Ironmonger's Daughter (3 page)

Helen sighed as she took a bottle of port down from the dresser. ‘Has Connie settled in okay?’

Kate nodded. ‘Yeah, she’s fast asleep.’

Helen poured some port into two small glasses and handed one glass to her sister. Kate took a sip, enjoying the sweetness. Helen sat down heavily and toyed with her glass. ‘This time last Christmas I was gettin’ the first twinges.’

The sound of a baby coughing came from the bedroom and it was Helen who got up quickly to check on the two babies in the bedroom. When she returned she filled Kate’s empty glass and sat down facing her. For a short while there was silence.

‘What time are yer expectin’ Matt?’ Kate asked.

Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘’E’s ’avin’ a drink wiv ’is workmates, an’ the pubs are open till twelve. ’E won’t be in much before.’

The two women faced each other across the table. Since Helen married they had drifted apart. Kate’s numerous relationships with men had been surrounded by rumours and Helen had been critical of her sister’s lifestyle, so there had been rows. Now, the birth of their babies seemed to draw them together again, though the strain in their relationship still simmered below the surface. At twenty-eight, Helen was two years younger than her sister, although she looked the elder of the two. Her figure had filled out and her face had become slightly bloated. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck and there was some puffiness beneath her small brown eyes. Kate had her father’s complexion. Her eyes were pale blue and her hair was fair and inclined to be wavy. Her figure was still firm and slightly padded around the hips and her full breasts stood out against her tight dress. She had a high forehead and small nose, and her lips were thin, which could sometimes make her appearance seem rather stern.

A stone shot out from the tarry-log and Helen got up and turned the log over with a poker. ‘’Ave yer thought about gettin’ yerself married, Kate?’ she said, still staring into the flames.

Kate laughed mirthlessly. ‘Men! I’ve given ’em up. Who needs ’em?’

Helen turned and looked into her sister’s pale face. ‘I was finkin’ about Connie. Every child should ’ave a farvver.’

Kate felt the old animosity towards her sister rising within her. ‘My baby’s got a farvver, but she’ll never know ’im.’

‘Won’t yer ever tell ’er about ’er farvver – when she’s older I mean?’ Helen asked, sitting down again.

Kate shook her head slowly. ‘No. What’s the good? She’ll know soon enough ’er muvver wasn’t married. What do they say about kids like Connie? Born the wrong side of the blanket? That’ll be enough for ’er ter go on wiv.’

Helen winced at Kate’s bitter tone. She clasped her hands together and arched them under her chin with her elbows resting on the table. ‘You know best, Kate. But if it was me . . .’

‘Look, ’Elen. I’ve made me mind up, an’ that’s the way it’s gonna be. I don’t want ’er ter know about ’er farvver, an’ you’re the only ovver person that knows who ’e is. I want yer ter promise me you’ll keep it from Connie when she’s old enough ter start asking questions.’

Helen nodded. ‘If that’s the way yer want it.’

‘That’s the way I want it,’ Kate said with emphasis.

Helen reached for the bottle of port. ‘Come on, Sis. It is Christmas. Let’s ’ave anuvver drink.’

Kate let her shoulders sag and smiled. She felt sorry for the way she was behaving, but she was always aware of her sister’s disapproval of her lifestyle. Helen had been the plodder. The first man, the only man, she had known was Matthew. Helen was the strong one in their marriage, but then Helen was like their mother. She had been strong, too. She had handled their father’s weakness for drink with quiet resolve, and when he had finally walked out on the family when the children were still very young she had cried briefly, then took over the role of provider. It was the struggle of making sure there was always enough bread on the table, always enough money to pay the rent man and the tallyman that finally killed her. The early morning cleaning and taking in washing and sewing had worn her out until there was no life left in her. And Beatrice Morgan had been one of the first to succumb to the epidemic of influenza that swept the area in 1919.

Kate’s thoughts were interrupted by Helen getting up quickly and going once more into the bedroom. When she returned and sat down at the table she sighed deeply. ‘Connie’s as quiet as a lamb. But Molly’s restless. It’s ’er chest. I fink it’s the croup.’

