Keep the Home Fires Burning

SIX

As November loomed, Marion’s Separation Allowance was eventually worked out, and though the back pay was an added bonus, she knew that the normal weekly allowance would buy little but food for them all, and it didn’t even pay the rent. Buying coal, which became more necessary as the days grew colder, was a constant headache, not to mention footwear for them all.

The evacuated children began filtering back home and, to Marion’s grateful relief and that of many more mothers, the schools reopened. Marion didn’t bother sending Sarah, who would have been leaving at Christmas anyway. Mrs Jenkins at the corner shop was looking for a girl to train up, and though the wages were only eight shillings, Sarah was anxious to take it, knowing even the small amount that she would be able to tip up would be welcomed.

First, though, despite the fact that she would be wearing an overall in the shop, Marion felt Sarah had to have at least a couple of dresses that fitted her because she had developed a bust as she passed her fourteenth birthday and some of her dresses now strained to fasten and were decidedly skimpy. Richard’s boots, too, needed cobbling again as they were leaking. He had to travel to work each day on the tram and Marion knew it would help none of them if he was to take sick because of his inadequate clothing.

She went to the Rag Market in the Bull Ring for the things she needed for the children, but even paying Rag Market prices left a sizeable hole in the backdated allowance, and she had nothing left for the twins or Tony, not if she were to pay the rent, though the younger children had all been complaining that their feet hurt.

The children’s shoes were so tight that when they got to school they removed them, like many others. When the man came round from the Christmas Tree Fund, when they had been back at school only a few days, he gave them a docket for new boots and socks to collect from Sheepcote Road Clinic. Marion was mortified by shame when the children came home from school and told her this. She tried to be grateful but she only felt degraded that she wasn’t able to provide for her own children, and this feeling intensified when she was also given a jersey and trousers for Tony, and skirts and jerseys for the two girls.

This is what it is to be poor, she thought that night as she lay in bed. She remembered with remorse how she had looked down on Polly for years. Now she was in the same boat herself and she knew the children needed the things too much for her to refuse them.

Neither Marion nor her sister envied Sarah working for Mrs Jenkins, who was known as a mean and nasty old woman. Her character was apparent in her thin lips, though her face was plump. There were plenty of lines of discontent on it, and the powder she obviously applied in the morning lay in the folds of her skin by afternoon. Her hair was piled untidily on her head, but her glittering eyes were as cold as ice and so was her thin nasal voice.

‘Wouldn’t give you as much as the skin off a rice pudding,’ Polly said one Saturday afternoon when Sarah arrived home after she had been working at the corner shop a fortnight. But Sarah knew one of the reasons Polly said that was because Mrs Jenkins wouldn’t allow people to put things on the slate and pay at the end of the week. She had made it plain to Sarah when she arrived.

‘Now I don’t want you to stand any nonsense,’ she’d said, looming closer so that Sarah’s face was inches from her and she smelled the stale smell of her and saw rotting teeth in her mouth. ‘If they don’t have the money then they don’t get the goods. Point out the notice to them if they object.’ There was the notice, stuck on the wall behind the till: ‘Don’t ask for credit for refusal often offends.’

When Sarah told her aunt this, she snorted in contempt. ‘Stingy old bugger,’ she said. ‘And your mom tells me that although Mrs Jenkins pays you only eight shillings she don’t throw a few groceries in as well to make it up, like.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, Aunt Polly, you must be joking,’ she said. ‘I’m not even allowed to take home the odd cracked egg or stale buns at the end of the day.’

‘I can’t understand the woman at all,’ Polly said, shaking her head. ‘Do you serve in the shop all day?’

‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘My first job when I go in is to bag things up in the storeroom upstairs and send them down the chute to the shop.’

‘Like sugar and that?’

Sarah nodded. ‘And flour, tea and mixed fruit, raisins and that, and anything else Mrs Jenkins wants me to weigh up. She says there’s rationing coming in January so things might be different then, and it might not be so easy to have things under the counter for favoured customers.’

