Anne put one of the bowls in front of Ernie. ‘Now,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I expect you to eat all of that up so you’ll get big and strong.’
Ernie looked up at her with adoring eyes and nodded. It was clear he was smitten, and Sally had to bite down on her smile.
The porridge was like nothing she’d ever tasted before, and Sally relished every mouthful as Mrs Finch chirruped like a sparrow, the boys talked about the local football team and Ron carried on what appeared to be a well-worn argument with his son.
‘There’s no government order to put animals down,’ the old man said grumpily, ‘and there’s no man on this earth who will make me murder mine. I’ve seen the queues outside the vet’s, and it’s wholesale slaughter, that’s what it is.’
‘But it’s not fair to expect them to suffer when the bombs start dropping,’ said Jim Reilly, throwing down his napkin with impatience. ‘The poor things will go half crazy with fear.’
‘Harvey and the ferrets are used to loud noises,’ muttered Ron through a mouthful of toast and marmalade as he stirred four spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. ‘They’ve been out with the guns often enough.’
‘It’s not the same, and after going through the last war, you should know that,’ Jim persisted. He pushed back his chair. ‘You’ll see I’m right, Dad.’ He grabbed the newspaper from the table and left the room.
‘No-one tells me what’s best for my animals,’ mumbled Ron.
Sally realised this was a long-running argument between father and son, and wasn’t surprised when Peggy changed the subject.
‘What are everyone’s plans for the day?’ she asked brightly.
Mrs Finch wanted to finish the book she’d been reading so she could return it to the library; Alex had to report to the Royal Air Force headquarters on the other side of town; Cissy was still in bed asleep, and Anne had some washing to do before she helped Peggy with her shopping.
‘What about you, Sally?’ Peggy’s smile was warm, but her eyes were concerned.
‘I thought I’d see how far it is to Goldman’s. I don’t want to get lost and be late on me first day tomorrow.’
‘I’m surprised they want you to start on a Sunday,’ said Peggy. ‘Even though there is a war on, it’s still the Sabbath.’
‘They’re upping production according to Mr Solomon,’ she explained. ‘We’ll be working in shifts through the week, including Sundays.’ She didn’t add that it would mean extra pay if she worked Sundays.
‘It’s over a mile and a half, and will be a bit of a trek for Ernie,’ said Anne, thoughtfully. ‘He could stay here with me for the morning.’
Sally did a quick calculation. The walk would certainly be too much for Ernie, and she doubted she could carry him that far – but she didn’t want to cause the family any upset by leaving him behind more than she had to. As it was, she would have to ask them to look after him when she was working. ‘If we walk slowly, we’ll be all right,’ she said without much conviction.
‘You’ll not be taking the boy that far,’ said Ron. ‘He’ll come with me and the lads up into the hills. Put some colour in his cheeks, so it will, and he can learn about Cleo and Delilah, and how they work with Harvey to catch rabbits.’
Sally had visions of Ernie getting lost or injured, perhaps even being bitten by something. She’d seen those ferrets and they had sharp-looking teeth and a vicious gleam in their eyes she didn’t trust. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she stuttered. ‘Thank you, but …’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Ron, as he pushed away from the table. He ruffled Ernie’s hair as he passed. ‘Eat up, young feller. There’s rabbits to be caught, perhaps even a hare, and the day’s wasting, so it is.’
Sally saw the eagerness in the boy’s face and looked to Peggy helplessly. ‘Will ’e be all right, Mrs Reilly, only ’e’s never been in no ’ills before, and ’e ain’t strong enough to go climbing, and …’
‘It’s all right, Sally, really,’ said Anne. ‘Granddad will look after him as if he was his own. Safe as houses, he is, and it will do Ernie good to get out and about.’
‘She’s right,’ said Peggy softly, rising to clear the table now everyone had finished eating. ‘You look as if you could do with some fresh air as well,’ she added, piling up the plates. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’
‘Ernie was a bit restless,’ she replied quickly before the boy could say anything. ‘I’ll be fine once I know where the factory is, and can find me way round. I shouldn’t be gone long.’
