by Mary Gibson
‘He’s still the same, Nell,’ her father had whispered. ‘You sleep, I’ll watch him.’
Too tired then to protest, she had sunk into a deep sleep. How many times she’d fended off wakefulness she couldn’t be sure, but each time she felt herself rising out of sleep a sickening fear that her beloved brother had gone overwhelmed her, and she clutched at unconsciousness once more.
But Nellie knew she couldn’t run away from the dreadful news forever. Forcing herself to get up, she walked barefoot across the room. Pulling aside the curtain, she saw him. His pale face looked so peaceful, she even thought there was the trace of a smile. Why was no one here with him? Why had they left him to grow cold all on his own? She felt a surge of anger at the old grey blanket covering him to the neck. He had always hated its scratchiness. He should have been wrapped in something soft. She reached to turn down the blanket and was startled by a movement. Had the blanket risen with a breath or was it her imagination giving her what she so desperately wanted? Placing her hand lightly on Bobby’s chest, she felt it again, an almost imperceptible rise and fall. He was breathing! But so shallow, light as a baby’s breaths and with so many agonizing seconds between them. She sat quietly on the bed, counting each breath till she assured herself the next one would come. She remembered her mother’s favourite saying: ‘Just remember, Nellie, when you open your eyes in the morning and you’re still breathing, you know you’ve already had a bloody good day!’ Bobby’s eyes might not be open, but he was still breathing.
‘Oh, Bobby,’ she whispered, leaning closely over him, ‘Mum says you’re having a bloody good day.’ She let the tears fall as she stroked his smooth childish cheek.
Just then she heard the voices of Alice and her father downstairs, speaking in low tones. What were they keeping from her? She flung her coat round her shoulders and hurried down. Freddie was sitting silently by the fire.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked him, but he shook his head.
She ran out of the room to be met by a white-faced Alice, alone in the passage.
‘Where’s Dad gone?’ Nellie asked.
‘He wouldn’t say, Nell, just said the waiting was driving him mad and he had to get out of the house.’
Nellie understood. She felt just as helpless, yet she wished her father had been brave enough to stay at home with them. His absence meant that it would be up to her to keep Alice and Freddie’s spirits up, and she didn’t know if she had the strength. She took her sister’s hand as Alice began to weep, and drew her back into the kitchen. ‘Come on, love, we’ve got to be grateful our Bobby’s still with us. I’m sure he’s through the worst of it,’ she lied. ‘Tell you what, let’s put the kettle on and I’ll see about some breakfast. God knows what we’ve got left, though.’
Her face clouded with worry as her thoughts turned to the problem of feeding the family; without her wage she knew her father had been struggling. Alice and Freddie watched her go to the larder. When she opened the cupboard door, the astonished look on her face made Alice smile through her tears.
‘Where did all this lot come from?’ Nellie gasped. The larder was fuller than she’d seen it in weeks.
‘We got a parcel of food from the neighbours, they’ve all been so good,’ said her sister, ‘and Sam Gilbie even brought some eggs from his mother.’
Tears pricked Nellie’s eyes as she imagined the sick woman sending Sam off with his precious gift. ‘Oh, Alice, his own little ones could do with ’em, you shouldn’t have taken them.’
‘I tried to tell him that!’ Alice protested. ‘But Sam said no, his mother was adamant, the eggs was for Nellie’s family. Kind of her, eh?’
Nellie nodded, wondering how Lizzie Gilbie was. ‘And she’s not well herself either.’
Full of gratitude, she set about making them a breakfast of toast and dripping, and tea sweetened with condensed milk. They ate mostly in silence and though she tried to cheer them up, her own thoughts were with the little boy upstairs. As soon as Freddie had finished eating, she sent him up to sit with Bobby.
While she and Alice were washing up the breakfast plates in the scullery, Nellie heard the front door open. ‘Let me speak to him first.’ She shot a look at her sister. ‘You stay here.’
