Minerva's Stepchild

by Helen Forrester

  His case file was sent for and examined.

  "You are not eligible for help with clothing," was the verdict. "You do not come under the jurisdiction of Liverpool."

  The same old problem. We were not from Liverpool. Our rate of public assistance was that given in the small town from

  which we came, and the sum was collected from that town by Liverpool. We got none of the little extras such as money for winter coal or for Christmas which Liverpool struggled to give its less fortunate citizens, nor were we eligible for clothing.

  "What shall I do?" my father cried in despair.

  "Try one of the voluntary agencies."

  So Father was sent from agency to agency. And they all said they could not help, because he was drawing public assistance and could get boots from that committee. In vain, he explained that the town from which we had come did not give clothing, and we were ineligible for help from Liverpool.

  One agency offered secondhand boots at a very reduced price, but any price was too high for us to pay. We had once spent three shillings in a secondhand clothes shop in an eflPort to make my mother presentable again and had had to reduce our meager food intake to a dangerous level, in consequence. If it had not been for our kind policeman's pint of milk, Edward would surely have died that week.

  Then Mother suddenly got a job "on commission only." She was to sell radios from door to door.

  Up and down the better-class streets she tramped, knocking at each door and trying to beguile reluctant housewives into agreeing to a demonstration of the radio in their homes. On the third day, she did find a woman willing to listen to her. It was agreed that the radio would be brought that night for her husband to see.

  The demonstration radio, meanwhile, was delivered to the door of our house. I sat Edward down on the grubby hall runner and left Avril to mind him while I puffed my way upstairs again with the heavy radio. I made a second journey for the wet battery and carried it up so fast that I splashed some of the acid on my bare legs, burning them painfully. A third journey was made to retrieve Edward and Avril.

  Still panting from the journeys up and down, I read the instructions to Avril, and then very carefully unpacked the radio and put it on the table. I plugged in the wet and dry batteries and nervously turned one of the knobs. The shining newness of it awed us both.

  Suddenly the room was filled with the sweet sound of violins.

  Avril climbed up on to one of the chairs and put her head

  close to the speaker, and Edward smiled and sucked his thumb. I stood in ecstasy while the music swept around me..We spent a blissful afternoon listening to a faraway world where people spoke as we did, and music was part of life.

  My parents were extremely angry when they came home and found the radio unpacked and working.

  "It does not belong to us," said my mother furiously. "You know quite well that you are not to touch anything which does not belong to you."

  "I haven't harmed it," I said defiantly.

  "No, she has not," interrupted Avril aggressively. "And I heard a nice lady say 'happy birthday' and 'hello, twins' on Children's Hour and I liked it."

  "Well," said Father, turning it oflF firmly, "don't touch it again."

  Mother said, "I have to demonstrate it tonight, to Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, and I don't know how to do it."

  "You just put these plugs in here, like Helen did, and you turn that knob there," instructed Avril, stabbing the appropriate plugs and knob with a grubby finger. "And it goes."

  She looked up at my mother with hard blue eyes, as if daring her to say she was not right.

  Father smiled. "She is right, you know. That is all you have to do. " He looked worried. "I suppose the supervisor will move the thing to the Smithers' house for you in his car?"

  "Heavens, no. I have to take it myself."

  "But you can't carry that weight," we said in chorus.

  "Besides, " I added, "the acid from the wet battery can splash and burn your stockings. "

  We all knew that without stockings Mother was not suitably dressed for work, and we had all observed that, even if she was not much interested in us, she was more alive when looking for work.

  Silence fell upon the family. The radio and its batteries were really too awkward for anyone to carry any distance.

  Tony, who had been playing one of his endless games of train, looked up, and said quietly, "Put it in the Chariot and wheel it around to the lady's house."

  We all burst out laughing, and I snatched Edward out of the pram.

  "Try it for size," I invited.

  Very carefully, the radio was put back into its box and lowered into the stinking pram. The batteries followed. It all fitted in.

