Kathleen, May 1937
Kathleen never wanted to eat another orange as long as she lived. Crate after crate of those bloody oranges arrived from Spain every day on barges up the Thames and they came tumbling down the chute to the picking lines where she worked alongside dozens of other girls, all of them with hands red raw from the fruit acid. The peeling room was kept chilly to stop the fruit going off and the cold seemed to make her hands worse. Her skin was covered in little keens where it had cracked and the orange juice seemed to find its way into every little cut, stinging like mad.
Nanny Day had been up to the pharmacist and spent good money on some ointment and lint for her, which helped when she dressed her hands overnight but, come the morning, it was back to work in the factory and back to peeling again. At least she was handy with the knife and hadn’t cut herself to ribbons like some of the new girls.
Kathleen had been at Hartley’s for nearly two years and considered herself quite senior now. Miss Bainbridge, her supervisor, seemed to like her and gave her the responsibility of looking after the new girls, which is how she came to be on picking. A glut of oranges meant it was all hands on deck and all the new girls had been put to work there. Some of them were so dozy, it made Kathleen wonder whether they were the full shilling or not. One of them, Nora, seemed to have her mouth open catching flies all the time and Miss Bainbridge had given Kathleen permission to chivvy her along a bit.
Nancy had been taken off filling and was put to work down the line from Kathleen. They’d occasionally catch each other’s eye and make each other laugh. Nancy would sometimes get a song going, which was fun until Miss Bainbridge came along and told them all to be quiet.
‘Are you coming to the dance on Friday,’ she yelled over to Kathleen, once Miss Bainbridge was safely out of earshot. The council had opened the parks for dancing in the run-up to the coronation celebrations of King George VI next month. It had been the talk of the factory for weeks.
‘Yes,’ said Kathleen, who hadn’t told her father she was going out dancing. ‘Don’t know what I’m going to wear, though. How about you?’
In truth, she’d been hoping that Albert, the lad who had caught her eye on her first day at work, was going to ask her but she hadn’t seen him for days. He’d been flat out with the barges of oranges, probably. They’d barely traded two words in as many years but every time Kathleen saw him something inside her lit up and she could tell from the smile on his face that he liked her too. At least, Nancy had said that she was certain of that and they discussed it a lot on the bus to and from work. But Kathleen hadn’t had time for boys, really. Her father didn’t want her getting involved with anyone and he told her as much. She was living mostly with him in Howley Terrace and sometimes with Nanny Day, just as she had done since Mum left. She loved going round to Nanny, where she got a bit more spoilt than she did at home.
Mum was too busy working and then enjoying herself after work to bother her much. Kathleen didn’t begrudge her that. She’d spent years breaking her back bringing them all up. It upset her that her Mum and Dad were living apart, but their fighting when they were together was worse. At least this way, she got to see her mother happy and her father – well, he had made his bed with the way he treated their mother, so he had to lie in it, that’s what Nanny Day said.
By the time Friday morning came, Kathleen had hidden her best dress and cardigan at Nanny Day’s house and she told her father that she’d plans to go to the pictures with Nancy after work, so he wouldn’t catch her out.
He looked up from his breakfast. ‘Don’t you be back later than ten o’clock, or you’ll catch it, my girl.’
‘I won’t be late, I promise,’ she said.
He hadn’t hit her in months but she knew that with Eva gone and Peggy grown up, she was the apple of his eye now, and that meant he would knock her back into line if she strayed too far.
The whole factory was buzzing with the excitement of their night out, which soon made Kathleen forget her over-bearing father. One of the girls had brought in some lipstick and rouge and they all took a turn with that in the ladies’ loos, once they had clocked off. Kathleen had done her hair in rags the night before so it was almost as curly as Nancy’s.
As they set out for Leathermarket Gardens, walking arm in arm in a long line, some of the girls started to sing ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’ loudly, attracting stares and a few wolf whistles. The Hartley’s girls had a reputation for raucous behaviour on an evening out. Behind them, a group of the Hartley’s boys walked along, lighting up their smokes and joshing with each other. Kathleen kept glancing back over her shoulder. She saw that Albert was among them and felt her heart flutter.
