The River Folk (12 page)

‘Hello, Amy,’ Bessie said cheerily and, careful how she phrased her words, asked tactfully, ‘Have a nice time with your sister, did you?’

‘Nice time? Nice time, you say?’ Amy’s voice was shrill and with more fire in it than Bessie had heard in a long time.

Bessie smiled. ‘Oh dear, got sore knees, have you, love?’ The extent of Bessie’s tactfulness was limited. Amy’s sister, Clara, was a devout Catholic who would no doubt have spent much of the Christmas period attending services and dragging a reluctant Amy with her. Amy, once a regular churchgoer herself, had had her own Christian beliefs badly shaken by the loss of her husband and son. Since that time she had never, to Bessie’s knowledge, set foot in the parish church, a defect which was high on Bessie’s list of priorities to remedy.

Amy was stepping towards her, her thin neck stretching forward, like a chicken about to peck a rival. ‘Is it true?’

Bessie blinked. ‘Is what true?’

‘What Phyllis says?’

Bessie glanced at Phyllis, who was wearing a strange expression. It was a cross between her usual, self-satisfied smile when she had just imparted a particular juicy piece of gossip and a sudden look of panic.

‘Amy, no, don’t say anything.’ Phyllis put out her hand to restrain Amy. ‘I only told you in case you’d rather not come in. But don’t spoil Bessie’s party. Me and Tom were just going. He doesn’t want to stay. Not now he knows.’

‘Knows?’ Bessie said sharply. ‘Knows what?’

‘About that Sid Clark,’ Amy spat. ‘Where is he? I’ll tell him a thing or two . . .’

Before either of the women could stop her, Bessie hampered as she was by carrying two plates of bread and butter, Amy whirled about, rushed through Bessie’s kitchen and into the front room.

‘Oh law. I’m sorry, Bessie, I didn’t mean . . .’ Phyllis began, but Bessie was too busy hurrying after Amy to stay and listen to her.

Amy flung open the door with such violence that it crashed against Bessie’s prized china cabinet and the glass in the doors shattered. Amy, however, was unaware of what she had done.

‘Where is he? Where is that bloody coward?’

Everyone in the room seemed turned to stone as Amy launched herself forward towards Sid Clark, her fists flailing. Dan was the first to recover his senses and leap into action. He caught hold of Amy around her waist, but not before she had landed one punch at Sid’s shoulder.

There was little weight behind it for Amy, though like a wild thing at this moment, had little real strength. Sid staggered backwards more from shock than from the blow, the pint of beer he held in his hand slopping over on to Bessie’s best square of carpet, which had taken her and Bert ten years to save up for.

‘Here, here, what’s got into you, Amy?’ Bessie crashed the plates she was carrying down on to the table and rushed to help Dan.

‘He’s a bloody conchy, that’s what he is. Phyllis has just told me.’

All eyes turned to look at Sid Clark and then suddenly the room seemed to erupt. He swung his beer mug round, smashing it into his wife’s face, sending further splashes of liquid up Bessie’s wallpaper. ‘You bloody bitch. You and your big mouth.’

Before anyone could reach her, Elsie had crumpled into a heap. Then Sid lunged, hand outstretched, towards Mary Ann. Catching her by the hair, he yanked it viciously. ‘Or was it you, telling these fancy friends of yours?’

Now Bessie swung into action, her family behind her. Only Dan, still struggling to hold Amy, did not move forward.

‘Leave her alone,’ Bessie bellowed, and whilst Bert and her three younger sons grasped Sid Clark, Bessie reached out for the girl and pulled her into the safety of her arms. ‘What’s all this about? Phyllis . . .’ Bessie looked around the room, but the person who had thrown this particular stone into the pond and caused more than a ripple was nowhere to be seen. ‘Tom, get that wife of yours in here this minute. I want to know what has caused all this.’

A moment later, Tom brought a reluctant Phyllis in.

‘Now, everyone calm down and let’s sort this out. Bert, help Elsie up, will ya, and sit her in that chair. Are you all right?’

The woman, still dazed, nodded. Her face was not cut, miraculously after such a blow, but a red and ugly swelling was beginning to show.

‘And you,’ Bessie ordered Sid. ‘You sit down, an’ all.’

Against her Bessie could hear Mary Ann’s soft whimpering and the sounds of her thumb being sucked vigorously. She bent over her and whispered, ‘There, there, love, it’s all right. It’s all right.’ They were only words of reassurance, for Bessie was well aware that things were far from all right. ‘Now, Phyllis, just tell us what this is all about.’