  A gentle sigh of relief went through the family.

  We ate a hasty meal of boiled potatoes, which tasted strongly of the smoke from an old shoe I had brought home for fuel. Then, since it was dark, the whole family went in procession behind Father, who carefully wheeled the Chariot with its unusual contents. I clutched Edward to me, bringing up the rear.

  Down the street under the light of the gas lamps we marched, past the brothels, past the garish lights and conversational roar of the local pub, out of the slum which was our world, into quieter streets of neat housing.

  At a comer, we unloaded the radio and set it down on the pavement. The problem was to get it to the house without the customer seeing any of us except Mother. Father finally decided that he would make the first sortie and carry the batteries to the front step of the customer's house.

  We watched with excited anticipation as he glided ghostlike down the empty street, quickly deposited the batteries, and continued on down the street, around the block and back to us, so that he actually passed the house only once. Then Alan and Mother together carried the radio itself to the house, and put it down on the step. Mother stood by it, while Alan fled.

  Mother was out of sight of all of us, but we heard the peal of the old-fahioned front doorbell when she rang it and the sounds of the door opening and shutting and of strong Lancashire voices.

  Brian and Tony started an excited conversation. Father hushed them immediately. He was standing tense, listening like a hound.

  My arms were aching with Edward's weight, so I put him into the pram. Avril complained that she was cold, and I put her in with him and rubbed her legs, which were mottled like an old woman's.

  Coatless, hatless, and hungry, we were all shivering by the time we heard the sound of the door opening again and cheerful voices bidding Mother "good night."

  She came slowly toward us, her face in the gaslight, stupefied with wonderment. We moved to meet her.

  "I sold it—that very one—they wanted the demonstration

  model. They signed the hire-purchase agreement and gave me the deposit there and then. And they gave me tea and cake." Her voice quivered, as she mentioned the last item.

  "Really?" exclaimed Father, unable to believe that in Depression-bound Liverpool anybody could afford to buy anything. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," she whispered, sudden pride in her voice.

  "What will you get for it? Your commission?"

  "Thirty shillings."

  "We shall have to tell the public-assistance committee. We shall have to declare thirty shillings—and they will just cut it off our allowance." Father's voice was tired and old.

  "Are you mad?" cried Mother with an unexpected burst of spirit.

  "No, of course not. But it is not honest not to tell them."

  "We will not tell them," said Mother savagely. "They'd let us die. They don't care. Why should we bother about what is honest and what is not?" The bitter question sounded all the more so because it was expressed in her beautiful contralto voice.

  Father had his arms crossed over his chest and his hands tucked into his armpits to keep them warm. He said in a broken voice, "I must have some gloves. I can't bear the pain in my hands any more."

  "And I must have lots of fish and chips," shouted Avril unexpe
ctedly. "Lots of lovely fish and chips. "

  Fiona clutched my arm. "Helen, I feel awfully odd." Her face was ashen.

  I caught her as she fainted. She was the quietest, most uncomplaining of us all, and as I held her frail little frame in my arms, it seemed as if Death was breathing down the back of my neck.

  "Fish and chips, " roared Avril again, quite unperturbed by her sister's collapse.

  EIGHT

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  Mother never sold another radio. It did teach her, however, that she could sell things. Even her dismissal a week later did not deter her, and a little while later she got a temporary job in a store demonstrating baby baths. The store was gloriously warm, and she spent her days bathing a doll and extolling the virtues of rubber baths to expectant mothers. An arduous week's bathing netted her ten shillings in commission, which she spent on shoes and stockings for herself, absolute necessities if she was to continue to try for work.

  Christmas loomed near. I did not mention it to Avril or Edward. The other children whispered to each other about it. None of them was in the Christmas play the school was producing, and it was clear that none of them had any hope of our being able to do any celebrating.

  On Christmas Eve, we were all seated in our living room. The only light was a shaft of moonlight across the floor. We had a small stub of candle and a couple of matches to be used in emergency, and these lay ready on the mantelpiece. Outside the church bells were ringing for Christmas services, and across the road in the mysterious house, doors slammed occasionally and rowdy voices rose and fell upon the still air.