Dusk was falling by the time they reached the park, which was already filling up. Open-air dancing was becoming quite a thing in the parks these days, with regular events in Wapping and Islington and now Southwark. The band was already tuning up in the little bandstand and a ginger beer stall was doing a brisk trade. Workers from Peek Frean’s biscuits mixed with those from Hartley’s and Sarson’s vinegar. It was as if the pantry of London had come for a big night out.
Kathleen was beside herself with excitement, not least because she couldn’t wait to show off her new dance steps. Eva had managed to find a bit of extra cash for her to have some lessons with the little dance school down at the Elephant on Sunday afternoons. She’d kept it secret from her dad, who would have put his foot down to such nonsense, but her teacher, Miss Fawcett, said she was a natural. Over the past few weeks, Kathleen had mastered the foxtrot and the waltz, twirling around the dusty wooden floor at the Labour Social Club where the lessons were held. She’d only ever danced with other girls because the only boy there was Miss Fawcett’s spotty fourteen-year-old son and no one wanted to twirl around the dance floor with him! This was different. There was an air of expectancy. So many young people, maybe a thousand or more, gathered in one space but away from the prying eyes of their parents.
The band struck up a tune and before long, girls and boys had paired up and were two-stepping their way, rather awkwardly at first, around the asphalt. A ring of spectators formed at the edge, some girls tapping their feet as a sign that they wanted to be asked to dance. Some unlucky ones never got asked and so they paired up with their friends. Kathleen stood nervously, and then a blond man she recognized from a few roads away shuffled up to her, offering his hand. She barely stood still all night. She’d had three, maybe four, dances before Albert tapped her on the shoulder.
‘How about a dance with me, then?’
‘I’d love to.’ She beamed back at him.
He slipped his arm around her waist and gripped her other hand, quite tightly, actually. She put her hand gently on his shoulder as they broke into a quick foxtrot. It was so free, being in the open air, dancing together. Kathleen’s steps didn’t falter.
‘You move like an angel,’ Albert whispered in her ear.
Seeing him close up for the first time, she realized that his green eyes were flecked with gold. His wavy, chestnut hair was slicked back with Brylcreem and in the half-light Kathleen thought he looked rather like Errol Flynn, one of her favourite actors.
‘You’re a good dancer yourself,’ she said, marvelling at how he moved so easily with her. She could feel his muscular torso beneath his shirt and found her fingers gripping his waist a little more tightly.
‘It’s the boxing. I have to be light on me toes. Maybe you will come and see me. I’m doing a few bouts up at the Manor Place Baths the week after next.’
Was he inviting her out on a date? Kathleen wasn’t sure but it sounded like it. She didn’t get time to ask him because another chap, who was much taller than Albert and older by five years, tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Come on, mate, give another fella a chance with the prettiest girl in the park.’
Kathleen blushed. Albert scowled but relinquished her. In an instant, she wished that she had said ‘no’ because he was clumsy and trod on her toes and they didn’t seem to be able to fall into that easy rhythm in the way that she had with Albert. To make matters worse, when the dance had finished he abandoned her for a striking blonde who was almost as tall as he was and Kathleen was left on her own again. She looked around to see if she could spot Nancy to get a drink but she was still whirling around the asphalt with a bloke from one of the barges.
Then she spotted Albert standing over at the ginger beer stand, glowering at her. She made her way over to him and gave him a little wink. ‘How about you buy a girl a drink, then?’ It was her instinct to try to lighten the situation, to make him laugh a bit. She couldn’t help it if she was so pretty that other men wanted to ask her to dance, could she?
Albert grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. ‘Let’s get one thing clear,’ he said. ‘I don’t like sharing. If you are with me, you are with me. Don’t make me look like a fool by going off with other fellas.’
‘I didn’t mean to do that, don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘He was a right clumsy oaf.’ She was shocked by his jealousy but also touched by it because it meant that he liked her, really liked her.
