Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel)

by B A Lightfoot

  ‘But it’s my Granny, Mrs Craigie, and she is old and wrinkly and old people don’t go kissing and doing things.’

  ‘Things, Amy?’ Laura asked, struggling to make her smile look kindly rather than mocking. ‘What things would those be?’

  Amy reddened as she tried to find suitable words of elaboration to her hasty remarks. ‘Well, you know, making babies and that. It’s just horrible. Everybody will be laughing at her – and me as well.’

  ‘Amy, I think that you are worrying unnecessarily about this. The kissing and things that you are bothered about are just a part of a loving relationship. Maybe your Grandma and Mr Blenkinsop have not come to that. Even so, nobody is going to be talking about it or calling them for it. What people do behind closed doors is their own business.’

  A loud cough from the stairs heralded the arrival of Pippin’s father and both the girls straightened their hair as though its dishevelled state would betray the delicate nature of their discussion. ‘Hello, you two,’ Edward said, putting his arms round both their shoulders. ‘You’ve got a bit of a glow on there, young Amy. Hope that you are not sitting too close to that fire.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Craigie,’ Amy said, flushing even more. ‘It was very cold outside. It must be through coming into the warm house.’

  ‘Well, very pretty you both look, anyway, with the cold weather giving you rosy cheeks. What have you been up to today? We don’t normally have the pleasure of seeing you this early on a Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘They came to have a little talk with me, Eddie,’ Laura said. ‘Amy is having a bit of a problem with her granny.’

  ‘Now that sounds interesting,’ Edward said, pulling up a chair. ‘What has your granny been doing that is giving you a problem?’

  Laura went on to explain the nature of the concern that Amy felt over her grandmother’s new relationship and Edward laughed loudly as he patted the young girl’s hand. ‘Amy, I don’t know what it has done for your granny but it has worked a miracle for Arthur. He was one of the gloomiest men you could ever hope to meet but now, well, to be honest, we don’t see as much of him, but he’s always got a smile on his face when we do. That’s the only thing that people talk about – how she has worked some kind of miracle with the miserable old devil.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Craigie. Maybe you are right,’ Amy mumbled, grateful that the conversation had been steered away from the kissing and things that she had no desire to pursue with Pippin’s father.

  ‘Don’t you worry about Grandma,’ he reassured her. ‘She is a tough lady and, like a lot of women since the war, she expects more from her life. More women have been given the vote now and let’s hope that it won’t be too long before the rest are.’

  ‘I’ll vote for girls to be allowed to play cricket,’ Amy enthused.

  ‘And boys to be made to clean the front doorsteps,’ Pippin added.

  ‘Me and Pip are thinking of having our hair cut off,’ Amy announced to Pippin’s startled parents.

  ‘What!’ they both yelled.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Amy said. ‘To show support for the women’s movement.’

  ‘Well, not cut off exactly,’ Pippin said hastily. ‘More cut in a bob. Like a lot of the young suffragettes have.’

  They were startled by the banging on the front door before a loud shout of ‘Eddie, are you in?’ announced the arrival of a clearly excited Liam. There was a muffled oath as he tried to avoid the startled cat and collided with the banks of coats that were hanging in the hall. His beaming face appeared round the door and he burst into the room in a fury of hand-wringing, foot-shuffling exultation. He was followed seconds later by Callum, a look of bemused puzzlement on his face. ‘I saw you dancing down the street,’ Callum explained. ‘I had to come and find out who has been poking your fire.’

  ‘It’s the picture; I’ve found out something about the picture. Oh, hi girls. I have been to see Eppie. I think that I caught him in an unguarded moment; he was rummaging through a pile of old theatre programmes and getting all dewy-eyed. His place needs a bit of tidying up though. Stuff piled everywhere; the table was two foot deep in newspapers. Big pile of scrapbooks and cuttings out of the papers. So I shoved the picture under his nose and asked him who it was.’

  ‘Hang on, Uncle Li,’ Callum said. ‘What picture is this and what has it got to do with Eppie?’

