Annie smiled to herself as she looked down into the cheeky face of the seven-year-old. He was already labelled a devil by the inhabitants of the fifteen streets; never did she visit the Mullens but she heard another of his terrible exploits, the last of which had been climbing on to the roof of Grannie Minton’s old tumbledown cottage and dropping her equally old cat in a sack down the chimney. It took half a dozen men to get it out and the poor demented thing dashed away as soon as it was released and had not been seen again. Jimmy had since presented Grannie Minton with numerous cats, even though each presentation was received with something being thrown at his head.
Something was always happening in the fifteen streets, Annie thought; things that made you laugh and cry. In the higher stratum of society in which she now moved, life was ordered; nothing happened that was surprising. At home there was sure to be food to eat, and new clothes to wear, and money for the asking. Here, food was the pivot around which life revolved; if the man of the house had a short week, there was less to eat; if he had a full week, there were full stomachs, and now and again perhaps a change of clothes, if the tally man was cleared…If not, second-hand ones—that misused word for countless previous owners—were a welcome change. Yet the people laughed more. Without knowing what life was all about they seemed to enjoy it. In the struggle for their existence they were in the very marrow of living.
As Annie went up the street to the Mullens’, every few yards she had to sidestep people sitting on the doorsteps or on chairs on the pavement, trying to get what air there was. The water cart had been up the street, but the cobbles were almost dry again. The grey dust in the gutter was being mixed into mud pies by the small children. The bigger ones had an old tin bath full of water and were scrambling to get their feet into it.
Annie said, ‘Go on, Jimmy. Why don’t you go and play with them?’
He looked up at her engagingly and replied, ‘Aa’d rather be with you.’
He walked beside her with a proud air of possession. On entering the Mullens’ front door, Annie could not help but feel sorry for her cavalier when he was rudely shooed out by Rosie: ‘What do you want, coming in the front way? Get yourself round the back! Or better still, stay out altogether…Come in, Annie,’ she added, laughing. ‘Mam’s out, so I can stop that little devil having his own way. Do you know what he did last night? He put tar on all the door knobs in Bleydon Street. Everybody was up in arms. You should have seen them coming here, one after the other!’
Annie’s efforts at trying to keep a straight face resulted in them both bursting out laughing. Episodes from their own childhood, played around these doors, came back to them. Annie dropped into a chair by the table and buried her head on her arms, and laughed as she had not done for a long time. ‘Oh, Rosie,’ she gasped, ‘I always get a good laugh when I come up here.’
‘But it’s no joke really,’ said Rosie, still laughing; ‘he’s got us all nearly daft…Oh, isn’t it hot!’ she added. ‘Would you like a drink of ginger beer? I just made it last night.’
While she was drinking, Annie looked around the kitchen; today everything was unusually neat and shining. It was almost an impossibility to keep things neat in the Mullens’ kitchen, so she remarked, ‘You’re all very smart, Rosie; you’d think you were going to have a party.’
Rosie, with her back towards Annie, answered, ‘Michael’s calling for me; he’s asked me to go to the pictures.’
Annie sprang up and swung her about: ‘Oh, Rosie, I’m glad! I knew he was struck on you.’
‘Did you?’ asked Rosie, her chubby face looking almost pretty in her happiness. ‘He’s taking me to Newcastle. I’d just as soon go to Shields, for I know he can’t afford it…they don’t get a wage, do they, when they’re articled?’
‘No, but his father doesn’t see him short.’
‘Do you think I look a lot older than him?’ Rosie asked, her small, bright eyes looking fixedly at Annie.
Annie sensed the appeal for negation, and immediately replied, ‘No, of course not.’
‘But I’m two years older.’
‘Well, who’s to know that?’
‘Cathleen does, and she’ll make the most of it…Annie,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ve never been afraid of anyone in my life, but I’m afraid of Cathleen Davidson…I can’t tell you why, I only know I’m afraid of her. You know me: I could always stand up to anyone, but somehow she puts the fear of God into me. I used not to be afraid of her; it’s just lately I’ve felt like this. You know, Annie, sometimes I have the feeling that she’s going to wreck my life.’
