Pride of Walworth

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘No, he didn’t say he and Aunt Alice were coming over, Mum,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Lizzy frankly.

  Chapter Six

  MA, OF COURSE, was tickled to hear her one and only son was in line for a rise. The family weren’t too badly off at this stage, but Ma would have liked something for extras, such as new clothes for Amy and Fanny. Even more, she would have liked enough extras for the family to enjoy a week’s summer holiday at Margate. She quite fancied Margate, it sounded as if it had more class than Southend, and a sailor’s family was entitled to a bit of seaside class.

  Nick gave her seventeen shillings out of his weekly wage of twenty-two-and-six, and Alice contributed eight shillings out of the twelve-and-six she earned at Galloway’s. Then there was the monthly handout from Mister Horsemouth, the dubious character the family suspected of having sent Pa into the lions’ den. It was a cert that the jewels had finished up in his mitts, although at the trial Pa hadn’t said a word about any accomplices.

  Mister Horsemouth had gradually cut down on his handout on account of Nick and Alice both earning. It still looked after the rent, but there was a balance of only a few bob. Pa hadn’t liked hearing about reductions, but they’d happened, all the same.

  Anyway, as a family of five they were hardly well off. Most of the furniture was their own, but it had all seen better days. Somewhere in Queen Anne’s time, said Alice. Ma said the stuff was good for a few more years, and that if they got really hard-up they could sell the piano.

  ‘Sell it?’ said Amy. ‘Who’d buy it?’

  ‘You couldn’t even give it away,’ said Alice.

  ‘Yes, you could,’ said Ma, ‘there must be ’undreds of people that would fall over theirselves to ’ave a piano like ours. It’s a valuable antique, don’t forget, it’s not any old piano.’

  ‘It looks like any old piano to me,’ said Nick.

  ‘I bet all we’d get for it would be one-and-tuppence and two jamjars,’ said young Fanny.

  ‘I’ll ’ave all of you know it’s been in your Pa’s fam’ly for goodness knows how long,’ said Ma, born like most perky females to have the last word. ‘I think your Pa said it’s got Queen Anne’s birthmark on it somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, I mentioned about Queen Anne,’ said Alice, lifting her skirt and toasting her slip in front of the kitchen fire. The fireguard prevented her action from being suicidal. ‘But you sure Pa said birthmark, Ma?’

  ‘Well, something like that,’ said Ma. ‘Mind, I don’t remember any Queen Anne meself, but I do remember your Pa tellin’ me just before the police came lookin’ for him that it was a fam’ly heirloom.’

  ‘You can’t sell it, then,’ said Amy.

  ‘Not unless Pa says so,’ complained Fanny.

  ‘We’ll ’ave to see,’ said Ma.

  ‘Amy won’t be able to play us any tunes on it if it’s sold,’ said Fanny.

  ‘We’ll ’ave to see,’ said Ma again. ‘Of course, we could take in a lodger for the upstairs top.’

  The terraced houses in this part of Browning Street were three-storeyed. The family’s top floor was furnished but not used. Mister Horsemouth had originally said not to have lodgers. Lodgers, he said, could be nosy and interfering, and could hear what they weren’t supposed to hear. Ma agreed. Pa’s misfortunes had to be kept dark.

  ‘We don’t want any lodger,’ said Fanny.

  ‘Lodgers get drunk and fall down the stairs,’ said Amy.

  ‘Lodgers look through keyholes,’ said Alice.

  ‘If any lodgers looked through my keyhole,’ said Ma, ‘he’d ’ave to ask the vicar to come and give ’im his last rites. Still, we could let the upstairs top for ten shillings, what with there bein’ three rooms and its own lav, and a gas ring in one room.’

  ‘I’ll leave home,’ said Alice.

  ‘Now, Alice,’ said Ma, ‘you can’t leave ’ome till you’re twenty-one or married.’

  ‘Well, I can’t get married till Pa’s out, can I?’ said Alice. ‘I don’t want a bridegroom whose dad-in-law is a convict. I don’t suppose Nick’s keen, either.’

  ‘Not on a bridegroom I’m not,’ said Nick.

  ‘I know all about that,’ said Ma, a bit short for once, ‘and kindly remember I don’t like anyone usin’ that word, Alice. Walls ’ave ears, don’t forget. What was I saying? Oh, yes, your Pa’s ’elpful friend was ’ere Friday afternoon, when ’e said ’e might be recommendin’ someone as a lodger.’

