A Wedding at Mulberry Lane Read online

  A WEDDING AT MULBERRY LANE

  Rosie Clarke

  Start Reading

  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About A Wedding at Mulberry Lane

  Maureen Jackson knew being a trainee nurse wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t expect her hospital to be badly bombed on her first shift. Plus Maureen still has her family and friends in Mulberry Lane to keep her busy – she’s needed as much there as she is by her patients.

  Running the pub on the corner of Mulberry Lane, Peggy Ashley is used to taking in all sorts of waifs and strays. But the arrival of a dashing American Captain has got tongues wagging about Mulberry Lane’s favourite Landlady…

  Janet Ashley husband is back from the frontline. Which is more than so many of the wives of Mulberry Lane. But her beloved Mike is a completely different man to the one she fell in love with – and what’s more he doesn’t remember her, or their young daughter. How do you cope when your darling husband is a virtual stranger?

  As WW2 continues around them, the women of Mulberry Lane know that community spirit and friendship is the key to surviving The Blitz.

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About A Wedding at Mulberry Lane

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About Rosie Clarke

  A Letter from the Author

  About the Mulberry Lane Series

  About the Workshop Girls Series

  Also by Rosie Clarke

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  ‘Where did that come from?’ Tommy Barton demanded of his younger brother Sam. He took hold of Sam’s wrist and twisted it so that he dropped the half-eaten bun into his hand. ‘This is from the baker’s round by the market – where did you get a penny for a sticky bun?’

  The stench of burning still held in the air and smoke drifted over some bombed-out buildings a few streets away. Here in the lanes of Spitalfields there was considerable damage to houses and to other buildings, because the heavy bombing had been continuous for the past month or more. It was January 1941 and freezing cold and both boys were wearing thin jackets over their shirts and worn-out trousers with patches over the knees. Their boots were down at heel and the toe of Sam’s right boot had a hole in it.

  ‘Give it back; I’m ’ungry.’ Sam’s thin face was sullen, his dark eyes glinting with temper. ‘Weren’t no need to do that,’ he grumbled. ‘I earned it round the scrapyard if yer must know.’

  ‘What were yer doin’ there?’ Tommy demanded. ‘Bert don’t give money away fer nuthin’ – if you’ve been selling pinched stuff, Ma will tan your backside.’

  ‘What she don’t know won’t ’urt her,’ Sam said defiantly, swiping his dripping nose with his sleeve. ‘’Sides, I collect scrap fer Bert. He pays a lot of the kids to collect bits and pieces fer ’im.’

  ‘And ’e don’t care whether it’s found honest or pinched,’ Tommy said but returned the half-eaten bun to his brother. ‘Ma told yer not to go round there – and it’s dangerous on the rubble of those bomb sites, Sam. Some of the bombs don’t go off when they drop and if yer trigger an unexploded one they’ll never find all the bits…’

  Sam grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth. ‘I’ll give yer tuppence if yer don’t tell Ma.’

  Tommy cuffed his ear, but declined the offer. ‘I ain’t takin’ no bribe, Sam. I shan’t tell Ma this time, but I’m warnin’ yer – keep orf them bombed-out ’ouses. Fer one thing it’s looting and yer could be shot – ain’t yer seen the warnin’ signs?’

  ‘Nah, the bloody coppers just give yer a clip of the ear and tell yer to ’op it. Some of ’em would nick from the ruins themselves if they got the chance; it ain’t doin’ no ’arm.’ Sam grinned at him. ‘I ain’t takin’ nuthin’ important, Tom; just bits of old metal – exploded shells and junk. I don’t take what belongs to folks like us…’

  ‘If yer want a job, knock the doors and ask if yer can clean the winders or somethin’,’ Tom said. ‘I cleaned Mrs Tandy’s winders this mornin’ and earned sixpence fer Ma – and Peggy from over the road says she’ll give me a shilling to clean ’er gutterin’ out.’

