Cockney Orphan (3 page)

‘Sorry if I crushed you,’ he apologized when they had subsided. ‘No damage done, is there?’ He shone the torch on the baby again.

‘No. He’s not even crying now. The noise must be awful to his little ears.’

‘I’ll go and find the bottle now.’

‘Yes, but don’t be too long.’

He grinned in the torch light. ‘Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.’

Connie blushed in the darkness. Vic Champion – she remembered him now, a keen footballer from an early age. She’d had a crush on his friend Jimmy Longman. They were always hanging
around together, though Vic never seemed interested in girls, only football.

She vaguely remembered his sister, Pat, who now, apparently, had a little girl. Vic had grown into a good-looking young man, with a rather large, straight nose and lovely big dark eyes. How
strange they should meet again after all this time.

In the shadowy light of the torch she saw the cupboard was full of mops, brooms and pieces of junk. The air smelled of lavender and mothballs, a not unpleasant odour that reminded her of home.
Suddenly she missed her family very much. How had she come to be here in a stranger’s house? And where was Billy?

The baby moved restlessly. She undid the long white gown. Two dainty blue boots poked out. Vic had guessed right. Connie rocked him, humming softly. A very strange sensation filled her. She had
never experienced anything like it before, like drinking a cup of cocoa in bed, then snuggling down under the eiderdown, all cosy. Gently she gave him the tip of her finger to suck. She could feel
his little tongue and the hard pull of his mouth, making her go tingly all over.

‘How’s the damsel in distress?’ Vic teased when he returned.

Connie giggled. ‘I thought you might have gone out to save another one, seeing as you’re so good at it.’

‘One a night’s enough.’ He sat down on the arm of the chair. ‘Took all my strength to tether the horse and put the armour away.’

She chuckled. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Our Dorrie’s bottle. True the milk’s stone cold, but there’s nothing to heat it with.’

Connie took the banana shaped bottle and pressed it against the baby’s lips. ‘He doesn’t seem to want it,’ she wailed as he refused to drink.

‘He? Did you look, then?’

‘Yes, his bootees are blue.’

Vic roared with laughter. ‘So that’s how you tell! I always wondered.’

She blushed. ‘I don’t know anything about babies.’

‘Just follow what your Uncle Vic tells you then. It’s easy.’ He placed his hand over hers and pushed. ‘Drink up, chum, it’s all we’ve got.’

Connie gasped. ‘That worked. How did you do it?’

‘It’s my magnetic charm. Animals and kids can’t resist it.’

The bottle was almost empty when another huge explosion resounded. Two more followed and a shower of dust cascaded down. The bombs fell in quick succession and Vic held her tightly again,
placing his arms firmly around them.

‘This isn’t so bad after all,’ he joked when the all clear went. He sat back on the arm of the chair. His white teeth shone under an embarrassed grin.

‘How long will the raids go on?’ Connie asked, hoping he couldn’t see her going red either.

‘Getting fed up with me already are you?’

Connie laughed. ‘Haven’t you got a wife or something to go home to?’

‘Certainly not a something,’ he told her cheekily, ‘and definitely not a wife. I live here with Gran.’

‘Oh.’ Connie nodded. ‘I see.’

‘What about you?’

‘No, I haven’t got a wife either.’

They both laughed and the relief of tension was a wonderful feeling.

‘Where do you live, then?’

‘In Kettle Street with my mum and dad and two brothers.’ She giggled. ‘And I can tell you something else.’

‘Go on, I’m all ears.’

‘I used to be keen on a mate of yours, Jimmy Longman.’

‘Blimey, I’d have been jealous if I’d known,’ he teased her, pulling back his shoulders. ‘What did he have that I didn’t?’

‘Well, you was always showing off with that ball of yours, bouncing it on your head or your heels and getting all cocky with it.’

He laughed softly. ‘I didn’t have the pluck to come up and talk to you, did I? Not whilst your mate was around anyway. The one with all that orange hair.’

‘Red hair,’ she corrected lightly. ‘And Ada’s still my mate. What about Jimmy Longman?’

‘Don’t break your heart over him.’ Vic shrugged. ‘He’s a married man now, with so many kids running around him it’s impossible to count the heads.’

‘Oh.’ Connie smiled. ‘Does he live round here?’

‘No, in Timbuktu.’

