大象传媒

MR COOPER

My mother recently died at the age of 94. Among her papers I came across this story. I recall the house, the cat, the allotments, and the neighbours whose names she has changed. I cannot swear to the accuracy of all other details, but I know that in general terms it does reflect her experiences in the war.

When Hitler marched into Belgium, my husband and his school were evacuated to a small town in Northamptonshire, where he searched everywhere for a place to rent. At last he found an affordable three-bedroomed house with sitting room and very small living room and a good kitchen, and there we moved everything we had, just before the first London bombing. Now we had a safe haven for my husband鈥檚 family and mine, and our own - or so we thought.

By the time of Dunkirk, every man in our family had been called up. With all the worry and heartbreak around us, my own problems seemed small and absurd.

Then came my first Northamptonshire winter. I was quite unprepared for its severity. When I woke on the first morning, the pall of snow showed a spotless, beautiful world, still as a painting, and along the empty street the smooth level of white had risen to the letter boxes on the closed doors.

If I had known how much discomfort that snow would add to our already disrupted lives, it would have had no admiration from me. As it was, my next and more heartfelt cry of delight came four weeks later, when the melting snow at last revealed my buried dustbin!

Meanwhile, for the first time I had to cope alone with a fretful cooped-up baby, blocked pipes, a frozen tank, an ice-packed path to the snow-bound coal shed, a kitchen permanently festooned with wet nappies, shortage of fuel, cut-off power and the general war misery in a world of strangers, hidden behind their closed doors.

Except for one stranger. Our milkmen are wonderful! He never failed to plod up my path each day, however late. He was my lifeline, even volunteering to bring errands from the shops. I never did see his face - just two friendly brown eyes below a thick-knit balaclava and above the scarves - for he was called up before the thaw.

It came; then suddenly the sun shone, the two of us were released at last, and I pushed that pram through the thick slush, down a road once more alive with sound and movement.

I can guarantee that there is nothing more certain to open doors, and produce smiles and greetings, than a baby in a pram. Now, it seemed, wherever I turned there were enquiries and advice, and offers of help and knitting, and my next-door neighbours, Mrs Dent on the left, and Mrs Baker on the right, jealously adopted all three of us. The back doors of their houses stood open, always at the ready for either lady to pop into mine, and how happy would I have been with either, 鈥渨ere the other dear charmer away鈥�! For what I accepted from one, was deeply resented by the other.

Spring arrived, the baby slept in the sunshine, nappies flapped in the breeze, and a strange phenomenon began to appear on my kitchen walls. The house had been newly built, but no-one was buying houses when war broke out, so it had stayed empty till we rented it. The kitchen walls were distempered an attractive yellow, and now as they dried out after the long winter dampness, large curls of distemper peeled off and stood stiff as if in yellow hair curlers till, before my eyes, they began to cover the four walls.

I called out of my back door to Mrs Dent. Always obliging, she left her washing and darted into my kitchen.

鈥淕ood Lord!鈥� she said, 鈥淣ever seen anything like it! Call Mrs Baker!鈥�

Such a request clearly proved its urgency. Importantly, Mrs Baker arrived, and together they stood and gaped at my walls. And even as they stared, the first curl descended to the floor.

鈥淵ou need a man!鈥� they echoed with one voice.

鈥淎 man? In war-time?鈥�

And where was I to get a man, when the town was denuded of them? Even those not in the Forces were daily carried off in lorries to munitions factories somewhere miles away.

My questions flummoxed them; never had they been so united in indecision.

鈥淲ell - ,鈥� said Mrs Baker hesitantly, 鈥渄o you think - ? 鈥�

鈥淚 don鈥檛 know - ,鈥� said Mrs Dent doubtfully. 鈥淗e鈥檚 not exactly quick - .鈥�

I butted in, 鈥淚鈥檒l try anybody, anything. Tell me who you are talking about. Tell me.鈥�

鈥淲e鈥檙e talking about Mr Cooper, the neighbour down the road. He used to be a fine builder but nobody knows how old he is now. They say he must be far gone 90, but whatever you do, don鈥檛 knock at his door. Get at him just before he gets there.鈥� So clutching my baby, that鈥檚 what I did.

