by Anne Bennett
Theresa stopped crying then, because that put a new complexion on everything. For so long she had been the baby and then the little one, allowed to play with the older girls as a favour just, pushed around by them, and they were not always terribly kind to her. This was something new.
‘You will be the baby’s big sister,’ Maria said.
Big sister sounded good, Theresa thought, and her eyes opened wider as she asked, ‘Will I?’ She needed to be sure she had got this right.
‘Of course.’
‘Will Sally be a big sister too?’
‘Aye,’ Maria said. ‘This baby is lucky and will have two big sisters, but you will be the one at home, the one that will show the baby how to do things.’
Theresa could see that and she nodded. ‘I’ll do that, Mammy. I’ll help you all you like,’ she said.
Maria gave her a kiss. ‘Don’t I know that?’ she said. ‘You’ll be grand, so you will. So now, I want no more tears.’
And Theresa could see plainly that big sisters couldn’t go around crying and carrying on. That was for babies.
‘Wee Theresa has come into her own at last,’ Maria told Martha two weeks later. ‘She still misses Sally, but for so long she was overshadowed by her and your Deirdre too, and just gave in to whatever they wanted. Standing on her own two feet is good for her and I think she is more anxious for this child to be born than I am.’
‘Have you everything booked?’
Maria nodded. ‘I’ve contacted the midwife and I have to go to the doctor’s regularly now too. It’s a good job it’s all free, I can tell you.’
Maria had never said what a struggle she found it to manage on the money Barney gave her, but Martha was no fool, and she had eyes in her head. Maria hadn’t bothered registering to collect her rations from a shop nearer to her and continued to go to Erdington with Martha. Martha would often look askance at the small amount of food that Maria got and could guess why.
She knew Maria often went to jumble sales to get material to make things for the girls; even their winter coats were homemade that year. Often on a visit, Martha would sit and help Maria unpick things, or unravel woollies so that Maria could knit them up again. She did this without commenting on it and thought it a good job that Maria was so handy with the sewing machine and knitting needles.
Shoes were a headache, for there were few shoes at the jumble sales and any there looked as if they were held together with a wing and a prayer. Maria would go down the Rag Market and buy second-hand shoes for the girls. They were often shabby and not substantial enough for the weather, but they were all that Maria could afford.
Jack Samuel McPhearson was born on Friday, 3 November 1950. Maria hadn’t told Barney she was in labour before he left for work that morning, so when, on his return, he was told he had the son he craved, he was ecstatic. He went in and gazed at him as he lay in the cradle. ‘Took a couple of false starts, but you got there in the end,’ he said to Maria, scooping the child from the cradle, as if he had been used to doing it every day of his life.
She could scarcely believe he could refer to his lovely little daughters in that way, but knew it would do no good to say anything. She was just glad the girls were out of the way and hadn’t heard what he said. ‘By God,’ he said to Sean, who’d come down to see the child when the boys told him Maria had had the baby, ‘I intend to wet the baby’s head well tonight. Are you on, Sean?’
Martha was cross with Barney’s suggestion. She’d been with Maria all day, for she’d taken to calling daily to see how she was when she’d had a fortnight to go. It was she that had fetched the midwife and taken care of Theresa, held Maria’s hand when Theresa took her nap, and saw the baby born.
After Maria had been cleaned up and was having a well-earned rest, Martha had taken Theresa to collect the girls from school. It had already been arranged that Sally and Theresa should be stay at her house overnight, and as soon as Paul and Tony got home from school, Martha returned to stay with Maria until Barney would be home from work. Now, it appeared the man wouldn’t be in the house a moment longer than necessary and she would hesitate to leave Maria on her own all evening.
She had no wish either for Sean to accompany Barney on what she knew would turn out to be a drunken spree, but she could hardly forbid Sean to go. That was a thing she had never done and she’d not shame him in that way. But she was annoyed, and Sean was fully aware of it, when she said, ‘Before you go anywhere, you can give me a hand at home getting the little ones to bed—that is, after someone is sent out to fetch fish and chips for I have had no time to prepare us something to eat, though I’ve made a fish pie for Barney and Maria. Maria at least needs to build her strength up.’
