The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘He’s a bloody conchy, that’s what he is. Phyllis has just told me.’

  All eyes turned to look at Sid Clark and then suddenly the room seemed to erupt. He swung his beer mug round, smashing it into his wife’s face, sending further splashes of liquid up Bessie’s wallpaper. ‘You bloody bitch. You and your big mouth.’

  Before anyone could reach her, Elsie had crumpled into a heap. Then Sid lunged, hand outstretched, towards Mary Ann. Catching her by the hair, he yanked it viciously. ‘Or was it you, telling these fancy friends of yours?’

  Now Bessie swung into action, her family behind her. Only Dan, still struggling to hold Amy, did not move forward.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Bessie bellowed, and whilst Bert and her three younger sons grasped Sid Clark, Bessie reached out for the girl and pulled her into the safety of her arms. ‘What’s all this about? Phyllis . . .’ Bessie looked around the room, but the person who had thrown this particular stone into the pond and caused more than a ripple was nowhere to be seen. ‘Tom, get that wife of yours in here this minute. I want to know what has caused all this.’

  A moment later, Tom brought a reluctant Phyllis in.

  ‘Now, everyone calm down and let’s sort this out. Bert, help Elsie up, will ya, and sit her in that chair. Are you all right?’

  The woman, still dazed, nodded. Her face was not cut, miraculously after such a blow, but a red and ugly swelling was beginning to show.

  ‘And you,’ Bessie ordered Sid. ‘You sit down, an’ all.’

  Against her Bessie could hear Mary Ann’s soft whimpering and the sounds of her thumb being sucked vigorously. She bent over her and whispered, ‘There, there, love, it’s all right. It’s all right.’ They were only words of reassurance, for Bessie was well aware that things were far from all right. ‘Now, Phyllis, just tell us what this is all about.’

  Phyllis glanced at Amy, who, though quiet now, was still staring at Sid, hatred in her eyes, before saying, ‘He was a conchy in the war. He spent most of the war in a prison cell in Lincoln jail. Someone at work told me. A friend of hers told her because her husband is a warder at the jail. Somehow, he even got out of being sent to the Front as a stretcher-bearer.’ Phyllis, warming to her story now, nodded knowingly. ‘That’s where most of the conchies ended up, but not him.’

  ‘That was a job and a half,’ Bessie muttered. ‘It’d take some guts to go out picking up the wounded and—’

  ‘How would you know anything about it, Bessie Ruddick?’ Amy screeched suddenly. ‘When your husband and all yer sons stayed safe at home here?’ The pitch of Amy’s voice rose. ‘Were they conchies an’ all?’

  Bessie’s face flamed. ‘You know very well they weren’t, Amy, and if you say any such thing about my Bert or my lads, you an’ me are going to fall out.’

  ‘Your Dan could have gone,’ Amy persisted.

  ‘No, he couldn’t. He weren’t old enough. He’s only just eighteen now.’

  Amy’s mouth was tight with resentment. ‘My lad volunteered and he was only sixteen. Sixteen, Bessie. All the way through he went. Four years of hell and then he gets killed only days before the peace is signed. And then I have to live alongside folks like ’im.’ She flung her arm out towards Sid. ‘If I had my way, he’d have been shot.’

  ‘Aw, come now, Amy . . .’

  ‘Don’t you “come now, Amy” me, Bessie Ruddick. I’ve seen it all. Palling on with ’em. Having them here, in your own home and taking their kiddie to Miss Edwina’s school. Oho, I bet your fancy friend won’t be so ready to help when she finds out just what the kid’s father is. Not when she lost her brother and her fiancé. Oh no, Miss Edwina will understand, even if you don’t.’

  With that parting shot, Amy pulled herself free of Dan’s hold and marched out of the room, slamming the door so that the already battered china cabinet yielded up yet more broken glass.

  For a moment there was silence in the room, then Bessie turned her look upon Sid. ‘Is it true? What she says?’

  ‘A man’s got a right to follow his own conscience,’ he growled. ‘I don’t hold with war and killing other folks. I’m a peaceful man – if I’m left alone.’

