The Camberwell Raid (13 page)

‘Anyway, what did Rosie say?’ asked Susie.

‘That she’s an Adams,’ said Sammy.

‘Well, of course she is, you silly,’ said Susie. ‘I could have told you that’s exactly what she would say. Now you can get ready to take us to church.’

‘Listen, Daniel, and you too, Bess me pudding,’ said Sammy, ‘when you grow up and you’re old enough to vote, vote for your mum to be Prime Minister.’

‘But, Dad, shouldn’t you be Prime Minister?’ asked Daniel.

‘Don’t make jokes like that in front of your mother,’ said Sammy.

‘Oh, all right, Daddy, when we’ve growed up we’ll vote for Mummy,’ said Bess.

‘If you’re sure, Dad,’ said Daniel.

‘Yes, let’s see how your mum looks in a Prime Minister’s top-hat,’ said Sammy.

Susie laughed.

In the afternoon, Lilian Hyams allowed her milkman, Bill Chambers, to take her for a saunter around Regent’s Park. Because of his entertaining tongue, which gave forth frequent allusions to her well-dressed personability and the benefits of egg custard, she wore a smile most of the time.

The following morning, when she was back at work, Tommy entered her office. She was at her drawing-board and looking thoughtful.

‘Got you beat, the new designs?’ said Tommy.

‘Hope not,’ said Lilian, ‘or Sammy will give me notice. Should I suffer that kind of broken heart? Not likely. Tommy, tell me, can you see me as a milkman’s lady friend?’

‘It’s got possibilities,’ said Tommy, ‘you might get your milk free. On the other hand, I’ve always thought someone like a rich sheik of Araby might fancy you. You’d get free jewels then, and a couple of camels.’

‘What for, spending time in his tent?’ said Lilian.

‘I ain’t supposin’ it would be out of wedlock,’ said Tommy, grinning. ‘Anyway, what milkman d’you ’ave in mind?’

‘My Walworth milkman,’ said Lilian. ‘My life, Tommy, I should fall in love with a dairy roundsman?’

‘Up to you,’ said Tommy.

‘I let him take me to Regent’s Park yesterday, and we fed the ducks,’ said Lilian.

‘You mean he’s actually started courtin’ you?’ said Tommy.

‘I’ve got odd feelings about that,’ said Lilian.

‘I felt a bit lively when I was courtin’ Vi,’ said Tommy.

‘How lively?’ asked Lilian.

‘I’ll keep the details to meself,’ said Tommy.

‘Tommy, a milkman, would you believe,’ said Lilian.

‘Does he belong to a synagogue?’ asked Tommy.

‘Not much,’ said Lilian, ‘he’s a Gentile gent. Should I worry about that?’

‘Well, you’re lookin’ great, Lilian, like you’re ready to be courted,’ said Tommy. ‘By the way, how do Sally and Cassie look in their weddin’ gowns now you’ve finished ’em?’

‘Beautiful,’ said Lilian, ‘even if I do say so myself.’

‘Take a bow, then,’ said Tommy, ‘and before I forget, I came in to tell you Miss de Vere wants you to ring ’er about the new designs after two-thirty this afternoon.’

‘That’s a change from her wanting to ring Sammy or Boots,’ said Lilian. ‘Why couldn’t she talk to me now?’

‘She was rushin’ off somewhere,’ said Tommy.

‘Hoping to waylay Boots on the way, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Lilian.

‘Well, I’ll leave it to you to remember to ring ’er,’ said Tommy. ‘That’s if you can take your mind off your milkman.’

‘Hoppit,’ said Lilian, and Tommy departed grinning.

Later that day, when Lilian phoned Harriet de Vere, the buyer referred to one of her designs, a white dress with blue stripes.

‘You don’t like it?’ said Lilian.

‘Love the style,’ said Harriet, ‘but we’d like the blue to be navy. Could you do a new sketch?’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Lilian.

‘Thanks,’ said Harriet.

Lilian did a quick sketch. The result looked like a milkman wearing a blue and white striped apron.

Something’s closing in on me, thought Lilian, and the chink of milk bottles is ringing in my ears.

Meeting frequently in Kennington Park, Dusty Miller
and
Ginger Carstairs were still busy finalizing and polishing up their plans.

March went out with a bit of a noisy rush, and April came in to offer a hint of spring, which was very welcome to the people of Walworth and elsewhere because March had acted up something chronic at times. March in a paddy could make South London’s old Victorian houses feel cold and draughty, which never did a lot of good to old people’s chilblains.

Cassie and Freddy were gradually furnishing their house in Wansey Street with the aid of Freddy’s savings and what Mr Eli Greenberg, the well-known rag and bone merchant, could offer in respect of valuable bargains good as new. They were also putting in some highly necessary decorative work. Concerning that, Cassie said she realized now what a labour of love was. Freddy said yes, the house was a bit of all right, and he was already holding it in kind regard on account of it being their first marriage abode. Cassie said yes, wasn’t it blissful labour, decorating it together? Freddy said he couldn’t agree more, but could she stop waving her paint brush about?

