Another Man's Child

by Anne Bennett

  ‘And I’d say he was right,’ Andy said.

  ‘He was,’ Billy affirmed. ‘Fount of wisdom was our old Dad and we all listened because none of us were big drinkers.’

  Andy didn’t answer because they had reached the inn where the smell of the food was making him feel light-headed. Billy leapt from the barge and began unshackling Captain.

  ‘Must get the horse seen to first,’ he said. ‘That was another bit of advice Dad instilled in us, that we had to see to the horse, because he’s dependent on us. He always said that if you treat your horse right and feed him properly you will get more work out of him without using the whip.’

  ‘My father used to say the same about the horses on the farm,’ Andy said. ‘Always made plenty of sense to me.’

  Billy finished unbuckling the horse and stood up holding him lightly by the halter as he said, ‘Does to me as well, but all boaties don’t seem to see that and I don’t like the way some of them are with the horses. I suppose it comes from not owning their own horse.’

  ‘Oh, I thought they all did.’

  ‘No,’ Billy said. ‘Some of the boaties work for haulage companies and the like and the horses are in a pool and they just pick one to pull the load.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well it is a little bit more secure,’ Billy said. ‘Sometimes times are hard, and there isn’t much to eat. Anyroad me granda wouldn’t hear of it apparently and warned my dad off. Dad always says it’s a swizz anyway cos these firms don’t pay you that much when you are working and if the work slows down they cut the wages anyway. I was approached when my parents both died but I said no, more for Captain’s sake than my own. And,’ he added with a wry grin, ‘I reckon my dad and granda would have left their graves to haunt me if I had even seriously considered it. Anyway, this is not getting us fed, is it?’ he said, seeing the longing on Andy’s face. He dropped some coins in his hand and said, ‘Get the drinks in and I’ll be along as soon as I get the horse settled.’

  When the food came the smell was so appetising Andy had trouble not falling on it like some sort of savage animal, but remembering where he was and what had happened to him after he had eaten a loaf that way, he forced himself to slow down and chew his food properly. He was enjoying every mouthful and the beer slipped down his throat too and tasted like nectar.

  As Billy watched the almost blissful look on Andy’s face as he ate, he realised just how hungry he had been and for all that he had worked as hard as Billy had that day. ‘All right is it?’

  ‘Much more than just all right,’ Andy said. ‘The food is wonderful.’

  ‘Steady on,’ Billy said with a grin. ‘They’ll put the prices up if they hear you praising it too much.’

  Andy grinned back and then a few minutes later he said, ‘What happened to your family, Billy? You speak about them with such, I don’t know … love, I suppose.’

  ‘Well I did have a family once,’ Billy said. ‘Look, see my grandfather came from farming stock and lived on land in a cottage and his parents were forced off with the railways coming. Only thing for them to do was to follow what others had done and live on one of the barges on the canal. My grandfather was just a young boy then and so he grew up on a barge and married the daughter of one of their neighbouring farmers who had done the same thing as they had. I never knew either of them. My two eldest brothers, George and Bert, did, but John didn’t cos he was only two years older than me.’

  ‘What happened to your brothers?’ Andy asked though he thought he knew the answer.

  ‘All of them were killed in the war,’ Billy said. ‘Ma sort of died a little bit with each one. The nearest to me, John, wasn’t called up till 1916 and was killed first. The other two followed and, not long after, Ma developed this cough. Course the damp air didn’t help that and they wanted to take her to the hospital and she wouldn’t go and then she died in the end. Pneumonia, they said, and it was a couple of months before the Armistice was signed. As for my dad, he was lost without Ma. I was too and I still miss her now, cos she was lovely, my old Ma. The final straw for Dad though was when I received my call-up papers as well. It was as if he had just given up. They said he died of a heart attack, but really I thought it was heart ache. And the point was I never did get to join up because then the Armistice was signed and that was that.’

