Voices of the Morning

by June Gadsby

  Laura didn’t say anything, but she smiled, and then turned her attention to the tiny baby moving feebly in her arms. She liked it fine that the lady would call her baby Bridget and she hoped she would get to see her one day. Maybe they could become friends, though if this Bridget were Irish, Laura’s mummy and her grandma wouldn’t like her to have anything to do with her. Well, she just wouldn’t tell them, that’s all.

  ‘Come on, Maggie, darlin’,’ Colleen was saying, the words coming out on puffs of wind as she struggled to get Billy’s mother to her feet. ‘Back to bed wi’ ye. I’ll make ye a nice cup of tea to warm ye, then I’ll take young Laura home.’

  ‘Is she hurt?’ Laura wanted to know, remembering the knife and the blood.’

  ‘No, pet. Just a cut or two on her hands where that bliddy husband of hers pulled the knife from her. It’s to be hoped ye got him good, Maggie, and that it wasn’t all your blood on his shirt.’

  ‘I think I cut him bad, Colleen,’ the woman whispered tearfully.

  ‘Good! He deserved it.’

  ‘Don’t leave me....please don’t go...’ Maggie gripped Colleen’s wrists as Colleen deposited her as best she could on the big double bed in the front room that complained with a loud jangle of springs. ‘I know what....who you are, but I beg of you, don’t leave me. He’ll kill the bairn.’

  ‘He’ll not kill the bairn. Trust me.’ Colleen bustled about the place as if she was at home, boiling water in a big brass kettle on the stove and spooning tea into the brown earthenware teapot. ‘He’s killed once before and he knows I’ll keep my word if he does it again.’

  ‘Wh-what do you mean? Who did he kill?’

  ‘Never you mind, but ye’er better wi’out the likes of Patrick Flynn. All of us are.’ She turned her back on the woman in the bed and remained silent until the tea was massed and poured. ‘There ye are. Come on, Laura. Let’s give Mrs Flynn back her babbie and I’ll see ye home.’

  Laura was appalled. ‘But what if Mr Flynn comes back?’

  ‘He won’t. Believe me. If I know that sod, he’ll be long gone, and good riddance.’

  She lifted the baby from the child’s arms with unexpected gentleness and her eyes became moist as she gazed down on the tiny scrap of humanity before returning him to his mother.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maggie,’ she said, gently massaging the thin shoulder of the sick woman. ‘I’ll call on yer mam and tell her to come round right away. She’ll take care of you and the new bairn.’

  And then, taking Laura’s clammy hand tightly in hers, she hurried the little girl out into the gathering dusk of the January afternoon. Once again, Laura found herself being transported at speed, through the darkening back streets of Jarrow to the more sedate terraces where she lived. And where her mother was no doubt frantic with worry, not knowing where she was.

  * * *

  It was already dark when Laura’s distraught family answered the door to Colleen Maguire’s knocking. Elizabeth Caldwell took one look at her daughter and was overtaken with a great bout of weeping. Harriet Robinson, not one to show much emotion, sniffled into her hankie. Their eyes were already swollen and red-rimmed. It was Laura’s grandfather who took control of the situation in his own inimitably calm way.

  ‘Come in,’ he said to Colleen Maguire, who hesitated, but he beckoned to her in a kindly manner, so she stepped over the threshold, appreciating the blissful warmth of a house heated with real coal and with no smell or feel of damp. ‘Now then, young woman. Tell us what happened.’

  ‘Albert!’ His wife cried out, taken aback at seeing the likes of Colleen Maguire in her living room. ‘What are you doing, asking this...this person into our daughter’s home?’

  She looked at Colleen Maguire as if she were the lowest of the low. Colleen was used to such reactions from the so-called “better” people of the town. She didn’t flinch under the hateful scrutiny, but placed a hand on her hip and stuck out her chin defiantly

  ‘This person, as you put it,’ Albert said to his wife, ‘has brought Laura back to us in one piece. I don’t know about anybody else, but I need to know what has been going on since the little one left this house two hours ago.’