Phyllis glanced at Amy, who, though quiet now, was still staring at Sid, hatred in her eyes, before saying, ‘He was a conchy in the war. He spent most of the war in a prison cell in Lincoln jail. Someone at work told me. A friend of hers told her because her husband is a warder at the jail. Somehow, he even got out of being sent to the Front as a stretcher-bearer.’ Phyllis, warming to her story now, nodded knowingly. ‘That’s where most of the conchies ended up, but not him.’

‘That was a job and a half,’ Bessie muttered. ‘It’d take some guts to go out picking up the wounded and—’

‘How would you know anything about it, Bessie Ruddick?’ Amy screeched suddenly. ‘When your husband and all yer sons stayed safe at home here?’ The pitch of Amy’s voice rose. ‘Were they conchies an’ all?’

Bessie’s face flamed. ‘You know very well they weren’t, Amy, and if you say any such thing about my Bert or my lads, you an’ me are going to fall out.’

‘Your Dan could have gone,’ Amy persisted.

‘No, he couldn’t. He weren’t old enough. He’s only just eighteen now.’

Amy’s mouth was tight with resentment. ‘My lad volunteered and he was only sixteen.
Sixteen
, Bessie. All the way through he went. Four years of hell and then he gets killed only days before the peace is signed. And then I have to live alongside folks like
’im
.’ She flung her arm out towards Sid. ‘If I had my way, he’d have been shot.’

‘Aw, come now, Amy . . .’

‘Don’t you “come now, Amy” me, Bessie Ruddick. I’ve seen it all. Palling on with ’em. Having them here, in your own home and taking their kiddie to Miss Edwina’s school. Oho, I bet your fancy friend won’t be so ready to help when she finds out just what the kid’s father is. Not when she lost her brother and her fiancé. Oh no, Miss Edwina will understand, even if you don’t.’

With that parting shot, Amy pulled herself free of Dan’s hold and marched out of the room, slamming the door so that the already battered china cabinet yielded up yet more broken glass.

For a moment there was silence in the room, then Bessie turned her look upon Sid. ‘Is it true? What she says?’

‘A man’s got a right to follow his own conscience,’ he growled. ‘I don’t hold with war and killing other folks. I’m a peaceful man – if I’m left alone.’

Bessie’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened as she struggled with her own feelings. She’d no time for the men who hid away at home whilst others gave their lives for their country, but a tiny part of her could sympathize with someone who genuinely believed that war was wrong and that they should take a stand against it. She had heard that some very eminent people had suffered abuse because of their beliefs. It took a courageous man to stand alone against family, friends and neighbours and even the world at large. For that very action meant ridicule, hatred and imprisonment. In some cases, they had given their own lives in the cause of peace, for she had heard that many had been shot for cowardice.

Bessie frowned. She had never met a conscientious objector before and, of course, she didn’t know Sid Clark well enough, didn’t know him at all, but he didn’t strike her as a man of unshakeable principles. She regarded him thoughtfully. There was a veiled threat in his final words and his sentiments didn’t quite ring true. Not to her ears. Here he was, she thought, bold as brass in her front room claiming to be a peaceful man when he was a wife beater and not above ill-treating his daughter. Oh no, Bessie couldn’t see it and she prided herself on being a good judge of character.

‘Get him out of here, Bert,’ she said quietly now. ‘Tek him to the pub while I see to Elsie and this little lass.’ She glanced around the room. ‘The party’s over, folks.’

‘Well, did you ever?’ Minnie had managed at last to close her gaping mouth. ‘What do you make of all that, then, Bess?’

The rest of Bessie’s guests had gone, but Minnie had stayed to help clear up the remnants of the shattered party.

At Bessie’s bidding, Bert and his sons had taken Sid to the pub.

‘Try to find out more of his side of the story, Bert. I don’t like to condemn a feller afore he’s had chance to defend himself. But we’ve got to get at the truth if we’re to help ’em.’

Bert had nodded. He didn’t hold with conchies. Hadn’t a scrap of sympathy for them, but he knew his Bessie was thinking more about the man’s wife and daughter than about Sid. If it meant living next door to the feller for the sake of that little lass and her mother, then Bert – and his sons – would do it.

