A Strong Hand to Hold

‘It’s happening all over the country,’ Jenny said. ‘And the Coventry raid five days ago that killed over fifteen hundred people and injured many more will at least put paid to the stupid people who think being two hundred miles from the coast is some sort of deterrent. I think, and so do many more, that we will be next. All our defences have been stepped up. I’m on duty tonight, as it happens.’

‘Och, girl, they’ll understand if you go down and explain,’ Maureen said tearfully. ‘They’d not expect you in tonight if you tell them about Anthony.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘I’d rather not just sit and think,’ she said. ‘God knows, there’ll be time enough for that – and Anthony wouldn’t want me to stay away, especially if there should be a heavy raid tonight.’

Maureen didn’t press her granddaughter further, but Jenny knew it wouldn’t be so easy for her to convince the ones at home. ‘I’ll have to be going anyway,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘They’ll all be sitting there waiting for me to make their tea.’

‘I must be away too,’ Peggy said, ‘or they’ll be handing me my cards.’

Peggy worked the night shift at BSA – Birmingham Small Arms – in Armoury Road, making Browning guns for Spitfires, and it was one hell of a trek from Pype Hayes out there every evening. Maureen secretly thought the reason she stayed on with them and didn’t look for something nearer, was because she was sweet on her son Gerry, and Gerry certainly more than liked her. In fact, Maureen thought, Peggy would be hard to dislike as she was lovely to look at with her thick hair so dark it was nearly black, and eyes to match, and her full mouth in her heart-shaped face. But best of all was her kindly nature and sense of humour. Maureen would welcome the girl as a daughter-in-law, for Gerry was thirty-three and a fine age to marry, but he was too shy to speak his mind to the girl. Maureen thought him a fool and hoped he wouldn’t dally too long, or someone else would snap the girl up.

Jenny knew what was in her gran’s mind, but her own was still full of her brother, and as she made her way back to the house, she wondered why she didn’t look in the least bit like him. Like his three brothers and Geraldine too, Anthony had had deep brown eyes and hair, a nice-shaped nose and mouth, and flawless skin. The boys were all acknowledged as handsome and Geraldine known as a stunner.

Jenny’s face was longer than theirs and went to a point at her chin, and though her eyes were brown, they were much lighter than the other O’Learys’. Her nose had no shape to it at all and was powdered with hideous freckles, and her mouth was too big and her lips too thick. But worst of all was the mop of auburn curls that refused to lie flat, or be tamed in any way. She was plain if not downright ugly – and if she’d had any doubts about it, Norah O’Leary would have dispelled them, for all the years of her growing up, she’d told her how ugly she was.

Not, in fact, that she’d grown up very much, for while the boys all touched on six foot and Geraldine was a willowy five foot six like her mother and other grandmother, Jenny was just five foot. She’d grown till she was about twelve, then stopped, and she had few womanly curves and little bust. In fact, she looked more like a young boy than a young woman, especially when she wore the trousers that women were finding so comfortable and practical these days.

Even her sister had said she’d be left on the shelf if she didn’t make the most of the few attributes she had – and indeed, there had never been anyone killed in the rush to take Jenny O’Leary out.

Now though, Norah was pleased that Jenny had turned out plain. As the only unmarried daughter, she’d spend her lifetime looking after her; it wasn’t as if she’d ever have a better offer. Norah considered she’d had a miserable life since she consented to marry that oaf Dermot O’Leary, but she’d made him pay for it. Now it was Jenny’s turn. She’d always championed him anyway, and even looked like him and all his common relations. Norah knew she would never feel the same about Jenny as she did about her beautiful daughter Geraldine, who’d never argued with her in the whole of her life. There had been just one distressing incident in her teens when she’d been all for marrying someone unsuitable. But Norah had soon put a stop to that. Jenny was a different kettle of fish altogether.

When Jenny returned from her gran’s, it was to hear the priest had already paid the two women a visit. Norah immediately demanded to know where Jenny had been for such a long time; she was furious when she found out. Didn’t Jenny have any thought for her feelings? Surely she knew that Maureen O’Leary was the last person on God’s earth she’d have wanted her to see. ‘Why,’ she asked plaintively, ‘do you take such pleasure in upsetting me and today of all days when I’m trying to come to terms with the death of my son?’

Jenny couldn’t understand her mother. Did she honestly think Gran O’Leary should have been kept in the dark? Anthony was her grandson too, and she had loved him dearly. Surely she had a right to know!

But in this sort of mood, there was no reasoning with Norah, as Jenny knew from bitter experience. She gave a sigh and, deciding she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, told her mother she was on warden duty that night and had no intention of asking to be excused. At first Jenny thought her mother was going to have a fit; naturally, everyone blamed Jenny for the upset. ‘You are unnatural,’ Norah declared, and Jenny could see that the others agreed with her. No one could understand her attitude. Geraldine was still at the house but she couldn’t stay late for she had the children to get to bed. She said she assumed that Jenny would be there that evening to offer their mother some measure of comfort. Jenny gave a grim smile, knowing her mother would never take comfort from her. She was just used as the whipping boy.

