by Joan Jonker
Jimmy could see a stop coming up and turned the handle on the brake. Two passengers got on, and Jimmy waited for the conductor to press the bell before setting the tram in motion. A new King, eh? he was thinking. Wonder what he’s like? Not that it would make much difference to the ordinary people in the street, they weren’t likely to ever set eyes on him.
‘Be glad to get to the depot for a cuppa, me mouth’s as dry as emery paper.’
Jimmy’s eyes swivelled to the platform where the conductor, Johnny, was standing. ‘Aye, I could do with a drink meself. An’ I don’t mean tea, either!’
‘Never mind, we’ll get a few jars in when we get home.’ Johnny laughed as he nodded to the street they were passing where a noisy party was in full swing. ‘This lot ’ave got a head start on us, though.’ He turned his head just in time to see a man stagger into the middle of the road, right in front of the tram. ‘Look out, Jimmy!’
But Jimmy had already seen the man and was turning the brake handle as quick as he could. ‘Bloody fool! Walked right into us!’
The tables had been cleared away, all except one which was left for the barrel of beer to stand on, next to bottles of port and sherry. A sturdy stool had been found for Corker to sit on, and with his huge hands through the leather straps at each end of his concertina, he started the party in earnest. The children sat at his feet, drawn to him like a magnet. He wasn’t like anyone else they knew. With his ruddy complexion, twinkling blue eyes, bushy beard and moustache, his sailor’s hat perched on the back of his head, and the size of a giant, to the children he was larger than life, just like the Sinbad in their story books. A chair had been placed near Corker for Miss Clegg, and she was clearly enjoying herself. With a glass of port in her hand, she hummed along to the tunes of ‘Rose of Tralee’, ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’, and ‘Old-Fashioned Mother Of Mine’.
‘Someone’s enjoying herself.’ Molly was standing with Nellie and Mary, while their husbands acted as barmen. ‘It’ll do ’er the world of good.’
‘Another couple of drinks, then I’ll start to enjoy meself.’ Nellie took Molly’s empty glass. ‘I’ll fill us up. What about you, Mary?’
‘No, I’ll wait till our Bella’s in bed, then I can really let meself go. I’ll give her another half hour, then it’s be-bye-beddy-byes for her.’
‘Yeah, that goes for our Ruthie, too.’ Molly glanced across to where Ellen Clarke was standing near her door with her four children. ‘It’s lousy for those kids, yer know. They don’t even know ’ow to enjoy themselves.’
‘I know, I’ve been watchin’ them,’ Nellie said. ‘Scared of their own shadow, they are.’
‘Tell yer what, Nellie, bring a drink back for Ellen. I’ll get ’er an’ the kids over here.’
‘Aye, aye, boss!’ Nellie said, performing a very nifty twirl for someone her size. ‘Anythin’ yer say, boss!’
‘She’s two sheets to the wind, that one,’ Molly laughed, ‘but I think the world of ’er.’ She patted Mary’s arm. ‘I won’t be a tick.’
Molly stood in front of Ellen. ‘Come an’ have a drink with us, Ellen, an’ let the kids sit an’ listen to Corker.’
She drew back. ‘We’re all right ’ere, honest.’
‘Speak for yerself, Ellen! The kids would love to watch Sinbad, wouldn’t yer, kids?’
Four pairs of eyes turned to their mother. ‘Can we, Mam?’ Phoebe asked. Ellen saw Molly put her hands on her hips, and knew her neighbour was ready to do battle if she refused. ‘Okay, but behave yerselves.’
‘Right, that’s them sorted out. Now for you.’ Molly linked arms with Ellen and practically dragged her towards where Mary and Nellie were standing. ‘Nellie, did yer get a drink for Ellen?’
‘Sure did, kiddo!’ Nellie handed the glass over. ‘Here’s mud in yer eye, Ellen!’
When Jack came over to say he’d take Ruthie in and put her to bed, Ellen said she’d take her two youngest in. After two glasses of sherry she was much more relaxed and talkative, and when Molly told her to come back when she’d got the kids to bed, she agreed.
‘Your Jill and our Steve are enjoyin’ themselves,’ Nellie said. ‘Neither of them can dance, but they’re havin’ a go.’
‘That’s one thing our Doreen’s better at than Jill,’ Molly said. ‘Look at the state of ’er an’ that boy from down the street, they look as though they were born dancin’.’
