Authors: Freda Lightfoot
Polly got off the tram and walked for what seemed like miles, first along Cheetham Hill Road and then down a myriad streets that were largely unfamiliar to her. She took the opportunity to stop and ask about work whenever she passed a likely place but didn’t strike lucky. After a while she began to feel uncomfortable, vulnerable in this strange neighbourhood. She must be somewhere near Strangeways Prison and remembered poor Mrs Murphy and her violent husband, no doubt languishing inside at this very moment. Polly half glanced over her shoulder once or twice, as if she were being followed, but then laughed at her own timidity. Could it be any worse here than Ancoats? In any case, there was no one there, the street being quite empty save for a line of people gathering outside a church, clearly Catholic. The church was quite unknown to her but as good as any, she decided. She joined the line and went inside.
‘Bless me, Father, for it is . . . a few weeks since my last confession,’ she began, and hurried on before he could ask exactly how many, to recount the sin of pride that had led her to take on work in a public beer-house of which her husband disapproved.
‘And was it food for your table you were after needing?’ the priest asked, judiciously not pursuing her faltering over the time since she had last felt the need to cleanse her soul.
‘No, Father, but clothes for me children.’ She didn’t like to mention that it was in order to buy a frock for Lucy to take part in the Whit Walks in case that should sound as if she weren’t really sorry at all.
Father Thomas hadn’t worked in Manchester twenty years without being able to assess a situation shrewdly. He was aware of the date on the calendar, barely a week since the processions, so it didn’t take a genius to work out the source of the problem. There were many times when he thought with despair of money spent on frocks and suits that would now be on their way to the pawn shop, while hungry bellies went empty.
‘Pride is a terrible thing, but ‘tis a human weakness we all suffer from at times. It’s lucky you are that you’ve enough food on your table when so many haven’t. Be satisfied with what you have, daughter, and don’t ask for more than your man can reasonably provide.’
‘I won’t, Father.’
‘And you’ll come and see me again, not simply when you have the need for confession?’
‘I will, Father.’
And she would, Polly vowed, she really would make an effort to find her way back into the Church, for didn’t she miss it sorely? The three Hail Marys she was given, and the candle she lit, made her feel better for a whole half hour before Polly again boarded the tram and let her mind slip back into worrying over Matthew’s behaviour. She seemed to have gravely underestimated the effect of her taking on the job at the public house. Weren’t Methodists a law unto themselves, indeed?
She was surprised when at the first stop after the church, Joshua climbed on board. He came and took the seat beside her without a word of greeting.
‘What are you doing in this part of town?’ she asked, struck by the coincidence. And then a terrible idea formed in her head. ‘You weren’t following me by any chance, were you?’ She didn’t care for the thought of him spying on her. The man had an unsettling way of watching people, as if they had committed some great sin which he was carefully noting.
Even now, when he turned to meet her enquiring gaze, she experienced that prickling sensation at the nape of her neck she so often felt when he looked at her.
‘Perhaps I think someone should keep an eye on you,’ he said. He noted the swing of her dark hair, the way the light turned her eyes from green to grey and back to green again, and experienced the familiar tightening of envy bite deep into his guts. Was it any wonder that Matthew had fallen head over heels for this Irish imp, thinking her so entirely delectable that he’d even risked the life of his own brother to ensure he had a long and happy life with her? Bewitched he was, the fool!
Polly, fidgeting beneath the intensity of his gaze, was incensed by this casual remark. ‘If that’s true, which I deny absolutely, wouldn’t the task be better carried out by me own husband?’
‘My brother seems incapable of taking care of anything or anyone at the moment. Not even himself. Haven’t you noticed he’s troubled?’ Now a shaft of sunlight had caught in her dark hair and revealed fiery threads there. Joshua watched it sparkle and glow, entranced despite himself.
Polly was forced to confess that she was indeed concerned for Matthew. ‘It’s true he’s been either biting me head off or lapsing into silence quite a lot lately. For days, in fact,’ she admitted.
