The Camberwell Raid (2 page)

Her face tingled in the cold snowy air.

A neighbour’s young son made himself heard as he approached.

‘Watcher, Cassie, what yer blushin’ for?’

‘I’m not, you saucebox,’ said Cassie, passing him by.

‘Well, yer hooter is,’ he said.

Which made Cassie think again of arriving for her wedding with a pink nose. Oh, blow that. She wanted sunshine, colour, and a ride to the reception in Mr Eli Greenberg’s pony and cart. Lovely old Mr Greenberg had come to the house, knocked on the door, raised his old round hat, smiled at her and then said that as Freddy was as good as related to the Adams family, and seeing that Lizzy, Boots, Tommy and Sammy Adams had all ridden to their wedding receptions with their spouses in his pony and cart, might he have the pleasure of carting her and Freddy likewise?

Well, since Cassie had always dreamed of riding as a bride in a carriage and pair, Mr Greenberg’s pony and cart represented a dream come true, good as. So she told him it would be a blissful pleasure for her.

‘Vell, vell, Cassie, and vhat a pleasure for me too, ain’t it?’ said the beaming Mr Greenberg.

‘But it’s a double weddin’, did you know?’ said Cassie.

‘Vhat don’t I know, eh?’ said Mr Greenberg. ‘Ain’t it Freddy’s sister Sally and her young man, Orrice Cooper? All velcome, Cassie.’

‘Oh, bless your warm heart, Mr Greenberg,’ said Cassie, ‘come in and ’ave a cup of tea.’

‘Cassie, ain’t I stepped over a thousand Valvorth doorsteps for a cup of tea? Vhat kindness there is here.’ And Mr Greenberg thought how fortunate his family had been in electing to come to the United Kingdom when they left Russia many years ago. They had thought of Germany, because it was so much nearer, but his father, very knowledgeable and well-read, had said no, that he was going to pay good money for papers that would admit them to the United Kingdom, because there they would always have the protection of laws laid down centuries ago by the Tudor and Plantagenet kings.

There was no protection these days for the Jews of Germany. Hitler’s laws had made them non-persons.

The snow was a thick carpet, and although it turned to dirty brown slush beneath the wheels of traffic on main roads, in many places it remained untrodden and virgin white. In the Denmark Hill area it covered gardens on which only robins, blackbirds and sparrows left their footprints in search of breadcrumbs scattered by kind residents.

Robert Adams, known as Boots, came home from the office on a bus. Alighting at a stop in Red Post Hill, he crossed the churned-up road and entered the
gravelled
drive of the family house. The thick snow covering the drive bore the depressed imprints of feet. He was ambushed then, by his son, his daughters and his wife. Snowballs came flying at him from both sides, followed by yells of laughter.

‘Got you, Daddy!’ That was Rosie, just down from university for her Easter vacation. She and other students had been released a little early because of an outbreak of measles affecting three young ladies.

‘Got you, Pa!’ That was Tim, as lively as his mother.

‘’Ello, Papa!’ That was Eloise, just eighteen and Boots’s daughter by a Frenchwoman.

‘Give in, lovey?’ That was his wife Emily, still energetic at thirty-six.

‘Not yet,’ said Boots, the snowballs still coming, his overcoat patterned with white. But he made a dash for the front door, all the same. Rosie, in a warm coat and woollen hat, appeared in front of him, glowing and laughing.

‘Hello, Daddy, old love,’ she said. She’d arrived from Oxford during the afternoon.

A snowball from Tim struck Boots in his back.

‘How do I come to be an Aunt Sally?’ he asked.

‘Luck of the game,’ said Rosie. The snowballing stopped, and Boots kissed her on her cheek. She gave him an impulsive hug, and snow transferred itself from his coat to hers.

‘Papa, I’m ’ere too.’ Eloise claimed his attention. She had come over from France for Christmas, when, shy and nervous, she had met all the families related to her paternal grandmother, Mrs Finch, whom she was astonished to find was often referred to as Chinese Lady by her daughter and sons. That apart, the affection, kindness and whole-hearted welcome
given
by everyone touched Eloise deeply. She was drawn into every kind of seasonal festivity, including hilarious party games on the evening of Christmas Day, by which time all shyness and nervousness had disappeared, so much so that Postman’s Knock was a delight to her. She had never played it in France, never, but the Adams and Somers families played it for all it was worth, and Eloise had never received so many kisses from so many extrovert males. Her father’s brothers were exciting, Uncle Tommy the handsomest of men, Uncle Sammy charged with electricity, while the brother-in-law, Uncle Ned, was most engaging. And one cousin, fourteen-year-old Bobby, was as bold as you like.

