Kathleen, October 1933
‘They need to know their Irish roots, and now you have a bit of money to spare for the train fare, what’s wrong with that?’ said Nanny Day, wrapping cheese sandwiches as big as doorstops in brown paper. ‘It will do us all the world of good.’
Dad knew it was pointless arguing with his mother-in-law. She had waited years to go and visit her brother and his family, and now his own misfortune had provided an opportunity, he couldn’t deny her – but he wasn’t happy about it. One trip away was enough to set the neighbourhood gossips ablaze, so Lord only knew what two trips barely a month apart would do. The front door banged shut as he left, signalling his disapproval.
Kathleen skipped downstairs. She was beside herself with excitement. Nanny Day had been promising for ages that she would take her up to Hertfordshire to meet her Irish relatives. The only downside was that Eva and Frankie had to come along too. They could usually both be relied upon to play up but Nanny Day wouldn’t stand for any nonsense. Kathleen had already decided that she, at least, would be good as gold. Jim, her twin, wasn’t coming because he had a football match for the school. Peggy would normally keep them all in order but she was out at work at her new job.
Mother had put rags in Kathleen’s hair last night, as usual. She stuck a finger through one of her curls and played with it a bit. When she was a star in the West End, she’d probably have her own private hairdresser with real curlers, not rags. She’d go everywhere in a big black motor car and have her own driver. For now, she’d have to make do with a trip on the Underground to get to King’s Cross Station, which was pretty exciting, as she’d never been there before.
Nanny Day had put on her best clothes for the occasion: a freshly starched and ironed white blouse buttoned to the neck, with a lace collar, and her best hat, made of straw with tiny flowers on it. Kathleen watched as she put on her little fob watch, which hung on a gold chain, reaching almost to her waist. That usually only came out for trips to church on Sundays and when the priest called around for tea. Nanny Day wore the same long black skirt as she always did, which reached right to the floor, so that only the tips of her polished boots were showing. She took ages to do them up, using a little hook with a bone handle to do up the row of buttons which ran the up the sides, grumbling as she did so.
‘Let’s hope we don’t have to walk too far today,’ she said. ‘Me feet are already killing me.’ Nanny Day stuffed their lunch into her carpet bag, fixed her hat with a hatpin and turned to the children. ‘Well then, let’s go.’
They caught the tram to the Elephant and Castle and waited while Nanny bought her ticket for threepence before going down into the Underground to catch the Northern Line to King’s Cross. The Tube had a funny smell to it – a bit like stale cigarettes – but Kathleen didn’t mind that because it was so exciting whizzing along below ground. She was fascinated by the people on the Tube and got told off twice by Nanny Day for staring. She couldn’t help it. The women were wearing such nice dresses and cloche hats. They had make-up on too, which was something she had never seen her mother wear. One of them carried a little lap dog in her arms. Kathleen decided she would have one of those too, when she was famous.
Frankie mucked about on the escalator when they got to King’s Cross by trying to run down it, much to the annoyance of men in suits and hats trying to make their way up. The next stop was the ticket office, where Nanny Day bought them all return tickets to Hatfield. Eva and Frankie ran along the platform, whooping with delight, especially Frankie, who was thrilled to be going on a steam train again. Kathleen tried to run but when she complained of a pain in her chest Nanny Day told her to slow down. Nanny then herded them all into a carriage, where they proceeded to get up every few seconds to peer out of the window.
‘You’re like jack-in-the-boxes; sit down, for goodness’ sake!’ she said, taking out her knitting from the carpet bag.
A man sat beside them just as the train was about to set off and nodded politely to Nanny Day, who nodded back. He lit up a cigarette as they pulled out of the station and started to blow smoke rings in the air. The combination of the cigarette smoke and the rattle of the carriages started to lull Kathleen to sleep. Nanny Day put her arm around her. Eva tucked herself under Nanny’s other arm and Frankie rested his head on Eva’s lap. After about an hour, Kathleen woke up feeling hungry. Nanny Day unwrapped their sandwiches, and they devoured them as they watched the countryside whizzing by. There were fields with cows in them, which Kathleen had never seen before. They looked so funny, standing there in the middle of such wide open spaces. It was a world away from the grimy bricks of London. Frankie and Eva pressed their noses to the window to get a better look and Frankie then upset Kathleen by pretending to shoot them, just for fun.
