Bia's War Page 10

  “I later learned that I had underestimated the value of many items, but never because I wanted to squeeze extra money out of those experiencing hard times, it was always a genuine mistake on my part.”

  “Did people come back and collect their possessions when they had the money to pay for them?” Victoria wanted to know, finding it difficult to imagine what pawning an item of value would be like.

  “Some people got their possessions back, others never did find the money and I soon amassed a very strange assortment of items which I stored in the strong box I kept in my bedroom. I intended that one day, when I wasn’t quite so busy, I would sort them out and sell what I considered to be valuable items and use the money for Simon to go to a good school when he was older. In the meantime, the strong box had items added to it quite regularly and it became yet another string to my bow.”

  “Did anyone try to cheat you with these items, Nana?” Victoria asked. “You know, did anyone pretend something was gold when it wasn’t?”

  “Sometimes, pet.” Nana Lymer smiled at her question. “For some reason that I’ve never understood, I was always pretty good at being able to tell what was real gold and what wasn’t. Added to which, I didn’t accept any items from those whom I considered to be villains or ruffians although, as I accepted items in place of payment for food, the ruffians tended to stick to the real pawnbrokers where they got cash for their goods. Usually, my customers were those who were genuinely in need, not tricksters out to make a killing. Anyway, that became my third business venture, albeit a venture I sort of fell into rather than one I had planned.”

  “Things were getting worse as far as the War was concerned and the big operations in France and Flanders were killing so many of our boys that there were few places left in the British Isles where there wasn’t a roll call of the dead. To make things worse, the Hun were being particularly successful in sinking merchant shipping, which was affecting the supply of food. I had contracts with a few local farmers but I was afraid that there would come a time when there would be shortages and I had to have a contingency plan for maintaining my supplies. I decided that it would be a good idea to buy in as much non-perishable food as I was able to get hold of, but with that idea came the problem of storage.”

  “Our new place in Queen Street had more storage space than in my old house, but I needed more and that was when one of the warehouses at the dockside became available for rent. I thought it would be a good place to store food for various reasons; it was out of sight of most people in the town so I could fill it without anyone being aware of what I was doing; there was always a gatekeeper and the dock workers about so it was unlikely that any thieves would consider it easy game and, best of all, it was the ideal place for receiving goods which had arrived by ship or by train, the station being next to the docks.”

  “Sam knew what I was doing, of course, because I had discussed it with him before I paid the first rent on the building and he tramped the whole area finding other sources of supply so that we soon had a goodly amount of stock stacked in the warehouse. I got very friendly with the dockworkers and the gatekeepers because I always took pies, pasties and ginger beer for them whenever I went down there and they repaid me by letting me know whenever a shipment had got through the blockades, carrying goods they thought might be of interest to me.”

  “I always took Peter with me whenever I went to the docks because he was good protection for me and he loved to jaunt around the town. He had filled out over the last couple of years because he and Annie were eating a lot better since they had started to work for me and his shoulders had broadened with the extra exercise he was getting. He was as big as a barn door, but his brain hadn’t kept up with his body’s growth and, inside, he was still only a little boy. There were times when Simon could more easily understand what was being explained to him than Peter could, but he had made it his purpose in life to look after me and one growl from him could dissuade any sailor who thought he could try it on when we passed on the dock road.”

  “Another benefit I got from renting the warehouse was an idea which was planted in my mind by the man who rented the warehouse next to mine, Mr Sanderson. He was a grain importer who was very worried by the amount of ships being lost to the enemy, some of which had contained his grain as part of their cargo and it was now rotting on the seabed. One day, as I was commiserating with him over another such loss, he informed me that he was salting wealth away in case his business collapsed as a result of enemy action. I asked him if he was keeping the money in the bank, because it wasn’t safe to have cash on his premises, but he wasn’t keeping cash. He told me an old sea captain had advised him years before to always put his money in gems not in gold or stocks and shares. The price of both gold and stocks could (and did) vary enormously, but jewels never lost their value. An added bonus was that they were small and could be easily concealed either in a house or about the person.”

  “I mulled over that conversation in my mind for the rest of the day and that night, after Simon had had his bath and bedtime story, I took out the stash of jewellery which I had hidden in my bedroom. There wasn’t a huge quantity, but I had a few gold rings, a couple of gold brooches and some bracelets. Quite a few of them had gemstones in their settings and although I could recognise pearls, sapphires and rubies, there were a few which I couldn’t identify. Don’t run away with the idea that I had amassed a small fortune, because I hadn’t, but I needed to know the true worth of the whole collection. I had given foodstuffs to the value I placed on them, but I had no idea of what I would get for them if I sold them.”

  “I resolved that the next day I would go to one of the big jewellers in the centre of town and ask them for a valuation. If they turned out to be worth a decent amount, I would work out some method of carrying them hidden about my person. Perhaps I could make a padded pocket which would hang inside my skirt and not reveal itself to the outside world.”

