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  A FAMILY AT WAR

  BERYL KINGSTON

  ‘Let them anatomise Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes this hardness?’ King Lear

  A Family At War. Kindle Version.

  Copyright © Beryl Kingston 2015

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any form of storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Come along,’ my grandmother says, taking my hand.

  'Where to?' I ask, as we toil up the stairs together. I'm four years and eleven months old and I think I've worked out when I can ask people questions. Some people anyway. Mummy doesn't like it much. I know that because she gets cross and says 'Oh for Heaven's sake!' or 'Don't keep on' or 'You'll find out soon enough' or 'Little girls should be seen and not heard'. Gran's all right. Usually. But I've only just had my breakfast so it's topsy-turvy to be going upstairs again. 'Where to, Gran?'

  She goes on climbing and doesn't look back at me. 'Your mummy's room.'

  I'm instantly afraid, my stomach scrabbling itself into knots. Have I done something wrong? I can't think of anything except for asking why Mummy'd been yelling when I woke up, and it wasn't Gran I asked, it was Dardy and we were the only two people in the kitchen. She'd put a boiled egg and soldiers down in front of me and said, 'You eat that up nice and quick while it's hot, Beryl dear, and then you'll get the beauty of it,' and her voice was so nice I thought it would be all right. But she just said 'Shush' and put on her warning expression and when I said, 'Is she all right?' she said, 'Yes, course she is, perfectly all right,' and told me it was nothing for me to bother my little head about, which made me worry like anything. But it wasn't wrong to ask her, was it? The trouble is you can never tell. A thing can be quite all right in the morning and make people laugh and smile at you and say you're cute, and so wrong in the afternoon that you have to be slapped for it. ‘What for?’ I ask.

  'To see your little sister,' Gran explains, puffing a bit. 'You want to see your little sister, don't you?'

  That's a surprise. I didn't know I had a little sister. She's never been mentioned before. But I say yes because you have to agree with anything Mummy and Gran say in that sort of voice, otherwise they tell you you're being naughty and smack you to make you good again.

  At the turn of the stairs, Gran takes a rest to get her breath back, leaning on the nearest banister, which is what she always does. It's very quiet on the little landing and the light from the stained glass window drops patterns of red and blue across her white apron and dapples her brown skirt and the heavy cardigan she wears when it's cold. She says she has to stop because she's getting stout and stairs are a trial. She always says that but I can't see how stairs can be a trial. I think they're nice. You can sit on them when you want to keep out of the way and you can hide round the bend when you don't want anyone to see you from the hall. The carpet's prickly against the bare part of your legs but, if you keep your heels right back and hold your knees with both arms, it's all right and you can stay there for ages, providing they don't know you're there.

  'Come on,' Gran says, setting off again. 'And mind you're a good girl. We don't want your poor mummy upset.’

  The landing at the top of the second flight is as big as a room only it doesn't have any furniture, just red lino on the floor and lots of stairs and five doors - one to Mummy's room and one to Gran's in the wall facing us, one to the room where Dardy and Mr Garnsworthy sleep and another to Daddy's dressing room to our left, and one to the library on the right. There are three flights of stairs too, the carpeted one we've just climbed, the one with bare boards that smells of dust and leads up to the attic, and a little curving flight behind a curtain that leads down to the bathroom, where there's a geyser that makes terrible roaring noises and spits out boiling water when you aren't expecting it to, and beyond that to the room where I sleep. It's very dark on the landing this morning because none of the doors are open and the air is so cold it makes you shiver.

  We cross the red lino. I can hear a strange voice talking in Mummy's bedroom but I don't think I'd better ask who it is. Gran's hand is already moving towards the brass door handle and she's opening the door very, very gently and now we're tiptoeing into the heat of the room. The gas fire is full on, blazing yellow and making soft popping sounds, and the room is all pink and white and full of light from the two big windows. Mummy is sitting up in bed with ever so many pillows behind her and a fluffy pink bed-jacket over her nightie and her brown eyes shining and her brown hair all nicely brushed and curled, as if she's been arranged.

  The strange woman is a nurse in a dark blue uniform. She smells of starch and carbolic soap and has a watch pinned to her blue bodice like a medal. She gives me a disapproving look. 'Ah!' she says. 'There you are. One peep and that's all mind and no climbing on the bed.'

  There's a crib beside the bed and Gran lifts me up so that I can see inside but there isn't much to see, just a mound of white blankets and the top of a small head, very pink and lying absolutely still, like a doll.

  'That's enough,' the nurse says. 'We don't want you breathing your nasty germs all over our Precious, do we Mother.'

  I'm upset to be accused of breathing germs and speak out before I can remember that I'm not supposed to. 'I haven't got germs.'

  'Oh dear!' the nurse says, giving me another look. 'We answer back, do we? You'll have to check that, Mother.'

  'Don't worry,' Mummy says, narrowing her eyes and looking right at me. 'I am checking it.'

  Her expression frightens me because I know what it means. You go on like this and you'll end up getting a whack. So I know I'd better keep quiet.

