by Rosie Harris
‘Get yourself into the sodding chair and stop arguing with me,’ Grace snapped, wrapping a black shawl around her shoulders and pushing her feet into a pair of lace-up boots that had once belonged to Trevor.
‘You’re never going out looking like that, are you, Mam?’ Winnie asked uneasily.
‘Can’t afford to get all dolled up, not when your old man’s in the army, luv,’ she said with a smirk.
Winnie frowned. ‘You said dad’s money had come through. You even said that the allotment was more than you’d thought it would be.’
‘What I didn’t say was that everything costs more than it used to do. Prices have gone up because there’s a war on.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, well you wouldn’t, would you. As long as there’s bread and marge in the cupboard and fish and chips to fill your belly when you get home from school at night, you’ve got no worries. You never stop to think where the rent is coming from or the money to pay the tallyman …’
‘Or to buy your booze when you go to the pub,’ Winnie said scornfully.
‘That’s enough of your lip, my girl. One more word and you’ll feel the back of me hand across your gob!’
‘So, where are we going?’
‘I told you, St John’s Market. Now, keep your trap shut, you make my head ache with your constant questions.’
Winnie noticed that Grace seemed to have no problems at all with pushing her in the carriage to the market. When they got there, she picked what seemed to be the busiest spot and parked the carriage there while she fumbled in her canvas shopping bag for something.
‘You can’t leave me parked here, Mam, I’m in everyone’s way,’ Winnie told her worriedly.
‘Shut your gob!’ Grace replied abruptly. When she’d finished delving in her shopping bag she brought out a piece of card and began to fix it on the carriage behind Winnie’s head.
‘What are you doing, Mam?’
‘Shurrup!’
Deftly, Grace flicked the piece of grey blanket that covered Winnie’s deformed legs to one side, so that they were exposed to view.
As people began to stop and smile down at her and then toss a few coins into her lap, Winnie became more and more confused. She reasoned it must have something to do with her being crippled. She was suspicious, though, that it also had something to do with whatever it was her mam had fixed on to her chair. She tried to look, but couldn’t get her head round far enough to see what it was.
When she finally did manage to wriggle her body sideways and twist her head, she recoiled in dismay.
SPARE A COIN FOR A LAME CHILD WHOSE DAD’S BEEN CALLED UP TO SERVE HIS COUNTRY. HER MAM’S TOO ILL TO WORK AND SUPPORT HER.
‘Mam! How could you do something like this! What would Dad think?’
‘I don’t give a bugger what he’d think! The sod’s not here, is he? He’s gone off into the army and left me saddled with you, my girl, and the pittance he’s sending home each week’s not enough for me to live on, let alone keep you.’
Winnie felt tears of mortification spilling down her cheeks. ‘This is begging, Mam! We’re not that desperate, surely?’
Grace ignored her pleas that they should stop and go home. Every few minutes she would scoop up the pennies and threepenny bits that people had dropped onto Winnie’s lap and stow them away safely into her shopping bag. By the time they left St John’s Market the shopping bag was so heavy that it almost made the carriage tilt backwards when Grace stuffed it down behind Winnie’s back.
Grace was delighted with her cache. When they got home she tipped it out onto the table and divided it up into piles of pennies, halfpennies and threepenny bits. There were even a couple of tanners amongst the pile.
‘Three pounds, five shillings and twopence-half-penny,’ she announced proudly.
‘That’s begging,’ Winnie said defiantly.
Grace’s eyes narrowed. ‘So it is, but it’s about all you’re good for so we may as well make the most of it!
‘On Friday we’ll go down to the docks,’ she continued. ‘We’ll just make it if we go the minute you get in from school.’
‘What for?’
‘The dockers all get paid on a Friday. Catch them as they come up the floating roadway on their way to the Goree or the Vaults, or when they’re coming out of the pubs half-cut, and who knows what they might toss at you!’
‘My dad would be angry if he knew what you were doing.’
