The Bells of Bow (46 page)

Babs stopped her machine. ‘Bit early, ain’t it?’

Blanche shrugged. ‘It’s being back at work, I suppose. I shouldn’t have taken that time off over Christmas, it’s made me all fidgety.’ She drummed her fingers on the work bench and then began fiddling around absent-mindedly with the spool of thread on her machine. ‘Seems daft. It wasn’t that long ago that even the idea of coming out to work gave me a thrill. But now, I dunno, I feel right cheesed off. I feel like I can’t be bothered with nothing.’

‘Still feeling down over Ruby?’

Blanche hesitated then said, ‘It ain’t just that, Babs. It’s Archie. Him not being with us over Christmas. Way I feel now, it’s like we’re never gonna be together again. I love the kids and they’ve been really good, a real help, especially Terry, but, aw, I dunno, I’m fed up with managing without my Archie. And, yeah, the business with my poor Ruby still don’t seem no better. She’s like she’s in another world when yer try and talk to her. Like she ain’t there.’

‘Come on. Get yer bag. Let’s go up and see what poison they’ve cooked up for us today.’ Babs leaned back in her chair and called along the row: ‘Coming up with us, Lou?’

As they waited in the canteen for the cook to open the hatch, Blanche, Babs and Lou sat on the edge of one of the long refectory tables swinging their legs backwards and forwards.

‘Yer should have come to that New Year’s dance, Babs,’ said Lou. ‘Right good it was. And there was loads of fellers. I had partners all night. Didn’t miss one dance.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Babs. ‘I was looking forward to it.’

‘So why didn’t yer come with me?’

Babs wrinkled her nose. ‘Evie wanted me to go to the Drum with her.’

‘So you went with her? Just like that?’

Babs shrugged. ‘Dad was working, so I couldn’t leave her, could I?’

‘Aw, what, like she’s never left you, yer mean?’

Babs didn’t answer.

‘Honestly, Babs, I dunno how you put up with her. I know she’s family and everything, but—’

‘Leave it, eh, Lou?’ Babs snapped.

Lou went to say something but Blanche shook her head. ‘Leave it.’

The three of them sat and waited in silence, listening to the wireless playing over the loudspeakers that Mr Silver had had wired up throughout the factory as part of the air raid precautions.

‘I wish Workers’ Playtime’d come here,’ said Blanche out of the blue. ‘I’d love to see ’em. Might cheer me up.’

‘I know what’d cheer me up,’ said Lou longingly. ‘A few more rations. D’yer know I actually have dreams about lamb chops.’

‘Roast beef and all the trimmings, that’s what I’d love.’ As Babs spoke she had a faraway look on her face.

Blanche closed her eyes. ‘Pork crackling and apple sauce.’

‘Don’t,’ Lou groaned. ‘Yer making me belly think me throat’s been cut.’ She looked at the still firmly closed serving hatch without much hope. ‘Wonder what we’ll be having today.’

‘Bound to be something delicious,’ said Babs sarcastically.

‘I think we’ve got more chance of having Workers’ Playtime turn up.’ The corners of Blanche’s mouth drooped despondently. ‘I’m sick and tired of this sodding war.’

Babs picked up a spoon from the table and held it as though it were a microphone. ‘By special request for the lady with the hump. A special edition of Workers’ Playtime, from Styleways of Aldgate!’ she proclaimed and, holding on to Lou’s shoulder for support, she climbed onto one of the metal canteen chairs and began to sing, swaying to and fro in time to the tune: ‘
A cigarette that bears lipstick traces
…’

Blanche smiled at Lou and sniffled happily, ‘Her and that sister of hers, what a pair.’

While Babs continued with her song, the rest of the girls from the workroom and the men from the warehouse in the basement filed into the canteen and formed a straggling queue by the serving hatch.

‘Go on, Babs,’ shouted the man everyone knew as Old Dick. ‘Lovely little number that one. Sing it, girl.’

‘Yer’ve put me off now, Dick. I was getting all romantic then.’ Babs clambered down from the chair. ‘Tell yer what, how about this one?’ She dragged Lou to her feet and made her stand behind her. ‘
Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop
,’ she began. ‘Come on, you lot, join in.’

She soon had a line formed behind her, all singing along and joining in the actions: ‘…
and the wheels go round. Giiiiddy up! We’re homeward bound
.’

‘Yer’d better not be homeward bound,’ came a stern voice from the canteen doorway. ‘There’s plenty of work to finish downstairs if you’ve got time to waste. I don’t know what’s happening to this firm. It’s getting more like a variety palace than a clothing factory.’

