‘Callum, I was so thrilled to see you. It’s so lovely that you have come along to give us your support. How did you find out about the meeting? Aren’t some of the hecklers beastly? Don’t you think that all women should have the same rights as men instead of just a few over the age of thirty? But of course you do. You are sensible and sensitive and why else would you be here supporting us today. Why didn’t you come and sit next to me at the concert? Aunt Agnes is quite harmless, you know. Come on over here. I want you to meet one of our most important members. She’s a friend of Emmeline Pankhurst.’ She dragged the still dazed Callum over to a group of women, all wearing the same green, white and violet sashes and who were still waving banners and shouting slogans. ‘Where’s Nellie?’ she asked some of the ladies. ‘She was here a few moments ago.’
The women shrugged and shook their heads. One said that she had seen her talking to Jean’s Aunt Agnes. ‘Oh, she can’t just have disappeared into thin air like that. I wanted to introduce you to Nellie Grimshaw. She is a Salford lady and she has been such a strong influence in our movement. Did you know that Mrs Pankhurst’s father owned the Goulden Dye Works in Salford? I suppose that he was a little bit shocked by what she did but I am sure that secretly he was very proud of her. He was a bit of a campaigner, fighting against the slave trade and things. Dada just thinks that I am crazy and that no good will ever come of it.’
‘That’s an odd coincidence,’ Callum mused.
‘What’s an odd coincidence?’ Jean demanded. ‘Do you think that I am crazy as well?’
‘Oh, sorry. No, of course not. I meant what you said before. About Nellie Grimshaw. Uncle Liam was telling my mother the other night that he was starting off in a new business and that it was Nellie Grimshaw who had given him the big kick up the backside that he needed.’
‘Oh, yes, I see. That sounds just like Nellie.’
‘My mother didn’t seem too impressed. She called her, amongst many other things, an interfering and meddling old hure, oh, I’m sorry, but you know.’
‘Well, I can understand. She is not to everyone’s liking but that does seem to be a bit strong. She seems to be quite powerful in a mysterious sort of way and she certainly seems to be able to pull a few strings as well as tweek some pretty important noses. She was arrested once after hitting a policeman with a stick. He was trying to restrain Aunt Agnes in a manner that Nellie thought inappropriate. When they got to the station, Nellie told the duty sergeant to bring the Chief Constable to see her. They were sent home and the policeman was given a reprimand.’
‘Phew. Sounds a formidable opponent.’
‘She did go to jail, though, after breaking Corporation windows in Albert Square. The judge apologised to her before passing the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words and she just said, ‘Oh, get on with it man. I’m not going to bite you.’ She was a ‘Cat and Mouser’ you know, but in the end they very mysteriously just stopped arresting her. She has an amazing presence and she picks us up and puts us back on our feet when we all feel like just giving up.’
‘Not now, she hasn’t,’ Callum suggested mischievously.
‘Not now, she hasn’t what?’
‘An amazing presence. In fact, more an amazing disappearance.’
Jean laughed and pinched his upper arm. ‘You terrible tease. Come on, Aunt Agnes was supposed to be keeping an eye on me but she has disappeared as well so let’s go and listen to the brass band concert. It starts in ten minutes.’
Chapter 14
As he turned the corner into Nellie Grimshaw’s street, a cabbage was dislodged from the top of the neatly stacked pile on the top of his cart, freeing two others from the stack as it fell. Liam lunged forward to grab them but elbowed the flaky skinned onions, sending dozens rolling along the cobbled sets. With a despairing groan he pursued the wayward vegetables, wiping each one quickly down the apron that Bridget had instructed him to wear so that he would look the part, then pushing them quickly into one of the clothes bags that he carried on the cart.
Ducking under a washing line he spotted Billy Perkins’ son lining up to take a kick at one of his onions. ‘Oh no you don’t, young fella. That’s my livelihood you’re hoping to score a goal with.’
‘Sorry, Mr Murphy. Didn’t know it was one of yours. Mrs Grimshaw said to look out for you and tell you she wants a word.’
