Ironmonger's Daughter Read online

  ‘It’s the factory,’ George said, with mock seriousness. ‘It sends ’em all that way in time.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘Yeah, it’s true,’ George went on. ‘They’ve bin known ter crack up wiv the noise an’ put their ’eads under the presses before now. They come out lookin’ like flat red lollipops. It don’t ’alf make a mess!’

  The tallyman was beginning to feel queasy and with a shiver he turned and left the turning in rather a hurry.

  George smiled to himself. The collector had forgotten to ask for the weekly payment.

  Later, when Mary came in from work on that Friday evening, the family had an urgent discussion.

  ‘What about yer two kids, Mary? Yer gonna send ’em out o’ London?’ her father enquired.

  ‘What yer reckon, Frank?’ Mary asked, looking anxiously at her husband.

  ‘I dunno, girl. I don’t like the idea of sendin’ ’em away. Yer know what young Jimmy’s like. ’E’s only six. It’s a dead cert’e’ll pine. June’s that bit older but she’s gonna fret too, it’s only natural.’

  They both looked at George, who raised his gnarled hands helplessly. ‘Don’t ask me. It’s your decision. If it was me though, I’d keep ’em roun’ me. What’s ter be will be.’

  ‘I fink we’ll wait,’ Mary said finally. ‘We’ll see ’ow fings turn out. Okay, Frank?’

  George settled down in his chair and filled his pipe. He could hear the children’s laughter coming from upstairs and he grinned to himself. It would be miserable without the kids about the place, he thought.

  ‘’Ere, Dad,’ Mary said with her hands on her hips. ‘What’s this money doin’ on the mantelshelf? Ain’t the tallyman bin?’

  ‘Yeah. We was ’avin’ a chat an’ ’e must ’ave fergot all about the money.’

  Mary shook her head slowly. ‘All this talk of war seems to ’ave turned everybody upside down. We ’ad one o’ the girls go berserk terday. She run out o’ the factory screamin’ ’er’ead off. Joe Cooper said she run up the street like the devil was after ’er.’

  George Baker puffed on his pipe. ‘Did she?’ he asked innocently.

  There had been little work done that day in the leather factory. Everyone was preoccupied, including the management. Some of the girls discussed the possibility of going along to the recruiting office to join one of the women’s services. Connie could think only of her coming weekend with Robert. Unless he had changed his mind, he would be volunteering for the airforce, she thought. This would be the last weekend together for some time, and she wanted it to be very special.

  When she got home that evening Connie went straight to the Bartletts’ home and found her aunt alone.

  Helen had a worried look on her pale face. ‘Ain’t it terrible? I’ve jus’ bin listenin’ ter the wireless. There’s fousands o’ kids gettin’ ’vacuated, Con. It’s made me feel ill jus’ ’earin’ it all.’

  Connie slumped down in the armchair. ‘It was the same at work terday. It’s all everybody talked about.’

  Helen walked out to the kitchen. ‘I’ll get yer a cuppa. I’ve got one made. Molly an’ Matt’ll be in soon.’

  The dark day had worked strangely on Connie and she had decided to unburden herself while she was alone with Helen. She had kept the story Claudette had told her to herself for almost nine months now and she needed to confide in her aunt, now that her recent attempt to find Norma Cantwell had come to nothing.

  The two women sat facing each other in the armchairs, their cups of tea held in their laps. Helen listened intently while Connie related what Claudette had told her and when the girl had finished she shook her head slowly.

  ‘I wish you’d ’ave told me sooner, Con. You shouldn’t leave us out in the cold. We’re family. We’re the only family yer’ve got, girl. Don’t shut us out. Yer mum used ter do that an’ it stopped us bein’ really close.’

  Connie looked into her aunt’s tired eyes. ‘I know I should’ave told yer long ago, Aunt ’Elen, but I was ’opin’ ter get ter the bottom of fings before I worried yer all. Yer’ve got enough on yer plate. Trouble is, when I went round ter find this Norma an’ saw the street ’ad bin pulled down I knew I was at a dead end. I wanted ter prove that Robert’s muvver was lyin’.’

