Mrs Flannagan's Trumpet

by Catherine Cookson

  He turned abruptly from them and, going to the side table, he lit one of the lanterns that was standing on it; then casting a last look back on Penny, he said, ‘Get yourself to bed soon.’ And she answered dutifully, ‘Yes, Eddie.’

  That night Eddie didn’t sleep well. He was very aware of the sea pounding against the rocks; the wind had gone down but at times it seemed that the very waves were lashing themselves against the walls of the house. And when he did fall asleep he had a very disturbing dream like a nightmare, because he imagined somebody was in the room standing by the side of the bed. It was a man and he was bending over him trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying for the roar of the wind. Then, as in most dreams, everything went topsy-turvy and he thought, Of course I can’t hear him because I’m not shouting into her trumpet. Then the man took off his peaked cap and hit him across the face with it. It wasn’t a hard blow, more as if he were trying to wake him up.

  And he did wake up and with a start and he knew a feeling of fear because he imagined the man was still in the room.

  Telling himself to sit up, he shook the sleep from his eyes, and as he did so he could see the outline of the furniture in the room for seconds at a time as the scudding clouds passed over the moon. But there was nothing else there, no-one else there. He lay down again, but it was some little time before he got to sleep.

  It was Saturday before he could talk to his grandfather. He had finished work at twelve o’clock with the intention of hurrying home and changing, then taking Penny down to the market, and later calling in at the house to see that everything was all right, at the same time having a word with Mrs Angus upstairs, who was keeping an eye on things while his mother was away. But his grandfather hailed him from the stable as he was going towards the kitchen and he turned quickly and said, ‘Oh, Granda! It’s nice to see you up and about again.’

  ‘Yes, I’m about again, lad; but it isn’t without a fight.’ His grandfather grinned at him. ‘I tell her…your granny, she’s lost for someone to nurse.’ Then his face becoming serious, he added, ‘It’s as well I’m about again I think because Barney here’s’—he pointed back to where the horse stood, its head drooping—‘looking the worse for wear. I’ll have something to say to Hal when he comes in. The poor old fellow looks as if he’s been worked to a standstill, as if he’d been at it all night. I know Hal’s got a living to make, and I’m glad he’s taking it seriously, but there’s limits to what even a horse can stand.’ He walked towards the horse now, saying, ‘Did you see any sign of your Uncle Hal on your travels?’

  ‘No, Granda…Granda.’ Eddie was now standing at the head of the horse gently rubbing its muzzle, and his grandfather said, ‘Yes; what is it, lad?’

  ‘I think there’s something you should know.’

  ‘Well, if you think that, you’d better tell me what it is.’

  ‘It’s about Hal Kemp.’

  ‘About Hal? What about him?’

  ‘Well, in the first place he wasn’t supposed to know that Mr Van who collects the stones. Well, he did know him, he’s known him all along. Daisy pointed this out to me first of all, and then, well, on Wednesday night gone I was on me way home when I saw the man, Mr Van, at the back of the garden there’—he pointed—‘and he was making a funny whistling sound and looking up to the house.’

  He paused here, and his grandfather, his misty blue eyes tight on him, said quietly, ‘Yes; go on.’

  ‘Well, I thought it was funny and I got down behind the railings and into the scrub, and then I heard somebody coming from the house, and it was Hal Kemp, and when they both passed me I heard a bit of what was said. I couldn’t make sense of it, I still can’t, but it was this, the man was pressing Hal Kemp to do something and he, I mean Kemp, he didn’t seem to like the idea. He said he could get years for doing it, or the men around here would lynch him. And that Mr Van said if he was caught, blokes in high places would get him off, or something to that effect; and that anyway he was being well paid. Can you make out what it means, Granda?’

  His grandfather stood staring at him for a full minute before he said grimly, ‘No, I can’t, lad; but I’m going to make it me business to find out because men around here wouldn’t talk of lynching anybody for ordinary smuggling. You’re sure that’s what they said?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what they said, Granda. Aye, I’m sure. Honest to God. And it’s been on me mind, worrying me.’