  ‘Now I know why you talked about sellin’ the piano,’ said Alice, ‘it was a way of leadin’ us up to ’aving a lodger. Old Horsy told you we’ve got to have one, of course.’

  ‘I thought he was against lodgers,’ said Nick.

  ‘That was out of the goodness of ’is heart,’ said Ma.

  ‘His heart?’ said Amy. ‘Where’s ’e keep it, in his bowler hat?’

  ‘Now, Amy, he didn’t want us to ’ave any lodgers at first so that we could sorrow for Pa in private. It’s what you call human sympathy.’ Ma looked as if she was struggling valiantly to believe it. ‘Mind you, I’m not saying he don’t owe us the ’elp he gives us, seein’ it was your Pa that ’ad to go off to the China Seas, and not ’im. Anyway, no-one can say a lodger’s rent money wouldn’t be useful. Fanny, don’t make faces, you might get struck like it. We’ve got to think about a lodger’s rent and about bein’ obligin’.’

  ‘Hands up all those that don’t want to be obligin’,’ said Amy.

  ‘Me,’ said Fanny.

  ‘I’m not ’aving that,’ said Ma, ‘it’s like mutiny. What an example to set your sailor Pa.’

  ‘Ugh, we’re goin’ to ’ave a lodger,’ said Fanny. ‘I might as well be sick now.’

  ‘Not in the kitchen, if you don’t mind,’ said Ma. ‘Go and do it in the yard lav, and don’t forget to pull the chain. Anyway, it’s not certain about a lodger. Your Pa’s ’elpful friend just mentioned it in case it came to pass.’

  ‘Well, if it does come to pass,’ said Alice, ‘we’ll all be sick, not just Fanny.’

  The house suited the girls as it was. It was just the family’s. They liked the house and the street. Browning Street was always full of life.

  Supper for the Harrisons that evening was Ma’s version of a Lancashire hot-pot. That meant it was put together very economically and had a lot of gravy to it. Ma was tops at gravies, especially when she cooked a roast. Walworth was the right place for kitchen gravies. Posh people said that the French excelled at all kinds of gravies and sauces, but that it took them all day just to dish one up. Ma and other Walworth mums could put a rattling fine gravy on the table in no time at all. The French got all the credit, however, because a breed of people called gourmets went off their chumps about cooks who took all day over anything. Nick refrained from telling Ma this in case she took umbrage and sorted out the nearest gourmet by pouring a panful of hot thick beef gravy into his trousers. Here, see how you like this for flavour, she’d say, and if it’s hot enough.

  ‘Heard anything more about a lodger, Ma?’ asked Amy.

  ‘What lodger?’ said Ma. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, ‘no.’

  ‘What d’you mean, oh yes no?’ asked young Fanny.

  ‘I ’aven’t ’eard any more, that’s what I mean,’ said Ma.

  ‘’Ooray,’ said Fanny.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Ma. ‘but like I mentioned before, what about a lodger’s rent? We could do with that, then I might be able to buy new Sunday dresses for you girls. I’d like you all to look nice on Sundays and be a credit to me and your Pa.’

  ‘I already look nice on Sundays,’ said Alice, who did, and by dint of taking great care of all her clothes.

  ‘I don’t want to sort of rubbish Pa,’ said Amy, ‘but what about ’im bein’ a credit to us?’

  ‘Yes, we love Pa,’ said Alice, ‘but we’ve done a lot of sorrowing for ’im.’

  ‘We’ve earned medals sorrowing for Knocker Pa,’ said Nick.

  ‘
Crikey,’ said Amy, ‘listen to him bein’ cheeky.’

  ‘Yes, Nick’s got a bit of ’is Pa’s devilry in ’im,’ said Ma. ‘Mind, I’m not saying I didn’t like some of your Pa’s devilry – well, never mind that, let’s ’ope Nick’s devilry don’t land ’im in the same boat as your Pa.’

  ‘If it does,’ said Alice, ‘they both ought to be chucked overboard.’

  ‘Like a tickle after supper, would you, Alice?’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, me gawd, no, I wouldn’t,’ said Alice.

  ‘Now, Nick, I don’t want Alice screamin’ the house down with the neighbours listening,’ said Ma.

  ‘It’s ’is devilry, Ma,’ said young Fanny.

  Dumpling came round later, along with Freddy and Danny, for the usual Wednesday evening committee meeting.

