by Anne Bennett
She was thrilled at the prospect of another child, however. Katie, now eighteen months old and both walking and talking, needed a playmate. She kept the news to herself till she could be more certain but hoped it would be a boy for Tom. He always said he didn’t care what sex a child was and he had been over the moon when Katie was born, but she knew most men wanted a son and heir.
In January 1936, the King died and his son Edward VII succeeded him. ‘I don’t see what difference a new king will make to people like us anyway,’ Ellen said. ‘I mean will it give people jobs so that ordinary folk can feed and clothe their families and provide a roof over their head?’
Bridie agreed with Ellen’s sentiments, although she was so contented and happy in her own life that she felt almost guilty when she knew for many families there was only poverty and misery.
Though they hadn’t a lot of money, it didn’t seem to matter that much. They had simple, inexpensive tastes and when Bridie told Tom in early February that she was pregnant again, far from being worried about the added expense, he was ecstatic.
Bridie was over four months gone when Peggy spotted her coming out of the doctor’s one day and, although there was nothing physical which revealed Bridie’s pregnancy, her suspicions were aroused. A few discreet questions asked of the neighbours, who didn’t realise there was any secrecy about it, proved her suspicions to be true. She was furious that Bridie should seemingly go unpunished and be able to have more children after the heinous thing she had done in getting rid of a baby. Determinedly, she set off for the house.
Bridie had been expecting her for days and yet she jumped when the entry door opened. She hadn’t seen Peggy approach and no one, except those on official business, ever knocked. Bridie turned and saw the smirk on Peggy’s face and felt her heart sink.
She didn’t ask what Peggy wanted; she’d know soon enough. She never knew when she would turn up. Sometimes she would leave her alone for a week or two and other times she seemed to be never off the doorstep.
‘So you’re sticking your fingers up at God again,’ Peggy spat out. ‘Dear Christ, the brazen cheek of you is amazing.’
‘What’s up with you?’ Bridie said, though she knew full well. ‘I’m having a baby, that’s all.’
‘“That’s all” she says,’ Peggy mocked. ‘Well, God will not be cheated. One day, he’ll take those children from you, just see if he doesn’t. He’ll take his vengeance on you for the child you murdered.’
Bridie opened her mouth to tell Peggy she was wrong, and that her God wasn’t like that, just as she had a horrifying mental picture. It was of God descending from Heaven in the shape of a large bird and snatching up Katie and the blanket-clad new baby in powerful vicious talons and flying away with them.
Peggy, watching her face, knew that she’d hit home and she went on, ‘Stands to reason. God will not stand by and see you rear two more children decently after murdering your first.’
‘Peggy, what sort of malicious pleasure do you get out of hounding me like this?’ Bridie snapped.
‘No pleasure,’ Peggy said, ‘and I’m not hounding you. It’s more in the nature of warning you.’
‘Well, you’ve warned me,’ Bridie said wearily. ‘Now get out and leave me alone.’
‘You mind your manners,’ Peggy said menacingly ‘or your parents might find a letter on the mat one of these fine days and don’t you ever forget it. I’ll go when I am good and ready and after you’ve given me three shillings to take with me.’
‘Three shillings! God in Heaven, Peggy, why do you think I can give you money like this? I gave you four shillings only last week.’
‘Then be thankful I’ve only asked for three this week,’ Peggy said with an evil smile. ‘Come on, cough up.’
Bridie paid up, knowing she had no choice, and also knowing that to last the week herself, she’d have to borrow from her sister again which would mean another lecture on managing her money better.
But while Bridie worried about the money Peggy extracted from her, far more upsetting was the way Peggy spoke about harm befalling her child. During the day, if Bridie kept herself busy – easy enough to do with a small child in the house – she could push such threats to the back of her mind.
At night, however, Peggy’s words would hammer in her brain and conjure up images of the children being separated from her. If her threshing about the bed in the throes of a nightmare didn’t disturb Tom, then her sudden shriek or scream would jerk him awake quick enough.
