‘Alice, what’s the matter?’ Nellie asked, taking her hand and looking from her to the policeman. The young girl burst into tears.
‘Oh, Nell, I’m so glad you’ve come home. It’s Dad.’
The policeman, having delivered his message, seemed glad to take his leave. Alice had all but collapsed on the doorstep and Nellie asked Sam to help her. They half carried her into the kitchen, sitting her in front of the range. Nellie knelt before her.
‘What’s happened, Al? For God’s sake, tell me.’
‘He’s been in a terrible accident…’ Alice sobbed, her voice thick with tears.
‘Where is he now?’ Sam asked her.
‘He’s in Guy’s Hospital, they took him straight there.’
‘Was he driving the cart?’ asked Sam.
Alice nodded and slowly, as the normally stoical twelve-year-old tried desperately to control her sobs, the story emerged. Their father, although stern and unyielding in matters of family discipline, had always tried to give his family a good Christmas. All year he saved into a Christmas club and on Christmas Eve, when the club paid out, he would take the cart down to ‘the Blue’ market. There he would spend the Christmas money on treats for the family. If it had been a bad year and he’d had to borrow out of the club for new shoes or clothes, then the treats would be few, but Nellie’s wage increase had made all the difference and this had been a good year. He’d told Nellie he’d buy a goose and vegetables for Christmas dinner and bring home oranges, nuts and a few sugar mice. There was no money left over for toys, but the young ones would each get a stocking filled with an orange, sugar mouse and a silver sixpence, which for them was a fortune. Her father’s morose temper had certainly softened and Nellie remembered, as he’d told her the plans for his Christmas shopping that morning, feeling a warmth towards him she hadn’t felt in years, not since those long-gone days when she would skip along beside him and swing from his strong hand, singing oops a lala, oops a lala, lost the leg of her drawers! The silly song came back to her now as she heard what had happened to the strong man with the firm hand who had ruled her childhood.
‘There was a cart in front of him, some kids were larking about, holding on to the back board and skidding along behind it.’ Nellie and Sam nodded. It was a common but dangerous game for the local children to grab the back board, scrunch down on their boots and let themselves be pulled along the cobbles. At times sparks would fly from their boot studs and often the driver would crack his whip behind him to dissuade them, and sometimes they tumbled to the ground. Alice explained that this was what had happened.
‘A kiddie fell off into the road right in front of Dad’s cart and he had to pull up sharp or old Thumper would have gone right over him. Thumper reared up and Dad’s cart tipped over and he got pinned underneath it. Old Thumper was still in the harness and thrashing about. Oh, Nell…’ Here Alice broke down again and they waited for her sobs to subside. ‘The policeman says Thumper caught him in the head and his skull is broken and his legs got smashed under the cart.’
‘Alice, he’s still alive, isn’t he?’ Nellie’s voice sounded to her like a croak; her lips were dry and her throat constricted.
Alice put her hands to her tear-stained face. She nodded. ‘Yes, but, Nell, they’ve had to take his legs off!’
Nellie didn’t know where the strength came from; she just knew that it would be down to her. Three children were depending on her decisions now and she focused on making the right ones.
‘Now, Al, you’ve got to be strong and grown up for me. All right?’
Her sister straightened her shoulders and wiped her wet face with the cuff of her sleeve.
‘You stay here and look after the boys, while I go up Guy’s. If they wake up you’ll have to tell them what’s happened, but you can’t cry in front of ’em, do you hear me?’
‘Nell, what about their Christmas stockings?’ Alice pointed to a bundle by the door. ‘The policeman brought it, said everything had tipped out over the road, that was all they could save.’