  Taking the picture out of his pocket, Liam carefully removed the wrapping. He explained how he had found it in the pocket of a suit that Nellie Grimshaw had given him and how Bridget had been so upset because he couldn’t explain who the woman was, especially seeing as he was sitting next to her. He said that he had asked Nellie Grimshaw and that she had told him that he would have to ask whoever’s suit it was but that wasn’t so easy because he was dead. He told them that he had asked numerous people but that nobody knew her until, that is, Eppie had seen it, and he just went off in a dickie fit.

  Callum took the picture and studied it closely whilst the others struggled to peer over his shoulder. ‘Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Uncle Li, she’s an absolute stunner. Where did you meet her, you old rogue?’

  ‘Oh, bloody wars, sorry girls, that’s what I am telling you. I don’t know who she is.’

  ‘Can’t say that I’ve ever seen her, I must say. What do you think, Laura?’ Callum passed the picture to Edward’s wife whose stern look permitted none of the faint amusement suggested in Callum’s comment.

  ‘Now then, Liam,’ Laura said. ‘What have you been keeping from us? Is this some guilty secret that is coming out?’

  ‘Nothing, Laura. I’ve never met the woman. I don’t know who she is. That is what I am trying to tell you.’

  ‘Liam, I can see with my own eyes that what you are saying can’t be true. If you have never met her, how come that you are sitting here next to her?’

  ‘Well, ok, that bit I can’t explain,’ Liam admitted, now feeling somewhat deflated by the interrogation. ‘But that is what I am trying to say. I might be going a bit barmy but I don’t think that I ever knew a music hall star.’

  Edward burst out laughing. ‘Well, you’ve gawped at a few from a safe distance but, as for knowing one, that would surprise even me.’

  ‘Mr Murphy,’ Amy interrupted, her calm, firm voice demanding the attention of the rest. ‘This lady is very beautiful and she certainly looks as though she could be a music hall star, but do you know for certain that she is, or was, one or are you just guessing?’

  A look of relief brightened Liam’s face. ‘Well, I am as sure as I can be. I’ve had it from the horse’s mouth, so’s to speak. I have just been to see Eppie and he told me.’

  ‘Do you mean the weird man who writes letters for people and dresses up in strange clothes?’ Pippin asked.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘But how should he know? He’s odd,’ she queried.

  ‘Aye, odd he might be but he recognised her when he first saw the picture. And it’s rumoured that he used to be a well known actor in his day.’

  ‘What was his real name?’ Amy asked.

  The adults looked at each other, puzzled. ‘I don’t rightly know. He’s always been known as Eppie and nobody ever thought to ask that,’ Edward said after a round of shoulder shrugging.

  ‘Did he say who the lady is?’ Amy enquired.

  ‘Aye, he said that she was known as the Salford Canary,’ Liam announced triumphantly.

  ‘Who in God’s name is the Salford Canary?’ Laura demanded.

  ‘Well, presumably, with a name like that she was a singer.’

  ‘But, did he say what her name was?’ Amy persisted.

  ‘Well, not exactly. When I tried to ask him more questions he just clamped up. He put this big, floppy hat on, pulled his cloak round him and sat in this chair just staring at the table. I asked him if he was alright and he didn’t blink an eyelid. In the end, I said I was going and he just flicked his fingers up. That was it. But you wouldn’t call somebody a canary if they had a voice like
an old frog, would you?’

  ‘That’s true,’ Edward said. ‘What I don’t understand, though, is where did you meet her?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, mate. No idea.’ A look of deep gloom spread across Liam’s face. ‘I think that German bullet must have taken out part of my brain. There is just a complete hole there.’

  ‘Uncle Li. You look to be about nineteen or twenty in that picture. Maybe you met this Salford Canary woman socially somewhere and just got talking because you both came from the same place,’ Callum offered.

  ‘You wouldn’t go and have your picture painted with somebody just because you had been chatting together about the trams on Cross Lane, would you?’ Laura asked tartly. ‘And you were courting Brig at that time.’

  ‘Surely, Mr Murphy, you would remember, anyway, if you had been sitting for a painting,’ Pippin said. ‘I mean, it must have taken days to do something like that.’

  ‘That’s right,’ her father agreed, ‘and it would have cost a few bob as well. Where did you get that sort of money from? We could just about afford to go to watch United in those days and this painting looks like serious money.’

