Dolly's Mixture (15 page)

I was horrified at Ade's remark to a man of the cloth but the guests loved it, and even Quentin giggled. ‘Do call me Quentin,' he said to Ade, ‘and I will call you Adeline.' Remarked an elderly lady sitting nearby, shocked at the Christian names' invitation, ‘I like my Fathers to
be
Fathers!' ‘I thought that was the idea,' said Ade to the indignant lady. ‘Don't they have to celebrate, by having none of it?' Disdaining to reply to such irreverent flippancy, the lady moved away with a superior sniff. ‘I bet she's a Frigid Fan,' said Ade as the lady greeted a familiar face at the door of the hall. She held her head back disdainfully as an elderly man pecked her cheek. It was my passionate Official! So that was his wife! He had arrived to sing for the party. Ade was in hysterics as he sang something between a spiritual and an operatic aria. He had a very good voice but it wobbled slightly as he caught sight of Dolly and Ade, for his first line began, ‘Take me to your bosom'. The singer, or the song, became quite uninhibited with, ‘Now I am deep in the bosom....' ‘I reckon his mother weaned him too soon,' remarked Ade, now the psychiatrist.

‘You know what happened to Frigid Fan and Bertie Boosoms' daughter, Stephanie?' There was no need for me to be all ears, for Ade's whisper was still a good carrying voice, and I drew her to the corner of the hall. ‘Well, I felt sorry for the girl, they just wouldn't leave her alone, they made out she was something special, a cut above all her school mates. She must make a good marriage. Well, they got her engaged to a queer sort of bloke, an only son of wealthy business people. He was his mother's darling. She kept telling the girl that her son had delicate kidneys and would need a lot of looking after. Well, they had a posh wedding, notices in those papers
we
would never buy, and then, a few months later, the girl was back home again. She looked as miserable as sin and then there was a divorce. Frigid Fan kept saying they could have stood out for an annulment because the marriage wasn't “consumed”, but they wanted to help the boy's mother keep her pride; the mother wanted to stress it was the son's weak kidneys, that he wasn't strong enough for marriage.' ‘So it transpired that it wasn't the young man's kidneys which lacked momentum, then, Ade?' ‘Are you taking the rise, Dolly?'

It was no good telling Ade the correct words to use, for she would just have forgotten the next minute, and it was half her charm that she got the words so nearly right. She obviously knew the correct words, for otherwise she wouldn't have instantly enjoyed the pun on them. Poor Benny had undergone a prostrate operation but, as Ade added, ‘in that respect, he always was'. It was, she said, the first time Benny had lost his temper with her. When she arrived at the hospital for her first visit after the operation, he was in a room on his own, in a corridor of different sized wards. The doors were left open so that all who passed that way had an unrestricted view of the patient, or patients, within. When Ade reached Benny's aperture she was horrified to observe him ‘lying in state' on top of his bed; the portion of his anatomy which had been the subject of surgery was lying dormant but exposed, having attached to it various tubes.

Ade, always rough and ready, dashed into the room and threw the bedclothes over Benny's nakedness. Whereupon he let out a blood-curdling scream. ‘Anyone can see you,' said Ade when all was quiet again. ‘Suppose one of those young nurses should come in.' ‘They're used to that,' said a furious Benny. ‘We are not men to them, but patients.' Ade forbore to comment on the manly remark of Benny's but said primly, ‘Well, I don't think it's very nice.' This inflamed Benny further and he hissed at Ade, ‘You never
used
to be so modest,' just as doctor and matron entered the room. Ade said they gave her funny looks.

Before she left a miserable Benny, to make amends, she decided to make his bed more comfortable. She grabbed one pillow from behind him to plump it up, throwing the pillow down on to the bed, forgetting for a moment the sight which had offended her finer feelings. Another bloodcurdling yell from Benny. ‘Christ, woman, what
are
you at?' Sister entered. ‘What is causing you such pain this afternoon Mr ?' Ade said she came home quite depressed, for she certainly hadn't intended to hurt Benny.

When the tea lady entered Benny's room Ade said she didn't know where to look, she felt so embarrassed. She said she thought Benny could have been supplied with a little tent for ‘it'.