Phyllis had scuttled away as if she couldn’t get leave quickly enough, her husband close behind her, and they were soon followed by the Merryweathers and Stan Eccleshall. Bessie herself had taken Elsie and Mary Ann back to their own house. The girl had begged to stay, tears running down her cheeks, but Bessie had been firm. She needed time to herself for once, although she was glad to have Minnie’s company and help now.

In answer to Minnie’s question, Bessie said slowly, ‘I suppose it could account for his behaviour. He must have had a tough time.’ She was trying to be fair to the man, but it was hard to be rational and, for once, even Bessie’s tender heart failed. ‘But it don’t give him the right to knock his wife and bairn about.’

‘I’ve never seen Amy so riled,’ Minnie said, as she swept up the broken glass whilst Bessie scrubbed at the stain on her carpet.

‘As far as Amy’s concerned, you know what they say, Min?’

Minnie looked up. ‘No. What?’

‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘It could stop Amy wallowing in self-pity. Now she’s got someone to direct her anger at, it might drag her out of that terrible depression.’

Minnie shook her head. ‘Oh, you’re getting too deep for me, Bess. All I know is, I don’t reckon this is over. Not by a long chalk, I don’t.’

Two hours later when the men were still not home, Bessie went next door to check on Elsie and Mary Ann.

‘Can I come in, love?’ she called, but pushed open the door and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

Elsie was sitting huddled near the range, even though there was no fire in the grate. There was no sign of Mary Ann.

‘Little lass in bed, is she?’ Bessie asked, moving to sit down in the chair opposite the woman.

Elsie nodded.

‘Eh, but it’s cold in here,’ Bessie shivered. ‘I’d light you a fire, but it’s a bit late now. The room’ll hardly get warm afore you go to bed, will it?’

‘There’s no wood or coal,’ Elsie murmured.

‘I’ll bring you a bucketful round in the morning, then,’ Bessie said, trying to be cheerful. ‘Always difficult to gauge what you’re going to be needing over the holidays, ain’t it?’

She knew she was making excuses to save the woman’s pride. There was no coal in the house, Christmas or not, and, she suspected, very little food. Before the fracas, Bessie had noticed Sid Clark tucking into her sandwiches as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. And she hadn’t forgotten Mary Ann’s round eyes at the plateful of Christmas dinner Bessie had placed before her. She had thought the Clark family was going to have a good Christmas when she had seen Elsie loaded with shopping. She must have been wrong, Bessie thought.

‘Now, love, do you want to tell me about it? Maybe, if I know the full story, I can help.’

Elsie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I doubt it, Bessie. We’ll just have to move on again. Everywhere we go, somehow, someone seems to find out about us and we have to go.’

Bessie gave a wry snort of laughter. ‘I could have warned you about Phyllis Horberry. A ferret’s got nothing on her when it comes to a bit of gossip.’ She put her head on one side and regarded the pathetic little woman. She felt sorry for her and for the young girl upstairs, who was probably lying on that old mattress, sobbing herself to sleep and sucking her thumb until it was white and wrinkly.

‘Maybe if the folks round here knew the truth, they could sympathize a bit. Worth a try, ain’t it?’

Again, the disconsolate shrug. ‘You can’t expect someone like poor Amy Hamilton to understand,’ Elsie said reasonably. ‘Can you?’

Bessie sighed. ‘Not really, if I’m honest with you.’

‘Sid never used to be like he is now, Bessie. I want you to believe that. He was quite a good husband and father. Oh, he always drank a bit and it always made him nasty tempered, but he never knocked me and Mary Ann about. Not . . . not until he came out of prison.’ Elsie sighed. ‘After the war finished and he came home, it still wasn’t over.’ Flatly, she added hopelessly, ‘It never will be over. Everybody thinks that in Sid’s case he was hiding behind the name of being a conscientious objector just to get out of going to the Front.’

‘I suppose,’ Bessie said thoughtfully, ‘folks think that, if he’d been genuine, he’d have gone as a stretcher-bearer, like Phyllis said.’ She paused and asked softly, not wanting to bring this poor woman any further pain, but needing to get at the truth. ‘Wouldn’t he?’

Elsie gave a deep sigh. ‘It grieves me to say it, Bessie, but I have to agree with you. That’s what he should have done.’

‘Then I’m sorry for you, Elsie,’ was all Bessie could say. ‘Very sorry.’

As she went home, Bessie had the uncomfortable feeling that Minnie’s words were prophetic.

This wasn’t over by a long chalk.

Minnie’s prediction came true a week later.

Bessie and Bert woke with a jump at two o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day to hear the screams coming through their bedroom wall from the house next door.