  I had just decided that Edward, Avril, and Tony should go to bed, when Mrs. Foster's genteel bass could be heard in the lower hall.

  "A parcel has arrived for the top floor. Come and collect it!"

  We were all immediately galvanized into action, clattering like an army down the stairs to the hallway.

  "Wow!" exclaimed Tony.

  It was a very large parcel, addressed to Father, and it took the combined strength of Father, Alan, and me to carry it up to our top-floor rooms.

  We placed it reverently on the dirty table, and with shaking

  hands Father fumbled with the knots of twine, trying to open it. Finally, he gave up, and we tore at the brown paper and the cardboard box underneath, frantically trying to get at the contents. As we clawed at straw and infuriating string, a golden orange suddenly rolled out.

  An orangel Exquisitely perfumed, the golden fruit sat right in the middle of our floor.

  We all gaped at it, and then renewed our frenzied attack on the package. We disinterred a turkey of proportions generous enough to have pleased a king, a large plum pudding in a bowl, a bag of potatoes, more oranges, and a box of sweets. Sweets! We were nearly hysterical with excitement.

  We had heard of these Christmas parcels, though we had not expected to be the recipients of one. Whoever made up the parcel would have been amply rewarded by the ecstasy with which we received it. It was too much for me, and I burst into tears.

  Suddenly Mother began to laugh in a high-pitched, wild fashion. We were silenced immediately. My father looked at her, trembling visibly. Was this the breakdown he had been fearing?

  "How are we going to cook it?" she screamed. "With no fire, no oven, no nothing!"

  "Be quiet!" Father said firmly, trying to keep a grip on the situation.

  Edward and Avril began to cry. Brian stood, an orange in his hand, as if turned to stone. Fiona, clutching the tattered remains of her doll, moved closer to Alan, who put his arm protectively around her shoulder. The darkness of the room made the whole scene macabre and unreal.

  Tony, who had been about to open the box of sweets, said, "Listen!"

  Through Mother's wild laughter could be heard the sound of a heavy tread on the staircase.

  "Mrs. Foster," muttered Brian. "Have we paid our rent?"

  Avril stopped crying and listened. "Mr. Parish," she suggested.

  If the public assistance committee discovered that we had a secret hoard of turkey and oranges, its value would be deducted from our miserable weekly pittance. Frantic, I ran to the door with the idea of stopping him from entering.

  I was too late. A knock sounded. Mother was still giggling to herself, and Father seemed unable to move. I will be brave. I will be polite, I told myself, and opened the door.

  A huge, joint sigh of relief nearly blew the visitor back down the stairs.

  "Ah come," said the visitor, peering around in the gloom, "to wish yer all a Happy Christmas from Mr. Hicks and meself."

  "Mrs. Hicks!" exclaimed Brian, and flew to his dear friend from the basement. She caught him in her one free arm.

  "Well, now, me little peacock! How's our Brian?"

  Father came out of his trance and led her through the darkness to our second chair. She sat down and carefully arranged her skirts over it like Queen Victoria about to be photographed.

  Mother, quieted, regarded her with silent dislike. As far as possible, she never spoke to anyone in the house, except Mrs. Foster, and regarded all our neighbors with abhorrence. Her chilling stare did nothing to cool Mrs. Hicks's exuberance. She carefrilly laid a paper shopping bag on the floor, and one by one she brought out a little package for each child and for Father. Lastly, she brought one out for Mother.

  "Here yer are, luv. Happy Christmas to yez."

  Mother just stared.

  "Come on, luv. It won't always be like this. Maybe the New Year'll bring some luck to yez."

  I could see my mother fighting to make a tremendous effort, and, at last, in a little, panting voice, she said, "Thank you, Mrs. Hicks. You are very kind. I heartily reciprocate your good wishes." She took the parcel and laid it in her lap.