  Andy felt great sympathy for Billy and acknowledged that he had had almost as difficult a life as he had. ‘So you just stayed on here?’

  Billy shrugged. ‘What else was I to do?’ he asked. ‘It’s all I know. At least I have a roof over my head and make a living of sorts, though because I’m on my own I never get regular work nor am I able to tow the coal tenders and stuff that pays the better money. But then from what I hear I’m doing better than some for the country’s in a state. You wouldn’t think we’d won the war.’

  ‘You would not,’ Andy said. ‘Gangs of unemployed men are on nearly every street corner.’

  ‘So why did you come here from Ireland?’ Billy said. ‘Was it to get away from the fighting?’

  Andy shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t much fighting then, not where I was anyway. I know things are much worse now. An experienced old lag told me to use newspaper to cover myself because it’s warm and it is surprisingly so, but I also get to read the news first.’ He gave a rueful smile and went on. ‘So a life on the streets is giving me an education of sorts.’

  ‘So you can read good then?’ Billy said.

  Andy shrugged. ‘I suppose. Can’t you?’

  Billy shook his head. ‘Lots of us that work on the barges can’t read or write well. We don’t go to school, see. I was taught to read and write my name and to reckon up enough to understand the toll tickets and that’s about it really as far as education goes.’

  ‘Do you miss not being able to read?’

  Billy shook his head. ‘Probably never use it if I could,’ he said. ‘More important to me is learning how to steer the barge and understanding how the locks work and concentrating on getting strong enough to leg the barge through the tunnels.’

  ‘I can see that, but it must be difficult on your own.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Billy agreed. ‘But the canal people I’ve known all my life and they’ll always help if I’m stuck. You have been a godsend though and to tell you the truth I’d offer you a job straight up, but working on my own sometimes I make a bit of money and sometimes I don’t. It’s not regular or anything.’

  Andy understood that but knew if ever the opportunity should arise he would prefer to work on the barges on the canal than anywhere, but homeless, destitute people like him hadn’t the luxury of any sort of preference.

  Andy didn’t see Billy for a few days after that for he couldn’t spend time looking for him when he needed to eat; he had to try and earn money elsewhere too. Any work he picked up was mainly cleaning up or loading or unloading wagons and he seldom got much more than sixpence, however long it took. So a few days later, when he went down Rocky Lane and Billy hailed him from the barge, he went forward eagerly.

  ‘I’ve been offered a job,’ Billy said. ‘It’s taking heavy machinery down to Gas Street Basin. It will be on a large tender so I hesitated about taking it as I doubt I could do it on my own and I wasn’t sure I’d see you.’

  ‘Can Captain pull that much weight?’ Andy asked as he fondled the old horse’s ears.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Billy said confidently. ‘Strong as an ox he is. Won’t go quick like, but then you can’t go quick on the canal anyway. Captain takes everything slow and sure. Anyway, there’s half a crown in it for you, so are you interested?’

  ‘You bet I am,’ Andy said, and took hold of the horse’s bridle.

  ‘So what brought you to England if it wasn’t to escape the fighting?’ Billy said after a few minutes as the barge glided through the water.

  Andy hesitated for just a moment but then, as Billy had been so open and honest with him, he told him the truth.

  ‘So let me
get this right,’ Billy said. ‘You both run away because your girl’s father doesn’t think you are good enough for his daughter. What is he, some sort of lord or summat?’

  ‘No, just a farmer,’ Andy said. ‘See, I was a hireling boy and he didn’t think my prospects were good, or at least not good enough, and he was shooting her off to America and so we headed for England.’

  ‘And you said you was brother and sister?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Andy said.

  ‘And you never touched her, like – you know what I mean?’

  ‘No,’ Andy said.

  ‘Well,’ said Billy, looking at him with admiration. ‘I think you’re one royal gent cos there aren’t many would do that.’

  ‘I love Celia,’ Andy said simply. ‘I had her reputation to think about.’

  ‘And now she’s with these toffs?’

