Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘I’ve got to go back to the clinic myself in November,’ Rosie told her. ‘You can come with me if you like. That ’ud be about the right time.’

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘Couple a’ trams. Quite a distance.’

  ‘Only, I’d have ter take the babies wiv me, you see.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Rosie said. ‘Mary’ll be at school by then, so we can take a baby each. It is a bit of a trek, but they’re ever so nice an’ really helpful. They’ll explain it all to you and show you what to do an’ everything.’

  ‘An’ I can keep it a secret from Herbert?’

  ‘Easily,’ Rosie said. ‘All you got to do is find a nice safe hiding place for a little, round tin, about that size. Somewhere where he won’t look.’

  So it was agreed. And Rosie assured her that it would be all right, once she got the hang of it. ‘All you got to do now is fend him off for a few weeks.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Kitty said. ‘’E’s very demanding, when ’e’s in the mood. ’E can go weeks without a peep out of ’im and then wallop. Can’t stand bein’ denied. That’s his trouble.’

  ‘Try changing a couple a’ nappies under his nose,’ Rosie grinned. ‘That’s enough to put anyone off.’

  That made Kitty laugh. ‘You’re a wicked woman, our Rosie,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ Rosie said.

  The girls were coming back. They could hear their piping voices rising towards them, as they climbed the stairs. ‘We’ll have to be off presently,’ Rosie said, looking at the clock.

  ‘’Course,’ Kitty said. ‘See you again soon.’

  Now that her boots and socks had been bought, Mary couldn’t wait to get to school. ‘I’m going to be like our Gracie,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not like me,’ Gracie told her scornfully. ‘You’re going to be an infant and I’m going to be in the juniors.’

  Rosie was short with her. ‘If you know what’s good for you, young woman,’ she said, ‘you’ll look after her and stop showing off.’

  ‘If she’s old enough to go to school,’ Gracie said, truculently, ‘she’s old enough to look after herself. Nobody looked after me when I started school.’

  But, as Rosie was quick to notice, she took hold of Mary’s hand as they walked to Lant Street that first morning and held it all the way.

  ‘I’ll be here waiting for you when you come out,’ Rosie promised, because she didn’t want her baby to feel lost in this great building, but Mary kissed her and walked straight through the gates, exactly as her sister had done before her and didn’t look back.

  She’ll be all right, Rosie told herself as she walked home.

  And she was. After three weeks she came home to report she’d got a reading book and by half term she was full of the news that she was doing sums.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ Gracie said. ‘We’re doing fractions.’

  ‘You’re both of you very clever little gels,’ Jim told them.

  And so they are, Rosie thought, watching them. In fact there was only one fly in the ointment at the moment and that was her lack of work. If I don’t get a phone call soon, she thought, I’ll ring him. It’s silly to sit at home with nothing to do except the housework when I could be earning. If he doesn’t want me I ought to get another job.

  Gerry’s phone call came the next day. ‘I’ve got two days to put the finishing touches to Winter,’ he said. ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ve got a commission to paint Bernard Shaw,’ he told her as he drove back to Chelsea. ‘Something of an honour actually. He doesn’t sit for anyone. The only trouble is, that he wants to start on Wednesday. Hence the rush.’

  Rosie wasn’t terribly interested in Bernard Shaw whoever he was. Her aim was to earn enough money to buy the girls some clothes. She’d let Gracie’s skirt down as far as it would go and now that November was coming, they both needed new winter coats. Mary had worn Gracie’s hand-me-down, until it was threadbare. And if she could earn enough, she wanted to buy a little rattle for Edie’s new baby, who was a plump little girl called Dorothy, because she knew how easy it was for the second-born to be neglected. But two days’ pay was all she got and then it was time for her visit to the clinic. I must go job hunting once I’ve got that out of the way, she thought.

  It was quite a to-do to take two babes-in-arms on a tram and their presence there caused a stir, which made Kitty bridle with pleasure. She didn’t seem to be unduly worried about what was going to happen and when they were walking the last few yards to the clinic and Rosie asked her if she was all right, she said she was fine.

