Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel)

by B A Lightfoot

  ‘That is clearly Aunt Agnes being redemptive. So it was your father on the picture with the notorious Ellen Connolly? Harry’s wife, Nellie, and my aunt have been great friends for many years. They clearly arranged this scheme between them to enable Aunt Agnes to atone for her sordid past. Doing it by stealth under the unsuspecting nose of my Uncle Arthur.’

  ‘Darling, it’s just impossible to imagine Aunt Agnes as a merciless seductress who lured unsuspecting males into her web so that she could strip the flesh off their bones. She comes over as a bit of a staid old prig.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. She’s just a reformed character. Dada told me once that she had been quite a girl in her time, enjoying the high life and the social whirl. She’s still a spirited old thing, even if she does take tea and cucumber sandwiches with her hoity-toity friends.’

  Callum looked suddenly glum. ‘If that is the case, then it must mean that your father was behind giving me that loan. They told me that it would be alright because it was my money. I thought that sounded a bit odd but that’s what they meant. It had already been fixed up by your dad.’

  ‘But why is that so bad? If that is what did happen, then it just shows how much faith Dada has in you. You know that he likes you, so surely it is no bad thing if he helps a little? And isn’t that a strange coincidence? First, Aunt Agnes and your father have this dalliance, and then the two of us get together. Perhaps it was fate for us to meet and fall in love.’

  ‘I know, love, but I wanted to succeed with the business on my own merit. I want your mother to think that I am worthy of you for who I am and what I have done. I don’t want to be marrying you on the basis that your father has pulled a few strings. That won’t earn your mother’s respect because in the back of her mind will be the thought that I wouldn’t be there if your dad hadn’t paved the way.’

  ‘Call, don’t fret about Mama so much. She is just being protective for her children. She is far more worried about my being in the Women’s Movement and she is totally distracted by the company that my sister keeps.’

  ‘Yes, I know, darling. But you have to understand, there is a big gulf between our families that I know I have never felt comfortable with, and my mother is petrified about the whole thing. She keeps telling me that mixed marriages will never succeed.’

  Jean laughed. ‘Your mother is so funny. We are not different religions. I could understand her worrying if you were a Catholic. We even have similar interests in the music that we enjoy and the books that we read. And, most important of all, we love each other.’

  ‘We do, my love. I just can’t tell you how much. But your family come from the Height, mine come from Ordsall. For the vast majority of people in both those communities there is a huge, unbridgeable gulf between them.’

  ‘The war has changed all that, Call. The death of a man from Trafford Road was no less worthy than the death of one from Light Oaks. He was valued and loved just as much by his friends and family.’

  ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that your mother has had a protected upbringing and that is what she wants to give to you. I am not criticising her for that; it’s just the way that she is and I respect her for that. She is bound to be apprehensive and guarded about somebody coming from a working class background. I doubt that she has ever met one before.’

  ‘Don’t let my mother’s apparent virtues colour your thinking too much. She did, after all, marry a man whose sister seems to have been some kind of stage-door-Johnny’s tart, and she has been looked after well enough by my father,’ Jean said vehemently.

  ‘Oh, love, you can’t say that about Aunt Agnes,’ he laughed. ‘She is far too prim and prissy to have done anything like that.’

  ‘I thought so too but I’m afraid Aunt Agnes is not all that she makes out to be. When we were on the marches, we used to get a lot of abuse from men who thought that it was an opportunity to be extremely vulgar. Sometimes, they used to get a bit physical and would try molesting the girls. The police would give us no protection because they thought of us as criminals and regarded such treatment as no more than we deserved. But Aunt Agnes would have none of that. She thrashed a few of them with the pole of her banner and once, when I was being attacked, she turned the pole round and thrust the end very hard into the man’s ahem… you know… rear end. I wouldn’t dare repeat the language that she used and definitely not the things that he shouted back to her as he went hopping off down the road.’

  Callum’s eyes widened. ‘I have a new-found respect for Aunt Agnes. Did the man have green, white and violet bruising all over his body?’