She wanted to make sure her father knew how much the younger ones needed him now. The prospect of losing Bobby had seemed to weaken his spirit to the point of inaction. She couldn’t get through this without him and she hoped that after their shared grief of the night before, he would listen to her.
She was astonished to see him walk into the kitchen with a domed-headed, bespectacled man who carried a leather bag. His face looked familiar. Her father said nothing to Nellie, but the look he gave her begged her not to show surprise. She had no idea how he’d found money for a doctor, but she certainly wasn’t going to question him about it now.
‘Follow me, Doctor, he’s upstairs,’ her father said meekly.
She walked back into the scullery where Alice was waiting patiently.
‘Well, where’s he been?’ Alice whispered.
‘He’s been to fetch the doctor, but how he’s paying for it I don’t know.’
Realization dawned on Alice’s face and she explained that her father had gone out carrying a bundle. ‘He’s been to the pawnshop!’
If anything could have persuaded Nellie that her father was changed this was it. Though she and her mother were regulars at the pawn shop, her father’s pride would never allow him to step into the place or even acknowledge how his income was supplemented each week. His Sunday suit was available to wear every weekend, and what happened to it during the rest of the week he pretended not to know.
‘Then it’s just as well he never joined the strike, otherwise they’d have refused him!’
In an attempt to break the strike, the government had ordered all pawnbrokers to close their doors to strikers, and Nellie wondered now at the irony that her stubborn father’s anti-union stance might actually be the saving of Bobby. When the doctor finally left, George Clark returned to the kitchen. ‘He wouldn’t take a penny! What d’ye make of that?’ her father said with a puzzled look on his face.
Now Nellie remembered where she’d seen the doctor. He’d been a great supporter of the strike, speaking at all the rallies. ‘That’s Dr Salter,’ she said. ‘He’s a strike supporter… he knows how tight things are, Dad.’
Her father grunted, repeating almost to himself, ‘Well, give him his due, he wouldn’t take a penny!’
‘So what did he say about Bobby? Will he be all right?’ Nellie asked anxiously.
‘He’s given the boy something to help him.’ Her father looked at her pityingly. ‘But he couldn’t promise nothing, we’ll just have to wait.’
They sat together in the little kitchen, besieged by worry and fear for the rest of the day, each taking it in turn to sit with the little boy. Towards evening Nellie was with Bobby, trying to drip water into his parched mouth, when suddenly he took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes.
She sank down and sobbed, ‘Oh, thank God!’ Then she covered her mouth, stifling her cries, in case she should frighten him. Running to the stairs, she called down as quietly as she could. ‘He’s awake!’
Her father was first up the stairs, followed by Freddie and Alice. They gathered round Bobby’s bed, tears of joy streaming down each face. As their father leaned over to kiss his son, Bobby lifted his head to ask in a hoarse whisper, ‘Can Nellie stay?’
Choking back his tears, her father answered, ‘I’ve got one child back, now I’ll make bloody sure I don’t lose another. She can stay, son.’
Bobby let his head fall back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and smiled.
Later, when she was assured of his returning strength, Nellie left her father and Freddie tending to him while she went to rest. Sitting with Alice in the quiet kitchen, flooded with relief at Bobby’s survival and joy in her own return home, she finally told her sister where she’d spent her first homeless night. From the
light in the young girl’s eyes, Nellie gathered she had jumped to the same conclusion about her and Sam as Lizzie Gilbie had.
Oh, why did life have to be such a tangle? But she hadn’t the heart to be cross at either her sister or Mrs Gilbie, not with her sweet Bobby safe upstairs. All she knew was that her prayers had been answered and that now she must keep her side of the bargain. Her promise to Lizzie had been compounded by a promise to God and, however burdensome they felt, she knew that whatever life brought her and however far down the road, these were promises she must keep.
