Forgive and Forget (25 page)

Polly remained half-hidden in the doorway as she heard another sound getting louder, coming closer and closer. The sound of marching feet. She gasped as she saw lines of soldiers marching down the High Street with bayonets fixed and pointing outwards in front of them coming straight towards the crowd. And it seemed to the frightened eyes of the girl that they had no intention of stopping. At the sight of the advancing soldiers, the crowd’s raucous shouts and jeering fell strangely quiet as they faced the grim reality. They were no match for armed men and they knew it.

As the soldiers came to a halt a short distance away from where she was standing, Polly saw the officer in charge move to speak to the chief of police. After some discussion, one of the officers stood on a box and addressed the milling crowd. If they didn’t disperse immediately, he told them, and go back to their homes, the Riot Act would be read by a magistrate, who was standing beside him. The streets would then be cleared by the military.

A murmuring ran amongst those who heard his message. More and more people began to drift away. As the message was relayed, Polly could see that the gangs of youths were dropping their missiles and slinking away down side streets, the looters still carrying their ill-gotten gains, their defiant laughter ringing through the night.

Polly felt someone grip her arm and a voice whispered in her ear. ‘What the hell are you doing out here, Poll?’

‘Eddie! Oh, thank God. Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?’

He was dragging her away towards the corner of their street. ‘Come on, we’re going home. Now.’

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘I dunno and we’re not waiting to find out. Come on, Poll, let’s get out of here.’

As they hurried away and turned into their street, Polly asked, ‘What on earth are you doing getting involved in all that? It’s nowt to do with you.’

Through the darkness, Polly saw his white teeth shining as he grinned. ‘You know me, Poll. Always game for a bit of bother.’

‘Well, you’d do well to stay out of it. Specially with soldiers charging down the street with bayonets at the ready.’

Eddie’s tone was more thoughtful as he said, ‘Yes, I could quite fancy a bit of that mesen.’

Polly twisted round. ‘What?’

‘Bein’ a soldier. I reckon that’d suit me.’

Polly groaned. ‘Oh, don’t joke, Eddie. I’ve enough with Dad and Leo being on opposite sides. Where’s it all going to end?’

Eddie didn’t answer her and, as they entered the house and shut the door on the chaos, Polly had the feeling that he might be serious about becoming a soldier.

They waited another hour, but William did not arrive home.

‘You shouldn’t have stopped up, Vi. Not this late. You look dreadful.’

‘I feel dreadful.’

‘And we should go to bed an’ all, Eddie. There’s nothing more we can do.’

‘D’you want me to go and look for Dad?’

‘No, I don’t want you involved in any more trouble. You’ve got away with it so far.’ She had the uncomfortable feeling that Eddie might have been involved in the looting. She wondered how many new pairs of boots and shoes, straw hats and bowlers would appear on Vince Norton’s stall in the coming weeks. ‘Just be thankful and stay out of it now. Please, Eddie.’

‘All right.’ He rose and made for the staircase, ‘I wonder where Micky got to.’

‘What?’ Violet cried. ‘Eddie, come back here. Was Micky with you?’

He turned at the door leading to the staircase. ‘Oh yeah. Him and his dad were in the thick of it, alongside our dad, but I lost sight of them and then, when I spotted Polly, all I could think of was getting her home.’ He jerked his head. ‘I reckon Leo was somewhere amongst the police. So . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I thought she was better off out of it.’

‘But Micky? What about Micky?’

‘Don’t you worry about him, Vi. He can take care of himself. Micky Fowler won’t own up to any trouble he’s caused.’ He nodded towards her swollen belly. ‘He’s proved that, hasn’t he? Night.’

The two girls, who still shared the same bed, hardly slept for what was left of the night. Violet, hot and uncomfortable, tossed and turned. As it was beginning to grow light, they heard sounds from downstairs and knew their father was home, and as dawn began to filter through the thin curtains, Violet clutched Polly’s arm.

‘I’ve got a pain, Poll, and the bed’s wet.’

