Cockney Orphan Page 9

  ‘Are you on duty tonight?’

  ‘Yes and I’ll try to call by. Make sure Billy’s put in an appearance.’

  Connie wasn’t certain if he used Billy as an excuse or if he took the opportunity whenever he could to see her. But she didn’t care why he called, only that he did.

  ‘Mum told me to ask you if you’d like some tea. She queued for some nice sausages yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t need asking twice.’ Vic grinned.

  It was heaven just being by his side, with his arm around her, Connie thought as they strolled home. And now Lucky was sitting up in the pram he looked a real little boy. Under his bonnet there was a soft and downy patch of fair hair poking through. She thought with pride how this ugly little duckling was turning into a beautiful swan. She felt so proud of him.

  How lucky could a girl get?

  Billy sat in Taffy Jones’s house in Poplar High Road, staring at a big shaggy dog that had just cocked its leg on the fender and ambled lazily off. The puddle it left was quickly splashed by the foot of one of a dozen children filling Taffy’s front room.

  Over the mantel, under which lay the neglected ashes of a fire, hung a large, crumpled poster. The illustration was of a young fighter, mildly representative of Taffy, with one front tooth missing as he posed, smiling, at the photographer. The muscular arms and proud naked chest were definitely no longer evident on Taffy’s present-day physique. Billy cast his eyes to Taffy, sprawled in an armchair, lost under a corpulent belly and sagging breasts. Round circles of sweat formed in his armpits and discoloured his shirt. The face, though, was definitely that of Taffy – at least two decades ago.

  ‘See, son, I was the pride of the valleys,’ Taffy hastened to explain as he looked reverently up at the display. ‘Put all the bastards down in under four, never an exception. Got meself a real reputation, boyo.’

  Taffy, who normally spoke as cockney as the next East Ender, now lapsed into a strange concoction of accents. Billy tried to decipher it as endless streams of children ran wildly in and out of the room. They were filthy, shoeless and noisy, tripping over the assortment of winged fowl that strutted across the bare lino. A large black fluffy cat appeared, swiped a paw at the birds, and seated itself on Taffy’s knees.

  ‘I was just sixteen then, with the world at me feet,’ Taffy continued. ‘And if it hadn’t been for the leg, I’d have gone on to great things.’

  ‘What happened to your leg?’ Billy looked down at his employer’s stained brown trousers. Other than never having seen Taffy in any others, they seemed unremarkable.

  ‘I’ve an inch off the right one, so I have.’

  ‘You’d never notice.’

  ‘Birth defect,’ Taffy said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Gives you a disadvantage as you grow. And I was still growing then. Lovely lad I was too. Potential was there. But swinging an inch off target, you begins to make mistakes. By the time I was twenty it was all over. See that there, the Cardiff Cup? The big one to the left? That was my best trophy. A beauty, ain’t she?’

  Billy nodded vigorously, although he couldn’t quite distinguish the model Taffy was referring to. There were at least a dozen battered and misshapen cups, surrounded by a plethora of beribboned badges, war medals and a large three-legged horse tipped on its side, all arranged on the shelves of a glass case the panes of which were broken or splintered. Billy didn’t know if its contents were silver or gold, or even precious, but like the children there were many.

  ‘Now, listen to me, son,’ said Taffy, dispatching the cat. ‘You’re young and you’ve got ambition and I reckon we can make something of you. But the thing is, you can’t win all your fights by biting off your opponent’s ear.’

  ‘I never won the fight,’ Billy reminded him as he tried not to inhale the smell of cat pee on his chair. ‘I got thrashed.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘I had to do something.’

  ‘If you play your cards right next time, you’ll keep out of the way, wear your opponent out, as most of them round here are all show. Three rounds in and they couldn’t walk up a hill without a crutch.’

  ‘So there’s gonna be a next time?’ Billy asked eagerly.

  Taffy wrinkled his brow. ‘You got to learn, lad. You got to use your noddle, think. Keep that trap of yours shut, not waste your breath on insults.’

  ‘I was angry.’

  ‘Make your anger work for you. Be crafty, sly like. Look out for your opportunity. Come under their punches and catch them off guard. Now come with me.’

