A Child's Voice Calling (16 page)

Following on from this thought, Mabel reflected that as Harry had been perfectly honest with her, it was surely up to her to treat him with equal honestly. Didn’t she owe it to him? Up until now she had never seriously confided in him about her dream of becoming a children’s nurse, perhaps because she feared he might be less than encouraging; but this had put a new aspect upon their immediate future. With at least three years to spare before marriage was even a possibility, she could look ahead towards her other important goal in life and she should tell
him about it. Taking his hand in hers, she drew a deep breath. ‘Harry, dear, ye’ve been frank with me and there’s somethin’ I ought to talk over with
you
.’

‘Anythin’ ye want to tell me, Mabel, jus’ go ahead – it’ll go no further,’ he said eagerly, thinking that perhaps she was about to confide something to do with her family, remembering what had happened at Christmas.

‘Yer know I love children and I’ve always wanted to look after ’em, as far back as I can remember,’ she began.

‘Yes, I’ve realised that, Mabel. I’ve heard they think the world o’ yer at that Babies Mission.’

‘Well, Miss Carter – she’s the Matron – she thinks I ought to train to be a nurse and says that I could do general trainin’ at a Poor Law infirmary where they don’t charge for it.’

Harry looked doubtful. ‘They were workhouses not so long ago, Mabel, and the work’d be ever so hard – and ye’d have to live in for three years.’

‘But I’d be a trained nurse at the end of it, Harry.’

‘Yes – and ye’d be welcomed with open arms in the Salvation Army,’ he went on slowly, following a train of thought. ‘We need nurses for the homes an’ the children’s refuges—’

‘
Harry
! Yer mean I could join the Army as a nurse an’ look after children? Them with nobody to look after ’em an’ care for ’em?’ She could hardly keep the excitement out of her voice.

He turned to her with a smile that reflected her own. ‘Mabel, I’ve never really mentioned this before, but the reason I’ve held back from decidin’ definitely about trainin’ is because I could only marry another Salvation Army officer and I haven’t been sure that ye wanted to join. If we was both to devote our lives
to God’s service, yer could be my wife
and
do yer wonderful work that ye’ve been called to do.’

‘Oh, Harry, that’d be
both
me dreams comin’ true!’ And even though they were in a public place, she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. It seemed the answer to all her uncertainties about the future.

But it meant that they would have to wait for a very long time.

FEARS OF A
city paralysed by strikes seemed to be unfounded when 23 June dawned fine and clear for the coronation of George V and Queen Mary. Tens of thousands of loyal subjects waited outside Westminster Abbey to see Their Majesties come out into the sunshine after the long ceremony and all over the country there were celebrations in honour of the new monarch, though Albert Court jeered at what he saw as a senseless extravagance when workers’ families were living in want.

‘Oh, take no notice o’ him, Mum, he’s like a bear with a sore head these days!’ said Mabel, ignoring her brother’s scowls. ‘George, are yer comin’ up to the park with us? There’s goin’ to be music an’ dancin’ tonight, and the world an’ his wife’ll be there!’

Annie put on her best jacket and hat, and hurried with Mabel, Alice and George to a transformed Battersea Park. Coloured electric lights gleamed in the trees and a military band played patriotic tunes like ‘Rule, Britannia’ and ‘Hearts of Oak’. These later gave place to songs from the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas and later still to favourite music-hall songs. Ada Clay turned up all smiles, leaning on the arm of her newly engaged fiancé Arthur. Mabel was happy for her friend, but felt just a tiny bit envious when the young couple linked arms with a row of laughing
revellers and cavorted gaily across the grass, zigzagging in ever wider circles while the indefatigable musicians played Albert Chevalier’s most popular Cockney ditty.

To Mabel’s amazement her mother was pulled from her side by a smiling Mrs Bull and led away to dance arm in arm with a whole row of other neighbours from Sorrel Street; it gave her a strange feeling to see Annie Court enjoying herself like a young girl. She imagined a laughing, golden-haired Anna-Maria who had grown up with her sisters in that big house somewhere in Hampshire, and longed to know more of her mother’s history and the aunts she had never met.