  ‘Yes. I told you about meeting Annabel Lewisham on the boat and now they are staying in Henry’s house.’

  ‘And Henry is?’ persisted Billy.

  ‘Henry Lewisham, her brother.’

  Andy hadn’t been aware of the curl of his lip, but Billy had seen it and he said, ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘No I don’t,’ Andy said firmly. ‘He thinks far too much of himself and looks down on the lower classes. I don’t mean looks down on me now, for half of Birmingham could claim to do that. I mean at the start when I was respectable.’

  ‘Is he a handsome sort of chap?’

  ‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ Andy said. ‘Tell you the truth, I don’t really notice if fellows are handsome or not. One thing in his favour is that he appears to be very fond of his sister and so as she has taken so well to my Celia she will probably be all right.’

  ‘She might be better than all right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Andy, he thinks you are her brother and you have disappeared out of her life. She’s bound to be upset despite the letter you left and I bet he would be on hand to console her.’

  ‘Celia wouldn’t …’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Billy said. ‘Those types can be real charming when they put their mind to it and no matter how much her mistress likes your sister she is still a servant girl and from what I’ve heard they think servant girls are fair game for them. Think of it from Celia’s point of view. She has no idea where you are and the only other people she knows in Birmingham are these Lewishams. I bet she’s more than lonely at times and a girl like that could be tempted if anyone showed her kindness.’

  Andy knew every word Billy spoke was true and he cried, ‘But what am I to do? I can’t take her away from there to a life on the streets and I can’t even see her. If she saw what I am reduced to now she would almost certainly throw me over and congratulate herself for the lucky escape she had. I would never see her again, I know that.’

  ‘It’s a problem all right,’ Billy conceded. He hadn’t a solution and his brow was puckered in thought and Andy was too despondent to talk either and the only sound was the lap of the water and the plod of Captain’s giant feet on the towpath.

  And suddenly when the silence had stretched out before them for many uncomfortable minutes, he said, ‘Well it’s not ideal. But if you can read so well, can you write?’

  ‘Yeah, they sort of go together.’

  ‘Well write her a letter,’ Billy said.

  ‘I haven’t the wherewithal to write,’ Andy snapped. ‘I’d need paper, something to write with, a stamp.’

  ‘I have paper and a pen,’ Billy said. ‘My mother could write, she went to this dame school when she was a child and she used to write to her sister in America and we never chucked her stuff out when she died so it’s still there.’

  ‘It is a thought all right, Billy,’ Andy said excitedly. ‘But what about a stamp? How much is a stamp anyway?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ Billy said. ‘Personally though I wouldn’t bother with a stamp at all. I’d get a child to take it for me, especially as it’s Saturday tomorrow and we’d soon find some urchin will do it for you, especially if you offer a thruppenny bit.’ And then as Andy still hesitated, Billy went on, ‘You are getting half a crown for this job. Surely you can spare three pence out of that to at least let your girl know that you’re still in the land of the living even if you can’t have her with you just now.’

  ‘I can, of course I can.’

  ‘Come on then,’ Billy said. ‘Let’s get this lot unloaded as quick as we can and you can get started on that letter.’

  However, nothing can be done at speed on the canal and so it was late afternoon before they were free and both were starving hungry and Billy treated them both to fish and chips. Andy felt the warm chips and delicious fish slip down his throat and fill his stomach for the first time in ages and hoped he would be able to hang on to it. His stomach did heave a bit but he managed to keep the food down and a full stomach can put a new complexion on problems and he felt confident that the letter might achieve something.

  It was evening by the time they got to the place Billy birthed his barge and so Andy began his letter in the snug little living space downstairs by the light from the paraffin lamp. He poured out his heart in that letter, telling Celia how much he loved her and missed her and so wished they could be together, but getting a job was proving harder than he thought it would be. At last he had it finished and Billy said he might as well stay the night as it was so late.