Connie burst into laughter again. She felt that funny feeling in her tummy as she gazed into his dark eyes.

‘He’s dropping off isn’t he?’

Connie nodded. ‘Makes me feel tired myself.’

Vic patted his thigh. ‘Here, lean against me.’ The last thing she remembered was his strong hands pulling her against him.

In no time at all, she was asleep.

‘Hello love, I’m Pat, Vic’s sister.’

Connie sat bolt upright. A young woman with thick, dark brown hair like Vic’s was smiling down at her, the baby curled in her arms. She had Vic’s big brown eyes and his friendly
smile.

Connie sprang to her feet. ‘What happened? Did I let him fall off me lap?’

Pat laughed pleasantly. ‘No, course you didn’t. But you were sleeping this morning when Vic left. He should have reported in to his post last night, but you and the baby took
priority.’

‘I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.’

‘Don’t you worry about that. Our Vic is big enough to take care of himself. Besides which, he’s not a real warden. He’s not officially old enough. But as he’s
waiting for his call-up and they were short of wardens in this area, they took him on temporarily.’ Pat looked down at the baby in her arms. ‘I’ve washed and dressed him in one of
Doris’s old vests, a gown and matinée coat. The pink mittens and bootees are the wrong colour but they’ll keep him warm. He’s a lovely little boy, you know.’

Connie gazed in wonder at the spotlessly pink face. The little boy was now swathed in a clean white shawl and Connie felt the urge to grab him and cuddle him tight, only preventing herself from
doing so as Pat seemed to be enjoying cuddling him too.

‘How old do you think he is?’ Connie asked.

‘He’s a good weight, well nourished and cared for – about three months I should say,’ Pat decided as she stroked his cheek. ‘Now, how do you fancy some
breakfast?’

‘I’d love some. Is the raid over?’

‘Yes, thank God. Where do you live?’

‘Number thirty-three Kettle Street.’

‘What about your family?’ Pat asked as she led the way along the passage.

Connie was wondering that herself and trying to block from her mind any negative thoughts. ‘Mum went to the public shelter and Dad was firewatching. Kevin, my brother, was over his
girlfriend’s in Blackwall. And I dunno where me other brother Billy is,’ she ended glumly.

‘How old is he?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘You know what kids are, I’m sure he’ll be safe,’ Pat said confidently as she led the way to the kitchen. ‘The gas and electricity’s working in this road,
which is amazing as most other streets are turned off.’

‘Will Vic be coming back?’ Connie asked hopefully.

‘Don’t think so. There’ll be a lot to sort out after the raids, including the poor dead girl you found.’

Connie felt sad when she thought of last night. Pat must have guessed what she was thinking. ‘Don’t let it prey on your mind, love. You saved her baby. How grateful she would be to
you for that.’

The kitchen was filled with every conceivable pot and pan either fixed to the walls or standing on shelves. A wooden rack, lowered from the ceiling, was filled with vests, underpants, knickers
and petticoats from which floated a strong soapy smell.

‘You must be Connie.’ A wrinkled old woman with a face like a walnut smiled as she poured tea into mugs on the big wooden table. Vic’s grandmother had the piercingly dark eyes
of both her grandchildren. Her long grey hair was drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck. ‘You’ll be needing the lav, ducks. Go through to the yard and help yourself.’

Connie hurried out, forgetting to breathe slowly. She inhaled a big gulp of acrid air. As she used the lavatory she could hear voices in the distance, people beginning to take stock of the
damage. The island was waking up to reality. She wondered what slice of reality she would have to deal with herself today.

‘Sit yourself down,’ Gran told her when she returned. ‘I’ve made some egg fingers, not with real egg of course, but you wouldn’t know the difference. There’s
a mug of tea and sugar in the pot. Owing to someone’s sweet tooth that’s the last of our ration. There’s not much left, but you’re welcome to what there is.’

Pat gestured to the pretty black-haired child sitting at the table. ‘This is the culprit, Doris, my daughter.’

Connie smiled at the little girl. ‘How old is she?’

‘Nearly two.’ Pat continued to bounce the baby on her knee as Connie ate her breakfast.

‘Vic says you don’t know who the dead mother was?’ Gran asked when Connie had finished and Pat had returned the baby.

‘Not her name. She looked very young though.’

‘What were you doing out in the raid?’

‘Looking for my brother,’ Connie improvised. ‘Mum was worried about him.’