  Bessie’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened as she struggled with her own feelings. She’d no time for the men who hid away at home whilst others gave their lives for their country, but a tiny part of her could sympathize with someone who genuinely believed that war was wrong and that they should take a stand against it. She had heard that some very eminent people had suffered abuse because of their beliefs. It took a courageous man to stand alone against family, friends and neighbours and even the world at large. For that very action meant ridicule, hatred and imprisonment. In some cases, they had given their own lives in the cause of peace, for she had heard that many had been shot for cowardice.

  Bessie frowned. She had never met a conscientious objector before and, of course, she didn’t know Sid Clark well enough, didn’t know him at all, but he didn’t strike her as a man of unshakeable principles. She regarded him thoughtfully. There was a veiled threat in his final words and his sentiments didn’t quite ring true. Not to her ears. Here he was, she thought, bold as brass in her front room claiming to be a peaceful man when he was a wife beater and not above ill-treating his daughter. Oh no, Bessie couldn’t see it and she prided herself on being a good judge of character.

  ‘Get him out of here, Bert,’ she said quietly now. ‘Tek him to the pub while I see to Elsie and this little lass.’ She glanced around the room. ‘The party’s over, folks.’

  Fourteen

  ‘Well, did you ever?’ Minnie had managed at last to close her gaping mouth. ‘What do you make of all that, then, Bess?’

  The rest of Bessie’s guests had gone, but Minnie had stayed to help clear up the remnants of the shattered party.

  At Bessie’s bidding, Bert and his sons had taken Sid to the pub.

  ‘Try to find out more of his side of the story, Bert. I don’t like to condemn a feller afore he’s had chance to defend himself. But we’ve got to get at the truth if we’re to help ’em.’

  Bert had nodded. He didn’t hold with conchies. Hadn’t a scrap of sympathy for them, but he knew his Bessie was thinking more about the man’s wife and daughter than about Sid. If it meant living next door to the feller for the sake of that little lass and her mother, then Bert – and his sons – would do it.

  Phyllis had scuttled away as if she couldn’t get leave quickly enough, her husband close behind her, and they were soon followed by the Merryweathers and Stan Eccleshall. Bessie herself had taken Elsie and Mary Ann back to their own house. The girl had begged to stay, tears running down her cheeks, but Bessie had been firm. She needed time to herself for once, although she was glad to have Minnie’s company and help now.

  In answer to Minnie’s question, Bessie said slowly, ‘I suppose it could account for his behaviour. He must have had a tough time.’ She was trying to be fair to the man, but it was hard to be rational and, for once, even Bessie’s tender heart failed. ‘But it don’t give him the right to knock his wife and bairn about.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Amy so riled,’ Minnie said, as she swept up the broken glass whilst Bessie scrubbed at the stain on her carpet.

  ‘As far as Amy’s concerned, you know what they say, Min?’

  Minnie looked up. ‘No. What?’

  ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘It could stop Amy wallowing in self-pity. Now she’s got someone to direct her anger at, it might drag her out of that terrible depression.’

  Minnie shook her head. ‘Oh, you’re getting too deep for me, Bess. All I know is, I don’t reckon this is over. Not by a long chalk, I don’t.’

  Two hours later when the men were still not home, Bessie went next door to check on Elsie and Mary Ann.

  ‘Can I come in, love?’ she called, but pushed open the door and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

&
nbsp; Elsie was sitting huddled near the range, even though there was no fire in the grate. There was no sign of Mary Ann.

  ‘Little lass in bed, is she?’ Bessie asked, moving to sit down in the chair opposite the woman.

  Elsie nodded.

  ‘Eh, but it’s cold in here,’ Bessie shivered. ‘I’d light you a fire, but it’s a bit late now. The room’ll hardly get warm afore you go to bed, will it?’

  ‘There’s no wood or coal,’ Elsie murmured.

  ‘I’ll bring you a bucketful round in the morning, then,’ Bessie said, trying to be cheerful. ‘Always difficult to gauge what you’re going to be needing over the holidays, ain’t it?’

