The Cockney Girl Read online

  The Cockney Girl

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Copyright

  For John, with all my love

  Chapter 1

  Two-Bob Deposit

  ‘Mornin’, Rose. Still got the cleanest step in Burton Street?’

  The kneeling woman turned round from her labours, scrubbing brush still in hand. ‘Yer know me, Jack. Clean ’ome and clean livin’.’ She rubbed her nose with the back of her suds-covered hand. ‘Got anythin’ for us today?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I ’ave.’ Jack reached into his sack and, like a conjuror producing a rabbit from a hat, held out an envelope. ‘A letter.’

  ‘Give it ’ere, then.’

  Rose stood up to take it from him. But first she tucked a few stray auburn hairs back under her makeshift turban, and wiped her hands on the coarse sacking apron that covered her faded brown skirt. Appearances were important to Rose. She didn’t have much, but she liked to keep herself respectable, that didn’t cost anything.

  ‘Jess. Jessie. Yer there?’ she called into the house. ‘Come and read me this letter.’

  ‘Good gel yer got there, Rose.’

  ‘An’ too clever for the likes of you, eh, Jack?’

  ‘All right, Rose, we can all dream.’ As he spoke, Jack studied the toes of his boots.

  ‘That’s yer trouble, me lad, all yer do is dream. Yer wanna put yerself forward a bit more. Speak up for yerself.’

  ‘’Ello, Jacko. Let’s see what yer’ve got for us, then.’ It was Jessie. As she stepped out from the house’s gloomy passageway, her hair gleamed red and golden in the bright summer sunshine.

  ‘It’s a letter, gorgeous,’ Jack said cockily. ‘What do yer think the postman’s gonna bring yer, a pound of sausages?’

  As soon as the words had left his mouth, Jack could have kicked himself. Why did he do it? It was like someone else took over when Jessie was around. No matter how hard he tried, every time he saw her he acted like a great daft kid. He either stood there all tongue-tied and said nothing, or tried to sound clever and lively and just wound up making a right chump of himself. Why couldn’t he act like an ordinary, sensible bloke? Then Jess could see him for what he really was, Jack Barnes, a grown man who loved her, not Jacko, the snotty-nosed boy she had been to school with.

  Jessie blushed, feeling silly. Lost for a reply, she couldn’t imagine what he thought of her. She wished she knew how to talk to boys. It was stupid, she had three brothers and always knew what to say to them. And she used to know what to say to Jacko.

  Jack squirmed as he saw Rose flash a warning look of disapproval at her daughter. He’d done it again – good and proper this time.

  ‘OK, gel, don’t play up,’ Rose scolded her daughter. ‘’E never meant nothin’. Now come on, read us this letter. I’ve not got all day, an’ nor ’ave you.’

  Glad of the distraction, Jess carefully peeled open the flap of the envelope. Letters were a rarity in Poplar, and certainly not something to be rushed. She slipped out the paper from inside and unfolded it.

  ‘Right, ’ere goes.’

  She glanced at Jack through her lashes. He was watching her.

  Rose nodded at Jack, acknowledging her clever daughter. ‘’Ere goes,’ she repeated. She was proud of Jess, proud that she was one of the new breed of East End girls, the ones who didn’t only have the chance of getting a decent education, but who had the opportunity to take it. It was a bit different in Rose’s day. But she didn’t mind at all, she was really proud of her girl’s achievements, and glad that Jess had had a better start in life than hers.

  ‘Dear Mrs Fairleigh,’ Jess began.

  ‘’Ang on, Jess, do it proper,’ Rose complained. ‘We don’t get letters every day, gel. When was it sent? Where from, an’ that?’

  Jessie looked at her mother and smiled. She was always the same, making the best of life even though they had hardly anything. Rose would never get less than the full measure.

  ‘Right,’ said Jess, ‘I’ll start again. ’Ere goes.’ She coughed theatrically and pronounced each word carefully, trying to make sure she sounded all the aitches in the right places. ‘It’s from Worlington Hall, Tilnhurst.’

  Rose couldn’t resist interrupting again, ‘Oh, Jack, it’s come. Our letter’s come.’ She grabbed Jess by the shoulders, then clapped her hands.

