Lily of Love Lane Read online

  Lily of Love Lane

  By the same author

  Lizzie of Langley Street

  Rose of Ruby Street

  Connie of Kettle Street

  Bella of Bow Street

  About the author

  Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset. Lily of Love Lane is her fifth novel.

  Visit www.carolrivers.com

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster, 2008

  The edition first published by Pocket Books, 2008

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2008

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  Pocket Books & Design is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster

  The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  Africa House

  64-78 Kingsway

  London WC2B 6AH

  www.simonsays.co.uk

  Simon & Schuster Australia

  Sydney

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-1-84739-360-9

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-47113-394-7

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset by Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  CPI Cox and Wyman, Reading, Berkshire RG1 8EX

  Readers, this is my chance to dedicate a book to you.

  And thanks to libraries everywhere, especially to Vickie Goldie and the girls of Southbourne and Kinson branches Dorset and to Eve Hostettler, co-ordinator of the Island History Trust, East London.

  Special thanks go to Dorothy, a wonderful agent – the best! Also to the fabulous Kate and Libby and Joe and all the sales, production and design teams at Simon & Schuster who have worked so hard on this series of East End sagas.

  Please visit my website for more information on the books.

  www.carolrivers.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Noteworthy Extracts from the Mission Hall Quarterly 1937

  Chapter One

  January 1930

  Isle of Dogs, East London

  Lily Bright watched in concern as her mother pushed back a strand of thin, greying hair from her careworn face. For the last ten minutes she had been searching all the cups on the dresser and was now turning out her purse.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mum? Lost something?’

  ‘I thought I’d put a bit more by for the rent but I must have spent it.’

  Lily lifted the flap of her bag and searched inside. She gave her mother the two shillings she found. ‘Reube pays me tomorrow so I’ll be able to give you me wages then.’

  ‘Money seems like water these days,’ sighed Josie Bright as she counted the change on the kitchen table. ‘It just runs away. But with what you’ve given me I’ve got ten bob to give to the landlord.’

  ‘What about the arrears?’

  ‘I’ll ask him to call again on Monday.’

  Lily silently said goodbye to the pair of boots she desperately needed. She knew the debts were piling up.

  Josie sighed once more. ‘Your father’s gone down the docks again this morning, but I don’t hold out much hope. Not when there’s so many out of work and he’s only a casual.’

  ‘I can work Saturday afternoons, p’raps.’ Lily met her mother’s anxious blue gaze with an encouraging smile. Lily’s own eyes were the same shade of blue but had the shimmering clarity of youth. The cloud of short, wavy fair hair around her face that stubbornly refused to be shaped into a modern cut, made her look much younger than she was. Despite her youthful appearance, at twenty, Lily had had more than her fair share of worry. It was nothing new for her to shoulder her family’s financial burdens, as for the past six years, since she’d left school, her dad had been in and out of employment. Bob Bright, a docker by trade, had accepted any kind of work he could get hold of since the general strike of 1926. Now, there were so many men wanting jobs in the dockyards that poverty and unemployment on the Isle of Dogs, East London, was a fact of life.

  Sometimes, like this morning, Lily wished her job on a market stall paid better, but she loved working in the open air. The stallholders were a happy bunch and made a joke of hard times. Unlike in the factories, where the pay was better, but everyone was cooped up, doing monotonous work, which could make life miserable. She loved the market so much she was willing to work long days to make up her wages. And she knew her boss, Reube James who lived opposite, would be happy to give her more hours.

  ‘You’re up at the crack of dawn as it is, Lily, love,’ her mother replied with a deep frown. ‘Saturday afternoons is your only time off with Hattie.’

  ‘We can always go out on Sundays,’ Lily shrugged. She didn’t want her mother to get any more upset. It was bad enough that her dad couldn’t find work. At least one of the family was in employment and Lily was grateful for this. And anyway, Hattie would understand. They had been through bad times before, and always gave one another support. Hattie had been Lily’s best friend since school. Wandering around the markets and strolling the streets of the island on a Saturday afternoon was the highlight of the girls’ week. But in times of crisis, their outings had to be put on the back burner.

  ‘Your dad said he might be lucky.’ Josie Bright’s quiet voice held a note of hope. ‘There’s a skin boat in.’

  ‘Oh, I hope he don’t get one of those.’ Lily knew all too well that working in the holds of skin ships, the men could catch Anthrax. It was a dangerous task, removing the infected carcasses. Someone had to do it and it was usually the most desperate of the men, like her father, who did. They needed to feed their families. Any job would do, if it achieved a wage. But Lily always hoped that someone else would be given the skin boats. She didn’t want her dad put at risk.

  ‘I told him to tie a scarf round his mouth and wash his hands after touching them dead things. And when he comes home, he can have a good scrub in the Naptha.’

