Peggy, January 1938
As the clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight, Peggy and George gave each other a peck on the cheek, while Kathleen bashed out ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on the piano in the front room. Peggy had done her best to bring some Christmas cheer into the little house in Howley Terrace, with some paper chains around the door and pinned up along the picture rail, but a few brightly coloured decorations were no match for her father’s black mood.
Dad had heard about Mum’s new boyfriend on Boxing Day and had been seething ever since. He had refused to go down to the pub with most of the other folk since then, fearing that people were talking about him behind his back. Their neighbour, Mrs Avens, had stuck most of the evening out, bringing round a bottle of sherry, and playing cards with Jim, Albert and Kathleen, but even she had retreated before the New Year arrived.
Kathleen and Albert made their way to the front door and opened it. Peggy and George followed, shouting, ‘Happy New Year!’ They were greeted by whoops and cheers from other houses in the street, where people also came to their doorways and raised glasses to each other.
Peggy hugged George tightly in the cold night air. She had such a good feeling about 1938. For a start, she would be twenty-one this year and she and George had already secretly planned to get married once she was of age.
With her father safely ensconced in his favourite armchair, they seized the chance to have a proper kiss without him seeing. ‘I can’t wait to be Mrs Harwood,’ she whispered.
He nuzzled her neck and whispered back, ‘Me too.’ She hadn’t told Kathleen about her plans – she knew her sister was desperate to marry Albert but had to wait until the end of next year before Dad would allow it. Peggy couldn’t tell Kathleen but she had a lot of sympathy with their dad’s view; Albert and Kathleen were still very young and she didn’t like the way that Albert seemed to have her sister under the thumb. It was as if a little spark in her went out when she was with him. The fact that she was planning to marry George was something she longed to share with her, but telling her would probably only make matters worse. Poor Kathleen seemed to have enough on her plate dealing with Albert’s moods as it was.
Peggy looked up at the stars and made a wish. It wasn’t for herself – she had so much to be thankful for – but for her old friend Susan. She hadn’t been up to the hospital to visit her for a few months but was planning to go at the weekend. She’d just been so tied up with work and meetings of the Left Wing Book Club, where they were raising money to help the Communists in Spain fight the war against the Fascists. Peggy had even met some of the volunteers who had gone off to fight. One of them was a woman artist who had been shot dead weeks after arriving there. Peggy still remembered her owlish face and cheery manner. It seemed shocking that she was killed like that. Peggy had no intention of ever doing anything so brave, or foolish, but she did feel it was her duty to try to raise money where she could and she was happy to rattle tins along the Walworth Road or up in the West End, even if some people did say nasty things to her about collecting for the Commies.
There was so much talk about the possibility of war with Hitler, it kept Peggy awake at night with worry sometimes. The Communist Party had endless meetings and discussions about it, which Peggy attended, listening quietly and occasionally adding her pennyworth. Susan would understand her not visiting so often, she was sure of that.
The hospital in Muswell Hill loomed large over the street, an imposing red-brick Victorian villa with turrets at either end. It had a vast and impressive entrance hall with a highly polished wood floor but, once inside, Peggy noticed there was an all-pervading smell of disinfectant. The little day room where she was to meet Susan was dilapidated, with peeling wallpaper and armchairs which were so ancient that the springs almost poked through as she sat down.
Susan shuffled in, barely recognizable as the bright, funny and daring girl who had started work with Peggy at the Post Office. Her hair was unkempt and she wore an old dressing gown and slippers. Her face, once so pretty, was bloated and she seemed distracted, scratching away at her arms. Peggy saw that one of her wrists was bandaged.
‘Well, how are you keeping?’ Peggy said brightly, as she handed over a paper bag with some tangerines in it, from the fruit stall up at the Cut. For some reason, she couldn’t say why, Peggy had saved up and bought Susan a lipstick from Coty in a lovely shade of pink. It seemed stupid now, out of place, as she handed it over to her friend, who clasped it absent-mindedly for a second, before stuffing it into her dressing gown pocket, along with her old hankies.
A nurse bustled about in the corner of the room, arranging some flowers and straightening a few dog-eared books on a little table.
‘They might let me out soon; I’m doing much better,’ said Susan, eyeing the nurse’s back.
‘What happened to your wrist?’ said Peggy.
‘Accident. Cut myself in the kitchen. It was an accident, that’s all.’
Peggy swallowed hard and then nodded. ‘Are you feeling better in yourself, then? You look well . . .’ Her friend looked so terrible it made Peggy want to cry, but she had to keep going with this, for Susan’s sake.
The nurse tapped her watch. ‘Just a short visit today, Susan. We don’t want you getting upset, now, do we? I’ll get you both a nice cup of tea.’ She glared at Peggy, then turned on her heel and left.
