Chapter 49: Beth Blues

Gordon had inadvertently complicated his life and his two very different love affairs had unexpected side effects. The Joyce thing had been very brief but Gordon was fearful that Margaret might hear about it. He had been relieved that there were no immediate repercussions, but his unease increased as the weeks passed. He didn't trust Joyce not to drop him in it.

She had plotted and planned to seduce him. It was a combination of his vanity, her sex appeal and his inclination to cut a dash in front of his friends, that had made him go with her in her car on that night. What a fool he'd been to put so much at risk for so little return!

Thankfully, she had been incapable of hurting his feelings. He was only too eager to put a swift end to the affair. He knew she must have been hurt by the way he had treated her. He knew that he was special to her and always would be. The more he pondered the matter, the more he was convinced that he had not seen the last of Joyce.

With Beth, it was different. From the moment he set eyes on her, Gordon became obsessed with her. He was like an immature, mooning adolescent. The surprising sexual encounter he'd had with her and her friend Lesley in no way diminished his romantic feelings. He'd enjoyed the sex but it was his vision of her that obsessed him. It was his illusion and his delusion that mattered. They were dangerous and threatening to give him trouble.

If he'd been an artist or a writer she would have become his muse. He'd read about Dante and Beatrice and the effect one encounter with her had had on the poet. Gordon thought that his feelings for Beth were like those Dante had had for Beatrice. Gordon was good at deceiving himself and conveniently forgot that Dante had never shagged his beloved.

A month had gone by since his overnight stay at Halton with the two women. Beth had not been at any of the Friday night meetings, so he asked Jack about her.

"Don't really know," said Jack. "I see her occasionally at work. She always says she hopes to be at the next meeting. Things crop up. It's a busy time for all of us at my school. I expect it's the same at her place.

"Is it something important you want to see her about? I could take a message for you."

Gordon looked closely at Jack. Why had he said that? Did he suspect there was something between them? Jack waited for an answer, no gleam in his eye, no eagerness, no suggestion that he was hoping to have a part in a conspiracy.

Gordon responded in a matter of fact tone of voice. "No, that's all right Jack. I was just wondering what had happened to her, that's all. She seemed to enjoy herself with us. It was she who had the idea about us having the booze every week. Remember? By the way, it's my turn to bring some wine next, isn't it?"

He wondered what to do. He had some quite ingenious ideas, but he needed one that was practical. He might be feeling and wanting to act like a sixteen year-old, but his situation was different from that of a callow youth. He had no peers in whom he could confide and from whom to seek advice. There were no spotty-faced cronies who might sympathise with him and his ridiculous dilemma. He was no frustrated teenager able to behave badly at home and work his feelings out on someone else.

No, he had to think this through in a truly adult fashion.

"Adult?" he thought to himself. "I'm not behaving like one!"

He considered buying a bicycle. It would enable him to reconnoitre the area where Beth lived and he might be able to engineer an accidental encounter. He could go there on the off-chance of seeing her. It was a stupid idea, he thought. He couldn't afford a bicycle. If he did buy one, Michael would have to have one too.

The evenings were dark in December. It was a long walk to Halton. He could find no excuse to be out of the house or be home late from work. There were no elections pending and no chance to say he was going out leafleting. If he said he was going to see the Matthews, Margaret might compare notes with Sheila.

Writing her a letter, and sending it via Jack, he had already ruled out. Jack did not seem to be the man for that sort of thing. Too straight! Too high-principled! He would probably give his friend a dressing-down if he suspected any hanky-panky. Jack liked Margaret. Gordon assumed he would object to being asked to play any part in her betrayal. If he decided to address a letter to her at school, it could fall into the wrong hands. It might not be a good idea to put anything down in writing. His written words could be used against him at a later date. If they fell out, Beth might send any letter he'd written back to Margaret.

"So much for my starry-eyed view of my perfect female!" he thought. "Contemplating that she might one day try to drop me in it! How could I think such a thing? Well..!"

He sometimes read old copies of the News of the World which blokes left lying around at work. He'd read about ex-girl friends in juicy divorce cases using love-letters in court when it suited them.

Nevertheless, he went on to thinking about writing to her. What about the briefest of notes, suggesting a meeting? It didn't have to be in his handwriting or signed. He could go to Jack's discussion group early and type one on Jack's typewriter. If only he had her home address! But surely, he could risk posting something like that to her school.

He decided that this plan had possibilities. After lengthy prevarication, he decided that he would send a typewritten note.

Unless Beth responded to his letter and put him off seeing her, he would need an excuse to be out of the house one Saturday afternoon.

Then he thought of a complicated plan. What he would do was tell Margaret that he was going to watch Preston North End with some lads from work. North End were doing well in the First Division that season and were one of the best teams in the land. Buses went from Lancaster to Deepdale every other Saturday. It being winter, kick-off would be at two o'clock. It meant the buses would be leaving Lancaster at half-past twelve. He'd tell Margaret he was going to the next match straight after work.

He thought long and hard about it. It seemed to be foolproof. He decided to act.

"It'll only be the once, love," he said to his wife. "They're having such a good season. I'd love to see them. The lads are always talking about some great players, like Mutch and Beattie and Shankly. Okay?"

Margaret agreed that he could go. After all, she'd had her weekend in Barrow. Fair was fair!

On the Friday, he typed his note, before anyone else arrived at Jack's. It read, "Urgent I see you next Saturday. I'll be in the Greyhound Hotel at one o'clock." He didn't sign it. He typed her name and the school address and fixed a stamp on an envelope. He walked the long way home and posted it at Oxcliffe Corner.

The following Friday, there was no Beth at the meeting. Jack gave him no message from her. He was glad she'd said nothing to Jack about the letter which she must have received. He assumed she hadn't spoken to his friend. Jack would surely have mentioned it.

Saturday morning, came. After work, he walked as far as Damside Street then headed for Halton, via Skerton Bridge, Main Street and Halton Road. He hoped he wouldn't meet the Fascist thugs who'd attacked him the last time he was there!

He grinned to himself. "I won't have a woman to protect me like last time."

The further he walked, the more excited he felt, at the prospect of seeing Beth again. He resisted the idea of skipping along. Like a film-star in a musical! He made up some doggerel, which fitted a popular tune, and sang the verse softly to himself.

Ring those bells!

Bang that drum!

I'm in love,

Here I come!

Of course there was always the chance that she wouldn't turn up. She might have decided that she did not want to see him. Perhaps she hadn't realised the note was from him. Perhaps she had something better to do. He'd soon find out. He was nearly there.

It was a quarter to one when he arrived at the pub. He went into the lounge and ordered himself a pint of bitter. There were only three others in there, all leaning on the bar. He went and found a seat in a corner near the open fire. He could watch the main entrance from where he sat. He sipped his beer and waited. The minutes passed and they seemed like hours.

Then he saw her coming towards the entrance. She was on her own. She was wearing a long black coat. Her red hair stood out vividly against it. She was smoking a cigarette.

She came straight into the lounge. The landlord greeted her, "Hello stranger! How's Beth today?"

"I'm fine, thank you Mr. Stamp."

She looked around and saw Gordon in his corner. She went over to him and sat down opposite. She looked straight at him, loosened the collar of her coat, blew a cloud of smoke over his head and said, "Hello Gordon! Nice to see you. I assumed the note was from you."

"Hello Beth! Thanks for coming. What can I get you to drink?" There was a studied casualness about his manner and speech.

"My usual please, a glass of red wine!"

The lounge was starting to fill up. There were a number of locals but there was passing trade too. Several cars were parked outside. For a while, they could talk quietly and not be overheard because no-one sat too near them. To start with it was all about school, Williamson's, family and Lesley. She explained about how difficult it had been for her to be at any of the recent meetings. He was going nowhere with the chat. Quite abruptly, he cut across all the small talk and whispered to her urgently.


"I've really been wanting to see you again. I've been thinking about you a lot."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Have you Gordon? And why's that?"

"You must know why!"

She grinned at him. "No! Go on, tell me!" So he did. Silly, stupid sod! He poured his heart out to her. She grinned at him even more. "Oh, come on Gordon," she whispered back, "you're a married man. Why would you be wanting to see a girl like me regularly? There'd be no future in it."

He told her he was crazy about her, but it didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. She made it obvious that she didn't like what he'd said. She told him all about how she didn't want any kind of tie. Freedom was the thing!

She and Lesley had an agreement. No regular boy friends. Nothing serious. "Your friend Jack understands," she told Gordon. "Ask him! Get him to lend you one of his books on free love! He's an expert. He has the right attitude."


"You mean that -- you and Jack? You've been with him, like with me?"

She smiled sweetly and repeated, "Ask Jack!"

She offered her hand to him to shake. She leaned forward towards him across the table. "Now come along Gordon. Don't sulk! Be a good boy! Cheer up! We can be good friends can't we? We're all comrades on the same side, aren't we?"

Quite miserable because of her attitude towards him and because of what she'd said, Gordon made one last effort. "But what about us? Have you felt nothing special about me?"

Beth was becoming annoyed. "Listen, Gordon! I will not be a romantic, fantasy figure for you or anyone. I am not a significant character in the story which is your life. I am the principle character in my own story. I decide the part other people have in it.

"You're losing the plot!" she continued. "Accept being my friend or forget me altogether! Don't act like a little boy who's had an ice-cream snatched away from him!"

Gordon took her hand but didn't say anything. He kept on staring at her in disbelief. How was it possible for him to feel so much for her and she so little for him?

She stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray and finished her wine. "Now I have to go. Lesley and I are going to do our Christmas shopping. I can't stay here any longer. I'll see you again soon at one of the meetings. Thanks for the drink." She stood and fastened the collar of her coat again."See you at Jack's after Christmas!" And off she went.


"Cheerio Beth!" the landlord called after her. "Mind what you get up to!"

"Bye, Mr. Stamp," she replied.

Gordon sat there for a few seconds, then he left his half-empty glass behind and hurried after her. He caught up with her and grasped her arm. She turned round looking a bit startled. Before she or he could say anything, there was a voice from behind them. Someone had just got out of a car and was calling to him.

"Gordon! Hello Gordon! You're a long way from home!"

Poor Gordon -- he could not believe his bad luck. It was Joyce, speaking to him. She walked towards the pub entrance, paused there and waved to him. She had a companion. She was with a big fat middle-aged man her affluent boy friend, Joe Treacle.

Gordon was dumbfounded. He did not return her greeting right away. She waved to him again. "Be seeing you, Gordon! Tell Margaret I'll be calling on her soon. Give her my love!"

She went inside the building before Gordon could respond. Beth tugged herself free from his grasp and carried on going away from him.

"Not your lucky day is it, love?" she called back. She had a big, broad smile on her face. He stood there alone feeling upset, guilty and apprehensive. He decided to let Beth go. What was the point?

"Serves me right! I've been a bloody fool. Again!"

He had to kill time before he was expected home. The bus from Preston wouldn't be back in town until around five o'clock. Margaret would not be expecting him back home for ages. He decided to go and watch Lancaster City playing soccer on the Giant Axe Field.

