Cockney Orphan (16 page)

‘What do you think of my missus then?’ George pushed a photo under Vic’s nose.

He studied the smiling, wholesome-looking lass. ‘Very nice, too.’

‘Bit of all right, isn’t she? What about yours?’

‘We’re not wed yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘There wasn’t time. We only got engaged six weeks ago.’

‘Well, if it was down to me I’d get that ring on quick,’ George advised, holding up his piece of canvas to the light and turning it upside down. ‘You might be away a long
time. A long, long time if you know what I mean.’

Without comment Vic took hold of George’s equipment and folded it into shape then strung it from wall to wall.

‘Thanks, mate. You’re good at this lark. Where are you from?’

‘The Isle of Dogs.’

‘It’s all dock work there, isn’t it?’

‘More or less.’

‘I’m a Bermondsey lad myself. Work for the council on lorries. I don’t know one end of a boat from the other. I wanna get in and out of this war as quick as I can. After all,
there’s no career prospects on a merchant ship is there?’

‘I don’t intend to board one,’ Vic said as he assembled his own kit.

George leaned against the wall, a curious expression on his face. ‘So what are your plans, if you don’t mind me asking?’ He produced a packet of squashed Woodbines. ‘A
nice cosy touch in the officer’s mess, catering for the top brass? I’ve heard it can be done, if you’ve got what it takes.’

Vic laughed as he stopped working, sucked in the smoke, then balanced his cigarette on the window shelf. ‘The truth is, Georgie boy, I’ve no desire to spend the war licking some
petty officer’s boots.’

‘Right, so you’re going over the fence, is that it?’ He laughed at his joke.

Vic looked at him steadily. ‘No. I’m putting in for training.’

‘As what?’

‘Anything with a stripe.’

‘You mean an
officer
’s course?’ George looked surprised.

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Dunno.’ George shrugged, gulping in smoke. ‘It just seems a bit ambitious for blokes likes us.’

Vic stared into George’s light brown eyes and smiled. ‘What exactly are blokes like us? What makes you and me any different from the loudmouth who gave you stick this
morning?’

George looked embarrassed. ‘Well, I had to take it, didn’t I? This is our first day.’

‘Same as he had to take it once. He was just the same as you and me, wet behind the ears, with two left feet. He pisses just the same, eats and drinks just the same. All that’s
happened is he’s climbed the ladder of success. And in the long run, an armful of stripes is a far better bet than getting wiped out before you’ve even started the fight.’

George squashed his dog end with his boot. ‘I just don’t see myself as a leader of men.’

Vic clasped a hand to his friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s the same as the playground, George. Stand up to the bullies and when you see a chance, go for it. There’s opportunities
here, all we’ve got to do is grab them.’

‘Blimey,’ George gasped, ‘you’ve got it all sussed.’

Vic shook his head slowly. ‘Not a bit of it. But I have got a life, George, and I intend to live it.’

Gran was in the front parlour, waiting for Connie. She had made the tea as usual of a Saturday afternoon, reserving her butter and sugar rations for today so they could have a
little treat, a good helping of jam on the bread and a generous spoonful of sugar in the tea. A quarter of a pint of milk was reserved for Lucky and a baked rice pudding. This routine was the
highlight of her week since her grandson had been called up.

Pulling the curtain to one side, she peered along East Ferry Road and searched for the tall, slim figure pushing a large pram. She hadn’t realized just how much she looked forward to
seeing Connie. The young woman made her feel closer to Vic.

Gran returned to her armchair. She was worried for the young couple. Not just the war, but those murky lights. Gran sighed. She felt too tired to work it all out. She only wanted to sleep these
days. With an effort she propped herself up in the cushioned chair, looking around the parlour walls. They were crammed with photographs. Husband Maurice, killed in the first war, and so like Vic,
handsome and dark eyed. Mother and Father, both Quakers, standing erect, side by side. Brothers and sisters now dead or mislaid, in a world that she had no desire to search now that she was old.
Photographs of her only son, Freddie, and his wife Josephine, always in her heart. Freddie taken by a cruel, unrelenting disease, a curse of the poor. She shuddered as she thought of how she had
nursed him through the TB. Josie had given up after his death, literally, just wasted away. How could their young lives have ended so cruelly? It was only the kids, Vic and Pat, who had kept her
sane afterwards. All legs and arms they were, like little fawns, tiny orphaned innocents . . .