‘There’s no need to hurry back. Ron will be out for hours, and I’ll pack sandwiches and biscuits, and put in a big flask of tea to take with them. They won’t starve.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Reilly. Are you sure ’e won’t be no bother?’
Peggy shrugged off her thanks. ‘One more small boy is no more trouble than the two I already have,’ she said firmly. ‘And I suspect you’ll want us to look after him while you’re at work, so he needs to get used to us.’
‘I
was
going to ask …’ she began.
‘No need, dear,’ she said comfortably. ‘I’ll gladly look after him when he comes home from school, and if you work a late shift, then I can put him to bed.’
Her kindness was overwhelming, and Sally felt close to tears. No-one had ever helped like this before without wanting to be paid.
Peggy smiled. ‘Why don’t you take a bit of time for yourself while you can? Perhaps have a walk along the prom, and get some good sea air into your lungs before you get stuck in that factory every day.’
Sally felt a surge of pleasurable hope. It would be nice to get her bearings, and to look at the sea for a while. To walk and not worry she was going too fast for Ernie, and spend a few minutes looking in shop windows without having to rush back. ‘Really? You wouldn’t mind? But what about the ’ousework? Don’t you want an ’and?’
‘Anne and I have it all under control,’ she said, carrying the plates to the door. ‘You go and enjoy yourself. We’ll manage just fine.’ Without further discussion, Peggy and Anne headed for the kitchen.
As Ernie finished his third piece of toast, Sally hurried upstairs to fetch hats, coats, scarves and gas masks. She took a long look at the room, checking that everything was neat and tidy and, when she ran back down to the kitchen to help with the washing-up, there was a lightness in her step she’d rarely experienced before.
‘I’ve drawn you a map,’ said Anne, once everything had been dried and put away. She spread the piece of paper on the table. ‘This is us here, and this is the seafront. I’ve put in the names of the roads, and some of the big buildings you’ll pass and, of course, marked where the public air-raid shelters are just in case.
There haven’t been any raids yet, but there’s no guarantee they won’t start any minute.’
She smiled and returned to the map. ‘That cross is where the factory is situated. From there, you can walk into the main part of town and back to the seafront. In essence, you’ll be walking in a large circle. If you get lost, just ask for the pier, then take the third left up the hill from there.’
‘Thanks, ever so,’ breathed Sally, who was very impressed by Anne’s drawing.
‘It’s no problem at all,’ she replied, her brown eyes warm and friendly. ‘And if you find yourself anywhere near the Daisy Tearooms in the High Street at about four o’clock, Mum and I will treat you to a cup of tea and a bun.’
Sally blushed at her kindness and could think of nothing to say.
Ron broke into the awkward moment by appearing at the top of the cellar steps. ‘Where’s that boy, Ernie?’ he said. ‘I need him to carry me nets.’
Ernie could barely keep still he was so excited, and Sally had a job to get him into his mackintosh, cap and scarf. She couldn’t fit the wellington over his special boot, but Charlie’s cast-off fitted his other foot perfectly.
She smiled nervously as Ron took charge of the gas-mask box and stowed the packets of sandwiches and the flask into the deep pockets of his ankle-length coat before carrying Ernie off under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
Ernie didn’t seem at all put out by this strange behaviour; in fact he was laughing fit to bust and urging the old man to go even faster down the cellar steps.
Sally followed them and stood in the basement doorway to watch as Ron whistled up the dog, checked his pockets and then swung Ernie on to his shoulders. He set off down the garden path to the gate, surrounded by boys.
With a huge grin and barely a wave, her little brother was soon out of sight as they went down the alley that ran between the backs of the houses. Ernie seemed to have forgotten all about her.
It was bitterly cold despite the bright sun, and the wind that came up from the sea tugged at Sally’s hat and tore at her coat. Squashing the hat in her pocket, she battled to cover her hair with the brightly coloured square she’d bought for tuppence from a second-hand clothes dealer who had a stall in the Portobello Road.