  ‘Did he what? Oh, I see. Missed that one for a moment. Our colours, you mean. Give Women Votes and all that. Silly.’

  ‘If she is that formidable, then I am glad that it was Captain Brown that I saw and not the dreaded Aunt Agnes. She must still pull some weight there at the bank.’

  ‘I don’t really know what she does. We go to concerts and meetings together but, apart from that, it is mostly high days and holidays that we see her. She has strong opinions about politics, you know, the “awful Welsh philanderer” and all that, which does seem a bit rich knowing what we do now.’

  ‘Still, for all that, I would like your mother to think that I had earned the right to marry you. I don’t want to get into this class thing, but I do want your mother and mine to be as proud and pleased as I will be when I walk down the aisle with you on my arm.’

  ‘Callum, darling. You are so upright but I do love you for it. I suppose that we will just have to wait to see if I have inherited any of Aunt Agnes’s powers as a great seductress.’

  Chapter 30

  Tapping the notebook absently with his pencil, a reasonable day considering, Callum stared at the window, suddenly puzzled. It was the curtains that were different. His mother had recently bought a number of new things with the extra money that he was now giving her, although she was generally disappointed by his failure to notice the changes. They looked quite smart; a dark green brocade with a faint red thread giving a neat floral pattern. She was in the kitchen, baking, and she seemed quite happy with herself. She was humming the hymn Fight the Good Fight, intermittently interrupted by grunts as she pounded her dough and by the occasional chuckle at a privately enjoyed thought. Callum knew that the conversation with his mother was going to be difficult and had been putting it off for some weeks now.

  ‘It seems a bit odd hearing you singing Protestant hymns, Mam,’ he shouted. ‘Especially after all those years of Hail Mary’s.’

  ‘Psshh. I don’t know that I’m one of those either. I think that I might be one of those againstics.’

  ‘You mean agnostics, Mam. Don’t you believe in anything, then?’

  ‘I don’t believe in all this external damnation stuff. And at least the services are all in English, so I know what is going on.’

  ‘And you have a soft spot for the vicar. I have seen you giving him one of your charming smiles after the service,’ Callum teased.

  His startled mother appeared at the kitchen door, wiping her hands on a pot towel. ‘Oh, now, son. You mustn’t be saying things like that. The Reverend is a nice young man but I don’t entertain any passionate feelings towards him. He has a lovely wife and in my mind that is how it should be. Too many of the Fathers have to turn to a spot of whisky to contain their frustratings.’

  Callum laughed. ‘Hey, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that, Mam. But you have to admit that his dark hair and flashing smile do make him look a bit of a Rudolph Valentino. He certainly makes the ladies go weak at the knees when he shakes their hands. Either that or you have all started curtseying.’

  ‘He is a gentleman and a nice speaker and his wife runs the make-do-and-mend group that I go to. Laura Craigie sends bags of old clothes from the shop.’

  ‘Oh, right. I know that this is going to seem a daft question but what do you need bags of old clothes for?’

  ‘We repair them and send them to the missionaries in Africa. Wouldn’t have thought th
at they needed woolly jumpers, mind you, but it is not for us to question how God works his wonders. I’d better get these pies in or else they won’t be done for when we are ready.’

  Callum followed his mother as she returned to the kitchen and he leant up against the door. ‘Mam, listen. There is something I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘I’ll just be having to put the top on this pie.’

  ‘You know that the garage has not been doing too badly, especially since Uncle Liam took over the Meredith business. I do all the repairs on the trucks and some of them were in pretty poor condition. It gives me some steady work.’

  ‘Well, I hope so, love. You gave up that good job at the Corporation yard. It is always a big risk becoming an interpreter.’

  ‘An entrepreneur, Mam. Yes, it was. But I wanted to have my own business so that I felt that I could ask Jean to marry me. That’s what I want to do now.’

