Chish and Fipps

By Sharon King and Michael King

When Grace gets attacked by her uncle she seeks help from her friends. No one likes her uncle Lennie, so will she be the one that gets to him first or will someone else do it for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon King
• Release date: May 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301162383

Sharon King

Having written together for many years, we finally published a book, "Chish and Fipps."Now we've had the buzz from it there will be more to follow, hopefully they will be as well received as our first one.

Book preview

Preface

Summary

Chapter 1 – Gone in a flashback

Chapter 2 – 1930

Chapter 3 – 1931

Chapter 4 – 1932

Chapter 5 – 1933

Chapter 6 – 1934

Chapter 7 – 1935

Chapter 8 – 1936

Chapter 9 – 1937

Chapter 10 – 1938

Chapter 11 – 1939

1930s Films

1930s Music

PREFACE

This novel is not meant to be an historic account of events in Hastings during the 1930s.

It is meant to be interesting and entertaining and is loosely based on events in the area and nationwide, it evolved into a story about four girls and their interactions in the community.

We hope you enjoy it.

SUMMARY

It is the 1930s and Grace and her friends get up to all the mischief modern girls do.

From first love that is unrequited or forbidden, to enduring friendships that surpass time and distance, laugh and cry with them as they go through a decade of their lives leading up to

World War II.

Chapter 1: GONE IN A FLASHBACK

Grace lay down on the concrete; it was hard and cold so she carefully placed her bag under her weary head. She crossed her booted feet and wrapped her thick, warm coat over her frail, shivering body. The light from the watery sun made the glass fragments, stuck into the wall of Bottle Alley, twinkle like the stars in the winter sky above.

They say that your life passes by in front of your eyes before you die and that you remember the things that are important to you; she found this to be true.

She lay there: the people rushing past doing their own thing, oblivious to the fact that she was dying. She remembered the weekends sat on the same spot, sometimes knitting or reading a book, the people that passed her by, the life she’d lived and the friends she’d loved and lost.

The decades rolled by like the kids on their rollerblades and brightly coloured bicycles. She’d noticed that nearly all the girls had long, straight hair and that the boys showed far too much of their underpants, their trousers half way down their arses.

She remembered the youngsters of the eighties with the frilly shirts and girls and boys both wearing too much make-up, Duran Duran and Ultravox, a mixture of shoulder pads and androgyny.

In the seventies they’d worn flared trousers and rode skateboards. She’d snuck a go one day when her grandson wasn’t looking, it hadn’t gone well at all, and she had to tell lies for a fortnight about how she’d tripped down the stairs and sprained her ankle. The punks in the seventies were different than she’d expected, what with all that spitting on the news and safety pins in their lips, she found they were always courteous to her, the skin heads the same, calling her ma and talking like they were cockneys and ’ard. There was outrage over the Sex Pistols and their song God Save the Queen, a lot of fuss over nothing she’d thought. The slickness of the Jam in their slim fitting suits and skinny ties. The mass energy of Madness that she couldn’t help but jump around to. They did look smart in their own way, with their crombies and pork pie hats, the punks making all that effort to make their hair stand up in a Mohican. Food dye and sugar paste to have the perfect spike. The girls seemed scarier than the boys, their short skirts and ripped tights, their faces often lovely under the severe soldiers’ crew-cut, more safety pins and startling make-up.

The sixties were much more stylish, Elvis was the King, and knew it, for some he ruled the world. We had our very own sexy Tom Jones, who could out thrust Elvis any day of the week. The women looked beautiful in their brightly coloured mini dresses and knee high boots. The men in their fitted suits looked suave and sexy, there was many a time when the if I was twenty years younger thought had crossed her mind, there was something about a man in a suit, shoes polished with a tie or cravat to finish off the look. But it was the rockers in their denim jeans and leather that smelled of sweat and petunia oil that really made her breathless and not in a bad way. They were earthy and raw, with a feeling of menace, the burble of a large motorbike still made her tremble with excitement. Fear and lust for something altogether dangerous.