‘Yes, all right, Freddy beloved,’ she said. ‘Oh, Dad’s goin’ to help us again at the weekend when we start rubbin’ down the upstairs doors.’

‘Well, good old Gaffer,’ said Freddy. They were painting the door to the scullery, Cassie on one side, he the other, the open door wedged. He was having to keep alert, because whenever Cassie put her head round the door to say something, her paint brush came round too. ‘Will that be another labour of love?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Cassie. ‘Dad’s always loved me, and I know he’s learned to love you.’

‘Was it hard goin’, arrivin’ at that state?’ asked Freddy.

‘No, not very,’ said Cassie, stroking on magnolia paint. ‘Well, when you consider that a lot of Germans ’ave actually learned to love Hider, it must’ve been easy for Dad to learn to love you. “Cassie,” he said to me once, “Freddy could get to be quite likeable in a crowd.” Wasn’t that a promisin’ remark, Freddy beloved?’

‘Cassie, would yer mind not callin’ me beloved at football matches?’

‘Why not?’ asked Cassie.

‘It makes some of the Rovers fall about legless, that’s why not,’ said Freddy.

‘Oh, poor dears, I am sorry, they must be gettin’ feeble in their old age,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, has Sammy given you the cheque for fifty pounds yet?’

‘Not yet,’ said Freddy, ‘but he will.’

‘Don’t forget to put it in the bank,’ said Cassie.

‘All right, Cassie love, I won’t forget,’ said Freddy. ‘He’s recommended his own bank. It’s got a ’elpful bank manager, he said.’

As for the other forthcoming bride, Miss Sally Brown, she had a bone to pick with Horace and did so in her mum’s parlour. She advised him, with her shop assistant’s polished plum in her mouth, that she wasn’t the kind of young lady to behave in a common way. Horace said he seconded that. He said what had first taken his fancy about her was the fact that she was a very uncommon and superior young lady as well as an eyeful. That knocked him right out, he said, as he’d always had rosy dreams about superior young ladies who were also an eyeful. Of
course
, he was fairly common himself, he said, but with any luck he might improve. Well, he hoped he would, he said, because he naturally wanted to live up to her, as if he didn’t, their neighbours-to-be might talk about him. He’d buy a book about how to become uncommon in six easy lessons, he said. There were books which taught you how to play the piano in six easy lessons, he said, so there were probably similar books about behaviour.

Sally managed to get a word in at that point.

‘D’you mind puttin’ a sock in it?’ she said. They were sitting on the old parlour sofa, a very comfy piece of furniture because it sagged a bit in the middle, and the sag sort of drew them cosily together. Sally never complained about being cosy with Horace, and Horace, of course, was all for it.

‘D’you want to say something?’ asked Horace.

‘If I can,’ said Sally. ‘Did I ask for you to go on and on like a gramophone, Horace Cooper? I don’t remember I did, I just remember tellin’ you I wasn’t brought up to behave common. That wasn’t askin’ you to turn yourself into a gramophone, was it?’

‘No wonder my mother likes you, Sally, you’ve got a lovely way of talkin’,’ said Horace. ‘Anyway, what brought common behaviour up?’

‘Never mind that,’ said Sally. ‘I want – Horace, does your mum really like me? Only I think she’s a lovely woman.’

‘She says I couldn’t have picked a nicer young lady,’ smiled Horace.

‘Well, then,’ said Sally, ‘I want to know why you told Percy Ricketts, your best man, that he’d got a
duty
to inspect my weddin’ garter with me wearin’ it.’

‘Well, silly old Percy,’ said Horace, ‘what a daft haddock, considering he’s well past twenty-one.’

‘Wait a minute, you haven’t said if you told him or not.’

‘Let’s see,’ said Horace, ‘we were all talkin’ to him, Nick, Freddy and yours truly, but I don’t suppose any of us thought he’d take everything seriously.’

‘Well, he took my wedding garter seriously,’ said Sally. ‘D’you know he came round last night to say he desired to make arrangements to inspect it at a convenient time?’

‘Did he say that, Sally?’ asked Horace. ‘What a saucy bloke. Still, it was nicely put, I’ll give him that. Then what happened? You plonked him one, I suppose?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Sally. ‘I first asked him if he thought I was common, and he said far from it. So I invited ’im into the parlour, then went upstairs, put my garter on, came down again and showed it to him.’

‘Pardon?’ said Horace.

‘He liked it,’ said Sally, ‘and made very nice remarks about my legs.’

‘Well, knock me down, I never thought that would happen,’ said Horace.