‘I think you’ll find it’s more like weeks. You should ask him what’s on his mind. He may tell you.’
‘Are you saying you know what’s wrong?’
‘I might. I might not.’ Following this enigmatic remark. Joshua would say no more and they completed the journey in uncomfortable silence, each deep in their own thoughts.
Polly fully intended to tackle Matthew on the subject that very evening, but he seemed to be in a more cheerful frame of mind so she was afraid to spoil it. He asked if she felt better for having been to church and she agreed that she did.
‘It makes me feel guilty to rob you of your religion. You shouldn’t abandon it just for me.’
‘I didn’t, you daft galoot,’ she said, softly kissing him. ‘Didn’t the Church abandon me? And guess who I saw on my way back?’ She told him about Joshua on the tram.
Matthew laughed, a hint of scorn in his tone, proving the two men were far from close. ‘Wandering the city now, is he? What Josh is in need of is a good woman. Perhaps he was looking for one?’
‘The divil he was. He said he was watching out for me, which you should be doing.’ Polly said it in a teasing way, smiling mischievously at him, but Matthew’s face darkened and she regretted having done so.
‘Aw, will I bite off me own daft tongue? What is it between you two? I know you’ve never got on, but I’ve never properly understood why.’
Matthew’s frown deepened still further before he seemed to shake it off, his laughter, when it came, sounding forced and unnatural. ‘Neither do I, Pol. He was always jealous of me, even as a boy. Thought I was Mam’s favourite.’
‘That’s true. You’re the apple of her eye.’
‘Oh, I’m not so sure. Anyroad, now he’s jealous of what I’ve got and he hasn’t, and who can blame him for that?’ And reaching for her, he pulled Polly on to his lap to start tickling and kissing her till she was giggling uncontrollably and begging for mercy.
‘Sure and he wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if one offered herself up as a human sacrifice,’ she said, and then they were both laughing, if with some small sense of guilt that they’d made fun of an unmarried brother who chose to devote himself to chapel rather than family.
They went to bed early and made love beneath the warm blankets. Afterwards, as Polly lay contentedly in his arms, Matthew made a mental note to speak to his brother and ask what business it was of his if Polly should choose to visit a church of her own religion, but he made no mention of this decision to his wife. Nor did Polly deem it wise to investigate too closely her husband’s state of depression which seemed, for the moment at least, to have passed.
Matthew, worn out by his fruitless searching and low morale, for the first time in his life overslept. In his rush to leave the house, he left his snap tin sitting on the table in the kitchen. Polly noticed it just as she was about to dash off to Yates’s Temperance Tavern. ‘Would you believe it? He’ll be half-starved without a proper dinner.’ The children had already left for school and she decided it wouldn’t be far out of her way to slip to the north end of Dove Street before setting off in the opposite direction to her own place of work, so long as she hurried. Pulling her shawl over her head, she set off at a quick pace.
She found the men busily unloading the coal from the narrow-boats, running down the planks into the mill as usual, but Matthew wasn’t among them. A few enquiries told her he hadn’t been there for a while; a week or two in fact, one youngster admitted, before getting his ear clipped by an older man more used to the ways of men in keeping such details from a wife. Pale of face, Polly thanked them and walked away stiff-backed, feeling it was a miracle her legs kept her upright. Not been there for weeks? Then where
had
he been working? He’d made no mention of a new job to her.
There was nothing she could do right now but go on to her own work. She didn’t dare be late in case she got turned off, so half ran down Dove Street, along Ancoats Lane towards Oldham Street, trying not to think too deeply about the implications. Could this have been the trouble Joshua had hinted at?
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she hoped not!
Her four hours serving bread and soup seemed like eight, but the moment she was released Polly paid a quick visit to the market to buy a few vegetables for supper. She’d decided that she was probably only fussing again and Matthew was most likely in Ducie Street where she knew he often worked when not on the canal. It was past two o’clock by the time she got there, but not too late for a bite. He’d be glad of these sandwiches to keep him going through the afternoon.
