Authors: Mary Gibson
But thinking of the Bunclerks all squashed into their damp, rundown couple of rooms, Milly realized that not much had changed. Brick terraces might have replaced the earlier dilapidated wooden buildings, but life was still as hard. It was no wonder people like Pat and Freddie kept turning to crime. Somehow it seemed much less of a struggle than earning an honest bob or two. They might have to spend a couple of years in prison, but at least they never went cap in hand to anyone. Her Bertie was so different. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body, and yet the strike had broken him, just as much as it had these dispirited dockers.
It was almost as though she had conjured him up with her musings, for just as she turned into the railway arch leading to St Thomas’s Street she spotted him ahead of her. That familiar stocky figure, with his bouncy, cocky walk, hands stuffed in pockets, sandy hair curling from under his cap. She slowed her steps, praying that the dim light beneath the arch had misled her, but some instinct must have alerted him and he whirled round. Now she was certain. Pat Donovan had done his time.
She halted, feeling trapped in the echoing tunnel, as the beating of her heart competed with the thundering of a train passing overhead. Seeing her momentary hesitation, he gave a bitter laugh.
‘What’s the matter? Brave Milly Colman, scared of me?’ His voice rang harshly in the brick vault.
She began walking slowly towards him. ‘Scared of you? Do me a favour, Pat, try living with my old man, then see how hard you are.’ She brushed past, half expecting him to tag along as he had in those long-gone days when he would walk her home from the Folly. But instead he caught her arm, jerking her round.
‘Hold up, gel! I’m not the same stupid little git who fell for you, Milly Colman. You don’t survive in nick by being a Mary-Ann like that grocer of your’n.’
She tried to shrug him off, but his grip tightened.
‘Oh, I heard all about it, one tap on the head and he’s out sparko. Is that where you’re goin’?’ He shoved her aside. ‘Go on then, off to see yer wounded soldier. But don’t think I’ll let the likes of him keep me from my own son.’
Quickly regaining her balance, she let herself look him full in the eyes.
‘I haven’t got time for this, Pat. All this old flannel about
your
son.’ She shook her head. ‘It won’t wash with me. You’ve got kids from here to New Cross! You don’t care tuppence about my Jimmy! You’re just jealous I’m with Bertie. Now get out of my way. I’m going to see my husband.’
A flush crept up from his neck as he rammed his hands back into his pockets. ‘Don’t be too sure of yourself. You might still come running to me when Hughes don’t wake up.’
As he moved to grab her again, she dodged out of his reach, walking swiftly towards the arc of daylight ahead, all the while wondering, what if he were right? What if Bertie never did come back to her? Only when she reached the end of the arch did she look back, but Pat was nowhere to be seen.
Shaken and weary, she turned into the courtyard at Guy’s and mounted the stone stairs to Bertie’s ward. She thought of all the things she couldn’t tell him. Nothing about her money worries, not a word about going back to Southwell’s; nor about the old man going missing, and certainly nothing about Pat Donovan.
Bertie looked exactly as he’d done when she’d left him yesterday. She kissed his pale face and took his hand, shuffling the chair up close to the bed.
‘Hello, love, I’m back,’ she said as brightly as she could. But like a breaking dam, her attempts to reconstruct her old toughness gave way, and out of her loneliness, she found herself whispering to him half the things she had vowed not to.
‘I’m doing my best, my darlin’, but it’s so hard doing it all on my own. I’ve got too used to you being there with me. And then that git of a cousin of yours wouldn’t even serve me, said it was all my fault you’ve ended up here. And I didn’t give him a wallop, Bertie, ’cause I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but oh, it knocked me for six and I don’t know why it should matter...’ She ended with a sob, glad after all that he couldn’t hear her self-pity. She lifted his hand and rested it against her wet cheek. ‘Take no notice, love.’
She kissed his palm and, getting up to leave, her eye was caught by a movement. She thought the unbandaged, winged eyebrow had moved. Holding her breath, she waited. Yes, there it was again. His eyelids flickered, then, gently as clouds parting to reveal a mild summer sky, the familiar blue eyes were open, still veiled with confusion, looking beyond her. She bent forward, placing herself in his line of sight.
‘Bertie?’
He blinked, some comprehension seeming to flicker there, but just as suddenly, his eyes closed again and she couldn’t bear the blankness.
