Chapter 60: Repair Job

Margaret's financial worries eased because she had two pieces of good fortune. Mr Martin next door, and her friend Joyce were the providers.

One evening, Margaret had excruciating toothache. She had neglected her teeth for years. They had become her worst feature and detracted from her good look, and Gordon complained periodically about the state of her mouth. All she ever said in response to his criticism, was, "Dentists cost money. Have you any to spare? If you have I'll go and see one."

Unable to stand the shooting pains, she had to have help.In desperation, she went next door. She asked Mrs Martin, "Do you think Mr Martin could help me?"

Mrs Martin replied, "Why don't you come through with me. We'll see what he says." She was invited to go from the kitchen into the lounge. It was the furthest she'd ever been in the house.

In the hall, framed portraits, in oils of the Martin family and people Margaret did not recognise were leaning against the wall. There were dozens of them stacked in some places two or three deep. Others were hung all the way up the stairs. There were a couple of gloomy, stormy seascapes. If it was he who'd painted all of them then Mr Martin was obviously a very prolific artist.

When she went into the sitting-room, there was a very strong smell of linseed oil and of turpentine. Mr Martin was wearing a smock and had a pipe stuck in his mouth. He stood, palette and brush in hand, at an easel painting the figure of a nude woman. He didn't have a model. He was copying from a coloured postcard. Margaret did not know the painting but he was trying to make a copy of Gabrielle, the Renoir housemaid who had often modelled for the famous French Impressionist.

Mr Martin was very concerned when she described her problem.

"I think that I can help," he said. I always keep some strong pain-killers in the house. Excuse me a moment!"

He went out of the room to fetch some tablets from the bathroom cabinet and gave her four of them."Take two now, one before you go to bed and one in the morning."

"They will help with the pain," he said after Margaret thanked him, "But they will not cure the problem. If you like, travel with me when I go to the surgery in the morning. I will see to it that my partner gives you immediate treatment.

"That tooth needs to come out!" he insisted. "Mrs Martin will see the children off to school for you." His manner was brusque, but Margaret was used to that. She knew that he only had her welfare at heart.

Mrs Martin nodded in agreement and the terrible pain Margaret was enduring made her acquiesce immediately. She would do anything to be rid of the agony. She'd find the money from somewhere for the treatment.

Mrs Martin showed her out. "Come, at eight in the morning. The children can have breakfast with mine. You'll have time to catch the half past eight bus with my husband."

Margaret went home and took the tablets. The pain eased and she had a good night's sleep, but it was bavpck when she woke up. She took the fourth, and last, tablet and, later in the morning, she was sitting in the dentist's chair.

Mr Martin's partner examined her mouth. "It definitely needs to come out," he said.

She agreed to have the aching tooth extracted there and then, after she had established with him that she could pay his bill later. He struggled with the broken tooth and finally managed to pull it out.

When her ordeal was over, and she'd recovered sufficiently from the dose of ‘laughing gas' he'd given her as an anaesthetic, he strongly advised her to have more treatment, right away.

He told her, "I'm afraid that the best solution for you, unless you want a lot more pain, is to have all of your teeth out. It's possible to have them all extracted, and false ones fitted, all in the same day. You've no need to go around toothless in public. I'll take one lot out and put another lot in!"

He made it sound simple but would it be painless? No chance! She said that she would let him know.

The Martins knew she was hard up. That evening, Mr Martin came to see her. She invited him in. "No more pain now, Mrs Watson?" he enquired.

"No, thank heavens! I didn't feel a thing when your colleague took the tooth out. He's a very good dentist."

"Yes, he is!" agreed Mr Martin. "I believe he gave you some good advice."

"Yes," replied Margaret cautiously, not saying whether she intended taking it or not.

"Listen Mrs Watson," Mr Martin continued. "I know it's your business, but perhaps I may be able to help you to make up your mind about following that advice.

What he said next took her completely by surprise.

" Mrs Watson I am a dental mechanic by trade. I make false teeth. But I am also an artist. I think that I am quite a good artist. Maybe you don't know much about art but some people share my own high opinion of my talent. In time, the world will make up its mind too. I already have a good reputation locally," he told her, somewhat pompously.

"What I need urgently is a new model," he continued. "You would make an excellent one for the subject of my next work. You would be just right. I like the quality of your skin. You have the kind of face that I am looking for. You would make an ideal young, mother figure for a painting which I am about to start. It will be my most ambitious venture yet. It will be an allegory, about war and suffering.

"If you agreed to sit for me, in my painting you would be an anguished mother, holding a child killed in an air-raid. If you agreed , I would provide your new teeth for free and my colleague would ask only a nominal fee for his work. Now come madam, what do you think?"

Surprized by his proposal, Margaret nearly laughed in his face. What a strange offer! And he really was a pompous so-and-so, she thiught.

But he looked so serious. He really meant it, she realized as Mr Martin awaited her decision.

As well as being pompous, he could be bossy, she discovered. When she hesitated, he said, "Oh come along Mrs Watson, your teeth are in a poor condition. Bad teeth mean poor health! You will feel so much better if you have the treatment we've recommended."