  Before Lily could reply that the strong smelling disinfectant was no real answer to the deadly disease, a loud banging started up outside. Josie Bright jumped up. ‘That’ll be your uncle, locked in the closet again. I warned him not to use the latch, it sticks. But does the silly old duffer ever listen? No, I’m just wasting me breath.’

&
nbsp; Lily went to the kitchen window and looked out. It was so cold a film of white frost covered the roofs and backyards. Her uncle’s bootprints led to the closet halfway down the path. There was no inside toilet in the house; everyone had to go outside, come rain or shine.

  ‘I’m going to scream if your uncle plays me up again today. If I hear just one more daft syllable drop from his lips.’

  Lily smiled at this. Her uncle tended to be absentminded. It was funny if you took it as a joke but it could also be very wearing. At sixty-five, her mother’s brother was a confirmed bachelor and ten years older than her mum. Josie had complained to Lily that she rued the day when she’d let him come to live with them after closing up his rag and bone yard. But Lily knew they were really very fond of one another.

  ‘I’ll go out and get him,’ Lily already had her coat on as she had dressed to leave the house at half past six. The market started very early but it was now ten past seven, and Reube would be wondering where she was.

  Lily hurried into the yard, leaving the warmth behind her. The big kitchen adjacent to the scullery was her favourite room in the dilapidated three-storey house she had grown up in. All the houses of Love Lane were terraced, each one built along the same lines. Most kitchens contained freshly washed clothes aired above people’s heads on a wooden pulley. Every corner beneath was usually crammed with cooking utensils. Her mum’s pride and joy was a large scrubbed wooden table where she did a lot of mixing and preparing of food next to the black leaded range. Four wooden chairs were stowed under it, so that the cosy space was used more frequently than the parlour for social gatherings.

  ‘Uncle Noah, you shouldn’t have dropped the latch.’ Lily put her ear against the wooden door.

  ‘I didn’t,’ came the indignant reply. ‘It fell down of its own accord.’

  ‘Stand back then, and I’ll push hard. Are you decent?’

  ‘I got me pants up if that’s what you mean.’

  Lily put her small shoulder to the door. She was only slight at five foot five but was quite strong, even though she didn’t look it.

  The door groaned loudly and finally gave way. Her uncle stood in his combinations and big black boots. The laces, as usual, were undone. He clutched the newspaper pieces that Lily had cut into squares and dangled them in front of her. ‘A lot of use this is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Must have froze overnight. Good job I didn’t need to evacuate me bowels.’ Replacing the newspaper on the nail, he crossed his matchstick arms across his skinny chest. ‘What you doing out here, gel?’

  ‘I’ve come to get you.’ Lily’s teeth began to chatter. She admired her mum a lot, as she had to look after Uncle Noah all day and every day. And he wasn’t getting any easier.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because you’re likely to freeze.’

  ‘It’s not that cold.’

  ‘Then why are your lips turning blue?’ Lily shivered, her feet already growing numb in her leather lace-up boots. For such a small man, with a birdlike chest, bow legs and arms the size of pipe cleaners, Lily knew her uncle was more resilient than he looked. By rights, every bone in his body should be frozen by now, but experience had taught her that just like her mother the same seamless energies ran through the Kelly bloodline.

  He stared at her from behind a pair of ancient pince-nez spectacles. ‘Is me breakfast ready?’

  ‘No, Mum ain’t too good this morning.’ Lily knew that if she asked him to hurry, as likely or not he would do the opposite.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Dad might have to work on a skin ship.’

  ‘Poor bugger.’

  ‘Why don’t you cook breakfast for her this morning, Uncle?’ Lily suggested gently. ‘It might cheer her up.’

  ‘She won’t let me do that.’

  ‘Let’s go inside and see.’

  ‘All right, I’m a-coming.’ To Lily’s relief he sped past her like a two-year-old. ‘Lovely fresh morning, ain’t it? Let’s get the troops sorted.’

  Lily smiled as she watched him advance on the back door. A wave of nostalgia filled her as she heard his booming voice call out to her mother. As a child she had travelled beside him on the rag and bone cart. His cry of ‘Any old iron?’ had caused doors and windows to be flung open. By the time she was five, he had taught her how to use the reins, commanding Samson the horse to ‘walk on!’ or ‘stand!’ She still recalled the wonderful feeling of the old animal’s response and the strength of his big grey body. But the sentimental moment was soon over as Lily entered the kitchen.

  ‘I warned you not to use the latch, Noah,’ her mother was shouting, ‘when will you remember it sticks?’

  ‘I never touched it.’

  ‘And look at you, standing there in your underwear. You’ll catch your death.’

  ‘Uncle Noah’s going to cook breakfast,’ Lily interrupted quickly before the quarrel developed.

