My Father, My Son

by My Father, My Son (retail) (epub)

  ‘No,’ said four-year-old Robert bluntly and continued to float his battleship in the baby’s bath.

  ‘I’ll box your ears, Bertie,’ warned the maid.

  ‘And I’ll tell,’ replied an unconcerned Robert, being aware that Biddy held his mother in awe.

  The maid issued a gasp of frustration and, with the child still draped across her lap, rose and half-shuffled, half-jumped to reach the cardigan. This was getting to be nearly as bad as being at home and having her own family to fetch and carry for – and even now she only got three shillings per week. Oh, she had asked for a raise, but the mistress had looked so offended, and pointed out that she had been kind enough to relent over deducting a sum for the maid’s board, that Biddy, feeling ungrateful, had not dared to ask again. The promise of a room had never come to fruition. The mistress answered her complaints with, ‘You can make a space in the attic when you’ve a spare minute,’ but as Biddy never had a spare second the attic was still crammed with junk and she was still in here with the squalling brats. The two older children had been given the last unoccupied bedroom but the two whom Biddy was left with were not the most amenable of room-mates.

  ‘I’ll give you a pasting one o’ these days,’ she muttered darkly at Robert.

  Having dressed the baby, she dumped it in the crib. With a wipe of her flustered brow, she took a covert glance at her charges, went to the cupboard and stepped right inside, squeezing the door as near shut as possible. From her pocket came a bottle of Croskell’s, which was uncorked and applied to her lips. She had tried to give this up for Lent but her craving had got the better of her.

  The nursery door flew open and Rachel burst upon the room, her face becoming even more annoyed at seeing the children unattended. ‘Where’s that Biddy Kelly?’ she demanded above the din.

  ‘In the cupboard,’ replied her son in between making boat noises.

  ‘Doing what? Oh, Robert, look at your ribbons!’ Rachel fussed over the child’s long hair, retying the bows. The boy’s father had suggested it was time his hair was cut, but Robert had such lovely blonde waves that his mother couldn’t bear to see them hacked off. ‘And look at your dress! It’s drenched – Biddy Kelly, come out here at once!’

  Biddy, responding to the angry voice, had just time to slap the cork back into place and be reaching her hands up to a shelf when the door was flung open. ‘Biddy Kelly, can one ask what you’re doing in here? Can’t you hear Rebecca screaming the place down? And Robert is absolutely soaking wet.’

  ‘Sure, I’m just getting Miss Becky a…’

  ‘Rebecca!’ snapped the child’s irascible mother. ‘Not Becky. Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca! How many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am. Well, I was just getting herself a clean shawl ready for her outing.’ Biddy’s great paws seized the article. She stepped past her mistress and went to pluck the roaring child from the crib, swaddling her in the shawl.

  Rachel said that the baby shouldn’t be allowed to cry like that. The maid replied that she had done everything she could to stop her. ‘But I think she’s teething, ma’am – look, can ye just see that little tooth busting out o’ the gum?’

  ‘Ooh yes!’ Rachel’s face brightened as she peered into the noisesome maw. ‘Poor mite, she wants a little bone to chew on.’

  ‘Sure, it’d have to be an elephant bone to fit that gob,’ sulked Biddy in a private aside. Rachel, overhearing the remark, reminded Biddy of her station. The maid apologized. ‘But she kept me awake all last night with her fratchin’, ma’am. I never got a wink o’ sleep.’

  ‘There are others living here, Biddy. While you’re carping, just think of your mistress hard at work all day then having to put up with that all night. I had to stuff cotton wool in my ears and even that didn’t drown it completely.’

  Sure, wouldn’t I like to drown it, thought a malevolent Biddy, jiggling the screaming culprit up and down.

  ‘And think of Mr Hazelwood too! He works hard, he doesn’t want to be kept awake all night. Get something from the chemist when you go out.’

  Don’t you mean the ironmonger’s? thought Biddy, but said she would. ‘Oh, an’ I’ll need some money for another bottle o’ jollop, ma’am.’ An argument took place about when Biddy had bought the last bottle. ‘No, I’m positive ’twas last month, ma’am – an’ there isn’t just the baby takes it – I mean, there are the four o’ them an’ Master Robert gets the upset belly quite reg’lar.’ She was censured for the language and Rachel demanded to see the bottle. ‘Oh, er, ’twas completely empty, so I threw it out, ma’am – with the dustmen last week.’ With a gesture of surrender, Rachel said she could have the money when she came down.

