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 |
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.
Web Links
• Independent Labour Party Publications
• Trabajadores: The Spanish Civil War through the eyes of organised labour
No comments:
Post a Comment