April, 1897
‘A WEDDING!’ FRED EXCLAIMED. Prodded by Big Peg, he added quickly: ‘Good news, of course, just unexpected.’
They were having a family get-together to celebrate Granny Garter’s return to the fold – some of them didn’t exactly view it like that, but Granny was holding court and boasting about the flood of orders she’d already received from old customers, eager to look their best on the occasion of the old Queen’s Diamond Jubilee procession, when they intended to swell the loyal crowds.
Harry was leaving the next day to join the crew of a coaster about to leave the dock, so this was an opportunity for them to wish him well, too. Polly had arrived earlier with Arthur in tow and Van met and escorted Hester from the hospital. Peg had made a celebration cake, so Puglet sneaked under the table; he disapproved of all the upheaval and talking, but was mollified by the crumbs.
Polly’s announcement took them all by surprise. After the initial stunned silence, the congratulations began. Van squeezed Hester’s hand. ‘It’s not fair,’ she whispered, ‘Just when we were about to tell them about our plans . . .’
Polly cried, ‘Oh, I just knew you’d be pleased for us! It’ll be a quiet wedding, because Arthur says we don’t want all my stage admirers filling up the church!’
‘Have you picked a date?’ Hester tried to sound casual.
‘Well, we wanted it to be before Harry went off to be a mariner, but he’s beat us to it – so now we’ve to find another best man.’
‘Van? How about you?’ Arthur cut in.
He managed a smile. ‘You’ve upstaged Hester and me! We were about to announce our own wedding plans for the end of June.’
‘That’s the time we had in mind,’ Polly said. ‘But I reckon we should let Hester be a bride first, because she’s getting on a bit.’
‘Thank you for that,’ Hester said drily.
Van said quickly: ‘Surely it’s me who is “getting on a bit”, as Polly says, not Hester. Arthur, despite me being second choice for you, I’ll be delighted to be your best man, if you’ll be mine. We were thinking of Saturday, the twenty-sixth of June, by the way.’
‘Well then, we’ll settle for a fortnight later, early on in the morning, for Polly will likely have two performances that day.’
‘No honeymoon?’ Granny Garter said archly.
Polly had the answer. ‘The show must go on!’
Arthur said gallantly, ‘Every day will be a honeymoon with Polly.’
‘Two more celebration cakes,’ sighed Big Peg. ‘They take so long to make, and get eat too quick.’
‘Two bridal outfits . . .’ exulted Granny Garter.
‘You’ll have to keep my share of wedding cake, if I’m away on a trip,’ said Harry.
‘Bearing exotic gifts from afar, I hope,’ Polly grinned.
‘Blimey, Sis, I’m only going up the Thames to far flung places like Norfolk for hay, and Ipswich for grain – but it’s a start, ain’t it? I’ll find out if I can get me sea legs before I go to Australia!’
Hester stood up. ‘If you don’t mind, Van, I would like to pop next door to give the good news to Edie and Alf.’
‘Of course I don’t. I ought to discuss a few things with Fred.’
‘Give me a hug first, dearie,’ Big Peg requested. When Hester obliged, she murmured, ‘I feel like the mother of the bride – brides! – even though I ain’t.’
Edie was delighted to see her, and excited by her friend’s news. ‘It’s a pity Christina’s too small to be a bridesmaid.’ The baby was now propped up in a Moses basket, watching them and gurgling.
‘Oh, when did she learn to do that?’ Hester marvelled.
‘That’s not all she can do: she cries and lets you know when she’s hungry now! Violet says that’s a very good sign. She sounded like a mewling kitten before.’
‘Where’s Alf?’
‘In the wash house, seeing to the napkins. He only got back from the ferry a couple of hours ago, but insists he does the washing, until I’m stronger. How lucky I am, eh?’ However she sounded wistful, trying to convince herself.
‘Yes, you are! I can’t imagine Van doing such chores.’
‘Alf’s the perfect husband and father,’ Edie said proudly.
Hester found Alf at his task, poking the washing in the steaming copper, with the stick. ‘Alf, still at it, I see. I wanted you to share in my good news – Van and I are getting married, just after the Grand Opening of the Tunnel! I haven’t told them yet at the hospital, so you won’t say anything to anyone there, will you? I hope you’re pleased for us?’