In the fifties it seemed that the men had just found out about wearing colour. The teddy boys with their DA hair cut, Brylcreamed to perfection really did look the business, strutting their stuff down the main street, in their crepe shoes, bootlace ties and drainpipe trousers. Their ladies in coloured, full skirts and tight tops would walk beside them draped gorgeously over their beau’s arm, they seemed gentle and feminine until they started to dance, and then the passion took over. The adaptation of swing had turned to rock and roll, where Buddy Holly and Bill Haley ruled the dance floor. Then there was Perry Como and Alma Cogan, Billie Holliday, the blues and soul to mellow out the vibe, and Elvis, his hips thrusting and his voice sexy was just starting to make the airwaves. Grace could cut a rug with the rest of them and did so as often as she could. Her Alfie was strong and energetic and would fling her high into the air, her skirt falling down round her thighs, before twirling her around his shoulders, they could dance all night long and music was the timeline of their life together, every era had its own beat if you listened for it.

The forties music of the crooners like Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and the ballads of Glenn Miller helped you forget about rationing and the horror of the war years. But the years that meant the most to Grace where the thirties, the years of her youth, they were the years that inspired and moulded her, the years when first love meant more than life itself.

Because she’d led a full and relatively good life, the happy thoughts settled her and she lay there watching as she drifted away.

Chapter 2: 1930

SUN, SEA, SAND AND BOYS

It was three o’clock and the hot sun was shining fiercely as Grace and her friends ran out from school.

They were singing their favourite song, Happy feet, da-da-da, happy feet. It was always like this; the four of them, inseparable and nearly always singing, if there was a chance of a bit of dancing too then all the better.

It was the middle of June 1930 and they were off to the beach.

The beach in Hastings was covered in stones and came right up to the road; you could almost walk into the sea from your front door. It had been so hot that the girls had decided to go to school wearing their swimming costumes underneath their school dresses so that they didn’t have to mess around getting changed before they took the plunge.

The checked, green, school dresses were off almost as soon as their feet touched the pebbles. They flung their clothes into a messy pile and made their way down the stones to the cool water. Their one piece costumes were getting a bit tight now, the girls were fourteen and fifteen and although self conscious of the way they looked, it didn’t matter anything compared to getting in the water. They hobbled down the stones, not at all elegantly and oblivious to the fact that behind them the men were watching when they should have been working on the new promenade.

It had been agreed that a promenade was needed; it was to be almost the full length of Hastings seafront.

Work had stated a long-time since and things were going well, times were tight money-wise, with the depression and all, and not all the jobs had gone to local workers. There was very little work in Europe; so a lot of the workers were immigrants and fights broke out over trivial things, you took my trowel, stop looking at my girl that sort of thing.

But today in the sun all Grace, Meg, Ellie and Lizzie could think about was getting in the sparkling water to cool off, nothing else mattered, nothing at all.

As they swam Grace was watching the foreshore and him.

It was so hot that the men were stripped down to their vests, some with their braces hanging down round their legs. They still had their heavy boots on and sweat was constantly dripping down their bodies. They worked hard, if they didn’t then there were plenty who would, even with the new building projects all over Hastings, there still wasn’t much work for the locals, men had come from all over Europe to find employment, as well as people just a train or bike ride away.

Grace looked up as she swam back to the shore, her friends already out and lying in the sun, sunbathing had taken off big time and the in thing was a golden tan, after all it was considered healthy to lie in the sun and soak up the rays. Her hair was like gold where the sun had been bleaching it and it illuminated her face like an angel.

He watched her, careful not to be caught. She was so full of life, her smile was brighter than the sun and his whole body ached for her, if he didn’t see her for a day he felt lost, at night when he lay in the room he shared with eight other workers he thought of her; as he hammered each slab into place he thought of her; her hair flowing in the breeze, not tied up with a ribbon, not like when she went past on her way to school in the mornings, her little brother in tow.

Time was flying away from them and Grace and her friends had to get home; and then explain why they were wet. They put their school dresses on over their still soggy swimsuits, and made their way up the beach, much easier now with their shoes on.

As they passed the men on the lower prom’ she looked up at the young man, he diverted his gaze almost as quickly as she did, there would be hell to pay if anything more than looking happened, but that was all he could think about.

She felt excited that he was looking at her and didn’t notice the fat grounds man bent over tamping the concrete and she bumped straight into him, as he turned he started swearing, what the fu then saw that it was four girls mucking around and just told them to get off home, stop messing around.

