A Whisper to the Living

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘You can turn off the tap, Edna. And no, this is not your house – it is mine.’

  The crying ceased immediately and a look of shock invaded her face.

  ‘It’s your home, but not your house. My name is on the deeds and your money is in the bank. Now, if you wish to continue living here, please feel free. If, on the other hand, you would prefer to find another house, one with a better address, I shall not stand in your way. However, I must warn you that in such circumstances Simon would doubtless opt to remain here with me. Meanwhile, I shall have whoever I like, whenever I please, in whichever room is available. After all, you have your bridge parties on my premises – why shouldn’t Simon have friends in his own home?’

  She was lost for words, yet more angry than she had ever been in her life. She picked up a glass and smashed it into the wall behind his head, then a cup, a saucer, a plate, another cup. When she found her voice, she heard herself using words she’d never uttered before, words she had never had occasion to use. And he was laughing, the bloody man was laughing! Enraged and out of ammunition, she ran to him, pounding her fists against his chest, screaming names, filthy names at him.

  He grabbed her wrists and held her easily. ‘So the old man did teach you something after all? Do you know what he was, Edna? A snotty-nosed kid with the arse hanging out of his trousers who had the wit and cunning to get out and make good. He broke backs in this town, walked over decent working folk and flogged them till they dropped. And he got rich, very rich. But you must never forget your roots, Edna. That’s a terrible mistake. Because your roots will find you in the end and either let you down or pull you up. You can never pull them up, so don’t try. You are working-class just like Anne Byrne, Bertha Cullen and the rest. The only difference is a few thousand in the bank. Remember that.’

  He pushed her away, picked up his package and made for the door to the hall. ‘You know, Edna – I rather enjoyed that. Your vocabulary could be quite . . . extensive if you worked on it.’ He walked out grinning widely.

  Edna surveyed the wreckage, forty or fifty pounds’ worth of crystal and bone china scattered across the floor. Weeping hot silent tears she swept up the fragments, feeling as if she were throwing away her life as she dropped them into the bin. She felt shame and a bitter humiliation when she recalled some of the things she’d said, those dreadful words she’d used.

  Well, it was all out in the open now. She wasn’t going, oh no, she wouldn’t leave Simon with him and that girl. She was sick of the Higson family, sick to the core. All that frantic rushing about the night Eddie Higson had his haemorrhage – you’d have thought the world was ending. And now David and Simon were both running back and forth each day to see how poor Nancy was coping. To make matters worse, David was even driving the woman to the sanatorium once a week to visit her husband, leaving Anne Byrne to get up to no good in the house with that Martin Cullen – and possibly Simon too. Oh yes, she’d seen the Cullen boy going in at the front door bold as brass – and no doubt Simon would be sneaking in at the back. The girl was probably serving the whole neighbourhood, thought Edna viciously as she slammed a cupboard door.

  There was nothing she could do. David had put his foot down hard and she’d just have to make herself scarce in the evenings if he was going to allow those creatures into the house.

  But she was sure of one fact. Things would never be the same again. Edna Pritchard knew that as well as she’d ever known anything in her life before.

  6

  Laughter and Worry

  In the beginning, when he’d first gone into the sanatorium, Nancy had been beside herself with worry. Now, she was beginning to look happier and healthier than she had for years, though she was working longer hours. It was obvious that the manager at Millhouse didn’t want to lose her, because he’d allowed her to work three full days so that she could visit Eddie in the evenings. He’d even hinted that Nancy might be foreman in time and the knowledge that she was so well thought of gave her confidence a boost. A woman as foreman? That would make a few heads turn if it ever came about. As well as doing her shifts, she had taken on the weekend cleaning at the Star, yet she didn’t feel tired at all, just . . . well, guilty because half of her was relieved to have Eddie out of the road.

  For Annie, it was a blessed reassurance to see him go, though she could never tell her mother that. When she had once more suggested taking a job to help out with money, Nancy had been horrified again. ‘No! You’ll not end up like me, that you won’t! You’re at school till eighteen, then college after that. Why do you think we’ve gone without all these years? For you to end up serving tea and toast in a café? For you to chuck it all away and be a doffer or a shopgirl?’

