At the beginning of August labourers and dockers in London came out on strike as a heatwave hit the country. People sweltered in temperatures as high as ninety degrees. In Liverpool dockers and railway workers withdrew their labour completely. As food began to rot in the holds of ships, police from other parts of the country were called upon to ease the situation. The policemen escorting supplies of food had missiles thrown at them.
Frank arrived home on the Friday to inform Molly that there was to be a demonstration in Lime Street. Tom Mann, chairman of the Liverpool Strike Committee, and Havelock Wilson, the founder of the National Union of Amalgamated Sailors and Firemen, were to speak from St George’s Plateau.
Molly’s mood had changed over the last few weeks and like a lot of women she felt angry that the railway bosses were refusing to sacrifice a little of their profits by giving in to the union’s demands. If only they could spend a week or even a day experiencing the poverty-stricken lives of some of their employees’ families it might stir their greedy souls, she thought.
So on a sunny and sultry Sunday morning she sat on the front step watching George chalking patterns on the pavement, waiting for her husband. ‘Are yer ready, Moll?’ Frank squeezed past her and stood in front of her, feet set a little apart, hands on hips.
She rose to her feet, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Should I bring George? Or leave him with Doris’s mother?’
Frank’s brown eyes glowed. ‘It’s a great day for the working man, Moll! It’ll be spoken of in years to come. He’ll be able to say, I was there!’
She supposed he was right and felt a stir of excitement herself. They were living through history in the making. ‘You’ll have to carry him for a while then. His little legs won’t be able to keep up.’
Frank hoisted George on to his shoulders and the boy clasped his hands over the man’s eyes. Frank swayed about, holding his hands out in front of him. George chuckled and so did Molly, who was still looking for a likeness between her son and the two men. Frank grinned as he removed the boy’s hands. ‘It’s going to be fun. There’ll be banners waving and bands playing. One big family having a party.’
Molly had never seen so many people. Thousands and thousands crowded into Lime Street and on to St George’s Plateau. They hung over the top decks of trolley buses parked in front of the North Western Hotel, where guests peered out of windows on to the scene below. Men and women had climbed on to the equestrian statues of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert and Frank helped Molly up on to the plinth of the Wellington Monument on Commutation Row at the London Road end of Lime Street.
He passed George up to her. ‘You stay here, luv. I must find someone. I won’t be long.’ With those words he vanished into the crowd.
Molly gazed out over a restless sea of caps, straw boaters and bowler hats; the latter told her that there were others besides the working classes here, who perhaps saw it as a fight for justice. There were also barefoot street urchins, bent on picking a pocket or two. Some people were singing hymns, others bawdy songs. There was a feeling of expectancy in the air. She caught snatches of earnest conversation, jokes and laughter. Her own heart swelled with emotion as she held her son against her, looking out over that huge crowd.
But as time wore on and Frank still did not return Molly began to get worried. As the wait for the speakers continued, the atmosphere began to change. She had noticed odd groups of policemen around but did not expect things to turn ugly. As the minutes ticked by, however, the air became charged with tension and still there was no sign of Frank.
Several times Molly heard the sound of breaking glass but could not see where it was coming from. She knew something was going on near the railway station but again could not see exactly what. Then suddenly she noticed what looked like a whole battalion of policemen erupting from St George’s Hall. As soon as they hit the crowd, which was jammed too tightly to get out the way fast enough, they began lashing out with their truncheons. Within minutes fights were breaking out all over the place. She clutched George to her, wondering what to do.
Like the wind whipping up a storm on the Mersey, the turmoil swept towards her. Some people made their escape along London Road, up Islington or down William Brown Street. Everywhere Molly looked there was pandemonium and a knot of panic formed in her stomach. She had to get George out of here but where was Frank? She could have hit her husband at that moment.
Then two policemen and a man stopped in front of the monument. The next moment the man climbed up beside her. He unfolded a sheet of paper and began to read out the Riot Act. He was hissed and booed for his pains.