Liam’s heart sank. ‘Right, thanks. I’ll give her a knock.’
The old man, once again sitting on the chair outside his front door, cradling his pint mug of tea on his lap, took out his pipe and wiped his moustache on his shirt cuff.
‘Wouldn’t do to leave it too long, then. She doesn’t take kindly to being kept waiting and you are late already.’
‘I’m self-employed, you know,’ Liam answered stiffly. ‘I don’t work to fixed hours.’
‘No need to explain to me, lad. It’s Nellie that gets a bit agitated.’
Liam trudged back up the street with his rescued onions and placed them carefully on his cart. He didn’t relish a further interview with the formidable Nellie Grimshaw. A month ago, she had summoned him into her house and taken him into her showily decorated parlour where she had placed a green cotton sheet on to the chaise longue before instructing him to sit on it. He had balanced himself precariously on the edge of the seat and gazed in awe at the extravagant opulence of the furnishings. Gilt framed mirrors and pictures were hung over ruby coloured flock wallpaper. A display cabinet with delicate lattice framed doors contained an astounding collection of porcelain figurines and fairings against a background of willow-patterned china plates. One shelf held a collection of elegant silver sugar bowls and sauce boats. Behind them was a row of precisely crafted, shadow cut-out figures and profiles. Flowers glowed brightly in a cut glass vase standing on a mahogany cupboard.
‘I’ll not be giving you a cup of tea,’ Nellie had indicated tersely. ‘You’ve got work to be getting back to. Now then, how’s this business doing?’
The memory of the grilling still made Liam feel uneasy. She had explored every aspect of the little enterprise which he and Brig had put together. The suggestion from Eddie to start offering vegetables in exchange for the old clothing had been a good one. He had talked to the lads on the allotments, all of whom had offered enthusiastic support, and he had enlisted Percy Eckersley from the Seedley round and Bert Jackson from the Height into his scheme. The increase in the old clothing, and the improvement in its quality, had been such that Brig had had to bring in Florrie Hardcastle from next door to assist in sorting it and carrying out the repairs and improvements. Things seemed so much better now; they were paying the rent and he was putting food on the table. And most Sundays, Billy and Declan came with him to the allotments to help organise the supplies. But under the exacting scrutiny of Nellie Grimshaw, although she had never made critical comment on any aspect of his enterprise, the whole thing had seemed feeble and paltry. Liam had resented the searching inquiry from someone whose vested interest amounted to a bundle of clothes, but his time in the army had instilled an unquestioning subjugation to such a commanding presence.
Ten minutes later, his mind reeling from the incessant questioning, Liam had been instructed to wait in the lobby by the front door whilst Nellie had plodded upstairs, her long, full skirt brushing against the varnished brown, anaglypta paper. A minute had passed with Liam standing in the colourful beam of the sun shining through the stained glass window. He heard young Perkins shouting to a friend outside, a bluebottle made a persistent inspection of his head then a door banged upstairs. Seconds later, with just a peremptory ‘Here, catch this,’ a large bag had come whizzing towards him followed quickly by a second, then a third. Nellie had then descended carrying a fourth, considerably lighter, bag saying ‘See what your wife can do with those. She is a good woman, that one. There’s a note to say where you got them from. And, before you ask, no, I don’t want any of your potatoes.’
Out on the street again and with only a mumbled ‘Thank you,
’ Liam had rebuked himself for not thinking to ask Nellie about the painting that he had found in the inside pocket of the suit. Maybe she could have cast some light on it. Had Nellie or Harry commissioned it and, if so, how had the artist managed to get such a likeness without him knowing anything about it? An uncomfortable truth was beginning to settle in his mind that perhaps the head injury had wiped out some parts of his memory. Who, anyway, was the hauntingly beautiful woman at the side of him and how could he possibly have lost any trace of memory of such a clearly expensive person? But Liam had known that, even had he thought to ask, there was no more chance of his raising the matter with her than there would have been of him questioning Lloyd George about his extra-marital activities.
