A Different Kind of Love
Page 54
The butler returned then from his friend’s wedding, Cook asking, ‘Was it a nice do, Mr Spaven?’
He removed his bowler and smoothed his dark, corrugated thatch. ‘Passable, Mrs Temple, passable. A wedding’s a wedding, isn’t it?’ He himself had vouched to remain single. ‘Did you get me a newspaper, Jack?’
‘Yes, Mr Spaven, but it’s only a truncated version so I brought you this as well.’ Jack laid a copy of the British Gazette on the table.
With the printers on strike, the Government had produced their own bulletin. ‘It’ll help us keep tabs on how the strike’s going.’
‘I can tell you where it’s going.’ The butler spoke with confidence as he reached for his newspaper and sat down. ‘It’s going nowhere. All be over before you know it.’
* * *
Heartened by these words, Beata and Lucy shared the hope that it might already be over as, the following afternoon, they were driven towards York.
But it was not to be. The ancient city looked less than attractive on this overcast day, its spires and towers, blackened by the soot of industry, barely forming an outline against the leaden sky, the ambience made further grim by the hordes of unemployed men that cluttered its narrow footpaths.
The absence of trams and trolley-buses was more than made up for by horse-drawn traps and elderly motorcars that had been dusted of cobwebs to play their patriotic role, bearing signs that advised, ‘Wave if you want a lift.’ From this sector, at least, emanated an air of bank holiday gaiety.
Exchanging good-natured salutes with other volunteers, the major called over his shoulder to the occupants of the back seat, ‘All right if we drop you girls at the station? I’d like to get there without delay and it’s not far for you to walk back into town.’
Beata and Lucy exchanged glances. Guessing that their master harboured designs on their time, and envisioning themselves being involuntarily trapped into assisting at the railway station, they gave half-hearted affirmative as the car carried them over the River Ouse, meanwhile trying to cook up a suitable response if he were to ask them outright.
In Railway Street, the atmosphere became more bleak, in fact it was downright menacing. Great numbers of strikers were congregating around the red brick Co-operative Society premises that ran the length of the street, either waiting to sign their trade branch registers or loitering after having done so, and a universal look of resentment was to follow the chauffeur-driven car as it passed, making Beata, at least, feel very uncomfortable.
The major used this to his advantage, saying, ‘Perhaps it might not be such a good idea for you girls to venture into town today.’
But Lucy made it clear that she and her friend were not to be side-tracked, announcing, the moment they were deposited at the Victorian railway station, ‘Oh, they won’t bother two girls! Thank you very much for the lift, Major.’ And taking Beata’s arm she began to retrace the route to the city centre.
‘Oh, er, yes, very good.’ Their elderly employer seemed disappointed. ‘Should you require a lift home after your shopping trip, do feel free to come to the station. Lister and I will be here until late afternoon.’
‘Thanks, but we’ll be spending the evening at the cinema.’ Lucy smiled at Beata.
‘I doubt they’ll be open!’ Major Herron called after them. ‘If you find yourselves at a loose end do come and help.’
‘We certainly will, sir,’ lied Lucy, then dealt Beata a conspiratorial giggle as they proceeded on their way.
The pavements and roads were greasy from drizzle and the girls kept well away from the kerb so as not to be sprayed by the lorries that passed bearing signs that read ‘Essential Foodstuff Only’. In the cold, damp atmosphere the strands of hair that protruded from their cloche hats soon began to turn frizzy. Passing under one of the stone archways in the city walls and approaching the offices of the London and North Eastern Railway, Lucy and Beata could see and hear a crowd of pickets jeering at the clerks who were just emerging for lunch. For a moment it looked as if the intimidation might grow to violence as the nervous-looking office workers were jostled and followed by the hecklers down the sloping road towards Lendal Bridge, and it seemed to Beata incongruous that all this took place in the shadow of the war memorial to the railwaymen who had given their lives. Caught up in the unpleasantness, she grasped her older friend’s arm, the pair of them with no other option than to go with the torrent of bodies.