As soon as he descended, Molly decided not to wait for Frank. But she had delayed too long. Soldiers appeared and the fighting grew fast and furious with mounted police charging the crowd close by. Then, unexpectedly, there seemed to be a lull in the tumult and a space opened up in front of her.
‘Stay there, George, while I get down,’ Molly ordered.
‘Mam! Mam!’ He held out his arms, stamping his feet impatiently.
Suddenly she was seized by the waist from behind and hit out furiously until a voice stopped her. She twisted and looked up into Nathan’s face. ‘What are you doing here? This isn’t your fight.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he shouted. ‘I could go bust if we don’t get supplies soon. What are you doing here on your own?’
‘Frank went off somewhere. I have to get George away.’
Nathan turned to the boy and told him to jump.
George looked at his mother and she nodded. He threw himself at the man, who placed him on his shoulders, much in the manner that Frank had. Taking Molly’s hand, Nathan began to force his way through the crowd.
It was hard because while some people were going their way, others were pushing from the opposite direction, wanting to see what was going on. At one point the crush was so bad Molly’s hand was torn from Nathan’s grasp. She panicked until she noticed George’s head bobbing above the crowd. She elbowed her way towards him and managed to catch up with them both.
They forged on as if swimming against the tide until eventually they found themselves in a back alley off Christian Street not far from Scotland Road. ‘There’s going to be trouble on the streets for the next few hours,’ warned Nathan. ‘It’s not over yet.’
‘What went wrong?’ cried Molly, breath coming in gasps. ‘One minute everyone was so happy. The next it was chaos.’
‘Too much anger and deprivation, too much waiting, and for some too much drink. And then there’s the heat,’ he said, beginning to jog with George clinging to his hair.
‘What’s the hurry?’ gasped Molly. ‘Frank’s not going to get home before I do.’
‘I want to board up the factory windows. There’ll be bricks flying and I don’t want the expense of having to replace glass.’
She stopped and stared at him. ‘You’re serious?’
‘What d’you expect? Mob rules. There’ll be more trouble before the day’s out.’
She continued to, stare at him then took a deep breath. ‘OK. I’ll help you.’
Nathan raised his eyebrows, unsmiling. ‘That’s a surprise. After your not turning up at the meeting, I took it the factory wasn’t important to you?’
‘Frank arrived home that morning.’
‘I see. Well, it’s too late now.’ He hurried on.
They came to the factory and she took George from Nathan, watching him unlock the door. They stepped inside and he locked it behind them. He strode along a corridor, vanishing inside one of the rooms to reappear a moment later with a crowbar, hammer and nails. He had taken off his collar and looked almost boyish. ‘You’re taking a risk, being here. I take it you know that?’ he murmured.
‘Frank doesn’t know where I am. And who’s going to tell him?’
‘I meant, from me.’ His eyes were steely. ‘D’you know how maddening you are? I could strangle you sometimes.’
‘If you’re talking about the meeting again, I could hardly walk out on
Frank.’
‘You could have written and told me what happened.’
‘What was the use? Anyway you wrote and I felt firmly put in my place.’
‘I said nothing.’
‘Exactly.’ She was starting to get annoyed herself.
‘Because I believed there was a legitimate reason for us to meet and was disappointed when you didn’t come.’
Immediately her annoyance evaporated. ‘I’m sorry, Nathan,’ she said softly. ‘But I am a married woman.’
‘Don’t keep reminding me,’ he groaned. Molly sighed. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t stay after all?’
He fiddled with the crowbar. ‘It’s up to you. But I need another pair of hands to pass things to me.’
She smiled. ‘Does that mean you want me to stay?’
‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
Nathan led her out into the yard at the back of the building. In the distance Molly could hear shouting. ‘They’re coming closer,’ she murmured uneasily.