‘Oh Rosie, that’s silly.’ Annie’s words sounded unconvincing to herself, for she already had knowledge of that feeling.
Rosie said, ‘Yes, I know it is, but I can’t help feeling it.’
‘You have your singing. She can’t touch that.’
‘No,’ said Rosie, ‘she can’t.’ She stood by the table, twisting the curly fringe of the cover around her finger. She shook her head in perplexity; she hadn’t been thinking of her singing at that moment, she had been thinking of Michael, the only boy who had ever asked to take her out, the only boy she had ever wanted to take her out. It was odd and a little frightening, but her singing had taken second place in her life since Michael had begun to show an interest.
‘Forget her and go and get ready,’ said Annie, ‘and I’ll pass judgement on you.’
‘All right.’ Rosie threw off the cloak of depression and became her perky self again. ‘But let your judgement be tempered with mercy,’ she called as she darted away up the narrow, dark stairs to adorn herself for Michael.
Annie sat down. ‘Forget her,’ she had said. What would she give to be able to follow her own advice…to forget them both, blot them out as if they had never existed!
10
Sunday morning started early for Annie. But no small detail of this day would ever be forgotten. She woke at four o’clock, feeling shivery, and pulled over the sheet she had tossed back earlier in the night. She lay for some time thinking of nothing in particular, wishing she could go to sleep again but knowing she was too wide awake. The house was steeped in quiet, a deep, thick quiet. Once she heard David cough, and her mind turned towards him and little Angela…She was so sweet, very small and not overstrong, but lovely. Oh, wouldn’t it be marvellous to have a—
She turned swiftly on her side. She’d get up and go for an early walk. No; she’d go to first Mass at Shields. But first Mass wouldn’t be for hours yet…What about Jarrow? It was early there, round about six o’clock. Yes, she’d go there, she’d always wanted to go to first Mass at Jarrow. She’d leave a note for Kate. It would be quite an adventure, cycling all the way to Jarrow in the early morning …
Half an hour later she was quietly pushing her bicycle through the gate. She pedalled away down the lane and into the main road, and on sighting three rabbits sitting perfectly still in the middle of it she smiled happily. Oh, it was good to be alive after all! There was so much to see and enjoy. If only she could forget just one thing then she could be perfectly happy. There beyond the fields was the sea, lying like a sheet of grey glass in the strange morning light, so still it was impossible to believe it was made up of movement; there were the stooks of golden corn in the fields lining the road; the air was like warm scented wine; and she was the only one in the world awake! She began to sing softly to herself: ‘Kyrie eleison, kyrie eleison,’ her feet turning the pedals in time with the chant.
She had reached the summit of the hill above the village when she saw she wasn’t the only person awake; a man was pushing his cycle up the slope towards her. The back of the cycle was piled high with unwieldy bundles, and his bent back showed a bulging knapsack lying on it. Her feet and her heart seemed to stop their work at the same time. The man lifted his head at the sound of her approach, and immediately straightened himself and stood still, his expression showing his astonishment. But through it there threaded a smile, and as she came swiftly on him his grey eyes sent an appeal t
o her to stop. He went as far as to make a gesture with his hand, but before it was half completed she was past him and away.
Annie pedalled steadily on. She would not fly as her heart told her to, she would not let the sight of him effect her…no, she was not going to mind. Past large houses standing with knowing superiority back from the road, past smaller ones with neat front gardens and crazy-paving, past rows of semi-detached houses, which quickly gave place to attached ones, she went past them all and was actually on the main road to Jarrow before her hastily acquired reserve broke down, and she cried to herself: Why does he have to live so near us? Why doesn’t he go away and never come back?…And he expected me to stop. After he’s been in France with her! He’s cruel, cruel!