A couple of lads who he used to play soccer with were having a game for Lancaster. "I was as good as either of them," he thought, miserably. "It could have been me playing if I hadn't packed it in!"

He decided he'd watch the Lancashire Combination match. After that, he'd go up town and see his mother for a while. On his way home, he'd call at a newsagents and buy the soccer edition of the Lancashire Evening Post. There'd be the result and a review of the match at Deepdale. He'd be able to tell his wife about the game he was supposed to have been at.

As he walked away from Halton, he tried to find reasons for Beth's behaviour. It occurred to him that she was a female equivalent of his brother Frank. Frank was determined to keep his freedom and had had numerous girl friends. His brother wasn't that much younger than Gordon. But Frank had been enjoying himself with the other sex for years. It was easy for him being single. All the years that Gordon had been stuck in his marriage Frank had been fancy free.

"I'm being unfair!" he thought. "I'm not stuck in a marriage. My marriage is fine. Frank hasn't got lovely kids like I have. What would my life be without Michael and Gwyn?"

But the thought persisted. Frank had had all sorts of fun which Gordon had missed. Frank had had more than his share. A man of his age should be settled. It definitely wasn't right him still being on the loose. On the other hand, he didn't do anyone any harm, apart from breaking a few hearts along the way. So good luck to him!

"But as for women over twenty-one having as much freedom as they liked," he thought, " that's not natural! It's all wrong."

These modern women thought they could do anything, he argued to himself, his mind racing. If they had some spare cash, like Joyce, they were irresponsible the way they carried on. Career women like Beth and Leslie thought they could please themselves. They didn't care what people thought about their behaviour.

They'd be wanting equal pay next! It was plainly ridiculous! Perhaps the trouble had started when they won the vote. It wasn't right for women to be carrying on like they were. It was not respectable.

Beth's summary rejection of him had made him disgruntled. He was feeling all bitter and twisted. He temporarily forgot his own eagerness to be with freedom-loving women twice during the last twelve months. Thinking all round the subject he came to a definite conclusion. Men were made differently from women weren't they? It was only natural to want a bit on the side. Wasn't it?

If he'd been able to discuss the matter with Jack, he might have straightened him out. Jack would have tried to insist that he think and behave more rationally. Gordon was more than a little bit confused. Confused by his own ambivalence. Confused by what some women seemed to be up to these days! Feelings affected and contorted his thinking.

The next thing he did was try to cheer himself up, by putting Beth down, right down, alongside Joyce. Yes, even as low as Joyce!

Two bits of slag, that's what they were! One was a Durex-carrying rat bag! The other was a raving lunatic dyke.

He knew that if he'd been able to tell the blokes at work what had happened to him his mates would all agree.

Chapter 48: Morecambe Illuminations

Earlier in the year, Nan had taken Michael to see Walt Disney's Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. It was being shown at the Odeon cinema, on King Street, in Lancaster. The cinema was a new exciting building, a symbol of the progress and improvements which were very slowly transforming some few working-class lives. The architecture was jazz moderne, (art deco). It was one of many similar film palaces being built all over the country.

Inside, there were thick carpets, a spacious foyer and what looked like expensive decorations. There were comfortable couches for those who had bought their tickets and were waiting for friends or for a performance to start. The discreet electric light fittings and wall coverings were well designed. The overall effect was intended to sooth and welcome. It was the most luxurious place that Michael had ever been to.

Inside the cinema itself was a vast, cavernous space with plush seats, set in tiered rows downstairs and upstairs. The seats were tip-ups with plenty of room for your legs and soft and comfortable. There was a stage with a high and wide curtain onto which soft lighting was projected with subtly changing colours. There must have been room in there for thousands, Michael thought. It was so capacious. It was the biggest place that Michael had ever been in.

Nan and he sat in the cheap seats, just three rows from the front. They were set well back from the screen so Nan didn't have to tilt her neck back much. Occupants of the cheap seats in some cinemas came out with stiff and aching necks. When the film started, Michael stood up some of the time. He hid behind the back of the seat in front, whenever the evil step-mother appeared on the screen.

Before they went to the cinema, Nan had tried to describe to him what a film was, but the experience amazed him. Its impact exceeded his wildest dreams. It was the most astounding thing that had ever happened to him. He'd always believed in magic, ever since he'd heard his first nursery rhymes, and read about Merlin and Aladdin and his lamp and many other similar stories. But for Michael this was reality exceeding imagination. It was marvellous, exciting and frightening. It did all sorts of things to him.

The story lived with him, long after seeing the film. Mam bought him colouring books with outline figures of Snow White and the Dwarfs. They had table mats, which Dad brought from work, with the cartoon figures on them. Michael learned the songs and sang them with Dad when he was taken up to bed each evening. "Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! It's off to sleep we go!" He and Rob acted the story and made up new adventures for the characters.

Michael found it difficult to imagine anything that could give him more pleasure than his first visit to a cinema.

But Gordon had a real treat in mind for the kids. Michael was even more enthralled by what they did one weekend. It was a Saturday afternoon when Michael's Dad said, "After tea, we'll go down to Morecambe and see the Illuminations. I've heard that they've got Snow White in Happy Mount Park. We'll walk to Torrisholme and catch a Circular bus. That will take us as far as the Promenade, at Bare. We can walk to the Park from there. Afterwards, we'll go on a bus from the Park, all the way to the West End. At the Battery, we'll catch a bus back home."

Margaret said, "Why can't we catch a bus on Scale Hall Lane? Why do we have to walk all the way to Torrisholme? We'll be tired before we see the lights."

"Because all the Ribble buses from Lancaster will be packed. There will be loads of people from Lancaster trying to go to Morecambe. The buses will go sailing past us. We could wait there for ages. But Torrisholme Square's where the green buses start from. We'll catch one there quite easily. No problem!"

"All right then!" agreed Margaret. "But no racing! None of that fast walking! We'll take it easy."
"Okay!" said Gordon.

Michael was jubilant "Hurrah! Hurrah! Gwyn, we're going to have a good adventure." "Hurrah! No problem!" said Gwyn.

It was late October. It was already dark when they set-off from Sefton Drive to walk to Torrisholme. They took an electric torch because there was no moon and there was no street lighting down their road.

Gwyn was quite a good walker now and did not tire until half way up Cross Hill. Dad carried her from there to Torrisholme Square. On their way three double-decker Ribble buses passed them.

As they sped past Gordon said, "Look, I told you so. They're packed. All the seats are taken. Look at all the people standing!"

One of the green-and-cream Morecambe and Heysham Corporation buses had just arrived in the Square. Gordon was proved right. There wasn't much of a queue.

Michael didn't want to go on the top deck so they went downstairs. The bus-conductor rang his bell twice, which told the driver it was time to go. Then he came round for the fares.
He had a machine with a handle hanging from his neck. He selected the right price on his machine's dial and turned the handle. The machine printed the tickets. There was a whirring noise. The tickets came out of a slit in the front of his machine.

"Can I have them, please?" asked Michael. Dad handed over the roll of five tickets. The bus-conductor gave Gordon his change. He kept his money in a leather bag, which was also hung from his neck.

"Fares please!" called the conductor as he moved along the bus. People would call out, "Next stop please!" There was one ping on the bell and the bus slowed to a stop. He gave it two pings when he wanted it to go. Michael thought it must be good to be in control of a bus like that. Nobody else was allowed to ring the bell.

"Ping! Ping! Ping!" sang Michael and Gwyn as they skipped ahead of their parents on their way to the Park. Everywhere it was magic. There hundreds, thousands, it seemed like millions of coloured bulbs strung up between the lamp posts. They were on the sides of buildings and attached on high to cables from oneside of the wide Promenade to the other. The lights extended as far back as the eyes could see towards the centre of Morecambe and beyond.

"Miles and miles of them!" Michael shouted.

The darkness was transformed into Wonderland. Anticipating crowds were making for the Park and you could feel the excitement in the air. There was a long queue when they arrived at the park. It was quite a cool night but they were wrapped up warm. "Michael, hold your Dad's hand! Gwyn hold mine! We don't want you getting lost. We'd never find you again in this crowd."

Michael clutched his Dad's hand tightly. He didn't want to be lost in the dark.

The queue shuffled forward slowly. At last, they reached the gates. Dad bought four tickets and they followed other families down the main path.

At Sunday School they'd talked about the Gates of Paradise. Michael thought they must have meant something like the illuminated Happy Mount Park because going through the iron gates and into the park was like entering another world.

You had to keep to the paths as you went round so everybody had a good view. There was no pushing or shoving and no loud shouts. Just the loud murmurs and mutterings of astonishment. Hordes of children were astounded by the ingenuity and realism of the moving tableaux. It was like a dream place. The delighted adults were like children themselves taking a naive pleasure in all that attracted their eyes.

Michael went wild with excitement when he saw Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. "Look Gwyn! Just like the film! The one I saw with Nan."

There was a train you could have a ride on. It was all lit up. There were monsters with flashing eyes and nodding heads. There was every conceivable combination of bright bulbs illuminating the gorgeous flower-beds. From behind shrubs and trees little mythical creatures suddenly appeared. Lights flickered dimly in a grotto. Magic lanterns swung overhead in a gentle breeze.

There were fairies and elves and huge toadstools with weird creatures sitting on them. Gwyn wasn't too keen on the dragon, which roared and puffed out green smoke from its jaws.
In different areas of the park, music filled the air with tunes appropriate to the nearby exhibits. Michael's favourites were the models of the Seven Dwarfs. They looked so real. Michael was sure that it was them really singing the tunes from the film.

They were in the park ever such a long time. There was no question of being bored. However, it was becoming cooler. Gordon said, "Come on, we haven't finished yet. We'll go for the bus. There'll be lots to see on the Prom."

They made their way to the exit. There was a long queue of people waiting for the buses. It moved quickly. Everything was well-organised. There were four double-deckers filling up just outside the gates and four more across the road waiting to cross into a parking space as the full buses moved away. There must have been a bus leaving every two minutes.

"We'll see a lot more from the top deck," Margaret declared and Michael was persuaded to go up the stairs. They were lucky, because the front seats were empty. They were going to have a perfect view.

"Ping! Ping!" went the bell and the bus moved off. Michael forgot all about being dizzy. There were dozens of other kids on the bus with their parents and they were all pointing at whatever took their eyes. They called out to each other hardly able to contain their excitement. Michael recognised a big kid from school but they didn't speak to each other.

The further the bus went: past the Broadway, Headway and Grand hotels, the new Town Hall, the Tower Ballroom and Cinema, the more lights there were to be seen. Most boarding houses were competing with each other and had their own displays. The nearer they came to the Central Pier and Euston Road the greater the profusion of colour. What a stupendous spectacle! Margaret pointed down Queen Street. The street was jam-packed with revellers.

"Look Gordon, you can just see Joyce's pub. Down there on the right. Did you see it?"
"I think so," replied Gordon.

Michael tugged on his Dad's sleeve. "Look Dad! Look the other way! The Clock Tower, it looks lovely all lit up!"

The Promenade Gardens, the shops, the pubs, the amusement arcades and the Winter Gardens all were illuminated and all were a feast for the eyes. There were no vulgar displays. It was a class act. The overall design was splendid.