Sam picked up the sack and tipped the contents on to the table. Nellie felt an overwhelming sadness as she saw the battered remnants of her father’s Christmas cheer. The goose, covered in dust, tumbled out along with the oranges, some squashed to pulp. A few of the sugar mice had survived, but the nuts must have rolled all over the road and a few brazil nuts were all that was left. In an instant Nellie forgave all the past beatings and harsh words and remembered him at his best, when their mother had been alive. His heart simply hadn’t had enough room for all the grief at her loss and his children had suffered for it. She understood this for the first time and the sight of his renewed attempts to be a loving father broke her heart.
She lifted her pale sad face to Sam and before she could ask, he offered. ‘You can’t go up there on your own this time of night. I’ll take you up there.’
‘Thanks, Sam, but what about your mum, won’t she be worried?’
‘No, she knew I was out for the night, come on.’
They hurried to catch the bus to Guy’s Hospital, passing rowdy crowds of Christmas Eve revellers piling out of the closing pubs. Sam deftly weaved his way through an overly friendly crowd of dockers who wanted to include Nellie in a lively waltz they were enjoying among themselves. They might have been lumbering prancing giants from another world for Nellie. In her world now there was no Christmas, there was no dancing, there was no night or day; there was perhaps the shadow of Sam at her side, but everything else was half-formed. She was on the fringes of a nightmare and round every corner she seemed to see the vision of the old tramp with the crushed legs that she and Sam had befriended on their way back from the Tower. But the old tramp now had the face of her father, and the terror of the workhouse was hers alone. For even if her father survived, he might never work again and then it would be up to her to feed, clothe and house her family.
She felt herself being shaken.
‘Nellie, it’s our stop next.’
They were on the top deck of the bus and she followed Sam down the stairs. They hopped off at the end of Tooley Street and made their way across the colonnaded courtyard into Guy’s Hospital. Two nurses were crossing the black-and-white tiled entrance hall and Sam stopped one of them.
‘We’re looking for a man brought in from a cart accident today.’ He lowered his voice, Nellie thought, in a kind though futile attempt to protect her. ‘He’s had his legs amputated. Do you know which ward he might be in?’
Nellie had an aversion to nurses; when her mother was dying, the fierce old matron had guarded her like a fire-breathing dragon. Although it was probably unjustified, Nellie had always blamed the matron for robbing her of those precious last moments with her mother. She was ready for a fight now; nothing would keep her from her father.
But this young nurse turned round with a pleasant smile. She looked briefly at Nellie and then spoke softly to Sam. ‘If it only happened today, he probably won’t be in a fit state to see you.’
Nellie took a half step forward, a surge of adrenalin making her clench her fists, but the nurse went on. ‘Still, it is Christmas Eve, Matron might take pity on the young lady and let you see him.’
She gave them directions to the ward and with a sympathetic smile hurried off to catch up with her friend.
It took them what seemed like hours to find the ward. Long green and cream corridors smelling of carbolic all looked the same and Nellie found herself half running along them, her footsteps echoing on the tiles. Sam put a restraining hand on her arm as she dashed past the last staircase.
‘Hold up, Nell, it’s this way.’
She turned on her heel, Sam keeping pace with her as they sped up the flight of stairs. All her thoughts had narrowed to a single focus, a point of light that was her father’s survival.
The young nurse was right; some Christmas spirit had invaded Matron’s regimen. The ward was dimly lit, but the stern-faced woman softened as she saw Nellie’s ashen face. She led them with a soft swish of her blue matron’s dress between two rows of sleeping patients to a curtained-off cubicle at the end of the ward. Through the tall, iron-framed window Nellie caught a sight of the moon and a single bright star. Flecks of newly falling snow were caught in the moonlight and by its silvery glow she saw her father’s bandaged head. She saw the rise and fall of the blanket that swaddled him and relief trembled through her. At least he was alive. She forced her gaze to move down to where his legs should have been: a cage had been placed under the blankets. She was glad – she could imagine that underneath his legs were still there; she could let herself believe he was still whole. The damage to his skull was another matter. Although he looked to her like a turbaned Indian with his head swathed in thick white bandages, even these could not disguise the terrible change to his features. His nose had been crushed and one cheek had sunk, and his face looked as though someone had smashed a flat iron into it. He didn’t look like her father at all, and that she wasn’t prepared for.
