Hattie’s Home, page 30
‘But would you?’ he asked simply. ‘Would you go to Australia? With me?’
Wind rustled the hedges that enclosed them and she didn’t answer immediately. Why wasn’t it easy to give him the ‘yes’ he was waiting for? She mentally pounded her forehead. If the question had come when she’d arrived in Bermondsey, without a home or work, wishing she were anywhere else in the world, she would have been hustling him on board the next ship out. Instead she swept her hand in a wide arc at the rose garden and the park, with their little cluster of huts in the distance, and she played for time. ‘Go to Australia and leave all this?’ She laughed. Then she saw a look of acute disappointment cross his face. Whatever stupid reasons she had for doubt were swept away in an instant. ‘I’m joking! Of course I’ll go to Australia with you!’
He leaped up to catch her in his arms, but before he could kiss her she put two fingers on his lips. ‘On one condition. I go to Australia with you, so you have to come somewhere with me.’
‘Yes, yes, anywhere,’ he said, claiming his kisses.
But when she explained what she wanted of him, she discovered that the contrary side of his nature hadn’t retreated entirely.
Joe was adamant. ‘No! I’d be no good in a youth club. You saw what Ronnie thought of me!’
‘It’s not really a club. It’s just a safe place for them to be. No rules to speak of, just a home from home really…’ She hadn’t told him about the wrecking spree of that first night. ‘But keeping the kids interested, that’s the key, Anne says. And what better than photography? You’ve got at least three old box Brownies you never use, and you could set up a little darkroom in the office!’ The second room of one of the children’s flats had been turned into a working space for Anne and a quiet room for the kids. ‘It would mean we’d see more of each other...’
Joe’s face lit up. ‘Now you’re talking,’ he said, pulling her into his arms. ‘All right, I’ll give it a go – but if they kick up a fuss about me being there I’m not pushing it.’
‘They’ll love you.’
‘Just like you do?’
‘A bit less than I do...’ And she laughed into his kisses. She was learning that awkward Joe could be the most amenable of men under the right circumstances, which were usually when he had her in his arms.
*
When Joe saw Barnham Street Buildings he was as shocked as anyone who hadn’t been born there. As they passed through the railings into the black-walled, high-sided courtyard, they were met by the usual concoction of aromas that collected there: the sickening malty smell from Sarson’s vinegar factory, effluent from blocked toilets and rotting rubbish from the chutes. He raised his voice against the screech and thunder of commuter trains coming in and out of London Bridge Station. ‘Why don’t they just pull the bloody things down?’
‘They were going to, before the war – the first war that is!’
He raised his eyes and gripped her hand. She found it endearing that he was actually nervous. He carried an army rucksack on his back with the necessary chemicals and cameras. Anne had already provided everything else he needed to set up a makeshift darkroom in a corner of her office, but Hattie had warned him the chemicals might well be put to nefarious use if he left them in the flat overnight. There hadn’t yet been thefts or break-ins by their own kids, but a raid from another gang was still a possibility.
Ronnie was already there and looked from Hattie to Joe, then seemed to make a decision. He left the fort of cardboard boxes he was constructing and strolled over to them. He shook Joe’s hand and said, ‘Thanks, mate, for dobbing the geezer in,’ then returned to his fort. That evening Joe showed the kids how to use the cameras, and they went outside to take photos of each other before the light failed. Nutty Norman’s preferred pose was to balance a football on his head while standing beneath the sign that read No hawking, bill posting, cycling, fireworks or ball games. Ronnie surprised her by wanting to join in the photography class. He ran upstairs with a box Brownie, dragged Lou on to the balcony and took a photo of her in slippers and pinafore. Hattie looked up and saw her patting down her thin pale hair and covering her smile behind her hand; Lou’s teeth hadn’t survived the war well and she was always conscious of them. The kids were noisily disappointed when they couldn’t see the results of their efforts instantaneously. But at least that meant they’d have good reason to return and help Joe develop the pictures.
