The Chainmakers

by Helen Spring

  ‘He’ll let me go,’ Anna shouted back confidently as she pulled at the bellows. If he don’t it’s all the same, she thought, as she took another glowing rod from the fire and began to hammer, I’m going to do it and he won’t stop me. Expertly she cut in on the hardy and twisted the red hot link, inserting it into the previous link of the chain and beginning to hammer again. I’ll meet Dad from work and get him home before he has chance to get to the pub, she resolved, once he gets in the Sandley Arms I’ll never get him out. Anyway, it makes no odds if he’s drunk or sober, I’m not missing out on a chance like this.

  ~

  Surprisingly, Anna had more problems convincing her mother than her father. Catching George Gibson when he was sober had been the right approach, and as she hurried him home explaining along the way, she only had to mention the extra money and he readily agreed, even putting on a clean paper collar to meet Robert Nicholson.

  Her mother was against it in principle but wanted the money. 'Why can't he come here and sketch you?' she moaned, in her soft north Worcester accent.

  'I don't know Mom,' Anna said with some irritation. She had never been able to understand how her mother, a gentle soul who could read and write well, had been so attracted to George Gibson that she had given up the comparative luxury of life on her father's farm and defied her parents to marry him. As she busied herself in the small back room waiting for Robert Nicholson to arrive, the incongruity of her parents match flitted across Anna's mind again. She wondered what Robert Nicholson would make of them, her father, huge and sweaty, struggling to fasten the paper collar around his thick bull neck, and her mother, frail now and largely confined to her chair by the firegrate, nevertheless managing to convey an air of delicate gentility amid her poverty stricken surroundings. Anna felt a pang of sympathy and knelt down by her mother's chair.

  'Mom, I don't know why he wants me to go to Edgbaston,' she explained quietly, 'I only know that for ten shillings I'd be a fool to miss the chance.'

  'I still don't see why he can't come here...' Sarah said plaintively, 'His Dad sketched you at the forge didn't he?'

  'Well, we can ask him when he comes,' Anna responded patiently, 'But I think he wants to paint me, not just sketch, and anyway he probably wants a different sort of background, I don't know.'

  'But how shall we manage for the washing? You know Saturday is our day for the copper and I can't manage to do it...'

  'Mother,' Anna said sharply, her patience wearing thin, 'I have told you already Ma Smithson has said she will do it for a shilling, I knew she would...'

  'Paying out a whole shilling for someone else to do our washing when I've got a daughter perfectly capable...'

  'I can't be in two places at once. And the shilling will be paid from what I earn at Mr. Nicholsons. Do try to understand...'

  'Understand? I understand you won't be here this Saturday, and I've no shilling to pay Ma Smithson this week and neither have you I'll warrant.'

  'I've already thought of that, I'm going to wash Friday night, after Mrs. Ketts has finished. She says she'll be done by four o'clock and has promised she'll fill the copper again for me, and make up the fire if you let her have the gledes when she calls. You can give her the washing and she will put it in so it will be ready for me to dolly when I get home from work. I'll have to iron on Sunday when I get home.'

  'Iron on a Sunday? Not in my house!'

  Anna sighed and got to her feet. 'Then I'll have to do it on Monday night, won't I?' She was dejected. Her wonderful news was not producing the hoped for effect.

  Her mother was about to raise some other objection, but to Anna's relief the back door opened and her brother Will arrived with his seven year old son Billy.

  'Just called in with young Billy Mom... 'Ello... What's to do then?' Will stopped at the unfamiliar sight of his father home from work early, and wearing a collar above his flannelette shirt.

  'We're waiting on a gentleman, wants to sketch our Anna,' his mother explained, and Anna was heartened to detect a hint of pride in her mother's voice. She turned to Will eagerly.

  'Mr. Nicholson... you remember Will, he sketched me before... when I was little. He's dead now, but his son wants to paint me grown, and he's offering ten shillings for me to go and sit at his place at Edgbaston. Three hours Saturday afternoon and three hours Sunday.'

