by Anne Bennett
Angela’s senses were reeling, and she felt a constriction in her throat. She didn’t even know about any bombed sites. However, she didn’t question the boy further. Instead, she remembered the words he had blurted out when he first came to the door, and in a voice that shook slightly, she said, ‘You said something about an explosion. Is my daughter hurt?’
Bobby, remembering his instructions, shook his head. ‘They just said there had been an explosion, and the man said to come and tell you.’
‘What man?’
‘The Gaffer,’ the boy said. ‘The one in charge, like. His name is Stan summat.’
Angela felt an icy-cold shiver wash over her body. ‘Stan Bishop?’ she asked urgently.
The boy, however, shrugged as he said, ‘Dunno. Could be?’
Angela’s mind was teeming with questions, but she guessed the boy knew little more than he had already told her. After that awful encounter she had with Stan in the shop, she had no desire to ever see him again, but far more important than how she felt about Stan was the need to find out if her daughter was all right, so she said urgently to the boy, ‘Can you take me to this place?’
‘Yeah,’ the boy said. ‘I just come from there, but it’s in Walsall, so we’ll have to make our way to the city centre and take a train out, and the thing is, I ain’t got no more money.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll pay for us both. Can we go straight away?’
‘Yeah, ’cept I got to pop in and tell my mum what’s happening. Won’t be a jiffy.’
‘Hurry,’ Angela said, lifting her coat from behind the door. ‘We’ll go as soon as you’ve done that.’
While Angela and Bobby were hurrying to the tram stop, news of what had happened to Connie McClusky was flying around those mean streets. Bobby had been overheard talking to Angela on her doorstep, and everyone wanted to help, though there was little that anyone could do, with Connie still trapped under the piles of masonry, while Angela waited for news, not knowing yet if she was alive or dead.
On the train out to Walsall, Angela was completely quiet, and Bobby gave her a surreptitious glance and thought her face was very white. ‘You all right?’
‘Not really,’ Angela said. ‘I will be, though, when I have found my daughter is uninjured.’
Bobby recalled the huge mound of debris he had left earlier that this woman’s daughter was buried beneath, and he felt sorry for her. He couldn’t tell her anything more, the Gaffer had been adamant about that. Really he thought it would be safer all round if he said nothing at all.
So, the journey was taken in virtual silence and Angela was almost glad of it. She tried to push from her mind the explosion in the shell factory she had worked in. She had been out on the road driving the truck when it happened, but she remembered Maggie had been trapped for a while and it had been horrifically worrying at the time, but eventually she had been rescued. They had a system in place to organise the rescue crews, or at least they had in the war. But the war had been over for years now and she felt her heart banging in her breast, and she forced herself to calm down. Whatever had happened, she would be no use to Connie if she went to pieces, and instead she concentrated on the journey and wished the clanking train could go faster.
When Angela and Bobby reached the factory, she saw the gigantic mound of masonry and assorted debris, and her heart froze. If her daughter was buried under that, there was virtually no chance she would have survived. She spotted Stan in the far end of the factory, but before she could head his way, she overheard that a number of people were unaccounted for. ‘Amongst them is the Gaffer’s son Daniel, too,’ one of the miners said.
For a time she stood where she was, seemingly rooted to the spot in shock and horror. She watched the miners tirelessly moving debris from the stack. They worked to a rhythm, knowing that while time was of the essence, any sudden movement might dislodge the structure, which would likely be fatal to anyone trapped underneath. Suddenly one of them spotted Bobby and gave him a shout and a wave. Bobby rushed over to see what he wanted, with Angela close on his heels.
The rescuers had uncovered part of the roof of the factory, and there was a small hole to be seen between the piles of masonry. ‘Could you squeeze through there, lad?’ one of the miners asked, adding to Angela, ‘Don’t you worry, missus. If anyone can get through that lot and tell us what’s happening, it will be Bobby Gillespie.’
