by Pip Granger
As ever, Auntie Maggie came straight to the point. ‘Why do you want to know, Mr Herbert, if you don’t mind me asking? We’re not in the habit of passing on information, as I’m sure you will understand.’
Mr Herbert became a little hot and bothered and assured Auntie Maggie that he understood perfectly; it was just that he had an urgent message for her.
‘Can we ask who the message is from?’ Uncle Bert asked. ‘Of course, if you’d rather not say, we understand.’
‘No, no, my dear chap. There’s no big secret. It’s from Cassandra’s aunt Dodie. She just wishes to tell Cassandra that some unpleasant type called Fluck, of all things, is sniffing around and asking all sorts of questions. Dodie feels that Cassandra should be warned, that’s all.’
Uncle Bert took the opportunity to explain that we knew Charlie Fluck and that he had been hanging about the cafe, on and off, since before the Coronation. Mr Herbert got flustered at this news and tutted a fair old bit.
Again Auntie Maggie was the first to pose the question. ‘How come Cassie’s auntie Dodie knows you, Mr Herbert? We’d already figured that you knew our Cassie fairly well, from what young Rosie told us about you. But how does her auntie Dodie know to get in touch with you? Perhaps you’d better explain a bit?’
‘My dear lady, of course. It must seem very odd, this perfect stranger on your doorstep asking questions. Allow me to begin at the beginning. Dodie Loveday-Smythe and I are very old friends, yes indeed. It must be more than fifty years ago now …’ And he was off, weaving this wonderful story about his childhood somewhere in the country. Dodie was there too, playing in some orchard during the long, hot summer holidays with Mr Herbert and another bloke called Alex. As they grew older, hide-and-seek in the orchard gave way to tennis parties and croquet on the lawn. It sounded lovely, but then the Great War took all the young men away, including Mr Herbert and this Alex. ‘Poor Alex bought it pretty early on, I’m afraid. Dodie and he were to be married, you see. Tragic!’ Mr Herbert shook his head and looked sorrowful. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
It turned out that this Dodie person was my mum’s dad’s sister, which, according to Auntie Maggie, made her my great-aunt. It was all very confusing. Anyway, the upshot was that Charlie Fluck had been a chauffeur with my mum’s parents; my granny and grandpa, according to Auntie Maggie that is. I couldn’t take it all in. Suddenly I had all these great-aunts, grandpas and grannies I knew nothing about and it made me feel a bit funny, so I switched off for a while and thought about something else. I was just running through all the things that I wanted to take away with me to Aggie – my new doll’s house naturally, all my dolls, teddy of course, a book or two and maybe the odd yo-yo – when I became aware that Mr Herbert was making moves to leave.
He was standing by the cafe door having his hand pumped enthusiastically by Uncle Bert, who had obviously taken to him. They were assuring each other that they would do their level best to get hold of the Perfumed Lady while keeping an eye out for the repulsive Charlie. Uncle Bert promised to report to Mr Herbert when we got back from the seaside. A final handshake and Mr Herbert was gone and we were free to get on with the packing.
It was a bit of a blow to discover that my suitcase wouldn’t hold my new doll’s house and that it, and most of my toys, would have to stay at home. It was an even greater blow when Auntie Maggie broke the news that my suitcase would be filled with such boring items as knickers, socks and shorts. I had been looking forward to showing off my best toys to Auntie Flo, Uncle Sid and the locals.
17
I didn’t have much time to think about this mystery family I had tucked away somewhere because we had a lot to do before I went to bed that night. It was just as well really because thinking about them still made me feel strange. Mr Herbert had left with our assurances that we would pass on his message as soon as we could, but he said he understood completely that we couldn’t guarantee her co-operation. The Perfumed Lady was, after all, what Auntie Maggie called ‘a free spirit’, and there was just no telling where a free spirit was likely to end up or what it was likely to do.
‘Especially if the ‘‘spirits are free’’,’ Uncle Bert was quick to point out and they all laughed. Yet again the joke missed me. Grown-ups had a funny way of talking, I reflected, and sometimes, especially when kids were around, they appeared to use a sort of code.