‘Gran . . . Gran?’

The soft calling broke into her dreams. The faces that filled her mind, replicas of those on the walls, slowly faded. Gran opened her eyes to see a fresh young face, full of vitality, staring
down at her.

‘Connie, ducks! I must’ve drifted off.’

‘Don’t get up. I’ll make the tea.’

‘Where’s the lad?’

‘He’s out the back, asleep in the pram. Now, rest a while longer.’

If this was getting old, Gran didn’t care for it. She was used to being independent. It came as a shock to find yourself addressed as a child, though she knew Connie meant well.

When the girl returned, they sat at the table as the sun broke in through the window. Connie poured and Gran watched as her lovely hair fell over her shoulders, waves of spun silk, curling
against her pale cheek. As delicate as her long, graceful fingers on the china. What a beauty this girl was, both inside and out!

‘Gran? One sugar or two?’

‘Not for me, love. You go ahead.’

‘You spoil us on Saturdays.’

‘Why not, if you’re good enough to visit?’

‘Gran, you’re my family, least you feel like it now. Fact is, I can’t remember being without you, or Pat and Laurie and Doris. It’s just like you’ve been around for
ever.’ Connie smiled reflectively as she spread the jam evenly over the bread. ‘I don’t half miss him, you know.’

‘I know you do.’

They finished the buttered bread and when Lucky woke Gran fed him the rice pudding as he sat on her lap. She was beginning to think of this little boy as Connie’s, but then did that mean
he was Vic’s also? It was a strange arrangement but she admired the girl. What would happen in the future? Would the father turn up? It would break her heart of course if Lucky were to be
taken away now.

Gran put the disturbing notions out of her mind as she wiped Lucky’s little mouth and tickled him under his chin. He had such an infectious laugh and dazzling blue eyes.

‘I reckon he’ll be walking soon. Crawls everywhere if he gets the opportunity,’ Connie said proudly.

Gran lowered him carefully to the floor between her feet. She gave him the box of toys to play with, amongst them his wooden train that Vic had made. She looked up at Connie. ‘When
you’ve finished your tea, I’ve a surprise for you.’

Connie’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘Take the dirties away first and stand the fireguard in front of the fire, will you, for the child.’

Connie lifted the square mesh frame in front of the glowing coals and asked breathlessly, ‘Is it to do with Vic?’

‘Hurry up and I’ll tell you.’ She watched Connie run out of the room with the china. Then, as she ruffled Lucky’s blond head, she thought of the surprise that she’d
had herself yesterday. A heavy sisal bag had been returned to her from the navy. Inside, she found her grandson’s civilian clothes. On searching the bag thoroughly she had discovered two
sheets of folded paper hidden in a flap. One was addressed to her, the other to Connie. She was eager to see the girl’s face when she read it.

Connie paused, the words coming a little unsteadily as emotion caused her to stop reading.

Gran was grateful that Vic had not worried this young woman with graver news. Instead he’d written words that could only lift her spirit rather than crush it.

‘Sweetheart, I’m bunked with three good chaps, George being a Bermondsey lad, Sammy Kite from the sticks and Tommy Drew a city boy. Now, promise me you’ll take care of yourself
and Laughing Boy? I look forward to my first leave, though when and where it will be I have no idea. Keep safe for me, and to you and Lucky, my deepest affection and love. Yours as always,
Vic.’

Gran watched Connie fold the sheet of lined paper into its creases and take a shuddering breath. ‘Oh, Gran, I want to see him. Do you think he’ll get leave soon?’

‘I don’t know the answer to that. But he’ll move heaven and earth to arrange it.’

Connie searched Gran’s face. ‘Read the leaves? P’raps they’d tell us something.’

Gran felt her ribs creak as she leaned forward to stretch her arm across Lucky’s head. She patted Connie’s cheek, skin as soft as a baby’s. ‘I see lots of good things for
you without them leaves, and I promise to read them when the time is right. To be honest with you, love, I’ve got a bugger of a back this afternoon and I thought I might get myself over to
Pat’s so’s I can have a lie down.’

