Winnie of the Waterfront

by Rosie Harris

  Although the sun was blazing down, and the weather so hot that nobody felt like doing anything except sit in the shade, Winnie spent her days trying to find work. No one would even take her seriously. ‘Take you on when you can’t even stand without two sticks to keep you upright? You’re having me on,’ or ‘No jobs here for cripples, luv, sorry and all that,’ were repeated over and over again.

  By Thursday she felt so desperate that she found herself walking towards Crosshall Street. Then, as the grim, turreted orphanage came into view she stopped, knowing she could never bring herself to go back inside the building, let alone ask if there was any work they could offer her.

  Hot and uncomfortable in her long black skirt and heavy white blouse she took refuge in a shady spot in St John’s Gardens. She’d give it one more day, she told herself. Something might still turn up. The only thing was that she no longer had any idea where to look.

  She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was simply sitting there enjoying the sunshine before going home, after a day out shopping in the fashionable stores in Church Street.

  When, eventually, she arrived back at the hostel, Winnie was astonished to see a wheelchair parked in the hallway. It was bigger and more cumbersome than the one she’d had in the orphanage, but it reminded her of it. She wondered who the newcomer was and how she came to be needing a wheelchair. Perhaps because they had something in common they would become friends, she thought hopefully.

  ‘Is that you, Winnie Malloy?’ Miss Henshaw came bustling out into the hallway almost before Winnie had closed the front door behind her. ‘Thank goodness you are home before any of the others arrive. Will you get this contraption out of the way, it’s blocking the hall and I don’t want anybody falling over it. Move it into your room right away, you understand?’

  Winnie looked at her in bewilderment. ‘It’s not mine, Miss Henshaw,’ she protested.

  Miss Henshaw bristled. ‘I was given to understand that it was and that you’d asked for it to be delivered here.’

  ‘Delivered?’

  ‘That’s correct. About an hour ago. A young chap brought it. I thought from the way he spoke that you were expecting it?’

  Winnie looked confused for a moment, then her face lit up. ‘Did he have red hair, and was he tall and rather good-looking?’

  ‘Yes, he was personable enough,’ Miss Henshaw agreed. ‘You know who it was now?’

  ‘That would be my friend, Sandy Coulson. Did he say anything else?’

  ‘No, only that you were expecting delivery of a wheelchair. I must point out that it would have been good manners on your part to warn me that it was coming,’ Miss Henshaw added.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t really know about it,’ Winnie told her. ‘You see …’

  ‘Well, never mind about all that now. Move it at once! I shall expect you to keep it in your room and not use it unless you are going out,’ she warned. ‘It’s far too cumbersome to use about the place; it’s not convenient for the other residents to have to accommodate it.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Henshaw.’

  Winnie stared at the wheelchair afresh. It looked heavy and she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to manoeuvre it. There wasn’t a great deal of space in the hallway, and if she marked the walls or scratched the paintwork she knew Miss Henshaw would be furious.

  Gingerly she approached the wheelchair, wondering how she could possibly manage to get it into her room.

  Miss Henshaw watched her impatiently. ‘Do hurry up. Look, you open the door, and since we’re in a hurry I’ll push the thing into your room, but you’ll have to learn to handle it yourself in future.’

  Once the chair was safely inside her room and the door closed, Winnie examined it more carefully. It was a lot different from the lightweight one she’d used at the orphanage. However, that was all to the good, she reasoned, since she would be using this one out of doors.

  She sat in it, adjusting herself so that she felt comfortable and confident before cautiously moving it backwards and forwards. She would have liked to turn it round, but she wasn’t sure if there was sufficient space in her small room.

  She practised getting in and out of it several times until she could do it quite smoothly. Then she devised a way of stowing her two walking sticks down beside her so that there was no chance of them falling out of the chair or becoming entangled in the wheels.

  By the time she hobbled through to the dining room for her hot supper, Winnie felt she had mastered her new wheelchair. Now all that remained was to go out in it, but that must wait until the morning.