  His mother pressed her thumb round the edge of the pie dish, crimping the lid of the pastry into the base. She brushed milk over the surface and cut slits into the top. Placing the pie into the oven and closing the door, she wiped her hands on the pot towel. ‘I don’t know, love. It’s a big step.’

  ‘I know that, Mam. I’ve given it a lot of thought. We both have. It is what we both want.’

  ‘Well, son, you know that I want what is best for you and you know that it frightens me a bit. You are still only young and she’s a lovely girl. But you have got to think of the problems that might face you. She is from a different class; she has been brought up differently. People like her family have standards that are not the same as ours. We are working class and have always had to struggle for anything that we needed.’

  ‘Jean has struggled for things that she believes in. She has worked hard for the women’s movement. And I support her on that; women should not be treated as second class citizens. They are all entitled to the franchise in the same way as men.’

  ‘That’s very nice, son, but most of the women that I know don’t know anything about politics and would just ask their husbands,’ his mother said, collecting together her baking utensils and placing them in the washing up bowl. ‘But that’s not what I mean. Your lady is used to having the likes of us fetching and carrying for her. For them, that is the natural order of things. She might go on her protest marches but then she goes home to a nice hot bath and her clothes go down to the skivvies for washing. That’s it finished with then for the time being; back in her warm cosy world with her fancy clothes and posh dinner parties.’

  Surprised and disconcerted by his mother’s outburst, Callum struggled to counter her arguments. He knew that the class differences were an important issue for her but now there was a venom in her voice; almost a bitter resentment. ‘Mam,’ he answered slowly. ‘I know that you are right in thinking that there will be difficulties but I hope that Jean and I love each other enough to overcome them. Things are different now, since the war. The blood of the different classes was spilled into the same mud. We can never go back to the way we were before that.’

  ‘You don’t see it, son. You are in your own little world with your cars and lorries. You don’t see the men on Trafford Road with no jobs, the families queuing at the soup kitchen. You are lucky and you have worked hard for what you have got. But there are a lot of men in this street who are not so lucky. You think that we can’t go back – we are back and, if anything, things are worse than before. Your Jean’s family up there in Light Oaks won’t be wanting for a loaf of bread and they won’t be mithering themselves too much about the families down here who are starving.’

  ‘Mam, don’t be getting yourself so worked up. Jean’s father is actually doing a lot of work organising schemes for ex-servicemen. But there is a limit to what you can do. We just have to make the most of the opportunities that come up.’

  ‘What I am trying to say, Callum, is that everything is different down to the last detail. They have toast only at breakfast and then it has best butter on it. They don’t know that the people round here have dripping on their toast and that it might have to be for any meal. What’s more, they don’t care, because they have their lives and we have ours.’

  ‘Mam, all the lads who are working for me and all those working for Uncle Liam are from working class families. We will take our chances when they come up but we need the bankers and the likes to work alongside us. I get on well with Jean’s father and he is happy about us getting married. I understand what you are saying and I know that you are saying it for the right reasons. But Jean and I are certain about this and we feel that we have waited long enough. We really want you to be pleased for both of us.’

  ‘Aye, well, she’s seems a fine lady, your Jean. I don’t want to be saying bad about her. I just hope that you will both be happy together.’

  Callum smiled and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mam. We might have to hold the reception in a temperance bar, though, if we invite all Dad’s family. Still, we’ll think about that again. Perhaps, for now, you could dig out my birth certificate when you get a minute.’

  As he turned to go back into the living room, he failed to see the deathly white pallor in his mother’s face or hear the stifled cry.

  Chapter 31

  ‘Ah, Mrs Murphy, Mr Murphy, do come in. Mr Amstruthers is expecting you.’ Liam smiled uncomfortably as the fawning young man crept round from behind the desk at which he had been placing carefully folded papers into buff coloured envelopes. ‘Please, sir, madam, may I take your coats and hang them so that they might dry whilst you are in your meeting? Such awful weather for this time of the year. One wonders if it will ever stop.’

