‘But – ’ Polly began, about to tell the man that her father worked on the railway. But some instinct made her bite her tongue.
It seemed the defendants were being charged with causing riotous behaviour and disturbing the peace. Nothing had been said as yet about the smashed windows, the looting or the fires. But maybe the charge covered a multitude of sins, Polly thought wryly.
As the prosecutor began to speak, it seemed she’d been right; he accused all the defendants of having taken part not only in the noise, shouting and jeering, but also in the violence that had followed, and he pressed the Bench to commit the prisoners to the Assizes for trial.
Witnesses from the police force – several with bruises on their faces or bandages around their heads – were called, but their testimony was what Polly already knew for she’d seen it all with her own terrified eyes. And she’d seen the injured too: members of the public who’d been borne away to the St John Ambulance station and the policemen who’d been the targets of the hostile crowd.
And one of them was Leo.
One by one police witnesses came forward to give details about each prisoner and the reason for their arrest. Most of them had been seen throwing missiles, breaking windows and street lamps and even targeting the police constables. Cautions had been given to one or two of the ringleaders now standing in court, when they’d been advised to go home. But they’d not taken that advice and had continued to cause mayhem.
On and on the evidence went for each prisoner, the details being much the same in each case. And then Leo stepped up. His head was still bandaged and his face was bruised. One eye was half-closed. No one could deny that he’d been injured in the affray.
He gave his evidence against William Longden quietly and it seemed, Polly had to admit, with great sorrow. For a moment her resolve to blame Leo for what was happening to her father wavered. William was guilty of violence, she knew, and Leo was, after all, an upholder of the law. And her father had broken the law . . .
‘The accused threw a brick that knocked my helmet off,’ Leo was saying. ‘Then he threw a bottle that caused a deep cut on my forehead.’
‘Is the defendant known to you?’
Leo hesitated, his glance meeting Polly’s eyes briefly. She held her breath. Then clearly and firmly, he said, ‘Yes. I am walking out with his eldest daughter.’
A surprised murmuring rippled through the courtroom. Even one or two of the other prisoners looked shocked by such a revelation.
The chairman of the magistrates regarded Leo solemnly as he asked, ‘And it was you who made the arrest?’
‘Yes.’ Now Leo’s voice was husky.
‘Then,’ the chairman went on, ‘you are indeed to be commended for carrying out your duty under what must be very difficult circumstances.’
Now the expressions on the prisoners’ faces had turned to sneers. But William had the grace to hang his head. He didn’t look up to meet his daughter’s gaze. He didn’t even glance at Leo whilst the evidence was being given against him.
The magistrates retired to consider their verdict, then returned to the courtroom to declare that they were satisfied that no genuine striker – no employee of the railway companies – was standing before them and that the prisoners would be sent for trial at the Assizes.
Polly gasped, her gaze seeking out her father. But William steadfastly refused to meet her eyes. She could perhaps understand why her father had lied about his occupation. Maybe he was hoping that by doing so his job would be safe once he was released. What she could not understand was why Leo must have gone along with the lie that her father was not a railwayman.
And that was so unlike the upstanding Constable Halliday, she thought bitterly.
Thirty-Eight
‘What’s going to happen to Dad?’ Violet’s voice quavered and Polly glanced at her in surprise. She couldn’t ever remember her sister being anxious about anything. Violet went her own way through life and cared for no one except herself.
Polly’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘He’s charged with being one of the main ringleaders. They’re being sent for trial. He could have got bail, but where are the likes of us going to find fifty pounds or anyone to stand surety for such an amount? Vi, we’ll have to prepare ourselves. He could go to jail.’
Now Violet’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Jail? But – but what’ll happen to us?’
Polly glared at her. She’d been right. All Violet cared about was what might happen to her. At least, Polly thought with a wry smile, she’d had the decency to say ‘us’, not just ‘me’.