  ‘They didn’t mention a commodity, well, like food or spirits, butter, cheese, rum or whisky…or, or silks?’

  ‘No Granda. Somehow they didn’t seem to be talking about anything like that. Well, you know yourself that goes on from time to time.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know that, lad. And it’s usually Ted Reade’s boat they use and Jimmy Vincent and Jack Biddley are the runners, but they’re honest men. Well’—he jerked his head—‘you know what I mean, beating the Customs at the game is dangerous, mind you; oh aye, dangerous, but nevertheless, it’s a game and they play it clean, according to their own standards.’

  Eddie watched his grandfather walk the length of the stable, his head turned to the side, his teeth nipping his lower lip. Then turning about, he tugged at his bushy beard as he said, ‘It could be stones.’

  ‘Stones? Those things he picks…’

  ‘No, no, lad, not those kind of stones, precious stones, diamonds, rubies, stolen stuff from either across the water or over here. And they’re clever, those boys who deal with that kind of merchandise. That Mr Van, he collects stones, doesn’t he? Oh yes, we know he collects stones. That’s a good cover that is. They’ve got ways of piercing a stone, the pebble ones I mean, and inserting the precious ones into them and covering them up in such a way that it would take a clever man even with his magnifying glass to detect where the splits are. Yes’—he came towards Eddie—‘it could be stones. But’—he paused and shook his head—‘no man would talk of being lynched for carrying stones. No, there’s only two things a decent man in Shields would consider lynching another for. Aye, only two things. And I’m going to find out which of them it is, and either one he’ll get his marching orders, that’s if I don’t try to lynch him meself afore that. Truth to tell now, I’ve never liked the fellow. No, I haven’t.’ He shook his head vigorously now. ‘But he’s your granny’s nephew and we give him hospitality because of it. But over the year he’s been here the tales he’s told of his twenty years journeying abroad have contradicted each other. It takes a liar to have a good memory, boy. Yes, it does that, and he’s a liar. Well, I’ll go and find out what he’s up to, an’ I’ll put the fear of God into him if nothing else…I think I know where to find him. There’s one man down there who mans a boat and doesn’t keep to any standards.’

  Of a sudden his grandfather seemed to lose his years and become a vital straight-backed strident captain again, for he now walked briskly towards the door of the stable, saying, ‘Come along and have your meal; but say nothing to your granny about this, mind.’ …

  It was half an hour later. The meal was over and Eddie was watching his grandmother remonstrate with his grandfather.

  ‘What do you want to go tramping down there for? The wind’s fit to cut you in two, you’ll get your death, and you just out of bed.’

  He saw his grandfather smile at her, pick up the trumpet and say, ‘Whisht, woman!’

  ‘Whisht yourself! If you want to see Peter Morgan I can send for him and he can come up and have a meal the morrow.’

  Again his grandfather was shouting into the trumpet: ‘Nobody sends for Captain Peter Morgan, you should know that by now, Maggie. And there’s the Annual Dinner to arrange.’

  ‘Dinner!’ His granny almost spat the word out. ‘And Peter Morgan, his head’s too big for his hat, always has been. And don’t you come back coughing here because you’ll look after yourself, ’cos I won’t.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Maggie.’ He was mouthing the words at her now and he clapped his hand against his chest. ‘I’ll rub m
eself with candle grease.’ There was a splutter to the side of him, and he turned and winked at Daisy who was standing near the hall door. But the gesture wasn’t lost on Mrs Flannagan and she rounded on Daisy, yelling, ‘Get yourself about your work, girl, or you’ll find my hand across your ears.’

  ‘You’re in a nice tear the day, aren’t you?’ His grandfather’s voice was soft now as once again he spoke into his grandmother’s trumpet, and her voice, too, was strangely soft as she answered, ‘Why must you go out? You’re asking for trouble.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ He patted her shoulder, and when she reached up and buttoned the top button of his thick blue reefer coat, he smiled tenderly down on her, then patted her cheek with his fingers before turning from her and going out of the front door.

