Miss Purdy's Class

by Annie Murray

  But as Shân turned towards the house, Gwen wondered if she imagined the momentary combination of worry and puzzlement in the other woman’s eyes as they fixed on her.

  ‘Daniel!’ Billy was pushing up on the arms of the chair in his excitement.

  ‘All right, Billy!’ Daniel cuffed him again in his friendly way. ‘Got something for you here. Pass us the bag, Gwen.’

  He squatted down by Billy’s chair. From the bag he pulled out a book and handed it to his cousin.

  ‘There, that should keep you busy for a bit.’

  Billy turned it over, stroking the red-bound cover.

  ‘World Politics, 1918–36,’ he read in awed tones. ‘Rajani Palme Dutt. Thanks, Daniel.’

  ‘Gwen’s idea,’ Daniel admitted. ‘It’s from this new thing, the Left Book Club.’

  Billy shot Gwen a radiant look.

  ‘Don’t eat it all at once!’ Daniel stood up again and ruffled Billy’s hair. Gwen wondered if Billy minded being treated as if he were a child, but he grinned, seeming to enjoy it.

  ‘I’ll go and give Auntie a hand.’

  Daniel went inside. Not liking to desert Billy, Gwen stayed out, enjoying the warm evening.

  ‘How’re you keeping?’ she asked shyly, squatting down so that she wasn’t towering over him.

  ‘I’m all right.’ He spoke guardedly, still fondling the book. Abruptly he looked round and words seemed to burst out of him. ‘I say I’m all right. What else can I say when my mam’s having to do everything for me like a baby?’ He looked down, blushing. ‘Don’t know how long I can stand it, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, Billy, I’m sorry.’ She was surprised by this immediate outburst and somehow honoured by it, as if he had to say it to someone while he had the chance, with Shân out of earshot. ‘Not much help to say that, is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Not really. But at least I could say it to you. Don’t know why.’ He couldn’t meet her eyes but the words kept pouring out. ‘I try and keep a diary, see. I’m not much of a writer but it’s someone to talk to. I’d’ve liked more schooling.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Not much hope of that round here.’

  ‘You like reading.’

  ‘Oh yes. I like Dickens. He’s a good long read – Hard Times, that’s my favourite. And David Copper-field . . . And Jack London . . .’ Billy seemed to get excited easily, with the least bit of stimulation and encouragement. ‘I read People of the Abyss. It was the best book I’ve ever read. It’s a proper demolition of capitalism. Everyone should read it – everyone should be made to, to understand! Have you read it?’

  Gwen was just admitting that, no, she hadn’t, although she’d heard Daniel talk about it, when he and Shân appeared with a cup of tea in each hand. Shân handed Gwen her tea and perched on the doorstep, patting the narrow space beside her.

  ‘Come and sit here, Gwen. There’s enough space beside my old bones.’

  Gwen obeyed, and they were so close together they touched at the hips and shoulders.

  ‘Billy was telling me about the books he likes.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a reader, all right,’ Shân agreed.

  Daniel was squatting beside Billy now, near the gate. The two women watched them for a moment in silence, the dark heads close together, Billy apparently asking urgent questions about Daniel’s work. Gwen glanced at Shân Sullivan and saw her watching them. For a moment her eyes clouded with pain. Billy looked so like Daniel in some ways that seeing him must be a walking reminder of all that Billy might have been.

  ‘He wanted to go to the Labour College, like Daniel did.’ Shân spoke very softly. ‘Full of dreams, he was, right from a boy.’ She sighed, hands clasping her cup as if for warmth, although it was not cold. ‘D’you know, Gwen, if I could do it for him by giving up my own life, I would.’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘No. But that’s the truth. There’s no life here for any of us the way things are. Survival level – that’s how we live. Nothing but taters, one day to the next the winter through. Will there be enough for the next meal? How to save enough for anything to wear. Shoes!’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘When do we ever think we’ll be able to afford shoes? Can’t even afford the blacking for them!’

  ‘Theresa’s put some in for you, I think.’