  ‘I asked round like yer told me, but they all said they didn’t want kids muckin’ about – Bert was the only one who offered me anythin’. He said to collect anythin’ metal lyin’ around, so I did…’ Sam pulled a face. ‘You’re older than me and they trust yer.’

  ‘Well get orf in then,’ Tommy said, accepting his brother’s excuses. ‘Tell Ma I’ll be ’ome fer me dinner after I’ve finished cleaning the gutterin’.’

  Sam went, muttering and grumbling, but he usually did what his brother said in the end. Tommy couldn’t blame him for trying to earn a few pennies for himself, because their mother never had enough money to feed them, let alone give them pocket money, and Tommy had been touting for work on Saturday mornings and whenever he got a chance in the evenings, because without the extras he earned, they would all go hungry.

  He wished that Maureen Jackson was still at the shop. She’d always given him a few bargains or paid him to do small jobs, but her father was a skinflint and refused to give anything away. His wife Violet just looked down her nose and told enterprising lads to go away, but some of the other residents of Mulberry Lane were kinder. Alice Carter would give him tuppence for bringing in her coal and chopping a pile of wood, but Tommy knew it wasn’t enough. At nearly fourteen he felt capable of doing a man’s work and wished he could convince his mother to let him leave school after his birthday in April, but she wanted him to stay on and take his higher exams.

  ‘You’re a bright lad, Tommy,’ Tilly Barton had told her son just that morning. ‘Brighter than your brother, your father and me – so stay on for as long as you can and make something more of yourself. God knows, you don’t want to live like this for the rest of your life.’

  Tommy hadn’t answered her but he knew what he wanted. He was tall for his age, an energetic, rangy lad, with big hands and feet, who looked older than he was, but he’d already been down the Army enrolment office and tried to persuade them he was eighteen; the sergeant had laughed and told him to come back in three years or so.

  ‘I’d ’ave yer if I could, lad,’ he’d told Tommy, ‘but they’d ’ave me guts for garters.’ He’d reached into his pocket and given Tommy a shilling. ‘In the old days if you’d took me shillin’ you’d be in the Army, lad, but there’s rules these days, see; you’ve got ter be eighteen. Buy yerself a hot pie and mash and look after yer ma…’

  Tommy’s encounter with the friendly sergeant had made him keener than ever to join up, but he couldn’t even leave school until the start of the summer term, even if his ma would let him then, so the best he could do was to find all the odd jobs he could in the lanes – and he always liked working for Peggy Ashley at the Pig & Whistle, becaus
e he usually got something good to eat as well as a few pennies in his pocket.

  Whistling cheerfully, he walked across the road; the sign was creaking in the wind, its comic pig dancing to the tune of a penny whistle bringing a smile to his face. Tommy went under the arch to the pub yard and knocked at the back door, which was painted dark green and split in two like a stable door. Peggy often had the top open to let in some fresh air as she worked, but today it was shut tight. She opened it and smiled at him, nodding as he told her he was about to start on the job she wanted done.

  *

  ‘You’ve made a good job of that gutter,’ Peggy Ashley said when Tommy had finished a couple of hours later. ‘Here’s your shillin’, and I made a fatless sponge with strawberry jam for you to take home. I wish you were a bit older, Tommy. I’d give you a job in the bar servin’ drinks.’

  ‘Bet I could do it as good as anyone.’ Tommy grinned as he pocketed the shilling. ‘I reckon Ma could an’ all if she wanted…’

  ‘If your mum wants a little job washing up lunchtimes tell her to come and see me. I’ll give her two bob a session,’ Peggy said and smiled as Tommy went off whistling. He was such a willing young man and whatever he did, he did well, and that guttering had wanted cleaning for ages. Laurence had talked of having it done for months before he went off to do whatever he was doing for the military. Peggy frowned as she thought of the husband she’d once loved, who had betrayed her trust by having an affair but dismissed it as unimportant: Laurence was no longer truly a part of her life. Her life was here in Mulberry Lane with her friends, her children and granddaughter.

