by Nancy Carson
For Henzey it had been the happiest day of her life. For once she lay alone in bed – in Lizzie’s big bed – wide awake, thinking over what had happened that day. Life really was going her way now and she had every reason to be happy. Not only was her mother married to a man they all loved and respected, but she herself was deeply in love with a well set up young man. Who knew where it might lead eventually? Best not to dwell on it, but she fostered a few hopes and wishes already. Love was new, exhilarating and, every time she even thought about Billy, her pulse raced and butterflies stirred in the pit of her stomach. She would not see him tomorrow – she didn’t on a Monday – but he had promised to take her to meet his family soon and, on Saturday night, they were due to go to The Tower Ballroom by the reservoir at Edgbaston. She did not know yet what they would be doing on the other nights of the week, except on Wednesday, which was May Day. Doubtless they would join the throngs in the castle grounds that day and go for a drive into the country in the evening. She didn’t mind what, just so long as she was with him.
Henzey rolled onto her left side in the bed and shuffled herself comfortable. Yes, she really had got the better of Nellie Dewsbury. Whatever heartbreak Nellie was going through, somehow it served her right. Whatever that horrible girl was feeling she was only reaping what she had sown.
With these thoughts running through her head she was as far from sleep as it was possible to be. She sighed and closed her eyes again, and her thoughts meandered to her family. They, too, were settled. Herbert was doing well in Jesse’s dairy business, and Jesse had suggested they become partners when he was twenty-one. Already they were considering taking on other men and expanding the business. In an atmosphere of increasing economic gloom, it was fortunate that they were doing so well. Alice was coming fifteen and seemed to have settled in at George Mason’s. Henzey had taken her under her wing to some extent, showing her what to do and putting her right if she erred. She had also warned her about Wally Bibb whom she did not trust. Maxine was excelling at school, though that was to be expected, for they were always being told that she was the brightest girl in the class and she should go to university since more of them were accepting girls. But Maxine was set on music and her ambitions lay no further than her cello.
At last Henzey felt sleepy. She turned over and smiled contentedly again as she curled up in the big wide bed, all warm and snug. Soon she was dreaming of Billy Witts.
Henzey happily fell into the routine of seeing Billy Witts about three times a week. She had met most of his family, who were very nice to her. At weekends they went dancing at The Tower Ballroom in Edgbaston; one night in the week they usually went to the cinema and twice already he had taken her to posh restaurants. On Saturday mornings, while she was at work, Billy liked to play golf and, on summer Sunday afternoons, he usually played cricket for St. Thomas’s church team. She had accompanied him to a couple of matches. Those of his friends she had met seemed to like her as far as she could tell, and a girl-friend of one of them, Marjorie Lycett, told her how glad she was that Billy had finally ditched that snotty Nellie Dewsbury.
When Billy brought Henzey back home to the dairy house at night he would swing his Vauxhall through the wide entry and into the yard and stop the engine while they said goodnight. And sometimes it would take them a whole hour. Henzey knew that it would have been so easy to get carried away with Billy, for he always left her longing for him, breathless and tingling all over; but happy, for he wooed her with fine words.
She wanted him. He lit her up like a firecracker whenever he touched her, but she dare not make the running and he certainly seemed in no hurry, however passionately they kissed. But she never allowed herself to become preoccupied with such thoughts. Rather, she enjoyed being in love, with all the attention and sweetness it brought, and was content to let such physical matters take their course. Besides, she did not want to get into trouble, like Rosie Frost. She wanted no guilty conscience that she had gone against her mother’s wishes. Sex should be confined to the marriage bed; and she was happy to wait.
Then one Wednesday in the middle of May, when Henzey had come home from work, she went upstairs to change. Her mother was half-undressed in her bedroom, posing in the cheval mirror at the side of her dressing table. The door was open and as Henzey walked by she caught sight of Lizzie in profile. She stopped to talk, leaning against the door jamb, and saw how much weight Lizzie had gained.