  ‘But Father, she’s...well, she’s...’ Elizabeth’s voice quivered in her throat as she gathered Laura up into her arms and glowered darkly at the red-haired woman who had delivered her. ‘I’ll take Laura to the doctor’s in the morning and have him check her over. He’ll know if she’s been...’ She gagged, unable to say the words that were going round and round in her head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I am, missus,’ Colleen said with a proud tilt of her head. ‘The bairn saved the life of the Flynn baby today and I made sure she got home safely. That’s all.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Though you might want to wash her mouth out, for she bit Patrick Flynn as well as any dog could. He’ll certainly not forget her in a hurry.’

  The group in the hall separated as there was the distinct squeak of a wheelchair and John Caldwell propelled himself forward. He and Colleen stared blankly at one another, and then John’s expression froze.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his voice so tight he might have had a hand strangling him as he spoke.

  ‘Sure and I found the bairn at the Flynn house and himself ranting crazy-like, threatening to kill the newborn babbie. ‘Twas Laura here that stopped him. She’s a real heroine, this daughter of yours, John Caldwell. Any man would be proud of her. I know I would be, if I had one.’

  Suddenly embarrassed by her own outburst, Colleen Maguire dropped her chin on her chest and stared at her feet that were ill clad for the time of year.

  ‘Mrs Maguire’s going to call her little girl Bridget,’ Laura announced. ‘It’s my favourite name and she says it doesn’t matter that it’s Irish.’

  ‘You’re going to have a child?’ Everyone stared curiously at John Caldwell, but he ignored them and continued to give all his attention to the red-haired prostitute.

  ‘Aye, I am that.’

  ‘John, you don’t...you can’t possibly know this woman.’ Elizabeth muttered, lowering Laura to the ground and turning to face her husband, hands clutched to her chest.

  ‘Well...I....er...’ It was John’s turn to be embarrassed, but Colleen caught his frantic gaze and gave a raucous laugh that brought back all the attention to herself.

  ‘Sure and there ain’t nobody what doesn’t know Colleen Maguire!’ She gave them all an especially bright smile. ‘I get mesel’ talked about all the way to the mouth of the River Tyne. Aye, and beyond, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Christ almighty, she’s a whore!’ Oliver exclaimed and moved closer to have a better look, reaching out a finger to flick at a gingery tendril of hair that curled over one of Colleen’s flashing green eyes. ‘Fancy that!’

  The women gasped and Colleen slapped his hand away. ‘As if ye didn’t know, mister!’

  ‘Dear God,’ breathed Elizabeth as if struck forcefully from above. ‘What in the world is a common prostitute doing with my daughter?’

  ‘As I said, I’ve brought her back safely to you,’ Colleen said, her eyes narrowing and passing from one to the other of the group of people that had gathered. ‘Tis all I’m doin’. Bringin’ her back. Nothing more and nothing less.’

  ‘You’d better ask the lass in, Elizabeth,’ Laura’s grandfather said and there were more shocked exclamations from the women present.

  ‘I’ll do no such thing, Father,’ Elizabeth said, avoiding looking at the woman who had dared touch her precious daughter.

  ‘Just give her some money and send her on her way,’ Oliver pronounced, drawing deeply on a strong smelling cigar and blowing out a cloud of blue-grey smoke that acted as a screen between them. ‘That’s what she’s after. You can bet your life on it. These women will do anything for money.’

  ‘I divvint want yer money,’ Colleen told them, pulling her coat more tightly about her and shivering convulsively. ‘I just wanted to be sure the bairn was home and safe. She’s not b
een interfered with. Rest assured on that score. On the contrary. Tis her teeth marks that were left in that murderin’ bastard’s arm and I hope to God it turns septic.’

  Elizabeth and her mother both looked as if they were about to faint.

  ‘Go and clean your teeth, Laura,’ Elizabeth instructed, but Laura held her ground firmly, not wanting to miss any of the fun. ‘Do as I say. Quickly now, and rinse your mouth out well while you’re at it.’

  Colleen smiled at her, then turned and started to walk away, down the frosted garden path to the gate that hadn’t been repainted since before the war and creaked agonizingly on its hinges.

  ‘Just a minute!’ John Caldwell called out after her, digging his fingers deep into his waistcoat pocket and drawing out a few pound notes. ‘Take this...for your trouble...and your baby.’