Maria knew about the fish pie and her mouth watered at the smell of it cooking. But her purse didn’t stretch to buying fish and she knew Martha would have paid for it herself. She was immensely grateful because she was starving.
‘I’ll be back when I get the little ones in bed,’ Martha said.
‘Ah no,’ Maria said. ‘There’s no need. You’ve done enough.’
‘I’ve done nothing much,’ Martha said. ‘And there is no way I am leaving you by yourself this evening at least.’
Maria said nothing more. She would value the company.
By the time Jack was approaching his first birthday, Barney was getting into deep water. For months, using the money from the bank, he had joined the big boys at the card schools where the stakes were high. He had lost heavily, gambled more to try to recoup the losses, and borrowed when the money ran out.
Now he was in debt and knew those fellows weren’t the sort to wait for ever for their money. They were already murmuring what their heavies would do to him if he didn’t pay up and quickly, but he hadn’t a clue how he was going to do that.
He was drinking more than ever to blur the edges of the dilemma he was in, resenting even the pittance he gave Maria to manage on. This resentment often came out in a blow, but she was wise enough to say and do nothing to further enflame him, so the punch or hefty slap was all it was.
He was no nearer finding a solution in the New Year when, one January evening, as he left the factory, he spotted one of the organisers of the card school leaning against the wall by the bus stop. Sean also saw the man and knew from the look of him he was likely up to no good. He was concerned when the man called Barney over.
‘What’s he want?’ Sean asked.
‘Don’t know,’ Barney said. ‘I had better see.’
‘Don’t get mixed up with his type,’ Sean warned. ‘Do you want me to wait for you?’
Barney would have liked to have someone at his back, but he knew it was better for Sean to know nothing of the money he owed so he said, ‘No, you go. The bus won’t wait. I’ll just see what he wants and then walk home.’
‘You sure?’
‘Aye,’ Barney said, impatient now to get the man away. ‘Martha will worry if you are late.’
And Maria won’t? Sean wanted to say but didn’t. In many ways Barney didn’t appear like a married man at all and he certainly didn’t play by any rules. Few that Sean knew went to the pub as often as Barney, and would have had the rough edge of their wives’ tongues if they had tried it. As for the state he was often in when he left the pub, the consensus from most men was that their woman would be at them with a rolling pin if they were only half as bad.
‘Your niece must be some sort of saint,’ one of the men had said to Sean that very day.
‘Aye, that or a doormat,’ another replied, and though Sean had been angered enough by the comment to growl at the man to shut his mouth if he knew what was good for him, he had to admit privately that he had a point.
Now Sean watched Barney walk towards the man and knew from the way he greeted him that he knew full well who he was. He sighed as got on to the bus after Tony, who was working at the Dunlop factory as an apprentice cabinet maker. Sean wondered what Barney had got himself involved in now.
‘All right,�
� said the man Barney knew only as MacKay. ‘We need to talk. Is there a pub near at hand where we can be a bit private, like?’
‘Aye, the Norton is no distance at all,’ Barney said. ‘It’s my local now we’re in Pype Hayes and there is a small room there that they call “the snug” that will be near empty this time of day.’
‘Lead the way then.’
The landlord was just unlocking the door and he laughed when he saw Barney. ‘God, you’re starting early tonight, ain’t yer? Missus come to her senses at last and thrown you out, has her?’
Barney grimaced. ‘Very funny, George. Now, if you don’t mind, we have got a bit of business to discuss and need somewhere quiet. Can we use the snug?’
The landlord shrugged. ‘Use what you like and I’m sure you would like a drink to help the business along.’
Later, in the small room, with pints of beer in front of them, MacKay said, ‘Let’s get down to facts, McPhearson. Just how long do you expect us to wait until you pay us what you owe?’