  Taffy led him through a dark corridor and out into daylight. The rear yard contained a shed. Taffy slid the bolt, beckoning Billy after him. ‘Now, this, laddo, is me sanctum of sanctums,’ he announced as they stepped in.

  Billy stared round in surprise. Hanging from the roof was a leather punch bag. Pictures of muscular young fighters, all with their fists raised, were pinned on the wooden walls.

  ‘Top left is Teddy Baldock, Bantamweight Champion of the World, 1927,’ Taffy explained. ‘Defeated Archie Bell, bottom right, at the Albert Hall.’

  ‘Was he from round here?’

  ‘Local lad from Poplar no less.’

  ‘Champion of the world . . .’ Billy breathed incredulously.

  ‘His fight went down in the history books,’ Taffy continued. ‘Took more than fifty buses to carry his supporters to Kensington Gore for the event. See that bag there?’ Taffy puffed out his chest. ‘It was strung up in the yard of the Dock House pub. There was just enough room for a boxing ring and a row of chairs either side. Wag Bennett, Ernie Jarvis, the Softleys, Tom Cherry and young Baldock, they all gave it a right bashing in their time.’

  Billy reached out to touch the hallowed leather. He looked up at the big photograph in front of him. ‘That’s Joe Louis! I seen his picture in the paper.’

  ‘Aye, the Brown Bomber,’ Taffy sighed. ‘Did you know his right cross is as lethal as his left hook? That one of his punches only has to travel six inches to rearrange an opponent’s features?’

  Billy was flabbergasted. ‘He ain’t from the island is he?’

  ‘Course he’s not. But I had the photograph signed, see – had it sent over from America special like. To Taffy, mitts up! What an honour! Do you know, he risked his crown against Schmeling the Hun in ’38? Louis scored a KO in the first round. Schmeling didn’t even see it coming.’ He nudged Billy’s arm softly. ‘Now, if you can pull one out of the bag like that, then we’ll all be happy.’

  ‘Yeah, but I got pulverized, didn’t I?’ Billy digressed on a wave of serious doubt.

  ‘That’s experience for you, son. They all started at the bottom of the ladder. Take Tammy Jarvis, another local boy. He was your weight and just as green. Then one day he upped and went to America. Won his fight and came home with a Stetson on his bonce. Bought a greengrocer’s in Westferry with his earnings. Now, what do you think of that?’

  Billy was awestruck. He was looking at seriously famous fighters, who had amounted to something in their lives. America! That’s where he wanted to go too. He’d make amends for what he’d done in the past. One day he would amount to something.

  Once more he looked up at the photograph of the Brown Bomber. Joe Louis had come up the hard way, just like him. Billy smiled to himself. Lady Luck was with him now.

  He could feel it in his bones.

  Chapter Seven

  It was early in October when Connie noticed the stranger. She was walking briskly to work, her mind on what had happened the previous day – her visit to the council offices with Vic – when the man stepped across the road, pausing to light a cigarette as he examined the remains of a ruined house.

  She lost sight of him as she joined the small groups of women she met every morning, hurrying to the dock factories and warehouses. He caught her attention again the following day, reading a newspaper as he stood on the corner of Kettle Street, the brim of his hat pulled over his eyes.

  The next time she saw him was a week later, outside
Dalton’s gates. Once inside the factory grounds she looked back, but he’d disappeared. As she entered the shipping department, Ada came hurrying towards her. ‘The wharf outside our office had a hole blown in it,’ she explained hurriedly. ‘We’re being moved along to the next office. Mr Burns told me to find as many boxes as I could to put our paperwork in. There’s some in the cupboards downstairs.’

  ‘I’ll hang up my coat,’ Connie said at once. ‘How bad is the damage?’

  ‘There’s glass and dust everywhere and a gale blowing in off the river. It’s bloody freezing. Mind, it’s October now, so I suppose it’s to be expected. Lucky for us, the office next door hasn’t been used for months, not since the fruit boats stopped coming. You’d think those U-boats would have better things to do than sink a load of flamin’ bananas.’

  ‘Well, I expect we’ll have to clear the mess up, won’t we?’

  ‘Len asked a couple of the young boys on the shop floor to help us.’ She gave Connie a little push. ‘I’ll come with you to the cloakroom.’

