They are weak, but He is strong!
Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so!’ chorused the children for three more verses. Miss Daniells then said a prayer for all the children at the school, and those who had left; she prayed also for their families, asking that they might always follow Jesus and put their trust in Him at all times.
‘And now, Lord, we pray for dear Canon Harrington, founder of our school, laid low by a stroke and unable to rise from his bed. We pray also for his wife Mrs Harrington, that they both may find comfort in knowing that Thou carest for them in their affliction, O Thou who didst heal the sick who came to Thee. And Lord, we ask Thy blessing on the Reverend Mr Saville who has come to care for the parish of St Peter’s. Grant unto him wisdom and strength, and always to put his trust in Thee.’
‘Amen,’ answered the children, and then recited the Lord’s Prayer; thus began the day’s lessons, with only Miss Daniells to teach them all. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that little Grace Munday knew her alphabet and could string a few three-letter words together, as well as write her own name clearly. As the youngest of three she had been able to learn from her brother and sister, especially Isabel who loved playing at being a teacher, with Grace and two reluctant cats as her pupils.
At playtime Isabel came to her sister’s side with a paper packet containing two cheese sandwiches and two apples. She introduced Grace to other third-year girls and to her friend Mary Cooper, a pale girl whose hair hung loose instead of being tied back, and whose pinafore had an egg stain on it. Isabel took out a comb and a length of blue ribbon from her pocket to smooth Mary’s hair back into a single plait hanging down her back.
A grinning boy approached them as they sat on a bench seat in the playground.
‘’Allo, you little girls! Wonder ’ow ol’ Ernie’s gettin’ on at the council school, eh? If ’e’s tellin’ ’em ’ow ’e’s been saved by ol’ Mr Woodman, they won’t ’alf give ’im a thrashin’!’
Isabel stuck her nose in the air and went on talking to Mary, refusing to be drawn; Grace, however, stared hard at the boy.
‘I know who you are, you’re the boy my daddy caught stealing apples from our tree. You’re a thief, and ought to go to prison!’
The boy stared back at her and was about to deny the charge indignantly, but several children had gathered round and were laughing at the accusation. He knew he would be in trouble if he raised a hand against any girl, let alone this little new one, so he contented himself by sticking out his tongue as far as it would go, and sauntering away, making derogatory remarks about ‘them daft Mundays’.
At half past three Miss Daniells ended the day’s lessons with another hymn and the Lord’s Prayer; she smiled upon them as they trooped out, but then sat down wearily and laid her head upon the desk. More and more she wondered how long she would be able to continue to teach these dear children without any help; at present she knew of no local girl of school-leaving age with the necessary requirements to be an assistant teacher, but trusted that the Lord would send one in His own due time.
A knot of girls stood at the gate of the Mundays’ garden, still full of summer flowers. Phyllis Bird and Betty Goddard could hardly part from little Grace who bestowed her winsome smiles on them both, while Isabel stood waiting to go indoors. Then they saw Mary Cooper running up Pretoria Road towards them.
‘I can’t find my mum anywhere,’ she said anxiously. ‘And Dad must be out on a job somewhere. Can I come in with you, Isabel, just until Dad comes home? Your mum won’t mind, will she?’
This was difficult. Isabel knew that her mother disapproved of the Coopers, for some mysterious reason that was only whispered about. When she hesitated she saw Mary’s eyes fill with tears, and she looked at the other two girls. Betty shook her head, but Phyllis rolled her eyes and shrugged.
‘You can come home with me, Mary. Just until your mum and dad turn up,’ she said. ‘Come on, my mother’ll be wondering where I’ve got to!’
Isabel gave her a grateful nod, and led Grace round through the side gate to the back garden; but before they reached the kitchen door, they saw a sight that stopped them in their tracks.
A red-faced woman with loose, untidy hair was groping at the door of Tom Munday’s tool shed, called by his wife the holy of holies, and always kept locked.
‘They’ve shut the door,’ muttered the woman, turning round and catching sight of the two girls. She lurched against the tool shed, and put out a hand to steady herself, almost falling over. She gave a loud hiccup.