But then a sudden deluge of rain drove the strikers for shelter, leaving the relieved girls to hurry onwards like drowned rats over the elaborate iron bridge and into the first shop doorway they encountered. There were others sheltering here, listening to the news on one of the many wireless sets that were for sale within. For a while the girls tarried too, before deciding to risk getting wet, scurrying from one doorway to the next as they made their way about town.
In the main, this miserable state of affairs was to continue throughout the afternoon, one of the few bright intervals being the purchase of their holiday outfits, the other being a surprise meeting with Augusta.
‘Sneaking off work?’ Beata teased her eldest sister.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ Hunched into her coat, though still managing to look serene despite her tone of voice, Augusta put a hand up to adjust the hairpins of one of the bedraggled auburn earphones that threatened to unravel. ‘Rowntrees has had to shut down due to this strike. We’re going to be on a three-day week if it continues. I shall have to try and get myself a little cleaning job to make my money up, otherwise I won’t be able to send anything to Aunt Ethel.’ She liked to dispatch the occasional postal order towards Joe and Duke’s upkeep.
Worried for her sister’s poor health, Beata warned that she must not work herself into the ground. ‘She’s not that badly off.’
‘I know, but they’re our brothers; it’s only right that one of us contribute.’ Seeing Beata about to dip into her purse, Augusta stopped her. ‘Nay, that wasn’t a hint! I’m the eldest, it should be up to me.’
‘No you’re not. What about Clem?’
‘Yes, well, he’s got other fish to fry.’ Augusta pursed her lips in disapproval of her brother’s immorality and, in the presence of a stranger, changed the subject. ‘So what are you lasses doing in town?’ She smiled at her sister’s companion.
Beata displayed her shopping bags. ‘Lucy and I have come to buy stuff for our holidays.’
‘Ooh, let’s see!’
‘I don’t want to get them wet – tell you what, we’re just going for our tea, why don’t you come with us? I’ll pay,’ she added hurriedly, also turning to her friend. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Luce?’
‘No, of course not!’ Had Lucy not been informed how good Beata’s sister had been to her she would still have read it in the other girl’s pacific blue eyes.
Though denouncing it as an extravagant gesture, Augusta nevertheless went with them to the café, but at the rich array of cream buns that were brought out, said, ‘Can we move to that table away from the window, I’d hate to cause resentment.’ Laced with all the destitution on the streets outside, it felt wrong to sit there blatantly guzzling.
Sharing her view, Beata felt embarrassed that she had not been the one to suggest this, and when they had moved tables she slipped a coin to her sister. ‘Here, send that to Aunt Ethel.’
Augusta tried to give it back. ‘You’ll need it for your holiday.’
‘No, I’d put it aside to buy a bathing costume but I couldn’t find one suitable. It’ll probably be too rainy to wear one anyway. Take it.’
‘Go on then, bless you. I’m going over to do a spot of cleaning for them this weekend. I’ll give it to Ethel then.’
Whilst they dined, Augusta asked the other girls about their coming holiday. ‘So are you all set then? I wish I was coming with you.’
Beata eyed a poster that advertised Empire shopping week. ‘I’m not turning my nose up at Scarborough but I’d love to go there one day if I could afford it.’
‘We might not be going anywhere with this general strike on.’ A worried Lucy licked jam and cream off her thumb.
They went on to talk about how dreadful the situation was and of the many men they knew who were without work. Uncle Matt had been laid off too. Close to retirement age, it looked as though he would not work again.
Augusta said, ‘I feel lucky to have been born a woman. There’s always somebody needs cleaning or laundry doing.’
Beata gazed at her adored eldest sister, thinking how weary she looked for someone not yet twenty-three. Then Lucy said they must go if they were not to miss the beginning of their film.
After kissing Augusta goodbye, Beata went with her friend to the cinema, but as the major had predicted it was closed, as were all the others. The Theatre Royal was open but they had already seen the play that it had to offer and so Lucy suggested with a sigh that they might as well go and catch a bus home.