Peggy didn’t know what to say. Was the nurse telling her not to mention the baby? Peggy looked out of the window at the patchy lawn, where a bird was forlornly pecking at the frozen ground. A man was following the bird around and it kept fluttering off to a nearby tree to escape him.
She jumped as Susan suddenly reached forwards, clasped her hand and pleaded with he urgently. ‘I’ve got to get out of here, Peg. They keep putting things in my food to keep me quiet. It all got too much the other day and I slashed my wrists – well, one of them. They caught me with the knife before I could make a proper job of it.’ She put her arms around herself and started to rock back and forth.
Peggy put her hand on Susan’s knee. ‘Oh, Susan, you mustn’t do such things to yourself. If you want to get out, you need to tell them what they want. Just pretend you are happy. Can you do that? If you can get out you can start afresh.’
Susan’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t forget my Tommy. My mum says my aunt will have me down in the East End and she can get me work but it’s a hard job trying to keep my chin up, Peggy, the hardest job in the world. How can I say I am happy that my baby is with somebody else?’
The nurse returned with two cups of stewed, brown tea in chipped teacups and a little biscuit each, bringing their conversation to an abrupt end. Susan sniffed and looked away, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown. Peggy realized she hadn’t managed to have any lunch and was starving. She drank the tea down, almost in one gulp and then regretted it, as it gnawed away at her insides.
The nurse lurked over their shoulders, pretending to flick dust from the window ledge.
‘Have you got any news, then?’ said Susan.
‘Not much,’ Peggy lied. How could she tell Susan that she was planning to marry her sweetheart and live happily ever after, to have children and grow old together; to create her own family? ‘It’s all just the same as it ever was. You’ll be back home soon, you’ll see. Nothing has changed a bit.’
‘Send word to your mother. I need to talk to her.’
Peggy wasn’t sure she’d heard Dad right. She turned round from the range, where she was frying a bit of bacon for their tea. ‘Pardon?’
There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheekbones were so sharp you could cut yourself on them. He’d not been eating properly since Christmas. He used to like going up the Cut and getting stewed eels or hot pie and mash for a few pennies, but he had stopped doing that of late.
‘You heard me, Peg. Tell her we can meet tonight at seven o’clock on Waterloo Bridge. There’s something important I need to say.’
She put some bacon aside – she’d have that later – pulled on her coat and hurried up to the Waterloo Road, where she caught a tram down to Walworth to see her mum. Eva was out when she got there, thank God, because Peggy wasn’t sure what her views on it would have been but she wanted to try to take the heat out of the situation. Mum had her hair in rollers and was applying some lipstick for a night out up West with Patsy.
‘He wanted me to do what?’
‘To come and see him on the bridge at seven,’ she said.
‘And why would I go and talk to him, the bullying bastard?’ said Mum. ‘Excuse my language, Peggy, but I have done my time with your father.’
‘Please, Mum, it seems important to him. I think he might be ill or something.’
‘Ill? He can pay to see a doctor like the rest of us, can’t he? I’m not his nursemaid!’
‘He knows about you and Patsy . . .’
Mum sat down at her little kitchen table with a sigh. ‘I knew he would find out eventually. But I ain’t done anything wrong. Not after the way he treated me.’
Peggy wished she didn’t have to be involved in this but, as the eldest daughter, she could see that it had to fall to her. ‘Just hear him out and then you can move on with things; maybe you can both move on.’
‘All right,’ said Mum, ripping off her apron. ‘But if I am seeing him, I am damn well going to look my best. And I am not doing it for him, see. I’m doing it because you asked me to.’
She spent ages getting dressed, so long that Peggy watched the minutes tick by on the clock which Eva had nicked from Gamages, in pride of place on the mantelpiece. It was much posher than the one back in Howley Terrace, Peggy noted with some indignation, because she had worked for theirs.
Eventually, her mother appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a full-length fur coat, matching hat, heels and carrying a smart handbag. A bitter wind blasted down Waterloo Road as they made their way along the pavement towards the bridge in the dark. The river was inky beneath them with the glow of dim gaslight from tug boats making their way home for the night.
Dad stood against a railing, his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled low over his ears.
‘Don’t you leave me alone with him,’ said Mum, clutching Peggy’s arm as they drew near. She seemed genuinely afraid.
‘Can we just talk for minute, Maggie?’ he said, reaching out to her.
‘We can chat, but Peggy stays where I can see her,’ said Mum, recoiling from his touch.
Dad looked as if he had been punched in the stomach.
