Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly

by Catherine Cookson

  Joseph Dodd dropped his lids over his eyes, shutting out their startled, almost hypnotised stare only just in time, but her fingers on his eyeballs caused his stiff body to jerk and he knew that the hand had been lifted but was still hovering above his face.

  When he felt her touch skimming over his thinning hair he could stand no more. He coughed, spluttered, then turned onto his side, and he didn’t seem to breathe again until he heard the door creak; then it seemed to him that his body had fallen through the feather mattress, so deeply did he sink into it. It was some minutes later when he said to himself, ‘Something will have to be done.’

  Across the landing, Bella was hugging Angela again and talking to her softly. ‘His face is hairy, very hairy,’ she said; ‘Except for his nose and eyes, and his forehead, of course, and that goes a long way up. He has no hair on the front of it; he must be old, very old. How old was my dad? Thirty-six. Then granda must be twice that old, mustn’t he? Or nearly, anyway.’

  The last thing she said to Angela before sleep overtook her was, ‘I don’t think I like the hair around his mouth, I think it would get in the way if he were to kiss me. But then I don’t think he’ll ever kiss me, will he, Angela? No, no; you’re right; I don’t think he ever will.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Get your coat on, we’re going out.’

  ‘For a ride, Granda?’

  ‘No, not for a ride, for a walk.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  He was grumpy this morning, she could tell by his voice. And she could picture his face, all the hairs on it bristling. Perhaps he was out of sorts; perhaps he had a headache.

  ‘Have you got a headache, Granda?’

  ‘No, I’ve got no headache. I don’t drink so I don’t have headaches.’

  Oh, that would have been one in the eye for her dad ’cos he always had headaches after a booze-up.

  A few minutes later they were both outside standing near the gate leading into the road. ‘We’re turning right here,’ he said. ‘The road is straight for some way, half a mile or so, then it divides into two. We’re taking the left-hand branch that goes towards the coast.’

  ‘Where the ships are?’

  ‘No; there’s just the bare coastline and cliffs. But we’re not heading for there, we’re going to see a man called Harry Thompson.’

  ‘Oh! That’s where the fox gets the chickens?’

  As he came to an abrupt stop she bumped into the back of his leg and had to steady herself against it for a moment whilst he said, ‘You repeat nothing that I say about him or his chickens, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Granda.’

  ‘I’m gonna ask him a favour, the first I’ve ever asked of any man in me life, and it’ll be as much as I can do to keep me temper with him, so don’t you aggravate me with your chatter.’

  They were walking on again, she holding on to the end of his coat, and it took a great effort on her part to stop herself dancing in front of him when she heard from quite near the barking of a dog. Then it seemed to be only the next minute that the dog came to them, and as it was running in and out between her and her granda she caught hold of it. She buried her hands in its long hair, and when its tongue came right across her face she let out a high gurgle of laughter and fell onto her knees beside it, only to be brought abruptly to her feet, not by her grandfather’s hands but by his voice bawling, ‘Get up out of that!’

  ‘Hello there.’ It was a strange voice speaking. It could have been a nice voice but it sounded gruff, sort of on its guard, and what it said bore this out. ‘Well, Mr Dodd, this is a surprise. What can I do for you this fine day?’

  It was some seconds before her grandfather answered, and then he said, ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour, Harry Thompson.’

  ‘My, my! Joe Dodd asking a favour of Harry Thompson. Wonders will never cease.’

  ‘I’m not askin’ it for meself; I never ask anyone for anything, you know that.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know that. Well, if you’re not asking for yourself, who are you asking it for?’

  ‘Oh.’

  Bella knew that her grandfather must have indicated her by a nod or a look; and now he was addressing her, saying, ‘You stay put, Bella, stay beside the dog; I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She heard the two sets of footsteps walking some distance away and she stopped fondling the dog in order that she could hear what they were saying and when they had stopped walking she distinctly heard her grandfather say, ‘She’s blind, stone blind. I’ve got her on me hands for a month until she goes back to school. But she’s lonely, she wants some contact with young ’uns. I’m here to ask if you would let her come and play with your son?’

