by Carol Rivers
‘I’m not against him. I don’t know him. He’s only lived at Elsie’s since February. Where did he come from? What does he do, other than sing? Even Elsie don’t know his background.’
‘He’s a man of mystery,’ said Vesta, going misty-eyed.
Marie giggled. ‘You’ve got it bad.’
As they walked on, Marie gazed up at the beautiful summer sky and felt excited. Work was over for the weekend. The noise and clatter of the factory was behind them. Tonight they were going out for a special treat.
A shaft of sunlight caught the top of an old ship’s mainsail overhanging a cluttered back yard. Marie wondered where, in all the rest of England, you could see such a picturesque sight. It was not unusual to spot a ship’s rigging poking above the roofs of the houses or hear dozens of hoots and toots from the river mixed in with the street vendors’ calls. The ice-cream man and his three-wheeled cart, the muffin man and his tray of muffins, the shrimp and winkle seller and the stalls of hot chestnuts all vied for space and attention in the busy streets of the East End. But what Marie loved most was the history of this part of Docklands.
They had learned at school that the Isle of Dogs, a horseshoe of land jutting out into the great River Thames, harked back to the Roman occupation. Then, London was called Londinium. Even that long ago, the island traded goods, such as wood, wine, silks and spices and made the port one of the most important in the world. She always marvelled that even today those same trades continued. In fact, every conceivable type of ship, tug, barge and skip was moored in Docklands. How lucky she and Vesta were that their parents had come to live here.
Just then they heard the shouts and cries of the stallholders at Cox Street. Marie felt another shiver of excitement. As much as the river and docks held a mystery, so did the busy markets of the East End. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there,’ she encouraged her sister.
But Vesta pulled back. Raising her eyebrows, just like their father often did when reciting from Shakespeare, she shrugged. ‘I think we should look somewhere else for our clothes.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oxford Street, perhaps.’
‘The West End?’ Marie was astonished.
‘We need new costumes, don’t forget.’
‘They would cost a fortune there.’
Vesta tossed her head. ‘When we’re famous, we’ll have plenty to spend wherever we like.’
Marie laughed. ‘You’ve got high hopes.’
‘Better than none,’ said Vesta, wagging a finger.
Just then a loud cockney voice called out. Marie saw two familiar figures emerge from the dock gates. The men wore the uniform of the dockyards; shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, dirty corduroy trousers and rough working boots, their soles studded with Blakey’s. But no dockyard dirt could disguise the spiky golden mop of Bobby Brown. Better known as ‘Bing’, he played the piano at the Cubby Hole pub. He was always whistling or singing Bing Crosby’s popular songs. Vesta had no time for him but Marie liked his friendly manner.
‘Just our luck, it’s that mouthy Bing Brown and daft Charlie Wiggins,’ Vesta hissed, pulling Marie’s arm to go in the other direction. ‘Let’s cross the road before they see us.’
‘Vesta, they have seen us.’
‘Well, I’m not stopping to gas,’ Vesta decided impatiently.
‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ called Bing in his rough accent. ‘Charlie, ain’t we the lucky ones, bumping into such a concoction of beauty?’
Marie went crimson and smiled.
‘Me repertoire must be doing the trick,’ said Bing from the side of his mouth, ‘for there’s a twinkle in these lovely ladies’ eyes.’
‘I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole, Robert Brown,’ huffed Vesta, much to Marie’s embarrassment. ‘Just look at the state of you.’
‘Oh, like that, is it?’ Bing answered mischievously. ‘Well, just wait a tick, milady. I’ll call for me servant to polish me boots and find a plum to stick in me gob.’
Marie burst out laughing but Vesta looked furious.
‘May we be so bold as to offer you an escort home?’ Bing’s brown eyes were full of teasing.
‘We don’t need one,’ Vesta snapped. ‘And even if we did, you’d be the last person we’d ask.’
Charlie Wiggins roared with laughter whilst Marie went red trying to smother her amusement.
‘I’ll try to bear the disappointment,’ sighed Bing, giving Marie a conspiratorial wink. ‘Anyway, perhaps me broken heart will be mended by the time we see you girls at the Queen’s tonight.’