He mopped his damp brow and gazed at her thoughtfully.
‘Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me, Alf? Why are you looking so solemn?’
‘I am pleased to hear the news,’ he said. ‘I had hopes once, of course, that you and me – but it was more on my side than yours, I know that. But marriage ain’t a feather bed, though that helps . . . Edie and me, we have never had time to ourselves, to really get used to one and t’other. It was three of us, from the start – we was parents before we knew it.’
‘Oh, Alf, you wouldn’t be without your lovely baby, would you?’
‘O’ course not. But now, Edie says we must wait, like, in case we fall with another too soon. We don’t come together in our feather bed,’ he stated baldly. ‘We’ve only been married nine months . . . It’s not our first anniversary until July.’
‘She might have been thinking that too. Things will get better,’ Hester said, trying to sound confident. ‘She isn’t over Christina’s birth yet. Be patient.’
The next thing she knew, Alf was hugging her to him. ‘Sometimes, you know, Hester, I wish it had been you.’ He attempted to kiss her lips. He’s been drinking she thought: this was not like Alf at all. She knew that half a pint of beer had been his limit on a Friday night in his single days.
Shocked, she pushed him forcefully away. ‘No, Alf, you mustn’t wish you’d married me! Be gentle with Edie, and tell her just how much you love and need her, because you do. She had a rough old drunk for a father, and then she found you, the love of her life. Don’t let her down, don’t tell her what you said to me. She needs your company now, leave the wash to soak. There are – surely – other ways you can express your love, and the rest will follow.’ She hoped fervently she was right, thinking, what do I know about married life? I’m worried I won’t be able to respond in that respect myself . . . perhaps Van feels the same.
‘Forgive me, Hester,’ he muttered hoarsely.
Then she hurried back next door, knowing that she would have to keep this encounter to herself.
Both couples left soon afterwards. Hester wanted an early night in her hospital room, for she was not back to her full strength, and she was on duty tomorrow. Arthur had arranged to take Polly to meet his parents on Sunday and to have lunch with them. Fortunately, Polly had no qualms, but he certainly felt nervous. What would they think of him marrying a music hall artiste, and changing his occupation so radically?
Polly was quite blasé about rail journeys now, having made several by herself. She smiled to herself, Oh Mr Porter, was obviously based on fact.
You merely have to look helpless, and not only porters rush to your assistance, she thought complacently. Though perhaps this was what worried Arthur, eh?
The Hon. Giles Winwood and his wife Patricia had a country house in West Sussex. A gleaming Packard motor car with a uniformed chauffeur was awaiting their arrival at Worthing, for the Winwoods lived a few miles distant from the sea. Polly concealed her disappointment, for she’d been hoping to promenade along the front and perhaps dip her toes in the water.
‘Tie your scarf over your hat,’ advised Arthur, ‘it’s breezy today and the lanes are dusty.’
‘I’ve been in a motor before,’ she retorted. She wouldn’t admit that it had been one of the new omnibuses, which she’d boarded in some trepidation.
They sat in the back seats, which were covered in sumptuous leather. They moved off smoothly enough, with much squeezing of the horn by the driver, to warn lesser vehicles to move out of their way.
They swept up a long, winding drive, bordered on both sides by masses of golden daffodils. The house was double-fronted, with ivy-covered walls and latticed windows. The door opened and Mrs Winwood came rushing out to greet them. Her hair was as blonde as Polly’s, but in her case enhanced artificially. However, she was still an attractive woman, with a fresh complexion, and not yet out of her forties.
‘I’ve heard so much about you Polly!’ she cried. ‘Come inside, and meet the family!’
‘I thought you were an only child,’ Polly said to Arthur, as they entered the hall.
‘I am. Mother’s family is her dogs – you’ll see! I hope you like Pekinese?’
‘I’ve never met one. Mostly old scruffy dogs our way but Puglet, of course, is in a class of his own.’
Invited to sit down on the sofa, Polly had gingerly moved a Peke or two to make room, when one promptly jumped on her lap.
