Backstreet Child (17 page)

Carrie left the office and crossed the yard, glancing back to the open space where the stables once stood. Two days it had taken the demolition men to knock the stables to the ground, and all that was left to remind her of the horses was the watering trough at the rear of the yard and a couple of iron hitching rings on the back wall. Everything else was gone for ever, she thought sadly; the nightly sounds of the animals moving in their stalls and the sharp metallic clip of iron hooves on cobblestones, the bellowing of the horses into their nosebags and mangers, and the sound of chaff-cutting and clatter of the wagons as they rolled in and out of the yard. Now there was the throaty noise of the lorries warming up and the roar as they pulled out through the gates. Times were changing, Carrie thought with some regret, and now a new menace faced everyone. The war was only a few weeks old and apart from battles at sea, it was peaceful and quiet. How long could it last? Would the expected bombing come one night and destroy everything? Would she and her loved ones survive to see peace once more?

‘Carrie?’ Joe called from the front door. ‘What yer standin’ there for? Yer look miles away.’

She gave him an embarrassed smile. ‘I was jus’ lookin’ at those old ’itchin’ rails, Joe,’ she replied. ‘I was finkin’ ’ow quiet it is now the ’orses ’ave gone.’

She walked over to him and he put his arm round her. ‘Are yer ’appy, Carrie?’ he asked. ‘Are yer really ’appy?’

She reached up and kissed him. ‘I’m very ’appy, darlin’,’ she answered. ‘Just worried about the war, an’ Rachel. Will she lose that young man ter the war?’

‘We can only pray, sweet’eart, we can only pray,’ Joe said softly.

The little tea room was empty apart from two couples who sat chatting at their separate tables. The elderly couple were dressed in country tweeds, the large man with a bright red face occasionally shaking his head as he listened to the constant chatter of his thin-faced, grey-haired female companion.

‘It really is disgusting,’ she was saying. ‘I was only talking to that nice Mrs Greenidge who lives at Rose Cottage in Sandy Lane. She has two billeted with her. Do you know they wet the bed? Goodness gracious me, it’s too much. Those children had head lice too. Mrs Greenidge was telling me she had to teach them how to hold a knife and fork. They sat down to their tea and started eating with their fingers. Their clothes were filthy and their manners absolutely appalling. It really is too much. They’re little monsters, they really are.’

‘Guttersnipes,’ was all the large man had a chance to say before the thin-faced woman resumed her attack on Goudham’s most recent arrivals from London.

The other couple were seated by the window, both incensed at what they were overhearing. Billy Sullivan gritted his teeth and Annie sat with an angry look on her pale face, aware of her husband’s jaw muscles clenching.

‘The children are really settling in nicely,’ she said, in an effort to divert Billy’s attention. ‘They’ve made a lot of friends and I’m managing to get some more training in at the home. What about you, Billy? You look tired and drawn. Are you eating properly?’

Billy glanced across at the two villagers and scowled darkly. Annie quickly took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. ‘Look, Billy, there’s no need to get yourself worked up over the likes of them,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re not typical of the people around here. I’ve got to know lots of folk who’ve got evacuees billeted with them and they’re really wonderful. Just ignore them. They’re not worth spoiling our few hours together over.’

Billy let his shoulders sag and he gave Annie a bright smile. ‘Yer right, luv. Sorry, what was yer sayin’?’

‘I said you were looking pale and drawn, and I asked if you were eating properly,’ she said with a slight note of irritation in her voice.

‘Of course I’m eatin’ well,’ he replied. ‘Iris an’ Danny make me go ter their place every Sunday fer me dinner an’ I often call in to ’ave a chat wiv ’em in the evenin’s.’

‘Well, see you keep it up,’ Annie said firmly.

The village couple were leaving and the large man was still nodding in dutiful agreement with his wife’s complaints as the two walked out through the door. As soon as they had left, the young waitress came over to the window table. ‘I do hope they didn’t upset you,’ she said, addressing Annie. ‘I know you come from London by your husband’s accent.’ She looked briefly at Billy and smiled. ‘They really are a detestable pair. We’ve got two little boys staying with us and they’re really sweet.’

Annie touched the waitress’s arm in a warm gesture. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sure most people here are very friendly and understanding towards the evacuees. I’ve found it so.’