‘Alors! Is it right for you to kiss me like that?’

‘No idea,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ve only just started.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes, you’re the first girl I’ve kissed,’ said Bobby. ‘Can I have another one?’

‘No, no, we are cousins,’ said Eloise, but she giggled and Bobby had another one.

The Christmas with her new-found family and the close relationship she established with Boots, her father, decided Eloise once and for all to make her home with them. So two weeks after she returned to France, Boots went over with Emily to collect her and bring her to England for good. Since when she had established herself. In Emily, she found an outgoing and friendly stepmother, and in Chinese Lady she discovered an understanding, if old-fashioned, grandmother. In Rosie, she found an affectionate and supportive sister, and in thirteen-year-old Tim, she found a good-natured half-brother. He let her know he was willing to put up with
another
sister as long as she didn’t get bossy or interfere with his cricket and football. In Mr Finch, Chinese Lady’s second husband, she found a calm and reassuring grandfather. As for Boots, she quickly became devoted to him. He was so easy to talk to, with a fascinating sense of humour and the kind of little undercurrents that made some men much more exciting than others. She felt exceptionally pleased with herself for being his daughter. One thing had puzzled her, however. She knew he had married Emily late in 1916, and therefore his other daughter Rosie could not have been born earlier than 1917, and some months later than herself. Yet Tim had mentioned that Rosie would be twenty in May. So Eloise asked Boots about Rosie, and Boots who, like the rest of the family, simply regarded his elder daughter as an Adams, nevertheless had to acknowledge Rosie was adopted.

‘Oh, I am your only real daughter, Papa?’ said Eloise.

‘You’re both my daughters, both very real to me,’ said Boots.

‘But—’

‘There are no buts, Eloise, and no differences in what you both mean to me,’ said Boots. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Eloise, ‘yes, I understand.’ The conversation, like many she had with him, was in French. She had, however, taken lessons in English during the three months prior to Christmas and could speak it passably well. Boots encouraged her to use it, and the family, particularly Mr Finch, helped her to enlarge her vocabulary. Like her late mother, however, she could not pronounce aspirates, which was why, after
Boots
had been ambushed, she dropped an aitch in saying, ‘Papa, I’m ’ere too.’

‘So I see,’ smiled Boots. ‘Was it your idea to have everyone chuck snowballs at me?’

‘No, mine,’ said Emily.

‘Was there a good reason?’ asked Boots, as they all entered the house.

‘Yes, I wanted to feel sixteen again,’ said Emily.

‘Well, that’s a fairly good reason,’ said Boots.

Chinese Lady, appearing in the hall, asked, ‘What’s been goin’ on out there?’

‘Just a few snowballs whizzing about, Grandma,’ said Tim.

‘I might of guessed your father would forget his age as soon as he got home,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘No, that was Mum,’ said Tim, ‘she wanted to be sixteen again.’

‘Em’ly, you been throwin’ snowballs?’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Only a few, Mum, and only at Boots,’ said Emily.

‘Yes, we all did,’ said Eloise, and as Boots unbuttoned his coat she moved and helped him off with it. Rosie smiled. Eloise had become the first to do things for Boots. ‘Papa, ’ow wet your coat is. We must dry it at the fire.’

‘No need,’ said Boots, ‘it’ll dry on the hallstand.’

‘No, no,’ said Eloise, ‘it will feel cold and damp when you put it on in the morning. I will ’ang it on the fireguard.’ And off she went with the coat to the kitchen. Chinese Lady and Emily followed. Tim looked at Boots and Rosie, a grin on his face.

‘I like her all right,’ he said, ‘but she’ll get us a bad name.’

‘How?’ asked Boots.

‘Calling you Papa,’ said Tim.

Rosie laughed. Boots regarded her with affection.

‘Nice you’re home, poppet,’ he said.

‘Love it,’ said Rosie, ‘so come on. Nana’s making a pot of tea. One day we’ll all drown in tea.’

‘Not a bad way to go,’ said Boots, as they moved towards the kitchen, ‘and more respectable than drowning in beer as far as your grandmother’s concerned.’

‘What a sober thought, Dad,’ said Tim with a flash of wit, and Rosie thought that despite the stimulating atmosphere of Somerville, home was where she belonged. Home was family. A family of fun.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Bessie Brown of Caulfield Place, Walworth, that evening, ‘I still can’t properly take it in, our Sally and Freddy both gettin’ married on the same day, Easter Saturday.’

‘Well, keep tryin’, me old Dutch,’ said lean and wiry Mr Brown, ‘and when you’ve took it in, you’ll get used to it. There’s still a bit of time to go.’

