War Babies (13 page)

‘What’s that – Crocodile Works?’ Rachel asked, seeing the imposing, brick-faced works as they progressed along Alma Street. ‘Don’t tell me they make
crocodiles!’

Danny chuckled. ‘Nah – knives and such. Bayonets – and big machete-type things.’ Further along, he said, ‘Here – in here.’

He led her up an entry and into a yard of five houses, three of them backing onto the houses facing the street, the other two onto a wall which divided the yard from a similar one next door. At
the far end was the higher wall of a factory. It was very like the yard where they had had to go round to the toilet in Floodgate Street, only wider, and less squalid. Rachel looked around. The
toilets and miskins, or dustbins, were at the far end. In the middle of the yard were both a lamp and a common tap, dripping into a drain in the ground. The blue bricks of the yard were swept very
clean – she could see where the bristles of the brush had passed over the muddiest patch near the tap. A hard-faced woman with a scarf on her head was standing in her doorway, watching as
they passed.

‘Got yerself a girlfriend then, Danny?’ she said. When Danny didn’t answer she added, ‘Not got a tongue in your head then, lad?’

‘That’s Ma Jackman, lives next door,’ he whispered. ‘Nosey old bag she is.’

Rachel giggled.

Gladys lived at number three of the five houses in the back court. Hers was in the corner, the last in the row backing onto the houses facing the street. When they got to the door there seemed
to be a crowd inside and Danny said:

‘Oh – they’ve got started then. This lot weren’t here when I went out!’

There was a low cheer as he and Rachel came in the door. Round the table in the middle of the room, on which sat a large cake, was a crowd of people: one a dark-haired, pretty woman, who Rachel
realized must be Dolly, and a gaggle of blond-haired little boys who at first sight all looked the same. Rachel made out Gladys among them, who raised an arm in greeting.

‘Come on in, bab, if you can get in!’

Gladys was wearing a short-sleeved shirtwaister frock in a soft sage green with white spots which showed off her magnificent curves. It must have been her best dress, Rachel thought, and it made
her look younger suddenly, though she still had her hair plaited and coiled up in its rather old-fashioned style. It was the first time Rachel had seen Gladys not dressed in black or without her
arms covered. They were pink and plump and comfortable-looking, though her hands were work-worn.

‘It’s our Mom’s birthday!’ One of the little boys announced as Rachel and Danny stepped into the little downstairs room. ‘It were yesterday!’ He seemed very
excited. ‘There’s cake – look!’

Rachel looked around her in wonder. As she remembered the poor, bare house in Floodgate Street – how long ago that seemed now – Gladys’s downstairs room was another world. It
was like walking into a cosy, immaculately clean little palace, Rachel thought. The walls were painted pale blue and there were neatly tied curtains in the window in navy-and-white gingham. The
range was polished to a black sheen with well-scrubbed pans arranged on it, though thankfully, in this warmth, it did not seem to be lit. All along the mantelpiece, over which was draped a cheerful
piece of crimson, flowery cloth, was an array of knick-knacks: jugs and ornaments, china animals and candlesticks, a wooden-cased clock and two palm crosses atilt in a pewter cup. Rachel saw a
china country cottage which also seemed to be a teapot and at the far end was a photograph in a frame. Despite the reflected light on the glass she could just make out the man in it, who she
realized must have been Gladys’s husband. On a dark sideboard on the left-hand wall, she saw a wireless with a polished wooden case.

‘So you’re the famous Rachel – we’ve heard all about you,’ the other woman said. She was slender and energetic-looking with black wavy hair pinned back from her
face and lively brown eyes. She was so pretty! Rachel thought, especially with the touch of red lipstick which matched the flowers in her frock. Rachel liked her straight away.

‘Don’t tease her, Dolly!’ These words came from a stocky, jolly-looking man sitting near the range. For a moment Rachel wondered if he was the woman’s father, but then
she saw that he must be her husband. He had a very pink face and the blond hair which he seemed to have passed on to every one of his sons, though his own hair was now faded almost to grey, as was
his bushy moustache. He sat in his braces, leaning forward on his thighs, a cigarette in one hand. ‘Look. You’re making the wench blush. But then, as we know –’ He tapped
his bulbous nose with the hand holding the cigarette so that ash dropped down on his trousers. Curses followed.

‘Mo!’ Dolly cried, exasperated. ‘You’ll have holes in those trousers again! Here – pass me one . . .’ She reached for the packet of cigarettes and lit up.
‘Ooh – and look at all this. This is so nice of you, Glad!’

