The Bells of Bow (53 page)

Georgie stopped abruptly, pulled Maudie close to him and kissed her hard on the mouth.

‘I’ve been waiting so long for you to do that,’ Maudie said, looking up at him.

As another incendiary shower came clattering down, they were both laughing so loudly they could hardly move, let alone run.

Maud and Georgie were happier than either of them had been in years, but they were also very cautious and, even though neither of them actually said it in so many words, they didn’t want to tell anybody about their feelings about each other – although most people had guessed long ago that they were far more than friendly neighbours. But the unspoken agreement between them was that they would wait and see what the new year would bring and how the war would develop.

When 1944 began, it brought with it bitterly cold winds and snow showers but also a spate of renewed, optimistic rumours that the war was finally coming to a close. But just as with previous moments of confidence, the rumours disappeared as rapidly as they had circulated. It soon became clear that it was to be another New Year of disappointments. Dreams of peace became less frequent and were replaced for many by dreams of more ordinary things such as having a decent plate of food to put on the table – anything rather than powdered egg or whale meat – or maybe a new coat to replace the shabby one that wouldn’t see out another winter but might yet have to.

There were intermittent raids, like those towards the end of January, so violent that they led to fears of another Blitz on the East End. But by March, everything on the home front had quietened down again and the only things that marked the month of March for the residents of Darnfield Street were Betty’s third birthday, the loud rows and tearful reunions that went on between the Bell twins, and Blanche’s further decline into depression.

But with the brighter, longer days of spring came new hope and the murmurings began again that the Allies meant business at last and the Germans would be stopped once and for all. And this time it was not so easy to dismiss the rumours; the Cockneys who had suffered so much and for so long had the evidence of their own eyes to tell them they had something to be genuinely hopeful about. The increased troop movements through London and the spate of furious activity down at the docks told a more convincing story than any rumour in any corner shop or pub could. In fact, almost everyone was now certain that as soon as the weather improved, this would be it – the Allied invasion of Europe, the beginning of the end, the road to peace.

Over the weeks the atmosphere of there being some impending, momentous event intensified, and when in the first week of June the Fifth Army entered Rome, the belief that something closer to home was about to happen reached almost fever pitch.

It was Monday morning and Babs and Evie were meant to be on their way to work but they were still standing at the bus stop in the Mile End Road. The traffic was crawling at slower than walking pace.

‘Look at all these rotten lorries holding everything up,’ said Babs miserably as she stood on her toes trying to see if their bus was anywhere in sight. ‘We’re gonna be really late.’

‘Silver can’t blame it on us this time,’ reasoned Evie as she took a cigarette from her bag. ‘It ain’t our fault half the British forces are passing through London.’

‘Wonder if it’s true, what everyone’s saying about them going to France. D’yer reckon it is?’

Evie tossed her spent match into the gutter. ‘I know I’ve never seen so many soldiers and sailors in me whole life.’

The traffic ground to a complete halt and a handsome young soldier hung out of the window of his truck. ‘Well, what have we here?’ he called to the twins in a broad Scottish accent. ‘Two little darlings for the price of one. I dunno which one to choose, the blonde or the brunette.’

‘Watcha, Jock!’ Evie called back to him. ‘Give us a lift to work in that motor of your’n and you can take yer pick.’

‘I’d love to, sweetheart, but I don’t think the army’d let me.’

‘Where you off to then?’

‘Nowhere by the look of this traffic,’ he laughed.

‘I’ll give yer a lift,’ shouted a pink-cheeked young lad driving a delivery van.

Evie shoved Babs hard in the ribs. ‘Blimey,’ she laughed. ‘Don’t fancy yours much.’

When Babs saw the unfortunate youngster flush scarlet, she glared at Evie then smiled at him. ‘No, thanks all the same,’ she shouted back. ‘Me and big-mouth here are gonna walk to work. It’ll do her good to get some of that weight off her bum.’ With that Babs sprinted off along the street in the direction of Aldgate with Evie hot on her heels.

If Babs and Evie, like most other Londoners, had not been sleeping during the early hours of the next morning, they would have been able to see where the soldier had been heading with his truck: to the docks, where ship after ship set off down the Thames. This was it at last, D-Day had come. The Allies were headed for the Normandy beaches.

‘Turn the gas stove down a bit, girls. We can have our dinner later on this afternoon.’ Georgie held up the Sunday paper; it was full of the successes of the Normandy landings and promises that a swift Allied victory was in sight. ‘I think this little lot deserves a bit of a celebration, don’t you? Come on, let’s go over the Drum. Nellie won’t mind if we take Betty in, not on a special day like this.’

