Coronation Day

‘Winston Churchill’s gonna make a broadcast to the nation tomorrow about King George.’ Matilda’s tone was solemn once more. ‘Eight o’clock on the Home Service, just so’s you know when to tune in.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘Keep moving … keep moving … please …’

The crowd obediently shuffled away from the gates of Buckingham Palace to congregate instead on the nearby pavement. Nobody seemed to want to leave although it was bitterly cold and raining. In fact, as news had spread, people who’d been travelling home from their offices in the City had diverted to St James’s, swelling the multitude mourning the death of the king.

People were huddling together, turning up collars and pulling hats firmly down over their ears. But they stayed where they were, staring solemnly through the gloom at the royal palace where the Union Jack was limply fluttering at half-mast. Above the politely insistent voices of the policemen could be heard the sound of men and women weeping.

‘Come on now, over the road, please. Move away from the gates, madam …’

Matilda knuckled burning tears from her eyes and obeyed the constable’s request. He looked to her to be no more than a boy, but he had a nice face, and had kindly patted her shoulder on noticing her distress.

Having got a foothold on the packed kerb Matilda tried to wedge her stout body into a tight space. A woman in a luxurious fur coat unintentionally jostled her, knocking her back into the road. Matilda’s arthritic joint gave her a jolt and she gasped aloud.

‘So sorry, my dear,’ the woman murmured in a cut-glass accent.

Matilda nodded acceptance of the apology, rubbing her knee.

‘We’re going to miss him terribly,’ the woman added and shuffled sideways to make a space for Matilda next to her on the pavement.

Matilda settled beside her, aware of a floral scent wafting from the little lacy hanky the lady had held to her nose. ‘Right ’n’ all we are,’ Matilda gruffly returned. ‘His eldest gel’s got big shoes to fill …’ She broke off to watch as a sleek limousine drew up by the gates and was allowed through. She’d been outside the palace since five o’clock that afternoon, and during that time had seen many visitors arrive. A bobby on duty had explained to someone – and the information had rippled through the throng – that foreign diplomats were arriving to sign a book of condolences.

‘King and queen helped get us through the war, didn’t they?’ Matilda carried on in her rough tone. ‘Could’ve run and hid somewhere safe but they didn’t.’

The fur-coated woman nodded her elegantly coiffed head and on impulse shared the protection of her umbrella with Matilda. ‘Wonderful, steadfast people,’ she agreed and again wiped her nose. ‘She’s in Kenya, you know …’ At Matilda’s quizzical look the lady explained. ‘Young Elizabeth … she’s at the Royal Hunting Lodge in Kenya. But I’ve no doubt, she’ll be flying straight home. What dreadfully sad tidings for her and Margaret.’

‘’S’pect she would have stayed with her dad had she known how grave it all were,’ Matilda said. ‘Can’t change that now. Still, he got a peaceful end, so I heard on the wireless. That’s a blessing and no more’n he deserved.’

‘Amen to that,’ the woman said and closed her eyes.

‘Matilda Keiver?’

Matilda heard her name faintly called and pivoted about in surprise. Having looked this way and that she suddenly noticed a woman’s face and neck stretching to gaze over a sea of hats. Matilda bobbed her head to and fro to try and guess the identity of the woman now waving at her. She squinted and then her lips parted in an astonished smile. ‘Friend of mine’s over there. Better go and say hello,’ she told the well-to-do lady. ‘Toodle-oo …’ Her companion’s sable sleeve got a pat before she departed. A moment later she was edging her way through the throng.

‘Shirley Coleman!’ Matilda exclaimed when she was standing next to the woman. ‘Not seen you since …’ Her eyes veered heavenwards as she calculated the years. ‘Must’ve been 1941 when I last clapped eyes on you.’

‘September 1941 I moved out of Crouch End,’ Shirley confirmed. ‘’Course the kids had gone a bit earlier to Surrey. Got evacuated there, didn’t they.’

‘That’s it, I do remember,’ Matilda said. ‘How’ve you been keeping?’

‘So-so,’ Shirley returned, mouth drooping down at the corners. ‘Sad business about the king, isn’t it?’

Matilda nodded sadly. ‘Was only gonna come and stay for a little while, but now I’m here …’ She glanced about. ‘Looks like nobody else wants to go home neither. S’pose it’s the only way people like us can show how grateful we were fer what he did, and the queen ’n’ all. Just saying to a lady over there …’ Matilda jerked her head to the left. ‘Could’ve hid during the Battle of Britain, couldn’t they, but braved it out like the rest of us.’