The boy, after scrutinising the hole, said, ‘I reckon I could climb down there.’
An older miner came over and shook his head. ‘I don’t know, lad. The whole stack is unstable. This time it could be just too dangerous.’
‘Look,’ the young miner said, ‘my brother might be down there!’
‘But he’s just a child!’ Angela cried.
The boy’s worried eyes met Angela’s anxious ones. Then he said, ‘I stopped being a child when we lost Dad, a few years back. There’s just me and my brother to look after my mum and my younger sisters, still at school.’
‘So what if she was to lose you too?’
‘It would be far worse if she lost our Len,’ the young lad retorted. ‘I’m only young, see, so I don’t earn enough to keep my mum and my sisters, and pay the rent and everything.’
‘They still shouldn’t let you risk …’
‘Look, I can go down roped up and see if I can find out if there’s anyone still alive, and where they are, and how difficult it will be to get them out,’ Bobby said. ‘And you needn’t worry. I can’t fall because of the rope, and they can pull me up if I am in any danger. Safe as houses, it will be.’
The boy was so confident and Angela was so desperately worried about Connie that she didn’t argue further, and she watched Bobby being securely roped up before being lowered into the hole.
‘Has he done this type of thing before?’ she asked a nearby miner.
‘Oh aye,’ the miner said. ‘When there is a fall, young Bobby Gillespie is invaluable, because he can wriggle into spaces other miners can’t reach. And he has his head screwed on – good at sizing up a situation, you know?’
Angela thought it monstrous that such a young child should be down a mine in the first place. ‘Isn’t that extremely dangerous?’
‘Life is dangerous,’ the miner said. ‘Every time the lift drops down the shaft, or I am trudging to the coal face, I think if there is a fall that I am trapped behind, I’d like to think there would be someone like young Bobby to locate me quickly, so they have a chance of getting me out alive. I have a wife and three young ones at home.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. If there was the possibility of my daughter being buried under that lot, I’d likely feel the same. Let’s wait and see what Bobby finds, shall we?’
It was suddenly too much for Angela. She didn’t understand any of it. Connie was trapped under the bomb-damaged wreckage of a derelict factory. How had it happened and what was she doing there in the first place? The thoughts were whirling in her brain, and she tried to stand, aware that the wall seemed to be tilting and her head was fuzzy and an ache pounded in the side of it. Suddenly a wave of blackness seemed to enfold her, like a cloak thrown over her head, and she felt herself falling …
When Angela came to, Stan was by her side. He had put a pillow someone had brought beneath her head, and laid his coat on top of her. Despite the angry words he’d spoken in the shop, he wanted nothing bad to happen to this woman that he loved beyond reason. It was just immeasurably sad that she didn’t feel the same about him. Angela opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into Stan’s deep, dark eyes that were full of concern.
‘Are you all right?’ Stan asked, and his voice was soft and gentle, just as if the altercation in the shop had never happened. She didn’t know how to react to this different Stan. But concern for her daughter overrode everything else, and according to young Bobby, Stan might be able to answer her questions, so she said hesitantly and in a voice little above a whisper, ‘They say
… they think Connie is under that lot.’
Stan nodded, ‘Daniel too.’
‘But … but what are they both doing here?’
‘Helping me.’
‘Helping you?’ Angela repeated. ‘How? Why? Connie hardly knows you.’
‘She knows Daniel.’
‘Hardly. She hasn’t seen him for months.’
‘They have been seeing each other a little bit of late.’
‘Seeing each other? You mean …?’
‘Going out together.’
Angela could hardly believe that the daughter she thought she was so close to should be seeing a boy she knew her mother wouldn’t approve of, and seeing him behind her back. Now, though, that hardly seemed to matter. What mattered more than anything else was that Connie should survive, for without Connie, Angela knew her life would have no meaning. She summoned the courage to choke out the question she hadn’t been brave enough to ask until this moment: ‘What are their chances of getting out of there?’