  As his granny stood at the door watching his grandfather walk smartly across the green sward to where the path led from the yard, the wind blew into the hall, and so strong was it, it raised the rope mats from off the stone flags.

  When she finally closed the door and, turning towards Eddie, exclaimed, ‘Madness! Madness!’ he felt a tinge of guilt. If he hadn’t told his grandfather about Hal Kemp likely he wouldn’t have gone into the town today.

  ‘And you’re going out an’ all?’

  ‘Yes, Grandma.’ He nodded at her.

  ‘Well, go and get ready. And see that the child is wrapped up against the wind. And get yourself back here afore dark.’

  He noticed that she didn’t say, ‘And you wrap up against the wind too.’ She wouldn’t care if he froze to death.

  ‘Well, what are you standing there for, your mouth open like a fish? If you’re going, go.’

  Ooooh! Let nobody say he hadn’t tried to like his granny. But I ask you, he appealed to himself, did she ever give him a kind word? Was she ever civil to him? Oh, the sooner he and she parted company the better for all concerned. What a change it would be to talk to a woman who would be civil to you.

  When he got back later on this afternoon he’d make out a list of the days he’d have to stay in this house and he’d mark them off one by one, and when he came to the last one he’d spit in her eye. Well, not really. But he would say something to her that would be the equivalent, because if he disliked anybody on this earth it was his granny.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Where is he? Where has he got to?’ Mrs Flannagan stopped walking the kitchen floor and sat down heavily on a chair. She looked from one to the other of the three faces staring at her, and it was to Daisy she appealed, saying, ‘You know, don’t you, Daisy, that he’s never been out this late, one o’clock in the morning?’

  Daisy, lifting the trumpet gently in her hand, put it to her mistress’s ear and shouted, ‘Could he have had a drop too much, missis, and be stayin’ with that captain?’

  Mrs Flannagan shook her head slowly and her voice was unusually quiet as she replied, ‘I’ve never known the drink strong enough that could knock David Flannagan off his legs. But I’ll tell you this much, I’ve had a queer feeling on me all day, I felt he shouldn’t have gone. One reason or another I felt he shouldn’t have gone. There’s something fishy. I don’t know what it is, I can’t put me finger on it, but it’s many years since I’ve had a feeling like this on me…And where’s Hal, I’d like to know.’ Her voice rose. ‘He’s never here when he’s wanted. By! I’ll give him a mouthful when he does come in; not hilt nor hair of him have I seen since Friday dinner time.’

  It was Daisy again who took up the trumpet, and now she said, ‘He could have gone out with the boats; he does, you know, fishing at the weekends.’

  ‘Fishing!’ Mrs Flannagan drew in a deep breath and her hands gripping the trumpet, she tugged at it for a moment as if she were going to wrench it from the cord around her neck. Then, her hands becoming still, she looked down at them for a moment before lifting her eyes and staring at Eddie, and her voice quiet sounding now, she said, ‘I know you’ve offered twice to go and look for him, but there was a time he would have murdered me if I’d sent anyone in search of him, because that would have meant he wasn’t capable of finding his way home, and’—she spread one hand wide—‘there’s never been a time when he couldn’t carry himself and his drink to the front door, but I’m…I’m worried.’ When she stopped and stared at him, he said, ‘I’ll…I’ll go now, Grandma.’

  ‘Wait!’ She put up her hand. ‘It isn’t likely you’ll find him lying on the road because somebody would be bound to come along that way, as far as Biddy’s cottage at least, so what you must do is to go first of all and knock up Captain Morgan. He’ll likely curse you to hell’s flames but tell him I sent you, and ask him, politely like, if Captain Flannagan is still with him.’

  ‘But where does he live, Gran?’ As he spoke he picked up the trumpet and repeated in a shout, ‘Where does he live, Gran?’

  ‘The top of Ogle Terrace, you know that way. You go past the Regimental Drill Hall, then on…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Again he was holding the trumpet to her ear. ‘What’s the number of the house?’

  ‘No number. He called it after his ship, The Sea Bream.’

  ‘Oh aye, I know it.’ He nodded at her.