  She knew she was making excuses to save the woman’s pride. There was no coal in the house, Christmas or not, and, she suspected, very little food. Before the fracas, Bessie had noticed Sid Clark tucking into her sandwiches as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. And she hadn’t forgotten Mary Ann’s round eyes at the plateful of Christmas dinner Bessie had placed before her. She had thought the Clark family was going to have a good Christmas when she had seen Elsie loaded with shopping. She must have been wrong, Bessie thought.

  ‘Now, love, do you want to tell me about it? Maybe, if I know the full story, I can help.’

  Elsie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I doubt it, Bessie. We’ll just have to move on again. Everywhere we go, somehow, someone seems to find out about us and we have to go.’

  Bessie gave a wry snort of laughter. ‘I could have warned you about Phyllis Horberry. A ferret’s got nothing on her when it comes to a bit of gossip.’ She put her head on one side and regarded the pathetic little woman. She felt sorry for her and for the young girl upstairs, who was probably lying on that old mattress, sobbing herself to sleep and sucking her thumb until it was white and wrinkly.

  ‘Maybe if the folks round here knew the truth, they could sympathize a bit. Worth a try, ain’t it?’

  Again, the disconsolate shrug. ‘You can’t expect someone like poor Amy Hamilton to understand,’ Elsie said reasonably. ‘Can you?’

  Bessie sighed. ‘Not really, if I’m honest with you.’

  ‘Sid never used to be like he is now, Bessie. I want you to believe that. He was quite a good husband and father. Oh, he always drank a bit and it always made him nasty tempered, but he never knocked me and Mary Ann about. Not . . . not until he came out of prison.’ Elsie sighed. ‘After the war finished and he came home, it still wasn’t over.’ Flatly, she added hopelessly, ‘It never will be over. Everybody thinks that in Sid’s case he was hiding behind the name of being a conscientious objector just to get out of going to the Front.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Bessie said thoughtfully, ‘folks think that, if he’d been genuine, he’d have gone as a stretcher-bearer, like Phyllis said.’ She paused and asked softly, not wanting to bring this poor woman any further pain, but needing to get at the truth. ‘Wouldn’t he?’

  Elsie gave a deep sigh. ‘It grieves me to say it, Bessie, but I have to agree with you. That’s what he should have done.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry for you, Elsie,’ was all Bessie could say. ‘Very sorry.’

  As she went home, Bessie had the uncomfortable feeling that Minnie’s words were prophetic.

  This wasn’t over by a long chalk.

  Fifteen

  Minnie’s prediction came true a week later.

  Bessie and Bert woke with a jump at two o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day to hear the screams coming through their bedroom wall from the house next door.

  The Ruddicks’ New Year celebrations had been quiet and just within their own household. Their sons had stayed at home to see the New Year in with their parents and Susan had been invited to spend the evening with them. Dan had set off to walk her home just after midnight. The rest had gone to their beds soon after one o’clock, although Bessie had slept fitfully, listening with half an ear for Dan to arrive home.

  ‘Daft, you are,’ she had muttered to herself. ‘He’s a grown man now.’

  ‘What, love?’ Bert had murmured sleepily. ‘What d’you say?’

  Bessie had chuckled. ‘Nothing, sweetheart, just me worrying about our Dan.’

  ‘He’ll be all right, he’s . . .’ Bert had begun, but the sentence ended in a gentle snore.

  Bessie had lain awake for a while, staring into the darkness imagining, quite irrationally, all the different sorts of trouble Dan could get involved in if he encountered revellers roaming the streets. But gradually her heavy eyelids had closed and she had fallen into a half sleep.

  Then the commotion had begun and, at once, she was fully awake.

  ‘Oh no,’ she groaned as she levered herself out of bed and lumbered across the room to light the candle on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve been afraid of this. Come on, Bert.’

  Although he sat up and lowered his legs to the floor, Bert said, ‘Do you really think we should interfere, my angel?’

  ‘I aren’t lying here listening to that racket and doing nothing about it.’

  There was another cry of pain followed by a thump and, plainly through the wall, they could hear Sid shouting obscenities.

  ‘Just listen to the man. Have you ever heard owt like it?’

  Bert gave a wry smile. ‘Well, yes, I have, love, amongst sailors and workmen.’ He shook his head. ‘But it’s not the sort of language you like to hear a man using to his wife.’

