by Jim Eldridge
I wished that Dad could have done a full day’s hard work too. I could tell he missed feeling useful – it couldn’t be making him feel any better that I’d managed to find a job when he hadn’t. An idea popped into my head.
“I wondered, Dad, if you wanted me to have a word with the gang foreman? It’s George Potts, who used to live in Caldew Street. I could put in a word for you with him.”
It was as if I’d slapped him. He stared at me and I could see a red flush of anger rising across his face. He threw down his knife and fork on the table.
“You. Put in a word for me? A kid putting in a word for his father?”
Quickly, Mam said, “Now, Walter, I’m sure Joe didn’t mean anything bad by it—”
“I’m the man in this house!” he raged. “If there’s any word to be put in, it should be me doing it, not you!”
He jerked up, almost knocking his chair over, and stormed out of the kitchen. A few seconds later we heard the front door slam.
“I was only trying to help!” I said.
“Your dad’s a very proud man,” said Mam sadly. She looked at Tim and Ann who were sitting, looking at her wide-eyed, their supper forgotten.
“Is Dad coming back?” asked Tim, on the point of tears.
“Of course he is,” said Mam. “He’s just gone out to blow his temper off. He’ll be back very soon. Now eat your supper.”
CHAPTER
11
I was tired after my first day of work, and the mattress Mam had put on the floor was comfortable, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about how to make things better with Dad, for everyone’s sake. It was driving me mad, and it wasn’t doing anyone else in the house any good. I had to do something about it, but the only answer to the problem seemed that I’d have to leave home. But where would I go? I could write to Eric or Billy in Manchester, but going that far away would upset Mam, Tim and Ann all over again. In the next room, Ann started coughing, that same horrible bronchitis cough. I heard her thrashing about, and then Mam’s footsteps on the landing.
“There, there,” she said. “It’s all right. Mam’s here.”
Ann’s coughs grew quieter, and finally I managed to drop off to sleep.
I was up early the next morning to get to work. The road gang started at half past seven, even though it was still dark. Before I set off, I knocked on Arthur’s door. I knew he didn’t start work until eight.
He was eating a piece of bread when he opened the door.
“Joe,” he said, swallowing his mouthful. “What’s wrong?”
I told him about what had happened at supper.
“It can’t go on, Arthur,” I said. I looked at my shoes, embarrassed. “I was wondering if I could come and stay with you for a couple of days, just till things blow over.”
“I’ll ask my mam,” said Arthur. “But I’m sure she’ll say it’s all right. She’s out at the moment on one of her cleaning jobs.”
“Thanks, Arthur,” I said. “I’ll pop in after work to see what she says.”
Arthur’s mam, Mary Graham, is a widow. Arthur’s dad died when Arthur was just six, so Mrs Graham went to work cleaning houses, to keep money coming in. Arthur started doing odd jobs – unpacking stock in shops and tidying up people’s gardens – from when he was seven, to make sure they had money to pay the rent and eat.
When the munitions factory at Eastriggs opened in 1916, Mrs Graham went to work there, the same as Mam did, but now the war was over, she’d been laid off, like Mam and the other women, which is why she was back cleaning.
I spent the day with the road gang, breaking up the road and throwing the old cobbles on the back of a lorry. It was physically exhausting, but I didn’t mind. At least no one was shooting at us.
As it was Friday, in the afternoon I could collect my wages for my first two days’ work. Arthur must have been watching out for me, because his door opened as I neared our house.
“Mam says it’s all right for you to stay,” he told me. “She’ll put down a mattress on the floor in my room for you.”
“Thanks, Arthur,” I said.
I felt a rush of relief and then a surge of guilt. Mam was going to be so upset.
“When do you want to come? She says you can move in tonight.”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I need to tell everyone first.”
“Your dad should be pleased,” said Arthur.
“Yes, but Mam and the kids won’t,” I said.
CHAPTER
12
It was strange. I’d run into machine-gun fire. I’d climbed over barbed wire with soldiers dying next to me. I’d crouched for hours in trenches, listening to shells exploding all around me. But the thought of telling Mam I was moving in with Arthur made me more nervous than anything I’d faced at the front.
The first thing I did was give Mam a little money towards the rent from my wage packet along with a few pennies for Tim and Ann for sweets. I would have given her more, but I knew I’d need some to pay Mrs Graham for my keep.
Mam had made a stew for us, and we ate it in silence, mainly because Dad glowered at anyone who opened their mouth to speak.
After we’d finished eating, I knew I couldn’t put off telling them any longer.
“I was thinking…” I started to say, trailing off as my courage failed me.
Mam looked at me, curious. There was nothing for it but to say it straight out.
“I thought I’d stay next door with Arthur for a while,” I said, trying to sound casual about it, though my heart was beating hard. “They’ve got more room.”
Mam and Dad looked at one another, Mam concerned, Dad grim-faced.
“Are you sure it’ll be all right with Mrs Graham?” asked Mam.
“Arthur said it would,” I said.
“So you talked to her first before you talked to us, did you?” said Dad.
“Only to check,” I said. It was like I couldn’t win – Dad was angry at me for being around at home, and angry at me when I tried to leave.