‘Whoops! Sorry, little girls, but your lav’s locked up, an’ I can’t hold it in – I’ll have to go here among the cabbages,’ she said in a slurred voice that filled Isabel with a nameless revulsion, and to their horror she began to pull her skirt up, fumbling with her petticoat.
‘Whoops, can’t get me drawers down, an’ it won’t wait – whoops!’ she giggled, squatting down and urinating copiously. ‘Tha’s better – can’t get me drawers down, gotta wet ’em!’
When she’d finished and tried to rise to her feet she toppled over backwards and lay full-length in the cabbage patch, her skirts pulled up and showing her soaked underwear. She closed her eyes and passed into semi-consciousness.
Isabel tugged at her sister’s hand. ‘Come on, Grace, let’s go in and find Mum – quick!’
In through the back door they went, and Isabel called through the house.
‘Mum, where are you? Come quickly, Mary’s mum’s in our back garden!’
Violet Munday came hurrying from the front parlour.
‘Heavens above, Isabel, what are you shouting about?’
Grace spoke up excitedly. ‘There’s a lady been weeing in our garden and it went all over her clothes – and now she’s gone to sleep with her head on a cabbage!’
‘Good gracious! Merciful heavens!’ cried Mrs Munday. ‘You stay indoors, you two, and I’ll see what’s going on.’
When she found Mrs Cooper lying dead-drunk in the cabbage patch, snoring heavily, she gave a horrified exclamation and hurried back indoors, her face pale with shock.
‘Go and fetch your father, Isabel, he’s working at the rectory. Tell him to come home at once – at once, do you hear?’
Off went Isabel, and Mrs Munday told Grace to stop asking questions, while muttering under her breath, ‘Of all the…what a disgrace…never seen anything like it…oh, my God!’
When Tom appeared, out of breath and alarmed, his wife told him firmly that he must find Cooper at once, and tell him to remove his drunken wife from their garden.
‘She was trying to get into your tool shed, Tom, must’ve thought it was a lavatory – oh, what a degrading sight for our two little girls to see!’
Tom Munday went out to investigate, and came back looking grave.
‘Thank heaven it’s nothing worse, Vi, I thought one o’ the children had been hurt. Can you give me a hand with her?’
‘What? Certainly not, I couldn’t touch the creature,’ his wife replied with a shudder, leaving Tom to rack his brains as to what he should do without causing a public fuss. Eddie Cooper was a house painter, and Tom had no idea where he was working that day. Could he ask Bird to help him move the woman? No, Bird wouldn’t want to leave his shop, and was likely to be shocked, churchwarden or not. Goddard? He could leave his wife in charge of the haberdashery, but she was such a tittle-tattler. Lansdowne? Yes, he’d ask old Bert Lansdowne who’d be finished in the dairy, and could bring his milk cart round.
‘Isabel, go and ask Rosie Lansdowne’s dad to come round here, will you? And don’t say anything to anybody else, d’you hear me?’
Off went Isabel again, and Mrs Munday locked the front and back doors to keep Grace in the house and to prevent that dreadful creature from reeling round trying to get in.
As soon as Bert Lansdowne heard the message he got out his horse and cart and came round to the Mundays’. When he saw the state of Eddie Cooper�
�s wife, he whistled, nodded and buckled down to the job.
‘You take her head an’ shoulders, Tom, an’ I’ll take the bottom half,’ he said, and together they lifted her up and carried her through the side gate to the front. ‘She’s shit an’ all,’ he remarked. ‘Nobody about, come on, let’s get the sleeping beauty on to the cart.’
When this was done, Bert asked about Mary Cooper. ‘We mustn’t let the poor kid see her like this, Tom. Is she with your missus?’
Tom had gathered from Isabel that Mary had gone home with Phyllis Bird.
‘Good, we’ll tell Mrs Bird to keep her until poor old Eddie can call for her.’ Bert glanced at the lifeless form in his cart, and shook his head.
‘You hear about drunken husbands, but it’s the other way round here, ain’t it?’
The two of them got on the cart, took Mrs Cooper home and carried her round to the unlocked back door, where they laid her on the kitchen floor.