  The nurse is talking again. 'I'm glad to hear it,' she says. 'You can't be too careful with children of that age. They need very firm handling.' Then she turns to look at me. 'Now you can show me what a good little girl you can be, can't you, and go downstairs and tell your Daddy.'

  I know I can't do that because he's at work. I heard him leave and that was hours before I got up. I don't say anything. Not now I've been given the look.

  'Come along,' Gran says, putting a hand on my shoulder and suggesting me towards the door. And we're off downstairs again.

  Apparently we are going to tell Daddy. Gran is going to phone him at his work, which is amazing because she hates the telephone and calls it 'that dratted thing' and always waits for someone else to answer it when it rings. And now here she is with the phone in one hand and the receiver in the other, as
king for the number. Dardy appears beside us as we wait. She lifts the heavy hall chair from its position by the wall and sets it in front of the hall stand so that I can climb up and see what's going on. It's smelly up there among the armpits of all the coats and I can see my face reflected in the little mirror above the shelf where the telephone stands, my fringe cut very straight above my eyebrows and my hair bobbed short to show the lobes of my ears. I have fair hair. And hazel eyes. I stand there admiring my face and listening to the ringing sound the phone is making at the other end of the line and presently there's a voice saying 'Hello. Edwards here.'

  'There you are,' Gran says, putting the receiver into my hand. 'Tell him you've got a sister.'

  I tell him. And he says it's wonderful news and wants to know what she looks like. That stumps me and I look at Gran to be told what to say. 'Tell him she's beautiful,' she prompts.

  So I tell him she's beautiful and he says of course she is. Then I don't know what else to say because I'm not used to having conversations with Daddy. Luckily Gran comes to the rescue again. 'Tell him you love her,' she says.

  That makes him really pleased. He says I'm a good girl and he can see I'm going to be mummy's little helper and now he'll have to get on with some work or they'll give him the sack. So I know I've said the right things.

  'There!' Dardy says as she replaces the chair. 'That's done. Now we can go to market.'

  Now that's more like it. I love going to the market. It's one of my treats.

  We live in the last road in Tooting where some of the biggest houses are. Ours is ever so old. It was built in 1881, which is fifty-four years ago and such a long time you can't imagine it. It's ever so big, three storeys high, with seventeen rooms - I know because I've counted them - and a huge garden and a conservatory. To get to the market we have to walk to Tooting Broadway where the tramlines meet. We have lots of trams in Tooting. They're a lovely dark red called maroon, and they sail down the middle of the road, going really fast and making a humming noise on the rails. We've got lots of people in Tooting too. There are crowds and crowds at the Broadway this morning, all rushing about with their gloves and scarves on and their coat collars turned right up to keep their necks warm and their breath puffing out in front of them like smoke, because it's nearly Christmas and ever so cold.

  Dardy says 'Hold on tight to my hand, Beryl dear, or you'll get knocked over.' And another crowd of people comes out of the underground station and a waft of warm air comes with them. It smells of metal polish and oil and dust. I like the smell of the underground. It's different and exciting. One day I'm going to go down there.

  We cross the Broadway, past the statue of the old king, which is on top of a huge block of pink stone with his name carved on it in very big letters. Edward VII. He's got a funny sort of cloak on and a long stick in his right hand so I expect he's been in a pantomime. He's standing right in front of the public lavatories, which have green railings all round them and smell of wee-wee and disinfectant. I wouldn't want to stand in front of the public lavatories if I was the king, but Dardy giggles and says it'll be handy for him if he ever gets taken short. Which is ever so rude and makes me laugh. We're still laughing when we reach the market.

  I think Tooting market is the best place in the world. It goes on and on, all the way from Longmead Road to the High Street which is miles, and the noise is lovely, all those voices shouting out and people all round you shouting back and laughing, and there's all sorts of things on the ground, orange wrappers and old crates and tufts of straw and trails of sawdust smeared with blood and fish scales, and the lights smell funny and make everything look sort of golden. There are so many stalls you can't count them. They all have different colours and different smells and they sell everything you can think of.

  There's Mizzens where they sell salads, and a fish stall where the fish are laid out in rows on a white slab with parsley between them like little green hedges, and Eggy the Egg man, who sells eggs and bacon and looks like an egg himself in his holland coat with that big bald head sticking out of the top. There's even a stall that sells coats and dresses. The man who keeps it wears a trilby hat and a camelhair coat that comes right down to his ankles, and he rushes out at the ladies as they walk by and tells them how pretty they are. 'I got just the thing for a lovely lady like you,' he says. 'Lovely bit a' schmutter.' And he picks up a sleeve and holds it towards them. 'Colour a' your lovely eyes darlin',' he says. Mummy really likes him. When she goes by he rushes out at once and says 'Here's my lovely lady with the beautiful eyes' and she opens them really wide and looks right at him and arches her back and goes all funny, like the cat when she's rubbing herself against the leg of the table. I don't think Dardy likes him much though. She calls him Ikey Mo.