Hattie knew she was good at persuading people to do what she wanted, but she surprised even herself when she’d soon added another handful of helpers to their ranks. Buster agreed to come and give dancing lessons to the girls – along with any boys brave enough to join them. Levin the nailer volunteered to give carpentry lessons, on condition that they relax the rule that only children from the buildings could join the flats. ‘I’ll only come if I can bring three of my little bleeders with me,’ he declared. Her own contribution, apart from being the general sergeant major keeping order, was to give the girls ju-jitsu lessons, a skill she’d learned in the army. The classes were to take place in the largest room of the second flat, for which Anne had found some well-worn gym mats from a local school. She tried to hide her shock when Ribbons the twins turned up. Considering they’d helped see her off so fiercely on her first night home, she thought they might end up teaching her a few throws.
* * *
As spring approached, the numbers of kids using the flats rose steadily from twelve to thirty and sometimes more. Eventually they were having two sessions a night, one in the early afternoon for younger kids and a later one for the older. Word got round the Alaska that the Barnham Street gang had stopped their ‘raids’ on other gangs’ territories and that fewer of them were turning up at the magistrates’ court for vandalism or petty theft. Several mothers at the Alaska asked if they could have a children’s flat where they lived.
But when she put the idea to Anne, the woman’s face fell. ‘I’d like to have children’s flats in every Bermondsey estate, but we can barely raise funding for ours. The council grant could be pulled at any time. I can’t see them forking out for more. They don’t see it as a priority.’
Hattie could understand why not. Every bit of money and energy was being poured into building new homes to replace those destroyed in the war – it seemed their children were again paying the price.
Hattie had at first just been glad to keep Ronnie out of trouble, in school and in favour with the courts, but she found herself looking forward to her stints at the children’s flats. Part of the attraction was that Joe was often there, but she found the kids responded to her no-nonsense manner. They seemed to like it when she barked at them or had them quick-marching round the tiny rooms for misdemeanours, such as smashing cups or trashing the art cupboard. But when they started asking, ‘Can we have drill, miss?’, she knew she’d have to think up another punishment as they obviously enjoyed that one so much.
Though rationing was more severe than ever and goods were short, at least they hadn’t frozen in an Arctic winter or been cut off by floods, as they had last spring. And though their clothes had seen them well beyond the war, they could just about be patched again. Hattie began to relax into the peace that had so far seemed to elude her. She’d said nothing to Clara about going to Australia, respecting Joe’s judgement that it was best left to Alan. But she suspected when her friend found out it would end Clara’s budding romance. This was the only cloud on her horizon. Today, as she and Joe walked home together from the flats, she broached the subject.
‘Can’t you persuade Alan to tell Clara about Australia?’
‘It’s none of my business. I can’t tell him what to do with his life.’
‘But Clara’s my friend and I’ve always felt sort of responsible for her.’
‘The only person you can be responsible for is yourself, Hattie. If she loves Alan, she’ll go with him.’
‘Aargh! For a clever man you are so dense sometimes, Joe! It’s not whether she loves Alan or not that’s the problem, it’s what the last man she loved did to her, and that happened in Australia… see?’
He frowned. ‘It’s not the country’s fault.’
‘I give up! If Alan doesn’t tell her soon, I will. Besides, I can’t say anything to her about us going till she knows, can I?’
In fact, it had become increasingly difficult not to share her own future plans with Clara. She’d become the younger sister Hattie never had and, whatever Joe said about responsibility, she would protect her. If that meant spilling the beans about Alan’s plans, she would.
*
When the cricket season started, Joe and Alan marshalled the Alaska cricket team and organized a match against the Camberwell Bus Garage’s team, who’d offered the use of a London double-decker bus to get the two teams, wives, girlfriends and children to a ground in the heart of the Kent countryside. Lou and Ronnie came too, and Hattie had asked to take a dozen of the Barnham Street kids with them. It would be a rare treat, for many of them had never seen the countryside. The April day was bright and clear, and they sang on the bus all the way to the ground. When they arrived, they staked out their spots, and began spreading blankets round the edge of the cricket pitch, getting out picnics and drinks for the children. Ronnie, Norman, Ribbons and Jack – the small terrier of a boy who’d once snapped round her ankles – ran up and down the field, drunk with the open skies and pure air. Ronnie trotted like a horse with Martha on his shoulders as Lou looked on proudly. Alan and Joe distinguished themselves on the field, with Joe hitting several powerful balls for six and Alan’s long strides clocking up the runs. She acknowledged the possibility that she was biased, but she thought Joe was certainly the most handsome of the team, in his white flannels, with his dark complexion and hair and his strong physique, but she saw Clara’s eyes fixed on Alan, and knew her friend was suffering from a similar bias. She couldn’t see her looking on so adoringly, when all the while she was being kept in the dark.