It had been Anthony’s idea that she work as an ARP warden or at least that she do something for the war effort. He’d told her about the women working on the shopfloor of factories doing jobs that had once been traditionally male, and of those driving buses and trucks and ambulances, and how proud he was of them all setting to and running the country in the absence of the men. His words had inspired Jenny and, having some knowledge of First Aid, she offered herself as an ARP warden and now reported for duty two evenings a week at the warden post in Tyburn Road.

Norah had then said that if Jenny was going to leave her alone in the evenings, as well as the day, she wanted her mother to move in with them, at least till the end of the war. Jenny disliked her Grandmother Gillespie, for Eileen resembled her daughter Norah in looks and temperament, but there was no point in complaining, Norah would only point out that it was her name on the rent book. Eileen had moved in, and before many weeks had passed, Jenny thought that if she hadn’t had the warden post to escape to, she’d have strangled the pair of them!

She particularly needed to get out that night. Before, she’d always given in to the family and done what they wanted, but not this time. ‘Mother, Anthony would want me to go,’ Jenny said steadily.

‘Oh, you know that, do you, miss?’ Norah sneered.

And suddenly Jenny could almost see Anthony in front of her eyes and hear his voice in her ear. ‘Go on Jen. Stand up to Mother for God’s sake, or she’ll destroy you.’

‘Yes – yes, I do!’ Jenny shouted back at her mother. ‘He gave his life doing what he thought was right, but the war hasn’t finished because Anthony has died. He wouldn’t want us to give up. If there is a raid tonight, more people might be injured and killed. I have to go.’ And then, as her mother made no reply, she lifted her chin defiantly and went on: ‘And I am going, just as soon as I’ve made us all something to eat.’

Norah stared at Jenny. Always before she’d given in under pressure; this was a new tack entirely. ‘Then go,’ she said, ‘though what earthly good you’ll be I don’t know, for you’re as small as a child and about as much use.’

Jenny stared back at her mother for a minute, then turned from her without a word, though she trembled inside as she went into the kitchen to start on the tea. She heard Geraldine call goodbye to her mother and grandmother, completely ignoring her. Jenny told herself she didn’t care; she’d made a stand now and had to stick to it – and the sooner she got the tea over and was on her way, the better she’d feel.

TWO (#ulink_27d2a5d8-cc7b-57f5-9fcc-21002b39ff1b)

As Jenny was struggling with the news of her brother’s death, just a couple of streets away on Paget Road, Linda Lennox was looking at her mother Patty Prosser with concern, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough to get up, Mom?’

Patty looked at her daughter and smiled. She was a good kid, she thought, ‘I can’t stay in bed all my bloody life, now can I?’ she said. ‘The sooner I’m back to work and you back to school the better.’

‘Yeah, but you ain’t gotta rush it. You know what the doc said.’

‘Yeah, I know what he said, and between the two of you I’d be wrapped in cotton wool. Don’t worry, Linda – I’ll have to see how I am when I’m up, won’t I? If it’s too much I promise I’ll go back to bed, but I’m bored bloody solid, and it’s too much trouble and cost to have a fire in the living room and the bedroom.’

‘It ain’t no trouble, Mom, honest,’ Linda protested. ‘The bedroom would be like an ice box without a fire. Dr Sanders said you had to keep warm.’

‘I know, but today I’ll get up and sit by the fire downstairs for a bit, all right?’

‘OK,’ Linda conceded. ‘I’ll make us both a cuppa, eh?’

Patty’s face still looked pasty-white, Linda thought, but at least she wasn’t coughing quite so much any more. She knew what had given her the chest infection; it was that trip to the Bull Ring the previous Saturday to buy her some new shoes. Her mom had already been full of cold. Their good neighbour and friend Beattie Latimer had told her to leave it a while, for the day had been wild, squally and cold, not a day to be going anywhere, but Patty said Linda could wait no longer for shoes. And she couldn’t really. Her summer sandals hurt her toes, they were so small and her pumps didn’t keep her feet warm or dry, despite the cardboard Linda put inside them.

Still, they didn’t have to go as far as town to buy shoes and Linda guessed her mom wanted a gander at the Bull Ring after the bombing raids on it in late August. She did herself, and when Patty had told Beattie not to fuss, it was just a cold, she’d believed her.

They’d had a great day, for much as she loved her two little brothers, George and Harry, Linda enjoyed having her mother to herself at times. And Beattie, despite her disapproval, agreed to mind the two little ones so that they could go together.