When her boys were young, Ade and Benny lived in an East End flat above a very cantankerous woman. Now Ade, although she was such a defender and fighter for her boys and wouldn't be put upon herself, was a mixture, really, for she didn't like bad feeling and would go out of her way to see the other person's point of view. She preferred to live in harmony with her neighbours and, indeed, always did, even with the cantankerous old girl in the flat below.

Perhaps the woman below, childless, was a bit jealous of Ade, and particularly of Ade's washing. Ade was one of those people certain advertisers would have loved, for her washing was always whiter than white, except that hers was really the result of elbow-grease and conscientious washing and rinsing, and not a miracle powder. In her flat the windows were large and long and for privacy's sake – it was fashionable then, too – she dressed her windows with white lace curtains. These were her pride, they must always be clean and starched, so she laundered them often.

The flat had no running water but in the yard was a wash-house shared by the occupants of the large house's three flats. Each had the use of it for at least one day a week and to avoid any trespassing the landlord had marked the rent books with at least one special day when the wash-house would be the sole property of the flat tenant. The cantankerous old woman downstairs, with her poor, hen-pecked husband, was a bit proprietorial about his wash-house. It contained a chair and a chest of drawers of theirs, for they used the little building as a sort of tool-shed, etc. when the upstairs' occupants were not using it on their special days. She and her husband would sit out there in the summer. Ade and the other people above didn't mind just so long as they could use it when they were entitled to. But the woman downstairs was jealous of Ade's wash and got up to all sorts of nasty, ‘accidental' tricks to despoil, especially, the lovely, long, lace curtains, Ade's pride and joy. Ade was very conscientious as to rinsing, always believing that the water should run pure and clean at the final rinse, so she would place her clean, washed curtains on the top of the drain underneath the cold water tap and while she was busy in the wash-house the water would run slowly on to the curtains for the final rinse.

Sometimes the cantankerous old cat would nip out and empty her teapot down the drain, without asking Ade to remove the little bath – ‘I didn't want to bother you, dear, when you were busy' – and Ade would emerge to find tea stains on her curtains. Or the old girl would get her mouse-like husband to do something to the copper chimney so that Ade would have a smoky yard to clear first before she could clear and relight the fire under the stone copper in the wash-house. Now the twins knew of Ade's annoyance and they knew their mother would go on putting up with this inconvenience for the sake of peace in the house. So they made a plan. They broke open some fireworks and stuffed these, with rags, into the copper chimney when the old woman downstairs was to do her wash. Unfortunately for them, the old woman didn't start washing at once and, because it was a nice summer's day, she and her husband decided to have their elevenses in the wash-house. They put a match to the copper fire and sat down with their food and drink to await a nice, fierce fire to get the water really hot. The fire certainly did become fierce. Suddenly, with a tremendous roar, it backfired, and soot and brickdust exploded into the wash-house, smothering the two ground-floor dwellers.

Ade heard the screams and saw the two black minstrels emerge. Fortunately they were not hurt and she read the riot act to the twins. But it had the desired effect; Ade got no more stains on her lace curtains and the copper fire burned brightly and smokelessly for the rest of her stay in the house.

At long last life became normal for me again because Chas was home, well once more. Perhaps ‘normal' was not the right word, but it was a great relief and, indeed, a great joy to have him back, although, as my dear Ade laughingly remarked, ‘You look like the invaleed, Dolly, with Chas so tanned and bright of eye, and rarin' to go.'

Ade was delighted at our first social evening after Chas's return, for, thanks to Susan, it was unexpectedly if accidentally exciting. Mr Cohen, our new mayor, was keen to do something to put the borough on the map, so to speak, and, amongst other activities, decided that the borough needed a Carnival Queen. All the young ladies of the borough would be invited to enter for this title. However, the local maidens seemed loath to enter and the list was much shorter than the eager mayor had anticipated ; but even though there were so few entries, the event would have to take place, although it would hardly deserve the designation of a competition. The mayor decided to search around for some more entries and canvassed the young lady employees of the borough.

Susan's colleague and close friend at the Town Hall was a charming girl, our Doreen, tall, with lovely dark hair and eyes and good features. She almost succumbed to the mayor's entreaties, but held out until Susan could be persuaded to enter also. Susan was horrified about it all, but in the end promised she would accompany her friend Doreen. When the names of the judges became known Susan became very nervous indeed and actually lost her appetite, for one of them was to be Majorie Proops, ‘Proops' of the heavy horn-rimmed glasses and cigarette holder.