  The more she thought about what was entailed in doing that, the more apprehensive she became. She had never been on a pavement in a proper wheelchair, except when she had come from the orphanage to the hostel and Sister Tabitha had been pushing her. On that occasion, Sister Tabitha had also been the one taking the decisions about where and when they would cross the road.

  The thought of having to do all that for herself was daunting, and she wasn’t too sure she would be able to manage it. But she had to, she told herself firmly. She had to show Sandy how capable she was at handling it after he’d gone to the trouble of finding it for her.

  It wasn’t until much later that evening, when she was lying in bed too excited to sleep, that she suddenly wondered how she was going to pay for the wheelchair.

  It was more worrying than going out in it for the first time. She had no idea how much wheelchairs cost. Even though it was obviously a second-hand one it would be quite a lot of money, she was sure of that.

  Winnie was up very early the next morning, eager to be mobile, but she waited until everyone else had left for work before she plucked up the courage to leave the house.

  Miss Henshaw must have been waiting and watching to make sure that she didn’t do any damage with it. She bustled into the hallway the moment Winnie opened the door to come out of her room.

  ‘You are going to be late for work, you know,’ she admonished. ‘You do know the way to Carver Street?’

  ‘I think so,’ Winnie said nervously.

  ‘I would have thought you’d have taken the tram this morning, and waited until you’d had a chance to get used to using that thing on the roads before going off to work in it.’

  Winnie smiled but said nothing. Very slowly she began to wheel herself towards the front door.

  ‘I don’t know how you are going to manage to open the door when you are riding in that,’ Miss Henshaw tutted. ‘I’ll do it for you today, but in future you must come out and open it first before you try to get through it. It’s lucky for you that there’s only a very shallow front step to go down.’

  Once safely outside on the pavement, Winnie took a deep breath then quickly wheeled herself away from the hostel, because she knew Miss Henshaw was still watching her from one of the front windows. She would have liked to wait until later in the morning when the streets were quieter, but she knew that would have roused Miss Henshaw’s curiosity. She didn’t want to tell her that she had lost her job until it was absolutely necessary to do so. For the moment there was no need to say anything because she still had enough money for her week’s rent.

  Having a wheelchair to get around in would mean she wouldn’t need money for tram fares, she thought jubilantly as she made her way along Islington, in the opposite direction to the one she should have taken for the factory where she was supposed to be working.

  At the junction with Saint Anne Street she turned right and made her way into Cazneau Street, and then on towards Great Homer Street. The wheelchair was even heavier than she had thought it would be. She found that going up and down pavements and crossing the dozen or more intersections was extremely nerve-racking. There was so much traffic and it seemed to be coming at her from all directions. Even when she was safely across there was the problem of avoiding collisions with people hurrying to work, as well as mothers with babies in prams who took up almost as much space on the pavement as she was doing in her wheelchair.r />
  There were so many other hazards as well. She had to avoid advertising stands outside the newsagents’ and other shops, as well as lampposts, pillar boxes and bikes parked on the pavements. By the time she arrived at Paddy’s Market, Winnie felt exhausted. Her arms ached and her hands felt sore, but she was also flushed with the sense of achievement she felt at having reached there safely.

  She felt elated when she saw the pleased look on Sandy’s face when he spotted her.

  ‘So you managed to make it then, kiddo!’ He sounded as excited as she felt. ‘Fancy a cuppa? You look as though you need one,’ he grinned.

  Winnie nodded gratefully. Her hair was plastered to her head and her clothes were stuck to her thin body.

  ‘Come on!’ Sandy seized hold of her chair and spun her round until she felt dizzy. Then he wheeled her across to a large hut-like construction at one side of the market which served as an office and canteen for the stallholders and porters.

  ‘Peg keeps a brew going all day,’ he laughed. ‘A cup of her poison and you’ll feel as right as rain. Did you find it hard work getting here?’

  Before she could answer he suddenly frowned. ‘Hang on, I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, kiddo! Have you taken the day off work?’

