The Staircase Girls Read online

  After the D-Day landings the previous year, it had become increasingly clear that the war was finally coming to a close. The Russians and Allies were advancing on Germany, the papers said, and nothing could save Hitler now. Just after the landings, though, a new type of Nazi flying bomb called the doodlebug had caused havoc in London. The ‘rockets’, as the papers called them, had been fired from somewhere in Belgium. But at the end of March the site they were being fired from in Antwerp was captured and now there were no more bombs landing in England at all. There was a general air of relief breathed in with fresh spring winds. Ann had begun to daydream about a life after war, one in which she could meet and mix with people like Peter Constable, perhaps, without feeling embarrassed or shy.

  When the news broke that the war was over on 7 May, there was no hesitation from Ann about going out. She didn’t mind dancing that night, she didn’t care what people thought, she wanted to be out there with everyone else, celebrating, being free from falling bombs and the threat of death and injury from above. She and her sisters went to Parker’s Piece where they found a huge area had been designated for dancing.

  ‘I want to dance!’ she shouted, almost running towards the bandstand, wearing her ordinary, everyday dress, pushing past women who were all done out in their best frocks, shoes and hats. She really didn’t care who saw or heard her as she sang and danced with her sisters as the US army band played Glenn Miller tunes. Later in the evening they joined the other revellers in a torchlight procession to Midsummer Common, where an enormous bonfire had been built, as if it were 5 November. But it was not Guy Fawkes that sat at the top of the bonfire, it was an effigy of one of Hitler’s henchmen, Josef Goebbels.

  The Pilchers were giggling and singing along with everyone else when Ann realized how late it was. ‘Dad’s going to be worried,’ she said to Bet and Rene, ‘he’ll be waiting on the doorstep you know, we’re going to have to get going soon.’

  Bet agreed, but Rene was clearly disappointed. ‘We’re never allowed to do anything!’ She resisted her sisters’ tugging at her sleeve. ‘Surely tonight, I mean, there’s no school, they’ve given us an extra two days off.’

  ‘Don’t matter,’ Ann replied, ‘we don’t want to worry Dad.’

  Rene took a last look at the bonfire and turned to grab the bottom of Bet’s jumper so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. It had grown very dark and, as they made their way towards Victoria Avenue, the mass of bodies on the unlit paths remained as solid and often unmoving as it had been for what seemed like hours now. A few beery-breathed men leaned into the sisters’ faces and attempted to kiss them, usually mumbling, ‘S’peace! Gisakiss . . .’ Bet pushed most away with a laugh, Rene ducked down low, causing a couple of men to bang their heads and square up to one another as Rene urged her sisters onwards. Ann’s cheek was feeling wet and sore, her being too shy to even say ‘no’ to the drunken kisses that headed her way. She could see the gate out onto the bridge was surrounded by people and would need some determination to get through, when her attention was caught by a familiar face.

  ‘Are you girls alright? Do you need me to help you get through the crowds?’ Fred Adams spoke from under a tree, where he stood with a torch in his hand, looking directly at Ann.

  Rene looked over and squealed, ‘But you’ve only got one eye!’

  Fred laughed.

  ‘Don’t be so rude, Rene,’ Ann scolded her, and turned a blushing face towards Fred. ‘Sorry, she’s overexcited. Yes, we would like that very much. Thank you.’

  Ann and Fred had met at Drummer Street bus station a few weeks previously, as she was seeing Albert off on a bus. Bet and Barrel were otherwise occupied, and as Ann walked away from the kissing couple, Fred had approached her. He asked her if she wanted to go to a picture show the following week, and although she said she couldn’t, she was apologetic enough about her refusal to give Fred the sense that she was interested. ‘See you around, then,’ he’d said as Bet approached them, and walked away.

  ‘Who was that?’ Bet had asked, watching Fred’s back disappear around the corner.

  ‘A boy,’ Ann replied, blushing. ‘He asked me out.’

  ‘What? You said no, didn’t you, Ann?’

  Her sister blushed and said, ‘Yes, but I didn’t want to.’

  ‘Eh? What about Albert?’ Bet was amazed at Ann’s blushing cheeks and candour.

  ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? And it’s not like we’re ever going to get married or anything,’ Ann replied. ‘He was kind of nice, actually.’ She’d looked into the space where Fred had been with a feeling of slight frustration, wishing she’d said ‘yes’ to his invite.