‘Chu-chu approves of you!’ Mrs Winwood beamed. ‘We’ve just got time for a sherry before lunch.’
The Hon. Giles put in a brief appearance, explaining that he must change before he joined them. He wore a formal dark suit and waistcoat, and Polly glimpsed a gold Albert chain, linked to his pocket watch. He also had a monocle, which Polly had only seen before on rather dubious comic performers with bulbous red noses, on stage.
‘Giles got talking to the rector after the morning service, as usual,’ his wife said. ‘I reminded him you were coming, but he’s so forgetful since he retired – lives life at a snail’s pace. Now tell me all about yourself, Polly – we know so little, and here you are, about to marry our son!’
Polly for once was lost for words; she mouthed ‘Help!’ to Arthur.
‘Mother,’ he said smoothly, ‘You two have a lot in common. Mother was an actress too, when Father met her, Polly. He was a stage door Johnnie. She was appearing in a show in the West End.’
‘Don’t be a snob, Arthur, why don’t you say I was in the chorus, and renowned for my high kicks,’ his mother said.
‘So am I,’ Polly told her, ‘my cartwheels are the talk of the town!’
‘Good for you. We obviously do have much in common. Why don’t you call me Patsy? All my friends do. Most of them date back to my childhood in Bow. Oh, is that the gong? Hinds, the chauffeur promised me he’d strike it at one o’clock precisely. You may escort us both to the dining room, Arthur, if you will. Where has your father got to?’
‘I knew you two would like each other!’ Arthur said happily.
Arthur had noted the lack of servants, apart from Hinds, who obviously nowadays doubled-up as the gardener, for they could see him out of uniform, through the French windows, pushing a lawn mower over long grass. ‘Where are they all, Mother?’ he inquired, pulling out the dining room chairs. He waited until they were seated, before he sat down opposite Polly at the table, which was laid with silver cutlery, finger bowls, and gleaming glasses, but not much food.
‘Oh, dear, you might as well know now, as later. Your father, as I said, is not as astute as he was. He invested unwisely on the stock exchange. We’re broke, dear boy, no other way to put it. We have tried to economise, but now we must sell the house, the car, and move into the lodge. Don’t worry, we shall have a very modest income, and must learn to live within our means – easier for me, recalling hard times when I was a child, but hard for him . . .
‘Now Polly, would you like a piece of this chicken and ham pie? Baked by the rector’s wife, in your honour – she was a cook before she married. The salad is fresh from the glasshouse: I made the dressing myself. Arthur, top up the sherry glasses, please. Good, here comes your father.’
Nothing more was mentioned over the meal, which was rounded off by a delicious syllabub of whipped cream and wine, about the Winwoods’ straitened circumstances. After lunch, Patsy and Polly cleared the table and took the crocks to the kitchen. The sink was already full of washing up waiting to be done, but Patsy insisted: ‘I have a woman coming in tomorrow to see to all this – shall we go for a walk in the grounds, with the doggies, while the men talk and smoke?’ She took down a basket from a hook, while the Pekes lined up in anticipation by the back door, eager to chase Hinds off the grass. ‘We must pick some of the daffs for you to take home with you.’
*
That evening in the train going back to London, Polly leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder. He was very quiet, she thought, wondering what his father had said to him. There had been no further talk of the wedding, by unspoken consent.
‘I think they like me,’ she ventured.
‘Yes, I’m sure they do. What did you think of them?’
‘I think your mother is the stronger one,’ she said candidly. ‘She will take the lead in their new life.’
‘They won’t, I expect you’ve realised, be able to help us after we are married,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter. You can always move in with me at Lula’s, or I will move in with you – I’m sure Pa and Peg wouldn’t object. Mind you, Brixton would be better than Poplar for it’s just a tupp’ny bus ride from all the London theatres!’
‘I’ll have to find another job. No more handouts from Father.’
‘You can still be my manager as well! We’ll manage.’
‘You’re a chip off the old block,’ he said affectionately, ‘ever optimistic. Well, it really will be a quiet wedding after all, but I can hardly wait.’
‘Nor can I,’ she said.