Birfdays

Jennospot 21  Birfday

The day after termorrer, it’s Peter St John’s birfday, and then comes mine, but moi birfday don’t really count, ‘cos it’s the first of April, an’ people only make fun of it. Peter don’t much loike people makin’ a fuss neither when it’s ‘is birfday, least of all ‘is ‘oly aunt, an’ Oi reckon as ‘ow Oi c’n understand, ‘im bein’ an orphan an all. Any’ow, as it’s kinda birfday toime, Oi reckoned as ‘ow Oi’d give yew a bit about birfdays this toime round. ‘Ope yew loike it:

My aunt had wanted me to run several errands for her. This made me the last to arrive at Dummy's birthday party in the school shelter.

Everyone was sitting stiffly around the table. Nobody was speaking.

I went straight up to Mr Pearce. He was wearing a much worn dark suit that was too tight round the waist and under the arms. He seemed ill at ease.

‘Happy birthday, Daniel,’ I said.

‘Arrgh, thank'ee kindly,’ he replied. He showed his misshapen teeth through a matted beard in what was more a grimace than a smile.

‘What's the matter Daniel? Aren't they looking after you properly?’

‘Reckon as 'ow it's more'n a little whiles since ol' Dan'l 'ad a party fer 'is birthday. Reckon as 'ow 'ee's roight thankful. There be a fine cake with candles wot Miss Winnifred gave and Miss Molly's biscuits an' all.’

‘You could look a bit happier about it,’ I said.

‘Reckon ol' Dan'l's leavin' Widdlington afore soon. 'Ee'll be roight sad ter be leavin' 'is friends.’

‘You're not leaving today at any rate, and you're not in the lockup,’ said Molly.

‘So cheer up,’ said Winnifred.

‘Have some beer,’ said Miss Hangar.

‘Don't moind if'n Oi do,’ said Daniel.

‘Everyone's saying it was Daniel who sabotaged the survey of the allotments,’ said Leta.

‘But it wasn't him!’ exclaimed Winnifred. ‘And Mr Trundle knows it.’

‘Unfortunately, people will gossip,’ said Miss Hangar.

‘We know it wasn't you, Daniel,’ I said. ‘And we're going to prove it absolutely, so that it doesn't depend just on the word of Winnifred. We've already got some clues.’

‘That's right,’ said Roy. ‘But we need you to help us.’

Dummy looked bewildered. ‘Clues?’ he said. ‘'Ow can ol' Daniel 'elp when the Parish is puttin' 'im off'n the allotments and sendin' 'im into a home?’

‘It hasn't happened yet,’ said Roy.

‘And we're going to make sure it doesn't happen,’ said Molly. ‘Miss Hangar's going to help us.’

 ‘Of course she's going to help us,’ said Jenno in her best BBC voice, ‘Aren't you Miss Hangar?’

‘I, er—’  said Miss Hangar.

‘She's on the Parish Council,’ I said. ‘And she and Mr Trundle will tell the others what the truth is. Won't you Miss Hangar?’

‘I er— that is— yes. I'll certainly tell them the truth about the pegs when I know myself what the truth is.’

‘See Daniel?’ said Roy. ‘But there are some things we need to know. And only you can tell us.’

‘Ar—?’ questioned Daniel.

‘For instance,’ I said. ‘Did you buy those Wellington boots you promised yourself for your birthday?’

‘Mr Hibberd were roight put out when ol' Dan'l asked 'im. 'Ee din't roightly know 'ow ter come out wi' it. It's the war, 'ee said. Anything wot were rubber was next ter impossible ter come by. 'Ee said as 'ow 'ee'd be roight pleased ter favour me, but that it weren't fer termorrer nor the day after. When 'ee 'ad some Wellingtons in 'ee'd be rememberin' a pair fer ol' Dan'l.’

‘You didn't buy any then?’ asked Roy.

‘Arrgh— just so.’

‘You don't possess any other rubber boots?’ asked Jenno primly.