  Later, when Biddy manoeuvred the large perambulator bearing the two youngest through the front door, her mistress was performing a hectic motion with a sweeping brush. ‘Biddy, do watch the paintwork! There’s a good two inches clearance on either side of those wheels without demolishing the jambs.’ Rachel’s eyes flitted to next door, where Ella was just emerging with her little dog. She bestowed a neighbourly smile. ‘Good morning, Ella! Late for work?’ Ella was employed at Terry’s factory. It wasn’t the usual procedure for a woman to continue after she was married but, Ella being childless, allowances had been made.

  ‘Oh hello, Rache.’ Ella locked the door then shoved the string holding the key through the letterbox. ‘Aye, I’ll be locked out now so I’m just popping into town. Is there anything you want?’

  Rachel answered that Biddy had her list. ‘Go on, Biddy! You needn’t think I’m spending all morning on your jobs.’ She turned to smile at another neighbour who paused to chat. Ella broke into a trot to catch up with Biddy. ‘Bye, Ella! Have a nice time.’

  Rachel brushed haphazardly at the pavement whilst murmuring to the other woman, ‘If I were a betting person I’d lay odds she’s off on one of her sprees.’ Ella had become very involved with the Suffrage Movement lately. ‘As if she hasn’t anything better to do – just look at the colour of those curtains.’ The other remarked that Ella was expecting her front brushing as well, judging by the litter that was about. ‘Oh yes! That’s what I’m here for, didn’t you know?’ Rachel threw up her eyes. ‘And if I don’t do it it’ll all blow onto my front. It makes me wonder what she does with no family to look after – though she makes as much fuss over that blessed dog. You’d think it was a baby the way she goes on.’

  Ella and Biddy were now in Albemarle Road, both forced to walk slowly, being handicapped by the children and the dog, who kept stopping to sniff the wall. ‘Young Becky was working overtime last night, wasn’t she?’ said Ella, tugging on the lead.

  ‘Oh dear, did she keep you awake too, Mrs Daw?’ said Biddy.

  ‘Do you think I always have these matchsticks propping my eyelids up? What’s matter with her, is she ill?’ Ella peered into the pram where the screams were only just being lulled into sobs by the motion. Biddy explained it was the child’s teeth. ‘Tell her false ones aren’t half so much trouble,’ replied Ella, who had had all her own removed at the age of twenty-three, thinking the artificial ones much nicer and more fashionable.

  ‘Mrs Hazelwood’s angry at me for the noise. I don’t see as how it’s my fault.’

  ‘You want to stand up for yourself a bit more,’ instructed Ella. ‘She works you far too hard.’ Biddy said she would get the sack if she complained. ‘I doubt it. She wouldn’t get anyone else to work for a wage as small as the one she gives you. You want to tell her you won’t be exploited any more.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t like…’

  ‘Listen, Biddy.’ Ella stopped her and spoke fervently, leaning on the hood of the pram, ‘It’s no good moaning to me all the time, you’ve got to do something about it. The time has come for us women to throw aside all our old-fashioned ideas, we have to have a say in the way our lives are run. The men’ve been getting too much of their own way – and so have women like Rachel. It’s up to you and me to change Society, to get ourselves the r
ight to vote. If we don’t act now we’ll be stuck in these subservient roles forever.’

  ‘So what’re ye going to do, ma’am?’ asked Biddy, walking again.

  ‘Biddy, you don’t have to call me ma’am.’ Ella moved with her. ‘Unlike your mistress, I know my class. We’re going to do all sorts of things… smash windows, throw rotten eggs…’

  Biddy stopped again. ‘Smash windows! Won’t they lock y’up?’

  ‘That’s the idea, Biddy!’ Ella linked arms with the maid and spoke zealously. ‘If they send us to prison, people’ll start taking us seriously. It’ll be reported in all the newspapers. Listen, why don’t you join us?’

  Biddy looked agog. ‘Sure, the mammy’d kill me if I got me name in the papers.’ Ella said Biddy’s mother should thank her for helping to change her life. ‘An’ what use would I be?’