  ‘All right, Mum, leave off. Do yer want me to read, or don’t yer?’ She looked up shyly at Jack, and was glad to see that he was smiling too – at her.

  ‘Waited for weeks, I ’ave.’ Rose was beaming, wanting to hear more. ‘Well? What yer ’angin’ about for? Go on, Jess. Read it to us, gel.’

  Jess was as pleased as Rose, too happy to be cross, so she continued reading. ‘Tilnhurst, Kent. July the thirtieth, nineteen-thirteen. Dear Mrs Fairleigh. This is to inform you that you have been selected for casual employment at Worlington Hall Farm for the hop-picking season. You begin work on Monday, September the 6th, at seven o’clock. As usual, accommodation will be provided in the hoppers’ huts. There is one minor change this year: all pickers will be asked for two shillings’ deposit on the return of the key and padlock to their huts.’

  Jess still wasn’t allowed to finish.

  ‘Do what? Two bob? Deposit? ‘Oo the ’ell does that Worlington think ’e is? I’ll give ’im deposit. We ain’t goin’, that’s what. I’d rather stay at ’ome. I’d rather… Aw, I don’t know.’

  Unable to find the right words to express her anger, Rose fussed distractedly with her scarf, looked up and down the narrow street for inspiration, and then threw the scrubbing brush down hard into the pail. Dirty water splashed up over Jack and Jess but they didn’t say anything, they didn’t dare. Rose was furious, and they knew it. They kept silent, watching her, and waiting until she spoke.

  ‘I tell yer what I’d rather do,’ she said, nodding furiously, ‘I’d rather go to Fanshawe’s, that’s what. Fanshawe’s.’

  ‘Mum!’ Jess couldn’t believe she’d heard right. ‘Fanshawe’s?’

  ‘Yeh, Fanshawe’s. What’s it to yer?’

  ‘Yer always said yer’d rather stay at ’ome than go to another farm. An’ yer’d never stay at ’ome at ’opping time.’

  ‘Well, I’ve changed me mind. All right?’

  ‘But, Mum, yer can’t.’

  Jess threw her hands up in desperation and the letter fluttered to the ground; Jess was too upset to notice, but Jack quickly retrieved it.

  ‘Don’t tell me “can’t”,’ fumed Rose.

  ‘But it’s only a couple o’ bob, Mum.’

  Rose spoke slowly and quietly, but with fierce determination. ‘Not once in all them years we’ve been goin’ to Worlington’s farm ’ave we ever done nothin’ for ’im to treat us like this. Nothin’. An’ that’s the truth. An’ everyone knows it.’

  ‘Not like some of ’em round ’ere, eh?’ said the postman, gesturing along the street with a nod.

  ‘An’ there’s no need for that sort of talk, Jack Barnes,’ snapped Rose. ‘Yer know I won’t ’ave gossip.’

  ‘But ’e is right, Mum,’ said Jess. ‘Some of ’em round ’ere take ri
ght liberties, yer know they do. Nick anythin’ what ain’t bolted down.’ She spoke quickly, before Rose could object. ‘Yer know ’ow some of ’em mess up the ’op ’uts. Pinch all the apples. Get drunk, shoutin’ an’ ‘ollerin’. ’E’s doin’ it cos of them. To warn ‘em to be’ave proper.’

  ‘I don’t care about no one else. It’s us I’m worried about.’ Rose lifted her chin. ‘It’s the good name of the Fairleighs what concerns me.’

  ‘Come on, Mum, Worlington don’t mean us. It’s the others. Yer know it is. ’E’s gotta do it cos of them.’

  Eager to please her, Jack agreed. ‘Jessie’s right, Rose. Yer know ’ow some of ’em round ’ere carry on. Right old tarts.’ He winked. ‘Mentionin’ no names, of course.’

  ‘I’ve told yer, Jack. That’s none of our business. An’ I don’t ’old with talk like that.’

  ‘Sorry, Rose.’

  ‘Mum?’ Jess pleaded.

  ‘I really ain’t ’appy with the ’ole idea. I ain’t never ’eard nothin’ like it in all the years our family’s been ’opping. An’ that’s some years.’

  ‘Listen, Mum. ’Ow about if I save the money? Tanner a week. Then it won’t be like yer payin’ nothin’, will it?’ Jess looked at Jack for support.