‘Where would ol' Dan'l be finding a shillin' or two fer rubber boots wot 'ee don't roightly need?’ replied Daniel.

‘The footprints aren't Daniel's,’ said Roy.

‘I never thought they were,’ said Winnifred.

‘Me neither,’ said Katy.

 ‘You are going to help then, Miss Hangar?’ said Jenno.

‘Yes Jenno, er— Jean,’ said Miss Hangar. ‘I'll do what I can; but you know, there's really very little I can do now concerning the allotments. The project is already approved and far advanced.

‘As for The Old Vicarage, it's a decision for the Church and the vicar. Any interference by the school would only arouse resentment. But I can certainly help Mr Pearce to learn to read and write. That way he could become independent of support from the Parish.’

‘And not go into a home!’ exclaimed Molly. She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth and looked horrified towards Daniel.

‘Don't ye be a-fazed none, Miss Molly,’ said Daniel gently. ‘Ol' Dan'l baint be deaf; 'ee knows roight well wot people say. 'Ee bain't be such a dummy as 'ow they think.’

An embarrassed silence fell. It was broken by Winnifred:

‘I think it's about time we lit the candles. Who's got some matches?’

‘I'll ask my mum,’ said Leta. ‘Wait a tic and I'll nip indoors and get some.’ She ran into the school caretaker's house and emerged a moment later rattling a box of matches.

‘We didn't know how many candles to put on, but in any case, Hibberd's store only had one box—it's the war you know—so we put them all on. There are twenty.’

‘Heh, heh,’ chuckled Daniel. ‘Roight kind ye be. Arrgh— but two-and-a-half boxes 'uld 'ave been more loike.’

‘Blow them all out in one go and you can make a wish,’ said Katy.

Daniel took a deep breath and blew. Twenty tiny flames disappeared to be replaced by twenty slender columns of smoke.

‘Make a wish,’ cried everyone.

‘But don't tell anyone until it comes true,’ cautioned Jenno.

Daniel shut his eyes; held them screwed tight and then opened them again.

‘Have you made a wish?’ asked Molly.

‘Aye,’ said Daniel.

‘And so have I,’ said Molly.

("Gang Petition" Chapter 7 – Amazon Kindle)

Ask at the Gate

Jennospot 20  Ask at the Gate

Last week Oi told yew as ‘ow Peter an’ me went ter Lunnon when the air-raids was still bad. Any’ow, whilst we was there, we went ter Buckin’am Palace, wot is where the king lives; ‘Is Royal Majesty King George VI that is. Well, after we ‘ad ‘ad our little bit of a problem wiv the railway, we got ter the palace okay, but then it were that our real troubles started. It all began wiv the guard. This is ‘ow it were:

Five minutes later, we were facing high iron railings beside a sentry box in front of Buckingham Palace.

‘Cripes, it's jus' loike the pictures, 'cept it's much bigger'n Oi thought. ''Ow do we get in?’

‘Let's ask the sentry.’

Jenno stared up at the tall sentry in his red coat and high black bearskin hat. He stared ahead unmoving.

‘'Ee ain't 'arf big. D'yew fink 'ee's real?’

‘Of course he's real. D'you think he's just a stuffed dummy? Go ahead and ask him.’

‘Hey Mister— 'ow do we get in?’

The sentry didn't move. He remained silent.

‘Hey Mister,’ repeated Jenno loudly. ‘Yew wiv the furry black 'at. Yew deaf or somefink? 'Ow do we get in?’

‘Clear orff,’ muttered the guard, hardly moving his lips. He continued to stare ahead.

‘We want to know how to get in,’ I said.

‘Clear orff, you dratted kids,’ said the guard, still continuing to stare ahead.

‘Polite, ain't 'ee?’ said Jenno. ‘Please mister, we've come a long way special ter see the King. 'Ow do we get in?’

‘You can't see the King. He ain't here— so clear orff.’