Morecambe's new pride, a fine example of municipal planning, came next. There were superb examples of art-deco architecture: the marvellous Midland Hotel, Woolworths, Littlewoods, the Super Swimming Stadium, the Empire and Arcadian complex were all passed. There was plenty of time to see everything because the traffic was so dense and moved very slowly. Next came the lights on the Midland Promenade Station, the Empire and Arcadian theatres, the cafes and the arcade.

There was so much traffic now that the bus was often at a standstill. The conductor did not need to ping his bell, passengers jumped on and off the bus when it suited them. Michael was glad that it was a slow journey because he was able to absorb everything. It was like going into a tunnel of majestic splendour. The coloured lights shone prettily everywhere, all the way past the new helter-skelter Cyclone, the Dodgems the amusement arcades, the Whitehall cinema and the West End Pier.

Michael's asked his Dad, "I think we must be in Heaven Dad. Do you think Heaven is like this?"

"Could be!" Gordon laughed.

Thinking about Heaven made him think about Granddad Henry and he suddenly felt sad. A shiver went down his spine. There was a hint of bitterness even in an experience as sweet as this. He hoped his Granddad was happy in his heaven. Then the sad thought went away as quickly as it had come.

The Clarendon Hotel was amazing. It had so many lights you could hardly see the building. "I bet they'll win the prize for the best lit hotel," Margaret said.

The West End Pier's illuminations were reflected in the calm water of the tide which had crept across the Bay and was now lapping against the sea wall.

"Ping!" went the bell. "Battery! Terminus!" called the bus-conductor. Dismayed, the children realised they had reached the end of the promenade. They had to leave the bus. They mingled with the crowds on the pavement. Even here, well away from the crammed central part of the Promenade, you could hardly move. There were so many people out for the evening.

There were locals, day-trippers and holiday-makers. All were enjoying lovely Morecambe, with its proud and justifiable boast of being a place where health abounded and beauty surrounded. "Can't we go back again Dad, when the bus turns round? I want to see it all again" "No, not tonight son. It's long past your bedtime. There'll always be another time."

But there wasn't! There was never another time like that for the Watsons.

War would be declared before the next Morecambe Illuminations. It would be another ten years before the lights were switched on again. By that time Michael and Gwyn's childhood would be over. Things would never be the same. Never! Not ever again! The magical moments would be lost. But always remembered by those who had experienced them.

Image via HistoricImages.co.uk

Chapter 47: A Good Man

War had left Gordon's stepfather Henry weakened and never really well. He'd always had breathing problems because of the gassing he'd had in the trenches. But Henry believed that he was a lucky man. So many of his comrades had died in 1915.

He lay in the bed upstairs. It was the same one that Eli and Nan had once shared. The bed took up most of the room. It was a brass bed with a flock mattress. Under the bed was a po.

On the wall, above Henry's head was a verse of poetry, in a wooden picture frame:

SING YOU A SONG IN THE
-- GARDEN OF LIFE,
IF ONLY YOU GATHER A THISTLE,
SING YOU A SONG AS YOU
TRAVEL ALONG,
AND IF YOU CAN'T SING
WHY! JUST WHISTLE.

Henry's face was very white. His pale blue eyes seemed sightless. It was as though his gaze had turned inwards. His breathing was shallow. The doctor had called and said he was very ill. His heart was packing in. Henry knew he had something seriously wrong with him. He didn't want to fight it. He just wanted to go to sleep. He felt so weary and tired.

When Gordon went to see him, he'd drifted off to sleep.

"He's always been good to me," Gordon thought, looking down at his step-father. He sat by the bedside and thought what a good old boy he was. Not that old, only fifty-four and quite clapped out! Just like a machine that had been badly treated and never functioned well, always likely to break down.

Henry had been a benevolent presence in the house when Gordon and Frank were growing up. He hadn't been allowed to make big decisions for them or punish them when they were in the wrong. Nan did that. They had never done many things together outside the home. He was more like a friendly lodger than a father but Gordon was very fond of him. Everybody liked old Henry. Somehow, he'd always looked old and that was why everybody referred to him as 'old' Henry.

There was no point in sitting there. Gordon contemplated the invalid's blameless life. He thought how lucky he'd been to have had himas a reliable friend. A few more kind thoughts surfaced in his mind. He wished him well. His deep thinking was a kind of praying without a specific formulation.

He went back downstairs to see his mother. Henry had been a good husband to her but she'd never loved him, not how she'd loved Eli. It was over twenty years since Eli had been killed, but you could still feel his presence in the house -- more than you could Henry's. Maybe it was that photograph that was a constant reminder of who had once been the head of the household. Gordon looked up at it now. His father's eyes looked straight back at him.

Nan was quiet. She waited for Gordon to say something.

"I'll come again after work tomorrow," said Gordon.
"All right, son."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Frank's staying in most evenings to keep me company. I've got good neighbours. They're all very helpful in times like this. They'll be popping in and seeing I'm okay. You'd best be going. I'll see you tomorrow."

He kissed his mother on the cheek and left.

Henry was dead within the week. The funeral service was to be at St. Thomas's, situated on the far corner of Marton Street. The burial would be in the cemetery above the town.
Gordon asked for a day off work. Lesser Authority passed the request on to Higher Authority. Gordon was called into the office. "Now Watson, I understand you want a day off to go to a funeral."

"Yes Mr. Jibes."
"It's very inconvenient. We've a lot on at the moment. That roller you're working on needs finishing by Thursday. Whose funeral is it anyway?"
"It's my step-father's."
"I see. Not a close relative then?"
"We were quite close. He helped bring me up."
"Well Watson, if it was your real father it would be different. But I'm going to have to say, No."

Gordon could hardly believe his ears.

"That's a bit hard, Mr. Jibes. My mother's relying on me to be there to support her."

Higher Authority drew a deep breath and frowned. Should he rebuke the man for telling him he was being hard? Should he concede a little? Watson was a steady worker. Never been any real trouble, despite his union activities.

"I'll tell you what Watson. You can have two hours off, provided you come back here afterwards and make the time up with overtime, not overtime pay of course. How about that?"

Gordon responded quietly, "Right Mr. Jibes. Right."

The boss went back to his paperwork. Gordon left the office. Outside, he gave vent to his pent-up feelings. He hit the wall with his fist and said to himself, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" over and over again. "They call us 'Hands' and that's all we are to them. Just 'Hands', without brains and hearts and feelings!"

His brother, Frank, who worked in a different department, had exactly the same treatment. Before the funeral they compared notes and cursed the bloody firm that didn't know how to treat its employees like human beings.

On the afternoon of the funeral, Frank was outside the main gate of the factory waiting for his brother. They were both in their working clothes. Gordon had left his best suit at his mother's the evening before. On their way through town, they picked up the wreaths they had ordered. There was one for their mother too. Gordon asked Frank, "Do you need any help with the expenses?"

No! Everything was taken care of. The Co-op Insurance would be providing adequate cover. It was strange how everybody managed to save for a funeral. They were reasonably well-off now, but if they'd still been very poor, the insurance would have been kept up to date. A proper funeral was essential. You had to show respect to the dead and more importantly behave respectably. One had to be respectable at all costs!

Between them, Frank and his mother had registered the death and made the other funeral arrangements.

"There'll not be many there and with you two having to go back to work I haven't booked a cafe meal for afterwards," Nan said.

The curtains were drawn across the windows of the house, and it was gloomy inside. The coffin was on a trestle table, taking up most of the downstairs room. Nan was all prepared and in black. Her sons went upstairs to change. They came down. Eli's photograph seemed to watch their every movement.

Gordon was standing by the open door and looking out."The cars are here," he said.
The pall bearers came in and lifted the coffin. They placed it in the funeral car.

There were the three family wreaths, and another from some neighbours who had clubbed together to buy one. All four were placed on top of the coffin. Nan and her sons climbed into the other car. It was only a hundred yards to St. Thomas's.

The local vicar was away. There was a clergyman they'd never seen before waiting for them in the porch. The bell rang from above and it felt like a blow to the heart every time Gordon heard it toll. Frank was crying. Nan was stoical as ever.

There were only ten in the church. They were Nan and the two brothers. Stanfast had allowed one from amongst his work mates to attend. A wartime comrade, too ill to be in employment, had managed to make it on his two sticks. Five female neighbours were there. Margaret had stayed at home to look after the children.

Gordon and Frank had been church-goers when they were children. They were able to sing the familiar hymns, "Abide With Me" and "All Things Bright and Beautiful." Nobody else did, apart from the bloke taking the funeral service. He read the words of the service as quickly as possible. Nobody said anything personal about Henry and the good things he'd done in his life.

The service soon ended. Some there shook hands with the family in the porch. A few words were spoken to Nan. No-one was articulate. The brief words were sincere.

A neighbour said, "He was a good man."
The man on the two sticks croaked, "He was a brave lad."
Another of the neighbours said to Nan, "Keep smiling love."

The coffin was carried out again and placed back in the funeral car. It was time for the journey to the cemetery above the town. It was pouring with rain in the cemetery. They were wet through by the time they reached what was to be Henry's last resting place. Mother and sons huddled together during the committal. The men lowered the coffin into the gaping hole. Dog-collar garbled the necessary words and scurried off. And that was that!

The car took the three of them back to Marton Street. The brothers changed again into their work clothes and hurried back to Williamsons. Gordon said to his brother, "Well Frank, all I can say is, he had a few decent years with mother. It was about the only time in his life that he was properly cared for."

"Yes," agreed Frank. "if ever there was a decent bloke, it was Henry. Never did anybody any harm. Always tried his best. He was a real good sort. Being still at home, I got to know him better than you. He was pure gold."
"Yes," said Gordon, I suppose we've had it dead easy compared with how it was for him and a lot of his generation. Anyway, he's nothing to worry about now."

Back at his bench, Gordon's friend Bill asked, "How did it go, Gordon?"

"Bloody awful!" said Gordon. "Life isn't fair is it? Only fifty-four he was and not much to show for all his hard work and always doing his duty. Look!"

Gordon showed Bill the gold signet ring which he'd put on one of his fingers. "This was his. He wanted me to have it. Frank has his watch and chain. And that's it. That's all he had."  "Well Gordon, people who knew him, they'll all have good memories of him," Bill replied. "Maybe that's all that counts at the end of the day. It's more than you can say for a lot of them who have loads of dosh."

When Gordon was at home, late, because of the enforced overtime, Michael was demanding some answers. He knew there was something being hidden from him and that it concerned Granddad Henry. The children had known that he was ill. Margaret had said nothing about his death. As usual, she was anxious to shield them from reality. Michael was so easily upset and Gwyn was too young to understand what had happened.

Gordon decided it was time to tell Michael, to try and make sense of what had happened to Henry. As he could not comprehend it himself he had a real job on his hands.

"You know that things die, Michael?"

Michael was sat on his Dad's lap and could tell it was something serious. Gordon was holding him tight and speaking earnestly in a quiet voice.

"Yes, Dad. You mean like when Jesse kills a bird?"
"Well yes, but people die too you know."
"Like Celia? And when you killed that mouse?"