He gave a grunt, pushed himself up from the table and limped out of the room leaning heavily on his stick. I heard him go into the parlour.
I looked at Mam apologetically.
“I’m sorry, Mam,” I said. “But it’s not good for anyone, the way it’s been here since I came back.”
“He’ll get better,” said Mam quietly.
She got up and went after Dad. Tim and Ann were staring at me.
“Will you come back?” asked Tim. “Or will it be like before? You went out and never came back.”
“I sent Mam a postcard,” I said.
“That didn’t come for ages,” said Tim.
“She cried when it came,” said Ann.
“And she cried at night for weeks,” said Tim. “When we were in bed. We heard her.”
“I’m only going to be next door at Arthur’s,” I said.
But Tim and Ann just looked at me.
CHAPTER
13
The next morning, I packed my kitbag and went downstairs to tell Mam and Dad I was off.
“Your dad’s gone out,” said Mam. “He said he had to see someone.”
I felt sure he’d just made up an excuse so he didn’t have to be there when I left. I didn’t say that to Mam. I didn’t want to upset her.
“Just remember, I’m only next door at Arthur’s if you need me for anything,” I reminded her.
She gave me a hug. I shook hands with Tim and gave Ann a cuddle, and then left. I had said it was only going to be for a short time, but I knew – and I think so did Mam – that I wouldn’t come home again until Dad and I found a way to get along. If we ever did.
I’d been a boy when I left home to go to war, but all the things that had happened to me while I was away had made me a man, and I couldn’t stay at home with Dad giving me orders like I was still a little child. Especially when I felt he was being unfair.
Arthur’s mam greeted me with a big smile.
“Welcome, Joe!” she
said. “Have you had breakfast?”
“I have, thank you, Mrs Graham,” I said.
“You just make yourself at home.”
“I will,” I said. “It’s only until things get sorted out at ours, and if they don’t, I’ll look for a room somewhere, I promise.”
“No you won’t, Joe Henry,” she said sternly. “You stay here as long as you want. I’m sure your dad will come round.” She took her coat from the peg and began to put it on. “Anyway, you two can look after yourselves for a bit. I’m off to the town hall for the demonstration.”
“What demonstration?” I asked.
“Votes for women,” said Mrs Graham.
“Oh, Mam,” groaned Arthur. “People might see you!”
“I hope they do,” said Mrs Graham. “It’s about time we ordinary women got the right to say who we want in charge of us. We were necessary when there was a war on, but as soon as it’s finished we’re thrown over. It’s not right.”
“But women have got the vote, Mam,” said Arthur. “I saw it in the paper in February.”
“Only if they’re over thirty and they own a house. So it’s only rich women who get the vote. What about the rest of us? We’re the ones who do the hard work. And why do we have to be thirty? Men can vote when they’re twenty-one and they get the vote whether they own a house or not. Is that fair?” She opened the door. “Look after your gran while I’m out. She could do with some fresh air.”
“I hope she’s not going to be waving a banner,” said Arthur as she left. “Everyone will see her.”
Arthur and I played a couple of games of draughts, like we used to do in the old days, and then we got ready to take his gran out. We set up her wheelchair – which wasn’t really a proper wheelchair but an old folding pushchair – and then helped her put on her coat and shoes.
“It’s too cold to go out,” she complained, scowling.
“You’ll enjoy it once you’re out, Gran,” said Arthur.
She continued to grumble at us as we helped her into her wheelchair. Arthur’s gran was very different from his mam. Her face was shrivelled like a tortoise’s, and her scowl could curdle milk, but her sharp eyes saw everything. I wondered if Dad would end up like her when he got older – scowling and suspicious.
Me and Arthur took turns pushing the wheelchair. At first we took her to Victoria Park, but Arthur’s gran said the wind was too icy and there was nothing interesting to see, so we headed towards the town centre where it would be more sheltered.
It was a Saturday and nearing Christmas, so the town centre was busy with shoppers. We kept being stopped by friends of Arthur’s gran, so it took us a while to get to the main square by the town hall.
A group of women were standing on the steps of the tall cross opposite the town hall. They were holding up placards that said ‘Votes for ALL Women’, and it looked as if one of the women was giving a speech. I spotted Mrs Graham near the steps of the cross, and nudged Arthur, who groaned.
“At least she hasn’t got a banner,” he muttered.
Just then, the crowd burst into applause at whatever the speaker had said.
“What does suffrage mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “It’s something to do with voting.”
“A bunch of fools,” said Arthur’s gran with a snort. “What do they want the vote for?”
“Quite right, Ma,” said a big, rough-looking man standing next to us. Then he shouted at the crowd, “You already have the vote! Why are you still complaining?”
“You women don’t deserve to vote if you’re going to act like a bunch of yowling cats,” shouted another man.
He strode forward and grabbed the placard that one of the women was holding and tried to take it off her. She resisted, holding on to it tightly, and there was a tussle between them. Other men moved forwards to do the same, and grab the banners and placards, and the women resisted. I saw a woman bash one of them on the head with her placard.
“This is getting ugly,” muttered Arthur. “You look after Gran, I’m going to help Mam!”