‘Orrice’s mother has been ever so kind and helpful,’ said placid Mrs Brown, ‘she’s a real lady.’

‘So are you, Bessie,’ said Mr Brown, ‘and I ain’t reluctant to say so.’

‘I never knew our Sally more up in the clouds,’ said Mrs Brown.

‘It’s love, I reckon,’ said Mr Brown.

‘I think it’s love,’ mused Mrs Brown.

‘I already said that,’ pointed out Mr Brown, toasting his feet at the kitchen fire and pulling on his pipe.

‘Sally’s never been in love serious before,’ said Mrs Brown.

‘Well, she is now,’ said Mr Brown.

‘Our Sally, head over heels like she was only seventeen, would you believe,’ said Mrs Brown.

‘Picked the right bloke, though,’ said Mr Brown.

‘And then our Freddy and all,’ said Mrs Brown, conjuring up imaginative pictures of Freddy and Sally at the altar together, along with their respective marriage partners. ‘I always thought he’d marry Cassie one day.’

‘I reckon Cassie always thought so too,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Mind, Freddy put up a good fight.’

‘Oh, you saying something, love?’ said Mrs Brown.

‘I’ve spoke one or two words,’ said Mr Brown, ‘but I don’t think you’ve been listenin’. I’d say you’re up in the clouds with Sally.’

‘Wasn’t it ’andsome of Sammy to give Freddy a rise of ten shillings?’ said Mrs Brown. ‘He told Freddy to put it into his savings so that he and Cassie could buy their own house later on.’

‘That’s what I call practical,’ said Mr Brown.

‘Don’t you think that’s sensible?’ said Mrs Brown.

‘Well, Bessie, I did just say—’

‘Then there’s Sally come home from work today with a promise from Sammy that after the honeymoon, he’s promotin’ her to the Oxford Street shop as assistant manageress,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘I can’t hardly take it all in.’

‘Well, like I already mentioned, Bessie, keep tryin’ and—’

‘You saying something else, love?’ said Mrs Brown.

‘Only a word or two, Bessie,’ said Mr Brown.

‘Sally’s gone round to see Orrice and give him the news,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Of course, her job will only
last
until she starts havin’ a family. Still, she could hardly wait to go and tell Orrice.’

‘Taken one of ’er clouds with ’er, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Mr Brown.

‘What’s that?’ asked Mrs Brown.

‘Nothing much, Bessie,’ said Mr Brown.

‘You’re not startin’ to talk to yourself in your old age, are you, love?’ said Mrs Brown.

‘Might as well,’ said Mr Brown.

Jim Cooper, returning to the kitchen after answering a knock on the front door, said, ‘That was Sally. She’s now in the parlour with Horace.’

‘Oh, much more suitable than the shop,’ smiled Mrs Rebecca Cooper, a handsome woman of immaculate appearance.

‘Horace deserves a medal for his perseverance,’ said Jim. Their adopted son had conducted his courtship of Sally at her place of work, the Adams dress shop in Kennington. He’d survived a number of discouraging confrontations with her until Sally suddenly realized she was enjoying the most exhilarating and challenging moments of her life. That led to compatibility, to many outings together and, inevitably, to their first ecstatic kiss. Sally immediately followed this by saying, ‘Yes.’

‘Beg pardon?’ said Horace, a promising professional cricketer with the right amount of good looks. ‘I mean, yes what?’

‘Well, you’ve been saying for ages you’re savin’ up to get married to someone, so it might as well be me,’ declared Sally.

‘You’re not someone,’ said Horace, ‘you’re a lot more than that.’

‘Oh, yes?’ said Sally.

‘Yes, my idea exactly,’ said Horace.

‘So?’ said Sally.

‘Let’s have another one,’ said Horace.

‘Another kiss? Wait a bit,’ said Sally, ‘is it me you’re savin’ up for or not?’

‘Well, seeing that I don’t know how I could live without you, would you do me the honour, Miss Brown?’ asked Horace.

‘Oh, mutual, I’m sure, Mr Cooper,’ said Sally, ‘so how could I refuse?’

‘Well, then?’ said Horace.

‘Yes, let’s have another one,’ said Sally, entirely pleased with herself for having had the intuitive good sense to wait for a young man as refreshing as Horace to come courting. She smiled. ‘Two, if you like, Horace.’

So Horace had helped himself to a double encore, and that led to arranging a double wedding with Cassie and Freddy on Easter Saturday.

This evening Sally had called to tell Horace that after their honeymoon she was transferring to the Adams dress shop in Oxford Street as assistant manageress. And Sammy Adams, she said, was going to pay her thirty-five shillings a week.