100 Tiny Threads

by Judith Barrow

  Her father was cleaning the range in the kitchen, his hands black and grimy from the cinders.

  ‘Dad, can you take over for the next couple of hours? I’m going out.’

  ‘Out?’ Her mother appeared from the back yard, bringing the chill in with her. ‘Today? Out where? You can’t just go gallivanting around as and when you feel like it. And how can he? Just look at the state of him. He’s filthy.’

  ‘Just a walk; I need some fresh air.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with you?’ Ethel’s frowned, suspicious. ‘You had enough fresh air yesterday with chapel and then off to your grandmother’s.’

  ‘Dad?’ Winifred kept her eyes on her father. She knew if she replied to her mother an argument would start. ‘Can you take over for me?’

  ‘I want to know where you think you’re going.’ Ethel Duffy’s voice rose. ‘Gallivanting off at a minute’s notice.’

  Winifred’s tongue was thick in her mouth; she hated these confrontations. For a moment she thought of backing down; whatever it was Honora wanted to show her it wasn’t worth a row. But she’d never been on an outing with another girl. Ever. She swallowed, the spark of resentment against her mother flaring. ‘I only want to go for a walk.’

  ‘A walk? Who with?’ Ethel’s eyebrows disappeared up behind the elastic line of her hairnet.

  No-one. I just fancy a walk.’

  ‘In this weather?’ Ethel tried to peer past Winifred. ‘What are you hiding?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’ve never been for a walk on your own. And I can’t remember the last time you saw any of the girls you knew in school.’ Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not that Irish girl who came into the shop last week, is it? The one you insisted on talking to.’

  ‘Why would you think that, Mother?’

  ‘Because you don’t go out on your own.’

  ‘Well, today I am.’ Winifred kept herself firmly between her mother and the shop door.

  ‘I bet she was filling your head with all sorts of rubbish,’ Ethel persisted. ‘We know nothing about her. Chasing the lads is what she wants you to do with her, no doubt.’

  ‘If you know nothing about her, how do you know that’s what she wants to do?’ Winifred kept her voice even. ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with her. I just need some fresh air; I’ve been serving in the shop for the last three hours.’

  ‘Poor you.’ Ethel’s face closed into a sneer ‘You don’t know the half of it. I could tell you more than anyone about being stuck in this shop; year after year.’

  ‘And me, Mother; I’ve grown up behind that counter; I’ve been stuck in this shop, as you say, for years.’

  ‘Now, now, you two.’ Her father pushed himself up off his knees. ‘Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll get cleaned up and go behind the counter. You sit and have a rest; you’ve been on the go since first thing. It’s only a walk. Let our Winifred have a bit of fun. Anyway, it’s almost time to shut the shop for lunch.’

  Ethel sniffed. ‘A bit of fun can get a girl into bother.’ Still, she perched on the edge of the chair by the range. ‘But if you want to be her dogsbody, you won’t find me arguing.’

  Winifred and her father exchanged furtive grins.

  ‘I’ll rest my bones a bit. As you say I’ve not stopped today – unlike some people who had a lie-in.’ She glared at Winifred. ‘Back by five, mind. Be here to lock up and clear away, you can’t leave everything to him.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Winifred gave him a hug and kissed him on his cheek.

  She ran upstairs. Sitting on the bed she quickly laced up her black outdoor boots. Pulling her coat out of the wardrobe, she closed the door, looking in the mirror and arranging the blue hat with the satin ribbon and tiny feather that she’d bought with her wages at Christmas. She’d never worn it. ‘Too fancy for chapel,’ her mother had pronounced. So it had stayed in the box. Until today. Studying herself she arranged the hat a little more towards the front on her head and then pulled on the matching blue gloves.

  ‘Hmm.’ She nodded at her image; fashionable.

  ‘I’ll only be a couple of hours, anyway,’ she called, running down the stairs, buttoning her coat and going through to the shop, a tremor of anticipation in her stomach.

  ‘Wait. Let’s see what you’ve got on—’

  The shop bell tinkled as Winifred slammed the door behind her.

  Honora stood outside the window, tapping her foot, still munching on the cake; ignoring the disapproving looks of two matronly women walking by.

