The Girl from Hard Times Hill (4 page)

We had reached the grassy embankment near the railway. It was quiet – most people were off home to their tea.

‘So what did you do with
your
friends?' I asked.

‘Well, we did have a go-cart once, that we made ourselves. But other than that…we didn't have much money to spare for toys, Megan. In fact, me and my friend John used to go round selling things.'

‘Like what?'

‘Buns, mainly. We'd get them from the bakers – specially any that were a bit squashed, or that he thought were going stale. Then we'd sell them in the streets, outside pubs or workplaces. We'd charge a little more than we paid, so that we could make some money on it.'

‘That sounds fun.'

‘Sometimes we'd take a bucket and collect horses' droppings off the streets. There were lots of horses then, pulling carts.'

‘Ugh!' I turned my nose up, although Grandpa sometimes picked up horse droppings for his allotment.

‘We'd get good money for horses' droppings. People used them for their vegetable patches.'

‘And what did you do with the money?' I asked. I was almost ready to get into bun-selling myself. Maybe I could buy some new roller skates. (I was less keen on the horse droppings.)

‘Gave it to my mother.'

‘What! All of it?'

‘Every penny. And that's all it was sometimes – a few pence. It wasn't much but it helped. You see, Mum had a struggle just to put food on the table.'

I thought about this. We were working-class, I knew that. Grandpa was a stonemason, and my uncles all did hard, manual work of one kind or another. There was never much money to spare. But, so far as I could remember, we'd always had enough to eat. Of course we all complained about sweets and meat being rationed, but then everybody else was in the same boat. In fact, Nana sometimes said it was only the well-off who felt really hard done by, because they had been used to buying what they wanted before the War.

‘Were you really
poor
?'

‘Cold, stony broke,' said Dad, grinning. ‘Remember that story about the old lady making nail soup? That was us, but without the carrot and the onion and the ham-bone. My father was a sailor, and he'd often drunk his pay before my mum could get hold of it. But then, nobody had much. They were hard times, Megan, even before the Great Depression. And when that struck there really were no jobs to be had. Lines of unemployed people, and women and children, holding mugs outside soup kitchens.'

‘Nana said there was a soup kitchen at the chapel at the top of our street,' I said, remembering. ‘There would be a queues of people stretching all down the street. People used to call it Hard Times Hill.'

Dad nodded. ‘It
was
hard. Until the War. Then, at least, people had work to do.'

‘What was it like, being in the War?' I asked. I'd always been curious, but I'd never liked to ask.

‘D'you know what, more than anything, it was
boring
.'

‘Boring!' I was shocked. ‘How could a war be boring?'

‘Well, it was for me. I played more card games, and whittled more bits of wood, and read more dog-eared paperbacks, than I hope I ever will again in my life.'

I thought about the boys I knew playing tank battles on the waste-ground. Or Pam and me, pretending to fly Spitfires. Or the films I'd seen at the pictures – they made the War look exciting all right.

‘I suppose that was because you were a mechanic.'

Dad shook his head. ‘No. It was boring for lots of people. Even if you were a fighter pilot, say – and I knew lots of those – there was always a lot of sitting around, until things got interesting – sometimes a lot
too
interesting.' Dad looked grim. ‘A lot of those boys never came back. But a lot of the War was just one long, boring, lonely wait: waiting for the next plane to fix, waiting for parts for the plane, waiting for fuel, waiting for letters from home, waiting for food parcels from home, waiting for the next leave, the next cigarette. Not that I'm complaining,' he added. ‘Believe me, if you
have
to be swept up in a war – and I hope to God you never will, Megan – then a boring war is the one to have. A lot of people in Europe starved, or – like the Levensons – had to leave their country behind forever.'

‘Nana always says we were lucky,' I ventured. ‘We weren't bombed. Not like in the big cities.'

‘We've been very lucky,' said Dad.

We stopped at the top of the railway bridge. Dad looked thoughtful.

