by Joan Jonker
‘Ooh, I’d forgotten about that for the minute, yer crafty beggar. But isn’t it true that if yer don’t get yer washing done first thing on a Monday morning, the whole day goes topsy-turvy? Anyway, to answer yer question, and with me dolly tub full of washing in mind, I do know yer’ve got a heart as big as a week.’
‘Yer’d talk yerself out of anything, you would.’ Monica picked up the cups. ‘And where d’yer get this topsy-turvy from? Don’t yer mean arse end up?’
‘Yer know I hate that word, I think it’s really crude.’ A thought flashed through Kate’s mind. ‘Eh, sunshine, I wasn’t half posh with the headmaster. D’yer know what I said to him when I asked if the boys could go back to their classroom? I said it had been quite a morning for them, and the normality of the classroom would help calm them down.’
Monica’s chin dropped. ‘In the name of God, girl, where did yer find a word like that? I’ve never heard it in me life! And even if I had, I wouldn’t know where to use it.’
‘It’s the first time in me life I’ve used it, sunshine, and it’ll probably be the last. But listening to how nicely Mr Sykes speaks, I wished I could talk like that. Not to show off, or try to be something I’m not, but because it’s the way English should be spoken.’
‘There’s a lot of things that should be but aren’t. Like men who slog their guts out every day and don’t even earn a decent enough wage to keep a family on.’ Monica was on her high horse now. ‘Just take the men in this street . . . those that are lucky enough to have a job. They can’t afford luxuries or to live in posh houses. They’re lucky if their kids have got shoes on their feet, even if the soles are falling off.’ She put the cups back on the table so she could wave her hands around for emphasis. ‘But the men who own the factories, they don’t go short of anything. They live in posh houses, have maids to wait on them hand and foot, and live on the very best food that money can buy. Only the best quality clothes for them – they probably don’t even know Paddy’s Market exists. And, of course, the best la-di-da schools for their toffee-nosed children. And where do they get their money from? From your John, my Tom, and all the other poor sods who slave six days a week for a bleeding pittance. Honest, it makes me blood boil.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Kate sucked in her breath. ‘I’ve really started something, haven’t I? I didn’t think my saying I’d like to speak nice would have got yer so worked up. I mean, it’s not going to happen, is it?’
‘Not bloody likely it’s not, not if yer want to stay my friend.’ Monica was slowly calming down. ‘I don’t mind people having more money than me, but some of them are so rich they won’t be able to spend all their wealth in their lifetime so it’s handed down to toffee-nosed kids so they can live a life of luxury without doing a hand’s turn.’ She clenched her fists and rested them on the table. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever told yer this but me mam’s sister went into service when she was only thirteen. Mind you, this is going back many years, but I remember it well even though I was only about ten when she died. Her name was Auntie Florrie, and she used to visit us sometimes on her half-day a week off. From six in the morning until ten at night she worked, every day, except for the half-day off. She was nothing more than a skivvy, treated like a slave. And for that she received the princely sum of two shillings a month. Thirty years she was with the same family, and she was so loyal to them, she never took time off even when she was sick.’
Monica stopped and looked at Kate, who was sitting wide-eyed. ‘I’ll finish this tale if it kills me, ’cos it’ll tell yer why I have such strong views. But knowing what ye’re like, yer’ll probably be crying yer eyes out by the time I’ve finished. So shall I carry on, or don’t yer feel like a bleeding good cry?’
‘At the moment, there’s two things I’m sure of. First, I don’t feel like a good cry, not when I’ve got that washing to do. But secondly, I really do want to know about yer Auntie Florrie, ’cos I’ll never sleep tonight if yer don’t tell me.’