A knowledge that he was not completely worthy of her love added a sadness to her already torn feelings. She could go as far as to understand him loving Cathleen, but she could make no allowances for him trying to attract her at the same time. And that was what he was doing. She began to recall now how he looked. She didn’t recognise him at first, for he was deeply tanned and seemed very much older. She realised with a renewed stab that he looked very attractive, and that his thinness wouldn’t evoke pity now, even from her …
She reached the church just as the Mass began. It was already crowded. Shawls covered nearly all the women’s heads, except here and there where the sequins glistened on a worn black bonnet. Lifted for a moment from her own miserable feelings, she looked slowly about her; the men, young and old, all wore mufflers, ranging in colour from off-white to black. Those she could see were crossed inside the coats. As she glanced discreetly about her she knew a moment of intense pity that brought the stinging tears to her eyes. She knew why the mufflers were worn: very likely there was no shirt beneath the coat. This was the Mass about which her granny used to talk; she had attended it for years, walking all the way from the fifteen streets and back. Her own pet name for it had been ‘the soul Mass’. Annie never understood what this meant, but now she knew. Only those with their souls very near to God could come to this Mass; here was poverty bare and literally naked; here too was the smell of the poor, that sweet, cloying, singed smell; these people brought everything they had to God, their martyrdoms and their vices.
Why then, Annie thought, with a wave of rebellion that shocked her even as she created it, why if they love God does He keep them as poor as this? The memory of Kate’s outburst outside Notre Dame returned to her, and she chastised herself: I mustn’t think like Mam; no, I mustn’t.
By her side an old woman was murmuring, beating her breast and chanting, ‘God be merciful to me, a sinner. God be merciful to me, a sinner.’ And on hearing this, Annie asked herself the age-old question, Does God have to be asked to be merciful? Surely this woman’s sins were all forgiven by her present suffering. Look at the rags she wore! Look at the bones sticking through her flesh, and the hands, twisted out of all recognition. Surely God couldn’t ask any more of her?
She had never questioned in this way before. Why, she was thinking exactly like Mam! Burying her face in her hands, she prayed for forgiveness. The Mass went on; the people streamed up to the altar to take communion, but she couldn’t join them, she couldn’t take her expensive silk dress among all that drabness. The plate came round, and when she saw no bright silver gleam, her fingers refused to put her own two-shilling piece amongst the copper: she couldn’t put a piece of silver in with those heart offerings. So for the first time in her life she let the plate pass. The old woman turned and smiled. The wrinkles on her face converged to the indrawn lips: ‘Did ye cum oot withoot yer purse, hinny? Aa’ve dun that mony a time.’
Annie made no reply to the whisper, but smiled faintly, and thought with new understanding: Well, you must have something to cling to, something to love, when you get as old as that. Oh, dear Lord, she prayed fervently, help her! Help them! Only give them food and clothes, that’s all they want…I’m sure that’s all they ask.
As the Mass ended she pressed her silver net purse into the old woman’s lap, and hurried away without waiting to see the impression made by her gift, regretting there was only seven shillings in the purse. Outside, the sun was hot and she was thankful for its warmth, for this experience had chilled her. Yet she felt calm, her own troubles being shelved for the time. She rode the long journey home thinking how ungrateful she was for all the good things God had given her, and pushing back the nagging question of why He withheld them from all those poor people. Economics had not been part of her education in the convent, she knew nothing whatever about the subject. Had she done so, she would have still thought that the people’s welfare was mainly a matter of the bounty of God …
‘I had a shock when I found you weren’t in your room,’ Kate greeted her when she arrived home. ‘I looked in before seven, and I didn’t get your note till I came downstairs. But,’ she added, ‘I’m glad you went to Mass at Jarrow; I have it in me to envy the kind of faith you see there.’
Annie spoke of the people she had seen at the Mass, and of their condition, which was infinitely worse than that of the people of the fifteen streets. But she made no mention to Kate of the disturbing questions that had assailed her. She shelved the matter in her mind.