  Her thoughts turned to Tommy again. Peggy wasn’t the only one in Mulberry Lane who thought Tommy Barton deserved a break. His mother struggled to bring up two growing lads since her husband had been sent to prison for robbing a corner post office somewhere up the West End. Tilly Barton tried her best, taking on the job of scrubbing out offices down the Docks for two hours every morning, which meant her sons had to get themselves off to school, often without even a slice of bread and dripping in their stomachs. Peggy sometimes needed an extra pair of hands in the bar, but Tilly wasn’t cut out for that sort of work, though she could help with washing the dishes if she accepted the offer.

  ‘Was that Tommy Barton I just saw leaving the yard?’ Nellie, her friend and daily help, entered the kitchen as Peggy put a batch of lemon curd tarts into the oven. ‘They look good – haven’t seen any lemon curd for ages…’

  ‘I was lucky to get this,’ Peggy said. ‘Yes, it was Tommy; he cleaned my gutterin’ out. It used to make a mess every time it rained, but it should be fine for a while now.’

  ‘It’s a pity his brother hasn’t got as much sense…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Peggy smiled at the woman who was like a member of family these days. ‘What has Sam done?’

  ‘I saw him on the ruins of those houses up by the market, Peggy. He was with some other lads pullin’ the rubble over, lookin’ fer scrap metal. It’s stupid but a lot of them do it in the hope of earnin’ a few pennies.’

  ‘That could be very dangerous.’ Peggy frowned. ‘He could injure himself on broken glass, sharp metal… I read in the paper about a boy who fell through a concealed crater into a cellar and was killed. Do you think Tilly knows what he does?’

  ‘She would give him a hidin’, but I doubt if she can stop him. It needs a man to control lads that age. He could end up in trouble with the law if he takes stuff from the bomb sites. What Sam needs is his father’s belt on his backside a couple of times.’

  Peggy was thoughtful. ‘I feel I ought to tell Tilly what Sam’s doing, but it might just make things worse for her.’

  ‘I’ll ’ave a word if yer like,’ Nellie said. ‘I knew Tilly’s mother well – she might take it kinder from me.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Peggy said. ‘I’m going to take these pasties through to the bar. Keep an eye on the tarts for me, will you – and put the kettle on…’

  *

  ‘That was good of Peggy,’ Tilly said as Tommy handed her the sponge cake. ‘I’ve mashed some potatoes and cooked carrots and greens for dinner but there’s no meat – unless you can pop over the road to the shop and fetch me a tin of Spam?’

  ‘I already did, Ma,’ Tommy said and put the tin of processed meat on the kitchen table. ‘Sorry it’s only the small size, but Mrs Jackson served me and she never gives me anythin’ extra like Maureen used to.’

  His mother eyed the small tin of meat, which was hardly enough for the three of them. ‘It’s a pity Maureen left her father in the lurch is what I say. I don’t know what got into her, going off like that: years she stood behind that counter, day in and day out – and then all of a sudden she’s gone orf somewhere.’

  ‘Maureen is goin’ to be a nurse,’ Tommy said and smiled. ‘I like ’er, Ma. She’s all right. I reckon ’er father took her fer granted – but she always had a smile and a word fer everyone what went in there. Alice says she’s thinkin’ about changing her ration card to the shop in Bell Lane. She don’t like ’em at the corner shop now.’

  ‘Alice Carter! Take no notice of her.’ His mother sniffed and he turned away. Ma was never happy these days, no matter what Tommy did to please her. He knew she had it hard, but then so did others. Alice Carter didn’t have much but she was always cheerful, laughing and cracking jokes, even though she’d been a widow for years.

