Ironmonger's Daughter by Harry Bowling Page A

an’ me wouldn’t marry a foreigner who’s already wore out two ole men, Terry.’
    ‘Well I reckon ’e should put the country first. Yer can’t go against the church an’ the country when yer a king. I mean, there’s yer coronation an’ yer pomp an’ splender. It’s yer’eritage, Bill.’
    ‘Sod yer pomp an’ splender. ’E could get married in a regist’ry office like anybody else.’
    ‘C’mon, Bill. Yer can’t do fings like that when yer a king o’ yer country. Just imagine Edward walkin’ down the town ’all steps wiv that there Mrs Simpson on ’is arm an’ some soppy bleeder runnin’ down the steps after ’im, shoutin’ out, “don’t ferget yer crown, Ted”.’
    When the laughter subsided Terry went on. ‘All right, I grant yer that ’e’s in love wiv ’er, but what’s ter stop ’im gettin’ spliced ter lady so-an’-so an’ givin’ ’er one every once in a while fer the sake o’ the Royal line. ’E’s got ole Mrs Simpson on the quiet an’ everybody’s ’appy.’
    ‘P’raps ’e don’t want ter marry some ugly ole aristocrat, jus’ ter please the likes o’ you, an’ I don’t s’pose that there Mrs Simpson would be very ’appy wiv that arrangement, Tel.’
    ‘It ain’t a question o’ what makes Mrs Simpson ’appy. ’E’s got the country ter fink about, Bill, an’ in any case, ’e don’t’ave ter marry an ugly aristocrat. There mus’ be a few goodlookin’ ones amongst ’em, surely ter Gawd.’
    Bill refused to be shaken. ‘I don’t care what yer say. ’E’s got the right ter pick an’ choose, jus’ like anybody else. I say good luck to ’im. At least ’e’s got the guts ter come out wiv it.’
    The argument was suspended while fresh pints were brought from the crowded bar and then the discussion went on until closing time.
     
    The young couple had met by chance, and at first she had almost walked past without looking at the upright figure in a naval uniform. It was he who stopped and hailed the pretty blond-haired girl.
    ‘’Ello, Con. Remember me?’ he said brightly.
    Connie flushed as she looked up at the grinning Michael Donovan. ‘Yer did it then,’ she exclaimed, her eyes travelling from his polished shoes up to his cap, which was perched at a jaunty angle. ‘I didn’t reco’nise yer, Michael. Yer do look smart. ’Ow long yer bin in the navy?’
    ‘Six months. I’m stationed down in Portsmouth, but I’m off ter sea next week.’
    Connie put her shopping bag down on the pavement and rubbed her stiff fingers together. ‘When d’yer go back off leave?’
    ‘Sunday night. We’re sailin’ on Tuesday. We’re goin’ ter Gib,’ Michael said proudly.
    ‘Gib?’
    ‘Gibraltar. Well, that’s our first port o’ call. We’re goin’ on ter the Med.’
    ‘Lucky you,’ Connie said, smiling as she looked into his fresh-cut features. ‘I’ll be finkin’ about yer when I’m sittin’ there packin’ ’orrible biscuits.’
    Michael took off his cap and ran his fingers through a mop of fair hair. ‘’Ow’s yer friend Molly?’
    ‘She’s okay. We’re still workin’ tergevver, but at Peek Frean’s now. She’s bin off work a lot lately. She was pretty rough over Christmas.’
    Michael reached down and picked up Connie’s shopping bag. ‘C’mon, I’ll carry it back fer yer.’
    The two young people threaded their way in and out of the Saturday morning shoppers and turned off into a side street. Michael walked with a slight swagger and Connie felt strangely elated as she walked by his side. She could not help but notice the change in the lad. His gaunt face had filled out and it had a healthy glow about it. He seemed to have grown taller and put on some weight. Connie had to concede that he looked quite dashing in his uniform and she gave him a few shy glances as they walked towards Ironmonger Street.
    ‘I was finkin’,’ Michael said suddenly. ‘Would yer like ter come up the Globe ternight? There’s a good film up