She turned to ask her sisters if they wanted to dance, but Alice had already joined a giggling group of school friends and Daisy had run off into the crowd with George. Standing alone and watching them all having fun, Mabel could not help feeling a little wistful. Harry Drover would be out somewhere with the Army, she thought, more interested in doing good work than in having a good time. Should she join her mother with the other local women? She might as well . . .

That was when she felt an arm gently winding round her waist. She jumped back hastily, turning round to see who was taking liberties. Her face lit up in a radiant smile of joyous surprise. For there was her very own young man, bareheaded and with jacket unbuttoned, looking really handsome. ‘
Harry
!’

‘Shall we join in with ’em, Mabel? I’m not much of a dancer, but everybody else is doin’ it, so why not us too?’

She needed no second invitation. Threading her right arm through his and with her left hand on her hip, Mabel stepped lightly back and forth and from side to side; the steps were a simple ‘grapevine’, backwards and forwards in time to the music, and Harry soon managed to follow quite well, without having to keep looking down at his feet.

‘I’m gettin’ the idea, Mabel!’

‘Yes, ye’re comin’ on a treat!’ she assured him, kicking up her heels and showing her ankles with the rest as she joined in the singing.

They repeated it over and over, Mabel lost count of the number of times, and only lived for the sensation of Harry’s arm around her, his closeness, his living, breathing self, moving beside her, laughing over the words of the song.

Dancing, singing and laughing, she thought they must surely be the happiest couple in the park. Nine o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven: the sunset faded and the stars came out above them. The air was still very warm and filled with a heady country smell of trampled grass. The crowd began to thin out as families with children made for home, but Mabel and
Harry still stood together in a moving sea of humanity, only half aware of the sights and sounds of the midsummer night, so lost were they in each other.

The band struck up again with a song from a dozen years back, when men went off to fight in the Boer War.

‘Oh, listen, Harry, they’re playing “Goodbye, Dolly Gray” – it’s ever so sad.’

‘D’ye know the words to it, Mabel? Can yer sing it for me? Go on, please do!’

Mabel’s clear voice rose obediently above the shouts and jostlings of the crowd, a little uncertainly at first but gaining confidence as she went on:

Other voices around them began to join in as she came to the end of the refrain:

A solitary
ta-ra-ra-ra-ra
was heard from the bandstand, an oddly melancholy sound, as if from a long way off, and Mabel paused before the final ‘Goodbye, Dolly Gray!’.

There was an enthusiastic burst of applause and cries of ‘More! More! Sing it again, Miss.’

Flushed and elated, she looked to Harry who was
gazing at her enraptured. ‘Oh, Mabel, I could listen to yer all night long.’

When the song at last came to an end and the other voices died away, Mabel was conscious of a tiny shiver running down her spine and could not think why, perhaps because the air had chilled, though she still felt full of life. The rest of her family were nowhere to be seen. ‘It’s getting late, Harry. I suppose we ought to go.’ She sighed and wished that the night could go on for ever. She felt she wanted to cling to him and never let him go.

So there they stood beneath the trees and his arm was again round her waist; it seemed to her as if the night was holding its breath. His head bent over hers and when she lowered her face she felt his forefinger under her chin, gently raising her head until she could no longer avoid his eyes.

‘Dearest Mabel, I shall remember this moment for ever.’

‘Oh, Harry, so will I – always.’

His lips were upon her cheek and then pressed to her forehead; she felt his warm breath on her face. Her hand was caught and clasped in his.

Then his mouth was upon hers and, light though it was, it took her breath away. She swayed and closed her eyes.

‘I can’t help bein’ in love with yer, Mabel.’

Beyond them the band was still playing ‘Goodbye, Dolly Gray’.

‘I’ll wait three years, Harry,’ she told him quietly. ‘Or four or five or six. I’ll wait as long as we have to. And I’ll work hard and save all I can.’

The kiss that sealed her promise held all the hopefulness, all the faith in the future that only the young possess.