She searched and searched but couldn’t find Matthew, and a few enquiries told her he wasn’t here either. Stupefied with fear, she began to visit other wharves and docks, growing increasingly desperate for a sight of her husband. Finally forced to abandon her search, since she knew the children would be home at any moment, she set off through the back streets of Ancoats, heartsick and weary. Why hadn’t he told her he couldn’t find work? Was she such an ogre that he couldn’t bring his problems home to his own wife?
Tight-lipped, she made up the fire, set the kettle to boil and began chopping vegetables for the broth pan with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. Perhaps she was wrong. In her heart she prayed she was. How many wharves and docks were there in Manchester? Dozens, at least, and she’d hardly visited half that number. There was other work too, besides the tugs and barges. He could be working in a warehouse somewhere. He’d surely be some place she’d never thought of.
Eileen came in as usual for a cup of tea but somehow Polly wasn’t in the mood for her determined cheerfulness so the girl, seeming a bit low herself for once, didn’t stay long. Even so, Polly noticed with a start of fresh concern that she seemed to get no bigger in her pregnancy, for all the weeks were flying past.
When he’d set out that morning only one thing had been on Matthew’s mind: where he was to find the money to turn over to Polly this evening. It was Friday and he’d nothing left to pawn. With no work of any sort this week and not a penny coming in, he’d finally been driven to swallow his pride and queue at the Labour Exchange to sign on the dole.
He went laboriously through the soul-destroying task of answering the many questions and filling in the necessary forms to be paid the money which was rightly due to him. He learned it would amount to a little above a pound a week, and when he protested that no family could live on such a small sum, was told to take it or leave it. Since he was only too aware that many people still thought of the unemployed poor as a feckless grey mass who enjoyed a high degree of comfort living off the state, the
least he could do was to keep his dignity intact, and accept whatever bit of money was due to him. This wasn’t the moment for answering back, so for once Matthew managed to swallow his pride and stop his tongue running away with him. Even so, he worried over the dole lasting only a short time.
‘What happens when the six months is up, if I still haven’t found work?’
‘The dole stops,’ said the young clerk. ‘Can you write?’
‘Of course I can write. Give me the form, I can fill it in myself.’ It took twice as long, since there were a great many questions to be answered and his skills, despite his bravado, were limited, but Matthew completed the task eventually. The young clerk picked fault with his efforts and wanted to know all the places he’d already tried, in order to prove he was genuinely seeking work. Matthew told him, and made the necessary alterations to the form, breaking the nib of the pen as he struggled to hold on to his rapidly diminishing patience.
‘That’s a laugh, that is.’ The grimness of his expression belied his words. ‘Since there aren’t any jobs round here to be found.’
‘That’s not my fault. Sign here, please.’
Of course it wasn’t the clerk’s fault and, stricken with remorse for his sharpness, Matthew felt bound to apologise to the young man. He pointed out that his situation was purely temporary. ‘I’ll have found myself a job before the six months is up, you’ll see.’ The clerk merely looked at him pityingly and said nothing.
Lucy and Benny arrived home later that afternoon in a flurry of wet coats and squabbles. Polly gave them each a slice of bread and beef dripping and packed them off out into the street again. More than anything today, she needed to be alone.
When she heard the scrape of Matthew’s clogs on the flagstones at exactly the right time, and he came swinging into the house with his usual tuneless whistle, she heaved a great sigh of relief. Here she was, fretting over nothing as usual, when all that had happened was that he’d forgotten his snap tin and failed to tell her where he was working, so was it any wonder she couldn’t take it to him? What a soft-head she was, always worrying over something and nothing. She smiled to herself as she ran and kissed him.
Hey, that’s a grand welcome for a chap,’ he said with a smile, swinging her round while he kissed her some more. He felt big and strong and warmly loving, his arms tight about her sending shivers of excitement through her. ‘Where’s the childer? Would they notice if we popped upstairs?’