Gladys waved this away as if to say it was nothing.

‘As I was saying,’ Mo addressed Rachel, with dignity. ‘You’re like a film star around ’ere – least you’d think so, the way Danny carries on.’

Rachel blushed even more. What on earth was he talking about?

‘Now who’s teasing her, Mo?’ Gladys said. ‘Come on – time for some char.’

‘Yes,’ Dolly added. ‘And you boys can keep yer thieving little mitts off that cake ’til anyone says you can have some or I’ll send you out to play up the far end
– got it?’

There was a big teapot on the table covered with a crocheted cosy in varying shades of green. Beside it, a jug full of pink sweet williams and the cake with white icing, ringed with glacé
cherries. The little boys – Rachel counted five of them, in descending size – were all swarming round it. Danny pointed them out and told her their names – Eric, Wally, Reggie,
Jonny, Fred the youngest, only just able to stand – but by the end of the afternoon she still could not tell which of the elder four was which.

‘Hands behind yer backs,’ Dolly ordered. ‘Wally – if I have to say it once more, you’re out!’

‘I’ve been saving my rations,’ Gladys said, smiling as she poured tea into pretty china cups, with a pattern of pink dog roses winding round each. ‘I’ve had those
bits of cherry since before the war – I knew they’d come in useful one day and it’s time we had an excuse for a get-together. Come on – sit down – those who can find a
chair.’

‘Not you, Reggie –’ His father hoicked him from the seat of a chair by one ear. ‘Age before impudence.’

Danny and Rachel sat on a couple of stools just inside the door. Danny leaned over and whispered close to her ear, ‘Dolly is Auntie’s best friend.’ Rachel smiled and nodded.
She could already see that.

Danny explained that Mo’s real name was George but he was always called Mo after their surname, Morrison. And that the pair of them had been good friends to Gladys, ever since she moved
into the yard nearly twenty years ago. They seemed very nice, Rachel thought. Dolly, Danny whispered, was half-Italian. Rachel could see why Dolly and Gladys had been drawn together as friends,
each with their dark, interesting looks. Of the two, Dolly was the more straightforwardly pretty with her long black hair and dancing eyes. Rachel already felt at home with them all. She gazed
round at the scrubbed tiles of the floor, the neat cleanness of the few plates on the shelves and the dark red chenille cloth on the table. She looked up again at the photograph, which she now
noticed had black crêpe arranged lovingly around it. From it smiled the face of a thin, dark-haired man. She could not make out the face very well. It did not seem to stand out. She found
herself wondering what sort of man had been married to Gladys.

Before anyone could say anything else, a little lad about seven years old with curly red hair and freckles all over his nose appeared in the doorway, holding in his arms what appeared to be a
round bundle of newspaper tied with string. At first he did not seem to notice all the other people in the room.

‘Mrs Poulter,’ he gabbled urgently, ‘can I ask Danny . . .’ He spotted Danny then, by the door. ‘Danny – you gonna come and play out? I’ve gorra new
football, our dad’s done it and everyone’s out the front and they want yer to come . . .’

The boy stopped, at last, taking in the unusual sight inside. He stared at Rachel. He stared even more at the cake, with wide eyes, a gaze which he then turned with desperate appeal on
Gladys.

‘He’s not coming out for a while yet, Ernie,’ Gladys said. ‘We’re just having a bit of tea.’

Rachel could almost see the saliva rising in the boy’s mouth.

‘I’ll come out a bit later, Ern,’ Danny told him.

The four older Morrison boys were shoulder to shoulder in front of the cake as if guarding it with their lives.

‘Oh, go on, let him have a bit,’ Dolly said, laughing. To Rachel she added, ‘He ain’t even from this yard, he’s from next door!’

Gladys winked at Ernie. ‘Oh ar – I s’pect we can spare you a bit, lad. You come back in a few minutes when I’ve cut the cake and you can have a little slice.’

‘Ooh, ta, Mrs Poulter!’ He tore away again on skinny legs. Rachel was amazed. It was impossible to imagine her own mother sharing what she had with anyone who was not her own. And
she liked the friendly, easy feeling between Gladys and Dolly and Mo Morrison.

‘Well, many happy returns, Dolly,’ Gladys said when she had poured the tea and they had stirred in a tiny ration of sugar. She raised her teacup as if in a toast.

‘Happy birthday!’ everyone chorused.

Dolly blushed and laughed. ‘Oh, ta all of you – stop it, I’m starting to fill up!’ Rachel saw she had tears in her eyes and she wiped them, laughing at herself at the
same time. ‘This is nice, Glad – and look at your cake.’

