Nelly Kelly

by Lena Kennedy

Genres: Sagas; Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Life never turns out the way you plan . . . In the turmoil and confusion of London's East End between the wars, young Nelly Kelly soon learns that life may never match her expectations. Forced to keep house for her charming yet autocratic, father, Nelly toils in a sweatshop to keep her family clothed and fed. But though life is hard, Nelly still has friendship, dancing and her early dreams to cling to. Dreams that slowly crumble as marriage, the war and a lost baby are followed by the heartache of a lost love. Fortune may crush her proud spirit but when faced with a crisis that will test her courage to the limit, no tragedy can change Nelly Kelly's determination to be her own woman. ***************** What readers are saying about NELLY KELLY 'Unputdownable' - 5 STARS 'A gripping story' - 5 STARS 'What a great book' - 5 STARS 'Another of Lena Kennedy's books that had be engrossed from the start' - 5 STARS 'Could not put it down' - 5 STARS

Release date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 288

Sample

1

Nelly Kelly

The children stood in two long lines before her. Her name was Miss Victoria. She was an unmarried, middle-aged lady. Her name was reminiscent of a certain English queen, as was her appearance with the high, stiff lace collar clasped tightly around her scraggy neck. Her steel grey eyes looked down sternly over the tops of the pince-nez; a thick blanket of propriety kept out all signs of human emotion.

This was their last day at school. In the large, bleak hall the boys stood in one line, the girls in another. Some were tall and gangly having outgrown their strength from lack of vitamins; some were small and scrawny having ceased to grow for precisely the same reason. All were poorly dressed. The girls wore ragged pinafores and faded dresses, the boys patched trousers and old jerseys. They were all just fourteen and ready to leave school and disappear into a chaotic depressed world. They had spent most of their time in these cold marble portals of the County Council school and today was crucial as they were to receive that precious testimonial from the headmistress. That piece of paper was very important in those years of poverty. It meant survival. It could determine whether you get a good job, or remain unemployed.

First came the pep talk. They must, Miss Victoria instructed them, above all things be clean, punctual, very tidy and obedient to their employers. With this lesson in mind each one had to step forward in turn.

There was no one to wish them well, no congratulations, no fond farewells. Life went on in the rest of the school as usual. The drone of children’s voices from the nearby classrooms wafted across the hall as lessons were learned, as they always were, by rote.

‘Step forward first, John Hill.’ Miss Victoria’s voice rang out sharply. A skinny, tousle-haired boy took a step towards her. ‘Let’s see, now,’ the headmistress continued, ‘We must not forget you’re unintelligent. Let’s say you’re good with your hands.’

She scribbled this down on the report which she then held out in front of her. The boy blushed scarlet. Grasping the paper, he turned and shuffled out of the door into the world outside.

Everyone was dealt with in this way. Once all the boys had been attended to one by one, Miss Victoria turned to the girls.

‘Anything particular you would like to do, Mary?’

Mary was a large, blowsy girl with a grubby face. She already had a child at home – reported to be by her own father. She giggled. ‘Dunno. Up the factory, I think.’

Miss Victoria sighed. ‘Strong-willed girl,’ Miss Victoria said out aloud as she wrote down Mary’s report.

One by one she ticked them off until she came to a thin little girl whose gangly legs emerging from under her faded pinafore made her look taller than she was. ‘I want to write,’ Nelly announced loudly, sticking out her chin determinedly.

Miss Victoria looked quite taken aback. What insolence, she thought. This motherless child had hardly ever come to school and here she was saying she wanted to write. ‘Well,’ she answered sarcastically, ‘you’ll have to learn to type. Your hand-writing is atrocious.’

She wrote down Nelly’s report. ‘Unpunctual and needs discipline.’ Then, with a twinge of conscience, she added: ‘Might do well in connection with books.’

