Polly by Jeff Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

outside drain. She carefully emptied the first of her best cups into the dregs-cup, went white as a sheet, and exclaimed ‘Oh my God!’ She reached for the second cup, drained it just as carefully, looked into it and with a voice wobbling in emotion said again, ‘Oh my God.’ Then she sat back in the chair, and looked far away into the distance beyond the wall. We kids were stunned, then gathered the courage to look into the emptied cups. In the bottom of each was a collection of pins, needles, a razor blade, a thimble, buttons – all the things that you found layingaround when you tidied up. Because the best china was never used Mum had got into the habit of dropping these odd bits and pieces into one of the cups whenever she came across them. She had been so excited about entertaining these nuns she hadn’t thought to look into the cups as she poured the tea! Those poor nuns, to have to drink Mum’s tea and then find the cups full of odds and sods – mostly sharp and dangerous ones. They must have wondered what sort of test was being given to their faith!
    Of course, we kids thought it was hilarious. Nothing was ever said to Dad, but after that we always called the china on the top shelf ‘The Holy Cups’.

8
The Prize
(about 1920)

    W e never had much money, especially when I was a little girl just after the First World War. I suppose we were lucky to have any money because there were plenty of people around us who had nothing at all, and I mean literally nothing at all. Anyway, one year I qualified to go away with the Ragged School Union Country Holiday Fund. This offered a week away in the country for just 10 s . To be honest, I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t a very adventurous little girl and, I suppose, I was pretty insecure. I didn’t want to leave Mum. But she said I would have to go, and how lucky I was to qualify, and how exciting it must be for me, until I thought I would have to go or there would be trouble. So I kept my mouth shut and just went.
    The holiday was in a big house in Letchworth. I had no idea where Letchworth was; in fact I never came across it again until well after the Second World War. As far as a little girl from the East End of London was concerned it could have been anywhere – we were taken there in the back of a lorry, and by the time we arrived I could well believe it was on the other side of the world. I had never travelled so far in my life, I wasn’t even sure you could travel ‘so far’ and still be in England.
    We arrived in the late afternoon at this great big house just outside the town. As soon as we arrived we had to take a bath and a dose of Liquorice Powder to open the bowels. Maybe it was the excitement of the journey, maybe anattack of nerves, but my bowels remained firmly closed. The next morning, though, when I woke up I was absolutely bursting to go to the loo but that didn’t matter to the ‘powers’ that were in charge. As soon as we got up the first task was to wash our hair and all my requests to go to the loo were ignored. According to their rules I couldn’t possibly want the toilet at that time and that was the end of it. As they worked their way through us all doing our hair I got to feel worse and worse until I finally shouted out that I ‘had to go!’ The matron looked down at me for a couple of seconds, probably trying to make up her mind whether I was just trying to destroy their routine or whether I was afraid of having clean hair. Meanwhile, I could feel that my belly was on the verge of exploding. I had my legs wound tight together to try and contain the explosion until the last possible moment and was rocking my whole lower body backwards and forwards in a sort of desperate effort to encourage the muscles to hold together for a little bit longer. After looking at me for some time I think she had decided that I was being awkward and just wanted to get out of being clean, while getting a bit of attention at the same time. Her strategy must