‘Don’t be mean, Mr Silver.’ Babs walked over to the doorway, flashed her dimples and peered up at him through her lashes. ‘It’s dinner time, ain’t it? And we was only having a lark. And yer know what they say about keeping the workers happy.’

Mr Silver smiled. ‘You. You could charm the sparrows from the trees if you wanted. Now, enjoy your meal and get back to work.’

The queue re-formed behind Ginny and Joan, neither of whom had joined in with the singing.

‘I’d love to sing like her, Gin,’ said Joan wistfully as she took the plate of grey, gristly meat and pale watery vegetables from the cook and followed Ginny to the table where they sat down opposite each other. ‘She could be another Vera Lynn if she wanted.’

‘Think she can sing?’ sneered Ginny. ‘I don’t call that singing. More like a ruddy cat’s chorus. Only reason old Silver and anyone else puts up with her is ’cos she’s got a pretty face. Imagine if I’d talked to him like that. He’d have had a right go.’

Joan shrugged and concentrated on piling more food onto her fork.

‘And have you heard about that sister of hers, that Evie?’ Ginny shook her head disdainfully. ‘They reckon yer have to see her to believe it. All cased up and going out every single night, she is. And her a widow with a baby and everything. Everyone’s talking about it. It was the same when she was working here. Yer could see where all her wages went – straight on her back. Done up like a bleed’n fashion plate, she was.’

‘I always thought she looked smashing,’ Joan dared to say.

Ginny ignored her. ‘Even with clothing coupons she still gets all the gear she wants. And I bet I know how and all. Right old scrubber.’

Lou tapped Ginny on the back. ‘I’d watch that gob of your’n if I was you, Ginny. ’Cos if Babs hears yer, she’ll have yer head right off yer shoulders. Just change the subject, eh?’

Lou sat down next to Ginny and pulled out a chair for Babs. Maria and Blanche sat down opposite.

‘This looks terrible,’ said Maria, pushing the food around her plate. ‘If my mum could see me eating this …’

‘I suppose you Eyties are used to better,’ sneered Ginny. ‘Some hopes.’ Then she whispered something to Joan, who giggled nervously.

Maria didn’t respond to her taunting, instead she turned to Babs. ‘I’ve got to get some things down the Lane after dinner. Fancy coming with me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ll come and all,’ said Lou.

Ginny slammed down her fork. ‘Oi, Axis. I was talking to you. Ain’t you bloody Eyties got no manners?’

‘Shut yer mouth, Ginny.’ Babs spoke quite calmly as she laid her knife and fork across her plate.

Ginny shoved Joan. ‘Go on, say it,’ she hissed.

Joan bowed her head and said softly, ‘Italians are all cowards and spies, ain’t they?’ There was silence. She looked round uncomfortably. ‘Well, that’s what people say.’

‘That’s what
who
says?’ Babs demanded. ‘No. Let me guess. Ginny?’

Ginny curled her lip contemptuously at Babs.

‘You spiteful big-mouthed cow. And you, Joan, I know yer stupid, but even you should know better. You know what it’s like having people have a go at yer all the time.’ Babs pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I dunno about you, Maria, but I’ve lost me appetite all of a sudden, must be the stink in here. How about us going down the Lane now? I could do with the fresh air.’

‘I’ll come and all,’ said Blanche.

As the four of them walked from the room, Ginny turned to Joan and said disdainfully, ‘That Babs is a bit sensitive, ain’t she? Must be having an old brass for a sister and mixing with bloody Eyties.’

Tiddler, who had been sitting quietly on one of the other tables with the warehouse staff, slammed down his knife and fork and shouted across to Ginny, ‘Why don’t you shut up, you wicked-tongued bitch?’

‘Hark at him!’ Ginny burst into outraged laughter. ‘Here, yer don’t reckon
you’ve
got a chance with that Babs, do yer, Tiddler? I know them Bells’ll go with anything in trousers but I don’t think even she’d look at a little runt like you.’ She turned to Joan and sniggered. ‘Not that I wanna hurt yer feelings, you understand.’

Tiddler got unsteadily to his feet and drew himself proudly up to his full four feet ten inches. ‘I wouldn’t expect someone like you to know the first thing about feelings. But, for your information, it ain’t Babs I’m interested in.’

It was 9 March 1942, Betty’s first birthday, and Babs had eventually managed to persuade Evie that they should have a special tea party to celebrate the event. The sisters were standing at the kitchen table making sandwiches, Babs humming away happily to herself while Evie puffed and cursed at every bit of effort required to cut and fill the bread. In fact, everything and anything seemed to be getting on her nerves, especially Flash, who was doing her best to creep up and steal food from the table.

