‘You can say them quietly,’ said Dan, ‘I’ve got good hearin’ and I’m a good listener.’
‘Don’t make me laugh, you never listen at all. Them gels of yours are runnin’ wild. They tied a kettle to the tail of a neighbour’s cat this afternoon. Mrs Tompkins’, they said.’
‘Yes, she offered to ’ave them for the afternoon.’
‘Well, she sent them back ’ome, and that’s cost you a smashed vase in the parlour and me two hours of me dressmakin’ time. And now they’ve got green paint all over their faces.’
‘Yes, I saw that,’ said Dan, keeping himself safely locked in.
‘Oh, yes, and funny, wasn’t it? Loads of laughs. But the gen’ral picture’s not funny.’
‘Well, Tilly, if you could just wash their faces—’
‘What? If I could do what?’
‘There’s a face flannel and soap in the scullery.’
‘Oh, yer saucy comic! Dan Rogers, if you don’t come out of there and take a wallopin’ like a man, I’ll break the door down.’
‘Elvira tried that once,’ said Dan.
‘Never mind – oh, blow yer,’ said Tilly, suddenly hating to think her aggressiveness put her on a par with that circus act. ‘Them gels are all yours, and so are yer problems.’ And she went into her room, closing the door with a bit of a bang. She heard him come out quite soon after and she heard him go down the stairs. And half a minute later she heard shrieks of laughter in the kitchen.
He just didn’t seem to care that his girls were illegitimate and were without any kind of mother.
Blow the man.
‘Freddy, I’ve been thinkin’,’ said Cassie that evening. They were out walking.
‘Thinking’s supposed to be good for yer,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, me dad told me that once,’ said Cassie.
‘Funny it don’t seemed to ’ave ’elped you much, Cassie.’
‘Course it has,’ said Cassie, ‘I’m the most thinkin’ girl that was ever born. Anyway, when I was thinkin’ at supper this evenin’, it made me mention to me dad that ’e’s got a niece that’s nineteen and lost ’er job a while ago. The fact’ry she worked in in Camberwell got burnt down, and it won’t be rebuilt for ages. I said p’raps Dad’s niece could come and look after Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ every day if Mr Rogers could afford to pay ’er a wage. Dad said well, ask Mr Rogers first. So when we get back, we’ll do that, Freddy, we’ll knock and ask ’im.’
‘Stone the crows,’ grinned Freddy.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Cassie.
‘Well, that’s good thinkin’, Cassie, which don’t ’appen all the time with you. Well, not a lot. Still, once in a while is promisin’, I’d say.’
‘Fancy you bein’ compliment’ry like that,’ said Cassie. ‘D’you think it bodes well?’
‘Do I think what?’
‘Freddy, don’t yer know what bodes well means?’
‘No, I work with me dad in one of me brother-in-law Sammy’s scrap metal yards.’
‘That don’t mean you shouldn’t know what bodes well means,’ said Cassie.
‘All right,’ said Freddy, ‘what does it mean?’
‘Well, it could mean that later on you and me might live ’appy ever after,’ said Cassie.
Freddy looked at his girl mate. In her printed dress and the boater she’d always worn during her years at school, she was a happy-go-lucky dreamer. And crackers as well. But he liked her.
‘I was actu’lly thinkin’ of goin’ in for football later on,’ he said.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Cassie.
They called on Mr Rogers when they got back, and Cassie told him about her dad’s niece. Dan said he liked the sound of a regular weekly help, and would pay a wage of twelve bob for five-and-a-half days.
‘Tell yer dad that, Cassie,’ he said.
‘Yes, I will,’ said Cassie. She and Freddy were in the parlour with him, and she jumped a little at a crashing sound in the kitchen. ‘Crikey, Mr Rogers, what’s that?’
The answer to that came from Penny-Farving. She called from the kitchen.
‘Dad, a chair’s fell over.’
‘All right, stand it up again,’ called Dan.
Tilly’s voice floated down from the landing.
‘Who’s breakin’ the ’ouse up?’
‘It’s all right, Miss Thomas,’ called Freddy, ‘it’s just a chair fell over in the kitchen.’
‘If you believe that, you’ll believe anything,’ called Tilly, and went back into her room.
‘Anyway, thanks, Cassie, for thinkin’ of the girls,’ said Dan.