  She gave him a strange look, meeting his gaze, but not looking at the money he held out in his shaking hand.

  ‘Keep it,’ she said. ‘That and a clear conscience.’

  ‘What on earth did she mean by that?’ Elizabeth asked her husband as they closed the door behind her and her parents returned to the lounge.

  ‘How should I know?’

  John was back to being broody. The money he had tried to give to Colleen lay crumpled in his lap.

  ‘You knew her, didn’t you?’ Elizabeth was finding it difficult to get her words out. ‘John, where does my father take you on Saturday nights?’

  ‘Just down to the Swan for a pint.’

  ‘I’ve smelled more than beer on you when you’ve come back, long after the pubs have closed.’ Elizabeth reached out and held onto the wall as she stared down at her lame husband. ‘Oh, God, he hasn’t been taking you to one of those disgusting places, has he?’

  ‘Albert?’ Elizabeth’s mother was regarding her husband with revulsion, hardly able to voice her fears. ‘Is it true? You’ve been going down to the Slakes? Paying for your pleasures, like common ship-workers?’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.’

  Albert Robinson spoke to his wife more brusquely than she was used to. He pushed his way past the two women and headed back to the living room, where he threw more coal on the dwindling fire and stood silently watching the flames and the sparks shoot up the narrow chimney.

  ‘Father...?’ Elizabeth was beside herself as she burst into the room after him. ‘Say it’s not true! It can’t be. You wouldn’t...John wouldn’t...’

  ‘This isn’t something to be discussed in front of the bairn,’ Albert said to the flames, having seen that Laura was also standing by his side, full of curiosity to know what the grown-ups were talking about.

  ‘Laura, go to your room,’ Elizabeth ordered, giving her daughter a persuasive push.

  ‘But I haven’t done anything wrong, Mummy!’ was Laura’s plaintive cry in her own defense.

  ‘Yes you have! I told you not to go away and you did. You disobeyed me. We were so worried we actually called the police who are out there looking for you and they won’t be pleased with you either. No more argument now. Go to your room at once.’

  ‘I’ll take her,’ Beatrice said, her eyes shooting daggers at her husband’s back.

  When the elderly woman and the child were out of hearing, Elizabeth placed herself between her husband and her father and resumed her questioning.

  ‘Well?’ she said, holding on to her composure with difficulty.

  John glanced up at her fleetingly, licked his lips then looked away, letting his eyes wander about the room, fixing on anything but his wife’s unforgiving face. Eventually, he spoke.

  ‘All right, I admit that your father did take me to the Slakes from time to time,’ he said sulkily. ‘What do you care for this pathetic body of mine these days? A man takes his pleasure where he can find it, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Oh, John, how could you!’

  Elizabeth’s stern expression gave way to guilt and remorse. A river of tears flowed down her cheeks. She gave a choking gulp and ran off, almost bowling over her daughter, who had crept back, unseen, into the room. Laura’s soft brown eyes rested enquiringly on her father’s face.

  ‘Grandma’s crying too,’ she said, confusion softening her voice to a whisper. ‘Did I do something terrible, Daddy?’

  John beckoned to Laura and drew her onto his lap. ‘Of course you didn’t. Don’t look so scared, sweetheart. Mummy’s just a bit tired because she’s had everything to do. And your grandma...well, she’s just your grandma and you’re too young to understand.’

  ‘Will I understand when I’m a big girl?’ That’s what they usually told her when she asked questions they weren’t prepared to answer.

  John laughed and nuzzled his face into her neck. ‘I’m all grown up, Laura, and I still don’t understand, but you’ll grow up to be a woman, so you’ll have an advantage over me.’

  Laura listened to her father’s words and frowned deeply.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  He kissed her cheek and hugged her. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m just being silly.’ He raised her small hand to his lips and kissed the chubby fingers. ‘Well, now, pretty princess, what’s this adventure you’ve just had, eh? Are you going to tell Daddy what you’ve been up to?’

