Excerpt
When Summer is Gone
Chris Simon © 2024
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
A Trip to the Moon in a Hot-air Balloon
Wednesday, 23 July 1913
Cubitt Town on the Isle of Dogs in the East End of London was never quiet, but what peace there was that afternoon was shattered by Alice Atwood’s anguished cries, echoing across the alleys and yards as she endured a long and painful labour. Alice’s neighbours, Elsie and Pearl, sat outside their front doors, their faces grim. They’d fetched clean towels, boiled water, made tea for the anxious father-to-be and for Mrs Charles, who served as midwife to all the local women. There was nothing more to be done.
“Oh, Elsie! It’s been nigh on five hours now,” said Pearl, as though her friend could end their neighbour’s suffering.
“I know, duck. I’ve been sitting here right next to you the whole time.”
Elsie Jarvis was a short, stout woman in a pink-and-blue floral apron that fitted snugly around her plump figure. In contrast, Pearl Rogers was tall and thin; her apron could easily have been wrapped twice around her skinny frame. She picked up the broom leaning against her windowsill and restlessly swept some dust from the pavement into the gutter. After a few desultory thrusts of the brush she paused, leaning on it.
“You never know, Else, maybe this time…”
Elsie shook her head gravely. “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought so, my duck. I pray so, but there’s no sense in us getting our hopes up. If three of ’em have died already, stands to reason there must be summink very wrong, mustn’t there?”
Pearl nodded sadly. “Yes. Well, whatever ’appens, I ’ope to Gawd it ’appens soon.”
“I know. My Bert will be home from work shortly and he’ll be banging on the wall with his slipper if she’s still making this racket. He’s got no compassion in him at all.” Elsie’s round face expressed contempt, for Bert and for all men.
They looked anxiously up at the Atwoods’ bedroom window as the screams reached a new peak and, after a short, tense silence, were replaced by the thin piercing cry of a newborn.
“Aw!” the friends cooed in unison. They couldn’t help themselves. The gloom was magically dispersed, as though the infant had come into the world waving a wand.
As the crying grew stronger, Pearl said, “Well, it don’t sound like this one’s gonna snuff it any time soon, Else,” and she threw her skinny arms about her plump neighbour in celebration.
*
The bedroom was flooded with sunlight, the nets dancing softly in the breeze. Bill Atwood wouldn’t tell his wife that she looked “radiant”—they were past that now. Her hair was matted with sweat, her face pinched with premature grief, and no trite compliment would lift her spirits.
The yellow wooden cradle he had fashioned with pride for their firstborn stood at the foot of the bed. He had come to hate the sight of it, as though it were an open grave. If this went like the other times, he vowed he would burn it. He approached tentatively, fearing that what he’d see would break his heart. In the cradle lay a tiny scrap of a baby, barely asleep, for although his eyes were closed his limbs were restless. Bill was glad because it meant he was alive. He lifted out the little body which began to scream in protest, using lungs so small that Horatio, the Jarvis’s cat, basking on the scullery roof, didn’t even cast a languid glance upwards to see what all the fuss was about.
In Bill’s strong arms the baby relaxed; his blue eyes looked up towards his father for the first time and Bill could not at first speak for love. His voice cracked as he spoke. “’Ello, mate. ’Ello. My little boy. My son.”
He kissed the infant’s forehead and moved over to the side of the bed where Alice had turned her face towards the wall and was crying bitterly.
“I don’t wanna see ’im, Bill. Take ’im away.”
“But Alice, he’s all right and he’s beautiful.”
“I can’t. If I look at ’im I’m gonna love ’im, and he’ll just be taken like the others. It’s no use. I can’t go through that again.”
“Alice. I understand, darlin’. But he’s perfectly healthy.”
“’Ow d’you know?” She was tortured by the suggestion of hope.
“Well, Mrs Charles said…”
“She said that about the others,” she howled.
“It might be different this time, love.”
“It won’t be! I know it won’t! It isn’t meant to be.”
“It might be.” His voice became less gentle. “And even if it ain’t, if this little boy only has one hour on this earth, don’t you think he deserves an hour’s love?”
Yes. Even if it broke her heart. If it was the only thing that she could ever do for him then she had no choice. She turned towards her husband who placed the tiny bundle tenderly in her arms. If this little boy’s heart were to stop beating, then so would hers.
Bill left her alone with the baby. He also was suspicious of the hope welling up inside, but it wasn’t to be suppressed. Tears stung his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile as he joined his neighbours outside and lit up a Senior Service.
“Aw! Congratulations, Bill.” Pearl beamed. “What yer gonna call ’im, d’you know?”
He cleared his throat. “Alfred Lansbury Atwood—Alfie,” he declared with pride. Just speaking the boy’s name out loud made him feel that it was going to be all right.
“Lansbury?” said Pearl incredulously.
Bill shook his head. “You’d better ask the missus about that.”
*
Sunday, 23 May 1914
If Bill wasn’t working, during the afternoon Alice would go to bed for a nap. Her husband cherished these times when he looked after his ten-month-old baby son on his own. He had soon become deft with a square of terry towelling and a safety pin. He would prop Alfie up on the armchair and potter about the kitchen or read the paper, chatting away to his baby son as though he understood every word.
Today he said, “I do love yer mum, Alfie boy, I do honest. But it would be nice if we could turn her off and on like the gas, wouldn’t it, mate? Eh? She wears herself out and wears you an’ me out an’ all. Don’t she, Alfie? Yes, she does! Yes, she does!”
The baby flapped his arms about in delight.
“What you wanna do today, Alfie? Shall we go to the park? Shall we go to Buckingham Palace to see the King? Or d’you wanna go down to the river an’ watch the ships go by?” Bill mimicked a ship’s horn and Alfie laughed lustily.
He kissed his son on the top of his head, cherishing the warm clean baby smell. He might as well have offered him a trip to the moon in a hot-air balloon.
“Aw, poor Alfie. You ain’t going nowhere, boy. Yer mum would have me guts for garters if I took you to the end of the street, wouldn’t she?”
When Alice trudged downstairs, the first thing she’d ask was whether the baby had been all right. Today he replied, “Good as gold. Thrilled with everything. Every bloomin’ thing, ain’t yer, mate?”
Alice smiled as her son gurgled happily and instead of picking him up for a cuddle as she usually did, she moved behind her husband’s seat at the kitchen table and embraced him instead.
Bill seized the moment. “Alice, can’t I at least take him round Island Gardens or summink? He don’t hardly know there is an outside yet.”
She moved away from him. “He don’t ever go out, though, does he? What you don’t have, you don’t miss.”
“He can see out the window, though, gel. He was waving at the postman yesterday and he sits up and takes notice every time Horatio shows up. He can see a big wide world that everyone can go to, except him. It won’t be long before he starts to wonder why. Yer can’t keep him indoors until he’s twenty-one, love.”
“Oh, I know you’re right. It’s just…”
He hugged her close. “I know. Tell you what, why don’t we all go together? Our first proper family outing. Sunday afternoon in Island Gardens for Alfie to watch the ships go by?”
Alfie greeted the outside world with wide-eyed astonishment. He made himself dizzy trying to look in all directions at once. There were enormous shiny omnibuses full of people. Then he saw great big horses pulling carts to and from the docks: brown ones, grey ones, black ones, white ones. And there were big white birds that could actually fly! In the sky! Best of all, a little doggie came up to them on the lush green grass of Island Gardens and he was allowed to pat it. In return it licked him and sent him into a fit of delighted squeals, the first kiss of a life-long love affair.
Tucked up in bed, tired and happy, Alfie was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Alice said, “I feel so guilty for keeping him indoors all these months.”
“You was only doing what you thought was best for him, love. He couldn’t have a better mum.”
“Oh Bill, did you see him with that bloomin’ dog?”
“Yes, he melted, didn’t he? We could always get him one.”
“No, Bill. The last thing we need is another bleedin’ mouth to feed. We’ll keep taking him up the Gardens so he can play with other people’s.”
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