  Callum was studying the painting carefully. ‘Look at the jewellery that she is wearing. She can’t have been short of a pound or two. Perhaps she paid for it.’

  ‘But, why would she do that?’ Edward asked.

  Liam was struggling with the weight of unanswerable questions. ‘Maybe I did her a favour or something.’

  ‘It would have had to be some big favour to justify a present like that,’ Laura observed drily.

  Amy was becoming quite concerned by the tortured frown on Liam’s face and worried that this mental anguish might trigger off a deeper reaction. ‘You know, I hope that you don’t mind me pointing this out,’ she said brightly, ‘but, how come none of you older ones remember this lady? I mean, you can understand, perhaps, that Mr Murphy might have a bit of a problem because of his wound and maybe Callum was too young, but why can nobody else remember anything about her?’

  ‘And she must have been quite famous to have so much money,’ Pippin reasoned.

  ‘She might just have come from a wealthy family,’ Laura said defensively.

  ‘The point is,’ Edward said, ‘that none of us know. The only information that we have is that she was, and maybe still is, a singer and that she was not short of a bit of brass. Eppie, clearly, knew her well and is still traumatised by the thought of her for whatever reason we don’t understand. And somewhere along the line, Liam has bumped into her, has lost all recall of it, and is starting to get worried because he can’t remember. If we can find out who she is then maybe it will jog something in his memory and put his mind at rest, although what it might do for Bridget, God only knows.’

  ‘Let’s just all ask around and see what we can come up with,’ Laura said.

  ‘Oh, great! This is exciting,’ Pippin enthused. ‘It’s like being detectives. Shall we all meet up again to see what we have found out?’

  Edward laughed at his daughter’s ardour. ‘Ok, darling. We’ll meet up here in two weeks time and see what we have come up with.’

  Chapter 17

  Wiping his remaining piece of bread round the rim of the plate, Callum savoured the last remnants of the tripe and onions cooked in milk. He had cut his two slices into eight neat quarters at the outset and kept a pleasingly progressive balance between the bread and the stew throughout the meal. He could hear his mother noisily tidying up in the kitchen, her warbling rendition of ‘Me and My Girl’ being lent added vibrato as she stretched up to the shelf to replace the pans. Her singing was frequently interrupted with enquiries of the cat as to whether it had finished now and whether it was coming or going because she couldn’t be standing there all day while it made its mind up. He stared at the newspaper that he had propped against the breadbin but barely took in the reports about increasing unemployment and protests about the government policy on rationing the production of beer.

  He had been to the Drill Hall that morning with his Uncle Liam and Eddie Craigie to have a look at the trucks that they had for sale. There had been five trucks to look at, all Crossley 20/25 with a 4500cc engine and a 10’6” wheelbase. One still bore the large red cross that denoted its previous use as an ambulance but Callum had spotted that one of the semi-elliptic springs on the front suspension was broken. Two of the others had misfiring engines and the fourth had its spare wheels missing. Uncle Liam had been concerned that the canvas cover over the back was torn and damaged on the last one but Callum had assured him that the engine was sweet, the body and suspension sound. They had made an offer of £75 which had been accepted but his uncle had relapsed instantly into a mood of worry and despair. Eddie constantly reassured him that it would be cheaper than a horse with its costly stabling, it would enable him to get to a lot more customers and, with the £100 loan that he had been granted by Captain Brown’s bank, he would be well covered. Uncle Liam had pointed out that this had to be repaid and that he and his family would finish up as paupers if it didn’t work out. Callum had offered to do his maintenance and repairs for free until he got on his feet and said that, if it didn’t work out, he wouldn’t lose any money because they were selling the re-conditioned ex-army models, just the same as that one, from the Crossley works in Newton Heath and they were going for four times that amount.

  When Callum had returned home he had spent half an hour in the bathroom cleaning his hands and trying to remove the oily inclusions from under his nails. He had shaved carefully that morning but had been forced to go out with a piece of newspaper stuck over a severed spot to staunch the bleeding. Now he noticed that some of the juice from the tripe had dripped on to his clean shirt. He stared at it, wondering if it might become undetectable when dry. He would put his waistcoat on to cover it and hope that he wouldn’t look too formal.