  ‘I could go to the Evening News like Martin did. He’s doing well now.’

  ‘Aye. Brewing up and checking the Lost and Found. I know. He’s talked to me and all.’

  ‘But it’s a start – I wouldn’t mind . . .’

  ‘Well I would.’ Nancy grinned. ‘And so does Bertha. Eeh Annie, I must tell you. She was in the Co-op this after, creating over they’d got her divvy cheque wrong from last week – you know, the big one as goes at the top of your new sheet. Anyroad, she turns round and sees me standing in the next queue. “’Ey Nancy,” she shouts. “Come over ’ere an’ tell this soft bugger fer t’ get a pair o’ glasses, will yer?” So we gets it sorted – it was only pennies out – and then she starts in about their Martin. “Eeh Nancy,” she says to me, dead serious. “It’s awful. I should never ’ave let ’im do that paper round fer Bryant’s – it’s put ideas in ’is ’ead an’ there was ’im down fer weavin’,” she says.’

  They both burst into gales of laughter, ‘Oh Mother, you don’t mean . . . she thinks the paper round was his downfall?’

  ‘She does that. Happen she’s got the idea as the newsprint rubbed off on his hands and got into his bloodstream.’ Nancy wiped her eyes. ‘She’s bloody thick at times, is Bertha. Amazing how she managed to have a clever lad like Martin. Still, I had you, didn’t I? But then your Dad was very clever.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Passed all his subjects with flying colours in the army. Map-reading was his speciality – working out routes and roads round things, which bridges to blow up and all that.’

  ‘You never talk about him. I often wonder what he was like.’

  ‘Aye well. It doesn’t seem right somehow, living with one man and talking about another. But I’ve not forgot him, Annie. Not a day goes by but I think of your Dad.’

  ‘You loved him.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Now, shift yourself and get them pots done. I’m going to see Eddie tonight, so I’d best spruce myself up a bit.’

  Annie smiled. Although her mother was concerned about Higson, the atmosphere in the house was lighter, happier than it had ever been. A dark cloud had moved and let the sunshine in. And they weren’t doing too badly financially either – Nancy’s extra hours seemed to be almost replacing the small change that Eddie Higson used to hand over at the end of each week. Nancy even looked different when she came down ready to go out in her new clothes which she’d bought with a Providence cheque. The navy two-piece and spotted organdie blouse with the tiny bow at the neck made her look fresh and young – she didn’t seem shrivelled any more. Her face had filled out a little and she had taken to wearing a dab of powder and a touch of lipstick ‘to cheer Eddie up’.

  ‘You look nice, Mother.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to do my best to lift his spirits. It’s awful up there. Do you know, they’ve only got three walls? The fourth one’s all big windows what they keep slid open all day – it’s like blinking Siberia. Hey, shall I ask Edna Pritchard for a lend of one of her fur coats?’

  ‘You could try.’

  ‘She’d likely drop dead with shock. Even if she did lend it, I reckon she’d root through the bin so’s she could stick the price tag back on.’ Nancy pulled on her raincoat and picked up a scarf from the sideboard.

  ‘Listen, Mother �
�� why don’t I get a Saturday job? They’re always wanting people in the shops in town.’

  ‘No. We’re alright. We can manage if we just go careful. Look, leave them pots a minute and sit yourself down.’

  They sat at the square table with its green and white check cloth and Nancy studied her hands for a few moments before speaking.

  ‘Now, Annie. You know I’m not one for speechifying, but I’m going to have my say. Look at these hands – go on, look at them.’ She held them out so that Annie could study the reddened skin, broken nails, enlarged joints.

  ‘I never, ever want to see a daughter of mine with hands like these. I was but fourteen when I got set on, Annie, fourteen and frightened to death of the noise – I fainted twice in my first week on account of the heat. But there was nothing else, no chance of an education. That was just for the gentry, them as owned the mills.’ She paused, her eyes bright with . . . was it anger?

