The Girl in the Painted Caravan (27 page)

I really missed Johnnie, but also knew I had big things on with work. I had just been dancing to the Beatles, but in two days’ time I was set to meet the Fab Four through the
Argus,
when they visited Brighton to play at the Hippodrome. At least that would keep me occupied, I hoped.

TWENTY-EIGHT

‘The Duke of Connaught, as fast as you can,’ I demanded breathlessly to the taxi driver. I’m sure he must have thought I was having a heart attack from seeing
one of the Beatles. Little did he know why I was really in such a state. And now, as I sat in the back of the taxi, I looked down at my grandmother Alice’s gold bracelet and wondered what she
would have made of what I was doing. Somehow, as I twisted the gold charms around my wrist, I knew that she would have done exactly the same thing, and I smiled. I smiled and then I started
laughing and suddenly I couldn’t stop. The tears were literally running down my cheeks and so was my mascara and, do you know what? I couldn’t have cared less.

When I spoke to Johnnie on the phone, he said, ‘Are you going to marry me? How quickly can you say yes?’

‘Yes!’ I shouted.

When my taxi drew up outside the Duke of Connaught pub, Johnnie was standing outside waiting for me and rushed to open the door. He looked tanned, but his handsome face was spoiled by a beard
and moustache.

‘Lose the beard,’ I said, not very romantically, before throwing myself into his arms.

Inside, a bottle of Champagne was waiting for us on the bar, compliments of my good friends Eddie and Pearl, who happened to be there. We sat and enjoyed the Champagne and decided to get a
marriage licence the very next day. The time flew by and too soon I had to get back in a taxi and head home to West Street.

I was in a bit of a state, wondering if my mother would guess what was happening. Nathan, bless him, was sitting on the stairs waiting for me. He grinned and said, ‘Can’t let you go
in on your own, gal.’ He grabbed my arm and we went in to find a party of sorts was taking place. My uncle Laurence had unexpectedly arrived that evening for a visit. Most Romany visits
aren’t planned; they just happen. Uncle Laurence had been married to Aunt Cissie. Poor Aunty Cissie had been diagnosed with a bone-crumbling disease shortly after giving birth to her only
daughter and had to spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair.

I was given yet another glass of Champagne, which helped dull my nerves and trepidation tremendously. Everyone crowded round me and Nathan, asking about the Beatles. The conversation seemed to
go on for hours before Mummy declared that it was bedtime. Daddy and Laurence were to share my bedroom, and I was to go in with Mummy. I lay awake most of that night, worrying whether I should tell
her I was getting married. If I did, would my parents stop me? Would they put me in the car and drive away? The anguish was terrible – I so much wanted to tell her, but I was too afraid.

The next day, Johnnie and I went to arrange the date of our marriage. With a licence, it took five days and the cost was seven and sixpence. After that, he took me to his flat and, after
inspecting it and doing some measuring and debating over décor (fortunately we had very similar tastes), we hit the shops, as I didn’t want to move into a bachelor pad. We chose a new
three-piece suite, curtains, rugs and bedding, and we spent the next four days turning the flat into our home.

I woke up on the morning of the wedding and decided to tell Mummy of my plans. I made her some tea and went into the bedroom. Daddy had gone out by now.

‘Come on, Mummy, wake up. I have something to tell you. Drink your tea.’

But she stubbornly turned over and said, ‘Leave me to sleep!’

So I dressed in my black suit and pink chiffon blouse – yes, I was getting married in black! I also had the big, black cartwheel hat that I had worn to my cousin’s wedding in
Nottingham. I knew the moment had gone for me to tell Mummy and I angrily kicked the hat through the front door, which I quietly closed from the outside. I stuck the hat on my head and crept
quietly down the stairs, but when I reached the pavement outside, I ran like hell was on my heels.

Johnnie’s father and stepmother were at the register office, along with our friends Pam and Ray, who was the best man, and my father’s sister Dora, who by that point was living near
Brighton and whom I had confided in about the wedding. I cried throughout the ceremony and the handkerchief given to me by Aunt Dora was covered with mascara.

