Cockney Orphan (31 page)

‘Well, that’s the only one I know and she ain’t here now.’

‘She was so helpful.’

‘Her son was killed in France and she didn’t come back to work after that.’

‘Oh dear.’ Connie’s hopes were dashed. ‘I really need her advice again.’

‘She was salt of the earth was Peggy, a real nice lady. This problem of yours – it is urgent, is it?’

‘Oh yes, very.’ Connie nodded. ‘You see, since 1940 I’ve looked after a little boy whose mother was killed in the Blitz. His father never showed up and now a man is
claiming to be his grandfather, not a very nice man either. He says he’s bringing me proof of who he is, but I don’t trust him. I was hoping Mrs Burton could give me some advice.
I’ve no one else to turn to.’

The cleaning lady looked hard at her. Then, coming closer, she lowered her voice. ‘In that case, I can tell you where Peggy is now.’

Connie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, yes please!’

‘Peggy wanted to do something meaningful after her loss, so she started a soup kitchen at the Mission Hall just off Poplar High Street. You said you was desperate and I know Peggy would be
first in line to offer her help. Tell her Pops sent you, all right?’

‘You don’t know what a favour you’ve done me.’

‘Good luck, gel.’

Connie walked out of the building with a new spring in her step. Her journey hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

The Mission Hall was now a soup kitchen for the distressed and homeless of the East End. The old building, in former days a chapel, was a hive of industry. In the main area
where once the congregation had kneeled, volunteers served a bowl of hot soup to anyone incapacitated enough to warrant it. Four long wooden tables and the chapel’s old pews were in full use
when Connie arrived close to midday. Three women served the soup and bread, and the kitchen staff were hidden by a thin partition, the smell of cooking permeating to the wooden timbers above.

Connie imagined or estimated at least fifty people sat down to eat at one time. As soon as one got up to leave, another took their place. The queues were long, but orderly. Connie wondered which
one of the women was Peggy Burton. With their hair tied in turbans, and wearing pinafores, she didn’t recognize any of them.

‘Do you know if Peggy Burton is here today?’ Connie asked one of the women.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Connie hesitated. ‘Pops, the cleaning lady at the council offices, sent me. I was very sorry to hear about your son.’

‘Thank you,’ Peggy said graciously. ‘But who are you?’

‘I’m Connie Marsh. I came to see you at the Welfare department after I found a baby boy in the Blitz. His mother had been killed in Haverick Road.’

‘Oh yes, I remember you now, Connie. Did the father ever appear?’

‘No. It’s to do with this that I’ve come to see you.’

‘I see. Well, as you can see we’re very busy. But if you want to follow me as I work you’re welcome. We’re very short staffed and our washer-up, who is eighty-four, needs
relieving.’

Connie soon found herself behind the partition where several women were juggling loaves and soup bowls and stirring two huge saucepans on a very ancient stove. In one corner there was a sink and
draining board piled high with crockery.

‘I’ll take over now, Hilda,’ Peggy said to the washer-up. The elderly lady stood only a few inches above the drainer. ‘Go and make yourself a cup of tea and take it into
my room.’

Hilda rolled down her sleeves and scuttled off. Peggy donned a pinafore from a hook by the sink and plunged her hands into the dirty water. ‘Now how can I help?’

Connie stared at the mountain of china. ‘Actually, I think it should be me asking you that.’

Peggy laughed. ‘If you’re serious, hang up your cardigan and bag on the hook there. These bowls have to be dried and taken to the tables, where they will soon be refilled. Any
dirties you find, return them to me.’

In no time at all, Connie was drying the dishes, delivering them to the diners at the four large tables and hurrying back again. In the few moments she had to spare, she managed to tell Peggy
her story.

‘Come with me,’ Peggy invited Connie after dinner was over. She showed her into the little room which served as the office. ‘Lift those boxes up and sit down
on the chair.’

Connie didn’t know how all the women in the Mission Hall kept so cheerful. Peggy said they had been preparing from eight o’clock that morning. A task they repeated seven days a
week.

Peggy sat behind a very old, narrow desk with lots of wooden engravings on the side. It looked like one a minister might read the sermon from. ‘That’s better. Now we can talk. It
gets so busy here you can’t hear yourself think.’

Connie rolled down her blouse sleeves. ‘You do wonderful work.’

‘You haven’t seen us on a bad day.’

‘What was this then?’