  ‘It’s women like you that we’re desperate to get through to,’ persisted Ella. ‘To show you that you can have a say in how much work you do and what kind of work – I mean, you might want to be something higher than a maid-of-all-work, like a carpenter, say, or a bricklayer.’

  ‘Or a chemist,’ mused Biddy, gathering interest.

  ‘Anything you like! Once we get that vote we can do as we damn well please. Listen, I’m off to a meeting of the WSPU, d’you want to come?’

  Knowing how her mistress held Mrs Daw in contempt, Biddy said that she couldn’t, because of the children. But Ella was very good at manipulating, especially pliable bodies like the Irish girl, and said that the children could come too. ‘You can leave the pram in the lobby with my Kim, he’ll look after it. Young Bertie and Wena won’t be any trouble, will you loveys?’ She bent to address the children who were hanging onto the handle of the pram. ‘An’ we’ll buy you some sweeties.’ Biddy said the mistress didn’t allow them to eat between meals. ‘Tosh! She’s so prissy – anyway, she won’t know, will she?’

  And Biddy found herself carried along to the meeting in the city centre, though she understood little of what was said. However, what was proposed on the way home she understood only too well. ‘Oh God, I daresn’t get mixed up in anything like that, Mrs Daw!’

  ‘You’re committed now, Biddy. Come on, let’s have a practice.’ Ella looked around for a target and spotted a shop selling menswear. ‘That one’ll do perfectly.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t!’ Biddy twittered nervously. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Eh, you are weak-livered for a big lump of a lass, Biddy. Don’t tell me I’ve gone to all that trouble of getting you into the movement and you’re too cowardly even to sling a brick.’ Still evasive, Biddy said she hadn’t got a brick. Ella soon provided one. ‘Go on – be brave.’ She raised her voice. ‘Votes for women! Go on, chuck it, Biddy. Votes for women!’

  Biddy stared at the cobble on her big palm. She stared at the people going about their business. She stared at her charges. Robert gazed back with interest.

  ‘Biddy!’ prompted Ella sternly.

  Accompanied by a moan, the Irish girl’s arm came up in a sudden movement and – like a mangonel – propelled the cobble at the large pane of glass. Faces that had previously been directed at the contents of other shop windows now turned at the abrupt shattering. Biddy poised there, hand over mouth, ‘Oh, Jesus!’ staring at the jagged remnant of window, then looked at Ella, who beamed her triumph and shouted again, ‘Votes for women!’

  The noise had woken the baby, who started to scream again. It jerked Biddy from her stupor. She set off at a swift pace, children in tow and Ella hurrying after her. ‘Biddy, don’t run away! We want them to see who did it.’

  ‘I don’t!’ Biddy continued her escape, her too-large boots slopping on-off-on-off. ‘The mistress’ll take my blood for her roses.’ She chanced a backwards look. An angry shopkeeper had now emerged and fingers were being pointed. ‘Oh, sweet Virgin!’ Biddy’s pace increased, nearly dragging the children off their feet. When the pram almost knocked the breath from a policeman who had just turned the corner she screamed out loud, ‘I didn’t do it, yer honour!’ Placing a delaying hand on the hood of the pram, the officer foiled her escape, allowing a breathless shopkeeper to catch up. When the constable had ascertained the reason for Biddy’s rush he turned to her. ‘Can you offer an explanation for breaking this gentleman’s window?’

  ‘Oh no, sir!’ Biddy sobbed piteously. ‘Please, I never meant to do it.’

  ‘The cobblestone just sort of found its way into your hand, did it?’

  Ella pitched in. ‘There’s no call to be patronizing!’ The officer asked who she was. ‘I am Mrs Arabella Daw and I demand…’

  ‘I’m not here to answer demands. I’m here to investigate a case of criminal damage. Now…’

  ‘If there’s anything criminal around here it’s your attitude! Speaking to us as if we’re idiots…’ The officer interrupted to scribble her name in his notebook, asking also for her address. Ella told him.

  He turned to Biddy. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Biddy Kelly,’ provided Ella. ‘And her address…’

  ‘Ventriloquist, is she?’ asked the constable mildly.

  ‘Tell him, Biddy!’ Ella delivered a forceful nudge. ‘Go on! Give him your name and address, we’re not ashamed.’ She encompassed the crowd in this statement; it was amazing how fast one could gather.

  ‘Well, you should be!’ shouted a woman, to loud agreement. ‘You want horse-whipping – what’s her husband thinking of?’