Meanwhile, Charlie seemed to have disappeared, though Mr Herbert had shown great interest in the fact that he had been lurking, on and off, for some time and assured us that he’d tell Aunt Dodie. It was also agreed that we should give him Auntie Flo’s address just in case he needed to contact us in a hurry. I wasn’t included in the discussions that followed his departure and I couldn’t even be bothered to eavesdrop. I was just too knackered and over-excited to cope with any serious skulking with my ear to a keyhole. It had been an eventful day – a birthday bash then Mr Herbert’s visit.
All the talk about my shadowy other family and lurking Charlie had rattled me quite a bit. For once I was downright thankful to get to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I was busy with my doll’s house when Auntie Maggie came to tuck me in. ‘Who got evicted then?’ she asked, pointing at the small heap of discarded dolls beside the house. She plonked herself heavily on the floor beside me and peered into the tiny rooms. ‘And who are these that got to stay?’
‘That’s you, that’s Uncle Bert and that’s me there.’ I pointed to each one in turn. ‘Then there’s Madame Zelda, Paulette and Luigi waiting in the parlour.’
‘I see. Well, it’s time we sent the visitors home and tucked you up in bed. You’ve a big day tomorrow and you’ll want to be fresh. Give us a hand up, there’s a good girl.’
I heaved and tugged and Auntie Maggie gasped and spluttered. Soon we were giggling too hard to do anything useful and Uncle Bert had to come and help Auntie Maggie back on to her pins. By the time I was between the sheets and had been well and truly kissed good night, I was feeling several shades happier than I had been. I didn’t have to count the roses on my summer curtains for long before I was sound asleep. After all, I had never been away from home before and the holiday seemed to be far more exciting than anything to do with my mum and Charlie Fluck.
There was a time, in our part of Soho, when most of the money earned by the local brasses found its way one way or another into the pocket of Maltese Joe. Either the girls worked directly for him or for one of his henchmen; or they lived and worked in flats owned by him; or their pimps blew all their profits in one of his many spielers. A spieler was a gambling club and there were loads of them around in those days. In any event, the girls were ready, willing and able to relieve the eager punter of any filthy lucre that might be burning a hole in his wallet. This made Maltese Joe a very rich man.
Now I never really knew the ins and outs of it, but Uncle Bert had a special relationship with Maltese Joe. We didn’t pay protection, for instance. Occasionally, when rationing bit too deep, a swift word with Maltese Joe sent a tide of spivs to our door, flogging everything you can possibly imagine. There was one bloke, who had connections with the meat market, who could provide a whole cow on or off the hoof!
The morning we were to leave for Aggie there was a loud insistent hammering at the cafe door. Madame Zelda and Paulette had already arrived, so Auntie Maggie said to ignore it – we were busy with a last-minute wrangle about the ratio of books, toys and knickers in my suitcase and I was losing. The hammering did not stop, so in the end I was despatched to get rid of whoever it was.
I opened the door and there stood Frankie, one of Maltese Joe’s boys, dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, complete with cap and jodhpurs. I looked around for his horse but all I could see was this huge, gleaming motor car.
As soon as Frankie saw Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert hove into view behind me, he whipped off his cap and bowed low. ‘Maltese Joe sends his compliments and says the Roller is at your disposal until I have to collect his old mum from Mass at eleven. He understands that your tra
in leaves at ten o’clock, which gives us plenty of time. Can I help you to load your bags and that?’
Uncle Bert was the first to recover from the unusual sight of Frankie done up like a dog’s dinner, bowing and scraping as if we were royalty. Me and Auntie Maggie just stood there with our gobs open, trying to take it all in.
‘Thank you, Francis, my man. Can I tempt you with a cup of something while we sort ourselves out? Then you can load the bags. Come in and sit anywhere that takes your fancy. What would you like – tea, coffee?’
‘That is most civil, Mr Bert, sir. Tea would be fine, thanks. Plenty of milk and sugar, if you please.’
Auntie Maggie went to make him his tea and the rest of us saw to the last-minute closing of bags and the hunting up of stuff we thought we might have forgotten. Finally the cases were all collected in a mound near the cafe door, ready to be stowed by Uncle Bert and the new, improved, toadying Francis.