His hands were strong and they gave her little wrists a squeeze. ‘I’m not being silly. I want you to be my girl. Come and see me box. You can bring your mate.’
Nancy was hovering over her left shoulder. ‘It’s gone nine o’clock, Kath, we’d better get a shift on,’ she said.
Albert kissed her, full on the lips, and she felt her knees almost buckle.
‘I’m sorry, Albert,’ she whispered before she knew what she was saying. ‘I won’t let you down again.’
There was a knock at the door; it was too early for the tallyman to be calling. Kathleen was halfway down the stairs but her father beat her to it.
‘And who might you be?’ said her father.
Her heart lurched as she heard the reply.
‘I’m Albert. I work with your Kathleen down the jam factory.’ He was standing with his hands in his pockets. That would be bound to annoy her dad. Kathleen peered down at him. At least his hair was neatly parted and brushed.
‘And what do you want?’
‘I was hoping to come in and ask your permission to take Kathleen to see me box today at Manor Place,’ said Albert.
‘The doorstep will do just fine for this chat,’ said her father. He turned around. ‘Get back upstairs, Kathleen.’
She trudged back up to her room, leaving the door ajar. Her heart thumped in her chest. Albert had come all the way round to her house to ask permission to go courting. That meant he really liked her! It was like being a heroine in one of those films . . . Except there was no chance her dad would let her ride off into the sunset with her hero.
‘Now, Albert, I appreciate you coming round but a boxing match is hardly a place for a young lady, is it?’
‘She won’t be going alone; she can bring her pal Nancy and I will walk them both home and see they don’t get into any trouble.’
There was a pause. ‘All right, then. She can go – but only because you had the brass neck to come and ask me in person. But no funny business, see?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kathleen went to the window and watched as Albert walked jauntily back up Howley Terrace, his hands still in his pockets. He turned back and looked up, as if he knew she’d be watching, gave Kathleen a wink and she felt a swooping in her chest.
Her father shut the front door and then called to her, ‘Kathleen, get yourself down here. You’ve got some explaining to do.’
It had been a wet spring but the sun was finally out and the whole street was in the mood for a right royal knees-up at the coronation party for King George VI in May. But Kathleen was a little nervous because it was also the first time that Albert would meet her mother.
The Mason’s Arms in Walworth had become her mother’s favourite local haunt and as Kathleen walked proudly in, on Albert’s arm, she saw that Mum had an admirer too. It was the tall man with a ready smile whom Kathleen had seen singing years before at Flo’s birthday party in the Feathers. He had his hand firmly tucked around Mum’s waist and gazed at her with adoration as she held court around the piano.
‘Well, Kathleen, who is this fine-looking young man?’ said her mother, plonking her sherry down on the bar.
‘I’m Albert, Kathleen’s boyfriend from work,’ he said, taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. His green eyes twinkled as he spoke. He just had such a way with women and Kathleen loved that about him.
‘Quite the charmer there, Kathleen!’ said her mother with a laugh. ‘I’m Kathleen’s mother, Margaret. Now, you promise me, Albert: you are to look after my little girl because she seems very sweet on you.’
Albert smiled and hugged Kathleen, ‘Of course I will. I treat her like a princess, don’t I, Kath?’
Kathleen nodded. He really was like a Prince Charming – taking her to the pictures, buying her chocolates and always walking her home on time so she didn’t get into trouble with her dad for staying out late.
‘Let me introduce someone to you both. This is Patsy, my boyfriend,’ said Margaret. There were whoops of delight from the little gang around the piano. Kathleen beamed at her mum. So she was happy at last and had fallen in love with someone new. It seemed right, somehow. If the King could give up his throne for the likes of Mrs Simpson, why shouldn’t her mother have a second chance at happiness?
Patsy offered his hand to Albert and then clasped Kathleen’s hands in his own. ‘I have heard so much about you, Kathleen. You really are every bit as pretty as your mother said. And do you still like playing the piano? I was hoping you could give us a tune.’