  And Cassie came too. She’d called on Freddy and told him she had to address the committee.

  ‘What d’you mean, address it?’ asked Freddy, who had gradually acquired the kind of looks Cassie thought a developing young man should have.

  ‘That’s what my knowing dad said it was,’ declared Cassie, quite a vision in a cherry red coat that kept out the chill of the autumnal night. She worked in a florist’s shop in Kennington for ten shillings a week, and saved most of it for clothes.

  ‘Yes, I think I’ve heard of people addressin’ committees,’ said plump and placid Mrs Brown.

  ‘I’ve ’eard of ’em chuckin’ rotten cabbages at council committees,’ said lean and wiry Mr Brown, ‘which I suppose ain’t exactly same as addressin’ them.’

  ‘I’m good at addressin’,’ said Cassie, ‘I inherited it from me dad. Well, he used to work at Clapham Junction railway station.’

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t ask,’ said Freddy, ‘but what’s that got to do with addressin’ a football committee?’

  ‘Well, me dad used to address the stationmaster, didn’t he?’ said Cassie.

  ‘You’re a laugh a minute, you are, Cassie,’ said Mr Brown, enjoying a pipe of tobacco by the kitchen fire.

  ‘Potty as well,’ said Freddy. ‘Never mind, she’s still me keenest football admirer.’

  ‘Freddy, stop talkin’ as if you had no head,’ said Cassie. ‘Anyway, put your cap and scarf on, and we’ll go round to Nick’s together so’s I can address the committee.’

  ‘All right,’ said Freddy, who never quite knew why he always resigned himself to doing what she wanted. When he arrived with her on Nick’s doorstep at the same time as Dumpling and Danny, he explained she had some idea about including herself in the meeting.

  Nick said, ‘Now look here, Cassie—’

  ‘He’s off,’ said Dumpling, ‘he’s doin’ ’is look ’ere bit. Still, ’e did play ’eroic on Saturday. So did I.’

  ‘I’ve come to represent the supporters,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Oh, they’ve got a point to make, have they?’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, of course they ’ave,’ said Cassie, ‘or I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

  ‘All right,’ said Nick, ‘come and join in.’

  The meeting began with Cassie sitting in. After the minutes had been read, Dumpling had her usual wordy say about everything touching on last Saturday’s game, and nor did she forget to make a speech about her inspired performance as goalkeeper.

  ‘Reg’lar marvel you were, Dumpling,’ said besotted Danny.

  ‘Yes, did yer notice the whole team gave me kisses and cuddles afterwards, Cassie?’ said Dumpling. ‘Not soppy stuff, of course, more out of admiration for me savin’ the penalty.’

  ‘It was really touchin’,’ said Cassie, ‘you gettin’ all those cuddles, Chrissie. I don’t get many myself. Just about two a week.’

  ‘Well, hard luck,’ said Nick, ‘write to Peg’s Paper about it. We’ll get on with the meeting.’ As treasurer, among other things, he was able to announce the team had four shillings and tuppence in the kitty. He proposed that that could go towards the cost of a brand new football of their own, and that they could double the weekly subscriptions until they had enough to make the purchase.

  Dumpling was against it, and said so.

  ‘What d’yer want to go and buy a football for when there’s mine that’ll last for ages? It’s daft. And the kitty’s supposed to be kept for buyin’ new shorts and shirts, it’s in the rules.’

  ‘Well, Nick’s proposed a change,’ said Freddy.

  ‘It ain’t been seconded,’ said Dumpling.

  ‘All right, I’ll second it,’ said Freddy.

  ‘I ain’t accepted the proposal,’ said Dumpling, ‘so I don’t ’ave to ask anyone to second it.’

  ‘Dumpling, what’re you talkin’ about?’ asked Danny.

  ‘It’s my turn to be chairman,’ said Dumpling. ‘We all ’ave to take turns so that it’s fair. That’s in the rules too, and it’s my turn this week.’

  ‘Wait a bit,’ said Freddy, ‘how d’you know so much about the rules? You weren’t on the committee when we started the team two years ago.’

  Dumpling pointed out that when she did get on the committee, she found Nick had only scribbled the rules on a piece of notepaper. So she copied them all out in her best handwriting in an exercise book she bought for a penny out of her own money. She said there was one rule about all committee members taking turns to be chairman, and that they’d all been sloppy about it except herself, which was why she knew it was her turn to be chairman this evening.