  ‘She’s got a point there, Rose,’ he said.

  ‘Yeh. Yer wait an’ see. I’ll ’ave it ready, honest.’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Rose, her voice less angry.

  Jess could sense her mother coming round to the idea, so she carried on with her pleas. ‘There’s four weeks till we go. So there’s plenty of time. Go on, Mum, say we can go. It can’t be the first year I’ve stayed at ’ome durin’ ’opping. Go on, Mum. Please.’

  ‘It’d be the first year any of us lot would’ve stayed at ’ome,’ said Rose. ‘Yer old gran went when she was carryin’ me. Nearly born down ’opping, I was. An’ you, Jess. Yer was kind of thought of down there. Good times we’ve ’ad in Kent.’

  Rose was reminiscing now, softening under Jess’s persuasion and the happy memories of days and nights spent in the beautiful Kent countryside.

  ‘Yer right. I wouldn’t wanna miss it, an’ I could definitely do with a break from this filthy ’ole.’

  Rose folded her arms and studied the half-scrubbed step, running her toe backwards and forwards acrossworn surface. Giving it a decisive kick with her buttoned-up boot she turned to face Jess. ‘Yer sure yer can save the money, gel?’

  ‘Course I can. Yer know me when I set me mind on somethin’.’

  ‘I know that all right. Determined, like yer dad.’

  ‘Stubborn like you, yer mean,’ laughed Jess.

  ‘But it still don’t mean I’m ’appy with this deposit lark,’ said Rose tersely.

  ‘I’ll tell yer what,’ said Jess quickly, not wanting Rose to start changing her mind. ‘I’ll tell Winnie and Lil I can’t go down the Mission for the next few weeks. They won’t mind.’ Jess was speaking quicker and quicker. ‘I’ll save me entrance money, and the other thrupence I spend on buns and sarsaparilla an’ that. Then I’ll soon ’ave it. Yer just see if I don’t.’

  Jack’s face dropped. The thrupenny hop at the Mission was the highlight of his week. He went to the little hut every Saturday night to listen to the gramophone and to see his mates, but most of all he went for the chance of dancing with Jess. He would have gladly paid the three pennies admission just to watch her joking and chatting with the other girls. Not one of them could hold a candle to Jess. He pictured her standing there in the hut, her gleaming auburn hair tied back with a bit of ribbon, her face bright with laughter. He sighed with disappointment. She wasn’t going to the Mission and she’d be down hopping for weeks. It was hard being in love.

  ‘Four weeks missin’ the ’op and then we can go ’opping.’ Jess laughed at the joke she’d made, and was relieved to see Rose do the same. It would be all right, they would be going to Kent after all.

  ‘Don’t get too carried away, gel. Yer won’t ’ave nothin’ and we won’t be going nowhere if yer don’t get yerself off to work. Now move yerself. You too, Jack Barnes, or yer’ll have Clara after yer, and none of us likes yer mum once she gets going.’

  Despite his disappointment about the dance, Jack had to chuckle at the thought of his mum getting angry. Clara was only a little woman but a real terror if she was crossed. Many a Saturday night she could be seen striding down Burton Street towards The Star, her arms swinging across her body from the elbows, sleeves rolled up ready, her face determined. She would pull Cyril, Jack’s long-suffering dad, out of the public bar and drag him back home for his tea, all to the accompaniment of his mates’ cheers and jeers.

  ‘Yer right, Rose. I might be silly but I ain’t daft.’

  ‘I ain’t so sure sometimes,’ said Rose shaking her head. He was a good boy, but slow with girls. She really wanted to see him settled. She had a proper soft spot for Jack, having had him practically living in Number 8 when he was a youngster. She used to take him in, treat him just as though he was one of her own, whenever Clara decided to go off on one of her unexpected, and usually unannounced, trips back to her family in Ireland. Jack would wander along from Number 42, no shoes on his feet as usual, and hang round till Rose told him to come inside. He’d eat his fill of whatever Rose had going on the stove, then bunk in with Rose’s three boys, happy as a sandboy. His dad, Cyril, was never happier either than when Clara was away. With Jack safely tucked up in Number 8, he could spend as much time in The Star as he liked, with no Clara to ruck him or show him up.

