by Rodney Hall
‘some of us remember the last one!’ says Mrs Freestone,
and she blows her nose loud as a fart,
‘hip hip hooray!’ call a whole lot of voices down near the railway station,
but i cant see whats happening there,
‘theres an eleven forty pm to London’ Mike tells Mum,
‘at night?’ Mrs Freestone says ‘i never heard of such a thing’
‘nor me’ i say,
‘well we shall need to arrive in London nice and early in the morning to get a good position to see’ says Mum,
and an old guy with dribble on his chin reaches out to shake hands with me, though i dont like touching his bent old hand or looking at his bent old back and he shakes Mikes hand too and he pats Di on the head and his backs bent, because we know that what hes got is sleepy sickness and we sometimes see him reading a book in the bus shelter but here he is out in the street propped up on his walking sticks and he looks disgusting, and now theres a whole lot of clapping because the nurses are wheeling some wounded soldiers down from the hospital and everybody stands back to let them through,
‘peace!’ Mrs Harris shouts ‘peace at last!’
Olives mothers grey hair sticks out everywhere ‘but you can bet we havent seen the end of rationing’ she says,
‘cheer up, Mrs Freestone’ says Mrs Harris,
‘well i know wholl have the last laugh’ Mrs Freestone says,
and Grans hand in a grey glove covers her mouth and the glove has a button at the wrist,
‘as long as someone does laugh’ says Mrs Harris,
‘we must send a telegram to Uncle Mont’ Mum says,
so I take hold of Olives hand,
‘and Uncle Ralph too’ i say,
‘dont mention that man in my hearing’ says Mrs Freestone,
and a whole lot of women come skipping armin-arm till the whole streets full of them and theyre dressed in red-white-and-blue and silly hats and in among them Mabel Greenwood is waving to us, and everybody joins in the noise and the dancing when an old gypsy wanders around playing a squeeze-box and Mrs Harris shows us how to tap our feet in time and shes so big she looks silly but we have to clear off the road anyhow to let the Home Guard through because theyre marching in a procession wearing badges and Allan Pattersons right at the front with his dad and the fire brigades behind them and there are two policemen wheeling bikes,
‘is this the victory parade?’ i ask,
‘well its the best this miserable town can do’ Mrs Freestone says,
‘just wait till we get to London, next week’ Mum says to me ‘then youll see!’
and now the town is full of men in uniform getting off trains and out of buses and lorries and some go straight into Mrs Harrises pub and Allan Pattersons dads with them, and Allan and some other boys sit on the steps outside and theyre drinking orangeade, so i go up to see,
‘is that orangeade?’ i say,
but i know Patterson is not my friend now,
‘my Uncle Franks back from the war’ he tells me all the same,
‘is that good, then?’ i ask,
‘i dont know’ Patterson says ‘but hes in there with Dad’
and one of the boys shifts his bottom to give me room to sit down with them,
‘anyway he gave me a real sheath knife’
‘cor!’ says a boy behind us,
‘you lucky thing!’ i say,
‘but dad hit me’ Patterson says,
‘like smacked?’ says the boy behind ‘or punched?’
‘smacked’
‘did it hurt?’ i say,
‘it hurt’ Patterson says ‘like a bugger’
‘did you cry?’ i whisper so the others cant hear,
‘shove off!’ Patterson shouts at me,
and i explain,
‘well my Uncle Ken is in the army and once he came home on leave and he hit my sister and now hes come back home too and hes a captain and he gave my cousin a toy clown that you can bend into any shape thats called Twerpy’
‘why Twerpy?’
‘because it got bought somewhere called Antwerpy’
‘wheres that?’