  ‘Go, go,’ Winifred urged.

  The two girls ran along the road, only stopping when they turned onto Morrisfield Road.

  ‘I’ll be for it, when I get back,’ Winifred gasped. She bent over, holding her side, her words making a white mist in front of her face. ‘Running out like that.’

  ‘Ah, d’ya care?’ Honora twirled around, the full skirt of her dark green coat swirling. ‘From what I’ve seen ya work like a slave in that place. Anyhow, what can your ma do?’

  ‘A lot,’ Winifred snapped. Too often she’d been on the receiving end of her mother’s temper. And the slaps. Too often she’d seen her punch her father, while he stood there, arms down by his sides or trying to catch hold of Ethel’s fists to stop her.

  ‘Don’t lose your rag,’ Honora said. ‘Go back if ya want. To be sure, I won’t stop ya.’ She sauntered off but looked back at Winifred as though testing her.

  Winifred noticed and frowned; the girl was so exasperating: ‘No point. Too late.’ She straightened up. ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘Into town? We can catch the tram, do some shopping. I can show ya places in Morrisfield ya never been.’

  ‘I’ve come out without money.’

  ‘No problem.’ Honora grinned. ‘I sold a painting.’

  ‘People buy your paintings?’

  ‘Sure they do.’ She frowned, visibly offended. ‘They’re good. I’ve sold loads of my work. I get commissions, as well.’ She looked along the road and yelped. ‘Oh, Jaysus, there’s the tram. Run.’

  ‘Wait for me.’ Winifred picked up the front of her long, heavy coat, revealing her boots and woollen stockings and ignoring the scandalized look of the two women as they overtook them. ‘Wait for me. I’m right behind you.’

  Chapter 3

  Winifred held on to the rail of the seat in front of her, her knuckles white, when the tram set off with a squeal and a jerk. She didn’t look out of the window at the terraced houses, the horse and carts, the people on the pavements; the speed of the tram scared her. But she wasn’t about to tell Honora that it was only the second time she’d been on one of these contraptions.

  Trams had only appeared in Morrisfield a few months ago. Her father, in great excitement, had dared Winifred to go with him and she’d clung on to him as they’d rattled along, terrified of the noise and the sparks from the iron rails below that guided the vehicle through the streets. Needless to say they hadn’t told Ethel.

  ‘So? What are we going to do?’ Winifred kept her eyes on Honora.

  Honora didn’t answer. She was gazing towards two young men on the other side of the aisle. Winifred looked at them at the same time as one touched the neb of his flat cap and grinned at her.

  The Irish girl giggled.

  ‘Stop it.’ Winifred was horrified; it was one thing exchanging glances with a lad from behind the counter, or taking sly peeps along the pews in chapel when she sat between her parents. But this was in public and they were unaccompanied.

  ‘Ach, to be sure, it’s only a bit of fun.’ Honora laughed, tossing her head and winding a long lock of her black hair around her finger.

  Winifred set her mouth into a tight line. ‘If you don’t stop it, I’m getting off.’ The thought of standing up on the tram while it was moving frightened her, but she meant what she said; she’d take her life in her hands if Honora didn’t stop the awful flirting. This was more than she’d bargained for. Perhaps her mother was right after all, and Honora was a
bad influence.

  What was it her mother said all the time? ‘Reputation is all, once it’s gone, it’s gone. It’s been the ruination of a lot of girls.’ Her mouth was always set when she said it, her eyes hidden by their heavy lids.

  ‘Ladies.’ The voice was deep, confident.

  Winifred squinted at the young man from under her hat brim; she was annoyed to see him leaning towards them, his hands on his knees. And irritated with herself for the small flutter of excitement in her stomach. It’s nerves, she thought, that’s all.

  ‘And how the devil are ya today?’ he said.

  Irish, like Honora, Winifred thought She was tempted to give him a caustic answer but she could tell it would only encourage him. And when Honora turned to her, the wide-eyed look of innocence and the shrug of the girl’s shoulders told her she was being teased by them both.

  She pulled at the cuff of her gloves, smoothed the back of them.

  ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I’m getting off at the next stop.’

  She braced herself to stand up, her stomach knotted. The tram shuddered to a halt, the trolley poles shrieking on the overhead wires. Before she’d raised the courage to move the two young men left their seats.

  ‘Ladies…’ The brazen one lifted his cap to them. Winifred ignored him but saw Honora grin and flutter her eyelashes, looking up at him as he followed his friend down the stairs of the tram.

  ‘If that is how you’re going to act today, Honora, I’m going straight home and you can find someone else to accompany you on your shenanigans.’

  ‘Away with ya.’ Honora laughed and pushed her shoulder at Winifred. ‘Ya need taking out of yourself, sure ya do. “There’s no need like the lack of a friend,”’ Honora said. ‘To quote one of my Granny’s sayings. And I could tell ya were lonely the minute I saw ya behind that blasted counter. Now shut up and enjoy the afternoon.’

  But she must have seen how worried Winifred was, because she shrugged and sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll be a good girl from now on. Cheer up, it’ll be a craic.’

  But still, as the tram set off, Honora waved at the two men standing on the pavement looking up at them.

  Chapter 4

  Getting off the tram on High Street in Morrisfield, Honora tugged at Winifred’s arm, impatient. ‘Will ya come on now?’ she demanded. ‘I told ya, there’s something I want ya to see.’

  ‘Stop pulling.’ Winifred shook the girl’s hand from her arm. ‘You still haven’t told me what it is?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘I’m not going to the theatre,’ Winifred said, suspicious of the sudden gleam in the Irish girl’s eyes. ‘It wouldn’t be proper for us to be seen there on our own.’

  Honora blew out her cheeks in obvious exasperation. ‘No, ya said. It’s not the theatre; it’s not even open at this time of day. No, it’s something important. Something ya should – ya will – be interested in. This way.’

  Winifred allowed herself to be tugged along the street, swerving to avoid the people lingering in front of shop windows: a small, scruffy man, slightly unsteady on his feet, a couple of portly women, almost matching in similar brown hats and coats, chatting, a boy sitting on a doorstep.

  They passed the few street vendors who, sweeping an arm over the goods on their carts – brightly coloured cloth, saucepans and kitchen utensils, hats and gloves – called out in anticipation when Winifred and Honora hurried towards them, then turned away when the two girls didn’t stop.

  ‘Fresh apples, ladies?’ A young man appeared from behind a stall of fruit and vegetables. ‘Ripe as the two of you.’

  Winifred stiffened, glared at him and lifted her chin.

  Honora waved him away. ‘Not today, Sam. Not today.’

  Winifred saw him sniff and wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

  Honora pulled her into an alleyway. ‘This way.’

  Winifred wanted to hold her hand to her nose; the ground was covered in rotting fruit and rubbish. A sour smell made her eyes water. ‘Honora!’ she protested, lifting up the hem of her coat.

  ‘It’s just a shortcut.’

  They walked out onto another street at the end of the ginnel.

  ‘This way,’ Honora repeated. After a few minutes she stopped at the foot of a row of steps leading up to a large brick building. There was a poster stuck to the wall.

  NATIONAL UNION

  Women’s Suffrage Societies

  ***********

  NON-PARTY AND NON-MILITANT

  ************

  MEETING

  of the

  MORRISFIELD WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE

  SOCIETY

  Will be held on

  WEDNESDAY 15th March 1911

  At 2.00pm

  Here at the Parish Hall

  With Rev. Harold Wood

  In the chair

  ADDRESSES WILL BE GIVEN

  ‘Well?’ Honora looked at Winifred, obviously waiting for a response.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘What do ya think?’

  ‘About what?’ Winifred moved from one foot to the other, flinching with the pain; besides the ache in her ankles she was now convinced she had blisters on her little toes. Too much walking.

  ‘About this?’ Honora squeezed her arm tight with impatience. ‘About the meeting?’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It means we’re going to have a say.’

  ‘A say in what?’

  ‘A say in how the country is run, eejit.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Us. Women.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ Winifred said. ‘How could we do that?’ And what would be the point? Everything she’d ever read in the newspapers told her that it was always men who ruled the country. Even overbearing women like her mother had no say outside their own home.