Jenno was not to be discouraged: ‘'Ow do yew know 'ee ain't 'ere.’

The guard came to attention with a crash of his rifle butt on the ground that made us jump. ‘The royal standard's not up the pole. That's how.’

He took a step towards us. We jumped back. He shouldered arms with a loud smack of his hand on the rifle's magazine.

Still Jenno wasn't put off. ‘Wot pole?’

The guard made a smart right turn with a stamp of his nailed boots that trembled the pavement. ‘On the roof,’ he said. ‘Ask at the gate.’

He marched off with weighty tread alongside the railings. We looked up at the flagpole. The guard was right: there was no flag.

‘Wot we goin' ter do?’ said Jenno.

‘Ask at the gate,’ I said.

("Gang Petition" Chapter 18 – Amazon Kindle)

Oi'm Comin' Wiv Yer

Jennospot 19  Oi'm Comin' Wiv Yer

Guess wot— Peter St John 'as jus' put out 'is first e-book on Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing. It's called "Gang Petition". Wot's best about it, is that it's got a whole lot about me in it. Fact is–only 'ee won't 'ave it–it were me wot give 'im the idea in the first place. Any'ow, in this book 'im an me, we set off fer Lunnon tergevver, surreptitious loike; only 'ee weren't too pleased about it, leastways, not at first. 'Ee troid real 'ard ter send me back 'ome, only Oi weren't 'avin' any. This is 'ow it was:

Someone touched me on the arm. I looked round.

‘Jenno!’ I exclaimed in surprise. ‘You came to see me off!’

Her reply was lost in the commotion of the stopping train which came to a halt with an empty compartment right in front of me. I turned the big brass door handle.

‘Quick,’ cried Jenno. ‘Get in before Lost-a-tanner Reggie spots me.’

She leaped into the train after me and slammed the door. A whistle blew, and the train slowly set off.

‘Phew,’ puffed Jenno, like our panting locomotive. ‘Oi thought moi mum would never go. Oi nearly missed the train.’

‘Are you going into town?’

‘Naw— moi mum's goin' inter town wiv Mrs Jay.’

‘Where are you going then?’

‘Ter Lunnon.’

‘To London?’

‘Yew din't fink yew was a-goin' there on yer own did yew?’

I gaped at her. ‘You're coming with me?’

Jenno gave me a freckly grin and nodded.

‘And your mother doesn't know?’

Jenno shook her head. ‘'Corse she don't. She'd never 'ad let me go if'n she knew. Any'ow— we'll be back 'ere again afore she gets 'ome from town.’

‘Is that why you were worried about Reggie seeing you?’

‘Naw— 'ee moight 've asked me about moi ticket.’

‘And so?’

‘Oi ain't got one.’

I gaped at her again. ‘How d'you think you can get to London without a ticket?’

‘Oi got on the train wivvout one din't Oi? Oi reckon as 'ow Oi c'n get off the same way.’

‘How often have you been to London?’

‘Oi ain't never been ter Lunnon. Oi ain't 'ardly ever bin on a train 'cept a couple a times into town wiv moi mum when Oi was little. Usually we takes the 'bus.’

‘Jenno— there's nearly always a ticket inspector on the train. And then there's someone at the barrier at the other end who collects the tickets. They'll catch you, and you'll have to pay a big fine. Besides, you haven't brought your gasmask.’

‘Aw, c'mon— yer worse 'n Dismal. There won't be no gas. We'll manage. Ow c'n an inspector get in 'ere any'ow? An' we're gettin' off in a minute, at the first stop.’

‘Yeah, okay— and then we change into an express to London. The carriages have a corridor. That's how the inspector can get in. I think you'd better go back to Widdlington by the first train and try to dodge old Lost-a-tanner getting off the platform. That shouldn't be too difficult.’

‘Oi told yew— Oi'm comin' wiv yer. So don't fink yew c'n get rid of me that easy.’

