THE EVENING HAD become cold and frosty, but Mrs Brown’s kitchen was warm and cosy, the range fire glowing, and a supper of hot shepherd’s pie was on the table, the potato crust patterned with crisp brown ridges. The house was old, going well back into the Victorian era, but its foundations and walls were solid and enduring. All members of the Brown family were present, and like the Adams family who had preceded them as tenants, they were never short of something to say. They were at it now, in response to what Will had said about a young lady who’d hurt her knee.
‘Come again, Will?’ said Mr Brown, a wiry old survivor of the trenches.
‘Yes, say it again, Will,’ said Susie.
‘Yes, you’d best, love,’ advised Mrs Brown, ‘it sounded a bit funny.’
‘It wasn’t to her,’ said Will. ‘I decided I’d better not carry her, me in my condition, so I sat her in the pushcart and wheeled her home.’
‘Crikey, you didn’t, Will, did yer?’ said Sally.
‘How old was she?’ asked Susie.
‘She let me know several times she was seventeen and that I was mucking up her dignity,’ said Will, ‘but I had to get her home somehow.’
Susie laughed, and her engagement ring, a diamond solitaire, winked in the gaslight.
‘Some palaver,’ grinned Mr Brown.
‘Wish I’d seen it,’ said Freddy, ‘only I went to Ernie Flint’s to see if I could ’ave a loan of ’is bike, not ’aving one of me own.’
Nobody took any notice of that. Will’s way of getting a seventeen-year-old girl home was grabbing all the attention.
‘I don’t know I’d like bein’ wheeled ’ome in a pushcart, and I’m only fourteen,’ said Sally.
‘Oh, but it must’ve been a nice ride for her with her knee hurtin’,’ said Mrs Brown proudly. She found it easy to be proud of almost anything her sons and daughters did, short of knocking a policeman’s helmet off. She was against anything showing disrespect for the law.
‘But the young lady didn’t think it was nice, Will?’ said Susie, twenty-one, and generally regarded as a corker, even by small boys still vague about why girls were different. And the vicar wouldn’t tell them, except to say the ways of the Lord were wondrous.
‘Yes, come on, what did she say?’ asked Sally.
‘Quite a lot,’ said Will. Susie, sitting next to him, gave him a look. If Sally and Freddy were close, so were Susie and Will. She saw his little grin and how brown he was. The Army had done something for Will, made a man of him at twenty, and a good-looking one, with an air of self-confidence. An NCO’s air of self-confidence. Susie could easily imagine a girl of seventeen dying of embarrassment at having him wheel her home in a boy’s pushcart.
‘What’s a lot?’ she asked.
‘Well, most of it meant how much better off she’d have been if she’d never met me,’ said Will.
‘What a funny girl,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘’Ere, listen, I met a funny one meself when I was on me way to Ernie Flint’s,’ said Freddy. ‘Mind, I could’ve cycled there if I’d ’ad me own bike—’
‘What’s the young lady’s name, Will?’ asked Mr Brown.
‘Talk to yerself,’ muttered Freddy.
‘Eat your supper up, love,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Come on, Will, what’s ’er name?’ asked Sally.
‘Annie Ford,’ said Will.
‘’Ere, listen, I met a girl name of Ford,’ said Freddy, ‘it was the funny one, it was when I was on me way to—’
‘Where’s she live?’ asked Sally.
‘I dunno where she lives,’ said Freddy, ‘but I betcher she’s got ’er own bike. If I ’ad me own—’
‘I’m talkin’ to Will, you blessed boy,’ said Sally.
‘Yes, where’s the young lady live, Will?’ asked Mrs Brown, beginning to think there might have been love at first sight if the young lady happened to have been pretty.
‘Blackwood Street,’ said Will. ‘She’s got a dad, two sisters and a hooligan brother.’
‘So ’ave I,’ said Sally, ‘he’s sittin’ next to me. Is the young lady’s brother purgat’ry to ’er?’
‘Probably,’ said Will. ‘I was simply told about him by her sister Nellie. Anyway, they’ve all got each other but no mum. She died some years ago.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘I don’t know any Fords at our school,’ said Sally.
‘Sammy knows a Mr Ben Ford, a big fat man,’ said Susie, and smiled reminiscently, knowing that Sammy’s elder brother Boots had twice sorted out Fatty’s troublesome bully boys.
Freddy, noting Susie’s smile, thought this was a good time to try again.
