Danny Boy (20 page)

Rosie wiped her own streaming eyes and looked around and thought it must be the most unwelcoming place in the world. She was suddenly very nervous. What did she know about making things for a war? What if she made a mess of it? She might last no longer than a day. And then what would you live on, she told herself sharply – fresh air? – and surely all the women had to start somewhere.

She mentally straightened her shoulders and told herself firmly to stop being so stupid. She gazed around the long room. It was very dimly lit except at the tables where the girls sat, where a naked bulb sent a pool of light over everything. ‘You’ll be making detonators,’ Miss Morris said. ‘I’m setting you up beside Betty, who’ll soon put you right over this and that.’

‘I will too,’ Betty said, moving her chair over to make more space and smiling at Rosie. ‘Come on up beside me and I’ll show you what’s what.’

Betty was much older than her and Rita and her yellow face was so lined that Rosie could see the dust settling in the folds of her skin by the end of each day. Her grey eyes were kindly, though, and the little tufts of hair that Rosie could see at the sides were grey. Altogether, Betty was plump and comfortable looking and Rosie was glad she was the one to show her what to do. She knew if she didn’t pick it up straight away, Betty wasn’t the sort to lose patience with her. Some of her nervousness melted away and she smiled back at the older woman.

She found out all about Betty Martins that day. ‘I’ve been a widow more years than I care to remember,’ she told Rosie, ‘I’m a Brummie, though, through and through, and proud of it. I live in the same courtyard as Rita in Aston.’

‘My two sons had itchy feet and both sailed to America years ago when my Alf was still alive. They’ve lived there ever since and send money home regular. They’ve been on at me for years to go over there, but Brum is where I’ll live until I go out in a box and I’ve told them straight. This is home to me.’

Betty’s steady chatter and store of jokes helped the day pass more quickly, though by the time the last hooter sounded and Rita and Rosie were walking to the tram stop, Rosie confessed to feeling very tired. She told Rita about Danny and his fruitless search for work. ‘So I’ll not mention being tired to him,’ she went on, ‘or he might nag at me to give it up. One of us must work and if he can’t find employment and I can, then I must be the one. He doesn’t see it quite that way, of course.’

‘Pride, see,’ Rita said. ‘Terrible thing, a man’s pride. Still, at least you got yours to go home to. My hubby’s “somewhere in France”.’

Rosie sighed. ‘I know. Danny has been having a hard time because he’s not in khaki.’ She lowered her voice and went on, ‘Someone even sent him a white feather.’

‘No!’

‘Aye, it’s a fact.’ Rosie said. ‘If you’ve lost someone, then…Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’d feel the same.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Rita stated firmly. ‘I mean, I worry about my old man every minute of the bleeding day, but I don’t think I’d feel any better if some other bugger was dragged into it as well.’

Rosie was glad Rita felt that way, but Rita didn’t ask why Danny wasn’t in uniform and Rosie didn’t enlighten her, for Rita had presumed that he’d been proved unfit at the medical.

Danny saw the tiredness etched on Rosie’s face when she
got in that night. He saw she tried to hide it and it hurt him down to the pit of his stomach that Rosie was forced to go out to work. But he said nothing about it. What was there to say?

Bernadette at least had enjoyed her day at the nursery. Her shining eyes said it all, though she was tired when Rosie picked her up and had no qualms that night at least about going to bed. Danny asked Rosie little about her day and the job she did, but the nuns were full of questions.

Rosie answered them all despite her weariness and then said, ‘We can start looking around now for a place of our own. You’ve been more than kind, but I know you didn’t intend to put us up for so long.’

‘There was no time limit specified,’ one of the nuns pointed out, and Rosie knew that, but also knew the convent hadn’t facilities to put people up for long periods of time. She would also feel better with her own place, her own front door to shut. It might make it better for Danny too. She was well aware how he hated his jobless state paraded before the nuns daily, and the attitude of the people at the chapel hardly raised his self-esteem in any shape or form.

She felt emotionally and physically drained, and soon after the meal she made her excuses and went to bed. She stirred when Danny slid in beside her some hours later, but made no sign of being awake.

Perversely, as Danny’s even breathing filled the room, she lay beside him wide awake. Tears of tiredness and disappointment smarted behind her eyes and she brushed them away angrily, for she knew the time for tears was well past.

