A Child's Voice Calling (10 page)

‘If yer ask me, the unions are bleedin’ useless ’alf the time, they got no power, it’s all talk,’ growled Albert with a bitterness unusual in a fifteen-year-old and Mabel flashed him a half-smile. She knew how deeply the tragic death of a former classmate had affected her brother.

‘Tha’s right, Albert’s just abaht ’it the nail on the ’ead,’ agreed Sam Mackintosh with his mouth full. Taking a deep gulp from his glass, he went on, ‘If the men was all to get togevver, shoulder to shoulder, like, they could bring the ’ole o’ the railways to a standstill. Cor! That’d be sommat to see, eh?’

Mabel was shocked. ‘Yer mean that the railwaymen should go on strike?’ she asked. ‘And what
good would
that
do? Only make life harder for everybody who has to travel by train. And the company would sack the ringleaders, an’ then they’d be out of a job an’ not much chance o’ getting another.’

‘Do we have to listen to this kind o’ stuff while we’re eating?’ asked Alice, wrinkling her nose as if at a bad smell. ‘You’ll end up in prison, Albert, the way you talk.’

Albert snorted. ‘Yer don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about, gal. It’s like Sam says, if all the workers ’ad the guts to get togevver an’ stand firm, they couldn’t all be sacked, could they? You just wait an’ see, milady Alice – one o’ these days the workers o’ this country’ll see they got the power an’ bloody well
use
it!’

‘But not if they’ve got families to support, surely,’ protested Mabel, who always thought of the women and children, their helplessness in a world governed by men.

Harry Drover sensed her unease with the way the discussion was going and now tried to steer it in another direction – and perhaps gain a little of her attention for himself and what was the most important thing in his life. ‘Have yer ever been to an open-air Salvation Army meeting, Miss Court? Some of our corps meet on the edge o’ Battersea Park, an’ a lot o’ the bystanders come just to listen to the band.’

‘That’s right, yer should ’ear ’im blowin’ ’is trombone, Mabel, talk about a fanfare o’ trumpets!’ Albert raised an imaginary instrument to his mouth and gave a passable imitation: ‘Ta-ra-ra! – Ta-ra-ra! – diddle-ump, diddle-ump, diddle-ump!’

Mabel cut in sharply at this disrespect to their guest. ‘Just shut
up
, will yer, Albert!’ she ordered.
‘No, Mr Drover, I haven’t attended a meeting, but I’ve often heard the bands playing, and – well, I think it would be very, er, interesting.’

‘Why don’t yer just come along, then, Miss Court, to the Citadel, any time.’ Harry blushed furiously, ignoring the grins that passed between his two younger workmates who had to take orders from him at the depot. ‘General Booth – he’s our founder, y’know – his idea is to bring the light o’ the Gospel to
all
, y’see, not just the churchgoers an’ the, er, respectable, like, but to the poor, the downtrodden, the drunkard an’ the harlot.’

Albert choked on his beer. ‘Thanks a
lot
, ‘Arry, we really appreciate yer concern for us!’

Sam tut-tutted in mock disapproval. ‘Yer’d better watch yer language, mate. Can’t yer see there’re ladies present?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Albert chipped in. ‘’Oo d’yer think yer callin’ a—’ He broke off, then put on a very indignant expression. ‘’Ere, I’ll ’ave yer know my sister Mabel’s a very respectable young lady!’

Poor Harry Drover was aghast. ‘Oh, Miss Court, I’m so sorry – I never meant to say anything against . . . oh, heavens, what a . . . a misunderstanding, please accept my apologies—’ His words tailed off as he saw tears of mirth streaming down Albert’s face and realised that he was being teased unmercifully. He lowered his face and went quiet, feeling that he had made a fool of himself in front of the whole family.

Mabel felt his embarrassment and her heart went out to this honest, sincere young man. It was time to come to his rescue. She glared at the two reprobates. ‘Ye’ll have to excuse my brother, Harry, he missed a lot o’ schoolin’ and doesn’t know any better. Let me
pour yer another cup o’ tea, and, er, next time I hear a Salvation Army band playin’, I’ll certainly stop an’ listen.’

He could only respond with a shy glance in which there was something more than just gratitude. He did not trust himself to open his mouth again for fear of putting his foot in it, but he glowed within because this sweet girl had called him Harry. It made up for her brother’s teasing.

Later that evening when the table was cleared and the visitors gone, Albert looked very knowing. ‘Hey, Mabel, d’yer know what? I reckon ’e’s sweet on you, ol’ ‘Arry. ‘Is eyes went all moony after yer stuck up for ’im, an’ ’e kept gawpin’ at yer when yer wasn’t lookin’.’

