War Babies Read Online Free Page A

whole pile over.
    ‘You just stay there,’ Aggie said, with a self-righteous nod.
    Rachel watched her mother’s face, but it was a blank. As the Toby Man moved away, he patted Rachel’s head. ‘That’s it, wench – you ’elp yer mother get
settled.’
    ‘Get the rest of the clothes out, Rachel,’ Peggy said, calmly ignoring Aggie.
    ‘’Er’s a proper snooty bit, that one,’ Rachel heard Aggie mutter behind her.
    Together they lifted the bundle of clothes out of the wicker carriage and laid those out as well. There were some very large bloomers and camisoles, a pair of gent’s trousers which were on
the small size and which no one had wanted last time, and a misshapen man’s jacket with a paint stain on one sleeve. It smelt smoky and musty. Peggy folded it to make it look as good as she
could. There were several hats that they had bought at a church jumble sale and Rachel enjoyed arranging those. Peggy had also acquired a set of embroidered table mats.
    The queue of shoppers was building up outside. Excitement mounted before the gates opened. At last as they swung back, a tight crowd in hats and coats poured in, the ones at the front jostling
good-naturedly, laughing and moving out all around the market. Some already had bags of meat from Jamaica Row or other goods they had bought; some were in deadly earnest looking for bargains, and
others were there just for a mooch around. Soon the place was buzzing with crowds and activity.
    It was a cold, overcast day. Rachel looked around her, watching one lady haggling for a nesting trio of pudding basins, another comparing the feel of skirt lengths. Customers approached her
mother’s pitch and immediately took interest in the new things she had on display.
    ‘Ooh – look at that! How much is that?’ a woman asked, pointing at the peach creation with its silken ruffles along the neckline. Rachel thought that such an enormous lady
would never fit into the dress. Surely she didn’t want it for herself?
    ‘Three pounds,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s brand new – never been worn. Very good quality. Made in Paris.’
    ‘Three pound?’ The lady chortled incredulously. ‘I’ll give yer ten bob and that’s robbing myself.’ Peggy shook her head with disdain.
    ‘Huh!’ Rachel heard the woman say as she turned away. ‘She’ll be lucky – three quid! This ain’t Lewis’s, you know.’
    As the market got into full swing Rachel wandered back and forth among the crowds, taking it all in. A man stood in a gap to one side of a crock stall juggling plates, letting out banter at the
same time. Rachel watched, smiling. Would he drop one? But he never did. One lady was selling cheap bottles of perfume and the sweet, heady smell filled the air. There were mouth-watering aromas
from all around of roasting chestnuts and potatoes and meat and frying onions from the cafe by the gates. From the edges of the market came a cacophony of shouting. Only those who were lucky enough
to have places along the walls were allowed to pitch their wares and they were almost always the regulars who had worked their way into the best pitches.
    Gradually, as Rachel wandered back towards her mother, she became aware of a voice sailing upwards over the cries of other traders. It was high and strong and thrumming with energy.
    ‘Come and get yer comics ’ere – get yer
Champion,
the Tip-Top Story Weekly! Get yer
Triumph
, yer Buck Rogers . . . ! A farthing each – three for a
halfpenny! Never say I don’t give yer a bargain!’
    Rachel realized that the voice was coming from somewhere across from them where a woman called Gladys Poulter regularly had a pitch against the back wall. Gladys was a handsome woman with
strong, high cheekbones, a sharp blade of a nose and piercing blue eyes. Rachel thought Gladys looked rather forbidding, with an air of strength and dignity which defied anyone to give her trouble.
She wore her dark brown hair plaited and coiled up into a bun and dressed her