‘I was just trying on this new frock,’ Lizzie said, pointing towards a heap of floral patterned voile. ‘Jesse and me have been invited to a Masonic do on the first of June. He reckons they might invite him to join. It’s his life’s ambition now to be a Mason.’
‘Coming up in the world, eh? Come on, then. Let’s see your new frock. I bet you’ve had to have a bigger size again. You’re really putting weight on, Mom. It must be contentment.’
Lizzie took the dress and slipped it over her head, adjusting it as it fell around her body.
‘Mother, it looks like a maternity frock,’ Henzey commented innocently. ‘You’re not that fat.’
‘No, not yet I’m not,’ she sighed. ‘But I soon shall be.’
‘Not if you watch what you eat.’
Then it dawned on her.
‘God! You’re not pregnant, are you, Mom?’ Henzey sat down on the bed and looked at her mother.
Lizzie turned away self-consciously. ‘Yes, I am, our Henzey.’
‘But you shouldn’t show yet.’
‘Henzey, I’m four months.’ Lizzie walked over to the window and stared out across the field behind the house and the vast industrial landscape that was spread out before her.
‘But you’ve only been married a fortnight…You mean you got married because you had to?’
Lizzie did not reply.
‘And all the time you’re preaching to me to mind what I’m doing? That I’m only seventeen…My God!’
Henzey felt ashamed of her mother, but she’d said enough. Never before had Henzey spoken to her like that, and she half expected a slap across the face for her trouble. Yet no slap came. For long seconds Henzey was silent while she tried to collect her thoughts. Abruptly, she stood up and turned away from Lizzie, biting her bottom lip in anger and distaste. Then, just as abruptly, she sat down again. Her mother – her own mother – had been having sex with Jesse before she was married…And at her age…It was disgusting. It was absolutely disgusting. It came as such a shock that Henzey felt she’d been punched in the stomach.
Lizzie remained at the window, looking out.
Henzey shook her head slowly in disbelief, then spoke again, quietly, composed. ‘What am I supposed to say, Mom, when folks start making jokes about my mother and the milkman?’
Lizzie remained silent.
‘And how d’you think our Herbert’s going to feel when his mates start laughing behind his back, making sarcastic comments?’ Henzey continued. ‘Dear God, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set our Alice and Maxine? Come to that, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set me, after all your preaching and finger wagging? Good God, Mother! I can hardly believe it.’
Lizzie continued to look outside with glazed eyes. Everything Henzey said was true. Every example she cited, as to the consequences for the family, she had herself considered. It was as if their roles had been reversed, as if Lizzie was the errant, wayward daughter and Henzey the fraught and angry mother. Now Lizzie felt ashamed –thoroughly ashamed. She had no wish to alienate her daughter over this, nor any of her family. What she needed above all was their understanding and their support, but particularly from Henzey.
Henzey saw her mother’s shoulders shaking and, at first, she thought she was laughing in defiance till she turned round and saw tears streaming down her agonised face. Lizzie took a handkerchief from a drawer in her dressing table and wiped her eyes. Then she sat on the bed by Henzey’s side and turned to face her, taking her daughter’s hands.
‘Don’t be judge and jury, our Henzey,’ she wep
t. ‘But for the grace of God it could be you pregnant.’
‘Then, Mother, for the grace of God I’d have to call the child Jesus,’ Henzey replied indignantly, ‘because it’d be another virgin birth.’
‘Oh, our Henzey, I knew it’d be like this when you found out. I wanted to tell you from the outset, but like a fool I decided against it.’ She wiped away another flush of tears. ‘I hoped you’d understand. It’s not as if Jesse and me are kids. We love one another and we wanted one another. We haven’t stalked out like a tomcat and a tabby to do it behind the miskins and then run off. It’s meant something to us – try and understand that. Don’t forget, either, that we aren’t too old for that sort of thing, even if you might think we are. We would’ve got married whether or no. My being pregnant has only made it happen sooner.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have expected you to be a saint,’ Henzey said quietly, ‘but I never dreamed you’d get pregnant. My own mother. It’s so damned stupid…And at your age.’