‘’Ere, Susie, I like Sammy,’ he said, ‘I don’t wonder you’re romantic about ’im, seein’ ’e’s goin’ to marry yer. ’As he got a bike? I ain’t got one meself—’
‘I wonder if Annie Ford and her fam’ly could be relations of Mr Ben Ford?’ mused Susie. ‘I hope not. Well, you’ll have to take her some flowers, Will.’
‘Eh?’ said Will, and eyed Susie in suspicion. She smiled sweetly. Stone my brainbox, he thought, the way the female mind works. They were all the same, sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins and anyone else with a bosom. ‘Watch what you’re savin’, sis.’
Sally caught Susie’s eye. Sally winked. Susie smiled again.
‘But you should, Will,’ she said, ‘shouldn’t he, Dad?’
‘What?’ Mr Brown exercised a cautious note on behalf of his eldest son. He knew about female minds himself. Well, you had to know a bit when you were married or you could wake up one morning and find your Sunday watch and chain had been pawned behind your back.
‘Dad, just think,’ said Susie, ‘that poor young lady of seventeen bein’ pushed home by Will in that home-made cart. Think of her feelings. I’d have died ten times over myself. Will’s got to make it up to her.’
‘Yes, course you ’ave, Will,’ said Sally.
‘Listen,’ said Will, ‘if I show up on her doorstep again, she’ll chuck a brick at me. My face can’t afford to stop a brick, it’s the only one I’ve got.’
‘Mrs Parks down in Charleston Street chucked a brick at Mr Parks once,’ said Sally. ‘It knocked all ’is teeth out, and ’e can only eat porridge now, and rice puddin’.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone ’ere could buy me a bike, could they?’ suggested Freddy.
‘I’ve been thinkin’,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Bless yer, mum,’ said Freddy, ‘I—’
‘Not you, love,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘I was meanin’ our Will. I think it might be nice if he did take the young lady some flowers now she’s an invalid and don’t have no mum. I expect she’d like some flowers.’
‘Talk to yerself,’ muttered Freddy again, ‘that’s it, talk to yerself.’
‘What’s up with Freddy?’ asked Mrs Brown. ‘’E keeps talkin’ to ’is supper.’
‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ said Freddy, ‘I ain’t ’ardly ’ere.’
‘Daffodils are nice,’ said Susie, ‘they’re in the market now.’
‘Yes, daffs ’ave just come out,’ said Sally.
‘I’ve got a special likin’ for daffs,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘they were the first flowers your dad give me. Mind, he wasn’t your dad then, of course, we’d only just met. Flowers always come first, Sally.’
‘Then what?’ said Sally.
‘Us,’ said Susie.
‘Oh, a weddin’ first, love,’ said Mrs Brown placidly. ‘Flowers, then an engagement, then a weddin’, and then blessings.’
‘What, us? We’re blessings?’ said Sally. ‘Crikey, d’you mean Freddy as well? I don’t call ’im a blessin’.’
‘I ain’t been blessed with no bike, I know that,’ muttered Freddy.
‘Daffodils, they’ll do, Will,’ said Susie.
‘I’m not listening,’ said Will, accepting seconds of shepherd’s pie from his mum.
‘I’ll get them for yer, Will,’ said Sally, ‘on me way ’ome from school tomorrow. They’re only sixpence a dozen down the market.’
‘I’ve gone all deaf,’ said Will.
‘Sixpence and a penny for goin’,’ said Sally, ‘I don’t mind doin’ a nice errand like that.’
‘If I ’ad a penny for ev’ry errand I’ve done,’ said Freddy, ‘I bet I’d be able to buy me own bike.’
‘Why am I bein’ pushed?’ asked Will.
‘Because it’s the nice thing to do, lovey,’ said Susie, ‘and you don’t have to stay long enough for her to throw a brick at you. Is she pretty?’
‘I’m barmy,’ said Will, ‘so’s any bloke daft enough to mention a girl to a family full of females.’
‘Excuse me, lovey, but we’re half and half,’ said Susie. ‘Bet you two bob Annie Ford is pretty.’
‘Will, would yer like to give me the sixpence now?’ said Sally. ‘And the penny for doin’ the errand?’
Determinedly, Freddy tried yet again.
‘If I ’ad a penny for—’
‘Daffodils suit pretty girls,’ said Mrs Brown, and Freddy’s determination went to pot then.