Stan shook his head. ‘No idea, really,’ he said. ‘Young Bobby might have some news for us eventually.’
‘So, we can do nothing but wait?’
‘That’s about the strength of it,’ Stan said. ‘Are you strong enough to sit up?’
‘I … I think so.’
‘I’ll get us a couple of chairs and tell you what I have become involved in, that has further involved our youngsters, while we wait for news.’
Stan told Angela all about the proposal put to him by the Labour MP, and how Connie became involved.
‘She didn’t say a word about it to me,’ Angela said.
‘Yes, sorry about that,’ Stan said. ‘Both Daniel and I encouraged Connie to tell you.’
‘So why didn’t she?’
Stan shrugged. ‘According to Daniel, she thought you might not approve.’
‘I thought she knew me better than that,’ Angela said. ‘I think it’s a splendid idea. Might have become involved myself, but did you know it was so dangerous?’
‘No, indeed I didn’t,’ Stan said. ‘All the dangerous materials should have been removed before we were sent in to clear out the rest. Apparently, according to some of the other chaps, when Daniel heard about the live shells, he was adamant Connie shouldn’t be involved.’
‘But she wouldn’t hear of dropping out?’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Stan said with a grim smile.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Angela said. ‘I do know how stubborn Connie can be.’
There was a pause and then Stan sighed and said, ‘Angela, it was all my fault. I’m so incredibly sorry.’
‘How can it be your fault?’
‘I’m the Gaffer,’ Stan said. ‘I should’ve checked Connie wasn’t involved in anything dangerous.’
‘She would have hated that.’
‘Maybe, but she would have been safe,’ Stan said and added, ‘I’m surprised you don’t hate me. If your daughter is hurt, I will never forgive myself.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ Angela said. ‘I don’t think I could. Nor do I hold you responsible. It was a terrible, tragic accident, so let’s just hope and pray Bobby has some news for us soon.’
‘Yes, let’s hope so.’
FIVE
While Stan and Angela sat in the bomb-wrecked factory in England waiting for news from Bobby, in New York a man whom those in the Black Country had tried hard not to think about for many a year, was pacing up and down in the poky front room of the small house he rented with his uncle.
Eddie McIntyre was facing said uncle, one furious Sam Winters. Eddie had involved himself in Angela’s life some years back, but when he returned from England he found his uncle had become much frailer in his old age. Sam had been glad to hand more and more of his business to his young nephew, even giving him a fair amount of financial control, so that it was Eddie making many of the decisions, the boss in all but name.
He dabbled in stocks and shares, something his uncle has steered well clear of. At first, though the shares went up and down, he had made a considerable amount of money. But instead of investing in the company, he had used the excess to buy more shares, and eventually used the house and cars as collateral to buy even more. Then three years before, in October 1929, there had been the Wall Street Crash. Eddie hadn’t seen the danger in time, for he was used to the variable prices of the shares. When he saw them reach their peak in August and then begin to drop in September, he thought they would come back up again, as they had done in the past.
When the prices continued to fall more rapidly in October, many sold their shares at a loss. Eddie did not, and had to eventually admit to his uncle just how involved he was. Sam had been unaware until then that Eddie had risked not only the fancy cars, but also the large house and the horses and carriage in the stables as collateral to buy more shares. When, listening to the news on the wireless on what would later be dubbed Black Tuesday, Sam realised he was ruined, Eddie thought his uncle might be having a heart attack. It was clear that their privileged lifestyle would be no more. The cars were sold for less than half their value and so were the house, the carriage and the fine horses in the stables.
The servants had seen the writing on the wall. Most had made contingency plans and, knowing there would be no more wages, left even before the house sale was completed.
Still the creditors were hammering on the door, and Sam sent for his nephew. Eddie hated poverty and detested the mean house his uncle had rented while he tried to find a route out of the mess. His uncle was angrier than he had ever known him and he stared at Eddie with hate-filled eyes and his chest heaved up and down like that of an enraged bull, but Eddie was totally unprepared for what Sam had to say. His mouth dropped open.