The next day, Nelly and Mary wandered through the narrow back streets on their way to the City in search of a job in a clothing factory. Mary swung her fat hips from side to side complaining loudly about her sister who had refused to recommend her for a job at the match factory where she worked. But Nelly just looked straight ahead and hardly listened to her friend. She was worried about Bobby, her small brother, who had fallen on his arm that morning. She knew she should have taken him to the hospital but she had been so anxious to get a job she had not. It had only just stopped raining and the pavements were wet and shiny. Nelly’s feet were cold. She had forgotten to put new cardboard in the soles of her shoes, and water seeped in, soaking her stockings and chilling her toes.

The girls had walked a long way before they finally came to the right address. They climbed a steep, smelly flight of steps up to the factory and entered the small muddly office. Mr Fox, the boss, had a bald, shiny head and bulbous red-veined eyes. As Nelly and Mary came in, he looked up from his desk. Nelly clenched her hands nervously.

Mr Fox surveyed the pretty girl in front of him. She hardly looks fourteen, he thought. ‘What’s yer name?’ he shouted.

‘Ellen,’ she murmured softly, ‘but I’m called Nelly.’

‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’ll call yer Nelly then.’

Sweat dropped from his broad forehead as he squinted at Nelly’s precious testimonial. ‘Books?’ he roared. ‘Won’t get much bleeding time to read books here. I’ll put yer on pulling bastings. Eight bob a week, time-and-half overtime.

‘Now, what about the other bugger?’

Nelly’s smile lit up her face. She had a job.

Without bothering to look at Mary’s testimonial, Mr Fox shouted out: ‘Harry, some kids to ’elp yer.’ A small wirey man came into the office and he took the girls off to sit in the busy workroom on a low wooden bench next to an enormous old-fashioned lift. Icy gusts of wind constantly blew up the lift shaft, making Nelly’s limbs numb with cold as she sat pulling out the basting stitches from huge grey woollen overcoats. The coats were so weighty it took both Nelly and Mary to life one off the pile.

Mary sat with her legs wide apart. A musty smell came from her as she used plenty of swear words to tell the surrounding male population what she thought of them. The cutter and tailor stood nearby snipping material with large shears. They made joking comments about the girls and encouraged Mary all the more.

Nelly was self-conscious and embarrassed. The pile of coats grew and spread out all around her. ‘Get a move on, Nelly,’ said Mr Fox whenever he passed.

As fast as they could Nelly’s thin little fingers picked and pulled at the strong white basting cotton amid the whirr of the sewing machines, the babble of conversation and the harassment of those waiting for her work. Nelly’s life in the sweat shop had begun.

The long piercing wail of the hooter cut across the dull humming of the sewing machines. It was six o’clock on the dot. With a clatter everyone downed tools and started rushing for the exit.

Nelly was still sitting on her bench. There was a buzzing in her ears even though the machines had stopped their chugging. Over the long day she had got used to the noise, but now was suddenly aware of it again.

She looked for Mary in the crowd of workers but she could not see her. She got up with stiff legs and her back ached as she started her way down the flight of stairs with everyone else.

It was all confusion on those steps as she got caught up in the homeward rush. Boys tore past jumping two at a time; fat women carrying large handbags waddled down more slowly. Nelly was pushed and shoved. Everyone had a desperate urge to get out into the cold air. It had been so hot in the building.

Nelly pondered on the finality of it all. These people did precisely the same thing every day. Was she to do it too? She felt trapped, and had a dull ache inside her. Her stick-like legs ached too. She felt as though she had been walking about all day, rather than sitting down.

Suddenly she felt a hefty blow in her side as Mary pushed past her. ‘Going home on the tram,’ yelled Mary as she ran on down the steps. ‘Scrounged a penny off some fella up there. Her wide shape disappeared from view.

At last Nelly reached the bottom of the stairs. It was nearly dark outside. She stood there in the night, watching the trams trundle past. Inside, passengers were fighting tooth and nail for spaces. Nelly had no money for a tram, she had to walk home but she was not sure of the direction.

