by Anne Bennett
‘Isn’t that the Latimers’?’ Ellen asked.
‘Aye,’ Mary said. ‘Bert Latimer has had no work for four years or more. They owe six weeks’ rent and the bums go in next week. They’re doing a flit tonight and taking up in some rooms in a house off the Belgrave Road.’ She faced Bridie and said, ‘I know how you feel about this, our Bridie, and God knows it’s a bugger. I feel for the family, especially as poor Dolly’s on her time, but we can’t help them and if you don’t take the house someone else will.’
‘I know,’ Bridie said resignedly. ‘What do I do?’
‘You be up the landlord’s offices tomorrow. They’re on Bennett’s Hill and make sure you’re there early before anyone else gets wind of it.’
‘You’re sure they’ll be gone?’
‘Oh aye,’ Mary said. ‘Heard it from Dolly herself. They’re moving out in the early hours with all they can carry and stopping the night at his mother’s before going to the new place.’
And so, the next morning, Bridie, with Ellen in tow, was outside the landlord’s offices. With her she had her marriage lines and two of Tom’s wage slips to prove they could afford the place. By the end of the day, the agent had ascertained the house was vacant as Bridie had said and fairly well stripped of anything that could be useful. He grimaced to himself. The chances of getting the money owed to his employers was not high and the more time the house stood empty the more money he lost. By the end of that day, Bridie had the keys to number 19 Grant Street.
Bridie felt much more like a married woman with her own house and she took such pride in it and had great pleasure in furnishing it. They had enough money for lino for the living room and bedroom and Bridie lost no time in making rag rugs to brighten the place up. They’d also bought a second-hand table and a few odd chairs from the Bull Ring, together with two dull brown armchairs that Bridie promised herself she’d make cushions for from remnants at the market.
There was no need to buy anything much for the baby because Mary had kept all the things from Jamie and his brother. Bridie was glad of that because it gave her the money to buy material at the market to make some bright curtains to hang at the windows. Three days after their first wedding anniversary, she had them finished.
Tom said she wasn’t to hang them; he’d do them when he came from work, but Bridie made a face at him. ‘Expecting a baby is not an illness, Tom.’
‘Maybe not, but stretching up like that can’t be good for you.’
‘’Course, you know all about it.’
‘I know enough.’
But when Tom had gone to work, Bridie finished off the last hem and got to her feet. She wanted to see them up and if she stood on one of the wooden dining chairs, she wouldn’t need to stretch much. The chairs were a little rickety, but she was sure they’d bear her weight.
She was on a chair, curtain wire in her hand, when she heard the entry door open and gave a groan as she turned, certain it would be Mary who’d give out to her for trying to hang the curtains herself. But it wasn’t Mary. Peggy McKenna watched the blood drain from Bridie’s face with satisfaction.
‘What d’you want, Peggy?’ Bridie asked. ‘You’ve had every penny I can spare this week.’
‘That’s a pity, I’m two bob short for the rent.’
Immediately Bridie’s eyes slid to the mantelpiece where her purse was. Peggy, tracking her, crossed the room and picked it up. ‘Help myself, shall I?’ she said, snapping it open.
‘Peggy, please, I only have three shillings to last me the week,’ Bridie pleaded. ‘Tom isn’t well paid.’
‘My old man’s not paid at all,’ Peggy sneered. ‘Your old man will have to live on fresh air like we’ve been doing for years. I’m leaving you a shilling. Do a lot with that if you’re careful.’
Bridie was filled with panic. How the Hell was she to survive the week on twelve pennies? ‘Please leave me alone, Peggy.’
‘I will, duck, well alone,’ Peggy said. ‘I’ll go home now and write a wee letter to your mother, shall I?’
‘No!’ Bridie cried. ‘Please don’t do that. Dear God, what d’you want of me. I give you every penny I can spare.’
‘Worth it, isn’t it, to avoid upsetting your parents?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘Yes it is,’ Peggy snapped. ‘And no better than you deserve. I should look after that babby you’re expecting well if I were you. God might have his revenge and take that one from you.’