‘Thanks a lot, Bert. You get on home now, and tell the Birds that Eddie’ll call for Mary later. I’ll wait for him here,’ said Tom, who was in fact quite shaken by the situation, feeling embarrassed on Eddie Cooper’s behalf when the man came home and found an almost apologetic Tom Munday waiting for him. Tom heated some water in a large pan while Eddie undressed his wife, washed her and put a clean nightgown on her. Together the two men carried her upstairs and laid her in the matrimonial bed.
Tom then went to fetch Mary from the Birds’ home in Rectory Road, telling them there had been a slight accident, nothing to worry about; and when he eventually got home he forestalled his wife’s righteous indignation.
‘Just let’s be thankful we’re not in that tragic case, Vi. If I was Eddie I don’t know how I’d cope. The poor devil blames himself.’
‘Blames himself? Why on earth should he think that?’ asked Mrs Munday, none too pleased by the suggestion that Tom could be Eddie, which was like comparing herself with Eddie’s wife.
‘Yes, he blames himself, though it was more the fault o’ that fool of a doctor when she had Mary,’ said Tom, deeply saddened by what Eddie had told him. ‘You remember how she had a very bad time, and was in bed for weeks afterwards, couldn’t feed the baby and her mother had to come over to look after them – it was a rotten time, after looking forward to the baby.’
‘Yes, I remember, but she got over it, didn’t she? She’s not the only woman to have a bad time birthing, and at least she didn’t lose her life, like that poor girl over at Hassett last year,’ replied Violet. ‘And when I had Ernest, you may recall that—’
‘But you got over it, an’ had two more children, an’ she couldn’t have any more, that’s why there’s only Mary. Eddie says she went into a melancholy state, couldn’t do anything at all, so Eddie called that doctor back to her. He advised her to take a glass of brandy each night, to make her sleep and cheer her up. So Eddie did what he said, an’ it got to be a habit. She couldn’t break out of it, no matter how hard she tried. He says she does her best to keep it under control, but sometimes it gets the better of her, an’ she takes to the bottle again. Sleeps it off indoors, mostly, but today was bad.’ Tom shook his head and repeated, ‘Yeah, today was pretty bad.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly done everything a friend and neighbour could do,’ said Mrs Munday.
‘Yeah – but he could’ve done with a bit o’ help from a woman, Vi. It was pretty embarrassing, to say the least, ’cause I couldn’t very well help him clean the poor woman up.’
There was a short silence, then Mrs Munday said in a somewhat subdued tone, ‘Well, if ever Mary needs somewhere to go, I’d be willing to have her round here.’
‘That’s good o’ you, Vi,’ he replied gravely. ‘None of us know when we might be in need of a friend – and that woman needs a friend now, if anybody does.’
Violet did not attempt to answer, feeling herself rebuked.
Up in the bedroom shared by the girls, Isabel was becoming irritated by Grace’s persistent questions about the strange and very rude lady in their garden. Why was she trying to get into Daddy’s shed? And why did she wee in the cabbage patch? And why was Mummy so angry about her?
‘Oh, go to sleep, Grace, I’m tired,’ snapped Isabel. Their mother had told them not to talk about what had happened, and to forget all about it. Yet Isabel sensed that she would never forget the sight of Mary Cooper’s mother who, Isabel now realised, had been drunk – which was something that only happened with men, or so Isabel had thought until now. Something of her mother’s shock and disgust had been passed on to her, and she knew that she would be haunted by Mary’s mother, like a grotesque picture in her memory that would never quite go away. And what she would remember above all was the lost, bewildered look in the woman’s eyes.
On returning from school Ernest at once realised that something bad had happened, something that the girls had been ordered not to talk about. If he knew his little sister Grace, she would find an opportunity to whisper it to him sooner or later, whether he wanted to know it or not. There were many other matters on Ernest’s mind, and lying in his bed that night he recalled the unthinking cruelty of his classmates, and how he was learning to endure their sometimes obscene taunts by keeping quiet; he was getting better at meeting ridicule with a bland silence that hid his inward distaste.
