Cockney Orphan Read online

  George squashed his dog end with his boot. ‘I just don’t see myself as a leader of men.’

  Vic clasped a hand to his friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s the same as the playground, George. Stand up to the bullies and when you see a chance, go for it. There’s opportunities here, all we’ve got to do is grab them.’

  ‘Blimey,’ George gasped, ‘you’ve got it all sussed.’

  Vic shook his head slowly. ‘Not a bit of it. But I have got a life, George, and I intend to live it.’

  Gran was in the front parlour, waiting for Connie. She had made the tea as usual of a Saturday afternoon, reserving her butter and sugar rations for today so they could have a little treat, a good helping of jam on the bread and a generous spoonful of sugar in the tea. A quarter of a pint of milk was reserved for Lucky and a baked rice pudding. This routine was the highlight of her week since her grandson had been called up.

  Pulling the curtain to one side, she peered along East Ferry Road and searched for the tall, slim figure pushing a large pram. She hadn’t realized just how much she looked forward to seeing Connie. The young woman made her feel closer to Vic.

  Gran returned to her armchair. She was worried for the young couple. Not just the war, but those murky lights. Gran sighed. She felt too tired to work it all out. She only wanted to sleep these days. With an effort she propped herself up in the cushioned chair, looking around the parlour walls. They were crammed with photographs. Husband Maurice, killed in the first war, and so like Vic, handsome and dark eyed. Mother and Father, both Quakers, standing erect, side by side. Brothers and sisters now dead or mislaid, in a world that she had no desire to search now that she was old. Photographs of her only son, Freddie, and his wife Josephine, always in her heart. Freddie taken by a cruel, unrelenting disease, a curse of the poor. She shuddered as she thought of how she had nursed him through the TB. Josie had given up after his death, literally, just wasted away. How could their young lives have ended so cruelly? It was only the kids, Vic and Pat, who had kept her sane afterwards. All legs and arms they were, like little fawns, tiny orphaned innocents . . .

  ‘Gran . . . Gran?’

  The soft calling broke into her dreams. The faces that filled her mind, replicas of those on the walls, slowly faded. Gran opened her eyes to see a fresh young face, full of vitality, staring down at her.

  ‘Connie, ducks! I must’ve drifted off.’

  ‘Don’t get up. I’ll make the tea.’

  ‘Where’s the lad?’

  ‘He’s out the back, asleep in the pram. Now, rest a while longer.’

  If this was getting old, Gran didn’t care for it. She was used to being independent. It came as a shock to find yourself addressed as a child, though she knew Connie meant well.

  When the girl returned, they sat at the table as the sun broke in through the window. Connie poured and Gran watched as her lovely hair fell over her shoulders, waves of spun silk, curling against her pale cheek. As delicate as her long, graceful fingers on the china. What a beauty this girl was, both inside and out!

  ‘Gran? One sugar or two?’

  ‘Not for me, love. You go ahead.’

  ‘You spoil us on Saturdays.’

  ‘Why not, if you’re good enough to visit?’

  ‘Gran, you’re my family, least you feel like it now. Fact is, I can’t remember being without you, or Pat and Laurie and Doris. It’s just like you’ve been around for ever.’ Connie smiled reflectively as she spread the jam evenly over the bread. ‘I don’t half miss him, you know.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  They finished the buttered bread and when Lucky woke Gran fed him the rice pudding as he sat on her lap. She was beginning to think of this little boy as Connie’s, but then did that mean he was Vic’s also? It was a strange arrangement but she admired the girl. What would happen in the future? Would the father turn up? It would break her heart of course if Lucky were to be taken away now.

  Gran put the disturbing notions out of her mind as she wiped Lucky’s little mouth and tickled him under his chin. He had such an infectious laugh and dazzling blue eyes.

  ‘I reckon he’ll be walking soon. Crawls everywhere if he gets the opportunity,’ Connie said proudly.

  Gran lowered him carefully to the floor between her feet. She gave him the box of toys to play with, amongst them his wooden train that Vic had made. She looked up at Connie. ‘When you’ve finished your tea, I’ve a surprise for you.’

