A Child's Voice Calling (4 page)

‘You’re my greatest comfort in the world, Mabel,’ she murmured as her daughter brewed a pot of tea for them both. These words were reward enough for
Mabel, though her mind was on Albert who was due home from school.

Annie stirred her tea and went on talking, or rather thinking aloud. ‘If Jack doesn’t come up with ten shillings by the end of the week, I don’t know how I’m going to feed us all.’

Mabel was dismayed by the anxiety in her mother’s face and voice. The use of Jack’s name instead of ‘dad’ or ‘your father’ had the effect of distancing him while drawing her into sharing her mother’s troubles. ‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll manage,’ she said reassuringly, though with no idea of what could be done if the money was not forthcoming. She knew from things she had heard at school that there were poor children who had not enough to eat, and went ragged and barefoot, foraging for whatever they could find by begging or petty thieving; but this was usually because one or other of their parents had become ill, or perhaps had even died. Mabel shuddered involuntarily at the very thought of losing her mother, the loving centre of her world. As long as she was there to kiss and comfort them all, the family was surely safe. And yet here was that same mother talking of poverty and not having food enough to go round.

They were drinking a second cup of tea when Albert arrived home from school, his trousers torn and his hair unkempt.

‘Albert! We told you to stay with Lily Finch and her brother,’ said Annie, horrified at his appearance.

He stuck out his bottom lip. ‘She kept ’angin’ about wiv daft girls, an’ Jimmy went to play football,’ he muttered in a surly tone.

‘Have yer been in a fight?’ demanded Mabel.

He shuffled his feet. ‘Yeah, but I kicked ’em ’ard up the yer-know-what, an’ they let me go.’

‘Heavens, he talks like a guttersnipe,’ groaned Annie.

‘Why couldn’t
you
take me, Mabel?’ he asked reproachfully.

Mother and daughter exchanged a guilty look; the washing hung damply and depressingly around them.

‘I’ll go over and see Lily Finch about this,’ said Mabel grimly.

‘But we didn’t pay her to take him, did we?’ Annie reminded her.

‘Yer won’t ’alf cop it from Miss Thomas for stayin’ away,’ added Albert with a meaning look at his sister. ‘She didn’t ’alf go on about it, worser ’n last week.’

Annie put her head between her hands. ‘You’ll have to go to school next Monday, Mabel. It isn’t right for you to fall behind with your lessons. I’ll just have to get through it, that’s all – other women have to manage.’

But the sight of her mother’s weariness and knowing her worries about money had made a deep impression on Mabel, and she began to form a plan to earn some money and keep the family supplied with whatever cheap food she could find. Her small face hardened as she summoned up the necessary determination to carry it through.

First she needed a few pence to get started, and an idea came through seeing one of her classmates taking and fetching a neighbour’s two young children to and from school every day. She had to take care of Albert, so why not another one or two? She
began to look out for an opportunity to offer her services and a few days later she found one.

One of Albert’s classmates and his five-year-old sister had been brought to school by a neighbour because their mother was about to give birth to a baby. On the way home Mabel called with Albert at their house in Darnel Street to find the household in chaos. The baby had been born but the mother was very poorly, so the neighbour who was preparing the tea said. Mabel’s offer was accepted and it was arranged that she should call the next morning at half past eight to take the two children to school, returning them in the afternoon, for which she would be paid two pence per day. It meant that she and Albert would have to leave home a quarter of an hour earlier, arriving back that much later in the afternoon, and on this particular Tuesday Mabel was only just in time for her piano lesson; but after earning her first two pence on the Wednesday, she was ready to put the second part of her plan into action.

She had heard from some of the poorer children at school that their mothers or older brothers or sisters got up early and lined up outside certain shops which sold perishable goods cheaply before the official opening time. So on Thursday morning she quietly got up at six and hurried through the dark streets to the bakehouse on Wandsworth Road. The first batch of loaves was just being taken from the ovens, and one of Mabel’s pennies bought two stale loaves from the previous day. She then crossed the street into Victoria Rise where a shabby queue of women and older children were standing outside the butcher’s, waiting for him to take down the shutters. They were after the ‘trimmings’, the beef and mutton
scraps that could be stewed with onions and potatoes to make a meal. Mabel took her place behind them and her other penny bought a bagful.