  ‘We’ll vote.’

  ‘We can’t.’

  ‘We will.’ For the first time Winifred saw the sardonic humour disappear in Honora’s expression, replaced by a determination. ‘We will,’ the Irish girl repeated.

  A church bell rang four times.

  ‘We have to go. I’m going to be late.’ Winifred panicked. Her father would get the worst of it if she wasn’t home to shut up the shop.

  ‘I was going to say ya’ll want a hot chocolate?’

  ‘No time.’

  ‘Aw, to be sure, there’s plenty of time. The tram at half past will get ya home by five.’

  ‘Anyway, I told you, I’ve no money.’

  My treat.’ Honora turned and walked away. Winifred followed her along the street, afraid to be left behind; she hadn’t a clue where they were.

  Before long, Honora halted at the entrance of a large building. Winifred gazed up at the set of double doors with the leaded glass decoration of dark pink and silver. She’d passed Willow Tearooms many times but would never have considered going in; the place looked extravagantly expensive.

  ‘You’re certain?’ she said, when Honora gave her a prod in the back. ‘Can you afford it?’

  Honora laughed. ‘Looks posher than it is. Anyway, I told ya. I sold a painting. Well two, in fact; I was commissioned for portraits of the wife and daughter of a grand man. At least he thought he was grand.’ She linked arms with Winifred. ‘Come on, cailín, I’ll not be standing out here like an eejit. I feel like celebrating and blow the cost – let’s treat ourselves.’

  ‘Someone told me there’s a store called Selfridges opened in London that has a posh café in it. I bet it’s not posher than this.’ Winifred stirred her spoon around the froth on top of the hot chocolate, whilst looking through the full-width, curved bay window down onto the street below. The room was positioned on the first floor at the front of the building, slightly above the level of the tea gallery. In the background classical music played quietly. ‘I feel I shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why?’ Honora frowned, as if puzzled. She held a thick lock of hair away from her face as she gulped her drink. ‘We’re as good as
anyone else here.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Winifred pursed her lips, concentrating on the embossed menu card on the table. ‘I wouldn’t be here without you. I wouldn’t have the money for these prices. She kept her eyes fixed on the card. ‘That poster? The one we looked at.’ It had been preying on her mind ever since she’d read it. Getting involved in something like that was asking for trouble. She needed Honora to know she couldn’t go to anything like that.

  ‘I knew it.’ Honora grinned. ‘I knew ya were interested.’

  I’m not. Honestly I’m not, Honora. I can’t get involved in something like that.’

  ‘But ya’re involved, Win. Ya’re a woman. I’m a woman. And we have no say in anything. The men have it all their own way. Last year the Liberals called a General Election to put off passing the Suffrage Bill. I believe what the WSPU say—’

  The WSPU?’

  ‘The Women’s Social and Political Union.’ Honora lifted her eyebrows. ‘Did ya not know that even? They’re fighting for the vote for us all.’ Honora leaned across the table, put her hand on Winifred’s arm. ‘They are, ya know,’ she said, dismissing Winifred’s doubtful shake of her head. ‘The Government said they would try to get the vote for us but the politicians haggled over it. We think Asquith was against us from the start.’

  Honora pressed her lips together and drew in a long breath. ‘They try to make out it’s our own fault, that too many of us have taken action. Been violent, they say,’ she said as Winifred opened her mouth to ask what she meant. ‘But I ask ya, what choice have we had? They’ll all too busy watching their own backs against that other blasted House – the House where all the toffs are. And the trade unions – they’re fighting the unions all the time. And they’re frightened about what’s happening back home; about us wanting Home Rule…’ She stopped, having run out of breath.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Honora. Please.’ Winifred looked around the room, nervous; even though she understood little of what her friend was saying, it sounded too dangerous to be talking about in public.

  But when Honora spoke again her voice was louder, bitter. She glanced around. ‘They don’t like that we’ve taken things into our own hand, ya know; they say women are not strong enough. Some of ’em say we’re mad. But it’s all an excuse; they’re frightened of us. And so they should be…’