by Maggie Ford
Geraldine felt lucky to be young in this part of the twentieth century. The only fly in the ointment was an endless round of strikes for better pay, wages unable to keep up with rising prices so that for a time, announced the Government, rationing had to be imposed.
But for her the future looked rosy. Tony spent Christmas with her people, seeming to quite enjoy the sort of Christmas East End families indulged in, and had bought gifts, a turkey, a huge box of chocolates for Mum, a large tin of tobacco for Dad who rolled his own cigarettes – ‘No taste in them shop things,’ Dad always said. He’d bought Fred a pair of roller skates, ‘To get you around your errands faster and soon you’ll be given promotion, you’ll see.’ For Wally there was a leather cigarette case and for Evie a pair of gloves. He was totally at ease as though this was his family and Geraldine felt a little sad for him that he had no interest in going to visit his own. He did not speak about it and she wondered how deep the rift had been. One day maybe he would tell her.
He’d got nothing for Mavis, she living in her own home and hardly around when he called on Geraldine, so he didn’t really know her. He said how awkward he felt but Mum told him not to be silly and anyway, when Mavis came for Christmas dinner she hardly acknowledged him, still seeing him as a jumped-up snob who’d have her sister in tears when he finally got fed up slumming it.
Geraldine couldn’t help smiling, remembering when she had felt jealous of Mavis getting married and there seemed no likelihood of herself ever finding the man of her dreams. Now she’d found one and to prove it, on New Year’s Eve he quietly asked Dad for her hand in marriage; that given, he proposed to her on the stroke of twelve, to everyone’s delight going down on one knee for it.
‘Fancy,’ crowed Mum, while all the aunts applauded and came forward to hug her while the men came to shake Tony’s hand, Evie giving him a huge, lingering kiss on the cheek, though Mavis for her part looked at the ceiling with a sour expression now that her doleful prediction of his going off into the blue seemed not to be coming true.
The following Saturday afternoon he had closed his shop and had taken her up the big jewellers in Bond Street to buy the ring.
She now flashed the half hoop of magnificent diamonds in front of Mavis, seeing envy reflected in those light-brown eyes. It would teach Mavis to snub her fiancé the way she had over Christmas and the New Year. Tony had done nothing to her, in fact had been polite and generous to all the family and could be excused for not having given her anything, the way she had treated him from the very start. If she was jealous, then let her really be jealous, Geraldine thought, trying hard not to be vindictive. The rest of them were well pleased, Mum especially.
‘I’m so glad for yer,’ she said. ‘But once you two are married, yer won’t look down yer nose at us, will yer?’
‘Look down me nose?’ echoed Geraldine in amazement. ‘Why should I do that? We’re hardly likely to be landed gentry, are we?’
‘I just thought,’ mused her mother. ‘I mean, yer beginning ter talk posh, like yer was ashamed of bein’ what you are.’
She hadn’t really noticed. It had sort of crept up on her. Maybe it was Tony’s influence. She remembered a time, only last year, when she’d made a conscious effort to improve her speech on first meeting him. Now it seemed to come naturally to her. Even friends at work sometimes pulled faces when she spoke so that she found herself making the same conscious effort to speak as she once had when with them. It wasn’t difficult to revert, but just as easy to speak as she was now doing.
‘Don’t be silly, Mum,’ she said, trying to modify her speech. ‘I ain’t trying ter be posh. I really ain’t.’
‘Well, so long as it don’t go to yer ’ead, all this money yer marryin’ into.’
‘He ain’t that well off,’ she said.
With a grunt and a shiver from the freezing cold of the backyard, Jack Glover got gratefully back between the warm covers. It was three-thirty in the morning and he’d already been out to do a pee around one o’clock, his rest disturbed yet again. He’d gone to bed around ten-thirty, delaying his visit to the lav until the last minute and he would willingly bet his last farthing that he’d be woken up again around five by a bladder that felt it was bursting, to stumble downstairs and into the yard, hoping to make it in time to the lav itself, only to end up doing a dribble. It drove him mad. It spoiled his sleep and by the time he got up for work at seven he felt as if he’d hardly slept a wink all night.