Monica pulled a chair out and plonked herself down. ‘If yer start bawling I’ll crack yer one, ’cos yer’ll probably start me off too. It takes a lot to make me cry, but I remember crying for days over me Auntie Florrie. Me mam and the whole family were really grief-stricken when they found out what had happened. Yer see, me auntie had taken very ill, and instead of her employers looking after her, as they should have done for all the years she’d slaved for them, they told her she wasn’t fit to work any longer so she would have to leave. And instead of contacting us they had the chauffeur take her to the poorhouse on Belmont Road. The only way me mam found out was because she was worried that her sister hadn’t been for a while, so she went up one day to see if she was all right. Me mam was kept standing at the door of this big house while a maid told her what had happened. As yer can imagine, me mam was heartbroken and angry, so she demanded to see the mistress of the house. But there was no chance. A manservant was called to escort her down the path and told her not to come back. The poor man said he felt terrible about the way the family had treated me auntie, but he was only a servant and had to keep his views to himself or he’d have got the sack.’
Kate was sniffing up hard now. ‘Ooh, that is so sad! What horrible people they must have been to treat someone like that when she’d been so good to them.’
‘I knew what I’d like to do to them, but at the time I was still in junior school. Anyway, let me finish the tale or the men will be in from work and we’ll still be sitting here.’ Monica took a deep breath and continued, ‘Me mam went straight to Belmont Road poorhouse, or workhouse as most people call them, and said she’d never seen anything like it in her life. The smell and the state of the place made her want to vomit. And when she asked to see her sister, a woman took her to a room where there was a worse smell than outside! It was the smell of death. And Auntie Florrie was lying on a makeshift wooden bed. The only thing covering her was her coat. Me mam said she looked so thin, and so sad, but she still wouldn’t let me mam criticize the people she’d worked for. Anyway the only good thing was that me mam got there an hour before Florrie died, so at least there was a member of her family there to hold her.
‘And d’yer know what sticks out in me mind, girl? Even after all this time? Me auntie had skivvied for thirty odd years, and all she had in the battered purse, which she gave to me mam, was a half-crown. Not much to show for thirty years’ work and loyalty, is it? She died in a place which was so damp you could smell it. There were bugs crawling up the walls and rats running over the floors. And my mother had to live with that scene in her mind until the day she died. She wasn’t to know Auntie Florrie was ill, no one told her. But still she blamed herself for her younger sister having to end her days in a place like that.’
Childhood memories were flooding back for Monica, and tears came to the eyes of a woman who seldom cried. Although the image of her auntie was vague, blonde hair, light complexion, very small and slim, the memory of her had never faded. And the tears she was shedding for her Auntie Florrie were mixed with tears for her own mam who had died three years ago, just weeks before her sixtieth birthday. ‘I don’t know why I bothered telling yer all that, ’cos I’ve made meself all upset now.’
‘I think what happened to yer auntie was terrible. How could anyone be so heartless? Yer’d think they’d have grown fond of her, living in the same house all those years. She should have been treated like one of the family.’
‘Huh! She was never well treated, although she’d never say a word against the people. And the sad part is, she was a lovely-looking girl. Could easily have found herself a good husband and had her own home and family. But no, she wouldn’t leave the Ashcroft-Palmers, she thought the world of them. And in the end, that’s how they treated her. So, yer know now, girl, why I’ve got very strong views on the injustices in our country. There’s too big a difference between the rich and the poor, some living off the fat of the land while others are starving. That can’t be right, and surely to God one day someone will try and even t
hings up a bit. Share the wealth out, like. I don’t mind the rich having more than me, but I’d like a little more meself so you and me could go to the pictures in the afternoon occasionally, or down to Blackler’s to buy ourselves something nice without worrying about being skint the next day. And the kids could have new clothes on their backs instead of second-hand ones. I don’t think that’s asking too much, there’s enough to go round.’ Monica nearly knocked the chair flying when she jumped to her feet. ‘That’s today’s lesson over, girl, it’s time to see what’s in yer dolly tub.’
Chapter Eleven
Kate took two pegs from her mouth to hang a pair of Billy’s trousers on the washing line, then wiped her hands down her pinny. ‘That didn’t take long, sunshine, thanks to you.’
Monica was standing on the kitchen step, watching the line of washing begin to flutter in the soft summer breeze. ‘They’ll be dry by the time we get back from the shops and yer’ll be able to bring them in and fold them ready for ironing in the morning.’