‘I can't buy you a ticket; I've only got eleven pence left and I need that for the underground.’

‘Oi'm comin' wiv yer. Yew can't make me go back— so Oi'm a-comin'.’

The train stopped with a jerk.

‘All change, all change,’ called the loud-speaker. ‘Passengers for London proceed to platform one. The express is due in five minutes.’

‘Go on back, Jenno. The indicator board will show you the next train for Widdlington.’

‘Don't waste yer breath. Oi'm comin' wiv yer.’

("Gang Petition" Chapter 17)

An Old Perambulator

Jennospot 18  An Old Perambulator

Peter an' me, we was in different classes at school, 'cos Oi was just bit younger'n 'im. Each class 'ad its own air-raid shelter, so whenever there was a siren, we went down inter a different one. It were only in the playground that we saw each ovver at school. Any'ow, there was fings wot went on in them shelters wot were kinda secret loike. This is one of 'em wot Peter wrote down:

Hardly had we got into class, than the siren began to wail its mournful warning of danger.

‘All right children,’ said Miss Ufford calmly, ‘You know what to do.’

We reached under our desks for our gasmask boxes.

‘Stand!’ she commanded.

We all stood in file alongside the desks and slung our gas masks over a shoulder.

‘Now children, no running and no pushing. Just go quietly and rapidly to air-raid shelter number two. Are you ready? Go!’

At the word ‘Go’, the child nearest the door opened it, held it open, and the files in the aisles trotted out in order.

Molly's file, being on the other side of the desk to mine, went out first. But Molly and I had a secret unspoken arrangement for air-raids. We would meet in the darkest part of the unlit, tunnel-like air-raid shelter to sit together.

As soon as we had found a place on the rough wooden bench against the shelter wall, and before eyes could become adjusted to the rowdy, echoing obscurity, Molly pulled me to her and kissed me.

She no longer pretended that we were in imminent danger of death, and I no longer pretended to oppose her.

In London, when I had been living in the orphanage, air raids were a terrifying danger. Now, at Widdlington, I looked forward with pleasure to the sound of the siren when it meant going down into the school shelter.

After a long conspiratorial moment, Molly let me go. ‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked, breathing heavily.

I leaned towards her eagerly, but she held me off. ‘No, I'm serious,’ she said.

‘So am I.’

She took hold of my hand. ‘Idiot— I don't mean kissing.’

‘What then? Tell me quick— before Huffy comes down.’

‘Promise you won't tell anyone?’ she whispered urgently.

‘Tell them what? That you kissed me? I'm not that daft.’

‘No, you dope. Just promise you won't tell.’

‘I promise— seeing as how it's you.’

‘I've got an old perambulator.’

‘And that's a secret?’

‘No— you blockhead,’ hissed Molly. ‘I want to race?’

‘In an old perambulator? I'm not surprised you want it kept secret!’

‘No— you aggravating half-wit— in a cart. I want you to make me a cart. Will you?’

‘Uh— make you a cart?’ I stammered. ‘Molly, I— er— ’

‘Oh I just knew you would. I'm so glad you share my desk. You're the nicest boy in the whole wide world.’

She pulled me towards her to kiss me again, but at that moment, Miss Ufford came down the shelter steps and started flashing her torch around.

‘Quiet children,’ she shouted. ‘Quieten down. You know you're supposed to be quiet in the shelter. I'm going to count you now. Everybody put up one hand. You can put it down when I've touched you.’

Huffy advanced slowly towards us, counting. Molly and I put up one hand each. Our other two hands were clasped between us. But I was less conscious of that, than of the fact that Molly had more or less tricked me into promising to make her a cart when I already had more than enough on my hands.

And where had she got the idea from? From Jenno, no doubt.