‘I’d say not,’ Marion said. ‘Course, it all depends what’s being rationed.’

‘So do you like the job?’ Polly persisted. ‘Because I heard the last girl left in a tear.’

‘Well, I won’t,’ Sarah said. ‘We need the money too much.’

Neither Polly or Marion argued with that because they knew Sarah was right.

Sarah didn’t moan much, but she did find Mrs Jenkins hard going, and her grating, complaining voice really got on Sarah’s nerves. And Aunt Polly was right: Mrs Jenkins was incredibly mean. She’d give her a cup of weak tea mid-morning, usually when she had finished the bagging up, and another mid-afternoon, but she had to drink these on the shop floor because as soon as she was in the shop Mrs Jenkins made herself scarce. She even seemed to begrudge her the half an hour she gave her to eat the sandwiches Marion put up for her, and there was no cup of tea made then so Sarah usually washed them down with water. However, a job was a job and she thought this would do until something better turned up.

The only cheering thing was that the Government had relaxed the blackout restrictions a little because so many people had been injured or even killed in accidents on the road. Shielded lights on cars were now allowed, and so were shaded torches. It was immensely comforting to have that small pencil of light to guide a person’s way in that dense inky blackness. That was, of course, if batteries could be obtained, for they disappeared from shops quicker than the speed of light.

But then none of this mattered because Bill was coming home on leave. Marion could hardly wait to see him. In a way it was a bittersweet pleasure, because she knew that it was without doubt embarkation leave, and that when he returned he would more than likely be sent overseas to join in the war already claiming many, many lives.

When he arrived that cold, foggy Saturday he was shocked by the state of his family. He noted how thin and pasty-looking the children were, but when he drew Marion into his arms and he could feel her bones, he was shocked to the core.

Marion had a stew ready, made with cow’s heel and vegetables, and because it was Bill’s first night home they were all allowed bread to mop up the gravy, a luxury Marion couldn’t usually allow.

Tony finished his helping, sat back in his chair and said with a sigh of contentment, ‘Crikey, I’d forgotten what it was like to feel really full.’

Tony’s words made Bill feel even worse, and that night in bed beside his wife he said, ‘God, Marion, I am so sorry. I had no idea that you were suffering this way.’

Marion couldn’t reassure Bill and tell him that everything was all right, and yet she felt that she couldn’t berate him either. She wasn’t stupid and she knew that when Bill left her he would be exposed to God alone knew what danger, and she couldn’t let him do that with any angry words that she had thrown at him ringing in his ears. And so she said, ‘We will likely manage well enough if the war doesn’t go on too long.’

‘I hope it doesn’t,’ Bill said. ‘I imagine we’ll be over in France soon and then we’ll know what’s what, and soon have Jerry on the run.’

Marion gave a sudden shiver at Bill’s word and he put his arms around her and held her tight, glad that the bolster had been removed from the bed. Not that he would ever go further than a cuddle, however much he might want to. The doctor had warned him about the danger of another pregnancy after the twins had struggled to be born, and he loved his wife too much to put her at risk. He wasn’t some sex-crazed beast, but to cuddle together was nice and comforting for both of them.

Bill wore his uniform to Mass the next morning as it was the only clothes he had left, but he soon saw that he wasn’t the only one. He found that people respected the uniform and his hand was wrung many times, including by Father McIntyre.

Back home, he ate the thin porridge with everyone else and though he could have eaten three times that amount and still been peckish, he wouldn’t let Marion offer him anything else. After it, to take their mind off how hungry they still were, he suggested taking Tony and the twins down to the canal.

‘Don’t be too long,’ Marion told Bill. ‘I want dinner fairly early because my parents are coming afterwards to see you and they won’t want to go home in the dark.’ She saw his eyes widen and said, ‘They’re not coming for a meal. It takes every penny I have to feed my own. Those fancy Sunday teas are a thing of the past, as I said in my letters to you.’

