WILL WAS READY to leave. It was after six, the best of the bright March day was over, the sun was deserting the Western sky, and sharp twilight was waiting in the wings. The chimneys and rooftops of Walworth were growing a sombre colour. Will had helped Nellie prepare the vegetables and to put them on, and a dissected plump rabbit was stewing. It had all been sending Annie mad, not being able to look after things herself on account of her stiff knee. She felt like a back number.
Will had met ten-year-old Cassie. Her hair was long, not bobbed, and she had dreamy eyes and an even dreamier smile. But she looked breathless when she heard about how Annie had come to meet this soldier. She obviously thought it the most romantic meeting ever, and Annie had a ghastly feeling she was going to say so. She prevented that by demanding to know where she’d been, and Cassie said she’d had to go and find Tabby and that a boy had helped her. What boy? Oh, said Cassie, he was the son of a lion tamer who’d just come back from darkest Africa to look after the Trafalgar Square lions for the King. They’re not real lions, you silly, said Nellie, they’re statue lions. Yes, he’s got to keep them polished, said Cassie. I’m going to write about it in my diary, she said, and about Annie meeting a royal guardsman. He’s not a royal guardsman, said Nellie. No, but he could be, said Cassie, and went up to confide her imaginings to her diary.
Will also met Charlie, a boy with a shock of untidy hair
and socks down to his ankles. Charlie thought Will had done a good job bringing Annie home after she’d hurt her knee. He brought her in a pushcart, said Nellie wickedly, and Annie gritted her teeth because Charlie, being what he was, made a lot of that.
‘Cor, in a pushcart,’ he said, ‘our Annie and all. Bloomin’ ’eroic, that was. I bet even Tarzan couldn’t ’ave got ’er in a pushcart. I’m ’eartbroke I missed it. ’Ere, could yer put ’er in it again, Will? Yer don’t mind me callin’ yer Will, do yer? I ain’t met no-one ’eroic before. Could yer put Annie in the pushcart again so’s I could see it with me own mince pies?’
‘Oh, you little ’ooligan,’ said Annie, ‘if I didn’t have a stiff knee I’d boil you in the copper.’
‘And besides, we don’t ’ave a pushcart,’ said Nellie.
‘And besides, if I tried it,’ said Will, ‘she’d boil me as well. If she didn’t have a stiff knee.’
‘That’s it, everyone laugh,’ said Annie bitterly.
When Will was ready to go, he offered to carry her upstairs so that she could rest her knee and have her dad bring her supper up to her later.
‘Well, all right,’ said Annie, ‘I suppose it’s best – oh, mind me frock!’ Will had lifted her. He carried her out of the kitchen, and she went on about her frock much as she had before. Charlie, following on with Nellie, couldn’t think why Annie was having problems.
‘What’s she fussin’ about, Nellie?’ he asked. ‘I can’t see nothink wrong with ’er frock.’
‘It’s not ’er frock,’ whispered Nellie, ‘it’s just that she ain’t never met an ’andsome soldier before.’ She darted, squeezing ahead of Will on the landing to open the door of the back bedroom, which was Annie’s. ‘In ’ere, Will,’ she said, ‘our Annie sleeps in this room.’
‘Right, let’s do the delivery job,’ said Will. He carried Annie in and placed her on her bed. She tugged at the hem of her frock. ‘All right?’ said Will.
Just the hint of a smile showed on her face.
‘Thanks ever so much, honest,’ she said.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Will, and it happened then. It came suddenly, the tightness in his chest, the sensation of constriction and the shortness of breath. He’d be coughing and wheezing in a few moments, an embarrassment to everyone. ‘Got to go now. Good luck, Annie, you too, Nellie and Charlie.’
They all stared at him as he walked straight out.
‘Crikey, ’e’s gone,’ said Nellie.
‘Nellie, run down and make sure he knows I’m grateful really,’ said Annie, ‘tell ’im thank you again.’
Nellie dashed out, ran down the stairs and caught Will at the front door. He’d picked up his peaked cap from the kitchen.
‘Annie said she’s ever so grateful really, an’ wants to thank you ever so much,’ said Nellie.