‘i dunno’ i say ‘unless its at the frontline’
and the doors burst open behind us so we all skip out of the way while the men come out but Mr Patterson gets hold of Pattersons ear and twists it,
‘this is my brat’ he says,
and the men look down at Patterson but one of them goes to the gutter to spew,
‘kids never grow up fast enough’ he says, shaking drops from his mouth,
every time someone toots a horn down in the street i rush to the window to see if its Uncle Ralph and we know he came home last week because he walked into our bedroom just when i was going to sleep and ruffled my hair but in the morning he was gone and im on the lookout for his sports car again because i forgot to ask him if he ever got my envelope that i printed, and im kneeling on the settee looking out of the window and calling to Mum though something seems to have gone wrong, and Mum comes in and shes crying,
‘get yourself dressed in your Sunday best’ she tells me,
something awfuls happened,
‘this is Saturday’ i remind her,
‘Mum!’ says Diana, running at her,
but Mum turns her back,
‘put your blue frock on’ she tells Di and pushes her away,
and i dont know whats the matter,
‘wheres Mike?’ i ask,
‘hes on an errand for me’ Mum says looking grim,
and she puts her hat on while she goes to the back door where she sticks a hatpin into it,
‘youre to walk to Grans place when youre ready’ Mum tells us ‘and make sure you lock the house first’ and she opens the door ‘i will be there as soon as i can’
and shes gone,
‘whats up, Rod?’ Di whispers,
but i just dip my comb in the washbasin and comb my hair down flat with a proper parting on the left,
and Dis plaits are already done so all she needs to do is button up her shoes and we can be off,
‘wheres Mike gone?’ i say,
‘it must be bad’ Di says,
and it is, because the fish lady goes quiet when she sees us dressed up on the wrong day and Mr Sawyer takes off his hat and when we get to Grans place it looks strange because the front windows are open and some curtains puff out and the front doors not shut,
‘what i reckon is that Grans dead’ i whisper to Di ‘because shes so old’
and Di looks scared,
‘but i wanted to tell her’ she says ‘we are going to London for the victory parade’
and we open the garden gate but we dont like to step indoors because already the house smells like disinfectant so we hang around among the peonies,
‘look!’ says Di,
and she runs squealing out into the street and already shes hugging Gran whos wearing a black dress with purple buttonholes and on her way in, so Gran stops to kiss us but her nose is red and her eyes are watery and she rocks when she walks and i rock from one leg to the other to be like her, and now i know the reason she does it is to feel good, and she goes in with us but she closes her front room on the way,
‘youre not to go there’ she says,
and Joan and Ken and Olive are already sitting round Grans kitchen table and Olive has her face stuck in a big handkerchief,
but suddenly theres the sound of a door opening and that gets Gran going so shes sobbing out loud and i peep down the passageway and its only Mum and Michael but theyre bringing Doctor Halliday with his hat held against his chest, and Mike looks serious about something so i wish i could go into the front room too, but Olive tucks her hanky away and reaches up and wraps her arms around me and she hangs on to me because im her favourite and shes got hiccups,
‘its Uncle Ralph’ i say out loud, and Doctor Halliday comes out
‘he looks peaceful’ he tells us,
and puts his hat on and
Mum shows him to the front door,
and thats when Diana bursts out howling and now Olive looks up at me, so im trying to believe Uncle Ralph is really dead and im trying to cry,
‘its a tragedy’ Ken says ‘he was still in his prime’
and i keep trying but the tears wont come and i dont know whats the matter with me and i dont know what to feel because i dont feel anything at all, and now Gran comes back to the kitchen to fill the kettle,
‘but all he did’ Olive wails in a loud voice ‘was go to the cinema!’
‘he was standing right outside’ says Gran,
and Ken puts his arm around Joan because shes his wife and shes holding baby Andrew in her arms so she cant do anything except cry,
‘nevertheless’ Ken says ‘it was a good clean way to go’
‘he just dropped dead on the spot’ says Olive ‘apparently’
but all the women are around us and watching us and crying while they are telling us about it and Mikes crying too, so i know i have to do my bit and i know what they expect and im usually such a good liar, but its no good,
and now Mums looking at me so she can see im not sorry and she thinks i dont care,
‘Rod’ she asks me ‘are you remembering the white feather?’
