A Child's Voice Calling (3 page)

‘Ah, de poor liddle feller, see, he has to go wid his big sister!’ jeered the tousle-haired boys forced to attend the London County Council School in Hallam Road for lack of affordable Catholic education.

‘Shut yer faces, yer dirty Paddy-whacks, hope the boat sinks that brought yer over!’ retorted Mabel, whose tongue could be versatile when required. Breaking into a half-run she dragged the protesting six-year-old through the streets. There was no time to stare up at the high windows of the Women’s Rescue just off Lavender Hill with its iron gate through which the children could sometimes see the rescued women and girls sitting out of doors hemming sheets; today she had to hurry, for there would be
trouble if she was not at home when Miss Lawton arrived on her bicycle.

There would be trouble anyway when her mother saw the white card she had been given to bring home. Better wait until the lesson was over and Miss Lawton had gone, not that the timid spinster would be likely to pass anything on to Grandmother.

Mabel enjoyed her piano lessons and the daily practice was no hardship either, except that there was rarely time for a full hour at the keyboard. At seven years old she already had her responsibilities in the house, especially in helping with the care of the younger children.

‘There you are at last, Mabel, and about time too,’ scolded their mother, standing at the door of number 12 Sorrel Street with four-year-old Alice and little Georgie who was not yet two. ‘There’s Miss Lawton just coming round the corner, so hurry up and get your music out. Oh, Albert, what a dirty face – here, let me wipe it – and your hands too. Just
look
at you, you little gypsy!’ She dabbed vigorously at the squirming, sun-browned boy whose black hair and eyes proclaimed him Jack Court’s living image. ‘Georgie must go into the kitchen while Mabel’s playing, otherwise he’ll be into everything. Alice can sit and listen to the music if she’s good and keeps quiet. Good afternoon, Miss Lawton,’ Annie continued, raising her voice as the black-clad lady dismounted and leaned her bicycle against the low railing. ‘Mabel’s all ready for her lesson.’

Georgie gave a frustrated howl as his mother hoisted him up to carry him into the kitchen. Beneath her apron a fifth child was beginning to show, drawing on her reserves of strength, already drained by four children and a miscarriage.

The years had taken their toll of Anna-Maria Chalcott; there was now little trace of the headstrong girl who had become Annie Court. The once bright hair was pulled up into a knot on the top of her head from which stray tendrils hung and the blue eyes were surrounded by a network of fine lines, the result of a continual struggle to survive on an income that could never be guaranteed from one week to the next, though the overall trend was downwards.

Yet she smiled and her face lit up as Mabel’s nimble fingers began to play a scale on the second-hand upright in the front room. She often said that her eldest daughter was her chief comfort, for the beautiful baby had become a sunny-tempered child whose grey-blue eyes were always bright with interest in the world around her. Her heart-shaped face, which reminded Annie of her own mother, was framed with abundant light-brown hair that hung down her back in shining waves. By contrast Alice was dark like her father and Albert, with the same strong white teeth, while Georgie was fair like Mabel. It was often remarked that the combination of Jack Court’s swarthy looks and his wife’s delicate fairness had produced some uncommonly fine-looking children.

While the music trickled through, interspersed with Miss Lawton’s gentle directions, Annie got on with preparing supper. It was mutton stew this evening, ready to serve at any time. She never knew when to expect Jack who liked to have his meal on the table when he came in; otherwise it had to be something that could be quickly done in a pan, like rashers of bacon fried with onions and potatoes. Eggs were an expensive luxury, for there was no
room to keep chickens in the backyards of Sorrel Street.

The piano lesson finished with quiet praise from Miss Lawton who proclaimed Mabel the best pupil in her grade. Annie smiled proudly and patted her daughter on the shoulder, which made Mabel all the more reluctant to produce the shameful white card from the newly appointed school nurse: for her lovely fair hair had been pronounced
verminous
.

Mabel could not ever remember seeing her mother so angry. ‘How
dare
they! I’ve never heard of anything so disgraceful!’ It was a relief to know that her indignation was directed against the school, and the nurse in particular, for labelling her daughter a dirty child with head lice, when in fact the school itself was so obviously the source of the infestation. ‘I’ve a good mind to go and speak to that head teacher myself and tell her what I think,’ declared Annie with a flash of her old spirit. ‘Sassafras oil indeed, the sheer, barefaced
cheek
of it! Talk about adding insult to injury – your father will have something to say when he hears of it, I shouldn’t wonder!’