The day passed happily enough. Annie busied herself with David and Angela. In the afternoon they all went down to the pool and bathed, and had a picnic tea in the shade of the trees. Annie tried not to think that a mere thirty yards away, behind the high hedge, Terence was likely sitting in his garden, or perhaps bathing in the stream. But no, he couldn’t bathe in the stream now, for it was almost dry.
A remark of Rodney’s bore reference to her thoughts: ‘You’d both better make the most of the pool, for if this heat keeps up I’ll be unable to have it refilled. There’ll be a water shortage, and this will be the first thing that will have to be cut.’
Kate said, ‘ If this heat keeps up, I won’t have the strength to walk down here.’
‘Are you feeling it so much?’ Rodney asked, and Annie noticed a trace of anxiety in his voice.
Kate laughed, and replied: ‘No, not really. Only it makes me limp.’
This was another thing that kept intruding on Annie’s mind, the relationship between her mother and Rodney. To all outward appearances, it was the same as it had always been, but there were times when Rodney seemed moody and hardly spoke, and other times when he hovered round Kate with almost passionate attention. She wondered if his moods were associated with his foot and arm. But then again, these had always troubled him. She seemed to date the moods from shortly after the birth of Angela, from that night in the bedroom when Kate had cried over Steve leaving…Where was Steve now? No-one mentioned him, which was odd, when she came to think of it. Why didn’t they? Why hadn’t she? Oh, it was too hot to think.
She stretched out on the grass and laid her cheek against the warm earth, and presently the rich smell lulled her to sleep.
Sitting with her head leaning against the frame of the open window, Annie heard the hall clock strike eleven. The house was quiet again. It seemed a long, long time since four o’clock this morning. All day she had successfully managed to guide her thoughts along channels which would hurt her least, but the painful nagging thoughts that lay just beneath the thin veiling of her will would be dominated no longer and were again filling her with misery. The misery made her body move restlessly; it would be useless going to bed yet, for she wouldn’t sleep, it was still so hot and she didn’t feel tired. She looked down into the garden.
It was a place of dark shapes against a darker background, and the darkness seemed to be pressing the hot air into the earth. Where was the moon, she wondered idly; it should be out. Last night it had flooded the garden and tempted her to run out into the enchanted night. But what would she do out there alone, she had asked herself. It would be different were there someone for company, Kate or Rodney, or even David.
An owl, close to the window, startled her with its eerie call: ‘Hoo-oo! Hoo-oo!’ and menta
lly she quoted: Tu-whit tu-who, a merry note, while greasy Joan doth keel the pot, before springing up and whispering aloud to herself: ‘I’m going out, I can’t stay indoors! I’ll go and have a bathe.’
She did not question what was prompting this exploit, but slipped into a bathing-costume, pulled a dress on over it and crept stealthily from the room. If Kate were to hear her, what would she think?…Well, she would likely imagine she was going to the bathroom.
Once through the side door, she ran swiftly along the well-known grassy path until she came to the cypress hedge. Here she went more cautiously. She passed through the orchard and into the small belt of woodland, which became a terrifying place in the darkness. When she was beyond the trees she started to run again: past the tennis court, over the grassy surround bordering the pool, right to the edge of the pool itself. There she stood holding on to the iron support of the steps, panting and afraid. She hadn’t imagined it would be like this. It was the first time she had been alone down here at night, and it had not occurred to her that she would be afraid. There was an eeriness over the whole garden, all the shapes seem twisted and gigantic…Where was the moon? There should be a moon. If only it would show itself. As she stood her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and she saw that it wasn’t, as she termed it, pitch dark; it was the semi-blackness that made the shapes stand out in relief. She comforted herself that the moon was only obscured by clouds, and that it would soon be out.
As she stood trembling, she heard a gentle movement below her, as if a bird were in the water and was flapping its wings. She tried to still her breathing. After a few flaps the noise ceased and she took a deep breath. She was scared of her own shadow! Well, she was here, and she might as well bathe. She took off her dress and sandals, pulled on a bathing-cap, and let herself down into the water. Ah! it was deliciously cool. Oh, lovely!
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