‘Go along with yer, Albert, don’t be daft. He’s just one o’ those chaps with good manners who’s nice to everybody. Which is more than can be said for certain other people I could mention,’ she added pointedly. But her eyes softened as she spoke and there was a tender curve to her mouth as she thought about the look in Harry’s honest brown eyes. Some deep instinct within her knew that his was a face to trust.

Albert stopped his banter, caught unawares by a fact he’d never noticed before. Which was that his sister Mabel at sixteen was a very pretty girl . . .

‘Come on, Mabel, it’ll be a lark! We can go up on the train and have a good look round the big shops – an’ go in one o’ those new tea shops where all the office girls show themselves off. Yer never know, we might find a couple o’ nice fellas to treat us!’

It was the August Bank holiday weekend and Ada
Clay was determined to have a bit of fun. She was trying to persuade Mabel to spend the Saturday in the West End with her and made it sound tempting. The trouble was that Mabel had never been used to indulging herself and felt that she could not afford such extravagance. After contributing all but two shillings of her wages to the housekeeping, she felt that she should now start saving for Christmas rather than splashing out on a day trip with carefree Ada who didn’t have to count the pennies so carefully.

‘Oh, come
on
, Mabel, I’ll treat yer to tea and it don’t cost much just to look in Selfridges windows! I reckon we’ve earned a day out after a week o’ wipin’ little mouths an’ bottoms at the Mission. All work an’ no play, yer know what they say!’ She laughed and poked Mabel affectionately in the ribs.

Ada’s father was the manager of one of Lipton’s high-class grocery stores and she was generous with her ready cash. In the end Mabel compromised and agreed to go just for the afternoon. After all, her father was home this weekend, and had mentioned taking his wife and daughters out walking in Battersea Park; Albert was working and George out playing with mates from school. It wasn’t as if she’d be missed and Mum wouldn’t be left on her own . . .

Mabel could not remember a time when she had not felt a tugging sense of duty towards her family, especially her mother. And in recent years there had been times when she’d had to be extra watchful: there had been those rare occasions when Annie Court was found lying on the floor by the children coming in from school – unless Mabel had been able to get home first and save them from the shock. She’d hastily hauled her mother up and got her to bed, laying her on her side and drawing the curtains,
saying that it was nothing to worry about, Mum had fainted because of her thin blood. She avoided sending for Dr Knowles, and made light of the matter to Alice, George and Daisy. ‘Just a faint, no need to fuss – don’t tell Mrs Bull or anybody – she’ll be better in the mornin’ after a good night’s sleep.’

The next day Annie would avoid her eyes when Mabel took her a cup of tea – for these incidents never happened when Jack was at home – and say nothing about her blinding headache and nausea. Mother and daughter would both pretend that it had never happened, and any comments from Albert or questions from Alice and Daisy were quickly dismissed. It had not happened often, but the worry was always there at the back of Mabel’s mind, like a shadow waiting to pounce.

Leicester Square was crowded with shoppers and strollers as the two young women gazed up at the Empire Palace of Varieties. Many of the great names of music hall were making the transition to the more respectable family-based entertainment with seats in rows and no drinking in the auditorium. ‘Better ’n the old Grand on St John’s Hill, eh, Mabel?’ said Ada. ‘I’d love to see one o’ them shows, wouldn’t you? Ol’ Marie Lloyd an’ George Robey doin’ their stuff!’

Mabel smiled. She knew by heart many of the songs made popular by the music halls and sold as ballads with words and music, but she had never imagined herself sitting up there in a real theatre; Ada’s enthusiasm touched a chord somewhere within her and it made her think that life could include fun as well as duty. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘P’raps one o’ these days we will.’

And that was the moment when she heard the
voice from the past. ‘Is it? Can it be? My Gawd, it bloomin’ well
is
, me ol’ pal Mabel Court! What’re yer doin’ up the West End, then, gal?’

Mabel spun round and stared into the merry face of a girl in a smart striped skirt and jacket, a flowery hat pinned over her curls. She was leaning on the arm of a grinning youth in a passable serge suit topped with a cloth cap that proclaimed his servant status. For a couple of seconds Mabel stared at them blankly.

‘Blow me dahn, don’t yer know me, Mabel? ’Ave yer forgot yer ol’ friend Maudie?’

‘
Maudie
! Maudie Ling!’ Mabel almost shouted. ‘Oh, how I’ve wondered about yer, how yer were gettin’ on! All those years ago – oh, Maudie, is it really you?’

‘Dunno ’oo else!’ And the two girls flung their arms round each other in a reuniting embrace. There was so much to say, such a lot to catch up on.