‘Get out!’ Bridie screamed. ‘You’ve got your money. Now leave me alone.’
When the door closed behind Peggy, Bridie held on to the window to steady herself. Her heart hammered against her ribs and she had difficulty breathing. She felt a wave of blackness envelop her and, frightened she was going to faint, tried to get off the chair quickly. It wobbled beneath her on the uneven floor and she fell, landing heavily on her side, and groaned as a dull ache began in her back and then moved around in a band across her stomach.
She tried to roll on her side, knowing she needed help, but she was in too much pain to move. She called out, but the people next door were out and no one heard her cries.
Mary found her some two hours later, barely lucid from the throbbing spasms attacking her body. Gwen Andrews, the woman who acted midwife to most of the women in the area, would have nothing to do with Bridie when she was summoned. ‘You’re for hospital, I’m thinking,’ she said. ‘’Tis a doctor you need.’
Doctor Casey was dismayed at the state he found Bridie in. It was worse than he feared; the child was not due to be born for weeks and yet both mother and baby were showing signs of distress and so he summoned an ambulance. Ellen went with Bridie as Mary had the children to see to and someone also needed to break the news to Tom when he came home from work. He was stunned. It was much too soon and she must have been very bad to be taken to hospital. ‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘The General. It was the closest.’
‘I’ll go straight up.’
‘Ellen’s there. They’ll not let you see her.’
‘Even so …’
‘At least have a bite to eat,’ Mary said. ‘I have it ready.’
‘I’m sorry, Mary, I know you mean well, but food would choke me,’ Tom said. ‘I must go to Bridie.’
Ellen sat on a hard bench in a dismal corridor. ‘How is she?’ Tom asked anxiously.
‘She’s in theatre,’ Ellen said. ‘No news yet.’
‘Oh God!’ Tom groaned. ‘Ellen, if I should lose her …’
‘Hush. Don’t say such things,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve been praying for her. She’ll be fine.’
Tom opened his mouth to reply when he spotted the white-coated doctor approaching them. ‘How is she?’ he demanded. ‘Bridie Cassidy, how is she?’
‘And you are?’
‘Her husband.’
‘Well, your wife is through the operation and sleeping peacefully,’ he said. ‘The baby …’
Tom, who’d so desperately wanted the baby Bridie carried, no longer cared that much about it. Bridie was of more importance. They could have other children. ‘Is it dead?’ he asked.
‘No, alive. Small, but alive and putting up a fight. She is in the baby unit. You can’t go in, but can see her through the glass if you wish.’
Later, when Tom stood at the window and gazed at the bundled infant in the cot, he was astounded that such a tiny mite could survive and said as much to Ellen.
‘Hush, lad,’ she said. ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope, and the doctor said she’s a fighter. You’ve to be positive and strong for that wee mite and if she shouldn’t survive, you must be there for Bridie because she’ll need you more than ever.’
Bridie, recovering from her ordeal, wondered if Peggy McKenna had put a curse on their child, or if it was really God extracting his revenge, but none of these fears could she share with anyone and she lay in her hospital bed, desperately praying for a miracle.
The baby was to be christened. Father Shearer
came immediately and his concern and consideration helped Bridie a good deal. ‘This is just a precaution,’ he assured her. Bridie remembered the other wee baby who’d not had the benefit of any sort of blessing and she felt sadness engulf her. She doubted she’d ever be able to take the child home and that would be judgement on her. From her wheelchair in the hospital chapel she watched the small bundle in Father Shearer’s hands as he dribbled water over her tiny head covered with brown down. He christened her Catherine Rose.
Katie Cassidy, as she quickly became known, was a fighter, however, and two weeks later left hospital with Bridie weighing four and a half pounds. Ellen and Mary had been busy while Bridie had been in hospital, knitting and sewing tiny garments to fit the little mite who was too small to fit newborn baby clothes.