Polly leapt out of bed. ‘Let’s see.’ She threw back the covers to see that Violet’s nightdress and the sheet were soaking.

‘I reckon your water’s have broken.’ Just recently, Polly had been asking Bertha for tips about what would happen at the birth.

‘Oooh, Poll, it hurts.’

‘Bad?’

‘Aaah – yes.’ Violet cried and writhed on the bed. ‘Get Mrs Halliday. Now, Poll.’

‘Maybe we should wait a little longer. You’re not due yet. It shouldn’t be coming now.’

But Violet’s next scream of agony and the girl’s terrified eyes decided her.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can, Vi. Hang on . . .’

Polly rushed downstairs, out of the house and down the street still in her nightgown and bare feet.

She banged on the door of the end house and shouted, not caring for once who heard her. Besides, did it matter now? The whole street knew about Violet’s baby anyway. There was no way they could have hidden it forever.

‘Mrs Halliday, Mrs Halliday. It’s our Vi. The baby—’

The door flew open. It was not Bertha standing there, but Leo.

Polly took a step back as she stared at him. He had a bandage round his head and one eye was almost shut, the bruise darkening already. ‘Oh, Leo, you’re hurt. What—?’

He cut her question short. ‘Is it Vi?’

‘Yes, she – I think she’s in labour.’

‘Mam’s not here. She’s round the corner. Someone’s just died and she’s gone to lay them out.’

‘But Vi’s bad. The pain—’

‘I’ll fetch Mam.’ He closed the door, then paused briefly to look down into Polly’s eyes, anguish in his own. ‘We’ve got to talk. There’s something I have to tell you—’

‘I must get back to Vi.’

Leo sighed. ‘I’ll get Mam.’

Bertha arrived half an hour later. ‘She’s well on,’ she said curtly after a swift examination. Polly bit her lip. Bertha was suddenly no longer the comforting, friendly person she’d always been. There was a constraint between them. Perhaps she was already blaming the Longden family for what had happened to her son in the previous night’s skirmish. After all, William was a railwayman. He was one of the strikers and, more than likely, one of the instigators of last night’s troubles.

‘You – you will stay with her, won’t you, Mrs Halliday?’

Bertha returned her gaze steadily. Then she smiled but there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes.

‘Of course I will. Now, love, you go downstairs and get some water on the boil.’

Polly turned to go, but first she had to ask, ‘Mrs Halliday, what happened to Leo?’

‘It was them rowdies last night,’ she began angrily. ‘He—’

Whatever Bertha had been going to say was cut short by a squeal from the bed. ‘It’s coming – it’s coming – oooh . . .’

Only forty minutes later, Violet was cradling her baby son in her arms. Flushed and weary from her efforts, she was nevertheless smiling.

‘They bring their love with them, don’t they?’ Bertha remarked as she tidied up the mess of the birth.

Polly moved to the head of the bed and touched the baby’s wet head with gentle fingers. ‘He’s lovely, Vi. Strong and healthy – and lusty,’ she added with a laugh as the baby began to bawl.

‘He’s got a fine pair of lungs, just like his father. I brought him into the world, y’know.’ Bertha sniffed. ‘Pity he won’t do right by you, lass, ’cos we all know that little chap’s Micky Fowler’s. What you gonna call him?’

‘Michael,’ Vi said promptly and firmly.

‘Oh but—’ Polly began but her sister was adamant.

‘Michael it is and Michael it’ll always be. Never – never,’ she insisted, ‘Micky.’

Polly shrugged. ‘He’ll probably get called Mick or Micky at school.’

‘But not at home, he won’t.’

‘Michael Longden.’

‘Michael
Fowler
Longden,’ Violet insisted. ‘I know I can’t put Micky’s name on the birth certificate as his father, but he’s not getting away with it altogether.’

For a moment Polly stared at her, glanced at Bertha and then the two of them burst out laughing. And they laughed even harder when Violet, looking from one to the other, asked, ‘What? What have I said?’

As they went downstairs, Polly offered, ‘Will you have a cup of tea, Mrs Halliday?’