  ‘Ada, have you seen a bloke in a mac and trilby hanging around the gates lately?’ Connie asked her friend as they hurried down the staircase and into the small room provided for the female office staff.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘I’ve noticed this man, once on the corner of Kettle Street, another time in Westferry Road and now outside Dalton’s.’

  ‘There’s lots of strangers about,’ Ada conceded as she scrutinized her make-up in the small square of chipped mirror above the hand basin. ‘What with the demolition and rescue squads and blokes tearing up railings for the war effort.’

  ‘Yes, but he wasn’t a workman.’

  ‘Might be a snoop! The papers say spies aren’t only in Whitehall, but could be anyone on the street.’ She turned quickly to Connie. ‘What with Mr Burns putting me on weigh-ins, I haven’t had a chance to ask if you went to the council about Lucky.’

  Connie nodded as she combed her hair, adjusting the grip on the side of her head that held back her tumble of curls. They were all over the place this morning as she hadn’t had a chance to pin up her hair. She’d slept late after a noisy night and climbed out of the hammock in a daze. By the time she’d washed in the house and got Lucky ready for Nan’s, she hadn’t even had time for breakfast. ‘I went to the Public Health Department for Maternity and Child Welfare who said normally a certificate from the doctor or midwife attending the birth had to be sent in to get coupons, but of course we don’t know anything about his beginnings.’

  ‘Did Vic go with you?’

  Connie nodded. ‘I wasn’t half glad he did too. We had to go to all these departments and then back to our doctor to ask for a letter to confirm that I was a suitable person to care for a baby.’

  ‘Course you are, can’t they see that?’

  ‘Well, I could be anyone, couldn’t I? Dr Deakin asked me a lot of questions about how I would manage. I told him about Nan and Lofty taking care of Lucky in the day. He also hinted that there shouldn’t be much opposition as the government are trying to accommodate over 400,000 city kids already. And there’s still thousands more in the pipeline to evacuate. I’ll probably be classed as a war nanny.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone who cares for non-evacuee children.’ Connie replaced her comb in her bag and snapped it shut. ‘But when we went back to the council offices, this clerk put the wind up me. He said I should think very carefully about taking on the responsibility of a baby. He said evacuation was the course of action to take.’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ Ada cried. ‘What’s it got to do with him?’

  ‘Vic reminded him that only last month the City of Benares evacuation ship was torpedoed on its way to Canada. Only thirteen out of the ninety kids survived. He asked this chap to put it in writing that Lucky would be guaranteed survival after being removed from my safe keeping.’

  ‘Good for him.’

  ‘Then we were sent to see a Mrs Burton, who turned out to be really nice. After we’d been through the story again, she said the government don’t like moving bereaved children from the area too quickly as it’s caused a lot of mix-ups. Lucky’s dad might turn up or a relative even. As long as I can prove I’m assisting the war effort, there won’t be any objections, for a while anyway.’

  ‘What a lot of red tape just to do a good deed,’ Ada grumbled as they opened the stock cupboard and took out the boxes. ‘Talking of which, did you hear that when Buckingham Palace got hit last month, the queen is reported to have said she was glad they were bombed because she can now look the East End in the face.’ Ada’s eyebrows shot up. ‘So I wonder who’s forking out for a red carpet to be laid when she arrives?’ she added cynically.

  Connie giggled. ‘It’d probably disappear down a crater never to be seen again.’

  Laughing, they made their way back to the office. A gust of wind from the river almost blew them off their feet as they entered. All the glass was gone from the tall windows and the stools and chairs were knocked over. The surfaces normally crammed with papers, pens and envelopes were bare.

  It was the first time they had seen Mr Burns in a tizzy. He was covered in the white dust falling from the ceiling and treading carefully over the shattered glass.

  ‘Mr B. makes a good Father Christmas, don’t he?’ Ada spluttered behind her box.

  Connie had to agree. Even this disaster had a funny side to it.

  The following Saturday Connie rushed home from work. Vic was taking her to Pat’s house. She washed her hair and pinned it carefully up on one side of her head above her ear. The other side fell loose in blond waves. Normally she didn’t use rouge but this time she added a discreet glow to her pale cheeks. Unlike Ada, whose obsession was make-up, Connie favoured a natural complexion. She put on a dark blue dress, old but stylish, and tightened a thin black belt around her slim waist.

