Greenwood did all he could to make life unpleasant during Greg’s last week in the office, but he was too happy to care. When he arrived at the woodyard on Monday morning he was amazed to see a large sturdily built shed beside the old office hut, and Stan Johnson walking towards him with a beaming smile.
‘Well, what do you think of that then?’ he said. ‘Plenty of room here for the papers, eh?’ He flung open the door and Greg saw a long desk under the window and rows of shelves, at present filled with boxes of jumbled papers. Sacks containing more papers lay on the floor. A black stove had been fitted in the wall at right angles to the desk. Stan crossed to it and slapped a hand like a ham on it.
‘You don’t want this now but you’ll be bloody glad of it in the winter,’ he said. ‘And what about that?’ He pointed at an electric light bulb hanging from the roof of the shed like a giant acid drop, and then at the coconut matting on the floor. ‘All the comforts of home,’ he laughed.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Greg exclaimed. ‘How have you done it in a week – done it at all, for that matter?’
Stan pushed his cap back on his curly hair and laughed, obviously pleased at Greg’s amazement.
‘Not much I can’t get done if I put my mind to it,’ he said. ‘And there wasn’t enough room in the other place – specially when we grow. Think you’ll be comfortable here then?’
‘I will indeed. Thank you, Mr Johnson.’
‘So you meant that about the names? You’re probably right,’ said Stan.
Greg was happy in the new job from the first day. Stan Johnson was a good employer and well liked by the men who worked for him. Unlike most employers he had always used his men’s Christian names and treated them with respect, which Greg found a welcome change from Greenwood’s bullying, contemptuous manner.
Typical of Stan’s behaviour was the fact that the old hut was not demolished when all the papers had been moved, but was kept for the men to use for their dinner break. He provided a primus stove, and wood for them to knock up stools for seats.
The workmen’s hours were seven-thirty until six-thirty, and while he was striving to sort out the backlog of paperwork Greg worked these hours also. He found it no hardship, sitting in his comfortable office sorting the jumbled mass of papers into orderly files. Stan insisted that Greg was always called Mr Redmond, and described him to customers as his Office Manager, but the men liked his quiet, unassuming manner and the fact that he was fascinated by the different types of wood. He was amused to find that they had nicknamed him the “Bisto Kid” because of his habit of savouring the smell of the wood.
For Cathy the relief of the extra money was immense. To be able to pay a regular amount each week to reduce her debt instead of helplessly watching it creep even higher was like having a weight lifted from her, and there was the joy of replacing the children’s shoes or buying coal without the anxious juggling with pennies.
Best of all was seeing the change in Greg. He became again the quietly happy man he had been until a few years earlier, always ready to make a joke or to see the humour in any situation.
‘I didn’t realize how miserable I was in the railway office until I left it,’ he told her. ‘The difference now is unbelievable. Stan swears like a trooper but he’s a fine man and straight as a die. He treats everybody fairly and all the men are friendly and helpful.’
Cathy smiled at him, delighted to see him full of enthusiasm for the job. He went on, ‘The days fly past. We all get a lot done, yet there’s always time to talk.’
‘Couldn’t you talk in the other place?’ she asked.
‘Not a hope. We daren’t lift our heads with Greenwood sitting there, glowering at us. It’s degrading to a man to be as afraid as we were, but he had such power over us.’
‘Well, it’s all behind you now,’ she said. ‘But I’m made up that you’re so happy there, as well as having the extra money. Remember that day when you were so fed up? It’s like Mrs Mal always said – it’s always darkest before the dawn.’
By the time that Greg had been at the woodyard for two months he had succeeded in sorting out the accumulated papers and found among them several unanswered order queries.
‘I could answer these if you could offer a price,’ he said to Stan.
‘No, they’ve been there too bloody long. They’ll have got the wood somewhere else.’
But Greg persisted. ‘It’s worth trying. Only the cost of a stamp.’