  For a week now, he had been getting increasingly agitated and apprehensive as he thought about this afternoon. Jean had tried to offer some comfort by telling him that, although her father looked fierce, he was actually quite a lamb inside. Callum had struggled all week to find solace in those words but found that he couldn’t envisage past the first part of the description. She had also told him that her mother might seem to have some funny ways but that he shouldn’t let it worry him. It was only because she was being protective of her family. Unfortunately, worrying was something that he had been excelling at since Jean had told him that ‘her father wanted to meet him and would he like to come for tea the next Saturday?’

  His mother came into the room with a pint mug of tea and put it down in front of him. ‘Whatever is the matter with you, son?’ she asked. ‘You are all jumpy like your father used to be when he saw a blue uniform. Mind you, he was only so jumpy because he couldn’t remember what he had been up to when he had been drinking.’

  ‘I’ve been seeing this girl, Jean Peterson. She has invited me to meet her family this afternoon.’

  ‘Invited you to meet her family? She’s not from round here then? No wonder you are feeling a bit aggravated.’

  ‘Agitated, Mam,’ he corrected. ‘No, she’s isn’t from round here. She lives on Radcliffe Park Road.’

  ‘Oh, now.’ Her eyes widened in astonishment, she wiped her hands down her pinnie and turned to the mantelpiece where she began to aimlessly re-arrange the few vases and figurines.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mam? It’s you who is looking a bit aggravated now,’ Callum smiled.

  ‘You need to be careful, son. People like that are not like us, you know. They don’t think the same as we do and they don’t do things the way we do.’

  His mother’s alarm was only reinforcing his own apprehensions, doubts that he had been trying to convince himself were unreasonable. Jean’s father owned a metal coatings company and he already realised that they enjoyed a different lifestyle, pursued different interests. Only last weekend, Jean had told him that her father played golf. ‘Things such as what?’ he asked his mother defensively.


  ‘Things like having coffee mornings and going to dinner-dances. They don’t live in the same world as we do.’

  ‘Mam; if Aunt Brig comes here or you go to see your friends, you sit down and have a cup of tea and a gossip. It’s only the same thing.’

  His mother, who had only recently acquired a set of four matching dinner plates with side plates and whose greatest aspiration was to own a glass fronted display cabinet, was not mollified. ‘It’s not the same thing. We have a cup of tea and a friendly chat or help each other with problems. Those people up there, they want to show off their new doilies or their Persian rugs. They employ the likes of us to do their cleaning or cook their meals. We are just the skivvies as far as they are concerned and they don’t want us dirtying their posh new carpets.’

  ‘Mam, Jean’s not like that at all. She’s warm and friendly and we get on really well together. I am sure that her family are just as nice.’

  ‘Warm and friendly she might be now but maybe she just regards you as a bit of a novelty. Her family will just see you as a poor culchie from near the Docks. How warm and friendly will she be when her mother starts on at her and when her father treats you like something the dog has just brought in.’

  ‘Mam, me and Jean, we’ve been getting on really well together these last few months and she means a lot to me. And she is a plucky fighter. She has been working hard for the suffragettes to get the same rights for women as there are for men.’

  ‘Rights? What will we do with rights when there are men like your father around? May God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead but he was nothing but a drunken eejit with a silver tongue who borrowed from every gombeen in town. Where would rights have got me?’

  Callum became even more confused as he saw that the discussion with his mother was taking the normal direction of a rant against his father. The points about the class differences, though, had reflected his own misgivings; worries that he had tried, without great conviction, to intellectualise. He knew that her family were different, that they had backgrounds and standards that could not be reconciled with his own, and maybe he was just deluding himself to imagine that there could be any future in their relationship. But Jean had become so important to him over the last few months that he was determined to fight against such a dismissal without a trial. He wanted to explore every opportunity, every corner that would allow him to challenge any opposition to his relationship. He was filled with brimming warmth when he thought of her, a profound respect when he considered her compassion and her determination, a deep emotional connection in their mutual sensitivity, and an almost obsessive, sensuous admiration for every part of her physical presence. ‘They are no better than we are, Mam,’ he said disconsolately and unconvincingly. ‘I think that she is worth fighting for and I will just have to hope that her family are more open minded and fair than that.’