‘You can have five minutes with him, then you’ll have to leave,’ said Matron. She laid a hand on Nellie’s arm. ‘You’ve got to be a brave girl now.’ Nellie looked from the matron to Sam and saw, in both faces, pity and resignation.
‘He’s not going to die!’ she said, with a conviction she didn’t really feel, but saying it helped and her trembling limbs quieted themselves as she approached the bed.
‘Dad, can you hear me? It’s Nellie. What’ve you been doing to yourself?’
The great shattered frame of her father breathed on, but there was no flicker of recognition in his ruined face. She pulled the single chair closer to the bed. ‘The doctors are going to sort you out, don’t worry about the kids, I’ll make sure they’re all right. Dad?’ She took his hand. The fingers were coarse as an iron file and his palm the hardest leather, but she felt a twitch, a tap against her own palm. ‘Do you know me, Dad? It’s Nellie.’
Then came a series of weak taps, almost a rhythm, as though her father were keeping time to a tune. His lips formed a word and as Nellie leaned forward she heard ‘oops a la la’. She leaned forward over the bed with a great heaving sob. ‘Yes, I remember, Dad, I remember oops a la la, oops a la la, lost the leg of ’er drawers. We used to sing it when I was little, didn’t we?’ A ghost of a smile played on her father’s lips and he nodded.
‘My little Nellie.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘Sorry, duck, sorry about Christmas and everything else, sorry.’
He gasped and let out a cry of pain. Nellie heard the swishing approach of Matron’s skirts and leaned forward, urgently. She felt as though she held in her hand the fragile, sweet, short time of her childhood, when she was beloved and life was still a dream.
‘Oh, Dad, don’t worry about that. I only want you to get better and come home to us.’
He mustered strength with a huge effort, which she felt in his trembling hand. Pulling her close, he whispered a few words into her ear and then fell back into the light of the moon that still shone across his pillow. She held fast to his hand, and it was only when she felt Sam uncurling her fingers that she realized the matron had come back. She heard her talking to Sam, but the voices came from far away and though she knew she must urge her limbs to motion, she found she could not walk.
‘Nellie, listen, I’m going to take you home now.’
‘What about Dad?’ she knew it was a stupid question, but her normally quick mind was focusing in all the wrong places.
‘Nellie, Matron says we have to go and there’s nothing we can do for your dad. They’ll look after him here tonight.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s Christmas.’ She felt proud of herself, surely that was a sensible thing to say. Sam put his arm round her and led her gently out of the ward. They walked back the way they’d come, slowly now, out through the deserted black-and-white tiled colonnade and into St Thomas’s Street. With each step came the realization, firstly that her father had always loved her and secondly that she hoped she hadn’t found this out too late. She looked up at Sam.
‘What am I going to do if he...?’
‘Don’t think about that. He’s still here, isn’t he? What did he whisper to you?’ Sam must have seen the puzzling exchange and heard the little childhood song.
Nellie spoke softly. ‘He said he was sorry, and then he said, “Don’t let the goose go to waste.”’
‘Trust your dad,’ said Sam, shaking his head, and they smiled at each other through their tears.
They walked up to London Bridge Station where Sam insisted they get a hansom cab back to Spa Road.
‘Two bob for a cab! You don’t think I’m going to let you pay that, do you?’ Nellie objected.
‘Don’t argue with me, Nell, you’ve had a shock and you can’t be out in this weather.’ The snow was falling more thickly now, coating the pavements and sitting in fluffy shelves along the window ledges. But Nellie stubbornly refused, as Sam pulled out some silver from his pocket and began hailing a cab. She closed her own hand over his, surprised at its warmth.
‘Is that what’s left of your Christmas club money?’
Sam hesitated.