‘If you don’t get down,’ Evie hollered, nudging the dog away with her knee, ‘I’m gonna wallop yer. And I mean it this time.’

‘Yer don’t have to shout at her like that, Eve. I’ll put her outside.’ Babs grabbed the dog by her collar and tried to drag her over to the back door, but the scent of the food was too much. Flash lunged at the table and knocked the three precious slices of ham that had been tantalising her to the floor and wolfed them down before anyone could stop her.

Babs practically threw Flash out into the yard and slammed the door shut behind her.

That wasn’t enough for Evie, she was furious. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough. Even the bloody dog’s got it in for me. I
was
gonna enjoy that ham.’ She threw down the butter knife and pointed accusingly at the toppling pile of unappetising-looking sandwiches. ‘And just look at the state of them. They look horrible. I hate this rotten grey bread we have now. And if I have to even look at one more pilchard, let alone eat one—’

‘Don’t start, Eve,’ Babs pleaded. ‘Yer know yer only wound up ’cos Queenie’s coming round. I told yer, just ignore her, don’t let her get to yer.’

‘How can I ignore her? You know as well as I do what she’s like. She’ll sit there like the flaming Queen of Sheba – right name she’s got herself and all, ain’t it, “Queenie”? She’ll expect us to wait on her and be looking down her nose at everything we do. I wouldn’t mind if she was used to better, but she ain’t. She’s a filthy, soapy mare. And I hate her.’

Babs knew it was no good arguing with her twin, she was too stubborn for one thing and for another, even though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Babs agreed with her completely – about Queenie Denham anyway.

Although it was getting on for a year since Albie had been killed, when Queenie turned up for the tea party at number six, she was dressed from head to foot in deepest mourning.

Babs showed her into the front room where Minnie, Clara, Maud and Blanche were already sitting drinking tea and nibbling their way, without much conviction, through the pile of pilchard sandwiches which sat threateningly on the small, drop-sided table under the window.

Betty, the centre of attention, was working her way round the room supporting her staggering attempts at her newly acquired skill of walking by grasping hold of the furniture or the nearest person’s legs, while Blanche’s little girl Janey was sitting on Minnie’s lap enjoying being admired as the ‘big girl’.

Queenie lowered her bulk into one of the armchairs which stood either side of the fireplace.

‘Hello,’ Minnie greeted her, with her usual pleasant smile. ‘How are you doing these days, Mrs Denham?’

‘How d’yer think?’ said Queenie, unknotting her black scarf and stuffing it in her pocket. ‘Me boy’s dead. How d’yer expect me to be? Celebrating?’

The room went very quiet.

‘I’ll go and fetch yer a cup,’ Babs said, glad for an excuse to escape into the kitchen.

When she got there, she was furious to see that Evie was still sitting, stern-faced, by the stove in the big carver chair, flicking listlessly through the newspaper.

‘If I have to,’ said Babs, checking along the shelf to find the least chipped cup and a matching saucer, ‘I’m gonna drag you into that front room.’

Evie turned to the next page. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. It was all your idea.’

‘And it’s your baby’s first birthday.’

Evie lifted her head and the sisters glared at one another for a long resentment-filled moment.

Babs was the first to give in. ‘Please,’ she said, lowering her eyes.

Evie closed the newspaper and said slowly, ‘I’ll come in there with you if you’ll do me a favour later on.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ Babs hurriedly agreed and handed Evie the cup and saucer. ‘But only if you go in and pour Queenie’s tea for her.’

‘Aw, ta. What a treat.’ Evie stuck her nose in the air and followed Babs into the front room.

From the look on everyone’s face, Babs knew immediately that the atmosphere hadn’t improved in the slightest.

‘Well,’ said Evie scowling at Babs, ‘wasn’t this a smashing idea having people round.’ She went over to the table, poured Queenie’s tea and shoved the cup towards her. ‘Here.’

Babs forced a smile to her lips. ‘Dad should be here soon. He had to pop out to get something.’

‘Aw, good,’ sneered Evie, sitting down on one of the hard, high-backed dining chairs. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘More tea anyone?’ asked Babs, hoping for another excuse to leave the room. She pointed to the table. ‘Or another sandwich?’

Queenie glowered at the table, her face full of disgust. ‘No thanks.’

Clara held out her cup. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drop more tea, Babs. If it’s no trouble.’