  ‘Play…? Play with John? But my boy’s past playing, he’s fourteen gone.’

  ‘I didn’t mean play in that way, not ring-a-ring-a-roses. She’s not that kind of a child anyway.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘She’s coming up nine by years so they tell me, but she’s nineteen in her head, or older; and she’s got a tongue that would clip clouts, never stops. All I’m askin’ is that he should take her for a walk now and again over the hills, or as far as the coast, and then she might get rid of her imaginary friends.’

  ‘Imaginary friends?’

  ‘Aye. She’s got a dog called Gip, and a horse called Ironsides, and an old wife that she alludes to as Mrs Golightly.’

  When the peal of laughter reached Bella she bit on her lip and buried her head in the dog’s ruff. Her granda was making her out to be a barm-pot, not right in the head, like Mary Kinton. Mary was blind too but she threw herself about and laughed at nothing.

  They were walking back towards her now and the man was saying, ‘Well, I’ll put it to him, you know what lads are, especially at his age, but in the meantime I’ll take her round and show her the animals, if it’s all the same to you, Mr…Dodd.’

  There was still that defensive sarcastic note in the man’s voice and Bella was surprised at her grandfather’s reply, for his voice was quiet as he said, ‘I’m obliged to you.’

  ‘Hello there, little girl.’

  Her hand was taken from the dog’s neck and held firmly and she looked up at the speaker and said, ‘Hello, mister.’

  ‘My name’s Thompson, Harry Thompson.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Thompson.’

  ‘Would you like to go round the holding and see the animals? Not that we have many, but they’re the kind that pay their way.’

  The last words were turned from her and she felt that the man was again looking at her grandfather; and now her granda said, ‘I’ll be off then. When will I come back for her?’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother, one of us will bring her along.’

  Bella knew that her grandfather was standing over her now and his voice came down at her, quiet and deep, saying, ‘Behave yourself; don’t make a nuisance of yourself. And check that tongue of yours if you can.’

  ‘Yes, Granda.’

  The man, too, must have stood watching her granda walk away into the distance because it was some time before he turned her about, saying, ‘Well, now, what would you like to do first? Find my boy or look round the place?’

  ‘What’s his name, Mr Thompson, your boy I mean?’

  ‘John.’

  ‘Is he a big boy?’

  ‘Yes, he’s tall for his age, fourteen.’

  ‘Oh!’ She remained quiet for a moment. ‘If he doesn’t want to talk to me it doesn’t matter, I’d just as soon talk to you and see the animals.’

  Again the man’s laugh rang out, and now she joined hers to it. Then he said, ‘You know, I feel we have something in common, you and me, we like to talk. But there’s my John. Now, by a strange quirk of character he’s not unlike your grandfather, he doesn’t have much to say for himself, quiet type he is.’ When his voice faded away into a personal mutter she was just able to catch the words, ‘And there might be a reason for that an’ all,’ before
he said aloud, ‘He’s down in the bottom field. We have a few sheep, just a dozen or so, and he’s gone to see to the lamb. It’s one I had to bottle feed, the mother wouldn’t own it. Now none of them will own it and it’s having a rough time of it, poor thing.’

  ‘Is this a farm, Mr Thompson?’

  ‘No, no, my dear, nothing so glorified, just a smallholding: a few sheep, some ducks, hens, rabbits, a few geese. We did think of having a couple of cows but then’—there was a pause—‘cows need regular attention, like women and children; you need to be there all the time.’

  ‘And are you not here all the time?’

  Mr Thompson now made a sound like a chuckle but she termed it a sad chuckle because he said, ‘Yes, I’m here all the time, and then again, no, I’m not here all the time. Ah! Here he is. Come on, up you go!’