Just as we were ready to go, Luigi showed up to wish us a good holiday and to collect the spare set of keys. He took one look at Frankie’s outfit and began to take the mickey something alarming. There were references to the three thirty at Epsom and somebody called Lady Chatterley liking to be ridden by a bit of rough. When Frankie began to mutter something about hoping that ‘that bleedin’ little wop had a good dentist and if he didn’t shut his cake’ole right now, he’d never ride anythin’ again, not even a number 11 bus’, Uncle Bert decided enough was enough and calmed them both down.
Shortly after that, we all (except Luigi of course) climbed into the Roller and drew away from the cafe in style. Madame Zelda made us all laugh by waving out of the window as if she was the Queen. We were on our way at last.
I found Paddington Station a bit overwhelming. The noise seemed deafening as it echoed around that cavern of a building. Metal wheels screeched on rails and put my teeth on edge. Steam engines puffed and wheezed like asthmatic dragons as they got up a head of steam ready to move out or let go of the excess as they slowed to a stop. The smell of coal and smoke reminded me of the depths of winter when everyone had their fires going. It was strange to smell coal fires on a hot day in July. I gripped hold of Auntie Maggie a bit tighter while the others bustled about buying tickets, finding the train and organizing the bags to disappear into the luggage van. Frankie got into the spirit of the thing again after his ruck with Luigi and had porters running in all directions while he played the part of the faithful retainer who had finally found some lower orders to boss about.
While Uncle Bert and Frankie organized the porters, Auntie Maggie, Madame Zelda, Paulette and I went looking for our seats. I had such a tight grip on Auntie Maggie that I can still remember the look of my knuckles, all white and pointy. I didn’t trust that train not to belch and hiss boiling hot steam at me. Then, when we found our carriage, there was a huge canyon between the platform and the train. It was terrifying – I could see right down to where the rails gleamed dully in a deep, dark hole. A vision of missing my step, slipping and being trapped down there flashed across my mind and I was speechless with horror. I almost dragged Auntie Maggie’s arm out of its socket as I pulled back from the yawning chasm. Then a giant swooped down, hoisted me into the air in an elegant arc and landed me in the doorway of the train. ‘There you are, little lady, safely aboard,’ he boomed, and my saviour was gone. It was like being rescued from the dentist’s, a tables test and a bollocking from Auntie Maggie all in one. My relief was so intense that I burst into racking sobs. I was immediately enveloped in a perfumed chest and clucked over all the way to our seats.
I was overwrought, my auntie Maggie said, and I suppose I was.
18
Apart from getting on to the train, I really enjoyed the journey down to Aggie on Horseback. Auntie Maggie had decided that if she and Uncle Bert were taking a break from catering, it could ‘bloody well start in the Pullman car, so sod packets of sandwiches and flasks of tea’. It was therefore agreed that any refreshments we required could be provided by British Railways and hang the expense.
First off, though, before we got to the Pullman, we had to negotiate those bits where the carriages were joined to each other. I don’t know if the stuff they used to hold it all together was canvas or leather but it was pleated like a giant concertina or the sides of a pair of bellows and seemed pretty flimsy to me. The floors were even worse, with metal plates that moved from side to side or ground together when the driver slung out his anchors. I was even less happy about these joins than I had been about the pits of hell at Paddington. In the end I had to be carried over them by Uncle Bert, who was kind enough to make no comment. I was lucky like that; neither Uncle Bert nor Auntie Maggie were of the persuasion that the way to encourage a frightened kid was to jeer at it, in public or in private. Some parents do that, don’t they – shame children into doing things that terrify them? I remember being really shocked the first time I saw someone do that to their child. Even I squirmed with humiliation. Anyway, I’m thrilled to say that my lot never did that sort of thing to me.
Once we had safely negotiated what seemed like hundreds of those bloody joins, we finally made it to the comfort and safety of the Pullman car. I was enchanted with the whole thing. I loved the little lamps on the tables, which came complete with dear little lampshades with bobbled fringes; I liked the etched glass that proudly proclaimed Pullman; I liked the waiters in their stiffly starched white jackets with spotless tea-towel things draped smartly over their arms; and I was particularly impressed with the way they poured the coffee from an elegant silver-metal pot with a long narrow spout. They managed not to spill a single drop – and I was watching like a hawk – even as the train lurched and thundered through the countryside.