Greg’s carefully worded letters written in his copperplate handwriting brought several new orders and Stan was delighted. Greg was pleased to make some return for Stan’s kindness and to justify his wages, but was astounded to find an extra pound note in his pay packet at the end of the week.
He thought at first that two notes had stuck together and tried to return one to Stan, who waved it away.
‘No, fair’s fair. The lads’ll tell you I pay them a bonus if we get a specially big order,’ he said.
The Jazz Singer was showing at a nearby cinema and when Greg suggested that they should go there to celebrate, Cathy agreed eagerly. She had even more cause to celebrate than Greg knew, as she had been paying for her groceries as she bought them, and gradually paying off her debt. On this Friday the extra money meant that she was able to clear the debt completely. And I’ll never again get in a mess like that and have to deceive Greg, she promised herself.
Now that John was nearly fourteen they felt that he was old enough to leave in charge, and their Friday night outing to the cinema became a regular treat for them. The house was always peaceful when they returned with the three younger children asleep and John doing his homework, and they brought back a pennyworth of chips for him as a reward.
For months everything went smoothly, then one night Cathy and Greg returned to find all the neighbours in groups in the street, chattering excitedly. In one heart stopping moment images flashed through Cathy’s mind: the house burned down with the children trapped inside it, Mick falling to his death from a bedroom window or a maniac running amok with a hatchet, but the women hurried to enlighten them.
‘Billy Woods has got took to jail,’ one said.
Another cried, ‘And Grace Woods has got took to hospital. You should’a seen her. Covered in blood she was – he might swing for it.’
‘You mean she’s dead!’ Cathy exclaimed.
‘Well, she looks very bad,’ the woman conceded. The same thought struck Greg and Cathy simultaneously.
‘The children!’ they exclaimed, and dashed down to their own house. The front door was open. Inside John sat in his father’s chair with Kate on his knee and his arm round Sarah, who sat on a stool beside him.
‘Where’s Mick?’ Greg demanded as Cathy ran to fling her arms round the other children.
‘Still asleep,’ John said briefly. He looked at his mother. ‘Don’t cry, Mam,’ he said. ‘They were all all right.’
Greg put his arm round Cathy. ‘Sit down, love,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve had a shock, but everything’s all right, as John says. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘See if Mick’s asleep first,’ she said. She found she was trembling and Kate moved closer to her. ‘What happened? Were you all very frightened?’
‘They were screaming, Mam,’ Sarah said. ‘Mrs Woods and all the kids, and Mr Woods was shouting.’
Greg returned downstairs and nodded to Cathy. ‘Fast asleep,’ he said, then to the children, ‘It’s all over now. Can they share your chips, John?’ He agreed, and Greg busied himself making tea. Cathy felt better after that, and she and Greg talked about the Laurel and Hardy film they had just seen until the children were smiling and had forgotten their fright.
Cathy took the girls up to bed but Greg detained John to say, ‘You did well tonight. Kept a cool head and looked after the others.’
‘Mam won’t stop going, will she?’ John said gruffly. ‘She needs a treat, and the kids are safe with me.’
‘We know they are,’ Greg said. ‘I’ll see that Mam st
ill goes out. Goodnight, son.’
‘I wonder what happened?’ Cathy said when she returned downstairs, but she soon heard all the details from the neighbours.
She told her mother about it when she went as usual to help with the housework, and Sally was shocked.
‘What about that houseful of children?’ she asked.
‘The neighbours have taken them. They’re all related, you know, Mam, but poor Grace. I’m glad the police came this time.’
‘I’m surprised they did,’ Sally said. ‘They don’t usually interfere when it’s a husband beating his wife.’
‘I believe one of the kids ran into Everton Road screaming that his Dad had murdered his mam so the two policemen came back with him,’ Cathy said. ‘Mrs Mills said Billy was like a wild animal. The police blew their whistles and more coppers came and they had to frog march him to the Bridewell.’
‘And our children having to listen to all that,’ Sally said.
‘I know, Mam, and us out.’
‘I hope you’re not going to start blaming yourselves for that,’ Sally said firmly. ‘It was a chance in a thousand, and the young ones were safe with John.’