‘No, Bertie!’ She caught his face between her palms. ‘You’re not going away again!’ And as she breathed against his cheek, his face seemed to ripple like a still lake beneath a gentle breeze, and, softly, his eyes opened. Through his parched lips came a sound. Milly leaned closer, conscious of tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘What, Bertie?’ she choked. ‘What are you saying, darlin’?’
‘Strike me dumb, Milly,’ Bertie whispered hoarsely, ‘you don’t half look a state, love.’
Though they hadn’t been the words she’d imagined he might speak when he woke, they were the sweetest he’d ever uttered.
‘Come here.’ He held up weak arms and enfolded her in the longed-for embrace. She smothered him in kisses, stifling his questions. When finally she let him go, he asked how long he’d been there.
‘A week! But how’ve you managed on your own – the coffers must be dry by now?’
‘You’re not to worry yourself. Mum’s been helping me, and Amy. She’s been a godsend too, though she wouldn’t thank me for saying so! And I’ve managed to sell a few dresses.’
Bertie shifted uncomfortably in the bed. She knew it still rankled that he couldn’t be the sole provider; now wasn’t the time to tell him about going back to the factory.
‘I’m tiring you out, darlin’.’ She leaned over the bed and kissed him. ‘I wish I could stay all night.’ She clung to his hand. ‘Oh, Bertie, I don’t want to leave you now you’ve come back to me, but that matron’s going to chase me off soon enough and I’ve got to tell her you’re awake! She’s such an old dragon, I’d like to see her crack a smile before I go!’
He returned her kiss with as much strength as he could muster, and it wasn’t until she had left the ward that she realized she hadn’t told him about the strike. There would be time later for disappointment. But for now Milly wanted to run home, and on the way she wanted everyone to ask ‘How’s Bertie?’ just for the joy of hearing her own voice telling them: ‘He’s awake!’
Once out in St Thomas’s Street, she broke into a run. Holding her hat firmly on her head, she dodged the traffic and sped along pavements. Not caring what stares she attracted, she darted across the junction at Tower Bridge and raced down Shad Thames. Halfway along she heard a voice calling, ‘Where’s the bleedin’ fire?’ Without stopping, she glanced up to see Freddie Clark, standing above her on the back of his lorry, covering a load with tarpaulin.
‘Bertie’s woken up!’
‘Bloody marvellous, I’ll tell Kitty!’
She waved her thanks and hurtled on, arriving in Arnold’s Place flushed and out of breath. Mrs Carney was standing at her doorstep, and before she could ask, Milly said, ‘He’s woken up!’ That would take care of the rest of the neighbours. She pushed open her mother’s front door and ran into the kitchen.
‘He’s woken up!’
Amy jumped up and swung Jimmy round in an arc of celebration and Milly, touched by the genuine affection Bertie had stirred in her sister, picked her up and swung her round too.
‘Oh, darlin’, that’s the best news we’ve had since that bloody evil strike started!’ Her mother joined them in a little dance round the kitchen, then stopped, holding her side. She sat down heavily and banged the table. ‘But I tell you, if, God forbid, he hadn’t come back, I would’ve blamed the unions, as God’s my judge I would.’
‘Don’t start about the unions, Mum, let’s have a celebration. Where’s the old man’s tipple?’ She reached into the corner cupboard for the bottle of brandy. Somehow its presence there cast a chill over her. Drink, for the old man, was as precious as gold. Why would he have gone off for good and left a full bottle of brandy behind?
It was another week before Bertie came home. Her mother and Amy were at Storks Road with the children, ready to greet him. Jimmy launched himself at Bertie as soon as he stepped through the door. Still weak, the impact of the toddler made him stagger, and when Jimmy put up his arms for Bertie to toss him into the air, Milly picked the little boy up, saying, ‘Daddy’s still poorly, Jimmy!’
‘Give him here,’ Bertie said. ‘I’m not an invalid!’
But his ashen face, taut with the strain of his illness, told her otherwise, and she insisted he sit down with Jimmy on one knee and Marie crooked in his arm.
Amy, with uncharacteristic shyness, kissed Bertie on the cheek. ‘I’m really glad you’re better,’ she said, adding quickly, ‘Your kids are such bloody hard work!’