‘Well, I confess I hadn’t counted on it, our Henzey. And I’ll confess to you that at first I didn’t want the child. But I’m stuck with it, nevertheless.’
‘Does Jesse want it?’
‘Oh, he’s happy about it. He’s like a dog with two tails. Can’t you tell? He reckons we won’t get a look in when it’s born. He reckons you girls’ll bring it up.’ She looked up at her daughter beseechingly, tears again filling her eyes, which now were showing signs of puffiness. ‘Henzey, I don’t need your condemnation, I need your support. It’ll be hard enough as it is without me feeling you despise me. Try to imagine yourself in this position. You’d want my support if it was you that was pregnant.’
‘If it was me that was pregnant, Mother, I’d consider it my just desserts.’
But it was not in Henzey’s nature to be hard, least of all with the woman who had carried her, fed her, sacrificed everything for her and brought her up against all odds. Especially when she was crying. Always she’d hated to see her mother cry. It reminded her of when she was a child, how she would be filled with anxiety at the sight of Lizzie weeping over her poor, invalid father. It was the same now. Already she was regretting her harsh words. She began weeping herself and opened her arms to Lizzie. They held each other tight, letting the tears flow unabated. Lizzie needed Henzey’s encouragement, she needed her love and not least her friendship. Henzey could no more refuse these things than she could walk out of her life.
There was instantly a new bond; a new kind of love; a mutual respect that had not manifested itself before. They both felt it. Henzey sensed her own maturity and, for the first time, realised her mother’s fallibility. Lizzie was merely flesh and blood, prone to all its weaknesses and likely to be submitted to its derision unless they outfaced this thing together. And Lizzie realised that her daughter was no longer a child; she was a woman and could be addressed thus. Why had she overlooked it all this time?
Henzey spoke again, softly, tenderly. ‘What about the others, Mom? What shall we tell them? And when?’
Lizzie blew her nose. ‘I’m only really worried about our Herbert now. He’s the one who’ll feel it most, like you say. He’s sixteen in a week or two, and he’ll be ever so sensitive to it. I hope he won’t be awkward, because Jesse will never stand that off him. I’m not worried about the other two. They’ll think it’s lovely to have a baby round the house.’
‘Then why not ask Jesse to have a word with Herbert. He’ll take it from Jesse more easily. He’s got a way of explaining things.’
Lizzie agreed. ‘Come to think of it, he can tell our Alice and Maxine, as well.’
‘I’ll tell them if you like. Oh, I’m sorry I was so horrible to you, Mom, but it was such a shock. You can’t imagine. I never dreamed…I promise I’ll help all I can. What other folks think doesn’t matter, does it? As long as we’re all happy. I mean to say, you’re married now anyway and everybody knows you were about to get married. It’ll be nice having a baby round the house. Oh, I shall be able to take it for walks and buy it little coats and little shoes. Me and Billy will take it rides into the country, so’s it can have some fresh air. You’re right, Mom, you won’t get a look in.’
‘I suppose you’ll spoil it rotten,’ Lizzie said, smiling now through her tears.
‘Oh, I expect so. When’s it due?’
‘Donald Clark’s given me the first of October.’
Chapter 5
Polling day was always more like a carnival than the serious election of a new government, and the one in 1929 was no different. Children were not at school, and they followed the candidates around, creating a din, banging draw tins and dustbin lids with sticks, and each getting a penny for doing it. This was designed to get the people out to vote. Coloured rosettes were in abundance, pinned on coats everywhere; red, white and blue for the Conservatives, yellow for Labour. Folk had put posters in their windows hailing one or other of the candidates, and even shop windows and pubs advertised their favourites. Carts and their horses were decorated in the colours of their owners’ political persuasions, as were any available lorries and vans. They toured the streets, some urging people to vote for Cyril Lloyd, the Tory candidate, others for Oliver Baldwin, the renegade Labour son of the Conservative Prime Minister, who had held a political meeting the previous evening in the Board School at Kates Hill.