Evie had her apron untied almost before Georgie had finished speaking.

‘One to keep, this is,’ he said as he carefully folded the paper. ‘I’ll nip along and see if Maudie wants to come.’

‘And shall I knock for Blanche?’

‘Yeah, good idea, Babs,’ said Georgie, disappearing into the passage.

‘Leave off,’ said Evie, checking her face in the overmantel mirror. ‘I wanna enjoy meself, not listen to her moaning.’

‘Don’t be horrible, Eve,’ said Babs, sitting Betty on the kitchen table and wiping her face with the flannel. ‘She’s been good to us. You remember that.’

Evie sighed with grudging resignation. ‘Aw, go on then.’

Babs pecked Evie on the cheek. ‘And it’ll give Micky and Blanche’s Mary a chance for a bit of a cuddle in private. He’s off to training camp tomorrow.’

‘Little Micky?’

Babs laughed. ‘
Little
Micky? I’m surprised you ain’t noticed, he’s all grown up now. Quite a looker.’

‘Blimey.’ Evie blotted her lipstick on her handkerchief. ‘Makes yer feel old, don’t it?’

‘Right, I’m going for Blanche. Mind Betty with that stove while yer busy titivating, won’t yer?’

Evie turned round from the mirror. ‘Babs,’ she whined. ‘Can’t you take her?’

Babs held her hand out to her little niece. ‘Come on, sweetheart, come with yer Auntie Babs.’

When Babs knocked next door, it took her and Mary some time to persuade Blanche to go over to the Drum, but they had only been in the bar for a couple of minutes when Blanche left again, spoiling Mary’s intentions of giving Micky a leaving present he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

What had sent Blanche running out of the pub, pale-faced and ready to be sick, was Frankie Morgan and another of his catastrophic stories.

‘Have you heard?’ he broadcast, as he sipped at his pint. ‘We’ve got our very own local hero from Normandy.’

‘Aw yeah, Frank,’ said Jim. ‘Who’s that then?’

‘Young Percy Bennett from round the corner. Died real brave, they tell me. Won a medal and everything.’

‘Dead? Young Percy?’ Jim shook his head sadly. ‘What a waste.’

Babs didn’t notice Blanche leave. She sat there, staring into space, with Betty on one side of her and Evie on the other and Maudie and her dad sitting opposite. ‘He won a medal,’ she said quietly. ‘Just like he said he would. Back in – when was it?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Some time in 1941 it must have been. Before the Blitz ended.’

‘You all right, Babs, love?’ Nellie came round from the bar and stood behind Georgie’s chair.

Babs shook her head. ‘No.’

‘What’s up with her, Ringer?’

Georgie rubbed his hand over his chin, ‘It’s Percy, innit? She used to see him at one time. You know, a few years back.’

Nellie gathered Betty up into her arms. ‘Jim,’ she said, striding back to the bar. ‘Take that girl a brandy.’

Brandy was getting to be a rare commodity but Jim immediately poured a generous measure from the bottle he kept for himself under the counter.

‘Here y’are,’ he said gently, pushing the tumbler towards Babs. ‘Get that down yer, love.’

‘We used to write to each other now and again, yer know. He reckoned that when he got home I’d marry him. Poor old Perce. I never would have married him. But I liked him. I liked him a real lot. He was decent. His poor mum was so proud of him.’ She winced as she took a gulp of the brandy. ‘I’ll have to take his letters round to show her. I’ve got some photos and all what he sent me.’ Georgie reached across and touched her hand. ‘You do a lot of writing, don’t yer, darling?’

Babs looked up at her dad. ‘What?’

‘Them letters yer write to that other soldier. In the Engineers in Africa or something, didn’t yer say?’

‘You what?’ Evie looked stunned. ‘You ain’t still writing to old Harry boy, are yer?’

Babs took another drink. This time she didn’t flinch, in fact her expression was stony. ‘What if I am?’ she said flatly.

Evie leant forward, fascinated. ‘Does he still think it’s me – or the me I made up – what’s writing to him? Does he, Babs? Eh?’

Maudie tapped Georgie on the leg.

‘Shut up, Eve,’ Georgie said, instantly understanding Maudie’s signal to break up whatever was going on between his daughters, even though the nature of their dispute was, as usual, a total mystery to him.