‘Yeah, I lef’ the ’ome at Dulwich when I was sixteen an’ went into service – an’ I ain’t ’alf got a top-drawer place now, Mabel, ’ousemaid in a mansion on Bryanston Square, Lady Stanley’s place, she’s lovely but ’e’s old an’ bald, talk abaht a bird in a gilded cage, eh, Charlie?’ Maudie turned to her companion. ‘Charlie’s a footman at ’Er Ladyship’s, and me an’ ’im’s walkin’ aht. An’ ’ow are yer, Mabel, after all this time? An’ that poor little bruvver?’

There was so much to exchange and exclaim over that Charlie suggested they go to one of the new Joseph Lyons cafés; Maudie and Ada readily agreed, though Mabel worried about the cost. Ada reassured her in a whisper that she’d pay for them both and Charlie was obviously treating his sweetheart. Sitting at a table for four over tea and little iced sponge
cakes, Mabel felt quite overwhelmed by her surroundings, the smart waitresses carrying trays with china cups and plates; to her the café seemed to be the height of luxury and elegance.

Maudie was telling her of the changes in her life that followed her arrest for thieving. ‘Best fing that ever ’appened to me, that was, Mabel!’ she said gaily. ‘They was damned good to Teddy an’ me at the Waifs an’ Strays –’e’s still dahn there at Dulwich, ten ’e is now, cheeky little blighter an’ all – I goes to see ’im on me afternoons off. ’Er Ladyship always sends ’im cake an’ stuff to share out – ooh, Mabel, she’s better ’n any queen or duchess!’

Maudie was sorry to hear about Walter’s death – ‘though I never fought ’e’d survive, to tell yer the trufe, Mabel’ – and wanted to be told about the Hallam Road Babies Mission. ‘Cor, I bet that suits yer dahn to the grahnd, Mabel – yer was always good wiv kids. Don’t pay yer much, do they? I get ten bob a week an’ all found, which means we live like lords, don’t we, Charlie? Summat diff’rent to the ol’ days, eh? Cor!’

‘Did yer parents ever come an’ see yer in the, er, home, Maudie?’ ventured Mabel in a low voice, not wanting to revive painful memories.

‘Nah. Gawd only knows what ’appened to ’em. ’E never was no good, an’ gave ’er a rotten time, poor fing. It was ’im as drove ’er to drink, ’e did. Reckon they’ll bofe be gorn.’

Maudie’s face briefly clouded, then cleared as quickly. She had put the past firmly behind her and Mabel could not help but be struck by the change in their fortunes. For a half-starved child of the streets, burdened with a baby brother and reduced to stealing food to stay alive, Maud was now a
handsome, confident girl of eighteen living in comfortable servants’ quarters, with the advantage of an indulgent mistress and a young man to take her out and treat her. Beside her Mabel felt shabbily dressed and ashamed that she had to rely on a friend to pay for her tea.

As was her constant habit, she glanced at the clock, and Ada noticed. ‘Trouble with you, Mabel, yer can’t ever let yerself go an’ enjoy yerself,’ she scolded. ‘It’s Saturday, an’ we’re out on the town with friends, so just forget about Sorrel Street for a couple o’ hours!’

She was right, thought Mabel, there was no need to rush home, just as she’d met up with her old friend again.

‘’Ave yer got a young man, Mabel?’ asked Maud with a wink. ‘Ye’re pretty enough for ’alf a dozen!’

Mabel shook her head, though Harry Drover came to her mind as he often did these days. He was probably out with his parents who were full-time Salvationists. She had caught sight of him once, playing in the band at an open-air meeting, and he had returned her smile but could not leave his place, and she had not liked to linger until the meeting ended. He was clearly dedicated to the Salvation Army and she could not imagine him joining them on a tour of the West End’s theatreland, which they then undertook with Maudie as guide.

‘That’s the Gaiety where Mr Edwardes puts on ’is musical shows wiv lots o’ pretty girls – all the young toffs are after ’em, mus’n’t it be a lark? And over there’s ‘Is Majesty’s, where they crowd in every night to see Mr Tree doin’ ’is stuff, all doom an’ agony – an’ at the Savoy there’s them comic operas, Charlie likes ’em, all about pirates singin’ their ’eads off. Gi’ me the Palace o’ Varieties any time!’

The teeming life of London surged around them, a far cry from Sorrel Street and the Babies Mission where she worked so hard for so little. Yet Maudie Ling had known a much harder life as a child and look at her now, parading on her young man’s arm, not giving a thought to past suffering and social injustice.

‘Right, it’s ’alf past six, an’ we better be gettin’ back to Bryanston Square, Charlie-boy,’ said Maud, just as if she were Lady Stanley herself instead of a housemaid. ‘It’s bin good to see yer, Mabel, we’ll ’ave to do it agin – what abaht ‘Ampstead ’Eaf one Sunday afternoon?’