Tuppence To Spend (34 page)

Ruth looked at them. They were gazing at the parrot, their eyes shining. She forgot that they were boys from one of the roughest streets in Portsmouth and were now living at the poorer end of the village, that they had probably been bullying Sammy, that their fathers were petty crooks and their families lived in poverty, and saw them simply as little boys, little boys who had been taken away from their homes just like Sammy, and probably missed them as much as anyone else did, and who could be pleased by a talking bird.

‘You can come and see him whenever you like,’ she said, ‘so long as you behave yourselves and so long as Sammy says you can. And you can bring some of the other boys too,’ she added to Sammy. ‘Two at a time though, mind, no more. And now, who wants another rock cake?’

Once Silver had started to pick up things from Sammy there was no stopping either of them and Ruth began to get used to the sound of Sammy’s voice about the cottage when he wasn’t there.

‘I’ve got sixpence,’ the parrot proclaimed, managing to get a hint of the tune even if he didn’t get all the words right. ‘Jolly little sixpence. I’ve got sixpence to last me all my wife.’ He paused, as if for effect, then went on, ‘Tuppence to spend and tuppence to lend, and tuppence to take home to my life.’

Ruth laughed. ‘He always gets those two words mixed up. Did your mother used to sing that to you?’

‘Dad did,’ he said, surprising her. ‘It was his favourite song. Only he said he’d be lucky if he
did
have sixpence.’

So the father had played with him sometimes, Ruth thought. She was still waiting for the promised visit, but Portsmouth was having such a dreadful time now that it seemed unlikely he would be able to come. Sammy had told her that he worked for a shipbuilding firm and often went to sea, and when he was at home he acted as a fire watcher. Even the best father wouldn’t find it easy to come out to the country in those circumstances.

‘Poor little chap,’ Lizzie said, coming round to her aunt with a few eggs one day. ‘Look, Mum thought you’d be able to use these, they’re only pullets’ eggs so they’re a bit small but they’re really nice. We aren’t going to be allowed to sell them any more, only to the official shops, but we can put a few by for family.’

‘Oh, they’re lovely,’ Ruth said, putting them in a bowl. ‘Sammy can have one for his tea for a special treat. They’re just the right size.’

Lizzie sat down at the kitchen table. ‘So his dad hasn’t been out to see him, then?’

‘No – well, I suppose you can understand it. He doesn’t get much spare time, by all accounts, and it’s so awful in Portsmouth just now …’ The kettle came to the boil and Ruth made tea. ‘It seems a shame, though. I mean, the kiddy’s lost his mother, poor little soul, and then his brother was taken away, and now here he is, brought out to a strange place with people he never knew. It doesn’t seem right.’

‘Well, he doesn’t seem to be worrying about that too much.’ Lizzie glanced round the cosy room. ‘He’s fallen on his feet here, all right.’

‘I do my best,’ Ruth said. ‘And I can’t deny I’ve got fond of him.’

She poured two cups of tea and passed one to Lizzie. They drank in silence for a moment or two, then Lizzie said, ‘These blitzes are awful. Everywhere seems to be getting them now, it’s as if we can’t do a thing to stop them.’

‘Well, I think we’re giving as good as we get,’ Ruth said. ‘Our boys are going over there night after night too. Not that that’s much comfort to the poor souls here that have been bombed out,’ she added sadly.

‘Well, whether it is or not, there’s hundreds of people dead, Auntie Ruth, and hundreds more injured … I’ve decided I’ve got to do something about it.’ She looked at her aunt. ‘I’ve volunteered to be a nurse.’

‘A nurse? Oh Lizzie, I am pleased! Where will you be going?’

‘Southampton, to start with. After that, I don’t know. I’m going to be a – what do they call it? – a VAD, but if I
do well I can train to be a registered nurse, like you. That’s what I’d really like to do.’

‘What does Alec think of it?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really make much difference to him, does it? He hardly ever gets home now and he knows I’ve got to do something, anyway. I can’t just stop at home. It’s either nursing or one of the women’s Services.’

‘Well, I think you’ll make a lovely nurse,’ Ruth declared. ‘And what I say is, it’s something you can always turn your hand to if you need a job. Like me, when Jack died – only, of course, we hope you won’t need it in the same way,’ she added hastily.

