Forget-Me-Not Child

by Anne Bennett

  ‘Why not?’ Angela said. ‘I mean I know the rules that Catholics can’t go to services in other churches, but I thought funerals would be a bit different.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘Not in the eyes of the church I don’t think,’ she said. ‘Mind you with the war raging people of all religions are being killed so that rule might have to be more relaxed.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angela said for the casualty figures made frightening reading and she thought of Barry soon to enter the fray and Stan already in it and no end in sight, and felt totally dispirited and her sigh was heartfelt.

  Another nagging worry was that she had no job. She knew George would have helped her if he could and now that avenue was closed. She knew she had to find something though for if she didn’t they’d never manage. The worry of that was etched on her face and Mary felt for Angela and the body-blow she had received that day.

  ‘Tell you what,’ she said suddenly. ‘Let’s have a Mass said for George. I know he’s not a Catholic, but the good Lord won’t mind and I don’t think Father Brannigan will object either and it will settle your mind maybe.’

  Angela thought it a very good idea. It seemed alien to her to be laid in the ground with no sort of ceremony at all and no people even asked if they would like to pay their respects.

  ‘You don’t know people weren’t asked,’ Mary pointed out.

  ‘Oh I sort of do, Mammy, because this boy knew everything,’ Angela said. ‘You know the sort who does a lot of earwigging and very useful in this instance and if he’d known about the funeral he would have said so. Because he’d probably think it a bit unusual, you know, with no one asked and that.’ She sighed and went on, ‘You know I bet the only ones at George’s funeral were Matilda and Dorothy. It’s as if they couldn’t wait to get rid of him, as if his life was of no account.’

  ‘A Commemorative Mass will make all the difference, you’ll see,’ Mary said, giving Angela’s hand a squeeze.

  And strangely it did. The Mass was arranged for the following Monday and the priest announced it on Sunday so the church was fairly full of George’s old customers on Monday. They greeted Angela like an old friend and afterwards they stood outside the church chatting.

  The general consensus was that poor George had been nagged to death.

  ‘Miserable cows, the pair of them, his wife and her sister.’

  ‘Language,’ admonished another. ‘And you just outside the church.

  ‘Only word to describe them,’ the first woman said. ‘See, she came round collecting all the tick owed.’

  ‘Matilda did?’

  ‘No the other one, Dorothy or whatever they call her. It were the same day George died. God, he’d be barely cold. Anyroad my Bert has only had three days’ work the last few weeks so I’d run up a bit of tick. He’d had a full week that week though and I intended paying some of the arrears, but she demanded it all. Well I didn’t have it and told her straight and she said she’d send for a constable. Well I couldn’t have that so I had to pawn all the blankets in the house, and till I can get them out again Bert, me and the kids have to go to bed in our clothes with every coat we possess on top of us.’

  ‘I was the same,’ another put in. ‘My old man’s suit is so old and thin now that I don’t get much for it. One of these days it will fall off his back and Christ knows what I’ll do then if I can’t pawn it. Anyroad there she was at the door, that Dorothy, all threatening like and saying she’d fetch the law out. I pawned my mother’s old grandmother clock that she’d had as a wedding present years before. God she thought the world of that clock and it was beautiful and worth a bit you know, the only valuable thing I own and I just hope I can get it out of pawn before too long.’

  And so it went on, a list of people hocking essential items because they were intimidated by Dorothy’s threats of calling in the police. No one wanted to get mixed up with them. Some of the younger women had men in the forces, friendlier with Angela now her husband would soon be facing the same dangers as their own, and Angela noted with slight horror that two of the group wore the black bonnets of widowhood. They had five children between them and she wondered at their fortitude.

  ‘Oh they’re tough all right,’ Mary said when Angela commented on this as they made their way home. ‘And we must be tough too. I am ashamed of myself crying and carrying on so when Barry was only going for training.’

  ‘Ah but …’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for me, Angela,’ Mary said. ‘I spoke to a lady back there with a black arm-band on. Her and her husband were married years with no sign of a child. In fact the women said to me she thought she was past the age of childbearing and when her periods stopped she thought she was in the change. But she wasn’t and she gave birth to a son. They knew there could be no more and so this son was very precious to them both. He was the light of their lives, their reason for living and yet though they were proud of him as he marched off to war, they worried about him too. They began to say the rosary every night, like making a pact with God to keep him safe, but maybe God wasn’t listening for whatever way it was, he was killed in late November.’

  Angela had tears in her eyes as she said, ‘How do they go on after such devastating news?’

  ‘I asked her that,’ Mary said. ‘And she said that they go on because it’s what their son would want them to do. I hope we are never asked to make that sacrifice, but if we are we must be strong, as Barry would want us to be, and between us we have a child to rear and that child is special because she is part of Barry.’

  Angela thought this wasn’t the time to tell Mary she didn’t just want part of Barry, she wanted all of him, hale and hearty to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. And when the madness in Europe ended they could bring up their special child together.

  Angela was to find anything could be borne if you have the right mind-set. She did miss Barry but his frequent letters sustained her. He couldn’t tell her where he was, but he gave out enough hints for her to have a good idea that he was in Sutton Park. She remembered that last day often and it pleased her to think that she had seen the place where he would spend the weeks of training.