He would hold Bridie’s trembling body tight against him while he stroked her hair until she was calmer, assuring her over and over that it was just a dream.
He was worried about the dreams, though he didn’t show his concern in front of Bridie, and instead confided in her sister. ‘Do you think it could be the pregnancy causing it?’ he asked.
Mary shrugged. ‘Could be. Pregnant women get funny notions right enough. But if it goes on, I’d talk Bridie into telling the doctor.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that.’
Mary talked to Ellen about it, for they’d both decided to keep a weather eye on Bridie this time so that she did nothing to bring the birth on early like she did before.
‘I don’t think Tom could stand another do like last time either,’ Ellen said to Mary. ‘God, they nearly had him in the next bed, I tell you.’
‘And didn’t you say that the doctor said she would need that caesarean operation every time?’ Mary said.
‘Aye. He didn’t tell me exactly,’ Ellen said. ‘Well, they don’t tell you anything, do they? I overheard him saying it to a nurse. It’s something to do with her hips being small and God knows they are that right enough, every bit of her is small.’
‘Tom couldn’t have known that,’ Mary said. ‘If he’d have known I’m sure he would have mentioned it to me. I bet the doctor told Bridie and she decided not to tell him.’
‘Could be,’ Ellen said. ‘Told me she doesn’t like hospitals.’
‘Well, it isn’t a place I’d choose to spend a holiday,’ Mary commented dryly. ‘But if our Bridie needs this operation then she’ll have it and no nonsense and if she doesn’t tell Tom, then I will.’
But Bridie had already told Tom. She knew how worried he’d been last time and she didn’t want to put him through that again. Then there was Katie to consider. She couldn’t afford to put herself out of action for any longer than necessary.
So she went for the check-ups at the doctor’s and at the hospital, but though Tom urged her to tell the doctors about the nightmares, she said nothing. She knew what caused them and knew all the pills and potions in the world would not help her. But despite the disturbed nights, this was a pregnancy Bridie sailed through, without even a hint of morning sickness and if it hadn’t been for the excessive tiredness she’d have been glowing with health.
Ellen had taught Bridie to knit and she would spend many a happy evening making clothes for the new baby, or turning out little jumpers and cardigans for Katie, while Tom read pieces to her from the paper.
‘Two thousand British men have joined the International Brigade to fight in the Spanish Civil War,’ he told her one evening in August.
‘Why would anyone fight for another country like that?’ Bridie asked, perplexed.
Tom shrugged. ‘An ideal,’ he said. ‘Something they believe in. And it might affect us eventually if rogue governments are in charge of countries that are not too far from us really.’
‘Like Hitler in Germany?’
‘Exactly like that and now you see the Germans are offering to send support to Franco in Spain. You see how the thing can escalate?’ Tom said, and then he went on, ‘And yet I can’t help feeling that perhaps some men have joined up to fight to give them something worthwhile to do – men who’ve been out of work for years and all that’s facing them is dull, useless days and hunger, cold and despair.’
‘But they could be killed.’
‘Ah yes, but some of the men I see here in Birmingham are so
near the edge it’s frightening. Their spirit is being killed and not just by idleness, but by eroding self-respect. When people say that a man and his wife need six pounds a week to keep above the poverty line, it would make me laugh if it wasn’t so tragic. A man out of work in the same circumstances gets twenty-six shillings. How does that compare with six pounds?’
‘Not many ordinary workers get six pounds though,’ Bridie reminded him.
‘Look at the railway workers you were telling me about just the other week who were earning just over two pounds a week.’
‘That’s right,’ Tom said. ‘And that’s about average. God knows, I get little more than that myself. I tell you the country is going to the dogs.’
‘Uncle Sam says it will take another war to sort it out.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ Tom said fervently. ‘I hope he’s wrong.’
Bridie shivered. She rolled up her ball of wool and stuck her needles through it. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it any more,’ she said. ‘It scares me all this talk of war and it’s not as if talking from now till doomsday will do any good. Added to that, this child of yours is kicking the life out of me. I need my bed because that other one, sleeping now like a little angel, thinks five o’clock in the morning a grand time to get up.’