‘Clara? I’ve been meaning to tell you something – it’s about me and Joe.’
Clara turned bright eyes on her. ‘What? You’re getting married!’
‘Well, not yet. I’m sorry I haven’t said anything before, but…’ She found herself tripping up over the words.
‘What?’ Clara repeated. ‘It’s not bad, is it?’
‘Me and Joe, well, we’re going to Australia.’
Clara gave a hesitant smile. ‘You’re joking.’
When Hattie shook her head, she was alarmed to see tears brimming in Clara’s eyes.
‘Don’t go!’ her friend blurted out and threw her arms round Hattie, clinging to her as if she were a spar on a sinking ship. How could she not tell her the rest?
‘Don’t get so upset, love. It won’t be for a while. We haven’t got the money for the passage yet.’
Clara wiped her eyes. ‘But what will I do without you?’
Hattie wanted to say, you’ll have Alan, but she really didn’t know if that would be the case. ‘I’ve got to tell you something else, love. Joe says I should wait for Alan to say something, but him and Joe, well, they’d been planning on going together…’
‘Going where?’
‘To Australia. Hasn’t Alan said anything about it?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Not a word.’
Hattie squeezed Clara’s hand, reliving her own emotions when Joe first told her he’d be going to Australia. ‘Perhaps he’s changed his mind,’ she said softly.
When they broke for tea the shadows were growing longer, and the white wooden score board showed in favour of the Alaska. As the two men strode off the field, shedding gloves and caps, they expected praise for winning the match. Instead, they were greeted by Hattie and Clara’s frosty glares.
‘What have we done?’ they asked.
And both women answered. ‘Australia!’
The men clearly didn’t know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing until Hattie grabbed Joe’s arm and glared at Alan. ‘I can’t believe you never told her! Come on, Joe. Let’s take Martha – these two need to talk.’
She picked up the child, who was tired and tottery after her day in the fresh air, and Martha nestled into her arms as she and Joe walked to the pavilion. Hattie looked back once. The field of bright green was dimmed now by approaching twilight, and Alan and Clara stood like two unmoving dark statues, he with his arms encircling her and she with her head on his chest.
‘You shouldn’t have said anything!’ Joe said, keeping his voice calm because of the baby.
‘Don’t blame me. She needed to know!’
‘It wasn’t your place, Hattie.’
‘Maybe not. But he couldn’t do it, so I did it for him.’
They didn’t see Clara and Alan again until they were seated in the pavilion with cucumber sandwiches and fatless cake before them. Clara’s eyes were puffy with tears and Alan’s face was drawn when they joined the table, and there was an awkward silence as Hattie poured them tea. But eventually Alan broke the silence. ‘I was planning to tell her!’ And Clara reached over for Hattie’s hand. ‘We’re going too,’ she said, breaking into a smile.
‘Bloody hell, you are?’ Hattie jumped up and clasped Clara tightly. ‘Thank God, now we won’t have to say goodbye!’ Letting her friend go, she shot an accusing look at Alan. ‘How did you persuade her? And I’m not complaining, Clara, love, but why have you forgiven him?’
‘He said if I didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t either...’
‘Oh, I’m in the dog house, don’t worry, but she’s not doing it for me!’ Alan said with a shame-faced expression. ‘I had to appeal to her maternal instinct, didn’t I, Clara?’