‘Oh, pleasured, I’m sure,’ said Cassie, ‘and I just remembered, me dad wondered if you took ’is niece on, if you’d stamp ’er card as an employee, like.’
‘You bet I will,’ said Dan. ‘See you in the mornin’, Cassie.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m goin’ to take Freddy ’ome with me now so’s we can talk to our parrot.’
‘Pardon me, but I ain’t goin’,’ said Freddy.
‘Course you are,’ said Cassie, ‘then I’ll let you play football later on when you’re older.’
‘So long, Freddy,’ smiled Dan.
‘I ask meself, what’s the use?’ said Freddy.
On their way to King and Queen Street, they met Mrs Harper coming out of the Jug and Bottle, the off-licence attached to the pub in Browning Street.
‘’Ello, dearies.’ Mrs Harper was very amiable. Well, she had a bottle of gin in a straw bag, and was going to have a drop or two to give herself a cheerful evening. The men were no real company. ‘’Ow’s yer young selves, eh?’
‘Well, Cassie’s still goin’ strong, and I’m still alive,’ said Freddy, ‘so we ain’t complainin’.’
‘He’s a joker, that lad,’ said Mrs Harper to Cassie.
‘Yes, but I always do the best I can with ’im,’ said Cassie. ‘Has Percy ’ad a nice day?’
‘Well, ’e’s got ’is birdseed and no worries,’ said Mrs Harper, ‘so ’e ain’t complainin’, neither. Toodle-oo duckies.’ Away she went, happy with her gin.
Going on with Freddy, Cassie told him she’d taken Bubbles and Penny-Farving to see Percy that morning, and he’d said the same thing again.
‘What same thing?’ asked Freddy.
‘He said he’d hit us,’ said Cassie.
‘Strike a light,’ said Freddy, ‘what with all the barmy people about, it’s a bit much that there’s barmy parrots as well.’
‘Cecil ain’t barmy,’ said Cassie.
‘Not much,’ said Freddy.
Chapter Thirteen
‘UM, TILLY?’ SAID Dan, knocking on her bedroom door. It was only fifteen-minutes-to-eight.
‘I’m in bed,’ she called. She wasn’t. She was dressing. She had her underwear on and was fixing the hooks and eyes that ran down the front of her white corset.
‘Oh, right,’ said Dan, and opened the door and put his head in. Tilly uttered a little shriek, and Dan goggled. What a woman. Her legs and thighs were actually superior to those belonging to the temperamental reincarnation of a Hungarian dancer. Morning light ran up and down her shining stockings. ‘Oh, sorry.’ The apology served no purpose. The bed bolster arrived smack in his chops. And again. He retreated fast and just escaped having the slammed door flatten his hooter.
‘I’m on to you, you lecher!’ The hissed words reached his ears through the door. ‘Wait till I’m dressed, then I’ll come down and poke your eyes out, you ’ear me?’
‘Don’t do that, Tilly. Honest mistake. Thought you were under yer blankets. I just came up to tell you there’s no worry about the girls today. The woman who runs our works canteen—’
‘Your what?’
‘Our works canteen, the kind they’ve got at some tram depots. I get my break from one till two, so I’ll be poppin’ home to pick up the girls and take ’em back with me. Our canteen lady finishes at two and she only lives round the corner from our works, so she’ll take
them home with her and I’ll collect them when I finish me labours. I don’t want them to be landed on you again. Can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve been – um, sorry I um – well, sorry. Mind you, Tilly, I think you’d look even better in tights and spangles than Elvira—’
The door opened. Tilly in a dressing-gown appeared, hands gripping one end of the bolster. She swung it. It collided with Dan’s face again, and the blow nearly knocked him backwards over the banisters.
‘How’d you like your eggs fried?’ panted Tilly, and went for him again. Dan ducked and ran. The bolster, of course, followed him down the stairs, as it had before, Tilly chucking it at him. It landed on the floor of the passage. He stopped and looked up at her.
‘No hard feelings, Tilly, hope you ’ave a nice quiet day,’ he said.
‘Hope you break your leg,’ said Tilly.
Dan grinned.
What a woman.