‘Biggest mistake I ever made, opening my mouth about Annie Ford,’ said Will. ‘In front of anyone in trousers, that wouldn’t have mattered, but in front of anyone in bloomers—’
‘’Ere, d’you mind?’ said Sally. ‘I get enough of that from Freddy, ’e don’t ’ave any respect for unmentionables.’
‘I don’t ’ave no bike, either,’ said Freddy. ‘Mind, it’s a relief someone’s noticed I’m alive, I can’t tell yer what a blessin’ that is. Now if I could just say—’
‘Will, you still haven’t told us if Annie is pretty,’ said Susie.
‘That’s done it, that ’as,’ said Freddy, ‘I might as well go an’ sort meself out a plot in the cemet’ry.’
‘No, don’t leave the table yet, love,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘there’s syrup puddin’ for afters.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Freddy gloomily, ‘I’ll stay for that, a bloke can drown ’imself easier when ’e’s got a full stomach.’
‘Sit up, Freddy love,’ said Mrs Brown, and brought the syrup pudding to the table.
‘Susie, Will still ’asn’t told us if Annie Ford’s pretty,’ said Sally.
‘I didn’t notice,’ said Will.
‘That’s it, Sally, she’s seventeen and pretty,’ said Susie.
‘Well, we hope so,’ said Mrs Brown, serving the pudding.
‘What’re you up to, you hope so?’ asked Will.
‘I’m only sayin’, Will love,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Fancy our Will only just ’ome from India an’ findin’ someone seventeen an’ pretty,’ said Sally.
‘Fancy findin’ your syrup puddin’ down your gymslip?’ said Will.
‘Funny thing, yer know,’ said Mr Brown, ‘I found yer mum when I was about Will’s age.’
‘Why, was she lost, then?’ asked Freddy bitterly.
‘Lost?’ said his dad.
‘I only asked,’ said Freddy. ‘Look, I dunno I can eat all this syrup puddin’. Still, I will. If it kills me, no-one’ll notice, and it’ll save me ’aving to drown meself.’
‘Yes, eat it up, love,’ said Mrs Brown fondly, ‘syrup pudding’s good for a growin’ boy.’
‘D’you want to tell us any more about Annie, Will?’ asked Susie.
‘Right, monkey, I’ll come clean,’ said Will, going on the attack, ‘I only noticed her legs.’
‘You shocker,’ said Susie, putting aside any suggestion that she liked to see Sammy looking at her own legs.
‘Not my fault,’ said Will, ‘they kept staring me in the face.’
‘You listening to that, Mum?’ asked Sally.
‘Well, I must say you and Susie’s both got ever such nice legs, lovey,’ said Mrs Brown, equability undisturbed.
‘Wooden ones, that’s what Sally’s got,’ muttered Freddy.
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Mr Brown.
‘Well, ’ow could she get inches taller in a few months unless she’s wearin’ wooden ones bought off a market stall?’ said Freddy.
‘I don’t think you can buy wooden ones off a stall, Freddy,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘You have to go somewhere special for wooden ones.’
‘I bet she bought special ones from Mr Greenberg,’ said Freddy, ‘you can get anything from ’im. I bet if you looked, you’d see ’is sold label on Sally’s.’
‘Sounds a good bet, Freddy,’ said Will. ‘Let’s all take a look after supper.’
‘I’ll scream for me mum,’ said Sally, ‘and I won’t get the daffs for yer, not even if you give me tuppence for goin’.’
‘’Ere, listen,’ said Freddy with reborn determination, ‘if I’d ’ad tuppence for ev’ry errand I’ve done, I’d ’ave ’ad me own bike years ago. Mind, if Susie feels—’
‘What’s that blessed boy talkin’ about?’ asked Sally.
‘I expect ’e’d like some more syrup puddin’,’ said Mrs Brown.
Bitterness uppermost again, Freddy decided to have his own back by dropping a bombshell. He addressed his mum. Loudly.
‘I suppose Susie knows I ain’t wearin’ no trousers at ’er weddin’?’
‘What?’ said Susie.
‘Nor I ain’t,’ said Freddy, ‘I already informed Mum, an’ she knows me mind’s made up.’
‘I’m dreamin’,’ said Susie.
‘And I ain’t wearin’ no sailor suit, either, not at my age I ain’t,’ said Freddy. ‘Just a scarf an’ shin. I just ’ope the day won’t be windy. If it is, well, I’ll just ’ave to grin an’ bear it.’