‘You’re never going to the Queen’s?’ Vesta gasped, looking horrified.
‘We’ve got our suits and shirts pressed ready, ain’t we, Charlie?’ Bing nudged his friend’s arm. ‘Up in the gods, we’ll be, communing with the greats.’
‘Well, we’re bound to be in the front row,’ said Vesta coolly. ‘So don’t bother shouting at us, as we won’t hear you.’
Marie decided it was time to leave before Vesta said something really rude. ‘We’d better go now,’ Marie said sweetly, glancing under her lashes at Bing.
‘Not goodbye, but haw-rev-you-are, as the French say,’ chuckled Bing, watching them walk away, his eyes twinkling.
‘The cheek!’ Vesta exploded, hurrying Marie on. ‘Do you really think they’ll turn up at the Queen’s?’
Marie shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘How did he find out we’re going?’
‘It was Dad, I suppose. He goes to the Cubby Hole where Bing plays, doesn’t he?’
Vesta groaned miserably. ‘I forgot. If only Dad would keep better company.’
‘Oh, Vesta, Bing’s all right.’
‘He’s common and loud.’
‘He might be, but he’s been a good friend to Dad. Don’t you remember when Mum sent me to fetch Dad back from the pub one Sunday? Bing was the one who helped me to persuade Dad to leave his pals and come home.’
Vesta gave this some thought. ‘Well, he may have a few good points,’ she agreed reluctantly, ‘but he’s certainly no gentleman like Teddy is.’
Marie sighed. Vesta was completely under Teddy’s charm. With his thick, black hair combed glamorously in a wave over his head, and his flawless suits with fashionable double-breasted jackets, Teddy Turner was enough to turn any girl’s head. But he was also conceited and arrogant. He did have a nice smile, but in Marie’s opinion it never reached his eyes.
She decided not to say as much. Vesta wouldn’t like that at all.
‘How are yer, me darlings?’ Fat Freda ran the fruit and veg stall at Cox Street market and beckoned them over. ‘Let you out from that stinking prison, ’ave they?’
Marie laughed. ‘It’s not so bad at the factory, Freda.’
‘Girls like you should be out in the fresh air, not ’ammerin’ leather all day.’
‘We don’t hammer,’ Vesta corrected primly. ‘We trim the leather. And our jobs there are only temporary before we find something more suited to our taste.’
Fat Freda smiled. ‘Yeah, course, ducks. You’re the next Ginger Rogers, ain’t you? I forgot. Now, how’s your mum?’
‘She’s very well, thanks, Freda,’ Marie replied, as Vesta gazed uninterestedly around at the well-stocked market stall.
‘Now, what can I flog yer?’ Freda asked. ‘A pound of apples or pears? Or do you fancy a nice white cauli?’
‘No, thank you,’ declined Vesta, raising her chin. ‘We’re looking for something to wear. We’re going to the Queen’s tonight.’
‘Lucky devils. Who’s on?’
‘Teddy Turner, of course,’ answered Vesta, with a toss of her head. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of him?’
‘Can’t say as I have. What’s he do, darlin’?’
‘He’s a singer.’
Fat Freda laughed coarsely. ‘Isn’t everyone these days? Even my old man sings like a linnet after a night up the boozer.’
As the costermonger turned to serve a customer, Vesta pulled Marie away. ‘She
wouldn’t know a good voice if she heard one,’ she whispered angrily. ‘Mark my words, one day Teddy will make everyone wish they did know him.’
Marie began to wonder if Vesta’s recent airs and graces had begun when Teddy had arrived on the scene. It wasn’t just Fat Freda or the market stall-holders that she didn’t care for, but the girls at work had begun to notice a change in her. She only wanted to speak about herself and couldn’t be bothered with other people’s interests. Working in a factory meant you had to get along with everyone. Marie was worried that soon the girls would give Vesta the cold shoulder.
‘What do you think of this?’ Vesta was rummaging on the second-hand clothes stall. She turned over a crumpled black frock with shiny beads sewn over the bodice. ‘It’s very Greta Garbo, don’t you think?’ Vesta pondered.
Marie laughed. ‘We’re only going to the Queen’s.’
‘I would be noticed in this, though.’