  Winnie shook her head, but she made no attempt to explain until they had a mug of tea each and had found a bench tucked away in a corner, well away from the rest of the market crowd.

  ‘I got the sack last Monday,’ she confessed.

  When she told him the details Sandy shrugged. ‘Best out of there! Like I said to you last week, if those two girls who came here with you were the pick of the bunch then the rest of them weren’t up to much. You didn’t like the work anyway, did you?’

  ‘No, but it was a living. I’ll be out on my neck if I don’t get some work soon. I’ve enough to pay for my room at the hostel for this week, but no longer.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, kiddo, I’ll find you a job,’ he told her confidently. ‘Sit here and finish your tea while I make a few enquiries.’

  ‘Yes, all right, but first, how much do I owe you for the chair, Sandy? How on earth did you find one so quickly?’

  He opened his mouth to tell her, but when he saw the starry-eyed delight on her face and heard the enthusiasm in her voice, he closed it again. What was the point in telling her. If she was out of work then she couldn’t possibly afford it, so why wipe away that look of happiness.

  ‘Well?’

  Sandy grinned and tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘I have my ways,’ he said in a silly voice.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to ask people how much they’ve paid when they give you a present!’ he said in shocked tones.

  ‘Sandy, don’t be daft! You can’t afford to buy me a wheelchair,’ she protested.

  Sandy knew she was right. He couldn’t afford it. He had spent every penny he’d saved up over the last two years towards getting his own stall and it still hadn’t been enough. It would take him at least another six months to clear the debt. But how could he let her know that? Or tell her how much it had cost, when she was out of work and only had enough money to pay for one week’s rent.

  ‘For my next trick,’ he joked, ‘you sit here a minute and I’ll see what I can rustle up in the way of a job for you.’

  He had no idea where to start. He nipped round some of the larger traders, but none of them were interested when he told them that Winnie was in a wheelchair. Reluctant to admit defeat, he prolonged going back to the canteen for as long as possible. When he did, he found Winnie had moved her wheelchair so that she was now behind the wooden counter and that she was sitting there filling mugs from the tea urn, handing them over and taking the money for them.

  ‘Come over here, Sandy, and meet my new assistant,’ Peg called out to him. ‘The men are flocking in like sparrers after crumbs to get a smile from this little beauty,’ she cackled, her wrinkled face beaming. ‘If this keeps up she’ll double my trade in a week.’

  ‘Peg says I can run messages for her when I’m not serving out tea,’ Winnie told him, her face glowing with happiness. ‘She’ll do the cooking because she doesn’t think I’d be safe handling a pan of hot fat and I wouldn’t be able to move out of the way quickly enough if anything caught alight.’

  ‘Taking her on is the best day’s work I’ve done in a long time,’ Peg grinned. ‘Can’t think why I didn’t have some help before this. Getting too old to do it all myself.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  WORKING FOR PEG mullins at Paddy’s Market was so different from being in the factory that at first Winnie felt as though she was on holiday.

  On her very first day Sandy insisted on taking her round the market and introducing her to all the stallholders, as well as to Reg Willard, the market inspector. Most of them were men she noticed, but there had been one or two women and Sandy had pointed out that it was very important that she should keep in with them because they specialised in second-hand clothes. If she needed a new dress or a hat or anything else in that line, then they’d see her right.

  ‘Let me do the deal for you, mind,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be able to haggle them down.’

  ‘Surely they wouldn’t overcharge me, seeing as I work here?’ Winnie questioned.

  Sandy laughed. ‘They’re traders, they’ll try and get as much for their stuff as they think you’ll pay.’

  ‘Even though I’m a fellow worker!’

  ‘It’s the way they operate. As I said, let me haggle for you. Never let them think you’re all that keen on what they try to sell you either. Say you’ll think about it and then come and let me know what it is you want and I’ll do the bartering.’

  Winnie looked confused. ‘You said they’d let me know when there was anything special, anything they thought might suit me or that I would like.’