Bill had no desire to see Clara, but he nodded. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time.’

The children thoroughly enjoyed having their father back. Tony in particular had really missed him, and in his company he forgot his growling stomach, and the cold of the day, which caused wispy white trails to escape from their mouths when they spoke.

They all knew they were having liver for dinner because Aunt Polly had brought it round the previous day. She’d said the butcher had some going cheap and so she’d bought extra for them.

‘What we eat is sort of hit and miss,’ Marion had told Bill when he’d asked how they were managing. ‘You go to the Bull Ring on Saturday night and buy what is cheap because they are trying to get rid of it. But now Polly has brought liver that’s what we’ll eat.’

‘But I thought Tony and the twins, Magda in particular, hate liver.’

‘Huh,’ said Marion grimly. ‘It’s amazing what you can develop a taste for if the alternative is starving. None of the children can afford to be fussy these days.’

And they weren’t. Bill saw that every plate was soon cleaned.

They had barely washed up before Clara and Eddie Murray were at the door. Eddie was quick to shake Bill’s hand, say he was glad to see him and remarked on how well he was looking. Clara, however, barely returned his greeting before launching into him.

‘Your selfishness in enlisting has reduced your family to penury. They scarcely have enough to live on. You must have noticed how skinny they all are.’

Bill didn’t need it pointing out to him, but Marion was well aware of how he was feeling and she was annoyed with her mother.

‘This really isn’t the time to go into this, Mammy,’ she said. ‘Bill can do nothing now to ease the situation and he just has a couple of days at home. The time for any recriminations at all is well past.’

‘Well said,’ Eddie told his daughter approvingly, and to Bill he said, ‘Shall we leave them to chat and I’ll treat you to a pint? Then you can tell me all about life in the army.’

Bill was glad to get away from the malicious eyes of his mother-in-law. The children wished they could go too, but they had to stay and talk to their grandmother, though most of her conversation was criticising and finding fault with what they said and did.

In the convivial pub, where Bill was greeted by many, Eddie waited until their pints were in front of them before saying, ‘Tell me how life is treating you?’

Bill told him all about the training camp and what he had to do, and Eddie listened with interest.

‘And I suppose the training is over now and this is embarkation leave?’ Eddie asked finally.

‘I imagine so,’ Bill said, ‘though they tell us nothing definite. To be honest it’s the family I worry about. What Clara said today, well, she was right, because I was shocked at the state of them when I came home. Marion made this stew for us all and afterwards young Tony said he had forgotten what it was like to feel full. And you know why that was? It was because, in honour of my coming home, Marion had allowed them bread to mop up the gravy. Usually she can’t afford to do that.’

‘Things have been hard for her,’ Eddie said. ‘Hard for all the wives of servicemen, especially if they’re mothers too, like the vast majority are.’

‘I feel so helpless,’ Bill said. ‘That’s what’s so hard.’

‘Seems to me all that you can do is get over there and finish this war just as soon as you can so life can get back to normal again,’ Eddie said.

Bill smiled wryly. ‘I’ll do my best. As for the family, I saved my cigarette money and had thought to take them to the music hall or cinema for a treat, but I know now a few good feeds is what they really want. Tomorrow early I’m going to the shop to buy extra sugar and full-cream milk for their porridge, and I’ll treat them to a fish-and-chip dinner tomorrow evening. Anything I have got left over I’ll give Marion before I leave.’

‘I would say that they’ll be grateful for that,’ Eddie said.

And they were pleased with the extra sugar and milk on their porridge before they left for school and work the next day.

Bill was shocked to see the younger children dressed in clothes and boots provided by the Christmas Tree Fund, this stamped on them so that they couldn’t be pawned, and he felt shame steal all over him.