It wasn't a good start. He tried again.

"You know what you learned at Sunday School about Jesus dying and going to Heaven?"
"You mean when those nasty men tortured him and hammered nails into him. Then they hung him up on a cross."
"Well yes, but after all those horrible things, he went to sleep and was happy in Heaven."
"It's not what Rob thinks. He says Jesus came back as a ghost and he's everywhere, watching us in case we do bad things."
"Not quite like that. But listen, people you know have to die too."
"I know Dad. Like I said, Celia died didn't she? Why did she?"
"She wanted to go to a happier place."
"Where's that?"
"Up in the sky -- somewhere out of sight."
"Can she see us down here? Do you get dizzy up there?"
"She might be able to see us. But listen, I've something important to tell you."

Michael was silent and listened. Gordon took a deep breath and said, "Your Granddad Henry has died. He's gone away to be happy. Do you understand?"
"Does that mean I won't be seeing him again?"
"Yes."
"But I want to! He takes me for walks and tells me good stories."
"That's how you'll have to remember him. He was always a good Granddad to you."

Michael's lip trembled.

"It's not fair. There's always something bad happening. It's not fair. Why didn't you stop him? You know I wouldn't want him to go away."
"It wasn't up to me son. I didn't want him to go."

Michael thought his Dad could do anything he wished, prevent anything he didn't want happening. He climbed down off his knee and went over to his mother and she picked him up for a cuddle.

Michael stared at Gordon accusingly, "It's not fair," he said again. "You should have stopped him. I didn't want him to go away. I want to see him!"

Chapter 46: A Visit to Barrow

• Summer Time painting by Tom Dodson. Reproduced with permission courtesy of Studio Arts, Lancaster

Margaret and the the two children had a compartment to themselves on the train to Barrow. Michael and Gwyn had seats next to the window, Michael facing the engine and Margaret sitting opposite, next to Gwyn.

They left Castle Station and its mock-Elizabethan architecture behind and moved off ­ jerkily at first, then more smoothly as the engine got up-steam.

"Mam! Mam! We're crossing Carlisle Bridge," cried Michael, hoping for a bird's eye view of his school. For once, he was enjoying the crossing. Being on a train was different from being on the footbridge and dreading its shaking by a train. He moved over to Gwyn's side and looked back, hoping he'd be able to see St Mary's. He had the merest glimpse of it on the far bank of the Lune. Then they were picking-up speed and heading past Ryelands and Hareruns Estates and the Padfields.

It was a lovely journey, probably one of the best anywhere in the whole wide world. They were close to the sea at Hest Bank and had a view of the Bay and the Pennines on the other side of the water. After the busy railway junction town of Carnforth they went on to Silverdale, as lovely as its busy pretty name. Next, it was Arnside and Grange-over-Sands, which meant they were half-way to Barrow.

It was dusk and there was a spectacular sunset in the west over the Bay. They watched the sun kiss then sink down behind the Lakeland hills. The slowly darkening clouds were decked with a glory of colour – a technicolour spectacle, all the way from the horizon and right over the train. It was as good a sunset over Morecambe Bay as ever inspired the likes of the painter Turner. The tide was in, the sea reflecting the luminous sky, as they went over the water on a long viaduct.

After the sun was long gone and the landscape was quite dark, the clouds over the Bay still had faintly glowing colours, like the embers of an almost defunct fire.

"Mam! Mam! We're sailing over the sea!" chortled little Gwyn. It was true. Enough light remained for them to see the water below. Both she and Michael stood up in amazement. It was quite a distance before they were travelling over dry land again. Michael had not been too worried about the train toppling down into the water but the possibility had crossed his mind.

Margaret pointed out the strings of glittering sparklers which were distant Morecambe's lights. "Look," she said, " those lights! They go for miles along the promenade."

On they steamed to Kents Bank, Ulverston, Dalton, Roose and finally to Barrow. They had completed a magic-makers semi-circle of about fifty miles right round the Bay.

Michael had been mystified when he spotted a lighthouse high on a hill, on the land side. He'd seen a picture in one of his books of one on a rock, out at sea. He thought lighthouses were situated off the coast, to guide ships away from rocks. You couldn't have ships sailing near hills. His Mam couldn't enlighten him. It was the stimulus for another of his weird dreams, with ships going over mountains.

Barrow Central Station before World War 2. Image via the South Lakes Memory Bank

Margaret's brother Tom was waiting at Barrow Station. He'd parked Grandpop James's new car nearby. He put their case in the boot and Michael went in the front with him. It was the first time he'd been in a car. Aunty Joyce still hadn't taken him in hers despite her many promises.

What made his day was seeing an old railway engine, in a big glass case, outside the railway station."Coo! Look at that, Gwyn!"

Uncle Tom said, "That's old 'Coppernob'. It used to run on the Furness Railway a hundred years ago."

It was beautiful, thought Michael. It looked superb, all shiny copper, brass and steel.
Grandma and Grandpop were ever so pleased to see them. When dark-haired Aunty Julia gave Michael a hug and told him what a big boy he'd become, he thought that she smelled nearly as nice as Aunty Joyce. But he didn't like the lipstick she left on his cheek.

Michael and Gwyn slept in the same bed. He dreamed a lot but didn't wake up in the night and they both slept late. When the grown-ups came to bed, Margaret and her mother looked in on them, lying side-by-side, heads nearly touching.

Beatrice said, "They're beautiful kiddies my dear. You're a lucky girl. You've a lot to be proud of."

James gave her a hug just like he used to do when she was his favourite little girl. It nearly made her cry, she was so happy. She was so pleased to have everything in her life, just as she'd always wanted it. Perfect children! Perfect house! Perfect marriage! Everything was quite wonderful!

She was to sleep in the same bed as her youngest sister. It was very late when Julia came into the bedroom. She woke Margaret up, stumbling around the room. Julia didn't smoke but there was the stale aroma of cigarettes from her when she laid herself down beside Margaret. Her breath smelled of gin. Margaret pretended to be asleep. She didn't want to talk to her boozy sister. She dozed off quickly. Julia's snoring in her ear didn't wake her. It had been a long day and she was very tired. She slept the deep sleep of the just.

In the morning, Grandpop, Tom and Julia went to work. Margaret and Gwyn went to have a look round Barrow. Michael said, "I want to stay with Grandma."

Beatrice was pleased and said so. Margaret left him behind. The real reason Michael wanted to stay in the house was not to be with Beatrice. He'd noticed the piano, the one James had bought for Julia. As soon as his mother had gone, he asked Beatrice if he could play the instrument. She smiled benignly on him.

"Of course you can my dear. I'll lift the lid for you. It's a bit heavy. Now mind you don't slam it down on your fingers!"

She went into the kitchen to do some baking. Michael had the time of his life. He banged the keys and sang and shouted along with his discords. It was just like the old days before Margaret got rid of the harmonium.

After half an hour, of listening to his row, Beatrice wished that he'd gone out with his mother!

"Would you like to help me bake Michael?"
"No, I'm all right, thanks Grandma."

Bang! Crash! Wallop!

After the three had come home from work, Margaret and Gwyn returned by bus from the town-centre. They all sat down to lunch together. Afterwards, Tom took them for a car ride. Beatrice stayed at home because she had a bit of a headache. Tom showed them the submarines that were being built at Vickers shipyard. they went over to Walney Island to look at Morecambe on the other side of the Bay.

"I wonder what Dad's doing?" Michael said.
"Getting stuck into the garden I suppose," said Mam.
"If he's stuck, he'll need me to pull him out," said Gwyn.
"Whatever he's doing, it's too far to see from here," laughed Tom. "Come on you kids, I'll race you to the ice-cream man."

They ate their ice-creams sitting on the beach. But it started to rain. So they went back home to Grandma's and Grandpop's. Grandpop was upstairs in bed. "Having forty winks," said Beatrice.

James went out in the early evening. The rest stayed in and played a card game, 'Happy Families'.

"Dad still likes his pint," remarked Margaret.
"Don't we know it!" sighed Beatrice. "He always will. He'll never change."

Michael and Gwyn stayed up very late. It was nine o'clock before Margaret said, "Time for bed for you two!" After the card game they'd played on the carpet. There were toys which Beatrice kept for when any grandchildren stayed with her. Some of them were really old. Michael liked the little wooden train which Grandpop had made many years ago. He would have liked to have kept it for himself but he knew he had lots of cousins who would want to play with it when they visited.

Gwyn's favourite was a china doll. Beatrice had made all the clothes for it, after she'd bought it in a second-hand shop, in Cardiff, in 1913. Michael enjoyed hearing about where all of the different toys had come from.

"Did you play with them when you were a little girl Mam?" asked Gwyn.

Beatrice answered for her, "Oh yes she did! Your Mam was ever such a good little girl. Just like you! There was nothing she liked better than playing quietly with her things. And she was always a good help for me with the little 'uns."

"Who were the little 'uns Grandma?" asked Gwyn.
"I was one," said Tom.
"And I was another," smiled Julia.

Gwyn found it hard to imagine her aunt and uncle as children like her brother and herself.

"Was that in the Olden Days?" she asked, thinking about some of her stories which began, "Once upon a time, long ago, in the Olden Days.."

Everybody laughed when she asked that. Tom said, "You trying to make me into an ancient monument my girl?"

Gwyn was puzzled by their reaction. She frowned at Tom and said, "I'm not your girl. I'm my Dad's girl."

"Not the Olden Days Gwyn! No, my lovely," said Grandma, "it seems more like only yesterday to me. Just like yesterday!" When she said it, she was thinking back to when all of the children were at home. She remembered the infants who had died. It made her feel and look quite sad.

"I'm a bit tired Mam," said Gwyn. "Can I sit on your knee?"
"Here," said Beatrice, "Come and sit on mine!"

Gwyn cuddled up to her and soon fell asleep.

Margaret repeated herself. It was time for bed! This time there was no way round it. They were both very tired. Their protests were not really meaningful. It had been a lovely day.

Playing the piano was what Michael had enjoyed most of all.

"I hope we'll see you again, soon, my lovelies," said Grandma when they left on the Sunday straight after lunch. Grandpop was back in the pub. but he'd left them a shilling each for pocket-money.

Mother and daughter hugged each other.

"Perhaps our Tom will drive you to Lancaster. You still haven't seen our new house," Margaret suggested.

Tom said, "It's a promise. I will when I have the time."

"Some promises are never kept!" thought Margaret, knowing what a full social life Tom had in Barrow.

Gordon was waiting for them when they arrived back in Lancaster.The two children ran along the platform and flung themselves at him, telling him all about what they'd done and what they'd seen. "It was a really good adventure Dad!" said Michael.

"Grandpop gave me a shilling!" said Gwyn.
"I'm pleased. You seem to have enjoyed yourselves," replied Gordon.
"It's nice to be back," Margaret said. "Anything interesting happen while we've been away? Managed to pass the time all right love?"
"It was a bit boring," lied Gordon. "But apart from that everything was fine. Come on, we'll walk! I bet we'll do it quicker than the bus."