When her sister didn’t answer at once, Violet asked, her voice rising to a high pitch, ‘Will we get turned out of our home?’
‘Not if we can keep paying the rent.’ Polly was shrewd enough to know that that was all their rent collector would care about. Fall behind and they’d be out on their ear, but keep the payments up regularly and the rent man would turn a blind eye to the fact that the person’s name on the rent book was now a jailbird.
‘But you and little Michael will be all right.’ She paused and then asked gently, ‘Has Micky said anything about getting married?’
Violet shook her head.
‘Would you, if he asked you?’
Violet wriggled her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I suppose so. I don’t have much choice, do I, since you won’t help me. But that’s only if he does ask me.’
‘You don’t have to marry him if you don’t love him, Vi,’ Polly said softly. ‘None of us would expect you to do that.’
Violet’s eyes filled with easy tears. She’d been very weepy since the birth of her son, yet Polly was pleased to see that she fed the baby regularly and even seemed to cuddle him lovingly now and again.
‘I do love Micky, Polly, that’s the trouble, but I’m not sure he loves me.’
Polly felt a shaft of guilt run through her, but this was something she could not share with her sister – nor with anyone. ‘I’m sure he’s very fond of you, Vi.’
‘I suppose it would be better than Michael having horrible names called after him in the street.’
Polly held her breath. Was Vi really thinking of someone else for once, other than herself?
Violet sighed. ‘I just feel as if there should be more to life than getting married and having hordes of kids, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ Polly said, getting up to begin preparing yet another meal, ‘you know what our mam would have said? You’ve made your bed, now you’re going to have to lie in it.’
Suddenly, Violet began to laugh until the tears ran down her face. Polly eyed her anxiously. Was her sister hysterical? Ought she to slap her face? But Violet dried her tears and looking up at Polly said, ‘To tell you the truth, Poll, I quite liked being in bed with Micky Fowler. We had a lot of fun and at least if I did marry him I’d have a licence for it!’
At the beginning of October the city was in a fever of excitement over the celebrations planned for the switching on of the new water supply from Elkesley. Work had begun three years earlier, but now, at last, the pure, clear water was to arrive in Lincoln.
But Polly didn’t feel like celebrating. Her father was in prison awaiting trial and her romance with Leo lay in tatters.
How could people forget so quickly? she wondered. But it seemed as if folk were determined to put those dreadful days behind them. They wanted an excuse to go out and enjoy themselves, and the arrival of the new water supply was reason enough.
A special fountain had been built in the Arboretum, where the Mayor would perform the opening ceremony, but Polly shied away from going to the city’s park; it held such bittersweet memories for her. So many times she’d strolled there, holding Leo’s hand, planning their future together. How could she tread those same pathways knowing there was no future for them now?
‘Please, please, please, Polly, can we go?’ Miriam begged and even Stevie looked up at her hopefully. ‘We’ve got the day off school specially.’
Polly sighed but relent
ed. She didn’t want to spoil the children’s fun. They got little enough, for money was tight, and at least this would be free.
But on 4 October – the date set for the festivities – it was raining. Miriam looked out of the window mournfully. ‘It’s just like that time the coronation sports were postponed.’
‘I think the turning on of the water supply will still take place, but I don’t know about the entertainment organized for the evening. Still,’ Polly said, mustering a brightness she didn’t feel, ‘let’s wrap up well and go and see, eh?’
So, armed with a big, black umbrella that had seen better days, Polly, Stevie and Miriam followed the crowds to the Arboretum and waited for the procession of dignitaries to arrive in the park once a service in the cathedral had finished. The rain fell even more heavily as speeches were made and then the Mayor drank from a silver cup filled with water from a small pipe on the platform.
‘Isn’t he going to boil it first?’ Miriam whispered.
‘No, no, he says it’s grand.’