They’d both been shocked by the devastation. They’d read about it, of course, and seen pictures in the EveningMail and the Despatch, but seeing pictures and hearing about it was one thing; being there was quite another. Much of the rubble from inside the shops on the bottom end of High Street down towards the Bull Ring had been cleared over the past weeks and the empty shells of the shops leaned drunkenly one against the other.

At first, the Bull Ring itself had seemed much the same as ever. The bag lady was still there chanting, ‘’andy carriers,’ as she had for as long as Linda could remember, and opposite to her was the man selling Alcazar razor blades. There didn’t seem quite so many barrows though, and the fish stalls were severely depleted. ‘I heard tell they were going to start selling whale meat,’ Patty said. ‘But I can’t see any sign of it.’

‘Ugh,’ Linda had said in disgust. ‘Don’t you go buying any of that.’

‘Now, now. You ain’t never tasted it, so how can you say that,’ Patty had admonished. ‘Any road, you might be glad of it before we’re finished, with all this rationing.’

Linda had doubted she’d ever be that desperate, but wisely didn’t argue further.

She’d always loved the buzz and clamour of the Bull Ring, the mingled smells of the goods on offer, and the chatter and hubbub of the crowds, mixed with the cries of the vendors shouting their wares. Hawkers had been spread about Nelson’s Column, their wares laid out in suitcases with lookout boys on the corners in case any rozzers came that way. Linda knew you had to watch what you bought from hawkers. She’d heard of a woman who’d bought a watch from them for five bob. When she couldn’t get it to go, she took it to a watch repairers, who took the back off and found there was nothing inside. ‘Daft ’aporth she must have been,’ Beattie snorted when she’d told the tale. ‘I’m sure I’d make certain the bloody thing worked before I’d hand over five bob.’

Linda was sure she would too, but she had felt sorry for Thelma Grimshaw, the mother of her best friend Carole, who had once bought a pair of silk stockings at a bargain price from a hawker, only to find there was no foot in one of them! But still, that day the hawkers had been doing a brisk trade. It was mainly black-market stuff and there’d been clusters of people around them, seeing what they had to sell.

The fruit and veg stalls no longer had the array of stuff they’d had before the war. There were no bananas or oranges, just a few piles of mangy-looking apples, some rock-hard pears and small bunches of grapes. There were plenty of potatoes and onions, carrots and swedes and some tired-looking lettuces and small tomatoes, but little else.

However the sight of the Market Hall had taken Linda’s breath away for a moment or two. Open to the sky, it was still a fine old building, and the old lags were still there on the steps with their trays of bootlaces and matches and hair grips. Linda and Patty went up the steps to gaze at it and saw that the people had begun returning. They’d been sheltered from the elements by canvas awnings, the Market Hall had been cleaned up and was now back in business.

Linda remembered Beattie telling them all about it just after the bombs had landed. ‘Bleeding animals running all over the place,’ she had said. ‘God it must have been a sight.’

Linda had felt sorry for the frightened creatures. A visit to Pimm’s Pet Shop was always one of the highlights of any trip to the Bull Ring when she’d been younger. The shop had a wide variety of animals – hamsters, guinea pigs and rabbits, together with adorable kittens or boisterous puppies that nipped playfully with their sharp little teeth. Then there were the birds; she used to spend ages standing in front of the budgies trying to get them to talk. The canaries, she recalled, always sang so beautifully, and occasionally there’d even be a parrot or a mynah bird.

There were no pets now, and the clock the children and many adults had been fascinated by was also gone. There were fewer flower-sellers than before the war, Linda noticed. This came as no surprise. Everyone was digging up their lawns and gardens now to grow vegetables. They had been urged to ‘Dig for Victory’.

She herself couldn’t ever remember having flowers in the house, or growing in the garden. Patty had told her that her father had tended the garden nicely before he got too sick, they’d had vegetables in the back and flowers in the front, and he’d often cut a bunch and bring them into the house for his wife. But eventually he’d grown too ill to see to the garden and Bert Latimer came to mow the lawns. The vegetables and flowers went to seed and died; Ted Prosser, her second husband, never had any interest in it. Linda remembered Patty’s sad face as she’d said that, and she thought if ever she had any spare money, she’d buy a bunch of flowers to cheer her up.

As she followed behind Patty, she saw Jimmy Jesus taking his place by St Martin’s Church. ‘Look, Mom!’

‘He’s early today,’ Patty remarked. ‘Must have plenty to say.’

They’d stood a minute to listen to the old down-and-out with the long white hair and beard that had given him his name. ‘Though your souls be as black as pitch, if you repent of your sinful ways, your soul can be washed cleaner than the whitest snow by the blood of the lamb,’ Jimmy began.

A few hecklers shouted at him from the crowd, but Jimmy Jesus took no notice and opened up his Bible. ‘Oh, Gawd blimey, come on, chuck,’ Patty had urged. ‘I ain’t in the mood for a bloody sermon today.’