He’d written to Gladys – no, Elvira – last night and set out plainly what he thought was owing to Bubbles and Penny-Farving. Married parents, that was what he and she owed them. All right, he’d written, he and she needn’t live together, he wouldn’t force her to do that, knowing her life was with the circus. But they ought to get married for the girls’ sake, and he was hoping to arrange for a young woman to come in every day on a permanent basis to see that Bubbles and Penny-Farving had some kind of mothering. They were running wild. He hoped she would answer his letter and agree to a wedding ceremony, a quiet one. Could she answer fairly quickly?
He addressed the letter to Miss Elvira Karola, c/o Blundell’s Circus, Margate, Kent.
‘Sammy, have you thought any more about keepin’ the one scrap yard for the sake of Freddy and my dad?’ asked Susie, just as Sammy was leaving the house.
‘Susie, I’m workin’ on it,’ said Sammy.
‘You sure you are?’ said Susie.
‘Now, Susie, do I ever tell you porkies?’
‘Sometimes, Sammy, you tell me things that don’t always mean what I think they do.’
‘Me, yours truly?’ said Sammy, a well-set-up and personable businessman whose blue eyes looked as honest as the day was long, which was saying something considering the number of competitors he’d left floundering in his wake. ‘You’re thinkin’ of Boots, me treasure. Even when he says pass the salt, you get a feelin’ he means it’s goin’ to be foggy tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I adore Boots,’ said Susie a little wickedly.
‘You can’t,’ said Sammy, ‘I forbid it.’
‘Oh, you do, do you, Sammy Adams?’
‘You bet I do, Mrs Adams,’ said Sammy, ‘I’ve got to hold you to love, honouring and obeyin’.’
‘Ha-ha,’ said Susie, and Sammy winked, kissed her and set off for his office.
It was a quite beautiful June morning, in this, the twelfth year of peace since the Great War had come to an end. The devil, however, was still exacting his price from victors and losers alike, so much so that one could have said there had only been losers. Unemployment, economic depression, anarchy, the rise of Stalin and the emergence of Hitler, both acolytes of the devil, all contributed to the woes and sufferings of people in Europe and elsewhere. Secret societies and secret services were more active than ever.
Nevertheless, the morning was so beautiful that Mr Finch, a secret service gentleman himself, phoned a colleague in a department in Whitehall and informed him he was taking the day off.
‘Well, good luck, old man, do you have an outing and a fast filly in mind?’
‘I’ve an outing in mind, yes,’ said Mr Finch, ‘but with my wife, not a fast filly.’
‘Allow me in haste to point out I meant a visit to the races at Lingfield and a fiver on Merry Maid in the three-thirty.’
‘Allow me, George, to accept your apology.’
‘Very decent of you, old man. Enjoy yourselves.’
‘We will,’ said Mr Finch. Accordingly, he and Chinese Lady prepared for their outing, Chinese Lady quite delighted by the idea of a motorcar ride into the country, even if she would have preferred to travel by horse and cart. What she actually had in mind was a pony and trap, but all such conveyances were horses and carts to her. She still didn’t trust motorcars. Well, even though Edwin was a very reliable motor driver, that didn’t mean the engine wouldn’t blow up.
Mr Finch came out of the house some time after ten to check the petrol gauge of his Morris car and to place Chinese Lady’s umbrella in the back. Chinese Lady was apt not to trust the weather, either. She was going to do a little country shopping and the umbrella was a precaution.
A car pulled up on the other side of the road as Mr Finch approached his Morris in the gravelled drive. It tucked itself up behind a grocer’s parked delivery van. Its occupants glimpsed Mr Finch. Chinese Lady put her head out of their bedroom window.
‘Edwin, where did you say we were goin’?’ she called.
‘Farnham, Maisie. For lunch at the Red Lion Hotel.’
‘Oh, yes, there should be some nice shops in Farnham,’ said Chinese Lady, and withdrew her head to put her Sunday hat on.
They left ten minutes later, making for Merton, Epsom and Leatherhead. The Morris hummed along amid a fair amount of traffic, which became lighter once they reached Leatherhead, from where they took the road to Guildford. The countryside was green with early summer, the Surrey Hills arousing a comment in Chinese Lady.
‘I must say, Edwin, I used to think Hampstead ’Eath quite countrified, but it was never like this.’
‘Hampstead Heath, of course, is somewhat urbanized, Maisie.’