Peggy shuffled back a few paces, to give them some privacy. She really didn’t want to be here but she had to stay, for her mother’s sake. Her father seemed so small and thin standing there, it was as if he was made of newspaper and might just blow away in the night air.
‘I have so much to say sorry for, Maggie,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘I should never have hit you. Things just got too much. You know, you are the only woman I have ever loved, the only woman I will ever love.’
Mum grew taller with every word he spoke. ‘Well, you’ve a got a funny way of showing your love and I don’t need you. I’m doing just fine without you, thanks.’
‘Please, Maggie, I want us to be a family again, I want you to come home. I promise you I will look after you . . .’ He began to pull something out of his coat pocket.
Peggy gasped as she realized it was money, a whole wad of cash, more money than she had ever seen before in her life.
‘I want to give you this, to show you I will never keep you short ever again and I will never treat you badly.’
‘And where in the name of God have you got that much cash?’ said Mum, her voice rising a semitone. ‘Don’t tell me you have gone and robbed a bank!’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I had an old gold fob watch from my captain in the Merchant Navy. I sold it, Maggie, for you.’
He handed her the money and she leafed through it for a moment.
‘All the days and nights I worried about my last farthing and now this,’ she said. Her eyes were blazing with anger. ‘I always said to myself I would wait until Frankie was thirteen before I could leave you and that is what I did, James. I waited and I was scared every day of my life when I was with you. You have no idea how you made me suffer. You could give me all the tea in China and I wouldn’t set foot in the house again. You are thirteen years too late!’
She threw the money back in his face. Then, she turned and walked off the bridge and out of his life.
Peggy’s engagement to George brought some much-needed cheer to the little house in Howley Terrace, which seemed to have a permanent black cloud over it after Mum told Dad it was over, forever.
Of course, Peggy knew about George’s intentions; they had discussed their future together, much as they had discussed politics, in a calm, sensible manner, when they went out courting. But George had a few surprises up his sleeve, and one balmy May evening, as they were crossing Waterloo Bridge, with the city bathed in a red glow of a beautiful sunset, he suddenly dropped to one knee and produced a ring.
Realizing what was happening, a couple of passers-by cheered and clapped. Peggy blushed as he said, ‘Peggy, you are the most beautiful girl in all the world. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?’
‘Oh, George, yes!’ she cried, as he slipped the engagement ring onto the third finger of her left hand. The ring had belonged to George’s granny but was a perfect fit.
‘See,’ he said, as Peggy admired it. ‘It was meant to be. You were always the girl for me, Peggy.’
Peggy couldn’t say her dad was delighted by the news but he did at least crack a smile. She was nearly twenty-one now and he wasn’t about to stop her having the summer wedding she wanted by making her wait until after her birthday in the autumn; he liked George, that much was clear from the way they spent ages discussing politics in the scullery.
‘He’s a fine young man, Peggy. I think you could do a lot worse,’ he said – which was about as close to giving her his blessing as she was ever going to get.
Being engaged to George filled Peggy’s heart with joy and she set about sprucing up the scullery in Howley Terrace, bringing a bunch of flowers home to set on the table once a week and making sure everything on the mantelpiece was nicely dusted. It was as if she was practising to be a homemaker.
They set a date for August and Peggy started to work on the design for her dress. It was the most ambitious thing she had ever made but she was determined to do it and make it the loveliest gown.
Eva had offered to pinch the material for Peggy’s dress but Peggy wanted everything about it to be earned, properly earned. She scrimped and saved and bought the fabric from a shop in the East End and then she did the majority of the sewing herself, using the little Singer sewing machine, with a bit of help from the seamstress up the Cut and a few words of advice from Nanny Day.
Once everyone at the Post Office Savings Bank caught sight of her ring, the news of her engagement spread like wildfire. She had every intention of staying on there as long as she could – right up until the day before her wedding, in fact – because she loved that job and they needed the money to start a home life together. Everyone was really kind to her, especially her boss, Edna, who organized a whip-round. Peggy was given a wedding present of ten shillings a week for every year she had worked, which was very generous, and she immediately deposited it into her savings account. Of course, Peggy knew she couldn’t stay on at work once she was married – those were the rules – but she did feel a tinge of sadness as she left Blythe House for the last time. Looking round at the office for the last time as she pulled on her coat, she thought about how she’d changed. She’d learned so much, not just about doing her job but about people, and she knew she would miss the camaraderie of working there.
Eva and Kathleen slept over at Howley Terrace that night with Peggy to help her get ready.
It seemed strange, all three of them in that little bedroom again. Their lives had moved on so much; they weren’t children any more and Peggy couldn’t help feeling that the best was yet to come, for all of them.
Peggy caught Kathleen admiring her wedding dress, feeling the soft white silk between her fingers. The dress had a V-neck and fluttery sleeves and Peggy had made it to skim her trim little waist, before falling in a small puddle train at her feet.