‘Yeah, she’s got rhythm all right, your Doreen.’ Nellie ran a podgy finger round the rim of her glass, watching Molly under lowered lids. ‘How d’yer feel about bein’ our Steve’s ma-in-law, kid, ’cos I think that’s the way it’s goin’?’
‘Nellie, I’d be over the moon! If I had to choose someone for ’er, your Steve would be me first choice. I think he’s a cracker.’ Molly’s chest heaved as she let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘Of course it would mean ’aving you in the family, but there’s always a sting in the tail, isn’t there?’
‘Yer cheeky sod! I’ll have you know your daughter would be marrying into a well-to-do family.’ Nellie stuck her nose in the air and struck up a haughty pose that she thought matched her posh accent. ‘We’re not your plain common or garden riff-raff, you know.’ Her nose went even higher. ‘In fact, if my son marries your daughter, I’ll expect her to come with a dowry.’
‘Oh, rest assured my daughter won’t come empty-handed.’ Molly matched the accent. ‘We’ve got an heirloom been in the family for years, that will be her dowry.’ Molly burst out laughing. ‘It’s that aspidistra plant I’ve got on me sideboard.’
Just then Corker started on ‘My Old Man Said Follow the Van’, and Molly grabbed Nellie’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s join in the fun.’
Corker’s weatherbeaten face broke into a huge grin when he saw Molly and Nellie, their arms around each other’s waists, kicking their legs in the air and singing at the top of their voices. He went straight into ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’, and by this time everyone was doing their own version of a jig.
Jack stood on the edge of the crowd, next to Nellie’s husband, George. ‘Just look at the state of them! It’s surprising what a few drinks can do, isn’t it?’
‘My one’s showing everythin’ she’s got.’ George doubled up with laughter. ‘One leg of her drawers is hangin’ down.’
‘I don’t think that’ll bother her,’ Jack said. ‘She’s enjoyin’ herself too much.’
‘Ooh, I’ve had it!’ Molly stopped, gasping for breath. ‘I’m gettin’ too old for this lark.’
‘Go on, yer can’t take it!’ Nellie danced on, her hands on her wide hips, her mountainous bosom floating up and down. One by one the neighbours dropped out and formed a circle around her, clapping and egging her on. But Corker noted Nellie’s red face, and the rivulets of sweat running from her forehead down her cheeks and neck into the valley between her breasts. She’s had enough, he thought, but won’t give in. I’ll let her keep her pride and pack in meself.
‘Right, that’s yer lot!’ As he laid his concertina down at the side of the stool he heard rumblings of disappointment. ‘Oh, I’ll be back after I’ve ’ad a pint, don’t worry. Give yez time to get yer second wind back.’
Corker downed the pint without taking the glass from his lips, and Jack shook his head in amazement. He’d never seen that before, even from Corker. As the big man ran his tongue over his lips and moustache, he let out a sigh of satisfaction. ‘I needed that, me throat’s sore with all that singing.’
‘I’ll get yer another one.’ Jack took the empty glass and turned to the table where the now almost empty barrel stood. He turned the small tap on and looked around as he waited for the glass to fill. It was then he saw the policeman walking up the street. ‘There’s a bobby comin’, Corker, I think he’s come to complain about the noise.’ Jack was laughing as he turned the tap off. ‘It must be your voice . . . like a foghorn, it is.’
Molly watched the policeman’s approach with interest. It wasn’t often they saw a bobby in their street. S
he saw him stop by Lizzie Furlong, then Lizzie pointing to the group standing near Corker.
‘Mrs Clarke?’ The young, fresh-faced policeman looked at Molly.
‘No, she’s just gone in the house, taken her children in.’ Molly’s brows lifted in apprehension. What on earth did he want Ellen for?
‘Which house is it?’
‘Two doors up.’ Molly had the feeling that the serious expression on the constable’s face meant he was the bringer of bad news. ‘Is something wrong?’
The bobby hesitated. ‘Do you know Mrs Clarke well?’
‘’Course I do! We’ve been neighbours for years!’
‘What is it, lad?’ Corker asked. ‘Is it trouble?’
‘I’m afraid so. Her husband’s been in an accident.’
Molly gasped. ‘Oh, my God! Is he hurt bad?’