‘You could wear a big hat and a feather boa, too,’ Marie teased, thinking Vesta was joking.
Vesta dropped the dress immediately. ‘Now you’re making fun of me, just like that horrid Bing and his mate.’
‘No one is making fun of you.’
‘I wish Teddy was here to give me advice. He says with my looks, I could easily go on the stage.’
Marie stared at her sister. ‘When did he say that?’
Vesta looked guilty. ‘Oh, just when he talks to me. Why shouldn’t he tell me nice things if they’re true?’
‘Vesta, try to keep a level head.’
‘There was a time you believed in our dreams,’ Vesta protested. ‘But now you seem happy at the factory.’
‘It pays our wages. And the girls are all right.’
‘Is the factory all there is to our lives?’ Vesta asked dramatically.
Marie couldn’t help but giggle. ‘You sound like Dad when he has one of his moments. Remember, you’re not on the stage yet.’
‘I will be!’ Vesta exclaimed fiercely. ‘And no one is going to stop me.’
‘We don’t know what the future holds,’ Marie warned.
‘You sound like Mum now,’ Vesta flung back. ‘Always going on about meeting the right man and settling down.’ She took in a sharp, tearful breath. ‘Well, I don’t want to settle down! I want a glamorous life and people around me who appreciate me. Like Teddy.’
‘Mum wants us to be practical,’ Marie argued in defence of their mother. ‘As Dad don’t earn much money busking, it’s her who has kept us going. She don’t want us to end up poor.’
Vesta shrugged sullenly. ‘She didn’t mind us singing and dancing when we were kids.’
‘Yes, but we’re grown-up now. We have to support ourselves.’
‘Oh, don’t you go on too!’
‘I want to sing and dance as much as you,’ Marie insisted, ‘but without Mum we could be like some of the girls at work who never have a penny to their names. Because they are so poor, they have to give everything to their mothers and it makes life very difficult for them.’
Vesta hung her head and mumbled, ‘I know.’
‘Is the dress really that important to you?’
Vesta looked up. ‘The old girl is asking three bob for it.’
‘Knock her down to two and I’ll go halves.’
Vesta’s blue eyes flew wide open. ‘Would you?’ She threw her arms around Marie. ‘You’re the best sister in the world.’
Ten minutes later they were on their way home and Vesta had the dress over her arm. Marie knew she was imagining what she would look like when Teddy saw her that evening.
‘Thank you. Tonight means so much to me,’ Vesta sighed.
Marie thought about their quarrel as they walked home. They never used to disagree. She hoped that they weren’t growing apart.
Chapter 3
From the front room, Marie looked along the narrow passage to their bedroom. She could hear Vesta humming as she made the last adjustments to her black dress. Her parents were talking in the scullery, a small room to the left, where Hector was helping Ada to make the supper.
‘You look lovely, dear,’ Ada said as she came out, untying her apron and draping it over a chair.
Hector followed, a tall, portly figure wearing a big smile on his face under his walrus moustache. ‘A real bobby-dazzler,’ he agreed, nodding approvingly at his daughter.
Tonight Marie had chosen to wear a tailored belted navy-blue dress, black strapped shoes and a thin blue band in her hair with a sparkling slide to hold it. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the mantel, she was pleased with the way she looked. The soft pink lipstick suited her and the dab of powder disguised the freckles over her nose.
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Well, we’d better sit down and eat our meal,’ said Hector, patting his generous stomach. ‘I’ve set the table. So call your sister.’
Marie did so, and when Vesta joined them the talk was all about the coming evening.
‘I haven’t dressed up in a long while,’ Ada said as she dished out the carrots and peas with a good helping of tender braised mutton. ‘It’ll be a real pleasure to sit in the theatre with all those smart types. I hope I do you girls justice.’
‘You look lovely, Mum,’ Marie said as she tucked into her meal. It wasn’t often their mother took such care over her appearance. As a school cleaner, she had little time or money for herself. She spent it all on her family. But tonight was an exception. Going to the Queen’s was a big event in any girl’s book. Her fair hair was carefully arranged in a coil at the nape of her neck. Her pale blue eyes were shining, and her pressed grey suit moulded her still slender figure. The pearl brooch slipped through the collar of her jacket had been a wedding gift from their father.