He picked up their case in one hand and Margaret lifted Gwyn up, to be carried on his other arm. Her head rested on his shoulder. Gordon strode out for home.

"I'm your best girl aren't I, Dad?" Gwyn asked.
"You certainly are my love," replied Gordon, giving her a squeeze.
"Not so fast Dad!" urged Michael.
"Slow down Gordon please! We can't keep up," pleaded Margaret.
"We'll have to keep going or the bus will beat us!" retorted Gordon.
"So what!" snorted Margaret. "What does it matter?"

It mattered to Gordon. He had to win his silly little games. It sort of helped to compensate for those other big losses. The father who had been killed! The absence of money when he was a lad! The education he'd never had! The lack of dignity at work!

When they arrived home, there was a lad who lived in Marton Street, waiting to see Gordon. "Hello Mr. Watson," he said. "Your mother's sent me to tell you. Henry's been took ill. He's in a bad way..."

"Coppernob" was the nickname given to Furness Railway Number 3 which hauled the first passenger train on the Furness Railway, and was placed in a glass case at Barrow Railway station on its retirement. It was removed during the Second World War after the station was bombed, and is now a valued exhibit at the National Railway Museum in York.

 Web Links
 
• Summer Time painting by Tom Dodson. Reproduced with permission courtesy of Studio Arts, Lancaster

• Furness Railway Trust 

Chapter 45: Gordon meets Lesley

Gordon saw his family off to Barrow on a Friday evening train. Then he hurried to the meeting at Jack's. He was ten minutes early. Sheila answered the door and he apologised for being too soon.

"That's all right! You're not the first. Beth's already here. Go straight up! I expect Jack will be with you in a minute."

Gordon felt his heart beating strongly as he ascended the stairs. There was a rush of blood to his head. He went into the study. There were two bottles of wine on Jack's desk. Beth was looking at the titles on Jack's bookshelves.

She was wearing slacks. Gordon hated slacks. Apart from that, he liked what else he saw. The luxurious red hair came half way down her back. She was about the same height as himself. Her waist was slim. She turned and greeted him. He noticed her breasts were quite large and shapely. She was wearing a tight woollen jumper.

They were at ease with each other. They chatted about what had happened at their workplaces during the week.

Gordon told her how they had recently managed to gain recognition for a union and how difficult it was to involve his work-mates in union activities.

"They only show any interest when we have a pay claim in. This week I've had nothing but moans. Not much in the way of thanks for our negotiated pay rise.

"It's not as though I'm paid for doing my best for them," he continued. Being a shop steward is a thankless task. The bosses think you're trying to ruin the firm and the workers think you're not doing enough for them."

Beth rubbed a thumb and forefinger together and said, "Money! Money! Money!" She smiled sympathetically.

Gordon noticed that she wore no wedding or engagement ring. "Do you live with your parents?" he asked.

"Oh no, I left home for good as soon as I started work at Skerton. It's best to be independent don't you think? I share with my friend Leslie."

Gordon wondered whether Lesley was a man or a woman. "He's not with you here. Isn't he interested in politics?"

She laughed, "Lesley isn't a 'he'. She's another teacher at Skerton. We started on the same day there. We were friends at school and went to the same Training College. She was born and brought up in Halton too. But to answer your question about politics, no, we have similar views but Lesley always says she has better things to do with her time than mess about with politics."

"No boy friend!" Gordon thought. "So far, so good!"

During the week, he'd made up his mind that he wanted to see Beth on her own. He'd established that there was no boy friend around. And he'd got Margaret out of the way. The way was wide open for him. But he had only one free day when he would be able to see her. What could he suggest? He had until the end of the meeting to think of something.

Inadvertently, Jack solved the problem.

As usual, he took charge. He'd decided that the week's discussion should be about favourite books. This meant, for once, that each member had a chance to have a good say although Jack followed their words about their favourites with his own lengthy comments.

Just before the break for wine and for informal chatting Jack made an announcement.

"Tomorrow the local anti-Mosleyites are doing a leaflet drop. The ILP want to counteract what his lot did last weekend. They hope that we'll be able to help them."

Two at the meeting had other arrangements and couldn't help. Jack and the male colleague of his from Skerton School would be available all day. They agreed to work together around Owen Road. Beth and Gordon would both be free in the afternoon. It was Jack who suggested, "So perhaps Beth and Gordon could do around Halton Road for us?"

Gordon could hardly believe his luck. While they were sipping their wine, he arranged to meet her at half-past two, at the end of Halton Road, in Skerton. She took half of the leaflets and he carried the rest home.

"Next part of mission accomplished!" he gloated to himself.

Crossing the field on the way to Sefton Drive there was still a faint glow of red in the sky. It should mean a fine sunny day ahead. The family should be safely at Barrow by now.

"Red sky at night, shepherd's delight! More like Gordon's delight!" he hoped. He gave the cats a few scraps for their supper and went off to bed. Jesse decided he'd have to make do with second-best, Gwyn being away, and came upstairs after him. He curled up on Gordon's chest purring. Gordon went to sleep full of anticipation.

He went to work on Saturday morning as usual. The weather was so sunny that he didn't bother taking his waterproofs with him and he did not wear his cap. Before he went, he remembered to he had to feed the cats.

Coming back from work, he walked even more swiftly than usual. Margaret had left him a meat and potato pie to warm-up for his meal. It was easily cooked on the new gas stove. He had time to spare so he relaxed with a cup of tea, then he had a refreshing shave.

He whistled to himself, standing half-naked in the bathroom. When he'd finished, he had a good look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Not too bad for thirty-four!" he mused, frowning at the few wrinkles round his eyes and the greying at the temples. He tried to forget the bald patch which he knew was spreading on the back of his head. He stepped back and viewed his torso. That was okay. The time had not yet arrived when he'd have to make an effort and tense his muscles to make his stomach appear flat. His friend, Brian, already had a prominent belly. He bent his arms and admired his biceps.

"Gordon," he said out loud, "I think you'll do lad. You're not past it yet!"

Shirt on, collar attached, cufflinks fixed, hair slicked down, shoes well-polished, he viewed the weather. It was still a nice day so no need for a raincoat. "Off I go!"

He went the long way round by road. He did not want to take the shine off his shoes by going over the grass. "Oh what a beautiful afternoon it is!"

He passed Jack's house and carried on along Torrisholme Road. There were a few people out and about. He called a friendly greeting to those he recognised.

"Nice day, Gordon!"
"Certainly is! Couldn't be better."

Ryelands Park was next on his right, after he passed under the railway-bridge at the end of Khyber Pass. It was the site of the old estate of James Williamson and who'd built the Structure in Williamson Park, better known as the Ashton Memorial, and the new Town Hall in Dalton Square.

Lord Ashton

Little Jimmy Williamson, as he was known to locals, had lived in Ryelands House within the Park. He had a high wall built around it so none of his workers could see what he got up to.

He had a cycle track there and raced round it to keep himself fit, riding racing bikes specially made for him. The few witnesses of his antics said he was an adept trick cyclist, although one sardonic Skertonite had quipped: "Aye, he could always earn his living performing on his bike if he lost all his millions!

"He's always been a tricky bugger! Too tricky for us!"

The same man who had been given the sack 'for slackness at work' was one of many who declined the invitation to go to a party in the Park when Jimmy who'd become Lord Ashton, and provided ten thousand five-hundred splendid lunches for locals.

"For all of my friends and neighbours," he said.

Another time, when he opened his new Town Hall, all of the Lancaster school kids had to go to the official celebrations. They were given a box of chocolates and a commemoration medallion.

Many of the rebellious Skerton parents instructed the children to show their contempt for the presents and they threw them over the high wall of Ryelands Park on their way home from the event. Not naturally violent and normally quite subservient, the disgruntled employees had their ways of irritating their egotistical, domineering boss.

Williamson considered the persistent attempts of the ILP to unionise his workers outrageous. He made every effort to stop them, using his carefully contrived works' spy-system, to find whom he considered to be trouble-makers and to sack them.

In 1911, when it required the casting-vote of the Returning Officer to gain the election of his favoured candidate in a Skerton by-election, it nearly gave him a heart attack. He decided that he had had enough of his 'friends and neighbours', and spent most of the rest of his life miles away, near Blackpool. Creeps tried to organise demonstrations of loyalty for Jimmy but his pride was affronted. He could not be swayed. His mind was made up. He went away and stayed away from his town — but he still ruled every aspect of their working lives from afar.

When he came home to Ryelands to die more than twenty years later, he was still full of bitterness and anger against what he considered to be the disloyalty and ingratitude of the citizens he had patronised for so long.

Gordon knew all of these stories backwards. He pondered them as he walked past the Park, which was now public property. He thought it was ridiculous that one man should have had all that wealth and so much influence over thousands of lives. Although his long stride was taking him quickly to his assignment, it still took Gordon over ten minutes to walk the full length of the Park. And that had been only one of Little Jimmy's several living places.

Gordon crossed Owen Road and went down Aldren's Lane, the bundle of leaflets under his arm. There she was, waiting for him on the corner.

Jack had given her a list. They were to do some of the side streets as well as all of Halton Road. The River Lune was still tidal as far as Halton was over on the right.

"You walked here from home?" he queried.
"Yes," she replied, "it would be too awkward pushing my bike around with me while we work."

Gordon said, "I haven't got a bike. I love walking. Really enjoyed it this morning going to and from work. Lovely weather. The Park looked nice just now. A few leaves starting to turn brown and orange. Otherwise you might think it was still summer."

They planned their afternoon. The best way would be leap-frog leafleting. Each would post at every other house.

"And remember what Jack said, we're just leafleting. Not looking for arguments. If you become involved with a wrong-one you could be in real trouble. They come on heavy, these Blackshirts."

She nodded agreement. "I remember. I'll do what he said."
"Shall we have a cigarette before we start?" she asked.
"You carry on. I don't bother with them these days."

She lit up. Not many women smoked in the street! Obviously, she didn't care what any parents of her children might think. A lot of the houses they were visiting had kids from her school in them.

"I like your dress. It goes well with your hair," he told her, as they stood there. It was made of light cotton, a brightly-coloured summer frock, with quite a low neck.

"Thank-you! I'm fond of it. Lesley bought it for me for my birthday. She has good taste. Knows what suits me. Glad I'm wearing it. Need something cool on today."

As she smoked, he continued to appraise her appearance. He beagan making comparisons with Margaret. Margaret did not wear low-necked dresses. His wife did not have large breasts. On the other hand, Margaret would never be seen smoking in the street, puffing away on a Black Cat cigarette. Margaret would never dream of wearing slacks.

"Why am I making these comparisons?" he wondered. "It's not as though I'm going to have to make a choice."

She looked back at him, meeting his gaze evenly. She knew that he was making an effort to compliment her. Local men were not renowned for smooth talking.

"Living together, you and Lesley must be really good friends?"

"You could say that. She's a very tolerant person. Very easy-going," Beth replied. "Right," she pronounced, flicking her cigarette end into the gutter, "I suppose we'd better make a start. I'll do the first house."

They worked steadily. When they went down the side roads, they did the left-hand-side first and came back to Halton Road, via the houses on the right. After an hour, Gordon suggested a rest.

