said Miriam. ‘I just write about my life for a woman’s magazine.’
‘Talents that know no end,’ said Willy, who was clearly smitten, as so many before and after were smitten.
We picked our way amid piles of sand and gravel and pallets containing bricks and long white wooden A-frames and beams and trusses and Willy rapped officiously on the door of one of the ground-floor maisonettes in the pebble-dashed building. A climbing rose had been rather forlornly planted by the door, nailed and tied with string to some sort of frame made from scavenged wood.
A woman answered almost immediately, wearing a pinny and a sharp expression. Willy explained that he was a representative of the firm that was building the maisonettes and wanted to show some visitors round.
‘Good!’ said the woman.
‘Excellent,’ said Willy.
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘So,’ continued Willy, walking straight past her into the narrow hallway, indicating for us to follow. There was just room for the four of us to stand shoulder to shoulder.
‘I’ve written to you three times,’ said the woman. ‘And I’ve spoken to your foreman goodness knows how many. Where have you been?’
‘As you can see,’ said Willy, opening a narrow door to a tiny bathroom to the right. ‘All the houses come with indoor sanitary facilities.’
‘Well, well,’ said Miriam. ‘How marvellous.’
‘It doesn’t flush,’ said the woman. ‘It’s not worked for months. We’re having to slop it out.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Miriam.
‘Have you brought your tools?’ continued the woman. ‘Are you going to fix it now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Willy. ‘I represent the builders rather than the landlords, madam, I’m afraid,’ said Willy. ‘I thought I explained.’
‘We need this fixed,’ said the woman.
‘And I’m sure it will be fixed,’ said Willy. ‘If you don’t mind?’ He leaned past the woman and tapped a wall. ‘Solid brick construction throughout, as you can hear.’ The wall gave a hollow echo in response. ‘Homes for heroes!’
‘It’s all partition,’ said the woman. ‘No insulation. Walls are like paper. Look, the other problem is this damp in the bedroom. There’s mushrooms growing in here!’ She started to walk into the room leading directly off the hall, but Willy turned right instead and we followed into what was the one and only reception room, just big enough for a tiny square table on a rag rug on the lino floor, and an old iron fold-up bed concertinaed under the window. ‘And a fireplace in every room,’ continued Willy, gesturing towards the tiny brown-tiled hearth.
‘Gives no heat,’ said the woman. ‘We all have to sleep in here together in the winter, for the warmth.’
‘You’ve got electric lights, I see,’ said Miriam, gesturing at the bare bulb dangling over the table.
‘Doesn’t work half the time.’
‘Kitchen,’ said Willy, gesturing towards a room leading off the reception room, which accommodated a Baby Belling, a sink, a few shelves, and nothing else.
‘Kitchenette,’ said the woman.
‘A few chromium fittings and it’d be the equal of anything on Park Lane!’ said Willy.
‘What’s he talking about?’ said the woman.
‘And so concludes our tour,’ said Willy, beating a hasty retreat to the front door.
The woman grabbed at Miriam’s arm as we caught up with Willy in the hall. ‘You’re not thinking of renting one of these, are you?’ she asked her.
‘No,’ said Miriam.
‘Good. Because my advice is don’t. These places are worse than the tenements.’
‘Surely not,’ said Miriam.
‘Teething troubles,’ said Willy. ‘Only to be expected. Rome wasn’t built in a day, eh?’
‘We’ve been here a year,’ said the woman.
‘Well, thank you, madam, for showing us round,’ said Willy.
‘Yes,’ said Miriam. ‘It’s really been an education.’
‘Bit of a whistlestop, I’m afraid,’ said Willy, striding away from the building as fast as he could, and lighting a cigarette. ‘But gives you an idea, I hope.’ He stood at a distance and admired the building. ‘What do you think?’
‘Absolutely ghastly,’ said Miriam. She was never shy of stating her opinions.
‘Can I offer you a cigarette?’ Willy asked Miriam.
‘I have my own, thank you.’ Which she did not.
‘It’s not for the likes of you, of course,’ said Willy, his eyes fixed on Miriam. I’d seen it before: men often became drawn into argument with Miriam, mistaking the argument for a kind of flirtation. I often made the same mistake myself.
‘Not for the likes of anyone, I wouldn’t have thought,’ said Miriam.
‘People need houses,’ said Willy.
‘People need homes more than they need houses,’ said Miriam, ‘and I’m afraid I find it difficult to see how your buildings could ever be regarded as homes.’
‘Matter of taste, perhaps?’ said Willy.
‘Nothing to do with taste,’ said Miriam. ‘And everything to do with quality – and intention.’
Willy took another couple of quick, excited drags on his cigarette and then ground it out underfoot. ‘With all due respect, miss, I hardly think you’re an expert in housing.’
‘With all due respect, sir, I hardly think you and your Mr Klein are experts either, on the evidence of these buildings.’
Willy laughed.
‘Hardly a laughing matter, is it?’ said Miriam. ‘Jerry-building? I’m sure there must be rules and regulations about this sort of thing, aren’t there?’
‘There are indeed, miss. And we know exactly what we’re doing, thank you.’
‘Yes,’ said Miriam. ‘I’m sure you know exactly what you’re doing. That’s hardly reassuring though, is it? Have you by chance visited the Karl-Marx-Hof municipal buildings in Vienna?’
‘I can’t say I have,’ said Willy.
‘Well, I have. Father and I visited, for some article he was writing. And I have to say, I thought they were a fine example of