Once we were back in our seats, I was mesmerized by the passing scene. I had never been out of London before, or if I had I had been far too young to notice, so I was staggered by the sheer expanse of green, and bowled over by the sight of real sheep and cows. I also saw these great big grey birds that were standing around on one leg in a field. I jumped up and down, clamouring to be told what they were. Uncle Bert and Auntie Maggie exchanged baffled looks and asked Madame Zelda if she knew, but she shook her head.
Paulette supplied the answer. ‘They’re herons,’ she said firmly.
‘How do you know they’re herons?’ demanded Madame Zelda suspiciously. ‘When have you ever seen a heron?’
‘I used to see ’em hanging around the waterworks near us when I was a kid. Anyway, I like birds and I used to get books out the library when I was at school.’
She blushed slightly in the face of the gob-smacked expressions the other three grown-ups turned on her. Here was a side of Paulette we had never suspected. She obviously felt that we deserved a fuller explanation. ‘It’s their feathers, the colours and that. Some of ’em ’ave the fanciest feathers you ever saw, ’specially some of them tropical ones like all them birds of paradise. It’s called plumage.’ This last was brought out in a voice of quiet pride.
‘That’s why you done our room out like a jungle, I s’pose, with them stuffed parrots. I half expect to land in bird shit every time I get up for a pee in the night. Thank Gawd they’re stuffed is all I can say.’ Madame Zelda shook her head, still a little stunned. ‘You never said you liked birds. Well, you live and learn, don’t you? You think you know a person inside and out and then they go and surprise you.’
She gave Paulette an almighty dig in the ribs. Unfortunately it was delivered with such good-natured force that Paulette fell sprawling into the lap of a thin, wispy woman sitting in the corner. This sent the rest of us into gales of hearty laughter as Paulette struggled to right herself. The wispy woman, however, was not amused. She gave a thin smile at the chortled apologies and stared fixedly out of the window, trying to pretend she wasn’t earwigging every word any of us said. Nosy old bag!
We heaved a sigh of relief when she got out at a place called Swindon and we had the compartment to ourselves. It felt like being let out of school on a br
ight summer day.
Auntie Flo and Uncle Sid were at the station to meet us. It was difficult to see that Auntie Maggie and Auntie Flo were sisters. Auntie Flo looked tiny next to Auntie Maggie, but then so did everybody. Uncle Bert and Uncle Sid shook hands in a manly way while Auntie Maggie and Auntie Flo launched themselves at each other with hugs, kisses and glad cries of joy. Madame Zelda, Paulette and I sort of hung about, a bit spare for a moment or two, then it was our turn to be greeted. Uncle Sid grabbed me under the armpits and swung me around so high and fast everyone and his brother got a clear view of my drawers. Luckily they were sturdy ones. He restricted himself to handshakes when it came to Madame Zelda and Paulette, I noticed.
After this flurry of greetings, our bags were collected from the luggage van and we piled into Uncle Sid’s shiny black Riley. I had to sit on Auntie Maggie’s lap in the front with Uncle Sid, and Paulette sort of sprawled across Madame Zelda, Auntie Flo and Uncle Bert in the back. Luckily we didn’t have that far to go as the boarding house was placed neatly between the station and the ‘front’, as Auntie Flo called it. Now, the only ‘fronts’ I’d ever heard of were when Auntie Maggie warned me not to slop my milk down mine, or when I went to the front of the class or the front of the queue. I think it was the first time I was aware how many meanings some words have.
Pondering this great fact kept me busy all the way to the boarding house, so I didn’t really notice what Aggie on Horseback looked like that first day.
19
I distinctly remember my first sight of the sea. It was such a disappointment. All I had ever seen before were pictures and they tended towards the dramatic – you know the kind of thing: huge Atlantic rollers crashing onto jagged rocks that poke out of the spume like shattered fangs. I suppose I was thinking of the pictures of the terrible floods earlier in the year, when the Queen went to see the damage and told everybody how sorry she was.