Authors: Walter Greenwood
After a minute or so the riot in her brain subsided; she began to hate herself. What must he think of her? Obstinately she told herself that she didn’t care what he thought Reproach stung her. It was as though she had taken advantage of him. She half turned, sniffed, paused, took a hesitant step and paused again. Head bent she retraced her steps to the room at the back.
What a fool she made of herself in her tantrums; making things uncomfortable for him whom she was supposed to love; making things unbearable at a time when he needed her kindnesses most of all. Look at Helen Hawkins’s example. She, Sal Hardcastle, wasn’t the only woman in the world who’d been disappointed.
In a sudden access of remorse and affection she rushed to him and flung her arms about him: ‘Ah’m sorry, Larry. Ah’m sorry,’ she buried her face in his bosom.
He put his arms about her, closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her soft hair. Oh, the utter, complete, ineffable solace! He felt a tightening in the throat, did not speak, hugged her tightly, jealously.
HARRY HARDCASTLE was staggered: ‘Y’ what
…?
What did y’ say?’ he asked, staring, incredulously, at the unemployment exchange clerk on the other side of the counter.
‘A’ y’ deaf?’ retorted the clerk, pettishly: he added, snappily: There nowt for y’. They’ve knocked y’ off dole. Sign on of a Tuesday for future if y’ want y’ health insurance stamp. Who’s next?’
The man behind Harry shouldered him away. Dream-like, he turned and paused, holding the dog-eared, yellow unemployment card in his hand. This was catastrophic: the clerk was joking, surely; a mistake must have been made. He hadn’t asked the clerk the reason why they had stopped paying him his unemployment benefit: ‘Gor blimey,’ he muttered: ‘Hell, what am Ah gonna do?’ He remembered Helen, instantly. The people here didn’t realize, didn’t know that he’d
got
to marry her. Nobody but themselves and Sally were aware that she was an expectant mother. He licked his lips, and, dazed, turned to the counter once again in time to hear his unspoken question answered indirectly. The man who had succeeded him was angrily demanding an explanation of the clerk; those in the queue behind and those on either side listened attentively. That which passed concerned them all.
Hearing the man’s indignant expostulations, a policeman, on duty at the door, came nearer, silently. The man, grey-haired, middle-aged, a stocky fellow in corduroys, clay-muddied blucher boots and with ‘yorks’ strapped about his knees, exclaimed: ‘What d’y’ mean? Nowt for me. Ah’m out o’ collar ain’t Ah?’
The clerk put aside his pen and sighed, wearily: ‘Doan argue wi’ me,’ he appealed: ‘Tain’t my fault If y’ want t’ know why, go’n see manager. Blimey, you blokes’re bloody well drivin’ me barmy this mornin’.’
‘Manager, eh?’ the man snapped: ‘You bet Ah’ll see the manager. Wheer is ‘e?’ The clerk jerked his thumb towards the far end of the counter. ‘Ask at “Enquiries”,’ he said: ‘Who’s next?’
Harry followed the man.
The manager ordered a clerk to look up the man’s particulars; the clerk handed over some documents after a search in a filing cabinet. His superior, after perusing some notes written upon the forms, looked at the applicant and said: ‘You’ve a couple of sons living with you who are working, haven’t you?’
‘Aye,’ the man answered: ‘One’s earnin’ twenty-five bob an’ t’other a couple o’ quid, when they work a full week. An’ th’eldest … ‘
‘In view of this fact,’ the manager interrupted: The Public Assistance Committee have ruled your household’s aggregate income sufficient for your needs; therefore, your claim for transitional benefit is disallowed.’ He turned from the man to glance interrogatively at Harry.
The man flushed: The swine,’ he shouted: ‘Th’ eldest lad’s gettin’ wed … ‘as ‘e t’ keep me an’ th’ old woman?’ raising his fist: ‘Ah’ll. … ‘ But the attendant policeman collared him and propelled him outside, roughly, ignoring his loud protestations.
Harry learnt that, in the opinion of the Public Assistance Committee his father’s dole and Sally’s wages were sufficient to keep him. No more dole would be forthcoming. And when he asked whether he could re-state his case the manager informed him that there was no appeal. He didn’t argue; went outside, dazed.