Evie pouted and lit herself a cigarette.

Babs sipped at her drink, wide-eyed and lost in some distant place in her mind.

Georgie exhaled slowly and shook his head at Maud. ‘Sorry I got yer into this, girl,’ he said. ‘I thought we was coming over to celebrate.’

Maudie smiled reassuringly and squeezed his hand under the table.

The bar door opened again and Alice Clarke stepped into the pub, closely followed by her husband Nobby.

‘What’s up with you lot?’ Alice asked in her penetrating, scratchy snivel of a voice. ‘Someone died?’

‘Yes, someone has, actually,’ said Evie, putting her arm protectively round Babs – it was all right for her to upset her twin, but woe betide anyone else who dared do such a thing. ‘And me sister’s upset about it and all, so you watch yer trap, Alice.’

Georgie stood up and looked imploringly at Maud. ‘Say something,’ he urged her. ‘I’ll fetch some more drinks.’

‘Even with this terrible news about young Percy Bennett—’ Maudie began.

‘Percy Bennett?’ shrieked Alice, never one for discretion. ‘That’s who’s dead, is it? Here, weren’t he sweet on you at one time, twin? How’d he die then?’

Georgie sat down defeated, but Maudie ploughed gamely on. ‘We shouldn’t be downhearted. We should be feeling proud and hopeful. We’re really winning now. There’s really light at the end of the tunnel this time.’

Frankie Morgan strolled over to the table and shook his head wisely. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It don’t do to get too excited. Everyone’s going bonkers over this bit of luck we had in France. They wanna think on, or they’ll be laughing on the other side of their faces before the week’s out, you mark my words. I’m telling yer, I’ve seen it all before. Yer laughing one minute then yer crying. Yer never know what horrible news is waiting for yer just around the corner.’ He took a long pull at his beer. ‘Light at the end of the tunnel? Aw yeah, there’s that all right, and it’s a sodding train that’s coming steaming towards yer, that’s what it is.’

‘Leave off, Frankie,’ Ethel Morgan growled at her husband. ‘Yer as bad as Nobby Clarke.’

‘No one’s as bad as my Nobby,’ said Alice, bristling with competitive indignation.

Ethel glared at Alice then turned her attention to her hapless husband. ‘Well, I reckon we should be able to accept a bit of good news for once without it being spoilt by something horrible going wrong. D’you hear me, Frankie? All right, Percy Bennett’s dead, and it’s very sad for his mother, but the war’s gonna be over soon, and I reckon we should all be glad. Not bloody moaning.’

‘Not moaning? Yer wrong, Ethel, I told yer. I tell yer all the time,’ Frankie corrected his wife authoritatively. ‘It’s no good going around with a grin on yer bloody chops ’cos life ain’t like that.’ Then he lowered his head and muttered to Nobby Clarke out of the side of his mouth, ‘And I should bloody well know, I’ve been married to Ethel for forty years.’

The next day, sad as the news about Percy had made her, Babs still couldn’t help but be infected by the new atmosphere of light-heartedness and hope for the future that was all around her at work. The successes in France seemed to have convinced them all at Styleways that not only was London actually safe to live and work in at last, but that the war was almost over and life would soon return to normal. And even though it was a Monday morning, everyone was chirpy and making jokes; Ginny was only a bit horrible to Maria, and Mr Silver brought in a tray of cake he had managed to get from somewhere which he shared out during their afternoon tea break by way of celebration. With such a buoyant atmosphere, it was easy to dismiss the isolated pessimists like Frankie Morgan as being out-of-touch doom merchants. But, before the next day had fully dawned, it was to be Frankie Morgan, not the exuberant optimists, who was to be proved correct.

It was almost sunrise, not quite half past four on Tuesday morning. The date was the 13 June:
the thirteenth
, an unlucky day as Frankie was later continually to impress on everyone.

Betty, who now slept in the double bed in the front bedroom of number six with her mum and her aunt, sat up and began to shake Babs’s arm.

‘Flash, Babs. Flash,’ she pleaded insistently.

Babs sat up beside her. She yawned and rubbed her hands over her eyes. ‘What, darling?’ she asked, her voice thick with sleep. ‘D’yer want a wee-wee?’

Betty shook her head, making her thick dark curls bounce round her face. ‘Flash. She’s sad.’

Babs blinked. She was waking up now. ‘I dunno about sad, she’s going flaming barmy.’ She threw back the covers. ‘Move over here next to yer mummy, babe, and let me get out.’