  ‘Listen, Connie. Yer don’t ’ave ter convince me,’ Helen said sharply, anger showing in her eyes. ‘Kate was me sister. She would never do what that woman said she done. All right, we know the firm was payin’ ’er fer some reason, an’ it might ’ave bin ter keep ’er quiet, but whatever ’appened it must ’ave bin somefink bad. Yer mum wouldn’t ’ave invented it.’

  ‘What do we do next, Aunt? ’Ow do we find this Norma Cantwell?’

  ‘Yer gotta be patient, girl. All right, nobody knows where she’s gorn to, but we’ve got a photo of ’er. Then there’s that old man yer said yer talked to. ’E might come back wiv some news.’

  ‘That’s pretty unlikely, Aunt.’

  ‘Yer never know, Con. It was only fate ’e saw yer in the pub. If yer meant ter get ter the bottom of it all it’ll ’appen, you’ll see.’

  ‘I ’ope you’re right, Aunt. I always hoped the money me mum got was really from me dad. Now I know it wasn’t. I don’t s’pose I’ll ever find out about ’im, but I’m determined ter get ter the truth, about the money at least.’

  Helen pursed her lips. She felt a great sadness at having to bear the burden her sister had placed upon her. She wanted to shout out the man’s name and put Connie’s mind at rest. It was so unfair, but it was Kate’s wish. Even when she had been very ill and knew that she would not recover, Kate had still insisted that the secret should be kept.

  Footsteps on the landing interrupted her thoughts and she got up from her chair as Molly and Matthew walked in together.

  ‘News is bad, luv,’ Matt said as he took off his coat and hung it behind the door.

  Molly sat down heavily in the armchair, her breathing coming quickly. She smiled wanly at Connie and when she had recovered she kicked off her shoes and sighed deeply.

  ‘Is there really gonna be a war, Dad?’ Molly asked.

  ‘Seems it’s certain now, luv. It’s no good pretendin’.’

  ‘Will yer ’ave ter join up, Dad?’

  ‘No. I’m too old. I might ’ave ter do war work though. Our firm’s talkin’ about gettin’ exemptions fer us, ’cause o’ the gover’ment contract we’re on. I jus’ gotta wait an’ see.’

  Molly glanced at her cousin and then looked back at her father. ‘The girls at work were talkin’ about London gettin’ bombed. Couldn’t we all go away somewhere safe, Dad?’

  Matthew ran his fingers through his greying hair. ‘I wish we could,’ he said quietly. ‘Trouble is, there’ll be nowhere ter go. We might escape the bombin’, but we can’t leave the country. In any case, people like us ain’t got nowhere ter go. All we can do is grin an’ bear it, like always.’

  Helen came into the room with the teapot. ‘Now wash yer’ands, Molly. You, too, Matt. War or no war, yer gotta eat. What about you, Con? Wanna stop fer tea? It’s saveloys an’ pease pudden.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It had been a special weekend. On Saturday evening Connie cooked a meal and Robert opened a bottle of red wine. They sat together in the quietness of the flat and talked casually and light-heartedly, avoiding the thing that worried them most. They lay in each other’s arms and, as Robert stroked her long blond hair and she felt his hands gently caressing her body, she tried to stifle the ache that welled up from deep within her. Soon he would be gone, she knew. The thought of being without him was hard to bear. He was her whole life, and without his strong arms around her and his gentle words of love, life would not be worth living. Somehow she had to bear it, however painful. She must wait for him to return to her. She had to be strong, like her mother must have been. He must carry her love with him so that wherever he went, whatever dangers he faced, the knowledge would sustain him and bring him back safely.

  Robert sl
ept soundly, his even, shallow breathing hardly moving his chest. Connie twisted and turned, her sleep spoiled with mixed-up dreams. They awoke late and had hardly finished breakfast when the news came over the wireless that the Prime Minister would be speaking to the nation. They listened in silence as the flat, cultured voice spoke of how he had striven to preserve peace and that now, despite all his efforts, the country was at war with Germany. His voice dragged on painfully and, when Robert finally got up and turned off the wireless, Connie saw the set expression on his face and the sadness reflected in his ice-blue eyes. She knew that all the speculation was over. She felt calm, even relieved that the challenge was there for her to take up. She had to be brave now. There must be no tears, no regrets. He would surely leave her, but it would not be for ever. Their times together in the days ahead would be short and treasured. One day they would meet again and never be parted.

