Tales of Pyrmont Road & Other Stories

The new Clock
By MaryAnn Brooks

London 1935

“Good morning Mr Barwick.”

“Mornin Marm.”

Vi, short for Violet except no one called her that, not even her mum, turned from closing her front gate to greet her neighbor as he rode by on his bicycle.

On Pyrmont road it was not a case of if you want to know the time ask a policeman, rather when you saw this particular policeman, you knew the time; ten o clock in the morning, give or take a minute.

Sergeant Barwick wheeled his bicycle out through the front door of number twenty five at precisely five minutes to ten; seven minutes to ten if it was raining.

After carefully closing his front gate he guided the machine across the path and set it firmly into place at the curb.

Up – Over – Down. One might imagine an inner timer pinging away in the sergeant s head as he swung his leg up over the saddle and set his booted foot firmly on the pedal.

After allowing a brief pause to rearrange his person he then took a firm grip on the handlebars, pushed away from the curb and pedaled sedately along the street.

Pyrmont road saw very little vehicular traffic but being the well trained policeman he was, Sergeant Barwick never failed to look over his shoulder then put his arm out before taking off.

So! When Sergeant Barwick pedaled along Pyrmont road, it was one minute to ten o clock. Give or take a few seconds. When it wasn’t raining.
Rat a tat – tat, tat, Vi beat her signature on the brass knocker of number seventeen then poked her head around the door.

She knew where Doris was from the distant thump and rattle of a treadle sewing machine but politeness decreed she call out “anybody home?” Which she did though a bit louder than usual. She was answered by a louder than usual “I m upstairs. Come on up”.

The protocol of greeting completed, Vi closed the door behind her and walked determinedly towards the stairs without once looking down at the new linoleum. Beige and cream with a floral border! She’d never say so to Doris s face but she reckoned it a shocking lack of taste. Brown with a bit of black in the pattern would have been far more practical and would take a lot of abuse before it showed.

If she hadn’t been so busy not looking at the linoleum she might have noticed the new clock as the front room door was open to let some light into the hall..

She was half way along the top landing when she heard the sound of a clock preparing to strike. Ting ting, ting ting, ting ting, ting ting; she backed up a few steps and leaned over the banister as it delicately sounded the hour.

Hm! she thought, when did they get that? But she made no comment as she entered Doris s bedroom; she d find out soon enough.

The Bedroom, according to Vi who had very proper ideas about beds and who slept in them, was a private place, not to be entered by anyone other than the man and wife of the house. She d trained her children at an early age to knock first then wait for permission to come in.

But Doris had her sewing machine up there because it wouldn’t fit in the kitchen or the front room and if Doris didn’t mind, then why should she? She recognized the privilege and behaved accordingly. Which to her mind meant not looking at the bed more than once – or twice. Or staring too long at that old piece of yellow ribbon tied to the bed rail; recently washed and ironed, she noticed.

She walked across to where Doris was pounding away on the treadle.
“Got a good start this morning,” Doris stopped pedaling and stretched her back. “Take the weight off your feet while I do these last few pieces then we ll go down and have a cuppa.”

“How many strings have you promised?” Vi eyed the veritable mountain of red white and blue piled about Doris’s feet.

“Ten.” Doris checked the color sequence then picked up a pennant shaped piece of blue cloth and set it in place on the inch wide tape. Beside her lay one of red and one of white, all that would be needed to finish a length gauged to span the street from bedroom window to bedroom window.

“Mrs Harvey up at the church hall is doing ten,” Doris dropped the sewing foot into place, set the wheel turning with her hand then pushed first with one foot then the other to bring the treadle up to speed, “and Gladys and Ethel across the street are sharing the last six. Hard to tell who’ll be working most, Gladys doing the sewing or Ethel working the handle. But it’s good of them to help.”

“I didn’t realize we needed that many,” Vi looked out of the window and tried to imagine the street with a veritable ceiling of red, white and blue bunting.

“Twenty four houses on the other side,” Doris talked as she worked, “and twenty houses plus the church hall on this side. An extra one each end for luck makes twenty six. Which reminds me, what have you put yourself down for?”

“Sandwiches. Boring but easy.”

“You won t think that after hours of spreading and filling. Have you any idea how many we’re going to need?”

“Not the slightest. Mrs James is doing all that. She’s also doing the lemonade, and the tea, and all the other stuff. She’s even sending her girl guides to help.”

“Good thing it isn’t the boy scouts,” Doris stopped pedaling, raised the sewing foot and cut one thread, “they’d eat everything in sight. There” she cut the second thread and another length of bunting slid to the floor, “five down and five to go. Time for tea.”

“Still got your piece of ribbon I see,” Vi pointed to the brass rail at the top of the bed.

“Old memories,” Doris smiled and said no more and Vi was obliged to leave the bedroom, her curiosity unsatisfied. Again.

The kitchen was a haven of warmth on this cool day. Doris, as the hostess, warmed the pot for tea while Vi assembled the tea things and within minutes they were enjoying the ever welcome cuppa.

As they sat, they discussed the reason for all the bunting, the upcoming Silver Jubilee, celebrating twenty five years on the English throne of King George V and Queen Mary.

“You never take two sugars,” Doris stopped talking to watch Vi carefully pick up one sugar cube then another.

