’ said Annabelle, and laughed.

  When they reached her home she asked him if he’d phone the Lawsons now. Nick said yes.

  So he did, and he offered six hundred pounds as a first-time buyer. After some discussion, he and Mr Lawson settled for six hundred and ten, providing Nick would deposit fifty pounds with the agents within two days. Nick said he would, and Mr Lawson said he would advise the other couple that a firm offer had been made and accepted.

  When Nick came off the phone, and had received good luck wishes from Lizzy and Ned, Annabelle whisked him into the parlour and kissed him.

  ‘Do that again,’ said Nick.

  ‘I’m going to be very nice to you,’ said Annabelle, ‘and tell you the best thing that ever happened to my dad was my mum, and the best thing that could have ever happened to me was you. Do you remember how we first met, in that lift at the insurance company’s offices?’

  ‘That was my luckiest day,’ said Nick, so Annabelle kissed him again and told him how improved he was, so different from the grumpy bloke he’d been when bossing the football team’s committee about many months ago.

  Nick said he begged to differ, he’d never been grumpy, he’d been patted on the head all his life for being cheerful in the face of all disasters.

  ‘What disasters?’ asked Annabelle.

  ‘I’ll think of some,’ said Nick.

  ‘It’s Cassie’s and Sally’s double wedding soon,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘I hope I’ll survive the racket,’ said Nick. ‘I’m set on attending our own wedding.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope you’ll be there,’ said Annabelle. ‘It won’t be the same if you’re not.’

  ‘I’ll make it,’ said Nick. ‘What a house that is.’

  ‘And it’s going to be all ours,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘They’re leaving the carpets and the fittings,’ said Nick, ‘and I told them we’d like the cot as well.’

  ‘Nick, we’ll never get into the cot together,’ said Annabelle. ‘Can’t we afford a double bed?’

  Meanwhile, the atmosphere among Boots and his family was one that had an uneasy lurking aspect. Despite Rosie’s calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent of worry that Ma
jor Armitage might attempt to make a claim on her. The family intended to fight that all the way.

  Eloise put herself closer to Boots in her wish to be a reassurance to him. She knew all too well by now that he regarded Rosie as his very own, just as much as she herself was as his natural daughter. He was a man of very warm and generous affections.

  ‘We shall keep Rosie, Papa,’ she said more than once, ‘she is ours, yes, and I am being very nice to her.’

  ‘Well, you’re very nice to all of us,’ he always said.

  * * *

  Lilian was finding ways and means to avoid bumping into her conversational and admiring milkman.

  Well, a milkman, for goodness sake. Her late husband Jacob, fatally wounded during the second battle of the Somme, had been in textiles and set for a promising career before he volunteered. There was nothing promising about a milkman’s career. But he’d unsettled her, and at a time when the thought of marrying again, of having a man in her bed and around the house, had been a recurring one. Her still healthy body had actually begun to feel starved. Oh, holy Moses, she thought, I’m blessed if that milkman doesn’t make a woman in my condition look twice. He’s got blue eyes like Sammy. The next thing I know I’ll be inviting him round one evening. I should worry about that? Yes, I should. He might start thinking about bedtime. So might I.

  So she kept avoiding any possibility of bumping into him. And into Mr Abel Morrison too, for that matter.

  A lady my age has got to be sensible, she told herself. I don’t want a portly bloke or one whose wage means I’ll still have to buy my own clothes. A wife has to be a giving woman, so she’s entitled to some rewards, like an open invitation to her husband’s wallet. Also, would I want to change my religion for a Church of England milkman with a thin wallet, even if he does remind me of Sammy?

  My life, why have I suddenly got problems?

  Lilian was by no means a grasping woman. She was as warm-hearted as any of her kind, but she was sold on the principle that it was a husband’s privilege to keep his wife, not the other way about.

  The milkman, Bill Chambers, went whistling on his round and bided his time. He had taken a healthy fancy to his best-looking customer, a handsome and desirable widow, as the saying was about such women, and as long as the chief Walworth rabbi didn’t queer his pitch, he meant to court her. Some men did get to marry Jewish ladies.