Chapter 35: The New Playground Opens

The days lengthened. Soon Michael was going to school and back in broad daylight. He was anxious to lose the tag of 'Mummy's Boy' and persuaded Margaret to let him walk on his own. Reluctantly, she agreed, but looked out for him from the parlour window. One afternoon, he was excited when he saw men working on what had been the empty site opposite his house in Edward Street.

In a matter of days, they put a new surface on the rough ground and erected a slide, some swings and a roundabout. The playing area was bigger than the school playground. All was ready, by the middle of March. It was exciting. He was looking forward to going over there.

The Saturday after it was opened to the kids of the neighbourhood, he went to his old look-out, watching events from the parlour window. He looked to see if the bigger boys who worried him at school were using the playground. He hated the taunts that he had been enduring at playtime. If they were there, there was no way he was going to join them.

By mid-morning, there were lots of children playing. Maybe forty or fifty, aged from about four to fourteen. The place was a new attraction. There was a lot of loud yelling and shouting going on, more than was allowed at school! The situation definitely looked a bit dodgy to Michael. Disappointed, he went into the living-room to play with his sister.

Margaret suggested, "I'll tell you what, when it's twelve o'clock, most of the children will go home for their dinners. I'll take you and Gwyn. How about that?"

"No Mam! They'll only call me 'Mummy's Boy' all the more."

"Please yourself! But for heaven's sake, straighten your face and amuse yourself with something. I'm fed up with you mooning about and it's only the first day of the holidays!"

Luckily, Joan came to the rescue. She knocked on the door and came in. "Can I take Michael to the playground, Margaret?"

Of course she could. Michael was happy because Joan would look out for him. In any case, the rough kids from school would probably have gone by now.

Joan had to stop the roundabout before he'd jump on it and it was the same when he wanted to come off. She pushed it and when it was going fast she jumped on. Round they went. It was really good.

Next she gave him a go on a swing. He enjoyed that too.

Joan climbed the steps to the slide and slid down. Michael waited until she returned to the foot of the ladder.

"Are you going to have a go?" she asked him. "I'll be right behind you. You'll be all right."
Michael plucked up courage and said, "Okay!"

She let him go in front of her. But he'd only gone up seven steps then he was too frightened to go any further. There were four other little kids behind Joan on the ladder. All had to turn round and go back to the ground to let him off the steps. Joan didn't mind. All of the other kids stared at Michael but they didn't moan at him. His failure made him feel like crying. He'd had enough of the playground. It wasn't that marvellous. Joan could see that he was upset.

"It was pretty good though wasn't it Michael? Come on, we'll go and tell your Mam."

He supposed it hadn't been too bad, but he hadn't enjoyed it as much as he'd expected. He wondered what Rob would do when he came that afternoon.

"Say thank-you to Joan for taking you!"
"Thank-you Joan!"

Off she went, skipping down the road to home.

That afternoon, Rob came with his mother and sister. Margaret went up-town to do her shopping. Sheila stayed to look after the children. Sheila was now five months pregnant. She had not wanted to come because she dreaded the walk back up the hill afterwards. But Rob had made her promise and reluctantly she'd brought him.

Michael was really pleased.

"Shall we go and try out the things over there?"asked Rob. There was lots of noise coming from the playground again, more than there had been in the morning. Michael was a bit reluctant but Rob was keen so he agreed to go.

Rob was taller and stronger than Michael. Rob tended to be the leader. He was the boss when there were just the two of them playing. It was the same when they were with their sisters. Michael had good ideas for things to do, but Rob was the one who excelled in carrying them out. On the playground, Rob went straight into the thick of things. He shouted at and jostled the other kids. Nobody and nothing worried Rob. He was as raucous and self-assertive as any of them. He led and Michael did his best to follow.

Soon, Rob was running and jumping on the roundabout when it was going round quickly. He waved to Michael, who hung back. Rob chose one of the swings for bigger kids and was soon standing on the seat and going high in the air. He was up the steps and down the slide as often as the slow-moving queue of children permitted.

Finally, after Rob had had six goes, Michael made up his mind. He would make himself go up all of those steps. He would go right to the dizzying top. He would launch himself down that slide. He followed Rob and watched him hurtle to the bottom. Michael stood on the platform at the top. He hesitated for a long time.

"Get a move on kid!" a big lad said from behind him.
"Hurry up! What's the hold-up?" called another voice.

Michael was between a rock and a hard place. He could either risk going down the slide or endure the ridicule of a crowd of kids.

It seemed a long way down. Gingerly he lowered his bottom onto the platform and then holding both sides of the slide he went down slowly.

"Leave go!" shouted Rob watching from the ground. Half-way down he did so and enjoyed the slide the rest of the way.

"It's good isn't it?" he said to Rob.
"Told you, didn't I? Come on, let's have another go!"

So he did. He didn't hold on at all that time.

When his mother returned, the boys were back in the house, playing Soldiers.

Michael sprang to his feet and proudly informed her, "I can do the slide can't I Rob? It's really good. Can I show you? You can see me from the parlour window."

"Why, there's lovely," said his Mam. "But not today! I'll watch you tomorrow.I'm busy now."

When Gordon came home, he was pleased to hear all about Michael's enthusiasm for the slide.

"I went down it as fast as Malcolm Campbell in Bluebird!" he cheerily told his Dad.

Chapter 34: Gwyn's Illness

Despite Margaret's good intentions, she was unable to support Sheila as she wished. There were several reasons for this.

Firstly, both mothers were taking and collecting their sons from two different schools. This restricted the time they could be together weekdays. And it took quite a while to walk up and down the steep hill which separated them.

Secondly, visiting and having the Matthews visit them was no longer the attraction it had been for Gordon. His friend Jack was no longer at home. He had no one special to talk with.
Thirdly, Sheila discovered that she was pregnant. The difficult walk to and from the Watsons was daunting. She could catch a bus most of the way between her home and the town centre, but a diversion to the Watson's would cancel out catching the bus.

All of this meant that Michael and Rob saw less of each other, although they met occasionally at weekends. When the Easter Holiday came, Margaret took him to the Matthews just twice. But when they did meet they remained good friends.

Luckily, Michael had another friend who helped him pass his spare time happily. His cousin Joan and he could play more games together now that he was older and her visits grew more frequent.

"Don't leave Gwyn out, you two!" Margaret urged them. There was little hope of that. Three years old, Gwyn was a Michael admirer. She followed him about, imitated him, gave in to him and was always happiest when he was at home and playing with her. She was a lovely looking child, with a translucent, smooth skin and kind blue eyes which often sparkled with merriment. She had straight black hair cut in a fringe across her forehead. She was always laughing and smiling, bright and full of life. Except when she was ill.

She submitted willingly to the hairdresser's scissors when Margaret took her to Monquers in Calkeld Lane.

"Hold your head still, love!" said the man. She laughed as he snipped away at her hair and some fell to the floor. When he'd finished cutting, he sprayed her with scent which smelled lovely. Finally, he removed the cloth from around her shoulders.

She laughed again and said, "It tickles, Mam. It's gone down my neck!" She jumped up and down and a lock of hair fell to the floor from under her dress. That made the man laugh and say, "You're a lively one, aren't you?"

Margaret thought, "She's a joy to take anywhere. So easy to please!"

"The man said, I'm a lively one, didn't he Mam?" she reported to Michael when she told him about her visit to the hairdresser. After that, although he still didn't like going to have his hair cut, Michael stopped making a fuss about it.

During the school week, Gwyn took the place once occupied by Michael. She knelt on the chair at the parlour window, waved to everybody going by and laughed delightedly when they waved back. Some days, her mother let Gwyn take Jesse the cat to the front door for Celia to see her. Celia would stop on her way back to work and stroke the kitten. "One sweetie for you love,"she would say, "and one for Michael after school!"

Celia saw Michael one Saturday at one'o clock. She was on her way home from work for the weekend. He told her about how he was enjoying school. He had plenty to say. She stayed a few minutes encouraging him to talk with her. The two children were two bright lights in Celia's restricted life. She looked forward to her brief encounters with them.

During the middle of February, Gwyn was never there when Celia passed the house. Ten days went by and Gwyn had not appeared once on her doorstep or at the parlour window. Celia wondered why. After a second weekend there was still no Gwyn. She knocked on the door. Margaret answered and Celia asked, "Is the little girl all right? I was just wondering, not seeing her like."

Margaret told her Gwyn was ill and in bed. She'd been very poorly but was improving and feeling a bit better, and she was sure that Gwyn would like to see Celia. Unfortunately, there was no time to spare. The buzzer at the mill had just gone, and Celia dare not be late for work.

"Will it be all right if I call tomorrow? I'll make time by leaving home a bit earlier. And I'll bring her a bit of something."

"That would be nice," said Margaret.
"I'll be off then. See you tomorrow."
"What a nice, kind woman!" Margaret thought, as Celia bustled off.

Gwyn had been far from well. It was the usual trouble: her weak lungs. She lay in bed, finding it hard to breathe and coughing frequently, day and night. She had sleepless nights. After four nights, Gordon, who had been kept awake hour after hour, was exhausted and went into Michael's bedroom.

"Shove over Michael, I need some sleep." Michael didn't mind. In fact, he enjoyed having his Dad with him, although it was a bit cramped -- there was not much room for the pair of them in his single bed. At least he didn't have any nightmares while his Dad was there.