‘You will be next, Kathleen,’ she said, giving her sister a hug. ‘I hope you don’t mind me beating you to it up the aisle . . .’
She knew their father was sticking to his word, and wouldn’t let her get married until next year.
Kathleen had tears in her eyes as she turned to her sister. ‘I don’t mind, Peg, of course I don’t,’ she said. ‘It’s only right that you get married first. You are my big sister and you make me so proud.’
Suddenly, Kathleen sat down on the bed and started to wring her hands.
‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘I’m worried about having babies, Peg. What if something bad happens, like little Billy from down the road . . .’ Her voice trailed away to nothing and she started to sob, covering her face with her hands.
‘Oh, Kathleen, no. That will never happen to your baby or any of our babies,’ Peggy said, sitting down beside her and hugging her tight. ‘Is that what has been worrying you?’
Kathleen nodded. She looked so young then, Peggy felt as if the years had rolled away and they were twelve and ten again. ‘What happened to Billy was just a dreadful stroke of bad luck.’
‘But I could have done more to help save him. He was ill all that afternoon, you know.’
Peggy held her sister’s hand. ‘Look, even if you had got him to see a doctor a couple of hours sooner, he would still have died. Diphtheria is incurable. It was never your fault. You shouldn’t still be carrying the guilt of it, Kathleen.’
There was a moment’s silence and then Peggy ventured, ‘I was wondering whether everything was all right between you and Albert?’
‘Of course, everything’s fine!’ said Kathleen, stiffening a little. ‘Why shouldn’t it be fine between me and Albert? We are every bit as happy as you and George!’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Peggy, stroking her sister’s shoulder. ‘I just meant, if ever there was anything you wanted to talk about, you can trust me. That’s what sisters are for.’
Kathleen looked as if she might have been about to say something, but Eva burst into the room, with a bottle of sherry and three glasses.
‘Come on!’ she said. ‘It’s like a bleeding funeral in here. You’re getting married in the morning. Let’s raise a little glass, shall we?’
Peggy barely slept a wink, she was so excited, and as dawn broke, she heard her dad downstairs, whistling to himself in the scullery, and had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. She really was going to get married today.
It was the wedding Peggy had always dreamed of. She walked slowly and gracefully up the aisle on Dad’s arm, to find George waiting for her. He was self-assured and handsome, standing there, smiling. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely get the words out to say her vows and when George slipped his grandmother’s wedding ring on her finger, she cried.
Eva and Kathleen were her beautiful bridesmaids, in dresses of matching blue silk, falling just below the knee, with little belts pulled in at the waist and topped with blue pill-box hats. Mum left Patsy at home out of respect for Dad and also so that she wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows in church, in front of the priest, who of course knew they were no longer living together, but said nothing. She sat at one end of the pew and he sat at the other and they barely looked at each other but at least they didn’t fight. They both wanted Peggy to be happy on this, her big day.
Nanny Day sobbed loudly, possibly because Peggy looked so beautiful but more likely because her beloved grandson Frankie couldn’t come to the wedding, having been locked up for breaking into a shop. Peggy didn’t judge Frankie too harshly but it wasn’t a path she wanted to tread. She felt the same way about Eva, who had risen through the ranks of the Forty Thieves.
When Peggy threw her bouquet, she made sure that Kathleen caught it, glimpsing the look of delight on her face as she did.
It wasn’t a fancy affair, in fact it was quite small really, just close family and a few friends and a lovely reception in the back room of the Feathers, with sandwiches and cake for everyone, and a bit of a sing-song afterwards.
Their honeymoon was to be a weekend away in Southend, where she had enjoyed such a wonderful day trip as a child. She couldn’t wait to show George the pier and the amusement park. They weren’t going away for a couple of weeks, though, because George had to work some overtime at the bus depot to pay for it.
Home, for now, was a room in George’s parents in Roupell Street, which Peggy was nervous about but it was just until they had saved up enough to rent a place of their own. They would stay locally; she wanted to be near to her family, particularly because she hoped that she might be lucky enough, soon, to start one of her own. That thought filled her with excitement but she did worry about the world they were going to grow up in. Some people had started talking about the possibility of a war with Germany.
George said that whatever the future brought, they should all get on with their lives, otherwise Hitler and his mob would have defeated everyone through fear, before a shot had even been fired.
‘Whatever comes, Peggy, we will face it together,’ he said, cuddling her close under the bedclothes. ‘With you beside me, I can deal with anything the world cares to throw at me.’
He turned out the light and embraced her. Yes, 1938 was turning out to be more wonderful than she could ever have hoped.