Tom smiled at Bridie. She had a point. They were roused early each morning by the dulcet tones of their small daughter, singing her version of nursery rhymes. She didn’t know or care about time. All she knew was that she was fine and rested and ready for the day to begin and so Tom found it hard to get cross when she greeted him each morning with a smile that lit up her whole face. Tom would lift her from the cot and hold her close. The love he had for this child, who he would willingly lay down his life for, often overwhelmed him.
Bridie was another one he loved to distraction and now, as he looked at her weary face, he said, ‘Go on up, love. I’ll see to everything down here and follow you.’
Bridie climbed the stairs wearily, her gait ungainly. She hated these last weeks when everything was such an effort and she was incredibly tired. When Tom came up just minutes later, Bridie was already fast asleep. She seldom slept deeply, however, or for long, and so he got in beside her cautiously, so as not to wake her.
Liam Thomas Cassidy was born on 2nd September, full-term and weighing in at eight and a half pounds. Tom was able to hold him straightaway and was amazed at the size of the child, used as he was to dainty little Katie.
He had a shock of dark hair, much more than Katie had had, and a little button nose and though his eyes were blue, they were the milky blue of a newborn which he suspected would probably turn brown later. He parted the blanket to examine his son, marvelling at the little hands and feet, the minute nails and his soft, unblemished skin. He’d not thought he could love another child as much as Katie, but he knew that he would love this little mite he held in his arms just as much and felt blessed.
‘The world’s gone mad altogether,’ Ellen declared to Bridie as she popped in one day toward the end of November. She rocked Liam in her arms as she said, ‘I mean those poor sods trailed all the way from Jarrow to present a petition to the Prime Minister and the bloody man wouldn’t even agree to see them, let alone speak to them. It’s scandalous! They say unemployment there is sixty-eight per cent.’
‘I know,’ Bridie said. ‘I heard it too.’ When she’d arrived home from hospital with Liam, Tom had presented her with a wireless. ‘Oh Tom,’ she’d cried in delight. ‘Have we saved enough?’
‘Not quite,’ Tom had said. ‘It’s not something I agree with, but I got it on the hire purchase scheme.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You pay so much in a week,’ Tom said. ‘As I say, it’s not something I really believe in, but I wanted to give you a wee treat.’
‘Oh Tom, you shouldn’t have,’ Bridie had cried. ‘I would have waited.’
And then Tom took the pleasure of it away by saying, ‘The way things are shaping up I thought we ought to have one.’
Bridie didn’t want to know about the war clouds gathering all around them, but even she was disturbed when she heard of rioting in a mainly Jewish area of London, the Jews running for their lives as their shops and houses were looted and burned. Any that protested were beaten to the ground.
‘Why pick on the Jews?’ she asked Tom. ‘Who are these people who do these dreadful things?’
‘This was led by a man called Moseley,’ Tom told her. ‘He’s formed the British Fascist Party.’
Bridie frowned. ‘Fascist,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that who we were fighting in Spain?’
‘The very same,’ Tom told her. ‘You couldn’t see then why people were worried and incensed enough about Spain to fight and try and put down Franco. We can’t all stand back, the evil is spreading.’
‘It’s horrible, isn’t it?’ Bridie said. She removed Liam from one breast and put him to the other and went on, ‘It’s the children I worry over. I mean it’s enough of a daily fight to feed and clothe them decently and try and keep them clean and free from disease. These other things you hear about, well it’s another sort of threat.’
Tom knew exactly what Bridie meant. The Mission ran a daily fight against poverty and disease. Life was enough of a struggle for many without further problems and yet the whole world was in turmoil: the rumours coming out of Germany were disturbing, as were Stalin’s purges in Russia. Added to that, there was the civil war in Spain that Hitler had promised military aid for.
In the middle of this unrest, Edward VII abdicated the throne in favour of his brother Albert who would be known as George. There had been rumblings for some time about Edward, who was often seen in the company of an American divorcee, Wallis Simpson. He couldn’t marry her and still remain monarch and, on 11th December 1936, Bridie and Tom listened to the broadcast from Windsor Castle, when Edward declared that he was:
‘unable to discharge my duties as King as I’d wish to do without the help and support of the woman I love.’