‘England? Why do you want me to go to England?’
‘Because,’ Sam said in clipped tones, ‘I don’t know how else we will survive. I have sold everything of value, but we can’t eat without money. I can get no credit anywhere and I’m constantly receiving bills – sometimes sizeable ones, too – for goods ordered before the crash, and I have no funds to pay any of them. Now, I don’t know how you did it, for you are an irresponsible nincompoop, but you developed some valuable trade links and good solid orders last time you were in England. I want you to go back, check them out and maybe keep us afloat that way, for a while at least.’
Eddie looked at his uncle with resentment. Initially, he had no desire to go back to England. He’d been glad enough to reach England some years before to escape the consequences of a dreadful act of violence he had inflicted on a man called Tom Goldsmith. An image flashed into McIntyre’s mind of the man he’d beaten and kicked senseless before he’d fled to England. He had been seeing the man’s daughter, Susan, and her father had just discovered her pregnancy and had been told that Eddie refused to take any responsibility for it. Susan’s father had come looking for Eddie, prepared to ‘do’ for him if necessary, for disgracing his daughter.
All the streets round the docks had been black as pitch. As prohibition was ruling America, under cover of darkness Eddie had been offloading a consignment of bootleg liquor from a boat onto lorries to supply the speakeasies, and he was unprepared for the attack. However, just as Susan’s father raised the chunk of wood he’d found on the ground and prepared to strike McIntyre’s head, a ship’s hooter sounded. The man gave a start and Eddie spotted him out of the corner of his eye, catching sight of the raised weapon. He jerked out of the way so that it slammed into his left shoulder rather than his head. Eddie wrested the bar from the older man and cracked it into the side of his skull.
Eddie remembered staggering to his feet and hurrying home, hoping that his mother was there and his uncle was not. He went round the side of the house and so, with relief, saw his uncle working in his study. He found his mother in the kitchen and she gave a cry when she saw him holding his arm. ‘What happened?’ she said, easing his jacket off, and she listened dispassionately to Eddie’s account of the encounter. ‘He started it, no
t me,’ he added at the end.
But his mother knew him well and she said, ‘What did you do, for him to attack you? Most probably it was something to do with a girl – his daughter, perhaps?’
Eddie shrugged. ‘Like mother, like son, maybe.’
His mother’s face flushed crimson. As a young child, Eddie had been aware that his mother had slept with his uncle, even though he never married her. But his uncle wasn’t the only one she took to her bed, though Sam had been unaware of that. But the fact that Eddie had found out meant that she could hardly chide him for doing something she did herself, so she just said, ‘Did you kill him?’
‘No … well, I don’t know. He was alive when I left him, I think.’
‘If you’ve left him alive and if he recovers enough to tell them who attacked him, the police will be feeling your collar before you’re much older,’ his mother said. ‘Even if he’s dead and he told anyone of his intention when he left the house that night, they will come for you, so the only thing to do is get you away from here – fast. You were due to go to England anyway, and this just means going earlier than planned. I will cover for you here.’
So that was how Eddie had found himself on the next available ship bound for England. It had been the kind of ship captained by a man who asks no questions if you are prepared to pay enough money for the privilege. And it was then, on his first trip to England, that he met Angela McClusky.
A frown now darkened his brow at the memory of Angela. He didn’t think he behaved very well with her, or at least that’s what she would have everyone believe. And what a tease she turned out to be! She looked like an angel and promised a man the earth, with her luscious body willing and more than ready for sex – and then she slammed the brakes on when the mood suited her.
He had to admit, though – when he did manage to take her to bed, it had been mind-blowing. A smile curled around his lips as he wondered whether he still had the same pull he once had. He would love the chance to get her into his bed at least once more. Oh yes, Eddie thought, maybe there could be some benefits to a return trip to England, after all …