Lizzie gave her a wry look. ‘It’s all right, Auntie. I know what the chances are of being made a widow. I try not to think about it too much, but I know Alec could be killed at any moment. He might be dead now, for all I know.’ She drew in a deep, wavering breath. ‘It makes me all the more determined to
do
something. I just
can’t
stop at home and let him and other people face all the danger. I’ve got to be in it too.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Ruth agreed. ‘We all have to do what we can and nursing’s a fine thing to do, even if nurses aren’t valued as they ought to be. The patients appreciate them and that’s the main thing.’

The back door opened and closed, and Sammy scampered in. He looked so much better these days, Ruth thought, gazing at him fondly. He’d filled out a bit, his cheeks were rosy and his legs sturdy instead of being stick-thin as they’d been when he arrived. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at her and Lizzie, and he was hopping with excitement.

‘What is it, Sammy? Whatever’s happened?’ Perhaps his dad was coming, she thought with a sudden lurch of the heart, and half rose to look out of the window.

‘It’s Mrs Greenberry,’ he said, his words falling over each other in their rush to be spoken. ‘Where Tim and
Keith’s sister used to be. Her cat’s had
kittens
and she says I can have one, if you and Silver don’t mind.
Can
I have one,
can
I? I’d look after it. I used to have a cat till – till it got run over. Or Dad drowned it,’ he added with a quiver in his voice. ‘Please can I have one?’

‘Oh, Sammy, I don’t know …’ Ruth glanced at Lizzie. She’d always said she couldn’t have a cat, not with Silver. It was one of the reasons she’d given for not marrying Albert Newton when he asked her – not that she’d wanted to anyway. But she knew that Sammy had had a cat of his own, a cat he’d thought the world of, and she thought it was more than likely that his father had drowned it. Nor could you blame him when the poor man was hardly ever at home and the government was actually telling people to have their pets destroyed … But letting Sammy have a cat here would bring its own problems.

‘I really don’t think Silver would like it,’ she said. ‘Think about when the kitten starts climbing; suppose it climbed up on his stand. He might bite its head off. It wouldn’t be fair to the kitten, would it?’

Sammy’s shoulders sagged a little. ‘Wouldn’t it?’

‘Well, you wouldn’t want it to be hurt, would you? Not a kitten.’ She pulled the little boy close and held him to her. ‘I’m sorry, Sammy, I just don’t think it would be a good idea.’

‘I could keep it in my bedroom,’ he offered, but she shook her head.

‘You can’t keep a kitten in one room. It would have to come down here as well. No, I really don’t think it would do. You just make do with Silver. Nobody else in the village has got a parrot, after all.’

Sammy went over to Silver’s stand and gave him a sunflower seed. The parrot ducked his head to take it and Sammy scratched his crest.

‘You wouldn’t mind if we had a kitten, would you, Silver?’ he asked, and Ruth and Lizzie looked at one
another, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘You like cats really. Pussy’s down the well?’ he said coaxingly.

Silver turned his head sideways and looked at him narrowly. He cracked his sunflower seed and ruffled his feathers.

‘Pussy down the well,’ he said suspiciously. ‘Who pushed him in? Sod the little bugger.’

Lizzie burst into laughter. ‘See? That’s what he thinks about cats, Sammy!’ She smiled at his woeful face. ‘Auntie Ruth’s right, you know. It wouldn’t work. Now, why don’t you walk up to the farm with me? We’ve got a baby lamb in the kitchen, it’s lost its mother and we’re feeding it with a bottle. You can give it a name if you like.’

‘A lamb?’ He looked at Ruth, the kitten forgotten. ‘Can I, Auntie Ruth? Can I go with Lizzie?’

‘Of course you can. I’ll come too. I want to put some fresh flowers on Dad’s grave, so we’ll walk through the churchyard. I picked some snowdrops just now, specially.’

The gardens were full of snowdrops and you could even see the noses of a few bulbs poking through the remains of the snow. Well wrapped up, for it was still cold, the three of them walked up the lane to the church and through the graveyard to Joe’s resting place. The holly leaves Ruth had put there were wilting now and she took them over to the rubbish heap and filled the little jar with fresh water from a bottle before placing the snowdrops by the headstone.

‘There,’ she said, looking down at them. ‘Dad’d like those. He was always fond of snowdrops.’

Dan Hodges too was thinking of graves and flowers. Nora lay in the little churchyard at the top of Deniston Road, where she’d been to church once or twice when they had first come to April Grove. He would have liked to take her back to Old Portsmouth, where she belonged, but the graveyard there had been bombed and they weren’t taking
any more burials. He hadn’t known what to do until the undertaker had offered to talk to the vicar for him.