Of course this new regime had to be carefully presented to her mother and a few little white lies told; for example, that she had been specially asked by the family in Darnel Street to take the little boy and girl to and from school while their mother was recovering from the birth. As for the bread and meat, Mabel put them down on the table with such a flourish that Annie could not possibly object to the early shopping trip, though she shed a few tears in private at the thought of Mabel feeling so responsible for the whole family. The food was put to good use and if Annie half regretted burdening her little daughter by speaking her fears aloud, she was touched beyond measure by Mabel’s response.

‘Oh, Mabel, dear, to have a daughter like you makes up for everything,’ she said as she hugged her close; but when the girl had gone to school, and Alice and Georgie were playing on the rag rug, she whispered to the empty air that Mabel deserved a better life than this. How different life would have been in the healthy country air of Belhampton . . . She remembered Eric’s words on the train: ‘
I would have married you, Anna-Maria. I would have married you and called the child mine
.’ Her beautiful, fair-haired daughter could have been Mabel Drummond.

Yet Annie Court could not imagine her life without Albert, Alice and Georgie, her children who were the reason why she carried on the day-to-day struggle to bring up her family respectably while living on the poverty line. They helped her to repress her memories of the past, that other life which was now never
spoken of because of what had happened to her poor papa and the unforgiveness of her sisters.

Encouraged by her success at early morning shopping, Mabel next decided to try her luck at the Friday night stalls in Nine Elms Lane. Albert begged to come with her and so, with Thursday’s and Friday’s earnings in her pocket, and promising her mother that they would come straight home, they set off to walk over the railway bridge and along Battersea Park Road to the line-up of stalls and costers’ barrows beneath the gas lamps in the late October dusk. A mist curled up from the river, which mixing with the pall of chimney smoke gave a greenish tinge to the lights. A barrel organ was playing on the corner of Tideway Walk, and a crowd of rough-looking children had gathered to listen and caper to the music while workers from Price’s candles and Doulton’s pottery had come over to spend their pay, rubbing shoulders with gasworkers, laundrywomen and clerks. Newsboys shouted the headlines and racing results, and flower girls eyed the better-dressed men strolling between the stalls.

Holding tightly to Albert’s dragging hand, Mabel surveyed the busy scene, though with so many street sellers competing for trade she wished she had somebody to advise her on how best to spend her four pennies.

‘’Ad a good look, ’ave yer? I’ll turn rahnd, so’s yer can see me backside an’ all.’

Mabel started, realising that she had been staring at the ragged girl who had just spoken. She was wrapped in a long, grimy shawl which she drew around herself and the baby she carried in her arms. Her features were sharp, her hair lanky and
uncombed, and her toes stuck out of her worn shoes. She was about the same size and height as Mabel, though her face appeared older and in better circumstances she might have been quite pretty. Jostled by the crowd, the two girls found themselves standing next to each other and Mabel was unpleasantly conscious of the smell of the girl’s unwashed clothing. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

The girl nodded towards Albert. ‘’Im yer bruvver?’

‘Yes – and is that
your
baby brother or sister?’ asked Mabel, just to show that she too could ask questions of a stranger.

‘Yeah, bruvver. Bleedin’ ’eavy ’e is, too. Got any more at ’ome, ’ave yer?’

‘A sister younger ’n me, and another brother. What about you?’

‘We’ve ’ad two bruvvers an’ a sister kick the bucket – only me ’n’ Teddy left.’

Mabel was so horrified by this that she had no answer and the girl shrugged. ‘Yer from rahnd ’ere, then?’

Mabel nodded. ‘Are you?’

The girl gestured with her head. ‘Over Vaux’all way.’ She looked curiously at Mabel. ‘Don’t s’pose yer got a spare copper on yer?’

Mabel’s fingers curled protectively round the coins in her pocket. ‘Not to spare,’ she said very definitely.

‘What yer after, then – cheap grub? If I wasn’t weighted dan wiv this ’un, I’d soon be under some o’ them stalls, not ’alf I wouldn’t! ’Ere, come an’ ’ave a gander.’