Then the Mayor turned the handle that opened the valve to release a spurt of water from the nearby fountain. The jet of water climbed higher and higher into the glowering sky. A cheer rippled amongst the crowd as the Mayor operated another valve that tumbled water over the sides of the fountain, a bubbling cascade of pure, white water. There was a loud boom amongst the trees and Miriam clung to Polly.
‘What was that?’
‘A maroon being fired,’ Stevie said. ‘Mr Hopkins told us at school what was going to happen. It signals the official arrival of the new water supply.’
The bangs continued and paper parachutes floated down over the heads of the crowd, bearing tiny Union Jacks. The band of the Territorials began to play and everyone began to sing ‘Now Thank We All Our God’ and as the hymn came to an end, the cathedral bells chimed, the joyous sound echoing over the city. The crowd cheered and a few wiped their eyes, overcome with the thought that no more would they have to fear the water they drank.
Miriam tugged at Polly’s hand. ‘Can we stay for the cel’brations? Oh, please, Polly?’
‘No, we’re going home. I’m soaked now and I don’t want you catching a chill.’
Miriam sobbed all the way home, but the little girl’s prayers were answered; the evening entertainment was postponed until the following evening, when Polly hadn’t the heart to refuse to take her.
‘The band from the New Barracks is playing tonight,’ Eddie told them. ‘Come on, Poll. Let’s all go.’
‘Wish I could come,’ Violet said morosely. ‘But I suppose I’m expected to stay here with the baby. Again!’
‘If you wrap him up warm in the pram,’ Eddie suggested, ‘he could come, couldn’t he?’
Violet stared at him. ‘You – you mean you’d be seen out with me?’
Eddie shrugged. ‘You’re me sister. He’s me nephew. I aren’t ashamed of you. Besides.’ He grinned, teasing her now. ‘It’ll be dark. Who’s to see?’
Violet smiled and punched him lightly on the arm, but she was touched by his words, though she was still unsure what her sister would say. ‘Poll?’ she asked hesitantly.
Polly regarded her steadily for a moment and then said softly, ‘I reckon we’ve more to be ashamed of now, Vi, than you being an unmarried mother. So get him ready and we’ll all go.’
As they left the house that evening when it began to grow dusk, they were determined to lay aside their troubles, just for a few hours. Miriam skipped happily along the pavement, Eddie swaggered with his hands in his pockets, nodding and smiling to folks he knew and Violet pushed her pram proudly.
‘Oh, look, do look,’ Miriam cried as they entered the park. ‘Look at all the pretty lights and the fountain’s lit up too.’ She clapped her hands as the band began to play. ‘It’s lovely. Just lovely.’
For an hour or so most of them forgot their troubles, but for Polly there was someone missing. Not their father, for she doubted he would have come anyway, but Leo.
If only Leo was beside her with his arm around her waist . . .
The date for the trial was set for 30 October and on that Monday afternoon, those accused of being the ringleaders in the riots were brought to the courtroom at the Lincoln Assizes. The room was crowded and Polly found herself squashed between a large woman, who needed almost two places, and a miserable-looking man. But she was determined to stay and hear the worst.
After all the defendants had pleaded not guilty, the evidence given was a repeat of the magistrates’ court and, hearing it once more, Polly was transported back to that dreadful night. Sitting in the courtroom, she could hear again the tumult, the cries and shouts, hear the breaking glass and smell the smoke.
The speakers droned on. The prosecutor called the witnesses yet again. Leo came and went. She hadn’t seen him since that time. Though they lived on the same street, the tension between them persisted. Until the court case was over and the verdict given, it seemed, he did not want to see her.
Polly didn’t know whether she was hurt or relieved. She rather thought that Leo might have been told to stay away from her by his superiors until it was all over. If he was known to be ‘consorting with a member of a prisoner’s family’ it might prejudice the case against William. Polly had wondered whether to seek him out on purpose and cause such a complication. It might be the only way to get the case against William dismissed, she’d thought wryly. But what, then, would happen to Leo?
