Echoes of Yesterday Read online

  In that way, Chinese Lady and the human Mr Tupper fiddled the issue of a form to take care of the unborn. But forms didn’t solve the problem of chronic shortages, although most families did have a bit more money coming in. Factories were going full blast and employing thousands of girls and women at better wages than usual. The people entering the market with Chinese Lady were looking, like the crowds already there, for something on which to spend their money, the first priority being food of a satisfying kind. The two market butchers sometimes opened their shops in a friendly way on a Sunday morning to sell sausages made from Saturday’s left-over bits and pieces. They might look and taste as if they contained a fair amount of sawdust, but kids didn’t mind. Kids would eat anything that came hot and sizzling out of a frying-pan, and their mums wouldn’t have to blindfold them, either.

  Queues formed quickly at any shop or stall offering something a bit better than cabbages or turnips. Women, the hunters who foraged for their families, automatically joined a queue as soon as they spotted one, and without immediately knowing what it was for. Queues were magnets, and over-eager huntresses could get a bit pushy. Fretful protests sometimes broke out.

  ‘’Ere, d’you mind, missus? That’s me legs you’re bruisin’ with yer basket.’

  ‘Well, move along, can’t yer?’

  ‘’Strewth, missus, if I move along any more, the lady in front of me will ’ave me arrested, and I ain’t been arrested for movin’ along in all me life.’

  ‘Oh, dearie me, me ’eart bleeds for yer, but what’re you doin’ in a queue, anyway? You ain’t a woman. Why ain’t you in the war instead of a queue?’

  ‘Well, missus, I ’appen to be on the wrong side of fifty, with four grandkids and fallen arches, as well as ’avin’ yer shoppin’ basket killin’ the back of me legs.’

  ‘Serve yer right, you shouldn’t be ’ere. What’s this queue for, anyway?’

  ‘Rubber soles for boots an’ shoes, missus.’

  ‘Oh, yer silly old bugger, why didn’t yer say so? Me kids can’t eat rubber soles.’

  There was a lot of mutual fretfulness about because of the war.

  Because pockets and purses contained more money than usual, most stalls were doing good business. Quack medicines were being bought by furtive alcoholics who thought, in their soggy-minded way, that Dr Ambrose Martin’s medicinal spirits at fourpence a bottle might be a better buy than fourpennyworth of methylated spirits. Methylated spirits brought forth pink elephants.

  Close to King and Queen Street, Mrs Flora Beamish, wife of a serving soldier, was running a glass and chinaware stall, the trading rights of which were in the name of her widower father, whose rheumatics were presently crippling him. On Sunday mornings, often her busiest times, she was assisted by young Sammy Adams, probably the brightest and sharpest lad in Walworth. Sammy, fourteen, looked sixteen, being decidedly tall for his age and a lot more grown up than any of his contemporaries. With alert and cheeky blue eyes, a pleasant countenance, an infectious grin, and a peaked cap on the back of his head, he looked as if adolescence had only stayed with him for five minutes before hurrying off to land on someone far more innocent. Growing young girls gave him the eye, and some would offer to show him their legs for as little as a ha’penny. That was money chucked away as far as Sammy was concerned. Tell yer what, he’d say, I’ll show yer me chest for tuppence. What, all bare? Yes, and me chest buttons as well, he’d say. Shrieks from collapsing girls.

  Sammy had a talent for selling and an ambition to be rich. As her Sunday morning assistant, Flora found him a young marvel. By arrangement, she paid him commission on all he sold. Commission was more profitable for Sammy than a fixed sum. He could sell a teapot to someone who already had six.

  Chinese Lady was hoping to get a choice lump of suet from one of the market butchers so that she could make some nourishing suet dumplings with today’s stew. Roast beef joints were out for the duration, much to her disgust.

  She stopped to run a critical eye over her youngest son. It was at least something to note he was wearing his one and only suit, which counted as his Sunday best. Usually, one of his jerseys and a pair of patched trousers adorned him, and both garments took on a scruffy look only ten minutes after he’d put them on. Sammy had long ago worked out that if he looked scruffy, then he also looked in need, which made sympathetic old ladies give him a penny for running an errand. His store of pennies filled five socks, with a sixth beginning to fill up. He had a separate sock for silver coins.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Beamish,’ said Chinese Lady.

  ‘’Ello, Mrs Adams, and how’s yer good self?’ smiled Flora.

