it grew too dark to see properly. Then they would sit around yarning and generally mucking about until just before the pubs closed, when they would rush home, anxious to get into bed before their fathers returned. Dot knew that Uncle Rupert wouldn’t even notice whether his sons were home or not, but she supposed other parents might show more interest in their offspring.
Dick seemed to have finished the boots, to his own satisfaction at least, for he got up, placed them side by side with the other footwear and was about to scrumple up the paper when his mother addressed him sharply. ‘Don’t you go fillin’ my rubbish pail up with all that dried mud. Toss it into the court, then fold the newspaper neatly and put it with the others. Then you’d best gerroff to bed, afore your dad comes in. Likely, he’ll be in a good enough mood, but just in case . . .’
Even the thought of Uncle Rupert in a temper was enough to shift his sons. Alan, who had been scribbling on a scrap of paper with a stub of pencil and muttering to himself as he did so, got to his feet with alacrity and headed for the door, whilst Dick shot past him with the newspaper held out before him and was back in a trice, folding the sheet as he came and shoving it amongst the other papers, which his mother kept in a pile beside the water buckets. Dot thought that he had probably shed a good deal of the dried mud as he ran to the door, but she said nothing. After all, when Uncle Rupert came back from the pub, he was unlikely to be in any state to wipe his shoes on the mat, and next morning he and his two eldest sons would doubtless be blamed for the state of the hall floor.
‘Get into bed, chuck,’ her aunt said, as soon as the boys had disappeared. She did not speak unkindly, but there was enough urgency in the remark to make Dot glance up at the clock again. Goodness, it was almost closing time; she and her aunt had best get a move on.
Aunt Myrtle bustled around, clearing the kitchen, putting away anything which her husband might choose to hurl at the wall in a temper, or simply trip over. Then she dipped a large tin mug into one of the buckets of water and set it down in the middle of the kitchen table. Dot was aware that men who have drunk a great deal are astonishingly thirsty after such bouts, and knew that her aunt would fill the enamel jug with water and carry it up to bed with her, just in case her husband made straight for the stairs. Usually, however, he would come into the kitchen first and help himself to a mouthful of cheese, or perhaps an apple, if one of the boys had acquired some fades from the market stalls. He might make a great deal of racket, shout for his wife, and swear at life in general, but, to do him justice, he never deliberately disturbed Dot, and provided she feigned sleep convincingly enough would soon grow tired of the kitchen and lurch out either to sleep on the sofa in the parlour, or to make his stumbling way up the stairs to bed.
It was then, when there had been quiet for ten or fifteen minutes, that Dot would get down from the sofa and extinguish the lamp. With the room in darkness, she would speedily fall asleep, probably not waking until Aunt Myrtle roused her next morning to help get the breakfast. Aunt Myrtle always left the lamp lit in the kitchen because, on the only occasion when she had not done so, Uncle Rupert had lit a newspaper at the fire, meaning to kindle the lamp, and had dropped the paper on the hearthrug, starting a conflagration which had done a good deal of damage to the family’s few possessions. That had been when Dot was only seven, however, still sleeping upstairs in the boys’ room and learning what had happened only when she came down for breakfast next morning. So naturally she was happy for her aunt to leave the lamp lit, preferring it to finding herself in the middle of a raging fire whilst her uncle tried to douse it with buckets of water, and blamed everyone but himself for what might
Dick seemed to have finished the boots, to his own satisfaction at least, for he got up, placed them side by side with the other footwear and was about to scrumple up the paper when his mother addressed him sharply. ‘Don’t you go fillin’ my rubbish pail up with all that dried mud. Toss it into the court, then fold the newspaper neatly and put it with the others. Then you’d best gerroff to bed, afore your dad comes in. Likely, he’ll be in a good enough mood, but just in case . . .’
Even the thought of Uncle Rupert in a temper was enough to shift his sons. Alan, who had been scribbling on a scrap of paper with a stub of pencil and muttering to himself as he did so, got to his feet with alacrity and headed for the door, whilst Dick shot past him with the newspaper held out before him and was back in a trice, folding the sheet as he came and shoving it amongst the other papers, which his mother kept in a pile beside the water buckets. Dot thought that he had probably shed a good deal of the dried mud as he ran to the door, but she said nothing. After all, when Uncle Rupert came back from the pub, he was unlikely to be in any state to wipe his shoes on the mat, and next morning he and his two eldest sons would doubtless be blamed for the state of the hall floor.
‘Get into bed, chuck,’ her aunt said, as soon as the boys had disappeared. She did not speak unkindly, but there was enough urgency in the remark to make Dot glance up at the clock again. Goodness, it was almost closing time; she and her aunt had best get a move on.
Aunt Myrtle bustled around, clearing the kitchen, putting away anything which her husband might choose to hurl at the wall in a temper, or simply trip over. Then she dipped a large tin mug into one of the buckets of water and set it down in the middle of the kitchen table. Dot was aware that men who have drunk a great deal are astonishingly thirsty after such bouts, and knew that her aunt would fill the enamel jug with water and carry it up to bed with her, just in case her husband made straight for the stairs. Usually, however, he would come into the kitchen first and help himself to a mouthful of cheese, or perhaps an apple, if one of the boys had acquired some fades from the market stalls. He might make a great deal of racket, shout for his wife, and swear at life in general, but, to do him justice, he never deliberately disturbed Dot, and provided she feigned sleep convincingly enough would soon grow tired of the kitchen and lurch out either to sleep on the sofa in the parlour, or to make his stumbling way up the stairs to bed.
It was then, when there had been quiet for ten or fifteen minutes, that Dot would get down from the sofa and extinguish the lamp. With the room in darkness, she would speedily fall asleep, probably not waking until Aunt Myrtle roused her next morning to help get the breakfast. Aunt Myrtle always left the lamp lit in the kitchen because, on the only occasion when she had not done so, Uncle Rupert had lit a newspaper at the fire, meaning to kindle the lamp, and had dropped the paper on the hearthrug, starting a conflagration which had done a good deal of damage to the family’s few possessions. That had been when Dot was only seven, however, still sleeping upstairs in the boys’ room and learning what had happened only when she came down for breakfast next morning. So naturally she was happy for her aunt to leave the lamp lit, preferring it to finding herself in the middle of a raging fire whilst her uncle tried to douse it with buckets of water, and blamed everyone but himself for what might
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