All the following week Nellie remained on strike. Volunteering at the Fort Road Labour Office every day had its compensations: she brought home precious food parcels each evening, which made the children’s faces light up, to say nothing of her father’s. He no longer gave any hint of opposition. It seemed Bobby’s illness really had changed him and now all his powerful anger had melted into an awkward carefulness. His once overpowering physical presence in the house was muted and he haunted the upstairs bedroom like a hulking spirit. Soon he was able to carry Bobby downstairs and deposited the frail boy in his own chair. Nellie shook her head and whispered into Alice’s ear, ‘Leopard’s changed his spots!’, causing Alice to giggle and her father to look up placidly and ask her to share the joke.
It was another long hard week. Every day Nellie would see Eliza, with her coterie of union workers, gathered in huddles in the Labour Office, before returning to negotiations with the factory owners the next morning. On Friday she and Lily were put to work wrapping parcels in the main hall.
‘Aye aye,’ whispered Lily, ‘Madam Mecklenburgh is back!’
‘And it’s the first time I’ve seen her crack her face with a smile all week,’ Nellie replied. ‘Oh, Lily, do you think we could’ve won?’
‘Please God. Me poor mother’s getting thinner by the day and Dad can’t tighten his bloody belt any further. I can’t see us managing another week of it, Nell, not with Dad out as well as me.’ Lily sighed. Billy Bosher, like his sons, had already been on strike for weeks, and Ted had told them the strike fund was running perilously low.
Suddenly Eliza James came to the front of the hall and called for attention. Volunteers were summoned from the basement and the back yard and soon the hall was crowded with expectant faces. Eliza paused, her face flushed with excitement, and she paced up and down until everyone had been hushed.
‘I have an announcement!’ There were further shushes as murmuring started up again. Once they were quiet, Eliza continued. ‘Today we have met with the fifteen largest factory owners in Bermondsey and I am pleased to let you be the first to know they have all agreed to our terms!’
A shout went up and ‘Hooray for Madam Mecklenburgh!’ echoed tumultuously around the room. Eliza James laughed like a girl as Ted and another docker hoisted her up on their shoulders and paraded her round the hall.
‘Put me down! I have more to say!’ she shrieked.
Reluctantly they deposited her at the front of the hall again.
‘You’ll have eleven shillings a week!’
There was another cheer. Nellie and Lily hugged each other, jumping up and down in a little dance, Nellie’s heart bursting. Wait till she told her dad. No more worrying about the rent, no more pawning his Sunday suit every week! They drew other women into their victory dance, linking arms to form a chain that spilled out of the hall and into the street. Nellie noticed that Eliza James had retreated a little from the crowd, standing apart, a look of pride on her face as well as what Nellie took to be a hint of sadness. It looked almost as though she was saying a silent goodbye.
Nellie disengaged herself from Lily and went back to Eliza.
‘I just wanted to say thank you, madam. We could never have done it without you.’
Eliza smiled and took Nellie’s hands in her own. ‘Nellie, don’t give me the credit, take it for yourselves, you and the other girls. You’ve been so brave. What with your father and your poor brother. You’ve kept as steady as a rock, Nellie, and you’ve made me so proud.’ Suddenly Nellie was surprised to find herself enveloped in a warm, perfumed embrace. The powerful, hard- headed Madam Mecklenburgh really did have a heart after all.
Everyone wanted to celebrate, and the crowds of women joined the dockers on the pavements at the end of the day. That night the Land of Green Ginger public house was packed with jubilant dockers and factory women. Nellie and Lily had come with Ted to join the celebrations and they pushed through the crowd that had spilled out on to the pavement. The doors were open to let some air into the stifling pub, but a fug of heat and smoke hit them as they made their way towards the bar, where Ted’s uncle, George Gilbie, the landlord, was presiding.
‘Not that we can expect any free rounds from that tight old geezer,’ Ted had warned them. ‘I’m just glad we can rub his nose in it. He’ll be livid we won the strike.’
There was no love lost between their Uncle George and the Boshers, Lily had told Nellie as they’d walked towards the pub. ‘He always thought me mum let down the Gilbie family name by marrying a docker.’
