A Child's Voice Calling (11 page)

But Mabel’s attention had been caught by the sight of a laughing couple who were meeting outside the Empire and her heart raced as she watched them. They had clearly arranged the place and the time, for they rushed towards each other and exchanged a very public kiss in the middle of the pavement. The woman was about twenty-five, dressed in blue with a wide feathered hat, and her pretty face looked up into his, laughing and welcoming. He was smart, with dark good looks, a typical man about town, older than the girl; in fact, his age was exactly forty. Mabel knew that, because he was her father, Jack Court. She instinctively turned away so that he would not see her, though it was not likely; he only had eyes for the attractive woman he was meeting for the evening. And probably for the night.

‘What’s up, Mabel? Seen anybody yer know?’ asked Ada.

Mabel shook her head, quite unnerved by the shock she had received. ‘It’s all right, Ada, I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. Time to go home,’ she muttered.

But her friend had seen her blinking away tears
and squeezed her hand as they journeyed home on the train. Poor Mabel, she thought, it couldn’t be much of a life for her with that houseful at Sorrel Street, an ailing mother and the father away half the time.

Mabel’s own thoughts, when she had recovered from the initial blow, were full of disgust and anger on her mother’s behalf. How
could
her father go after another woman when his own wife loved and trusted him so faithfully? Poor Mum, what would she give for a night out, a meal and a treat like going to the music hall? And what on earth would she do if she ever found out? Mabel could have wept aloud but, as so often in her life, she had to conceal her feelings for the sake of others.

On reaching home she found her mother, Alice and Daisy chattering eagerly about their afternoon in the park, and how Daddy had bought them chocolate bars and iced lemonade.

‘There were lots o’ people ridin’ on bicycles, Mabel, ladies an’ all – and wearin’
trousers
!’ cried Daisy. ‘They didn’t ’alf look funny!’

‘Yes, I never thought I’d see women in knickerbockers,’ said Annie Court, shaking her head. ‘There was one old lady there who was scolding them – you should have heard her, Mabel. “Hussies!” she was saying. “Brazen hussies, no modesty at all – what’s the world coming to?”’

‘She was just a silly old biddy,’ said Alice scornfully. ‘Anyway, Dad laughed and said that if fine ladies can ride horses in Rotten Row, why shouldn’t girls ride bicycles in Battersea Park? I wouldn’t mind having a try on one.’

‘Oh, Mabel, it was such a lovely afternoon and we all enjoyed ourselves so much.’ Annie sighed with
touching appreciation. ‘Such a pity that Jack couldn’t come back with us, but he’s got to be at Goodwood first thing in the morning.’

Mabel’s face was blank.

‘And he bought us a pound and a half o’ cooked ham,’ continued Annie, smiling, ‘so we’ll have it tonight with piccalilli when the boys come in.’

It was a long time since Mabel had seen her mother looking so animated and her indignation burned all the more at the thought of her father’s hypocrisy. Annie Court could be happy with so little, while all the time Jack had clearly been scheming to get away up to town and meet his young mistress. Oh, how unfair life was! And the worst of it was that she would have to carry the burden of his secret, almost like a personal shame. On no account must her mother know, and neither must the children. If Albert found out his temper might flare up into a confrontation that could tear the family apart and what would that do to her mother?

And, of course, she must keep her knowledge from her father, too, and smile and talk as if nothing were the matter. She shivered involuntarily. It was not in her nature to deceive.

Alice answered the knock on the door later that evening and came back with a significant look at her elder sister. ‘Mr Drover for yer, Mabel – in his bandsman’s outfit.’

Mabel’s heart gave a thump as she rose and went to the door. Sure enough, there was Harry Drover in a high-buttoned navy tunic and a round cap bearing the Salvation Army crest over his light-brown hair. He was carrying a case of some sort under his arm. They stared, then both spoke together.

‘Oh, hello, er, Mr Drover, did you want to see Alb—’

‘Good evening, er, Miss Court, I just wondered if yer—’

They both stopped speaking and waited for the other to continue.

‘Er, I’m sorry, Miss Court,’ he apologised, ‘only I’m on me way to the Citadel for a meetin’ tonight – the one on the corner o’ Clapham Park Road – and, er, I just wondered if ye’d like to come along.’