But Jack Court had other matters on his mind when he got home just after seven. ‘Haven’t much time – got a couple o’ blokes waiting at the Falcon, a dead cert running tomorrow at Goodwood,’ he muttered, striding through to the kitchen and frowning at the sight and smell of the stew Annie was ladling out. ‘Is that all yer can do for a man who’s been workin’ all the bloody day? Mabel, go down to the corner for a jug o’ beer – here’s tuppence, that’ll do.’

‘But she’s just sitting down to her supper, Jack!’ protested Annie.

‘It won’t take her five minutes there an’ back, and there’re still plenty o’ kids playin’ out, so why worry?’

‘You know I don’t like ours mixing with that rough lot. It lowers the whole neighbourhood, having children running around and yelling till all hours. And I don’t like Mabel being seen going down to the public.’

Annie looked prepared to stand her ground, but he dismissed her with an impatient gesture. ‘Run along, Mabel, there’s a good girl – for yer daddy.’

Mabel half rose, while glancing anxiously at her mother who threw down the ladle in a rare gesture of defiance. ‘No! I’ll go myself, rather than send Mabel to that place. You see to the supper, Mabel – there’s some bread on the table to dip in the bowls.’ And Annie put on her jacket, hat and gloves, for she refused to wear a shawl like some factory worker or laundress; she picked up an earthenware pint jug and marched out of the house.

Jack frowned, glancing round at their faces. Georgie had fallen asleep and Alice was busy with her spoon, but Mabel and Albert met his eyes accusingly.

‘Poor ol’ Mum,’ said Albert with a most unchildlike scowl.

Jack Court shrugged, frowned and turned his attention to little Alice. ‘Who’s Daddy’s best girl, then?’ he asked, taking her upon his knee at the table and ruffling her dark head. Even at her tender age Alice was well aware that she was specially favoured by her father.

She smiled up at him artlessly. ‘Poor ol’ Daddy,’ she said.

The ongoing battle against head lice became part of
daily life. Mabel was by no means the only sufferer and several mothers had marched to the school to complain rather than to make excuses for the outbreak revealed by the nurse’s inspection.

A toothcomb was bought, and after Mabel’s hair was washed her mother pulled the comb through it strand by strand, searching out the offending black insects and their greyish ‘eggs’ or ‘nits’ that stuck to the hairs and would hatch out another generation if not removed. Oil of sassafras was rubbed in and a cotton cap worn overnight, followed by more hair-washing and combing until Annie was satisfied that Mabel was free of lice and nits; but how the girl’s heart went out to the persistent offenders who had to sit in a separate group in class, threatened with the ultimate disgrace, a shorn head. The smell of sassafras continued to linger, forever associated in Mabel’s mind with the school nurse’s visits.

Sunday tea at 23 Macaulay Road was a time for clean pinafores and best behaviour. Jack’s mother received her son’s family with matriarchal formality, though she very seldom appeared at Sorrel Street. At fifty she had put on a little weight and now wore her hair curled like Queen Alexandra’s, with a fringe.

Everybody had been warned not to breathe a word about the head lice.

Jack kissed his mother as soon as she opened the door, though Annie who was carrying Georgie kept him firmly between herself and her mother-in-law.

No sooner had Mabel, Albert and Alice crossed the threshold than their grandmother gave a suspicious sniff. ‘My word, Annie, I hope that horrid smell isn’t what I think it is, else yer neighbours’ll draw their own conclusions.’

Annie sighed deeply and mumbled that there had been an outbreak at the school for which all the pupils had had to be treated. Mimi looked entirely unconvinced. She never lost an opportunity to criticise or contradict her daughter-in-law in front of Jack and the children, thereby implying that Annie was a poor manager.

When it became apparent that another child was expected, Mimi had rolled up her eyes as if unable to believe that such carelessness was possible. ‘I’d’ve thought ye’d’ve had enough sense to wait a while after the last time, Annie – give yerself a chance to build up yer strength a bit.’

Annie had answered her with unusual sharpness: ‘You’d better have a word with your son, then.’

‘Oh, shame on yer, Annie, in front o’ them innocent children! Whatever next?’ had come the shocked response, followed by a very pointed change of subject.

They all trooped after her now into the living room, a veritable Aladdin’s cave to the children, being stuffed with furniture, pictures, ornaments and bric-a-brac of all kinds. A dining table was covered with a purple velvet tasselled cloth over which a white lace-edged one was spread. There was a sideboard, a sofa, a piano and a glass-fronted cabinet crammed full of china and crystalware. A minefield of footstools and pouffes littered the floor space, which delighted the children, but for Annie the room was full of potential trippings-up and breakages; she was on constant tenterhooks for fear of a disaster.