‘St Lucy’s isn’t the actual parish church, it’s what they call a daughter church, and there’s not much room in the graveyard, but if your wife attended services there he’ll probably accept her. Otherwise it’s the municipal cemetery.’

Dan had shaken his head. ‘She’d want to be in church ground. I never went much meself, but Nora always liked to go, and she took the boys too and sent them to Sunday School. Gordon’s like me, lost interest, but Sam used to go regular. If you think she could go there … It’d be easier for me to go there, too. To see the grave,’ he added in case the undertaker thought there might be more business coming his way.

So Nora lay in a corner of the tiny churchyard and Dan did his best to visit the grave whenever he could. Mostly, he went on his way home from work and it had never occurred to him to take Sammy. In any case, he had only managed to visit the grave a few times before Sammy was evacuated. He was away at sea for days at a time and scarcely ever at home in daylight. You couldn’t go blundering about in a graveyard in the blackout and after the Blitzes started it was almost impossible.

He thought about it sometimes, wishing miserably that he could take her a few flowers, but there just wasn’t a chance and there were no flowers about at this time of year anyway. Perhaps when spring came and the evenings were light, if the Jerries gave them a bit of peace for once. Perhaps he could get a few primroses or violets, or a bunch of daffs. She’d always liked the spring flowers best.

But when the light evenings came he found himself reluctant to go. Too much had happened. Portsmouth had been almost bombed to pieces: the January Blitz followed by another in March that was almost as bad. Once again the streets were blocked with the debris of fallen buildings, the
water and gas mains were fractured and the electricity supply disrupted. Once again, Dan had found himself fighting fires, or digging through the rubble in a desperate attempt to find people who had been buried. Once again, he was plagued by memories of the Great War, when it seemed that he had lived all his life in a trench of mud, with shells whistling overhead and men screaming and dying all around him. I can’t go on with this, he thought, I can’t. It’s too much to bear in one lifetime. And once he sat on a heap of broken bricks and put his head in his hands and wept.

‘Come on, mate.’ A fireman was beside him, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Time you had a bit of a rest. You haven’t let up all night.’

‘Nor’s anyone else,’ Dan said wearily, lifting his face and wiping the dust and the tears into a slime with the back of his hand. He got up, swaying a little. ‘I’m all right.’

The man regarded him. ‘You oughter go home for a bit. Let your wife get you a cuppa, give you a bit of grub.’

But Dan shook his head. Home was where Nora ought to be, Nora and the boys, and home was an empty shell without them.

It seemed as if the bombing would never end. The second Blitz was followed by numerous raids all through the month and into April. The tally now, Frank Budd told Dan when they bumped into each other on their way home from work one evening, was forty-six. ‘We had high-explosive bombs dropped in the dockyard a couple of nights ago, but luckily they fell in a part that nobody’s in just now, so nobody was hurt, thank the Lord.’

‘They’ll get you next time, though,’ Dan said morosely. ‘Now they know where to aim.’

‘Go on, they’ve known that all along,’ Frank said. ‘Stands to reason they’ve got maps, got them before the war ever started. It’s not as if they were kept secret.’ He glanced at Dan. ‘How’re you doing, anyway? How are those boys of yours?’

Dan shrugged. ‘They’re all right. Better off where they are. Gordon’s getting a bit of discipline and Sammy’s living the life of Riley out Bridge End. Writes me letters. He says he’s got a parrot.’

‘A
parrot
? Where’d he get that from, then?’

‘Oh, it’s not really his,’ Dan said. ‘It’s the old woman’s he lives with. Widow woman. He reckons it talks.’

Frank looked at him. ‘Haven’t you been out to see him, then?’

‘When’ve I had the chance?’ Dan said with a bitter laugh. ‘What with all the overtime and the bombing … Anyway, I reckon he’s better off without me. I never did him no good when he was home. He was always Nora’s boy.’

‘All the same …’ Frank said. He’d managed to get out to see his boys, cycling the twenty-mile journey before the winter set in and the roads were covered in snow and ice, and saving up for the train fare so that he and Jess could both go out there at Easter, taking Rose and baby Maureen with them. ‘I dare say he’d be glad to see his dad.’

Dan looked sceptical and Frank decided to say no more. It wasn’t his business, and there was no doubt the nipper was better off out at Bridge End. Jess knew Ruth Purslow and said she was a good-hearted little body who would look after the boy. A nurse, he thought she was.