‘You know, it’s almost as if that baby recognizes you,’ Pat said, changing the subject.

‘Is he really smiling or is it just wind?’

‘That’s a real smile, that is, a winner. What are you going to do with him?’

‘Take him to the authorities I suppose.’

‘Why not wait till Vic makes some enquiries,’ Pat murmured thoughtfully. ‘Seems a shame to give him to someone strange. I expect they’d put him in an
orphanage.’

‘Would they?’

‘That’s where all the waifs and strays go. Why don’t you keep him for a while?’

‘But I don’t know anything about babies.’

‘It’s dead easy. They just eat and sleep.’

Connie realized her two fingers were locked in a strong little grasp. She felt that tummy-twirl again and held him closer. ‘I’ll have to ask Mum.’

‘I’ll give you some of Doris’s cast-offs. A couple of gowns and vests and another matinée jacket. I’ll wash out his old clothes and let you have them back when
they’re dry. As for nappies, I’ve got three or four I could lend you for the time being.’

‘Are you sure you can spare them?’

‘Dorrie’s nearly potty trained. You can have the bottle, but look after the teat. Rubber’s almost impossible to find these days. And I’m afraid I haven’t got any
rubber knickers at all. I’ll put them all in Gran’s shopping basket and you can take them with you.’

‘Won’t Doris want her bottle?’

Pat grinned. ‘As you can see, she’s eating for England now and doesn’t really need a bottle. It’s just a comforter, that’s all.’

‘I hope the baby’s appetite is as good as hers.’ Connie sighed as she remembered the way he wouldn’t feed at first.

‘Try a teaspoon of mashed up or strained food. Just a little at a time. He seems in the peak of health and whoever took care of him obviously loved him.’

For a moment the three women were silent. Then Gran spoke. ‘The Salvation Army are a good bet too,’ she said as she adjusted the wide straps of her crossover pinny. ‘They are
always ready to help anyone in distress.’

They all looked at the baby. Connie stroked his little chin with her finger. He beamed the biggest smile in her direction. She felt proud, as if he were her own baby, which was daft. But Connie
knew she wasn’t going to be in any hurry to hand the baby over to anyone – least of all the authorities. The relatives, of course, were a different proposition.

Connie would never forget that Sunday morning as she made her way back to Kettle Street. Instead of people walking to church in their Sunday best, the scenes of devastation
were everywhere. No one had expected the intense bombing and the docks had suffered badly. Many houses like those in Haverick Street had fallen, reduced to smoking piles of rubble, whilst their
next door neighbours stood intact. Women and children were queuing at standpipes for water and firemen and rescue workers were out in force.

The worst sight was those who’d lost family or friends and were staring with dazed eyes into the ruins. She saw Mr Jackson, his normal role as postman now set aside as he helped to clear
the obstructing masonry. The first-aiders were gallantly struggling with the chaos and had provided shelters for the walking wounded. Ambulances negotiated the debris with care.

Connie went the long way round. She felt too upset to revisit the place where the baby’s mother had died. Instead she walked along Manchester Road and up to the Mudchute. The soldiers,
dressed in their greatcoats and heavy boots, were repairing the battery’s wooden huts. She hoped no one had suffered there, and as one of them caught her eye and winked cheekily, she smiled
back, admiring their bravery.

As she walked on, she wondered what she would find when she came to Kettle Street. Was the house still standing? Were Mum and Dad and safe? And Kev and his girlfriend, Sylvie? What had happened
to Billy during the night?

‘You can’t go that way, love,’ a man shouted. ‘The whole block has gone, including the butcher’s and a sweet shop.’

The gravity of his words brought back the moment last night when she had looked into the girl’s eyes. She had witnessed a human life extinguishing without being able to prevent it. War was
a terrible thing. Why did it have to happen to innocent people?

Then, as the baby murmured softly and she gazed into the beautiful dark eyes that she thought, in daylight, might be turning blue, her spirits lifted. A moment later, she was hurrying home. As
her footsteps quickened, she vowed she would never take her family for granted. And Billy was no exception. She couldn’t wait to see them all again.

N
an Barnes spread out her long arms and hugged Connie tight. She only realized there was a baby between them when she heard a gurgle at her breast.
A big boned woman, tall and loud, her gasp was audible. ‘Blimey, look at this! Is it real?’