‘Well, then, Mabel, how’re yer getting on at school?’ asked Mimi Court condescendingly. ‘Yer mother seems to think ye’re uncommonly forward.’

‘Miss Thomas asked me to stand up and read from
my exercise book to the whole class,’ answered Mabel promptly, catching her mother’s eye and smiling.

‘Did she indeed? And what was this masterpiece all about?’

‘Well, there was this Salvation Army meeting, y’see, and these two men came out o’ the public and they were shouting an’ making fun o’ the man who was speaking, see,’ said Mabel eagerly, warming to her subject. ‘Some o’ the people laughed, but the band picked up their, er, oompahs or whatever they’re called, and started to play this hymn, ever so loudly, “Onward Christian Soldiers” I think it was, an’ so these two men had to shout louder – and then some other men came along an’ told them to pack it in and clear off. “Shut yer great gob!” one of ’em said – “Stow it, Bill Wilkins, d’ye hear? Unless yer wants a clip round the—”’

‘That’s quite enough, thank yer very much,’ interrupted her grandmother with a pained air. ‘For a child o’ your age, Mabel ye’ve got far too much to say, an’ a most unfortunate way o’ sayin’ it.’ She looked reproachfully at Annie as she spoke.

‘
Most
unfortunate,’ mimicked Albert in a squeaky voice just loud enough for his grandmother to hear. She turned sharply and was struck once again by his resemblance to Jack at that age. She would have loved to make a fuss of him and favour him with little treats like the new silver threepenny piece in her purse or a chunk of her home-made toffee; but the boy was quite ridiculously attached to his elder sister and he was now whispering something into Mabel’s ear, holding up a not very clean hand to cover his mouth. Less than a year apart in age, they were as different in character as in looks, yet there
had always been this special bond between them, which Mimi distrusted. As babies in the same pram, Albert had scowled while Mabel had smiled; as a toddling bundle of mischief he had crawled into every cupboard, pulled out drawers and pee’d into them, clutched at saucepans on the kitchen range and only escaped a scalding through Mabel’s prompt grabbing hold of him. Yet he always responded to her smiles or frowns; she alone could persuade him out of his sulks, while he never failed to tease her into laughter when she was downcast. In Mimi Court’s opinion, the pair had never learned their manners and she blamed Annie.

Mabel caught her mother’s eye, adding to Mimi’s irritation.

Alice saw her opportunity. ‘Please, Grandmother, may I play with Humpty-Dumpty?’ she begged in the sweet little good-girl voice she knew would contrast well with Albert’s unsatisfactory behaviour.

‘O’ course yer may, yer dear little soul,’ replied Mimi approvingly, taking down the painted wooden eggshell character from his shelf; he always landed the right way up, no matter how hard or how often he was pushed over. ‘Grandmother likes good children who mind their manners – doesn’t she, Georgie? Let yer little brother play with Humpty-Dumpty too, Alice – but Albert can keep his grubby hands orf. I can’t understand why yer don’t take that boy in hand, Annie.’

Albert assumed an air of bored indifference and murmured something about babies’ rubbish, though Mabel burned with indignation and when tea was served she infuriatingly refused the fruit cake.

‘Why, what’s the matter with it, girl? Ye’ve always taken two slices before,’ snapped her grandmother.
‘If there’s anything I can’t abide it’s a child who sulks.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you ladies to yer gossip,’ said Jack who had seen a couple of old drinking pals going past the window. Ignoring the tightness of his wife’s mouth he added, ‘If I’m not back by five, ye’d better get the Clapham omnibus from outside the new hospital down the road.’

By which Annie knew that he would not be home till late.

Autumn came in with cold, damp weather, bringing the Court children their share of coughs and colds. Annie grew more tired and depressed as the months went by and much as she disliked keeping Mabel away from school, she made the coughs and sneezes an excuse for demanding her elder daughter’s help on the dreaded washing days. Mondays were particularly miserable in wet weather when the sheets, towels and clothes hung draped over wooden ‘maidens’ in both kitchen and living room, keeping the air chill and moist. If the range fire was kept in all day it made the washing steam, causing the walls to stream with condensation. Even by getting up at six to light the copper to heat the water by seven and get the washing done by nine and mangled to flatness by ten, it would still not be properly dry until the next morning, sometimes not even then. With Mabel to mind Alice and Georgie, Annie was better able to get through a wet Monday, though she was exhausted by evening, and the coughs and running noses of the little ones sorely tried her nerves.