‘Oh, a very satisfactory one actually. You turned up, didn’t you? The Good Lord always provides.’

‘I hope he does,’ Connie sighed. ‘There are so many people who need help.’

‘The numbers have increased with people in transit from the bombing. We only offer food now, but during the Blitz we provided beds as well. So many found themselves homeless, without
anywhere to go. The Mission never turned away anyone, I’m proud to say, even if they had to sleep on the pews outside in the backyard. Now it’s just soup and bread, but some people stay
here all day until we shut the doors at four o’clock.’ She narrowed her gaze at Connie. ‘Now, back to your little problem, my dear. I take it, Connie, you’ve grown fond of
Lucky?’

‘Yes,’ Connie admitted. ‘But I wouldn’t want to rob him of his family. Yet Gilbert Tucker said some awful things about his daughter.’

‘Not a very good start,’ Peggy agreed.

‘I wouldn’t want Lucky to hear that kind of talk even if he is Rita’s father. What I want to know is, can he take Lucky out of my hands?’

Peggy frowned. ‘He’ll have to make his case first.’

‘Do I have any say in it?’

‘You could consult a solicitor and take the case to court.’

‘How much will that cost?’

‘The expense would be substantial. Do you have any savings or funds available?’

Connie shook her head. ‘Only what I earn at Dalton’s.’

Peggy sat back thoughtfully. ‘You see, Connie, you were fortunate that a lot of red tape was avoided when you applied for care of Lucky. Remember that the government evacuated most of the
children in ’39? Well, it was only because that plan was unsuccessful and many children were returned to London that homes were so badly needed. This and the fact that the child’s
father might be local was what stood you in good stead. But it was never meant as a permanent arrangement, as I’m sure you know.’

‘But according to Gilbert Tucker, the father is unknown. Surely that gives me some rights as I’ve been looking after him for so long?’

Peggy was deep in thought. ‘Do you know anything more about the mother – who he says is Rita?’

‘Only what I’ve told you.’

‘When is he coming back?’

‘I don’t know.’

Peggy nodded slowly. ‘You must see that he brings an official who can make certain everything is done properly.’

Connie’s shoulders sagged. ‘I can’t bear to think of Lucky in the wrong hands. Apart from my concern about him, the woman he was with didn’t look capable of caring for a
child. She was very strange.’

Peggy gave a little sigh. ‘I wish I could help you, Connie.’

They sat in silence for a few seconds until they heard the women outside locking up. ‘I must go,’ Connie murmured.

Peggy wrinkled her brow. ‘I hope it all works out for you,’ she said as she joined Connie at the door.

Connie held out her hand. ‘I do too, for Lucky’s sake.’

Peggy clutched Connie’s fingers. ‘A greater power than any on earth will help Lucky, I’m sure of it.’

Connie left the Mission Hall, wanting desperately to believe that was true.

I
t was August when the news came through that Allied warships were shelling the coasts of Italy; the Axis on Sicily had finally crumbled to British
and American troops.

‘Maybe you’ll get a letter now,’ Len suggested at work. They were sitting in the canteen and Len was enjoying a Woodbine.

‘I hope so.’ Connie had taken comfort from the other women at work whose men were fighting in Europe. Letters were far and few between.

‘He might even get leave.’

‘That’s my dream, Len. I’m beginning to forget what he looks like.’

‘You’ll never do that.’

Connie smiled. ‘No, I won’t.’ She paused as she set down her cup. ‘How is your mum these days?’

Len rolled his eyes. ‘Last week she was Joan Crawford. This week it’s Dolores del Rio.’

Connie laughed. ‘She’s got good taste.’

‘That’s what Jenny says.’

‘Jenny?’

Len nodded as he exhaled. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. ‘If Ada was here she’d have rumbled us long ago.’

‘You mean—?’

Len nodded slowly, his eyes twinkling. ‘Keep it under your hat though.’

Connie couldn’t believe it. ‘You sly old fox. How long has this been going on?’

‘Oh, a while.’

‘But you hardly spoke to each other at the Christmas party.’

‘We made up for it after.’ Len chuckled at the expression on Connie’s face. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Although, to be honest, no one is more surprised than me. With
Mum an’ all I’d lost hope of ever having a life of my own. Then, after work one day, Jenny comes up and asks after Mother. I make a joke of it, as usual, telling her how Mrs Next Door
is sworn off the films for life, and then Jenny says, why doesn’t she sit in for an hour at the weekend to give me a break?’ Len raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I wasn’t about
to refuse, was I?’