‘Nellie been having a bit of a clear out, then?’ the old man had asked before resuming his study of the Daily Herald.
‘Looks like it,’ Liam had replied, frowning as he tried to make space on the cart for his new sacks.
Later, opening the bags with Bridget and the lads, they had been overwhelmed at the contents. Dresses fit for royalty in black tulle with sparkling sequins, gold lamé ball gowns, a white shot-silk dress with a full skirt and the remnants of a red rose still pinned to the breast, feather boas, beaded evening bags, elegantly styled fur capes, elbow length kid gloves, superbly crafted satin and calf leather shoes and a whole bag of high fashion, Edwardian hats with the finest lace and graceful peacock figures. When Laura had come round with Pippin and Amy in the evening, Liam had been sent to the pub whilst the ladies indulged themselves with a fantasy evening of exotic fashion.
Bridget had taken the clothes to the Flat Iron market where a suspicious policeman asked where the likes of her had got the likes of them and indicated that he might have to make a few inquiries. He had only got as far as writing her name and address in his notebook when she had shown him the letter from Nellie Grimshaw. The patronising sneer on his face had instantly melted into one of fearful apprehension. He had been muttering something about ‘bleeding suffering jets’ as he rapidly disappeared into the crowd.
Liam smiled as he recalled Bridget’s excitement when she had recounted the story later. But his amusement quickly dissipated as he readied himself to call on Nellie and he found himself sharing the same disquiet as the policeman. He couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so uneasy. She hadn’t criticised or rebuked him in any way, in fact her kind gifts had been almost an act of caring, but her harsh demeanour was an impenetrable barrier. Nellie was a worrying enigma; generous without explanation, yet hard, calculating and cold in her relationships. She had invited facts only, not opinions, and this had left him feeling somehow diminished. In the army, you were often given a reprimand, sometimes unfairly, but you kept your mouth shut, walked away and that was the end of that. But this was different. There was some underlying motive that he didn’t understand.
‘Come on, Murphy,’ he muttered to himself, bracing his shoulders back. ‘You didn’t go through four years of hell to be frightened of an old woman.’ He gripped the handles of the cart, glared vehemently at the cabbage stack, lifted the cart to just below its pivot point and strained forward. The onions settled as the wheels bounced over the cobbles and the cabbages remained static. He would have to wedge his clothes bags behind them afterwards. What would Nellie Grimshaw want to talk to him about now? He stopped and pushed a box of potatoes up against some newly mobile turnips. He still carried a few donkey stones but not many wanted them now. He had, over time, become quite adept at assessing the old clothing and offering some vegetables in return. Sometimes he just sold the produce, although always at a reasonable price. He often had to take half of the vegetables home but that did, at least, help his family as well as a few friends. The other two collection rounds were going well and they seemed quite happy with the money that Brig was paying them for what was, because of the areas they covered, generally much superior clothing to that which he was taking home.
Ducking under a washing line full of work shirts, night shirts, long johns and thick woollen socks he came to a sudden halt as a thought occurred to him. When he had first met Nellie Grimshaw she had said to him, ‘I knew that you would be round one day.’ What had she meant by that? And there was the picture; something eerie there. She had even known his name. And then last time she had commented that Brig was a good woman. He could find no fault with that but how did she know? Nellie seemed like some all-seeing goddess, rarely spotted but missing nothing. He parked up his cart, asked the old man to keep an eye on it for him, walked tentatively up the steps to the raised pavement and gently tapped the brass knocker. He heard the sharp tap of the heels on the tiles of the vestibule and the door opened. She already had a coat and hat on. ‘Come in Mr Murphy and sit yourself down. I won’t be keeping you.’
Liam went into the parlour and settled himself on the green sheet that was already in place. ‘You’ll not be having a cup of tea as you’ve got work to do.’ Liam nodded in affirmation even though the words had more the ring of an instruction than a question. ‘Now then,’ Nellie said as she straightened her coat and placed her feet firmly, though slightly apart, on the Persian rug. ‘There’s some bad feeling about this vegetable business.’
