A Distant Dream (4 page)

‘I suppose we’d better set off for home soon,’ said May. She too had only a basic knowledge of the facts of life but guessed that all these new feelings she was experiencing had something to do with them. As the subject was absolutely taboo, she kept the way she felt when she was with George to herself. She didn’t even want to talk to Betty about it. It was far too personal and embarrassing; even a little shameful. ‘Before it gets dark.’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’

They got on to their bikes and cycled along by the river for a while, then through Richmond town with its winding and elegant high street and up the hill and onwards to Kew Bridge, heading home with the scent of a summer evening and wood smoke in the air. Until they passed through the less fragrant Brentford, where the noxious pong of the gasworks prevailed.

Back on home ground, with dusk falling and the amber glow of a London night all around them, May was aware of joy so strong it almost brought tears to her eyes. She and George had spent a lot of time together comfortably for most of their lives, but lately she had noticed a new intensity between them. Now, though, the atmosphere was as warm and soft as the air around them.

When they reached her house they stood under the lamp-post opposite, talking for a long time, not wanting to part but knowing that they must. When the time finally came, he brushed his lips against her cheek briefly, got on his bike and rode away. She stood looking after him until he turned the corner, then went indoors.

‘My mother was in tears after the King’s broadcast last night,’ May mentioned to Miss Matt one Saturday morning in December as they were preparing for the store to open its doors to the customers for the day’s trading.

‘I very much doubt if she was the only one,’ said the older woman. The King’s abdication speech had been broadcast from Windsor Castle the night before and had attracted practically the entire nation to within earshot of a wireless set. ‘It’s a sad thing indeed for our country.’

‘It isn’t very nice for him either, is it?’ said down-to-earth May, who found the other woman to be quite chatty when she was in the mood and her strong opinions about absolutely everything rather entertaining. ‘I don’t see why they couldn’t have let him marry the woman he loves and carry on being king.’

‘The reason you think along those lines, my dear, is because you are a young girl with a head full of romantic notions,’ stated Miss Matt unequivocally. ‘Mrs Simpson is a divorced woman and therefore not suitable to be the King’s consort. Not suitable at all.’

‘But he’s had to give up the throne so that he can be with her, and that seems very harsh,’ May pointed out. ‘It also speaks volumes about his feelings for her.’

‘His duty is what matters and he’s turned his back on that and left it for his brother to do,’ stated Miss Matt with cutting disapproval.

‘But he doesn’t feel able do the job without Mrs Simpson by his side, does he? He said as much,’ May reminded her.

‘Tosh,’ said the authoritative Miss Matt. ‘What sort of a world would it be if we all just did what we wanted the whole time? The royal family set an example and it has to be beyond reproach.’

‘Seems rather inhuman to me.’

‘Look, the man can do exactly what he likes now that he’s turned his back on us, so he’ll get what he wants anyway. Don’t waste your sympathy on him.’ Miss Matt checked that the sales pads were all in place, patted her hair as though to make sure it was tidy, stood up straight to correct her posture and smoothed her grey woollen dress over her middle with her hands. ‘Anyway, that’s quite enough idle gossip. The store is now open, so let business for the day commence. With Christmas almost upon us, our sales should be well up or the management will want to know why not. Put on your best smile, Miss Stubbs, and let’s liven this place up and get those overhead wires buzzing.’

Dressed in a black skirt and cardigan over a white blouse, her blond hair falling loosely to her shoulders, May glanced around the store and thought it would take more than a few Christmas decorations to liven this place up. The powers that be on the management had made some sort of an effort with a few paper chains and a Christmas tree in the entrance hall, but the atmosphere was determinedly tasteful and traditional, which created an air of gloom.

She had little time to brood on it, however, because customers were flooding in and a lot of them were heading her way.

May’s favourite moments in the course of a working day were those immediately after a sale when she made out the bill and put that and the payment into a metal container, which she hooked to an overhead wire. Then she pulled a cord, which would ping, and the cylinder would whizz across the shop to the cashier at the other side, who would, eventually, return the capsule containing the receipt and the customer’s change. When all the departments in the store were busy, there was a positive fury of activity overhead.

‘There you are, madam,’ she said now to a woman who had purchased some woollen vests as she handed them to her in a Bright Brothers paper bag. ‘A merry Christmas to you.’

‘Likewise, I’m sure.’

May turned away to cough discreetly behind her hand before serving the next customer, which was a much more interesting sale, being a satin petticoat with bra and pants to match. That’s more like it, she thought.

The Pavilion was busy that same Saturday morning and there was no lack of Christmas spirit despite the royal goings-on the night before, about which there were mixed opinions, from outrage at the King’s dereliction of duty and fury with his lover for stealing him away from his people to those who couldn’t care less and some who simply wished him well.

Paper chains garlanded the ceiling, tinsel was in abundance and the paraffin heaters were going full blast. Dick was looking after the café while Flo served at the shop counter and sold raffle tickets for a well-stocked Christmas hamper provided by the management, all proceeds to go to the poor. She hadn’t forgotten the misery of that predicament and knew it was still rife, especially in other parts of the country. The recent march of the Jarrow unemployed to London was proof of that.

‘So what will be in this Christmas hamper then, Flo?’ enquired a regular female customer while Flo weighed up a quarter of tea for her.

‘A Christmas pudding and cake made by my own fair hand, a tin of ham, chocolate biscuits, a quarter of tea, a bottle of ginger beer, an assortment of sweets and any other little treats I might decide to put in as a surprise for the winner.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll take a couple of tickets please, dear.’

Flo was in her element. There was a queue in the shop and every table in the café was taken, the scones and jam sponges she’d made last night at home had sold out and the sandwiches were going the same way. It wasn’t just the fact that they were taking money, as satisfying as that was; it was the warm atmosphere and the sense of camaraderie, that put a smile on her face. The weather outside was cold and cloudy – not a soul sitting on the veranda today – but in here it was positively glowing.

In a lull between customers that afternoon, Miss Matt took May aside for a quiet word.

‘I think you should get some medicine for that cough of yours,’ she suggested. ‘It’s getting to be a nuisance.’

‘You’re telling me,’ May responded. ‘I must have got a chill or something. I just can’t seem to shake it off.’

‘It isn’t good for business for you to be coughing while you’re attending to customers,’ she lectured.

‘I realise that,’ said May, though she was taken aback by Miss Matt’s callous attitude.

‘I know that might sound heartless, but it’s a fact of life I’m afraid, my dear,’ the older woman went on. ‘I realise that it can’t be pleasant for you, but people don’t want to be picking up coughs and colds when they go shopping, do they?’

‘Mum did get me a bottle of cough mixture from the chemist,’ May told her, feeling embarrassed and guilty, ‘but it doesn’t seem to have made any difference at all.’

‘Then you must get something else, because you’ve had it for quite a while now,’ she said. ‘Lemon juice with honey is supposed to be very good. And you must get some cough lozenges to control it while you are on duty here.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ May assured her. ‘I really am very sorry. I feel terrible about it.’

‘It isn’t your fault, of course. It’s my duty as head of the department to mention it, that’s all.’ Miss Matt regarded May studiously, her grey eyes softening slightly. ‘You look a bit tired. You’re not feeling poorly with it, are you?’

‘No. I’m fine.’

Miss Matt peered at her. ‘That’s all right then. We can’t have you falling sick at this time of the year. You don’t want to miss all the fun, do you?’

‘No, of course not,’ said May, but suddenly she didn’t feel very much like having fun. Her superior had managed to make her feel somehow gauche and inferior.

Christmas passed pleasantly in the Stubbs home, though they all missed Geoffrey terribly at this time of year. May tried to keep her irritating cough at bay with linctus and lozenges and attempted to ignore the fact that she felt a bit off colour.

On New Year’s Eve things livened up considerably when George’s pal Henry invited him, and anyone he cared to bring with him, to his house to listen to records on the gramophone. As no one else had one of these amazing music machines, George, May, Betty and Sheila – who had begged her brother to let her go with them – were delighted to go along.

‘Mum and Dad are out for the evening, or a part of it anyway,’ Henry informed them and a few other young people who were there, ‘so we’ve got the place to ourselves. Let’s hope they don’t come back too early, though they’ll definitely be home before midnight, so everybody out well before then.’ He produced a bottle of gin, smiling broadly. ‘Look what I’ve managed to pinch from the sideboard. One drink each so they won’t notice we’ve been at it, especially if I add some water to make up the difference. We’ll take turns to wind up the gramophone.’

Everyone agreed, and the evening got under way with Bing Crosby singing ‘Pennies from Heaven’ and Sheila turning the handle on the side of the gramophone, which was housed in a large polished wooden cabinet with space to store records. Everyone except Sheila, who had been deemed too young for alcohol by her brother, had a glass of gin, and May and Betty, who had learned the basics of the quickstep from an older girl at work who went to dance halls, were trying to pass their knowledge on to George and the others.

It was all quite hilarious and May felt better than she had for ages; the drink had given her a real lift and she was feeling quite giggly and a little daring. Even the fact that Betty was flirting outrageously with George didn’t bother her tonight.

They danced to Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra, Fats Waller, and Fred Astaire singing ‘The Way You Look Tonight’, and the small front room resounded with music and laughter as the young people had what felt like proper grown-up fun.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked George as he and May jigged around the room while it was Betty’s turn to rotate the handle.

‘I’ll say,’ she replied. ‘It feels good to be out enjoying ourselves with people of our own age, doesn’t it?’

‘Very good.’

‘This is just the beginning, George,’ she said excitedly. ‘There’s more fun to be had for us. It’s time we started going to dance halls. Proper glamorous ones like the Hammersmith Palais, not just dances at the town hall. This is our time.’

‘I’m game for anything,’ said George. He now worked in a factory so was better off financially.

Because they had to leave before midnight they did ‘Auld Lang Syne’ early. There was a lovely sense of good will in the air and they sang their hearts out. May was with the two friends she loved most in the world and felt happy.

When she started to cough she went outside into the hallway for reasons of courtesy and coughed into her handkerchief until the need subsided. When she came back into the room her mood had changed completely, and she knew that her life would never be the same again.

Her mother was doing her best to be reassuring, but May could tell that she was as frightened as she was herself.

‘It’ll probably be nothing to worry about,’ Flo said, having been shown the bloodstains on May’s handkerchief as soon as she got home from the party. May had known she mustn’t keep a serious symptom like that to herself. ‘We’ll take you to the doctor in the morning and let him have a look at you. A bottle of tonic and you’ll be as right as rain. Don’t upset yourself.’

But Flo was actually in despair. She’d lost one child to illness; now it seemed likely to happen again. Not May as well, she prayed silently. Not our darling May.

It was a cold January day and May was in bed outside on the porch of the isolation ward at Ashburn Sanatorium in the Surrey countryside. Fresh air and bed rest were considered to be the best medicine for what she had, and the air was fresh all right. In fact it was absolutely freezing.

She could still hardly believe how her life had changed the instant she had seen the blood on her handkerchief. It seemed as though one minute she had been enjoying life in the bosom of her friends and family and the next she had been plunged into isolation, low temperatures and strangers.

Here at Ashburn she was a TB patient, a victim of the much-feared consumption, otherwise known as the Great White Plague. She still winced when she actually made herself say the words in her head. It wasn’t an easy thing to face up to, because the mortality rate was so high. The family doctor had lost no time in arranging for her to go to this sanatorium, which was funded by the London County Council.

Looking back, perhaps she should have checked with the doctor earlier, but you didn’t go rushing to the surgery every time you had what you thought was a cold, especially as it cost money. She could see now that the signs had all been there, the night sweats and the fatigue as well as the cough. But it was only when she’d seen the blood that alarm bells had rung, because she’d heard about that particular symptom and knew what it meant. Maybe things would be easier for future generations, because apparently there were plans to introduce a scheme to test schoolchildren so that the disease could be diagnosed earlier.