  ‘Votes for women!’ rallied Ella.

  ‘Oh please, can’t I just pay for the window?’ Biddy entreated the officer. The latter consulted the shopkeeper, whom Biddy also beseeched tearfully. ‘Please, please! ’Twas an accident. I didn’t mean no mischief.’

  ‘Biddy!’ chastised Ella. ‘You coward.’

  ‘You keep your neb out,’ ordered the constable and awaited the shopkeeper’s decision.

  Just as a lenient response was about to be granted, Ella, forseeing failure, lashed out and knocked the notepad from the policeman’s hands. She glared her defiance at the crowd which rumbled condemnations and at the policeman, who was brandishing a broken pencil. ‘Up the Suffragettes!’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Daw!’ Biddy chewed on a work-hardened finger as the two of them, pram, children and dog were hauled away to the police station. ‘What’ll we do? What’ll we do?’

  * * *

  ‘That woman!’ Rachel was in the act of stabbing a pin into her hat when Russ entered for his lunch. When he asked what woman she cried, ‘That Ella Daw! Subverting my staff – it’s no good looking for any dinner, there is none!’ She hared about, collecting hat and jacket, and to her husband’s enquiry as to where she was going said, ‘Down to the police station, that’s where I’m going! Yes! That woman has had my children locked up like common criminals!’

  ‘Oh, blimey… eh, hold on.’ Russ grabbed her as she brushed past. ‘Just stand still and tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I’ve just had a policeman on my doorstep, that’s what’s happened! That woman waylaid my servant on her way to the shops and instead of the children receiving their fresh air they’ve been stifled in a filthy prison cell. Breaking windows! That’s what they’ve been learning to do this morning.’

  Russ groaned. ‘Ella’s been up to her Suffragette tricks, has she?’

  ‘Tricks? I’ll give her tricks! She knows I’m much too intelligent to get mixed up in her criminal activities so she picks on my dim-witted servant – I’ll bet it was her who broke my window when you were in South Africa. Well, the first thing I shall be doing after freeing my children is to demand compensation. Five shillings it cost me, Russ!’

  ‘I’d better go with you.’ Russ sighed and reached for his hat.

  At the police station they were met by a remorseful Biddy, who wrung her great mitts pleadingly. ‘Oh, ma’am, I’m ever so sorry to drag ye here! I never meant…’

  ‘Shut up, Biddy!’ rasped her mistress, then to the police sergeant on the desk, ‘Where are my children? I demand
that they be freed.’ The sergeant commanded a constable to bring forth the young detainees. He would be glad to see the back of them; the baby had been screeching something awful. Rachel was duly reunited with her brood and after fussing and clucking over them to make sure there were no ill-effects she turned on Biddy. ‘This is absolutely disgraceful! Heaven knows, it’s bad enough having one’s servant bringing one’s house into disrepute, but to drag respectable and impressionable children into this abominable place – I should dismiss you!’

  ‘Oh please, ma’am!’ Biddy beseeched her, then genuflected to Russ. ‘Sir, I’m beggin’ ye! ’Twasn’t my idea.’

  ‘I’m well aware whose idea it was!’ Rachel interjected before her husband could speak. ‘And consider yourself lucky that I know you too well, know how easily you allow yourself to be led. But!’ she added as Biddy almost wept with relief, ‘if I ever catch you talking to Mrs Daw again I shall not hesitate to cast you out.’

  ‘Oh, God bless ye, ma’am! May every one o’ your fingers be a candle to light your path to heaven.’

  ‘Now, officer,’ Rachel spun on the sergeant, ‘if you’ve finished with my servant we shall take her and the children home.’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam, Kelly faces a charge of criminal damage, she’ll have to stay here while we get particulars.’ Rachel made a noise of irritation. ‘So! I shall have to cook dinner myself?’ She glowered as a tearful Biddy was led away. ‘What’s going to happen to her?’ When told it would probably be a fine her eyes dilated in horror. ‘Russ, do you realize this could get into the papers?’ At his shrug she squeaked, ‘Don’t you care that the address they print will be ours – I don’t suppose we could forbid them to print it?’ This to the policeman.

  ‘Be a bit difficult, it’s a topical story… but then they might not print the whole address. I could arrange for you to have a word with Mrs Daw while you’re here if that would help?’