After a moment of indecision she began to walk back the way she had come with Mary that morning. She flinched nervously as she passed the dim street corners where the unemployed men loafed. None had jobs and many no home.

Trying to ignore the shifty characters, Nelly relived the first day at work in her mind. She could still hear the guttural voice of the guv’nor, and taste the bland bread and margarine they had all eaten at midday, seated perched high at the tables.

But there was no use in complaining, at least she had got a job. But the thought of returning to it the next day made her heart sink.

She was glad when she finally reached her own little street with its row of grey brick terraced dwellings. It was in the heart of the East End, in Hoxton. It was a working-class area and the houses were small and cramped. Most of the families living in them were so large that there was no room inside for the kids to play. So their mothers would push them outside whenever they could.

The kids were still all out in the road, playing in the light of the street lamps. One mob chased another in a hectic game of tag; little girls played hopscotch in chalk squares. They yelled and screeched and fought with each other. The noise was almost deafening but Nelly found it a refreshing sound after the dull humming of the sweat shop.

At the end of the street was Nelly’s home. It was different from the other slum houses, which looked right onto the road, for there was a cobbled entrance that led to a dark yard where several carts were tipped up. Their shafts loomed balefully through the gloom.

A coster’s barrow obstructed Nelly’s path as she picked her way through the yard. She wove around it to find the familiar doorway that led up a flight of uncarpeted wooden stairs to the rooms where her family lived. Once inside, she sighed with relief. She was so scared of the yard when night came. Every single day of her life, she dreaded going through that dark yard. Often an urchin would be hiding in the shadows to jump out at her yelling: ‘Yah, yah, I’m the bogey man!’ And Nelly would nearly jump out of her skin. They were only small hooligans, so why she let them bother her she never knew. But she was always afraid when she entered Kelly’s Yard, as it was known in the street. Not that it belonged to her family, they had never owned much. They only rented the rooms over the stables for three shillings a week. That was all they were worth, Nelly was quite sure, and even that was not paid regularly.

Nelly’s confidence returned as she climbed the stairway. Reaching the top, she undid the wooden catch on the gate to the landing. It was strange how that home-made gate affected her. It was like a gateway to safety. Once she had opened it and was onto the landing she felt secure. Dad had made the gate from an old orange crate. It had originally been built to prevent the baby falling down the stairs, but there was no need for it now. The baby had died and that same year her mother had also died of pneumonia.

The big front living room was cold and empty. Nelly’s brother and sister were probably still playing in the street. Maybe Bobby’s arm had got better, she thought optimistically. Dad had not arrived home yet. She knew she had to hurry to build a fire and get the kettle boiling. Dad would be cold and tired too when he came in.

She removed her coat and set about making a fire. Once it was blazing she swept the hearth. Dad liked to see a tidy hearth. Then she put the heavy iron kettle on to boil.

In a bowl of cold water she washed the potatoes and placed them in a saucepan by the kettle. Dad loved spuds boiled in their jackets. Next, Nelly poked into the wire-covered ‘safe’ that hung on the wall outside the door. In the days before refrigerators this contraption kept food cool. She was pleased to find a bit of marge. Perhaps Dad would bring in some bread and sausages – then they would have a real feast.

She crouched beside the fire, her thin face worried and anxious, her wispy chestnut hair hung over her face in an untidy array. Her dark green eyes became misty as she thought about that lovely character who was within her during quiet moments.

Her name was Kitty Daly, and she had fair corkscrew curls and always wore a pretty dress. Nelly now had her away at boarding school with a whole wardrobe – a real gymslip, plimsolls, navy knickers, the lot. The rest of the dormitory was admiring her party dress and she had just returned, all suntanned, from a holiday abroad.

Sitting silent and still, Nelly could see Kitty having a good time with the rest of the girls in that big boarding school that Bessie Bunter attended. Yes, that funny fat girl who was always in the comics that Nelly read was there too.