this is such a brilliant idea that i nod,
‘i thought so’ she says,
and kisses me,
‘what white feather?’ Ken booms,
Diana takes hold of my hand,
but now Mums squatting down so she can look at us both on the level,
‘darlings’ she explains ‘theres something you should know about your Uncle Ralph’
Olive lets out a sob,
‘while the war was on he had to keep a secret’ Mum says ‘none of us knew, not even Gran’
‘none of us’ Olive wails,
‘because hed been sworn to secrecy’ Mum says ‘and Gran and Joan and i, well we worried about that and we suffered’
Di and i look at one another because we dont know what to do, and the kettle starts singing on the stove,
‘we kept wishing he would enlist even though he was his age’ Mum weeps ‘well, now we know’
‘he did!’ Gran pipes up,
and i dont know if theres more to come or if thats it,
‘no reason to be ashamed of old Ralph’ says Ken,
‘poor Ralph’ says Joan, stroking her babys head,
‘and now, so we hear’ Mum says ‘theres a citation’
at last i can stop pretending,
‘whats a citation?’ i ask,
‘a kind of medal’ Michael tells me,
‘from the Special Air Service Regiment’ Gran says,
she takes down a tea caddy and she sets out some cups and saucers, and Olive gets up to fetch a bottle of milk from the pantry and pours some into a jug and covers it with a little fly net so the fringe beads tinkle against the china,
‘it turns out that all this time’ Mum says ‘hes been on active service in the Air Force’
‘right from the beginning of the war’ Gran says,
‘no one knew’ Olive wails,
and Ken pats his moustache,
‘all he ever told me’ Gran says ‘was that he trained recruits’
‘your Uncle Ralph was a glider pilot’ Ken tells us,
‘i think of him out there at night’ Mum says ‘gliding high above enemy territory on a secret mission’
‘with paratroopers aboard’ Joan says at last ‘all ready to jump out over enemy territory’
‘my brother Ralph’ says Mum,
now i can see him too and i can see his glider gliding in the dark air and the aerofoils lifting him and i can see those paratroopers getting ready to jump,
‘so its a mystery that his heart gave out when it did’ Gran says ‘back home safe and sound and taking himself to the pictures’
‘just like that’ Ken says and snaps his fingers,
Uncle Ralph is dead and Mums given me his sunglasses to keep for a week, and she found a lost photo of you and im going to keep looking at it because i never knew you smoked a white pipe in an army camp, and im going to drink a bottle of beer too when i grow up,
The things on Grans table are not much, just a badge thats two golden wings and a propelling pencil made of silver and a mans wallet and stuff, a few letters and a postcard on top addressed to Mr Ralph Buckland with a small red Edward VIII penny stamp like the ones ive got in my album,
Dear old chap
Dods brought the baby to visit me. The little fellow has inherited such lung power from someone in the family he bawled and bawled the whole time! Operatic, to put it mildly. But it did my heart good to hear him. And my little girl is growing into such a darling she’s the image of my sister Gertrude. And young Michael is a proper trooper, I’m proud to say. After they left I waved to them from the window and Dods held the baby up for a last look. Well, life in a hospital is not something I’d recommend. Stay out of it as long as you can. So happy about your visit too, it was a proper tonic. Thanks for coming,
Dick
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS & NOTES
Shortly before Joan’s death in July 2006 I was grateful to have the chance of sharing these memories with her ... and, of course, with Michael and Diana, without whom very little of this would have happened in the first place.I have written everything down, exactly as I remember it, for my family—for Bet and our darling daughters, Imogen, Delia and Cressida—and for theirs.
My objective is to recapture each incident as it was stamped on my memory at the time: necessarily, this entails reconstructing dialogue true to the accent and character of the speakers—as legitimate a part of memory as the incidents themselves. I am grateful to Dylan Clau whose fine ear for nuance has been of great assistance in my rediscovery of the child’s own voice.
Thanks are also due to my publisher, Colette Vella, my agent, Mary Cunnane, and to the wonderful people at Victoria University, Elizabeth Harman, John McCallum and all.
p.51 coms. Short for combinations. This was an old-fashioned full-length undergarment combining vest and pants, covering the whole body from neck to ankle, sometimes with long sleeves too.
p.65 indelible pencil. Obsolete now though, at the time, every child knew what an indelible pencil was and that you couldn’t rub out what you had written if you used one, also that the sharpened lead would stain your tongue purple if you licked it.
Published in 2010 by Pier 9, an imprint of Murdoch Books Pty Limited
Murdoch Books Australia
Pier 8/9
23 Hickson Road
Millers Point NSW 2000
Phone: +61 (0) 2 8220 2000
Fax: +61 (0) 2 8220 2558
www.murdochbooks.com.au
Murdoch Books UK Limited
Erico House, 6th Floor
93–99 Upper Richmond Road
Putney, London SW15 2TG
Phone: +44 (0) 20 8785 5995
Fax: +44 (0) 20 8785 5985
www.murdochbooks.co.uk
Publisher: Colette Vella
Project Editor: Kate Fitzgerald
Designer: Sandy Cull
Text copyright © Rodney Hall 2010
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Design copyright © Murdoch Books Pty Limited 2010
Cover image by Getty
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Author: Hall, Rodney, 1935-
Title: Popeye never told you [electronic resource] : childhood memories of the war / Rodney Hall.
ISBN: 9781742662039 (ebook)
Subjects: Hall, Rodney, 1935---Childhood and youth.
World War, 1939-1945--Children--England--Biography--Anecdotes.
Children and war--England--Biography--Anecdotes.
Dewey Number: 940.53161092