Rough Clay

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘I don’t know much about anything, do I?’ he said angrily to himself. Maybe the high school was an impossible dream. What else could he do? He could damned well get a job in one of the potteries. It may not be well paid but at least he’d be working with some of the beautiful things he admired so much.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he promised himself. ‘I’ll damn well do it. If I can’t go to school, I’ll get me own job. I won’t go down that awful mine and get black bits stuck all over me body like me Dad.’ His voice whispered back to him in the dark, cold bedroom. He heard baby William snuffling in his drawer cot near to him. He pulled his blanket over his head in an effort to get warmer and finally fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I s’pose I have to tell the teacher I can’t go to the grammar, do I?’ Archie said to his mother next morning.

  ‘Leave it a day or two. I don’t s’pose they have to know right away. Let’s take time to think about it a bit. No promises mind, but we’ll have to give thought to it. You’re a clever little lad. You’ve done well, boy.’

  Archie stood still, shocked at his mother’s words. It was the first time in his life that he could ever remember her saying anything complimentary to him. He almost blushed with pleasure. Did this mean they were thinking it over? Something swept through his entire body. An unaccustomed feeling that he couldn’t begin to describe. If this first step came true, who could know what else he might achieve? As he walked to school, his head was held just a little higher and he barely noticed the pad of brown paper wedged into the hole in his shoes. His mind was already seeing him going to the high school, along with the elite of the area. He didn’t even understand why he was so driven to go to the school. After all, this was only the beginning of his education. It would take years for him to understand all the things that fascinated him.

  ‘Well, Archie? Were your parents pleased with you?’ asked his teacher the next morning.

  ‘I reckon so,’ he replied numbly. He hoped the teacher wasn’t going to ask him anything more.

  ‘And will you be taking up the offer?’

  ‘I expect so,’ he mumbled. ‘But nothing’s fixed yet. There’s stuff to be sorted out.’ He turned and went to his place on the bench next to Billy Machin.

  ‘I told me Mum about you,’ the child whispered loudly. ‘How you’re going to the posh school and all. She’s going to send me there, she says. So you’ll still be able to do me sums for me.’

  ‘Fat chance. You haven’t got the brains.’ Billy glared at him.

  ‘Show off,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll show yer one day. Just yer wait.’

  ‘Quiet, you boys,’ called the teacher. ‘Now, let’s see what you remember from the last lesson.’ He set them some work to do from the board and stood silently, watching his protégé. He desperately wanted to help but could think of nothing. He could possibly provide him with the odd few books. Lend him some from his own collection but that was a mere drop in the ocean to a family like this. Maybe he should call round to see Archie’s parents. He made up his mind. If this was the only thing he could do, then surely, it was his duty to do it.

  ‘Tell your parents I’d like to call round to see them. Tomorrow night. No, tonight,’ he corrected. If he gave them the opportunity to refuse or postpone his visit, they might decline to see him at all.

  ‘Yes, sir. I s’pose it’ll be all right. I’ll tell them,’ Archie replied doubtfully. Their house was not the sort of place that teachers visited. His parents would have a fit. It might just be sensible to forget to tell them. His mum would rush round like a mad thing, trying to tidy up, getting more and more angry with everything.

  When the knock came on their door, Frances cursed and asked who on earth that could be. Quick as a flash, Archie chimed in.

  ‘Oh, I expect it’s my teacher. He said he might call. I’m sorry, Mum. I forgot to tell you.’ He was not put off by the withering gaze. He opened the door and ushered in the young man. He hesitated.

  ‘I get the feeling Archie didn’t warn you of my visit,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I forgot.’ Archie’s eyes met his and the teacher interpreted his anxious gaze.

  ‘Hope he hasn’t been causing trouble,’ Ralph Barnett muttered.

  ‘On the contrary,’ Mr Gladstone replied. ‘We’re all very proud of him, as I expect you are. I came to ask you to allow me to offer my support and help.’

  ‘We don’t need anybody’s help,’ Ralph began. ‘We don’t accept charity.’