Bertha accepted gladly. ‘I will, love. I didn’t get one when I was laying out poor old Mrs Matthews. I came straight here.’

They sat together either side of the table as they drank tea. Bertha smacked her lips. ‘By, I was ready for that. Thirsty work seeing ’em off and then bringing another in,’ she said as she set her cup down.

Polly chewed her lip before she repeated the question she’d asked before but had not received an answer.

‘What happened to Leo? Did he get hurt last night?’

The clouded, anxious look that had lingered on Bertha’s face all morning deepened now. ‘You saw him. Yes, he got hurt last night and what’s more—’ Bertha stared at her for a long moment before saying quietly, ‘He knows who threw the bottle that hit him. Cut his head badly.’ There was a pause before Bertha, her tone tight, added, ‘Your dad home, is he?’

‘He – he – came in about five, I think.’

Bertha pursed her lips. She nodded but said no more. Soon afterwards, having made sure Violet was all right, she left.

Later that Sunday morning Polly could not stop herself from going out into the High Street to see the damage last night’s rampaging had caused. Violet was asleep, the baby alongside her, and her father and Eddie had not appeared from their rooms. No doubt they would be startled awake by the baby’s cries and realize they were now a grandfather and uncle. Stevie had gone out early and Polly had sent Miriam down to play with Dottie Fowler. She didn’t want her little sister seeing all the damage.

‘You can tell them Violet’s had her baby. A little boy.’ Then she added under her breath, ‘Not that they’ll be interested.’

Polly walked along the High Street, mingling with other curious sightseers who were looking about them and shaking their heads in disbelief.

‘That such a thing should happen in our city,’ she heard one woman murmur. Polly agreed with her; she was heart-sore to think that such scenes had occurred in her beloved Lincoln and that such devastation had been wrought by some of its own people. As she walked along, stepping over stones, bricks, bottles and broken glass, Polly could see that hardly a window remained whole in any of the shops and offices between the Midland station and the Stonebow. She glanced about her and saw dark stains on the street and knew it to be the blood of someone who’d been injured.

Rumours were rife; she heard snatches of conversation as she moved through the throng. Quiet and peaceable this morning, they were shocked by what they saw in the bright light of day. Some looked shamefaced and Polly guessed they’d been here the previous night, maybe had even taken part in causing the damage that now lay accusingly before them.

She glanced towards the Cornhill, where only a few weeks ago she’d enjoyed the pictures of the coronation, sitting beside Leo, holding his hand. A great wave of sadness overwhelmed her. What would happen between her and Leo now? Her father and brother had been involved; certainly William had for she’d seen it with her own eyes.

As if to deny her thoughts, she heard a man close by proclaiming loudly to anyone who would listen, ‘’Tweren’t the strikers, you know. It weren’t the railway workers. They were just mounting a peaceful strike, but gangs of hooligans who’d nothing to do with the railway did all this.’ He swept his arm in a wide arc to encompass the damaged buildings, the broken street lamps, the litter of smashed glass, of discarded goods from the shops and the telltale dark stains on the road. ‘It was gangs of hooligans did this, that’s who,’ the man was still insisting. Now he wagged his finger in the air. ‘And the police have the names of the ringleaders. They’ll be brought to justice. You mark my words.’

Polly’s blood ran cold.

She moved on leaden feet towards the Stonebow, where she could see a knot of people gathered around a notice. Polly’s heart skipped a beat. Was it a list of the men – the ringleaders – they were seeking? And was William Longden’s name on that list?

‘It’s over!’ A woman near the front turned and shouted. ‘The strike’s been settled.’

Polly pushed her way to the front. The notice, signed by the Town Clerk, stated that he had been notified by the Home Secretary that a settlement in the strike had been reached by unanimous agreement. She turned away, thankfulness flooding through her as she hurried home to break the good news.

William did not believe her.

‘I want to hear it for mesen. We’re to meet in St Mary’s Street this afternoon. If they say it’s over, then I’ll believe it. Not afore. Them at the Town Hall could put any sort of notice up and we’d not know if it was true.’