  Liam shrugged off his raincoat whilst the obsequious young clerk relieved Bridget of both her coat and her umbrella. ‘Oh, thank you very much,’ she said. ‘It is a bit damp out there.’

  ‘Indeed it is, Mrs Murphy. I will just stand your umbrella here in the hearth,’ he said, putting it carefully on to the dark green tiles that decorated the fireplace. ‘I will take it through to the kitchen after I have escorted you to the meeting room. I will just inform Mr Amstruthers that everybody is here now.’ He sidled quietly over to a large, six-panel, ornately beaded door and knocked timidly as if experimenting with the level of sound that would be deemed acceptable. He cocked his head to listen for a response. Receiving none, he coughed quietly into his hand then tried again at a level barely more audible than the first.

  ‘Come in, Simons, come in,’ a Cheshire-cultured voice called out. ‘Damn it, man. You’ll have to knock loud enough for me to hear. You’re like a damned spider crawling up the door.’

  The young man lowered his head and turned the large brass knob on the door. ‘Thank you, sir. Excuse me, sir. Mr and Mrs Murphy have now arrived, sir. Shall I show them through to the meeting room?’

  ‘No thank you, Simons,’ the Cheshire-cultured voice replied. ‘I’ll take them through with me. You go and make some tea for us. But mind how you make it. Mrs Grimshaw is not too bothered about how it comes but the other one won’t touch it if there is any evidence of colour. Best make her a separate pot with that Earl Gray.’

  ‘Yes sir. I will go and do that immediately, sir.’

  ‘Right. Then make sure that you get those letters off; there’s a good chap.’

  The large door was held open by the young man as a beaming Mr Amstruthers emerged through it. He was tall with flecks of grey in his dark hair, a red tinge in his moustache, and a bearing that spoke of senior officer class. Liam saw Bridget assessing the solicitor’s dark grey, pin-striped worsted suit. The material had been precisely cut so that the lines of the pin stripe in each lapel achieved perfect symmetry. You need to have a prestige legal practise on King Street, Liam thought, in order to charge the fees that would pay for suits like that. Probably from a tailor in St Ann’s Square.

  ‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Murphy. So glad that you could come. Nothing to worry about, of course. Just that Mrs Grimshaw felt that you would be interested and you migh
t be able to offer support, if needed, to the other parties. Do come through,’ Mr Amstruthers instructed as he strode off down a brightly lit corridor.

  Bridget frowned at Liam. ‘What’s going on?’ she mouthed.

  Liam shrugged. Since Nellie Grimshaw had asked him to bring Bridget to this meeting at the solicitors’ office, he had found himself wondering over and again as to its purpose. She had said that it was something important for his family and that the support of both of them might be useful. Although his relationship with Nellie had evolved and warmed over the years, his approach to her was still deferential. This was generally a happy arrangement. He often sought her advice on business problems whilst she probed and relished the minutiae of his wider family’s life. She seemed nourished by the quirks and quibbles, the twists and turns of their domesticity and relationships. The stories filled a vacuum in her own life and evoked a surprising tenderness in this otherwise determined and uncompromising woman. But Brig had been dismayed when he had not probed further into the reasons behind the invitation. ‘You can’t just turn up for a meeting at some fancy-pants solicitors in the middle of Manchester without knowing what it is all about. How stupid will we look if they start asking us questions that we can’t answer,’ she had said.

  ‘Nellie didn’t say that we would be asked any questions,’ Liam had explained, wondering why he had not thought to ask more about the meeting in the first place. ‘She just said that it would be helpful for the family if we could be there. You know Nellie, she doesn’t give much away.’

  The floor of the corridor was carpeted; the pastel coloured walls had lighter coloured panels framed by a gilded beading. Wall lights with glass scallop-shell covers shone discreetly from the centres of the frames. Bridget took Liam’s hand and he squeezed her fingers. She briefly inclined her head to his shoulder and they followed Mr Amstruthers to the meeting room. A glass chandelier shimmered over a large oak table round which, in regimented spacing, were twelve straight-backed, leather seated chairs.