They started running and Grace stopped dead in her tracks and shouted back at him get away from the wall, GET AWAY FROM THE WALL then started throwing stones at him. With this he turned and ran forward swearing at her and the wall fell down behind him. He stopped instantly and span back, his tools were buried under the rubble, he would have been too if it wasn’t for that little brat. When he turned back again the girls were gone, it wasn’t until they reached the end of the path, panting and breathless, that they stopped running. Meg and Ellie collapsed onto the ground almost no breath left in their bodies, Lizzie bent over and took deep breaths as she held her knees, but Grace looked back and smiled. She was pleased that he hadn’t been hurt and that her friends hadn’t made a fuss, they were too puffed to notice. What they had noticed was the young man working on the prom’, noticed him looking at Grace and her looking back.

He looked different than the other boys around, not any older, but more exciting. The girls didn’t mention him too much, just a little teasing, but they did talk of snogging and getting caught; and of the boys they fancied kissing from the streets where they lived. Grace said little, ‘case they teased her more, she was thinking about him, what was his name, where was he from? Then she heard the church clock strike five and knew she was late. They all shouted bye to each other, hugging before they ran off home; they all had their chores before bedtime, Grace more than some of the others.

CHIPS ‘N’ SCRATCHIN’S

Grace‘s dad was John Thomas Lincoln Jnr. named after his father, or as everyone called him Big John, not because he was tall, but because his was as wide as a beer barrel and at the wrong angle blocked out the sun. At least that was what Grace had been told when she had asked as a kid, but she didn’t believe it. He was the proud owner of the Chish and Fipps fried fish and chip shop. It was going to be called Lincoln’s but because her brother had fallen as a baby and knocked his teeth out, he couldn’t say fish and chips properly, so they called it Chish and Fipps as a joke and the name stuck.

Her dad was waiting for her when she came in the back yard, he was winding the handle of the potato peeler, the water in the trough splashing out onto the ground as the paddles bashed the skins off the potatoes. He stopped as she came in, change that dress of your’n, and get down here my girl, you’re late and we’re already behind, you know what it’s like Fridays.

Friday was payday if you were lucky enough to have a job and it was the busiest time for Grace and her dad. Her brother had done his chores and was out of the way, upstairs or up to no good as usual.

Big John had lit the coals under the burners in the range, and the oil was hot and already cooking, we opened more than half an hour ago girl, chip some more of them tay-tas, I’ve nearly used a bucket already, even had to eye ‘em meself, put ‘em out to drain and get it filled again. They got through at least six buckets of potatoes on a Friday and again on a Saturday evening; all chipped by hand using King Edwards from the farmer in Beckley. John was proud of his chips; they were crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, tuppence a bag, penny bag for the kids, many of the older customers wanted their chips flat and round, but most people nowadays liked them cut like fingers.

She ran hastily up the stairs to her bedroom, taking two steps at a time to get there as fast as she could. She quickly changed into her work dress, put an apron around her waist, bright, clean and white like her fathers, they did look smart, he always wore a blue shirt, and white apron, tea towel tied to the strings, another tied to the range. She took three steps at a time to get back down the stairs, with a jump from as high as she dared, to land at the bottom. She went out into the back yard and dragged the heavy bucket of drained potato chips into the front parlour; well it was once until Mum decided that she wanted a business as working for someone else only made money for them. She remembered her telling dad her that on more than one occasion, you gotta be your own boss, then what you earn is yours. She thought about it for a long time before deciding on a chip shop so dad made sure she got one.

He loved her from the day he met her, it was a struggle to get her to step out with him, her family weren’t working class and thought him beneath their daughter, so much so that they disowned her when she ran away to marry him. He never forgot what she gave up for him and vowed, on their wedding day, that if it be by hook or by crook he would always grant her every wish, she didn’t like the by crook bit, but she knew what he meant and from that day on nothing was too much trouble for either of them to keep the other happy.

It took a long time, convincing the landlord and getting the sanitation permits, but in the end the landlord was very happy, so happy that he raised the rent.

The back room was the kitchen and was used for the preparation of the batter and storage of the flour and dried goods, the messy stuff was done out in the back yard. The neighbours didn’t like it much, even though we gave them fish and chips for free once a week, but they had the same landlord and had to lump it, as long as we always paid our rent.