Once we were married, the reality hit that now it was time to face the music. We went into the bar opposite the register office and Johnnie knew he had to phone my mother and take control. After
sitting me down with yet another glass of Champagne (I was becoming a bit of a Champagne Charlie!), he went to use the public phone in the bar. He returned, grinning, and said, ‘I told your
mother that we just got married and she said to come straight over.’

Looking puzzled, he added that she didn’t seem all that surprised. I turned to Aunt Dora. ‘Did you tell her?’

No, of course I didn’t, Eva.’ It was so like Mummy to have guessed what was going on but say nothing about it, leaving me to make my own decision.

Mummy had told Johnnie to bring the whole wedding party, so we piled into taxis again. As soon as we entered the flat, Mummy hugged me and I burst out crying again, feeling guilt, relief and
happiness all rolled into one. Nathan rushed out saying, ‘Going for some Champagne, back soon.’ The twins bounced around with excitement. Only my father wasn’t really talking, and
certainly not being friendly to Johnnie.

Mummy took Johnnie’s arm and guided him into the kitchen, away from everyone. She explained about the Romany blessing, which I had already told him about. They were in there for about
twenty minutes and were laughing like old friends, which they did quickly become. Mummy liked him and approved. She felt that he had something very important in common with our family: the same
sense of humour. She admitted to him that she had sensed that morning that I’d be returning a married woman.

But despite how well they hit it off, I suspect that, while in the kitchen, she still did what Romany elders traditionally do when talking to the bridegroom, and told Johnnie that if he
didn’t look after me he’d get his bollocks chopped off!

The blessing was a merry affair, helped by the amount of Champagne we’d all drunk. Mummy pricked our thumbs and held them together, and then she bound our hands together with a dickler.
She popped down to the garden to find an evergreen branch, which she broke in two and gave us half each. Then she filled a silver fruit bowl with water and lit a fire in her trifle dish. Johnnie
had to tread over both, showing he would go through fire and water for me.

We were truly married. We told everyone we were going on honeymoon – ‘Mind your own business’ was our reply when asked where – but in fact we just wanted to go back to
Johnnie’s flat.

Mummy suddenly said, ‘What clothes did you take with you this morning?’

‘Just what I’m standing up in,’ I admitted.

She insisted on helping me pack for my honeymoon. As we folded clothes into a suitcase, she said thoughtfully, ‘I must have known something was up when I gave you the bracelet.’ I
had received the traditional Romany dowry five days before my wedding, on the very day I decided to marry Johnnie.

Finally we were able to leave, and as we headed back to Johnnie’s flat in a taxi, I felt sure this was the beginning of the happiest time in my life.

‘So come on, Eva, where are we going?’ Johnnie challenged me.

‘What do you mean?’ It was 10.30 p.m. and I all I was thinking about was going to bed.

‘I know you,’ he said smiling. ‘Your foot’s tapping away and that means you need to get away. So where are we going?’

‘Blackpool,’ I declared, laughing. I hadn’t consciously thought about it, but Johnnie could always read me and my needs, and he was right. I wanted to see Daisy and Honour.

‘Pack,’ he commanded and disappeared.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back. ‘The car’s ready,’ he said. He’d put our mattress in the back of our estate car and made a bed with blankets and pillows. He carried
out the sleeping children: our oldest boy Warren, who was five, Bradley, who was four, Gregory, three, and our baby daughter Claire. With the birth of my little girl, I’d felt my life was
truly complete. I’d wanted to call her Eva, but Johnnie felt there were enough Evas in our family.

‘Shhh, go back to sleep,’ he said as he tucked them up. ‘And we’ll be in Blackpool in time for breakfast.’

As the car pulled out into the quiet streets, I felt truly blessed. I couldn’t give my children the traditional Romany life, but I could give them parents who loved each other, and them,
very much. And I could give them the excitement and anticipation I remembered as a child of wondering, as I dropped off to sleep, where we’d wake up tomorrow. My children experienced this
many times and, believe me, they loved it too.