  ‘She’s all kindness. And she sends us a bit when she can. That’s more than many ever get. But that’s not the point. The truth is, people here are wrung out with it. You go looking for a woman in this town who’ll tell you she ever has a night she can sleep without worrying and you’ll not find one. They’ve betrayed the miners’ families – all of them. Bosses, government, unions – the lot. We’ve reached the end of the line. You know, I was never much one for politics. I never joined the party. Not till now. Even when Anthony became a Communist I still thought they were trouble, dividing up our people, dividing our family, then, was how it felt. I thought there must be another way. But if there is, I’d like to know what it is.’

  Gwen was moved by the gentle woman’s bitterness. ‘Have you joined?’

  ‘A fortnight back.’

  Gwen could feel a smile tugging at her lips. ‘Does Daniel know?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll tell him inside.’

  There was a pause. They drank their tea and heard the murmur of the two men’s voices. Then, gently, Shân said, ‘When you came last time, with the others, I didn’t know you and Daniel were . . . well, if you were courting.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Gwen said. ‘We are.’ In her own voice she heard the effusion of all the love she felt for Daniel.

  Shân was examining her closely. There was a strange closure in her expression suddenly that Gwen could not read, and Shân looked away. ‘Well, that’s nice.’

  Gwen was hurt. Did that mean Daniel’s aunt didn’t like her? Didn’t think her suitable for Daniel? It wasn’t to do with being a party member. How could it be? The woman had just admitted to joining the party herself. She couldn’t bear to talk about something else without clearing the air.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Gwen fach . . . What on earth makes you think that?’ She stood up. ‘And look you – here am I sitting about when that chicken needs the oven straight away!’ She swayed, leaning against the door for support.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Gwen leapt up to help steady Shân, alarmed by her sudden pallor.

  ‘What’s up, Auntie?’ Daniel ran to her as well.

  ‘I’m quite all right.’ Shân laughed it off, bending over for a moment. ‘I just stood up too quick, that’s all.’

  Thirty-Eight

  Shân did seem to be all right, and for the next couple of hours the smell of roasting chicken filled the little house. All the time, Daniel’s aunt made conversation, obviously trying to keep things pleasant and cheerful, asking Gwen about her home and the school. Gwen found herself pouring out the story of little Joey Phillips, and as she told Shân what had happened and how he had gone missing, she found herself fighting back tears.

  ‘Oh, the poor little lamb.’ Shân stopped slicing the carrots and looked intently at her. ‘What a thing. It’s really touched your heart, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it has.’ Gwen was surprised by her own emotion. She tried not to think about Joey normally, knowing there was nothing she could do about it.

  Shân’s eyes clouded. ‘There’s a harsh, cruel world we’re living in, and no mistake. And you’ve a kind heart, Gwen, I can see that.’

  By the time the meal was ready it felt like a celebration. When Anthony came home Daniel went out with his uncle to fetch a jug of ale and the five of them sat round the scrubbed table enjoying the chicken, potatoes and carrots, and a few beans which Gwen had help Shân pick from the tiny garden at the back.

  ‘This is a real feast!’ Shân said. Her pale cheeks had some colour in them from the hot kitchen and she seemed more relaxed and younger suddenly.

  ‘Let’s raise a toast to our Theresa!’ Anthony said,
lifting his cup. He smiled across the table at Gwen. She had always assumed that Daniel was in every way like Arturo, his father, but now she’d met Anthony with his deep, rumbling voice and laughing eyes, she could see how much Daniel resembled him as well.

  Shân wanted to hear all about the Fernandez family and Daniel told her all the news of his brothers and sisters.

  ‘They think Dom should try for the grammar school,’ he said.

  ‘And will he?’ Anthony looked up from his plate.

  ‘I think he should. More education he can get the better. We’d have to pay for uniform and all that.’

  ‘He always was a bright one,’ Shân said. Gwen saw that she looked better for a good meal. ‘And Rosa too – will she try? The others never wanted to, did they, Daniel – not after you!’

  ‘Well, times were hard.’

  There was a silence, in which Gwen again realized that there were so many things she didn’t know about Daniel’s family.

  ‘What about little Lucy?’ Shân asked. ‘How’s she getting on, now?’