‘What’s wrong with being a docker?’ asked Nellie. ‘As if owning a pub’s anything special. Your dad would make two of him.’ Nellie was ready to leap to the Boshers’ defence. Betty and Billy were the most generous of people when they got a chance, as she had good reason to know; it was just they never had much of anything to share round. Now the girls found a table and waited for Ted to bring their drinks. It was then that Nellie noticed Sam Gilbie drinking with a group of carters by the bar. Of course, he was related to George as well.
‘You looking at that Sam?’ Lily asked, amused.
‘No, I am not!’ Nellie lied. ‘I was just wondering what relation he is to you. Are you cousins?’
‘His dad and me mum were cousins. He was lovely, Sam’s dad.’
Nellie nodded. ‘Yes, I remember his dad from the Bermondsey Settlement outings when we was kids. Do you remember the time we went to Eynsford and got half drowned when the brake went through the ford? Sam’s dad jumping up and down, telling us not to panic!’
Lily laughed at the memory. ‘But didn’t his mother get herself in a two an’ eight, shouting her orders at the driver?’
‘She’s still got some spirit in her, but she’s fading, Lil.’ Nellie shot another look over to Sam at the bar. ‘Do you know why Sam and Ted don’t get on?’
Lily gawped at her. ‘Oh, gawd knows, could it be jealousy over someone they both like?’
Nellie blushed. ‘Don’t be stupid, Lil, I hardly know Sam.’
‘Except you slept at his house the other week.’
‘There was nothing in that. He was just being kind.’
Lily rolled her eyes, but their conversation was cut short by Ted coming back with their drinks. ‘Told ya, not a penny off!’
‘Oh, give it a rest, Ted, you’ve just got yourself a pay rise, haven’t you?’ Nellie replied, with a sharpness that had nothing to do with the price of drinks.
This so-called rivalry between Ted and Sam was unsettling her, and what was more, her own stubborn attraction to Ted was making her angry. She had always thought herself such a sensible person, especially since her mother died. But sense had nothing to do with what she felt when she looked at Ted, at those long lashes framing the sea-green eyes; at the way his burnt-gold hair fell across his forehead… Dear God, she believed she’d just let out an audible sigh and wanted to slap herself! All that glistens is not gold, Nellie girl, remember that. She heard her dead mother’s voice coming back to her and knew she would not heed it. Sneaking a look over at Sam now, she almost wished it was him she liked – there was certainly much in his character to admire. But, instead, her predominant feeling was one of obligation. Those damn promises to his mum, even to God, seemed to have obscured any true vision she might have of him. She felt robbed of choice, tied to him, whether she liked it or not. She didn’t even want to catch his eye, and yet she knew one of them had to stop pretending they hadn’t seen the o
ther. She’d promised God, the Fates, herself, that she would be kind to him, and that, at least, she was determined to do. She made an excuse to go to the Ladies and as she passed the group of carters, she stopped, waiting for Sam to look at her. His mate gave him a shove, causing the beer to slop over the glass he was holding to his lips. Sam looked up, lip covered in beer foam and beer trickling down his chin. He quickly wiped it with his cuff, his face suffused with a smile.
‘Nellie!’
‘Hello, Sam. I never got a chance to thank you properly for all your help and I wanted to thank you for the eggs. It was so kind.’
He blushed and his slight stammer reasserted itself. ‘It was M-Mum’s idea.’
‘How is she, Sam?’ Nellie steeled herself. She had never asked Sam exactly what was wrong with Lizzie, but the poor woman had looked on her last legs.
‘She rallied!’
‘She rallied?’
Sam nodded. ‘She rallied,’ he repeated.
‘Oh, thank God for that!’ she blurted out.
Nellie felt immediate shame at her relief, which she knew was more for herself than for Sam’s mother. But even though she felt mean, she couldn’t help being grateful that Mrs Gilbie’s children still had a mother and wouldn’t be needing a substitute one yet a while. While Mrs Gilbie lived, so could Nellie Clark. In spite of all her own responsibilities, she felt a sudden surge of freedom, a desire for life and excitement so strong that she threw her arms round Sam and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Oh, Sam, I’m so pleased for you. Give her my best and don’t forget to thank her for the eggs!’