A quite different atmosphere from the usual enlivened the adjacent streets. Police were conspicuous. Knots of men barred pavements and roadways listening and interjecting as various spokesmen voiced heated criticisms of this, the latest economy move on the part of the National Government. Occasionally, the spokesmen’s words would be lost in rowdy, jumbled torrents of cursings and abusive oaths. From the labour exchange there came a continuous trickle of men wearing appropriate expressions as became their individual dispositions. Men of Harry’s kind dazed, mystified, staring at the ground; more spirited individuals, flushed with anger, lips trembling, eyes burning with resentment. They joined the groups, finding a sorry sort of relief in the knowledge that all here assembled were similarly affected. Most of those more fortunate ones whose benefits had remained untouched cleared off home jealously hugging their good fortune and telling themselves that what was passing was no concern of theirs.
Harry’s thoughts, in general, represented those of his companions. This sudden cessation of their pittances was as an unexpected douche of cold water. Unexpected. Of course, all had known that something was in the air: all had received the official forms which had inquired, thoroughly, into their means. But nobody had believed that they themselves would fall victim. To them all it had concerned others than themselves; each had found adequate excuse and reason why
his
benefit should be continued, though each had selected somebody else who, in his opinion, would suffer no hardship in having his unemployment pay stopped. ‘Ha! Means Test, eh? They can’t knock
me
off. Blimey, it’s tekkin’ us all our time t’ manage as it is…. Now him as lives next door; Ah could understand ‘urn knockin’
him
off. He’s got more coming in than me. Yaach, they won’t touch the likes of us. They daren’t. There’d be a bloody revolution.’
Like an unexpected douche of cold water. And dismay was made all the more complete by the knowledge of their own impotence. What could they do about it? What?
Crowds of ill-dressed men, growing crowds on whom the heavens had just fallen.
Suddenly, the several crowds integrated into one large assembly as a youngish man, wearing an open-neck shirt was lifted shoulder high: ‘Comrades,’ he shouted, spiritedly, and proceeded to an inflammatory speech which communicated restless animation to his audience. In conclusion he invited them to follow him to the place where hundreds of unemployed already were assembled preparatory to marching to the city hall in protest against the Means Test. They followed in a body, some arguing volubly, some wearing grim expressions, some grinning or laughing and treating the affair as a joke; over all, the confused tramping of many feet.
A stone’s-throw distant was the assigned meeting place. A patch of waste land upon which the biting north-east wind descended ruthlessly. To the right rose huge gasometers, to the left slumdom squatted. The place was black with men and youths continually augmented by batches of new arrivals. Shabby fellows, scrawny youths mostly wearing caps, scarves and overalls, coughing, spitting, those on the fringe of the crowd stamping their feet and beating their arms against their sides. Blowsy women, limp hair blowing about their faces, stood in large groups at the street corners opposite, their arms and hands enwrapped in their aprons as shelter from the perishing wind. Bitter expressions contorted their lips as they loudly criticized the Means Test and the presence of the strong force of uniformed and plain-clothes police, the latter mingling with the great crowd of men across the way, some surreptitiously making shorthand notes of speeches, the former lining the pavements, one every yard or so, most of them wearing expressions similar to Ned Narkey’s, who, too, was on duty, regarding the proceedings with amused tolerance.
By the wall of the gas works rested a number of crudely hand-painted placards fixed to flimsy sticks, and a large black, double-poled banner bearing a slogan surmounted by a skull and crossbones. By its side was a big drum over which a diminutive, pugnacious individual mounted guard.
The great pale sea of faces were turned to an improvised rostrum where a stocky, wire-haired fellow speaking in a strong Scots accent, passionately inveighed against the government and urged all to resist, by force if necessary, the threat to their standard of life. His words were greeted by a roar of approval, and, this much encouraged, he jabbed the air in the direction of the plain-clothes police, their size rendering them conspicuous, standing in the crowd. He condemned them as ‘traitors to their class’, as ‘enemies of the workers’, ‘servants of the boss class’. He concluded on a threatening note, glaring at the police. Then he stepped down and was lost in the crowd who applauded mightily.