  'Well I'm blowed! Theer's a bit o'luck!' Will's smile broadened in his handsome face. 'Yo' mek the most on it while yer can our kid!' Unlike Anna, he spoke with a broad Black Country dialect, which rolled off his tongue with relish as he turned to his son. ''Ow about that our Billy? Yer Auntie Anna's gunna be rich!'

  'So am I!' Billy responded immediately. 'When I grow up I'm gunna be rich as anythin'!'

  'Start now then,' Anna said quickly, fishing in her pocket and pulling out two pennies. 'Run to Mrs. Skitt's on the corner and get me a penny lump of Hudson's soap and a ha'penny blue. With the other ha'penny you can get a bag of boilers for yourself.'

  'A bag o' bilers!' Billy's face was a picture.

  'Yes, from your rich Auntie, go along now... walk, don't run...'

  They all laughed as Billy sped away down the ginnel which ran between their house, number twenty two Dawkins Street, and number twenty four next door. Will said uncertainly, 'Do yo' want me to go? I might be in the way like...'

  'Of course not,' Anna said quickly.

  'Tell yer what... when 'e comes I'll nip in the parlour till e's gone...'

  'If you like... there certainly isn't much room in here...'

  'It won't tek long,' said George Gibson rather aggressively. 'I just 'ave to make sure what's what, that he's all above board like. Let him know he don't have everything his own way for the askin'. And when he's gone we'll go for a pint or two our Will, I'm as dry as a lime burner's clog.'

  'Alright Dad, but I can only 'ave one. Got to get back.' Will was not about to be drawn into a heavy drinking session with his father. One drunkard in the family was quite enough.

  Ten minutes later the visit was over and the two men were on their way to the Sandley Arms, Will asserting once again that he could not stay long as he had to get Billy home. Robert Nicholson had charmed George and Sarah Gibson with his honest good looks and impeccable manners, and had left the small house having agreed everything within minutes. Will, listening behind the parlour door, had been astonished to hear his father almost grovelling in his efforts to please, and his mother's objections had disappeared as if by magic. As they entered the Sandley Arms Will remarked drily, 'I noticed the way yo' told him what was what!'

  'Well, I dae need to lay it on thick,' said George. 'Yo' can always tell a gentleman. Anyway, yo' need talk... runnin' 'ome after one drink to report to Mary...'

  'I do' need to report Dad,' Will retorted sharply. 'I 'appen to like my time at 'ome, and I've more sense than spend all my 'ard earned wages in the pub.'

  They caught the barman's eye and George ordered two pints and then turned to his son. 'Yo' know what they say lad', he admonished, searching through the change in his pocket, 'Never be 'ooman licked.'

  Will laughed. 'I ay 'ooman licked Dad, and if I remember right they say "Never let yer navel get too close to yer backbone" an' all. If yo' do' save a bit an' stop spendin' so much in 'ere, yer'll find yer navel a bit close to yer backbone in a few years. You 'm not gettin' any younger.' He picked up his pint and took a deep swallow, and George snorted. His son, he thought, had become a real nancy boy since he got married.

  ~

  As she lay in her narrow bed that night Anna's mind was full of the adventure which promised for the weekend. She had never been further than Dudley, her few excursions being confined to the Chapel outing on anniversary day, and an occasional Sunday trip to the Clent hills with Clancy. She thought again of Robert Nicholson, and wondered what he had thought of her home. That they were living on the breadline would be immediately obvious to him or anyone else.

  They had always managed somehow when Will was around. His contribution to
the family budget had made a big difference, and he would often bring home some small treat, perhaps a cake or some boiled sweets made by a neighbour and sold at their front doorway. When Will had married his Mary and moved into the next street, number twenty two had become cheerless and quiet, except for the times when George Gibson got really drunk and raised the neighbourhood, which seemed to be happening with increasing frequency.

  The poverty of their existence was foremost in Anna's mind as she lay in bed, hugging a hot brick wrapped in an old piece of blanket. As she recalled Robert Nicholson's visit she consoled herself with the thought that everything had been as spotless as she could make it. She was proud of the shining blackleaded firegrate and its brass oven knob, carefully polished twice a week, and the cheerful home made rag rug on the hearth. She tried to imagine what the Nicholson house would be like, and decided it must be grand if he could afford to pay ten shillings every week for someone to sit around and be painted.