  There was a thud against the wall and the sound of splintering wood. Then, suddenly, there was silence. An eerie, uncanny silence that sent a chill through Bessie.

  ‘Oh Bert, what’s he done?’

  But Bert was swinging his legs back into bed and lying back against the pillow.

  Shocked, Bessie said, ‘You’re not just going to lie there and do nothing, Bert Ruddick, are you?’

  ‘What can we do, Bess? If we go round and bang on his door, he’ll not answer it. So, short of breaking it down, how are we to get in?’ He paused and then asked quietly, ‘Do you want me to call out the police?’

  Bessie shivered and got back into bed, though she did not, for the moment, blow out the candle. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do, Bert. I just hate to think of that poor woman – and Mary Ann – having to put up with that lot.’ She nodded her head towards the wall.

  Bert snuggled down further beneath the covers. ‘It seems to have settled down now. I expect he got blind drunk. She told you he was worse then, didn’t she?’

  ‘Mm,’ Bessie murmured, her hearing still tuned to any sound coming from next door. ‘What worries me now is, why has it gone quiet so suddenly?’

  Despite the gravity of their conversation, Bert chuckled. ‘That’s the trouble with you, my angel. Never satisfied, are you?’

  For once, worried as she was, Bessie did not pick up on his teasing innuendo. Bert turned on his side, his back to her, but Bessie still sat up in bed, a shawl around her shoulders, listening intently.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ she muttered. ‘It’s too quiet now.’

  She waited a few moments more and then, exasperated, swung her legs out of the bed again, saying, ‘I’m wide awake now. I’m going down to make some cocoa. D’you want some?’

  There was no answer from her husband, so, pushing her feet into her slippers and taking the candle, Bessie plodded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Minutes later she had just settled herself into Bert’s armchair near the dying embers in the range when she heard the back door open and close very quietly. The inner door opened and a shadowy figure stepped silently into the room. Bessie saw him start as he saw the lighted candle on the table and her sitting in the chair.

  ‘You waiting up for me, Mam? Am I going to get a clip round the ear for being late home?’

  He stood over her, towering above her, this big, handsome son of hers, her firstborn.

  Bessie chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother. You’re a bit big for that now.’ Then she added, wagging her finger at him playfully, ‘But don’t think I wouldn’t if
I thought you deserved it.’

  Dan, too, laughed softly and sat down opposite her. ‘Any cocoa going? It’s cold out and I’ve had a long walk home.’

  As Bessie got up to get him a mug of cocoa, she asked, ‘Did you get your ear clipped yon end for Susan being late home?’

  ‘No, the Prices were still merrymaking. The house was ablaze with light and they’d got friends and neighbours round. I reckon it’ll go on till dawn.’ He grinned at her in the flickering candlelight. ‘But I thought seeing that her dad is me boss and I’m due to sail one of his ships downriver tomorrow on the afternoon tide, I’d better look willing and get to me bed.’

  ‘You mean today, lad,’ Bessie said. ‘It’s New Year’s Day now. The first of January 1920. Can you believe it?’

  ‘So, what are you doing still up?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been to bed once, but then there was this unearthly racket from next door. He’s been at it again.’

  Dan cocked his head on one side and listened. ‘Seems all right now, though. Drunk, was he?’

  Bessie handed him his cocoa and sat down heavily with a sigh. ‘I ’spect so. He was shouting and swearing and carrying on. There was thuds and bangs and then she was screaming.’

  Dan looked suddenly worried. ‘Who? Mary Ann?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I think it was his missis. Elsie.’

  Dan relaxed slightly, but angry disapproval was still in his eyes. ‘He’s still got no right . . .’ He broke off and sighed. ‘Still, it seems to have stopped. Let’s hope he’s fallen into a drunken stupor.’

  ‘It went quiet all of a sudden, though. That’s what’s worrying me.’

  ‘But you’ve not heard the little lass? You’ve not heard Mary Ann?’

  Bessie shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘I reckon if it had been anything really bad, she’d have come round here. Don’t you? She knows by now, surely, that she can come to us for anything, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I think so,’ Bessie agreed. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Come on then, Mam,’ Dan said, draining his mug and standing up. ‘Let’s both get to our beds, eh?’