  ‘I’m a tough ol’ thing,’ she said. ‘I been shoved around by the police enough times.’

  That was a shock to Rosie. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yeh! ’Course,’ Kitty said. ‘That’s what they done to us. Very rough they was. This couldn’t be worse than that.’

  ‘They’re nurses,’ Rosie told her, ‘an’ they’re very gentle. They’ll ask you lots a’ questions. That’s the only thing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like, have you been on queer since you had the babies, an’ if you have, when was the last time. That sort a’ thing.’

  ‘First time was last week,’ Kitty told her easily. ‘And no, he ain’t been near me since. Well he ain’t been near me for more’n a month, to tell the truth. He says I put him off, always feeding ’em. So I’m not up the spout again. That’s what they want to know, ain’t it?’

  She’s going to be all right, Rosie thought, with some relief. She can handle it. The only trouble was there was a long queue waiting when they got there and working through it took even longer than usual. Both the babies needed feeding during the course of it. So what with that and travelling all the way to Tooting and back afterwards, she was very late getting home. The girls had been home from school for nearly two hours, so it was just as well she’d asked Mrs Rogers to look out for them, and Jim was home too, sitting in his chair with a child on each knee, reading a fairy story to them.

  ‘We was thinkin’ a dishin’ up,’ he said, ‘wasn’t we gels?’

  ‘You could ha’ done,’ she said, heading for the oven. ‘I left it all cooking.’

  ‘Yeh! We could smell that. Was the twins all right?’

  She’d almost forgotten the diplomatic lie she’d told that morning, it seemed such a long time ago. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They’re fine. Still a bit on the small side, but that’s to be expected with twins. Now then you two go an’ wash your hands, an’ I’ll dish up.’

  She noticed that Jim was giving her rather an odd look, which was a bit disquieting, but he didn’t say anything else. Until they were in bed. They were lying snuggled together, warm and satisfied after their lovemaking, he on his back and she with her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Now tell me,’ he said into her hair. ‘Where did you really go? I know them twins go to a clinic, pretty reg’lar, Kitty told me, but that’s in Tooting and it wouldn’t ha’ took so long. So where was yer?’

  He knows, she thought. Or he’s guessed. ‘Holloway,’ she said. ‘Marlborough Road. In the women’s clinic.’ And then she stopped because she didn’t have the words to tell him anything else. Finally she said. ‘It’s where you go when you don’t want to have any more babies.’

  ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Thought as much. You went there after our Mary was born, didn’t yer?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, looking bold but feeling miserable.

  ‘I knew somethin’ was up at the time,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t know what it was. You used to go off for a pee and come back to bed, smellin’ sort a’ different. Made me think of hospitals first off. An’ then a lot later on, I was lookin’ for a fresh towel, an’ I found a pink tin, so… Well after that, I knew what it was.’

  This time it was her turn to say, ‘Ah!’

  He kissed her hair. ‘Why didn’tcher tell me?’ he said. He didn’t sound angry. Just puzzled.

  ‘I thought it ’ud upset you
.’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘I thought it was me you’d took against, d’you see, not more babies. Only fer a while mind. I mean we sort a’ got into the swing a’ things, an’ then it was all right.’

  She was limp with relief. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was.’ And she lifted her head to kiss him.

  ‘Tell me next time there’s anythin’ you’re thinkin’ a doin’,’ he said. ‘It ain’t a lot a’ fun bein’ left in the dark.’ And after a pause he said, ‘You was right though. We couldn’t’ve afforded more than two kids. Takes every penny we got to look after them two, never mind havin’ anymore.’

  And that’s true, she thought, as she settled to sleep. Tomorrow I shall go out and see if they’ll take me on at the pub again.

  Despite rather miserable weather, December was a good month that year. Rosie got her job at the pub, although the landlord warned her it might not go on for very long, ‘things bein’ what they are’, Mary and Gracie enjoyed being at school, Edie’s little girl put on weight, Tess had a new baby boy and called him Richard, and even the twins were doing well and growing fairly steadily. There was a lot to celebrate when Christmas came. And as Kitty said, ‘Next year we shall have our election.’