‘Is that a government word, Edwin? I don’t like government words, specially as Boots always says they cost taxpayers money. I will say he does talk sense sometimes. My, doesn’t everything look pretty? We do have some very nice scenery in this country.’
‘Our small island, Maisie, has an infinite variety.’
‘Mind you,’ said Chinese Lady, looking very nicely dressed in a lightweight costume and her Sunday hat, ‘I like seein’ trams and buses and London markets – Edwin, what’re you tryin’ to do?’
‘Overtake the slowcoach in front,’ said Mr Finch.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘we’re not in any hurry and we don’t want a wheel to fall off.’
‘There’s traffic behind, Maisie,’ said Mr Finch. The car in front was dawdling, its passengers probably just enjoying a leisurely outing, he thought. He overtook on a straight stretch, much to Chinese Lady’s discomfort. She simply didn’t trust the feeling of the Morris moving fast. Mr Finch, however, accomplished the manoeuvre smartly and quickly. The other traffic behind moved up on the slow car.
‘I’m sorry people don’t drive horses and carts like they used to when I was younger,’ said Chinese Lady.
‘Alas for progress, Maisie,’ smiled Mr Finch, ‘it causes the disappearance of much that we hold dear.’
‘Yes, like modesty,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘which I’ve always held in natural respect. When I think of them 1926 fashions and my daughter and daughters-in-law showing their legs like they did, well, that was when young women simply didn’t ’ave no modesty at all.’
‘Fashions can be a revelation, Maisie.’
‘I don’t like that word, Edwin.’
‘I note your disapproval,’ said Mr Finch, smiling. His wife was never going to be less than incurably Victorian. He motored through the little villages of Surrey towards Guildford, rarely clocking more than thirty miles an hour in indulgence of her preference for safe travel. The traffic behind, having passed the slow car, caught him up, and two or three motorists overtook him, making Chinese Lady frown.
‘I don’t know why some people are in a hurry to break their necks,’ she said. ‘I must say you drive quite nice yourself, Edwin.’
‘Thank you, Maisie. Are you enjoying the outing and the countryside?’
‘Yes, ever so much,’ said Chinese Lady, and her enjoyment was very apparent after they left Guildford b
ehind and were travelling along the Hog’s Back with its panoramic views of Surrey in the sunshine of June. Passing the Hog’s Back Hotel, Mr Finch suggested that after lunch and shopping in Farnham, they could, on their return journey, stop at the hotel for a pot of tea. Chinese Lady said well, that sounds very nice, Edwin.
When they reached Farnham, he signalled a left turn before he pulled into the carriage yard of the old-established Red Lion Hotel, and following cars passed them.
In the Red Lion, Chinese Lady enjoyed an excellent lunch with her worldly husband. They dined leisurely, and followed that with what Chinese Lady considered was country shopping. That was leisurely too, so that when they stopped at the Hog’s Back Hotel on their return journey, Chinese Lady was more than ready for a welcome pot of tea. She also fell in with Mr Finch’s suggestion that some buttered toast would go down well with the tea. She thought the latter, when poured from a silver pot, was extremely high-class, but no more satisfying as a reviver than that which she had poured a thousand times from an old glazed pot during her years of penury in Walworth. She said so, but immediately assured Edwin that it was still a lovely treat to take tea here.
Mr Finch smiled. An intelligent man, a university graduate and widely travelled, he had seen much of the world and run up against the idiosyncrasies of many different peoples. All the same, he considered Chinese Lady worth a mention in the journal of any traveller. He had come to know she was what the English called ‘a character’. Her cockney origins had endowed her with fortitude and resilience, and also with a belief that proper behaviour and a proper way of speaking made people respect you. Most of all she believed in the omnipotence and infallibility of the Almighty, and that marriage and the family had been ordered from Above.
At fifty-three, she was still pleasant to look at, and grey had not yet touched her brown hair. Further, she still had a quite proud walk, which stemmed from the days when, as a striving young wife and mother, she carried herself in very upright fashion to show that although she was poor she was also respectable, with nothing to be ashamed of. Mr Finch was extremely fond of her, although they were far apart intellectually. But, then, he had never found that a drawback in his relationship with her, first as her lodger and later as her husband. His admiration for what she and her family had achieved had no ifs or buts about it.
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