Spirits were high, people were loud in acclaim of their preferred contender and even louder in their revilement of the opponent. Newspapers were full of electioneering, praising one party, denigrating another, and had been for weeks. Today, the people would decide it all, one way or the other. The trouble was, it would not be known who would form the government till some time tomorrow. Meanwhile, the public houses fared remarkably well out of it.
Billy collected Henzey at about half past eight that evening after taking his mother and father to vote. The weather was picking up encouragingly and, because of the lighter evenings, they decided to go for a ride out to Baggeridge Wood where it would be peaceful and quiet, away from the palaver of electioneering. Henzey was looking forward to having Billy all to herself for a while. He was feeling guilty, however; he wanted to take her home early, and told her so as they sat in the car under a tree watching the sun go down over Wolverhampton.
‘Oh, Billy, why?’ she said, with bitter disappointment. ‘I thought we might go to the Town Hall after to hear whether Cyril Lloyd or Oliver Baldwin won the Dudley seat.’
‘I can’t, my sweetheart, sorry. I’ll have to pick my father up from The Gypsy’s Tent just after ten. He’ll be legless. He’s the same every polling day.’
‘But I can wait in the car while you fetch him. Then we can take him home together.’
Billy sighed inwardly, wishing to show neither his frustration nor his guilt. ‘No, I’d best drop you at home first. God knows what sort of state he’ll be in. I don’t want you to see him like that. His language will be foul, especially if he’s had a rough time with his Labour mates – he’s ever likely to spew up in the car. I’m sorry, my angel, but it’s for the best. Besides, I suppose I’ll have to stop and have a drink myself. I won’t be able to get away that quick.’
‘Well, it’s hardly been worth seeing you. If you’d said so before I wouldn’t have bothered. I could’ve gone to the Town Hall with Florrie Shuker, or our Alice. Or even with Jesse.’
‘And how long have you been so interested in politics?’ There was sarcasm in his voice.
‘I’m not particularly interested in the politics,’ she said, ‘but it’s a nice atmosphere, with all those people late at night waiting to hear who got in. I just thought it’d be nice to be a part of it – with you, Billy. Still, it doesn’t matter.’ She sighed disconsolately. ‘Your family comes first.’
Henzey was acutely hurt. The men at work had been talking about going to the Town Hall later. It was a lovely idea and she’d been certain she could persuade Billy to take her, too.
‘Henzey, if I don’t get my dad home he’ll probably be set upo
n, just for wearing a red, white and blue rosette. It’s a rough area and, besides, when he’s had a drink he wants to fight every bugger, especially Labour folks.’
That bit was true. But it was only half the story. The other half he had no intention of confessing. Billy still possessed a jacket belonging to Nellie Dewsbury and he had already arranged to return it to her that night. Earlier, she had called at his house to see him, to ask when he could return it. He was not at home, but his mother innocently agreed an arrangement for him to deliver it to her on the night of polling day, as Nellie had suggested. Billy knew that Walter Dewsbury and his wife would be involved in the electioneering, so they would not be at home, and he recognised at once the intention in Nellie’s scheming. He was unable to resist what was a very tempting offer, especially as he had been celibate for so long.
Henzey saw little profit in arguing. In accepting his excuses she resigned herself to losing that battle and Billy delivered her home. After a quick goodnight kiss, off he went. She entered the house forlorn, pouting and disheartened, but never doubting his fidelity. The thing that upset her most was that it would be another two whole days before she would be with him again. Now she would not see him till Saturday night when they went dancing.
Henzey opened the door to the dairy house.
Something was wrong. Whether it was a manifestation of her discontent or her cheerless mood playing tricks, she could not tell; but there was a strange atmosphere. Normally this new home of theirs was vibrant since they moved in, embracing them like a benign, old uncle, who had once lost them and suddenly found them again. It was a happy house, but now it felt cold, empty and peculiarly sad. It was something she could never have defined. Just a feeling, but a weird feeling.