  It was held in May and true to her promise, Kitty looked out her Suffragette sash and washed it and ironed all the creases out of it, so that it would look good at the polling station. Unfortunately she left it hanging in the doorway of the twins’ room and Herbert saw it when he went upstairs for a pee. He came downstairs holding it in front of him, his face wrinkled with disgust, as though it had a bad smell.

  ‘And what’s this?’ he said, dangling it into the kitchen.

  Kitty was cooking his chop. ‘That’s my Suffragette sash,’ she told him calmly, ‘what I’m gonna wear when I goes out to vote.’

  He dropped in onto the floor like some old rag. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, furiously, ‘you are not going to do any such thing. I absolutely forbid it. You are not to wear this ridiculous sash and you are not to vote. It isn’t seemly.’

  ‘It’s legal,’ she said, sliding the chop onto a plate and defying him for once. ‘It’s legal an’ I got the right to wear it. We fought fer this a long time, me an’ the others.’

  His face was turning an ugly red, he was so angry. ‘I absolutely forbid it,’ he shouted, glaring at her. ‘Do you understand? I absolutely forbid it. No wife of mine would be seen dead wearing such a thing. And no wife of mine, would demean herself to vote. It’s unnatural.’

  She looked at him for a long second, estimating whether to defy him again or to let it slide the way she usually did. After all, she could go to the polling station wearing her sash and cast her vote for the first time while he was at work and he’d never be any the wiser.

  ‘Have it yer own way,’ she said at last, pleased to think she was being so calm. ‘I’ll bring yer supper through to you, shall I?’

  He glared at her for quite a long time, almost as if he’d read her thoughts, but then he turned on his heel, kicked the sash and strode off to the dining room.

  Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought.

  On polling day, she pushed her new twin pram to the polling station, wearing her suffragette sash and feeling very proud of herself. She was much admired for it, for now that women had been given the vote, the popular view of suffragettes had changed. Even the police were smiling at them and the newspapers were writing about them as ‘heroines’.

  ‘Things have changed,’ she said, during her phone call to Rosie that Saturday afternoon. ‘After all the rubbish they wrote about us when we was campaigning.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Rosie said. ‘You got your own way in the end, an’ that’s what counts.’

  ‘Yeh. It is,’ Kitty said happily. Then her voice altered. ‘Got ter go. Bobbie’s roarin’.’

  It was a disappointment to both of them, that, although Ramsay MacDonald’s Labour party got more seats than either of the others, it was too small a majority for an outright victory.

  ‘Hung Parliament,’ Kitty said knowledgeably to Rosie, when she came visiting on Thursday. ‘They’ll have to hope Lloyd George’s lot’ll vote with ’em.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Not always,’ Kitty said, ‘an’ there’s so much to be done. Still at least the rich man’s party didn’t get in, an’ that’s one good thing. Be interestin’ to see who he puts in his cabinet. He’d better have a woman, or I shall have sommink ter say.’

  She knows so much, Rosie thought, admiring her. I suppose it’s being in the suffragettes all those years.

  And she got her wish. On June 7th when MacDonald announced his cabinet, sure enough, there was a woman in it. Her name was Margaret Bondfield and she was appointed as Minister of Labour. Kitty told Rosie she was a trade unionist and stood up for women’s rights and was just the sort of person to do the right thing. But Herbert was apoplectic with rage.

  ‘For crying out loud!’ he said, rattling his copy of the Daily Mail that evening, as if he wanted to shake the news right away from him. ‘Bad enough the fools have elected a Labour government, without having a woman in cabinet. A woman! I ask you! What use will she be? I never heard of such a thing. This is what comes of letting a lot of stupid fool women go out and vote. I knew it was a mistake. I said so all along, didn’t I?’

  Kitty said yes, because that’s what he seemed to want and then shut her ears as he treated her to a long diatribe. She was so used to shutting her ears these days, she did it automatically. I wonder what our Rosie would say if she knew the way he goes on, she thought. Not that she could tell her. That wouldn’t have been fair or sensible.

