‘Nay lass, I’m that sorry,’ Aunt Edie said, putting an extra currant tea cake in the bag as if by way of consolation. ‘What’ll yer do?’
‘I don’t know which way to turn, but I don’t blame you, lass. You did your best to help.’
Bella said. ‘Come up and see Dr Syd anyway. She can at least give you proper care during your pregnancy.’
‘Aye, happen I’ll do that.’
But if poor Mrs Blundell could be counted as a failure which wouldn’t, strictly speaking, be true since it wasn’t the method which had failed, only social pressure or ignorance, the clinic certainly had plenty of successes, Mrs Stobbs among them. The moment she’d heard about the new clinic, she’d been one of the first to trek up those stairs and been a devoted advocate of birth-control ever since. So far with excellent results. Even her husband was happy.
‘Education is the answer,’ was Dr Syd’s endless cry and both she and Bella, who had become firm friends, set out to provide just that, with Nurse Shaw’s able assistance.
Bella got into the habit of visiting Dr Syd at her rooms after surgery every Monday when they’d enjoy a bottle of wine while thrashing out the problems of the clinic for the week ahead: how they needed to reach more patients, gain better publicity in the press and encourage the medical community to take more of an interest.
‘Ten years ago, when I was tending our boys in the trenches, I never thought I’d be fighting another war, one of politics and prejudice. You’ve only to walk down Broad Street or North Street and see the number of children with legs bent by rickets; nothing but rags on their backs since their decent clothes are in pawn and often not even a pair of boots to their feet; to know that society is failing vast swathes of people and creating yet more of an underclass. Is it any wonder they fall to drink or gambling, for all they can’t afford it? Anything to alleviate their miserable lives.’
‘At least we’re attempting to better their lot to some extent,’ Bella assured her, and felt almost guilty refilling their wine glasses. Perhaps she never would understand the true meaning of poverty, not unless she’d actually experienced it herself which, thank God, was never likely to happen.
On two or three occasions Bella found Dan Howarth waiting for her in the shop when the session was over and her heart would give a strange leap of pleasure at sight of him. Not that she let him see what she felt, for Bella had no wish to give him any unrealistic hopes. She told herself firmly that she’d enough to deal with, being fully occupied with running the clinic. Even so, they would often enjoy a quiet supper together, a drink in the Ship or the Old Railway or simply a walk in the evening air.
‘I reckon it’s a bit of a cheek for me to be asking you out, daughter of a mill manager, when I’m no more’n a dock labourer.’
‘Heavens, don’t be silly. We’re good friends, aren’t we?’
‘Aye, that’s it. Just good friends.’ Dan’s sideways glance spoke volumes that he’d like them to be much more but Bella was waving to Mrs Blundell across the street, so didn’t notice.
For all she gave little indication, she came to enjoy his company and looked forward to the time they spent together. Sometimes, as she stood at the window gazing out over the soot-encrusted streets of Salford, she found herself watching for him, telling herself it was only because he was such entertaining company, regaling her with tales of his mates with whom he worked down at the docks. Bella began to ask herself where this friendship might be leading, where she wanted it to lead but found no ready answers.
One Sunday afternoon they walked all the way to Dawney’s Hill. It smelled of fresh green grass and spring sunshine and Bella felt deliciously happy as they sat watching the children run about, the wind tugging at their kites. Dan told her how he used to come here with his dad when he was a boy.
‘I suppose one day I’ll have childer of me own, and I’ll fetch them out here with a kite or fishing rod.’
‘I suppose you will.’
‘Though I must say I’m not in any hurry. I’ve enough childer round me feet every day of the week, all creating mayhem one way or another.’
‘It must be lovely though to be part of a big, happy family.’
Dan snorted his disdain at the very idea. ‘Allus needing summat. Lot of responsibility.’ He cleared his throat, picked a few daisies and began to form them into a chain in an abstracted sort of way. ‘How about you? I dare say you fancy being wed, one day like.’
Bella rolled onto her stomach, feeling oddly shy as she casually plucked a daisy and handed it to him. ‘I’d like a family of my own certainly, though whether that’s a good reason to consider marriage, I’m not sure. He would have to be someone very special, and I’d need to love him very much.’
For a long moment they gazed upon each other in silence, fingers touching as they both held on to the flower. Then Bella took her hand away, cheeks softly flushed as she gave a shy smile. Her mind seemed to have gone a complete blank and she could think of nothing to say.
‘A lass like you must have a fair number of suitors.’
‘Suitors? What a lovely old fashioned word. No, I have no suitors, much to my mother’s despair. I shall end up an old maid on the shelf, no doubt.’
‘Nay, I can’t see that happening, not a likely lass such as yourself.’
Bella watched the children with the kites for a moment, then picked another daisy, twirling it between her fingers as she smiled softly to herself. ‘You’re so gallant, Dan, but I’m no beauty and I’m not - how shall I put it - very biddable.’
He grinned down at her. ‘Stop fishing for compliments. You know well enough how attractive you are. But no, you’re right, no one could accuse you of being biddable.’
She cast him a quick glance from beneath her lashes. ‘How about you? Is there a queue of likely lasses waiting breathlessly for your proposal?’