  ‘Still on me feet, I’m pleased to say, and relieved that Sammy’s lookin’ fairly respectable, except I don’t know why he’s wearin’ his cap on the back of his head like some street corner ragamuffin.’

  Sammy, finishing a sale, said, ‘Watcher, Mum. About me cap. I always put it on proper, but it’s perverse, yer know, it moves about till it ends up where it is now.’

  ‘It looks to me like it’ll fall off any minute,’ said Chinese Lady who, as a widow, was wearing her best black hat out of Sunday respect for her late soldier husband. ‘Still, as long as you’re makin’ yourself useful to Mrs Beamish, I won’t say nothing more.’

  ‘Oh, Sammy’s useful all right, Mrs Adams,’ said Flora, ‘and the way ’e wears ’is cap makes ’im look dashin’. The girls like it.’

  ‘Here, leave off,’ protested Sammy. He avoided girls and was quite happy for girls to avoid him. Girls cost a bloke money. You only had to know one of them for five minutes and it could relieve a bloke of at least the price of a toffee-apple. And after only ten minutes there could be horrendous talk about treating them to a seat at the Fleapit, the cinema under the railway arch in the Walworth Road. Tuppence, that cost. Tuppence. Girls had a seriously damaging way of getting into a bloke’s pocket without hardly trying. Sammy considered himself fortunate that he wasn’t yet old enough to be expected to take up with one. When he was old enough, he’d try to find one who liked his conversation more than his pocket.

  ‘Well, I won’t stop longer, Mrs Beamish, you’ve got a customer,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and I want to see if one of the butcher’s shops is open.’

  ‘Porky Palmer’s was open first thing, Mum,’ said Sammy, ‘so I nipped in, told ’im our Lizzy was short of nourishment, and ’e sold me a pound of his Sunday bangers. ‘Ere we are.’ He fished out the wrapped sausages from a box under the stall.

  ‘Well, I must say you’re thoughtful sometimes, Sammy,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘I’ll put them in me shoppin’ bag.’

  ‘Could yer settle up before you go, Mum? Sixpence for the sausages and a penny for me time and trouble. And me thoughtfulness. That’s only sevenpence in all. Well, you’re fam’ly.’

  ‘I’m gratified,’ said Chinese Lady with a touch of sarcasm. But she paid up and went on her way.

  Flora, having served her customer, said, ‘I’m goin’ now, Sammy, I’ve got to get an early dinner for meself and me dad. You can manage all right on your own?’ She knew he could, that he’d enjoy the responsibility of looking after things until the market closed at one. It was just after eleven now.

  ‘You hop off, Flora, I’ll be all right, and I’ll bring yer me takings,’ said Sammy cheerfully.

  ‘Good on yer, lovey,’ smiled Flora, and departed, knowing she could trust him to be loyal to her and to see that nothing was pinched.

  Sammy was soon at work attending to a fairly regular flow of customers. Being on his own was a stimulating challenge, and he was always an enthusiast whenever he was involved in anything that earned him money. Since leaving school at Easter, he’d been haunting the market, and knew everything about it that made it tick. All the stallholders knew him, and most made use of his services in one way or another, paying him a few coppers. His first ambition was to run a stall himself, and to use it as a springboard for making his fortune. He was not only sharp, he was shrewd, cheerful and trustwort
hy. With his blue eyes and facile tongue he could wheedle custom out of shoppers who only stopped to look, and what money he took during Flora’s absence would be handed over to her right down to the last farthing. In return, she would pay him his due commission on all he had sold during the morning. Young Sammy Adams had a wholesome respect for money and for the principles of fair shares between employer and employee. He agreed the boss was entitled to the larger share, especially since he saw himself as an employer one day.

  He came up trumps by selling six cheap glass tumblers to a bloke who only wanted two.

  ‘Well, I can sell yer two, mister, if that’s all you think you want,’ he said to begin with.

  ‘Course it’s all I want,’ said the bloke, a middleaged man with whiskers slightly tea-stained. ‘One for me and one for the missus. We just broke the two we ’ad.’

  ‘That’s me point,’ said Sammy. ‘I mean, I owe it to yer to mention breakages, which is common in ev’ry fam’ly, yer know. Me own fam’ly suffers ’orrendous, but it can’t be ’elped, and you can get over yer grief quicker if you’ve got spares to hand and don’t ’ave to rush out and buy ’em. Look, I can’t do it for ev’ry customer, but I’ll offer you a set of six of these genuine ’alf-pint tumblers for tenpence, as long as you keep quiet about it.’