He didn't say she'd look better too, but she guessed he would not be interested in painting a Madonna with black teeth.

"All right then, I agree," she said.

"Good, I'll see my colleague in the morning and make an appointment for you."

After he'd gone, Margaret remembered how Mr Martin had told Gordon that he could be relied upon to look after his family if they were ever in need. What, Margaret wondered, would Gordon think when she told him that she was going to be Mr Martin's model? He might not be too pleased about that. But it wasn't as though she going to have to take her clothes off! Gordon would be delighted her having new teeth. Hadn't he been on at her, for years, to sort them out?

So it came to pass. She had the dental treatment and Mr Martin had his model.

Michael and Gwyn played with John and Doreen in the Martin's dining-room during the sittings. Mr Martin had always tried to compensate for John's physical weakness which prevented him from playing out much. He was forever buying him indoor games when they were available in the wartime shops. The latest craze was for board games with war themes. John's old favourites, Ludo and Snakes and Ladders, were being replaced by the likes of Dover Patrol and England Expects. Card games like Snap and Pontoon gave way to games based on Whist. Canasta was a new favourite

John soon learned how to play and memorised all of the rules. He was a bright lad and Michael was not slow to learn from him. Despite this, John won nearly every game. Maybe the fates evened things out a bit, by making him lucky at games of chance, or maybe he had a natural aptitude for them. It was good for Michael because he had to learn to be a good loser. John was quite ruthless. He gave no quarter but was scrupulously fair. Michael didn't mind losing, so long as he gave John a decent game. He was learning early the difference between losing and feeling defeated.

The two girls played under the table, pretending that it was their house. They had their dolls and lots of clothes to dress them in. They had pretend tea parties, pretended to be naughty children and babies and devised all sorts of make-believe situations with their various dolls.

Michael really enjoyed being in John's house. Mr and Mrs Martin let them make as much noise as they liked and as much mess as they wanted. Just before the BBC's nine o'clock news, Mrs Martin would come into the room and tell them that it was time to clear up. They knew, that so long as they kept their side of the bargain, which was not to fall out with each other, and not to leave the room untidy, they would always be welcome to play there.

When asked to pose, Margaret was a bit bashful at first. Prior to the first occasion, Mrs Martin gave her a tattered skirt and a torn blouse to wear. There was dried red paint on the skirt which looked like blood. "He said that you have to look like a war casualty," Mrs Martin said. They were in an upstairs bedroom where Margaret changed into the stipulated costume.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Michael asked when the women came back downstairs.

Gwyn said, "You do look a mess, our Mam."

The four children were left to their games. Mr Martin smeared some grey and some black make-up on her face. "It will wash off easily. It's only greasepaint," he reassured her. He'd borrowed one of Doreen's dolls. He asked Margaret, to pretend it was her own dead child and to try to put a distraught look on her face.

Margaret was not keen on the idea. She hated the thought of having a dead child. It gave her the shivers thinking about it. But a bargain was a bargain!

When she looked at herself in the mirror now, she could hardly believe what a difference the new teeth had made. She looked like a glamour girl. Joyce wasn't the only one who could still be attractive! She quite fancied herself! There'd been a lot of pain to endure but the dentist was right. It had been worth it. She wondered how Gordon would react to her transformation.

When she changed her hair-style, Michael approved.

"You look just like Aunty Julia," he said.

Mr Martin did not speak to her once he commenced painting. Mrs Martin sat in the same room, close to the fire and the wireless, silently knitting or darning. It was dark outside and the heavy curtains were closed. It was warm and cosy in the room.

Mrs Martin found classical music on the wireless. It sounded strange and boring to Margaret at first. After a few sittings, she found herself listening to it with enjoyment. She began to recognise the music of some of the famous composers like Chopin. It was the ‘Warsaw Concerto' she liked best of all. It was very popular because it was the theme music, in the film ‘Dangerous Moonlight'.

Sometimes, Mr Martin would say to his wife, "No my dear, that music's not tragic enough. Find another station! We need music to suit the mood of the painting." Obediently, Mrs Martin would twiddle the knob, until she heard sad music. It would make Margaret feel sad too and helped her have a suitable expression on her face, the one which Mr Martin was trying to capture.

"Marvellous eyes! Mrs Watson has marvellous eyes, hasn't she my dear?"

Margaret felt embarrassed.

Mrs Martin looked up and smiled agreement, "Yes dear, she has," and went on with her knitting.

The sittings always ended at five minutes to nine. The Martins never missed the news-at-nine. Most of the nation would be listening too. It was the BBC which gave the nearest approximation to the truth that the propagandists permitted. Every evening, the listening figures were always high.

Margaret and the children would go back home as the chimes of Big Ben sounded before the broadcast started. There was a cup of water for Michael and hot cocoa for Gwyn. Then it was wash, undress and, ‘Up the dancers!' their absent Dad's nightly order and into bed.

"Don't forget to wash all that muck off your face, Mam!" Michael called down to her.

"Dirt you mean! Muck's a common word! We don't use common words." she retorted.