‘Honest, Sam, I’ll be all right, we’ll just get a tram back. That money’s for your family’s Christmas and Dad didn’t want to spoil Christmas.’ Her lower lip trembled and she realized she had not let go of Sam’s hand.
‘All right, Nell, if you’re sure, come on.’ He led her to the stop outside the station where a horse-drawn tram, covered in adverts for Pears’ soap and Nestlé’s milk, was waiting to leave for Southwark Park Road. The horse’s breath plumed and he stamped his hooves, impatient to be off. Nellie was glad of the warmth inside and was even gladder for Sam’s company. Although they didn’t speak and she often turned her face to the window to hide her tears, she felt comforted by his steady presence all the way home.
Christmas Day dawned, with a sky heavy with the threat of more snow. Nellie and Alice had spent a sleepless night, huddled together in the bed in a hopeless bid for warmth and comfort, neither of which had come to them. Eventually they’d crept down to the kitchen as first light broke.
In their whispered conferences of the night, Nellie had related her father’s words to Alice.
‘I think we should follow his wishes, Al. If it’s the last thing we do, we’ll bloody cook that goose and eat it, even if we choke on it!’ Her sister had nodded her assent, burying her tear-stained face into Nellie’s breast.
‘Shhh, shhh, Alice, he’s a game old bird himself. He won’t leave us, not if he’s got anything to do with it.’
Nellie allowed herself to think of nothing else but giving her brothers the Christmas their father had wanted. They hadn’t woken the boys and she’d decided to keep as much of the accident from them as she could. After she’d arrived home the night before, she and Alice had salvaged an orange and sugar mouse each from the sad remnants of her father’s purchases and put them in stockings for the boys, along with silver sixpences. Then they’d washed the goose till every trace of dust and grit was gone, and found potatoes in the sack, and cabbages. Now Nellie set Alice the task of preparing vegetables as she knelt to light the range. The little kitchen felt so cheerless and empty. Even though their father’s presence had so often been a threatening one, she still missed it. The house only seemed half its true self without him. Her sister’s face looked as grey and bleak as the cold grate. Nellie lit the curled-up newspaper and watched the flames, yellow and orange, dance into life.
‘Come on, Al, love,’ she said, ‘once we’ve got the fire going and the range on, we’ll feel more cheerful, eh?’
Alice nodded and began peeling the potatoes.
Warmth and steam began to fill the kitchen; light crept in through the sash window. Soon tantalizing smells of goose skin crisping and the spicy aroma of Christmas pudding boiling in the copper announced that Christmas Day had arrived, and it wasn’t long before they heard the thud of the boys tumbling out of bed and thundering down the stairs. They burst excitedly into the kitchen, holding their stockings aloft, as Nellie poured tea for them all. Bread and hot sausages were ready for their Christmas breakfast and it wasn’t until they were all seated round the kitchen table that the boys noticed their father’s absence. Nellie forced her face into the false expression of cheer that must last all day.
‘Dad’s a little bit poorly, boys, and he had to go to the hospital, but he says we must have our Christmas all the same. He was very particular about that.’ She smiled encouragingly.
‘Have another sausage each.’ If she could feed their ignorance with food all day she would be happy to, and they accepted her explanation readily – perhaps, she thought, a little too readily. It saddened her to think how her broken father had robbed himself of their love over the years. It could have been so different, if only he’d let them in a bit earlier. She knew they could have formed the closest of bonds, all of them, after her mother died. They could have huddled, like bereft ducklings, around him; instead he had retreated and blamed the world for his loss.
But while her father was in the hospital, she was head of the house, and she would try to do things differently. She would need all the children’s help and was determined that they would be her allies, never her enemies.
‘Listen, boys, you’re going to have to be the men of the house while Dad’s not here.’ She hesitated. ‘He might not be able to come home straight away. Do you think you can help me and Al with the coal and the firewood?’