  Connie’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

  ‘Take the dirties away first and stand the fireguard in front of the fire, will you, for the child.’

  Connie lifted the square mesh frame in front of the glowing coals and asked breathlessly, ‘Is it to do with Vic?’

  ‘Hurry up and I’ll tell you.’ She watched Connie run out of the room with the china. Then, as she ruffled Lucky’s blond head, she thought of the surprise that she’d had herself yesterday. A heavy sisal bag had been returned to her from the navy. Inside, she found her grandson’s civilian clothes. On searching the bag thoroughly she had discovered two sheets of folded paper hidden in a flap. One was addressed to her, the other to Connie. She was eager to see the girl’s face when she read it.

  Connie paused, the words coming a little unsteadily as emotion caused her to stop reading.

  Gran was grateful that Vic had not worried this young woman with graver news. Instead he’d written words that could only lift her spirit rather than crush it.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m bunked with three good chaps, George being a Bermondsey lad, Sammy Kite from the sticks and Tommy Drew a city boy. Now, promise me you’ll take care of yourself and Laughing Boy? I look forward to my first leave, though when and where it will be I have no idea. Keep safe for me, and to you and Lucky, my deepest affection and love. Yours as always, Vic.’

  Gran watched Connie fold the sheet of lined paper into its creases and take a shuddering breath. ‘Oh, Gran, I want to see him. Do you think he’ll get leave soon?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that. But he’ll move heaven and earth to arrange it.’

  Connie searched Gran’s face. ‘Read the leaves? P’raps they’d tell us something.’

  Gran felt her ribs creak as she leaned forward to stretch her arm across Lucky’s head. She patted Connie’s cheek, skin as soft as a baby’s. ‘I see lots of good things for you without them leaves, and I promise to read them when the time is right. To be honest with you, love, I’ve got a bugger of a back this afternoon and I thought I might get myself over to Pat’s so’s I can have a lie down.’

  ‘I’ll walk over with you.’ Connie jumped to her feet.

  ‘No, ta. Jerry won’t be long in arriving. You’d never get home in time.’

  Reluctantly Connie agreed. She took the baby into the passage and put him in the pram. Gran pulled herself up from the chair and walked out to the hall-stand, lifting her coat and slipping it on.

  ‘See you both next week, then?’

  Connie held her in a tight embrace. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘Say hello to your mum for me.’

  Connie pushed the pram out and bounced it down the three steps. Gran waved goodbye, watching her progress down the road. Then when it was safe to go back inside, she removed her coat and re-hung it on the hall-stand. She had no intention of going to Pat’s, it was Vic’s letter to her that she wished to analyse again.

  Quietly she resumed her position in the chair by the fire and took out the letter from her apron pocket.

  ‘Dear Gran, I’ll write again very soon, but it will be an official letter, not under the counter like this one. I want you to know something important. You were right about that porker’s head. I’ve fetched up in North Wales, dead on target for DEMS ships, that is, training as a gunner for the merchant fleet. But remembering what you told me about taking fate in my own hands, I’ve put in for an interview with my CO. I had to stretch the truth and say as how I passed exams at school. Lucky my job was with the PLA as I’ve got
a bit of experience under my belt and can beef it all up. My plans for a commission could all fall through if they rumble me, so didn’t want to tell Con what I’m after. Let’s hope it all works out, eh? I miss your cooking. Don’t think I’ll bother with Butlins after this. All my love, your devoted grandson, Vic. P.S. Look out for Con for me, the brown lights and all. xx’

  Gran drew her handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. She read the letter once more. When she had finished, she looked up at Freddie standing so tall by Josie. Her voice trembled as she whispered, ‘Give him a bit of help, son. What you couldn’t do for him down here, then see to it up there.’

  Then she closed her eyes and let her head rest back on the cushion, the note falling from her tightly clenched fingers and into her lap.

  It was an early May morning when Connie walked into the office and for the second time found her workplace non-existent. The damage from the raid on Saturday night was extensive. Not only were the windows shattered, but the floor was holed and very dangerous. This time, there was no sweeping up by the staff or gathering of important papers. Connie saw at once it was too risky even to tread around the outer floorboards that remained. The warehousemen below were trying to secure the floor joints that had literally snapped in two and a great deal of argument was going on over which was the best way to do it.