Nan and the aunts came to see Gwyn. Nan said, "Poor little girl. That's a terrible cough she has."

Aunt Elsie warned, "It's this place. "She indicated the patches of damp on the ceiling and right down one wall. "You'll have to move out of here."

Margaret replied sadly, "I know, Elsie. We're doing our best aren't we?"
"Yes love, I know you are. I was only thinking out loud."

When Celia visited her, Gwyn was definitely improving. She had had a decent night's sleep, her temperature had gone down and she was breathing more easily. Margaret answered the door, not looking so worried as the day before.

"Come in,"she said. She showed Celia the narrow, steep staircase which went up sideways from the passage. "You can go straight up. She's in the bedroom on the right."

Celia ascended the linoed stairs.

"Same pattern as mine!"she noted.

She went into the room. Gwyn was a tiny, wan figure in her mother's and father's big double bed. She was propped up on two extra pillows and had just finished some soup that her mother had made specially for her.

"Hello love," Celia said, smiling, "How are you feeling today?"

Gwyn smiled a greeting back. "Better, thank you Celia. You've never been in our house before have you?"

"No, but I just had to come and see you. I've missed you. I bet you can't guess what I've brought you!"
 "My sweetie?"
 "No, here it is! Look! Do you like it?"

She handed over a cat made of a soft material. It was black with big green eyes. Gwyn hugged it to her and said. "Oh yes it's lovely! Look Mam, look what Celia's brought me!"

"Why Celia, that is good of you. Have you said thank-you our Gwyn?"

"Thank-you Celia!"responded Gwyn, pushing herself down the bed and taking the cat with her so that both their heads were left together peeping out from under the bedclothes. "He's just like Jesse."

Celia had to go. It was time for work at Storeys' Moor Lane Mill: the buzzer had just gone. "I'll come and see you again. I'll leave a toffee with your mother for your Michael. I'll save yours for you until you're better.

Ta-ra!"

"Ta-ra! Celia", replied Gwyn drowsily. When Margaret returned to the bedroom after seeing Celia out, the child was fast asleep.

Celia was delighted that her present had given pleasure to Gwyn and pleased to see that she was improving. It was one worry less. Celia was full of worries and very depressed. She was having terrible rows with a neighbour who hated cats for one thing, a woman who was forever complaining about Celia's pets. She could be very abusive and her attacks were really upsetting.

Fatty Townsend at work was worse than ever. Only last week, he'd given a new girl a bad time. The girl was not much more than a child, just fourteen and straight out of school. Fatty had followed her when she went outside to the lav. About ten minutes later, he came back with a nasty frown and a scratch on his face. He went to the sink in the corner of the workroom and washed his hands and face.

"What are you all staring at?" he said glaring at the women. Nobody answered. They all carried on with their work, except Celia, who headed for the outside door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled at her.
"To the lav." She replied.
"You'll have to wait. There's somebody already out there."
"I can't wait. Do you want me to do it in here?"
"No way," he sneered, "you smell bad enough as it is!" He laughed -- but nobody else did. They all thought he was horrible.

She ignored him and went to try and find out what had happened.The young lass was still in the toilet shed. Celia coaxed her out, "Come on love it's only me. He's gone. I won't hurt you."

The door opened and the pretty, thin girl came out. She'd been crying and rubbing her eyes which were all red-rimmed.

"Did he hurt you?"
"No!"said the child.
"Did he try anything?"
"No!" said the child.

Celia hugged her and the girl cried for a long time.

"Come on now," said Celia, "we'd best go back in. We don't want to give him any excuse to cause you any more bother."

They went in and returned to their work. Fatty didn't say anything. Nobody spoke a word. They all worked in silence

"Cat got your tongues?" he snarled. Everybody ignored him.

That night, Celia lay awake in bed thinking about her life.

"Useless! That's what I am. No use to anybody or anything. I might as well be dead!"

The thought registered and festered.

On the Saturday afternoon, after work, she went up-town in her only decent clothes. She went to see Cornhill, the solicitor. He was not available. She asked for an appointment the following Saturday. She'd decided to make her will.

Chapter 33: St. Anne's

St. Anne's School. Photographer unknown

 
Not clogs, like Henry wore to work! Not boots, like Gordon's!
No, "A nice new pair of sturdy, leather-soled shoes for our Michael to go to school in," said Gordon. "Make sure you buy him good ones!"

As ever, "Only the best for our Michael!"

Margaret took Michael up town to buy them. That evening Gordon sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire. He hammered extra bits of leather onto the soles and heels of the shoes. He sighed with satisfaction when he'd finished. Gordon was always meticulous when it came to doing a job. "If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well,"he'd say.

"There son," he said proudly, passing the shoes to Michael. "They should last you a while. Try them on!"

Michael tried them on.

"Are they comfortable?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Good! Now Margaret, let him try on the rest of his stuff. I want to see what he looks like."

Michael simply hated trying on new clothes or changing into or out of his best on Sundays. Reluctantly, he allowed his mother to adorn him in his new grey shirt, navy-blue jersey, short, worstead trousers, grey socks and finally a tie. He'd never worn a tie before. His mother tied it for him.

"Just right!"declared Gordon. "You look like a real schoolboy. All grown up and ready for action! Apart from your coat. You'll need that this weather. Don't forget it in the morning."
Michael was filled with apprehension, "Not the blue one Mam!"

"Why ever not? That's lovely and warm. It's a good coat that is."

Gordon had the message, "All right Michael, wear your black raincoat instead."

Margaret frowned but didn't argue.

Instead she said, "Oh dear, look at his stockings, they're slipping down his legs. I forgot to make him any garters."

While Gordon read Michael a story, Margaret found the old biscuit tin where she kept bits of elastic, scissors, spare buttons, pins, needles, cotton and thread. She selected some black elastic and cut off two strips after testing for the right length just below Michael's knee. Within minutes she'd finished the job. Michael had to take his shoes off. His mother put the garters over his toes and pulled them up his legs. They weren't too tight.

"That's it then,"said Gordon. "All ready for action in the morning! Time for bed! I'll finish reading to you upstairs."

It was cold in his bedroom, so Michael undressed downstairs and put on his pyjamas. They were lovely and warm because Margaret had left them hanging over the fireguard.

He climbed into bed and said his prayers. Dad said it was all right because it was too cold kneeling on the lino. Gordon read him the rest of his story, then he went straight off to sleep.

The next morning, they left the house at ten minutes to nine. Margaret carried Gwyn and held Michael's hand. They walked down the road to the school, which was on the opposite side. The playground was under the shadow of Mitchell's Brewery and filled with excited children.

St. Anne's was a church school. All the local kids went there except the Catholics, who had their own school. Most new pupils for the 'baby' class started at the end of August. The Monday Michael started was in January and there were only two other newcomers, girls from neighbouring Alfred Street.

Most of the kids were enjoying themselves on the school playground. Michael and the two girls stood outside the gate, round the corner from Edward Street in Brewery Lane. Their mothers stayed with them. Mothers weren't allowed inside the gate. There were two others there, gossiping and watching their kids play. All of the other children had walked to school on their own.

Headmaster Mr. Joy appeared from inside the building and the three newcomers were pushed inside the gate. Michael Watson was on his own! Michael Watson was out in the world!

"Do what you're told!" urged one of the mothers.
"Behave yourself!" snapped the other.
"I'll be here to meet you at dinner time," said Margaret.

Mr. Joy rang a hand-bell. It was just like the Muffin Man's. The children stood froze. Standing perfectly still they listened for instructions...

Mr Joy paused, making sure that there was complete silence. Then he commanded, "Lines!" The children all walked smartly, arms swinging, faces serious, and formed four double lines.

The three newcomers did not know what to do.

"You new children, go to the end there." An imperious finger pointed to the back of the double line of the smallest children. Michael and the two girls did as they were instructed. All of the other children watched them as they did so. Michael tried to march like the others had, but he got his arms and legs out of synch. There were audible giggles.

"Be quiet!"

The laughing ceased.

There was a bigger boy in the next line next to Michael. He was wearing clogs and a jersey. The jersey was miles too big for him. He had an ugly face. He hissed at Michael, "Mummy's boy!" Michael stared back at him. "I'll get you later,"whispered the boy.

"Silence in the lines!"shouted Mr. Joy.

You could hear a pin drop. He kept them standing there a bit longer and then shouted, "Top Class forward!"

The oldest children stepped forward, wheeled and disappeared into the school.

"Next!" he bawled.
"Next!"

Finally, "Infants forward!"And Michael's line moved, with Michael following.

They went straight into a classroom and all of the other children began to hang their coats up. There were hooks on the wall at the back of the room. They did this without any pushing or shoving and in complete silence.

Michael and the two girls stood just inside the door, wondering what to do.

Quite quickly the pupils made their way to the desks which had been allocated to them. They stood behind their desks staring at Michael and his two companions.

While all this had been going on, a rather stern-looking woman of about forty watched everything. She stood behind a shoulder-high desk at the front of the class. She looked at the children with her bright, beady eyes. She had dark, greying hair, a white blouse, long dark-grey skirt, down nearly to her ankles. She black, flat-heeled shoes. In her right hand she held a short, thick stick.

She tapped on her desk with the stick and instantly all eyes were on her.

"Good morning, children."
"Good morning, Miss Perfect!"
"Sit!"

The children pulled their hinged seats down and sat. Some were together at double desks and some desks had seats for four.

"Fold your arms!"

All of the kids folded their arms.

"Register!"

One by one she called their names in alphabetical order. Each in turn answered, "Yes, Miss Perfect!"

When there was no reply, she asked, "Anybody know why he's not here?"

"No, Miss Perfect!"

When she'd finished calling the register, the teacher turned and looked at the newcomers. Not unkindly she said, "Now you three go and hang your coats up on those spare hooks -- the ones at the end. Then come back here and see me!"

Michael led the way. All of the class were watching his and the two girls every movement. They hung up their coats.They returned to stand in front of the teacher's desk.

"What's your name young man?"
"Michael Watson, Miss Perfect."

She sniffed, "Ah yes the one with the Welsh mother! She's given me a few instructions about you. If I remember rightly, I'm to see you wrap up warm at playtime. I'm to make sure that you drink all of your milk. I'm to make sure that the big boys don't bully you. Is that right, Michael Watson?"

"I don't know, Miss Perfect."
 "Well, you'd better remember it now! In case I forget! We wouldn't want me to be getting into trouble with your mother would we, Michael Watson?"
"No, Miss Perfect!"
"Right Michael -- you go and sit down there next to Millie Doyle. We'll have our Welsh and Irish friends sitting together. That will be nice for you won't it, Millie?"
"Yes, Miss Perfect!"Millie answered.

Michael went and sat down. Millie didn't lift the seat which they were going to share but he managed to squeeze between it and the desk.

After she had dealt with the two new girls it was, "Hands up those who have milk money." About half the hands went up. It was five pence for the week or tuppence-halfpenny for mornings only. She called out the names and the children took their money to her.

When that was done, she closed the registers.

"Tommy!"
"Yes Miss Perfect?"
"Take the registers to Mr. Joy!"

All the children sat still with their arms folded. After a while Tommy returned. He closed the door behind him very quietly.

"Class stand!"

They all stood.

Jimmy, open the door!"

Jimmy opened the door.

"Forward!"

The front row led and they all filed into the adjoining room, which was much larger than Michael's classroom. Mr. Joy had a low table with drawers. He was sitting behind it at the front waiting for all of the school to come in. Everybody came in quietly and stood in long rows in front of him. The teachers stood at the side alongside their pupils. The infants were right at the front. When Mr. Joy stood up Michael found himself staring at his waistcoat which was at the same level as Michael's head.

Miss Perfect sat at a piano near Mr. Joy.

"Good morning, children!"
"Good morning, Mr. Joy!" they all chanted.
"All things Bright And Beautiful," he announced.

These early morning routines never varied, apart from the milk register being taken on Mondays only. There were five hymns, which the children knew off by heart, one for each day.

There were prayers. Mr. Joy made "announcements" and then it was back to their own classrooms. Mr Joy could see into the other three classrooms because the partitions at the side and back of his room had glass in them. From his desk, he could see everything that was going on in every room. God was watching. Authority was in charge!

The windows to the outside world were five feet off the ground and no seated child could look out and be distracted by street activities.

You could smell the neighbouring Mitchell's Brewery all day long. Michael did not like that. He did not like playtimes either. If only Rob had been there! Some of the bigger, rough lads teased him when they were outside. His nick-name was 'Mummy's Boy'. Maybe it was because Margaret never failed to take him to school and collect him after each session. Maybe it was because he was a bit too finely dressed.

All the kids had to arrive at school washed, clean and tidy or there would be trouble from Mr. Joy. Most of them had bleached, old clothing; many wore hand-me-downs. Some shivered in the lines or at playtime because of the cold that their poor clothing could not keep out. Michael was frightened of some of them but they never actually laid a finger on him.

No talking in class!
No yelling in the yard!
Nothing allowed to play with from home!

Apart from that, he quite liked school. Miss Perfect was firm but fair. Her lessons were mainly talk-and-chalk but never boring. There was the chanting of tables, the pointing to letters of the alphabet and saying them after her.

They all had slates and pieces of chalk to write with. There was a bit of cloth with which to wipe the slate clean. There was an Oxo tin with ten little shells in it for counting. He had a book, A Child's First Reader and another one, A Child's First Bible Stories. All of these things were kept in his wooden desk which had a hinged lid.

"Make sure you keep your desk tidy!"

Every afternoon, they were told to have a sleep. They rested their heads on their arms on their desks and had a snooze for half an hour.

They had drill in the yard, each child standing about a yard away from the next one, swinging arms, bending, jumping on the spot and so on, all in unison.
Friday afternoons were best. They were allowed to talk to each other quietly. Miss Perfect had a big box of 'Treats'. Those who had behaved and worked hard during the week could go first to the box and choose something to play with.

Michael liked to play simple board games with Millie. Millie came from Northern Ireland. She lived amongst other Irish down Leonardgate but she wasn't a Catholic.

Mam said to Michael, "If you're sure she's not a Catholic, I don't mind you sitting next to her. I won't complain."

One afternoon, Miss Perfect showed them how to put one of their little shells, the ones which they used as counters, close to an ear and listen intently.

"Shh!"she said, "Listen carefully! You can hear the sea whispering as the tide comes in."
And you could. It was magic!

Somewhere deep inside stern Miss Perfect, a poetic spirit lurked. Michael sensed this and loved the way she put feelings into the stories which she read to them if they'd been 'good' all week. This happened during the last half hour on Friday afternoons.

Sometimes she told stories which she had made up herself. All of her men were handsome and brave. All of the ladies were beautiful and wanting to be rescued from a variety of hazardous situations.

It was dark January and then February outside. The lights suspended from the high ceiling were not very bright. All of the little children's innocent faces showed that they were entranced, as enthralled as Michael, by Miss Perfect's gestures, her rolling eyes and resonant voice, by the terrors and joys of the heroes and heroines in her stories. The drab classroom was transformed, the children transported into a make-believe world..

Finally, her voice would drop to a whisper, "And that, children, is the end of this week's story."

Mr. Joy would ring his bell. The children would awake from the trance induced by the story.
"Stand! "

"Hands together!"
"Close your eyes! Say our prayer!"

They all joined in:

"Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me
Bless thy little lamb tonight;
Through the darkness be thou near me;
Watch my sleep till morning light."

"Hands down! Coats on! Stand still! Quiet!"

She let the silence deepen. Then it was, "Good afternoon children!"
"Good afternoon, Miss Perfect."
"File out!"

In orderly fashion, they went out to the cold and dark playground all heading for the gate.
"Hello Mam! We've had a great story just now!"

His Dad asked every evening, "How was school today Michael?"
"Okay, Dad!"

But he still wished that Rob was with him at St. Anne's.



Thanks to Ian Birnie for his location correction

Chapter 32: Pain

An illustration from Complete Version of Ye Three Blind Mice written by John W. Ivimey and illustrated by Walton Corbould. Published by Frederick Warne & Co., 1909. Not in copyright.
More images and the text here: www.archive.org/details/completeversiono00ivim

Michael and Gwyn were delighted with the kitten Jesse. They'd only had it a fortnight but it was developing fast. Even though it had been taken away from its mother early, it survived all right. Brother and sister were only too willing to dip their fingers in a saucer of milk and encourage it to take succour from their fingers. Its blue eyes opened wide and changed colour to green. It was always amusing the children with its antics.
"I'm glad you two are training it," said Gordon. He was sitting in his chair one evening by the blazing fire. "We've mouse droppings in the kitchen again. I hope Jesse's going to be a good mouser."

Gordon had been setting mouse-traps ever since they'd been at Edward Street and he had managed to dispose of the bodies discreetly. He didn't want the children to see dead things.

That evening, the children witnessed for the first time the reality of a death. Michael's imagination and dreams were already haunted by the reports he'd heard about Billy Ruxton's mother's and father's untimely demise. Imagining is not the same as seeing.

It happened while they were still playing with the kitten by the fire. Gordon was enjoying watching them when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was a mouse creeping from under the fender and going across the hearth. He acted without thinking. He picked up one of the flat-irons which Margaret had left by the fire and plonked it down on top of the mouse.

The first blow did not kill it immediately and it squeaked in pain. The children stopped playing with Jesse and watched. They were horrified when Gordon hit it again. Blood spurted out from under the iron and splashed onto the fender.

Michael cried and Gwyn sobbed. Margaret looked up from her sewing-machine and asked,

"What on earth's wrong with you two? What's happened?"

Michael managed to tell her between his cries, "It's Dad, he's hurt a mouse."

Gordon defended himself and tried to soothe the children by saying, "It's all right. It doesn't hurt anymore. It's alright now. You have to kill mice because they spread disease."

"What's disease?" asked Gwyn.

"Dad's cruel! You're cruel. It wasn't doing anything to you," Michael bellowed.

That night, he dreamed about the nursery rhyme "Three Blind Mice" and when it came to the end, it was his Dad who cut off their heads with the carving knife. It was the one he used to cut slices off the beef on Sundays. Michael woke up screaming but when Gordon came to comfort him, he would have nothing to do with him. He did not settle until Margaret came and calmed him down.

Fortunately, Gwyn slept all through the commotion.

They say things come in threes. For Michael there were four incidents close together, all involving pain. They made his world seem less secure and himself more vulnerable.

The second one was when his mother and he went up-town to spend the money he had had for Christmas. They'd left Sheila Matthews at home with Rob, Gwyn and Rosa. Rob could have gone with Michael but he didn't want to. He decided to stay with his mother. He had no money left to spend.

"Why don't you come?" asked Michael, "You can help me to choose."

"No, it's all right thanks. I'd rather stay with me Mam." Michael wondered why Rob decided to stay behind. It wasn't anything that Michael had said or done so he didn't ask any more.
Rob's mother seemed very upset so perhaps it had something to do with that.

Before Michael and Margaret left the house, Margaret said to her, "Worrying won't help matters! Try not to worry. He'll be all right. He knows what he's doing. Make yourself a cup of tea! We won't be long. We'll talk about it all when we come back."

Sheila sniffed and dabbed her eyes with her hanky, "Yes," she said, "I'll do that. See you soon!"

Michael and Margaret had not gone very far when the next terrible thing happened. They were just going to cross Stonewell. There was a lot of traffic and Margaret said, "Hold my hand tight and be ready to dash when I tell you."

They were still waiting when there was a loud screeching of brakes. A car veered towards them stopping with its front wheels nearly touching the kerb. Then a terrible yelping and howling started. To his horror, Michael saw a big, brown dog, running as fast as it could up Church Street. It was running on three legs and all the skin was hanging down on one side and blood pouring out. The yelps of terror went right through him and he put his hands over his ears to try and blot the noise out.

He could not see the dog any longer but he could still hear it. Margaret surveyed the scene. No person had been injured in the accident. The driver of the car was shaken but drove off. She said to Michael, "Come on, we'll go up St. Nicholas Street. We won't see it there."

She was wrong. They were halfway up St. Nicholas Street when they heard the dog's howls again and coming nearer. It had cut up Cheapside. Now it turned the corner and came down the road towards them. It was quite mad with fear and pain. It passed them by, still running and howling. It kept on going, turning up Great John's Street and across Dalton Square.

Once again it was out of their sight -- but Michael could still hear it.

Michael had hidden his head in his mother's coat until she said, "Come on son, it really has gone now. Let's go and buy you something nice."

Michael didn't want to, "I don't want to Mam. I feel sick. I want to go home and see Rob."

So they did.

When they were back in the house, Sheila told Margaret all about Jack having gone off to Spain.

"Never mind love, you know you can count on us. Whenever you feel a bit down, come and see us!" Margaret tried her hardest to cheer Sheila up but she was wasting her time. Sheila was convinced Jack would be killed -- and that she would never see him again.

The third thing that happened was later the same afternoon. Margaret said she and her children would walk part of the way home with Sheila and her two.

The six set off together. Michael and Rob led the way. They were all wrapped up warm because the January day had turned very cold. Margaret went as far as the back wall of the Grammar School. They said farewell there and turned to go back home.

"Cheerio, love!"said Margaret, "Come and see us again tomorrow and we'll have another little chat." With that, the three of them turned to go back to Edward Street.

Michael had just learned, to his dismay that Rob would not be starting at St. Anne's School with him. Instead he would be going to the one nearer his house. He was grumbling about this to his mother.

"It's not fair! Why can't we be together?"

They were at the end of Ullswater Road, all easy going downhill. Michael was holding Gwyn's reins and Margaret was pleading with him not to go too fast She was frightened that Gwyn might trip and hurt herself like she had once before.

She was trying to explain to Michael why Rob would have to go to a different school from him. She was in mid-sentence when a woman came out of a nearby shop pushing a little girl, just a bit older than Gwyn, ahead of her. The woman was shouting and bawling at the tiny scrap and emphasising her words with slaps about her legs, hitting her again and again. She was really laying into the infant. Michael shuddered and wondered what the little girl could possibly have done to deserve such punishment. Margaret could not stand to see what was going on.

"Leave her alone!" she said, grasping the woman by the arm. "Can't you see you're really hurting her?"

The woman left go of the child. She shook Margaret's hand off her arm. She turned her venom on Margaret. The pale-faced hag's features were hideously contorted with rage.

"You interfering shag bag! Who the hell do you think you're talking to? Why don't you piss off? Go on! Mind your own bloody business. Get the hell out of it!"

Distressed by the woman's verbal attack but relieved to see that she had apparently stopped the child from having more blows, she retorted, "You ought to be reported! You cruel thing!"

She picked up Gwyn, took Michael by the hand and walked quickly away down the hill.

"Shag bag!" the woman called after them. "Shag bag!"

Three days later it was Sunday. Michael was due to start school on the Monday. For once they were not having their usual joint of beef for Sunday lunch.

Margaret said, "Burt's beef was too expensive this week. I bought lamb instead. He said it was a really nice bit of meat."

"Smells good!"enthused Gordon, sniffing the aroma coming from the oven.

"You haven't got a lamb in there have you, Mam?"asked Michael anxiously. The parents exchanged glances not knowing whether to be amused or not by what Michael had said.
Michael went on, "I'm not having any. I don't want to eat a lamb." He imagined a lamb being killed and shrieking wih pain like that dog he'd heard.

Margaret pleaded with Gordon to be tolerant. "Leave it Gordon! Don't have a commotion. He starts school tomorrow. Don't upset him."

Gordon gritted his teeth then agreed, "Right, I won't."

"What shall I give you then, love?" his mother asked Michael.

"Don't care! But I don't want a poor little lamb!"

"All right, pipe down,"said Gordon, "it's settled isn't it? You don't have to have lamb. So what are you going to have?"

Margaret intervened, "I have a nice meat pie which I forgot to have for my lunch on Friday. It's in the cupboard in the kitchen. It's cool enough out there. It will still be fresh."

Michael agreed and lunch passed off peacefully.

When Michael had gone to Sunday School with Joan and Gwyn was asleep upstairs in her cot, the woman who never swore said to Gordon, "What a bloody awful week!"

"Never mind love,"Gordon consoled her. "He's off to school tomorrow. Things should be a bit easier for you then."

Links

• The Origins of the rhyme, "Three Blind Mice" (Wikipedia link)

• The Complete Version of ye Three Blind Mice (1909, Internet Archive link)

Chapter 31: Joyce Takes Gordon for a Ride

Gordon was a worried man. He'd risked a lot for very little. He'd done something foolish and was very apprehensive about the possible consequences.

It was something he wasn't proud of and he was terrified that Margaret might find out about what had happened. "How strange life is,"he thought, "I've spent all these years trying to sort the world's problems out and now I've had one evening of madness and put my own little world at risk! It's no good blaming Joyce. I'm just as much at fault!"

Joyce Jackson had acquired a new car. In 1938 not many women knew how to drive cars, and very few owned one, so Joyce was one of the first to drive herself around the Lancaster and Morecambe area. She was a determined, independent young woman. She knew what she wanted. She knew how to have things her own way.

Her manipulating of men, including her own father, was a favourite pastime. The joy, the pleasure, the satisfaction in twirling them around her little finger! The power of her smile and other physical attractions! Most women act instinctively in the war of the sexes, usually defensively. Joyce was different. She had battle plans and long-term strategies. She liked taking the initiative, seizing the moment, catching men off-guard! She loved winning!
She also had a weakness: Gordon Watson. She still wanted him, despite his choosing her friend Margaret as his wife. Her losing him rankled. Maybe it was just perversity because she had lost him to her best friend and she hated not winning. Perhaps she really loved him. Certainly she had the hots for him! She bided her time. She'd think of something.

"You're not finished with me yet Gordy my love!"she decided.

In the meantime, she was preoccupied with enjoying life. Living in her father's pub she had plenty of chances for meeting a wide variety of attractive men. She took full advantage of the opportunities this offered. As well as having dates with local males, she'd been out with many visitors to the town.

Nan told Frank, "That one's too fast for you!"
"Be quiet mother! Joyce is a good sort! Heart of gold!"

Some of the men staying in Morecambe came in their own posh cars. Some of the most expensive were parked prominently outside a lovely art deco hotel, The Midland on the sea-front overlooking Morecambe Bay. She went in there occasionally for a meal, a drink and to find suitable boyfriends. She was usually successful. She knew how to pick a winner and was often taken for a good time to Blackpool or the Lake District.

Big-time music hall artists stayed at the hotel every week. She never made it with any of the top stars. They would be appearing just across the road at the Winter Gardens. Worldy-wise and experienced performers, they were always wary of Joyce's gold-digging ways.

Occasionally, she stayed overnight with a man friend in good hotels in distant locations. She enjoyed living-it-up in expensive places. By accepting gifts and money to buy things from the more wealthy amongst them it did not occur to her that she was prostituting herself. It was all part of having a good time.

By 1937 she had her regulars. By 1938 there was one in particular. Morecambe was known as 'Little Bradford'. Many people retired from Yorkshire to Morecambe. Others commuted on the "Businessmens Special", a steam train which left Promenade Station early every morning. It went via Lancaster Green Ayre along the Midland Railway line following the Lune Valley to Leeds and Bradford.

Joe Treacle's factory was in Leeds. His firm made garments for the clothing trade. He accumulated plenty of money when he landed a big contract for army uniforms from the government. A serious program of re-arming and expansion of the armed forces was under way.

Joe's was one of many businesses which profited as the country prepared for war.
He owned a big house, near the Broadway Hotel in Morecambe. The first time Joyce met him was in her father's pub. She was serving behind the bar. It was a quiet mid-week evening just after the Autumn Illuminations had finished.

"Fancy a drink, love?"he asked her.
"Oh thank you! Yes, I'll have a brandy and soda please."

She brought her drink to his end of the bar, looked straight into his eyes and gave him the famous Joyce smile.

"Bottoms up!"
"Bottoms up!"

Joe was often away from his home on business. Joyce began to accompany him. During the daytime she'd do the shops or go to the flicks. He kept his business appointments. They'd spend the evening dining and wining and then sleep together overnight. She knew how to work all of the angles by then so she did not come cheaply. Joe thought that Joyce was good value for money. Her cost figured in his accounts under 'sundries'.

He was a bit on the fat side and balding but he was jovial, generous and good company. He was kind to her but she'd heard him on a hotel phone giving a hard time to a subordinate who was not working to his satisfaction. She heard him being nastily abusive and the heavy-handed boss. There was obviously a rude, cruel streak in him. She was under no illusion as to why he was so nice to her. It was one big act. His idea of charming himself into her knickers. She did not care because she was using him too.

He thought she was very fond of him. It did not occur to him that his only attraction was his money and what it offered her. "Vain sod!"Joyce thought. "All I want from you is an open wallet!"

She'd enjoyed the freedom of the open road and going places with Joe. She decided to save up and buy a car of her own. Her father gave her fifty pounds towards its purchase and Joe gave her more. She paid for a few lessons and failed two tests. It did not deter her. She decided to buy a vehicle anyway and risk being stopped by the police and found not to have a driving licence or insurance.

She bought a second-hand MG sports car from Pye's garage opposite Green Ayre Railway Station. The manager took her for a ride in it. With the hood down and her chiffon scarfe and blonde hair blowing in the breeze she felt like glamour personified.

 She decided there and then that the car would suit her image. She paid cash. She'd withdrawn a fistful of fivers from her bank account that morning. The manager was delighted and over-polite with his mouthy "Thank you madams!"

He escorted her from his office back to the car and handed her the keys.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy the car madam."

The mechanic grinned when he went on, "And don't forget, we'll be glad to service you whenever it's needed."
 "You bet!" he whispered in his boss's ear.

The driver's door was hinged halfway down its body. Joyce eased herself onto the driver's seat and swung her legs inside. As she did so, she treated the manager and a mechanic to a broad American smile. They waved and wished her good luck as she let in the clutch and crashed the gears. She drove off, smirking.

"You did well there boss,"said the mechanic, "her paying the asking price. That motor's been a lot of trouble. She'll be back to us soon.."

She parked the car in Dalton Square. She gave the British Legion attendant there the usual penny for a parking ticket. He saluted her his hand touching his peaked cap. "Thank you madam."

Next she went to see her dentist. She saw him regularly for check-ups and cleaning of her gums. She was as proud of her teeth as she was the rest of her assets. She did her best to keep everything in top condition all in smooth running order.

"For heaven's sake,"she'd said to Margaret, "why don't you have your teeth seen to? They're all going rotten."

Aware of this, Margaret had taken to smiling with her lips together, because her front teeth were so blackened and brown.

"It's all right for you, Joyce,"she responded, "you've money to throw away as you like. We're not penniless but we're saving hard. That new house we want is more important than my teeth!"

Many people had poor mouths then, and could not afford anything other than emergency treatment. Joyce was exceptional in having a full-set of gleaming molars all her own. Film-star quality was what she aimed for! She tried to emulate her celluloid heroines. They all flashed manufactured, magnificent, gnashers when they smiled on the silver screens of the local cinemas. She fantasised, imagining herself to be Morecambe's answer to the glittering stars of stage and screen.

Joyce was 26 years old. It was old enough to be seen as being on the shelf. If you were not married at that age you might have missed the boat. She did not feel she was missing anything. She was still pushing the boat out! She felt glamorous in her fashionable clothes, purchased in Leeds, Bradford, Manchester or Liverpool. Wherever Joe took her she had the time and money to buy the latest fashions for herself. He liked her to have a fresh hair-do and he paid for her weekly visit to the best stylists.

Her hair was shorter than before and her skirts a bit longer. Her legs were as lovely as ever. No scorch marks on hers! Her breasts were still firm. She felt good about herself. Really good, as she waltzed out of the dentist's!

She went back to her car. She waved to the British Legion veteran. She started the car, crashed the gears again and drove jerkily to her friend Margaret's house.

As usual, their conversation revolved around the doings of Margaret's two children. They wondered how Michael would take to school. He was due to start at St Anne's further down Edward Street as soon as the Christmas holidays were over.

Margaret was delighted for her friend, when she went outside and was shown the new car. "You've come a long way since we were in Wales love. No searching the slag heap for bits of coal now!" Michael thought it was super.

Margaret felt embarrassed after she mentioned a slag heap. She remembered what Gordon had told her about Frank and Joyce's behaviour on the coal in Nan's cellar on Coronation Day.

"Slag on a slag heap!"Gordon had sneered when he'd finished telling his wife what he'd seen. Joyce did not react.

It was dark outside and Joyce realised she didn't know how to put the car's lights on."Can you put your parlour light on for me?" she asked. "It might give me enough to see where the switches are."

Margaret went back inside and did as she'd been asked, and Joyce quickly found the switch and on came the lights.

"I'm off to the Odeon now," Joyce said as Margaret watched her friend from her doorstep. "There's a musical I want to see. See you in a fortnight! I'll take you for a ride then Michael."

Neighbours were peering out from behind their lace curtains. Cars were a rarity in the street then.

There was flash of stocking-tops, white thighs and underwear as she swung into her car. She slammed the car door and revved the engine After a bumpy start away she went to the car park at the side of the cinema.

"What a girl!" Margaret exclaimed to Michael.
"She's nice isn't she Mam?"Michael responded enthusiastically.
"Yes love,"Margaret agreed. "We've been best friends for a long time."
"Just like me and Rob?" he quizzed.
"That's right love. But ever so much longer."

Joyce came out of the Odeon just before nine p.m. Her timing was just right for what she had in mind. Her expectations were high. Her adrenalin was flowing. The feelings aroused in her while watching the temptress seduce the hero in the film had made her determined to go after her man.

She drove slowly along King Street, turned the corner and headed for the Trades Hall. She knew that Gordon would be there in a meeting. She parked about fifty yards away from the entrance. She had not long to wait. Soon, men started to leave the place and she saw Gordon Watson chatting in the lit doorway with his friend, Brian Howson. It was to be Brian's last evening at the union meetings.

"There's no point,"he told Gordon, "I'm never going back to Williamson's. I'm earning more in my new job."

Joyce drove up alongside them, stopped and called out, "Hello boys! Fancy seeing you here at this time of night!"

Gordon did not know how to react. Joyce had been his girlfriend about ten years ago. He'd dropped her and taken-up with Margaret. Now he was thirty-four and long-married. But she was single and still only in her mid-twenties. He'd heard from his brother that she was very much available. How to react when there was no Margaret around to watch him?

He hadn't met Joyce often since they'd parted. He had mixed feelings about her. He showed disapproval in public. In private, he remembered her as the first girl with whom he'd had it away. She had been and still was an exciting physical presence.

Brian was the first to respond to her greeting. He expressed surprise at her being behind the wheel of a car.

"Going up in the world aren't we?"

Brian knew Joyce from the old days when they had all been part of the Winter Gardens' crowd.

He pointed to the car as he made his remark. She smiled back at him.

"Nice isn't it? Only bought it today. Went to Pyes for it! Quite a bargain really!"
"Oh yeah, I'm sure. If you have the necessary brass."
"Well I have, haven't I?"

Brian had heard rumours about Joyce.
"I'm sure you've earned every penny for it."
"That's right!"She smiled again. "I paid them cash. Plenty more where that came from!"
"I dare say,"said Brian, keeping his smile going and without allowing a trace of disapproval to creep into his voice.

She chatted with him for a while then he said that he'd have to be off home. She focused her full attention on Gordon. She flashed her white teeth at him.

"I was round yours earlier. I hear you're moving house soon."

Gordon responded politely. He gave her some details of the proposed move. She kept on looking straight at him giving him the eye while he talked. He knew her of old and what she was up to. She sensed his vulnerability.

When she said, "Would you like to go for a ride?"it was a defining moment for Gordon.

He paused then said, "Yes, that would be nice."
Brian raised an eyebrow -- but said nothing.
She leaned over and opened the passenger side door.

"Jump in then! Let's be off!"

Without hesitation, he went round the other side of the car, slid in beside her and she revved up.

"Good-night, lads!"she called ou, offering them a cheery wave as they sped off. Gordon beamed at Brian and one or two others from work who had gathered outside the Hall. They were all watching and listening to what was going on.

Gordon had a surge of exhilaration within himself He felt the years roll back. He was fifteen years younger again. He was going to recapture his lost youth! He waved to the lads.

"See you!"called Brian. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The other mates laughed.

"That one always was trouble!"said Brian ruefully.
"Yes,"said another, "just the sort of trouble I could do with a bit of!"

The car disappeared down Meeting House Lane.

"Right lads,"said Brian, "who's coming with me to chase a pint? Beer's best! And a bloody sight safer than what he's getting into with that one!"

Chapter 30: Tough Guy?

After Michael was born in Thurnham Place, back in 1933, Margaret nursed the baby obsessively. She examined him carefully every time she changed him. She sought for perfection in him. There should be no blemishes in her production. She wanted to be the perfect mother of a perfect child. She felt that motherhood was her true purpose in life. She felt ecstatic. To some, it was nauseating!

One day, she noticed that two of his toes were not perfectly straight. One overlapped the other. She went to Cuthbert's shop to have the baby weighed and to buy some baby items she needed. The chemist advised on the treatment for most minor complaints. Doctors cost money! She showed the assistant the baby's toes.

"Nothing to worry about,"he said. "But you could try putting matchsticks between his toes every night before he goes to sleep. That should straighten them. In any case it won't affect his walking. But he'll never make a footballer."

Margaret never forgot to fix the splints. Michael remembered when he was older to do as the chemist instructed. It made no difference. The toes stayed crooked. It's in the nature of things to be less than perfect.

On the rare occasions when Gordon won betting on the horses he always spent his winnings on the family. When Michael was four he gave Margaret some money to buy the boy a nice new Sunday-best outfit. She took Michael up-town to have him rigged out.

When Gordon came home that evening he could not believe it. She'd bought the child a powder-blue overcoat which came down to his ankles. Seeing her husband's frown she defended, "He'll grow into it"

"It's not that!" snorted Gordon. "It's the colour!"

More words were exchanged, which developed into a row.

Once he'd heard his father's opinion of the coat, it was practically impossible to persuade Michael to wear the wretched thing. He loved his mother's attention but he wanted Gordon's approval. Gordon obviously disapproved of the blue coat. He never had the wear out of it to warrant its cost.

It was a Gordon purchase which caused another argument a few months later. Amongst Michael's 1937 Christmas presents were boxing gloves. Gordon overruled his wife's objections to their purchase. "He's too young to be learning to box!"

"He'll have to stick up for himself at that school. You know what some of those kids are like. He won't have you to run to."
"Stupid man!"

After lunch, on Christmas Day, when they arrived back from Nan's, Gordon fitted a boxing glove over Michael's right hand. It was so heavy that it made his wrist droop. Gordon donned the other glove.

"First of all you have to learn how to punch."Gordon held his gloved hand up, palm facing Michael.

"Go on, hit me!"

" Harder!"

Michael did his best, but didn't make much impression on his Dad's glove. Next, he had to learn how to defend himself. Michael held his glove up, just like Gordon had done, guarding his face. Unfortunately, poor Gordon hit Michael's glove too hard and caused Michael to hit himself on the nose and make it bleed.

Michael sobbed at the sight of his blood.

Margaret shrieked, "Bully! Stupid! I told you not to buy them, didn't I!"

She flung the gloves down the cellar steps.

All Gordon could think of saying was, "They'll come in for later. When he's a bit older."

"A lot older! When he decides! Not you! Stupid!"

Michael felt a bit sorry for his Dad. He knew he hadn't really meant to hurt him. He knew he was only looking out for him and trying to be helpful. After he'd calmed down Michael went and sat on his lap and asked his Dad to read him a story.

"Are you looking forward to school?" Gordon asked him.
" Yes Dad," Michael replied. It was a lie, of course.
" You'll look a smart lad in that new jersey your mother's bought you won't you?"
" Suppose so."
" It'll be good learning to read properly, won't it?"
" Yes,"Michael thought, "that will be good."

A few days before he started at St. Anne's, Margaret and Michael started the great porridge battle. It was a close contest which she won very narrowly on points after a bout which lasted three breakfasts.

"Why haven't you eaten your porridge Michael?"
"I don't like it. It's got lumps in it."
"Well, I've made it just the same as always. Are you sure?"
" Yes, I can't eat it."
"Mine's all right Mam. I've eaten mine. Mine hasn't any lumps," said Gwyn.

There were times when Michael really hated her. "Shut your gob you!"

"What did you say?!" Margaret demanded. "Where did you learn to say that?"

Michael chose to ignore the question. Bad language was strictly forbidden. Slang counted as bad language. "It's full of lumps. I'm feeling sick. I'm going to be sick!"

"Well outside to the lav, quick! Be sick out there, not in here! I'll make you a strawberry jam sandwich."

Round One -- Michael Watson!

Next morning, Michael sat at the table next to little Gwyn. Margaret placed Gwyn's bowl of porridge in front of her daughter, on Gwyn's Snow White and Seven Dwarfs oil cloth. She sprinkled some sugar on for her. Michael awaited his turn, spoon in hand. He gazed at the King Arthur oilcloth which his Dad had brought along with Gwyn's from Williamson's. He was still waiting when Margaret brought her own bowl to the table and started to eat her porridge.

"Where's mine, our Mam?"asked Michael, thinking that his mother must have forgotten.
"Your what?"asked Margaret.
"My porridge!"replied Michael, on the verge of tears, his top lip trembling.
"No lumps today!" said Gwyn.
"Shut-up you!" Michael hissed at his sister."Goody Two Shoes!"
"Oh, you want some porridge today do you?"
"Yes!"he said sulkily.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, please Mam!"

She fetched him a full bowl and they ate in silence.

Round Two -- Margaret Watson!

Now for the third and final round!

Margaret served the porridge as usual and Michael sprinkled on some sugar before starting spooning it into his mouth.

"Good!" thought Margaret, "That's one battle I've won. Unconditional surrender!"

When they'd all finished, Michael had left a couple of spoonfuls. She didn't say anything. He looked at her and said quietly but defiantly, "I've left the lumps!"

She did not respond to that. It wasn't unconditional surrender. She still felt that she had won -- but only just!

Chapter 29: Haircut

Gordon Watson was becoming restless. Things were better for him at work but worse at home. At work, he and his good mates had managed to establish a branch of the Roller Cutters Union, without dire consequences for themselves from Authority. His worry about losing his job had receded.

Other personal problems persisted. He was still finding it hard to go without his cigarettes. A cigarette used to settle his nerves when he was feeling a bit edgy. The trouble was that Margaret and he were saving every penny they could for that new house which she wanted so much. That was fair enough, because their baby daughter was still ailing. The dampness in their long condemned Edward Street dwelling could prove fatal for her. The trouble was that he was not receiving much in return.

When it came to bedtime, Margaret was having always tired and having headaches. She was devoting so much of her time and energy to the two kids that he felt that he was being marginalised.

He also missed his Saturday afternoon football. He'd really enjoyed playing for the work's side. Dropping out of the team really hurt him. He'd had a regular place in the side as a gifted left-footed winger. He was very keen on playing cricket too but he simply dare not risk injury and having time off work. It made him quite envious of his brother Frank. Frank still had a varied love life and he'd kept his soccer and cricket going. Lucky devil!

The thing that was really up his nose was Margaret wouldn't let him discipline young Michael. He played her up all day long and she let him get away with murder. He was a good lad but having too much of his own way.

Something had to be done about it! He was starting school straight after Christmas and he'd have to stand on his own two feet there. He didn't want him to grow up and be a sissy. That was something of an obsessive fear amongst his mates who had sons..

He thought, "It's ridiculous how I have to fight with Margaret and Michael over simple little things!" Like when he took Michael for his first haircut!

The child had long, black, curly hair. Too long and too curly! One Saturday afternoon, Gordon was up-town, with Michael, and stopped to talk to one of the lads from work. On the following Monday morning, his friend said to him, "That lad of yours would make a pretty girl."

That did it!

"Bully!" Margaret called after him as he dragged a protesting Michael out of the house and across Dalton Square. He'd arranged with an old friend of his, who was a barber, to have the boy's hair cut. The shop belonged to his friend Jimmy. It was in King Street, opposite the opening for Common Garden Street. The shop was closed but Gordon had arranged for an out-of-hours shearing. He knew that all hell was going to break loose. He didn't want to be shown-up by Michael's misbehaviour in front of other customers.

Gordon was out of Margaret's sight so strong-arm tactics could come into play. His mate, Barber Jimmy, put a special seat on top of one of his chairs. The kid would be at the right height for him to attack his locks. Gordon picked Michael up, kicking and struggling, and plonked him down on the seat. He held his arms down and Michael started bellowing and screaming.

"Bloody hell Gordy,"said Jimmy, "You've landed me with a right job here!"

A barber's white sheet was put round Michael's shoulders and Jimmy brandished the scissors. "Keep still sonny, I don't want to cut your ears off."

Wow! When Michael heard that he really hit the roof. His yells must have been heard a mile away and he kicked out more than ever.

Jimmy took evasive action and had a go dodging from behind the chair. He leaned across Gordon who was still hanging on grimly to his son.

Soon, the floor was covered with Michael's curls.

"It's the best I can do,"said Jimmy. He stood back looking doubtfully at the unprofessional appearance of the job he'd attempted. "Your Margaret won't know him."

Gordon thanked Jimmy and insisted he take a bit extra for all his trouble. On the way back home the town's shops were all closed but Gordon had come prepared. He had with him a bag of jelly babies. Their consumption helped to calm Michael down. Until they got home! Once there, he flung himself into his mother's arms and sobbed his heart out.

"Bully!" she said. "You're nothing but a big bully." She had headaches for several nights after that.

Chapter 28: The Saving of Jesse Owens

Celia Wilkinson was 50 years old. For 36 years, she had gone from her home at the far end of Edward Street to the mill up Moor Lane. She worked five-and-a-half days each week. There were bank holidays and a week's break, unpaid, in the summer. For many years, she didn't just work in the noisy mill. At home, there was all the housework and cooking and her mother to be looked after. That was her life.

The previous year, she'd gone home and found her mother dead, suddenly, from a heart attack. She hadn't lived to a great age. Nevertheless, Celia was far too old after the elderly lady died to have the sort of life she had once hoped for.

She'd had her chances, of course. As a young woman, she'd been dark-haired, big-eyed, plump and firm-breasted. There were lads who'd have married her. Now her hair was grey, her moustache pronounced and perversely black, she was all flab and sag and flat-footed.

Thank god, she still had her cats! There were four of them and there was pressure on her to have more. She'd like that but it just wasn't on. Neighbours were already complaining about the ones she had. Feeding them was a problem. And they did occasionally make a mess indoors!

She was pondering how she could find homes for some other cats She was passing Michael Watson's house, on her way to work, when an idea occcured to her. He was a nice little boy. She'd first noticed him when he peered out of his parlour window at her and her workmates.

She used to wave to him and although he was shy he started waving back to her.

When he was a bit older he played outside his front door. One day she gave him and his friend a bobbin of thread she'd taken from the mill. She always had a few toffees about her and gave him one when she saw him outside.

"Would you like a toffee Michael?"
"Yes please, Celia!"

At first he'd called her Miss Wilkinson but she'd told him he could call her Celia.

Recently, he would be hanging around his front door every day waiting to see her. He knew what he was on and she always gave him what he was expecting. He said thank-you. He knew his manners.

"I've some liquorice all-sorts today. Which one would you like?"
"Can I have a black one please?"
"You can indeed! In fact, you can have two. Here, take them!"

She offered him the bag and he helped himself. "Ta Celia!"
"Ta-ra, Michael. See you tomorrow!"

Off she went, back to work, and he ran in to his Mam.

"Mam! Mam! Celia gave me two today."He held out his hand, "Here Mam, I've saved one for you."

"Will you please keep your voice down Michael! Gwyn's just gone to sleep."She took the sweet. "Thank-you love, I'll eat it later."

There were times when Celia wished that she'd had kids of her own. She was lucky to have her cats to care for. You couldn't have everything in life. She'd brought the animals home from the mill. It came about way back when they'd had a problem with rats and mice. The workplace was becoming infested with them. Authority suggested a solution. Two good hunters were acquired. The vermin's numbers soon went down but the cats' multiplied rapidly. Authority decreed there had to be a cull. Fatty Townsend, one of the foremen, was given the task of disposing of the unwanted creatures.

The women in Celia's department already had cause to hate him. Fancied himself he did! Always trying it on! Found ways of cutting your pay if he didn't get some co-operation! He was a nasty piece of work and he had bad breath. He relished the idea of upsetting the women by the way he treated the cats. He'd show them the sack into which he'd put a litter of kittens. You could hear them mewing and see the bulging of the sack as they struggled in there.

"Now girls, behave yourselves while I'm away! I won't be long. I'm just off to the canal to drown this lot."

He'd be back 15 minutes later with the empty, wet, sack. After he'd dried it he placed it under his workbench ready for the next time.

It wasn't just kittens either. He would grab a female cat sometimes and hit it with his hammer and smash its skull.

"Serves you right!" he'd yell at the protesting women. "You shouldn't encourage them in here. I'm banning feeding them. You'll have your money docked if I catch you!"

Several of the women had rescued their favourites from untimely deaths at Fatty's hands. Celia had taken four home during the last few years. But a limit had been reached. There were no more homes to be had and the beautiful tortoiseshell cat they all made a fuss of was about to give birth. Celia had been feeding the cat secretly outside behind their lavatory, encouraging it to choose there to give birth to its kittens.

One day she went and saw the new kittens. They were half-hidden in some grass which was growing up against the back of the toilet.

Four weeks passed, and still Fatty had not found the litter. But he was bound to soon when they became active. After much persuasion, she managed to find homes for some of the attractive little things. The women were so soft-hearted and agreed to take them although they didn't really want them.

Celia racked her brains and came up with a plan to dispose safely of one more. Michael Watson was her last hope.

The next day, before she went home for her lunch she went outside, to the back of the toilet. She picked up a black, furry kitten She placed it inside her shawl and took it home. It took milk from her fingertips just a few drops at a time while she sat at the table eating her lunch.
After she had eaten and it was time for work again, she replaced the kitten within her shawl. Michael Watson was waiting outside his house and hoping for a sweet.

"Look what I've brought for you today Michael,"she said. She handed the kitten to him and told him to be very gentle with it.

Michael ran indoors excitedly and showed it to his mother who took it from him and went quickly to the front door. Celia had gone.

Michael howled and cried and cajoled his mother into keeping it. She conceded, "Wait until your Dad comes home. You'll have to see what he says about it."She hoped that Gordon would say, no. But although Gordon wasn't keen on the idea, he was eventually persuaded by Michael.

"It had better be a good mouser," said Gordon. "It will have to earn its keep." Michael didn't really understand what that meant, but he didn't care because the kitten was now his!

Jesse Owens at start of record breaking
200 metre race during the Olympic
games 1936 in Berlin
Image via Wikimedia

They didn't know what to call it. They had no idea whether it was male or female. Dad decided to call it Jesse, after the great black American athlete who had so infuriated Hitler at the Berlin Olympics, by beating all his Aryans.

"Jesse can be a boy's or a girl's name,"Gordon said. So Jesse it was.

Next day, Celia wondered, "Should I go the long way round? If I don't they might be waiting for me to give it back."

Her second thoughts were, "No, that would not be fair. They've had overnight to make up their minds. If they don't want it, I'll just have to have it myself."

When she arrived outside the Watsons, there was Michael, as usual. He had a big smile on his face and greeted her, "Celia! Celia! My Dad's letting me keep it."

He held the kitten, gently, up to her, for her to see.

"It knows me already. It likes me," he said.
"I'm sure it does,"grinned a delighted Celia. "Here, take the lot!"She handed Michael a full bag of sweets.

"Merry Christmas Michael! I hope you have a good time."

"Merry Christmas, Celia! Thank you!"

It was going to be Michael's fifth Christmas and he was looking forward to all of his new presents but Jesse Owens was the winner. He couldn't have had a better Christmas present in the whole wide world.

Chapter 27: Jack's Story

Gordon and Margaret had established a close bond with the Matthews. Seeing each other regularly became an established routine. They visited each other's home once a fortnight, taking it in turns who should play host.

The Matthews' large detached house was rented. It had a beautiful garden, close to the Park. As the months went by, the men confided more and more in each other and the women became very close. The men liked to discuss the peculiarities of their wives and the women those of their husbands.

One afternoon, just before Christmas, when the men were upstairs in Jack's study, and the four children were playing in the room set aside as a playroom, Sheila said to Margaret, "You know why Jack doesn't like me to have people here when he's not around?"

"I had wondered,"replied Margaret.
"Well, he's very choosey about who we get to know. He's always frightened that I'll involve him with people he doesn't want to mix with."
"But he's not snooty!"
"Oh no, it's not that. It's just that his conversations are always on such a high level that he finds it hard to keep small talk going. He's easily embarrassed. A bit shy really. He likes to pick and choose."

Margaret thought to herself, "I've got him wrong. He is snooty!" Out loud she said, "I have noticed that he likes to have Gordon to himself so that he can rattle on about world affairs and politics all the time."

"That's it! He doesn't mean any harm. He'd hate to cause offence. But I used to worry I might have offended you by not having you in here. Remember that day when it poured down? I felt really ashamed not asking you to come inside out of the weather."

Margaret thought to herself that there was no way that Gordon would be able to issue any commands like that to her. "Is he a bit bossy with you then, Sheila?"

"You could say that!" Sheila replied emphatically. "The trouble is, he's a schoolteacher and at times it seems like he's running another classroom with all his rules here at home. From what he's told me, he was brought up very strictly. His mother died giving birth to him and his father didn't have a lot to do with him because he married again and farmed Jack out to live with his two unmarried sisters. Of course, he spent a lot of time at boarding school and that made him independent and able to stand up for himself, up to a point. But he still had to live by strict rules when he was with the fussy aunts and when he was at school. I suppose it was good for him. But I wish he'd break the habit with me."

Sheila's accent was very different from Jack's. She was from the North-East. She'd mentioned a mining village childhood, much like the Welsh one Margaret had had..

"How did you two meet?"

"Jack had hoped to go to Cambridge when he left school but didn't manage it. So he came to Durham. When I married we'd moved to Durham City from our village. I was living there with my husband when Jack lodged at our house during his second and third years. You may not believe it, but he was going to be a clergyman..."

Margaret was more than interested in what she was being told, but just then, little Rosa, Sheila's little infant, came in crying.

"Michael hurt me,"she sobbed.
"What did he do love?" asked Margaret, standing up and preparing to go and sort her son out.
"Oh sit down Margaret," said Sheila. "Here, Rosa take these sweeties and give them to Rob to share out."

Rosa stopped crying, took the sweets and went back to the other children.

"A clergyman! Who, Jack? What made him change his mind?"

Sheila laughed, "I think it was partly me. I was his scarlet woman."
"Don't be daft,"smiled Margaret.
"I'm not. Shall I tell you a secret?"
"Go on then!"
"Promise you'll keep it to yourself?"

Margaret nodded and Sheila went on, "We're not really married. Rob's not his. Jack's a bit younger than me. I'd been married two years when my husband and I decided to let rooms as college lodgings. He was at The College of The Venerable Bede. Anyway, he was with us for two years and it was during the second year that I fell for Rosa. She is Jack's."
Margaret was amazed. "So then he switched to teaching?"

"That's right. It wasn't just me. He'd been having doubts about his religion before we met.. There was another student at the same college and he stayed with Jack at our house. This friend was a bright lad from a mining family near Chester-le-Street. And very left-wing. He could go home easily by bus from Durham at weekends and he used to take Jack with him. I think Jack was very impressed by Alan's dad. Alan was his college friend. They were a very political family and Jack got involved with them.

"Well, they convinced him that the Church of England was really only the Tory Party at prayer. Stuff like that. Jack's impulsive. And unsure of himself, you know! Anyway, he changed courses. He seems to have the answer to everything but he hasn't. That's only his manner."

"So you left your husband for him?"
"Yes I did. I'm glad I did. There's nothing boring about Jack. When he has one of his impulses there's no stopping him."Sheila giggled, "And I was one of his impulses! We're not married because Jack says marriage is only licensed prostitution, nothing special about it. If you love each other that's all what matters."

Margaret looked at Sheila through new eyes. She was a quiet little mouse of a woman, clothes a bit on the dowdy side. Pleasant enough but hardly the scarlet woman out of the Red Letter, her weekly magazine, which was filled with romantic stories and no-good women.

Margaret wondered if Jack had told Sheila about his latest impulse. Did she she know about his intention to go off to Spain and fight for the Republicans?

Sheila looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and said, "Hey- up! Look at the time! I'd better be getting the tea ready!"

"I'll help you,"Margaret said.

The two of them went through into the large kitchen. Sheila switched on the electric light and lit the gas stove. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

Margaret was very impressed by the kitchen and everything in it. "One day,"she thought, "I'm going to have some of this."

"Don't think me rude Sheila, but you have a lovely house and garden here and I love your furniture. This kitchen is marvelous. I've managed to get a few things on the 'Never Never'. Is that what you do? Or are the furnishings included with the rent?"

"No love! Keep this to yourself too, but Jack has tons of money. When his dad died, his conscience must have pricked him because he left Jack a fortune. That's why we're pretty comfortable."

More than comfortable! thought Margaret. Every room had thick carpets. No Williamson's linoleum for them! She knew that Sheila liked a bargain off the market but the curtains in every room were really good quality, and professionally made, she could see that.

As she set the table, the polished oak table, she couldn't help noticing the expensive table-cloth and all of the fine cutlery. It was all stuff out of the high-income bracket.

When she went back into the kitchen, Sheila said, "I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression about Jack. As you know, we only rent this place, unfurnished, and he says the kids and I must have all the home comforts. Apart from that, he sticks to his principles and he gives his income away to things like the civil war in Spain and other charities."

"You mean the money he gives away is the interest on the money his dad left him?"

"That's right love."
"Mmm,"Margaret thought, "Capitalism has some good uses for him then!"

Upstairs, the two men were trying to put the world to rights, as usual. Gordon couldn't help thinking how fortunate Jack was to have such a lovely room all for himself. It was spacious and had been a big bedroom. Now, the walls were lined with bookshelves all packed with books. The titles indicated that Jack's main interests were politics, literature and art. There was a big desk on which Jack had spread a number of documents and pamphlets. He was used to corresponding with lots of people, including a few heavyweights like Bernard Shaw. On his desk was a postcard which he had received from Shaw only that morning.

The room had a lovely view over the garden and farmland. It was a real haven of peace. Outside, nearly all of the trees had lost their leaves but a huge holly tree was filled with bright red berries, a herald of Christmas. It was peaceful outside but the conversation inside was about war. Jack was becoming increasingly obsessed with The Spanish Civil War.

"I know you don't see it quite like me but they need people like us desperately if they're going to beat Franco. Churchill has refused assistance but he has a nephew there. There's all sorts going to assist from all different countries.The Fascists have Italy and Germany not only aiding him with arms but bombing for him as well."

Gordon was not convinced. "I've read that it's Communists against Fascists. I've no time for either. Churchill might have a nephew there but he won't give aid because he won't help any side the Communists are backing,"he replied.

"It's not about Communism winning! It's about democracy surviving! It depends what you've been reading. There's a propaganda war going on as well! Have you read any of these new Penguin Books? They're called paperbacks and they're only sixpence each."

"No!"
"Well see what you think. Try these two for a start."Jack handed two titles over to Gordon.

One was Searchlight On Spain and the other was What Hitler Really Thinks.

"They'll tell you some of the truth about what the Fascists are up to."
"I dare say, but I've no time for Stalin. He's definitely helping there to suit his own ends! One bloke I have been reading is George Orwell! He should know. He's been there and seen what's happening with his own eyes. You should read some of his stuff. He thinks he's a real swine, one of the worst dictators ever!"

Jack pointed to one of his bookshelves. Orwell's name was prominent amongst the titles. Gordon felt he'd been put in his place.

"He's not the only Communist in the world."Jack responded.
"Maybe not, but he's a blooming powerful and influential one! What about what we've heard about the Communists fighting against the POUM and the Anarchists, the ones who are all supposed to be on the same side."
"Could be rumours,"defended Jack, playing Devil's Advocate.
"Not according to Orwell! And Fenner's been there! He's helped rescue some ILP members who were under threat, not from Franco, but from Stalin's lot."
"We don't know half of it. You can't trust what you read in the newspapers. And that Lord Reith tells them what to say on the BBC. How can we know the truth of it, sitting here on our backsides in Lancaster?"

Jack drew a deep breath and then confided in Gordon, "I'll know the truth of what's going on there soon. I've decided to go. Straight after Christmas!"

Gordon gasped, "You must be joking! I didn't think you were serious last time you said that you might go. It's crazy! It's too dangerous! Our Government's against volunteers going anymore."

"They're just toadying up to Hitler! Frightened of upsetting him or his friends!"
" Churchill's no creep but even he's against anyone going there!"
" Come on, argue logically! You said a minute ago, he's against anything involving Communism."

Jack tried to end the discussion with,"You should know me now Gordy. When I say something, I usually mean it."

But Gordon carried it on.

"But how will you get there? Who are you going with? What about Sheila and the kids? How will they manage? Which lot are you going to join?"

Jack grinned, "All taken care of! There are still some Independent Labour Party lads sticking it out there. I'm off on my own to find them. I'll go as far as the French border, make contact with the Republicans there and head for Barcelona. I've put enough aside for Sheila to get by on until I come back."

"If you come back!"
"I'll be back!"
"You still don't know for sure who you'll be fighting with."
"If the worst comes to the worst, it might have to be with the Communists. Seeing as they've seen the other ill-disciplined Anarchists and Militia off."
"Oh come on Jack, not them! They've probably murdered loads of good blokes. You can't join with them. You'll just be a mindless robot. They'll shoot you if you say a word against anything they want to do."
"All in a good cause, comrade. There are times when orders have to be obeyed. Fascism has to be stopped or it'll be our turn next."
"Well, I'm waiting until it is. I thought our little group were all supposed to be free thinkers. What does Sheila think about you going?"
"I haven't told her yet."
"What about the new job at Skerton School? What about the Corporation House on Ryelands?"
"All on hold old man! Pick up the pieces when I come back."
"More likely you'll be sent back in pieces."

"Don't worry about me! I know how to look after myself." Jack sighed, looked out the window briefly, then smiled at his friend. "Let's change the subject!" he suggested. "I've been meaning to tell you something. Don't forget to buy some of these new paperbacks. There's this chap Lane whose doing the publishing. He says he's fed up with intellectuals saying the general public has low intelligence. He's going to publish loads of intelligent books cheaply to prove them wrong. Spread the word! Buy them!"

Just then Sheila called up to them, "Come on you two, tea's ready!"

Jack placed a finger over his mouth. "Don't forget, not a word to Sheila. I'm going to tell her tonight, after the kids have gone to bed."

"You're mad Jack, simply mad!"were Gordon's last words, before they went down to the meal and chit-chat with the rest of their families.

"Michael had more sweets than us didn't he, Gwyn?" Rosa declared, pulling a face at Michael.
"I don't know,"said Gwyn.
"Tell-tale tit!"said Rob.
"I didn't,"said Michael.
"Yes you did!"insisted Rosa.
"No, I didn't!"responded Michael angrily.
"How do you know?" said Rob to his sister. "You don't know how to count yet. You're stupid!"

Rosa's lip trembled. She was on the verge of crying.

"Enough from the lot of you!" said Jack, in his best classroom manner. "There's no need to start a war over nothing."

They all shut up and ate their tea. It was the last time they'd be together for six months.



Web Links
• Background to the Spanish Civil War
• The International Brigades Memorial Trust
• More about early Penguin books:
www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~mcgoni/penguins