  Now here he was, smiling and being playful with her and her sisters.

  ‘It lights up in the dark, this glass eye, so people tell me,’ he said to Rene, ‘so it’s good for things like this.’

  He laughed, turned, and the girls followed as he made his way towards the gate. Pushing through the people with ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Warden coming through!’, Fred waved his torch into people’s eyes and they moved away to let the small line through with barely a comment. He did have an armband on, although no helmet, of course – ‘We don’t need them any more!’ Ann realized with a smile.

  As they made their way along the road, all four could walk closely enough together to talk, and being as inquisitive as ever, Bet asked him, ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘I’ve been working in the chef ’s core but I’m working on my dad’s farm now, and I’ve been working at the air raid shelters.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked. Ann held onto Rene’s hand, desperately wanting Bet to stop bothering him.

  ‘It’s Fred,’ he replied, ‘Fred Adams, but I get called Tiny Tim ’cos I’m the runt of the litter.’

  ‘How many of you are there then?!’ Bet asked.

  ‘There’s the girls Rose, Violet, Iris, Lil, Daisy, and then there’s five of us boys.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a lot, ain’t it, Nance?’ Bet laughed and turned to look at Ann, who wanted to tell her that this was the boy she had met at Drummer Street. She wanted to say, ‘Oh, I didn’t know that all your sisters are named after flowers.’ She wasn’t sure if he recognized her, though, and she was too shy to speak to him.

  Fred asked the group, ‘Have you got far to go?’

  ‘No, we’re on Histon Road, thanks. I’m Bet by the way. This is Rene, and she’s Nance, but she may want you to call her Ann.’

  ‘I know Ann, don’t I, Annie?’

  Relieved to hear him use her name, Ann tugged at Bet’s sleeve, and stepped up to his side. Bet stepped back to take Rene’s hand as they neared the corner of Histon Road and Victoria Road. Amazed at how brave her sister was being, she decided to slow her pace a little and let them have some time ‘alone’.

  Fred showed all the confidence of his four years over Ann, who he had fallen in love with when he had seen her at Drummer Street. He had wanted to compliment her then, on her dark curls and brown eyes, but hadn’t. He wasn’t going to miss the chance now, though. ‘You’ve got nice hair and eyes, Annie.’

  Bet almost tripped over her feet at that.

  Ann responded as calmly as she could. ‘Thank you, and thanks for walking us through the gate.’ She was relieved that he had acknowledged her.

  ‘Can we go to the flicks soon?’ he asked. ‘They’ve got Objective, Burma! with Errol Flynn on at the moment. Meet me at Drummer Street at seven, tomorrow? What do you say, Annie?’

  Without hesitating Ann said, ‘Yes, OK.’

  ‘Alright,’ he said.

  ‘Alright.’

  All too soon the wandering party reached the Pilcher home, which showed lots of lights. Before Jack could open the door, Ann waved Fred off and turned to her sisters.

  With a huge smile, Bet said to Rene, ‘Must be the smoke from the bonfire, it’s gone to her head.’

  With butterflies in her tummy, Ann said, ‘He’s a real gent isn’t he?’ I’m going out with a real gentleman, she tho
ught.

  Ann and Fred’s first trip to the cinema was one of countless others, and soon enough both their families were calling them a courting couple. They had to go to the cinema so often because they were not encouraged to sit in at Ann’s house, which was too small to afford them any privacy. Grace would shoo them out after a cup of tea at the most. Fred lived with his family in Waterbeach and cycled the three miles to Ann’s house on Saturdays, some Sundays and Friday nights, which was when they’d inevitably end up at the flicks. They both loved sitting close in the dark as the recently ended war was re-fought on screen by actors.

  Their Saturday afternoons were spent with Ann on Fred’s arm, window shopping and occasionally picking up a few things for their mothers. One Saturday in 1946, as they walked around Woolworths in Sidney Street in search of something for Jack’s forthcoming birthday, they were passing the sheet music racks when someone called out, ‘Hello there, Ann, isn’t it?’ Ann and Fred turned to see a short, dark-haired girl of Ann’s age. ‘It’s me, Jane . . . Jane Granger, remember? How are you?’