‘Pleasure,’ said Will, wheezing now.
‘Oh, ’ave yer got a cold?’ asked Nellie.
‘Sort of,’ said Will huskily, and left, pulling the door to behind him. Nellie went back upstairs.
‘’E’s got a sort of cold,’ she said.
‘’E didn’t look as if ’e had,’ said Charlie. ‘Blimey, what an ’eroic bloke, gettin’ you in a pushcart, Annie.’
‘If you mention that once more, Charlie, your life won’t be worth livin’, d’you hear?’ said Annie.
‘Yes, an’ what did you do to Pam Nicholls?’ asked Nellie.
‘Well, I did ’ave a go at tryin’ to push ’er foot into ’er mouth—’
‘You what?’ yelled Annie.
‘But ’er mum come in then an’ give me a thick ear,’ said Charlie, rubbing his left one. ‘That Pam, she told ’er mum to give me another one. Just wait till I get ’er alone, I’ll push both ’er feet into ’er mouth.’
‘Nellie, get the chopper and hit your brother with it,’ said Annie.
‘Yes, in a minute, Annie,’ said Nellie. ‘I wonder if Will’s comin’ back sometime?’
‘Of course not,’ said Annie. ‘What would ’e want to come back for?’
‘Well, ’e might want to see if your knee’s all right,’ said Nellie.
‘More like ’e’d want to give Annie another ride in a pushcart,’ said Charlie.
‘Oh, you wait, you ’eathen,’ breathed Annie, ‘as soon as me knee’s better I’m goin’ to hit you with the chopper meself, and don’t think I won’t. Didn’t I tell you not to mention pushcarts again?’
‘I only said what Will might do if ’e comes round again,’ said Charlie.
‘I don’t know why you and Nellie call him Will,’ said Annie.
‘It’s ’is name,’ said Nellie.
‘You shouldn’t be familiar when you’ve only just met ’im,’ said Annie. ‘Look, both of you go down and make sure the supper’s cookin’ properly. Don’t let anything burn, and mind how you handle the saucepans, Nellie.’
‘All right,’ said Nellie, and down she went with Charlie. Nellie descended quietly. Charlie’s descent created a minor earthquake. Annie lay looking at the ceiling. She thought about being wheeled home in that pushcart. Her at her age, and him as good as laughing all over his face.
I might as well die and not have any supper.
No, I won’t, I’ll have some supper and die later.
Outside, Will leaned against the railings. He tried to let his body relax, he tried to keep still, but he wheezed like an old man with bronchitis, and a periodical cough racked his chest. He supposed he’d brought it on himself by carrying Annie upstairs. But just doing that had brought on the attack? He could see what was going to happen if his condition didn’t improve. He’d be invalided out of the Army at the ripe old age of twenty.
The attack began to ease a little after ten minutes. He watched the street kids. He heard the faint sounds of Walworth traffic. Trams, omnibuses, horse-drawn vehicles. Not like Indian traffic. Bullocks provided horse-power out there. But not cows. Cows were sacred. If one sat down in a crowded city street, it could cause prolonged congestion. Well, if it wouldn’t move, no-one tried to make it, so it stayed there.
As to the heat, it sapped a bloke’s energy unless you ate lots of curry. He couldn’t count the number of times he and other East Surrey men had longed for the April showers of home, and for things like the smell of eggs and bacon, the taste of fish and chips, the savoury flavour of hot faggots and pease pudding, and the creaminess of a rice pudding with a golden-brown skin just out of the oven.
Come to that, even street kids could be missed. Look at these, he thought, ruddy monkeys, the lot of them. Walworth kids never changed. This bunch were no different from those of his own generation. All generations scrapped, argued, broke windows, kicked tin cans and got their ears clipped by their dads. But they all grew up cheerfully and optimistically, with exceptions. That counted, cheerfulness and optimism.
It took over fifteen minutes before his breathing became normal, and a few more minutes before he decided to go on his way.
