Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (31 page)

‘Oh, the poor little mites, he’s all the family they’ve got left; of course I don’t mind them coming here! We’ll have to work out where they’ll sleep, though.’

The little house in Vauban Street was already bursting at the seams, with only two bedrooms, a front kitchen where the family lived and ate, and a small back scullery.

‘What with all them soddin’ matchboxes, we’ll have to put the kids up in the shed!’

The girls laughed, but Nellie was only half joking.

‘Sam says we can talk about all the details tomorrow. They’re coming for dinner and we’ll tell them all together. Matty’ll take it bad, but he’s made up his mind.’

‘How do
you
feel about it, Nell?’ her sister asked, turning to face her in the bed. Moonlight fell across the pillow and glinted off an obvious teardrop as it trickled down Nellie’s cheek.

‘Oh, Al.’ She nestled her head into her sister’s neck. ‘That stupid song keeps going through my mind, I can’t get it to stop: ‘
We don’t want to lose you, but we think you ought to go
.’ Well, I don’t,’ she sobbed, ‘I don’t think he ought to go, and I don’t want him to go!’

‘Does he know how you feel?’ Her sister stroked her hair.

‘He knows I don’t want him to go, but I don’t think he really knows why.’

Alice sighed. At fourteen, she was wise beyond her years. ‘People have a way of knowing, don’t they? But he might not feel he can say anything, not till he’s back safe and sound.’

Nellie nodded and swallowed, taking her cue from sensible Alice. ‘And they say it’ll all be over by Christmas, don’t they?’

Sam, Charlie and Matty were a cheery threesome when they arrived on Sunday morning. They had been sharing some joke on the way and when Nellie answered the door they were convulsed with laughter. She wondered how Sam could laugh, but it was the same as those men waiting outside the recruiting office – no sadness, no fear, only a seemingly heady joy.

God forgive you, Sam Gilbie
, she thought.
I think you’re actually happy.

She could only suppose there must be some emotional switch men could turn on, which converted the prospect of horror into the hope of adventure; perhaps they felt it was what they were made for. To her it seemed pitiless, but if it was light-heartedness that would get him through the coming danger, she didn’t begrudge him his laughter.

Well
, she asked herself,
that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To see him lose all that misery? Now you’ve got your wish.

All this she registered between opening the door and ushering them into the kitchen. It wasn’t until dinner was over that they announced the coming change in their lives. They still sat at the table and Nellie could see the boys itching to make their escape. She interrupted the rowdy chatter. ‘All right, everyone pipe down. Me and Sam’s got something to tell you.’

Matty’s head shot up and she clapped her hands. ‘You’re getting married!’

Sam blushed and the boys hooted with laughter.

‘Don’t you know nothing, you stupid little canary?’ Charlie said. ‘They’re not even walking out!’

‘Put a sock in it, Charlie, and don’t talk to your sister like that.’ Sam’s voice was stern but, softening, he turned to his sister.

‘It’s not that, Matty, but in a way we
are
going to be one family, so you’re not far wrong. The fact is I’m signing up for the army tomorrow and that means I’ll have to be away from home for a bit.’

Matty’s face fell and Charlie’s brightened considerably. At thirteen he was mad for the war. ‘You’re going to fight the Bosch!’ He was beaming. ‘Now I can tell ’em in school to shut their mouths up about you!’

Nellie and Sam exchanged looks. So the slurs had already reached the schoolyard. Matty started crying. ‘I don’t want you to go, Sam. We’ll have to go into the workhouse!’

He opened his arms and Matty ran round the table to him.

‘Shhh, you don’t think I’d let that happen, do you? What do you think of coming and living here with Nellie for a bit, eh?’

Nellie gave her an encouraging look. ‘You can keep all your own things, Matty, we’ll put your bed in mine and Alice’s room, and we can carry on with your cookery lessons. Won’t you like that?’

After some coaxing, Matty was reassured and actually began to see the positive side. ‘I think it’ll be more fun, living with girls than just boys all the time,’ she said, after a while. ‘At least I’ll have someone to talk to, won’t I?’

Nellie remembered the night she’d spent in Matty’s bed and how the little girl had chattered all night. There were all sorts of sacrifices required in a war, she thought ruefully, and sleepless nights might be the least of hers.

