early teens. Tilly could only vaguely remember him, a thin pale boy several years older than her, in a wheelchair she’d seen being pushed out by Mrs Dawson.
The Simpson family at number 3 had four young children, two girls and two boys, and Tilly could see the boys taking turns riding their shared bicycle whilst the girls played hopscotch. Not that the children would be around for much longer. Barbara and the children were evacuating to Essex to stay with Barbara’s cousin, whilst Ian Simpson, who worked on the printing presses of the Daily Express in Fleet Street, would continue to live in the Row during the week and spend the weekend with his family.
Even so, if Nancy saw that the children had drawn on the pavement in chalk they’d be for it, Tilly reckoned. Nancy didn’t approve of children making the Row look cluttered and untidy, not when they had back gardens to play in.
Most of the inhabitants of Article Row were around Nancy’s age, with children who had grown up here and moved on, and some of the houses, mainly those further down from them, were all owned by the same landlord who rented them out to people who came and went, people who, in the main, worked at one of the local hospitals, the nearby Inns of Court, or the government offices on and around the Strand.
Downstairs, Olive’s thoughts were occupied with their lodgers every bit as much as Tilly’s, although in a different way. She’d spent the day, making sure that the house was immaculate, wiping a damp cloth over the insides of drawers and wardrobes, then leaving them open to the warm summer air to dry, before replacing inside the small bags of lavender she’d carefully sewn and filled at the end of the previous summer. The previous week she’d taken the last of her late father-in-law’s clothes down to Mr Isaac just off the Strand, carefully paying the money he’d given her for them into her Post Office book.
This morning she’d been up early to give her windows an extra polish with crumpled-up pages of the Daily Express dabbed with a bit of vinegar, and then this afternoon, she’d made up the beds with freshly aired sheets. She and Tilly had made do with a scratch tea of freshly boiled eggs, brown bread and butter, and some summer pudding she’d made earlier in the week. Now, as she surveyed her sparkling clean kitchen and smoothed a hand over the front of her apron she just hoped that she was doing the right thing, and that Nancy wasn’t right to disapprove and warn her that no good would come of her actions.
In the event Sally was the first of the lodgers to arrive, bringing with her only one small suitcase, her calm organised manner soothing Olive’s anxieties. For a girl still only in her early twenties, Sally had a very mature manner about her, Olive recognised, deciding that this must come of her being a nurse.
‘Yes, I’d love a cup of tea, please,’ she replied to Olive’s offer, ‘but I’d like to take my case up to my room and unpack first, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course,’ Olive agreed.
Upstairs in what was to be her new home, Sally unpacked quickly and efficiently pausing only to linger over and touch her parents’ photograph before making her way back downstairs to the kitchen where Olive was waiting for her with the kettle on the boil.
‘I’ve had keys cut for you all,’ Olive informed Sally. ‘My neighbour seems to think I shouldn’t have done but in your case especially, with you doing shift work, it seemed to make sense and I felt I couldn’t offer you your own key and not do the same for the two other girls.
‘Two other?’ Sally queried, smiling approvingly at Tilly as Olive explained what had happened.
Once they had their cups of tea they gravitated out into the back garden, Sally explaining, ‘It seems a shame not to make the most of this warm weather, especially as we don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to enjoy it. It was noticeable how many young men in uniform there are in London, as I made my way here, and of course no one can avoid noticing the sandbags and other precautions.’
‘No,’ Olive agreed unhappily. ‘I’ve already got my blackout curtains done. Me and Tilly did them together a few weeks back.’ She nodded towards the bottom of the garden. ‘As you can see, we’ve got an Anderson shelter in place. Sergeant Dawson from number one, and my neighbour from next door’s husband, came round and put it up for me. Sergeant Dawson said that I’ll be able to grow some salad greens on the top of it, with all the earth we’ve covered it with, but I don’t know the first thing about gardening, as you can see.’
‘My parents loved gardening,’ Sally smiled, ‘and I don’t mind having a go at turning part of the garden into a veggie patch, if you want me to?’
‘Would you?’ Olive was delighted. ‘I must say that I’ve been feeling a bit guilty that I haven’t got a clue when all the neighbours seem to be doing their bit and growing all sorts. There’s a small shed on the other side of the Anderson, and a bit of a greenhouse, but you can’t see them right now for the apple tree.’
Gardening had been something Sally and her parents had always done as a family, and although it would be painful to take it up again because of the memories it would bring back it would also be something she would enjoy, Sally knew.
‘I’d be happy to do what I can, although I dare say with Covent Garden so close you aren’t short of fresh veggies.’
‘Not normally,’ Tilly joined in, ‘but I overheard Sergeant Dawson telling Mrs Black from number fourteen the other morning that if we do go to war then it mightn’t be so easy to get fresh food. Smithfield Market has already been moved, and . . .’ Tilly hesitated and then, because Sally was after all a nurse and working at Barts herself, she continued in a small rush, ‘. . . and they were saying in the Lady Almoner’s office this morning that they wouldn’t be surprised if the evacuation of the hospital didn’t start soon.’
‘That’s true,’ Sally agreed, finishing her tea, which had been strong and hot, just as she liked it.
* * *
‘Are you sure you really need all this stuff? After all, you’ll be coming home every week,’ Rick complained as he was forced to sit on the bulging suitcase that Dulcie had borrowed from one of their neighbours in order to transport her personal belongings to her new home.
‘Of course I need it, otherwise I wouldn’t be taking it, would I?’ Dulcie responded scornfully.
Her brother was wearing his new army uniform, collected only that morning prior to him going off for his six months’ military training in a few days’ time. The heavy khaki clothes and sturdy boots, which often looked uncomfortable and unwieldy on other men, seemed to fit Rick quite well, but Dulcie certainly wasn’t going to boost her brother’s ego by telling him how surprisingly good-looking and well set up he looked. Even with his new short back and sides haircut.
When they went downstairs, the family were all gathered in the kitchen, her mother’s pursed mouth making it plain what she thought of Dulcie’s decision and her behaviour, whilst, typically, her dad had hidden himself behind his evening paper as he sat at the kitchen table drinking his cup of tea, whilst Edith, smugly virtuous as always, was doing the washing up.
‘That’s it, then, I’m off,’ Dulcie announced from the open kitchen door.
Her mother’s look of disapproval deepened, but then, at the last minute, just as she was about to turn away, her mother came over, telling her with maternal concern, ‘You just look out for yourself, Dulcie. You like to think you know all there is to know. It’s all right thinking that when you’ve got the support of a family behind you but it’s a very different matter when you’re all on your own. You just remember as well that we are your