  ‘Oh they’ll do that all right!’ He shook his head and then hugged her. ‘You’ll learn in time,’ he laughed. ‘Believe me, it’s a cruel, hard world and everyone is out to do the best they can for themselves.’

  ‘Except you!’

  ‘I’m no different from any of the others!’

  ‘Oh yes you are! You’re kind and generous and you’ve been going out of your way to help me.’

  ‘Get off with you!’ His face went scarlet. ‘I’ve wasted enough time chattering to you, I’d better do some work or I’ll be getting the sack,’ he muttered as he hurried away.

  Winnie liked Peg and she admired the way the plump little woman worked so hard. She was there when Winnie arrived in the morning and still there when she left at night. Peg was ready to tackle anything, even struggling single-handedly to lift the cauldrons of food and the bags of potatoes if she had to do so, although most of the men were quick to help her, scolding her for attempting to lift such heavy items.

  Peg accepted their kindness with a smile that transformed her wrinkled face into something that was almost beautiful.

  ‘She must have been very pretty when she was younger,’ Winnie commented to Sandy.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen pictures and she was a real smasher,’ he grinned. ‘She’s only in her early fifties;

  not as old as you might think. She went grey overnight, so they say, when she lost her old man and her only son in the war. They were in the army and both of them were killed.’

  ‘Oh, how sad! My dad was in the army and he went missing and must be dead as well,’ Winnie reminded him.

  ‘Yes.’ Sandy’s face softened. ‘I remember your dad. He was a nice man. He thought the world of you, treated you like a princess.’

  Tears dimmed Winnie’s eyes and she felt too choked to speak. Sandy hugged her, stroking her black curls back from her forehead and kissing her on the brow. ‘Don’t take on, kiddo. He wouldn’t want you to be miserable every time you think about him, now, would he? He’d want you to be happy.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘And I am happy, thanks to you. You’ve always be
en good to me, Sandy,’ she added gratefully.

  ‘And I always will be, so if there is anything you ever need or anything I can do, you’ll tell me, won’t you.’

  Winnie felt the hot colour flood her cheeks at the concern in his voice and was relieved when she heard Peg calling to her. ‘Come on, girl, there’s a dozen thirsty folk waiting for mugs of tea so stop your chattering and come and see to them.’

  Winnie found there was always plenty to do. She never had an idle moment, which was probably why she felt so happy and why the time flew by, she decided. She started work at eight o’clock, the same as she had done at Johnson’s Mantles. Her first job of the day was to make sure the giant tea urn was set up and ready before the stallholders started coming in for their first cup of the day. Tea that was hot, strong, and with plenty of sugar in it seemed to be favoured by most of them. To go with it, doorsteps of bread wrapped around a couple of slices of crispy bacon or a chunky sausage.

  Peg cooked the bacon and sausages, piled them into warm dishes and left Winnie to make up the butties according to what each customer wanted.

  By the time they’d finished serving breakfast Peg was ready to start on the midday meals. These were much the same. Bangers and mash, egg and chips, and sausage and chips were the favourite standbys.

  They had their own meal about two o’clock, when all the stallholders had finished. From then, until they shut down around six, it was tea and buns or slabs of wet Nelly.

  On Fridays and Saturdays the market stayed open until nine, or even later, and the stallholders expected Peg to go on serving tea and food until they closed down.

  ‘It’s long hours, luv,’ Peg told her. ‘I’m used to them, but you might find being on your feet so much pretty tiring …’ She stopped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, luv, I wasn’t thinking when I said that. You’re not on your feet, are you!’ She gave a wry grin. ‘You’ll still be feeling knackered though, so you pack up and take yourself off home when you’ve had enough.’

  Winnie had to admit that by six o’clock in the evening she did feel exhausted. The kitchen section was airless, especially when the weather was very hot. The space they worked in was cramped and the cooking fumes seemed to hang heavily in the air. It was all right for the stallholders exclaiming ‘That smells good!’ when there was bacon frying or sausages cooking when they walked in, but when you were breathing in the same smell all day it soon lost its appeal.