  ‘I’m not offering charity. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to do much to help. No, I was merely going to offer the loan of a few books. I have a number which may be of use. I’m sure you’re going to find it very difficult to manage and I couldn’t bear the thought that he may be unable to take up this wonderful offer, all for the sake of a few pounds.’

  ‘Aye well. We’ve every intention of doing our best for the lad. It’s a struggle but we shall be letting him go to the school. Never had much of a chance myself, but that’s no reason for him to do the same.’

  Archie sat disbelieving what he was hearing. Dad sounded as though it was all arranged. The boy got up from his seat on the floor and went and stood beside his father’s chair. He put a shy hand on his father’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll make sure you’re proud of me.’

  ‘That’s splendid,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘Splendid.’ He was wondering, perhaps uncharitably, if the result would have been quite so satisfactory had he not made this visit.

  After he had left, Archie once more stood beside his father. His mother had said scarcely a word during the whole evening. She raised one eyebrow and looked expectantly at her husband.

  ‘Aye, well I was going to tell you but hadn’t got round to it. I had a talk with Mr Copestake today. He’s willing for me to exchange shifts and go on to nights. That way, I’ll be earning a better rate. It doesn’t bother me. It’s always dark down the pit so what’s the difference?’

  ‘You always said you hated working the night shift,’ Frances said sharply.

  ‘It isn’t so bad. Not once you’re used to living back to front. Once you’re down the pit, day or night is all the same. It’s better money, love. The boy deserves his chance.’

  ‘I suppose so. Take some getting used to though. You going to work when I’m going to bed. And the kids’ll have to keep quiet during the day when you want to sleep. I hope you appreciate what your father’s doing for you,’ she snapped.

  ‘Does that really mean I can go to the grammar?’ Archie asked in a trembling voice.

  ‘Aye, lad. But you’ll have to do your bit at home as well. Like your Mum says, you’ll have to keep quiet during the day and help with young William.’

  ‘Oh I will. Promise. I can’t hardly believe it. Me, at the grammar. My teacher’ll be dead pleased. There’s only one thing. How will I get the uniform?’

  Frances’s face paled. He’d have to have the real thing. Cut-downs were no good. And shoes. He’d have to have proper shoes. It was a long walk to the school and he needed proper shoes to make it there.

  ‘Oh, Ralph. What shall we do?’

  ‘I’ve given that some thought. One of the foremen has a boy at the grammar. He was saying t’other day how the lad’s shot up. Had to get him new kit all round. I thought I could ask if the old one’s for sale. And we can get him some shoes on tick.’

  ‘I could get a Saturday job. They’re always wanting delivery boys. I bet I can get summat.’

  ‘Looks like it’s all settled then,’ Frances said with a grim look on her face. Her thin lips pursed and Archie knew at once she hated the very idea of him getting an education.

  The war ended the following year, a few days short of Archie’s eleventh birthday. He had been attending the grammar school for two months, clad in his handed down uniform and his first proper shoes bought from the tally man for a few pence a week. For Archie, they had been the happiest months of his life. He read avidly and was one of the most
frequent visitors to the small library in the school. He began to learn Latin and quickly mastered every sort of mathematics that was put in front of him. His ambitions were always prominent in his mind and if anything disappointed him, it was the lack of time spent developing any artistic skills. But this was a small price to pay for what he saw as opportunity.

  At home, things were very different. Archie’s young brother, William, was a sickly child. Although quite big for his age, the baby did not thrive the way Archie had done. Perhaps it was due to the poor diet of his mother. Since the older boy had begun his grammar school, money had become even tighter. The miners still had work but they had all been put on short time. The war no longer demanded huge amounts of coal for the manufacturing industries. Despite the early optimism, life in the back streets of the Potteries certainly missed out on any sort of long-term prosperity. The Barnett family were not alone. Most folk in the street were feeling the pinch.

