Johnny Swanson (9 page)

Johnny had no doubt that Maud Dawson would advise ‘Anxious of Ambleside’ to be dutiful and to yield to her fiancé’s demands. He took a different view, and wrote back:

He was pleased with his reply, and let his mind play with the scene in Ambleside as ‘Anxious’ told her boyfriend to get lost. But then he had visions of the jilted lover tracking him down, and added at the bottom:

He liked the expression ‘Confidentially yours’, and it went on to become the regular heading on his ‘agony’ advertisements. And he added that extra sentence on the bottom of all his advice letters – just in case.

‘Confidentially Yours’ was entertaining (and educational) for Johnny, but it was also tiring work, with
each letter needing an individual reply. He dreamed up another scam where his customers would do most of the work. ‘The Poetry Police’ offered to send critical advice to aspiring poets at two shillings a time. Johnny read the poems, but he sent all the poets the same few words of encouragement:
A good effort. Do not be afraid to experiment
. And he kept the poems. One came in handy for English homework. Then he spotted a competition in the Sunday paper. Underneath ‘Maud Dawson’s Love Answers’ was a column headed ‘For the Chicks’. It was a sickly item, aimed at children, written by someone who called herself ‘Aunty Betty’. She was offering prizes for ‘Fairy Verse’. Johnny just happened to have a poem about fairies amongst his haul. He sent it in under his own name, and his mother was awash with pride when a letter arrived from the paper, enclosing a five-shilling postal order for Johnny. She was moved when he insisted on putting his winnings towards the rent money. She didn’t know that he was hiding even more cash inside the floppy body of his old toy rabbit, which sat on top of the wardrobe in his bedroom. And she had no idea that he was buying food at the shop. Whenever Johnny came home with something for the larder, he always said that Hutch had sent it,
because otherwise it would just have to be thrown away.

Every morning, Johnny set off with a stash of letters in his school satchel. Most were replies to his hapless customers, but there were always at least three new adverts, destined for papers all over the country. Soon he couldn’t get to sleep at night until he had everything in order for the next day. He began to take a pride in his ‘work’. Only once did he have a real attack of conscience. It came as the result of one of his least sophisticated efforts, based on the simple formula of the Secret of Instant Height. Anyone who sent Johnny a shilling to find out how to
Make Your Money Go Further
was told to
Roll it down a hill
. Twenty people fell for it, and so Johnny would have made a pound; but there was one postal order he felt he couldn’t cash. It was from Mrs Langford. This wasn’t the first time Johnny had been given the chance to trick someone he knew – Albert Taylor’s mother had fallen for the snoring scam, and he’d been glad to take her money – but the doctor was so generous with his bike rides that Johnny felt it would be unforgivable to cheat his wife out of a shilling. He remembered Mrs Langford darning socks on the
day he’d visited them, and her harsh words to her husband about how poor they were becoming. He put her postal order straight into the stamped addressed envelope and sent it back.

But the other nineteen applicants all got the silly answer. And none of them complained.

N
ot long after the half-term break there was another day off school. That year, 1929, 11th November fell on a Monday, and everything closed down for a big parade and religious service to honour those who had died in the Great War. But the papers still had to be delivered, so Johnny was up early as usual. When he got to the shop, Hutch was polishing his medals. He had three, hanging from multi-coloured ribbons, and a round silver badge with a crown and the King’s initials intertwined. Around the edge, it said: For King and Empire. Services Rendered.

Johnny picked it up. ‘Mr Murray’s got one of these,’ he said. ‘He wears it all the time at school.’

‘It’s what you got if you were discharged from the army because you were wounded,’ said Hutch. ‘I must have been one of the first to have it. I got shot right at the beginning of the war.’ He slapped his leg. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. I only saw one battle, and I survived.’

‘Mr Murray doesn’t seem to think he was lucky.’

‘Well, he wasn’t really. He got hit in the face. It ruined his whole life. Turned him into such a bitter man. I’m OK. I’m still doing what I did before. Everything changed for him.’