This book was written for all my Romany family so that we may never forget our roots. I want to thank my daughter Claire for the tremendous help she gave me with putting my
story into words – I could never have done it without you. Thank you also to my son Warren for all his help and guidance. I would like to thank Bradley and Gregory for their support and
encouragement, as well as Shunty and John Taylor for helping me remember things and for letting me use their photographs. Honour and Daisy were also great at helping jog my memory, and their
brother Johnnie Heron very kindly let me use many of his photographs. Finally, thanks to my editors Ingrid Connell and Lorraine Green at Pan Macmillan for their guidance, help and patience.

Eva Petulengro is a member of the last generation of true Romany gypsies. She spent her childhood on the road with her family in their beautiful painted caravan, before going on
to become one of the country’s leading clairvoyants and astrologers, with many famous clients. Today she lives in Brighton near her three sons, Warren, Bradley and Gregory, and her daughter
Claire, who followed the family tradition and is a popular astrologer and author.

My beloved granny, Alice Eva Petulengro. She was a tiny woman, who was also incredibly strong, brave and open-minded. Smart
as a carrot and always beautifully groomed, she carried herself with the poise of a duchess.

My grandfather, Naughty Petulengro, so-called because of the mischievous twinkle in his eye. He is pictured here, on the
left, with his brother Olby in Skegness.

The men in my family all loved their Aptus cameras! From left to right are Frank Taylor, Uncle Alger and Uncle
Nathan.

Aunt Adeline, sitting on the steps of Granny’s vardo (caravan). Her beautiful green-brown eyes were said to change
colour every time you looked at her.

Aunt Vera standing next to my mother, Laura Eva, outside a bender tent, which would be used to give them more space when
the vardos were parked up.

Aunt Cissie, sitting on the left, was known as the most beautiful of my mother’s sisters. Behind her is Uncle Alger,
while Uncle Nathan and Aunt Lena can be seen on the right.

My beautiful mother, Laura Eva, at the age of nineteen. She was never one to show her emotions openly, but that
didn’t stop an incredible bond from developing between us. She meant the world to me.

And here she is with my aunt Vera. The two girls were inseparable as they were growing up.

Granny’s vardo. My grandfather, Naughty, carefully selected each piece of wood that went into the building of it, and
oversaw the wood carvings and mirror engravings inside, determined to have only the best for Granny.

Skegness, 1940. My father, Eddie, was home on leave from the war, visiting me, aged one, and my mother.

Shortly after my mother and father were married, Granny gave them her vardo, which became our home for many years to
come. Here I am, aged two, sitting on the steps, while Mummy checks on me from the window.

Aunt Shunty, the youngest of my mother’s sisters, who would often look after me when I was little. I used to look
at Shunty and wish that one day I might be as beautiful as her.

Mummy pushing her beloved Silver Cross pram. I’m standing by her side, aged nine, as we take the twins, Eddie and
Anne, for a walk.

Me, aged twelve, with Eddie. I would often entertain the twins while Mummy gave readings to clients.

I took Eddie and Anne to the same Follies show every day on the seafront in Rhyl. They loved it and would annoy the rest
of the audience by shouting out the lines before the actors!

Me with my cousins Honour, on the left, and Daisy, on the right. They were two of my closest friends growing
up.

Nathan, on the left, with George Newsome. They met at the stopping ground in Seaton Carew and went on to become life-long
friends.

Me manning the candy floss stall at the amusement park in Seaton Carew, while my father made money snapping away on the
Aptus camera.

With Margaret Newsome, George’s sister, who I made friends with as soon as we arrived in Seaton Carew. This picture
was taken just after I had traded in my dark locks for a peroxide blonde French plait.

Nathan posing in front of the Grand Hotel in Brighton. Mummy could sense we would have a bright future there.

Me with my friend Eileen at the Regent Ballroom in Brighton, where dances were held every Saturday night. I loved to
dance all evening and really let my hair down, but Nathan was always close by to make sure I didn’t dance with any boys!

The photos taken of me and Mummy by the lovely little old lady who used to stop me in the street. I had no idea that she
was a famous royal photographer.