So they had not met. She hadn’t even seen Bertha or Seth. It felt as if the Halliday family was steering well clear of the Longdens.
And now the day was here and by nightfall, she believed, she’d know all the answers.
But because the proceedings hadn’t started until late in the afternoon, the case went into the next day. Polly was agitated. Why did they have to go through everything again? Everyone had heard it already at the magistrates’ court. But then, she realized, the judge and jury had not and they were the ones who had to decide . . .
After the witnesses had all been heard, the prisoners, one by one, proclaimed their innocence.
‘I was there,’ several admitted when questioned, ‘but I was not taking part in the riot.’ But the evidence against them said differently.
Polly caught her breath as William stepped up. He listened to the charge against him and waited for the prosecutor to ask him about his part in the violent events of that night.
William squared his shoulders. ‘I was there and I was shouting with the rest when the police charged the crowd with raised batons. We – I mean the strikers were making a peaceful protest. We – they . . .’
Oh, Dad, do be careful, Polly crossed her fingers. Mind what you say else you’ll give yourself away.
Then William seemed to get a grip on his story. He imagined himself as no longer a railwayman, just an onlooker, an outsider who’d got innocently caught up in a battle that was nothing to do with him.
‘They,’ he said referring to the strikers, ‘have a right to stand up for what they believe in, don’t they?’
The prosecutor inclined his head. ‘But peaceably, Mr Longden. Peaceably.’ There was a pause before William was asked, ‘The officer who arrested you, Constable Halliday, says you are well known to him. That you live in the same street. How is it then that you say the constable is mistaken in his identification of you as being the person who threw missiles at him, knocked off his helmet and caused a nasty injury to his forehead?’
William shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But it wasn’t me.’
The prosecutor leaned forward to emphasize his point. ‘But the constable is courting your daughter, Mr Longden. Surely he knows you well enough to be able to identify you correctly?’
‘It was very dark – the street lamps had been smashed—’
‘By you?’
‘No, but there was a lot of confusion.’
‘There certainly was, Mr Longden,’ the prosecutor murmured. ‘Of that, we can be sure.’
At last, all the evi
dence had been given and after a time of consideration, the jury gave its verdict. Two prisoners were found not guilty but the rest, including William, were declared guilty. Polly waited in trepidation for the judge to make his pronouncement. The sentences were handed out individually according to the perceived severity of their actions. Those who had, like William, been unable to raise the bail money had their sentence reduced because of the time they had already spent in jail.
‘William Longden. Nine months reduced to six. With hard labour.’
On the last three words, Polly gave a little cry and fell forward. For a few moments she lost consciousness and so missed seeing her father being escorted out of the courtroom to begin his sentence.
Thirty-Nine
They were still reeling from the shock of the sentence imposed upon their father. Polly and Violet sat on either side of the fireplace and stared into the dying fire. Miriam and Stevie had been persuaded to go to bed, but Polly doubted either of them would find sleep easy. Even at six years old – nearly seven – Miriam had understood enough to know that her father had been sent to prison. Only the baby slept peacefully in Violet’s arms.
There was silence in the kitchen, the only sound the ticking of the clock – a wedding present to William and Sarah – and the settling of coals in the fire. Brief sparks flared up the chimney illuminating the solemn faces of the two young girls, who sat staring into its glow.
‘What would Mam say if she was still here?’ Violet whispered.
‘I daren’t even think about that.’
‘D’you think she’d’ve been able to stop him?’
‘Maybe, but I doubt it. You know what a temper he’s got. And when he gets a bit of drink in him an’ all . . .’ Polly’s voice faded away.
They both knew only too well.
They sat for a long time until Polly sighed and pushed herself up. ‘We’d best get to bed, Vi. Things might look a bit different in the morning.’
‘How can they?’ Violet cried. ‘He’s not coming home, is he? Not for six months. And then what? He’ll’ve lost his job and no one’s going to give him another. Not now. Not now he’s branded a criminal.’
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