‘Yeah,’ Shirley agreed. ‘Got to show appreciation and respect.’ She suddenly looked around. ‘Grace is here somewhere. She came with one of her workmates but I think her friend’s gone to catch the tube home.’

‘You lot back living in London then, Shirley?’ Shirley and her family had never been neighbours of Tilly’s in Whadcoat Street but she’d got to know the family quite well.

‘Grace and me are back. My son Paul is married and living Dorset way with his family. We’ve been back a year now. Wilf passed away, you wouldn’t have known that.’

Matilda placed a woolly-gloved hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘Sorry to hear that, Shirley.’

‘Came back from Japan a very poorly soul, he did.’ Shirley grimaced. ‘Died in 1949, and after he’d been laid to rest, Grace and me carried on in Surrey for a while but then decided to come back to London. She’s a typist, you know. Got a good job in an office in the City.’

‘Sorry about Wilf,’ Matilda repeated in a murmur. ‘So whereabouts in London are you living?’

‘Tottenham. Just off White Hart Lane. Close to where I grew up. Don’t think you ever knew my mum, Ada Jackson, did you, Til? She’s still about and not in bad health, all things considered.’

Matilda grinned. ‘Never met her, Shirley. But I know that area well. My Alice ain’t far from there. She lives Wood Green way on the big council estate. Got a lovely little place, she has.’

‘Bet you’ve got grandkids too, haven’t you, Til?’

‘Big family we are … grandkids, great-grandkids …’ Tilly chuckled proudly. ‘How about you, Shirley? Your Grace married, is she?’

Matilda knew that Shirley’s children were a lot younger than her own because Shirley was more the age of her daughter Alice. But despite the age gap, Tilly had become quite friendly with Shirley because her great-nephew, Christopher, had grown up with the Coleman children.

Christopher had spent a good deal of his childhood being looked after by Matilda while his father was at work so his great-aunt had been acquainted with his friends, and some of their parents.

‘Grace isn’t married, but got grandkids all right. Paul’s got three boys. But don’t see a lot of them being as they’re so far away. Grace …’ She grimaced. ‘Grace was engaged, but he was a wrong’un.’ She shook her head, her expression turning ferocious. ‘Did the dirty on her and went off with a widow who was nearly old enough to be his mother … oh, shhh … here she is. She doesn’t like me talking about it,’ Shirley whispered. She beckoned her daughter closer.

Matilda smiled at the pretty young woman who’d squashed a path through the crowd.

‘You remember Mrs Keiver, don’t you, Grace?’

Grace frowned and bit her lip, not wanting to appear rude.

‘You know, young Christopher Wild’s great-auntie … lived down Campbell Road … or Whadcoat Street as it turned into some years ago as I recall.’

A sweet smile parted Grace’s lips. ‘Oh yes, of course I remember you …’ She did remember too. Nobody who had visited Campbell Road, or The Bunk as it had been nicknamed thanks to its proliferation of doss houses, was ever likely to forget it. Neither would Grace ever forget the couple of times her friend Christopher had taken her on visit to his auntie, despite the fact it had been over a decade ago.

Her parents had constantly warned her to give Campbell Road, and the people who lived there, a wide berth. But when she’d found out from Christopher where his great-aunt lived she had, with the inquisitiveness of youth, begged him to take her there. She’d been astounded to discover one of Christopher’s relatives lived in a dirty hovel. Christopher and his father had lived close to Grace’s family and, while it certainly wasn’t luxurious in Crouch End, their terraced homes were adequate in most respects. Grace recalled she had been about ten or eleven at the time of her secret visits to The Bunk, but even at that tender age she’d been thrillingly shocked that such a slum existed and it had left an indelible mark on her memory.

‘Well … nice to see you both, but I suppose I should be making tracks.’ Matilda glanced about. ‘Bleedin’ cold night, ain’t it. I’m gonna be off and catch the bus back.’

‘We’ll walk with you to the bus stop.’ Shirley and Grace settled into step beside her. They walked in silence for a short while, huddled in their coats, shoulders hunched up to their ears, hats pulled low, to protect against the drizzle.

The two Coleman women settled into a slower pace as they noticed Matilda walking with a slight limp.

‘Got arthritis bad in one side,’ Matilda brusquely explained. ‘Damp don’t help.’

‘Wilf suffered with arthritis something chronic in the winter,’ Shirley remarked. ‘Young man too he were when he first got afflicted.’

‘Had a bad accident a long while ago,’ Matilda offered up. ‘Never been right since.’

‘Oh … ?’ Shirley said curiously.

‘Don’t talk about it,’ Matilda answered bluntly.