  She felt herself lifted high up in the air, then dropped at the other side of a gate, and once again he was holding her hand and running with her now, calling, ‘John! John!’ and when they had stopped running he said, ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’

  There was no response to this remark, and now Mr Thompson cried, ‘You’ll never believe who’s visited me, Mr Joseph Dodd himself! He brought his granddaughter.’

  Bella felt her hand lifted upwards. ‘He was wondering if you and she could have a little chat now and again.’

  Bella knew that the boy in front of them was about to make some remark. She also knew from the movement of the fingers grasping her hand that Mr Thompson was signalling to his son; and now he said, ‘This is Bella Dodd, John.’

  Bella held out her hand, and after a moment it was taken, given a small shake, and a voice said, ‘Hello.’

  She answered it, saying, ‘Hello,’ then added, ‘Has the lamb taken to its mother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity, ’cos it’ll be very lonely.’

  She felt Mr Thompson’s hand jerk away from hers, and now she was standing alone, and no-one spoke for a moment until the boy said, ‘I’ll bring the lamb.’

  When he brought it he pressed it against her knees and she put her hands on it, then went down on her hunkers and, her arms about its wriggling body, she cried joyfully, ‘Oh, it’s lovely! Lovely. Cuddly. What do they call it?’

  ‘Call it? Nothing, just lamb.’

  ‘Oh, I’d call it Woolly because it feels like the wool I knit with. I can knit. Do you know that? I can knit. I sometimes drop the stitches but not half as many as the rest do. And the wool feels just like this.’

  ‘I’d let it go now.’

  ‘All right. Yes.’ She stood up; then the boy said to her, ‘Stay where you are a moment, my father wants me.’

  She heard him moving across the grass, then Mr Thompson’s voice so low that she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she heard his son’s reply quite distinctly. ‘But she’s only a child, a bairn, what’ll I do with her?’

  Now Mr Thompson’s voice came to her, saying, ‘Just once or twice a week for an hour or so. He must have been at his wit’s end to come to me, you must admit that.’

  ‘But she’s a girl.’

  Harry Thompson gave a small laugh now as he said, ‘Yes, that’s evident enough. And she’s a bonny one into the bargain. It’s a pity unto God that she’s handicapped as she is. But she’s cheerful, I’ll say that for her, as bright as a button; there’d be no need to pity that one, because she doesn’t pity herself.’

  ‘But what can I do with her? Why didn’t he go into the village, there’re girls there.’

  ‘It’s four miles away and who is there there between five and sixteen except the parson’s snooty piece, Miss Jane? I can’t see her offering to do a good deed for the day by taking the child around. Now if it was you she was going to take around she’d jump at the chance.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  ‘Never mind, oh, Dad!’

  ‘Well, you know I can’t stand her, or any girl for that matter.’

  ‘Well, this one isn’t a girl, she’s just a child coming up to nine.’

  ‘She seems ready enough with her tongue.’

  ‘Oh aye, that seems to be the trouble, so our respected neighbour Joseph says. He tells me she’s got an imaginary family, a dog called Gip, a horse called Ironsides…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘As I said, a dog called Gip, a horse called Ironsides, and an old woman called Mrs Golightly.’

  ‘Is she barmy?’

  ‘Well, judge for yourself. Did she sound it? No, no, boy; she’s not barmy. But she’s lonely.’ His voice dropped to a whisper now. ‘Old Joe’s a hard old stick and his son must have had a devil of a time with him, else why did he scamper off and leave him? By what I could gather from Bill MacKay, and what he gleaned from the young lady who brought the child here a few days ago, the child was left by its mother when she was but a year old and David apparently brought her up himself. If the child is near nine her father must have been twenty-seven or so when she was born, so he couldn’t have married for some years after he had left here. Anyway, just think what it must be like to have a bright spirit like that child has and not be able to express it through your eyes.’