  This morning we walk past his stall so quickly he doesn't see us. We're going to buy a rabbit and some potherbs and if I'm good I can watch the rabbit being skinned. On the way we pass the stall where they sell toffee apples. They're all set out on a white tray with their sticks in the air and the toffee looks shiny as if it's been polished. I don't like to ask if I can have one, but Dardy sees me looking and says, 'All righ, but don't let your Gran know or she'll say I've been spoiling your dinner.'

  It's a lovely toffee apple. I eat it all, right down to the core, and by the time it's finished the shopping's done and Dardy says we're going to catch a tram home to save her legs. And the tram ride's lovely too because it bucks and whirs and throws us about. I say I'd like to stay on it forever. And Dardy says she doesn't doubt it, but we're nearly home now, and she opens her handbag and takes out her handkerchief and spits on it.

  'Just sit still like a good girl,' she says, 'while I give you a bit of a lick. It wouldn't do to go home with your little face all covered in toffee. What would they say?'

  Once I'm clean, we climb down off the tram and walk home, but nobody says anything. They're all too busy. Our charlady's come. She's on her knees brushing the stairs. The brush goes clonk, clonk, clonk as it hits the banisters. Gran's in the dining room setting the table and muttering to herself. And Joan's in the scullery, which is funny because she's supposed to look after me and I thought she'd be in the kitchen waiting to help me out of my gaiters. She's got the copper on, which is very funny because it isn't Monday, and she's boiling sheets. The window's all steamed up and there are streams of water running down the green walls. As we walk in, she dips the copper stick into the soapsuds and lifts out a sheet, all heavy and steaming and dripping hot water.

  'Mind out,' she warns, 'there's a good girl. You can take your coat off by yourself, can't you? Big girl like you.'

  I can manage to undo my coat. That's easy. I've done it for ages. But gaiters are difficult because there are so many little buttons and they're stiff and hurt your fingers. In the end, Dardy gets the hook and gives me a hand. But then she says I'm to go and play because we've got company coming.

  'Is it Christmas?' I ask.

  'That's a week yet-awhile,' she says. 'This is your Uncle Leslie and Aunty Ela. They're coming to see the baby. Now you run along like a good girl and mind you don't get into mischief.'

  There are so many things you have to mind in this house - your manners, your back, your tongue, the fire, the door, the step, your P's and Q's - I'm not sure what they are but I always agree to mind them - not to get dirty, not to make Mummy cross, not to say anything. It can be very puzzling sometimes.

  I go upstairs to the library to find a book to look at. Sometimes Gran reads them to me, which is nice, and sometimes Joan does, but I can read bits of them to myself. One of my favourites is 'The Jackdaw of Rheims'. It's all about a jackdaw who steals a cardinal's ring and the cardinal thinks it's an ordinary thief so he puts a terrible curse on him to make him bring it back, by bell book and candle, and all the jackdaw's feathers fall out. Poor thing. It's all right in the end, though, because he takes off the curse and the jackdaw gets better. And the pictures are lovely. I find it quickly but then I don't know where to go to read it. I know i
t's a good thing to have seventeen rooms to roam around in. Mummy says it is. She says it puts us a cut above the rest. But it's ever so cold in the winter. There are fireplaces all over the house but they don't have fires lit in them. Gran has a gas fire in her bedroom where she airs her smalls, and there's a gas fire in Mummy and Daddy's room but you're not allowed in there, and downstairs there's the range in the kitchen and a fire in the dining room if we're going to have a meal there, but otherwise the rooms are cold. If you stand on the landing you can see your breath puffing out in front of you the way it does when you're out of doors. And the library's freezing. The cold air comes in through the window even though it's shut and it blows down on the top of your head and makes you shiver. So I can't stay there.

  In the end I tuck the book under my arm and sneak off downstairs with it. If Gran's finished the table, I might be able to sit by the fire in the dining room and read it there. And she has, so I do. I wonder how long Mummy's going to stay in bed.

  It's Christmas tomorrow. I know because there's a Christmas tree standing in a big pot by the dining room window and the butcher boy's just delivered a turkey and Dardy's in the kitchen putting stuffing in it. Mummy's still in bed. Gran says she's tired because of the baby coming but I can't see why she should be. She doesn't get tired when Uncle Leslie comes and he's much bigger than the baby. But she's going to come down for dinner tomorrow as a special treat because it's Christmas and I'm going upstairs to see her this morning because Gran says it's about time I saw my sister again.

  'She's coming along so fast you won't know her,' she says as we climb the stairs.

  People do say funny things. Coming along what?

  There's no time to ask because we're at the bedroom door. Mummy is sitting by the fire with the baby on her lap and Joan is stripping the crib and putting the dirty sheets in a pillowcase. There's a tiny bath with water in it on a stand beside Mummy's chair and a tiny airer on one side of the fire with a tiny nightdress hanging on it and the baby is sitting on a tiny pink pot. It hasn't got anything on except a woolly vest and its eyes are shut and its head's all over sideways but I don't think it's asleep because it's scowling and making little grunting noises. Mummy's holding it right up against her chest so it won't fall off the pot. It's got fat arms and legs and ever such a fat face.