Anne Bennett - A Strong Hand to Hold

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.

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 Evening Mail 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.’