pockets, around collars and even into the turn-ups on men’s trousers.
Her eyes were downcast and she kept fiddling with her hair, her ear lobes and the buttons of her high-necked blouse.
‘When are you seeing John?’ Mary Anne asked in as calm a manner as possible.
‘About half past eight. He has to do his stint in the shop first.’
John worked in one of the bonded warehouses where the tobacco was stored and weighed by customs before being delivered to the tobacco factory. His working day didn’t stop on arriving home. He was still expected to help out in the corner shop run by his aunt and uncle, who had brought him up since the death of his parents.
‘Here,’ said Mary Anne, passing her a ten shilling note. ‘Go out and enjoy yourselves.’
When Daw’s face broke into a smile, her mother thought she looked beautiful. ‘Oh, thanks, Ma.’ She had dark eyes and luxurious hair formed into an exuberant cottage-loaf style, which framed her face and rested on the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were pink and her complexion a creamy white. Men tripped over pavements when she walked by, though her daughter rarely noticed. All her life she’d seemed blissfully unaware of the effect she had on people. John was the only man who mattered.
‘Are you sure he’ll enlist?’ asked Mary Anne, but thought she already knew the answer.
‘Of course he will. You know what John’s like. He would have joined the air force long ago if it hadn’t been for his Aunt Maude and Uncle Jim. He gave in then, but now … well … he might not have a choice.’
Daw fiddled with her fingers as she spoke. She and John had been childhood sweethearts. It was only natural that they would get married one day.
Mary Anne threw her arms around her daughter. ‘Damn! Damn war and damn men for making war!’
She stepped back, holding her daughter at arm’s length and giving her a reassuring smile.
‘Don’t worry, Daw. This will all blow over and you’ll be married with three little ’uns before you know it.’
She felt Daw’s shoulders shake and a muffled sob break against her ear.
‘I don’t like this talk of war. I don’t like it at all. It frightens me.’
Mary Anne patted her back as though she were eight not eighteen. ‘None of us do, but cheer up. Have a talk with John later. Get yerselves a fish and chip supper. Everything will be all right, you see if it won’t.’
She looked up to see Henry staring at her from the doorway, eyeing the ten-shilling note fluttering in Daw’s fingers.
‘You giving good money away?’ He said it breezily for Daw’s benefit, as though he were only joking. Mary Anne knew otherwise, but went along with what Daw would view as a joke.
‘For her and John to have a fish and chip supper seeing as he’s joining up. They have to say their goodbyes.’
‘Enjoy yerself, our Daw,’ he said, adopting the benevolent expression of the doting father, not once betraying the other man reserved for his wife alone.
Once Daw was gone his attitude changed. He pointed an accusing finger and raised his voice. ‘That money’s for housekeeping and from my wages. I’ll have words with you about that.’
She knew what he meant. Inside, she trembled. Outside, she remained calm. He never showed his brutish side in front of the children. He saved that for her.
Turning his back, he left her there and for once the anticipation of what he would do later faded away and somewhat surprised her. After considering this new response, she counselled that England was sticking up for itself, and perhaps it was time she did so too.
Back in the kitchen, the atmosphere was damp and steamy, warm though a little more subdued than normal.
‘Come on,’ she said, with a wave of her wooden spoon. ‘I’ll have no glum faces around this table. Hitler ain’t invited to dinner. He can get his own!’
‘Wouldn’t dare,’ muttered Harry, disappearing behind another newspaper and another crossword.
His father still glared
Her eyes were downcast and she kept fiddling with her hair, her ear lobes and the buttons of her high-necked blouse.
‘When are you seeing John?’ Mary Anne asked in as calm a manner as possible.
‘About half past eight. He has to do his stint in the shop first.’
John worked in one of the bonded warehouses where the tobacco was stored and weighed by customs before being delivered to the tobacco factory. His working day didn’t stop on arriving home. He was still expected to help out in the corner shop run by his aunt and uncle, who had brought him up since the death of his parents.
‘Here,’ said Mary Anne, passing her a ten shilling note. ‘Go out and enjoy yourselves.’
When Daw’s face broke into a smile, her mother thought she looked beautiful. ‘Oh, thanks, Ma.’ She had dark eyes and luxurious hair formed into an exuberant cottage-loaf style, which framed her face and rested on the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were pink and her complexion a creamy white. Men tripped over pavements when she walked by, though her daughter rarely noticed. All her life she’d seemed blissfully unaware of the effect she had on people. John was the only man who mattered.
‘Are you sure he’ll enlist?’ asked Mary Anne, but thought she already knew the answer.
‘Of course he will. You know what John’s like. He would have joined the air force long ago if it hadn’t been for his Aunt Maude and Uncle Jim. He gave in then, but now … well … he might not have a choice.’
Daw fiddled with her fingers as she spoke. She and John had been childhood sweethearts. It was only natural that they would get married one day.
Mary Anne threw her arms around her daughter. ‘Damn! Damn war and damn men for making war!’
She stepped back, holding her daughter at arm’s length and giving her a reassuring smile.
‘Don’t worry, Daw. This will all blow over and you’ll be married with three little ’uns before you know it.’
She felt Daw’s shoulders shake and a muffled sob break against her ear.
‘I don’t like this talk of war. I don’t like it at all. It frightens me.’
Mary Anne patted her back as though she were eight not eighteen. ‘None of us do, but cheer up. Have a talk with John later. Get yerselves a fish and chip supper. Everything will be all right, you see if it won’t.’
She looked up to see Henry staring at her from the doorway, eyeing the ten-shilling note fluttering in Daw’s fingers.
‘You giving good money away?’ He said it breezily for Daw’s benefit, as though he were only joking. Mary Anne knew otherwise, but went along with what Daw would view as a joke.
‘For her and John to have a fish and chip supper seeing as he’s joining up. They have to say their goodbyes.’
‘Enjoy yerself, our Daw,’ he said, adopting the benevolent expression of the doting father, not once betraying the other man reserved for his wife alone.
Once Daw was gone his attitude changed. He pointed an accusing finger and raised his voice. ‘That money’s for housekeeping and from my wages. I’ll have words with you about that.’
She knew what he meant. Inside, she trembled. Outside, she remained calm. He never showed his brutish side in front of the children. He saved that for her.
Turning his back, he left her there and for once the anticipation of what he would do later faded away and somewhat surprised her. After considering this new response, she counselled that England was sticking up for itself, and perhaps it was time she did so too.
Back in the kitchen, the atmosphere was damp and steamy, warm though a little more subdued than normal.
‘Come on,’ she said, with a wave of her wooden spoon. ‘I’ll have no glum faces around this table. Hitler ain’t invited to dinner. He can get his own!’
‘Wouldn’t dare,’ muttered Harry, disappearing behind another newspaper and another crossword.
His father still glared
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