Hilda came half awake, her rest broken by him getting back into bed.
‘Sorry, love,’ he whispered.
That brought her more awake and she turned restlessly towards him, protesting at being disturbed. ‘’Ow many times yer been?’
‘A couple. An’ its bloody freezin’ out there.’
‘If it goes on like this you’ll ’ave ter start usin’ the po.’
‘Yer don’t like me usin’ one.’
‘Well, I must admit it do stink the room out by mornin’. Ain’t like it’s little girl’s water. But sooner that than you catchin’ yer death of cold out there, you’re going to ’ave ter use it. But I ain’t ’appy about it.’ She fidgeted with the bedclothes around her chin. ‘It’s gettin’ worse, that bladder of yours. Worse than it was last winter. You’ll ’ave ter try makin’ it to the lav in time.’
‘I managed it this time. But when I pulled the chain and come out, a light come on next door. They must of ’eard me pull the chain.’
‘They know yer. They don’t mind.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘I don’t care if you do, Jack,’ she groaned drowsily.
‘Yer would if you was me,’ he shot at her.
Hilda sighed. ‘Time summer comes round yer’ll ’ave to try an’ make it to the lav, and pull the chain. I can’t ’ave the smell all through next summer like last year – goin’ out there dowsing it down with carbolic every mornin’, people thinking we’re dirty. But even carbolic’s better than the smell you create sometimes. An’ I won’t ’ave yer not pulling the chain, don’t matter what the neighbours think. That pan’s stained as it is without you addin’ to it with yer wee lying in it fer hours. I scrub that pan day in, day out, and it’s still stained. You’ll just ’ave ter learn ter pull it when yer go in the night.’
‘I ain’t ’aving every bloody neighbour knowing I’ve got an affliction.’ He had sat up, his voice grown louder. Retaliating in no uncertain terms, Hilda sat up too, irritated by his sudden show of belligerence.
‘Yer lettin’ ’em all know now, though. Why don’t yer shout out a bit louder, Jack? People across the road can’t ’ear!’
He lowered his tone instantly, his voice adopting a note of pleading. ‘I can’t ’elp this, gel. Wish I could. ’Ow d’yer think I feel, dripping like a bloody tap, all me mates laughin’ at me if I’m not careful. I’m ashamed, gel, I am.’
She too lowered her voice, immediately sympathetic. ‘I know. But if it goes on much longer, you’re goin’ to ’ave to speak to the doctor. Yer’ve ’ad this trouble over a year now. You’ll ’ave ter see a doctor about it.’
‘I know what that’ll mean. Me sent to orspital. I can’t afford time off work goin’ to orspitals. What if they kept me in?’
‘They won’t keep you in,’ sighed Hilda, snuggling down under the covers again. It was cold sitting up. ‘More likely the doctor’ll give yer some medicine to stop it. We can’t go on like this. You’re going to ’ave to see ’im.’
With that she turned over, away from him, obliging him to lie down and seek some sleep before it was time to get up and go to work. At the moment he was fortunate enough to be working, him and Wally together. At the moment they were bringing in money and perhaps if she put a little aside out of her housekeeping, she herself going without a few things, there’d be a bit of savings if Jack did go into hospital, though she didn’t reckon it that serious to warrant it.
She lay on her side, eyes wide open as she thought about it. There was the Hospital Savings Club, contribu
tions of just a few pence a week which sometimes she begrudged paying when Jack was out of work – that might help provide a little towards it if need be. National Insurance certainly wouldn’t provide much. To her mind Lloyd George was quick to take from the working man but slow to hand out when it was needed and a few pence at that – an old Welsh thief was what she referred to their Prime Minister as being.
Her biggest worry was that if Jack had to be off work for any length of time it wouldn’t be easy to get back. That’s how it was in the docks, a hard life for sick people. You only had to look at the lines of ex-servicemen trudging along the gutters with their harmonicas, their off-key voices, their pleading eyes and their placards, forgotten heroes, living on pennies from passers-by.