"Good," agreed Beth. " I'm sweltered. Let's go and sit by the river. We'll have a breeze there to cool us down a bit."

They crossed the road and sat on a bench overlooking the Lune. There were municipal gardens around them. Beth lit up again. Gordon let his outstretched arm rest on the back of the seat, nearly touching Beth's shoulders.

She asked him about his family. He told her about Michael's good progress at school, about his nightmares and moodiness. He spoke lovingly about Gwyn's easy-going nature and his concern for her health. He described how he loved playing with his kids. He didn't say much about Margaret.

She leaned forward, dropped her cigarette end to the ground and stood on it. Then she leaned closer towards him and he let his arm drop across her shoulders. She did not pull away. In fact she snuggled closer to him.

He'd had one or two glances around. They were shielded from the road and there was no-one about near their bench. It came as a shock when three angry-looking blokes seemed to materialise from nowhere. They came and stood right close in front of them where they sat. Their body language was threatening.

Gordon moved his arm from around Beth and tried to stand up. A hand shot out and pushed him back to his seat. A finger was poked in his face.

"Just you sit there matey," said a man wearing a suit and tie, the one who was standing back a bit from the other two rough- looking louts, "we've something to say to you!"

Gordon began to protest, "What do you think you're playing at?"

'Suity' spoke again, "Shut your gob, smart arse! I'm doing the talking." With that, he snatched the bundle of leaflets away from Beth and one of the tough-looking assailants grabbed Gordon's.

Gordon protested again, "What the hell's going on?"

This earned him a practised kick right across his shins, which really hurt. He grunted with pain.

"You deaf or something, smart arse?" 'Suity' went on. "I told you to be quiet."

Gordon bent forward to rub where he had been kicked and a fist hit him under the chin making him sit bolt upright again.

It was then that Beth started her tirade against the three, "I know what you are! You lousy Fascist shits! Why don't you piss off where you came from! Get back down the sewer you belong in!"

One of them grabbed her by her hair and told her, "Shut up, big tits -- or I'll smash your face in."

He'd dragged her to her feet but before he could push her back onto the bench she brought up a knee and thudded it into his balls. Letting out a shriek at the unexpected retaliation he let go of her hair and held his crotch with both hands. She was off running for help.

"Don't worry Gordon. I'll be back in a minute with the lads!"

The 'lads' were an invention. But the thugs did not know.

"Shit," said 'suity', "time we scarppered!"

Gordon received another kick on the shins and the trio went off, mouthing threats and their usual abuse.

"Jew lovers!"
"Commie bastards!"
"Traitorous shit-bags!" And so on.

After a couple of minutes, Beth reappeared. Gordon could hardly stand. His legs were still hurting him badly. He grimaced with pain.

"Where did that lot come from? I wasn't expecting it, were you?"
"Well, I know from what I've heard at school, there are one or two Fascist families in Skerton. But those had London accents."
"Perhaps they stayed over from last week They had a gathering here to help their local lot get more organised. One of their big names, Haslam, visited. I think we were just unlucky that they spotted us. What are we going to do about it?"

Gordon hesitated. The last thing he wanted was publicity and his wife knowing how he'd spent his Saturday afternoon. He decided, "Best let it go! We haven't any witnesses. Also, I'm not sure if our leafleting is legal."

"Only Jack could tell us that. If you say so, we'll just put it down to experience. We'd better be more careful in future. But I don't like to think of them having their own way. Can you walk yet?"

"I think so. I'll be all right in a minute. I've had worse, playing soccer."

"Well that's the end of our leafleting," Beth replied. "They've blown away all over the shop. We could go on to my place and sit in the garden. It's nice there. You could meet Leslie. We could have some wine and I'll make us something to eat."

Gordon suddenly felt much better.

Sounds like a good idea to me! Let's go!"

It was about a mile to the outskirts to Halton village. They went past the Greyhound Hotel and along Low Road until they came to narrow Mill Lane. They walked quite a way then followed a footpath, coming to a woodland clearing near the river. A train had just left Halton Station. They had glimpses between the trees of the smoke and steam from it. It was going slowly but picking up speed. It was going up the line towards Wennington on the other side of the river.

"What a lovely spot!" exclaimed Gordon. "It's perfect!"

"But," he thought, "that's not much of a place to live in." He was looking across the clearing. He'd rather have been back in Edward Street than have to live in the building, if you could call it a building!

Beth smiled at him and said, "We like it. We love it here. Come and meet Leslie."

They walked across the sunlit clearing. On closer inspection, Gordon could see that two railway goods wagons had been joined together. The large letters L.M.S. had been partially painted over. Trellising was nailed to the wooden side-wall and had a variety of plants flourishing on it. There were climbing roses, passion flowers, clematis, honeysuckle and winter flowering jasmine. The clematis was growing in wild profusion over the roof and and starting to curl around the metal chimney which protruded from the roof of the construction.

The dwelling rested on railway sleepers. There were three steps up to the doorway. "We need to be well off the ground in case the river floods," explained Beth.

"Lesley!" she called, "I've brought Gordon, Jack's friend to meet you."

Another woman, the same age as Beth, appeared in the doorway. She was another beauty: raven-haired and plump, with a Titian-like figure. This was quite obvious because she was bare-breasted. Without any hint of embarrassment, she came down the steps and offered Gordon her hand to shake.

She spoke softly in a husky voice."Hello Gordon! I'm pleased to meet you. Beth's been telling me all about you. I'm so glad you've been able to come. What would you like to drink? There's beer or red wine whichever you prefer."

"I'm pleased to meet you too," responded Gordon focusing on her face and trying not to look at her chest.

"A beer would do fine! It's been thirsty work."
"Yes," said Lesley, "it's the weather. Lovely isn't it? Maybe the last chance for sun-bathing this year. I've been sitting out in it until a couple of minutes ago. There's seating round the back. I'll bring your drinks to you. Wine for you dear?"

"Thanks, love!" replied Beth. "Come along Gordon. I think you're in need of a rest." Gordon was sweating profusely. It wasn't just the heat or the long walk!

There was a swing seat with three floral cushions. Beth and Gordon sat down. There was plenty of room for three. Leslie sat with them after she'd brought their drinks. Gordon sat in the middle. Either side of him were two gorgeous females. Leslie was still half-naked. "Free-thinking has some unexpected benefits!" he thought, sipping his beer.

"Well," he said, "Here's to it! Cheers girls! And thank-you!"

He was a long way from Sefton Drive. This was another world. Beth spent a long time telling Lesley the story of their leafleting and how it had ended.

"Good job they didn't really try it on with you darling," murmured Lesley, "or they might have received the full benefit of your black belt qualification!"

"Do you mean it? Has she really?" asked an astounded Gordon.
"Oh yes, our Beth has many hidden talents, haven't you dear?"

She turned towards Gordon. "And what about you Gordon? What are your secret talents?"
"I'm pretty good at making a fool of myself," he grinned.

Both girls laughed.

"I told you he wasn't a big-head," said Beth.
"Well, Gordon, that's one thing in your favour. We've known a few of those haven't we Beth?"
"More than a few," agreed Beth, passing her cigarettes over to Leslie and lighting one for her. Lesley had to lean sideways and Gordon felt her breasts brushing against him.
"You two stay here and I'll go and make some sandwiches," offered Beth. "Okay?"
"That would be lovely darling. You would like something to eat Gordon?"
"Yes, please," replied Gordon, "I am a bit peckish."

Beth went inside the house and Lesley took Gordon by the hand. "Come!" she said, "I've heard that you are a gardener. I'll show you what we've achieved."

She bent down to pluck a late-flowering blue-and-yellow pansy. But it wasn't the flower he was admiring. "Another Joyce!" he thought. "No knickers! What the hell am I getting myself into here?"

She stood upright and turned to Gordon and offered him the flower. "Here," she smiled, "kind sir. Put it in my hair for me!" Gordon took the flower and pushed it gently into her black hair. Her beauty was enhanced by it.

The women had worked hard and subdued the woodland undergrowth for a couple of yards either side of a path which led towards the river. The borders were filled with chrysanthemums, one of his favourites. They had other end-of -- summer blossoms: fuchias, geraniums and dahlias.

Lesley enthused about the garden and the joys brought by different seasons. " I think September is a lovely month," she declared, looking around the garden. "Still so many flowers and so much colour. I like April and its brightness, but I prefer the melancholy of September. Nature trying to keep her summer clothes on and not quite succeeding."

"A bit like you," Gordon thought.

She showed him the river. There was not much fresh coming down the valley. To the right, across the river, he glimpsed the roof of Halton's charming railway station. He could also see part of a footbridge. She pointed in the other direction to more woods.

"We call those the Bluebell Woods. There's just one solid carpet of blue there in late spring. And shush! Listen, you can hear the water falling over the weir by Helme's old mill, the one Williamson's own now."

Gordon felt like he'd known her for years. Everything was so natural between them, just like it had been with Beth, right from the first words exchanged.

There was a shout from back where they'd come from."I'm ready for you," Beth called. Gordon and Leslie left the riverside and went back. Quite a spread was laid out on a portable table placed in front of the garden seat. "I've secured it so that the seat won't swing while we're eating," said Beth. Lesley sat down and Beth handed her a plate.

"Do you think I could use your toilet?" asked Gordon. He always called it the 'lav' at home; 'toilet' seemed more appropriate in his present company. He'd seen 'TOILET' on the bosses' rooms at work.

Leslie waved towards the woods."Help yourself! It won't cost you a penny!"

Gordon went behind a tree out of their sight. "It's like being with a couple of mates," he thought. "I can say and do anything without causing offence."

He was good with new company after his initial shyness. He needed people to make him feel at ease. It had been the same when he first met Jack. No academic himself, he was wary of educated men, and women. But once Jack had shown friendship, that was forgotten. Gordon had felt his equal. These two women were the same. There were none of those stupid man and woman barriers between them. He felt that they were both already his friends. It was obvious that they liked him.

He went back and asked, "Where do I wash my hands?"
"The river of course!" Beth said.

Off he went again. A few clouds were gathering over the Lune and the sun went in suddenly. There were a few splashes of raindrops on the water. When he returned to the women, they were gathering up the food and plates and heading for their cabin.

"Bring the table!" Lesley requested. "We'll have to eat inside."

Gordon was surprised by how much room there was inside.

There was one big room. The only light was from the full-length panel of glass set in the door. It was a bed-sitting room with a couple of easy chairs, a settee, rugs and a bookcase. He put the small table down in the middle of the room. In one corner, was an octopus stove and a chimney going up through the roof. A lot of the space to the right was taken up by a large double-bed.

"A large double-bed? Just the one bed?"

Lesley pulled on a brown, woollen jumper and sat in one of the easy chairs. Beth invited him to occupy the other and she sat on the floor after the food had been redistributed. There was no more beer but there was plenty of wine.

Conversation flowed. The topics included favourite books, politics, work, family, the attack by the Fascists that afternoon. Gordon showed them his bruised shins. Humorous anecdotes, jokes and witticisms lightened their chat. Gordon began to feel the effects of the wine and relaxed even more.