  Ann recognized her as a tough girl from St Luke’s school. They’d never been friends, exactly, but they had known a lot of the same people and sometimes mixed in the same group of girls in the playground. ‘I’m alright, Jane, how are you? This is Fred, by the way.’ He nodded.

  ‘What are you looking for, love?’ Jane asked with a half-smile to Fred.

  ‘It’s my dad’s birthday and I’m looking for something for him,’ Ann smiled back. ‘Seeing your sheet music’s made me think it’d be a good idea to get him some. He’s been given an old piano by our Uncle Bill what he sometimes bangs away on in the front room.’

  The girls loved to hear Jack playing, although their mother was not as keen on it, and tried to stop the instrument from being delivered to their house. But as Bill had said as he pushed the piano into their hallway, ‘It’s not doing anything at mine. I’m sure you lot will get some use out of it. Deaf or not deaf, your dad will be able to play it better than I ever could.’ Ann had suggested to Grace her idea of getting Jack some sheet music before leaving the house, but she’d been given short shrift, as usual. ‘That’s a waste of sixpence, that is,’ her mother complained, ‘it’s not like he’s going to be able to hear if he’s playing it right or wrong, is it?’ Discouraged, Ann had almost decided against it, but seeing a copy of ‘Blue Skies’ on the counter, and remembering how she’d loved Bing Crosby singing it in the film of that name, she thought it the best present she’d find.

  Picking a copy up, she said, ‘He can read music so he’ll be able to play this, which I love, and so will he. It’ll be great. Can I pay you, Jane?’ Wrinkling her nose, Jane put her hand out with her palm towards Ann. ‘No, I’ll get someone to do that. I’m the supervisor, you see. Worked my way up.’

  ‘That’s great, Jane, really great.’ Ann thought she’d better let her know what she was doing. ‘Me and Bet are working at the brewery, which is a good laugh.’ It was nothing compared to working at Woolworths, but she wasn’t embarrassed and knew that it wasn’t something Jane would look down on her for. ‘How’s the family, Jane?’

  Jane’s family had run a greengrocer’s on Fitzroy Street before the war, but rationing and the Dig For Victory campaign had put an end to that, she said. When they had the shop, Jane’s mum used to make ice cream in there, and her dad and uncle would go to the mart on King Street to buy rabbits and livestock while it was still warm, getting back to hang it outside their door in time for people on their way to shop for dinner. As well as running the shop, they went round the streets with a horse and cart, hawking fruit and veg. ‘They’re alright. I miss the cart. I loved going out with them to Histon Road when I was allowed,’ she recalled.

  ‘I know!’ Ann remembered seeing her once, sitting up next to her dad as he gently reined their old horse along, calling out what sounded like noises rather than actual words.

  ‘After the shop closed my dad went to work at the gasworks as a labourer. Your dad was there an’ all, weren’t he?’

  ‘That’s right, he was. How’s your uncle, then?’

  He used to mend bikes and sell them second hand to locals and students (who’d pay slightly higher prices). Ann remembered the house that Jane used to live in had a front shop window to it, which was where the uncle used to do up his bikes.

  ‘He’s alright, doing council work and at night a bit of pint pot clearing in the pub.’

  ‘That’s great, Jane, and well done on your job here,’ Ann said sincerely. ‘You’ll do well for yourself, you will.’

  Clearly proud, Jane smiled and pointed to a girl by a till. ‘Lovely seeing you, Ann, go and see Mabel over there and she’ll take your money. Lovely meeting you, Fred.’ With that she turned and walked towards the back of the store.

  A year later Ann and Fred bumped into Jane again, this time in a queue to get into the Regal cinema to see The Bishop’s Wife with Cary Grant, David Niven and Loretta Young. ‘Hello, Ann, what you up to? Still at the brewery?’ Jane asked cheerily.

  ‘Hello, Jane,’ Ann smiled, ‘no, me and Bet are at the laundry down Union Lane now. It’s hard work, but better pay. You still at Woolies?’

  ‘No way,’ Jane put her hand palm out towards Ann, just as she had in Woolies a year earlier. ‘I’m working for one of the colleges now, as a bedmaker’s helper. My mum’s a bedder, and she got me the job.’