Nelly’s daydream was suddenly shattered by the noisy arrival of Noni and Bobby, her sister and brother. Little Bobby looked pinched and pale, and he had a big woollen scarf wound around his arm.

‘Bobby’s arm don’t ’alf ’urt ’im,’ Noni declared. ‘Mrs Brown said yer ought to take ’im up Slope. Disgraceful, she says it is, a little boy going about crying all day.’

Nelly gently unwound the scarf from Bobby’s arm. It looked twisted and swollen. The boy’s long lashes dripped with tears. ‘I want me mum,’ he grizzled.

A lump came to Nelly’s throat. ‘Stop snivelling!’ She shouted impatiently. ‘I’ll take you up the Slope.’

Giving Noni instructions to mind the spuds, and without even a cup of tea inside her, Nelly took Bobby by the hand and started off for the casualty department of the Metropolitan Hospital. It was quite a way down the main road, and Bobby whined all the time.

The casualty department was called the Slope because the entrance way ran at a steep angle so that the stretcher bearers could run quickly down it.

Once they were there, Nelly and Bobby sat in a long line with all the other casualties – a motley crowd of emergency cases of cuts and bruises and broken bones. They all sat miserably waiting their turn, many periodically wincing or moaning with pain.

Bobby looked paler and sicker than ever, and his arm had turned a blue colour and was very swollen. When they finally reached the door of the surgery, he began to vomit.

One nurse ran out with an enamel dish while another dashed to get a mop.

‘Who is in charge of this child?’ roared the sister. Nelly stood up. ‘I am,’ she said. Now the doctor had arrived. ‘Great Scot!’ he cried. ‘This child has a broken arm. Why wasn’t he brought here before now?’

Nelly’s lips trembled and tears sprang into her dark eyes. ‘I had to go to work,’ she murmured.

‘Oh dear,’ muttered the doctor wiping his brow as he stared down at the young girl. ‘Where are your parents to let a little lad suffer all day?’

‘My mother is dead,’ said Nelly, ‘and Dad’s not home from work yet.’

The doctor looked bewildered, but then his voice became kinder. ‘Take this girl up to the canteen with you,’ he said to one of the nurses. ‘Get her something to eat and I’ll fix up this boy.’

It was half past ten when they left the hospital. Bobby now had his arm in plaster and looked much more cheerful than before. They had both been given hot Bovril and biscuits in the staff canteen, and been fussed over by the nurses there.

‘It’s nice in the hospital,’ announced Bobby as he trotted beside Nelly’s weary legs. But Nelly did not answer. She was so tired that all she wanted to do was get home and go to sleep, otherwise she would never get up in time for work in the morning.

10

A New Home

After the Kellys had moved in, the house in Islington became a brighter place. During the week Bobby lived in at the hotel where he worked. At the weekends he would come to the house and there was always a gramophone playing loudly as friends arrived for impromptu parties, and people ran up and down the uncarpeted wooden stairs chattering in loud voices.

Despite the sudden new liveliness, the whole house had a kind of sad, genteel air as if it bewailed the good old days. Nelly felt this very strongly however hard she tried not to.

‘I suppose I should be very happy here after the slum I was used to,’ Nelly said to Bill, ‘but I’m so conscious of the atmosphere. I can’t get that unhappy sensation out of my mind.’

Bill seemed to understand what she meant. ‘We were always a very quiet family,’ he said. ‘I expect that’s why I was always out. You see, my dad was ill for a number of years and we got used to making as little noise as possible.’

‘It’s strange how an atmosphere can remain in a house, even when there’s no cause for it anymore.’

‘Well, your dad seems reasonably happy here, Nelly. That’s come as a surprise after all the fuss he made about leaving Hoxton,’ said Bill.

‘God knows what your mother thinks about that noisy crew up there,’ said Nelly.

‘Oh it’s good for her. She loves to go up and sit talking to your dad.’