‘Well he don’t, and God alone knows when he’ll be back so you’ll have plenty to tell him when you see him next.’
‘I don’t want to do it, though, Ma,’ Winnie pleaded. ‘I don’t like sitting there and having people stare at my twisted legs and then toss me coins because they feel sorry for me.’
‘Then get out of that bloody chair and go and find yourself some work and earn your keep! But you can’t, can you,’ Grace cackled.
Winnie knew her mother was right, but it didn’t make matters any easier. She wondered if she told Father Patrick or Miss Phillips at school if they could do anything to stop it. She lay awake at night worrying about it so that there were dark circles under her eyes.
‘You feeling all right?’ Sandy asked. ‘You look as though you’ve had a night on the tiles or something. Not still worrying about your old man being away, are you? Not much you can do about that, you know. Most of us have our dad or brothers in the army now. Anyone who can work and is still breathing is being called up,’ he added gloomily. ‘You don’t have to be fit, they’ll find some job for you to do. They’re losing that many men in battle that they’re sending them out to the front without even training them.’
He stopped and looked uncomfortable. ‘That doesn’t mean your dad has gone to the front, kiddo,’ he said awkwardly. ‘A bloke like him who is clever with figures has probably got an office job or a nice cushy number in the stores. Have you heard from him lately?’
Winnie shook her head. ‘Not for weeks now. His allotment still comes through, though.’
She drew her breath in sharply. Mentioning her dad’s allotment reminded her only too vividly of her problem.
‘Sandy, can I tell you something?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Course you can,’ he said cheerfully.
‘You won’t tell anyone else, not your mates, or even your mam?’
‘Not a word! Swear! Cross me heart and hope to die.’
Winnie was silent for several minutes, struggling with her conscience and trying to find the right words. When she did finally tell him about the begging expeditions to St John’s Market and to the docks, Sandy let out a low whistle.
‘What happens if the police nab you?’
‘I wish they would!’
‘You don’t like doing it?’
‘Of course I don’t,’ she said indignantly. ‘Would you?’
He didn’t answer, but she had a pretty good idea what he must be thinking.
‘Sandy,’ she said tentatively, ‘do you think if I told Miss Phillips or Father Patrick they would say something to my mam and get her to stop doing it?’
Sandy was silent for quite some time. ‘I don’t think you should do that,’ he said cautiously. ‘If you tell them they might inform the police.’
‘Would that mean my mam getting arrested?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And sent to jail?’
‘Yes, or else she’d be fined heavily.’
‘Well, that would stop her doing it.’
‘Yes, but it might be even worse than that,’ he said slowly. ‘They might say she isn’t fit to look after you, and take you away and put you in a home or an institution.’
Winnie’s eyes widened. She’d never thought about that. It would mean she might never see Sandy ever again so perhaps it was best not to say anything about the begging to Miss Phillips, or Father Patrick, or anybody else after all.
Chapter Six
WINNIE’S PREDICAMENT WAS solved without her having to do anything about it. On
e of the dockers, Sam Preedy, who had known Trevor quite well, recognised Grace and Winnie. Aware that Trevor was in the army, and knowing how devoted he’d been to his crippled daughter, Sam was astounded that Grace had resorted to such a scam. When he joined his mates in the Vaults for a beer before going home, they agreed with him, and so did his wife, Jane, when he told her about it.
‘What do you think we ought to do about it?’ he asked her worriedly. ‘Trevor thought the world of that kid of his and he’d be heartbroken to see her being used like that.’
They pondered over it all evening and in the end they decided that the problem was too big for them. They didn’t want to go to the police, although they were pretty sure that begging was illegal, because they didn’t want to land Grace in trouble.
‘That wouldn’t help Trevor,’ Sam pointed out. ‘In fact, it would only distress him since he’s in no position to come home and sort things out himself.’
‘Perhaps the best thing we can do is tell Father Patrick and get him to have a word with Grace Malloy,’ Jane Preedy mused.