The Walshes were to discover that finding a place to live was not easy, and four weeks after Rosie began at Kynock’s, by the end of June, they were still at the convent.

Rosie was finding the work tedious and unpleasant, the conditions bad and some of the women coarse, both in language and behaviour, but she liked the money. She was able to put some of it away in the Post Office as Rita advised and she knew she’d need every penny when they did eventually get a place of their own.

She got on well with Rita, whom she travelled to and from the convent with each day, and Betty too. It was Betty who told her of the old woman called Gertie who lived down her yard. ‘Poor old sod,’ Betty said. ‘Won’t be with us long, I’m thinking. She has no family, so the neighbours see to her in the day, like, but it’s the night-time. She could do with someone with her, but with an old codger like that you got to be careful, ain’t you. I mean, anyone that moves in has got to be honest and respectable, so I thought of you. It will be a start, like, and then, when Gertie does pop her clogs, the house will be yours. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, or so folks say.’

Sharing a house was not the start Rosie had in mind, but
it would be better than living at the convent till the end of her days. But there was her job and the problem of getting Bernadette to the nursery.

‘We could do it, I suppose,’ Rosie mused. ‘After all, Rita manages to get Georgie to the nursery every day?’

‘I’ll say she does. Has to get up early, though, and then she takes a tram from Victoria Road. It nearly passes the factory in Witton Road, which is probably maddening, but she says she knows Georgie is well-looked-after at the nursery and he’s happy, and of course it’s free to all women doing war work.’

‘I don’t mind getting up early,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m well used to it.’

‘Why don’t you and your man go along and see the place first?’ Betty said. ‘It’s six the back of forty-two Upper Thomas Street.’

‘That’s a funny address,’ Rosie remarked.

‘Well, you are down the yard, you see, number six, but that house is at the back of forty-two, which is on the street itself. Helps you find the places, see?’

She went into the convent, Bernadette in her arms, bursting with the news. But she thought Danny had to hear first, and when she couldn’t see him she asked where he was.

‘In his room, I should think,’ one of the nuns told her. ‘It’s where he spends most of his time.’

Rosie didn’t like the sound of that and so she left Bernadette with the nuns and went up the stairs.

Danny lay full stretch on the bed on his back, the picture of misery, and Rosie felt her heart sink. ‘What is it, Danny?’ she said, curbing her impatience and hoping he didn’t hear it in the tone of her voice.

But Danny wasn’t listening to tones. He looked up at her and said, ‘You mind de Valera was released just a few days ago?’

Rosie did remember. His picture was in the paper. All the
remaining rebels had been released, Michael Collins amongst them, and the paper maintained it was because of pressure from America, but whatever it was they had made much of de Valera’s release because he’d been in Dartmoor Prison.

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘What of it?’

Danny sat up suddenly. ‘I’ll tell you what of it,’ he said. ‘He’s gone straight to East Clare and stood for Sinn Fein, young Redmond’s seat, him who was killed in France, and he’s won a resounding victory. D’you see what it means, Rosie? Sinn Fein is the political wing of the IRA and it may be years, if ever, before we can go back to Ireland.’

That gave Rosie a jolt too, but she knew to sympathise with Danny was not the way to deal with this. ‘Well if that’s the case, and our life is here for the time being, isn’t it good I’ve got some news about a house?’ and she told him the tale.

Danny showed little enthusiasm and Rosie had the urge to shake him hard, but she controlled herself and said instead, ‘We could go up for a look after tea if you like, the nights are light till almost ten o’clock at the moment.’

‘If you want, we’ll go.’

‘Oh, Danny, snap out of this,’ Rosie cried, exasperated. ‘All right, you haven’t a job yet, but for heaven’s sake, you’re not the only one, and while I’m working it’s not a disaster. Surely to God you want us to get our own place?’

‘Aye, and look at the job you have to do to afford it,’ Danny said. ‘I don’t want you there. It’s dangerous and it will poison you in the end.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Danny,’ Rosie said. ‘All right, the dust gets into my nose and throat and sometimes makes my eyes itch, but I’m not the only one. The women who’ve been there longer say it happened to them at first. I’ll get used to it.’

‘I still say…’

‘Then you’ll have to say it later,’ Rosie said leaping to her feet. ‘The dinner will be ready and getting spoiled. And with
that she went out of the room, leaving the door open, and Danny had no option but to follow her.