Grace put the bucket next to the range, she’d been up till twelve-thirty last night scrubbing that thing with boiling hot water, washing soda and tons of elbow grease, but it did look beautiful when the sun shone through the window and glinted off the steel stove and the porcelain tiles.

It’d cost dad thirty quid, second hand, Eddie Beaumont’s fried fish shop from the other end of town had gone bust, his wife had ran off with the salesman from the factory, the factory that made the ranges, so Eddie’s heart was no longer in the business and everything got sold off at auction and he moved back to his family in Scotland, happy to see the back of Hastings, happy to be rid of the smell of fish and chips.

They were lucky to get it too as there were five other bidders. It was clean and compact and sat where the fire used to be, it was safer to use and fitted in the parlour a treat. Luckily next door had their own chimney flue, so the smell of fish and chips didn’t waft back into their house, the fuss they made though, you’d have thought it did.

When Grace came back into the shop with the next bucket of chips there were two youngsters sitting on the bench in the corner, they were the best mates of her brother Bill.

Wait ‘ere while I ‘ave a beer, fish an’ chips twice for me and the misses, an’ chips an’ scratchin’s for the boys, George always placed the order before going into the pub, just six doors down for a quick pint, don’t know why he did, could have just said same as usual as he’d been having the same thing every Friday for three years, habit I s’pose.

The boys sat quietly, too quietly, she’d have to keep an eye on them. Boys and silence didn’t normally go together, so when it did it usually meant trouble. They were up to something and it didn’t take long to find out what it was; as no sooner had she turned around to get some fish out to fry than one of them let off a stink bomb.

They were busy serving the customers as quickly as they could, aunt Jane had come in to help, as she always did on Friday and Saturday, when a god awful smell came over the counter.

When dad looked round he could see the boys trying not to laugh, everyone else had run out of the shop into the fresh air and were standing on the pavement outside, their eyes watering, some laughing, some choking, but most of them a bit cross, dad wasn’t laughing he was furious.

Trade, though good, couldn’t be taken for granted. He ran around the side of the counter and had hold of the boys by the scruff of the neck; he’d just managed to catch them as they hadn’t been fast enough to get away in time.

You little sods, you may belong to a customer of mine and you may be friends with my Bill, but you’re barred, outside with the pair of you and sit on the kerb, any more of this and I’ll be ’avin words with ya dad.

Their dad was real mean, when the boys had been caught scrumping the previous autumn, he beat seven bales of shit out of them, it was so bad that they couldn’t go to school for a week. For him it wasn’t that they were stealing; it was the fact that they’d got caught. He ruled all the family with a rod of iron, but mostly he kept order with the walking stick he kept hanging on the back door. Dad wasn’t going to say anything to their dad, didn’t want to be responsible for them getting another beating, so he gave them both a thick ear for good measure, clip up-side the head to you and me, and left it at that.

The boys knew they’d got off lightly so they said nothing and sat on the kerb and waited.

They were so busy in the shop that when Grace looked up at the clock, which was on the wall over the door, it was eleven-thirty and apart from a couple of drunks stumbling out of the pub that was it for tonight. She started raking the ashes out of the range, scooped them into the coal shuttle and took them out into the yard, they had a large metal barrel to put them into, in the winter they topped up the fire, but it was too hot for that this time of year. The heat from them was overpowering, and she was glad when she had scrapped them all out. The range had to be left open for a while before she could clean it out properly or she’d get burnt, something she knew too well, having got caught by that the first time she’d cleaned the range.

As she went to the door to shut up shop uncle Lennie was stumbling in, he was Jane’s husband

and an arse. As he passed by he pressed up against her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. There was plenty of room to pass and if dad was there and not outside Lennie would never have done it.

As he always did, he smelt of beer, fags and sweaty armpits, another drunk from the pub she thought to herself, just another waste of space. Jane had already gone, she didn’t like serving the drunks so usually set off just before closing; as soon as the pub starts chucking them out she’s off, so he hadn’t come to walk her home.

Today he was a little bolder and firmly squeezed her arse as he passed by. Grace said nothing and closed her eyes for a second before pushing away from the counter and as far away from him as she could.