‘I haven’t got it,’ Barney said. ‘I pay what I can.’
‘You call that pay! Piddling little amounts that wouldn’t keep me in fags.’
Barney took a large gulp of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, ‘I don’t know what you want me to do.’
‘Look,’ MacKay said. ‘I’m not playing games here. There are some very vicious men in our group that want to tear you limb from limb.’ He leant forward and went on in a menacing whisper, ‘It will be serious if they start on you. They don’t mess about.’
Barney knew they didn’t and he was scared—so scared he felt his limbs turn to water. He finished his pint, laid his empty glass on the table, turned to MacKay and said, ‘So, what do I do?’
MacKay shook his head. ‘Point is, I have been able to get them to lay off you for now, but I don’t know how much longer I can do that, unless you have something to offer them.’
‘Like what?’
‘You have a little think,’ MacKay said, getting to his feet and picking up the glasses, ‘while I get us a refill.’
Barney thought, but there was nothing he could offer these men to stop them beating he to pulp, as far as he could see, and this is what he told MacKay when he sat down again at the table.
MacKay took a long drink and sat back almost leisurely in his chair before he said, ‘Oh, I don’t know so much.’
The whole thing had got to Barney and he was jumpy and nervous. ‘Who’s playing games now, MacKay?’ he snarled. ‘If you’ve got anything to say, then say it, for Christ’s sake, and be done with it.’
‘Let me remind you, you are in no position to throw your weight around,’ MacKay snapped. ‘How long have you been at Dunlop’s?’
The question took Barney by surprise, but he answered readily enough. ‘Six years.’
‘Know your way about then?’
Barney shrugged. ‘Well enough,’ he said.
‘You know where the storerooms are, the keys are kept?’
At last, Barney had a clue as to where all this was leading and he said, ‘Most of them.’
‘And how do you feel about lifting some of those tools?’ MacKay asked. ‘We’ll tell you the type of things we need. It would make certain people very happy if you could do that. In fact, so happy would they be that they might not feel like bashing you any more. Do you reckon you could manage it?’
Barney nodded. He was filled with the same exhilaration that he had felt going on the raids with his brother. He knew how it was to be achieved. It would be a piece of cake. There was a men’s toilet block right beside one of the main storerooms with the key to it on a hook, just inside the door of the reception place. It should be manned and the stuff signed out, but it hardly ever was, and if he was to crawl out of the window in the men’s toilet then he would be hidden from the main body of the factory. He could be in that storeroom and the things lifted in no time, and no one would have seen him near the place.
‘I’m your man,’ Barney said extending his hand. ‘Let’s shake on it.’
Barney didn’t know how he got home that night. He had no recollection of it and Maria had seldom seen him in such a state so early. She couldn’t get him up the stairs and left him on the settee covered with a blanket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In June 1952, Patsy graduated as a fully fledged teacher and returned home to live for a while, as she would be working in Paget Road School from September to do her probationary year. Martha was glad to have her daughter home for a little while, and Maria too was glad Patsy was close at hand. The school actually opened off Westmead Crescent.
Then a fortnight after Patsy’s graduation, Sally and Deirdre made their First Holy Communion and Maria sewed them matching dresses. They looked angelic. Martha insisted on paying for everything, which she said was still a pittance to what she would have paid out if she had bought just the one dress. Maria was so grateful for the rosary and white missal that Dora and Bella sent to their goddaughter, as she could afford no Communion presents. Martha had bought a Box Brownie camera for the occasion and took many photographs of the day. She said Maria could send some to the two women as a sort of thank you and Maria knew that would delight them.
She was feeling happier as Jack’s second birthday approached, for though there was still Barney’s drinking and gambling, and the pittance he gave her to manage on, there was the consolation of the children. Sally and Theresa were growing into lovely, kind and generous children, and Theresa would spend hours playing with her little brother. Jack loved both his sisters dearly, but then he was a sunny child who loved the whole world. A bundle of fun, he was a source of joy to them all.