It was raining heavily outside. His cats would be hungry. Ought he to go? It wouldn't be the first time he'd had a soaking. Memories of the Joyce debacle flooded into his memory. He decided to tell them about what had happened that night, when he and Joyce were stranded on Snatchems. They thought it was hilarious. Then he told them that he'd better be going.

Both protested. No! He must stay the night. There was no-one at home waiting for him was there? There was no point in getting wet through. It would probably be fine in the morning.
"But I have the cats to feed!"

"I think they're quite capable of looking out for themselves for one night don't you Beth?" laughed Lesley.
"Definitely," giggled Beth. The other two giggled with her.

There was no electricity and it was becoming quite dark. Beth lit two paraffin lamps. It felt really cosy in their dim light. It was still warm so they didn't bother lighting the octopus stove.

"You must be cold here in the winter."
"We don't live here in the winter! We only come here when the weather's good. This is our summer den. We have a house on the top road."
"Oh!" said Gordon.
"You didn't really think we stayed here all the time? We like our home comforts, don't we Beth?"

"We certainly do!" agreed Beth, as she topped up the glasses, once more. The rain was pattering away on the roof of the cabin. There was no wind. It was a pleasant sound, suiting their mood, enhancing the feeling of security and of sheltered well-being. He felt safe , safe from the rain and safe from all of the outside world. He was on a real high. He felt great. His mood expanded. He was good company. He proposed a toast, "Here's to us! Bottoms up!"
"Bottoms up!" both of the girls shouted in response.

Lesley pulled a wind-up gramophone from under the bed and a pile of 78's. Beth moved the furniture back and there was just enough room for them to dance together. They had all the latest Jack Hylton and Roy Fox records. When a record began to slow down nobody wound the machine up. It was hilarious all swaying together, more and more slowly, arms around each other as the music slurred and finally ended. They collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Inhibitions were banished. Hysterical laughter, dizziness, ticklings and squirmings followed.

"More wine! I want more wine," stuttered Beth. Another bottle was shared between them. They were all tipsy and it seemed quite normal when Leslie ordered, "Time for bed! It's late!" She'd obviously had enough of stupid frolicking on the ground. She turned the lamps out and groped her way to the bed, undressed in the dark, pulled back the bedclothes and climbed in.

It was a farcical situation. Gordon felt that he was in the dark in more ways than one! He wasn't sure what to do. Should he stay with Beth on the floor? Would Beth be joining Leslie in bed? Where was he supposed to sleep?

"Come on you two!" commanded Lesley. "I'm cold. I need warming up!"

Gordon slept between the pair of them. He left it to them what they wanted to do and what they wanted him to do. They expected quite a lot and he was able to oblige! As his son Michael might have said, "It was a really big adventure!"

The only unease he felt was next morning when he went for a pee in the woods. It was just before he left for home. He could hear their loud laughter coming from the cabin. Almost uncontrolled hilarious laughter! Were they mocking him? Had he been used by them? Had they planned it? How often had they done it? How many had been there before him? He went back inside, to say goodbye to them. They both sat there together, their eyes sparkling, their hands over their mouths, trying to stifle their mirth. He wondered what the joke was. Something told him that perhaps it was he. Perhaps he was the joke!

Web Links

• Lord Ashton - The Lino KingProfile on the Lancaster City Council web site

• Disused Railway Stations: Halton

Chapter 44: The Matthews at Ryelands

Spain had hardened Jack Matthews. He was distant and short-tempered with Sheila, treating her like a recalcitrant pupil. He was always irritable and impatient with her and could be really nasty if she broke any of his petty rules.

She tried to make allowances for him. She knew that he was having a lot of pain. She knew that his experience in Spain had dismayed and disillusioned him. He was haunted by some of the atrocities that he had witnessed. The cruelty and depravity of the opposing sides had been appalling. The betrayals and indifference to suffering of different factions within the Republican ranks had dented his idealism. He hated some manifestations of his blessed Socialism. He viewed humanity with a jaundiced eye.

In her lowest moments, Sheila wished she was back in Durham. It was as bad as that! Jack was so unbelievably mean and unhappy. He was the cause of her feeling miserable, too, when she should have been full of the joy of life, because she loved her new baby.

Her first husband might have been a lot older than her, and deadly dull but at least he was easy-going. Jack never had a good word for her anymore. She knew that the pain from amputation could be agonising but his behaviour towards her and the children was inexcusable. He had sleepless nights when he dreamed of some of the terrible things he'd seen in Barcelona. She felt sorry for him. She tried to console him but he rejected all of her attempts to sympathise with him.

"What do you know about it?" he'd snarl dismisssively.

And he wasn't pleased about the new baby! "There's a war coming. It's the wrong time to be having babies."
"It takes two you know," she responded.
"What does?"
"To make a baby!"

He ignored what she said and went upstairs to his study and his books.

Jack had managed to rent one of the few four-bedroom houses on the Ryelands Estate, at a rent of six shillings and seven pence a week. It was a lot less than the big house they had had up Wyresdale Road.

He still used his surplus money to help charities. He sent most of it to civilian victims of the Civil War in Spain. He said, "Socialists should put their money where their mouths are! One good law is worth a thousand acts of charity. Until we have good laws, let's be charitable!"

Gordon was delighted that he'd returned. The evening after the Matthews moved to Ryelands, he went round to see if he could lend a hand. He thought he might shift furniture that Jack might not be able to manage.

He was welcomed with a hand-shake and friendly words.

Sheila could not help noticing how the old Jack charm could be turned on like a tap when it suited him. He thanked Gordon profusely for his offer of help. But no, there was nothing he could do to assist them. They'd had other paid help after the removal men had gone. All of the heavy items were in position. The rest they would take their time arranging and could manage themselves.

"Thanks for coming round," Jack told Gordon. "I'm delighted to see you again. I'd been wondering how soon we'd be meeting. Shall we go upstairs for a chat? I've a lot to tell you. Perhaps you could carry some of those books for me?"

Gordon lifted about a dozen volumes from a pile on the floor and followed Jack up to his study.

"See you later!" Gordon said to Sheila.
"Knowing you two, it'll probably be a lot later! Shout down when you've put the world to rights and I'll bring you a cup of tea." She hoped Gordon's visit would put Jack in a good mood. That would make a pleasant change!

During Jack's absence, Gordon had seen members of the old discussion group only very occasionally. Jack had plans for fresh meetings. He'd converted the bedroom to a study and most of his books were already up on shelves. He'd arranged them in sections and in alphabetical order.

"We could meet up here," he suggested. "It's comfortable enough. Plenty of room for about half a dozen of us. We could find new people. There are bound to be a few round here who'd be interested.

"You could ask at your union meeting if they know of anybody. I'm keen. How about you?"
Gordon didn't reply straight away. Now that he had his own place, Gordon was finding plenty to occupy his spare time and his interest in politics had waned -- although his belief in Socialism had not changed. He was painting and decorating the house and enjoying his gardening. The kids stayed up later now than when they were babies and he loved being with them. It was relaxing on a fine evening to take a couple of chairs outside. He liked sitting with Margaret soaking up the evening sunshine. He was content to be surrounded by nature and watching the children play until their bedtime. But, he had to admit to himself, perhaps he was in a bit of a rut. Apart from his fortnightly union meeting, it was all work, home-life and nothing else. He never met anybody new. He might enjoy stimulating company now and again.

He envied Jack, he realised. He had so much energy. He was so gregarious. He talked enthusiastically about all of the marvellous people he had met on his travels. He passed over the hardships and the downside of his experience. Jack knew so much more than he did. Yet he still had an unquenchable thirst for more knowledge. He had an urge to explore people's minds. He looked for chances to express his opinions and ideas. He was skilled at holding forth, playing the expert. He loved being the man in the know.

It wasn't just personal experience like finding out what it was really like in Spain. Authors excited him and he longed to share his excitement about novels and non-fiction books he'd read.

Gordon had learned from Jack that books could inform, entertain and stimulate. They could activate the brain and make one feel really alive. They were a marvellous way of sharing. Authors you'd never met could be admired and re-read. Once you'd read one and enjoyed it you could seek out other books they'd written. You could debate with favourite writers, in your mind, without stirring from your arm chair. You could pit your wits against theirs. You could shout out with glee when a passage really moved you emotionally. Reading an author's latest book was like an exciting encounter with an old and trusted friend.

In the past, Gordon had looked forward to hearing what Jack's new recommendations were and to borrowing some more of his volumes. It would be good renewing the family friendship.

But, he decided, he would prefer not to have a set arrangement and having to go to a meeting every week, so he expressed enthusiasm for Jack's idea but voiced reservations. "How about waiting until the autumn?" he replied. "That'll give us time to find the right people. You'll have settled in at Skerton. The evenings will be drawing in and my garden won't be taking up so much of my time."

Jack thought about the poor sods of the Independent Labour Party out in Spain. They hadn't had much time to worry about their gardens. His plan was to start with a discussion group. After a while they might become an active, local influence. He wanted his new group to be ready to further the cause of the ILP in elections. Action needed to be taken to oppose Oswald Mosley's Fascists, who were having an increasing influence in the area. However, the propagandist in him was subdued by the pragmatist. He could see that Gordon did not want to be pushed.

"Okay then, we'll make a start at the end of September." Perhaps Gordon was right. It would give him time to find exactly the right sort of person. There were too many armchair Socialists. He was after involving workers, not just talkers.

Gordon stayed a while and Jack told him more about his Spanish adventure. Then they went downstairs so Gordon could have a look at the new baby. Jack told Gordon how keen Rob was on seeing Michael again. Sheila agreed to take Rob and Rosa across the field to the Watsons the following afternoon.

She couldn't help noticing the old Jack who had manifested himself as a result of Gordon's visit. She said to herself, "He's a two-faced sod!"

Gordon sipped his tea and ate a slice of a cake Sheila had baked before leaving, saying good bye to his old friend on the door step.

At home, Gordon found he had time for some more gardening before it was too dark. He worked until the sun went down, enjoying the quiet evening and the changing hues in the sky.

The clouds of midges were a snag however. There was a damp place, near the bottom of his garden, where they loved to dance agitatedly. Despite their bites, which itched and were painful if you scratched them, Gordon liked watching their apparently haphazard gyrations. He was becoming quite a contemplative. There was something deep within him which responded to being so close to nature on the edge of his home town's suburbia.

Once Gordon left, Jack left Sheila downstairs, all on her own again, sorting the children for bed. He went back to his books.

The summer passed happily. Michael and Rob met frequently during the long August holiday. The two women resumed the old arrangement of one looking after the children while the other one was freed to go shopping in Lancaster.

The boys were allowed to go exploring the woods and the surrounding area on their own. The field was the main attraction on sunny days. Gwyn and Rosa went with them and they played all sorts of games where the grass was longest. They trod it down to make 'roads' and cleared a space for a secret den. They had grass fights and played 'Cowboys and Indians'. They went home covered in grass, sticky-backs and seeds, smelling of sweet vegetation.