‘I’ll walk over with you.’ Connie jumped to her feet.

‘No, ta. Jerry won’t be long in arriving. You’d never get home in time.’

Reluctantly Connie agreed. She took the baby into the passage and put him in the pram. Gran pulled herself up from the chair and walked out to the hall-stand, lifting her coat and slipping it
on.

‘See you both next week, then?’

Connie held her in a tight embrace. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Say hello to your mum for me.’

Connie pushed the pram out and bounced it down the three steps. Gran waved goodbye, watching her progress down the road. Then when it was safe to go back inside, she removed her coat and re-hung
it on the hall-stand. She had no intention of going to Pat’s, it was Vic’s letter to her that she wished to analyse again.

Quietly she resumed her position in the chair by the fire and took out the letter from her apron pocket.

‘Dear Gran, I’ll write again very soon, but it will be an official letter, not under the counter like this one. I want you to know something important. You were right about that
porker’s head. I’ve fetched up in North Wales, dead on target for DEMS ships, that is, training as a gunner for the merchant fleet. But remembering what you told me about taking fate in
my own hands, I’ve put in for an interview with my CO. I had to stretch the truth and say as how I passed exams at school. Lucky my job was with the PLA as I’ve got a bit of experience
under my belt and can beef it all up. My plans for a commission could all fall through if they rumble me, so didn’t want to tell Con what I’m after. Let’s hope it all works out,
eh? I miss your cooking. Don’t think I’ll bother with Butlins after this. All my love, your devoted grandson, Vic. P.S. Look out for Con for me, the brown lights and all. xx’

Gran drew her handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. She read the letter once more. When she had finished, she looked up at Freddie standing so tall by Josie. Her voice trembled as she
whispered, ‘Give him a bit of help, son. What you couldn’t do for him down here, then see to it up there.’

Then she closed her eyes and let her head rest back on the cushion, the note falling from her tightly clenched fingers and into her lap.

It was an early May morning when Connie walked into the office and for the second time found her workplace non-existent. The damage from the raid on Saturday night was
extensive. Not only were the windows shattered, but the floor was holed and very dangerous. This time, there was no sweeping up by the staff or gathering of important papers. Connie saw at once it
was too risky even to tread around the outer floorboards that remained. The warehousemen below were trying to secure the floor joints that had literally snapped in two and a great deal of argument
was going on over which was the best way to do it.

Mr Burns and Len English, Ada and Connie all stood at the top of the stairs, watching the workmen scurrying here and there, until finally Mr Burns ordered his staff to the canteen whilst he made
alternative arrangements.

The canteen, however, had been damaged too, though not so severely. The large south-facing window was still intact, but the two smaller ones were being boarded up and the preparation of food had
been cancelled.

‘Is there a cup of rosie going?’ Len shouted to one of the girls as they stood in the dishevelled room.

‘Sorry, Len. And we ain’t got no water.’

‘Might as well go home,’ Len sighed as he pushed his way through the fallen tables and chairs to a free corner. He brushed the plaster from one of the seats along the wall, then
righted two chairs. ‘Come on, girls, let’s have a smoke.’

They took no persuading as the three of them sat around a dusty table and Len brought out his roll-ups. ‘I’m only surprised the damage isn’t worse,’ he commented,
flinging an arm over the back of his chair. ‘We’re still up and running. Which is more than can be said for the House of Commons. I heard on the radio that one of the chambers is just
rubble now and the square tower of Westminster Abbey went up in smoke. Saint Paul’s took another hit too, but by all accounts it’s still standing. They reckon it was tit for tat with
what we did to Berlin.’

Ada stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I’m sick of all this dust. You eat it, drink it, breathe it. I was coughing all last night in the shelter and didn’t get a wink. What with that
and Wally’s dad going on about that Rudolf Hess parachuting from his plane up in Scotland and Mrs Wipple complaining about cheese being rationed to ten ounces a week, my head was well and
truly done in.’

Connie pulled her coat round her, shivering as the breeze whistled though a shattered pane of glass. ‘I wonder where we’ll be put now.’

They were all silent for a moment until Ada giggled. ‘Well, I hope we get a few nice-looking blokes to help us clear up the mess.’

Len feigned shock. ‘You’re already spoken for!’