‘I might do a bit tonight, if me legs are not too tired.’ Kate put the wooden prop under the clothes line and lifted it higher. ‘I hate to come downstairs in the morning and be welcomed by a high pile of clothes and bedding waiting for me. It’s much easier if it’s done in two lots.’ She lifted her face to the warm sun. ‘Doesn’t a day like this make yer feel glad to be alive?’
Monica moved back into the kitchen to let her friend in. ‘It’s far too nice for a hot meal, but my Tom says he’s starving an hour after he’s had a salad. Still, yer get fed up wondering what to get every day.’
‘I was thinking of getting some mince-meat and onions, and making a shepherd’s pie. It’s quick, easy, and all the family like it.’
‘I’ll be a copy-cat and have the same as you, girl. Save me racking me brains.’ Monica picked up her basket which she’d left by the front door. ‘Come on, slowcoach, the shops close for dinner in half an hour.’
‘We’ll split up,’ Kate said, banging the door behind them. ‘I’ll get the onions and potatoes, and you get the mince. We can settle up with the money after. I need bread and carry-out, but I can get them later from the corner shop. Or I can send our Nancy for them while I slip down to see Winnie.’
Monica linked arms as they walked at a steady pace towards the main road. ‘What d’yer want to see Winnie for?’
‘To tell her about Margaret and Greg getting married!’
‘It’s got nothing to do with her! She’ll only blab it all over the place and Betty will go mad.’
Kate brought them to an abrupt halt. ‘I think she has every right to know because, like meself in a roundabout way, she had a hand in bringing this about. If she hadn’t told me what she saw in the entry, and I hadn’t made it me business to see Greg, everything might have turned out very different. I’m not saying it would, just that it might.’
‘Can we have this argument on the way home from the shops, girl? Because the way we’re going on, they’ll be closed before we get there. And I know what ye’re like when yer get in a paddy, there’s no stopping yer.’
The couple carried on walking, their pace quicker now. But Kate couldn’t keep things bottled up for long. She had to say what she wanted, when she wanted. ‘I think Winnie has every right to know, and I bet she’ll be over the moon that they’re getting married. And as I’ve told yer before, she’s not a gossip and doesn’t repeat anything she’s told. She keeps herself to herself.’
‘Ah, come off it, girl, she talks to everyone she meets!’
‘Yes, she does! And d’yer know why she talks to everyone she meets? Because once she shuts her front door, she’s got no one to talk to but the four walls. It’s a lonely life living on yer own as yer might find out for yerself one of these days. None of us knows what’s going to happen to us when we get older, and it’s a good job we don’t.’
‘All right, girl, keep yer bleeding hair on! I wouldn’t have opened me mouth if I’d known I was letting meself in for a lecture. It doesn’t take much to get you rattled, does it?’
‘That’s because yer sound really hard-hearted sometimes. I don’t know why yer do it, ’cos I know ye’re really as soft-hearted as I am.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far! Not by any stretch of the imagination can yer say I’m soft-hearted. Compared to you I’m as hard as nails.’
They came to the butcher’s and Kate pulled her arm free. ‘I’ll go for the spuds and onions, and meet yer down at the greengrocer’s. We’ll continue our conversation then. In the meanwhile I don’t want yer thinking ye’re as hard as nails, ’cos ye’re not. If yer were, yer wouldn’t be me best mate in all the world.’ She waved through the window to the butcher. ‘Tell Bob I want nice lean mince, not a load of fat.’
‘Go on, yer hard-faced article, giving me the dirty work to do.’ Monica watched her friend walk away, and stood for a few seconds asking herself why Kate had the power to make her feel so lacking in compassion? Compared to her neighbour she was, of course, but she wasn’t going to admit it out loud. But she could be truthful with herself and admit that, unlike Kate, she would never have given two thoughts to Winnie Cartwright’s being lonely. Or the other women in their street who lived alone.
Monica gave a quick shake of her head to clear her mind. Now wasn’t the time to be having these thoughts, not when the butcher was watching her through the window, wondering if she was coming or going.