  ‘I ain’t buyin’ six, I don’t need six,’ said tea-whiskers.

  ‘What, not when the set for tenpence instead of a bob is givin’ you discount that’s only a bit short of twenty-five per cent?’ said Sammy, registering astonishment.

  ‘Twenty-five per cent?’

  ‘Shush, not out loud,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Twenty-five per cent, you say?’

  ‘Near enough,’ said Sammy, ‘but I’m beggin’ yer to keep it dark.’ He placed six tumblers in a cardboard box at the speed of light, then handed the box to the bloke before he could do any more thinking about it. ‘There’s a war on, yer know, mister, and I ain’t legally supposed to do these kind of favours. It’s the shortages, yer see, they’re something chronic. Still, we’re all in it together, so I’ll keep to me word and just charge yer what I promised, tenpence.’

  Tea-whiskers paid up and went happily home with his purchase. When he arrived, his missus informed him what a dozy old coot he was, and demented as well. He informed her in turn that he’d got valuable discount. You silly old carrot, she said, Flora Beamish always knocks tuppence off for a set of six.

  Sammy had most of the wares set out very attractively on the stall, the china including little ornaments dear to the hearts of cockney housewives who always had room for one more on a mantelpiece or in a corner cabinet. He served every customer as if he’d been waiting all his life for the privilege. A little after twelve, three schoolgirls approached. Thirteen-year-olds, thought Sammy, or maybe fourteen. This is where I exercise me fatal charm without it costing me anything.

  The three girls viewed the display from a distance, much as if they were hedging their bets.

  ‘Walk up, me darlings,’ said Sammy, ‘I don’t charge for lookin’, not even at me priceless cut glass.’ There was little of that on the stall, if any.

  ‘What was that ’e said, Ivy?’ asked one girl.

  ‘Darlings, ’e called us, Ethel,’ said the second girl.

  ‘Saucy devil,’ said Ethel, ‘we don’t want to buy anything from ’im.’

  ‘But Rachel does,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Well, don’t let ’im know,’ said Ethel, ‘he’s got gypsy eyes.’

  The third girl, standing behind the others, said nothing. Rachel Moses was just fourteen. Her boater sat like a bright yellow crown on her glossy raven black hair. Her eyes were a dark liquid brown, and she was already a beauty. Sammy placed her at once as a blossoming flower of the Israelites. He had a soft spot for the Jewish fraternity of Walworth. They were good at business, and their young men were doing their bit for the country out in France and Flanders.

  ‘D’you want to look, Rachel?’ asked Ivy.

  ‘Who’s Rachel?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘She is,’ said Ethel, turning and nodding at the young beauty.

  ‘Mornin’, Rachel,’ said Sammy breezily, ‘pleased to meet yer.’

  Rachel looked up at him, slim and tall behind the stall. Sammy was standing on the reverse side of a kipper box. His wheedling smile made an appearance, and one blue eye winked. Rachel blushed.

  ‘Rachel, what yer doin’ that for?’ asked Ivy.

  ‘What’s she doin’, then?’ asked Ethel, edging forward to run her eye over a display of colourful little china ornaments.

  ‘She’s blushin’,’ said Ivy.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘She’s not sayin’,’ said Ivy. ‘Come on, Rachel, you want to ’ave a bit of a look, don’t you?’

  ‘No charge,’ said Sammy, ‘specially not for Rachel.’

  A sudden little smile made its bright mark on Rachel’s face, and she came forward to the front of the stall. A woman arrived to buy just one china egg cup. Sammy sold her two for the price of a pair. Then he watched Rachel inspecting a little set of three miniature china bears, Father, Mother and Baby Bear. He had to admit, cautiously, of course, that she was a Sunday morning treat in a very pretty light brown frock with a rich brown silk sash. She glanced up at him. Cheeky blue eyes held the liquid brown. Rachel blushed again.

  ‘Well now, Rachel, it’s like this,’ said Sammy in conspiratorial fashion.

  ‘Beg yer pardon?’ gulped Rachel.

  ‘You ’appen to be lookin’ at a secret bargain,’ said Sammy. ‘Watch my hand.’ He passed his right hand over the display and suddenly the three bears were joined by Goldilocks.

  ‘Crikey,’ breathed Rachel, ‘how did yer do that?’ Rachel was a Jewish cockney.