Kate looked hard at her sister. She could see the concern and fear in her eyes and she felt a wave of pity rise up inside her. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be all right. She’s a fighter.’

Helen laughed mirthlessly. ‘She’s gotta be, Kate. It’s gonna be ’ard fer ’er. The ’ospital said ’er growth will be stunted an’’er lungs might be affected later on.’

Kate saw the tears well up in Helen’s eyes and she reached out and clasped her sister’ s ands in her own. ‘Try not ter worry too much, sis. There’ll be lots of ’elp when yer need it. I know you an’ me ain’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve gotta ferget the past. We’re family, ain’t we?’

Helen smiled and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’d like that, Kate. I’ope our two kids grow up close. They’ll be family to each ovver too, won’t they?’

‘You betcha. They’ll be inseparable those two, you mark my words.’

 

A cold moon looked down on the ramshackle backstreet and lit the ugly prison-like factory that straddled the turning. Shadows of the rusted iron gates fell across the empty and deserted yard, and a rising wind rattled the glass case of the street gaslamp. The turning was empty, except for one drunken reveller who staggered along the pavement, his face obscured by the turned-up collar of his overcoat. A cloth cap was set askew his dipping head and he carried a quart bottle of brown ale under one arm. The drunk reeled two paces past Mrs Cosgrove’s house then staggered back and almost fell against the street door as he grasped the iron knocker. When the door opened, a patch of light lit up the cobblestones and the sounds of a ragtime piano carried out into the street. Someone was trying hard to imitate Sophie Tucker with a rendering of ‘Some of These Days’, above raucous laughter and, as the door slammed shut, the sounds died.

In Jubilee Dwellings everything was silent.

 

The Bermondsey folk toasted their neighbours that Christmas, and then they toasted in the New Year. The Great War was still fresh in their minds and now they were fearful for their jobs. Everyone hoped for a peaceful future, and an end of being poor, although for most folk it seemed that the days to come would be very bleak.

Up in the tenement block in Ironmonger Street as the distant chimes rang out the old year Helen and Matthew clinked glasses and drank a toast to the two young babies who were sleeping unconcernedly in their cots. Next to each other before a brightly burning fire, they sat talking into the early hours of the new year and, as Matthew began to broach a sensitive subject, Helen was immediately on her guard.

‘Won’t she even try ter get some maintenance money? I mean, it’s only right.’

Helen looked into Matthew’s pale grey eyes and saw his concern. ‘You know ’ow she is. Kate’s a proud woman. She won’t ask fer nufink.’

‘But she wouldn’t be askin’ fer ’erself. It’d be fer the baby.’

Helen shrugged her shoulders, hating Matthew probing. She had never let on to him that she knew the identity of Connie’s father. She had told him more than once that she had not been taken into Kate’s confidence but she was sure he did not believe her.

‘I can understand ’er bein’ reluctant, ’specially if the bloke’s married, but surely she could sort it out wiv ’im some’ow?’ Matthew persisted.

Helen felt her temper rising. ‘Look, Matt. I don’t know if the baby’s farvver is married or not. I’ve told yer umpteen times, Kate ain’t told me anyfink. She don’t take me into ’er confidence, she never ’as. It’s only since the children were born she’s started comin’ in ter see me.’

Matthew sipped his beer and thought for a while. ‘I wonder if it’s somebody round ’ere? From the street I mean?’

‘I’m not interested,’ Helen said sharply. ‘It’s none of our business. Kate’s bin out wiv a lot o’ fellers. She’s never bin interested in settlin’ down wiv one man. Mum always said she takes after our dad. ’E was always footloose, even after they was married. I honestly don’t fink Kate could settle down.’

‘It’s different now though,’ Matthew said, sitting up in his chair. ‘She’s got a kid ter look after. Every kid should ’ave a farvver. It’s gonna be ’ard wivout a man ter provide fer ’em.’

Helen stared into the flickering coals. ‘My sister’s a determined woman, Matt. They’ll get by. It’ll be ’ard, but as I said, she won’t take charity. Anyway, there’s not many fellers who’d take on somebody else’s kid. The pair of’em will get by. As fer young Connie, she’ll grow up wiv ’er muvver’s stubbornness, I’m sure.’