He ran across the yard to where there were several wooden crates. ‘Help me with these. Just keep a hold while I rip them apart.’ He rolled up his shirt sleeves.
‘You’re not going to do it with your bare hands, are you?’ she teased.
He grinned. ‘Very funny. Just do as you’re told.’
She did, finding pleasure in watching his rippling muscles as he tore the crates apart with the crowbar, afterwards piling up the planks of wood.
They went round to the front of the building where once more Molly had the task of holding things steady while this time he hammered the planks across the windows. As they worked she was aware of hurrying footsteps and could see groups of men on their way along Vauxhall Road. As they glanced her way she turned her back on them.
‘It’s time you went,’ said Nathan, looking at her. ‘I know there’s only a chance in a thousand of Frank’s spotting you with me but it could happen.’
She nodded. For a short moment their eyes met and his hand rested briefly on hers. Then she took her son’s hand and walked away.
To her relief Molly arrived home to find the house empty. Putting a match to the fire, she watched the wood catch light before draining the lentils that were soaking, ready to make a cheap, nourishing pan of soup.
Cath and Jimmy came in a couple of hours later with news that mattresses had been set alight in Christian Street and that there were men on the roofs, ripping up slates and throwing them down on the police.
‘Have there been any arrests?’ asked Molly. ‘Frank’s still out.’
‘The way our Frank’s been lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in the thick of it,’ said Cath, grimacing. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Hours ago.’ Molly frowned. ‘Perhaps I should go and look for him?’
‘It makes a change, you being worried about him.’ Cath went over to the fireplace and lifted the lid from the pan simmering there. ‘I’m starving. Is it OK for us to have some of this?’
‘I could have done without that first remark,’ said Molly tersely. ‘Save some for Frank, and listen out for George in case he wakes.’
Molly stood on the corner of Athol Streep gazing along Scotland Road in the direction of town. Plenty of people were still making their way home but she could not see anyone who looked remotely like Frank. She asked several people whom she knew whether they had seen him but nobody had. They all spoke of men being injured in the clashes with police and soldiers, and of arrests being made. Concerned, she hurried home just in case somebody had popped in with news of her husband.
She met Jimmy coming in search of her. ‘Some bloke’s just called - Frank’s been arrested. He’s had a bang on the head and is in the cells under St George’s Hall.’
Molly’s fingers curled into her palms, nails digging into the skin. ‘What did he do? Did the man say?’
‘Rammed a Paddy-Kelly’s helmet down over his ears.’
She relaxed a little. At least he hadn’t used a bottle on the policeman or hit him with a slate. ‘Did the man know when he’ll be brought to court?’
‘Didn’t say, but they won’t be going to the crown court. I’d stay away if I was you. There’s bound to be trouble. You’ll find out soon enough what’s going to happen to him.’
Molly said impatiently, ‘Don’t be daft! He’s my husband. I should be there.’
Jimmy stared at her and she glared back at him, daring him to mention Nathan and their supposed affair. Instead he said uncomfortably, ‘He’ll be out before you know it. It’s only disturbing the peace.’
Assault more like, she thought.
Molly did not sleep well and was up early, thinking to buy a newspaper and see what it said about the riots. On the way she met Mrs McNally, who was obviously bursting with news.
‘Have yer heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘There was a pitched battle in Great Homer Street last night.’
Molly scowled. ‘Blast! Why don’t they know when to call a halt?’
‘It wasn’t to do with the demonstrations, girl. It was religion! One pint too many and yer know what some of them are like. Mention the Pope or King Billy and they’re off. Anyway, the police and the soldiers were out again.’
Molly was fed up with it all. ‘I’ll have to go. Frank’s been arrested and I need to find where the trial’ll be held.’
‘I can tell yer that, girl. I heard two Paddy-Kellys talking about it on Athol Street. It’s at the new Juvenile Court in Dale Street this morning.’