‘What? Do you mean he wasn’t a teacher before the war?’

‘Him? A teacher? Do you think he’d ever have wanted to be a teacher? He hates it. Surely you’ve noticed that?’

‘I’ve noticed that he hates me,’ said Johnny. ‘He’s so mean and cruel.’

‘He doesn’t really hate you, I’m sure,’ said Hutch. ‘But he’s angry. He never wanted to fight. He didn’t volunteer like me. He was called up towards the end of the war. He was a good-looking man – hoping to become an actor, you know. He can’t do that with half his face shot away, and now he’s stuck with a job he doesn’t like and can’t afford to give up.’

‘But why take it out on me?’

‘He probably doesn’t mean to. You probably just make him feel guilty.’

‘Guilty? Why?’

‘Because your father died and he survived. It’s hard for us veterans, you know. I don’t think many of us are
going to take pride in being able to march in the parade today. We’ll be thinking of all the dead men who deserve to be there. And there’ll be plenty of others angry that we’re still around, when their loved-ones are gone. That Miss Dangerfield lost her sweetheart. Your own mother lost your dad. She’d be a saint if she wasn’t jealous of the women who got their husbands back.’

‘But she’s proud of how Dad died. This morning she got out the little plaque with his name on, and the scroll the King sent when he was killed. She keeps them in a special box, you know, with the letter they sent about how his body couldn’t be recovered. Mr Murray says that means he was blown to bits.’

Hutch winced. ‘Who knows, Johnny? Who knows? It was chaos out there. Half the stories about what happened to people must be lies or guesswork. But whatever happened, your mother is right to hang on to her pride. The trouble is, it’s all wearing off a bit now. During the war we were heroes. Now I’m just a man with a limp, and your Mr Murray is a bitter bully with an ugly face. We’ll have our parade, but some people won’t even bother to go. And next year there’ll be even fewer who’ll brave the cold. There’s plenty of folk who think we should put it all behind
us. Maybe they’re right. The war’s been over for more than ten years now, after all.’

Hutch was staring into space, and Johnny felt awkward seeing him so emotional, so he picked up the bag and set off on his paper round. The square was being prepared for the ceremony, and the band was rehearsing stirring marches and sad laments for the dead.

At ten o’clock, Johnny and Winnie took their place by the war memorial. Johnny quickly found his father’s name, but this year he noticed two Hutchinsons and a Murray there too. He hadn’t realized before that those two had lost brothers. Gradually other people joined the crowd – all of them well wrapped up in winter clothes, stamping on the stone cobbles to keep their feet warm. Towards half past ten, Dr Langford and his wife arrived. They both looked smart. She was wearing a stylish black coat with a wide fur collar, bought in the days when they still had plenty of money. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun under her hat, showing off the fine features beneath her wrinkled skin. Even Johnny could tell that she was naturally elegant. Maybe it was that French blood the doctor had told him about.
Mrs Langford exchanged some pleasant words with Winnie as they waited for the parade to begin. Dr Langford quietly shook hands with several of his former patients. He pinched Johnny’s cheek in his well-meaning, but painful, way.

The bandsmen were just lifting their instruments to start playing when a large black car swept into the square. Johnny was collecting cigarette cards with pictures of all the latest models, and he recognized it straight away as the most luxurious of the set: it was a Rolls-Royce Phantom II. A whisper ran through the crowd as people realized who had arrived. It was young Mr Frederick Bennett, the new landlord, making his first public appearance in Stambleton since his father’s death. Seeing the parade about to start, he strode over to find a place at the front of the spectators, followed by a very thin woman whose long fur cloak flapped open to reveal a startlingly short dress. She squealed as her high-heeled shoes slithered on the uneven cobblestones. The couple wriggled in between the Langfords, right opposite the vicar, who was about to signal the start of the service. Frederick Bennett kept whispering to Mrs Langford during the hymns and between the prayers. No one else said anything, but it was as if a shout of disapproval rang
around the square. At eleven o’clock Johnny could sense that his mother was having trouble holding back tears, and he took her hand for the two-minute silence. The atmosphere was ruined by several bouts of coughing from Mr Bennett’s companion, whose automatic ‘Pardon me’ came out louder than even she could have expected.