Bobby nodded eagerly, biting a chunk out of his sausage. ‘An’ I’ll help you with the laundry, Nell. I can turn the mangle.’
‘An’ I can fill the copper!’ Freddie piped up, not willing to be outdone.
Smiling, she went to each of them, gathering them into her arms and pulling Alice close too.
‘We’ll be all right, us lot, won’t we? We just have to stick together.’
She hoped her sister and brothers did not catch the quiver in her voice, or the trembling of her body, as the comforting lie rose from her lips and hung above them in the steam-filled room.
It was a long day, but Nellie waited until the boys had thoroughly tired themselves out before putting them to bed. She didn’t want them giving her sister any trouble. She pulled on her good woollen coat and twined her scarf around her neck. She would walk to the hospital. She had already started to do sums in her head; whatever money her dad had squirrelled away for Christmas was all they had to live on till her next pay day. She would try to see old man Wicks tomorrow; he might see her, even though it was Boxing Day. She would milk as much Christmas kindness from him as she could, though there was no guarantee he would be forthcoming with injury money. Knowing him, he’d be docking money for damage to the cart from her father’s wages. She was just thankful that old Thumper had emerged unscathed, otherwise Wicks would be docking the vet bill as well. No, she would be taking no more trams.
‘You be all right here with the boys?’ Nell asked her sister, who nodded. ‘You’re a good girl.’ She hugged Alice goodbye. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please God he’ll be all right and we’ll just have to get through it till he’s home again. Now don’t forget to wrap the rest of the goose and put it out in the safe, and we can have bubble and squeak with it tomorrow. We’ll have to make do and mend for a while.’
Alice, though still only twelve, knew as well as Nellie did what it meant for her father to be off work. Nellie’s wages alone wouldn’t be enough to feed them and pay the rent.
‘Don’t look so worried. I’m going to see Wicks tomorrow, we might get a sub.’
Nellie gave her another squeeze and went out, catching her breath as the biting cold invaded her lungs. She put her head down and started off down the Neckinger till she got to Druid Street arch. She had always hated the arches beneath the railway viaduct; as a child she had run through them to escape their darkness and the thunderous rumbling of the trains overhead that filled them. This particular arch brought back memories of Ted Bosher: it was around here that he’d spent his days making bombs, while pretending to her he was working at the docks. She shook her head; she’d heard nothing from him and neither had Lily. The weeks had gradually drained her of any longing she might have felt for his voice or his touch, but loyalty ran through her like a strong vein of precious metal and it wasn’t easy for her to abandon his memory. Now this latest trouble brought into clear focus that he simply wasn’t there. His choices had robbed her of her girlish romantic notions and whatever troubles she had to face, Ted Bosher would certainly not be around to support her. She inhaled the freezing air and let its scarifying sharpness scrub all those tender dreams she had for Ted clean away. It felt as if she were cleaning her heart, clearing the decks, getting ready for God knew what almighty battle. She walked quickly through the arch and hurried on down Druid Street, which ran parallel to the viaduct, almost all the way to Guy’s. After twenty minutes’ fast walking she arrived panting and pink-cheeked. Visiting hours had been relaxed for Christmas Day and so she walked freely on to the ward, passing the rows of patients, some with family members who had obviously brought in Christmas treats. The carbolic smell was overlaid with tints of orange and spice and some effort had been made to decorate the ward. She looked nervously around for Matron, but she made it to the end of the ward unchallenged. Her father’s bed was still screened off and she pulled aside one of the screens. The freshly made bed, with its tight-as-a-drum sheets and blankets, was quite empty. She looked over her shoulder in panic, to see Matron approaching. The look of sympathy on her face told Nellie everything.
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ was all she said. And she put her arm round Nellie, who, in spite of her resolve to be strong, broke down, sobbing. Matron guided her out of the ward past the rows of patients and visitors, each of whose eyes were lit by a common relief that this time the tragedy was not theirs to weep over.