She heard Jack begin to snore gently. Soon it would develop enough to raise the ceiling and she’d better find some sleep before it began keeping her awake for what was left of the night. She’d worry about it all tomorrow – not half as bad in broad daylight. Perhaps this trouble Jack had wasn’t as serious as the nights made it seem. There was, though, one thing about his affliction for which she was thankful – he no longer claimed his marital rights for fear of disgracing himself. Humiliating for any man. But she was forty-seven and had just about had enough of that lark. Since young Fred was born, she’d had two miscarriages and one stillborn. Had she gone on like that she might not have seen many more years, that’s how constant childbearing could drain a woman, but it wasn’t easy to explain this to a man.
Fortunately, and she did feel fortunate if sorry for Jack, he being as he was avoided the unpleasantness of telling him she didn’t want him pulling her about any longer, that she was past that sort of thing. Under normal circumstance he wouldn’t be past it, certain he could go on enjoying it until they carried him out of the house feet first. She was sorry for his trouble but she could now put her hands together. Many women in their forties couldn’t, still in the throes of adding to their families.
In his sleep Jack gave a loud snort, held his breath for a second then let it out in a throaty rumble that had Hilda closing her eyes in an effort to fall off to sleep.
Chapter Seven
It was Monday evening and Hilda and her daughter sat alone in the back room. Jack had gone to bed early as he often did these days, having emptied out before retiring, needing to get as much sleep in as he could before being obliged to get up for another visit. Wally and Fred were out. Evie would be due home in half an hour from a friend’s house down the road. It was an ideal time to unburden herself on to Geraldine.
She glanced at her daughter who had settled herself in her father’s chair to read the Evening Standard he’d put aside to go to bed.
Geraldine was the only person handy whom she felt she could turn to. She’d kept her worries bottled up for so long she felt she might soon explode. There were people she could have confided in. There were her sisters, Lizzie and Daisy, but they might only pop in once a fortnight, maybe not even that often. They didn’t live all that far away, Lizzie in Arbery Road and Daisy in Antill Road, but they had their own families. She could have gone round to them but she too had a family to look after. It was nice when they met, but they weren’t here this evening and Geraldine was.
Mavis came Thursday mornings, had a sandwich and left mid-afternoon to go home and cook Tom’s tea for when he came home from work. She had no babies yet to take up her time, her first due sometime in June. She’d visit Mavis on Tuesdays, tomorrow in fact, but things had built up so much inside her that being as Geraldine wasn’t out this Monday evening she felt she had to confide in her or go potty with worry about Jack. It had been building up all day since Jack had almost not gone to the docks, ashamed of his condition, and she couldn’t keep it inside herself any longer.
Biting her lip, she let the stocking she was wearily darning after the usual Monday washday fall idle in her lap. The washing now hung on several lines strung across the kitchen, the weather being too damp for it to hang outside. On Wednesday it would be ready for ironing and then airing on a clothes horse around the old kitchen range, that in this weather was lit although they had the gas stove for cooking. By the time Mavis came on Thursday it would all be folded away out of sight and the house nice and tidy for her.
‘I’ve been ever so worried about your dad lately, Gel,’ she began and saw Geraldine look up at her as though in surprise. ‘It’s ’is waterworks,’ she hurried on.
Geraldine gave a shrug and a smile. ‘We’re used to him.’
‘I know, love. It’s not that what worries me, it’s that it’s getting worse and I really am worried about ’im. I said ’e can’t go on like this and should see the doctor but yer dad thinks they’ll send ’im to ’ospital and he’ll be kept in and lose time off work. We can’t afford that, Gel, not if it went into weeks. I keep wondering what yer dad’s got wrong with ’im. It’s gone on so long, it can’t be just a matter of being given a few tablets ter clear it up.’
Geraldine put the newspaper down, aware something was seriously wrong. ‘You’ve got to get him to see the doctor.’
‘You try makin’ your dad do anythink ’e don’t want to do.’
‘Then you’ve got to put your foot down, Mum. If it’s not getting any better there must be something badly wrong. You’re going to have to, don’t matter what he says.’
Her mother sighed and went back to her darning. It’d take some doing getting Dad to do what was needed, but Geraldine was right.
