Kathleen, March 1933
‘Well, if she can’t have a new dress for her first Holy Communion, it will bring shame on the entire family!’
As she rubbed sleep out of her eyes, Kathleen heard her mother’s raised voice coming from the front room downstairs. She’d hated being away from her family when she was in hospital but at times like this, she wished she was back there. The rows between her parents were something she hadn’t missed at all and, as she listened in the half-light of the dawn, she realized, with a stab of guilt, that she was the cause of it.
Her mother had promised her a brand-new special dress for her first Communion. The thought of that had kept her going while she was sick. She’d put up with the doctors endlessly listening to her chest and the treatments; there was a really embarrassing one where she had to stand in just her knickers in a room with the other children, wearing funny goggles, while the nurses turned on a big machine which made them all feel warm, like sunshine, because she didn’t have enough vitamin D and the doctors said she needed more.
‘Goddamn you, woman! Is there to be no end to the cost of it all?’ Dad’s voice boomed through the rickety floorboards of their bedroom. There was the sound of a slap, followed by a thud, and then crying. A few seconds later, the front door slammed.
Kathleen held her breath, unable to move. She glanced over at Eva, who was lying awake beside her. She must have heard it too. Peggy was still sleeping soundly in a single bed on the other side of the room. She got a bed all to herself because she was the eldest – which rankled with Kathleen, to be honest – and Mum always joked that she could sleep through an earthquake. Peg had been awake until late reading books by candlelight because after the fracas in Tenison Street, she’d been banned from looking at the paper, in case it put more ideas in her head about going on marches or to protest meetings.
Eva’s hand found its way into hers. After what seemed like an eternity, Kathleen said: ‘Shall we go and see?’
They crept downstairs and found their mother sitting at the little table in the scullery, with her head in her hands. She looked up when she heard them enter the room, and wiped her eyes on her nightdress. A mark was reddening on her cheek. ‘Get back to bed, you two! It’s still very early,’ she said.
The girls didn’t speak but went to her and she hugged them, crying as she did so. Eventually, she spoke. ‘It was an accident. I tripped and fell. No point making a fuss. It is a just a silly thing; me being clumsy. It annoyed him, he’s tired from working, that’s all.’
Kathleen nodded and put her hand on her mum’s shoulder.
‘I don’t need a new dress for Communion,’ she said. ‘I can use Peggy’s old one.’
‘That is not the point,’ said Mum, with a note of harshness. ‘You shall have a new dress. I shall see to it. Now, go upstairs and get some sleep and stop listening in to grown-up conversations!’
Kathleen climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. She had been so looking forward to the whole day; taking part in the Italian procession in Clerkenwell after the Communion at St Peter’s, along with some of the other girls in her class, including her friend Nancy. Her real name was Annunziata, but their teacher couldn’t pronounce that, so she was just known as Nancy. She had the most beautiful, thick, shiny hair which hung in ringlets without even needing rags and was getting a new dress specially made for her. Kathleen wouldn’t look as pretty as Nancy now but she knew that asking for a new dress would only cause more trouble. She hadn’t given a second thought to where the money for it was going to come from, let alone for the veil and gloves that she was supposed to wear. They always seemed to get by, to find the money somehow when it was needed and she had never questioned that.
Eva had gone very quiet. She went to the corner of the bedroom and pulled up a loose floorboard. The first light of dawn was just visible through the thin curtains at the window behind her. Eva eyed Kathleen for a moment as she spoke. ‘If you tell about my secret hiding place, you will go to Hell and the Devil will get you and demons will stick red-hot pokers in your eyes.’
‘I won’t tell, I promise,’ said Kathleen, crossing her fingers under the bedclothes, just in case, because it was always handy to have something to tell on Eva for.
‘Swear on the life of our Lord Jesus.’
‘I swear,’ said Kathleen.
‘Swear on Mary, Holy Mother of God,’ said Eva.
‘I swear on the Blessed Virgin Mary,’ said Kathleen, still keeping her fingers crossed.
Eva pulled out one of Grandad’s rusty old tobacco tins from her secret hiding place and opened it. It had a few coins in it – a shilling here, a thrupenny bit, a sixpence and some ha’pennies – but there was something else, folded up. Some paper. Eva took it out and unfolded it, to reveal not one but two red-brown ten-shilling notes. She lay them on the bedspread with great ceremony. Kathleen gasped. That was more money than she had ever seen in her life!
‘Where did you get it, Eve?’
‘Found it in the street near the Cut, didn’t I?’ she said, playing with the ends of her hair. ‘I was saving up everything I find, to help buy you a piano.’
‘But, Eve, that’s just so . . . kind,’ said Kathleen, who was looking at her sister in a new light. ‘Let’s show Mum, shall we?’
The girls stampeded back down the staircase.
‘Mum, look, I found a quid!’ said Eva, thrusting the notes towards her mother, who was finishing up a cup of tea. She had taken off her wedding ring and it lay on the table in front of her.
Their mother looked at the money, wide-eyed, and then back at Eva.