  ‘It’s not that long since we got the vote, you know. Women were fastening themselves to railings, chucking themselves under horses’ feet, getting force-fed in the jails when they tried to make a stand by starving. Did they do all that so’s you’d end up with hands like mine? Oh I know somebody’s got to do the factory work, but why can’t women have chances to get on in life the same as men? Suffrage wasn’t just to do with voting, Annie. It was about women being slaves – slaves to their husbands, slaves to the bosses who paid them in buttons for being female. Vote’s not all we want, love. What we want is education. I’m telling you now, this has been a man’s world since Adam was a lad and it’s up to us women to change it. Your generation can do that. And the first thing you’ve got to do is educate the bloody men so’s they’ll recognize you for what you are – people first, women second.’ Her eyes blazed with some inner light as she spoke.

  ‘You’ve got a chance to fight on two fronts. You can lift yourself up out of the bottom drawer, get proper training and stand up with the gentry. And just as important – if not more so – you can get out there and prove yourself as good as any man. It’s time for a woman’s world. I decided that when you were born, decided to stop feeling sorry for you because you were a girl. Your Dad was a fighter and there’s a lot of him in you. So get out, lass and kill them dead.’

  Tears pricked Annie’s lids and she blinked hard to stop them flowing down her face. Was this her mother, her quiet little mother who had gone along, a blind and uncomplaining servant to husband and employers all these years? How had she hidden all that anger, all that knowledge while she doffed tubes and made dinners? It was for me, thought Annie, she did it all for me . . . Then the tears defeated her and she covered her face with her hands.

  ‘Nay, I didn’t mean to upset you, lass . . .’

  ‘But why didn’t you fight for yourself, Mother?’

  Nancy smiled reassuringly. ‘Because it wasn’t time, love. But it’s time now. I can’t let you leave school and if you took a Saturday job, you’d either neglect your books or miss out on your fun. And I want you to have some fun.’

  ‘You didn’t . . . you’ve never . . . had fun . . . oh, Mother, Mam . . .’

  ‘What me? Me have no fun? I’ve near started a world war, never mind a riot in my time. Dry your eyes and I’ll tell you the sort of thing I get up to.’

  Annie rubbed her face with the sleeve of her cardigan and once the sobs had subsided, Nancy continued.

  ‘It was Christmas. Foreman, a big daft lad called Tommy Sullivan, was as tiddly as a newt in the office. For once, I was glad of the noise of the machines, ’cos Tommy had been singing “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” into an empty whisky bottle – he was using it as a microphone – for about three hours all out of tune. I was in charge of both rooms and I kept letting the girls go one at a time to listen at the office door – they were all paralysed laughing. We were getting nothing done – most of the bobbins were so overwound that they looked like giant beehives.

  ‘So I decided we’d all sneak out early and we gets the shoes changed, grabs the bags and the coats and I’m there at the front leading all the girls out on their hands and knees past Tommy Sullivan’s glass door. By now, he’d swapped his song – he was going in for “Silent Night” and it was that noisy, I’ll swear they could have heard him under the Town Hall clock.

  ‘Now you’ve got to picture this in your mind, Annie. We’re all creeping down the stairs in a line with me at the front. All of a sudden, we come to a dead stop. Now the reason for this was quite simple really – the stair rail had gone up my sleeve – I was wearing that wide-sleeved green coat I used to have. And when this here stair rail reaches my elbow, I grind to a halt with a couple of dozen women behind me all whispering “What’s up, Nancy?” Well, I could have told them what was up – the rail was up, right up. But I couldn’t say it for laughing.

  ‘Anyway, they all start laughing and all, but they’ve no idea what they’re laughing at – and that makes me laugh even more. Then, to top it all, Tommy Sullivan arrives with his microphone and a couple of spare brown ales. “What’s up?” says Tommy. Honest, I thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe for laughing and nobody had guessed what was wrong. I kept pointing to my arm, but with me being at the front, nobody could tell what I was on about.

  ‘Then we got what the French call the piece de resistance. Soft Tommy shouts “Merry Christmas, girls,” falls over the back of the queue and right down the stairs, finishes up in the Infirmary with concussion and alcohol poisoning, misses Christmas altogether. He’s always blamed me for that, Annie. Mind you, he did give up the drink soon after . . .’