Sally shrieked. Mr Brown hid his face in what was left of his helping of syrup pudding. Well, nearly. Will laughed his head off. Susie’s face was a study.
Mrs Brown said, ‘Bless us, Freddy, I don’t know you ought to ’ave said a thing like that. It don’t sound a bit nice.’
‘Can’t ’elp that, Mum,’ said Freddy firmly, ‘I told yer, me mind’s made up.’
‘Well, take precautions if it’s windy, Freddy,’ said Will, ‘wear a long shirt.’
‘I’ve only got me short ones,’ said Freddy.
Sally had hysterics and fell off her chair. Mr Brown choked on his pudding this time. Mrs Brown giggled like a girl. Susie held herself in check. She waited until the supper table had stopped rattling before she made herself heard.
‘So your mind’s made up, is it, Freddy Brown? Well, so’s mine. You’re goin’ to wear a suit.’
‘No, I ain’t,’ said Freddy, ‘not unless it’s got long trousers. I ain’t wearing short ones, not at your weddin’, Susie, and it ain’t my fault if I ain’t got long shirts.’
‘Wear one of Dad’s,’ said Will.
Sally had more hysterics, on the floor.
‘Listen, my lad,’ said Susie, ‘it’s goin’ to be a boy’s suit or nothing.’
‘I ain’t wearin’ nothing,’ said Freddy, ‘it ain’t decent.’
‘I mean you won’t be there,’ said Susie.
‘Susie, I got to be there,’ said Freddy, ‘your weddin’ is special to me.’
Susie smiled.
‘Really special?’ she said.
‘Special special,’ said Freddy.
‘There’s a good boy,’ said Susie. ‘Dad, buy him a suit with long trousers. You can get one at Gamages.’
‘I’m ready to fork out, Susie,’ said Mr Brown, who knew one thing for sure. Sammy Adams, important businessman and a decent bloke though he was, was getting a lovely, warm and generous girl on his wedding day, the kind a duke wouldn’t say no to.
‘There, that’s settled,’ said Mrs Brown happily.
‘Mind, Susie, if I ’ad a bike as well, I could cycle to the church and do weddin’ errands for yer,’ said Freddy.
‘Sally, get up off the floor, there’s a love,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘you been down there long enough.’
‘Talk to yerself,’ muttered Freddy.
Later, Susie spoke to her dad.
‘Dad, Sammy said he’d like to see you first thing in the morning.’
‘What about?’ asked Mr Brown, who was employed by Sammy as a full-time odd-job man.
‘He didn’t say.’ Actually, Sammy had said he didn’t think his future dad-in-law ought to be seen doing odd-jobbing around the offices and the Olney Road scrap metal yard. He’d have to talk to him, he’d said.
‘Right you are, Susie, I’ll go an’ see ’im first thing in the morning.’
‘Good old Dad,’ said Susie, and then got Will on his own. Will at once said she’d got a look in her eye. ‘Oh, I only want to ask if you’ve been all right today,’ she said.
‘Is this a crafty way of bringing up that girl again?’
‘No, we were only pullin’ your leg, love. I was wonderin’ about your chest, that’s all.’ It was difficult for the family to believe Will had a serious complaint when he looked so healthy. If the doctors had talked about consumption, well, that really would have been serious. It was something Walworth people dreaded. ‘You didn’t get an attack through helpin’ that girl, did you?’
Will thought about it and decided not to worry her.
‘No, left me as fit as a fiddle, Susie.’
‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘only Boots mentioned that asthma can be a bit of an unsociable headache.’
‘Well, I could do without it, and that’s a fact,’ said Will. His little grin showed. ‘Specially at my age,’ he added.
‘That’s right,’ said Susie, ‘so look after yourself. You don’t know how pleased I am you’re home for my weddin’.’
‘I think you like the idea of marryin’ Sammy,’ said Will.
‘Love it,’ said Susie, ‘even if we do have ups and downs.’
‘Mum and Dad have had a few, I suppose.’
‘Every married couple have some,’ said Susie, ‘but Mum’s always been able to sort hers out with Dad.’
‘Who’s goin’ to sort out those you have with Sammy?’
‘Me,’ said Susie, ‘it’ll never do to let Sammy be on top.’
‘Never?’ smiled Will.
‘What? Oh, you,’ laughed Susie, but turned just a little pink. Susie may have been twenty-one and adult, but she was still a virgin.