He was staggering around and shaking the beer bottles he had in his other hand. Where’s John? he said making his way out to the yard. John mate where are ya?

Grace heard her father say out back Lennie, come straight through, you missed Jane, she’s already gone. Grace could hear them talking and continued to clear up, wiping down the display of multi-coloured pop bottles in the window. The inside of the window was greasy from the steam, so using some of the vinegar that stood on the counter and some crumpled newspaper she wiped the glass till it was as clean as a whistle. She used washing soda and hot water for everything else, until the walls and the floor were bright and sweet smelling. She cleaned the outside of the range but the inside was still too hot, she was tired and wanted to get away from Lennie, so she put her head out the door told dad she was as good as done, anything else she’d finish off in the morning. She then said a quick goodnight before running up the stairs and locking her bedroom door, wedging a chair against the handle for good measure.

A PUNCH ON THE NOSE

Big John and Uncle Lennie were in the pub, Lennie was married to his sister Jane.

John was taking a couple of hours off, he didn’t get to very often, but it was Saturday morning and he was able to leave Grace to set everything up as there was no school, mother had insisted she got as much schooling as possible, even though he thought there was too much going on inside her head already and didn’t need any more ideas put in there.

It was Lennie’s turn to shove the ha’penny, the overall winner of the best of three games and this was the last, bought the next pint. By luck or skill John hadn’t spent any money so far and he’d had four pints. Lennie put his ha’penny on the end of the Shove board, lined up the heel of his hand and did a little push, they both watched like the end of the world depended on it as the ha’penny slid up the board and passed the marking lines.

Ye.e.e.e.e.e.s he cheered and John had to reach in his pocket. Knew my luck had to change sometime Lennie continued as he slapped dad on the shoulder, your shout mate. I’ll have rum. He always did that, beer when he was buying and spirits when someone else was.

John brought the drinks back to their table. Gotta go shortly mate, need to help Grace get set up for the lunch time trade.

He was about to get up when a huge, fat fart of a man fell on top of him, when he turned around the fat bloke was launching himself across the room; his right fist outstretched aiming for the Jim the landlord. Told you if you can’t pay then you can’t stay Jim said as he side stepped the fat fist and the man charged toward the bar, tripping over Jim’s carefully placed foot before banging his head and falling back onto the floor.

Several men including John helped drag him out of the pub. Lazy Lennie sat there and did nothing, why on earth did Jane put up with him? When the men came back in, slapping their hands to wipe the man off of them, Jim the landlord said half a titter for you lot, well when they stood at the bar there was an extra hand out stretched for his half, Lennie’s.

I gotta go John said and started to make his way out of the door, but no sooner had he stepped out then he flew back in arse first. He landed in a heap right in the middle of the floor and his nose was bleeding.

Fat bloke immediately followed him in, any one else? he said, his tightly clenched fists held high up in the air as he danced around like a prize fighter.

Lennie rushed over to help John who was still on the floor and reeling from the smasher of a punch. As he helped him up John pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, what the fu? he said and the fat man charged at him again. Mate what ya doing? he said, I was only helping you out. I’ve done nothing to ya.

Someone else then? said the fat man, someone else want some? he circled on the spot waving his fists around, his legs barely able to hold him up.

It was then that Police Constable Staunton came in. What’s all this then? One too many drinks already sirs?

Jim came over and took the constable aside, everything’s alright Pete, nothing to worry about, just a misunderstanding, no need to bother yourself, be alright now, got it all in hand, want a drink son?

No thanks, dad he said quietly. Then in a louder voice everything in order then landlord, no need for my assistance to remove this fella?

No thank you constable, everything’s fine, ‘spect you got bigger fish to fry! he said as he walked the constable to the door. See you in an hour or so son, and the officer went on his way.

Now the landlord was a fair man, but if you came in his pub and messed the place up then you had to deal with the consequences. Because the regulars new his reputation, most of them had known him since they were kids, if he said that’s enough they knew not to answer back, but this was a new fella, drunk and out to make his mark.

Jim Staunton was more than a match for any man, even now at the age of forty-six, and as he walked back into the pub he started to roll up the sleeves of his perfectly pressed red and