Charlie needed no such persuading. He was already fast friends with her brothers, especially Freddie who, at twelve, was close to him in age and temperament. So it was settled that he would sleep in the boys’ room, and by the time the dinner things were cleared away they were already hatching schemes to bring Charlie into what Freddie now called his ‘roses business’ of dung selling. ‘Fall in shit, come up smelling of roses!’ he explained to Charlie, with all the knowing pride of a successful businessman.

Sam would enlist in the Royal Field Artillery, like Jock, who’d already been assigned as a horse driver, since he’d been used to driving his father’s cart. Jock urged Sam to sign up to the same regiment, as they were particularly in need of men used to working with horses. An added incentive was the extra pay offered to anyone who could drive a horse team. Sam spent a long day at the recruiting office being questioned, weighed and measured, then waiting around for forms to be filled in. Eventually he was deemed fit for service in the Royal Field Artillery and rushed back to tell Nellie.

‘I’ve got me papers!’ His hand shook with excitement as he held up the documents. ‘Can you come for a walk with me, Nell? I couldn’t keep still if I tried!’

She nodded and nipped back into the kitchen, where Alice was working on the matchboxes. ‘Alice, Sam’s back.’ Nellie looked at the clock on the mantel. The boys would soon be in bed. ‘Can you spare me for an hour? He wants to go for a walk.’

Alice looked up from her matchboxes. ‘Take your jacket, don’t rush back!’ She smiled as she bent her head to her work.

The early September evening was fine and warm, and Nellie had no idea where they were walking to. She just concentrated on keeping up with Sam, who was striding ahead as though he were already in uniform.

‘Hold up a minute, you’re not on a route march yet!’ she complained.

He slowed his pace a little as they made their way down Spa Road, towards St James’s Church. Nellie looked up as they passed Pearce Duff’s factory on the corner. The windows were open and the chatter of the girls on the late shift drifted down, with the golden custard powder that coated every window sill. Nellie smelled the familiar vanilla sweetness and felt strangely comforted. Some things were going on as normal at least. Just as they passed beneath the St James railway arch, a steam train thundered overhead and Nellie jumped as the tunnel reverberated like a booming kettledrum. She always scuttled through the railway arches and now she instinctively took hold of Sam’s arm. He looked down and smiled at her.

‘Good job you’re not going out to the front. They say the sound of the guns is deafening. I’ll have to get used to that, especially being in the artillery.’

This was not what she wanted to hear, but she smiled back encouragingly. ‘Maybe you’ll just be driving carts and not even have to go near a gun!’

‘I doubt that, Nell, but anyway I wanted to talk to you about arrangements for the kids and the money side of things. Let’s walk round the churchyard a bit.’

St James was an imposing ‘Waterloo’ church, with a front that looked like a Greek temple. Steps led up to the pillared portico and four massive doors formed the entrance. Decades of Bermondsey soot and smoke had blackened the church’s honey-coloured stone, so that now it had a sombre, heavy air. It was a church born out of a historic battle and it had seen many more in its time; now here it stood awaiting another great conflict.

Sam pointed up to the bell tower. ‘Did you know the bells are made of melted-down cannons from the battle of Waterloo?’

She hadn’t, though the great bells of St James were a familiar part of her life. Their pealing punctuated her Sundays. Often she cursed them, as they put paid to any hope of a brief lie-in. But she had never once considered the connection between that house of prayer and the bloody carnage of a long-forgotten war. She shuddered as she peered at the bells high above them, just visible within the tower.

‘So anyway,’ Sam went on, ‘the kids seem happy enough to come to you. I’ll have to get rid of our few bits of furniture, not that there’s much.’

‘Except the beds,’ she said, her mind turning to practicalities. ‘We’ll have to squeeze them in somehow and you’ll want to keep mementos, your mum and dad’s things. We’ll find room, Sam.’

‘I’m so grateful, Nellie. I can’t tell you how much easier this makes it for me. Dad would never forgive me if I didn’t keep the family Bible. It’s big, though!’ he said, indicating something about the size of the penny-farthing cart. Nellie laughed at his exaggeration.

‘Now we’ve got to work out the money side of things, Nell. Soldier’s pay’s about seven bob a week, but I’ll get an extra four bob for working with horses, and ’course I’ll send most of it home to you. Then there’s the separation allowance.’