Their return to the bus stop took them into the midst of the large crowd of strikers they had witnessed earlier. Suffering many rude comments along the route, occasionally having to step into the gutter in order to pass, Lucy and Beata made their way along Rougier Street. Heads down against the drizzle, they almost tripped over a legless man on a trolley and tried to make a detour but he propelled himself after them, entreating them to buy a pair of the cheap earrings on his tray until they did so and were allowed to proceed.
Flattening themselves against the wall of an old terraced house, trying to glean a little shelter from the narrow overhang of its roof, the girls hugged their acquisitions under their arms, hoping the brown paper parcels would not disintegrate before a bus arrived.
At last a vehicle bearing the destination of Selby turned the corner. But as it approached and they themselves stepped forward to the kerb there was a huge surge forth by the strikers, making it impossible for queuing passengers to get near.
‘Excuse me!’ Using her elbows, Lucy tried to infiltrate the stale-smelling crowd of men, a worried Beata hanging on to her coat so as not to be separated. Despite both being jostled and shoved in an attempt to prevent them from getting on they eventually managed to fight their way through and scrambled on board.
The volunteer driver revved his engine, warning the strikers that he was about to pull away but they had formed a barrier around the front of the bus making it impossible for it to advance without running them down. They were yelling at him and hammering on the chassis with their fists. ‘Blackleg! Scab!’
Lucy was as anxious as Beata now, both girls looking round at the other passengers, who were equally ashen-faced. How swiftly had all this happened. It felt very menacing.
A university student in plus fours, acting as special constable, demanded that the strikers move, incurring a hail of good-natured insults for his lardy-dah manner. But with several regular policemen barging into their midst, flailing their batons, the men at once broke their chain in order to defend themselves against the blows and the driver of the bus took advantage to pull away. Alas the vehicle had got no further than a few yards when it was attacked by a barrage of stones and its windows began to shatter.
Women screamed, Beata and Lucy amongst them, and everyone ducked, banging their heads on the back of the seat in front of them as the bus suddenly jerked to a halt. Outside, the police batons began to swing more viciously, driving the strikers back and forming a defensive circle around the bus but it was of little use, for with the driver’s window smashed it could go no further.
One of the policemen jumped aboard to instruct the frightened passengers, some of whom had been cut by flying glass. ‘Everyone off the bus!’
Despite her own distress, Beata noticed that the old lady in black bonnet and cape across the aisle was searching her old-fashioned attire for a handkerchief with which to stanch the cut on her right hand, blood dripping everywhere. Whilst Lucy voiced her outrage she slid out of her own seat and in beside the injured woman, taking her handkerchief to the old lady’s wound and offering gentle reassurance.
Other passengers were filing off the bus, though were voicing their concern at being exposed to the violence outside.
‘You won’t get hurt if you stay with me,’ vouched the policeman, coaxing them to the front. ‘They only want to prevent the bus from moving, come along now, let’s have you all off.’
The last to go, Lucy and Beata helped the old woman. ‘Would you like me to see you home?’ asked Beata, supporting the victim’s arm as they went.
The old lady beheld her diminutive Samaritan. ‘Thank you, dear, but I’d rather have a policeman.’
Handing her to the care of the officer, Beata and Lucy alighted, once more subjecting themselves to the drizzle and to the threatening attentions of the strikers, who cheered loudly at having stopped the blackleg bus from its route.
‘Looks as if we’ll have to walk,’ sighed Beata.
‘And all because of these idiots!’ complained Lucy bitterly, then, eyes narrowed against the mizzle, looked down at the swollen ankle that spilled over Beata’s shoe. ‘Oh, how are you going to manage it with your poor leg?’
A flat-capped striker objected to being called an idiot. ‘The walk’ll do you good, love, help to get some of that fat off.’ His companions jeered.
Seeing her friend blush, and further maddened by what had happened to the elderly woman, Beata sprang to the attack. ‘If you had to walk forty miles it wouldn’t take your fat off – it’s all under your hat!’