  To Bella’s strained ears there now came a very strange ending to the conversation of which she had only been able to gather snatches, for the boy asked, ‘Are you going to the village tonight?’ and when after a pause his father replied, ‘No,’ the boy said, ‘Very well, I’ll take her out then.’

  It had been a wonderful week, at least in parts; if only her granda had talked to her or taken her hand she couldn’t have asked for anything more. But anyway, it had still been wonderful because John had taken her out twice; once up some hills, and when she got to the top her hat had blown off and he’d had to run down after it, and when he had returned with it she couldn’t thank him for laughing. She had gone on laughing even after he had said he couldn’t see anything funny about it. He was a bit grumpy was John, not all the time, just now and again. His father wasn’t grumpy. Oh no! Mr Thompson was a lovely man. She liked him very, very much. Mr Thompson was kind—she could tell by his voice that he was kind—but somehow she didn’t think that John thought he was kind. John spoke to his father funny at times, harsh. John reminded her of someone, she couldn’t quite remember who. Anyway, he was going to take her to the sea today. It was all of three miles away, John said, that was by road, but he was going to take a short cut over the hills. She’d have to tie her hat on with a bow under her chin. She gave a little giggle at the thought, but it was cut off abruptly by her grandfather saying, ‘Don’t laugh when there’s nothing to laugh about, child.’

  ‘I had something to laugh about, Granda. I…I was seeing meself with me hat tied on with a piece of string and in a bow under me chin.’

  ‘I can see nothing funny in that.’

  ‘Mrs Golightly used to say—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear anything more of what Mrs Golightly used to say.’

  ‘You’re in a bad temper the day.’

  ‘I’m in no bad temper but I’ve got work to do. And you keep yourself out of mischief until that boy comes for you.’

  ‘He’s not coming until two o’clock and it’s only just struck one. I could help gather up the strips of bark. The long strips feel just like the pieces we have for making the wickerwork baskets. The teacher, he says they come from oysters.’

  ‘Oysters? Nonsense! What you mean is osiers. Oysters are fish.’

  ‘Well, that’s what the wickerwork comes from.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, child. Osiers are willows, willow trees.’

  ‘Well anyway, we learned about them…about willows and how they make paper from them, and dye, and he said some are used for medicine.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘It isn’t nonsense, Granda, he read it out to us. He said oysters…’

  ‘Osiers.’

  ‘Oh well, he told us there were all sorts and sizes. Some grow higher than houses and some so little you can hardly see them.
’

  ‘He’s talkin’ rot.’

  ‘I think he was a clever man; Miss Talbot said he was. I once made a little basket for Mrs Golightly and she said whoever taught me to do that was a man in a thousand. She said—’

  The door banged.

  Oh, her granda was a bad-tempered man. He couldn’t stand the sound of Mrs Golightly and she herself couldn’t help talking about Mrs Golightly. Well, why should she? Mrs Golightly had been with her as long as Gip, and she understood all about Gip…What was that? There were voices in the yard. Had John come early? She groped her way to the door and opened it. Then pulling it wide, she ran forward, crying, ‘Miss Braithwaite! Miss Braithwaite!’

  ‘Hello, my dear. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m lovely, Miss Braithwaite, I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you enjoying your stay?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes!’ She stopped and, sensing another presence, turned her head to the side, and now Miss Braithwaite, after a moment’s pause, said, ‘This is…this is a friend of mine, a Mrs Campbell. She’s coming for a holiday, she’s renting a cottage just outside the village.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Campbell.’ Bella extended her hand, but it was some seconds before it was taken, and then Mrs Campbell said, ‘Hello. I…I understand they call you Bella?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like it very much, I like the name Joy. Mrs Golightly—’ She bit her lip and turned her head towards where she sensed her grandfather was standing, then said, ‘Well, a lady I knew had learned a piece of poetry at school when she was a girl; she said it had a hundred and eighty-six verses but she only knew two of them. It was about a child called Harold or some such and it was about a dance. She used to laugh and jig as she said it:

  On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined;