What about us? (12 page)

We all laughed with her.

“And you Lil, who’d get your
vote?” Winnie asked more gently.

Lilly was too thin and too pale. 
She coughed all the time and was always bruised.

“Anyone who promised me milk
and honey and took the threat of the Workhouse away.” she said quietly.

This time nobody laughed.  The
threat of the Workhouse was all too real for most of the women there.

“As for me,” shouted Rose from
down the line, “All I want is cheaper gin!”

“If you got your gin any
cheaper it’d rot your boots while you stood in them.  As it is you could pickle
onions in the stuff you chuck down your throat and no one’d be any the wiser.”
Betty told her and we all laughed again.

“Got your answer?” Winnie said,
winking at me.

But I was uneasy.  These women,
for whom life was so hard, had no say at all and it seemed wrong to me.  I
remembered what Jack had told me.

“Things can only happen when
they did.  You can’t speed them up; not for a good reason, or for a bad one.”

At least it’ll happen one day,
I muttered to myself.

Of course once the washing was
dry, it had to be ironed and that took the best part of another day.  The
blessed thing got cold in minutes, so then you had to put it back on the fire
to warm up again and as there were no settings on it, you couldn’t let your
mind wander or you’d scorch something and ruin it.

The rugs were taken out into
the back yard once a week and beaten.  Jack helped me with that, but my muscles
began to grow I can tell you.  It’s no wonder that gyms as I knew them were not
invented back then.  Baking had to be done at least twice a week and I learnt
how to do all sorts of breads, pies and cakes.  Then there was the shopping.  No
supermarkets, no fridge or freezer and no convenience foods, or none that I was
prepared to trust anyway.  So most of my days involved some shopping, some
cleaning and a fair bit of cooking; I was taking no more chances with food
poisoning.

While I kept house, Jack went
out and about, collecting information and attending many of the workers meetings
that were being held.  We read the papers every day over breakfast and then
he’d spend the day down at the docks talking to sailors and people about to
embark on a journey, as well as those that had just arrived.  It was surprising
how much people would tell him; usually only for the price of a pint.  Some of
the stories he came back with were fascinating, but I’m not always sure they
were all true, while others were just unbelievably sad.  On the whole, it
seemed that lots of people just kept on moving and kept on hoping that they
were travelling away from trouble and towards something better.  In that sense
we weren’t so different.

When he wasn’t at the docks
he’d be wandering around London and he walked blooming miles; it’s no wonder he
was always so hungry.  When he came home we’d try to put all the pieces
together with whatever I could add and see what kind of picture it made.  I
loved helping him and he always made me feel as though it was important that I
was there.

“We’re a team,” he’d say.  “It
wouldn’t be the same without the bits you add.”

One afternoon, as Sal was
having her lunch, I was looking over what we’d written the night before.  Charlie
lay in a box in front of the range, all nicely tucked up and warm, as we
usually made sure he was.  She slowly put her knife and fork down and looked up
at me.

“You could pay me less and
teach me the letterin’...”

The words came out in a rush
and I realised just how much courage it had taken to make this request.

I put the papers down and
looked at her as she stared right back at me, almost defiantly and I knew she
was deadly serious.

“I’ve never taught anyone in my
life before Sal, so you’d be doing me a favour.  Maybe if I’m any good, I could
get a job at it.  We’ll start as soon as you’ve finished.”

She nodded, set her mouth in a
grim line and pushed her food away.

“Do it now, afore I lose me
nerve.” she said.

So that’s what we did and we
continued every day after that.  She was keen and a quick learner and we had
fun during our lessons, partly because I learnt as much as she did.

Some evenings Jack and I went
out; when it was dry anyway.  Being wet in all those thick clothes was a
nightmare and in those days the ‘chills’ really did kill people.  Sometimes we
just wandered through the streets, watching life as it happened in front of us
and sometimes we went to the music hall, which I loved.  They were such cheery,
friendly places and I quickly got the hang of the chorus that the audience was
supposed to sing along to.

On really cold, wet nights, or
one of the many smog filled ones we just stayed home, which we both enjoyed;
even though there was no telly.  We did things the old fashioned way.  We
updated our notes, or we read books out loud to each other.  We didn’t have an
instrument, but we still did duets.  I did the mending and we talked a lot.  It
was never boring.

One evening he spent hours
fiddling with the watch.  He assured me that he wasn’t planning a jaunt, he was
just trying to get some information out of it.  Every now and then he’d read
out an address and some dates and make me write them down carefully, exactly as
he read them out.  He managed to get seven or eight before the system locked
him out or something, then once he’d stopped swearing, he explained what they
were.

“Safe houses Grace; scattered
through the times we are likely to visit.  Keep that list safe, so that if
anything happens to me, you’ll still have them.  I can’t bear the thought of
you being alone and destitute.”

He was so sad as he said this. 
I went over to him and sat on his lap.

“Best make sure that nothing happens
to you then.” I told him sternly, but I memorised the list, just to make him
feel better.

Bath night was once a week.  We
had to drag the tin bath in from the back yard, clean it and then heat the
water.  The kitchen was always the warmest room, so it doubled as the bathroom
on those nights and of course it was easier to fill the thing when it was next
to the range.  As soon as one of us was scrubbed with the right soap and hair
was washed and squeaky clean, it had to be emptied and the whole process
started all over again.  Then when we were finished, it had to be dragged
outside again.  Such a palaver!

Our life in Napier Street had a
sense of tranquillity about it.  We fitted well together and life had a nice
rhythm to it.  We made promises to each other in whispers and laughter, we made
our own entertainment and we sang a lot.  They were happy times and I miss
them, despite the sheer bloody hard work of just getting through a day!

I’d never had a best friend.  It
was one of those luxuries I’d read about of course, even wondered about, but
never got close to having; so it was really nice to have Winnie in my life.  Most
days either I found myself in her shop, or she popped in for a cuppa.  She gave
me recipes to try and told me where the best meat, fish or veg was to be found
or encouraged me to try different things that she had in the shop.  She even
helped me find the right sort of oil for my hair.  Personal hygiene was a
minefield in those days.  So many products were just plain dangerous and I was lost
without the tried and trusted range of stuff that I’d grown up with.

After I’d been shopping I’d
always show Jack the new stuff that I’d bought to try.  So much was coming onto
the market that was either new, or a new type of process was used to produce it. 
I’d never cook with it or use it without getting the all clear from him first. 
Sometimes he just looked aghast and threw it away unopened, shaking his head.  Sometimes
he’d just laugh and with a shrug, say it was safe enough.  And other times, he’d
get quite serious and say that it would make a difference to many people’s way
of life.  He meant of course that it could help people live a healthier life.

Jack always said that I learnt
more about living in the late nineteenth century by doing the housework, than
he ever could just by watching.  Some of what I learnt was shocking.  For
obvious reasons I recognised alcoholism a mile off and it was rarely that far
away.  Men, women, even children, drank too much; often starting in the morning. 
As a normal day drink, beer was as common as tea for far too many people and I
could understand why there were all those groups, ‘temperance societies’ they
were called, trying to get people to leave the stuff alone and get the laws
changed, so it cost more and wasn’t so easily available.  Sadly they had their
work cut out for them, as lots of people just laughed at them or called them
spoilsports.

Domestic violence was just a
fact of life in way too many households and the women were just as likely to
launch into a fight as the men.  Too much of the hard earned wages were
frittered away on Friday nights in gin palaces and pubs, often leaving too
little for food for the following week.  Many people were hungry all the time,
tired and often bruised.

So many children were
malnourished and had to bring themselves up, while both mum and dad went out to
work, or lay in a drunken stupor.  The kids worked too, many in very dangerous
jobs.  In some houses, no bigger than ours, there were often two or three
families and ‘family', more often than not, meant at least six children.   People
came and went, so very few had a network of people around them that cared.  In a
way, Jack and I were no different.  We were also passing through, hoping to
find some peace and quiet along the line somewhere.  But we were better off
than most.

There’s no denying it, life was
different
then.   I don’t mean that people were more heartless or less
able to love and care for each other, but life worked against most of them.  Despite
this though, people were happy.  Mothers did love their kids, but it was harsh
and few of the people we met had any real say over their destiny, or even felt
that they had any real choices to make in the way they lived or died.  And die
they did, with alarming regularity.

Of course there were doctors,
but not many.  Hospitals were a place to die in and nothing was free, except a
slap.  The main roads were really dangerous, more so than in my time.  There
were more illnesses and injuries than I’d ever thought possible and even in our
little street, hardly a week went by without someone departing from this life.

One afternoon Winnie and I were
sitting in my kitchen drinking tea, talking about the death of a woman at
number thirty-two, who’d died giving birth.  The baby hadn’t survived the night
either and we were agreeing that it was just as well.  As it was, she left
eight children between two and twelve years old.  Her husband was a sweet man,
but she’d been the strength in that family and nobody knew what was going to
become of them all.

I was shocked at my heartless
response to the news of the baby’s death.  What was happening to me? Before I
could come up with a satisfactory answer, I became aware that Winnie was still
speaking.

“Do you think your feller’s
family will come round when you produce a grandchild?” she asked out of the
blue, her inquisitive eyes fixed on me.

The question startled me and
she noticed.

“You know me Grace, I speak as
I find.  You two are different and you don’t seem to have much.  Everything
here is pretty much part of the house, apart from your clothes and you’ve got
more than enough of them; all new and bought recent like.  You arrive one day,
not knowing nobody and bringing nothing, yet you’ve both clearly got education;
it stands out a mile.  You’ve never worked before, your hands give you away and
you’ve got lovely hands Grace.  So I put two and two together.  He’s got money. 
Maybe not much, but enough, so he doesn’t need to work and you don’t go without. 
Stands to reason his family have taken against you and yours against him.  They’ve
turned their backs on the both of you.  It happens all the time, in all walks
of life.  You seem happy enough with what you’ve got and it’s more than most
around here.  But are you hoping they’ll forgive you if you produce a
grandchild?”

She sat back, not in the least
bit worried if she’d offended me or not, which is why I liked her so much.

“There’s no hiding much from
you, is there?” I said, chuckling a bit.

It was a good story and one I
was sure we could use in the future.

“No...” I said slowly, deciding
on a version of the truth.  “His people will not forgive us, no matter how many
children we produce and mine don’t care.  What’s done is done.  We’ll get by
just fine.”

She nodded.  She’d seen it all before.

Later, I talked about her
question with Jack.  Not about our being forgiven, but about how lucky we’d
been.  We’d not been taking any precautions and so far, every month we’d got
away with it.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a family with Jack just at
that time and while I didn’t want to rule it out, I didn’t want it to be an
accident either.  If it was going to happen, I wanted it to be planned, with
both of us going into it with eyes wide open.  Our life together still had too
many unknowns for it to be a stable home.  Never having had one myself, I was
absolutely certain that any child of mine was going to have something
different.