  ‘Well, call yer brother in from the yard and wash yer hands,’ Tilly said, tucking a wisp of mousey brown hair behind her ear. Her face was pale and thin and her eyes a faded grey. If she had ever been pretty, it had all gone now, replaced by lines of worry and discontent. ‘I’ve got to look fer another job this afternoon, because they’re cuttin’ me hours down the Docks. So when you’ve eaten you can wash the dishes and do a few jobs fer me.’

  Tommy nodded, understanding her mood. No wonder she was so miserable. It wasn’t much of a job scrubbing offices out, but the money she earned just about held them together, and what Tom earned bought a few extras like the tin of Spam: if she didn’t find more work to replace the cut in her hours they would struggle to pay the rent and would lose their home.

  ‘Peggy said she could do with some help washin’ up lunchtimes,’ he offered over his shoulder as he went to the back door and signalled Sam to come in from the yard. Like most of the backyards this side of the lane, it was square with an outside toilet, a place to put the dustbin and enough space to run a double line of washing on when the sun shone.

  ‘I’ll ’ave a word if I can’t get anythin’ better then,’ Tilly said and gave him a rare smile. ‘I know yer try, Tom – but we need a man’s wage comin’ in. I’ll never forgive yer father fer shamin’ us all the way he did…’

  Tommy didn’t answer. His dad was a good bloke but he’d got desperate and made a mistake – and now they were all paying for it…

  Chapter 2

  That morning towards the end of January, the rain was coming down with a vengeance in the pub yard, the sky a threatening grey that had made the last few days seem dismal. Little puddles had collected between the old-fashioned cobbles, which were muddy and slippery, and belonged to a long-ago time and ought to have been replaced with flagstones. Inside her big kitchen, Peggy Ashley was warm as she worked, her fair hair sticking to her damp forehead as she prepared the food that kept customers coming to the Pig & Whistle even in these dark days of war.

  The folk of the lanes knew that a warm smile and good home-cooked food would await them, even though Peggy might not be able to provide all the marvellous cakes and pies she’d been known for before the hostilities. Peggy’s pub was at the corner of Mulberry Lane, close to the market and not far from Frying Pan Alley and Artillery Lane, where her stepfather Percy Ambrose and her mother had lived until their last days.

  Local people often used the lane as a shortcut to Spitalfields Market, rather than get lost in the maze of little alleys and courts that were a leftover from ancient times. Perhaps for that reason s
he’d never known the pub to be empty during opening hours; there was always someone popping in for a beer, a drop of whisky or, these days, quite often a cup of tea with a slice of her famous apple pie. Sometimes they came simply for a chat, because the Pig &Whistle and its landlady were at the centre of life in the lanes, bringing everyone together in these dark times.

  ‘While this place is still standing it’s a symbol that life goes on,’ Jim Stillman told her as he brought in a box of vegetables from his allotment and was given an apple and blackcurrant tart to take home. ‘Alice Carter was tellin’ me how you took ’em all down to the cellar again the other night when the siren went. She reckons she’s safer in your cellar than in some of them bleedin’ shelters the council put up…’ More than one air raid shelter had collapsed under a direct hit during the Blitz, causing terrible injuries and loss of life, which meant a lot of people didn’t trust them and preferred the underground stations, where they congregated in large numbers every night.

  ‘Well, she’s welcome to come, and so are you if you’re near the pub,’ Peggy said, smiling as he took his leave.

  Seeing her daughter hurrying through the yard, Peggy opened the door and beckoned her in. ‘I thought you were never coming, Janet. Was your train late again?’

  ‘We stopped three times because there was a blockage on the line,’ Janet said and shivered as she dumped her wet coat on a peg over the door. ‘It’s so cold I thought it would snow – in fact it was sleeting when I got off the train, but it’s turned to rain now…’

  One look at her daughter’s pinched face told Peggy Ashley that the news was not good. She went forward and brought Janet closer to the warmth, taking her cold hands and gripping them firmly as she urged her towards the large comforting armchair by the kitchen range, which was freshly polished, made up with coke to last the day, and gave off generous heat.