‘Look, I think I’d better talk to Mrs Clarke.’ The constable adjusted the helmet strap under his chin. ‘Perhaps you’d come in with me? She might be glad of someone she knows being there.’
‘I’ll come.’ Corker handed his glass to Jack. ‘I’ve known her all me life.’
‘No!’ Molly said quickly. ‘Me an’ Nellie will go. Better for Ellen to ’ave a woman there.’
By now the news had trickled through the crowd and there was complete silence as the trio walked through the open door of the Clarkes’ house.
Ten minutes later Molly appeared, white-faced. ‘Nobby’s in ’ospital. He was run over by a tram.’
‘How bad is he?’ It was Corker who asked.
‘It’s serious from what the policeman said. Ellen’s got to go to the ’ossie right away. Me an’ Nellie are goin’ with her, so will yer see to everythin’ for us, Jack? I don’t know ’ow long we’ll be away.’
‘Didn’t the policeman say how it happened?’ Corker asked. ‘It seems strange to be run over by a tram.’
Molly gazed at the faces of those standing near. ‘Will yez come inside while I get me coat?’
In private Molly told Jack, George and Corker all she knew. ‘He was blind drunk from all accounts. Walked straight in front of the tram. The driver had no chance. Apparently the poor bugger’s in hospital ’imself, suffering from shock. It happened hours ago, but nobody knew who Nobby was! All he ’ad on him was a wage packet, an’ the police had trouble gettin’ in touch with the firm to find out where he lived.’ She paused for breath. ‘Nobby’s in a bad way. The tram went over ’is legs.’
‘How’s Ellen takin’ it?’ Jack asked.
‘I wouldn’t know! She’s sittin’ like a statue, not sayin’ a word! Me an’ Nellie had to ask all the questions.’
‘She’s in shock,’ Corker said. ‘It affects yer like that.’
Jill came bursting into the room, followed by Steve. ‘What’s up, Mam?’
Molly told her daughter just as much as she thought she should know. ‘Would you go in an’ sit with the two girls, love? God alone knows ’ow long Ellen will be away.’
‘We’ll stay with them, won’t we, Steve?’
‘Yeah, all night if need be.’ He put his arm around Jill’s waist. ‘Tell Mrs Clarke not to worry about them, we’ll make sure they’re all right.’
‘I’d better get back.’ Molly tutted as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I look a mess, but I’ll ’ave to do. This is no time to be worryin’ about me appearance.’
Corker put a ten shilling note in her hand. ‘Give this to Ellen in case she needs it. Tell her to get a taxi home.’
‘Ta very much, Corker.’ Molly slipped her arms into her coat. ‘I’ll see yez as soon as we can get away. Depends on what we find when we get to the ’ossie. Me an’ Nellie will stay for as long as Ellen needs us.’
Chapter Thirteen
Molly pulled Ellen to a halt outside a door at the end of the long hospital corridor. ‘The Almoner’s office, where the feller said yer should come.’ She looked over Ellen’s head at Nellie, who was holding on to Ellen’s other arm. ‘D’yer think they’ll let us go in with ’er?’
‘Don’t ask me, I ’aven’t got a clue!’ Nellie’s eyes rolled upwards. This silence of Ellen’s was getting her down, it wasn’t natural. She hadn’t spoken one word on the way down, shown no emotion whatsoever. With her face set, her eyes blank, and her tongue silent, it was as though she’d been turned into a zombie. ‘Perhaps Ellen would rather go in on ’er own?’
‘No! I want yez to come with me.’ Ellen still didn’t turn her head. ‘If they’ll let yez.’
‘Only one way to find out.’ Molly rapped with her knuckles, waited for a voice to answer, then turned the knob and poked her head around the door. ‘Mrs Clarke’s ’ere. Her ’usband was in an accident.’
The Almoner looked up from the papers on her desk. ‘Ask her to come in, please.’
‘Is it all right for me an’ another neighbour to come in with ’er? She’s in a bad state, yer see.’
When the Almoner nodded, Molly opened the door wide and pushed Ellen through. ‘Sit down, Mrs Clarke.’ A hand holding a pen pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the desk. When Ellen didn’t move, Molly gently put an arm around her waist and led her forward. ‘Sit down, Ellen, me an’ Nellie will be right behind yer.’