‘Love to!’ said Kathleen. The pianist got up and shuffled off to the bar and Kathleen hammered out the tune guaranteed to get everyone singing along: ‘Knees up, Mother Brown! Knees up, Mother Brown!’
The whole pub erupted into an impromptu dance with couples swinging each other around the crowded bar, smacking into people’s pints, hooting with laughter. Nobody minded the chaos, it just added to the party atmosphere, although Albert didn’t seem to want to join in. He stood at the bar, supping a pint, staring over at a couple of blokes who were leaning on the piano, smiling down at Kathleen as she played.
He only got into the party spirit when Mum shouted at him, ‘Come on, Albert, give us a twirl, then!’
Suddenly, the fun Albert, whom Kathleen liked best, returned. Plonking his half-finished pint down on the bar, he slung one arm around Mum’s waist and another around Patsy’s shoulder as the three of them high-kicked their way across the pub and back, chortling all the while.
There was a lock-in that night and then, when the landlord finally called time, a gang of about ten bought out crates of beer and bottles of sherry and took them back to Mum’s flat in Walworth Road to continue the celebrations. Peggy was out at some political meeting or other with George, who had been among the bus workers threatening a strike on the eve of the coronation. It had been called off at the last minute but Peggy and George always seemed to have some cause or other to go off and talk about. Kathleen couldn’t be bothered with that; she just wanted to have a day off work and a good time with Albert. Jim had spent the day glued to his wireless set listening to the coronation and was celebrating with his dad, Nanny Day and Grandad and the folks down in Howley Terrace.
One of the Irish fellas from down the road had brought his violin back to Mum’s flat and someone else had a mouth organ, and with an upturned crate as a drum, they had quite a party going. The neighbour downstairs banged on the floor with her broomstick to tell them to shut up but they stomped back even louder. ‘This is a bleedin’ coronation party, for Gawd’s sake. Give it a rest, love!’
They danced jigs and reels and when Eva came back from a party down at the Elephant with her mate Gladys, the atmosphere became even more raucous. Kathleen found herself pulled up to dance again and again, with one of the costermongers spinning her around the tiny living room. Albert glowered at her from the corner.
Eventually, he tapped his watch and said, ‘Come on, Kathy, it’s time to go home now.’
But she was having so much fun. ‘Just one more dance, Albert, then we can go,’ she said with a laugh. He slunk deeper into a chair in the corner of the room and lit up a smoke, with a face like thunder. Kathleen was quite tipsy and didn’t seem to notice his brooding.
It was gone 2 a.m. when they finally staggered downstairs into the cool night air. The whoops and shouts of other parties in the neighbourhood could still be heard. There wouldn’t be much sleep in Walworth tonight, that was certain.
Kathleen was just buttoning up her coat when Albert pulled her to him and kissed her, roughly, ramming his tongue into her mouth. She tried to push him off and he grabbed her by the hair. ‘Don’t pull away from me, Kathy, not when you have been dancing with the other men. You know I don’t like that.’
‘Albert, please, it was only a bit of fun . . .’
‘You want to make me look a fool in front of them, don’t you?’
He kissed her again and bit her lip as he did so, drawing blood. Kathleen pushed him off and slapped his face. Albert put his hands around her throat. ‘Don’t make me hurt you! You know I love you, Kathy, more than anything.’ His eyes blazed with anger.
He squeezed; the strength in his fingers was immense, and she gasped for air, pummelling his chest. Then, just as suddenly has he started, he stopped and started to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’
She put her hand to her throat, instinctively, then held out her hand to him. ‘Albert, it’s all right. Please, don’t, it’s all right.’
He embraced her, resting his head on her shoulder. ‘You are my world, Kathleen, the most beautiful girl in the world.’ She raised her hand, shaking, and hesitantly stroked the nape of his neck, feeling the softness of his skin.
In the flat above them, a curtain moved, throwing a shaft of light onto the pavement. Kathleen glanced up.
It was Eva. She had seen everything.