‘I bloody told yer, didn’t I?’
Jack burst into the kitchen, flinging his cap down onto a chair, following it with his jacket and checkered cloth choker.
‘Bloody doctor! “I’m sending you to hospital, Mr Glover. Get them to ’ave a look at you. I think you might ’ave some trouble with your prostrate gland.” That’s what ’e told me, all bloody clever-like. “And that’ll be two and sixpence!” So I’ve just ’anded ’im ’alf a crown what I’ve worked me bloody guts out for, just ter be told ’e’s sendin’ me to bloody orspital. What time’ve I got ter go ter bloody orspitals?’
Hilda looked up from her Wednesday ironing on the kitchen table, an old blanket and sheet yellowed from much use of the iron being spread across its surface.
‘You are going?’
‘I bloody ain’t!’
He strode over to the mantleshelf above the kitchen range and picked up a taper. Lighting it from the fire that was helping to air what had already been ironed and generally keep the place warm against a cold, wet April, he held the taper to a hand-rolled cigarette he’d extracted from several in a tin box.
‘I told ’im what ter do wiv ’is bloody orspitals. I asked ’im if he was ready ter pay fer me bein’ out of work, and per’aps all fer nothink. He told me I could be very ill if I didn’t take ’is bloody advice. Well, I’d sooner be ill than lose me work.’
Hilda put the iron back on its trivet in front of the range to warm up again, doing it with a sharp, angry thump. ‘Yer will lose work if yer fall ill, won’t yer? And yer might not be well enough ter go back ever if yer get seriously ill because yer wouldn’t take the doctor’s advice. Yer might even lose yer job. And all because yer won’t see sense.’
He was unmoved. ‘And where’s the money comin’ from ter pay the orspital fees then? Tell me that, Mrs bloody Know-All.’
She was really angry now. It had taken her all this time to get him even to go to the doctor, and now this.
‘You’re the only know-all round ’ere. I tell yer this, Jack, if you fall really ill because you ain’t got the sense to at least ’ave yerself looked at proper, I ain’t goin’ ter struggle on nothink to try and feed this family. I’ll go to one of me sisters, or me brother, and stay there and you can fend for yerself. What if yer died ’cos yer didn’t take medical advice? What if yer’ve got somethink what could kill yer and you not knowing, but what could have been cured if yer took notice? I tell yer, Jack, you go and see an ’ospital or I won’t be responsible for yer.’
With tha
t she grabbed up the now heated iron, fingers protected from the handle by a thick wad of cloth, and began swishing the thing back and forth across the pillowcase she was smoothing, in her anger her elbow going like a piston rod.
Jack watched her for a moment, belligerence fading. When he spoke again his voice was dreary and defeated. ‘Yer don’t understand, ole girl. There’s lots of unrest in the docks over pay. There’s talk of goin’ on strike. If that ’appens it could be weeks with no money comin’ in. I can’t afford ter be off from work just at the moment.’
The threat was enough to make her stop ironing and look at him as he continued, ‘Things could get bad. Prices are risin’ and pay ain’t keepin’ up with ’em. Everyone’s struggling. This land they promised ter be fit fer heroes ain’t what they said it’d be. There’s unrest in the mines too. We’re ’eading fer trouble all round and it ain’t a time ter go worryin’ about meself.’
It was another month before she could tell anyone about him, bottling it up inside her until it felt she might burst. Finally she told Geraldine, once again being the nearest person handy. Her daughter listened with concern but there was no advice she could offer, saying that what Dad said was true and he knew best about himself and his situation.
Now it was Geraldine’s turn to fret and worry. Maybe Mum had thought of her as being unsympathetic but what could she do? She could hardly go to Dad and demand he do something about himself. Now she was the one bottling it up. It wasn’t the sort of thing you talked about. ‘Trouble with his waterworks’ to people asking what was wrong if he did go to hospital would provoke an instant grin, striking the enquirer as funny. People would naturally want to know what was wrong with him. That meant lies and evasions. Better keep it to herself, but like her mother she’d become worried sick about him.