  But Laura, for once, was bereft of words. Suddenly she was gripped by an unknown fear that seemed to squeeze the life out of her as she recalled the big, evil-looking Irishman and his hands reaching for that poor little baby. And in the instant before he ran out of the house, the raw menace in his face - and his finger pointing threateningly at her.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Mornin’ Billy. Is yer ma in?’

  Billy looked down from the top of the slag heap where he was collecting a barrow full of coal bits to keep the family warm through the night. He had already been on his rounds selling kindling, a penny a bundle, but he wasn’t saying nowt to his mam about the money. The pennies were secretly hoarded in an old jam jar, which he kept hidden in the outside lavatory. There was a convenient space for it beneath the broad wooden slats that served as a splintery seat for unwary behinds.

  At the bottom of the slag heap, shading her eyes from the watery March sun, was Colleen Maguire. As always, her hair was a glowing furnace around her painted face.

  ‘Aye, she’s in, Aunty Colleen,’ Billy said, surreptitiously wiping his nose on the sleeve of his hand-me-down grey jersey that let air in through the elbows and was frayed to ribbons at the edges. ‘She never goes out.’

  ‘Well, I was just wondering, like,’ Colleen said. ‘The door was shut and bolted and she didn’t answer when I banged on it with me fist.’

  ‘She’s probably gone back to bed,’ Billy said, with a characteristic twist of his face as if he’d caught a feather up his nose. ‘She was feeling bad this morning.’

  Billy looked across to where his family lived. Rows of dowdy streets spread away from the river like black spider’s legs. It rained in the night and the dark slate roofs were shiny as if oiled, disappearing into the morning fog at the far end where the Slakes oozed into the sea. At the opposite end, he could see the squat tower of St Paul’s Church by the river and, swivelling around, his eyes sought out the tall spire of Christ Church. That was where he was headed next, once he dropped off the coal. It was Sunday and Laura would soon be on her way to the church with her family. He’d have to look sharp if he wanted to see her. The Caldwells were sticklers for being on time. In fact, they were sticklers for everything.

  All except the old man. Old Albert Robinson lived life at his own pace and, since the death of his wife five years ago, he had slowed down considerably. In Billy’s eyes, he was all right, was Mr Robinson. Always a smile and a kind word, and sometimes a penny or two for doing a small job, like helping him dig over his allotment or pull a few weeds. Last week Billy earned a whole florin from Mr Robinson and his gardening pals. This week he hoped to increase his earnings to half a crown.

  ‘Gawd luv us, Billy, aren’t ye cold wearin’ so litt
le?’ Colleen Maguire rubbed at the gooseflesh on her own bare arms and stamped her feet, which, as usual, were inadequately clad. Even though it was coming up to Easter and the sun was shining, the air still had a sharp bite in it.

  Billy gave a shrug and came slithering down the lethally sharp shingle slope, his boots, fortunately, taking the brunt of it. Only once did he sit down on his backside, adding to the collection of rips in his britches that were as big as his boots, but not long enough to hide his skinny calves.

  ‘Did ye want her, Aunty Colleen?’ Billy sniffed, wiping his nose again on his sleeve. ‘Me mam, I mean.’

  He skidded to a halt in front of her and exchanged grins with the girl at her side. She was the woman’s spitting image, though she had the advantage of not having a face full of mascara, rouge and lipstick. The hair was the same colour, though, if not a richer auburn. It reminded Billy of the rust on the cemetery gates when the sun shone on them. It curled around her pretty face like a burning halo and her cheeks and nose bore a sprinkling of freckles much the same colour. But it was Bridget’s eyes that gave Billy a warm feeling inside. They were the rich green colour of the sea on a warm, summer’s day.

  Every time Billy looked into them, he remembered the time when the minister at the local church organized a day trip to South Shields for the children of the Jarrow shipyard workers. Billy wasn’t sure why he had been asked to go along, since his dad had never been a miner, but then Bridget was there too, as were some of the children from a local orphanage. He had overheard the word “under-privileged”. It was a big word and he didn’t exactly know what it meant, but guessed it was something to do with him and children like him, from a poor background.

  It had been a grand day spotting seagulls, chasing the waves and tasting the salty water. South Shields was just a few miles along the coast from Jarrow, but that day had been so special. Just like a real holiday. They were all sad when it came to an end.