Polly by Jeff Smith Read Free Book Online

my drawer. Dad would always finish by saying that ‘Yes, that sounded alright,’ but perhaps I should not tell my mother how much I had or where it had come from. I never needed to be told twice.

7
The Holy Cups
(about 1920)

    L ike all families in those days we more or less lived in the kitchen. Along one wall of the kitchen was a large dresser which was where all the kitchen hardware and that sort of stuff was stored. Up the back of the dresser were three shelves and these were used to store and display the china. On the bottom two shelves were the everyday bits and pieces, but the top shelf was Mum’s pride and joy. There, carefully displayed, was the best china. I don’t know where it had come from, maybe Grandma had bought it as a wedding present because she was quite well off by then, but it was clearly a class better than the rest. Of course, we never used it. In fact we never touched it, or even dared to touch it. It stood untouched and unmoved on the top shelf, just like a museum display.
    Our house was the last but one in Carpenters Road. Beyond the next house, which was the last, there were factories all the way through to Hackney. One summer’s day, and it must have been just after the war [Editor’s note: First World War], Mum was standing on the doorstep watching the world go by. That was quite the usual thing to do then. Everybody used to leave their doors open and when you had time to spare you would stand in the doorway and chat to your neighbours up and down or across the street, and with anybody passing by. If you were particularly relaxed, or in the evening, you might even get a chair out and sit there.
    Well, Mum was standing there when two nuns appeared coming down the road from the factory end. I suppose they had been round the factories on the scrounge for donations. Now Mum enjoyed a bit of religion – although Dad didn’t. In fact he could be pretty brutal about it when he wanted to upset Mum. At Christmas, sometimes, he would express his views on the true nature of Jesus’ parentage and ‘virgin birth’ in no uncertain, or delicate, terms. It used to send Mum off in a spin and I think she was genuinely worried that a thunderbolt would strike us all. I got the impression that Dad had seen too much suffering and death in the war to have time for any platitudes about peace and love. Anyway, Mum was always on for a spot of religion so when these nuns got nearer she greeted them with a most respectful ‘Good afternoon, sisters.’ They returned the greeting, and went on to ask if they might possibly have a drink of water. Mum got ever so excited and promptly invited them in for a cup of tea, which they graciously accepted.
    When we got home from school we were immediately suspicious, because there on the table were two of the best cups and saucers from the top shelf. We couldn’t believe it; we had thought that they would never, ever, come off the dresser. So Mum put on her most dignified voice and told us how the nuns had visited and sat at our table to drink a cup of tea. To be honest, we felt sorry for the nuns! Mum was a wonderful cook, she could cook anything even if she had never done it before, but there were three things she could not do: make jelly, make custard and make tea. You wouldn’t have thought any of them were difficult, but they were beyond Mum. Her tea was undrinkable. It must have been a tribute to the nuns’ Christian humility and charity, as well as desperation for a drink, that they sat at our table and drank her brew.
    Now, of course, it was time to wash up. Normally we kids did all the washing up, but not the best china: that was far too precious. Mind you, even then she did the least she could without us kids actually touching the china. She sat at the table and called for a bowl of water – you always washed up in a bowl on the table, nobody ever used the sink. She called for an ordinary cup to collect the dregs in so that we could then pour them down the