  ‘So it’s me duty not to accept any proposal to buy a new ball out of money that’s against the rules,’ she said.

  ‘I second that,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Do what?’ said Freddy.

  ‘I second what Chrissie said,’ smiled Cassie.

  ‘Cassie, you’re goin’ to make me old before me time if you don’t stop playin’ Alice in ruddy Wonderland,’ said Freddy. ‘You can’t second anything, you’re not on the committee, and even if you were you could only second something that’s been proposed.’

  ‘All right,’ said Dumpling, ‘I propose we don’t buy a new ball against the rules.’

  ‘I second that,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Danny,’ said Nick, ‘chuck both these girls out.’

  ‘Me?’ said Danny, shaken at the thought of chucking Dumpling anywhere.

  ‘’Ere, nobody’s goin’ to chuck me out,’ said Dumpling, ‘that’s against the rules as well. The rules say—’

  ‘Dumpling, d’you want to live to see Christmas?’ asked Nick.

  ‘Yes, course I do, we’ve got matches ev’ry Saturday,’ said Dumpling.

  ‘Then stop hogging the meeting,’ said Nick. ‘Now, about a new football. Double subscriptions would help us buy a couple of the best quality.’

  Dumpling quivered all over.

  ‘But what about my football?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, let’s be frank, Dumpling, we wouldn’t need it any more,’ said Freddy.

  ‘So I wouldn’t be on the committee?’ said Dumpling. ‘That’s it, break me ’eart. It don’t matter I’ve given the Rovers nearly two years of me lifeblood and saved a penalty against the Rangers. Go on, chuck me out, then, so’s I don’t ’ave anything to live for.’

  ‘I’m not secondin’ that,’ said Cassie. ‘Crikey, it’s like sendin’ Chrissie to the Tower to have her head chopped off.’

  ‘All right, let’s settle that one,’ said Nick. ‘I propose Dumpling be made a permanent member of the committee.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Me?’ gasped Dumpling.

  ‘I’ll second that,’ said Danny lovingly.

  ‘Up to you now, Madam Chairman,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, blimey,’ said Dumpling faintly, but pulled herself happily together. ‘All in favour of me bein’ permanent, show yer ’ands,’ she said. All hands went up, including Cassie’s. Cassie was kind of lovable in that she never allowed herself to be left out of anything. Freddy rolled his eyes. Well, what was the use of saying a word? His best girl had always been slightly off her rocker. But as his br
other Will was married to her sister Annie, he felt obliged to keep an eye on her and her potty ways.

  ‘Right, all in favour, Dumpling,’ said Nick. ‘Now you can say passed unanimously.’

  ‘All right, passed unanimous,’ said Dumpling, beaming. ‘I’ll put it in the minutes when I do them for yer, Nick. I don’t ’alf feel proud, bein’ on the committee permanent. Does that mean till me dyin’ day?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, y’er me fav’rite football captain ever,’ said Dumpling. ‘If you’re still alive when I pass on, Nick, could yer see me football’s buried with me?’

  ‘And the rules book as well?’ suggested Nick.

  ‘Crikey, what an honour,’ said Dumpling rapturously. ‘I’ll go to me grave as ’appy as a lark. Could yer think of something to put on me gravestone, Nick, you bein’ a bit more educated than me?’

  Nick thought, while Freddy and Danny did some coughing, and Cassie sat looking angelic. Then he came up with, ‘“Here lies good old Chrissie, who as a goalie was pretty, but better than that, as a matter of fact, she was on the Rovers’ committee.” Will that do, Dumpling?’

  ‘Oh, ain’t you clever, Nick? I never ’eard anything more heart-warmin’ for me epitaph.’

  ‘I second it,’ said Cassie, and Freddy rolled his eyes again.

  ‘Dumpling, I couldn’t be more pleased for yer,’ said Danny, ‘I could go ’appy with yer to yer grave.’

  ‘Sounds like a mournful cuddle-up,’ said Freddy. ‘I suppose we couldn’t get down to pickin’ Saturday’s team, could we?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Cassie, ‘I’ve got to speak up for the supporters first.’

  The Rovers boasted six supporters, namely Dumpling, Cassie, Alice, Fanny and the girlfriends of Charlie Cope and Ronnie Smith.

  ‘All right, Cassie, let’s hear you,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, thanks,’ said Cassie, ‘I hardly ever get heard at all usually.’