  ‘We’ll have to get the doctor to look at our William,’ Frances said desperately to Ralph one evening. ‘He’s coughed and wheezed all day long and his little forehead is that hot. I’m at my wits’ end. He’s cried for days now and I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You’ve tried steam from the kettle?’ his father asked.

  ‘Course I have. That’s the only thing we can do that doesn’t cost money. Mrs Machin even gave me a bit of proper goose grease to rub on his poor little chest but it doesn’t seem to have done much good.’

  ‘Camphor,’ Archie said suddenly. He was working in the dim light on his homework. ‘Someone said they’d had their chest rubbed with camphor. Didn’t half pong.’

  ‘Aye, well that’s as maybe. But we don’t happen to have any cam what ever it is lying about the place.’

  ‘Let’s try him for one more night. If he’s no better in the morning, we’ll have to get the doctor round. Though how we’ll pay him is another matter. The child must be given his chance.’

  Archie carried on with his writing. He began to feel guilty and pushed the thoughts away. If he got his education, who could tell where it might lead? Maybe his Dad could retire or at least find a job that didn’t mean he had to go down the pit into whatever hell lay at the bottom. He had made few friends at his new school. Most of the boys lived close by, at the posher end of the grimy town. As soon as the bell rang at the end of the day, he had to run to get home before it was dark.

  There were a mere handful of scholarship boys at the grammar, most of whom were better at their academic work than the majority of fee payers. For Archie, any new information was something to be devoured. He listened to his teachers with a rapt attention, trying to store away every word for later use. Most of the other boys thought him a swot, perhaps a bit too keen on pleasing the masters. There was, however, one boy with whom Archie had begun a sort of friendship. He was Ernie Draper Junior. They had found themselves thrown together during music lessons. Though he had never before even seen a piano close to, Archie had shown a surprising aptitude for playing. He was fascinated by the sounds and sat for several of the breaks each week, playing the keys. The music master had listened to him and had even offered to give him a few lessons. Ernie was also having lessons, though his were on an official basis, paid for by his father.

  ‘No, Archie, it goes tum-tum-te-tum-tum,’ Mr Dixon said, singing and clapping his hands together at the same time. Archie tried again and sang as he did so.

  ‘He’s got a nice voice, ’asn’t ’e, sir?’ Ernie said.

  ‘Not bad. Quite untrained of course. What do you think, Archie? Would you like to attend choir practice after school?’ the teacher asked.

  ‘I would like to but I can’t. I have to get back to help me Mum. There’s a young’un at home, see,’ he explained. ‘ ’E’s a bit poorly and I have to help out. And besides, it’s a long way to our side of the town.’

  ‘You should try and stay, Archie,’ Ernie told him later. ‘It’s good at choir. They give us a cup of tea and a biscuit some nights.’

  ‘Like I said, I have to get back.’

  ‘Maybe you could come for tea at our house one day?’ the boy said suddenly. ‘Mum’s always asking if I want to bring someone home. I don’t have any special friends though.’

  ‘I couldn’t ever ask you back to ours. In return like.’ Archie felt a chill at the thought of any of the other pupils knowing the poverty in which they lived.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Not at all. Come round on Thursday. You can come home from school with me and we can do our homework together. Then we can have something to eat and maybe do a bit of music practice.’

  ‘I dunno,’ Archie replied. ‘I’d have to ask me Mum and Dad. But I don’t think they’d let me.’

  ‘Ask anyhow. You can see my piano. Well, it’s my Mum’s really, but she doesn’t play much now.’

  ‘You got your own piano? Blimey. Are your parents very rich then?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Sounds like it to me. I’ve got to go. I’ll ask me Mum soon as I get home.’ Archie skipped away and ran quickly back to the smoky, grimy place that was his home.

  His parents debated his request for some time.

  ‘It’s only natural the boy would make some friends from the other end,’ Ralph said. ‘It’s part of going to a posh school.’