‘Yes, he was the gear. Kate woke up and cried, and Sarah was frightened, but he brought them down and looked after them. Mick slept through it all.’
‘He’d sleep through the Last Trump,’ Sally said with a laugh. ‘He’s making up for all the nights he kept you awake when he was a baby.’
Cathy finished cleaning the windows and Sally made a pot of tea. She knocked on the back of the firegrate and soon Peggy Burns from next door came in. The friendship that had begun when Peggy moved in next door to Sally when their children were small, had lasted unbroken ever since. Cathy looked at them both with affection as they sipped their tea and ate bread and butter with keen enjoyment.
They never change, she thought. Both of them had endured many sorrows and even now had worries but it was hard to believe as they sat together placidly. Sally worried about Lawrie’s bouts of bronchitis and Peggy about the orphaned granddaughter she was bringing up, who the neighbours said euphemistically was “a bit backward”.
They told Peggy about the row and Cathy said she hoped Billy would be sent to jail for a long time.
‘But who’ll keep the children?’ Peggy said practically. ‘She’ll have to go on the Parish, and he’ll be worse than ever when he comes out.’
‘I wish you could get away from that street, Cathy,’ Sally said. ‘And that nosy old woman opposite to you.’
‘Grace told me that Mrs Parker thought a man had a right to beat his wife. She’s Grace’s aunt. I wonder what she thinks now?’
‘I don’t suppose she’s changed her mind,’ Peggy said. ‘That sort don’t. Did you know she’s a moneylender?’
‘Freda told me,’ Cathy said. ‘I must be thick. All the time I’ve lived there and never suspected it.’
‘Well, thank God you’ve never got into her clutches, girl,’ Sally said. ‘You can afford to ignore her, but I wish you were well away from that street.’
Later, as Cathy walked home, she thought of her mother’s words about the house and her neighbours. Since her money worries had been solved, Cathy had thought sometimes that if only they could find a new house life would be perfect, but then she told herself that she was being greedy to want more when God had been so good to them.
Nevertheless, she decided that as she had prayed for a solution to her money worries and her prayers had been answered, now she would start to pray for a new house.
Chapter Nine
Billy Woods was sentenced to six months’ hard labour as he had also struck one of the policemen. Cathy went to see Grace and found her in great pain from her injuries, but glad to be in hospital.
She had a broken jaw, three broken ribs and numerous cuts and bruises on her body, but it was the deep cut on her head which had bled so freely that the children thought she must be dead.
‘Can I do anything?’ Cathy asked. ‘Your cousins in the street have taken the children, but if there’s anything you’re worried about or anything I can do—’
‘No, thanks,’ Grace said wearily. ‘Our Janey came in and told me which ones have got the kids, and that they’ve all been in to clean the house. I suppose they had a fine old time rooting round and finding out all my business.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Cathy said sympathetically. ‘Just get yourself well, that’s the main thing. Everything will seem different when you feel better.’ Neither of them mentioned Billy.
Cathy was truly sorry for her neighbour but nothing could mar her own happiness at this time. It was a happy time for all the family, and although Greg and John clashed occasionally when the boy aired his views, on the whole they were on much better terms.
Sarah was happy both at school and at home. She was a class monitor, was devoted to her teacher and consistently near the top of the class.
She still went often to Elsie’s florist’s shop, and sometimes stayed with her grandmother for the weekend. Sally was a thrifty housewife and bought her meat and fish in Great Homer Street where it was always cheaper than elsewhere, waiting until meat was auctioned off on Saturday nights to buy the Sunday joint. Sarah loved these expeditions, and also their trips to St John’s Market. She loved the crowds, the noise and good humour as they strolled through the market, Sarah clinging to her grandmother’s arm. Sometimes Sally would talk of the days when, as a young girl, she had worked in the market.
‘I was very unhappy before I came here,’ she told Sarah. ‘My two brothers had just died and my little sister Emily had been adopted, but the market cheered me up. There were some characters here then, Sarah, and they were very kind to me.’