  “The next day, I visited the two largest jewellers in the town and asked them both for a valuation of my little pieces and they both arrived at a sum that simply stunned me. It appeared that I had an eye for gems, to add to my ability to tell real gold from fake and my little stash was worth a considerable amount. Word soon got round town that not only would I accept brooches and chains in payment for food, but that on occasions I would give cash for a jewel that I particularly liked. And I liked them a lot if they were worth money. I was very careful not to give too much money out for a piece of jewellery, but I was always determined to give what I considered a fair price, particularly if the recipient was a decent, hard-working member of the community. I never had the intention of making a huge profit out of the misery that the War had engendered which was why I kept my council over what I owned and I didn’t live in an ostentatious manner. I have never in my life wasted money or bought items I didn’t need. I left that sort of behaviour to those who made money on the black market out of people’s misery.”

  “Times were changing rapidly through those first couple of years of the War. So many men had been killed or injured, so many households lost their breadwinners and women were now doing many horrendous jobs to help out with the war effort and to keep their families fed and housed. I was so grateful that I had had the foresight to start my shop when I did and, although I worked very hard and for long hours, I was ably supported by Annie and Peter and, of course, Sam and Hannah. Because of my contacts in the dockyard and my contracts with many local farmers, I always had stock to sell and we suffered a lot less than many other businesses. Sam continued to find houses for us to buy to rent out and, during the whole of the War, we only evicted two families for non-payment of rent. Both of these families had husbands working in the iron works and earning good money and should have been able to manage their budgets well, but both sets of parents had taken to drink and thievery to support their needs for alcohol. It distressed me very greatly to have them evicted and I found it very hard to live with what I considered to be the guilt of throwing fam
ilies onto the streets, but we had let them remain for a lot longer than any other landlords would have done. I had to remind myself that all that I did was for Simon and I had to put him before anything else.”

  “You couldn’t let them live rent free, Nana,” Victoria said. “It wasn’t your fault that they were weak people and you couldn’t carry everyone’s burdens on your back.”

  “I know, chick, but the guilt ate at me for a long time. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Did you collect a lot of jewellery Nana? Did you sell it all or did you wear some of it?” Victoria was fascinated by the idea of owning gold and precious jewels and secretly wondered if there were any gems hidden in Nana Lymer’s possessions in that very room. Nana laughed at the questions.

  “Wear some of it?” she said. “No, I was up to my ears in flour, potatoes and cooked meats all day, every day! I didn’t have the time or the inclination for dressing like a countess. Anyway, those gems were for Simon’s schooling so that he would get a good job when he was older and never have to worry where his next meal was coming from. They were a means to an end for me, not for decoration. Now, where was I with the story? Oh yes, I had rented the warehouse down near the docks.”

  Nana thought for a moment, trying to get the events of the early decades of the twentieth century organised in her mind before she continued her tale.

  “In July of 1916, Mr Sanderson, the grain merchant, lost his son on the Somme and lost his appetite for life in business at the same time. His wife had died before the War began and his son’s death meant there was only him and his daughter left of their little family. He couldn’t face the daily grind and worry that his grain business consisted of, so he sold up and went to live in one of the small villages on the other side of Eston Hills. I can’t remember which village, but that doesn’t matter. He bought a smallholding and intended raising chickens there and pretending that the horrors of war weren’t happening. I felt sorry for his daughter, who I felt deserved a bit more out of life, but I couldn’t imagine how terrible it must be to lose a child, so I wished him well in his new venture and carried on working.”

  “Three days after Mr Sanderson had left, Peter and I were down at the dockside, supervising the unloading of some stock from a ship which had just berthed when I saw someone open the door of Mr Sanderson’s warehouse. I glanced across to see who was my new ‘neighbour’ and realised that it was the pig butcher who was locking the door. I tried to get into my warehouse before he saw me, but he turned his head as I moved and I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t seen him. I stood still, unsure of what to do next, but he took that decision out of my hands and started walking towards me. I wondered whether I should lock myself into the warehouse until he had gone, but I had to admit that I hadn’t heard any scurrilous gossip about him since he had been man-handled out of my backyard, so I dithered on my warehouse doorstep, watching him as he strode across the roadway between the buildings.”

  “‘Mrs Drinkwater.’ He said, lifting his cap as he stopped in front of me. He seemed to be sober and was speaking civilly, so I took my cue from that and answered in the same fashion.”

  “‘Good afternoon, Mr Dennison.’ I answered politely. “Have you taken the empty warehouse, then?”

  “He stepped towards me to continue the conversation and I had an overwhelming desire to back away from him, but the pride which had made me face him down in my backyard now kept me standing my ground.”

  “‘I’m expanding my business, Mrs Drinkwater. I’ve been quite successful since I stopped drinking and I’ve bought out Mr Sanderson’s interest in the grain store. Food is at a premium in these bad times.’”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I replied. “That has been my stock phrase since I started my business, people will always need to eat, no matter what is happening in the world. I’m glad you are having a successful time, Mr Dennison.” I inclined my head at him and then turned to go, but his next words brought me up short.”

  “‘I’ve got you to thank for it, Mrs Drinkwater. You gave me more than a soaking that day in your backyard. You made me take a long, hard look at myself and I didn’t like what I saw. I have been working extremely hard to redeem myself ever since.’”