  Mr Burns and Len English, Ada and Connie all stood at the top of the stairs, watching the workmen scurrying here and there, until finally Mr Burns ordered his staff to the canteen whilst he made alternative arrangements.

  The canteen, however, had been damaged too, though not so severely. The large south-facing window was still intact, but the two smaller ones were being boarded up and the preparation of food had been cancelled.

  ‘Is there a cup of rosie going?’ Len shouted to one of the girls as they stood in the dishevelled room.

  ‘Sorry, Len. And we ain’t got no water.’

  ‘Might as well go home,’ Len sighed as he pushed his way through the fallen tables and chairs to a free corner. He brushed the plaster from one of the seats along the wall, then righted two chairs. ‘Come on, girls, let’s have a smoke.’

  They took no persuading as the three of them sat around a dusty table and Len brought out his roll-ups. ‘I’m only surprised the damage isn’t worse,’ he commented, flinging an arm over the back of his chair. ‘We’re still up and running. Which is more than can be said for the House of Commons. I heard on the radio that one of the chambers is just rubble now and the square tower of Westminster Abbey went up in smoke. Saint Paul’s took another hit too, but by all accounts it’s still standing. They reckon it was tit for tat with what we did to Berlin.’

  Ada stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I’m sick of all this dust. You eat it, drink it, breathe it. I was coughing all last night in the shelter and didn’t get a wink. What with that and Wally’s dad going on about that Rudolf Hess parachuting from his plane up in Scotland and Mrs Wipple complaining about cheese being rationed to ten ounces a week, my head was well and truly done in.’

  Connie pulled her coat round her, shivering as the breeze whistled though a shattered pane of glass. ‘I wonder where we’ll be put now.’

  They were all silent for a moment until Ada giggled. ‘Well, I hope we get a few nice-looking blokes to help us clear up the mess.’

  Len feigned shock. ‘You’re already spoken for!’

  ‘Nearly but not quite.’ Ada touched her hair. ‘I’m still officially single.’

  Len’s eyes widened comically. ‘Is that so, Miss Freeman?’

  ‘Oh yes it is, Mr English.’

  Connie smiled as the pair acted the fools, relieving the tension of the Monday morning that had brought with it yet another wave of disaster.

  ‘Anyway, let’s look on the bright side,’ Len suggested as he took a last drag on his cigarette. ‘Mr Burns said we might get our old office back.’

  ‘This time, I bags the stool by the window,’ Ada cried. ‘I want to look at the river. It makes me feel like everything is back to normal.’

  ‘Talking of normal,’ Len mused, ‘I might unlock Mother from the cupboard tonight.’

  ‘Get away with you!’ Ada screeched. ‘She’s not locked up, is she?’

  Len kept a straight face. ‘I’ve lost the key to the handcuffs, though.’

  Ada giggled, nudging his arm. ‘I wish my Wally had a few laughs up his sleeve. He used to be such a giggle. These days he’s a right old misery guts. Ever since he was told he had flat feet and wasn’t eligible for the call-up. And when those five incendiary bombs fell on Maconochie’s where he works, in February, it was the highlight of his life. He ain’t stopped talking about it since.’

  ‘At least he’s safe,’ Connie reminded her friend.

  ‘Yeah, course.’ Ada glanced at Len. ‘Go on, tell us about your mum, again. I feel like I want to laugh until I cry, if you know what I mean.’

  Connie listened as Len obliged. But under his humour she sensed a thread of desperation, and it was what Ada didn’t say about her life that worried Connie. War brought out the best and worst in everyone. People’s lives changed in ways that no one would have ever dreamed of. Ada’s family were now settled in Kent and urging her to join them. Was Ada considering going? Was her great love affair with Wally over? Len made jokes about his mother, but sometimes Connie felt he wanted to be taken seriously. Dealing with an eccentric mother must be exhausting.

  ‘I’d offer you a fag for your thoughts but I suspect they’re priceless.’

