“TRUE HAVEN”

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20427, 18 February 1938, Page 3

“TRUE HAVEN”

By MARGARET GLENN

CHAPTER I. A Fateful Day It was a miserable morning when Joan Lambert looked out of her bedroom window. The winter was corning quickly, and the trees were already bare, while the London fogs were a month ahead of their reputed time—although goodness knew, they were liable to turn up at all times of the year—and Joan could hardly see across to the backs of the houses and the little gardens of the next street. Not that it was much to boast about at any time, but Joan had been used to it for so many years that she did Tp)t expect anything different. During (lie Spring and Summer she even managed to get some pleasure from watchthc few brave plants that tried to force their way to the surface, and the occasional patches of grass in the courtyards of the adjoining houses. Number 18, Cross Street, was asphalted, back and front, and the nearest thing to a garden near it was a window box in the room next to Joan’s. But here and there occasionally vivid patches of flowers would spring up, within sight, during the warm seasons, and Joan had been watching the gallant. efforts of a few late marigolds at Number 2i. for a month or more. ‘ This will just about finish them," she told herself, yawning a little and shivering as she made for the washstand. “Well, it’s another day started. I wonder how ‘mother’ is this mornIt was a great deal more to Joan, although she didn't know it then, than .just another day. Afterwards she looked back on it, marvelling at I lie dreary morning, and the fact that life had seemed duller even than usual. It was dull. She had to admit it to herself, even though she did her best to get fun and pleasure. where many would have been just miserable. She worked from eight-thirty until seven-thirty in a gown shop at Golders Green, and it took her three-quarters of an hour to travel to and from her work. There was no time for anything hut working and eating, apart from her previous weekly afternoon off, and Sundays. Others who worked less hours, or were nearer their shops and factories, had more things to interest them, and more time to spare. Joan admitted to herself she was sometimes a little | envious, hut usually she thought, quickly of the many who were worse off than she, and threw the gloomy thoughts away. After all, she had enough to eat, a little home, and enough clothes 1o be fresh and cheerful in. It might be worse A little home She grew wistful, sometimes, when she thought of the household at Cross Street. They were wonderfully good to her—all of them, from Mr and Mrs Croxfleld to Toby, I lie youngest -son. She had lived with them for so long—twelve years, now, from her tenth birthday—that she had grown to think of it as home. But usually at the back of her mind was a memory of a different place, of larger rooms and better furniture, more luxurious dresses and food that was a delight to eat, instead of satisfying and little else. It- had been at the other side of London—in Putney, near Ibe common —and she remembered that during her early schooldays she had spent more time out of doors than inside. And she had been happy Of course, her mother and father had been alive then, and the Lamberts had been comparatively rich. Joan remembered the time of her mother's death vaguely, as though she was thinking of a bad dream. She remembered the crying relatives, the bleak, cold day of the funeral, the j fright she had had when she had seen j the coffin disappear. But perhaps) her strongest memory was of tier j father's face, usually so jolly and smiling, then very pale and drawn John Lambert had never really recovered from his wife's death. But he had lived for another year, and in that time he had lost a great deal of his money. When he died, j suddenly—while Joan was on a holi- j day with some friends—he had been j Insolvent, and Joan had been left at ■ the mercy of friends and relatives. The Croxflelds —distant relatives on ] her mother’s side —had taken her in, ! and given her a home; It was a home; I but she could never feel it was entirely hers, and despite the fact that j she had grown into the habit of j calling Martha Croxfleld mother,’ she never felt she could tell the older 1 woman the many small, intimate things I that she would have liked. But on 1 the whole she had no cause to grumble. That was typical of Joan; where) others would have complained, and j made their own and others' lives unhappy. she refused to be disheartened,! and looked on the cheerful side of 1 tilings. A cinema once a week during the winter, and in the summer and i the warmer days, a long tramp across I the fields outside Tottenham and Ed- | monton, and occasionally further afield. Usually she went by herself. I for the Croxflelds —there were three 1 girls and two boys—worked in fac- I tories, and had only Saturdays to j spare; Joan's half-holiday fell on a' Thursday. She liked being by herself; she had always enjoyed solitude, even when I she had been very young, and she ' missed nothing of the companionship) of people of her own age. There were so many things she could see and appreciate in silence, where to have had someone with her who saw the same things in a different way would have spoiled her enjoyment. There were times, however, usually after a busy day in tlie shops—a Saturday, when she worked until I nine, and it was half-past before she | managed to get away—when life ' seemed gloomy, and she fell really j depressed. They were the days when she told herself she was fated’ t-> bring people bad luck. It was . absurd, of course; her common-sense told her she was being foolish, but the idea persisted. Her father ami mother had died—her father's business had failed. Then, soon after coming to live with the Croxflelds in the large sloomy Cross Street house. John CroxLeld had met with an accident that had disabled him for over a year. lie had lost a good. well-paid job, and never afterwards bad be been able to earn money enough to keep Hie lonise going. As a result, the upper floor of. Number I * was let to a small family. bow always making t obvious that Die house wa - not entirely their -.wn. Joan didn't know why, but she belie\eq she felt that more keenly than j the croxflelds themselves. ' '