  “I didn’t trust him.” Nana continued, with a grimace on her face as though she had sucked a lemon by mistake. “The words slipped too glibly off his tongue for them to ring true and, let’s face it, a leopard never changes its spots, however much it tries to hide in the undergrowth. A lifelong drunken bully doesn’t become a pillar of society overnight. But the proof of his redemption would be how he coped the next time life took a swing at him, not an occasion I intended to hang around to find out. At that moment, Peter arrived at my shoulder to tell me that the stock was now all in the warehouse and we could go home. I thanked him and turned back to the pig butcher.”

  “‘I hope you continue to be successful, Mr Dennison.” I said, but the butcher wasn’t listening.”

  “‘I see you’ve still got that young bull hanging around, then,’ he commented.”

  “I heartily disliked his tone as he nodded at Peter and I sprang to his defence immediately.”

  “‘Peter is a very good worker, Mr Dennison.’ I said. ‘And he’s good protection for me in this part of town. He always comes with me when I come here and he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.’”

  “I didn’t think it was a bad idea to let the pig butcher know that I wasn’t ever alone when I came down to the docks, because all my nerve-endings were screaming at me that Dennison was trouble with a capital ‘T’. As we walked away from him, I distinctly heard him mutter under his breath that he wasn’t the only one who needed to change, that I could learn a lesson on that subject as well. I chose to pretend that I hadn’t heard him, although my heart was fluttering uneasily at his comment. My uneasy feelings at his proximity to my warehouse were strengthened as we walked out of the dock gates a few moments later, when the gatekeeper asked if I’d seen my new neighbour.”

  “‘All sweetness and light, isn’t he?’ he said, when I answered in the affirmative. ‘I wouldn’t trust yon bugger with the church bells, I wouldn’t. I don’t care how many people he tells that he’s off the drink, that doesn’t mean it’ll last. One of Satan’s angels, that one, you mind my words. There’ll be more trouble from him before long, or my name isn’t Tom Taylor.’”

  “I muttered a quiet agreement, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t have to see too much of Dennison, but Peter’s next words frightened me the most.”

  “‘Why did that man sit in our bath, Mrs D? All those people laughed at him and he was very cross. He said you had a lesson to learn, I heard him, when you started to walk away from him. What did he mean? Are you going to go to school, then?’”

  “I forced myself to laugh and assured him that I wasn’t going anywhere, but the cold fingers of fear touched my spine and wouldn’t let go, not even when I was sitting in our famous bath that night, up to my neck in hot water.”

  Chapter Seven

  “The thought of the pig butcher and his threats hung over me for more than a week. It didn’t matter what I did during the day to take my mind off him, this lesson I was going to learn was always at the forefront of my conscious thought. I worked all day thinking about it and I couldn’t sleep at night for the pictures which rose, unbidden, every time I closed my eyes. I worked until every bone in my body ached for lack of sleep, but as soon as I tried to sleep, his face rose up in front of my mind.”

  “Then, something else happened which managed to push all thoughts of the pig butcher out of my head. William came home. He came home minus an arm and with some terrible wounds to his legs, but he was carrying a chip on his shoulder that could have been crafted into a table, six chairs and a Welsh dresser, with enough wood left over to complete a wardrobe and dressing table.”

  “Oh my goodness! How had he been injured? And why was he carrying a chip on his shoulder? It wasn’t your fault that he’d been wounded, was it?” Victo
ria was furious for her grandmother, having to endure the tantrums of her husband just because she was better able to cope with life than he was.

  The bedroom burst open as Victoria’s mother slammed into the room.

  “Get off your backside, lady and get down those stairs to help me do the tea. I’ve been shouting for you for a good ten minutes and you just ignore me and carry on doing what you want. It’s not Christmas yet, you know. There’s a lot of hard work to be got through before I can have a nice rest like you!”

  Victoria didn’t argue; that wasn’t something anyone did when her mother was in one of her moods and it was obvious that she was in one of her moods. She said a hurried goodbye to Nana Lymer and then went straight to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes for tea.

  “You are too hard on that girl, Bia, you’ll lose her one of these days, you mark my words.” Nana had often tried to make her daughter less aggressive towards her only child, but it was a pointless exercise. She often didn’t say anything because she had a shrewd idea that it could have the opposite effect of what she intended and that Bia would be even more harsh with Victoria. To divert her attention away from the girl, she made an announcement she had been mulling over for the last few days. “I’m going to get up tomorrow and have Christmas dinner with the rest of the family at the table.”

  Bia was immediately against this. She had no wish for her mother to take up the reins of her life once more and start interfering in the running of the shop. As far as the general public were concerned, Bia and Jack owned and ran the shop and if her mother began mixing with the customers there was a good chance that she would remind everyone that, in fact, she still owned the property. When her mother had taken to her bed the previous year, after falling when she had been on one of her midnight strolls around the town, Bia had thought that she would never get up again and she had lost no time in letting the neighbours know that she and her husband had bought the business from her mother. If Nana Lymer decided she was well enough to come downstairs, then Bia’s story could be scuppered.