He puffed out his cheeks, then blew a raspberry for Martha’s entertainment, followed by several more till she was satiated. Clara put a hand on her daughter’s dark curls. ‘It just seems right somehow. I’ve always known she was a sun child. She’s fine now it’s getting warmer, but what with the diphtheria and then all the cold’s she’s had, I don’t think she’ll ever thrive here, Hattie. She deserves the sun…’
‘And blue skies,’ Alan said.
‘Hattie didn’t need any persuading,’ Joe said, reaching for her hand. ‘Even if she didn’t love me, she hates Bermondsey so much, she’d have said yes!’
‘But she does love you.’ Clara said it for her. ‘Don’t you, Hattie?’
And for answer, Hattie gave Joe a loud kiss, which drew a long groan from Ronnie, who mimed being sick. He had been unusually quiet as they sat round the table, listening intently to their conversation.
‘You and Clara won’t be saying goodbye, but you’ll have to say goodbye to me, won’t you, Hattie?’ Ronnie asked, his face suddenly serious and his eyes unblinking.
‘Oh, you’ll be glad to get rid of me! You always tell me I’m a worse nagger than your mum.’
‘He’s a cheeky little git,’ Lou said, but her look was indulgent. Whenever she remembered she had a son, she started to spoil him. ‘Here,’ she said, fishing a threepenny bit from her purse, ‘go and get yourself a packet of crisps.’
When he’d gone, she said in a low voice, ‘He thinks the world of you, Hattie. He’ll be heartbroken when you go.’
‘Oh, it won’t be for a while.’ Hattie smiled. ‘He’ll have to come out and visit us!’ But she knew it was a ridiculous thing to say, for Ronnie would be a grown man before she and Joe could ever afford to send him the fare.
After drinks and dancing to Perry Como and Frank Sinatra seventy-eights on the wind-up gramophone, the teams bundled back on to the red double-decker bus. One by one, the children dropped off to sleep as they left the countryside behind and reached the Old Kent Road. During the journey, Hattie stole looks at the sleeping Ronnie. Joe had warned her she should be responsible only for herself, but it seemed she always found herself in charge of someone. It wasn’t always a position she used to her credit; she could manipulate to get where she wanted, but the flip side was that she’d never turn away from someone who needed her. As a child, she’d looked after Cissie, and later her ATS girls, then Clara and the others in the squat, and now she had Ronnie. It was hard to imagine him staying on the straight and narrow with only Lou’s frail hand to steer him.
The bus dropped off the Alaska team in stages, and Hattie and her friends got off in Southwark Park Road. As they walked to the park, they saw an unusually bright red glow lighting up the sky over the park.
‘Reminds me of the war,’ Clara said with a visible shudder.
And then they heard the clanging of bells. The friends exchanged looks of alarm as a red fire engine sped past them.
Hattie felt a cold wind, raising the hairs on her arms. On the wind came soft white flakes, settling on her cheeks like the insistent snows of last winter. Instinctively she knew. ‘It’s the huts!’ she said, and Joe sprang forward, sprinting across the park, closely followed by Hattie. Alan was hampered by having Martha in his arms, but Clara grabbed the baby. ‘I’ll catch up – you go!’ she ordered, and the fear in her voice woke Martha, who began to wail.
As Hattie ran across the grass of the Oval she could see flames shooting into the sky from the area of the camp where the NAAFI was situated.
She was keeping pace with Joe now and as they ran she shouted breathlessly, ‘Which hut is it? Is it the NAAFI?’ She was scanning the camp, praying that none of the inhabited huts had caught fire.’
‘Think so, can’t tell for sure!’ Joe called back, pulling ahead.
As they sped into the colony, she saw many squatters had already formed a chain. They were passing buckets of water from the ablutions block, then throwing the contents on to the roaring pyre which had once been Vera and Brian’s hut. She could see it was hopeless, like spitting on a flat iron to cool it down. But she, Joe and Alan joined the chain anyway, swinging bucket after bucket till Hattie felt her arms must drop off. The firemen ran a hose from the fire engine parked in Hawkstone Road and took over from their ineffectual efforts, until all that was left of the hut was a steaming mass of charred timber and sodden ashes.