But before he could, there was the shrill sound of a police whistle, and suddenly the square was full of policemen. I realised they’d been waiting nearby the side of the town hall in case trouble started.
As soon as the police appeared the men vanished back into the crowd, or slipped down side streets, but it soon became obvious that it wasn’t the men the police were after. The police arrested several of the women demonstrators on the steps of the cross, including the one who’d been making the speech, and bundled them into a black police van. It was very unfair. Why weren’t they arresting the men who’d tried to grab the banners? After all, they’d started the trouble. Some of the other women tried to stop them taking her away, but the police simply took them as well, putting them in the police van.
“Let’s get away from here,” I said. “I think your mam’s gone.”
I couldn’t spot her in the square any more. Hopefully she had slipped away, rather than been arrested.
“Good idea,” said Arthur.
We turned his gran’s wheelchair around and pushed her away from the square.
“Huh, just as it was getting interesting,” she grumbled.
It took us a while to get back to Tait Street. Every time Arthur’s gran saw someone she knew, she stopped to talk about the trouble at the demonstration and the arrests.
“What’s the point of women voting?” said one old man. “They don’t know anything about politics. They don’t even care!”
“The ones in the square seemed to,” I said. “Why shouldn’t women have a vote?”
The old man glared at me.
“You kids don’t understand the way things work,” he said. “Wait ’til you get out in the real world.”
I opened my mouth to say that I had been out in the real world, that I had fought in the war. But the way Arthur’s gran was scowling at me made me close my mouth again. I’d already upset Dad enough to make it impossible to live at home, I didn’t want the same thing to happen with Arthur’s gran.
When we finally got back to Tait Street, we found Arthur’s mam had beaten us home and was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, calm as anything.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “We saw the trouble in the square.”
“It was all going well until some stupid men tried to take our banners,” said Mrs Graham. “It was exactly as they treated us in 1913. As if the war changed nothing!”
“Votes for women,” said Arthur’s gran with a snort. “Lot of nonsense. Why do women want to get involved in voting? Leave it to the men, that’s what I say. Women have got enough to do with cooking and cleaning and looking after the house. We never had time to think about voting when I was young.”
“Things were different in your day, Meg,” said Mrs Graham.
CHAPTER
14
That evening, we sat by the fire in the kitchen range. Gran had nodded off in her chair, Arthur was reading a book and Mrs Graham was knitting. I was looking into the hot coals, watching as the flames curled round and flickered. I wondered how many times I’d crouched in the cold and soaking wet of the trenches, wishing I could be beside a fire like this.
“I’m glad the war’s over,” said Mrs Graham suddenly, her voice breaking into my thoughts.
“So is everyone,” I said.
“Eastriggs was a terrible place to work,” she said. “The money was good, but the work was horrible.”
“Mum never said much about her work,” I said.
“They told us not to talk about it because important war work should be kept secret.” She gave a mocking laugh. “Secret? Eastriggs was the biggest munitions factory in the whole world. Everyone knew what we were making. The truth was, they didn’t want anyone to know how dangerous it was to work there.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“People got blown up,” she said in a quiet voice. “We used to make eight hundred tons of cor
dite a week, for making bombs and putting in bullets. We used to mix nitroglycerine, guncotton and petroleum jelly together and then knead it into a sort of dough. Deadly stuff, nitroglycerine. If you didn’t handle it properly it could explode. And if you had to mix it with sulphur, it turned your skin yellow.”
That night, as I lay on the mattress on the floor with Arthur snoring just above me, I kept thinking about Eastriggs. Mam had never said much about it. She didn’t want to worry me, I suppose. And I had never asked her about it, I was too absorbed in what I was doing, and what was happening at the front.
I had never thought of Mam as fighting a war too.
The next morning, when Mrs Graham took Arthur’s gran a cup of tea in bed, she came down and said the old lady was feeling poorly. She was coughing and shivering, and said her head hurt. I wondered if she’d caught bronchitis because of the damp, like Ann.
Mrs Graham made her a drink of hot lemon, which Mam used to make for Ann, but Arthur’s gran just seemed to get worse as the day went on. I popped in once to take her some water. Her eyes were closed and she was very hot, sweat rolling down her face. Her skin, usually so pale, looked almost purple.
I told Mrs Graham, who went upstairs at once. She came back down looking worried.
“I think we might have to get Doctor Campbell in,” she said.
Doctor Campbell lived in a big house on Warwick Road. How he could afford such a nice home, I didn’t know. Normally, doctors were expensive but Doctor Campbell often treated people he knew would never be able to pay.
Mrs Graham went off to get Doctor Campbell, leaving Arthur and me to watch over her. We sat together in her room. Her eyes were closed as if she was asleep, but she kept shivering and coughing. She never answered us when we spoke to her.
Mrs Graham was back quickly.
“Doctor Campbell’s out on a call,” she said. “His housekeeper says lots of people have been calling for him with the same symptoms. She’ll ask him to visit us as soon as he gets back.”
We took turns to go up to see how she was, and if she wanted anything, while we waited for the doctor. Each time she didn’t answer, just lay there, making a terrible wheezing sound.