  He could tell her little of what they were doing either, but she remembered what Stan had said about his training. Stan astoundingly was proving himself a first-rate soldier. She imagined it would be a surprise to him too. He could tell her little about it, but leading a company of men safely through enemy lines after their officer was killed earned him three stripes on his jacket.

  Barry seemed to be enjoying the training, getting on fine with the other soldiers and as there was much he couldn’t say his letters were full of fun instead as he described his fellow soldiers and the camaraderie between them all.

  Angela wrote to him about the death of George but most of her letters were more cheerful, things Connie said or a skill she’d mastered, or places Angela had taken her. She said nothing about the money problems she had. His contribution, which was going to be five shillings a week, had not come through yet. Even Mary, used to letting one shilling do the work of two, was finding it hard to stretch the money and also pay the rent.

  Part of that was because the shopkeepers on Bristol Street where she now had to take her custom had upped their prices since before the war. ‘I think it grossly unfair,’ Angela railed one day, surprised how little there was in her shopping bag considering the amount of money spent. ‘And you know another thing, you can’t ask for tick in many of the shops. There are notices to tell you not to bother asking because “refusal often offends”.’

  ‘Really,’ said Mary. ‘Oh that’s bad. That’s the only way some people have to manage the pittance they get.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Angela said. ‘Anyway that means us as well. Though I have never had to ask for tick yet, I might be reduced to it now unless I do what I’ve been threatening to do and get a job. I’ve dithered because I don’t want to work full-time, I would miss Connie so much and I think it’s a lot for you too.’

&
nbsp; ‘Don’t you worry about me, Angela,’ Mary said. ‘I’m as strong as an ox and me and Connie can look after each other, can’t we, pet?’

  Connie didn’t really know what they were on about, but she smiled anyway and said, ‘Yeth’ and Angela picked her up and hugged her. ‘I’ll have a word with Maggie when I see her tomorrow,’ she said. ‘She only gets eight shillings for a ten-hour shift five days a week packing meat pies and sausages and stuff and I know she’s fed up.’

  And Maggie was fed up. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said almost as soon as they met the following morning. ‘D’you know what the boss said yesterday morning?’

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘He said that we’re doing important war work cos all the stuff we pack is for the troops. Anyway I said it was a shame it wasn’t better paid then, when most war-related work was. All right so we’re not making shell cases or bullets, but food is important to the troops too. After all they say an army marches on their stomachs.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Yes. Haven’t you ever heard that expression?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It means … Oh it’s obvious what it means,’ Maggie said. ‘Anyway this has decided me. I’m off to the munitions.’

  ‘And I might be going with you.’

  ‘You? I thought you said Barry didn’t want you working there?’

  ‘Maggie, given the choice I wouldn’t work in those sort of places,’ Angela said. ‘But needs must. We really can’t manage on the money. Even when Barry’s extra five shillings filters through it will be little better.’

  ‘Won’t you miss this little one?’ Maggie said indicating Connie. ‘People tell me the hours are long.’

  Maggie had brought Connie a game that one of her brothers had had that consisted of putting stiffened thickish cord through large wooden beads and Connie was concentrating so hard her little pink tongue was sticking out. Angela felt a rush of love for her and she answered fervently, ‘I will miss her like mad, but the war can’t last for ever.’

  ‘’Course it can’t,’ Maggie said assuredly. ‘And we’ve got to deal with the here and now. Another reason I’m going is because of our Mom. See I’ll be twenty soon and our Syd is just two years behind me and I reckon he will get called up sometime this year and our Mom will miss his money, so it will help if I am earning a bit more. Mind you,’ she added fiercely, ‘we wouldn’t be sailing so close to the wind all the time if my father hadn’t got such a thirst on him.’

  Angela said nothing for it was well known Maggie’s father liked his hooch and he was a regular down The Swan and they sometimes heard him sing his way home on Friday and Saturday nights.

  ‘Anyway,’ Maggie added, ‘I will help while I am at home while I wait for my knight in shining armour astride a white horse to ride off with me into the sunset.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Angela said. ‘Is this likely to happen sometime soon and is his name going to be Michael?’

  ‘That would be telling,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Well he asked you to write to him.’

  ‘Yeah and that’s what I do, write to him,’ Maggie said. ‘And so far he hasn’t said the magic words and proposed, but it’s always best to be prepared.’

  ‘You are a fool,’ Angela said fondly.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ retorted Maggie and their eyes met and they both burst into laughter. Connie looked up in astonishment and for Maggie and Angela it was as if the years had rolled away and they were girls again at St Catherine’s School. And Angela knew working in the munitions with Maggie would be much better than working without her, so when she said, ‘Shall I make some enquiries then?’ Maggie nodded her head. ‘Do,’ she said. ‘It’s no good putting it off.’