  ‘You’d better ask her teacher!’ Daniel looked at Gwen.

  ‘Oh, I was forgetting!’ Shân laughed, a bubbling, full-hearted sound. Gwen saw Anthony look at her. She wondered when he had last heard her laugh like that.

  ‘Lucy’s a lovely child,’ Gwen said. ‘And she’s easily the cleverest in my class. If she has the chance to go to the grammar school, I’m sure she’d get a place.’

  ‘Well now, who’d have thought?’ Shân looked wonderingly at her. ‘I suppose we all thought – you know, what with her leg, and the turns she had and that . . . And she must be all grown up now. Oh, I’d so love to see them all.’ Shân had not set eyes on most of the family since they left Wales four years earlier. ‘Is she . . . is her leg . . .?’

  ‘She’s still wearing a caliper,’ Daniel said. ‘They think maybe she’ll be able to walk without when she’s older.’

  Shân’s eyes clouded. ‘And the fits?’

  ‘Still every so often,’ Gwen said. ‘Although I’d have said a bit less often than before?’ She looked at Daniel, who nodded.

  ‘She’s full of beans. Mad about school – and her teacher.’ His smile warmed Gwen across the table. ‘Miss Purdy has done wonders for her.’

  ‘Well, you were always the shining star in school I remember, Daniel,’ Shân said.

  Gwen looked at Billy. ‘I bet you were too.’

  ‘Oh, he was clever enough,’ Anthony said brusquely. Billy flushed, and Gwen could tell this counted as high praise.

  After that, the men could hold back no longer from talking politics. Billy asked Daniel about his work in Birmingham, and they were soon on to the NUWM in Wales. The government had brought in new unemployment regulations the previous month.

  ‘Now we’re two bob worse off that we were before,’ Anthony said. He sat with his elbows on the table, rubbing his big, strong hands together. He spoke quietly, his voice deep, controlled, but the anger in it was unmistakable. ‘There’s got to be this next march. Something’s got to be done to make them listen.’

  ‘All the government does is bring out reports to tell us we’re starving,’ Billy said. ‘“A Distressed Area.” Not as if we need a report to tell us that, is it?’

  ‘The party’s behind another march,’ Daniel said.

  ‘It’s got to be more than just the party. We need a national march – the Labour Movement, the workers. If it’s just the party, they’ll dismiss us as a bunch of reds. All in, full unity – that’s what we need.’

  In the shadow of the men’s powerful voices, Gwen said quietly to Shân, ‘You look so thin and tired. How are you managing?’

  She saw tears rise in the woman’s eyes, but Shân quickly wiped them away.

  ‘It’s all right – I’m just a silly. I get so tired all the time. There’s no end to it, see.’ She tried to smile, bravely. ‘Every day if I go out all I see is working men standing on corners or going to meetings, when they should have a livelihood and all the while the pit’s full of scab labour. And the women . . .’ Against her will, her eyes filled again and she shook her head. ‘I’ve seen some terrible things . . . The state of the place, of people . . . Sometimes –’ she looked at Gwen and her face was hard suddenly – ‘I just loathe all of it. Politics, all the talking and meetings and speeches. All the struggling. I want to be a family – normal, like, without it all . . . Selfish, there’s what I am, I s’pose . . .’

  ‘No, you’re not selfish,’ Gwen said. ‘I think Theresa felt the same, didn’t she?’

  ‘Oh well, Theresa. After all that happened to her. I’m surprised she’s not . . .’ Shân cut off abruptly. ‘Still – let’s not dig it all up again.’

  Gwen helped her as they cleared the plates away and made a cup of tea.

  ‘Here, Billy – I can teach you the “Internationale” in Spanish,’ Daniel was saying as they filled the teapot.

  Shân’s eyes met Gwen’s over the cups and she gave her an uncertain smile, as if unsure whether to speak. Behind them, under Daniel’s instruction, the men all burst into singing, ‘Arriba, parias de la tierra . . .’ and Shân said, very quietly, ‘You know how much politics means to Daniel, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gwen said, puzzled. ‘He lives and breathes it – I’m used to that, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘How long have you know him?’

  ‘A few months. I only came to Birmingham this year.’