‘And that’s how it started?’

‘I thought she’d get tired of us, but she hasn’t. Quite a little routine on a Sunday we’ve got going. Cooks a nice roast does our Jenny, even with rationing.’

‘Oh, Len, you could knock me down with a feather.’

Len winked. ‘Don’t go letting on, now. I decided to tell you ’cos you’d be all for it, not like some of the others round here.’

‘I won’t tell a soul.’ Connie giggled. ‘Do I hear the distant sound of wedding bells?’

‘You might,’ grinned Len, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘But I’m not rushing things. I know when I’m on to a good thing, and I don’t want to spoil it, if you
know what I mean.’

‘Jenny’s a lucky girl,’ Connie said as they stood up. ‘She’s landed the best bloke here at Dalton’s.’

Len blushed, a phenomenon Connie had never seen before, and they walked out of the canteen, smiling secretively. Connie felt happy there was romance in the air and that Len trusted her enough to
confide his secret.

Len’s news was still in her mind when she left work. She thought about it all the way home, laughing to herself at the thought of Jenny cooking a Sunday roast for Len and
his mother. She could imagine Mrs English sitting down at the table in a feather boa and a sparkly tiara. If Jenny could take all the drama on board, and still manage to court Len, then she
deserved a medal. It was surprising what people could do when in love. She had never seen Len look so happy. If she had not been so preoccupied with her own troubles, she would have noticed sooner.
As Len had remarked, Ada would have spotted the affair a mile off!

Connie was smiling as she turned the corner of Kettle Street. The thought of Jenny and Mrs English was still amusing her as she pushed open Nan’s unlatched front door. Expecting to hear
Lucky’s familiar call, ‘Con-Con!’, she paused in the hall.

‘Hello, everyone! I’m home.’

But it was not Lucky who emerged from the front room, but her mother, with her hands clasped tightly together. Connie’s smile faded as she looked into Olive’s ashen face.

‘Mum? What are you doing here?’ Her dad appeared then and Lofty.

‘What’s the matter? Where’s Lucky?’

‘Come in the front room, love,’ her dad said quietly.

‘Dad, where’s Lucky?’ Her voice was high. She knew something had happened but why weren’t they telling her? ‘Is he ill? Has he had an accident?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

Connie let herself be led into the front room. Nan was sitting in the chair, her eyes red with weeping. When she saw Connie, she tried to stand up, then sank down again. ‘Oh, Connie, love,
I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do!’

Lofty patted his wife’s shoulder. ‘Now then, love. There was nothing we could do.’

‘Sit down, Con,’ said her father. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’

Connie felt her legs give way and she sank lifelessly on to the couch. ‘Gilbert Tucker’s been, hasn’t he?’

Her mother sat beside her. ‘He came this afternoon. A government official was with him.’

‘Why didn’t someone come for me at work?’ Connie wailed.

‘There was no time,’ her dad replied quietly. ‘Besides, it would have only been more painful for you. Nothing you could have said would’ve made any difference. They had
the law on their side.’

Connie looked bewildered. ‘What happened?’

‘Gilbert Tucker is Lucky’s grandad. They showed us the papers. It was all in black and white for us to see. You can’t argue with the fact he’s the boy’s
family.’

‘That strange woman isn’t though,’ Connie sobbed. ‘How can they take a little child from the ones who love him and give him to those who don’t?’

‘Now, Connie, that’s not fair.’ Ebbie’s voice was reproving.

‘Dad – you saw them when they came round. You heard what Gilbert Tucker said.’

‘I did, but we couldn’t have seemed very friendly either.’

Connie brushed away the hot tears. ‘Why do you think Lucky’s mum asked me to look after her baby?’

‘Because the poor girl was dying, of course,’ her mother answered.

‘I don’t think it was,’ Connie said fiercely. ‘I think she was frightened enough to ask a perfect stranger rather than take the chance of Gilbert Tucker finding
him.’

Ebbie’s face hardened. ‘Connie, that’s very far-fetched.’

‘It’s not, Dad. I know it in my heart.’

‘I’ll agree your heart is ruling your head,’ Olive said, patting her hand. ‘Be sensible now, dear. We’ve done everything to help you and Lucky and we know
you’re upset – and it hurt us just as much as it’s hurting you. But shouldn’t we be pleased, that one of Lucky’s relatives was found after all this time?’