saw he was bringing his wallet out of his jacket.
‘I’ve been thinking. You’ve done your best since you’ve been here,’ he said in his normal courteous voice. ‘But I’m not sure this is really a job for a lass. I’ve decided to let you go and get a lad in like we’ve always had. It’ll be for the best I think.’
He was holding out a pound note to her.
‘Here – take a couple of weeks’ pay. And if you need a decent reference you can rely on me, you know that.’
He came a little closer, holding the money out as if he was trying to tempt a dangerous animal. Rose quickly snatched the note, backing away from him again.
He unlocked the door and she went slowly down the stairs and out into the freezing evening, holding in her hand a larger sum of money than she’d ever earned at once before.
Nine
12 May 1937
Coronation day. All over the nation there were excited preparations to celebrate the crowning of a new king – George VI. Red, white and blue bunting rippled and flapped along Catherine Street in the bright spring morning. Union Jacks billowed out from the sills of some of the houses, and as it was a day off work for everyone, the road was more full of people than usual. Already the inhabitants of the street were setting up trestle tables along the pavements, to be laid later with white cloths and heaped with plates of food for the street’s celebration party. George and his little band of followers were tearing in and out of the courts in their draggle-arsed shorts, pretending to be aeroplanes with a lot of roaring sound effects and getting under everybody’s feet.
In Court 11 most of the women were inside hastily icing platefuls of tiny sponge cakes and slicing bread for the little triangular sandwiches which would grace the tables later on. Old Lady Gooch declared, breathing heavily as she went to inspect what was happening in each house, that she’d made a ‘rich fruit Dundee – one of me best’. Her large bloodshot eyes ran over every contribution to make sure everyone was doing their whack and that there’d be enough to go round in the afternoon. She was still wearing her working clothes. The dressing up would come later and the pawn shops had been rifled for suitable clothes, some of which had not seen the light of day for months or longer.
The happiest person in the court that day was Grace Lucas. Not only was she to leave school that summer, but she was ecstatic that there was another coronation so soon after the last. Now she’d got over her grief at the death of her beloved King George V and the startling abdication of his successor Edward VIII, she was ready to throw herself wholeheartedly into the occasion. She had trimmed the edges of her frock by hand with strips of red, white and blue, and decorated a straw hat in the same colours with elaborate ribbons and bows. With it pulled on over her straggly brown hair, her pale, sweet face was almost pretty. Even Sid had noticed and commented that he’d never seen her looking such a ‘fine lass’ before.
‘Rose – you can’t miss coming this afternoon,’ Grace entreated her sister, who was scraping the last hardening crust of white icing out of a mixing bowl. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re not thinking of the neighbours are you?’
‘Bit late for that isn’t it?’ Rose said sourly. ‘I’m just not in the mood, that’s all, and I need a rest. I cleaned that blooming pub from top to bottom yesterday and I could do with a lie down. I don’t feel right.’
Grace’s and Dora’s eyes met and Grace shrugged. She couldn’t get close to Rose any more. She felt like crying when she looked at her older sister standing by the table. She was wearing an old dress of Dora’s which they’d shortened together and tucked up at its wide, loose waist. Her belly was straining forward with the unmistakable curve of pregnancy. She was having to lean more than usual towards the table to accommodate the shape of the
‘I’ve been thinking. You’ve done your best since you’ve been here,’ he said in his normal courteous voice. ‘But I’m not sure this is really a job for a lass. I’ve decided to let you go and get a lad in like we’ve always had. It’ll be for the best I think.’
He was holding out a pound note to her.
‘Here – take a couple of weeks’ pay. And if you need a decent reference you can rely on me, you know that.’
He came a little closer, holding the money out as if he was trying to tempt a dangerous animal. Rose quickly snatched the note, backing away from him again.
He unlocked the door and she went slowly down the stairs and out into the freezing evening, holding in her hand a larger sum of money than she’d ever earned at once before.
Nine
12 May 1937
Coronation day. All over the nation there were excited preparations to celebrate the crowning of a new king – George VI. Red, white and blue bunting rippled and flapped along Catherine Street in the bright spring morning. Union Jacks billowed out from the sills of some of the houses, and as it was a day off work for everyone, the road was more full of people than usual. Already the inhabitants of the street were setting up trestle tables along the pavements, to be laid later with white cloths and heaped with plates of food for the street’s celebration party. George and his little band of followers were tearing in and out of the courts in their draggle-arsed shorts, pretending to be aeroplanes with a lot of roaring sound effects and getting under everybody’s feet.
In Court 11 most of the women were inside hastily icing platefuls of tiny sponge cakes and slicing bread for the little triangular sandwiches which would grace the tables later on. Old Lady Gooch declared, breathing heavily as she went to inspect what was happening in each house, that she’d made a ‘rich fruit Dundee – one of me best’. Her large bloodshot eyes ran over every contribution to make sure everyone was doing their whack and that there’d be enough to go round in the afternoon. She was still wearing her working clothes. The dressing up would come later and the pawn shops had been rifled for suitable clothes, some of which had not seen the light of day for months or longer.
The happiest person in the court that day was Grace Lucas. Not only was she to leave school that summer, but she was ecstatic that there was another coronation so soon after the last. Now she’d got over her grief at the death of her beloved King George V and the startling abdication of his successor Edward VIII, she was ready to throw herself wholeheartedly into the occasion. She had trimmed the edges of her frock by hand with strips of red, white and blue, and decorated a straw hat in the same colours with elaborate ribbons and bows. With it pulled on over her straggly brown hair, her pale, sweet face was almost pretty. Even Sid had noticed and commented that he’d never seen her looking such a ‘fine lass’ before.
‘Rose – you can’t miss coming this afternoon,’ Grace entreated her sister, who was scraping the last hardening crust of white icing out of a mixing bowl. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re not thinking of the neighbours are you?’
‘Bit late for that isn’t it?’ Rose said sourly. ‘I’m just not in the mood, that’s all, and I need a rest. I cleaned that blooming pub from top to bottom yesterday and I could do with a lie down. I don’t feel right.’
Grace’s and Dora’s eyes met and Grace shrugged. She couldn’t get close to Rose any more. She felt like crying when she looked at her older sister standing by the table. She was wearing an old dress of Dora’s which they’d shortened together and tucked up at its wide, loose waist. Her belly was straining forward with the unmistakable curve of pregnancy. She was having to lean more than usual towards the table to accommodate the shape of the
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