‘Amy!’ Her mother was ready to remonstrate, but Milly knew this was the nearest her sister would ever get to showing a chink in her emotional armour. Laughing it off, she said, ‘Why do you think he got himself knocked over the head in the first place – he needed a rest!’
‘And if you think my children are a nuisance, you should try living with my wife!’ Bertie said.
When Amy replied sourly, ‘I have!’ even her mother had to laugh.
After an hour Mrs Colman insisted on leaving.
‘We’re tiring him out, look at him!’ she said, and Milly was grateful.
But she was just seeing them off when Florence Green and Francis Beaumont arrived for a visit. Bertie was told all the details of the strike’s failure, which Milly had tried so hard to shield him from. She saw his face fall as they recounted the sudden caving in by the TUC, even though most of the strikers had been willing to fight on.
‘So it was all for nothing in the end?’ he said disconsolately.
And Milly hated to see his usual optimism so battered.
‘Well, Bermondsey’s sticking by the miners. It’s not over for them,’ Florence said. ‘In fact we’ve adopted a Welsh village called Blaina, and we’re going to make sure at least
they’re
not starved out.’
The little village had virtually every male inhabitant out of work, there was no poor relief and the hospital had closed when the miners’ contributions to its upkeep dried up.
‘There are children dying of starvation and lack of health care, and even if the miners go back, they’ll still be on starvation wages! We’re determined to raise enough money to keep them going for a year if necessary, aren’t we, Francis?’ Florence gripped her fiancé’s hand.
‘Indeed we are, my dear. In fact we’re travelling to Wales on Saturday to present a donation from the Settlement.’
‘We’ll help out, won’t we, Milly?’ Bertie said, and she was glad to see a flame of eagerness gleaming in his tired eyes. She wasn’t going to dampen it with the knowledge that they barely had enough to pay their own rent. She put off telling him that she was back making jam at Southwell’s.
When they were finally alone and he’d eaten a child’s meal of beef broth and bread, she sat opposite him. The excitement of coming home, and the visitors, had left him exhausted. He leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes. She watched him, unobserved, grateful to the depths of her being to have him just sitting there.
She thought he had fallen asleep, and was happy to sit watching him all night, when he spoke, eyes still closed. ‘I don’t know if they were just dreams, but sometimes I thought I heard you, when I was sleeping... at the hospital. You sounded so far away, but I was sure I heard you telling me off, saying I couldn’t leave you high and dry. It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘it was me.’
‘You made me come back, Milly. I never realized just how much you loved me... and needed me.’ His eyes opened and rested on her. ‘But now I do, and I promise, I’ll never leave you again.’
She dropped from the chair to her knees and laid her head on his lap as he gently stroked her hair, till the twilight faded to night and the room was quite dark.
Next morning, she was already in her hat and coat by seven o’clock.
‘Going out?’ he asked groggily.
She’d just popped back for her bag and the damn bedroom door had creaked. She’d been creeping about, hoping not to wake him, but now he’d caught her and she’d have to confess. She picked up the bag and bent to kiss him quickly.
‘I meant to tell you, love, but everything happened so quickly... I’ve gone back to the factory.’
His face set hard and he attempted to push himself up. ‘You know I didn’t want you to do that. I’ll be back at Jacob’s in a few days. There’s no need for you to be slaving away at Southwell’s!’
She didn’t have time to explain just how little money she’d been managing on since the strike started, but she had to be realistic for both of them.
‘Bertie, you may not get taken back at Jacob’s. Lots of strikers have been locked out, you know, especially the ringleaders, and don’t forget the management know you were distributing the strike bulletin. I was lucky to get this job, love. Kitty’s not even been taken back on.’
She hated to upset him, so soon after his return, but he was too weak to argue with her. ‘Now all you’ve got to worry about is getting better! Mum’s downstairs, and she’ll be staying here with you and the kids during the day, just till you’re up and about. I’ve got to rush.’ And she kissed him again, before he could object.
At the factory, the atmosphere was uneasy. Strike breakers were being shunned, and strikers lucky enough to have work were equally resentful of the new hands replacing those still locked out. That morning Milly stopped to speak with Kitty, who was again queuing for her job. Milly thought she looked thinner and frailer than ever, shoulders slumped as she shuffled along, edging nearer to the works office.
‘Oh, Kit, haven’t they taken you back yet?’ Milly put her arm round Kitty’s small shoulders, wanting nothing more than to sweep her up to the picking room.