Aston wasn’t far from Birmingham city centre: there were plenty of factories around and a fair selection of shops clustered around Aston Cross where the big green clock stood. It had four faces to it and stood in a little island of its own and people used to say that each clock face showed a different time. Back-to-back houses, and the entries leading off the street to further houses down the courtyards, abounded in Aston, streets of them, squashed against their neighbours on grey pavements before grey roads. Rosie found it depressing that first evening. The sun didn’t seem to penetrate these grim places and yet Rosie knew she had to be grateful to even be considered for any sort of dwelling, the housing shortage being so acute.

Betty was looking out for her, as she’d said she would be, and as soon as Rosie and Danny emerged from the dark entry she left her house and came to meet them. Rosie was so appalled, looking around the yard, she nearly failed to introduce Betty to Danny. Fortunately she remembered her manners and Betty shook hands with the man, glad he had a firm grip.

Betty saw he was good-looking, well-muscled without being fat, and fine and healthy looking. She knew idleness would not sit easily on his shoulders. Rosie had told Betty as she had Rita that Danny couldn’t find work, and, like Rita, Betty presumed he’d been deemed unfit for the army. Not that he looked unfit, but, well, it all went to show, she thought, and though she could do nothing about getting the man a job, maybe she could find them a place to live.

Directly in front of Rosie was a lamppost and beside it a tap that she presumed was for the whole yard’s use, and Betty told her later that that was the case. ‘That there is the brew house,’ she said, jerking her finger in the direction of a building to the side of her. It was squat and looked as if it
seen better days for some of the small windows had been smashed and the door stood half-open, the hinges at the top rusted away.

‘There’s the miskins for the ashes and that,’ Betty went on, ‘and the dustbins beside them and the lavvies are at the bottom of the yard. And this,’ she said, turning Rosie around, ‘is the house.’

Eight houses opened onto the court and all were three storeys high and built of blue-grey bricks, with windows so small Rosie guessed little light would get in there. She noticed that before each door pavement slabs were laid, but the rest of the yard was covered in grey ash.

Betty pushed the washing aside that was spread out on the lines criss-crossing the yard and held up on tall props. ‘We all used to wash on Mondays, before this damned war,’ Betty said. ‘Now, with a lot of women working, we wash when we can.’

‘Where does Rita live?’ Rosie asked as they walked across the yard.

‘Just two doors down,’ Betty told her. ‘Said she’d be over as soon as she gets the young one to sleep. And Ida Roberts lives next door. She’s a good sort is Ida, do anything for anyone.’ She lowered her voice and went on, ‘Lost her man Herbie at the Somme. God knows how she manages, for she has three nippers and young Jack, the eldest, is only ten. She said she’d find it hard to get a job of any sort and look after the kids proper like. I’m inclined to agree with her, cos it’s not as if she is burdened down with relatives offering to help like, even though her husband’s people don’t live so far away. Still, nowt so queer as folk, as my old mother used to say.’

Then they were over the dirty greasy step and in through the door, and Rosie was almost knocked back by the smell. It was the smell of poverty and neglect, mixed with damp and the stink of stale food. But over it was the stench emanating
from Gertie, who lay staring at them with wide open eyes, her white hair straggled about her as she lay in an iron-framed bed jammed up against the window. ‘It’s all right, Gert,’ Betty told the old woman gently. ‘These are friends of mine.’

Rosie forced herself to move closer to Gertie, taking in the reek from her unwashed body and the unmistakable smell of urine. Whatever care the neighbours gave Gertie, they hadn’t the time to keep her clean as well. Yet the alternative was the workhouse and that very word struck terror into the hearts of old and young alike, and from the tales Rosie had heard of such places she wasn’t surprised. ‘Hello, Gertie,’ she said. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

Gertie didn’t speak, but nodded and smiled, displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth just as Rita bounced in the door. ‘What d’you think?’ she said.

‘Give them a chance,’ Betty said. ‘They’re only just over the doorstep.’

And then to Rosie and Danny she said, ‘There’s a table and chairs in her bedroom, not much cop by all accounts, but they had to move summat out to get the bed in. She was getting too doddery to make the stairs. Weren’t you, Gertie?’