‘What’s that for?’ she asked

‘If you’ve got kids depending on you, they give you five shillings a child every week, so that’ll be another ten bob.’

She knew that these were practicalities they had to speak about; certainly she could barely afford to keep her own family fed and clothed, let alone another two. But the simple way that Sam put their welfare above all other considerations tugged at her heart. His own possible death in the war was not in the forefront of his mind; his main concern was simply how many extra shillings he could send home to Nellie.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to manage on that and what you’ve got coming in at the moment?’ he asked.

‘To be honest, I think we’ll be better off,’ she said a little guiltily, ‘but you make sure you keep enough of your wages for what you need out there!’

‘You get your food and clothes supplied, Nell, and I don’t reckon I’ll get much time for fancy French shopping, though I might find something nice to send home to you. Wouldn’t you like a pretty French hat, blue… same as your eyes?’

She realized this was the nearest he had ever got to talking like a sweetheart. She looked up into his kind, dark brown eyes and thought she saw the old devotion still there. She waited for him to say more, but instead he hesitated and said, ‘You’re the best of girls, Nellie, for taking on my family, but I want you to know it doesn’t mean you have to take on me as well.’

She went to speak, but he wouldn’t be interrupted.

‘What I mean is that I couldn’t ask that of you, not now. I couldn’t bear it if you were just being kind to me, because you thought I might be going out to die.’

‘Sam, I wouldn’t be doing anything out of kindness or pity. I’ve changed.’ She wanted to explain, but he stopped her, taking both her hands, holding them between his palms as though in prayer. They stood facing each other in front of St James’s portico.

‘I know what you’re saying, Nellie, and nothing would make me happier, but I can’t ask it of you. If it’s meant to be, then I’ll come home safe and sound and we’ll see how you feel then.’

‘All right, Sam, if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.’ Her throat closed with emotion and her breath raked her lungs; she knew she had to match his bravery with her own. She stood looking up into his eyes, wanting to fix him in her mind as he was just at this moment. Nineteen now, he was a man in body, and five years outdoor labour had given him a sinewy, hard-muscled frame, but his face, as she studied it, still showed much of that expectant boy she had so scorned as he’d waited for her patiently every day outside Pearce Duff’s. Now it was she who would wait for him. They had come to an understanding.

24

The Power of a Promise

Sam had given her the photograph just before he left for training camp in September. Nellie took it out of her bag for the tenth time that day. Sam, Jock and four other young recruits were posing beneath trees on a sun-dappled common near the RFA base. They were all wearing new khaki uniforms, with leather pouched bandoliers across their chests. Their legs were wrapped in khaki webbing, spurs adorned their boots, and each one carried a riding crop. She scrutinized Sam’s face, looking for any clue as to what he might be feeling. His eyes were shaded by the cap’s peak, but his full mouth was set in what seemed gritty determination, his strong chin thrust slightly forward, as if to convince the world that he was ready to fight and to prevail. The pose was carefully arranged. He lay resting on his elbow on the left of the group and Jock mirrored his position on the right. Behind them, their mates stood in suitably firm stances, crops held at their sides, hands on hips.

Nellie was not fooled for an instant. These were not warriors; they were boys playing at soldiers, who knew no more of war than she did. She sighed and put the photo away in her bag. She couldn’t believe it had been three long months since Sam had enlisted. After the wrench of him leaving for training camp, she’d expected him to sail immediately for France. But it seemed that the overwhelming number of volunteers for Kitchener’s Army had taken everyone by surprise and it was taking months to get them kitted out. Sam had written her tales of shortages, not just of uniforms but of guns to practise with. They were even running low on horses, so many had been mown down in the early months of the war. The weeks of waiting had turned into months and Christmas now shone like a bright light of hope for her. If his training was prolonged till then, perhaps it would all be over by the time his division was ready to embark for France.

Lily carried around that same photograph of Sam and Jock, her copy covered in creases and smudges where she had kissed it each night. She and Nellie had become even closer since Sam and Jock had left, drawn together by a need to talk endlessly of the boys’ whereabouts and to tell each other the meagre scraps of news that filtered through from training camp. They shared the agonizing wait, neither feeling they could live properly until the boys came home.