‘Why,
there
you are, Mabel! Where on earth did you get to? We’ve been looking everywhere – it’s too bad of you!’ Relief and anger blended in her mother’s reproaches, while Daisy ran forward to fling her arms round her eldest sister.

‘I’m all right, Mother, there’s no need to fuss, I’m perfectly safe with Harry.’ Mabel spoke firmly and Annie bit her lip in annoyance.

‘Well, come home with us now – it’s very late, and time Daisy and George were in bed.’

‘You go on ahead, Mother, and we’ll follow,’ said Mabel firmly.

‘I want to walk with Mabel and Harry,’ announced Daisy.

‘So do I,’ added George.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, Annie made no objection to this arrangement.

The weekend newspapers were full of stories and pictures about the coronation, and Ada Clay came up with a specially juicy titbit. ‘Look at this in the
Daily Mail
, Mabel. Here, halfway down the page – and a photograph!’

Mabel took the paper from her, following her pointing finger. She began to read aloud: ‘Lady Cecilia Stanley attracted much admiration when she appeared at a state banquet at the Mansion House, wearing a gown of white silk trimmed with Honiton lace and a tiara of graded pearls. She and Sir Percy Stanley, Bart, reside in Bryanston Square and Farleigh Hall in Hertfordshire. Pictured here escorted by Viscount Eastcote, Lady Cecilia has captured the attention of London society during this coronation year, and is much sought after by hostesses for her beauty and wit.’

There was a good deal more in the same strain.

‘That’s
her
, isn’t it, Mabel?’ said Ada. ‘The one your friend Maudie works for and makes out they’re as thick as thieves!’

‘Er, yes, I suppose she must be.’ Mabel stared hard at the picture of a dark-haired, smiling young woman who lived in such a completely different world from their own. She remembered Maudie’s boast: ‘Me an’ ‘Er Ladyship are like
this
, see?’ Was it possible that this society beauty, married to a rich man, even if he was old and bald, could have such a close understanding with a poor child of the streets? And if what Maudie said was true, the lady actually depended upon her maid’s discretion in order to plan clandestine meetings behind old Sir Percy’s back.

Reg’lar little goer, she is
, Maudie had said admiringly. Was this good-looking viscount a lover – a paramour of hers? Mabel did not know what to think, but in the glow of Harry’s love she would not have changed places with Lady Stanley, for all her beauty, riches and position.

Ada showed the paper to Miss Carter and their new assistant at the Mission, and it got passed around in the Clay household to the accompaniment of much oohing and ahing. Mabel kept quiet about it at Sorrel Street, knowing how Albert in his present mood would scoff at such goings-on among a lot of toffs who never had to go short of anything.

Jack turned up in an uncommonly cheerful mood and said how sorry he was not to have been home for the coronation. Mabel turned away in disgust, though she said nothing. ‘Never mind, Annie ol’ girl, I’ll take yer to the Grand next week,’ he promised. ‘Harry Tate’s on, and there’s that family o’ trapeze.
artists we read about, remember? Go on, we’ll have supper at the Plough an’ make a night of it, what d’ye say?’

‘An’ abaht time, too,’ growled Albert, though Annie’s face lit up with a brilliant smile that took ten years off her and touched Mabel’s heart. For the hundredth time she wished that their father could always be like this, and she compared him unfavourably with honest Harry Drover. All right, so Harry’s earnest manner might amuse the likes of her friends’ young men, but how much preferable he was to one of her father’s kind, full of easy charm but not to be trusted once out of sight. She wondered if Jack was still meeting the girl in blue – and were there other women in the various racecourse towns that he visited around the country? Mabel had lost respect for her father ever since that time in Leicester Square when she had seen him meeting his . . . she shied away from the word ‘mistress’, but there were worse words. And she knew that Albert had never forgiven him for what had happened at Christmas. The atmosphere between father and son was tense, though they saw little of each other now that Albert was often away at secret meetings of railway workers. Whenever she or Annie questioned him, he would adopt a surly expression and mutter that the country was about to be brought to a standstill, just see if it wasn’t. As the thermometer in the backyard rose higher and higher, so did the tempers of the transport workers and stories of a blockade began to be circulated.