  Apart from being glad that she had the right to vote and that the Labour party had got in, Rosie wasn’t terribly concerned about politics those days. She knew there were far too many men out of work. You only had to walk a few yards along the street to see them, standing miserably in the kerb with a tray full of matchboxes or shoelaces round their necks, or trailing along the road looking dejected and carrying a handwritten sandwich board, that said things like, ‘Brickie. Needs work. Wife and two kids.’ Or ‘chippie’, or ‘willing worker’. She felt sorry for them. Who wouldn’t? But there was nothing she could do to help them. The government would have to do that. Not that ‘government’ meant very much to her either. It was just a vague word, with very little meaning, something incomprehensible that went on in some grand building, a long way away from her. She had far too much to do, to give much thought to it. And when she wasn’t busy, she was happily watching the changes in her daughters.

  They were growing up fast now. Gracie had turned eight in May and Mary would be six come August and they were both so self-assured, it was a joy to watch them setting out to school in the morning, all neat and clean, like the seasoned scholars they were, heading off to the library together every week and coming back with their arms full of books, reading by the fire and absorbed in the story, their heads bent over the page, playing out with their friends and returning, scruffy and happy, to supper. Hardly a day went by, when there wasn’t something to notice and be pleased about. She remembered how weary she’d been as a child, carrying one or other of her siblings about and cleaning them up when they got filthy and coping with them when they cried. My Gracie never had that to put up with, she thought, and she won’t go out to work when she’s twelve either. She might not go to work even when she’s fourteen. She’s clever enough to get a place at a grammar school. And so’s my Mary. But that was a wonderful, private dream that she kept to herself. She’d heard quite a lot about the grammar schools from Mrs Rogers, whose cousin had a clever boy, who’d passed what she called ‘the scholarship’ and was in his first year at the local boys’ grammar. But she kept her new knowledge hidden under a smile and didn’t say anything to anybody, not even Jim. It was a hope and a dream in a dark world.

  On October 29th that year the world got even darker, although neither Jim nor Rosie paid much attention
to it. The papers were full of it, calling it ‘Black Tuesday’. But it was over in America somewhere, in a place called Wall Street, where there had been a crash of some kind. It was something to do with stocks and shares, as far as they could make out, and as neither of them had ever owned shares, and were never likely to, they didn’t feel it concerned them. They were shocked to read that hordes of people had been queueing to get into the bank, in some street in New York because their shares had ‘collapsed’ and they’d lost all their money, but they didn’t understand what it was all about even then. The term ‘Wall Street Crash’ entered into their vocabulary because they saw it so often in the papers, but it didn’t make much sense.

  ‘I always thought a bank was supposed to be a safe place to put your money in,’ Rosie said, as she and Jim were reading the evening paper. ‘If you had any to spare.’

  ‘Safe as the Bank of England,’ Jim said. ‘So they say.’

  ‘Banks in America can’t be much cop,’ Rosie said. ‘Just as well we’ve got different ones.’

  ‘I got a star for my sums today,’ Mary said.

  ‘So did I, too,’ Gracie said, not to be outdone. ‘I always get a star. I’m the best in the class.’

  ‘Pride comes ’fore a fall, young lady,’ Jim said, but he was grinning at her, so she didn’t take any notice of what he was saying. He approved and that was what mattered.

  Rosie watched them, lovingly, and her dream stirred in her mind to warm her.

  She needed warming that winter and so did Jim for, although they still thought the Wall Street Crash was nothing to do with them, they felt its consequences no matter what they believed. Rosie lost her job at the pub and couldn’t get another one and Jim had to take a cut in pay, which was even more worrying. Kitty was determined to look on the bright side and helped to organise a New Year’s Eve tea party for the kiddies, to celebrate the new decade, at which she arrived with her two toddling infants and a tin full of cakes. The twins had reached the grand old age of sixteen months and seemed to be walking about all the time, even with their mouths full of cake, which made rather a mess of the kitchen. Rosie didn’t complain because Kitty said it was the only time they had so much freedom ‘on account a’ Herbert’s such a stickler fer manners’ but when the tea party was over and the twins had gone home with their empty cake tin, and her father had gone downstairs to get some fags, Gracie complained bitterly.