Sarah thought that there were still many characters in the market. The only thing that worried her was seeing ragged, barefoot children trying to snatch scraps of food – cabbage leaves or bruised fruit or a potato which had fallen to the floor – and being chased away by the stallholders.
One night she was standing beside her grandmother at a stall when she saw a barefoot boy crouching beneath it. The next moment a small dirty hand reached up and snatched a steaming pig’s trotter from a dish on the stall. There was a shout from the stallholder and the boy darted out, nearly overturning Sarah, and raced away between the shoppers. The stallholder pursued him, waving a large knife he had been using, and Sarah gripped Sally’s arm.
‘Oh, Grandma, will he kill him?’
‘No, love. He won’t catch him. Those boys are like eels, and anyway the crowd has closed up behind him,’ Sally said. ‘Poor little beggar, I hope he enjoys the trotter.’
Usually, though, these weekends were peaceful and happy. Sally seemed to have unlimited time to listen to Sarah’s tales about school, and she was always willing to tell the stories Sarah loved to hear, about the days when her mother and her Aunt Mary had been young in this house.
But the incident in the market troubled Sarah. She was puzzled that her grandmother, always so law abiding and conscientious, had seemed to approve of the theft of the trotter, and asked her father about it.
She told him what had happened and what her grandmother had said. ‘I hope he enjoyed it too, Dad, but it was stealing, wasn’t it? That’s a sin, isn’t it, Dad?’
Greg considered carefully before answering, then said gently, ‘That’s a question which has troubled cleverer people than us, love, but I don’t believe that a child stealing something to eat because he’s hungry is committing a sin. The sin belongs to those who allow him to go hungry in the midst of plenty.’
‘But he stole it from the stall and that’s a sin, isn’t it?’
‘In black and white terms, but circumstances alter cases, Sass. You have to have the intention to commit sin, and the boy probably didn’t even know it was dishonest. To him it was a way to cure his hunger. It’s a bit complicated for you now so don’t worry about it, love.’
‘So that’s why Grandma said it.’
‘Yes.
But, remember, you must never take anything that doesn’t belong to you,’ Greg said.
Cathy came in to the kitchen. ‘You two look very serious,’ she exclaimed.
‘A small point of theology,’ Greg said, smiling at Sarah. She ran out to play, happy with her father’s explanation. She felt that she could always rely on him to explain anything that puzzled her.
Another parcel had arrived from Fortnum and Mason and Sally had finally written to Mary to ask her not to send any more hampers. She chose her words carefully but no more letters came from Mary.
‘I think our Mary’s taken the huff,’ her mother said to Cathy. ‘I tried to explain in my letter – said the parcels were such an expense to them that it worried me, and the food was too rich for us, but she must have taken it the wrong way.’
‘I don’t think so, Mam,’ Cathy said. ‘You know Mary. She’s probably having a good time and hasn’t realized how the time’s passing.’ When the usual monthly remittance from Sam failed to arrive, Lawrie said nothing to Sally but spoke to Greg about it.
‘I wonder if they’re in trouble,’ he said. ‘The newspapers are full of this Stock Market crash on Wall Street, and all the suicides and bank failures. Sam’s got his fingers in a lot of pies there.’
‘I wouldn’t worry yet,’ Greg said. ‘All the better if Sam’s got several business interests. If one fails, he can use another to bail it out.’
‘He might just have been too busy to remember to send it,’ said Lawrie, always ready to look on the bright side.
The weather was atrocious and in Arrowe Park in Birkenhead where the Scout Jamboree was held, the camping site rapidly became a sea of mud. Although the weather did nothing to dampen the spirits of the Scouts from many nations who were meeting there, it had a serious effect on older people.
Lawrie had a severe bout of bronchitis in early November and it was several weeks before he was fit to return to work. As soon as he was well enough he searched the newspapers for details of the aftermath of the Wall Street crash and the “knock on” effect of the spectacular failures.
There is a Season Page 11