‘Stop it, Frankie!’ cried Kathleen.
‘Aw, they’re just dumb animals!’ he replied with a cheeky grin.
The screeching of the brakes made Eva cover her ears as they pulled into Hatfield Station. They made their way out and through the old town, peering in the shop windows. They couldn’t afford to buy anything but window-shopping was fun; in any case, they were keen to get to their relatives’ house.
‘How much further?’ moaned Eva.
‘Oh, stop complaining, Eve,’ said Kathleen, who was having the time of her life. The sun was high over their heads as they began to walk down a country lane.
‘Not too much of a way to go,’ said Nanny Day, as the road got narrower and the hedges higher. Kathleen started to skip a bit, taking in lungfuls of fresh air. It felt good to be able to do that and she hummed to herself as she skipped along.
They arrived at a row of tumbledown farm cottages with flowers growing in the front gardens and a creeper covering the front of the houses. Some of the panes of glass in the upstairs windows were broken and others so cobwebby you couldn’t see through them, but Kathleen had never seen anything so beautiful. Then one of the front doors opened and a gaggle of children, about the same age as Eva and Frank, spilt out. They had dark hair and brown eyes and their faces were smeared with dirt. Their clothes made Kathleen, Eva and Frank look as if they had stepped out of a shopfront. The girls’ pinafores were patched all over and the boys’ shorts raggedy and torn.
‘Come here and let me look at you!’ cried Nanny Day as she gathered them to her skirts. ‘You look like the wreck of the Hesperus! Have you not a comb in the house between you all?’
A man appeared in the doorway. He had a shock of wild grey hair and a dirty neckerchief at his throat but his eyes were twinkly and he had a kind face. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms as big as hams. Kathleen decided she liked him.
‘Are these your grandkids then, Meg?’ he said. ‘A fine bunch of city dwellers you have here!’ He spoke with a stronger accent than Nanny Day.
He ruffled Frankie’s hair and patted Eva on the head. ‘And you,’ he said, giving a little bow, ‘must be Miss Kathleen who I have heard so much about. Giving your ma sleepless nights by getting ill, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Kathleen, blushing.
‘I’m your Great-Uncle Joseph and these here are your cousins, Moira, Joseph Junior, William and Eileen. Come on inside. You’ll have to take us as you find us but we have fresh raspberries from the garden and cream from the dairy for you.’
A huge bowl of raspberries was set out on the table in the kitchen. Nanny Day hugged a woman with hair as wild as Great-Uncle Joseph’s but who looked a lot younger than him. Nanny introduced her as their Aunty Kathy. The two women put a huge kettle on the range to boil some water for tea while the kids grabbed at the raspberries and dunked them in a bowl of cream. Kathleen tried to be ladylike and not scoff too many but she’d never seen so many raspberries and they tasted better than anything she’d had at home. A dog snuffled around by their feet looking for scraps to eat, making Eva laugh.
‘Why don’t you children go outside and play?’ said Nanny Day. Kathleen overheard the start of a conversation about some other cousins – much older ones – working on the railway now, since their mother had passed on.
‘May God rest her soul,’ said Nanny Day, patting Aunty Kathy on the arm. ‘But thankfully Joseph has you now. That is such a mercy, and what beautiful children you have given him.’
The children didn’t need to be asked twice to get outside. They couldn’t wait to explore. Their cousins took them out through the back door and into a garden which seemed to go on forever. The first part of it was filled with vegetables and there was a big apple tree at the bottom, next to a gate into a field.
‘Are we allowed in there?’ said Kathleen, as her cousin Moira held her hand.
‘’Course we are,’ she said. ‘And all the way to the stream too.’
Kathleen spent the afternoon running around the field, with the grass tickling at her legs, darting in and out of the stream. The boys stripped off and jumped in naked but Kathleen and the other girls just tucked their skirts up into their knickers to avoid getting their clothes wet. They chucked twigs in and raced them like little boats and Frankie and William built a dam.