‘Of course,' he said, ‘in another way, the Air Force was a wonderful thing for me. It trained me up as a mechanic, gave me a trade. Took me to new places. Even the quiet times – we used to read and talk politics, as well as play cards. We talked about how things could be after the War. Then, when we got a chance, we voted for Mr Attlee and the Labour Party – a new way of doing things.'

‘Nana voted Conservative,' I said.

Dad pulled a face. ‘She's a wonderful woman, your grandmother, but she's not always right.'

Actually, I thought Nana usually was right. But I knew that she was unusual in voting Tory. Most people we knew, including Grandpa and all my friends' parents, voted Labour.

‘So what's the new government doing that's so wonderful?' I asked. ‘Everything's still rationed. Everyone's always complaining.'

‘A lot of good things. A better deal for workers. And there's a new National Health Service, for one thing.' He punched me lightly on the shoulder. ‘But enough of this high-flown political talk. We'd better get back. Or they'll be wondering at home whether we've run off with the chips!'

I love fish and chips. I eat them steaming hot out of their newspaper package, with a sloshing of vinegar and a good shake of salt, and I don't mind if the newspaper ink comes off on my hands. I think we all felt the same that evening. Shirley was licking her fingers, and Nana never even troubled to tell her off, while Dad was teasing Barbara by pretending her chip was an aeroplane, and then flying it into her mouth.

‘Thank God they never put fish and chips on the ration!' said Grandpa, folding up the empty newspaper carefully. Later Shirley and me would cut it up into squares (the outer layers anyway) and Nana would
thread them onto a string and hang them up next to the toilet.

Dad brought out a paper bag. ‘And here's a little something I bought earlier to finish up. After all, this is a special occasion, isn't it, Megan?'

The bag was full of cream buns.

‘Fish and chips
and
buns,' said Nana disapprovingly, but everyone else was already falling on them, so Nana stopped disapproving and got her own bun, quick.

‘Wot speshul cashun?' asked Shirley with her mouth full.

‘You'll have to wait and find out.' I felt rather smug that I'd known there was a secret, and Shirley had not.

‘Go on, tell us, lad!' said Grandpa to Dad. And everyone else went, ‘Yes, go on!'

Dad looked round the table. We were all quiet, even Barbara – although that might have been because her mouth was stuffed with bun.

‘Well, then,' said Dad. ‘You all know Mum and I went up to Newcastle a few days ago. Well, I was going to see the manager of an aircraft factory. Just to see if there were any posts coming up for somebody like me, who knows about engines. He said he'd let me know. Anyhow, today I got a letter. I've got the job, and it's at a good salary, too.'

While everyone was exclaiming, I sat quietly. I hadn't realized that Dad was looking for
work
, when he went off with Mum. I'd thought they were just off on a jaunt.

But it made sense. Of course he would have to find a job, now that he had left the Air Force. It was a shame, though, that he couldn't work here in Llanelli. Especially as I was just beginning to get to know him.

Now Mum was talking. ‘We went to look at some houses while we were up in Newcastle. We saw a couple we liked, and we can afford the rent. It's all settled. At the end of this month, we'll be off!'

So Mum and the Littlies were going too. Well, I'd miss them (sometimes). But at least I'd get my room back.

Mum was telling everyone about her favourite house. ‘Small, but sunny, very light, and three good bedrooms. Shirley and Barbara will share and Megan, you can have your own little room. It's small but you won't mind that.'

‘That's really nice of you,' I said, ‘but I don't mind sharing. It's not really fair for me to have a whole room, when I'm hardly going to be there.'

They all stopped yakking then and stared at me.
That was when I got the fluttery feeling in my stomach. Something was not right.

Mum said impatiently, ‘What d'you mean –
hardly going to be there?
It's your new home!'

It was as if somebody had tipped a bucket of water all over me. Really, it was. I felt ice-cold and my hands were shaking. Yet at the same time, something was burning in my chest. I thought I might throw up.

When I spoke I could hardly get out the words.

‘But –
I'm
not going to Newcastle. I'm staying here.'

‘Don't be daft, Megan,' said Dad gently. ‘Of course you're coming.'