("Gang Loyalty" Chapter 11)

Selena's Pact

Jennospot 17  Selena’s Pact

Ave yew ever ‘ad a crush on somebody? Yeah, well Oi suppose everybody ‘as, ‘cept Oi don’t in fer that sorta mushy stuff. Any’ow, silly Selina Dedman ‘ad this stupid crush on Peter an’ was always after ‘im, only ‘ee’s a bit loike me, an’ din’t really go fer soppy ol’ Semolina. An’ in any case, Oi certainly ain’t jealous of ‘er, nor not of nobody else neither. Still an’ all, it gave me a funny sort of turn when ‘ee told me as ‘ow ‘ee’d visited The Old Vicarage, where Semolina lived. This is ‘ow it ‘appened to ‘im:

Selena took me round the side of the house to a big garage. The double doors hung from their hinges like a pair of drooping drunks. There was a hearse inside, up on four piles of bricks. The wheels were on the wall to protect the tyres. No petrol for village hearses in wartime. The old hand-drawn bier must do.

We climbed on to the running board. I tried to peer in. The windows were too grimy to see much.

‘It's got a lot dirtier since I was here last,’ I said. ‘A whole flock of birds must roost in the roof.’

‘Open the door, Peter,’ said Selena. ‘It's not so dirty inside.’

I opened the door. There was a leather bench running across the width of the vehicle.

‘Ladies first,’ I said.

Selena stepped inside and slid along the seat to make room for me behind a huge steering wheel. I got in and shut the door. I grasped the wheel with both hands and tried to see out through the windscreen. It was very dirty.

Selena took hold of my arm again. She held it tightly against her. ‘Do you remember the first time you came here? You were scared because it was a hearse, and then I jumped out at you from the bushes? Who was a cowardy-custard then?’

‘I wasn't expecting to be jumped out at.’

‘You said you'd be my friend.’

‘That was before.’

‘Are you my friend now?’

‘We're in the same class, aren't we?’

‘Yes— but are you my friend?’

I didn't know how to reply to this. I didn't really dislike Selena and didn't want to offend her, but on the other hand, I didn't consider her any special kind of friend.

‘No reason why we shouldn't be friends, Selena,’ I said hesitantly.

‘I'm so glad,’ she replied, drawing me towards her. ‘Let's make a friendship pact.’

‘If you like,’ I said, not really understanding what she meant.

‘A secret pact. I'll be your friend, and you'll be mine but nobody else need know.’

‘Okay,’ I said. It sounded pretty harmless and didn't really commit me to anything in particular.

Selena put her head on my shoulder. ‘A pact has to be sealed,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, when it's a written pact, it's signed at the bottom and then stamped with a seal.’

‘You want our pact to be in writing?’ I asked, slightly alarmed.

‘No, silly. Ours is a secret pact so it can't be in writing.’

I felt relieved until Selena said, ‘Our kind of pact is sealed with a kiss.’

She turned her face up to mine. She shut her eyes. I gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

She gave an irritable shake, opened her eyes and glared at me. ‘No, not like that. You must kiss me on the mouth. You know; like at the pictures. Let's try it again.’

Selena shut her eyes once more and turned her face up to me. If I didn't kiss her, I would make an enemy for life. I kissed her on the mouth.

After a long moment she let me go. She dropped her head to my shoulder again and stared unseeing through the grimy windscreen. She sighed deeply.

‘That was more like it,’ she said. ‘Let's pretend we're setting off, you and me alone, on a long journey round the world. We'll stop at Capri, and Cairo, and we'll ride on camels and elephants. We'll see Babylon, and Mount Everest, and Hong Kong, and Hawaii, and drink cocktails with Clark Gable in Hollywood, and then sleep high up in a skyscraper in New York.’

‘I have to go to Lion's Avenue,’ I said.

‘You're not a bit romantic,’ pouted Selena. ‘Don't you want to visit Sydney harbour and see the dolphins around Fiji?’

‘I want my dinner,’ I said. ‘And it's getting late.’ I reached for the door-handle, but Selena grabbed my wrist and held me fast.