‘You should wear that suit more often, Mum,’ Marie said encouragingly.
‘Don’t mind for a special occasion,’ said Ada shyly. ‘Anyway, this is your and Vesta’s treat, not mine.’
‘I’m glad we can share it,’ Vesta said as she only picked at her food. Marie knew she was thinking of Teddy. ‘But I wish Dad was coming.’ She looked at her father. ‘Couldn’t you take a night off from busking?’
Hector quickly swallowed the large mouthful of meat and veg on the end of his fork and waved his hand. ‘You girls won’t miss me,’ he declared. ‘You’ll be too busy watching the show. And anyway, I’ll see you outside. It’ll be a very good night for custom.’
‘Yes, but you should be singing on the stage, Dad, not out in the street,’ replied Vesta, pushing her plate away.
‘Now, now, dear,’ Ada interrupted. ‘Your father is quite used to playing to the crowds outside. And missing a night’s money won’t help the larder.’
Marie saw Vesta give a slight frown of annoyance. She knew that Vesta didn’t care for their father’s profession of busking. It was a big comedown, Vesta felt, from his days with the travelling theatre and music halls.
‘I still think . . .’ began Vesta, but then got a look of warning from her mother as she cleared away the empty plates.
‘There’s custard and jelly for afters,’ interrupted Ada sternly. ‘But we’d better hurry up as time is getting on.’
Hector smiled and winked at his daughters. ‘Custard and jelly!’ Once more he pushed out his stomach and patted it. ‘Your mother certainly knows the way to this man’s heart!’
Though they both loved their father dearly, Marie knew that he still lived in the secret hope of becoming a famous performer one day. This upset their mother, who had always urged him to find a normal job. But Hector had managed to keep on with his busking and keep Ada happy with the little he did bring in. Marie knew he was happy doing what he did, and when he appeared outside the Queen’s tonight, as they were waiting to go in, their applause would be louder than anyone else’s.
After their meal and the washing-up was done, and Vesta had gone to change, Marie watched her father stand in front of the mirror wearing his best suit, black cape and silk cravat. As usual before going
out, he twirled his moustache in a theatrical way. After clearing his throat loudly, and reciting a few verses to himself, he gave her a big grin.
‘What d’you think of that?’ he asked Marie, returning to his normal voice. ‘Will I knock ’em dead?’
‘Course you will, Dad.’
He looked very pleased, kissed her on the cheek and then marched out, calling over his shoulder, ‘Cheerio, girls! See you later!’
‘I’ll just get me bag, then we’ll call for Elsie,’ Ada said as she came out of the kitchen in a fluster, patting her hair. ‘Where’s your sister? Oh, silly me,’ she grinned, looking along the passage, ‘I don’t need to ask. I’ll go along and give her a shout.’
Whilst waiting, Marie gazed around her at the room she had grown up in. It was elegant in its own way, with its high ceilings and Victorian embellishments. The view over Sphinx Street from the big bay window was what she loved most; you could always see what was going on, even quite a long way down the road. If you ignored the peeling wallpaper, damp patches and threadbare carpet, and looked only at Elsie’s lovely furniture, like the big leather couch and sturdy dining table and four chairs, the room was quite a delight.
The fire in the grate was unlit and the room was cool, owing to the thick brick walls and heavy drapes. On the mantel was a photograph of the twins as children, just after they had moved here. Two smiling little blonde girls in ballet dresses that Ada had made, posing under an umbrella. Next to this was one of Ada and Hector. It had been taken long ago, just after they were married. Hector’s walrus moustache and sleeked-back hair made him look very distinguished. Ada stood beside him in a long frock that hung down to her ankles. She looked young and innocent. They were such a handsome couple!
Suddenly Vesta appeared, followed by Ada. ‘How do I look?’ she asked, her blue eyes wide and sparkling.
‘Perfect,’ Marie told her, admiring the way Vesta had clipped up her hair to show off her long neck in the black dress. Her slim figure, an inch shorter than Marie’s, looked dainty, but the black beads, Marie thought, were a bit gaudy for a young girl, though she smiled appreciatively nevertheless. She knew Vesta only wanted approval.