Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (49 page)

Into the miasma of her grief sometimes came bright spots of light, which she did not question. Matty would drag her along to the Star and she would sit in the womb-like darkness of the old theatre, staring at the stage where Matty sang brightly on, then she would suddenly finding her foot tapping. Or Alice would lead her to the Old Clo’ market and she would come home, miraculously, with a ‘new’ red coat to keep out the winter chill, for suddenly there was deep snow on the ground and it was Christmas. She had begun to measure her life in two periods, before the telegram and after.

Then there was Bobby, who never seemed to leave her side. At fourteen, he was still the same old loving Bobby and now he became her shadow. He’d been taken on full time at the vicarage, as a handy boy, but he offered to take over her Co-op round, which she’d insisted on keeping up. But she refused. Strangely, it was only when flying through the Bermondsey streets on the old contraption that she felt anything remotely like hope. The wheels would sing to her of a promise, the promise of her sixteen-year-old self to a dying woman, the promise of Sam to return to her, but the thrumming of the spokes in the wind spoke to her of another promise, the promise of hope.

Shortly after Sam’s disappearance, the house in Reverdy Road became Eliza’s permanent residence. She now rented the top floor of Mrs Morgan’s house for herself and William. Her speaking engagements and union work were mostly carried on in London, and Ernest, with his new softly, softly approach, had suggested a London day school might be better for William. She knew, too, that he wished to see more of the boy, to say nothing of herself. But mostly she had come to Bermondsey for Nellie. After Sam’s ‘disappearance’ – she insisted on not calling it death – Nellie’s spirit seemed to have dispersed to the four winds, her solid, bold, cheerful self stretched as thin as a veil of mist, and Eliza was worried, as were all her family. Eliza could truly say that now she felt like one of Nellie’s family. She had, after all, helped raise her own daughter and been engaged to her brother, but more than that, her mother had trusted Nellie Clark with all that was precious to her. Now it was Eliza’s turn to help Nellie, and she judged the best thing she could do was to continue trying to find out what had happened to Sam. That search was best conducted from London and with the help of Ernest James. Ernest had disappointed his largely military family by going into politics, but he still had the necessary clout to contact a colonel-in-chief or a general.

An unexpected bonus for Eliza was that Matty became a regular visitor to Reverdy Road. She was able to share with her some of the leads Ernest was feeding back to her; even if they were ultimately dead ends, Matty was still keen to hear them. But Eliza would pass nothing on to Nellie unless she knew it had been verified.

Shortly before Christmas, Matty arrived at Reverdy Road looking flushed and excited. She was wrapped in a turquoise woollen coat with a huge shawl collar, and had a fur hat like a Cossack’s pulled over her auburn hair. Mrs Morgan showed her upstairs and she carried in with her the fresh smell of snow. She shivered, drawing near the fire, which was blazing in the grate. It was nice to see the girl with a spark in her eyes again – for months they’d been like dull pools. Nellie wasn’t the only one Eliza worried about; she knew how grief-stricken Matty was, but she also knew the lengths to which she went to hide that from Nellie.

‘You look excited!’ Eliza exclaimed.

Matty pulled off the hat and her cheeks began to flush in the heat. She dropped the coat with a flourish and twirled round.

‘Bernie’s American scout’s offered me a job in a musical!’

‘Matty, that’s marvellous news!’ Eliza exclaimed, before realizing what this meant. ‘
American
scout?’

Matty nodded, jumping up and down, hugging herself. Eliza hadn’t the heart to squash her joy; she forced a smile to her face. ‘You’d have to go to America?’

Matty flopped down into a chair by the fire and her face turned serious. ‘
Would
have to,’ she emphasized, ‘if I was to accept it, which I’m not.’

‘You’re not?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I would never leave Nellie, not now.’

Eliza’s emotions fought silently as she looked on at her daughter. She felt nothing but relief that Matty wasn’t going abroad, but still there was a strain of sadness that tugged at her. For Nellie, the girl would abandon all her hopes, something Eliza was sure she would never do for her.

‘Do you think Nellie would want you to give up your chance, Matty?’ she forced herself to say.

‘No, but I’m not telling her, and neither must you! I was so bursting with pride that I had to tell
someone
about it, though!’