Liam was startled by the directness of her comment and struggled to comprehend. ‘I… I’ve had no complaints,’ he finally managed to blurt out.
‘Well you won’t have done. The folk who are taking it from you think that it’s fine. It’s the greengrocers who are not happy.’
Liam was shocked by this previously unconsidered perspective on his meagre business activities. ‘Why should they be concerned? A cabbage for a few old rags; it’s no big deal.’
‘You are well known round these parts, Mr Murphy. And there’s a lot of sympathy for ex-servicemen, especially after the Somme. They think it’s harmful to their business.’
Liam hunched down, his hands clenched in front of him, the wound throbbing as his head fell forward. The thin shreds of hope that he had clung to were slipping from his grasp. He looked at his calloused hands; only fit for pushing a cart round and he couldn’t even make a good job of that.
‘Cheer up, lad. There’s always more than one way of skinning a cat.’
Liam looked up, pain and the despair creasing his brow. ‘That’s all I had, Mrs Grimshaw. I could hardly put food on the table before that. I just want to be able to pay my way; feed my wife and the kids.’
Nellie stared at him sternly. ‘Where has all your fight gone, young man? Left it out there in France, did you? I heard all about you when you were a lad, forever bouncing around like a cat that’s stepped on hot ashes. You and Eddie Craigie and that big lad, Charlie: always into something. Never at a loss then to find ways to earn a few coppers, were you?’
‘We saw him die, Mrs Grimshaw. Big Charlie. It was bad.’
‘Aye. And I buried his wife, poor thing. But that’s over and done with now. They didn’t die for nothing. You’ve got to get on with your life and make something of it. He didn’t die without a fight and he wouldn’t be proud to see you giving up without one.’
Liam stared at the determined, stern-faced woman through tired grey eyes. He was startled by her insight, hurt to be reminded about just how much he did miss the comforting support of his powerful, often enigmatic, friend. Did she think that he hadn’t been trying, that he hadn’t wanted to look after his family? More than anything else in the world, he wanted to be worthy of Bridget. It had been the proudest moment of his life when he had walked down the aisle of St John’s with her on his arm and now this arrogant, opinionated woman, sitting here in this oasis of opulence, was daring to suggest that he hadn’t been trying. He was deeply ashamed of how he was failing his wife and family yet this offensive woman had the nerve to suggest that he should be making something of his life. He could feel a seething anger rising in his body. ‘Look, Mrs Grimshaw. You seem to know a lot but you obviously don’t know what it is like for people like us. There’s nothing out there for most of the lads who have come back.�
� He rose slowly to his feet. ‘There’s no jobs, no help, no proper housing and, for a lot of them, no bloody wives because they have buggered off with somebody else while their men were out there fighting for sodding King and Country. Coming back to a Land fit for heroes? My bloody arse. I’d have been better off left over there with Big Charlie and the others. At least for them the struggle is over.’
Nellie Grimshaw permitted herself the faint trace of a smile. ‘Sit down, lad. That’s a bit more like it. I thought that maybe you’d had all the spunk knocked out of you when you were over there. You’re right; things are in a mess and they won’t be better in a hurry. But it’s up to the likes of you to take the initiative whilst it’s like this; not just for you but for the next generation as well. You need to assert your rights and change things whilst everything is in such turmoil. If you fellas don’t come up with some answers for yourselves, then others will, and things will just go back to the way they were.’
Liam sat back on the chaise longue, surprised at his outburst but with a growing sense of elation, a warm glow that was spreading throughout his body. He had rediscovered a spirit that had died within him in the last two years of the war. The accusatory tone of this fearsome woman had unlocked some hidden vault containing the late, lamented remains of the real Liam Murphy. There were no more officers to order and instruct him and no more crazed, blue-eyed German boys who were trying to kill him. He was back on home ground again and women like his Brig and Eddie’s Laura, and the intimidating Nellie Grimshaw, were not just trying to rebuild their lives, they were striving for something new. He knew that he could be sharper and faster than most and, if he turned over enough stones, he would find something.
Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel) Page 12