  The two of them were helpless with mirth, screaming their laughter into a room that had not heard this sound for many a year. When their giggles began to subside, Nancy reached for Annie’s hand and said, ‘Never pity me, love. Don’t go thinking as my life has been without purpose. I might not be a churchgoer, but I know everything’s here for a reason, right down to worms and sparrows. Nay, don’t feel sorry for me, lass . . .’

  ‘It’s Tommy Sullivan I feel sorry for . . .’

  ‘Aye well, he had it coming. But I laughed all the way home that night on the bus. ’Course, the conductor had to say “What’s up?” and that set me off again, I near went hysterical. He looked at me dead funny and I was beginning to think as how they’d send for a black van any minute and a couple of blokes in white coats.’

  When David Pritchard walked into the house – because nobody had heard him knocking at the door – he found the pair of them doubled up in pain at the kitchen table.

  Annie looked up at him. ‘Have you . . . have you got your white coat handy? Only it’s my mother, she’s . . . she’s gone . . .’ Renewed gales of laughter followed the unfinished sentence and he joined in their mirth, unable to remain unaffected.

  ‘He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t even know what he’s laughing at! Just like . . . oh God . . . just like . . .’ Nancy hid her face in her hands, incapable of continuing.

  ‘But Mother, this isn’t fair. If anybody ever asks me what’s up, I’ll never cope.’

  ‘I know. I’ve been like that myself for years . . .’

  Nancy composed herself with difficulty. When David asked her what the joke was, she said, ‘I’ll tell you in the car. Good job your driving’s improved a bit.’

  Annie waved as the car moved off. She’d had happy days before, days when she’d invented a new game, found a good book, days when parcels of goodies from Tom in America had arrived. But this was special. She felt really close to her mother at last. Any barrier had now been removed and even if Higson did ever return, surely this new closeness could not be destroyed.

  ‘Oh, you’re wrong, Mother,’ she whispered to herself as she walked up the path. ‘I didn’t get all my little talents from my father.’ And Nancy was just one among millions. There must be others, clever women all worn down by hard work and tedious marriages. And yes, it would be up to Annie’s generation to redress the balance. She had to make it, must get to the top of one tree or a
nother and take Nancy with her. Only then would the sacrifice be justified. As for him – well, she simply refused to consider him. He had just better not be around, that was all.

  As she was about to close the door, she noticed Dolly Nelson hovering on the pavement, obviously in a state of indecision. ‘Have you lost something, Mrs Nelson?’ she asked.

  ‘You might say that, lass.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Nay, I don’t think so. Were that yer mam goin’ off to see Eddie?’

  ‘Yes. The buses to the sanatorium don’t run too often, so the doctor gave her a lift.’

  ‘’Ow is ’e? Only ’e’s cleaned me winders fer years an’ I ’eard as ’ow ’e weren’t so well.’

  ‘He’s got TB, Mrs Nelson. We don’t know how long he’ll be away, but somebody’s going to rent the round, so your windows should get done soon.’

  ‘Aye. Ta then, luv. Tell yer mam ter give ’im me best then.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I will. Goodnight, Mrs Nelson.’

  ‘Ta-ra, luv.’

  A feeling of unease came over Annie as she closed the door. The woman had never been near before – why the sudden interest in an absent window cleaner? She deliberately shrugged the thought away and got on with the dishes. Life was suddenly so easy, so relaxed, why spoil it by worrying about Dolly Nelson? It was great having the freedom of the house, no-one to avoid, no shadows to fear. She stopped suddenly, tea-towel in one hand, cup in the other. Her mother hadn’t suddenly developed all this wit and intelligence – it must have been there all the time, hidden, weighted down by the silence that usually swamped this house. Was it possible that a woman of such obvious insight could live here and not realize, or at least suspect what was going on?

  She walked into the living room and stood on the rug. Everything remained the same, sofa against the staircase, table in the centre, sideboard along the wall between kitchen and stairway doors. Had Nancy ever suspected?