That first night they had Katie home, Tom put his arms around Bridie and together they looked down at their sleeping daughter. Tom felt he would explode with joy and he pulled Bridie closer, kissing her gently. ‘There’s only good times ahead of us now, darling,’ he promised. ‘Only good times.’
Bridie smiled at Tom. She trusted him totally and if he said they would be good times ahead then there would be. Maybe it was a good thing that neither of them saw what the next few years would bring.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Little Katie Cassidy continued to thrive, though she didn’t grow much. For the first time, Bridie realised and understood her mother’s anxiety over her when she was younger.
Tom, though, was delighted by his baby daughter and laughed gently at his wife’s fears. ‘Don’t be fretting over her size, my darling,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it said good things come in small parcels? And isn’t she fine and healthy? That’s what matters, surely?’
But Bridie couldn’t help worrying: those damp, unsanitary houses were a breeding ground for disease and squashed together as they were, anything remotely infectious spread like wildfire.
Mary understood, for she felt the same over her two wee boys, though they were far more robust than their cousin Katie, who they were both enchanted with. Ellen and Sam, too, were captivated by the wee baby and both stood in as surrogate grandparents. But still the silence from Ireland continued, even though Bridie had written to her parents and told them all about Katie.
When she suggested Tom do the same and write to his parents, he’d refused. Unbeknown to Bridie, Tom, had received an acknowledgement of his marriage, which his mother had addressed to the Mission hall. It was venomous and abusive and much of the abuse was directed at Bridie. They didn’t know her, they said, and had no intention of knowing her, but they were aware of the type of girl she was. Did the two of them know, Tom’s mother asked, or did they even care that they could hold their heads up no more? The whole family was a laughing stock. They were bowed down with shame.
Tom threw the letter away in disgust and knew he’d never damage Bridie’s fragile confidence by showing it to her. He had no intention of writing again to his parents, who appeared to care more for their standing in the community than his happiness, and he would not allow them to taint Katie’s birth with more malicious rubbish. He thought Bridie was wasting her time writing to hers as well, but in her heart of hearts, Bridie hoped the letter might just melt her mother.
Bridie desperately wanted her daughter to be accepted into the family, to be made welcome in her mother’s home. But then would she ever let her go there, as young as she was, with Francis on the doorstep? No, by God, she wouldn’t. She hated that man with a passion and she knew only through his death would she be free of him. While he lived, he corrupted everything.
Rosalyn had stopped writing to Bridie now, but her letters before she had stopped had been confused and unhappy, asking what she’d done to offend or upset Bridie so much that she could dismiss the years of friendship they’d shared. Her comments hurt Bridie, but not enough to pick up a pen and write back. She knew she was being unfair, but Rosalyn’s father was Francis and while she couldn’t help that, Bridie couldn’t stop her skin crawling when she thought of him, or any member of his family. She couldn’t write to Rosalyn as if nothing had happened and they were girls together again.
But, despite her mother’s silence and Rosalyn’s reproach, Bridie was so pleased to be a wife and mother that it shone out of her. She was determined to do the best she could. Tom felt it was a joy to come home to such a happy wife and smiling baby and would play each evening with wee Katie while Bridie put the finishing touches to his dinner.
The guilt Bridie felt was still there, and she knew would probably never leave her, but it was lodged deeper within her now, and she promised herself she would make sure neither Tom or Katie would ever suffer because of it.
Not only was she a happy and contented mother, she was a passionate and responsive lover. She never spurned Tom, or claimed she was tired, or had a headache, in fact she seemed to enjoy their lovemaking as much as he did. He knew this wasn’t the case with a lot of women and he counted himself a lucky man.
‘The Evening Mail claim there are two million unemployed now,’ Tom said one night, shaking the paper in impatience. ‘1935, and things are getting worse. Many of the people are starving and no one seems to care. The Mission can only do so much.’
‘I know,’ Bridie said. ‘And any weans dressed respectable at all are often wearing Evening Mail outfits. Now Mary’s Jamie has started St Catherine’s, he said a man comes around and looks at their shoes and clothes. If he thinks a child needs it, he comes back with boots and stockings.’