Before tea, Moira took Kathleen around to the side of the cottage, where a horse stood munching hay in a little stable. She’d only ever seen horses with their blinkers on, working the carts along the roads near home. Moira showed her how to hold her hand out flat and feed him some hay, without getting her fingers bitten. Moira explained how her dad sometimes wasn’t at home because he was out on the knocker, selling door-to-door, and could be away weeks at a time. Kathleen said her dad was home every night for his tea, bang on time, which Moira thought was incredible.
As the light faded, Great-Uncle Joseph lit a bonfire in the back garden and Aunty Kathy brought out some sausages, which the children ate with a great wodge of bread. The back porch was lit by an oil lantern and Kathleen watched the moths fluttering around it as she tried to commit everything she had done today to memory, so that she would never forget it. The scent of the yellow bell flowers from the creeper along the back of the house filled the night air.
As they were finishing their tea, Aunty Kathy went back to the house and brought out a funny-looking black case and set it down beside her husband. He opened it and took out a fiddle and began to play.
‘Show us your dancing, then,’ he said. In an instant, the cousins were on their feet. The boys started to kick up their heels and the girls jigged on the spot, their curls flying. Eva and Frank started to point and giggle until Nanny Day slapped them both over the top of their heads for being rude. Kathleen jumped up in the firelight and copied Moira, holding her arms by her sides as she kicked and bounced up and down in time to the music.
‘She’s Irish all right,’ said Joseph, tapping his foot in approval. Frankie and Eva collapsed in fits of laughter at their sister and were now rolling on the floor clutching their sides. Nanny Day had had enough and yanked them both roughly upwards by their ears, making them yelp. She pulled them into the little kitchen and proceeded to scold them, loudly, for making fun of their family.
‘Don’t you dare disgrace me by laughing at your cousins and your sister! You are Irish too, remember that!’ she said.
Great-Uncle Joseph played on for another tune, by which time Kathleen was quite exhausted. She sat down beside him, to catch her breath. As Aunty Kathy began to sing a sad song about a place called Skibbereen and people leaving because they were starving hungry, Kathleen felt her eyelids growing heavier. She was rudely awoken by a poke in the ribs from Eva. ‘It’s time to go home, Kath.’
With the fiddle packed away for another night and her cousins sent off to sleep top-to-toe, four to a bed, Nanny Day said her goodbyes and they all set off for the mile-long walk back to the station in the dark. Nanny was still muttering under her breath about how rude Frank and Eva had been. ‘To think I brought you all the way out here only to have you make fun of your cousins!’ she scolded.
Kathleen wished the day would never end. Great-Uncle Joseph lit the way with an oil lamp and, as she followed close behind down the country lane, with the hedges looming above her, Kathleen saw sparks from the steel studs in his boots striking the road in the darkness. It had sparked something in her, this little trip to see her Irish family. She wasn’t a city girl, she was a bit Irish too, a bit wild, her Great-Uncle Joseph had said so. Her love of music made sense. It wasn’t just about bashing out tunes in assembly with that stuck-up teacher Miss Price nodding her approval. The music was in her blood; it made her want to dance and sing.
As the darkness enveloped them all, Kathleen vowed never to forget that.
Kathleen loved minding little Billy from down the street. She’d push him up and down in a little crate on wheels which served as his pram, while his mum, Mary, was busy pulling the fur from rabbit skins in the living room of her house. He was learning to walk now, so Kathleen would hold his hand while he took a few steps towards her pal, Nancy, who might reward him with a lump of sugar from her pocket. He was a skinny little thing, like most of the kids in their street, but he had rosy cheeks and such a sweet smile. Kathleen preferred playing with him to her dolly. She had considered squishing Billy into the cot that Uncle Dennis had made for her and Eva, but Eva told her not to, in case she broke it.