‘Where on earth did you get this?’
The question hung in the air. Eva looked straight at her mother, without even blinking, and said: ‘I found it in the street and picked it up and brought it home. I was keeping it for a piano for Kathleen.’
Mum stared at the wedding ring on the table in front of her. Then she crossed herself and raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Dear Lord, thank you for giving me such a lucky, lucky child!’
She took the notes and clasped them, with tears in her eyes. ‘Eva, you are the luckiest girl to find this for me now, when we need it most. Kathleen shall have her dress for church and Jim can have a new shirt too. I was going to pawn my ring and ask Nanny if she could help but I won’t need to any more.’
She covered Eva with kisses and Kathleen hugged her sister so tightly, she thought she might break her. No one said anything else about Eva’s miraculous find, least of all Kathleen, who was just delighted that she wouldn’t have to wear Peggy’s hand-me-downs on her big day.
Mum added, ‘We won’t mention this good fortune to your father. He might not understand. Let it just be our little secret.’
She was in a good mood for the rest of the day and hummed as she went about her work in the scullery and scrubbed at the front step with renewed vigour, so that it was gleaming by the time their father came home from work.
It was a beautiful April morning when Kathleen skipped up to the dressmaker’s in the Cut, holding her mother’s hand. Today was her final fitting before the Italian procession and her first Communion; the seamstress had been working on her dress for a whole month. It was waiting for her in the shop, hanging up in the little changing room at the back – which was basically just a cupboard full of rolls of material, with a curtain over the front. She felt butterflies in her stomach. There it was. The dress was white silk with a round neck and lace panels overlaid on the front, and a lace trim at the bottom. The sleeves were short and slightly puffed.
‘Let me see your hands,’ said the seamstress, before she handed the dress over to Kathleen to try it on. ‘We don’t want any mucky marks on it, do we?’
Kathleen pulled off her pinafore and took the dress off its hanger. She held it against herself and peered at her reflection in the changing-room mirror. She slipped the dress over her head, admiring the glide of the silk against her skin. She felt like a princess. Glancing down at her feet, she realized she still had her grubby socks on, so she pulled them off and chucked them on the floor. On the big day, she would be wearing a perfect little white pair of socks, with a lace trim to match her dress, her mother had said so.
The seamstress poked her head around the curtain, ‘Shall I button you up?’
That made Kathleen feel really grown up. She turned around while the seamstress did up a row of little buttons which ran from the waist of the dress to the nape of her neck. The seamstress bent down and with a rustle, she produced a pair of white satin shoes from a nest of tissue paper in a cardboard box in the corner.
‘I think they should fit you,’ she said, with a smile. Kathleen slipped her feet into them, like Cinderella. The seamstress popped out of the changing room for a couple of seconds and returned with a lace veil and a headdress of silk flowers in white. Kathleen gasped. It was prettier and longer than the one her sister Peggy had worn for her Communion. She’d be spitting feathers when she saw it! With expert fingers, the seamstress arranged the veil on her head and topped it off with the headdress. It pinched a bit, but Kathleen didn’t mind.
‘Now, shall we show your mum?’
The curtain was pulled back and Mum stood there, with tears in her eyes. ‘You look just beautiful,’ she said. ‘Nanny will be so proud of you. You really are just like a princess!’
Kathleen twirled about in front of the mirror and even gave a curtsey to an imaginary Prince Charming. The seamstress was already over at the till, writing up the bill. She glanced up at Mum. ‘I put all that extra lace detail on the dress, just as you asked,’ she said. ‘It was a lot of work but I think you’ll agree, she is going to outshine everybody.’
Mum nodded and opened her purse. She carefully took out the folded ten-shilling notes, smoothed them and placed them on the counter. ‘It’s all there,’ she said.
‘But you haven’t paid for the shoes yet,’ said the seamstress, tucking her pencil behind her ear.
‘Of course, we’ll have those too,’ said Mum, forcing a tight little smile. ‘But can you let me have them on tick?’
‘No problem,’ said the seamstress. ‘I will just put it in my book. Pay me back a shilling a week, all right?’
Kathleen watched as her mother swallowed hard and opened her purse. She pulled out her last shilling. ‘Of course,’ she said.
Kathleen looked down at her shoes. They were so pretty but her mum had given her last penny and then some, just so she would have a day to remember in the church. Should she say that she didn’t need them after all? Kathleen glanced up at her reflection. She did look just like a princess and the shoes completed the outfit, didn’t they? So much of their life was bought on the never-never, it was just the way things were.
Her mother came over and took one last look at her.
‘Kathleen, you are just such a little beauty,’ she whispered.
Kathleen knew then that it would be wrong to go without. It was her job to look pretty, to make everyone in the family proud and keep up appearances before everyone, even God.
The seamstress bustled over, smiling, and helped her out of the dress, which was put back on its hanger until tomorrow. Kathleen would go to the shop and get dressed there, rather than risk the outfit being ruined at home. As they were leaving the shop, she spotted her friend Nancy and her mum making their way to the dressmaker’s. Kathleen gave her a little wave. ‘Just wait till tomorrow!’ she said, under her breath.