Marion saw his face and guessed his feelings. When the children had gone, she said, ‘I felt the same way at the time, and wished that I could have refused them. But how could I have done that? You should see the state of some of their other things, and their warm clothes from last winter won’t go near them now.’

‘I just wish I could make things easier for you,’ Bill said.

‘There is no way you can,’ Marion replied.

Bill nodded miserably. ‘There is one thing I can do to put a smile on their faces.’

‘What?’

‘I intend to buy fish and chips for us all this evening.’

Marion felt her mouth watering at the thought. ‘Oh, Bill, you couldn’t buy anything that would please them more. They’ll think they have died and gone to heaven, so they will. You just wait and see when you tell them that tonight.’

And Bill did see. The children were almost speechless with pleasure. And later he watched them devouring the meal with such relish it brought tears to his eyes.

A couple of days after Bill had left, Polly said to her sister, ‘Look, Marion, if you won’t take any money off me then at least let Tony and the twins come to our house dinner time for a bite to eat. You and all, if you want.’

Marion hesitated and Polly said, ‘Go on, Marion. Don’t be so stiff-necked.’

Marion knew Polly could afford to give the children something wholesome. Then bread and scrape for tea, and thin porridge for breakfast would matter less. On the other hand rationing was coming in soon and everyone would get only so much. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to take yours,’ she said.

‘We don’t know what’s going to be rationed yet,’ Polly pointed out. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. But now Pat, the boys and Mary Ellen eat their dinners in their works’ canteens and so I’ll save on any rations they would eat.’

‘All right,’ Marion said. ‘Thank you, Polly. We’ll see how it goes. But you just see to the children. I’ll get something for myself.’

Polly knew she probably wouldn’t. She ate not nearly enough, in her sister’s opinion, but at least Polly could ensure that the children were well fed once a day.

The children were delighted when Marion told them they would be having dinner at their Auntie Polly’s. They all loved her crowded and untidy house. Aunt Polly wasn’t one to be always on about people washing their hands either, and as there were barely enough chairs to sit down at the table, which was mostly cluttered anyway, they usually stood around with food in their hands, which the Whittaker children thought wonderful.

‘The only downside to all this,’ Marion said to Sarah one evening when the younger ones were in bed, ‘is that Tony sees even more of Jack.’

‘Jack isn’t that bad,’ Sarah protested.

Marion shook her head. ‘I’m worried about Tony and the power Jack seems to have over him. I’m very much afraid our Tony needs a father’s hand to stop him going to the bad altogether.’

In a way she was right, because Tony missed his father so much it was like an ache inside him. Richard, sitting in Bill’s chair when he came in from work and rustling the paper he often bought on the way home, as his father had, just annoyed Tony more and he tended to gravitate more to his uncle Pat and envied Jack that his father came home each night.

In fact, he envied Jack for many things, not least because he could think up such exciting things to do. When Tony was with him and up to some mischief or other, he didn’t miss his father half as much.

At some point, most boys tried to hitch a ride on a horse-drawn dray, and Jack and Tony had done so many times. The journeys never lasted long because the driver was either aware they were there or a passer-by would alert him. ‘Oi, put yer whip be’ind,’ they would shout, and any clinging boy would drop swiftly from the cart before the driver’s curling whip could bite into his skin.

However, when Jack suggested doing the same to a clattering swaying tram Tony thought it the most exciting thing he had ever done. Neither the conductor nor the driver noticed them, but they were thrown off into the road when the tram took a corner at speed and they narrowly missed being crushed to death by a delivery van, whose driver swerved just in time to avoid them.

Marion was told this by the policeman who delivered the shamefaced and tearful Tony home, but his contriteness was wasted on her when the policeman told her that the delivery driver might never be the same again. After hauling her son inside, she paddled his bottom with a hairbrush and wished she could administer the same punishment to her nephew.

All the other children were shocked at what Tony had done and both Richard and Sarah told him so.