  Connie looked up. Len and Ada were staring at her. Len shook his head. ‘I’m gonna call you the Mona Lisa from now on. You’ve always got a smile on your face these days.’

  Ada giggled as she threaded her arm through Len’s. ‘Well, she’s got something to smile about, hasn’t she? Her Vic’s due for leave any day now.’

  Connie’s heart somersaulted. Vic’s letter had arrived last week. He was coming home! After five long months away she would be holding him close once more.

  Chapter Eleven

  Connie jumped off the bus in Westferry Road. It was a lovely May evening, but the country was in shock. HMS Hood, Britain’s beloved flagship, had been sunk by the German battleship Bismarck. It was thought that only a handful of her 1,421 crew had been saved. Everyone had listened to the radio reports trickling in and disbelievingly read the newspapers. At work, voices had been hushed and incredulous as the tragedy became clear. Connie’s thoughts were with Vic, who had not written since his last letter saying he hoped to get leave. Where was he? Would he come home soon? Did the disastrous events that had unfolded at sea reflect in his life?

  Nan, with Lucky astride her hip, opened the door to Connie. ‘Hello, love. Come in and sit down.’

  Connie kissed them both, taking the child into her arms. ‘Hello, mischief, have you been a good boy?’

  Lucky gurgled and offered her his blue elephant. Connie squeezed him tight, then looked at Nan. ‘Where’s Lofty?’

  ‘In the backyard, nailing up the broken fence. He’ll be in soon. Sit yourself down.’

  Connie took Lucky into the front room and, moving aside the usual clutter from the couch, she sank down with a sigh. ‘I’m glad to be finished today. Everyone had their chins on the floor with such depressing news.’

  ‘The nation’s grieving, love,’ Nan agreed, sitting beside her. ‘I was up the shops this morning and they was all talking about Kathleen Walker’s sister, that lives up Poplar. Her husband was serving on the Hood, just boarded at the last refit.’

  ‘Oh, Nan. I don’t know what I’d do if something like that happened to Vic.’ Connie hugged Lucky against her, trying to tell herself she was strong. But since the terrible news she wasn’t so certain any more. Now she was engaged to be married and the reality of what she had done had come home to her. She was worrying herself silly over Vic’s safety. And as far as she knew, he hadn’t even left England yet!

  ‘You’d do like all the rest,’ Nan said steadily, ‘and keep h
oping. That’s what keeps us afloat. Hope in the future.’

  Connie knew that Nan was trying to bolster her spirits. But Lofty was only out in the backyard, repairing a fence and within calling distance. Then she felt ashamed of herself. If he wasn’t too old Lofty would have volunteered for the front line too. And Nan would have risen to the occasion, just like she always did.

  ‘Now, would you like a bit of tea with us?’ Nan asked, straightening the ties of her pinny. ‘I’ve got a nice pot of stew on the go.’

  Connie smiled gratefully. ‘No thanks, Nan. I’d better get home. Mum’s still anticipating a raid tonight even though we haven’t had one in almost two weeks.’

  ‘Let’s hope Jerry has his hands full.’ Nan nodded as they walked to the front door. ‘If Adolf ’s got his panzers on their way to Moscow, as they say he has, then it will take the strain off us. Nevertheless, my heart goes out to those poor souls he’s turned his attention on.’

  Connie nodded sadly. ‘Thanks for having Lucky, Nan.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me, it’s a pleasure.’ She put a hand on Connie’s arm. ‘Any news from the Welfare?’

  ‘They allocated me the extra coupons for Lucky, so I’m officially a war nanny.’

  Nan smiled, showing her large front teeth. ‘Had another letter from Vic?’

  ‘Yes, but no date for his leave. I’m beginning to think that him coming home is just wishful thinking.’

  ‘He’ll turn up, ducks. Now, give my love to your mum. I’ve not seen her in a couple of days, so tell her I’ll call later in the week.’

  Bidding Nan goodbye Connie made her way home. Lucky blew bubbles and made noises in his own baby language. She loved this time of the day. Cuddling and playing with him seemed to draw her closer to Vic. The memory of Gilbert Tucker was receding fast.