Mabel was cross with herself for feeling flustered, but her pleasure showed in her eyes. ‘Oh – yes, that’d be very nice, Mr Drover, but I’ll have to ask me mother first. Could yer just step inside for a minute?’

He entered the narrow hallway, and she asked him to follow her into the living room where Annie sat with the four brothers and sisters; they had just finished their supper of ham and piccalilli.

‘Mr Drover’s askin’ if I’d like to go to a Salvation Army service, Mum,’ she said, praying that Albert would keep his mouth shut.

Annie looked up without smiling. ‘You’ve already been up to the West End today, Mabel. I don’t think you should go out again.’ The truth was that she did not like the idea of her daughter going out with a young man.

‘My father an’ mother’ll be there, Mrs Court, an’ I’ll make sure Mabel gets home by ten – or earlier if yer want,’ pleaded Harry.

Annie’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Drover, but my daughter’s only sixteen and I don’t think she should be gallivanting around of a night-time.’

Mabel gazed from her to the young bandsman in
dismay, not knowing what to say next, when suddenly Albert spoke up. ‘Cor, stone the crows, muvver, it’s only a bleedin’ Salvation Army do! ’Ol ‘Arry won’t get up to nothin’! Let the poor gal go, for Gawd’s sake!’

Mabel could have hugged him and even forgave Alice for giggling at Harry’s painful embarrassment.

Annie had no choice but to be reasonable. ‘Very well, then, only mind you’re home by ten sharp. I’ll be waiting up for you, Mabel.’

‘Oh,
thanks
, Mum, I’ll just go an’ get me jacket.’

Within minutes she was walking side by side with Harry up towards Clapham. It was the first time she had ever walked out with a young man other than Albert. He did not take her arm or make any attempt to touch her and their talk centred on their families, mainly his.

He was nineteen and not very happy in his job on the railways, though not yet old enough to train as a Salvation Army officer. He lived with his parents at 8 Falcon Terrace; they were both Salvationists, as were his sister Ruby and her husband Herbert Swayne. ‘He’ll be there tonight, I dare say, but Ruby has to stay with the children,’ he told her, adding that his nephews’ names were Matthew and Mark. Perhaps Mabel would like to meet them one day, he suggested, having heard of her fondness for children.

At the Citadel Mabel sat at the end of a packed row while Harry took his place with the band. The hymns were sung with gusto and the prayers led with uninhibited sincerity, some of them by Major Drover, an upright middle-aged man with a strong London accent. One or two people went forward to kneel at the ‘mercy seat’ where hands were laid on their heads and prayers said over them. Mabel found
the atmosphere rather overwhelming, compared with St Philip’s in Queen’s Road where she worshipped every Sunday with her mother, and she knew that some of the shabby, wretched-looking individuals here would hardly be welcomed at St Philip’s. Several of the hymns were sung to popular tunes, which she found strange.

At one point near the end of the meeting Harry took her over to introduce her to his parents. His mother at once asked how old she was. ‘Ye’re very young, dear,’ she said. ‘Have yer been born again?’

‘Er, I’ve been christened and confirmed in the Church of England,’ said Mabel hopefully.

The Major nodded. ‘That’s good, but do yer know the Lord Jesus Christ as yer personal Saviour and Friend?’ he asked.

Mabel floundered a little. ‘I believe in the Bible an’ prayer book,’ she replied, somehow feeling that it was disrespectful to talk about Jesus in such familiar terms.

The couple looked at each other and nodded as if to acknowledge that this was a start, and said they would pray for her.

Harry intervened at this point and said they must leave now if she was to be home by ten, and as they hurried along in the late summer dusk he tentatively took her arm. ‘It’s been a wonderful evenin’, Miss Court,’ he said seriously and she nodded, conscious of his light touch upon her arm; and when he asked if he might call her Mabel, she smiled and said she’d like that. ‘And will yer call me Harry?’

Of course she would, and thus began their long courtship; for Harry Drover had fallen in love at first sight.

That night, tired as she was, she lay awake beside
Alice for some time. It had been a very long day and she had run the gamut of emotions from fury against her father to a kind of tremulous joy in Harry’s company. A thought suddenly struck her. What on earth would Harry Drover – not to mention his parents – say if they knew about her father’s wicked behaviour? Would a Salvation Army man want anything to do with a girl from such a family? The thought hung like a shadow over her happiness.

