Bombsites and Lollipops: My 1950s East End Childhood by Jacky Hyams

rather than a delight. I walk around for a while. Then I step back through the French doors. My mum rushes forward and takes my hand. ‘Let’s see what Lol’s got for us for tea, Jac.’
    Lol is the perfect host. In a big dining room, at a long table covered by a white linen cloth, everything is already set up for our tea: tiny triangular egg-and-cress sandwiches, sliced fruitcake, warm, freshly baked scones, clotted cream, raspberry jam, butter, linen napkins, silver cutlery, fine porcelain crockery. He pours out our tea and encourages me to tuck into the scones (not that I need much encouragement). We spend a happy half hour, Lol putting us both at ease, asking me about dancing class, what books I like, talking to Molly about shows they’ve seen, a genial, utterly charming, urbane man in a sophisticated setting. I’m not used to it but I’m pretty impressed. So is my mum, although she’s a bit subdued.
    In the corner of the big room stands a large black piano. I can’t play but Lol encourages me to muck around on the keys for a bit, while he and Molly finish their tea. Once they’ve finished, he walks over to the piano and seats himself on the piano stool.
    ‘Now I’m going to play something for you two,’ he says, winking at me.
    Then he starts to play, a skilful, experienced pianist, his fingers barely seem to touch the keys. He starts singing too, a song that is very popular at the time; everyone knows it. It’s the theme song from a movie called Moulin Rouge , which was a big hit in 1952. We haven’t seen the movie, but we know the song. It’s a lovely song, a plaintive lover’s plea called ‘Where is Your Heart?’.
    ‘Whenever we kiss, I worry and wonder, your lips may be near. But where is your heart?’ sings Lol, his voice well modulated and smooth, hitting the notes perfectly. Molly and I are entranced, mesmerised by it all. At one point, my mother takes out a hankie and dabs her eyes. This handsome man, singing this plaintive song for us in such a beautiful setting: it’s a moment to remember. But my childish antennae can sense a certain poignancy in his voice; it’s all tinged with sadness, though I couldn’t have told you why.
    Half an hour later, Lol says farewell to us as we climb into the big Bentley and his chauffeur silently drives us home, through winding green country lanes of even bigger, grander houses than the one we’ve just left.
    ‘Why did he sing us that sad song, mum?’ I ask Molly, who seems lost in some kind of wistful reverie.
    ‘And where was Maggie? I thought she wanted to meet me.’
    ‘So did I Jac,’ sighs Molly. ‘I don’t know about the singing. But it’s a lovely song, isn’t it?’
    I don’t hear any more about Lol and Maggie for ages. Neither of my parents mention them. Then, some months later, I ask my mum about them: I can’t quite forget the handsome man at the piano and the haunting love song.
    ‘Look, Jac, we don’t know what happened but … Maggie’s dead. Ging says she was at home, asleep in bed. They think she had some sort of heart attack in the night. Lol’s so upset; he’s sold the house and moved to America. He’s got some kind of business there.’
    By now, I’m such an inquisitive kid that I’m not at all satisfied with this.
    I’m shocked that she’s dead, of course, but there are so many overhanging questions from our brief visit. Why didn’t Maggie stick around to see us that day? And why was Lol singing that sad song? Something was very wrong. But I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
    Yet there were, of course, rumours swirling around the Lane and the pub. And when I ask my mum again, a few weeks later, she tells me what people are saying. It’s pretty nasty, but she tells me just the same (she knows all too well that at nine, I won’t let up with my ‘Why this? Why that?’ questions until I get a satisfactory answer).
    ‘They’re saying that he bumped her off and got away with it. They weren’t getting on