Molly touched her arm in gratitude and hurried back to the house. She was just telling Cath what Mrs McNally had said when Ma turned up. Having heard about the disturbances, she had come to see if they were all right. When Molly told her Frank was in gaol she was blazing mad, waving her handbag and saying, ‘Let’s get down there now! I’m going to give them judges down the banks, arresting my son who’s never so much as stolen a sweet! I brought him up respectable. What’ll the neighbours say?’
‘Probably think he’s some kind of bloomin’ hero,’ said Cath, who last night had been almost as angry as her mother over her brother’s arrest.
Ma darted a furious look at her. ‘You watch yer tongue. He is a hero, but heroes get bleedin’ martyred for the cause.’ Her mouth quivered and she sniffed audibly. ‘So if yer’ll move yerself, Moll, we’ll be on our way.’
‘You’ll look after George, Cath?’ said Molly.
Ma put her arms round the boy, almost squeezing the life out of him. ‘We’ll take him with us. Might soften the judge’s hard heart when he sees this little cherub.’
‘Judges don’t have hearts,’ warned Cath.
Ma ignored her and carried a wriggling George outside.
But by the time they reached the Juvenile Court building it was all over. People were still milling around outside and the police were out in force but they were too late to see Frank. The two women managed to push their way through the crowd and speak to a clerk, who ran his finger down a list of names and told them Frank was to serve a month’s hard labour in Walton Gaol.
‘A month?’ squealed Ma, and swung her handbag at him.
Molly grabbed it just in time. ‘That’s not going to do any good!’ She turned back to the clerk. ‘When can we see him?’
He looked at them over his wire-framed spectacles. ‘In a few days, probably. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.’
‘It’s a bleedin’ disgrace!’ yelled the old woman.
‘Shut up, Ma!’ Molly dragged her away. ‘You’re not doing Frank any good.’
‘I’d like to knock their blocks off,’ she muttered, elbowing people out of her way. ‘He was brought up respectable was my boy.’
Molly thought, If she says ‘my boy’ once more, I’ll slay her! That boy is a man and should have thought twice about his wife and child.
‘Poor little lad!’ said Ma, squeezing George’s hand. ‘Thank the saints he doesn’t know his poor father’s a jailbird.’
Molly thoug
ht that probably when her son was old enough he wouldn’t care about that. And perhaps she was being a bit hard on Frank. Perhaps he was a hero, fighting for better conditions for the working man. But right now she wished her husband had considered the consequences and not left her and George. But then, if he hadn’t she wouldn’t have met up with Nathan again and now be on better terms with him. In the meantime she wanted to get George home before more trouble broke out.
It was not long coming. Jimmy came hurrying into the house that evening with the news that a bread van had been looted and the rioters were at it again. ‘There’s fires burning all over the place and the Riot Act’s been read. Blinkin’ idiots! Wouldn’t we all like some bread?’
‘Too right,’ said Cath, eyes bright. ‘Perhaps we’d better go and snaffle some?’
‘You’ve got no hope now,’ said Molly, yawning. ‘The police’ll be out in force. I’m going to bed. I hardly slept a wink last night.’
But despite her weariness Molly still could not sleep. It was worry, worry, worry about whether the country was on the brink of civil war and how she was going to manage for money with Frank in prison. Eventually she dozed off, having decided she would pawn the last sovereign.
In the late afternoon of the following day a man came tearing down the street, yelling that the prisoners were being escorted along Vauxhall Road and the mob was going to try and rescue them. The next moment the houses virtually emptied as people rushed out into the street, Molly among them. She did not believe the prisoners would be rescued but she wanted to see Frank for herself, even if she was annoyed with him.
Hundreds of people were charging along, some armed with bottles and bricks and even the odd service rifle from the Boer War. It struck her suddenly that this could get really nasty. What the hell was she doing here? She couldn’t be thinking straight. What about George, left behind with Cath? But it was too late to be having second thoughts now. She was caught up in the crowd and there was no escape.
Another Man's Child Page 20