Mabel sat drinking tea with Miss Carter beside the stove-pipe on a chilly autumn afternoon. The children were resting on fold-up canvas beds, two or three to each one with a blanket wrapped around them, after their midday repast, augmented with titbits from Miss Carter’s own kitchen. There were no cooking facilities at the Mission, only two kettles, a small one for making tea and a large one for heating water for washing. Some of the children had to be bathed and changed into clean smocks on arrival, and Mabel’s heart ached at the sight of the undernourished little bodies, sore bottoms, the usual signs of dirt and neglect. Washed napkins and threadbare clothes were hung over the fireguard to air during the rest hour; and Ada was reading her secret copy of Elinor Glyn’s
Three Weeks
.

Miss Carter suddenly spoke to Mabel in a low voice so as not to disturb the little sleepers. ‘You’ve got a natural love of children, Mabel, and a real flair for working with them,’ she said. ‘Have you ever thought of becoming a children’s nurse?’

Mabel looked up at her open-mouthed. ‘Oh, it’s what I want to do more than anything else in the world, Miss Carter! Dr Knowles said—’ She checked herself and lowered her eyes.

Miss Carter smiled, thinking again what a very nice girl Mabel was. ‘The Children’s Hospital at Shadwell where I trained would be an ideal place for you, only you’d need to do your general training first.’

‘But hospitals charge for trainin’, don’t they, Matron?’

‘Yes, the big voluntary hospitals take “lady probationers” who pay for their training and so do the children’s hospitals,’ agreed Miss Carter. ‘But the Poor Law infirmaries give training for nothing and you’d stand a good chance of getting a place in one of them.’

‘But aren’t they workhouses?’ asked Mabel doubtfully, remembering the horrific stories she’d heard of such places.

‘No, some of them used to be – like the Stepney and Poplar or the Whitechapel – but now they’ve been taken over by the LCC, with proper medical superintendents and matrons. The patients tend to be underprivileged, the old and the chronic sick, but you’d get just as good a training – and if in a year or two you decide to apply, I’d certainly recommend you.’

Mabel was silent for a minute or two. Matron’s words struck a chord in her heart, that dream of looking after children in need of love and care. With her sketchy education and Sorrel Street background, she knew that she could not aspire to one of the big training hospitals, but Matron’s tactful mention of the Poor Law infirmaries had started a new train of thought.

But there were stumbling blocks in the way. ‘I’d love to be a children’s nurse one day, Matron, but it’d mean leavin’ home, y’see.’

‘And why couldn’t you, Mabel? Both your parents are living, aren’t they, and you have a sister in her last year at school. I fail to see why you should still be so tied to your home.’

‘My mother isn’t very well, Matron, she suffers with her nerves and her blood’s very thin,’ Mabel replied seriously. ‘My father’s away a lot and my sister Alice isn’t as close to our mother as I am. Mum depends on me, ever since I can remember.’

‘Has she any other family near enough to help out?’ asked Miss Carter.

‘No, her father an’ mother both died, that’s why she married an’ came to live in London,’ said Mabel, innocently repeating the scrappy information she had been told. ‘There’s my father’s mother in Tooting, she’s a private nurse and midwife – only she and my mother don’t really get on, so we don’t see that much o’ her.’

‘Well, perhaps one day
she’ll
be able to help you to train as a nurse, as it’s her profession.’ Miss Carter smiled, though Mabel simply gave a slight shrug. ‘Anyway, you’re only sixteen and perhaps things will have changed in another two or three years. I hope so for your sake, Mabel, you have exactly the right qualities needed for a good children’s nurse.’

This was encouragement indeed and Mabel felt again the call deep down in her heart. She wondered if it was like the call to full-time service in the Salvation Army, such as Harry had.

Ah, Harry Drover. He had taken her to more meetings at the Citadel, and told her how he heard the Lord’s voice calling him away from the railway depot and into the ranks of God’s Army. At present he was not quite old enough for training college, but there was little doubt where his future lay.

On her part, Mabel was not sure that she was destined to be a Salvation Army wife. Harry knew that her father was quite a heavy drinker who made his living by taking bets on horses, and that her mother was in poor health and needed her at home. But of course they were both still very young . . .

Nevertheless, Mabel knew that her heart beat faster whenever Harry appeared at Sorrel Street, which he seemed to do more and more often these days.