The clock on the mantelshelf chimed the half hour. The wind rattled the windows and a down-draught sent smoke billowing into the room. Matthew waved his arms to clear the air and Helen poked at the ash with the poker, her face sad. As long as she could remember, she had looked forward to Christmas with great excitement. She had loved helping her mother to make paper-chains and put up the decorations, she had loved the visits to the late market in Tower Bridge Road. She remembered when she was a child and had gone on those trips to the market along with her parents and Kate. She recalled the wide-eyed excitement just looking at the stalls displaying piles of fruit and nuts. She remembered the hissing Tilley lamps that bathed the stalls and barrows with a bright white light, and the special treat after the shopping was done when her parents went to the pub and she and Kate sat on the step sipping gassy lemonade that made her nose twitch, and nibbled on huge Arrowroot biscuits. The memories of those childhood Christmas times had made the festive season special – until last Christmas.

Her joy at having a baby at the most happy time of the year for her had been snatched away the following morning, when the doctor told her that Molly would have to go to the Evelina Children’s Hospital to see a specialist. The knowledge that her baby would grow up deformed had been hard to bear. Matthew had been reduced to tears and she, too, had felt hollow and cheated. She had had to be strong for both of them. For a short time she had been terrified that her husband would reject the child, but he had, thankfully, become totally devoted to Molly once he had grown used to the idea of her deformity. For herself, the knowledge that her child would have a cross to bear for as long as she lived made her even more determined that at least Molly would have all the love it was possible for her to give. She hoped that she and Kate could become closer. It would be really nice if Molly and Connie grew up as friends as well as cousins.

Just after Connie’s second birthday Kate got a seasonal job at the Armitage factory. Her sister looked after Connie during the day, which was an arrangement that suited Helen’s needs. It gave the two children the whole day to play together, and let the closeness they had felt very early on develop into a strong bond of friendship. Helen could already see the physical differences between the two as they played happily together. Connie was a sturdy-limbed child who toddled around confidently; Molly was inclined to fall about as she tried to copy her playmate. Helen noticed that Connie was already an inch or two the taller and she felt a lump in her throat as she watched Molly smiling and laughing at Kate’s fair-haired daughter, wondering if Molly’s evident difficulties had already started to give her pain. Connie seemed to be a very placid child, and she never become angry or annoyed at Molly’s awkward shows of affection. Helen felt a great comfort in seeing Connie accept her daughter, and yet it only made her think of the problems her daughter would probably have to face as she grew older. How many times would Molly be rejected, pushed away, and perhaps even laughed at? She hoped with all her heart that Connie would always be a friend and would protect Molly from others’ cruelty.

 

Early in 1923, trade at Armitage picked up and Kate got a permanent job there. She worked a stamping machine and although the work was hard and repetitive she was happy in the knowledge that at last she was bringing in a steady wage, even if it was barely a pittance. Overall the wages paid to the Armitage workers were very poor. There was some unrest amongst the factory hands and talk of joining a trade union, but no one wanted to be labelled as a troublemaker and so the griping was normally aired at the street corner and the doorsteps after working hours.

George Armitage, the owner of the factory, had an intuitive feeling that his workers’ discontent could become dangerous. He stood at the window of his large comfortable office looking down at the yard, a smart, upright man despite his advancing years. The factory that he had built up from practically nothing had been his whole life, but now that his wife had died he was beginning to feel very weary, and he realised that perhaps it was time for his two sons to take over the running of the business. His elder son Peter would assume general control, and Gerald would take responsibility for organising the production. He sighed as he thought of the problems that would arise. There was too much tension between the two brothers. Peter was competent and seriousminded, and happily married with a young son, whereas Gerald was overconfident and brash, and his marriage was breaking down badly. George knew that his boastful younger son would try to dominate Peter, and he realised that discontent among the workers would be aggravated if Gerald went ahead and sacked Joe Cooper, the well-liked young foreman, and some of the older hands on the factory floor. George Armitage gazed out over the yard as the wind disturbed scraps of paper wrapping and torn pieces of cardboard. I wonder what all this will come to, he thought.

His thoughts were disturbed as Gerald opened the door and walked confidently in.