‘Stay a bit longer,’ she pleaded. ‘We won't get another chance after I go on Friday to live in The Street. People are always watching what you do there. Let's seal our pact again— please.’ She turned her face up towards me.

We re-sealed our pact. I didn't really understand what our pact meant, but this time I sealed it with somewhat less reluctance. At any rate, Selena seemed content.

‘See— you can be romantic after all,’ she said.

(From “Gang Petition” Chapter 3)

The British Restaurant

Jennospot 16  The British Restaurant

Durin' the war, we 'ad ter put up wiv a lot o' fings wot weren't too good. One of 'em was the British Restaurant. Anovver one o' course were moi friend Peter St John, but Oi couldn't do much about 'im: still Oi did troi. Any'ow we 'ad one of these famous British Restaurants in town near us, an' one day Peter's lodger from the Women's Land Army, took 'im there ‘cos 'is 'oly aunt ‘ad said as ‘ow it were a good place ter eat. This is wot Peter wrote about it in "Gang Spies" wot 'ee's just finished:

‘I've never been to a restaurant,’ I said to Megan. In my imagination, I conjured up the images I'd seen in films where smartly-dressed people sit at elegant tables in a luxurious room. How grand to eat a delicious meal in such refined surroundings. Dinner time couldn't come too soon for me, but it seemed to take ages before we set off for the restaurant.

Megan parked the hearse in a dingy back street.

‘Are we going to walk the rest of the way?’ I asked.

‘I don't think it's far. Your aunt told me it was near here.’

Megan led me through a gateway into a scruffy yard. A row of smelly rubbish bins stood against the wall near a door. Opposite the door was a queue of people. We joined them.

‘What's this?’ I asked, surprised.

‘It's the queue for the restaurant,’ replied Megan. ‘Your aunt warned me we might have to stand in line.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It's early yet, but we shouldn't have to wait long.’

I hadn't expected to have to wait at the entrance. The image in my head included a man dressed in bow tie and tails, who opened the door to us, bowed low, and led us to a table.

‘The British Restaurant must be very popular,’ I said.

‘Not many restaurants are still open, because of the war,’ replied Megan. ‘Food is rationed.’

The door opened. The queue moved slowly forward. We found ourselves in a draughty corridor along which we shuffled until we were standing before a plain wooden table. Megan handed over some money. In exchange, we each received a round coloured token. At an adjacent table we took a brown bakelite tray, a plate, and a knife and fork. The plate was wet.

We moved with the queue into a large echoing space like a gymnasium. Long tables, with benches on either side stretched the length of the hall. They were covered with grimy oilcloths. I wrinkled my nose. The place stank of boiled cabbage.

We arrived at a counter, where steam writhed out of large containers to lose itself among the girders of the ceiling. We handed over our tokens. A piece of greasy meat was plonked on my plate, followed by a dollop of mashed potatoes and a ladle-full of squishy cabbage.

‘Gravy, Ducky?’ asked the woman behind the counter.

I nodded, and my meat received a ladleful of gravy. Gobs of grey stuff floated in it.

‘D'you want water Love?’ asked a large, pink-cheeked lady.

‘Yes please,’ I said.

She placed a smeary glass of water on my tray.

‘Follow me,’ said Megan. ‘We'll find a place. There's plenty of room at the moment.’

We sat side by side at one of the long tables. I stared, head down at the grotty oil-cloth. Several nauseous stains stared sickeningly back. I eyed my repulsive, grey, greasy meat in its nest of meagre, mushy vegetables. I smelled the foetid cabbage. My eyes filled with tears.

‘What the matter, Peter?’ asked Megan. ‘You're not eating.’

I took the fork and prodded the meat. The fork had something disgusting encrusted between the tines. I retched. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

Megan put an arm over my shoulders. I looked up at her.

‘Sorry Megan, I'm not hungry. You eat. I'll wait till you've finished.’

‘I'm not hungry either,’ she said. ‘Let's get out of here.’

She led me to the door. The air outside smelled sweet. I drew in deep breaths of it.