After some marching by the old soldiers, and the laying of wreaths, the Mayor made a short speech. Then the crowd dissolved into little pockets of chatter. Johnny overheard more than one comment that Frederick Bennett wasn’t a patch on his father; but he couldn’t help being impressed by the car. He watched as Mr Bennett and his companion climbed back into the huge automobile. He saw them lighting cigarettes and giggling together before Bennett turned the wheel and the car screeched away towards his big house.

Dr Langford put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. ‘There goes your new landlord, Johnny,’ he said. ‘What do you make of him?’

Johnny tried to be polite. ‘He was a little rude,’ he said. ‘Do you think his wife is ill?’

‘No. And I don’t think she’s his wife either, Johnny. Don’t worry. That cough of hers probably has more to do with the cigarettes than any disease.’

‘So she hasn’t got phth … phthis … whatever it’s called?’

‘Phthisis … TB … No.’ Dr Langford chuckled. ‘She’s not going to end up in the sanatorium.’ And he winked, adding, ‘I’m pleased to say.’

‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something about the sanatorium,’ said Johnny. ‘I was wondering if I could visit Olwen’s family there? I thought they might know how she’s getting on in Wales. I’ve been worrying about her a bit. I could ask them for her address. I could write to her.’

‘That’s very sweet of you,’ said the doctor, making Johnny blush. ‘But I’d advise you to stay away. You’d probably be safe, but it’s best not to take any risks. In any case, the sanatorium has very strict visiting rules. It’s usually relatives only. This Olwen isn’t a relation of yours, is she?’

‘No. Just a friend. And I haven’t known her very long. I’ve never even met her parents. They wouldn’t know who I was.’

‘Why don’t you leave it to me, then? I still go to the sanatorium from time to time. If you want to send them something or write them a note, I’d be happy to take it with me next time I’m called in to help with a case. Just come to my house and drop it off.’

Johnny said thank you, and promised to take something round in the next few days. Then he rejoined Winnie, who was talking to Mrs Langford. Mr Bennett was the subject of their conversation too.

‘The family were my husband’s patients,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘So of course we’ve known him most of his life. His father and my husband were very close, you know, particularly towards the end.’

Johnny hoped that Winnie would steel herself to ask for a pay rise. He thought that perhaps, since Mrs Langford had just been reminded of how his mother had been widowed so young, she might show some pity. Winnie had sensed the moment too. ‘You’ve heard that Mr Bennett’s putting our rent up, I suppose?’ she began nervously. ‘We may have to move out of the house.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Mrs Langford cut in, patting Winnie’s hand. ‘Times are hard. Hard even for us, I’m afraid. We’re all going to have to tighten our belts.’

Winnie understood the signal. There was no prospect of more money from the Langfords; so she tried asking for something else. ‘I’m going to have to get extra work elsewhere,’ she said. ‘I wonder if you could possibly write a letter of recommendation – for me to show to people I ask for jobs?’

Mrs Langford seemed relieved that Winnie had taken the hint. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it today. Maybe you would like to come round to collect it? In fact, come anyway – shall we say about four o’clock? I’ve just asked Mr Bennett and his young lady to supper, and you can help me prepare.’ Johnny noted that there was no mention of any payment for the unexpected work. Without waiting for a reply, Mrs Langford turned to call her husband. ‘Come along, Giles,’ she said, not wanting to raise her voice on such a solemn occasion. ‘We’d better be getting home.’ There was no response, so she sent Johnny. ‘Run along and ask my husband to come here, dear,’ she said, and Johnny did as he was told,