  ‘Away you go then. Wrap up well. And hurry back, boy, will you? Hurry back.’ …

  A few minutes later he was going at a jog trot skirting the garden, then over the rough ground until it levelled out and houses began to loom up in the light of his swaying lantern, one here and there, then a couple together, then streets of them.

  He was out of breath when he reached the terrace and as he slowed to a walk he heard a clock somewhere in the town chiming the half-hour.

  There was a ship’s bell hanging to the side of the front door of the house and when he rang it the sound reverberated down the street, and he looked about him apprehensively, thinking it would wake the neighbourhood.

  It certainly woke Captain Morgan, for there was the sound of a window being opened. Eddie looked upwards, and it was to hear a voice that outdid his grandmother’s.

  ‘Who in blazes is that at this hour?’

  ‘It’s me, Captain Morgan.’ His face was straining upwards, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘I’m…I’m Captain Flannagan’s grandson. Me granny has sent me to see if he’s here.’

  ‘Who? What? Speak up!’

  ‘I’ve been sent to find out if me granda’s here.’

  ‘Your granda?’

  ‘Yes, Captain Flannagan.’

  ‘Davy Flannagan here? No, boy, he isn’t here. Why should he be?’

  ‘He…he told me granny he was going to call on you.’

  ‘Well, you go back and tell her that I’ve never seen Davy for close on two weeks now.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Likely gone out fishin’.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He remained looking up until the window was banged closed, then he turned and walked down the narrow path and through the iron gate into the street. The fear that had been on him all night was now turning him sick. He had clamped it down by telling himself that after his grandfather had seen Hal Kemp he had done what he had said he was going to do, visited Captain Morgan. Now he knew he had been deluding himself. But in order to curb his fear from running riot he tried another tack of self delusion when he said to himself: Ted Reade and Jimmy Vincent, what if his granda had gone to see them and then had gone on a night trip with them?…But his granny said that he always came back home. Yet women liked to think men were obedient all the time. There could have been occasions when he had stayed out all night and she didn’t want to remember them.

  He knew where Ted Reade lived; it was in one of the little houses going off the waterfront. Should he go? For answer, he set off at a run now. Cutting across Fowler Street, he eventually emerged at the top of the Market Square, then went down by the Mill Dam bank and on to the river front.

  He had passed a number of people on his way and some of them had stopped and looked after him, but no-one had as yet tried to check his runn
ing, until he felt his arm caught in a vice-like grip and he was brought to a standstill opposite a passageway. In a flash he realised that he was handicapped; if he put up a fight and struck out he’d have to drop the lantern from his right hand; the only other alternative was to use his feet. And he was on the point of doing just this when a voice said, ‘Now, young…fella-me-lad, where may I ask are you runnin’ to? Or who you runnin’ from?’

  Eddie breathed a deep sigh of relief as he looked up at the constable, and he almost stuttered now, ‘I’m-I’m-gona-message. I’m makin’ for…for Ted Reade’s house.’

  ‘Oh! Mr Ted Reade, is it?’

  Oh Lord! Eddie closed his eyes for a moment. Although Ted Reade had never been caught red-handed, it was well known on the waterfront that he did a bit of business on the side and that he was suspected by the police. In fact, he’d heard of bets being laid on how long he’d last without being caught.

  ‘I’m…I’m lookin’ for me granda.’

  ‘At Ted Reade’s?’ There was a deep question in the name.

  ‘Aye, yes…Well, it’s like this…’

  ‘Yes, go on. It’s like this, you were sayin’.’

  ‘Well, me granda is Captain Flannagan from Rock End. He didn’t come home last night an’ me granny’s worried.’ He now added, ‘He’s been in bed for days with a cold.’

  ‘Oh, Captain Flannagan.’ The pressure on Eddie’s arm was slightly released. ‘Well, if I know anything about sea captains, and Captain Flannagan in particular, he’ll be with his cronies playing cards and likely knocking it back.’

  ‘I…I’ve been to his friend, Captain Morgan, and he hasn’t seen him.’