‘Stuff and bloody nonsense,’ Ellen declared the next day. ‘Where’s the man’s sense of duty and responsibility?’
‘Maybe it’s a good thing the man did step down,’ Sam put in. ‘Great friend of the krauts, I believe. He was always dining at the German Embassy, not really a sensible thing to do these times. If anything does blow up, it wouldn’t do to have a spy in the camp, one so powerful and so close to the seat of government.’
‘I hate this miserable war talk,’ Ellen said. ‘For God’s sake, there have always been wars and fighting. Doesn’t mean we have to get mixed up in it.’
But really she said that for Bridie’s sake who was looking from her husband to her uncle with apprehension. Ellen knew as well as any that Britain could hardly fail to be caught up in it. ‘If you want to know,’ she went on, ‘I’ll be glad to see the back of 1936. 1937 can’t be worse and may easily be a tad better.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
But 1937 was no better for anyone and as 1938 dawned, the world seemed a more turbulent place than ever. Hitler and Germany were on everyone’s lips. When Bridie let herself think of a possible war, she would tremble. However, she seldom thought about it too deeply. ‘I mean it’s not as if I could do anything to prevent it,’ she said to Mary one day. ‘Tom works hard and takes his work seriously and he’s always tired when he comes in. I don’t want to start him off worrying about a war that might never happen. There’ll be time and enough to worry about it if anything does blow up.’
Tom was often worn down by the grinding poverty he saw daily that the Mission was only able to ease for a few, and then not with any sort of permanency, and was glad Bridie thought this way. His home was like an oasis of calm in a world gone mad, for even if Peggy McKenna had called that day, Bridie would not let the fear and distaste she always evoked in her invade into the time she spent with Tom. She’d push memories of her to one side and wrap her arms lovingly around her husband.
Liam had shed his babyhood and was now a boi
sterous toddler and had begun to demand attention from his father when he came in at night. He and Katie were often in pyjamas and nearly ready for bed by that time and Tom would roll around the floor with the pair of them in some rough and tumble game before snuggling down in the chair, one either side of him, while he read or told them a story.
Bridie was usually at the stove and she’d smile as she’d hear them playing together. Much as the children loved her, she never got a look in when Tom was home.
After the story, when Tom would roar like the giants or monsters he read about, or squeak like the wee mouse or pant like the train, he would carry the children to bed. ‘Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire,’ he would cry and the children would giggle.
After they were tucked up with many hugs and kisses, Bridie would go up to give them both a kiss and help Katie say her prayers and feel a wave of contentment wash over her. Her eyes would often meet Tom’s and she knew he felt the same. Many times she had blessed the day she met Tom at Strabane.
And then suddenly they could relax: war had been averted. Bridie was at Ellen’s when Sam came in with the Evening Mail in the October of that year. She looked at the picture on the first page of Neville Chamberlain waving a piece of paper in the air. He was home from Munich after a meeting with Hitler and was declaring:
‘I believe we will have peace in our time.’
‘There,’ Bridie said with a sigh of relief. ‘All this talk of war and now it’s come to nothing.’ Ellen and Sam looked at each other, but neither said anything and Bridie was too preoccupied in getting the children home and starting the dinner for Tom to notice the silence.
Tom, however, said plenty, but not until the children were in bed and then Bridie looked at him aghast. ‘Why don’t you believe it?’
‘Bridie, no one in their right mind would believe anything that man said, or give any credence to a piece of paper with his name on.’
‘Well, what’s the point of it?’
‘Maybe Chamberlain is cuter than we give him credit for,’ Tom said. ‘Germany have been stockpiling armaments for years. When we eventually stand against them, and it is when not if, we need to be ready and we’re not nearly that yet. Since the beginning of the year, things have been happening. Many of the families we help now have their husbands in work. You must have noticed there have been fewer men on the street corners over the last few weeks and months.’