(Author of “ The Troubled Journey," etc., etc.)

As the younger Croxflelds had left school and started work the worst vears of the depression had set in, and they had had a great deal of trouble in llnding jobs, after they were sixteen or seventeen; il had nut 1 mi difficult with the girls, but the buys had been unemployed for a long time. jn*u way. Joan was glad that she had managed to keep her job. It wasn't wonderfully well-paid, but with her small commission on the su l,>s she made in the shop she was i ■ t > gi\e her 'mother' a pound a week, and still have enough to pay her lares and have those little pleasures to which she had begun to look forward so much. Her small savings account grew smaller, however, »ud the Croxflelds grew poorer, and she could not resist the temptation to belli them all possible. -he didn t regret il, btit she did feel, a little wistfully, that she deserved to have a few pounds in the bank, after her efforts to save, and that if at any time , she was badly in need of money herself, there would be no-one to whom she could appeal. Bui it couldn't be helped. By ten past seven she was washed and "dressed. She, went out of her room, ami hurried along to Mrs Croxfreld's. Mid John would have been downstairs twenty minutes or more by now, but his wife had only just recovered from an attack of influenza, and was obeying doctor's and family orders by staying in bed until the others had gone off to work. “Gome in," Mrs Croxfleld's rather tired voice answered Joan's tap. The girl entered, kissed the older woman and told herself the rest was needed for her foster-mother looked old and careworn. “You'll have to start early,” she warned Joan, thoughtfully. “It's s nasty morning, dear —take care oi yourself.” “i'll try," Joan smiled. She patted Mrs Croxfleld s arm, anc smiled again before going downstairs The two boys and one of the girls had already gone to work, and there was only o"ld John, a tall, gaunt man whose eyes never failed to twinkle—it made hint human and likeable where without the gleam in his grey eyes he would have looked severe—Doris and Jennifer were at the table, halfway through their porridge. There was one thing about the Croxfleld menage that Joan admirec above all others. Every one of the family played their part. This morning was Joan's lucky one—the morning when she was allowed to stay in bed and have her breakfast cooked; the rest of the week she was down soon after six, doing her share. “Here she Is,” said Old John, smiling up at her. “Slept well, my dear?” Joan smiled back, and nodded. It was the same question Old John had asked when she had first come to the house, and he asked it of the others us well as herself, without fail, every morning. Whether or no he managed to derive some slight amusement from It. Joan didn't know, but his lips were always twitching. “Very well, thanks," she said. “I had a beast of a night,” said Jennifer, the youngest Croxfleld, a pretty but very tiny girl who had only been working a few months. “Toothache ” “Have It out,” said Old John. “It's all right for you to "say that," said Jennifer indignantly, “But I’ll have to go through with it.” “I did," said Doeis, the oldest of the family, two years older than Joan and a plump, fresh-faced, very cheerful young woman. Doris was one of the most generous people Imaginable, but she had a bad habit of reiving on other’s generosity as well, and there were limes when she carried ‘borrowings’ too far. On the whole, however, Joan managed to get on very well with both of the girls. (To be continued).