  The unearthly wail of the air-raid siren broke the silence, and they looked down into the Sunday street below. People were running along the thoroughfare, their eyes searching the skies. Mothers clutched their babies and held on desperately to their youngsters as they ran for the shelter in the square opposite.

  Connie gripped Robert’s arm. ‘What shall we do?’ she asked him, her voice trembling.

  He put his arm around her waist. ‘Don’t be frightened, Con. They’re probably just trying out the sirens. We might as well stay here, at least for the time being.’

  They sat together at the window as the sound of the siren died to a moan. There was a deathly silence outside. The street was now empty, save for a lone mongrel who cocked his leg against a tree then trotted off unconcernedly. A police car suddenly dashed past, and then it was silent again.

  As soon as the Prime Minister’s speech ended, Ironmonger Street came to life. Front doors opened and people spilled out on to the pavements. Windows in the buildings were thrown open and eyes looked down at the commotion below. Outside number one the Toomeys stood together, Toby with a distant expression on his narrow face, Marie sobbing and being comforted by her daughter Lillian. The Bakers and the Richards stood talking in a huddle while Widow Pacey stood alone in her doorway, her arms folded and a defiant look on her face. When the siren sounded the street folk looked fearfully towards the clear blue sky and then hurried through the factory gates and down the steps into the stale-smelling basement shelter. People ran from the buildings. Alf Riley held his shaking wife by the arm and they were followed by the Smiths, the Carringtons and the Argents. The wail died and the little cul-de-sac became empty and quiet.

  The basement shelter in the Armitage factory had become full of shaking, fearful folk who sat around on the hard wooden benches and talked in low voices. Lizzie Conroy took out her knitting and found she was dropping more stitches than she picked up. George Baker had left his false teeth in the cup and he sat making funny faces, to the delight of his two young grandchildren. Mother Adams sat fretting over her cats, and Doris Richards held her arms around her daughter Bella. Joe Cooper stood in the doorway, wearing his steel helmet which had the words ARP stencilled on it and carrying his service gas-mask pack over his shoulder. With him stood Mary’s husband Frank who was looking around at the assembled street folk.

  ‘’Ere, Joe. Ole Clara Cosgrove ain’t ’ere,’ Frank said suddenly.

  ‘Bloody ’ell!’ Joe exclaimed. ‘I bet she didn’t ’ear the siren. C’mon, Frank, we’d better see if she’s all right.’

  The two men hurried to number, twenty and knocked loudly on the door. Joe bent down and put his mouth to the letter box. ‘You all right, Clara?’ he called out.

  ‘She’s fell asleep, it’s a dead cert,’ Frank said, looking up at the sky anxiously.

  Joe fished his hand into the letter box and pulled out a string with a key tied to the end of it. ‘C’mon, Frank, let’s go get ’er.’

  The two men entered the house and walked into the front parlour. Clara Cosgrove was seated in her favourite armchair, her hands folded in her lap and her mouth hanging open.

  Joe shook the old lady gently and she awoke with a start. ‘Gawd! Yer frightened the bleedin’ life out o’ me. What’s wrong?’

  ‘C’mon, Clara. We’re tryin’ the shelter out,’ Joe said, taking hold of her arm.

  ‘Leave me alone, sod yer!’ she growled. ‘There’s me ’avin’ a nice nap an’ you two come in ’ere playin’ silly buggers. Now piss orf out.’

  ‘The warnin’ went, Clara. We come ter take yer ter the shelter.’

  ‘D’yer mean the war’s started?’

  ‘That’s right, Ma,’ Frank said softly.

  Clara reached beneath her pinafore and took out a small lace handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes. ‘So it’s all orf again, is it? They’ll never learn, will they? I’m sure it was gettin’ gassed in the last war caused my Fred ter peg out the way ’e did. Well I tell yer somefink. I don’t care what’appens. They’re not gettin’ me down that bloody shelter. I’d sooner stay ’ere in me own ’ome, ’cos the way I see it, when yer number’s up there ain’t much yer can do about it. Now you two go on back ter the rest of ’em. Tell ’em Clara Cosgrove is’avin’ a little nap ’an don’t wanna be disturbed. ’Ere, an’ tell’em all not ter make too much noise as they come past me winder, okay?’

  ‘Okay, Ma,’ Joe said, looking at Frank and jerking his head towards the door.

  The long, even tone of the all clear brought people out on to the street once more. The sun shone down from an almost cloudless sky as people stood about at their front doors and children came out to play. Later Tony Armeda pushed his ice-cream barrow into the turning and became busy, scooping dabs of yellow cream on to large wafer cones. Children gripped their pennies and jostled for position at the front of the queue.

  ‘I’m first! I’m first!’

  ‘No you ain’t. I was ’ere first.’

  ‘Donna push! Yer knocka da barrer over. Waita yer turn, you all geta served.’

  ‘Gissa tupp’ny one, Tony.’

  ‘Me, too, Tony.’

  The big Italian reached down yet again into his metal drum and came up with another scoop of ice-cream. The kids jostled each other as more gathered around the gaily painted barrow, pennies clutched tightly in their sweaty palms. Cooking smells drifted out from open front doors and men started off up the turning dressed in their Sunday best, caps askew and white silk scarves knotted around their necks. Public houses filled and urgent discussions were quickly begun.

  ‘It won’t last long. I give it six months. It’s a big game o’ bluff,’ Terry said, hooking his thumbs through his braces.

  ‘I don’t fink so, Tel. I reckon it’s gonna be a nasty turnout. You’ve only gotta look at what ’appened in Spain. Look at the bombin’ what went on out there.’

  ‘Yeah, but them there Republicans didn’t ’ave any planes, Bill. They couldn’t fight back. If the Germans bomb us we’re gonna retaliate, stan’s ter reason.’

  ‘I ’ope you’re right, Tel. ’Ere, gonna get anuvver drink in, I feel like gettin’ pissed.’

  Evening shadows lengthened in the thoroughfare below as Connie sat with Robert in the quiet flat. The wireless was switched on and soft orchestral music drifted through the room. There had been urgent broadcasts all day warning people to read the notices that were going up in public places. People had been urged to register their children for evacuation and advice was given on how to cope in the event of a gas attack. Prayers were broadcast and then sombre music had played once more. Connie rested her head on his shoulder. ‘When will yer go?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll go along to the recruiting office first thing tomorrow, Con. There’s no point in waiting.’

  ‘Will yer ’ave ter go straight away?’

  ‘No, they’ll send for me. I’ll get a medical first.’

  ‘What will yer parents say, Robert? They’ll be upset, won’t they?’

  He nodded his head slowly. ‘I think they expect me to volunteer. Dad used to point out the value of managin
g production in a factory which was on a government contract, but he knows I couldn’t sit out the war in the factory. I’d go mad, Con.’

  ‘You are mad,’ she smiled sadly. ‘Yer could stay ’ere wiv me. Yer don’t ’ave ter go away an’ fight.’

  He did not answer as he stood up and walked over to the window. He looked down into the deserted street. It was the first night that the blackout was in force and it was complete. No lights shone out and passers-by lit their way with shaded torches. The distant rumble of thunder and a brief flash of lightning seemed like an omen to him as he stood gazing into the darkness.

  Connie walked over to him and put her arms around his tense body. ‘Come away from the winder, Robert. Close the curtains an’ put the light on. I don’t like the dark.’

  He bent his head and found her lips. She pressed herself to him, aware that time was short. There was so much she wanted to say and so little time. She clung to him and felt his hands gently stroking her back.

  ‘I love you, Connie,’ he whispered. ‘Will you wait for me?’

  She nodded, unable to speak as tears filled her eyes and a lump rose in her throat. He stepped back and took her hand as he led her away from the window.

  ‘I want to say something, Con,’ he said, pulling her down beside him on the sofa. ‘You must know I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. No, don’t say anything. I’ve wanted to ask you if you’ll marry me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I’ve been convinced for some time now there’d be a war and it wouldn’t be fair to you. I could get killed and you’d be a widow before you’d got used to being a wife. But now that it’s happened . . .’