  ‘Go on, off with yer,’ Rose said, the gentle expression in her eyes contradicting the sternness in her voice.

  ‘See yer later then, gels,’ he said and hoisted his sack on to his shoulder.

  ‘Yeh. See yer, Jacko,’ said Jess softly.

  ‘Yeh. See yer,’ said Rose, delighted to see her daughter’s sudden shyness.

  Jack walked off in the direction of the East India Dock Road, whistling the tune that had been playing when Jess had first danced with him. He didn’t suppose it meant anything to her, but it was special to him all right. He even called it ‘our song’, but only to himself of course. And he could always hope. Perhaps one day Jess would feel the same about him as he did about her.

  * * *

  Jessie Fairleigh went back in the house to get her things ready for work, leaving Rose to finish her cleaning out the front. Her mum was right as usual, if she didn’t get a move on there’d be trouble. Jobs weren’t two a penny in Poplar, even for bright girls like her.

  After the brilliance of the morning sunshine, the inside of Number 8 Burton Street seemed dingier than ever. In the gloom, Jess had to be careful not to trip on the frayed hall runner as she carried the washbasin down from her parents’ room to the little back kitchen. She always slept in with her mum when her dad was away. She loved sleeping in the big brass bed that Granny Fairleigh had given her son when he had married Rose.

  Bill Fairleigh had been in the merchant navy since before his daughter was born, and whenever he was on a trip it meant that Jess didn’t have to sleep in the front parlour. The bed in there was awful, not much more than a big child’s cot really, and far too small for her now. Sharing the big bed with her mum was the only good thing about her dad being away, though. What Jess didn’t like about his trips was her poor mum missing him, and her having to cope with the boys all by herself. Rose had enough on her plate just managing to make ends meet without putting up with Sammy and Charlie and their nonsense. Young Ted was getting just as bad, and he was barely fifteen. Rose had said it herself: now the three boys were growing up they could be a real handful for her, especially their Charlie.

  Jess often wondered how Rose did it. Feeding them all; doing the laundry in the old boiler in the yard; fighting the continued battle with dirt to keep their little terraced house decent and free from bugs; and all that was without the scrubbing jobs she did in the City and up West. Jess really missed her dad as well, all his larking about, and telling them sto
ries about the foreign lands he’d been to. Sometimes the stories would scare her, but then he would make her laugh again. He always did. Still, he was due home soon, and he’d sort her brothers out all right. And who knows, perhaps he’d come home with enough money to get her a new bed. Perhaps. Some chance. As Dad always told her, ‘Some people like meat pudden and some people don’t. But you remember, my gel, some people never even get a dip in the gravy. Yer just be satisfied with what yer got.’

  Jess tipped her washing water away down the cracked stone sink then dried out the enamel washing basin with a ragged piece of cloth. She folded the cloth neatly and draped it over the nail by the door. Then she put the bowl away on the rough wooden plank that served as a shelf under the sink. Rose liked things to be kept tidy and Jess wanted to keep her mum in a good mood; she didn’t want her changing her mind about going hopping. She twirled her thick hair round her fingers into a smooth twist and pinned it up into place. Next she arranged her skirt so that the holes were hidden in the folds of the shabby black serge. Like Rose, Jess knew that even though they didn’t have much, it was important to be respectable and to keep up appearances. And having a good wash of a morning, that didn’t cost much either.

  Grabbing her coat and hat off the banister rail, Jess had a final, luxurious stretch before her day started properly. Careful to avoid spoiling the job that her mother hadn’t quite finished, Jess skipped nimbly across the front step, back into the bright, sunlit street. Rose didn’t look up; she was rubbing hard at the boot scraper, polishing it up with a rag dipped in black lead. Bending over her to kiss Rose’s cheek, Jess couldn’t resist giving her mother a hug.

  ‘Ta, Mum, I knew yer wouldn’t let me down. I promise I’ll save that money.’ She squeezed Rose to her chest. ‘Aw, I do love yer.’

  Rose brushed her away, ‘Yer great daft thing. Go on with yer. Anyone’d think yer was seven instead of seventeen.’

  Jess grinned. The thought of being in Kent with all its green fields and fresh air, and no factories or dirt, made her feel wonderful, and she knew that Rose felt the same way. She couldn’t fool her daughter.