Gertie didn’t answer, but smiled and seemed to relax a little as Rosie’s eyes slid over the room to the greasy black range. Two armchairs and a cupboard set into the wall was all there was in the room.

Rita saw it through Rosie’s eyes. ‘It ain’t so bad,’ she said. ‘You’ll be able to spruce it up fine, Rosie. A nice rug before the fire will cover up the scuffed lino and some cushions on the chairs will make it look a bit more cheerful, and a good clean of course. It would benefit from that.’

Rosie knew she spoke the truth, and despite all its drawbacks she knew they would take it. It wasn’t what she wanted, none of it was what she wanted, but that was the way her life had seemed to go lately.

‘The whole place needs a thorough clean,’ Rosie told the nuns that evening, ‘and Betty and Rita said they’ll give me a hand on Saturday. I need to buy a few things too. There is a double bed in the bedroom above, but I’ll need a new mattress for it and new sheets and blankets and stuff, and some crockery too, for Gertie has little and I’d not like to cook much in her pans. I’ll go to the Bull Ring after work tonight.’

‘You’ll have plenty of time,’ Reverend Mother told her. ‘They’re open till about ten in the summer.’

Rosie knew the Bull Ring was where bargains were to be had and she knew she’d have to close her eyes to the suffering around her and concentrate on buying things for her new home.

‘You won’t mind sharing the house with the old lady?’ one of the nuns asked.

‘Not at all,’ Rosie said. ‘She is a frail old thing and mostly bedridden now. She is wandering a bit in her mind, you know, but God knows but that might come to us all when we get to her age. I’ll mind her fine once I’m home from work and the neighbours have been marvellous with her, so they have, and Betty says they’ll still see to her in the day while I’m away.’

‘And you, Danny, what do you think?’ Sister Ambrose asked.

‘Me?’ Danny said. ‘Me? I don’t think. This will be Rosie’s house and her hard-earned money paying for it.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Danny,’ Rosie yelled, furious at his attitude. ‘Would you say it was just your house if your money was paying for it? When people are married, they share things like money. It’s the way it is.’

‘No,’ Danny cried. ‘It isn’t the way of it. The man should earn the money and the woman bide at home, minding the house and the children and her man. Admit it, Rosie, even if just to yourself, you married a useless bugger.’ Danny slammed out of the room, banging the door loudly behind him, so hard it juddered in the hinges.

Rosie was ashamed and angry at the way Danny had behaved and she saw the nuns had lowered their heads and knew they were embarrassed too. For a while no one spoke and then Rosie said, ‘Well, I don’t really care how Danny feels about this house. It’s no palace and I don’t pretend it is, but in time it will be ours, not mine, ours, and if he can’t see that he must be blind.’

‘He feels guilty that he can’t provide for you,’ one of the nuns said.

‘I know that, but it doesn’t really help,’ Rosie said. ‘I can’t help the fact that I have a job of work to do and he hasn’t and we’d be in a right pickle if I wasn’t earning. I could do with support when I get home, not doom and gloom and bad humour.’

The nuns said nothing and Rosie knew she’d embarrassed them further and really it wasn’t fair to load her problems onto their shoulders, for they couldn’t help. She excused herself and left the room, and then stood outside it unsure of where to go. She hadn’t any desire to sleep, but there was nowhere else and so she mounted the stairs resignedly.

Danny was sat on the bed, still fully clothed and he had his head in his hands. He looked up as the door opened and said, ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. I don’t know what came over me.’

Rosie had wanted to scream and shout at him, but she found she couldn’t, the man was upset enough. She shrugged. ‘It’s all right.’

‘No,’ Danny said, getting up and walking towards her. ‘It isn’t all right at all. I shouldn’t take my resentment out on you. I’ll try to be better, and again I say, I’m sorry.’

‘Danny, I love you,’ Rosie said, sitting down on the bed and taking his hand. ‘Everything I do is for you and Bernadette. Surely you know that?’

‘Aye, I do,’ Danny said. ‘Deep inside I know, but sometimes, oh God, Rosie, the need for a job, it sort of overpowers you.’

‘Eventually you will get a job,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘You’re
not the only one to be unemployed in this city and you know it as well as I do. Let me work while I am able to and when you do get a job, I’ll be more than willing to stay at home and rear Bernadette and any brothers and sisters she might have.’