Even Barney would take notice of the boy. It never extended to taking him to the park a time or two at the weekend, or even tucking him in bed at night, but he’d at least acknowledged he was there and would tell him they would go to the football together and, when he was old enough, he’d take him out and buy him a pint. It wasn’t really what Maria would have him say to a child if she had had any sort of choice in it, but maybe it was better than ignoring him, as Barney still did with the girls.
Jack was far more confident than either of his sisters and loved being the centre of attention. Sean’s family were particularly taken with him and laughed at many of the things he did.
‘You have him ruined,’ Maria told her uncle one day. ‘The child is precocious.’
‘Not at all,’ Sean said. ‘Sure isn’t he just a wee boy enjoying life? Isn’t it what we would wish for all our children?’
Of course it was. Jack would grow up one day and have plenty of cares and worries then, so she relaxed a bit more. Her daughters too were well loved by everyone except their father, and Maria often wished Barney would throw them some little morsel of affection. She had seen them looking quite wistful sometimes as they watched him with Jack, but she knew there was nothing she could do to ease that situation for them and in time they would have to learn to cope with Barney the way he was, as she had had to do.
It was the last Friday evening in October and Barney was feeling pleased with himself. In his haversack was another lot of tools for MacKay, and a football for Jack’s birthday, which he had pinched from the shop. The line was going slow that night leaving the factory, and he shouted to a tall man beside him, who went by the name of Lanky, ‘What’s the hold-up? Can you see?’
Lanky had little trouble looking over the heads of the others, being six foot five in his stocking feet. ‘Yeah, seems like they are checking everyone’s bag as they leave,’ he answered.
Barney felt his blood turn to ice and he had the urge to run, but where to? Anyway, with the body of men pressed to every side of him, there was no way he could go anywhere but forward. With every shuffle towards the gate, he felt the dread in him increase.
Maria had Barney’s dinner almost ready and, with the fire on, heating the water in the tank behind it meant there was plenty of warm water without the need to boil a kett
le. She told him this as he came in the kitchen door. He didn’t answer, but this wasn’t unusual. He threw something on the kitchen table in front of her.
‘What’s this?’
‘What’s it look like, you stupid bugger?’ Barney snarled. ‘My cards.’
‘Your cards?’ Maria repeated.
‘Aye, my cards. Are you deaf, or some sort of imbecile?’ Barney cried. ‘I’ll spell it out for you, shall I? See if it makes things any clearer. I’ve been sacked.’
‘Oh, Barney! What on earth for?’
‘Well,’ Barney said, ‘it could have something to do with the football I had in my bag for the young fellow’s birthday that I neglected to pay for.’ No need, he thought, to mention the tools that he had been pilfering for ten months.
‘A football,’ Maria repeated. ‘They gave you the sack for stealing a football? I don’t know why you stole it in the first place, but didn’t you say you were sorry, offer to pay for it?’
‘You really are some sort of half-wit, aren’t you?’ Barney scoffed. ‘You think that would make any difference? They want their pound of flesh and caught me red-handed, so I got my marching orders and they said I should think myself lucky I am not on a charge too.’
‘For stealing a football?’
‘Aye. Now I am away for my wash and you have the dinner ready when I finish, for I am going out to get blind, stinking drunk.’
‘But, Barney, shouldn’t we talk about this? Decide what is to be done?’
‘I’ve done all the talking I am going to do,’ Barney said, wondering how he was going to tell MacKay that not only had he not got the tools on order, but that the source of getting more had dried up too.
Martha, knowing that Barney wasn’t in the habit of staying at home in the evening and also knowing Maria would be distressed by the news he’d lost his job, went down that night.
‘It was all over a football,’ Maria told Martha, handing her a cup of tea.
‘No it wasn’t,’ Martha said. Sean had said it was better Maria hear it from them rather than someone else.