Beatrice Pritchard had been Almoner at Walton Hospital for more years than she cared to remember. She was a spinster, still living with her parents in their comfortable home in Wavertree, but her single status was not due to lack of admirers. She was a fine-looking woman, was Beatrice, and many men had pursued her with marriage in mind, only to find she was wedded to her job. She rested her elbows on the desk and faced Ellen.
‘You’ve been told what happened, Mrs Clarke?’
Ellen gave a curt nod, her eyes fixed on a notice on the wall.
‘Your husband was very seriously injured and I’m afraid the doctor holds out little hope of his recovering.’ Beatrice waited for some sign that her words had registered. When none came, she turned her hazel eyes to Molly and Nellie. ‘Has Mrs Clarke any family?’
‘She’s got four children,’ Molly told her, ‘but as for other family, yer know, like parents or sisters and brothers, I honestly couldn’t tell yer ’cos she’s never mentioned any.’
The Almoner’s gaze went back to Ellen, sitting stony-faced, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. ‘Mr Clarke is in the operating theatre now, and I really don’t know how long it will be before you’re allowed to see him. You might have a long wait.’
‘I’ve got to get ’ome to me children.’ Ellen suddenly came alive. ‘I can’t leave them, they’re too young.’
‘Can’t one of the neighbours see to them? I think you should stay, your husband’s condition is critical.’
‘We’ll see to the kids, Ellen,’ Nellie said, as Molly nodded her head vigorously in agreement. ‘They’ll come to no ’arm.’
‘No, I’m goin’ ’ome!’ Ellen’s lips formed a straight, determined line. ‘I can’t do nothin’ here, an’ I want to be with me children.’
Years of experience and observation had given Beatrice the ability to size people up, see things other people didn’t. Like the shabbily dressed, undernourished, pathetic creature sitting across the desk from her now. A typical downtrodden wife, if she’d ever seen one. All her spirit and pride knocked out of her by a bullying, drunken husband. She hadn’t seen Mr Clarke but the police officer had passed on all the details of the incident. According to eye witnesses, the man was so drunk he was staggering all over the road. And the manager of a nearby pub, brought out by the commotion, told how he’d refused to serve the man because in his opinion he had had far too much to drink.
‘Are you on the phone?’ Even as the words left her mouth, Beatrice was cursing herself for asking such a stupid question. It was obvious the woman didn’t have two ha’pennies to rub together, never mind the luxury of a telephone. Her tone gentle now, she said, ‘If your husband’s condition deteriorates, we will need to contact you.’
‘Our corner shop ’as a telephone,�
� Molly said. ‘Maisie wouldn’t mind yer ringin’ there. I can give yer ’er number.’
The Almoner wrote the number down, then excused herself. ‘Mr Clarke had a few things in his pockets, I’ll get them for you.’ She touched Ellen’s arm briefly before hurrying from the room.
‘I think yer should stay, Ellen,’ Molly said. ‘Me an’ Nellie would see to the kids for yer.’
‘No!’ she spat. ‘The sooner I get out of this place the better.’
Molly pulled a face at Nellie, then sat in silence until the Almoner returned. ‘There wasn’t much, I’m afraid. His clothes had to be cut from him.’ Beatrice put some loose change on the desk, and an empty wage packet. ‘If you don’t hear anything tonight, I suggest you come back first thing in the morning.’
Ellen scooped the change up and put it in her pocket. Then she reached for the wage packet. After a quick glance, that too was pushed into her pocket. Then she stood up. ‘Thank you, miss, I’ll be goin’ now.’
‘My name’s Miss Pritchard, Mrs Clarke, and if you need any help you know where to find me. I do hope there’s better news for you tomorrow.’
‘Ay, you, yer cheated!’ Phoebe glared across the table at her sister. They were playing snakes and ladders with Jill and Steve, and Dorothy, who had rolled the dice to four, had moved her counter five places so she could go up a ladder.
‘I didn’t cheat!’ Dorothy shouted, her face flushed with guilt. ‘Yer a fibber, our Phoebe!’
‘I’m not a fibber.’ Phoebe looked across at Steve. ‘You saw ’er, didn’t yer?’
Steve scratched behind his ear, a smile hovering on his lips. He hadn’t been watching when Dorothy made her move, his eyes had been on Jill. ‘I wasn’t counting.’
‘Me neither,’ Jill said, then noting Phoebe’s rebellious face, added, ‘Tell you what, you have a free roll, Phoebe, in case Dorothy did make a mistake.’
