As he lay back against his pillows, Gabriel Strawbridge welcomed his guilt, his conscience, his impotent rage; he had little else these days. He needed to have his complacency halted. He had allowed old age and ailments to excuse him from responsibility. All over the world there were men and women who were suffering from the infirmities of old age by the time they were thirty, and children suffering mortal ailments, not mere stiff bones and dim eyesight.
As soon as he felt that hand, emaciated as it was from the battle with disease and malnutrition, he had begun to feel a kind of vitality flow into his own diminishing spirit.
All evening he had been sitting, thinking, wondering why it was that he had allowed himself to listen to his doctor who said that he must rest, must be calm, must stop becoming involved in matters best left to younger men. He had been weak enough to collude with his doctor’s advice, and so had May in her eagerness to preserve him for a few more years; the advice amounted to leading an uneventful, dull life. Between the three of them, Gabriel Strawbridge had become an old man; not merely old, he had become useless. He took from society and returned nothing: the very thing he had always been against. Who had the right to a free ticket to ride the planet? No one unless they were incapable, and for them, the rest must put in a bit more.
He had always firmly believed in that. It was supposed to be the basis of the Christian religions, but did any of them practise it?
It had not been old age, shortness of breath or dim vision that had persuaded him to stop putting in; it had been surrendering to the belief of younger people that a gerontic mind is the same as a senile mind. No good blaming May, she mollycoddled him because he was her father and she loved him. He knew perfectly well that he was not senile. Ted recognized that. In an argument, Ted never gave any quarter out of concern for Gabriel’s age.
Well, here was the very opportunity to do something. At this time of year, May and Ted worked from dawn to dusk. May wouldn’t hear any argument that it was too much for her to work in the fields the same as usual as well as caring for a sick child. She’d do both: May was like that. She’d inherited the Strawbridges’ liking for a hair-shirt. It was a good thing that the sick girl and young Bar were of an age: young Bar knew the house inside and out; she’d be a great help. Would two girls with such different backgrounds and upbringing get on; would they understand one another? A child of Portsmouth’s narrow slums, and a half-wild girl whose parents were outcasts and lived life very close to nature. He looked forward to seeing them together.
The narrow slums… He had known them from boyhood, from the years when he rode on horseback with his father to attend meetings of the people who were then brethren, taking what paltry few goods for the poor they could manage. Ted had come from there, not as emaciated as this child, but underfed, and with a constant run of mucus, and bow legs, a sure sign of the poorly nourished. As a young man, Gabriel had known that his journeys into the slums, with what surplus from the smallholding as could be managed, were partly to scratch under the hair-shirt at his own feelings of guilt because he’d been born into better circumstances.
He had never believed otherwise than that the baskets of fruit, crates of eggs and jars of honey were but a drop in the ocean of needs of the poor in that city, and there were backstreet slum children in every city in every country in the world.
In those days there was only one way for a boy to get out of the slums, and that was by signing up and becoming a cog in the war machine. Portsmouth being a seaport gave its poor boys the opportunity of being taken into the Navy. There they at least got fed and clothed, or they did until they had the misfortune of coming a cropper – as young Ted had done. For a minor misdemeanour, he had been lashed. He had only been a boy sailor, not yet grown enough to take sea-dog punishment. The beating had been so violent that his left arm had been rendered useless, which naturally rendered him useless to the Navy.
Even now, after all these years, he still felt the defeat of not being able to win the fight against Whitehall on the lad’s behalf. Well, at least they’d done something with Ted: he and Clara had made a man of him. And here was history almost repeating itself. He still missed Clara every day – how could he not when May was the living image of her?
Waiting for the house to go quiet, he lay back and planned what would be best. He would get May to go down into the village and get some Scott’s Emulsion, some Marmite, and a tin of malt. Clara had believed these three taken once a day were a cure-all. May knew it worked; more than once she had brought on a kid on it. Gabriel himself favoured the addition of citrus fruits to a convalescent diet.
Damnit, no! He would go down to the village himself. If he didn’t know the way there by now, then he never would. He made his way to the casement window; when he opened it his reward was the perfume of mahonia and winter-sweet.
* * *
Next morning, when Lu awakes, she is surprised to find the sun streaming in through the curtains that are billowing into the room on a warm breeze. There is no momentary puzzlement as to where she is, for, having never experienced such bright morning sun, she knows at once. She slides out of bed and looks out on the garden below which, like that at The Bells, is a hotch-potch of flowering bulbs and green plants bathed in sunlight; then she patters across the floor to a small cupboard which contains a daisy-speckled pail with a lid which, along with a striped face-flannel and towel is, as Aunty May had told her yesterday when they had come up and put her things in a drawer and on the night-table, hers to use whilst she is staying at Roman’s Fields. She then patters to the daisy-speckled water-jug and bowl, beside which, to her great pleasure, is a daisy-speckled beaker that hadn’t been there yesterday, in which is her own toothbrush and… a new tin of toothpaste. With this discovery, she confirms what she has suspected, what with this being a house with so many rooms: that Uncle Ted must be rich.
Hearing footsteps coming upstairs, she quickly puts her cardi on over her vest and knickers, her cardi being a woman’s size that has shrunk, but it still comes well down over her knickers. She waits expectantly in the middle of the room for Aunty May to come in and tell her what to do. But it isn’t Aunty May.
The door swings open and a girl, about her own age, stands there. She is short, brown. Her black hair is like a fuzz-bush, longer even than Lu’s own; it is tied back with a bit of creased red ribbon. She doesn’t move but stands there looking. Staring quite rudely, is what Lu thinks.
‘What you looking at? A’nt you never seen bare legs before?’
The girl bites her lips and hangs her head. ‘Sorry, I waddn’t meaning to stare, you caught me out because I never expected to see nobody up. I thought you was still asleep. Mis Wilmott said I got to be quiet and not wake you but to look round the door to see if you was.’
‘Well, I’m not.’ Embarrassed at having made the girl embarrassed, and knowing she is in the wrong, Lu pulls her cardigan around her even more tightly. Lu stands and the girl stands, and they say nothing until the other girl speaks, not actually looking at Lu. ‘Mis Wilmott left me to see you got a good breakfast.’
Lu panics a bit. ‘Where is she then, where’s she gone?’
‘She’s only gone to work.’ She has a slow, broad way of speaking, pronouncing it, ‘gorn a werk’.
‘To work?’ Lu feels herself abandoned, tricked. Nobody said Aunty May went out to work. She hadn’t been to work yesterday.
‘She’m only gone down the strawb’ry beds. Look—’ she points through the window and to the left – ‘you can see her ’at. She said I was to see you got your breakfast and then go down there and tell her you was awake.’
Lu looks to where the girl is pointing and, yes, she can easily see a large, yellowish hat moving.
‘See her?’ The girl’s voice is pleading with Lu to be pleased that her aunty hasn’t gone far away.
‘Shall we wave?’ She hooks both her little fingers on to her bottom teeth and lets out a shrill whistle. ‘There, she’s seen us. Wave. Go on. There see, she isn’t
very far off.’
Lu nods, ashamed at her babyish behaviour. ‘I thought you meant she had gone away to work down a factory or somewhere.’
The girl looked very serious and shook her head. ‘Naah… we a’nt got none of they out here. We only got farms and small’oldins.’
Lu knew the latter term, but didn’t quite know the meaning; she wasn’t going to ask and show herself up further in front of a girl who, from the look of her, might be younger than herself.
‘Well, do you want some?’
‘What?’
‘Do you want yer breakfast?’
‘All right,’ Lu says cagily. ‘What is it?’
‘Mis Wilmott said, toast and honey and a glass of milk and if you was still hungry a Shredded Wheat or a Sunny Jim’s. They got all kinds here.’
The girl seems so knowledgeable and off-hand, but milk and toast are the only items on the menu with which Lu is familiar. ‘Do you like honey?’ she asks the girl.
‘Everybody likes honey.’
That sounds safe enough, and Uncle Ted had said it was heavenly sweetness itself. ‘Which do you like out of the other things?’
The girl flicked her a look. ‘I don’t know, we don’t never get much stuff out of shops, we haves fermity or bread.’
‘Perhaps I’d best come down and choose.’
‘You don’t have to, Mis Wilmott said you could have it up here on a tray. Why don’t you? I would if I had half a chance. Go on, you stop there and let me bring it up, and I’ll sit here with you. A’nt it a lovely room, I bet you liked it sleepin’ here?’
Suddenly the girl seems to change from the cocksure little intruder who had barged into the room into a short, dark, nice friendly girl who wants to please Lu. ‘What’s your name then?’
‘Bar Barney… well, it’s Barbara by rights, but nobody don’t never call me nothing except Bar. I know yours, it’s Louise.’
‘My aunty told you.’
Bar nods. ‘And she telled me I got to try to see you got something inside you. Go on,’ she wheedles, ‘let me bring you up some on a tray, your aunty left it all laid up for you. It a be good fun.’
Oh, how nice everything seems to have become all of a sudden. ‘All right then,’ Lu clambers back on to the bed, ‘but not much, I don’t get that hungry and I don’t want to upset Aunty by not eating it up.’
‘Don’t mind about that, I’ll finish up what you don’t want.’
‘Will you? OK, let’s have the toast and I’ll try the honey, and a bit of both of those others if you like, then we can see which is best.’
Bar whizzes out of the room and thumps down the stairs two at a time. She is gone about ten minutes, during which time Lu puts on the frock Aunty Elsie has made for her out of a skirt of her own she never really liked. It isn’t new, but it is new to Lu. The frock has short sleeves which makes her feel conscious of her arms, so she puts her cardi on again and is just brushing her hair with the green celluloid- backed brush that Aunty May said she could use, when she hears Bar rattling back upstairs. She doesn’t plait her hair as she usually does, but ties it back with the string that had held her bag together. The diamond star, she has decided, is only for Christmas and birthdays and perhaps Empire Day when they only have to go to school for prayers and then it’s a holiday.
Grinning, Barbara stands in the bedroom doorway, carrying a wide wooden tray with handles that appears to be loaded. ‘There, see, didn’t take long, I only had to do the toast and put out the boxes. The Sunny Jim’s looks like cornflakes; we had cornflakes last year when we went to tea at my Gran’s, only these Jim’s is brownier and crispier. I tried a couple, I think they got a nicer taste. Your hair looks nice. I wish mine would ringlet like that instead of this ole fuzz-bush.’ She puts the tray down on the bed whilst she clears the night-table on which she then lays up an enticing breakfast and pours a glass of milk from a large jug. ‘There, what you going to have first?’
This is the kind of decision which before today has never troubled Lu.
Bar advises, ‘Why don’t you eat the toast first, then it won’t go cold. Honey’s best on hot toast, Mis Wilmott gives me a slice sometimes when I been helping out. I’ll do it for you. Look, if you sits up in bed, I could sort of hand it to you if you like.’
‘I don’t want to get nothing on the covers.’
‘All right then, sit sideways with your legs out and I’ll put the towel over your lap. Then you’ll be sort of resting and up at the same time.’
Lu allows herself to be suggested to and be gently bossed about by the small, brown-haired girl. Lu wouldn’t have known how to go about getting a tray ready or how to eat breakfast in bed, except that when she was getting over The Dip she was given things to eat sitting up, but it was usually bone broth with pearl barley which she spooned out of a mug. She can’t decide whether she likes honey or not, it doesn’t taste like anything else, but it is sweet and Lu has a sweet tooth and manages half of the slice of the toast Bar prepared for her.
‘You going to try these?’ She pours milk from the large jug, and sprinkles Sunny Jim’s liberally with Barbados sugar.
‘What’s that stuff?’
‘Brown sugar,’ says Bar enthusiastically. ‘An’t you never had it? Here, taste,’ and she picks out a dark brown knob from the bowl, and Lu, not wanting to appear even more foolish in her lack of knowledge, lets her put it into her mouth. Lu is surprised. ‘That’s lovely, it’s got a taste as well as only being sweet.’
‘I know, we don’t have it at home, it’s dear and my mum don’t like shop stuff. But it’s good for you.’