Father Patrick was outraged. He crossed himself twice and invoked the guidance of the Holy Mother.
‘You did the right thing in coming here and telling me about this,’ he assured them. ‘The poor woman is in dire need of help to show her the wrong she is doing.’
‘We don’t want to get her into any trouble, Father,’ Jane Preedy said anxiously.
‘I understand that, my child! And if one word of this reaches the educational authorities they’ll be down on her like a ton of bricks. This terrible war! One sin leads to another. If Trevor Malloy hadn’t been called up into the army then none of this would ever have happened.’
‘That’s what we thought, Father.’
‘Trevor Malloy loves that dear child so much. He did absolutely everything for her.’
Sam Preedy nodded. ‘It must have broken the poor man’s heart having to leave her and go off into the army.’
‘They should make exceptions for people like that,’ Jane piped up.
‘They should, they should.’ Father Patrick sighed heavily. ‘Think no more about it. You did the right thing coming and letting me know what was going on. Now put it out of your mind. With God’s help I’ll be able to sort this out.’
Father Patrick found that it was far from easy to sort things out. To start with, he couldn’t convince Grace that what she was doing was wrong. She was indignant when he confronted her and warned her about begging. Someone had snitched on her and she wanted to know who it was.
She tried to get him to tell her how he had heard about what she was doing, but his many years of guarding confessional secrets meant he was impervious to her sly questioning. So she tried another tack.
‘I need the money, Father.’
‘That’s not the way to get it, my child,’ he told her sternly. ‘You have your health so you can work. You also get an allotment from your husband, so since there’s only you and Winnie to feed and clothe then surely you can manage on that?’
Grace didn’t answer for a moment, then said, ‘It’s Winnie, Father. She needs so many extra things because of her condition.’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Father.’
‘If you don’t want to talk to me about it then I will arrange for someone to visit you. Perhaps Sister Hortense.’
‘No! No, Father, I have my pride,’ Grace told him hurriedly. She knew from experience that Sister Hortense had a razor-sharp mind and could see through the most carefully thought-up ruse. ‘I don’t want you getting in touch with any of these army padres either and worrying my Trevor,’ she scowled.
‘Very well!’ Father Patrick patted her arm reassuringly. ‘Think carefully on what I’ve said and make sure you mend your ways. If you need help then come and let me know.’
Grace was furious. She kept going over and over in her mind who might have told Father Patrick about what she was doing. She’d known she was taking a risk begging at the market because most of her neighbours went there to look for bargains. She’d thought she was safe at the docks, though, as long as she kept her eyes peeled for scuffers. So who had been the tale-bearer, she asked herself over and over again.
It must have been one of the dockers, she reflected. She hadn’t been at the market for almost a week and she’d been down at the docks only yesterday.
Having to manage on her own, Grace soon found herself in real difficulties. She’d spent so much on drink and cigarettes that she already owed two months’ rent, so rather than try to find the money to pay it she did a midnight flit from Elias Street.
The only things she took with her, apart from their clothes and bedding, was the clock from the mantelpiece, the chair-commode Trevor had made for Winnie to use, and a sagging armchair. It took two trips and left her feeling exhausted.
The two rooms she moved into in Carswell Court were small and squalid and there was only one bed. It meant she and Winnie had to sleep together. They also had to share the use of the kitchen with two other families and the lavatory in the backyard that was used by the entire household.
For Winnie it was almost unbearable. Her invalid chair took up so much of their living room that there was no space left to move around. Her mother took one of the two wooden chairs that were in there up to the bedroom, which meant that Winnie had to sit in her invalid chair all the time.
There was no special handrail on the stairs like Trevor had installed at their old home, so Winnie found it was almost impossible to get up and down the stairs. In the end, because Grace wouldn’t help her or was too drunk most of the time to do so, Winnie ended up sleeping downstairs in her invalid carriage, even though it was too short for her to stretch out and get comfortable.