‘He’s goin’ to mention my garter in his speech,’ said Sally. ‘Oh, and he asked me if a joke about knickers would be all right, and I said all the guests would be disappointed if he didn’t. He said he and Nick had made up a little poem that he’d like to use.’

‘It’ll kill you,’ said Horace. ‘And listen, what’s the
idea
of showing your garter to my best man when I haven’t seen it myself?’

‘You’d like to see me wearin’ it?’ said Sally.

‘I’m not goin’ to say no, am I?’ said Horace.

‘Well, I’ll show you,’ said Sally.

‘I’ll be very appreciative,’ said Horace.

‘But not till we’re married,’ said Sally.

Horace took that blow like a sport, and kissed her.

‘Well, I’m blessed,’ she breathed a few seconds later. ‘I don’t mind a kiss, but what’s ’appening to my dress?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Horace, and kissed her again.

A large sepia photographic portrait of Sally’s whiskery maternal grandfather on the parlour wall closed its eyes. Victorians considered ladies’ legs should be covered up.

As for Annabelle and Nick, who were to be married in June, they spent one evening looking at a house in Ferndene Road, off Denmark Hill, not far from her parents’ house. Nor, for that matter, was it all that far from the homes of her uncles, Boots, Tommy and Sammy. Chinese Lady, informed of Annabelle’s interest in the Ferndene Road property, informed Annabelle in turn that she had her best wishes. A place in Ferndene Road would be very suitable as it would keep her and Nick close to the other families, and she didn’t believe in any of her close relatives living in foreign neighbourhoods like Norwood or Streatham. Suppose they got struck down by a serious complaint, she said, they’d get ill at not having their relations close by. Annabelle said it would be awful to be struck down by a serious complaint, and then
get
ill because her uncles and aunts couldn’t pop in to put the kettle on and do some kind nursing. Chinese Lady said yes, you don’t want to have to suffer like that, Annabelle. All right, Granny love, said Annabelle, I promise Nick and me won’t go and live in a foreign neighbourhood. There, that’s a sensible girl, said Chinese Lady, I’ll always be close by myself. Granny, you’re the best there is, said Annabelle, and meant it. Chinese Lady had her cherished place in the lives of everyone.

The house was lovely, owned at the moment by a well-off couple in their late forties whose son and daughter were both married. They wanted a smaller house now, so had put this one on the market at six hundred and fifty pounds, which might have given Chinese Lady a grievous turn if she’d known. She would have considered such a sum a shocking amount for a young couple to pay. Nick knew a fifteen-year mortgage would mean an average outlay for the first five years of at least two pounds a week. He was presently earning four pounds a week, but having already looked over the house with Annabelle, he knew she’d fallen for it. This second visit was to help them decide. The house with its central door, was double-fronted, with large handsome ground floor windows. Downstairs, there were four rooms and a very spacious and bright kitchen which Annabelle loved. Upstairs, there were three large-sized bedrooms, a smaller one, a play room, an attractive tiled bathroom with its own loo, and a separate loo. Mr and Mrs Lawson, the owners, were more than happy to show Annabelle and Nick over the house again, since they’d taken to this engaging couple. When they reached the smaller bedroom, Mrs Lawson smilingly said it had
been
used as a nursery bedroom for their children when they were infants, and she pointed out the cot was still there and as good as it had ever been.

‘We’ll leave it, if you like,’ she said, ‘as we shan’t want it any more.’

‘Not unless lightning strikes,’ said Mr Lawson, and laughed.

‘Oh, we’re in the market for being struck,’ said Nick, and received a little dig in the ribs from a slightly pink Annabelle. At the end of the guided tour, he said he and Annabelle would like another day or two to consider, would that be all right?

‘Of course,’ said Mr Lawson.

‘We do have another couple coming to look tomorrow,’ said Mrs Lawson.

‘All right, we’ll let you know before then,’ said Nick.

When they were out of the house, Annabelle said she really did like it. It was easily better than other properties they’d looked at. Nick said he concurred, but pointed out that the mortgage repayments, especially for the first few years, could mean that with all the other outgoings, he might not be able to keep her in the manner to which she’d become accustomed. Annabelle, a girl with as much sense as her dad, was aware that all her life she had never lacked for anything, that she’d never had to suffer the kind of poverty her mum had known during her years in Walworth. Lizzy indeed, with Ned’s willing financial help, had seen to it that none of her children ever went short of essentials, especially good clothes. Lizzy had never forgotten her days of patched and shabby garments, or the time when she first
met
Ned and there were holes in her stockings. Ned always assured her he hadn’t noticed anything except her big brown eyes. Just like village ponds in the sunshine, he said once during the sixth year of their marriage, which so overcame Lizzy that she went all loving and Emma was born nine months later. Ned thought the arrival of Emma was an exceptional reward for a natural compliment. Actually, his admiration for Lizzy’s sterling qualities, reflective of her mother’s, was constant. She had never failed him or their children.