‘Feeling better now?’ asked Megan.

‘Much better,’ I said.

She took out her purse and looked into it.

‘Sufficiently better for a lemonade?’

‘Oh, yes please.’

‘And a bun?’

I gave Megan a hug.

‘Your appetite's coming back, I think.’

My eyes filled with tears again, but this time I felt quite different.

‘You might even be able to find room for a cream cake.’

‘Yes please, Megan.’

‘Let's see if we can find a café.’

("Gang Spies" Chapter 19)

Where do You Think You Are?

Jennospot 15  Where do You Think You Are?

There’s a noice church in Widdlin’ton, made outta flint stones wiv a roof covered in lead. It used ter ‘ave a wevvercock up on the steeple, but that got blown down in a storm jus’ before the war an’ ain’t never been mended since. They put up a cross instead ter keep the rain out. Oi don’t go ter church mesself, but Peter does, or rather, ‘is ‘oly aunt makes ‘im go. Still, ‘ee were used ter that at the convent orphanage. Even so, the first toime ‘ee went ter the church in Widdlin’ton, ‘ee were a bit at sea. This is ‘ow ‘ee described it:

We went into the church through a small porch. A few other churchgoers were beginning to straggle in.

I slowed down, looking for the holy water stoup.

‘Come along now, don't dawdle, I've got things to get ready,’ said my aunt. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Where's the basin for the holy water?’

‘We don't do that here,’ she replied irritably grabbing me by the arm to hurry me along.

At the centre aisle, she paused a moment to face the altar and nodded her head. I bent one knee to genuflect as the nuns had taught me. She pulled me upright roughly, looking around nervously to see if I had been observed. She whispered harshly, as though I was supposed to know: ‘We don't do that here: this is a village church!’

We continued on across the nave to the south aisle at the front end of which was the organ. I looked around in vain for the confessional. ‘Where's the confessional?’ I whispered.

My aunt stopped dead in her tracks and glared down at me. ‘Where do you think you are?’ she hissed, ‘Rome? I told you, this is an Anglican church. We don't have one here! Now be quiet and behave yourself.’

 She led me to a pew at the very front, the end of which was partly blocked by a column. There was just enough room between the column and the front of the pew for a thin person to squeeze through.

 ‘That's my seat there, when I'm not at the organ. You sit here, next to me,’ she commanded, handing me a hymn book and a prayer book. ‘Keep quiet and don't fidget.’ She then went over to the organ on my immediate right and unlocked the doors enclosing the keyboard cover.  She slid them to each side and began to shuffle through some books and sheet music inside.

I looked around with interest, but from my place at the front by the column, I couldn't see much of the main body of the church.  In fact, I couldn't see much of anything. The view ahead was blocked by a massive stone screen pierced only by an archway in the centre and an arched opening on either side. Three stone steps led up to the centre archway. I only hoped that from here I might be able to see Winnie when she came in with the choir.

Behind me, the church was gradually filling with people. They were mostly women: the men were at the war. There was nobody I recognized. This was hardly surprising as this was only my fourth day here. Some of the people were exchanging whispers. One or two were praying. This reminded me that I had promised Mrs Rumble to say a prayer.

I got down on my knees, feeling rather self-conscious. I was glad of the column, which hid me from some of those present. I put my hands together and closed my eyes. What should I say?

It suddenly dawned on me that I didn't really have to say anything. God knows everything and He already knew what I wanted to say.

In a flash of understanding, I suddenly felt myself united with everything that existed. There were no barriers. For the first time, I really understood what people mean when they say that God is loving and good. I got up off my knees and, without opening my eyes, sat back in the pew to savour the moment.

My aunt slid on to the bench beside me. I barely noticed her. I kept my eyes shut. She shook me. ‘Wake up!’ she hissed. ‘And wipe that smug-looking smile off your face. This is God's House, not a dormitory!’

(Gang Territory chapter 8)