  Josie Bright looked horrified. ‘Why should he want to do that?’

  ‘To help, that’s all.’

  ‘There’d be a fire before you knew it!’

  Her uncle pursed his lips and raked his arthritic fingers through the thin grey strands sticking up from his bald pate. The cast in his left eye gave him the appearance of one large eye, magnified by the pair of gold-framed pince-nez balanced on his bony nose. ‘Told you she wouldn’t,’ he muttered to Lily.

  ‘A nice piece of fried bread will do you both good,’ Lily said, taking her mother’s arm and nodding at her uncle. ‘He’s only got to put the bread in the pan and fry it.’

  ‘I don’t know about that—’

  Lily gave her mother another little push. ‘Now, I’ve lit the fire in the parlour and it needs a bit of encouragement.’

  ‘Yes, leave it all to me!’ her uncle called after them, lifting the big saucepan down from its hook. ‘Canteen’s open in ten minutes.’

  ‘He thinks he’s still in the army,’ sighed her mother as they went into the front room. ‘He’ll be having me out on parade soon.’

  ‘He’s only trying to help.’

  ‘He might burn the bread.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Men are useless in the kitchen.’

  ‘Only because they aren’t given the chance to do something.’

  Her mother sighed tiredly. Her once fair hair was scraped back in a bun, revealing fresh worry lines around her eyes. ‘You young women just don’t understand never having been married.’

  ‘Well, I hope to have the chance one day.’ Lily didn’t add that looking after her family, and her work at the market, wouldn’t leave much time for a husband.

  ‘It would be lovely to have some grandchildren,’ Josie nodded thoughtfully. ‘A grandson especially. Your dad would have liked a boy.’ She sat by the fire and sighed again. ‘But the Good Lord never sent us any more children.’

  Lily knew her mum didn’t mean she was dissatisfied with her one daughter, but as a little girl she had had heard this phrase so often she’d tried to be a boy to please her parents. She was always climbing lampposts and playing football in the street. In spite of this, her tiny frame and long plaits had always made her appear delicate. Eventually Lily had given up struggling to prove she could do anything a boy could and begun to enjoy being a girl.

  ‘I’ll put your coat round you till the fire gets going.’ Lily made her mother comfortable in the big armchair. ‘You can give the fire a touch with the poker when I’m gone.’

  ‘I wish you was staying home, love.’

  ‘You’ve got Uncle.’

  Her mother smiled ruefully. ‘Indeed I have.’ Josie’s eyes had a twinkle in them as she murmured, ‘Your uncle is a bit of a mischief, ain’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and we wouldn’t be without him, would we?’

  Josie took hold of Lily’s wrist. ‘You’re the only one who can do anything with him, Lily. You could twist him round your finger as a little girl and still can. Remember when—’

  ‘Mum, I wish I could stop to talk, but I have to go to
work now,’ Lily interrupted. Reube would think she wasn’t going to turn up for work at all.

  ‘I know. I know.’ Josie reluctantly released her daughter’s arm. ‘Someone in this house has to earn a few pennies and I’m sorry to say it’s always you, love. You’re a good girl, our Lily. A real good girl.’

  ‘I’ll see you tonight, Mum.’

  ‘If I survive.’ But this was said with a smile.

  Lily knew the minute she left the house, her mother and uncle would soon be finding ingenious ways to argue. It was an irony, but the two people she loved most in the world other than her dad, lived to annoy one another. Her dad had always told her it was what kept them going.

  Lily pulled her hat and scarf from her pocket. Carefully sliding the blue cloche over her hair, she glanced in the mirror. The cloche was old and she had steamed it back into shape more times than she could remember, but the colour matched her eyes.

  ‘Bye, ducks.’

  ‘Bye, Mum.’

  ‘Who are you dolling up for, our Lil?’ Uncle Noah caught Lily at the front door. ‘Not some young terrier you’ve got hidden away?’

  ‘No, Uncle Noah. Just work.’

  ‘A prince wouldn’t be good enough for our girl. Not unless he had a nice ’orse and cart.’

  Lily grinned as she stepped outside. ‘Not many princes own rag and bone carts.’

  ‘Then theirs is the loss, I say. Now take care of yerself.’

  ‘Don’t forget to fry Mum some bread.’

  ‘I’ll give her an egg as well.’

  ‘We ain’t got none, at least till I’m paid.’

  ‘I told you we should keep chickens. Had ’em at barracks. Could do the same here.’

  Torn between laughter and tears, Lily kissed him goodbye. Her dad had kept chickens in the yard until last year when her uncle had forgotten to lock them away one night. In the morning they were gone and no one ever found out who took them, or more to the point, who ate them.

  ‘I’m going now. Goodbye, Uncle.’

  Lily didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she turned into Manchester Road.