Dad had been a little sorry for Bill’s mother when they first met. ‘Be Jesus,’ he had said, ‘you know that poor soul has never been inside a public house.’

‘She’s not missed much,’ commented Nelly.

Before long, Dad has insisted on taking Mum to the local. He filled her up with beer and brandy until she was tottery. When they arrived home she was very giggly and had evidently enjoyed herself. After that she wanted to go with Dad whenever he went out, and would stand waiting for him in the hall – all ready in her old-fashioned coat and hat. Dad went along with this for a while, but he soon got fed up, and began to creep out of the house to dodge her.

For a while Mum became all weepy again, but then she attached herself to Noni who persuaded the old lady to try another habit – smoking – which she readily took to. She would sit in the kitchen with Noni, helping with the vegetables, puffing away at a cigarette and having the occasional cough.

Being lazy, Noni let Mum get on with the washing-up and various other jobs that Nelly would normally have whisked away from her. The sight of the old lady slowly drying the dishes almost drove Nelly mad. But Mum and Noni got on very well together and the girl encouraged Mum to bitch about Nelly with her. Nelly was hurt, but she knew that this was stimulating and good for Mum so she tried not to mind too much.

Nelly still liked her work at the Canada Company and had some very good pals there. She went, every day of the week from eight until six. Bill worked extremely hard too, from very early in the morning until eight o’clock at night. At the end of each week they put their wages together to save up for their wedding, and on Saturdays they walked about the market looking for little pieces of china or linen for Nelly’s bottom drawer. She was extremely happy and content.

Slowly the Islington house began to change again as the wedding was prepared. Nelly and Bill were determined to build a nest of their own, even if they could not yet buy a house. They began to redecorate the two rooms on the middle floor after Mum had been moved down to the basement and Dad up to the top floor.

They painted the woodwork a bright primrose yellow and had cream wallpaper with silver ferns on it. It all looked so pretty. The rooms were big and spacious – so unlike those in Hoxton. The ceilings were high, and the windows large and wide. The fireplaces were very elaborate and carved in white marble.

When the work was all finished, Nelly was very proud. She had forgotten about the melancholic atmosphere she felt before. The date for the wedding was fixed, and the furniture bought and put into position. ‘I don’t want nothing on the never never for us,’ Bill had said. ‘We’ll buy what we need as we get enough money.’

In April they got married in the Catholic Church. Nelly wore a long white dress that the girls at work had designed and made for her. Nelly’s workmates were about as excited about her wedding as she was. They borrowed new designs from the sample room and made her a nice suit to go away in.

On her wedding morning Nelly had to go to early morning Mass. Since Bill was not a Catholic there was to be no Communion service, but it was Nelly’s duty to take Communion before she was wed. When she returned to the house it was only eight o’clock in the morning, and she noticed that the doorsteps were filthy. She was feeling so nervous, she decided to clean them quickly. She got a bucket, got down on her knees and began to scrub the steps while Noni and Bobby, who had begun to celebrate the night before, slept soundly upstairs.

‘Tell your sister I wish her luck,’ the next-door neighbour called cheerily and she walked by.

‘I’ll tell her,’ said the blushing bride scrubbing harder.

It went off well in the end – the ceremony and the reception which was held upstairs in Dad’s apartment. There was a nice wedding cake and lots of drink and sandwiches. The whiskey flowed as the Irish all got together and when the arguments started, Bill pulled Nelly aside. ‘Get ready, Nelly,’ he said, ‘we’ll hop off before they start to fight.’

With confetti in their hair, as Mr and Mrs Ross, Bill and Nelly slipped quietly off to Brighton where they found a boarding house for one night. They went out, had several beers in a pub, and walked along the promenade before returning to their room at the boarding house.

