Derek pulled out of Edgware General Hospital
onto the Edgware Road and headed north. The biscuit coloured
Austin A40 Somerset was soon trapped in heavy traffic. 'I' m
gasping for a fag.' Eileen gasped, but not for long as she
already had the Player's Weight between her lips and was
searching for a fresh match in the box of Swan Vestas. It
infuriated everyone who ever asked her for a light that she put
her spent matches back in the box but she liked to be neat,
though she showed little concern as to the eventual resting place
of the ash or the stub. It certainly never occurred to her to
link the ignition of her cigarette to the cries coming from the
carry cot on the back seat.
'Little sod, wont even let me have a fag in peace, and coz of him
I'll never wear a bikini again.' The little sod had been born by
Caesarean Section. Time would prove this to be indicative of a
tendency to take the easy way out.
It would have been unlikely that she would have envisioned any
future for their son that was outside the full range of her own
experience, that being Stanmore and Harrow. She would have
expected him to attend the same school she had, and when it
became time to look for work he could always find a job at Kodak
alongside her father, uncles and cousins.
The Austin crawled through the grey February midmorning traffic.
It followed a line of cars overtaking a stationary trolley bus.
'They ought to do something about these bloody trolley buses.'
Eileen complained, 'Always coming off their overhead cables and
causing these bloody hold ups.'
Derek no doubt had more elaborate plans for his heir possibly
involving brass or woodwind instruments. The only involvement he
would have wished his son to have with Kodak was with the
military band in which he played. It was this tenuous link with
the
giant film manufacturer that represented the only common ground
he shared with his in-laws: whom he referred to as the out-laws.
The family name was North and to be a North was an honour he had
never truly appreciated. His own extended family extended over
most of East Anglia so it would not have been impolite to visit
an aunt in Ipswich or Cromer only once every "Blue
Moon", or even, if push came to shove, "Once in a month
of Sundays".
Her family however all lived within walking distance of Stanmore,
several even lived in the same street. Parties were frequent and
credible excuses for avoiding them often seemed beyond their
limited imaginations. An antisocial whirl of weddings,
Christenings and funerals. At each he would be introduced as the
latest addition to the North family and the father of a fresh
North baby. They had already visited in the hospital, the elders
of the tribe: Uncle Don and Auntie Nell, she with her bright
floral outfits and accompanying aroma of hair lacquer and he with
his blue blazer with the non-specific pocket badge and his cheap
cigar. They had declared that the baby had the look of a true
North.
'What are you calling him?' They asked, angling for a good North
name like Donald or Douglas or William, but Eileen had specified
she wanted a name that could not be shortened. Derek though knew
his son would one day be called Henry.
Kodak dominated the area, not just their family but the whole
community. Everyone in the district would be woken by the factory
horn signalling the start of shift. The factory had its own
theatre where it put on shows and pantomimes. In the summer it
had a fete with sideshows and rides and Derek would play in the
band though he called it a fete worse then death.
Eileen had first met him playing in the RAF dance band that she
and her sister followed to all their local engagements. The boys
in the band called him Henry because his name was Ford.
The Austin puttered through Stanmore Village past the chip shop
next to the bank on the corner, past the greengrocer and Mr
Thomson's toy shop. It pulled up outside Eileen's mother's sweet
shop recently converted from a cafe. They carried the carry cot
straight through to the flat at the back.
'I must tell Elsie you're home.' Mrs North announced picking up
the black Bakelite telephone and winding the handle on the black
box that stood beside it.
'Grimsdyke four oh five two please.' she instructed the operator
and then she spoke briefly to her niece.
'You'll be able to buy that nice Marmot pram now,' she told her
daughter, aware that the superstition of not having anything with
wheels in the house before the birth had been observed.
'Have you decided on the Navy Blue or the Nigger Brown?' They
covered the issue of prams thoroughly before mention was made of
the shop.
'That Mrs Atlee came in yesterday.' Mrs North remarked as she put
the kettle on.
'She's such a nice lady.....considering.'
'Poor woman, married to that little sod.' Eileen observed.
'As if nationalising road transport was ever going to work.'
Derek sneered referring to the one obvious failure in the
programme of Clement Atlee's last Labour Government.
'It's no wonder rationing lasted so long. They couldn't organise
a raffle.'
It did not occur to anyone that the little sod in the carry cot
might be a socialist.