But not on Sunday afternoons. Ah, not at Mr Woodman’s Bible study group for boys. Though one of its youngest members, Ernest’s opinion was often invited, and he could freely share his thoughts on the matters under discussion: the dictates of conscience and the path of duty; God’s judgement, and also His mercy, His constant love and forgiveness – all the things Ernest had to keep to himself at school. He was especially devoted to Paul Woodman, the elder son, aged about eighteen and intending to train for ordination. Paul’s conversation was precious to Ernest, for he could tell him almost anything without being made to look foolish; the jeers and taunts of the boys at Everham Council School were mere pinpricks when placed against the thoughtful, courteous words of Paul Woodman.
With his mentor’s face in mind, Ernest smiled and drifted peacefully to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
1911
‘Old Mr Cox hasn’t been in for his money today, Miss Munday. Have you seen him at all?’
‘No, Mr Teasdale, nor his daughter,’ answered Isabel, looking up briefly from counting stamps.
‘And he wasn’t in with the others yesterday, though he’s usually outside waiting for me to open up on pension days!’
And the other old people aren’t far behind, thought Isabel, for the ten shilling weekly pension introduced two years ago was an enormous help to the elderly and their relatives. She closed the folder of unsold stamps. ‘Shall I make a cup of tea, Mr Teasdale? It’s nearly four o’clock.’
‘That would be very nice, Miss Munday, thank you.’ He shot her a look of fatherly concern. ‘You’re rather pale today, if I may say so, Miss Munday. Are you not feeling so well?’
‘Yes…I mean no, I’m quite well, thank you, Mr Teasdale,’ she answered, not quite truthfully, for she had developed a cramp-like pain at the bottom of her tummy – her mother disliked the word belly – and felt slightly sick. A cup of tea might do her good, she thought, and set about putting the kettle on to boil in the little kitchenette behind the office. The door pinged as a lady customer came in, and Mr Teasdale put on his usual polite smile to attend to her.
While she waited for the tea to brew, Isabel sat down on the hard wooden chair, feeling peculiar in a way she could not understand. She wished she was at home; Mr Teasdale was a pleasant enough man who always addressed her properly as Miss Munday, but he was still a man, and Isabel felt the need for a woman’s reassurance. As she sat there, she was suddenly and alarmingly aware that something was happening: she was leaking! She jumped to her feet and hurried out to the lavatory which, like the Mundays’ own, had to be entered from outside. Something felt wet and warm between her legs, and she pulled up her long skirt and petticoat; when
she took down her drawers, she nearly fainted with shock at seeing the blood on them, and…oh, heavens, it had leaked through to her skirt while she’d sat on the chair. In utter dismay she realised that this must be the start of her periods, which her mother had never mentioned to her, but Betty Goddard and Phyllis Bird had whispered about their own experiences, so Isabel was not entirely unprepared for this first visitation. Whatever was she to do? She must go home at once, but how to explain to Mr Teasdale?
Pulling up her soiled clothes with trembling hands, she smoothed down her skirt and returned to the post office.
‘Mr Teasdale, I’m sorry, but—’ she began, thankful at least that there were no customers in at present.
‘Why, Miss Munday, whatever is the matter?’
‘I shall have to go home straight away, Mr Teasdale. I-I…’ And poor Isabel burst into tears in her shame and humiliation; she dared not turn round because of the stain on the back of her skirt.
This put the postmaster in a dilemma. He felt fairly sure of the reason for his young assistant’s distress, and that this was an emergency. The only thing he could do was to take her home at once, but he could not leave the post office unattended, and there was no available female he could call upon to escort Miss Munday. He had a telephone, but nobody else in the village had one apart from the doctor and the vicar.
Isabel had left Everham Council School at Easter. Miss Daniells looked forward to having her as a pupil teacher, but not until she was fifteen. It was Mrs Munday who had obtained the place for her as post office assistant, though Mrs Goddard had offered her work in the haberdashery.
‘I’m not having a daughter of mine working as a shop girl, ordered around by the likes of Mrs Goddard!’ Violet Munday had declared. ‘Nor is she going into domestic service.’ The post office was a good compromise, though Mrs Munday could have wished that there had been a postmistress instead of Mr Teasdale.
‘Still, he’s a respectable married man, and won’t stand for any nonsense from customers,’ she told her husband, ‘and she’ll learn how to deal with people and improve her arithmetic.’
The Carpenter's Children Page 2