With it tied firmly beneath her chin, she hitched the handbag and gas-mask box over her shoulder and walked down the hill. Turning into the first street on the right, she passed two pubs and a small parade of shops. Rationing hadn’t started yet, but the shortages were beginning to be felt and there were long queues of patient housewives outside the bakery and grocer’s.
The hardware store seemed to stock everything from a nail to a wheelbarrow and, through the butcher’s shop window, she could see rabbits and chickens hanging from hooks. The little corner shop supplied cigarettes, newspapers and magazines alongside shelves of canned and bottled goods. Behind the counter there was one entire shelf reserved for large jars of sweets.
She eyed the gobstoppers, sherbet dabs, farthing chews and liquorice bootlaces and breathed a sigh of relief that Ernie wasn’t with her. She had no money, and she hated having to deny him such special treats.
She passed the school where Ernie would start on Monday. The building looked in a better state than the one in Bow, and the playground had swings and slides in one corner, and part of it was marked off for football. The hospital opposite the school was large and grey and looked a bit forbidding, and she hurried on until she found the factory. That looked forbidding too, but then factories, in her experience, were never very attractive.
Goldman’s took up an entire block. Built of red brick, there was a high wall round the perimeter, which was topped with coils of barbed wire, and a pair of impressive iron gates barred entry. Walking a bit further on, she found a smaller entrance and passed through into a large concreted yard where several lorries were parked by a series of loading bays. She headed for the door which had ‘office’ written on the glass, and followed the clattering sound of a typewriter down a long, gloomy corridor.
The office was square and would have seemed larger if there hadn’t been such a big desk in the middle and so many shelves and cabinets lining the walls. Behind the desk sat a dark-haired woman with bright red lipstick and rather alarming eyebrows which seemed to be arched permanently in surprise. Dressed in black, with the white collar of her blouse peeking at the sweater neckline, she was thudding the keys of the Olivetti with some vigour, and didn’t seem to notice Sally standing there.
‘Excuse me,’ Sally said above the clatter.
The typing continued until she reached the end of the page. Ripping it out of the machine, she placed it in a metal basket on the desk and finally looked up. ‘Yes?’ Dark eyes coolly regarded Sally from head to toe.
Sally squared her shoulders, unwilling to be cowed. ‘Is Mr Goldman in today?’
There was the hint of a sneer to those red lips. ‘What do you want with Mr Goldman?’
‘My name’s Sally Turner, and I’m due to start work here tomorrow. I have a letter for him from Mr Solomon.’
She put out her hand, and Sally noted the nails had been painted to match the lipstick. ‘You can give it to me. I’ll make sure he gets it.’
Sally held firm. ‘Mr Solomon asked me special, to give it straight to Mr Goldman.’
The woman took a deep breath and reluctantly left her desk. Her skirt was pencil-slim, reaching to just below her knee, and her shoes were high-heeled, showing off slim ankles and shapely legs encased in fine stockings. ‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ she said smoothly. ‘Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.’ She tapped on the door behind her desk and eased round it and out of sight.
Sally stood by the desk, hands in pockets, not daring to move.
A huge man emerged from the other room and instantly made the office even smaller. He had a large cigar wedged into the corner of his thick lips, his eyes were small but sharply intelligent, and his three-piece suit looked as if it had been specially made to restrain his girth.
He looked down his bulbous nose at her, his head wreathed in cigar smoke as he stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his straining waistcoat. ‘You have a letter for me?’ His deep, gravelly voice told of years of cigar smoking.
‘Yes, sir.’ She handed it over and shuffled her feet, not sure what to do next.
A diamond ring winked on his little finger as he took the letter and stuck it into an inside jacket pocket. ‘Marjorie tells me you start here tomorrow.’ At Sally’s nod, he scrutinised her from head to toe, just as his secretary had done. ‘You look a bit young and skinny for my liking. I need my workers to be robust. How old are you?’
‘Sixteen, sir. I been with Mr Solomon for two year now, and ’e’s never had no reason to complain about me work.’