  I wonder what Clancy will think, she mused. There had been no opportunity to tell him about the offer and she suddenly realised he might not like the idea. It would mean they would not be able to see each other for a while, and she would miss him. But after all, she told herself as she drifted into sleep... ten shillings is ten shillings...

  It seemed only a moment later that she was woken by a noise in the street outside.

  'Oh no, not again!' Anna quickly roused herself and threw her shawl over her flannel nightgown. She hurried downstairs, only stopping to say, 'It's alright, it's only Dad,' as her mother opened her bedroom door.

  In the street the situation was worse than usual. Her father, stupefied with drink, had started a fight with Bert Castle, a puddler who lived a few doors down. Bert usually did not rise to the bait, but tonight he had been drinking heavily himself and was almost as far gone as George Gibson. The two men were brawling and shouting, but doing little damage due to the inability of either of them to land a punch. Anna ran across to her father and caught at his arm.

  'Come away now Dad, come away...'

  'I'll flatten the bugger!...' George Gibson yelled, slurring his words and making a wild sweep at Bert. He put down his head and ran forwards, butting Bert in the stomach and sending him flying. The momentum carried George onwards, and he crashed into the side of the house just as Bert's wife came out of her front door.

  'What on earth's to do?' Her stony gaze took in her husband attempting to get up on the pavement opposite, and then George Gibson, who had slid down the wall and now lay on his back, waving his arms like a stranded beetle. She turned her fury on Anna.

  'Your father again Anna Gibson! 'E's a disgrace to the street!' She crossed to Bert and helped him up. ''E should be ashamed, gettin' our Bert drunk!'

  'I don't suppose Dad had to hold his nose and pour it down his throat,' Anna countered crossly. She tried to help George to his feet but he had collapsed into a stupor and it was impossible to lift him.

  'Get 'im off the pavement, I don't want 'im spendin' the night outside my front door,' Bert's wife said angrily, as she cajoled and pushed Bert across the road and into the house. 'Your Ma need put on airs an' graces, Anna Gibson, married to a drunk like 'im!'

  'No need to be like that Millie... I'll move him as quick as I can, I'll have to fetch our Will.'

  Anna sighed. It was no use trying to wake her father once he drifted off like this. She heard Millie's front door slam as she hurried down the street, trying not to notice the neighbours who had come out onto their front doorsteps or peered down from bedroom windows. The embarrassment was becoming too much, she thought, but there was little either she or her mother could do about it.

  Reaching Will's house, she knocked gently. It was a prearranged knock which signalled to Will that she needed help with their father. Within a couple of minutes the small front door opened and Will emerged, pulling on his jacket and cap.

  'What's to do this time?' he grumbled, 'I'd just gone off to sleep...'

  'He's on the pavement outside Bert Castle's. Fighting they were. I can't wake him.'

  Five minutes later Will and Anna had managed to get George Gibson into the small back room. He was a dead weight and Will gasped as he lowered him gently to the floor.

  'There.' He held his father up so that Anna could remove his jacket, and then lowered him again to rest on the rag rug in front of the fire. 'That's as far as 'e's goin' tonight. We'll never get 'im up the stairs.' He glanced up at Anna as he started to undo George Gibson's boots. 'Yo' shouldn't come out in your nightgown Anna. It ay decent for one thing, an' yo'll catch yer death for another.'

  'I had my shawl on. An' Millie Castle wanted 'im moved quick...'

  'Let 'er wait.' Will said shortly, 'An' let 'im wait an' all.' He looked down at his father, a mixture of anger and disgust on his face. 'Better get a bucket our Anna, in case 'e wakes up took short. 'E'd never make it to the yard.'

  Anna nodded and fetched the floor bucket from outside the back door. She turned a worried face to Will.

  'What about Saturday night Will? When I'm not here? Mom won't be able to manage...'

  Will grunted as he pulled off George Gibson's heavy boots. 'Do' worry our kid. I'll mek sure 'e's safe inside on Saturday, even if I 'ave to yank 'im out the pub!'

  'And Mom...? You'll...'