  Mrs. Hicks was obviously nonplussed by the word "reciprocate" but she beamed at Mother in a maternal way. "Na, that's better. You'll soon be well, luv."

  "Helen, can we open them? Please!" Fiona had forgotten her earlier fright and was entranced at having a present.

  I looked at Father, and he said, "Yes, of course."

  We all tore at the crumpled, old tissue paper of our parcels.

  Mrs. Hicks had knitted each of us a pair of gloves, and each pair had a distinguishing Fair Isle pattern in a contrasting color.

  "So as you'll know whose is which, " she explained. "Ah made 'em outta a couple of old pullovers ah bought at Maurrie's."

  I looked at her with wonderment. Such an enterprising idea had never occurred to me. The idea was better than the Christmas present itself, for I could knit. Grandma had taught me. Mrs. Hicks was brilliant! Bits of old hand-knitted sweaters and cardigans, too holey to be sold as complete garments, could be bought from old Maurrie at the secondhand clothing store for as little as two for a penny. I could buy some, unravel them, and knit, just as old Mrs. Hicks had done. Edward could have a warm sweater. I forgot my earlier tears in the splendor of this new idea.

  Mrs. Hicks meantime had grown accustomed to the darkness and spotted the turkey on the table.

  "Got a Christmas parcel, have yer? Proper nice, ain't it?"

  Father agreed that it was proper nice, but added, "There is one difficulty." Mrs. Hicks looked puzzled. "We haven't got an oven to cook it in, or a knife to cut it up small enough to stew on our fireplace."

  "We haven't even got a fire, " said Alan.

  "Oh, aye," responded Mrs. Hicks. She ran her red hands up and down her ample thighs while she considered the matter.

  "Tell yer what. Ah'll be cooking me own turkey on the morning, but there's a good fire going downstairs now. If I turn it to the oven, you could cook yours now. It would be cooked afore midnight, when we goes to bed."

  "Oh, Mrs. Hicks!" I burst out. "That would be marvelous."

  Father looked dimly hopefiil. "Would you mind?"

  She laughed at him. "Not a bit. You could put some potatoes around it, to bake, and you'd have a reet good meal. " She looked at our dead
fireplace, and added, "You can put the pudding at the back o' me fire at the same time. Most o' the heat's only going up t' chimney right now."

  Mother said suddenly, "Thank you, Mrs. Hicks." I thought for a horrid minute that she was going to follow it with "But we do not require your assistance." She controlled herself, however, when the whole family turned on her in frozen, silent rage.

  While the children sucked the oranges. Father and I took the bird, the pudding, and the potatoes downstairs.

  Mrs. Hicks put it into a roasting pan which was thick with the encrustations of twenty-five years of cooking, and larded it with a bit of bacon fat. Then, guided by her instructions. Father laid it in

  the ancient oven to the side of the kitchen fire. Some potatoes followed, and the heavy, iron door was swung shut. Mr. Hicks grinned all over his little ferrety face and promised to sit and watch that it did not bum.

  "One of yez come down in three hours' time," commanded Mrs. Hicks. "Ah reckon it'll be done by then. You could wrap it in a blanket, and it'll keep a bit warm till tomorrer. "

  Joy gave strength to our weakened legs, and we ran all the way up the stairs, to sink, half fainting, upon the floor when we got to the top.

  Nobody could bear to be put to bed, so we sat around in the dim light from the moon and the street, until the closing of the nearby public house told us it was ten o'clock. After that we took it in turns to count up to sixty, so as to make a rough estimate of thirty minutes more, at the end of which Alan and I bolted down to the basement.

  We knocked and entered the vast cavern. Our bare feet pattered on the old brick tiles as we crossed to the fireplace. Mr. Hicks was just lifting the pudding saucepan from the hob. His wife took it from him and carried it across to the sandstone sink in the comer. With a skillfial twist she got the pudding out without scalding herself, and set it on the bare wooden table. She spread a newspaper on another comer and went to the oven to get the turkey.