Billy had relaxed more now that they were alone and he was looking around the little tea room with interest. Old pictures hung on the walls and delicious-looking homemade cakes were displayed on circular glass stands on the counter. Blue chintz tablecloths and matching curtains reminded him of a doll’s house, and the raffia mats on the well-scrubbed wooden floor added to the charm of the little establishment. He could smell baking and it reminded him of the rock cakes and apple pies his mother used to make when he was living at home.

Billy sighed. There was so much to tell, so much to say, and so little time. One thing was sure though, he resolved. He would definitely not tell Annie about his new evening job at the Kings Arms.

‘Come on, Billy. We must get back to the children,’ Annie said suddenly. ‘I want them all to give you a big kiss before you leave. I’d like to say goodbye too, and I expect more than a kiss.’

Chapter Eleven

Carrie crossed the yard with the mid-morning tea for Jamie Robins and Rachel, wondering what it was the young clerk wanted to see her about. He had approached her as soon as he arrived that morning, looking a little uncomfortable as he made his request. Carrie had been busy with the daily delivery sheets and had promised to see him as soon as she could.

She entered the office and Jamie looked up, glancing briefly at Rachel, who gave him an encouraging smile.

‘Drink yer tea an’ then we can talk,’ Carrie told him, noticing the look which had passed between him and her daughter.

Rachel leaned back in her chair and sipped the hot tea, her eyes straying to the nervous-looking young clerk. She felt a wave of pity for him and wondered what had made him come to the decision. He was such a quiet, studious young man and pathetically shy. He must be feeling frightened. What pressures had been exerted on him to make him come to such a decision? she wondered.

Rachel swung her chair round to face the pile of papers on her desk and pretended to study them. Poor Jamie. How different he was to Derek, she thought. Her young man had excelled himself during their brief few days at Brighton. He had been a wonderful lover, attentive and considerate, as well as being very careful. She smiled to herself as she remembered how she had finally managed to get a promise from him to approach her mother on his next leave to ask about getting engaged.

Carrie had slipped out to talk to Joe who was busy in the yard, and when she returned Rachel got up and left the office to go over to the house, leaving Jamie alone with her mother.

‘Yer wanted ter see me, Jamie?’ Carrie asked, sitting down in Rachel’s office chair.

The young clerk coloured slightly as he turned his swivel chair round to face her. ‘I was wonderin’ ’ow much progress yer’d made wiv the exemption papers, Mrs Bradley,’ he said.

‘It’s Mrs Maitland now,’ she reminded him with a disarming smile.

Jamie got more flustered. ‘I’m sorry, I . . .’

‘It’s all right, I’ve got ter get used to it meself,’ she laughed. ‘Yer want ter know about the papers. Well, I’ve filled in the application form an’ they’ve sent back anuvver form fer me ter fill in. It’s gonna take some time, Jamie, but I shouldn’t worry too much. I fink we’ll manage it.’

The young man fiddled with his pen and his face became more flushed. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bradley, I mean Mrs Maitland, but I’ve decided ter volunteer fer the army,’ he said, looking down at his ink-stained fingers.

Carrie was taken aback and she stared at him for a moment or two before replying. ‘But why, Jamie?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘I couldn’t live wiv meself if I dodged the call-up,’ he replied. ‘Most o’ the young men my age are goin’ in the services an’ it jus’ wouldn’t be right.’

‘What about yer parents, Jamie? Who’s gonna support ’em?’ Carrie asked. ‘You’re the breadwinner. It takes a lot o’ courage fer a young man like you ter support a family. Yer not a coward, an’ in any case yer shouldn’t take notice o’ what people might say.’

Jamie looked up at her. ‘My dad’s got work now, an’ I can send a few shillin’s ’ome. Then there’s the army allowance fer me muvver,’ he replied. ‘They’ll be no worse off than a lot of ovver people.’

‘’Ave yer told yer parents what yer intend ter do?’ Carrie asked.

Jamie nodded. ‘They understand. I ’ad a long talk wiv ’em over the weekend. The only fing I’m worried about is lettin’ yer down.’

Carrie gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Well, I’m not gonna say I won’t miss yer, Jamie,’ she told him, ‘but I wouldn’t try ter dissuade yer, if yer sure yer know what yer doin’.’

