A Ration Book Childhood

by Jean Fullerton

  She studied Michael’s peaceful face for a second more then she wound the wool around her finger and slipped the point of the knitting needle behind the first stitch.

  She had only just purled half a row when the sheet on the other side of the two sleeping boys parted and a pram was wheeled through.

  ‘Cathy,’ said Ida, as her daughter appeared behind the pram. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Cathy, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘I’m getting away from my witch of a mother-in-law.’ And Cathy recounted her argument with Mrs Wheeler.

  ‘So if you don’t mind, Mum, from now on me and Peter are going to squeeze in along with you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, luv,’ said Ida. She stood up and shifted her beach chair across to give her daughter room to move. ‘I’m glad of the company.’

  Cathy put Peter’s pram alongside Patrick’s.

  ‘Billy looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth when he’s asleep,’ said Cathy, smiling at her young brother curled in a blanket with his eyes shut.

  ‘Yes, looks are deceiving, aren’t they?’ said Ida. ‘He’s been a right handful recently. I had Mrs Yates from Arlington Street knocking on my door on Monday complaining about Billy throwing stones at her window and frightening her bedridden mother. She’s threatening to call the police if she finds him doing it again and I don’t blame her.’

  ‘I hope you gave him a good telling-off,’ said Cathy.

  ‘You bet I did,’ said Ida. ‘He stormed out and when he’d gone I found my best cup lying in half a dozen pieces in the backyard. I’m not surprised he’s acting up,’ she continued, ‘not after finding out that Pearl’s his real mother and now having Michael on the scene. He’s unsettled, that’s all; I’m sure he’ll sort himself out soon.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Cathy. ‘But you ought to tell Dad.’

  ‘I would if he didn’t already have half the world sitting on his shoulder.’

  Cathy gave her a sour look. ‘Well, whose fault is that?’ She spotted the boy sleeping next to Billy and looked at her mother in astonishment. ‘Don’t tell me that’s . . .?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ida.

  She resumed her seat as Cathy lifted out the blankets she’d draped across the end of Peter’s pram and set them out alongside Ida’s.

  Ida pulled out the Thermos flask of tea from her basket and poured herself and Cathy a cup.

  ‘Where did you get that old thing?’ Ida asked as her daughter set Stan’s striped fishing stool next to her.

  ‘In the shed.’

  Ida handed her one of the flask’s two Bakelite cups. ‘Lucky for you there’s a spare.’

  Cathy grinned. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Cathy took a sip and then set the cup down. Delving into her basket, she found her tapestry bag and pulled out her knitting, but after half a row she paused.

  ‘He looks just like our Charlie,’ said Cathy.

  ‘And your dad,’ Ida added flatly.

  Cathy gave her a nervous look. ‘I didn’t want to mention it.’

  ‘It’s the plain truth.’ Ida shrugged.

  ‘But how come you’ve got him, Mum?’ her daughter asked, glancing at the sleeping boys again.

  Ida told her about finding Ellen and the dash to hospital.

  ‘I know you’re being a good Christian and all that, Mum,’ said Cathy when she’d finished, ‘but I don’t know how you can even look at him let alone take him on as one of us.’

  ‘It’s not Michael’s fault, is it?’ said Ida, glancing at the boys and lowering her voice. ‘You can’t blame him for how he got here, can you?’

  ‘No but—’

  ‘And what would you do if it were Peter, Cathy?’ Ida added in the same muted tone. ‘Let him be taken to a children’s home to be brought up by strangers? Can you imagine what it’s like for him seeing his mother so sick?’

  ‘Does he know?’ Cathy asked under her breath.

  Ida glanced at the sleeping boy and shook her head.

  ‘But the poor lad’s worried sick about her; he knows something’s not right. He sobbed his little heart out earlier, he did. And when all’s said and done, he’s our flesh and blood, and flesh and blood take care of their own, don’t they?’

  Cathy opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the wail of the air raid siren penetrated the shelter’s doors.