  Vic whistled through his teeth when he saw her. Then, turning round, he held his hand to his brow, gazing along the street. ‘Who’s the lucky man who’s going to take out this beautiful woman?’ he teased her.

  ‘I wanted to make a good impression,’ she admitted. ‘Last time I saw Pat and your gran I was covered in dust from under the stairs.’

  ‘Shall I wait in the car?’

  ‘Come in if you like. Everyone’s out.’

  Vic sat in the front room whilst Connie got Lucky dressed in fresh white rompers, one of Doris’s matinée coats and a blue woollen bonnet to match his little blue elephant. Connie lifted him into her arms from the cot that Lofty had found on his travels. She was so proud of Lucky and eager to show him off to Pat and Gran.

  When she returned downstairs, Vic took Lucky in his arms. ‘What are you feeding him on, steak? And what’s that, a tooth?’

  ‘There’s one coming on the top too.’

  ‘You’d better get ready with the bubble and squeak then and a nice bit of roast beef.’

  They were laughing together as they left the house. But as Vic opened the car door for her, Connie caught sight of a figure up by the ruins of the Coles’ house. She was certain it was the man in the raincoat.

  When she was settled in her seat and Lucky placed safely on her lap, she turned round to look through the rear window. The figure had gone.

  Pat and Laurie Grant’s flat in Manchester Road was one of many terraces that ran in a straight line, except for the casualties of war, all the way up to the Queens. It had huge big windows, three big bedrooms, a scullery and kitchen. The large sitting room was filled with Laurie’s books and Pat’s embroideries. Pat’s friendly, broad-shouldered husband was a stevedore in the docks and Connie liked him at once.

  The men were left to look after the children as the women gathered in the kitchen. Gran sliced a large green apple and indicated a chair. ‘Sit down, ducks, and help me with the pudding.’

  ‘What are you making?’

  ‘Apple pie without the pastry.’

  Laughing, Pat turned round from the sink. She looked ver
y smart in a lemon-coloured twinset and black skirt protected by a gingham apron. Her dark hair was pulled up at the back and two kiss-curls made up her fringe. ‘It’s apples mixed with condensed milk and some of Doris’s orange juice, with a square of chocolate thrown in and whipped together. I had a few nuts left over and made it crunchy. Bake for five minutes and you won’t notice the missing pastry, or at least that’s the idea.’

  ‘Whip this up for me, will you?’ Gran pushed the basin towards Connie. ‘Now, tell us how you got on with the little boy.’

  Connie stirred the mixture with a fork, aware that Gran’s dark eyes were fixed intently on her. ‘Did Vic say that we went to the Welfare about him?’

  Pat said he had, but Gran asked her to go over it again, which Connie willingly did. When she came to the end of the story, repeating more or less word for word what she had told Ada, the mixture was ready for baking.

  ‘So he can stay with you temporarily?’ Pat asked as she slid the basin in the big oven and took out a delicious-smelling savoury dish.

  ‘Yes, until his dad turns up.’

  ‘And what does your mum think of that?’ asked Gran bluntly.

  ‘I think she’d prefer him to be evacuated.’

  Gran wiped a cloth over the table. ‘She’s thinking of his safety, no doubt. And of her daughter, who’s not a lady of leisure, but a hard-working girl having to rough it in an Anderson.’

  Connie looked into Gran’s eyes. ‘I know Mum’s concerned for me, but firewatching and volunteer work is just as dangerous.’

  ‘And if his dad comes back, he won’t have far to look,’ Pat added quickly.

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ Connie nodded.

  Pat winked at Connie. ‘And if you want my opinion, that baby took to you the very first night he laid eyes on you.’

  Gran smiled, but Connie wasn’t convinced that she agreed with the situation. Pat slid a knife into the centre of the golden-brown baked potato and allowed a trickle of rich sauce and steam to ooze out. ‘It’s lentils, some onions and herbs with the potato and a little fat mixed with stock and a few more vegetables,’ she told Connie. ‘Not much of a substitute for meat, but it is quite tasty. You need loads of gravy to absorb the lentils. Now, I’m sure the boys and the children are hungry. Let’s eat shall we?’