Gladys didn’t seem to know what to say and Danny called out, ‘So, when are we going to eat some of it then?’

‘Oi you!’ Gladys retorted, pointing the knife at him. ‘Just remember, I’ve know you since you was in napkins,’ she added sternly.

As if by some form of mind-reading, as soon as she put the blade of the knife to the top of the cake, Ernie’s ginger head was back at the door, accompanied by a whole gaggle of small
children, all eagerly trying to see in, elbowing each other and giggling.

‘Oi, you lot!’ Mo boomed at them. ‘What d’yer think you’re all doing ’ere – eh? Clear off, the lot of yer!’

Gladys looked up, a moment’s dismay turning to amusement.

‘Brought a few pals, ’ave yer, Ernie? Did I say the whole street was invited?’ She waited, smiling at them. They all tittered and looked hopeful.

‘Well – you’ve got quite a party now, Dolly – shall we give ’em some cake? We can’t eat all this on our own, can we? Right – now you just hang on, you
lot, ’til we’ve had some.’

Once she had given a slice of sponge to everyone in the room, she turned to the excited crowd at the door. ‘Right – one at a time – hold yer hands out. Then out yer go, and
there won’t be no more, right?’

Soon a sticky procession of children had passed through the room and out again, nuzzling their faces into their hands ecstatically to eat the finger of pale yellow cake. Their laughter floated
in from outside.

‘Well – there you are, Dolly,’ Gladys said. ‘You’ve made a lot of people very happy on your birthday.’

Dolly laughed, still eating. ‘Little sods,’ she said, indistinctly.

‘Mrs Poulter?’ Rachel said a little later, choosing a moment when everyone else was talking. She moved her stool closer to speak to Gladys and Danny followed.

‘Why don’t you just call me Auntie?’ Gladys suggested. ‘It makes me feel peculiar you calling me Mrs Poulter all the time.’

Rachel smiled. ‘If that’s all right.’ She was delighted, loving Gladys’s approval and acceptance. ‘I was just wondering why Danny didn’t just come and live
with you – after his mother, well, passed away?’

Gladys gave a harsh laugh. ‘Me? I’ll tell you why, wench. Danny’s father, Wilf – oh, he hated me like poison. I could see the way he was and I’d tell him so. I know
he was never the same when he came back from France – but he was alive, which was more than any of ’em. Instead of coming back and making a life, all he could think of was the bottle.
Downhill all the way, he was. The way he treated Mary – I’d’ve happily seen him hang and that’s the truth.’

Rachel saw that Danny was looking down into his lap and she was sorry that she had raised the question.

‘If my poor sister Mary hadn’t gone the way she did, things would’ve been different, I’d’ve seen to that, somehow – you know, made sure Danny and the others
were all right, whatever their father got up to. But Wilf Booker would’ve drowned those children rather than let them come anywhere near me. That’s the sort of man he was. And God alone
knows where he’s gone . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Danny – I’d like to be able to speak better of your father but you know it’s the
truth.’

Danny nodded, looking glum.

‘That’s enough of that anyway,’ Gladys said. ‘What’s done’s done. Want another bit, Dolly?’ She reached to cut the last bits of cake.

‘Sorry,’ Rachel whispered to Danny, ‘didn’t mean to be nosey.’

‘S’all right,’ he said, but he couldn’t quite meet her eyes at that moment. Rachel looked around the room, watching Gladys and Dolly chatting easily, Dolly smoking away
and Mo falling into a snooze in the best chair. Dolly looked affectionately at him.

‘They’ve been drilling up the park,’ she said. ‘Poor old sod, it’s taken it out of him. They’ve got uniforms at last though!’

Rachel realized, as they talked, that they meant the LDV or Home Guard. She also noticed again that Dolly was a good deal younger than her husband.

Now the last of the cake had been polished off, their boys had all run outside and peace descended on the room. Danny looked round at Rachel, reached out his hand and took hers for a moment,
giving it a squeeze. And at that moment Rachel thought there could not be anyone in the world happier than she was.

It was already growing dark when Danny walked her back to the tram stop. Once the Morrisons drifted off home and the afternoon turned chilly, Gladys closed the door and lit the
fire and the lamps. The room became warm and fuggy. While she reminisced about Danny when he was very small and the mischief he used to get up to, Danny sat leaning forward, elbows on his thighs,
looking up sometimes with a shy delight that filled Rachel with tender emotions.