Kathleen stood at the altar of St Peter’s Church, in front of the priest, bowed her head and pressed her palms together, as if she were praying. A line of girls and boys, including her brother Jim, snaked its way down the aisle behind her, right to the back of the church. The smell of incense filled the air and made her feel quite giddy.
The Mass had lasted forever, so long, in fact, that her stomach had started to rumble. She’d spent ages studying all the beautiful pictures on the walls, the arches and the marble columns. All the gold everywhere made it look like a palace. Every pew was filled with people who had come to see their children take their first Holy Communion. She had been chosen to go up first to receive the sacrament, much to Nancy’s disgust. At the priest’s signal, she stepped forwards and held her hands together, palm up, in front of her, as she had been told to do. He placed a little round wafer into her hand and she popped it into her mouth. She paused for a second, waiting to see if she felt different now she was really Catholic but she didn’t have much time to contemplate before she heard Nancy whisper in her ear: ‘Move on, you’ve had your turn!’
Kathleen would have said something back but it wouldn’t have been very Christian to do so, so she ignored her, just like the Lord Jesus would have wanted her to. Kathleen turned and smiled at her mum, Peggy and Nanny Day, who were there in the second row of pews, beaming back at her. Only her father was missing, as he couldn’t get time off from the factory. There hadn’t been enough room for Frankie and Eva to fit in as well, so they were outside with Old Uncle Dennis, mingling in a huge throng of people waiting for the procession for the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel to start.
After the last of the children had taken the sacrament, the priest made his way to the front door of the church, where he released three doves, to the cheers of the crowd. There were so many people lining the steps and along the road on both sides that there was barely room to move.
The girls, still wearing their veils, gathered in a little gaggle in the vaulted porch, waiting to see who would be given the honour of walking behind the priest. Kathleen looked up and was admiring the blue ceiling studded with gold stars when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The priest had picked her! She felt like the star of her very own show. There were a few murmurs of protest from some of the Italian mothers, not least of all Nancy’s, but they were soon silenced by the glares of Nanny Day and her mother, who said loudly: ‘She’s as much right as anybody. She’s Catholic, ain’t she?’
Kathleen grinned from ear to ear as they set off up the narrow street, which was festooned with garlands of flowers running from one house to another, changing it from a grimy London street to a kind of paradise. Mothers held their babies up at open windows and cheered as she walked past. This corner of Clerkenwell lay less than a mile from Lambeth, across the water, and it was every bit as poor as her community but it was home to the Italian immigrants, who had made it their own, with their bars and shops. Some people were scared to go there, saying it was a den of thieves, but it held no fear for her or her family because they were all at school with the Italian kids and counted them as friends.
She spotted Frankie on Uncle Dennis’s shoulders and returned his wave. The priest walked in front, swinging incense, and she walked immediately behind him, carrying a little posy of flowers. Behind her came the statue of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, carried aloft by six men. It was garlanded with roses in pink, yellow and cream, as well as some white lilies around the base. The combination of the scent of the flowers with the incense and the crowds made Kathleen feel she was walking on air.
Behind the statue came the children, some carrying banners from their churches, and behind them were other statues of saints. They made their way up Back Hill and on to some big roads, where mounted police had stopped the traffic to allow them through. The cheering and waving and clapping seemed to go on forever, as everyone came out of their houses to see the spectacle. Eventually, they made their way back to the church where Mum and Nanny Day hugged her as she reunited with the rest of her brothers and sisters. ‘This is the best bit,’ said Jim. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
They walked through Little Italy, down the warren of backstreets, where the most delicious smells of cooking were wafting through the air. Italian grannies, dressed all in black, had set out little stalls selling cakes, and sausages were sizzling in frying pans over open fires at the side of the road. Women were stirring big barrels of a thick porridge. Kathleen understood a few words of Italian from the girls at school but the women spoke so quickly that it took three goes to understand that they were offering her something called ‘polenta’. She was just about to try her luck at a little coconut shy when the red-faced bosomy figure of their neighbour Mrs Avens hove into view, pushing her way through the crowd.
‘It’s James,’ she said, grabbing their mother by the arm. ‘You need to come straight away. There’s been an accident at work.’
The party atmosphere ended as quickly as if someone had burst a balloon. They caught the bus back across the river and ran the last hundred yards to home. To her horror, Kathleen realized that her little satin shoes were now stained black with dirt from the road. When they got to the house, their father lay in bed in the front room – which was something the kids had never seen before. He was always up early before they woke and was the last to get to bed at night. His right hand was bandaged and all the colour had drained from his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could say, when he saw them all. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.
Mum rushed to him. ‘My God, what’s happened?’
‘My finger. It was the band saw at work. I lost my finger . . .’
Kathleen ran to hug her father and he held her in his embrace. Looking down, she saw that blood had seeped through his bandages, staining her perfect white fairy-tale dress with flecks of crimson.