  'Do' worry I said!' Will gave her a wink. 'I'll mek sure they'm both safe an' sound.'

  He stood up and made his way to the back door, his big frame almost filling the space as Anna opened it. On an impulse Anna reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  'You'm a gem our Will,' she said.

  Will cleared his throat, taken aback by this unexpected show of sisterly affection. 'Arr, I know,' he growled. 'It's a wonder I ay bin knighted...' And he set off down the ginnel, back to his bed.

  HIGH CEDARS

  Anna stared fixedly at the picture in front of her, which Robert had propped up on a low side table so that she could see it easily without lifting her head. 'There,' he had said, 'You can sit and look at "The Chainmaker's Child", it will help you keep still.'

  The picture was a painting of herself at ten years old, bouncing on the bellows at the chainshop where her Dad worked, but Anna found it hard to identify with the rosy cheeked image. Had she ever really looked like that? Had she been so pretty? She remembered bouncing on the bellows day after day, but the child in the picture seemed to be enjoying it. Anna recalled the heat, and the tiredness, and the way the big grey headed man in the corner used to snarl at her if the blast to the furnace wasn't enough, and then she had to jump on the bellows harder and harder and faster and faster...

  And that pinafore. In the picture it looked a soft floating material, but Anna recalled it was made of thick crash, rough enough to take your skin off before it had been washed a few times. She had worn the pinafore for years, letting down the big hem every year or so.

  And the hair too. As a child she had often been complimented on her hair, which was a reddish gold colour and very thick and curly, but had it really had those lights in it? She studied the picture intently. The child's hair was streaming out, and through it you could see the sparks flying from the shadowy figures of the chainmakers in the background. If her hair had ever been that colour, she thought, it certainly wasn't now. As she had grown, the redgold tints had faded to a tawny bronze, like the colour of the big lion in the picture book of animals at school. Her hair still had a natural kink however, and Anna was grateful that she never had to spend time putting her hair in rags like so many of her friends, in order to have a few curls for Sunday chapel. She eased herself slightly in her seat, her bottom was stiff. She glanced across at Robert, and as if sensing her discomfort he murmured 'Not long now... another ten minutes or so and we'll stop.'

  We'll stop. Another ten minutes and it would be over, her first weekend at High Cedars. Then she would be on her way home, which would be another adventure in itself, for Robert had said the groom would take her in the trap to catch the three o'clock canal barge. Ann
a had been in a trap only once in her life, and never on a canal boat, and at the thought of it excitement gripped her stomach again so that for the tenth time that weekend she felt slightly sick. She swallowed and tried to calm herself. The boat would drop her only a mile or so from Sandley Heath, and she should be home by six o'clock. Although it would be getting dark she would enjoy the walk after all this sitting about. She had so much to tell her Mom, and Will and Clancy. How the girls would lap it up tomorrow when she described the great house, and Robert's kindness, and his statuesque and perfectly groomed mother who had said Anna was not to call her ma'am but Florence, because 'you are not a servant my dear, and you must dine with us.'

  Anna's stomach clenched again as she recalled her horror at being confronted by the gleaming white tablecloth, set with beautiful silver, crystal glasses and spotless napkins. Robert had sensed her unease, and had asked quietly whether she would prefer to eat with the servants in the kitchen, and Anna had been happy to agree until Florence intervened.

  'No Robert. I know Anna ate in the kitchen when she arrived, but that was because I was not aware she was here.' She turned to Anna. 'I realise you may not be accustomed to the cutlery my dear, but I will show you which to use, it's very easy, and how will you learn if you don't try?' She motioned Anna to a seat. 'Just relax Anna, we have no guests this evening, Robert and I were dining alone. I want to get to know you better.'

  After a short time Anna began to enjoy herself, especially the delicious food, which was brought to the table in large dishes from which they helped themselves. 'We are very informal tonight,' Florence smiled at her, and although Anna had no idea what was meant by this, she gathered that if guests were present it would be even more grand. The courses followed one after the other, and Anna, clearing her plate each time, began to feel very full. When the pudding came, a delicious spongy confection filled with apples, Anna blurted out, 'It's lovely, but I'm as full as a gun!'