Ned Narkey, his magnificent physique set off to perfection in his new uniform, winked at his nearest companion in blue and muttered, out of the side of his mouth: ‘Ah hope t’ Christ the bastards start summat. Ah’ll. …’ He stopped and stared. A few beats on the big drum commanded silence for the next speaker.
Larry Meath appeared on the rostrum, cleared his throat and surveyed the crowd as he wiped his moist brow with his handkerchief. He wished all this over so that he might return home to go to bed. This present indisposition, this severe cold, was a nuisance; it left him enervated. He had been foolish to come.
Ned’s eyes narrowed; he strained his ears to catch what Larry said, inwardly cursing the noisy traffic and the bell-ringing errand boy cyclists who paused awhile to investigate what all this to-do was about.
Larry began with a repudiation of the previous speaker; urged his audience to appreciate the preparations, in the way of attendant police, which had been made in anticipation of any disorderliness; reminded the crowd that the cause of their protest was of their own making; recalled the scares and the people’s response at the general election. A spasm of coughing interrupted him; he recovered and continued, urging the need of working-class organization. Again he was incapacitated. This time he stepped down, went over to the wall and rested a hand against it in support of himself as the cough racked him bathing him in perspiration.
A finely featured young man with long hair took his place on the rostrum instantly winning the acclamation of the crowd by heaping invective upon all with whom he disassociated himself in the social scale.
Harry, on the appearance of Larry, had pushed his way to the front and now stood by him with an expression of excitement on his face. Like most of the crowd his bewilderment and resentment had disappeared for the nonce in face of the imagined possibilities engendered by the speech-making. Each had taken courage in the presence of his neighbour; the protest, surely, in face of their numbers, must be effective. The very atmosphere tingled with expectancy.
A man came up to Larry: Harry heard him say: ‘You’re in the deputation, aren’t you? There’s six of us. We’d better lead the march then we can go into the city hall without having to hunt for one another when we get there.’
Larry nodded: ‘I wish we’d done. I feel as weak as a kitten
This cold, I suppose.’
The man looked at him, concerned: ‘Why don’t y’ clear off home? Ah’ll tell ‘m, y’ feel bad.’
‘No, I’ll be all right. What time’s the mayor expecting us?’
‘In about half an hour,’ the other answered, looking at his watch.
‘Hadn’t we better be forming the procession? It’s going to take us all our time to be there punctually. Which way do we go?’
‘Round by labour exchange, then round by Crosstree Lane ‘n’ Consort Road.’
‘We’ll not do it in half an hour,’ said Larry: ‘Still, form the ranks…. Who’s in charge?’
The man nodded in the direction of the finely featured young man addressing the crowd.
Larry frowned: ‘Hadn’t you better inform him of the time?’
‘Ah’ve told him once.’ He went to interrupt the speaker again who ignored him and continued speaking for another ten minutes. When he stepped down, hair in disarray, eyes burning with passion, Larry went up to him and said, with a touch of impatience: ‘D’y’ know what the time is? We’ll have to take a tram if we’re to keep the appointment’
The organizer stared at Larry with a mixture of surprise and indignation: ‘Eh?’ he said, then added, warmly: They’ll wait
our
pleasure. We’re not kowtowing to them,’ with dilated nostrils and staring eyes. ‘We lead the procession. And if the arrangements don’t suit y’ can drop out’
‘All right all right,’ returned Larry, angrily: ‘You’re in charge. It won’t be my fault if they refuse to meet the delegation. They’ll not delay their business indefinitely.’
‘No business is more important than the starving proletariat,’ replied the organizer, as angry as Larry.
‘Oh, don’t talk so damn daft, man. Get something done, for God’s sake.’ He about faced, disgusted, recognized Harry, grabbed a placard and pushed it into his hand: ‘Here, Harry,’ he said, ‘Hold that up. Stand where you are,’ to the pugnacious drummer: ‘Some music, please.’ The man responded, setting himself in front of Harry and beating loudly upon the drum. Larry asked a number of his immediate neighbours to form themselves four deep behind Harry: they complied, obediently. The large, black double-poled banner was unfurled and set in front of the drummer preceded by a man carrying a red flag. The nucleus formed, the remainder followed automatically. Men detached themselves from the main body to form up behind those already in line.