‘You’ll make a fine little mother one day, Kathleen,’ said Mary, emerging from the house, with fluff and blood all over her apron. Kathleen puffed her chest out with pride. Of all the girls in the street, she was the one who was trusted to look after Billy. Kathleen didn’t doubt for a minute that she would have a baby one day, but boys were just yuck, so she couldn’t imagine kissing one, which was what you had to do to get a baby, Nancy had told her.
When Mary went back to her work, Billy started to cry and so Kathleen wheeled him in his little crate all the way along Belvedere Road, past the wastepaper factory. Kathleen pointed out the big lion on top of the brewery. It was now black with soot because a fire had broken out not so long ago and the brewery had burned down. No one ever found who did it; some said it was just an accident. In any case, the wastepaper company used it for storage now
‘There’s the Lion of Lambeth, Billy!’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I wonder if he will jump down and gobble us up?’ But Billy didn’t laugh at her joke like he was supposed to. He just cried and refused to get out of his crate to have a little walk or play. So she covered him with a blanket and went off to skip with Nancy and the other girls instead. She didn’t like him crying – it was noisy and annoying. She even slapped his hand to make him stop but that only made it worse.
‘Stop it, Billy,’ she scolded. ‘I won’t play with you unless you stop yelling.’
But Billy didn’t stop and so she kept her promise and left him lying there whining while she skipped with the others, to teach him a lesson. He went quiet eventually and when Kathleen wheeled him home, he was fast asleep. Mary picked him out of the crate and the colour drained from her face.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘He’s burning up!’ Billy’s head lolled to one side and Kathleen could see his little cheeks were bright red and his breaths were coming in gasps.
‘How long has he been like this?’ asked Mary.
‘He was fine, really happy all afternoon,’ Kathleen lied. She didn’t dare tell the truth. What if it was all her fault?
‘Oh, Billy, Billy,’ Mary sobbed, taking him indoors and laying him on the table. Kathleen watched as she stripped off his clothes and he lay there, not moving at all. Mary turned to her. ‘Run and get your mother.’
Mum came running, still wearing the striped overall which she used on laundry days. She put her hand to the baby’s forehead and listened to his chest.
‘You need to get the doctor,’ she said, sponging him down with a damp cloth from the sink on the side.
‘No, Margaret. I can’t afford a doctor,’ wailed Mary. ‘I have nothing to pay him with.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll settle it for you. Kathleen, run and get help.’
Kathleen ran harder and faster than she had ever run, never mind that it hurt her chest and her legs felt leaden with the guilt of it all. She knew the way to the doctor’s house, with its grand front door and brass knocker.
Kathleen hammered on that for all she was worth and his wife answered curtly, ‘Yes? The doctor is having his afternoon tea and cannot be disturbed.’
‘Please, miss, please, there’s a very sick baby in my street and my mother, Mrs Fraser, has sent me . . .’
In a split second, the doctor had grabbed his coat, plonked his hat on his head and picked up his big black leather bag. He marched round to Howley Terrace so quickly that Kathleen had to trot just to keep up with him.
‘How long has he been unresponsive?’ asked the doctor, looking back at her.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Kathleen, not really understanding what that word meant. Would she get in trouble if she told him the truth about Billy being out of sorts all afternoon? ‘He was kind of whining a bit this afternoon but then he went quiet around teatime.’
The doctor must have spotted a look of fear in her eyes, because he stopped and placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Kathleen, whatever has happened is not your fault, even if you were looking after him. Babies get ill. They are not as strong as big children like you or grown-ups. They get lots of illnesses, but we will try to get him better, you’ll see.’
Mary was cradling Billy in her lap by the time the doctor arrived. He was making a horrible choking noise and struggling for breath and had gone blue around his lips. Mum was saying Hail Marys quietly, so quietly that there was barely any sound, but Kathleen knew from the way her lips were moving that this is what she was doing. She understood then that Billy was getting worse. The doctor lifted Billy from Mary’s arms and lay him back on the table. He took a wooden spatula from his bag and poked it into Billy’s mouth, pushing down his tongue and peering inside. Then he listened to his chest with his stethoscope. The horrible rasping sound got louder.
‘Mary, have you or anyone in your family had a sore throat these past few days?’