‘I’m sure,’ he said firmly. ‘I wanted ter tell yer before I actually go ter the recruitin’ office. I’m sorry, Mrs Maitland, but it’s somefing I’ve gotta do.’

‘That’s all right, Jamie,’ she replied. ‘Jus’ remember ter keep in touch. Come an’ see us when yer get leave. Oh, an’ remember there’ll be a job ’ere fer yer when the war’s over.’

‘Fank yer, Mrs Maitland, I really appreciate it,’ he said, sagging a little with relief for having unburdened himself.

Rachel walked back into the office at that moment and stood between Jamie and her mother. ‘So ’e’s told yer,’ she said smiling broadly. ‘Our Jamie’s gonna be a soldier.’

Carrie could see the young man’s obvious discomfort and she gave her daughter a disapproving look. Rachel was always pulling Jamie’s leg, which tended to embarrass him, though Carrie knew that there was no malice intended and in fact Rachel really felt very fond of him. ‘Well, now we’ve got everyfing sorted out, what about you gettin’ those wages done, Rachel, and lettin’ Jamie get on with the accounts,’ she growled. ‘Remember I’ve got a business ter run.’

Dolly Dawson had collected the children from school and when she walked back into the house there was a surprise awaiting her. On the parlour table she saw a steel helmet, a service gas mask and whistle complete with a white lanyard. The helmet was emblazoned with the letters ARP. Dolly sat down heavily and stared at the equipment with concern. Dennis and Leslie were already fighting over who should wear the helmet while Joyce was puffing on the whistle trying to produce a noise. ‘Now leave ’em alone, can’t yer?’ Dolly screamed at them. ‘If yer farvver sees yer playin’ wiv those there’ll be trouble.’

‘’As Dad joined the army?’ Joyce asked her mother.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Leslie shouted at her. ‘It ses ARP on there,’ he pointed to the helmet.

‘What’s ARP mean?’ Joyce asked, scratching at her head.

‘I dunno,’ Leslie said, snatching the whistle from his young sister. ‘It’s nuffink ter do wiv the army though. Besides, Dad can’t be in the army, ’e’s an ole lag.’

‘What’s an ole lag?’ Joyce asked, still scratching her head.

‘It means yer too old fer the army,’ Dennis butted in.

Dolly pulled her daughter towards her and quickly searched through the child’s hair. Suddenly she clicked her tongue. ‘That’s the second time this week she’s come ’ome wiv nits,’ she growled to the boys. ‘Right, Dennis, run down the oil shop an’ get us a pint o’ paraffin. Leslie, put the kettle on. I must find that toof comb. Now where’d I put it?’

Joyce watched her mother searching through the dresser drawers and she started crying, knowing the tortures in store for her. First there would be a hard head wash, then the paraffin would be put on and combed through her tangled hair. Last of all, and the worst torture, was the fine-toothed comb, which pulled down on her hair and hurt her already tingling scalp. ‘I don’t want it washed, Mum,’ she moaned.

‘Now don’t give me any trouble, Joyce, I gotta delouse yer, or we’ll all be cooty before the week’s out,’ Dolly shouted at her.

Joyce settled down in one corner with her favourite doll, quietly awaiting her ordeal while Dolly turned out another drawer. Soon Dennis came running in with the paraffin.

‘Mum, Mum, there’s a big bloke got ’old o’ Wallace an’ ’e won’t let ’im go,’ he shouted.

Dolly let the drawer contents clatter onto the floor in her vexation. ‘Where is ’e?’

‘’E’s up by the paper stall,’ Dennis replied, still gasping for breath.

Dolly sighed deeply as she slipped on her coat and hurried from the house. Things had been too quiet of late, she told herself. Something had been bound to happen.

As she rushed up to the end of the turning, Dolly could see a group of people standing outside the corner shop and in the centre was Wallace, standing quietly with his head bowed. Beside him was an elderly man who had hold of the young man’s forearm and looked the more frightened of the two. On the other side of the turning, Dolly saw Maudie Mycroft and Maisie Dougall standing together watching the spectacle.

‘What’s ’e done?’ she asked them breathlessly.

‘I dunno, luv,’ Maisie answered. ‘I ’eard the bloke say ’e’s pinched a bunch o’ bananas from Gosnell’s the greengrocers.’