  ‘I said I was against it from the start. Giving him ideas he shouldn’t have. He’ll be turning into a right little snob. Mark my words. What if he wants to bring his posh friends here? How do you think we’d manage? Not likely.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mam. I’ll say I can’t go.’ Archie turned away, almost glad to have an excuse to refuse the invitation. He wouldn’t know if he was doing the right things and it might be very embarrassing. What was the good of meeting new people if your background always held you back? He made a new promise to himself. He would never be ashamed of what he was and where he came from but he was going to make every possible effort to improve himself. The way he spoke; the way he looked. He may have second hand clothes but there was no reason on earth why he should look dirty. There was plenty of water for free and even if he didn’t use much soap or anything, he could wash himself thoroughly with water, at least once a day.

  Ernie was waiting for him at the school gate the next morning.

  ‘Me Mum’s looking forward to seeing you. She says it’s OK straight after school. And it’ll all be like we said. She’s getting us a nice meat pie made for tea.’

  Archie listened to his new friend’s words. He desperately wanted to make the visit, if only to see what it was like in someone else’s house, someone from this end of the town.

  ‘Me Mum wasn’t too keen to tell the truth. She needs me to help mind me brother. He’s sickly, see. Nearly drives her mad some days and if I look after him, it gives her a bit of a break.’

  ‘Oh, go on. Just for once. Me Mum’s dead set on meeting you. I’ve told her all about you. And me Dad’ll come home early, just to see you.’

  ‘What does your Dad do?’ It was a total mystery to the boy to know how someone could simply leave work early because a friend of his son was coming for tea.

  ‘He works in his Dad’s factory. You must have heard of Draper’s? They make china for the table.’

  ‘He’s a potter?’

  ‘Well, the manager more like. He has to work hard. My Grandad’s getting on a bit now. He must be nearly sixty. Me Dad’ll take over properly one day soon, I expect.’

  Archie knew he had to go to meet his friend’s parents. He had to go. Whatever his Mum and Dad said, he knew it was the biggest chance he’d ever get to glimpse the world he longed for.

  ‘I’ll come,’ he decided suddenly. Whatever it took, he had to go. Besides, the very thought of a good meat pie was making his mouth water.

  That evening, Archie tackled his parents separately. First, he took his Dad on one side, while he was washing himself after work.

  ‘I think I’ve offended my friend Ernie. His Mum says that you must t
hink he isn’t good enough to be my friend. When really, it’s the other way round, isn’t it?’

  ‘Come on, son. That’s not likely is it?’

  ‘Well, Ernie said she was a bit put out that I said no to the invitation. They’re doing a meat pie, special, like.’

  ‘I see. You must be an honoured guest then, mustn’t you? Meat Pie eh? Would that be with potatoes under the pastry?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Archie replied, mystified by his father’s question.

  ‘Seems like it’s too good a chance to miss then, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Does that mean I can go?’ Archie asked incredulously.

  ‘You’ll have to ask your Mum. Depends if she’s willing to let you off your baby minding.’

  ‘Do you think she will?’

  ‘I reckon you’d better ask her.’

  ‘Right. An’ I can say you’ll let me go, if it’s all right with her?’

  His Dad smiled and ruffled his hair. He pushed him away from the sink and Archie went into the sitting room. He repeated his story and his mother frowned. He stood twisting his hands together, almost praying that she would say yes. He didn’t even know why the visit had become so important to him. Somehow, it had assumed life or death proportions.

  ‘I s’pect you’d better go. But don’t go getting any more fancy ideas. And for God’s sake, don’t go inviting him ’ere.’

  ‘Oh I wouldn’t. Honest. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad,’ he called excitedly, as he clattered up the stairs to change out of his uniform.

  When Thursday came, Archie was in a state of nerves. Suppose he made an idiot of himself? He’d heard that some folks had a whole lot of plates and knives and forks when they had a meal. Suppose he used the wrong things when he finally sat at the table? He’d be that embarrassed. He’d learned by now, that china on the table was much more common than he’d realised. If Ernie’s Dad was a potter, they’d be sure to have loads of proper china plates from which to eat.