then. Over in Islington to see yer mum, are you?’ The middle-aged woman gave Kathy’s wholesome appearance a top-to-toe squint.
Kathy sensed the woman’s beady blue eyes assessing her, and knew Matilda was busily working things out in her mind. Matilda Keiver was a plain speaker and didn’t make apologies for it.
‘So … what you doing round in the Bunk, Kathy?’ Matilda asked. ‘After your brother, are you? I know Winnie would sooner he stayed clear of the street and all us bad influences.’ She pulled a comical face, mock-affronted.
Matilda did indeed know that Winifred Finch had always thought herself better than the Bunk’s residents, but, although they’d had their differences in the past, Matilda didn’t hold the woman’s attitude against her. She knew that the Finches had had a rough ride over the years, just as she had herself. Matilda had a feeling Winnie and Eddie might have more trouble in store if their son didn’t straighten himself out.
‘I am after Tom. Seen him, have you, Mrs Keiver?’
‘He was about earlier, larking about with Davy Wright.’ She glanced towards the Wrights’ house further up the street. At present there was nobody around outside. ‘I know your mum don’t like him knocking about with Davy.’ Matilda pulled a face. ‘Gotta say, I’m with her on that one. I’ve told Davy he’s got a bit too big for his boots lately.’
‘Been showing off, has he?’ Kathy recalled that Davy had been a bit of a cocky lad. He came from a very poor family, even by Bunk standards. Despite his cheekiness, she’d always found him likeable.
‘Yeah, he’s showing off all right.’ Matilda sighed. ‘Not that I ever had no boys to bring up, but I know that’s how lads get once they get the urge to find a girl.’ She frowned. ‘Got caught smashing the winders round in the Lennox Road mission hall. Police got called and he got took to court but don’t seem to have learned him a lesson. Still swaggering about, he is.’ Matilda narrowed her eyes, wedging some stray auburn locks into the coil on top of her head. ‘Feel sorry for his mum, more’n anything. Polly’s still pulling that handcart round the streets to try and make ends meet by selling a bit of soda and soap. You’d think Davy would give a hand ’stead of causing trouble for her.’ Matilda crossed her arms over her chest. ‘If I was Polly Wright, I’d send the little sod off to the East End to live with his father. Let Stan have a go at controlling Davy; see how he likes it.’
Kathy knew that Davy was the youngest of five boys. She knew too that their father, Stan, had run out on the family years ago to set up with another woman.
Tough tale that it was, and sorry as Kathy felt for Davy’s mum, she didn’t contemplate the Wrights’ misfortune for long; there were plenty of cases of similar hardship in the Bunk. Kathy was more concerned with whether her brother might be mixed up in it all.
‘Mum hasn’t said anything about it to me …’
‘Don’t think your Tom was involved. Or if he was he kept hisself well hid. Just a little crowd of lads from round here got rounded up.’
‘I expect Davy will straighten out when he gets a job.’ Kathy was relieved she’d nothing to recount – or conceal – when she got back to her mother.
‘Reckon Davy already has left school, even if he shouldn’t have done. He hangs about in the street most of the day and you know what they say about idle hands …’ Matilda arched her eyebrows in emphasis. ‘Polly was trying to sort him out a part-time job now he’s turned thirteen.’ Matilda shook her head. ‘She’s got a task on her hands the way the unemployment is.’
‘Are Davy’s brothers still about?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘Samuel and Douglas ended up inside for robbery. The other two … last I heard, they’d hightailed it up North to find jobs as nuthin’ doing round here. Can’t see that working out for ’em, being as the Jarrow lads are fighting empty bellies.’ Matilda leaned back against the railings, smiling at Kathy. ‘Enough about the boys, what about you? All trained up now at the hospital, are you?’
‘I’ve left the hospital. I’m working as a district nurse and midwife, working out of Dr Worth’s surgery on Old Montague Street in Whitechapel.’
‘Ooh, crikey.’ Matilda was genuinely impressed. None of her daughters had been scholars but all had been hardworking girls before they settled down to raise families. ‘Helped many babies into the world, have you, Kathy?’
‘Nineteen, exactly, on my own. If you add on those I did with a bit of help from me supervisor when I was a probationer, it’s more like twenty-five.’ Kathy chuckled. ‘Last one was on Monday: little girl who weighed over nine pounds and the poor mum went a fortnight overdue.’
Matilda screwed up her face, wincing. ‘Ooh! Bet that made the poor cow’s eyes water.’ She announced proudly, ‘All my gels was dainty little things. Beth weighed the most at seven and a half pounds. I had old Lou Perkins in to help me each time …’ She darted a glance at Kathy, knowing that such help was outlawed now. ‘Course, that’s what you did in them days; no nice young nurses on call for the likes of us. Couldn’t afford it, for a start. Old Lou would be happy enough with a bottle of port as a thank-you, or a few whiskies down her, round in the Duke.’ Matilda gazed dreamily into space as she recalled youthful days when her first husband had been alive. ‘Had all my kids before the Great War, y’see, Kathy. My Jack, God Bless him, was still alive then. Saw all our gels brung into the world, he did. Idolised ’em all, and they adored their dad.’
Kathy was used to women reminiscing with her about their own experiences the moment they knew of her profession. Usually, she was regaled with horror stories about lengthy labours necessitating martyr-like bravery. But Matilda had a different sort of stoicism. Having battled for survival in the Bunk over decades, coping with a difficult labour was probably the least painful of her memories.
‘How’s Reg?’ It was common knowledge Matilda and her second husband weren’t actually married, although they’d been living as man and wife for many years.
‘Oh, he’s much the same; still doing his totting. Keeps him outta mischief and brings in a few bob. And I do mean a few bob.’ Matilda blew out her lips in a sigh. ‘Tough old life, ain’t it? Keep hoping things’ll get better. Had them Fascists round here the other day causing trouble down by Seven Sisters Road. Bricks got thrown.’
‘Mosley’s Blackshirts?’ Kathy sounded surprised. David often spoke about the Fascist Party recruiting in the East End but she’d not heard they were making a nuisance of themselves in north London too. Her boyfriend had been on duty not so long ago, when he’d had to attend a clash between Mosley’s supporters and anti-Fascist protestors in Limehouse.
‘They think people like us are interested in listening to all their claptrap ’cos we’re poor so must hate all the immigrants.’ Matilda shrugged. ‘Course some folk round here do side with ’em. I opened up me window and bawled at them to sling their hooks ’cos me husband’s Irish. Didn’t like that, did they.’ Matilda threw back her head, roaring with laughter. ‘Bunch of hypocrites the lot of ’em. Don’t like the foreigners, so they say, yet they got their ideas off the Germans and Eyeties.’ Matilda crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Course, I ain’t got anything against Mosley’s crew any more than the others. I tell the Sally Army to clear off ’n’ all when they come round preaching. Never been political and don’t like no interference ’cos none of ’em ever really helps the likes of us.’ She gave a smirk. ‘Wasting their time trying to convert me, or save me fer that matter …’ She broke off having seen Beattie Evans coming out of her