As they got ready for bed, Nelly suddenly felt nervous. She put on her carefully chosen honeymoon nightdress thinking of all the passionate wedding nights she had read about in those love novels. She had clung on to her virginity all this time and now she was about to lose it. She had kept it for this very occasion, for this very man. She and Bill knew each other’s bodies, they had done enough cuddling during their courtship, but the act of love itself was a mystery to both of them.

She slipped under the covers beside Bill. His soft, clean skin smelled sweet as he put his arms around her and kissed her. She could tell that he was nervous too, and she buried her head in his chest.

That first night of love was a disappointment to Nelly. She was surprised to find it rather ungainly and passionless, unlike what she had been expecting. But she consoled herself by recalling how many people said the wedding night was never the best, and she was happy, finally, to fall soundly asleep feeling safe and secure in Bill’s strong arms.

The following Monday, Nelly and Bill were both back at work. From then on they followed a settled pattern of living. For Nelly, it was very difficult. Her chores became even more burdensome as she got no help from Noni with the cleaning and cooking. Noni seemed to believe that now Nelly was married the housework should be entirely her responsibility. Nelly went to work every day, cooked for all the family in the evening, and did the cleaning and washing at the weekends. Her energy was drained. After six weeks she had begun to look pale and tired; nothing like the bright, energetic girl she had been.

Bill was worried. ‘Perhaps you ought to give up work, Nelly,’ he said one evening when she was looking exhausted.

‘Don’t be daft, we can’t afford it,’ Nelly replied.

‘What I dearly would like to do, is buy us a house of our own as soon as possible,’ said Bill. ‘They’re building some nice little houses not far out which have a bathroom and electric light. It would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Oh, then I’d have a baby,’ said Nelly, brightening up, ‘and really stay home in the house all day.’

‘You will, darling, just be patient. We’ll save as hard as we can, and I’m sure that if I can get the deposit together my boss will help me get a mortgage.’

‘What’s that?’ she asked. She’d never heard the word before.

Bill explained. ‘You can borrow money and they will build you a brand-new house and then you pay it back in so many years, sometimes twenty.’

‘It’s a long time,’ said Nelly doubtfully.

‘No, it’s not, darling, not when you have a lifetime before you,’ said Bill reassuringly.

With a house of their own to look forward to, Nelly managed to cope with her unappreciative family as best she could.

It was the beginning of 1939 when Bill and Nelly began to plan to buy a modern house of their own. They rode out on the bus to Leabridge to look at a new housing estate that was springing up there. Many East Enders were moving to Leabridge, for it was not too far out of town and still on the bus route to the City. The Jewish business people found it very convenient so a fair-sized Jewish community had moved out there too.

The houses were smart and had all the modern facilities. Each had a good-sized garden and a little gate, a bathroom and kitchenette, and two bay windows. Nelly thought they were quite delightful and, as Bill remarked, at seven-fifty they were a bargain. They put down fifty pounds as a desposit on it and then were ready to wait about six months for the house to be built.

They kept the purchase of the house a dark secret from the family and saved like mad to get another hundred pounds deposit. That year there was a lot of talk about war with Germany, but then it all seemed to die down.

‘I’m pleased, Nelly,’ said Bill. ‘Because if there had been a war we might not have got our new house.’

‘Why ever not?’ she asked.

‘Well, one reason is that they would stop building, I expect, and another is that I would be called up into the army.’

‘Well, it’s all blown over, so we might as well get on with it,’ said Nelly.

Bill’s boss did arrange a mortgage for them and they were to move into the house early spring. Until then they went over to Leabridge every Sunday afternoon to watch the progress on the house. So far no one else shared their secret. It was thrilling, and Nelly never had any doubts about leaving the flat. The rooms were nice and comfortable, but she did get so exhausted by the family battles that went on in the house, and looked forward to escaping from it all.

 

When the first siren of the war went off everyone was caught off guard. That Sunday morning the whole family had listened to the solemn speech on the wireless announcing that Britain was now at war with Germany. Nelly was preparing the lunch u. . .