“I know,” Vi replaced the tongs, “but I like to play with your tongs and don t tell me to buy my own because then I d have to buy cubes and it s hard enough to keep my Annie out of the sugar as it is.”

“We ll have to have a Jubilee mug,” Doris returned to the subject of the silver Jubilee. “Think I’ll buy two and put them on the front room mantle piece.”

“One each side of that new clock of yours?” Vi finally got the opening she’d been waiting for.

Now, hopefully, she would find out how they come to have a new clock.

“You heard it then?” Doris smiled over her tea cup.

“It’s a bit quiet, isn’t it?” Vi stirred her tea to dissolve the sugar cubes..

“Gran said the same,” Doris answered, “then changed her mind when she found it didn’t interfere with her afternoon sleep.”

“How is she by the way?” Vi set her spoon in her saucer, “a week at Worthing isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Doris nodded. “and we had a terrible job to get her to go. You know how she hates these organized seaside holidays.”

Vi stopped drinking to nod..

“But when I said I had the chimney sweep coming, Doris continued, and there s not much she hates more than being around when he’s here, she suddenly discovered that old granny Bates from the sweet shop was going, so off she went as well. More tea? she proffered the pot.

Thanks, Vi accepted the offer and helped herself to another biscuit, now tell me more about the clock.

Fred got it when we went to stay with Marie and Sid for the weekend.”

“But that was two weeks ago.”

“Fred said not to say anything until he knew if the clock was fixable.”

“Well it chimed ten as I came in so it must be fixed, and it s keeping good time, because Mr Barwick went sailing by as I came along the street. And you know he’s about as good as Big Ben.”

“Since when have you ever heard Big Ben strike ten? and Mr Barwick doesn’t sail.”

“Doris Blackford, you re sounding more and more like your Fred the way you say things. And you know very well what I mean about Mr Barwick. Last time our Kenneth was home on shore leave he said Mr B reminded him of a ship plowing the waves. He said a few other things I really shouldn’t repeat.”

“Oh come on Vi,” Doris put her cup down, “you might as well tell me now. You know you will eventually.”

“Well,” Vi leaned forward, “he reckoned Mr B was carrying rather a lot of canvas.”
“That s not a very nice thing to say,” said Doris. “But,” she paused and the two women looked at each other for a long moment. Doris put her hand over her mouth in an effort to keep in the laugh but it still managed to escape. Even prim Vi managed a grin.

“Wonder why he calls us Marm?” Vi remembered the morning greeting.

“Just his way of being polite, I expect. He s a Devonshire man you know, and they re always nice spoken.”

Vi returned to the subject in hand. “Mind telling me what Fred paid for it?” It being the clock.

“Five bob.”

“Five shillings!!”

“The man at the stall wanted ten. But Fred had a feel about it and I could see he fancied it so we went into our routine.”

“You didn’t?”

“Yes we did.”

He picked it up all casual like and said how much. The man said ten bob and it was a gift as it was genuine. He didn t say genuine what and Fred didn’t ask.

Fred said it was a lot of money for a broken clock. He told me later it sounded like it was just a spring come off but he didn’t tell the man that.

Of course the man took it and shook it. I could almost see Fred wince, you never shake a clock like that. Anyway Fred turned to me and asked me what I thought.

I went all thoughtful like,” Doris pursed her lips and pressed a finger to her chin in explanation and Vi nodded agreement with the expression. “I nodded once then changed my mind and shook my head. Then nodded again and finally said if Fred thought I was going to let him pay that for a broken clock he was very much mistaken. But, and I made it a long but, it was rather pretty and if the price was right it might do for the back bedroom mantle piece. Add a bit of class, I said and the man nodded his head so hard you d think it was going to fall off; he d agree to anything for a sale.

So I went and looked at another stall while he and Fred haggled the price and Fred got it for five bob which he said was a real bargain as he’s sure its a genuine.”

“Genuine what?” said Vi.

“I m not quite sure but I think it means it has the name of the maker inside. Fred says the name looks genuine.”

“A lot of ifs about something that might not be genuine.”

“Well it doesn’t matter really as it looks rather nice in the front room, quite posh really, and when you think about it, you can t buy a decent clock nowadays under seven and six. So we did alright.”

“I d better be going,” Vi put her cup down, “I only came to see how you were doing with the bunting.”

Doris saw Vi to the door and they stopped long enough to admire the new clock.

“Wouldn’t mind one of those in my front room,” Vi hinted.

“Might be years before something like that comes along again,” Doris s tone dispelled any idea Vi might have of getting Fred to hunt for one like that for her front room.

“When’re you going to see them again?” Hope springs eternal and Vi still harbored the idea of owning a genuine whatever it was clock like that.

“They’re coming here. Next weekend actually. You see, this, well it was too big to bring home on the bus so Sid said he d bring it over on his motor bike. Be a bit crowded with him and Marie and the kids but he s got a new sidecar he wants to show off and anyway, you know Sid? Do anything for anybody.”
“Bring what?” Vi wasn’t going to put a foot over the threshold without an answer.

“Didn’t I say,” Doris played her trump card, “while Fred was haggling over the clock, I went rummaging about the stalls and found this lovely brass fender. It s deep and it’s got a little ledge round the top to put your feet on. Just right for down in front of the kitchen range.”