Next morning, I saw Mr Cooper carrying his shopping, looking like Noah out of the Ark, in some kind of uniform that he could fill three times over. He was a thin stick of a man, white-haired, with stooped shoulders and shuffling walk. The whites of his heavy lidded eyes were yellow with age, and the faded irises had paled to a surprising light blue - almost colourless. I wondered if they had been so startling in his youth, when they must have been a brighter blue.

Hesitantly I approached him. He looked ahead as if I was not there.

鈥淢r Cooper,鈥� I said, keeping step with him, 鈥淵ou were such a wonderful builder everybody still talks about you. Please, please help me. My kitchen is full of distemper flakes. My baby will choke on them.鈥�
Mr Cooper stopped in his tracks. Without facing me, in a quivering voice he asked, 鈥淗ow much?鈥�

鈥淥h,鈥� I said like lady bountiful, 鈥淪et your own price.鈥�

He turned towards me. 鈥淪how me,鈥� he said.

Slowly we made it to the kitchen, where he observed the walls with the eyes of an expert, without a flicker of surprise.

Then something quite unexpected happened. Suddenly there came what seemed like an immediate explosion of noise as my cat Dinah, who had been sitting on the draining board, leapt into action, charged at the plate glass window (heavily bomb-proofed) and seemed to run up the slippery glass surface, then like a snake wriggled out of the four inch opening of the tiny window above. She squeezed through in mortal panic and fell heavily ten feet below.

鈥淲hat in the world is the matter with her?鈥� I gasped.

鈥淚t鈥檚 me,鈥� said Mr Cooper in a dry voice. 鈥淚 have that effect on animals. I should have been a lion tamer.鈥�

And as if that finished the subject, he continued, 鈥淣ow about this wall - the builders cut corners - they wanted the house finished before the war was on us - wouldn鈥檛 wait for the plaster to breathe out the wet - covered it with lining paper and distempered over that. And I suppose you dried your wet washing in here all winter. That didn鈥檛 help. It鈥檒l be a slow job - I鈥檓 not exactly quick.鈥�

It was the longest speech I ever heard him make. Apart from 鈥淢orning!鈥� and 鈥淭hanks鈥� for his cup of tea, he never said a word for the next week.

Slowly, slowly, neatly, completely, my kitchen became beautiful. Bright yellow walls, and floor clean enough to eat from. When it was all finished, he did not try to smile, just took the money and went, and that was the last I ever saw of Mr Cooper, but I heard much more about him from the neighbours.

When the next hard winter came, Mr Cooper took to his bed and announced, 鈥淕od is ready for me. I鈥檓 waiting now for him to send for me.鈥�

Then the first bird began to sing in the may tree, and down the stairs in flapping wide clothes came Mr Cooper proclaiming, 鈥淕od made a mistake. I鈥檒l go an work and make a harvest on my allotment.鈥� Like a snail he trudged to the top of the hill.

All the other allotment holders had used his as a rubbish heap and slowly, slowly, slowly, Mr Cooper cleared it - 6.30 in the morning till 6.30 in the evening - and began to dig for victory. At last, to everybody鈥檚 astonishment, he produced a wonderful harvest. Three wheelbarrows he mended and gradually filled with magnificent marrows, cucumbers, tomatoes, cabbages, broad beans, carrots, new potatoes, and these he pushed right down to the bottom of the hill. Everyone marvelled at his strength, but knew better than to offer help. There were two stone boulders that nearly met overhead, and between these he pushed his remarkable harvest, which could be seen but not easily stolen with all the neighbours looking on.

He turned back to his allotment and sat down and looked at the mess. All this must be cleared up now, and he worked at it all day. By the late afternoon he was sitting contentedly in front of a little bonfire that would end his clearing up. He knew the air raid warden would be furious. He knew Hitler鈥檚 watching planes would easily spot it, but what did they matter? He lit the bonfire and the smoke curled upwards. He must leave God a tidy garden - and he did.

The whole field shook with the bombing. The harvest was safe down below, but nothing whatever was found of Mr Cooper.

FRANCES HOFFMAN

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