  Shân nodded. Gwen felt herself tense inside. What was Daniel’s aunt trying to say to her? At the same time, she felt she didn’t want to know. She was about to turn away when Shân caught her wrist.

  ‘All I’ll say to you is this. Daniel’s a good boy – I’ve known him all his life and you’ll never find a more loving son to his mother . . .’

  The men’s voices rose for the chorus: ‘Agrupémonos todos, en la lucha final. El género humano . . .’

  ‘It’s just – I’ve never known Daniel put anything, anything before his politics. Not anything. Just remember that, Gwen fach.’

  Billy was waving his cup as they sang, ‘Es la internacional!’

  Gwen understood that this gentle woman was warning her, in the way Esther had tried to warn her too. But of what? She sat at the table with them all and Daniel didn’t appear to notice her at all, even though she tried to smile at him. She felt cold inside and full of doubt.

  Gwen slept in the little upstairs room again, but alone this time. Without Esther’s voluptuous form beside her, she enjoyed lying across the three-quarter sized bed, between threadbare cotton sheets, looking round at the room in the light from the candle on the chest of drawers. To her left was a chair on which lay her blue frock and underclothing from the day, and to the right was the window, open a crack, through which came the occasional sounds of the night: a dog barking in the distance, a low murmur of male voices on the path outside.

  She would have liked to stay downstairs and be part of the debate, but Shân had grown sleepy and when she suggested showing Gwen up to her room, it was hard to refuse. And it felt right to leave the men to talk. Anthony’s voice was a steady rumble through the floorboards, Billy’s chipped in, ardent and excited at times, and she could hear Daniel talking passionately, voice rising and falling. The voice of the man I love, she thought. He was there, doing the thing most dear to him. Sadly, she wondered whether the next day he would just go off with his uncle to meeting after meeting, or whether he would save any time for her. She didn’t mind the thought of being left with Daniel’s aunt: she was growing to like her very much and had a high regard for her. But Daniel had promised . . . ‘We’ll go up on the mountain when we go back there.’ But she was learning with Daniel never to take anything for granted.

  What had Shân meant by her warning? And Esther? Leaning over to the chest of drawers, she blew the candle out and lay longing for Daniel, needing his reassurance. She felt miserable and alone. It’s like being in love with the Scarlet Pimpernel, she thought. Would she eve
r be able to be sure of him? With a sigh she turned on her side and hugged herself, falling asleep in the muffled sound of his voice.

  ‘So – are you ready for a walk?’

  He was waiting for her when she came down the next day into a golden morning, beams of sunlight pouring through the little windows of the kitchen, motes of dust swimming in the light. Shân was at the stove, stirring a pan of porridge. Daniel stood, loose-limbed by the kitchen table, face dark with stubble, a teacup in his hand. Gwen had dressed in her slacks and a comfortable short-sleeved blouse, in the hope that he would honour his promise to walk out with her. She felt her spirits soar.

  ‘Of course – I’d love to!’

  It was a relief to be out of the house. Billy said goodbye to them without displaying any resentment.

  ‘He’s so brave, isn’t he?’ Gwen said as they set off up the hill.

  Daniel nodded. ‘Could have happened to any of us. I don’t think I’d have managed it at all. It appals me to think of not being able to get about, stuck in with his ma all day . . . And given a pittance for it – for a life ruined.’ She touched his hand, moved by the bitterness in his voice, and he squeezed her fingers for a moment.

  ‘I’ve never seen the town properly,’ Gwen said as they left it behind and headed up to the mountain.

  ‘Well, it’s no size. Town hall, chapels, churches and a few shops trying to scrape a living. They have a job surviving when there’s no wages for anyone.’

  They left the road and climbed the path. Daniel obviously knew the way intimately and she followed his assured stride up and up, as the path became steep and rocky. They stopped for a breather and looked down over the town, a tight scattering of buildings strung along the valley, towards the pithead, the railway passing through like a steel spine, and the enclosing hills around in varying shades of green and grey. The slow-moving clouds passed as shadows over the valley.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ Gwen said. They were both breathing heavily. ‘Did you come up here a lot?’