Doreen chose her dress for the occasion but Susan seemed disinterested until Doreen saw the very frock for Susan – cream brocaded silk, tight bodice, full skirt, off-the-shoulders neckline. The mayor had engaged an expert to make up all the girls on the evening.

The great day came and by evening Susan was sick with fear. She certainly looked lovely in the dress of stiff Thai silk and she and Doreen left with shiny faces for the Town Hall and the make-up artist. The hairdressers had been busy, but Susan shampooed her own hair. It was naturally wavy, thick, and determined to go its own way, but she found a little man who cut it so beautifully that I thought, hairwise, there was no one to touch her. Chas announced he was not feeling well enough to attend the ceremony and our little group went without him.

I was surprised to find the Town Hall crammed to capacity with spectators. In the gallery were the-serried ranks of Guides, Scouts, Life Brigade, Sea Scouts, etc. and it was standing-room only, so we crammed ourselves in at the back of the hall. An air of excitement pervaded the hall as the judges filed in, Proops, of course, being easily recognisable. The assembled company cheered the judges as though they were bringing us salvation.

Then the parade began – such lovely girls. I thought Doreen outstanding – indeed, I chose my one, two, three. In my mind, of course, my sweet Sue was not in my first three, yet I had to admit that I had given birth to a ravishing creature. If it hadn't been for the dress I would not have recognised her – those sparkling blue eyes, and the peaches-and-cream complexion. Possibly nervous paralysis had given her that mannequin's slow walk -well, not slow, exactly, but professional. As she passed, the uniformed spectators, especially the Sea Scouts, went mad with roars of approval.

Silence reigned while the judges conversed with each competitor, and then the mayor came forward to announce the winner. At this point the gallery were yelling, ‘Susan, Susan, Susan.' I wondered what would happen when the mayor did not announce her name, as I was sure he would not. But he did, and pandemonium broke loose. People were dancing, cheering and singing. It was like Armistice night. Chas was asleep when we reached home and I didn't wake him to tell him of the result.

Susan had a busy year visiting hospitals, opening fetes, taking tea on the Sea Scouts' training ship, and at the end of her reign had lost a stone in weight.

William was taken to task by his schoolfriends because of his apparent lack of partisanship and pride in his sister's achievement. Like my father, apt as always, William said, ‘In my opinion Susan was merely the best of a very poor bunch!'

We decided to celebrate Chas's recovery with the holiday of a lifetime, a holiday to end all holidays. Chas did the choosing. A top hotel recommended by a first-class organisation; in Devon, the nostalgic scene of his army exploits. We would all love this place, he assured us.

We had arranged to go with Marjorie and Alfred and to leave London after lunchtime on Saturday, when trading in our busy shops would be easing off, returning the following Friday night, invigorated and rested, to cope with the following Saturday's rush. Chas had, therefore, written to the top-class hotel advising them that we would not arrive until evening, owing to pressure of business, and asked them to arrange a meal for the weary travellers. He hired a magnificent limousine from a car-hire firm, and at two o'clock one hot, sunny Saturday, we prepared to embark.

Where was William? He had been ready all morning, agitating with ‘What time is it now, Mum?' Now we all had to yell for him. At last he appeared, wearing flippers, snorkel and goggles, and carrying a six-foot-long spear. He was obviously at the ready to spear a fish for our supper on arrival. ‘Well, you can't bring that ruddy spear,' shouted Chas, having discovered that it was razor sharp. ‘It's a lethal weapon, we'll be apprehended by the police!' ‘I won't come without my spear,' stated young William. ‘It has taken weeks to prepare and sharpen.' At last Alf, always understanding of the young, suggested we made a padded hood for the spear. The goggles, snorkel and flippers were put into a carrier bag and, to the cheers and farewells of our customers, we were off. Our beautiful limousine simply glided along and Chas was wearing his modest ‘If you require things to be done properly, leave it to me' look. Our chauffeur in his uniform was a little on the elderly side, but this would, I knew, assure us of a comfortable and relaxing journey. I had an obstinate headache. We had worked hard for six hours that Saturday morning, and were all looking forward to a pleasant country drive to the paradise Chas had chosen for us. As soon as we reached the open road, however, a Jekyll-like change came over our safe, elderly driver.