  ‘He ’ad it in ’is hand all the time,’ said Ethel scornfully, ‘and what’s secret about little ornaments, anyway?’

  ‘It’s because this set’s the kind of bargain I keep for special customers,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Some ’opes,’ said Ethel, obviously the awkward one.

  Up came a housewife with whom Sammy was acquainted.

  ‘Keep lookin’, Rachel,’ he said, ‘while I serve this other young lady.’

  ‘Complimented, I’m sure, Sammy,’ said the housewife, who was in her thirties. ‘Which is a nice change from bein’ follered down the Walworth Road at night by one of them ’orrible German zeppelins. It’ll get me one night and blow me skirts over me ’ead, and I won’t know where to look.’

  ‘If I’m there, nor will I,’ said Sammy.

  The schoolgirls shrieked.

  ‘Well, I can’t stand ’ere all day talkin’ about me skirts and suchlike,’ said the housewife. ‘I’ll just take two cups and two saucers out of that job lot, Sammy.’

  Sammy served her, took her money, said he’d follow her down the Walworth Road himself if he was a bit older, and off she went giggling like a girl. He turned his attention back to the three girls.

  ‘’Ow much is Goldilocks and the three bears?’ asked Ivy.

  ‘Well,’ said Sammy, ‘seein’ they’re Court china—’

  ‘Never ’eard of it,’ said Ethel.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Sammy, ‘I forgive yer.’

  ‘’Ow much?’ demanded Ethel.

  ‘Well, I could ask five bob,’ said Sammy, ‘but I didn’t mention a bargain for nothing, yer know, specially as it’s Sunday and you’ve all got yer best frocks on. Let’s say four bob – no, if it’s for Rachel, I’ll make it three and a tanner.’

  ‘’E’s barmy,’ said Ethel, ‘’e must be at three and a tanner, it’s nearly more than me soldier brother gets for a week in the trenches.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rachel, ‘I think I could afford—’

  ‘No, you couldn’t,’ said Ethel. ‘Ivy, Rachel’s not payin’ all that much for a birthday present for an old aunt in Shoreditch, is she?’

  ‘Course she ain’t,’ said Ivy, ‘I don’t call three an’ six a secret bargain.’

  ‘That�
��s it, break me arm,’ said Sammy. ‘Still, what’s an arm when there’s a war on? All right, seein’ Rachel reminds me of me fav’rite cousin, I’ll let her ’ave the set for three bob – no, blow it, I tell a lie. ’Alf a crown.’

  ‘Rachel ain’t payin’ that, either, are yer, Rachel?’ said awkward Ethel.

  Rachel glanced at Sammy again. Sammy smiled. Rachel’s dark lashes fluttered and she did some thinking.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I—’

  ‘There, told yer she wouldn’t,’ said Ethel to Sammy. ‘Offer ’im a tanner, Rachel.’

  ‘I’ll pass out if she does,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Come on, Rachel, let’s go somewhere else,’ said Ivy. ‘You don’t want to spend more than a tanner on an old aunt.’

  ‘Yes, come on,’ said Ethel, and the bossy pair took Rachel away, although not before she had given Sammy one more glance and a fleeting smile. Sammy would never have allowed the loss of a customer if he hadn’t had certain feelings. And there was still time before the market closed down. He dealt with two new customers, and then Ma Earnshaw, whose quality fruit and veg stall was on his immediate right, spoke to him.

  ‘’Eard from Boots recent, Sammy?’

  ‘Last week,’ said Sammy.

  ‘All right, is ’e?’ asked Ma Earnshaw, plump and motherly.

  ‘Bearin’ up, yer know, Ma.’

  ‘Grown up a real man, Boots ’as,’ said Ma. ‘Bet them French ladies like ’im.’ She chuckled.

  ‘Would yer mind not tellin’ me mum that?’ said Sammy. ‘Me mum don’t think too ’ighly of French ladies.’

  A shadow fell across the front of the stall and a young velvety voice reached Sammy’s ears above the buzz of the market.

  ‘I’ve come back.’

  Sammy turned. There she was. His certain feeling had been right.

  ‘’Ello, Rachel.’ His welcoming smile was all of friendly, with not a touch of commercial cupidity to it. Well, he knew she was hooked on Goldilocks and the three bears. ‘I thought I might ’ave the pleasure again. Give ’em the slip, did yer?’