  Mary was reluctantly relieved at Angela’s decision for they couldn’t survive on what they had coming in, but she was worried from a safety angle. ‘It can’t be that bad,’ Angela said. ‘There’s plenty of people at it. Anyway no one seems to be really safe in this war. Look at those bombs that fell in London last week. They killed people and injured more and they were only going about their lives like everyone else when they were blown to bits.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mary said. ‘That was really dreadful. I am really scared they might drop one of those horrible bombs in Birmingham.’

  ‘I know,’ Angela said. ‘And I’m doing my bit to stop them because the soldiers can’t fight if they have nothing to fight with. I will only be making munitions as long as the war lasts and it can’t last for ever. And think of the money we can save during that time. So if Barry has a time finding a job after the war it won’t be a disaster but if he goes straight back to his old job that money can be used for something else.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Connie’s education,’ Angela said. ‘If she is bright enough Barry wants her to matriculate and go on further than that if she can.’

  ‘And what happens when you have a houseful of children?’ Mary asked. ‘Surely you’re not intending bringing her up as an only child?’

  Barry had said his mother must never know his views on limiting their family. It was against the Church’s teaching and she would never understand and so Angela just said, ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But more importantly for the moment, Mammy, is that you understand why I have to go for this job?’

  ‘I do see that we’ve all got to do the best for our families and that’s what you are trying to do. But I shouldn’t tell Barry till you are actually working at the place. He didn’t tell us about him enlisting till the deed was done so you can do the same.’

  ‘And what of Stan or Barry’s brothers who write regularly?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘They need to know nothing either,’ she said. ‘The time has come when women have to make their own minds up about their lives and not to look to their men’s approval because most of them won’t be around to give it or not. No, Angela, you take your job and we’ll keep it to ourselves as long as we can.’

  TWENTY

  The Boss of the munitions factory, Mr Potter, had been clear about the rules when Angela was interviewed for the job. ‘Everyone clocks in as soon as they arrive,’ he’d said. ‘And lateness is not tolerated. If a person is up to fifteen minutes late, they lose half a day’s pay. The gates are closed at 6.15 and anyone arriving after that time will not get in and will not be paid for that day at all.’ Then he fixed Angela with a beady eye and went on, ‘In this industry we carry no passengers and can have no slackers or late-comers for it affects the output of the whole team. Now what you will do here is important work, for our troops cannot fight effectively without the means to do so. We expect our workers to realize the importance of what they do, arrive on time and work hard but carefully, for mistakes can mean accidents. Now are you up to that Mrs … Mrs …?’

  ‘McClusky,’ Angela finished for him. ‘And yes I’m ready for it or I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I see you have a young child,’ he said, scrutinizing the form she had filled in. ‘Have you adequate care arranged?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Angela assured him. ‘I live with my mother-in-law. We have discussed it and she is quite willing to mind the child. My husband is training for the army and she knows as well as I how desperately the money is needed.’

  ‘Well that seems all in order,’ Mr Potter said. ‘We’ll see you bright and early on Monday morning.’

  Angela never forgot her first day at the factory. She was always an early riser, but five o’clock was earlier than she usually rose, so Mary gave her the alarm clock that usually stood by her bed. When it shrilled out in the dark morning, she shut it off immediately, worried that it might have wakened Connie, but the child just murmured in her sleep, turned over with a sigh and slumbered on.

  She had left her clothes ready on the chair beside the bed. She reached for them in the dark and carrying them and her boots in her arms she crept downstairs to dress. She also made a cup of tea and spread bread with marge and a smear of jam for she didn’t know when s
he might eat again. Anyway it surely was not at all sensible to go to work hungry for she imagined you needed to keep your wits about you and a steady hand dealing with explosives.

  As arranged, Maggie was waiting for Angela at the bottom of Grant Street and they greeted each other as they scurried down Bristol Passage to catch the half-five tram at the stop just around the corner on Bristol Street to take them to town. The ride was only a short one and usually they would walk such a distance easily, but once the tram reached the city centre they had to make their way to the Bull Ring and cross over it to Deritend where the factory was and they couldn’t risk being late.

  It was strange walking around the dark and almost silent town, the gas lamps throwing pools of light now and again and the only people they met were groups or pairs of women obviously, at that time in the morning, walking to a job of work the same as they were.

  Strangest of all was to look down on the Bull Ring, usually a centre of bustle and busyness and often tumultuous noise. Then Angela realized it wasn’t completely silent for though the shops were shut, the barrow boys were running up the cobbled hill. The rumble of the carts they pushed and their boots were the only sounds in the early morning as they parked their carts according to the dockets in their hands. Many of the costers shouted over to the two girls or gave them a cheery wave as they carried on down the hill. ‘A barrow boy was telling me once a pitch by the Market Hall opposite Woolworth’s is the best place,’ Maggie said.

  Angela nodded for she had heard the same. The Market Hall was an impressive building. A set of wide stone steps was in front of it with gothic pillars at the top of the steps and beautifully decorated arched windows all around and as they passed it Angela remarked, ‘It’s seems strange to see those steps without a scattering of people on them.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Maggie said because often men injured by this still-raging war would sell bootlaces and razor blades and the like from trays hung around their necks and sometimes groups of them fair littered the steps. ‘Speaking of which,’ Maggie said, ‘I always feel sorry for them, poor souls.’