Worst of all was going to the lavatory. It was something she couldn’t do on her own and Grace hated having to help her. In the end, Winnie was forced to use the commode all the time.
‘Can’t you wait until you get to school and find someone there to help you?’ she’d grumble.
‘No, because there is no one there I can ask. I try not to go to the lav at all while I’m there.’
To cope with the discomfort of their living arrangements and the fact that half the time she didn’t have enough money to buy coal, Grace spent more and more time at the pub, leaving Winnie on her own.
When the shilling in the meter ran out and the gas began plopping, Winnie would put her book away knowing that she would be in darkness any minute. Before that happened she would settle down in her carriage, pull the grubby blankets up over her head and hope her mam wouldn’t wake her up when she came home.
Grace squandered most of the allotment she received from Trevor on gin or stout, and often arrived home completely fuddled and in a foul temper. Many times she was still hung over the next morning and Winnie usually left for school without saying a word to her.
Sandy said nothing about her moving, but he still collected her each morning and brought her back each night. When she didn’t bring her lunch tin he knew it was because there was nothing at home for her to put into it. Very often he sought her out at dinner break and gave her one of his sandwiches, or a piece of wet Nelly, or, once in a blue moon, an apple.
‘My mam always gives me too much,’ he’d tell her if she protested about his generosity. ‘You’d better help me eat it because she’ll scalp me if I take it back home again!’
Winnie and Grace had been in Carswell Court for almost four months when the news about Trevor arrived. Grace looked at the official envelope in dull despair and handed it to Winnie to read.
‘Here, me head’s killing me, you see what it says. Perhaps the bugger is coming home on leave.’
Winnie took it eagerly. The idea of her dad coming home, even if it was only for a week or ten days, was wonderful. Her hands were shaking as she opened it. Then the blood drained from her face and the words danced in front of her tear-filled eyes.
She was so upset that she could hardly speak.
&n
bsp; ‘Well, get on with it, what does it say?’ Grace demanded.
Winnie blinked hard and cleared her throat. ‘Missing, presumed dead,’ she croaked.
‘Oh my God!’ The shock sobered Grace Malloy like a douse of cold water. ‘Give it here!’ She snatched at the flimsy piece of paper and read it over and over again.
‘Where’s my bloody purse,’ she screeched. ‘Find me my purse. I need a sodding drink. Me nerves are shattered. Bloody fool. Trust him to get himself killed.’
‘It says “missing”, Mam, and “presumed dead”, so Dad could still be alive,’ Winnie pointed out hopefully.
‘Not him! He’ll be dead, you can bet on that. Awkward bugger. Landed me in it this time, hasn’t he!’
‘Dad wouldn’t get killed on purpose!’ Winnie screamed at her.
‘Shut your gob! What’re you yelling about? You’re not the one who has to make every penny do the work of two. If they stop his allotment we’ll know he’s dead all right, and what will we live on then? Think about that, Miss Clever Clogs.’
Winnie looked at her, wide-eyed with distress. The thought that she might never see her dad again made her feel hollow.
‘Out of me bloody way, then,’ Grace muttered as she pushed Winnie’s chair to one side to allow her to get to the door.
‘Don’t go to the pub, Mam, I don’t want to be on my own.’
‘Too bloody bad. You should have told your dad to be more sodding careful when you waved him off,’ Grace sneered.
Winnie didn’t know what to do once she was alone. Her mam had antagonised most of the other people living in Carswell Court and the adjoining houses, so she didn’t think anyone would come even if she called out. The hands on the clock moved so slowly that she wondered if it had stopped. Her eyes felt heavy but there were too many terrible thoughts going round and round in her head. She wanted her mam to come back. She only had her mam now, but that was better than nothing.
She couldn’t help being crippled. She did try to do things for herself and she’d probably be better at it if her mam would help her, she thought morosely. If only she would make a fuss of her or encourage her like her dad used to do. Her mam never even kissed her goodnight these days.