  Mutters of ‘bloody Jerry’, ‘sodding hun’ and worse went around the vast area below ground as the ack-ack guns on the Isle of Dogs started pounding.

  Peter started grizzling so Cathy put aside her knitting and stood up.

  As her daughter comforted her fretful son, Ida’s gaze shifted on to Michael’s sleeping face. Now she’d got to know him a bit Ida had to admit he was a nice little lad, polite too. Credit where credit’s due, Ellen had done a good job bringing him up. And flesh and blood did take care of their own; where would they be if they didn’t? But, she wondered, would she ever be able to look at him without imagining all too vividly how he’d got here?

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE TRUMPET PLAYER blasted out the last note of ‘Dancing in the Dark’ and Daniel swirled her around as the music stopped. Mattie, like everyone else on the dance floor, applauded.

  ‘Shall we sit the next one out?’ Daniel asked, as the bandmaster raised his baton again.

  Mattie smiled up at him. ‘Yes, let’s.’

  Slipping his arm around her waist, Daniel guided her through the couples on the dance floor and back to their table.

  Another bomb found its target nearby, sending the bottles stacked behind the bar at the other end of the club jiggling while the chandelier dangling above the dance floor bounced a couple of times. But as everything stayed upright, and no drinks were spilled, everyone continued as they were.

  It was the first Thursday in December and, although she wasn’t certain, Mattie thought it must be close to midnight. They were in the Excelsior Club just off Shaftesbury Avenue, and despite there having been a full-scale air raid going on since nine that evening, the basement was packed with people enjoying a meal and a dance.

  Even with bombs raining down all around, the theatres and night clubs in the West End and Soho were as busy as before the war started. More so, in fact, as after a year of nightly raids, Londoners had decided enough was enough of doom and gloom and now the capital’s nightlife was as gay as ever.

  It had been a wonderful evening and Daniel had certainly pushed the boat out. They’d started with cocktails in a bar near St James’s then headed to the Coliseum to see Me and My Girl, followed by dinner near Trafalgar Square and now dancing. It had been a perfect night and she planned to top it all by finally letting him in on her happy secret.

  Reaching their table, Daniel pulled her chair out and a smile lifted the corner of Mattie’s mouth in anticipation of his joy at learning he was to be a father again.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, tucking her skirts under her and sitting down.

  He resumed his seat opposite.

  ‘Another drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps a small one,’ said Mattie.

  Daniel raised his hand and the waiter sped over and took their order.

  ‘It’s a good band, isn’t it?’ said Mattie, her foot tapping in time with the beat.

  ‘Not bad,’ Daniel replied.

  The waiter returned and placed their drinks on the table.

  Daniel picked up his whiskey. ‘To us.’

  ‘To us,’ Mattie repeated, raising her glass too.

  ‘Have you had a good evening?’ Daniel asked, as she took a sip of her G&T.

  ‘Wonderful.’

  An expression she couldn’t interpret flashed across his eyes for a second then he smiled.

  ‘I’m glad, and can I say again you look absolutely gorgeous,’ he said, his gaze confirming his words.

  ‘Thank you.’ Resting her chin on her hand, Mattie leaned forward. ‘And can I say you look pretty good yourself, Major McCarth
y.’

  She gave him a sultry look, expecting to see the usual spark of anticipation, but instead the odd emotion returned for an instant before it vanished once more.

  Reaching across, he took her hand. ‘Mattie,’ he said softly, ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too,’ Mattie replied. ‘And guess what I—’

  ‘I’ve been ordered back to France,’ he cut in.

  Something akin to ice water replaced the blood in her veins as she stared across at him.

  ‘When?’ she asked, struggling to control the fear and emptiness pressing down on her.

  ‘I’m not sure yet but I’m guessing in a week or so,’ Daniel replied.

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Daniel. ‘With the Germans embroiled in Russia and our forces taking on the Italians in North Africa, the top brass want to make sure our allies in the French resistance don’t feel neglected.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Mattie.

  He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry it’s just before Christmas.’

  ‘We’ll have others, lots,’ Mattie said. ‘After the war.’

  Daniel’s eyes held hers for several heartbeats and then he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

  She wanted to scream, No! Not again! It’s not fair! Why you? Why now? Tell them to send someone else. Let them go behind enemy lines and risk being shot as a spy. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Daniel had to do his duty and she had to do hers by not making it any harder for him. Somehow she smiled back as she willed her mind to memorise every curve and line of Daniel’s beloved face.

  Putting down her drink, Mattie placed a hand on his arm. ‘Daniel, can we go home?’

  Ten minutes later, after Daniel had paid the bill and they’d retrieved their coats from the cloakroom, Mattie emerged from the club on Daniel’s arm.

  The glowing red sky to the south of them indicated that the docks and factories on the river had borne the brunt of the Luftwaffe’s attack that night. Although the air was heavy with the smell of charred wood, brick dust and sulphur, and bells clanged loudly as fire engines sped to the next call, the humming aircraft engines overhead indicated the German squadrons were heading back to their bases in France and Belgium.

  Taking Daniel’s arm, Mattie tucked herself into her husband’s side and they started up Shaftesbury Avenue towards Tottenham Court Road.

  ‘We’re too late for the tube but we should find a taxi in Oxford Street to take us home,’ said Daniel, shining his muted torch on the pavement just in front of their feet.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Mattie, sidestepping a pile of rubble in her path. ‘I don’t fancy walking back to Stepney in these shoes.’

  Daniel laughed.

  A fire engine streaked past them and, turning the corner, they were confronted by two other fire appliances and a heavy rescue team working to stem a fire in one of the office blocks on the west side of the street.

  ‘We can cut through to Charing Cross Road,’ said Daniel, guiding her into one of the narrow alleyways that ran through Soho.

  From the smell of ammonia and the open doorways with young women loitering in them, it was clear they had left the glamour of theatreland and were now in the less salubrious part of Soho.

  Keeping his torch trained on the flagstones, Daniel quickened his pace and very soon they were at the end of the cut-through, but just as they reached Charing Cross Road an ARP warden stepped into their path.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, stretching his arms to block them. ‘There’s an unstable wall around the corner and the demolition team are just about to bring it down, so if you could step inside for a moment.’

  He indicated a door flanked on either side by photos of naked women with ribbon banners and stars covering strategic areas.

  Daniel pushed open the door, which had the words ‘BonBon Club’ painted diagonally across it, and Mattie walked in.

  ‘I’ve never been in a strip club before,’ she giggled, her aching heart lightened a little by their ludicrous situation.

  ‘It’s not something I do unless under orders,’ said Daniel as they emerged through the blackout curtain into the brash lights of the foyer.

  There were half a dozen people like them, who’d clearly been directed into the club for shelter, plus a girl in a skintight stylised uniform with a neckline so low Mattie was surprised her breasts stayed within it. A bulldog of a man in a dinner suit with a shaved head and no neck stood to one side.

  Everyone was milling about looking at the ceiling and floor, which was hardly surprising as the photos of naked women here were considerably larger than the ones on display outside; what’s more, the girls in these photos had lost their banners and stars.

  ‘Honestly,’ Mattie said, turning to stare at her husband’s chest. ‘I don’t know where to put my face.’

  ‘Well,’ said Daniel, looking over her head at something behind her. ‘I think you should take a look at this.’

  Mattie turned. Her eyes rested on the photo on the wall behind her and her mouth dropped open.

  Billed as ‘Salome from the Mysterious East’, and stark naked except for a veil and some bangles, stood Mattie’s sister-in-law Stella.

  Grasping the edge of the bucket, Queenie tipped the contents into the chickens’ pen and the four hens dashed out of their hutch.

  It was just after dawn, but she’d been up since four. Firstly to fetch the bread for the family’s breakfast and then to gather worms from the park for the hens. She’d returned just as Ida got back from the shelter at six thirty so she could care for Patrick until Ida got back from the yard before lunch.

  Having Ida in the yard each morning had certainly helped Brogan & Sons removal and delivery business grow. She was not only there to take requests from people moving house or needing goods delivered, she was also able to sell the furniture. Things had picked up to such an extent that there was talk of taking on a strong lad to help, and Jerimiah was waiting to hear back from the Post Office about the telephone he’d applied for.

  ‘There you are, girls,’ said Queenie, setting down the pail and watching the birds pecking at the wriggling creatures on the flagstones.

  The hens were a gift from the saints, so they were. It had taken them a few days to sort themselves out but then they’d started laying, and now Queenie had taken over their care, she collected at least three eggs each day and sometimes four.

  The back door opened and Billy stepped out with Michael just a step behind him. Both were dressed in their school uniform, navy in Billy’s case and green in Michael’s, with their satchels strapped to their backs and doorstops of bread and marge in their hands.

  ‘We’re off, Gran,’ shouted Billy through a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘Have you got your lunches?’ Queenie asked.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Brogan,’ Michael replied. ‘And our homework.’

  A warm glow started in Queenie’s chest.

  It had only been a few days since Ida had come home from the shelter with Michael in tow but it already felt as if he’d been there for ever and the sight of him filled a slightly bigger place in her heart each time she saw him.

  ‘Is Patrick still asleep?’ Queenie asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Billy replied.

  ‘Be off with you then, you pair of cheeky-faced rascals,’ said Queenie, waving them away.

  They waved back and then, grinning and jostling each other, they raced across the yard to the back gate. Michael reached it first.

  ‘I’d thank you to leave it on its hinges,’ Queenie shouted as the boy tore it open.

  ‘Oh, Gran, Prince Albert escaped when I gave him his cuttlefish and he’s in the kitchen,’ Billy called over his shoulder as he disappeared after his friend.

  The gate crashed shut and they were gone.

  With her lips pressed together and hoping she wouldn’t have to explain to Ida about how there was bird shite all over her cooker again, Queenie marched to the back door but as she opened it, a flurry of
grey flapped over her head.

  Swooping across the space, the parrot landed on the edge of the chickens’ run and he puffed up his feathers. The hens stopped scratching in the dirt and, throwing back their heads, started dancing about.

  ‘You have the right of it there, girls, so you do,’ said Queenie, watching the hens strutting about. ‘Although, more often than not, they’re more trouble than their daily meat, a fella does have his uses from time to time.’

  The back gate opened again.

  Turning around, Queenie saw Mattie, looking like she’d not slept for a week, pushing her Silver Cross pram into the yard.

  Mattie forced a smile. ‘Morning, Gran.’

  ‘And to you, me darling,’ Queenie replied. ‘You’re early this morning.’

  ‘I know,’ Mattie replied, unbuckling Alicia from her straps and lifting her from the pram. ‘Is Mum in?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Queenie replied.

  Tears sprang into Mattie’s eyes. ‘Daniel’s been ordered back to France.’ And she started to cry.

  Queenie crossed the space between them and put her arms around her. Alicia, caught between them, started to wriggle in protest so Queenie took the little girl from her mother and settled her on her hip then she tucked her hand in the crook of Mattie’s arm.

  ‘Your ma will be home soon so let’s go indoors and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Twenty minutes and a cup of sugary tea later, Mattie finally finished telling Queenie how Daniel had broken the news of being sent back undercover to France. Alicia and Patrick, who’d woken up just as they walked through with the tea, played with a couple of wooden spoons.

  ‘I know he hasn’t any choice,’ Mattie concluded, ‘and I couldn’t be prouder of him, but my heart’s fair breaking at the thought of him in such danger. Especially as . . .’ She looked away and blew her nose.

  ‘As you’re having another baby,’ said Queenie softly

  Mattie gave her a sad little smile. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘When you and Daniel had tea with us a few weeks back and you went green at the sight of the pilchard sandwiches,’ Queenie replied. ‘I take it you didn’t tell him?’