At least Eliza could be grateful Matty considered her a confidante now. ‘Well, I’m proud of you, Matty, and if the rest of the family knew, they would be too!’ she said, smiling. ‘But listen, I have my own confidences to share. You know Ernest’s brother’s a major in the RFA? Well, he’s uncovered something that gives me a
glimmer
of hope about Sam!’

Matty went white, all the flushed excitement draining from her in an instant.

‘But this is something else we mustn’t tell Nellie, not until we’re sure!’ Eliza went on.

‘What have you found out?’ Matty asked, wide-eyed.

‘Well, apparently there’s
another
Samuel Gilbie in the RFA, who enlisted on the same day as our Sam, and their army numbers differ by one digit…’

Matty looked like she was about to burst. ‘And where is this other Sam, is he alive?’

‘Breathe, Matty dear, please.’

The girl took a huge gulp of air.

‘Yes, he’s alive, in a hospital in Belgium, but badly injured, and Ernest’s brother thinks it could possibly be a case of mistaken identity… Oh, Matty, it might be
our
Sam!’

‘But if it’s our Sam, why hasn’t he told them who he is, or even sent word?’

‘Major James says he was brought in from a field-dressing station, unconscious, and he’s been that way for weeks, but now the doctors say he’s more lucid. The major’s stationed not far from the hospital and he’s going out to see for himself!’

She was swept off her feet by a hug from Matty, whom she had to beg to settle down. As she saw her off, Eliza again warned her.

‘It may not be our Sam, Matty – don’t get your hopes up too high. And you’ve got to keep it quiet until Ernest gets confirmation one way or the other. We can’t afford to give Nellie false hope either. You’ll need to stay calm and make use of all those acting skills of yours!’

It was Christmas Eve and snow was falling in great fat flakes outside the high windows. The custard tarts, who were finishing early, were in high spirits. They had been paying into the Christmas Club all year: tonight, in spite of the watered-down government beer and the curtailed pub hours, they intended to enjoy themselves in the Green Ginger. Those women who’d lost sons or husbands or had someone ‘missing’ wouldn’t put a damper on the other girls’ good humour. They would either quietly absent themselves or, like Nellie, would go along and ‘put a brave face on’.

She looked at the thick white swirl outside and imagined snow falling in Flanders, the once glutinous mud now crusted into frozen peaks and the flooded shell holes turned to frozen ponds. No matter where she was, her mind seemed lodged in Belgium, as though her thoughts were searchlights and one day they might light upon Sam. She looked through the pale golden haze of custard powder and saw, instead, mustard gas creeping over barbed wire, nestling into trenches.

‘Nellie! Nellie! Wake up, duck!’ Ethel Brown’s voice brought her back reluctantly to the factory floor. ‘You’re wanted on the top floor!’

‘Top floor! Why?’ Nellie panicked. She had never been called to the offices on the top floor: that was reserved for firings or disciplinary interviews. ‘What have I done wrong?’ Perhaps her absent-mindedness had reached the notice of the bosses?

‘I’m sure you ain’t done nothing, love,’ Ethel said unconvincingly.

Nellie slipped off her work smock and cap and went slowly upstairs to the offices. These rooms, where management worked and Duff had his office, were like another country to Nellie. A young secretary spotted her and led her to a wood-panelled, carpeted room with a massive walnut desk in the centre. Behind the desk, sitting in a leather chair, was the rotund figure of ‘Old Plum Duff’ himself. He got up and gestured her to come forward.

‘Come and sit down, Miss Clark,’ he said, in a chesty voice. She could hear him wheezing from across the room as she went to sit on the edge of the leather chair, on the opposite side of the desk. She gripped her hands together tightly. Why he had to sack her himself, she couldn’t imagine. Perhaps there had been, after all, some black mark on her record, since the strike days. Suddenly the door opened and another person was shown in.

‘Eliza!’ Nellie almost started out of her chair. Surely Eliza was the last person that Duff would have invited here willingly! But he was greeting her politely and then he looked towards Nellie. His chesty voice softened.

‘Mrs James telephoned me with some news, Miss Clark, that she wanted you to hear straight away.’

Nellie prepared herself for what she knew must come and, now, fixing her eyes on the green patterns swirled into the ruby-red carpet, she saw only mud and blood and the broken body of her beloved Sam. She looked up at Eliza, who had walked over to her, reaching down to grip Nellie’s trembling hands.

‘Nellie, we’ve found him. Sam’s alive!’