Morecambe's Super Swimming Pool. Image via HistoricImages.co.uk

By the time the compulsory, unpaid, annual break came, the Watsons had not saved enough to travel to Barrow to see Margaret's folks. All the money was being soaked up improving the new house. They spent the week's August holiday, at home, mainly in their garden. They had a couple of bus trips to Morecambe with the Matthews, joined by their Uncle Frank and other aunts, uncles and cousins.

The adults reclined on the big stone slabs, near the Super Swimming Stadium, sunbathing and chatting. Morecambe was very crowded and it was hard to find a space on the beach. Most of the deck chairs had been hired out.

The children splashed in the paddling pool below, staying within sight and easy reach. Mini accidents and minor disasters brought tears but help and solace was always there. There were lots of other kids playing but they all behaved themselves.

Michael and Rob played together amicably. One thing they liked doing was climbing onto the top of the wall that bounded the pool on three sides. Balancing carefully, they walked all the way round and back to the sloping sand. Rob led the way and if any other kids were coming towards them, the look on Rob's face would make them give way. They'd jump down and let Michael and Rob pass. There was something about Rob which exuded authority.

The days and weeks flew by. Soon, it was time for school again. Michael hated the thought of it, though it would be nice to see Miss Clemence.

Rob was attending St. Luke's School, at Skerton, not far from where his dad was. It would be another year before he and Michael would be together at Ryelands School. That was a big snag. Worse still, men were beginning to put a fence around the school field. Soon, in order to visit each other, they'd have to go much further, by road, well out of their way, along the streets beyond the field's perimeter.

Jack bought himself a bicycle and learned to ride it despite his disability. Rob had one bought for him too. Father and son practised in Ryelands Park during the summer holiday. They were going to cycle to and from their neighbouring schools every day. When Michael saw Rob riding his new bicycle he pestered his Dad for one.

"What use would it be here?" asked Gordon. "Our roads aren't made up yet. You'd have to carry the bike or wheel it over the stones before you'd be able to ride it. You'd be having punctures every time you went out on it."

Margaret was against him having a bicycle too. " Scale Hall Lane has buses and cars. There's a lot of traffic on there. It's too dangerous!"

"But Rob has one!"
"He only rides it when his father's with him!"
Michael sulked but he knew it was no use.

His father gave the matter some thought and compromised, "We'll see son. Maybe when the roads are made."

Jack soon settled at Skerton School. He was a natural disciplinarian and none of the boys tried to take advantage of him. He was not liked but he was respected. The boys nicknamed him 'One Armed Bandit'. It suited him. "Here comes old One Armed Bandit!" they'd whisper. "Look at him on that bike. Bet he thinks it's his horse!" It was a 'sit up and beg' old-fashioned cycle. Jack did look rather peculiar on it.

Jack was pleased with the move which he'd made from the Grammar School. "Teachers should live in the community which they serve," he pronounced one day. "And that's what I'm doing!" The preacher he'd once set his mind on becoming was still alive in him.

By the middle of September, Jack had organised his new discussion group and told Gordon about it. The first meeting was arranged for half-past seven, the third Friday of that month. Gordon was late arriving. He'd been engrossed in weeding his flowerbeds and the time had slipped away.

"I thought you said you were going out?" Margaret called to him.
"I am."
"Well have you seen the time?"

He was only a few minutes late but he was the last to arrive. There were four people there Gordon did not know as well as Jack. Jack introduced him. His mind was soon a blur. He took no note of three of the names.

The fourth was that of a young girl, a red-headed beauty. Her name sank in all right, indelibly, forever in his mind.

"This is Beth," said Jack. " She works at the girls' school, next door to where I am."

Apart from her hair, Gordon also noticed her green eyes. She sat opposite him and he kept looking at her. When she caught his gaze, she would smile faintly, shyly eluding his gaze. Perhaps she sensed his interest and that he was going to going to try and involve himself with her. If so she knew it before Gordon had rationalised it for himself.

Jack began speaking enthusiastically about his new allegiance to the Independent Labour Party. "I won't be following the Party line all the time," he said. "I think that can be fatal. But I know you'll all agree that the ILP and most of its policies are the closest to what we all believe."

He was lecturing the others as was his way. It was hardly a discussion.

Gordon couldn't concentrate. It wasn't because he found the subject boring. It was the distraction of those green eyes, and Beth's long, slender legs. It was that smile. He wondered why it was that despite being a man who never looked for trouble it seemed to be finding him again.

"What we have to do," Jack droned on, "as thinking human beings, is to decide. We have the choice between violence, politics and charity to change things. Or doing nothing."
"What about praying?" Asked one.
"Same as doing nothing!" said another.
"Perhaps you have to pick and choose, depending on the circumstances," Beth offered.

"Exactly!" said Jack. She'd fed him his cue and away he went again, setting out his stall.

"We have a last chance for politics to change things," he concluded at last. "Otherwise, it's going to be violence, all over the world. It'll be like Spain everywhere. We'll all be caught up in it. We'll all have to fight or go under." There were nods and murmurs of agrrement.
It was time for a break. Jack had provided some wine. They paused to chat informally on the truth of some of the latest ILP policies.

"You won't have this every week," laughed Jack, handing round the full glasses. "It's some I managed to fetch back with me on my way through France."

Beth said, "I think it's a lovely idea. We could take it in turns to bring a couple of bottles. Loosen our tongues perhaps?"

Everyone agreed.

"As I thought of it, I'll be first. I'll bring mine next week." Beth offered.

"Great!" thought Gordon. That means she intends coming every week. I'll be seeing her again next Friday."

When she'd received her glass of wine, she moved over to where Gordon was standing looking at the bookshelves.

"Browsing?" she asked.
"Yes, he has a good collection hasn't he?"
"He certainly has!"
"Are you a Lancaster girl?" Gordon asked her.
"No, I come from Halton."
"Almost part of Lancaster."
"You could say that. And you?"
 "Oh, I'm Lancaster through and through. Always lived here. Just moved to Scale Hall. The other side of the new school field."
"A few of my girls come from there."
"Yes, I expect they do. Do you like teaching?"
"I love it."

It was all small talk between them. But she had not moved away from Gordon to speak with any of the others. Jack soon called the meeting to order. He started to talk again. This time it was about Munich.

"This peace in our time is all rubbish. War's coming soon!"

There was some disagreement amongst them as there was in the country. The majority thought that the Prime Minister had it wrong and that there was no way Hitler could be trusted. Jack, Gordon, Beth and Dick, the bespectacled teacher, the one Jack worked with, all thought the same way. The others thought that it was necessary to give peace another chance.

Only Jack and Gordon had renounced completely their pacifist stance. They both agreed that there was such a thing as a just war. Jack had already been to Spain. He had not actually deliberately harmed anyone but the comrades had suffered stomach ache from some of his cooking! Gordon thought to himself that his own turn was probably not far away. Perhaps his fate would be the same as his father's in the last war. He'd better make the most of his life while he could.

Although the meeting had resumed, Gordon and Beth had not moved apart. He kidded himself that there was some sort of magnetism demanding that they stay close together.
He was in a quandry. His instincts were fighting any reservations he might have. He found himself thinking about a dangerous commitment. Beth was rapidly becoming part of a sudden new aim: to enjoy himself more. His reason was subdued. Why was he suddenly so attracted to this woman?

After the Joyce episode hadn't he promised himself he'd grow up and stop behaving like some immature adolescent? That brief affair had gone all wrong and hadn't he been lucky because Margaret had suspected nothing? Why even start thinking about running any more risks? What was it with this eternal adolescent within himself?

But this feeling was not the sexual attraction which he had felt for Joyce. This was a stupid, starry-eyed romantic urging. It was something which might have disastrous consequences for his happy, settled existence.

Something in Gordon demanded it would be a good idea to resist his feelings. "Go and talk to someone else! Walk away from her!" a little voice within urged. "Try and forget the impulse to chat her up any more. Try to forget the excitement engendered!"

Already, he felt guilty and he hadn't done or said anything wrong! "How ridiculous! It's just a silly, romantic feeling I have for the young woman. No harm in that!" He felt better. Looking at her, was no different from admiring his roses which had delighted him by blossoming again during September.

Sir Galahad came to the fore. This feeling which he had for her was something incredibly beautiful and pure. What he felt had nothing to do with sex. It was like looking at the Mona Lisa for the first time. Only his aesthetic feelings were aroused. He didn't want to have an affair with her. Loving a painting was harmless enough! Nothing wrong with wishing that it was yours! Definitely no harm in that! Millions felt like that didn't they? Only normal wasn't it? Nothing to feel guilty about was there?

He took another long look at her. She was so attractive but yes, she was just like a lovely work of art, something to be admired. And that was all!

For the time being his mind had cleared. He'd settle for, 'Looking, not touching'. Much better than trying to persuade himself that she had no attraction at all for him.

"Yes," he told himself, "she's just another comrade, a Socialist like myself. She's potentially a delightful friend in the making." Didn't he and Jack believe in the equality of the sexes? A man could have a friendly relationship with a woman. It could be no different from that with a loyal and trustworthy male friend. Couldn't it?

Jack declared the meeting closed.

He was still pondering all this as he made his way across the field to home. He was still thinking about Beth when he went to bed. Margaret was already in dreamland.

"Anyway," he thought, as he lay their trying, but not succeeding, in going to sleep, "why would an educated schoolteacher like she is want to have anything to do with the me? I might be a skilled craftsman but she's a class above me."

At breakfast next morning he said to Margaret, "I've been thinking love -- you must be missing not seeing your folks. I know we couldn't afford the holiday we'd hoped for but maybe you could take the children for a weekend to Barrow. I could stay here and look after things. How about it?"

It was true, thought Margaret. It was a snag not seeing her parents since they'd moved. She longed to see them. She'd been wondering how it could be managed and now Gordon had already done her thinking for her and come up with a thoughtful solution. He was like that was her Gordon, she felt -- always putting her first. She was lucky to have married him.

Gordon outlined his plan. "Straight after my tea next Friday, I could carry your suitcase and Gwyn, if she needs carrying, and we could all walk over Carlisle Bridge and up Vicarage Lane to Castle Station. You could be in Barrow just before dark. And I'd meet you off the train on Sunday afternoon. You'd like to go wouldn't you Michael?"

Going on a train to Barrow! That would be another really big adventure. "Yes Dad!" he agreed enthusiastically. "Can we go Mam? Say 'Yes' Mam. Please Mam!"

"Say 'Yes' Mam! Please Mam!" Gwyn echoed Michael.

Margaret looked at Gordon a bit doubtfully. They'd never been apart for a single night since they'd married.

"If we went Saturday afternoon, after you've finished work, we could all go together."
"We'd no sooner be there and it would be time to come back. No, you go on Friday. I won't mind. Anyway, I promised Jack I would be at the Friday evening meeting next week."
"We could go the following week."
"The nights are drawing in. The days are a bit cooler. The sooner you go the better."
"But you've never looked after yourself before. Who'll make your meals?"
He smiled reassuringly, "Don't be silly, love. Of course I'll manage. I'm over twenty-one aren't I?"
She still hesitated then finally, she agreed.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Michael.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Gwyn running excitedly round the room after him.

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