The two friends stood outside Kate’s house later sorting their money out. ‘The potatoes and onions came to threepence each,’ Kate said, her purse open in her hand. ‘And you say the mince came to one and six altogether?’ She screwed her eyes up as she mentally added and subtracted. ‘I owe yer a tanner, and then we’re quits.’
‘Leave it and pay me later,’ Monica told her. ‘I’m in no hurry and I know ye’re not going to run away.’
‘Out of debt, out of danger, sunshine.’ Kate counted out a threepenny bit and three pennies and handed them over. ‘I’ll know where I’m working now. Once I’ve got the spuds peeled, and the mince and onions simmering, I’ll nip to the corner shop for a loaf and something for the carry-out. Save worrying about it later.’
Too embarrassed to meet her friend’s eyes, Monica looked down at the ground as she casually asked, ‘What time are yer thinking of going to Winnie’s?’
‘It’ll be after seven by the time I get the dinner over and the dishes washed. I’ll sit with her for half an hour, then come home and start on some ironing. It’ll be cooler then, I won’t be sweating cobs over a hot iron.’
‘I’ll come to Winnie’s with yer, if yer like? It would get me out of the house for a bit of fresh air, and I’ll be company for yer.’
Kate’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline. ‘And what would yer want to be coming to Winnie’s for after all yer’ve said about her?’
‘Well, I just think she’d rather have two people to talk to instead of the four walls. I mean, there’s not much pleasure in holding a conversation with four bleeding walls. She wouldn’t get many laughs out of them.’
Kate knew her friend was trying to make amends, and wasn’t finding it easy. So she thought she’d help her out. ‘I don’t know so much! I’ve had many a conversation with my walls, and I always get the best of the argument.’ She chuckled. ‘Except for the back wall in the kitchen, now that’s a real trouble-maker. Many’s the time I’ve had to speak sharply to it and remind it who’s the boss.’
‘Yer don’t have to tell me, I’ve heard yer.’ Monica grinned. ‘I only wish yer would swear now and again, though, girl, ’cos ye’re never going to win an argument by being ladylike.’
‘Oh, I have me moments, and can swear when I think it’s necessary. But I don’t agree that yer have a better chance of winning an argument by swearing like a trooper. Yer only lower yerself to the other person’s level.’ Kate stifled a yawn. ‘It’s been quite a day and I’m tired. I could just put me head down and drop off.’
‘Then put yer dinner on, go to
the corner shop, and come back and stretch out on the couch for half an hour. It’ll do yer the world of good.’
‘I think I’ll take yer up on that, sunshine, ’cos I can’t stop yawning. But I’ll give yer a knock tonight when I’m going to Winnie’s. Any time between seven and half-past. Ta-ra.’
‘Ta-ra, girl, and you do what I said. Have forty winks before the kids come in, it’ll perk yer up.’
Kate was turning the key in the lock when she heard her friend shout, ‘Eh, girl, we’ve only gone and forgotten to buy the blinking baby wool! Shall I run down to the wool shop later and get a skein for each of us?’
‘If yer would, sunshine, but only one skein, I can’t afford any more.’ Kate opened the door and stepped into the hall. ‘And definitely in white, Monica, even if they have a half-price sale on of yellow or blue. It must be white.’
Monica couldn’t see her mate, but she called back, ‘Okay, I get the message. Ta-ra.’
It was a noisy hectic meal in the Spencer household that night with everyone talking at once. Billy’s was the loudest voice, but Nancy was trying to get a word in because her mam, brother and Pete Reynolds had been the talk of the playground. There was great excitement as each girl gave their own version of why Mrs Spencer and Billy and Pete had been in the headmaster’s office for ages and ages.
The boys’ and girls’ schools were housed in one building, but completely separate. The huge playground had high iron railings running down its centre, and it was by the pressing of faces between these railings that information was given and received. No one knew exactly what had taken place so the various accounts were all guesswork and down to the imagination of the individual. Billy and Pete were the centre of attention and really enjoying their moment of fame, but nothing would have prised the truth from them. They wouldn’t tell Nancy, or their best mates, in case Alex Hudson and his sidekicks decided they wouldn’t start amending their ways until the next day, after they’d taught the lads a lesson they’d never forget.