‘Alive? My Sam alive?’ She was shaking, struggling to take it in. ‘Are you sure?’ She didn’t dare believe it was true. ‘But where’s he been all this time?’

Nellie tried hard to concentrate as Eliza explained that Sam had been in a Belgian hospital, unconscious, for over a month and mistaken for another soldier. Her brain seemed to be working overtime to comprehend these simplest of phrases.

‘But how do we know it really is Sam?’ Hope was edging its way into her heart but tinged with a sickening fear that it might prove false. Old Duff’s secretary walked softly into the room and whispered in the old man’s ear. The telephone rang and he picked it up.

‘We have some evidence that might convince you, young lady. Here!’ He pushed the telephone across the desk and Eliza handed it to Nellie. The line crackled, a man’s brisk voice asked if he was speaking to Miss Nellie Clark, she said yes, and her heart wanted to break through her chest. She was aware of the eager eyes of Duff and Eliza looking at her; then she heard another voice on the line, weak, far away, but, oh, so familiar.

‘Hello, Nellie?’

‘Yes,’ she said in a small voice.

‘It’s Sam.’

‘
My
Sam?’

‘Yes, Nellie, your Sam.’

Hearing his familiar, warm voice drew him close enough for her to feel his breath brushing her cheek.

‘Oh, Sam, I thought I’d lost you!’

‘No, darling Nellie, never,’ he said, and his breath sounded laboured. ‘Didn’t I promise to come home to you?’

‘You did!’ she whispered. ‘I should’ve believed you. Come home soon, Sam, I love you!’

Afterwards, Nellie learned that the phone call had been Eliza’s idea – she knew Nellie would simply not accept the truth unless she had the solid form of Sam in front of her, or at least his voice, to verify it. She’d got Major James to pull strings and Old Duff had been only too pleased to help. That night in the Green Ginger, the celebrations were bitter-sweet. All Nellie and Sam’s family were there, even Eliza, but when Lily came in, Nellie had to take her off into the saloon bar. Lily collapsed into her arms. ‘Oh, Nell, I’m so happy for you!’ And Nellie knew, more than anyone, how Lily’s tears of happiness were mingled with bitter grief for Jock.

‘If they’ve found Sam, they could still find Jock,’ she whispered to Lily.

Her friend wiped tears from her cheeks. Hugging Nellie and forcing a smile, she said, ‘Please God, they do, love, please God, they do. Now let’s go and drink to Sam… and my Jock, with some of that gnat’s piss they’re calling stout, shall we?’

33

Turn the Dark Clouds Inside Out

Nellie could hardly believe almost a year had passed since that miraculous telephone conversation with Sam, in Duff’s office. What a Christmas that had been, not just for her but for all of the family. Who cared what privations they suffered? They’d known Sam was alive and they’d celebrated with what they’d had. Nellie felt that she had been given back her life and had firmly believed she would have Sam in her arms by New Year. But it was to be many months before Nellie saw Sam again, for as soon as he was declared fit for duty, he was sent back up the line, to fight on. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of the dreadful possibility he might be snatched from her again, so through the whole of the last year she had tended the flame of hope, keeping it alive until today, 11 November 1918, when her faith in Sam’s penny-farthing ‘promise’ was finally vindicated, for the war was over and he would be coming home!

Although the long agony of waiting to see Sam again was almost over, the end of the war seemed somehow to take her by surprise and she found she didn’t know quite how to greet it, her deep relief tinged with grief and overshadowed by too much loss. Lily wouldn’t be celebrating, not with Jock still missing, and Nellie suspected that her friend had given up hope. In the end, it was her fellow custard tarts who helped her celebrate Armistice Day properly. After clocking on that morning she found the packing room in uproar, the girls surrounding a red-faced Ethel Brown, who looked as though she were about to start another war.

‘Pipe down, you lot,’ Ethel roared. ‘I said I’m going to see about it!’

‘What’s going on?’ Nellie asked Maggie Tyrell, as she pushed through the circle of angry women.

‘Old Plum Duff’s got a bloody cheek. He’s not letting us have no time off to celebrate! Ethel’s going up there!’ Maggie jabbed her thumb at the ceiling as Ethel marched down the factory floor, the girls cheering her on. ‘Go and tell the mean old git, he’ll have another strike on his hands if we don’t get today off!’ Maggie shouted after her.