Her eyes were glazing over; she could barely reply. ‘Yes. I’ve had a bit of a tickle but it wasn’t anything serious.’
‘And has Billy been off his food?’
‘He’s only wanted condensed milk since yesterday,’ she whispered.
‘It’s diphtheria, Mary, I’m so sorry,’ said the doctor, picking the baby back up and placing him, with great care, in his mother’s lap. He was fighting back tears as he spoke. ‘There is a swelling and a coating at the back of his throat, which is making it impossible for him to breathe. Once the process starts, we can’t stop it.’
They were frozen in time, Mum, Kathleen and the doctor, while Mary rocked her baby and hummed to him, stroking his forehead.
The rasping of Billy’s breath got louder until a strangled sound came from the baby, his blue eyes flickered open and then closed, forever.
Kathleen watched as her mother started to cry. ‘Dear God, no, no.’
The doctor spoke. ‘It’s too late, there’s nothing to be done now. But he is at peace. I’m so sorry for your loss.’
Mary let out the most piercing and terrifying scream. Kathleen thought she might faint from the shock of it. She couldn’t move, she was rooted to the spot. The bloodcurdling noise brought all the women of the street running. It wasn’t a case of knocking or asking to come in: Mrs Davies and Mrs Avens burst through the door.
‘Not the baby!’ cried Mrs Avens.
‘Oh, Lord, you poor angel,’ said Mrs Davies, kneeling beside Mary. ‘Poor little Billy, never hurt nobody.’
‘Why couldn’t you have saved him?’ said Mrs Avens, her face red with fury. ‘We’d have clubbed together to pay for it!’
The doctor shook his head. ‘It’s diphtheria. With the best will in the world, I could have done very little.’
The women turned to each other. ‘It’s the Strangler. Dear God, will our children be safe?’
Margaret realized that Kathleen was in great danger, having been exposed to the illness which had last swept the borough ten years previously. She whispered in her ear, ‘Go home, Kathleen, go upstairs and don’t let the others near you.’
The doctor started to ask questions about how many of the children had been in close contact with Billy since his sore throat. In the end it was decided that Kathleen and Nancy from round the corner should be kept off school for a week and apart from their siblings, to prevent the spread of the illness. Frankie and Eva and Peggy had to go and stay at Nanny Day’s.
The doctor turned to Margaret. ‘This may seem harsh, at a time of mourning for Billy, but we must do what we can now for the living and prevent any other children getting sick. Diphtheria, or the Strangler as you call it, is a terrible and deadly disease and it can kill very quickly.’
Kathleen wasn’t allowed out of her bedroom for five full days, which meant she had to use the jerry they kept under the bed and she hated doing that. Only her mother was allowed in to give her meals and take the dirty dishes away. Mum scrubbed her hands red raw with carbolic to try to stop the spread of any germs. The doctor called every day to peer down her throat and check her temperature. The priest visited and stood in the doorway to the bedroom, saying prayers for her and the departed baby. To everyone’s relief, there was no sign of any temperature or the dreaded grey coating in the back of the throat which was the proof that diphtheria, the Strangler, had taken hold.
Frankie and Eva had been allowed to join the procession of mourners who called in to the house to see Mary and her husband Joe, to pay their respects and view the baby’s body. People came from all the surrounding streets and as far away as Nanny Day’s road.
‘He looked like a waxwork,’ Frankie told her, through the bedroom door, which made her cry even more.
On the day of the funeral, a bleak November morning, Kathleen watched from the bedroom window as Billy was taken in a tiny wooden coffin covered with flowers to be buried. His father carried it in his arms while Mary, dressed all in black, walked behind him, sobbing, supported by the women from Howley Terrace and Tenison Street. Behind that the children walked in a solemn row. At the top of the street, the brewer stopped his dray, took off his cap and stood with eyes downcast as the funeral procession made its way past.
Kathleen looked on from afar, unable to mourn with everybody else, alone in her grief and isolated by her guilt. The trip to the country with Nanny Day, with the raspberries, the stream and the bonfire, seemed like a distant dream to her now. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling happy like that again.