‘If Miss Ayling had lived in Wattcombe,’ Mother declared, ‘no doubt she would have used the same serviceable bowls as we did. But Miss Ayling lived in the city and led a very different life to us.’
Daisy tossed her flaxen plaits over her shoulders. ‘Miss Ayling’s china plates with the blue pattern make roasted potatoes even more crunchy.’
‘Then Miss Ayling was a magician,’ chuckled Matt. ‘Borrowed a few of Houdini’s tricks, no doubt.’
‘That’s silly!’ Daisy exclaimed. ‘As silly as you look when you try to kiss Amelia.’
‘Daisy!’ Mother gasped. ‘That’s enough now!’
Annoyingly unseen, Matt poked out his tongue.
’When you’ve finished your breakfast,’ Mother continued, ‘you can help me in the kitchen. Your father and Matt must go to the factory. Bobby’s at football. So you and I have all morning to bake.’
Daisy’s heart plummeted. The very thought of being cooped up in a hot and stuffy kitchen gave her an instant headache. ‘Its been ages since we’ve visited Aunt Minnie,’ she suggested inventively, recalling the glamorous event at her aunt and uncle’s Soho apartment celebrating Aunt Minnie’s thirtieth birthday. ’And that must be months ago.’
’Two weeks in fact,’ mocked Matt.
‘Fourteen days, five hours and seventeen minutes,’ Bobby exaggerated.
‘Whether it was two weeks or two months is neither here nor there,’ Mother decided, ‘since Aunt Minnie is taking Will to the cinema today.’
‘What’s on?’ Matt enquired disinterestedly.
‘ “Discovering England,” ’ enlightened Mother. ‘A very interesting educational documentary.’
‘Does it have dancing or singing?’ Daisy enquired.
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘Or Charlie Chaplin?’
’Definitely not.’
Aunt Minnie was her mother’s younger sister and married to Uncle Leo Drake, a photographer. He took pictures of very special people, like the Prime Minister Mr Chamberlain and Amy Johnson, the brave lady pilot who had flown all the way from England to Australia. William their son, was seven and had more freckles on his nose than even she did. Will told the most awful fibs and frightening stories. Daisy thought Aunt Minnie very pretty. She had enormous deep grey eyes and blonde wavy hair that originated, so Mother inferred, from a bottle in Boots. She wore unusual flowing dresses which Mother called “arty”. As for Uncle Leo, he had long, untidy, but rather nice, dark hair. He smoked French cigarettes and kissed Aunt Minnie in public. Daisy loved visiting the Drakes. There were always celebrations going on like the wonderful birthday party Uncle Leo had thrown for Aunt Minnie, overflowing with delicious food and music and people who dressed “arty” too.
‘And before you suggest a visit to Aunt Pat and Grandma,’ continued Mother, raising her eyebrows, ’you know Aunt Pat suffers from her nerves and likes time to prepare for a us. Besides which, Wattcombe is in the country and the best part of an afternoon’s journey. As Pops will tell you, petrol is not easy to come by.’
Daisy had no idea of what bad nerves meant, nor had an explanation ever been offered. When being crushed by Aunt Pat’s merciless skills in Mahjong, Daisy had seen no evidence of this mysterious affliction.
‘There is Aunt Betty,‘ Daisy blustered. ‘She might need letters delivering. Or a message delivered.’ Aunt Betty lived with Uncle Ed in Poplar just a bicycle ride away but on Saturday she was sure to be working at the factory.
‘Since you are in such a helpful mood, Daisy,’ answered Mother, ‘I shall enlist your services. There are floors to be swept. Surfaces to dust. Bed linen changed. Houses don’t clean themselves. ’
Daisy groaned inwardly. All hope of escaping was gone. How dreary it was to be a girl! She thought longingly of the outside world where Bobby would go to football and Matt and Pops to the factory while she must stay at home.
‘Perhaps you could visit the hairdresser, Mother?’ Daisy suggested sweetly. ‘I could go with Pops to help Mrs Hayes with the tea trolley. She said I did very well last time. Pouring and all that.’
A burst of laughter erupted from her brothers.
Daisy blushed angrily. ’Shut up, you two! I’m very good at tea-making.’
‘Daisy the tea-maker,’ Matt teased. ‘Whatever next? You’ll be Prime Minister soon!’
Nicholas Purbright held up his hands for silence. ‘Now, now, boys and girls. Let’s not argue.’ After a short but meaningful pause he addressed his wife. ‘Might not be such a bad idea, Flo. Take the Austin today. I won’t need it. Daisy’s right, you deserve a treat. And she can come to the factory with us. She’ll make herself useful, I’m sure.’
Was she to be rescued from the brink, Daisy wondered joyfully? So she composed her features in such a way that she knew if she gazed at her father for long enough and her mother for not too long, and shut out the sight of her brothers’ beastly smirking faces, she might - just might - be granted a reprieve.
CHAPTER 4
‘DOES SHE LOVE HIM, do you think Mrs Hayes? I mean she should, shouldn’t she, if they’re going to be married?’ Following Mrs Hayes’s instructions, Daisy idly spooned sugar into the white china bowl. Having escaped to the factory with Pops and Matt, Daisy was now in her element, discussing factory politics. In this instance, Daisy’s attention had been riveted on a young woman operating a small lathe and the much older man who hovered over her.
‘Who’s to tell, ducks?’ Mrs Hayes raised her voice above the thunder of every cog, wheel and oiled machine racing towards the tea break in fifteen minutes time. As round as a barrel and only a few inches above Daisy’s own height, the tea-lady’s well-worked fingers adjusted the flowered turban squashed over her frizzy grey hair.
Above them, the cavernous factory roof rebounded the roars, grunts and groans of the great mechanical arms and legs - as Daisy often thought of them - that built electrical apparatus. Fifty men and thirty-seven women worked in this storm of dust, perpetual noise and invisible energy. But it was Mrs Hayes’s commentary