‘No! You don't understand. I mean,' I gabbled, ‘I'll come and
visit
you. ‘Course I will. Nana and Grandpa and me'll come on the train. But I can't
leave
. It's just like when you all went out to Germany. It's
exactly
the same. This is my home. I'm Megan of Hardy Hill!'

‘Germany was different, Megan,' said Dad.

‘Of course it was,' Mum agreed. ‘We all knew Dad would be coming home one day. And now he's back for good, and we're all going to live together, like a proper family. Of course you're coming too.'

I could feel the rage rising inside me, like a volcano before it erupts. I leapt to my feet.

‘No!' I shouted. ‘I won't! And if you loved me at all, you wouldn't ask me to! Nana and Grandpa are my family! I'll never live with you! I hate you!'

There were tears streaming down my face. I ran out of the kitchen and slammed the door.

I lay on my bed sobbing into the pillows. I had never felt so miserable. ‘I won't go,' I said aloud. ‘I won't! I won't!' My life was here, with Nana, Grandpa and Pam. I belonged on Hardy Hill through thick and thin – hard times and good. If they tried to make me go, I'd run away!

After a long while, I began to calm down. I found a clean handkerchief and blew my nose. It occurred to me that nobody had come upstairs to comfort me – not even Nana. Were they
really
angry? Nana and Grandpa never lost their temper. Not like Pam's father, who got into terrible rages sometimes,
and hit his children. What about Dad? Might he be the same?

I sat on the bed, with my arms wrapped round my knees. I wondered if the grown-ups were still talking downstairs. I wondered what they were saying about me. Maybe I should go and listen?

I got up, very quietly, and went to open the door.

Shirley was standing there, just outside the doorway.

‘How long have you been there?' I hissed.

Shirley ignored this. ‘You've been crying.'

‘I know!'

‘Why don't you want to come with us, Megan?'

‘Because – because I'll miss here too much.' It was the truth, and my voice wobbled at the thought.

At that moment, I heard a voice from downstairs. Nana. ‘Come down now, Megan. We want to talk to you.'

I swallowed. Then I glared at Shirley. ‘I'm
not
going to say sorry,' I told her. ‘And I'm not going to Newcastle either!'

In the kitchen, they were all sitting round with solemn faces. They had been drinking more tea. Like I said, always tea in a crisis.

Mum was looking cross. Everyone else just looked serious and a bit sad.

‘Megan,' said Dad, ‘we've been having a long talk, and we've decided not to go to Newcastle.'

I gasped. This was the last thing I had expected.

Mum said, ‘And you needn't think it's anything to do with the way you've behaved this evening!'

Dad said, ‘Your nana has been explaining that there are reasons why it's important you stay here. And I don't think we should split up the family at the moment. So we're all staying.'

‘Oh, thank you, Nana,' I gasped. I should have known she would understand. But she was looking very solemn and suddenly I felt uneasy, all over again.

Nana said, ‘I had a conversation with Miss Bulmer recently, Megan.'

‘Miss Bulmer?' I couldn't see what she had to do with it.

‘Yes. She told me that you have a good chance of passing the Eleven Plus and going to grammar school.
If
, that is, you really knuckle down and work hard.'

‘But – ' I was confused. ‘What's that got to do with Newcastle?'

‘This isn't a good time for you to make a move, with the Eleven Plus coming up. So your mum and dad have decided that the family should all stay together for the moment.'

‘There will be other jobs,' said Dad. I couldn't tell if he was cross or not. Mum sniffed, though, when he said it, which made me feel she didn't agree.

‘Oh,' I said. I almost added,
But I'm not going to pass the Eleven Plus and I'm definitely not going to the Grammar
, but I managed to stop myself in time.

‘But Megan,' Nana said, ‘you have to understand. Your parents do need their own home, and their own lives, and when they do make a move, you will have to go with them.'

I said nothing.

‘And the other thing is, we all expect you to work hard for this exam. Miss Bulmer told me that she spoke to you about it a few weeks ago, but she's not convinced that you're taking it seriously.'