  In fact Billy was thinking that Andy might as well stay on the boat for good, it would be a darn sight better than the streets now that some mornings had the nip of autumn in the air. He said nothing about it then though and they had a bowl of porridge before they set off the next morning in the direction of Erdington.

  There were plenty of children playing in the streets before they got as far as Erdington Village and Andy approached one standing on his own who was more than willing to take a letter for thruppence.

  They walked with him as far as Grange Road and then they got to the corner opposite the farm. Andy took the thruppenny bit out of his pocket. ‘This is yours if you go along this road till you reach number twenty-five and take this letter to the lady there. Now there are two ladies and you must give it into the hand of a Miss McCadden. You got that?’

  The boy nodded. ‘I’ve got to ask for Miss McCadden.’

  ‘Right,’ Andy said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. Wait a while in case there is a message, then hightail it back here and the thruppence is yours. Can you do that?’

  The boy nodded his head vigorously and Andy placed the letter in his hand and he set off.

  There was only Annabel and Janey in the house for it was Cook’s day off and she had taken herself out for the day and, as Celia took over on those days, she had gone to Erdington Village for any special ingredients she needed and also to change her library books and Annabel’s. So, when Janey opened the door to see a scruffy young boy on the steps, she said, ‘Clear off.’

  ‘I won’t then,’ said the boy and added, ‘I have business here.’

  ‘What business could you have?’

  ‘I have a letter for a Miss McCadden.’

  ‘Mrs McCadden,’ Janey corrected. ‘Give it here then.’

  The boy thought of the thruppenny piece and shook his head. ‘Shan’t. The man said I had to see only her. I wasn’t to give it to anyone else.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘This man,’ the boy said with a shrug. ‘He d’aint tells me his name or owt, but he said that I weren’t to give the letter to anyone else but Miss McCadden.’

  Janey didn’t bother correcting the boy again, but said instead, ‘She’s supposed to be resting. I’ll see if she’s willing to see you.’

  Annabel though was a little troubled when Janey told her what the boy had said. She blessed the fact that Celia was out of the way because the fact that the boy had been told to ask for her in particular made her think the letter might be from Celia’s lover, Andy, who had pretended to be her brother and if so it
was important to know what he had to say.

  ‘Shall I send him packing, ma’am?’

  ‘No, let him in,’ Annabel said and she spoke in a bored tone. ‘Probably someone begging for money for their pet charity but I had better speak to him.’

  Janey was surprised, but she summoned the boy in.

  ‘My maid said you have a letter for me.’

  ‘If you are Miss McCadden I have.’

  ‘Of course I’m Mrs McCadden,’ Annabel said, extending her hand. As soon as she saw it she knew she was right, it was from Andy because she recognised the handwriting. ‘Thank you,’ she said, but the boy still stood in the room. ‘You can go now.’

  ‘He said to wait a bit to see if there was any reply.’

  ‘No, there’s no reply,’ Annabel said and then she reached into her purse and extracted a few pennies and gave them to him.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  Annabel rang the bell for Janey and the boy had barely left the room before she had the letter ripped open. In it Andy expressed his deep, heartfelt love for Celia and said he was earnestly searching for work and he would fetch her as soon as he could. He said how sorry he had been to leave her in the lurch the way he had and he hoped the letter had explained a little of why he had to go.

  Annabel felt a stab of remorse for she had spirited that letter away and she didn’t relish explaining that to Celia and if she gave her this letter she would have to tell her, even show her what he had written, when she had let her think he had gone without a word. What if Celia resented her for that? She might easily and when she read this latest missive she might decide to set about finding this Andy because the letter was so full of love and written so sincerely, reading it had brought a lump to her throat and she hardly knew Andy. Celia might easily up and leave her just when she needed her and she didn’t think she would cope with the birth without Celia by her side because she was so calm and practical. No, she couldn’t let Celia know about this letter and so she ripped it into bits and threw them into the fire that Janey had lit that morning.