  Ann wondered, why would you want to leave Woolies? Every girl she knew wanted to work there. ‘I don’t get it, Jane, you had a good job at Woolies, you can’t get paid much at the colleges, can you?’ Ann was interested to know exactly how much the colleges paid, because she earned only fourteen shillings at the laundry and had to give ten of that to her mum. If there were bedmakers’ assistant’s jobs going and they paid more, or even as much, then she wanted one. Ann was still in awe of the colleges, their students and fellows.

  ‘I had to leave ’cos all the old girls came back out of the forces,’ Jane explained. ‘Even though I worked myself up to supervisor, when all the girls came back, they was ’titled to their old jobs back. There was too many supervisors and they said to me, “You can go back behind the counter.” Well, the manager, he’s a proper old upstart and I just weren’t having none of it. I wouldn’t put up with him pushing me about. So I said, “No, that’s it,” and I put my notice in. Then my mum said, “Why don’t you come and do bedmaking.” An’ I did.’

  ‘What’s the work like, then?’

  ‘It’s really tough, you have to clean all the rooms and they have coal fires and we have to make sure they’ve got coal for the rest of the day, so I have to carry that up all those bloody stairs.’ She didn’t look too unhappy about it, though. ‘But it’s only three hours, I’m usually home by 10.30. My mum is the real bedmaker, so she gets their breakfast ready and then comes back and has a sleep before going back in the afternoon to turn the beds down ready for them to get into.’

  ‘Is that all you do then, Jane?’

  ‘Well, I wash up, tidy up,’ she acted out all the jobs, sighed, and continued. ‘I need another job, though, if only there were any – there just isn’t nothing. We make extra money if we take some of the boys’ washing home, you know – wash it and iron it and bring it back for them.’ She paused, and broke into a wide grin. ‘Still,’ she added, ‘I’m eighteen now, and got married last year. I wanted a job, any job. You know how it is; you can’t live without a job.’

  Ann sensed Fred beginning to fidget beside her and he half-stepped back from them, turning to look along the road as if he needed to be somewhere else. They had been talking about marriage only that morning, and Ann was keen to carry on her chat with Jane, but the queue started to move and although she had still not learned how much Jane was getting paid, or who she had married, she and Fred soon reached the box office. ‘Lovely to see you, Jane,’ she said as they moved into the cinema.

  ‘You too,’ smiled Jane, adding, ‘don’t forget to tell your sisters I’m Mrs Kerr now.’ Sh
e raised her left hand and wiggled her wedding ring with her thumb. ‘See ya.’

  Once seated and settled into their seats, as the organist played tunes in front of the curtain, Ann turned to Fred. ‘Well, did you hear that? She’s married and working at the colleges. She’s only eighteen! I don’t want to wait any longer. I’m nineteen and I want to get married before I’m twenty.’ Ann didn’t want to be like her mum and get married in her late twenties, she wanted to have children young, and was wary of giving birth to damaged children like her mum had. That had been caused, so she’d heard, by Grace being too old to have kiddies. ‘Let’s get it over and done with,’ Ann and Bet agreed when they discussed marriage and children.

  There was a long pause as they listened to the music. Fred seemed to be thinking hard. Then he leaned over to speak into Ann’s good ear. ‘She must of married Jimmy Kerr. He was in the Royal Artillery, based out in Woolwich. He was up in Scotland for a long time. I remember he was going to go out on D-Day but a few days before it him and his mates all went out drinking and he got his leg caught on barbed wire trying to get back into camp. He ripped himself up good and proper, so he didn’t go to France in the end. And then he got stationed at Deep Cut. Blooming lucky he was.’

  Fred became silent again. Clearly he wasn’t going to talk about marriage.

  ‘I might try and get a job at the colleges now the boys are back,’ Ann said, as determined as she had ever been. ‘Maybe I could do some bedding in the morning before work. I could start saving for my bottom drawer. I don’t have anything left really, after I’ve paid my mum.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ Fred said firmly. ‘I see a lot of them bedders walking or cycling to the colleges blooming early in the mornings. I used to see some of the old bedders about six o’clock, in the pitch black going up the colleges to wait on them old fellas. They’re the type what have servants and that’s all you are to them, a servant. Anyway,’ he continued in a softer tone, ‘you won’t be able to work at a college, Annie.’ He snuggled up to her, and lowered his voice as the organ disappeared into the floor in front of them. ‘You wouldn’t be able to get there every morning from my house in Waterbeach.’