‘Nay. Chaps like me can’t afford the luxury of marriage too soon. Unless they’re daft enough to jump the gun.’ He returned his attention to the daisy chain as if it were an important engineering feat, or some great work of art he was producing. ‘My wages are needed at home anyroad, for the little ‘uns, more’s the pity, so any lass with hopes to be my wife would have to be prepared to wait a long while for the privilege, while I saved up.’ And it could never be with the likes of you, he thought wistfully, forcing himself to face reality.
‘Maybe a girl would be happy to wait for a fine upstanding bloke such as yourself.’
‘Aye,’ he said consideringly, again gazing into her face with keen attention. ‘And mebbe some women would take more saving up for than others.’
‘Perhaps they’d be more worth the effort.’
‘Happen.’ The silence this time seemed palpable, as if something vibrated in the air between them. ‘Or else she’d grow old and grey and bored with the whole daft notion afore I’d managed to save up enough to even buy her a ring.’
Dan placed the daisy chain on Bella’s head, looking very like a silver crown atop her tawny tresses. Leaning closer he adjusted it slightly, smiling directly into her eyes so that she felt a sudden tightening in her chest. Bella caught her breath as she thought for one glorious moment that he was going to kiss her, that above all else, she wanted him to kiss her. Sensing his shyness, she made a desperate effort to encourage him, ‘Maybe she wouldn’t care about a silly old ring. She could always use one of her own after all.’
His smile instantly faded, his tone of voice becoming harsh and grating. ‘If she were to be a wife o’mine, she’d have to wear
my
ring.’
‘Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...’
He sat up, the moment of intimacy over, his voice taking on a bitter note. ‘Happen some girls like to flirt. They enjoy making fun of a chap, slumming it like, for a bit of a lark.’
Bella stared at him, shocked and deeply sorry that she’d hurt him. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing? Flirting. Having a bit of a lark?’
‘I think ye’ll happen salve yer conscience by working round here for a while, afore going off and marrying a nice steady chap with a good job. A bloke like me, on the other hand, is thankful for work of any sort, even if it is casual.’
The silence now was uncomfortable as she pictured him waiting patiently each morning at the docks in the hope of getting taken on for a day’s work while she sat in middle class comfort enjoying a good breakfast cooked by Mrs Dyson. Though what Bella could do about that, she didn’t quite know. When she finally spoke, it was in a false, breezy manner as if trying to recapture their earlier happy mood. ‘Look at those little lads over there, off to the river with their fishing lines and buckets. They seem to be having fun. Did your dad teach you to fish as well?’
‘Aye, so what?’
‘I just thought, maybe next time we come here, we could bring rods and you could teach me. I wouldn’t mind having a go, or we could go down by the canal if you prefer.’
He looked at her for a long moment, wondering again if she wasn’t making fun of him. But she looked so sincere, so warmly genuine that he regretted his outburst and was suddenly anxious to return to that warm, magical moment with the daisy chain. Perhaps if he could see her again, he might get the chance. ‘Aye, all right. Not that there are many fish in the cut, and them that you do catch has a bad cough.’
And then they were laughing and joking again, as so often when she was with Dan. Bella rather thought that despite their differences, in the months ahead he could indeed become a good friend. Quite special in fact.
The heady excitement of Saturday afternoon had been a dream too good to last, Jinnie could see that now. Quinn’s demands were quite straightforward. All she had to do was to take bets off the girls and women at the mill. Even if it meant them pledging the rags off their own children’s backs, she had to get them hooked. It was well known that mill operatives were restless and unproductive on big race days and that owners were on their guard to stamp out any sign of betting on their premises for that reason alone, if for no other. Gambling was bad for business because it meant loss of profits. Women were considered to be particularly vulnerable and, in management’s view, had to be protected as they set a bad example to their children.
But who would protect Jinnie?
Weary of the terrible Miss Tadcaster’s iron rule and bullied by Quinn, she’d moved into the weaving shed where she would be in daily contact with the other women and therefore of more use to him. She was now being taught how to operate a loom. Weaving was a top job and at any other time in her life she would have been delighted, thrilled to be given the chance of a proper future. But there was a snag.
Becoming accepted by these women was not going to be easy. In their eyes she was the lowest of the low who was now aping her betters. They called her “a forward little madam”, “a jumped-up un” and more pungently, “common as muck.” Whatever differences Jinnie imagined might exist between the middle and working classes, she was aware of far more serious divisions within the lower class itself. And since she wasn’t considered fit to belong to any class at all, she had no illusions about the difficulties she faced.
At first the women refused to show her how to kiss the shuttle and she’d struggle to thread it any way but the right one; or how to scutch the cotton fibres from the loom without breathing all the dust into her lungs. They left her loom perilously idle whenever a thread broke, and nobody “spoke” to her because they said she didn’t know how to mee-maw, that is mouth the words silently.
But Jinnie didn’t give up. If she didn’t know, she would ask and find the answer somehow. She was desperate to learn and finally the other women recognised this desire and began to respect her for it. They were also longing to have a bet.
Jinnie’s task was to collect the stake money from her clients, handing out betting slips when the foreman or tackler wasn’t looking, then to deliver the bets to Len Jackson or Harold Cunliffe during her dinner break. They in turn put the bets in what was called the ‘clock bag’ which had a timer on it that snapped shut at the start of the race to prevent fraud. Len, or Harold, would then take the bag to Billy Quinn, and he would not be pleased if she didn’t have plenty of bets in it for him.