She led Mabel to a greengrocer’s barrow and advised buying one pennyworth of speckly apples and another of four squashy oranges, both items
being sold off at half price; potatoes cost another three halfpence and then, moving on to the roast chestnut man’s glowing brazier, Mabel spent her remaining halfpenny on as many as he would let her have. Turning to the girl she offered her a chestnut and a choice of an apple or orange.

‘Cor, ye’re a lidy – I’ll ’ave the orange, ta! Orf ’ome now, are yer?’

‘Yes, my mother’ll be waiting for us. My father’ll be home later tonight,’ added Mabel, hoping that this week’s business would have made him a decent profit and put him in a good mood.

The girl grimaced. ‘So’ll mine, drunk as a pig an’ nasty wiv it. That’s why Ma sends us out o’ the way Friday nights.’

‘Oh, how
awful
for yer!’ exclaimed Mabel, who had absorbed much of her mother’s horror of drunkenness, not without reason; sometimes Dad had to be helped to bed when he came home from the public, which was no joke for Mum, who always seemed to be tired these days. ‘And when . . . when will yer be able to go home, then?’

‘After ’e’s ’ad a good knock arahnd an’ passed out on the floor, most like. Then Ma’ll go frough ’is pockets an’ take what ain’t bin taken orf ’im already.’

Mabel had heard terrible stories of men who beat their wives and ill-treated their children, but not at first hand. Not until now. ‘Can’t yer mother take you an’ yer brother to go an’ live somewhere else away from the man?’ she asked.

‘Cor! Couldn’t we jus’ grow wings an’ fly, eh? Where to – the work’ouse? Fanks for the orange, anyway. What’s yer name, ’case we meets up agin?’

‘Mabel Court – and my brother Albert.’

‘Maudie Ling – an’ my bruvver Teddy.’

‘Goodbye, Maudie – an’ good luck when yer get home.’

And so began a friendship that was to outlast many changes in both their lives.

That evening ended on a high note for when Jack Court arrived home he was in a good humour and, as he himself said, quids in. Business had taken him to Epsom, where his natural flair had stood him in good stead. Having long discarded his hopes of a career in photo-portraiture, Mabel now gathered that he was considering going into books; there was a fortune just waiting to be picked up if he made his own book, or so he eagerly told them, kissing Annie and chucking Alice under the chin.

As often happened when he’d had a windfall, Jack was open-handed and had brought presents for them all. Annie had a new brooch shaped like a horseshoe, as well as an incredible
five pounds
towards housekeeping. Albert had new boots and Georgie a large red and white striped ball to bounce. Mabel gave a whoop of joy at receiving a family songbook with piano scores for each one, both simple and more elaborate accompaniments; and Alice had the best surprise of all, a doll’s house with a front that lifted off to reveal an upstairs and a downstairs with two rooms on each floor, complete with beautiful tiny furniture and fittings.

They had fried fish for supper that Jack brought with him, and pork chops for dinner on Saturday. For afters they had a jam suet pudding that Mabel had helped her mother to make, which Jack said was the best he’d ever tasted.

As the young ones frolicked around and Albert thumped the roof of the precious doll’s house – a
thunderstorm, he said it was – the mother and daughter exchanged smiles.

‘There, what did I tell yer, Mum? No need to worry about money – or anything.’

‘Yes, dear, your daddy can be very kind when he’s had a good day. But I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me this week.’

If only Dad could always be as lucky! But Mabel was soon given an ugly reminder that his family did not necessarily share his good luck.

Only two weeks later, on a Friday night at the beginning of December, Mabel was awakened by the sound of stumbling steps and her mother’s voice raised in protest above another sound – her father singing in the silly, tuneless way he had when drunk. Mabel’s heart sank in dismay and she felt a shiver of fear. She’d seen how weary Mum was, being now big and unwieldly with the baby she was nearly due to have, and yet here she was struggling to get Dad up the stairs and into their room.

‘She’s my lady-love – she ish my love, my baby dove –’ warbled Jack.

‘Careful, Jack, for God’s sake don’t fall and send up both flying!’ cried Annie, and Mabel jumped out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs, scared as she was.

‘What’s the matter, Mum? What’s he doin’? Are yer all right?’

‘Oh, Mabel, this is no job for a child – I can manage him, dear. Go back to bed and don’t wake the others,’ pleaded Annie, while Jack sang romantically: ‘I know she likes me – I know she likes me, because she says sho—’