Lu eats a little of the cereal and feels full. ‘I don’t want any more, do you want it?’
‘You sure?’ Bar clears the bowl in seconds. ‘I wish I could have one of them every day. You’d better just try the Sunny Jim’s, then you’ll know which ones you like best,’ and without hesitation pours out a liberal portion from the packet and covers it with sugar and milk. Lu takes back the spoon from Bar and tastes. ‘I think I like these best, they got a nice crunchy feel. Only I can’t eat any just now.’ Again Bar clears the bowl then heaves a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Lovely. Waste not, want not. If you don’t want that other slice of toast, shall I clear it up for you?’ Lu nods and watches in wonder as the girl, who is much smaller, wolfs down the fingers of toast one after another, and then hands Lu the glass of milk she had already poured. ‘You got to get this down you. Mis Wilmott said you was to try to drink a whole glass of milk. You don’t have to drink it all at once. Oh look! There’s your aunty, she’s looking this way again.’ She goes to the window and waves heartily. Lu jumps down and joins in the exchange of waves. Apparently satisfied that all is well, Lu’s aunt returns her attention to the strawberry bed.
‘Your aunty is nice, I like working for her. I does a bit of work for old Cat, who lives near the village. I hate her. She’s the same to everybody that works for her, nobody can’t never do a thing right.’
‘How come you go to work?’
‘Only when I’m not at school, weekends and after school and school holidays. Our school’s shut for a while, because of the foundations. Mis Wilmott said I could come and help out every day whilst you’re here. I was e’ so glad, because that means that old Cat will have to find somebody else to pick holes in. Mis Wilmott don’t never do that. If you does it wrong she says, “Look here, Bar, if I was you I’d try it like this, and you a find it’s a bit easier”, or something like that, she don’t make you feel you’re daft. You finished?’ Bar starts to collect the dishes together. ‘You get your plimmies on while I washes these up and then we can go down and see your aunty. Only if you want to go, Mis Wilmott said if you wanted to stop in bed then you was welcome, there’s nothing to get up for.’
But there was.
For one thing it was necessary to see the downstairs again. Yesterday it had seemed to be such a maze of passages and rooms and larders and cupboards, that she needs to refresh her memory of their lay-out.
&n
bsp; Bar picks up the huge tray with apparent ease. ‘If you can’t manage your pail, I can come up and get it.’
‘No!’ It was all right Mum carrying the slops when she couldn’t move because of The Dip, but she wasn’t going to have a girl carrying her pee-pail downstairs. ‘I can do it myself all right.’
It takes her only a minute to wash her sticky face and hands, empty her washing water into the slop-pail, put on her plimsolls and hat. The vicar’s wife had brought the hat, just as the vicar’s wife had brought in some vests and knickers. The vicar’s children went to a posh private school where they had to wear velour hats in winter and Panamas in summer. The vicar’s wife had removed the blue silk band and school badge before giving it away; Lu wouldn’t have been seen dead in a hat with a badge anyway. Private girls were the enemy – not that the two camps ever saw much of one another; but when they did, the common kids stuck out their tongues and pushed their noses up into snouts. Aunty May had said it was a very decent quality hat and was just what Lu would need when she was out in the open.
Bar is standing on a duckboard, reaching into the deep kitchen sink and scrubbing away with scouring powder. ‘I finished.’
The big whitewashed outhouse houses a whole roomful of tools and other stuff and three sizes of tin baths, a queer wooden bench with a hole for a lav, but Aunty May said she shouldn’t empty her pail there, but in a pit round the back which contains all sorts of vegetable waste. Lu does so, then scoops water from a long stone trough, rinses the daisy pail and hangs it on its hook in the outhouse. Aunty May had explained how the rubbish pit works. If you piled cabbage leaves, peelings, carrot tops and weeds into a pit and put in hay and wood-ash from the fires, and earth and poured slops on it, the rubbish turned back into a good sort of dirt that made vegetables grow like nobody’s business. So Lu, supposing it must work if Aunty said so, after adding her contribution to the unlikely process, goes back into the house where Bar is putting the big tray back into a cupboard.
The Girl Now Leaving Page 6