Yet only under the protection of the law did she dare to issue this retort and after doing so beat a hasty retreat from this dangerous ground, though not towards home. Suddenly remembering another form of transport, she put her arm around her friend, directing her towards the railway station, saying that the major and Jack would probably still be there.
And so they were. The station might be deserted of trains but there was certainly no shortage of volunteers, hundreds of them crowding the platforms, most with nothing to do.
Even so, Major Herron looked delighted to see two more. ‘You came!’
‘We said we would, sir,’ replied Lucy, her bright smile disguising the shock she had just encountered. ‘Didn’t we, Beat?’
‘Yes,’ Beata cast her small blue eyes around the station, ‘though there doesn’t seem much for us to do.’
Lifting his hat to scratch his snowy head, the major assured them that he and Lister had been busy all day. ‘I’m reliably informed that another train will be in very shortly. Stow your parcels in the car.’ Leaving the servants to their own devices he wandered up the platform to converse with a group of white-collared businessmen.
Whilst waiting, the girls were quizzed by Jack as to the situation in town, giving them the opportunity to relate the exciting episode with the bus.
He was angry that his sister and her friend had been exposed to such danger. ‘The louts! They didn’t hurt you, did they?’
Lucy assured him. ‘No! We just came in for some choice words, but Beat gave them a few home truths.’
His expression was one of reproof for such rashness. ‘You shouldn’t get involved, Beat.’
This rather annoyed her. ‘I wasn’t going to stand by and let them insult Lucy.’
Jack quickly changed his attitude. ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s admirable! I just meant I don’t like to think of you in danger.’ Out of impulse he curled his arm around the little figure. ‘We think a lot about you, don’t we, Luce?’
Mollified, Beata smiled up at him, fixing her eyes there for a moment and counting the number of tiny brown moles on his cheeks, the shadow of stubble. Jack returned her smile. Then, there appeared in his blue eyes an expression she had not seen before, as if he were seeing her for the first time. The moment seemed to unnerve him and, before she could enjoy this taste of intimacy with a man who was not related to her, he withdrew his arm qu
ickly. Luckily for him, though disappointingly for Beata, at that point an engine finally came chuffing in and the three of them set to transferring all the parcels and perishable goods to the respective vans and motors.
‘Fancy having to do this on our afternoon off,’ grumbled Lucy.
Still thoughtful over her contact with Jack, Beata replied, ‘Better than having to walk home, though.’ Seeing a quantity of fish being put aboard the train now bound for Scarborough, she showed wry amusement. ‘Talk about coals to Newcastle. Eh, do you think we should sneak aboard now so we’re sure to get our holiday at the seaside?’
Hefting a crate of food onto a trolley nearby, Major Herron overheard. ‘Thinking of stowing away, are we, girls?’
Whilst they worked, Lucy explained that she and Beata had booked a holiday. ‘Do you think the strike’ll be over by Whitsuntide, Major?’
‘Without a doubt! At this rate we shall have them beaten within days.’
Beata smiled, though there was more to this display than met the eye, and she hoped that none of her companions would interpret her new-found happiness, nor guess its source.
* * *
The major’s optimistic prediction looked to be correct. Nine days after it had begun the strike collapsed.
‘Well, this calls for a celebration!’ In the kitchen, Bert Spaven held up the two bottles of wine he had taken from the major’s cellar. ‘Set out the glasses, Beata.’
‘Yes, Mr Spaven.’ Though casting a dubious glance at the others, Beata did as she was told. But when the butler quite blatantly filled each glass and invited her to partake she refused point blank and so did everyone else, thinking he had finally lost his reason.
‘Oh well, I’ll have to drink it all myself then.’ Taking a sip, the butler pronounced it very, enjoyable and sat back whilst they watched agog. He turned to Jack with a look of casual disdain on his weathered face. ‘I suppose income tax’ll go up to pay for all this strike business.’
‘Mr Spaven!’ hissed Beata at the sight of her employer’s shiny shoes padding down the staircase. ‘The major’s coming!’