‘What’s that about our Annie?’ asked Mr Harold Ford, a railway ganger of five feet ten and rugged all over. Just home from his work, his jacket was off. He always took it off the moment he entered the kitchen. His waistcoat was an old leather one, his shirt of thick striped flannel, and his trousers were of hard-wearing corduroy. There was a scarf around his neck and a belt around his trousers. He had a little round bald patch to his black hair that had inspired Cassie into asking him if he was going to be a monk later on. He said he liked the thought but didn’t think he’d ever be holy enough.
‘Yes, our Annie’s upstairs, Dad,’ said Nellie, and told him how her sister had bumped her knee and been brought home by a nice soldier. In a pushcart.
‘What’s that?’ asked the Gaffer. Everyone called him that on account of his ruggedness. It made him look like a man who was in charge. ‘Did you say a pushcart, Nellie?’
‘Well, the soldier said it was the best way to bring ’er.’
‘Oh, me old Adam, a pushcart?’ said the Gaffer, trying to hide a grin. ‘Where’d the soldier come from?’
‘’E didn’t say,’ said Nellie, ’except ’e did tell me ’is fam’ly live in Caulfield Place and ’e’s ’ome on leave.’
‘I think ’e comes from Windsor Castle,’ said Cassie, ‘I think ’e guards the King and Queen there.’
‘Who said?’ asked Charlie.
‘Well, it’s only what I think,’ said Cassie, ‘and only the way’e looks.’
‘Now ’ow can anyone look like Windsor Castle?’ asked Charlie.
‘You kids work it out,’ said the Gaffer, whose ruggedness actually hid a heart made of marshmallow, ‘while I go up an’see Annie.’
Up he went. He found Annie’s knee was just a bit stiff and bruised. Be all right in a day or so, he said. Annie wasn’t too concerned with that, apart from thinking she might have to hop to work tomorrow. She still had indignity on her mind. So she regaled her dad with an account of the purgatory she’d suffered being wheeled home in a boy’s pushcart with thousands of people all having a look at her.
‘Thousands?’ said the Gaffer.
‘Yes, and all grinnin’,’ said Annie, ‘and me with me knees nearly up to me chin.’
‘Gawd save the starvin’ poor,’ said the Gaffer in a strangled voice, and suddenly wasn’t there any more.
‘Dad, where’ve you gone?’ yelled Annie. She heard him out on the landing. He sounded as if he was choking to death. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it, you’re out there laughin’! Call yourself me dad? You ought to be ashamed, laughin’ like that, and don’t think I can’t ’ear you, because I can. What about the indignity I suffered, me a young lady near to eighteen.’
The Gaffer reappeared, his face red. He was coughing now. From her bed, Annie eyed him in outrage. He cleared his throat, rubbed his mouth, and made an attempt to come to terms with her feelings.
‘Did yer say with yer knees up to yer chin, Annie?’ he asked.
‘You heard,’ said Annie. ‘Me, your eldest daughter.’
‘Well, I ain’t ’aving me best gel upset like that,’ he said. ‘I’ll learn the bloke, Annie, soldier or not. I’ll find out where ’e lives in Caulfield Place. It ain’t far, I’ll get ’im, and when I do I’ll break ’is legs.’
‘You’ll what?’ gasped Annie, sitting up.
‘Break ’is legs, both of ’em.’
‘Dad—’
‘Don’t you worry, Annie, I’ll give ’im what ’e’s asked for, dumpin’ you in a pushcart with yer knees up to yer chin, I’ll make ’im wish ’e’d never been born.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ gasped Annie, ‘I’ll never forgive you.’
‘All right, Annie, just one leg.’
‘Dad, you can’t! It ain’t Christian.’
‘Ah,’ said the Gaffer.
‘Nor gentlemanly,’ said Annie.
‘Well, I’ll grant yer that, Annie, breakin’ legs ain’t too gentlemanly.’
‘Besides,’ said Annie.
‘Besides what?’ asked her dad.
‘Ain’t it funny really, when you think about it?’
Charlie, Nellie and Cassie came running up the stairs to see what all the noise was about. Their dad was roaring with laughter, and Annie was giggling like a girl who’d forgotten she was a young lady of dignity.