‘They’d pawn them for the price of a decent meal,’ Tom said dejectedly. ‘I often think that’s what happens to some of the families we try to help with warmer clothes. And then I think would I act any differently if I was as hungry as many of them are?’
Bridie gave Tom a kiss. ‘You do your best, love,’ she said, for she knew he took his work seriously. ‘And maybe some of the stuff you give out is pawned, but the Birmingham Mail boots and stockings can’t be because they’re stamped. Pawnbrokers wouldn’t take them. They’d get into terrible trouble if they were found out. Jamie said some children get jumpers and skirts or trousers as well and not everyone is grateful for it either.’
‘Aye. Pride, you see.’
‘Pride,’ Bridie said scornfully. ‘I’d rather have less pride than let my children freeze to death.’
‘Easy to say when we’re not in that position,’ Tom reminded her gently. ‘We’re the lucky ones, Bridie.’
Bridie knew they were. Tom didn’t earn much at this job, but it was better than the dole and if it wasn’t for Peggy McKenna popping in whenever she took the notion, she’d be able to manage their money better.
Nobody was surprised, though, that in those mean little streets with the gangs of unemployed man in clusters about them, little fuss was made of the Silver Jubilee on 6th May. ‘When you’re living hand-to-mouth and never sure where the next bite is coming from, where’s the money for party fare, or any form of jollification at all?’ Ellen declared one evening when she popped around with Sam.
Sam, usually such a quiet man, agreed with his wife, but went further: ‘If you ask me, this government would be better if they’d spent more time studying Germany and what’s happening there, and less on a celebration to benefit just a few.’
There were disturbing tales coming out of Germany over the way the Jews were being treated: some of them had escaped to Britain and what they said was shocking, too shocking, many believed, to be true.
‘Do you think these things we’re hearing from Germany are facts then, Sam?’ Tom asked. ‘You don’t think it’s just scaremongering?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t like this chap Hitler. He’s not building up his armies for the fun of it.’
‘But is he? Isn’t it just propaganda?’
‘No, I’m pretty certain it isn’t.’
‘Well,’ Tom said. ‘I just hope you’re wrong.’
But Bridie knew Tom respected Sam’s grasp of the situation. Ellen and Sam no
w had a wireless and could listen to the news as well as read about it in the papers. Bridie knew Tom would love a wireless, but he said first Bridie had to have a gas cooker which he was saving up to buy her. Bridie didn’t mind cooking over the fire; it was what she was used to anyway, but Tom insisted she have one of the new stoves. ‘When that’s bought and installed,’ he told her, ‘then we can start putting money away for a wireless. We can only afford to save for one thing at a time.’
Bridie knew that it was sensible of Tom to think this way. She too had a horror of debt and God knows she had enough to shell out, trying to placate Peggy McKenna, as well as to save some money herself. Sometimes the money to buy a new pair of shoes for Katie, or a coat, or even just to survive, had to be borrowed from Mary. This money would be paid back as soon as Bridie could manage it and without Tom being aware of it at all. He’d not like that way of going on any more than Bridie did herself and it might cause him to ask awkward questions she’d be unable to answer.
She would hate to upset Tom; he was such a good husband and a wonderful father. It wasn’t too hard to enjoy fatherhood, however, for Katie was proving to be a dream of a child, with a sunny disposition. Ellen said it was not to be wondered at. ‘A happy mother means a happy child,’ she declared, delighted to see Bridie so content after all she’d been through.
If it hadn’t been for Peggy McKenna, Bridie would have been happier still. But though Peggy still frightened her, she refused to let her destroy her life totally. She knew this was what the woman wanted: to strip away the contentment and love she had for Tom and Katie and reduce her to a blubbering wreck.
Bridie would never let her do that. She was too secure with Tom and her delightful child for Peggy to get a foothold in there. But, despite this, she felt a fluttering of alarm when she missed a period around Christmas time, suspecting there might be another baby on the way and dreading Peggy finding out.
