Polly's Pride (18 page)

There were cheers in the packed hall from men who felt at the end of their tether, who would follow anything and anybody if they promised money each day and a full belly at the end of it.

They were tired of reading in the papers how they were too feckless to work, how they enjoyed living off the state and could do so comfortably on the ‘dole’, how most of them couldn’t even read and hadn’t a brain in their heads. Skilled men felt their dignity crumble daily at these outpourings in the press from the governing classes. And if they lolled about at street corners too much, hoping for someone to buy them a pint, what else did they have to do all day with no job to go to?

‘We don’t want benefit or charity,’ shouted one man from the back of the hall. ‘We want work!’

This resulted in an even louder cheer.

‘Ramsay MacDonald has betrayed the working man.’

‘Up the Reds!’

Joshua glanced about him with satisfaction. The mood was changing, growing more demanding, yet wasn’t that what he wanted? It was true that the NUWM had communist connections, certainly several of the leaders were of that persuasion, although not exclusively so, and Joshua was not a communist himself. But its origins didn’t trouble him one bit, nor did he feel that it compromised his religion in any way. He believed in equality, that the working man should claim his rights and be given gainful employment. The union had developed from its impotent beginnings to a movement with power, and Joshua craved power. He believed the only way to stir the apathetic majority was for the vociferous few to force them into protest. Surely the end justified the means?

There were Hunger Marches being organised all over the country. One had consisted of more than two thousand people presenting a petition to the Prime Minister, demanding the abolition of the Means Test. Admittedly that had turned into a violent skirmish, with baton charges and injuries, but nothing was ever achieved without risk. There’d been fighting in Liverpool and Birkenhead, and here in Manchester too.

‘The word is that more significant protests are planned for the near future, so why shouldn’t we be a part of them? We might have to take up a collection to get leaflets and posters printed, but won’t it be worth investing a bit o’ brass in your own futures? Nothing was ever achieved without paying for it.’
 

And if a little money slipped in Joshua’s direction for all his efforts on their behalf, how would they know? They couldn’t achieve a thing without him, so why shouldn’t he benefit since he was undoubtedly the right one to lead them. Wasn’t that his rightful destiny?

While he cared passionately for the cause, he cared even more for his own ambitions. He was not meant to live out his life in obscurity, as an unemployed tackler in a mean street. He needed to make his mark, and this was his opportunity.

‘Do you want to depend on others to put clogs on your own children’s feet, and food in their bellies?’

‘No!’

‘Do you want to beg charity from the Board of Guardians? Have them poke their noses into every corner of your life?’
 

‘No!’

‘Or end up in the dungeon, as we call the workhouse round here, or even Tame Street Tramp Ward?’

‘No!’ Men were vociferous in their anger now so that Joshua had to raise his voice above the din. It was growing claustrophobic in the hall, and stuffy with the smell of poverty, making him feel almost nauseous as he battled on.

‘A married man with children who receives a war pension has to take those children twice a year to the police station to prove they’re still alive and dependent on him.
That’s
what you get for fighting for your country. And last week Percy Williams, our good friend and a great joker, had his relief cut so low he reached the end of his tether and was driven to hang himself with his own belt, leaving a wife and four children.
Is that what you want?
’

They’d heard enough. The meeting erupted into mayhem. There wasn’t a man amongst them who wouldn’t agree to follow Joshua now, and pay for the privilege, once details of the demonstration were known. He had achieved his objective.

The next morning, when Polly finally caught up with her husband as he strode up the ginnel on his way to the wharf, she told him she’d reclaimed the chair. She was so excited she looked like a young child given a new toy. Seeing her thus, Matthew almost backed down from his intransigent stance and gathered her into his arms. But then he remembered the loss of the rest of his household goods, including their beloved sideboard.

‘Does this mean that you’ve giving up this daft business idea of yours?

Instantly her heart dropped. ‘No, of course not. But don’t you see? I’ve made some money. It proves that it’s a good idea, that I can make it work, given time.’

‘It proves nowt, except that our Josh is right. You’re a stubborn Irish woman who won’t listen to anyone else’s point of view but your own.’

The mention of her interfering brother-in-law inflamed Polly’s temper once again. ‘And you’re not stubborn, I suppose? I’m thinking you listen too often to that daft brother o’ yours. Big Flo says you were out with him at a meeting, when you swore you’d stay away.’

‘Perhaps I see now that he was right and I was wrong. I believe every man has the right to employment in order to keep his family; that he has to stand up for his principles and what he believes in.’

‘And why not a woman? Why can’t a woman stand up for what she believes in?’

Matthew flushed dark red, annoyed at leaving himself open to this sort of attack, yet frustrated that his own wife couldn’t see the difference. ‘She shouldn’t do so at the expense of her husband’s . . .’

‘Pride? Is that what this is all about?’ She fought to restrain her rising temper. Polly hadn’t meant to quarrel with Matthew, had fully intended to use her feminine wiles and charm. Why were these always lacking when she needed them the most?

Her husband’s face was ashen as he answered, jaw set rigid, and that thin white line of anger that rode his upper lip had become a sadly familiar sight. ‘I’ve kept this family from the workhouse. I’ve begged the landlord to give us time to catch up on the rent, stood for hours, days, weeks, in pouring rain, in the hope of an hour’s work. Yet all I’ve managed to hold on to is the one thing we had left: our dignity. Now you’ve thrown that away. Let me tell you, Polly, I’ll not have it!’ As he turned to walk away she grabbed his arm.

‘
You’ll
not have it. What about
me
? How do you think
I
feel, queuing for hours for a pig’s trotter or a pair of mackerel to feed my children, then having to ask for them to be put on tick?’

Even as the words poured from her mouth, a small voice at the back of her head warned her to stop, that they shouldn’t be tearing each other apart over something that was not the fault of either of them. Matthew looked older and thinner, which she didn’t wonder at. He probably wasn’t eating properly, wary of being a burden on his mother and brother. But then, they’d all lost weight through these trying times, including Benny and Lucy who didn’t have any spare flesh to lose. Tears were raining down her cheeks now and she could do nothing to stop them.
 

‘What about my hungry children? You made me give up a perfectly good job, yet I must do something to feed them. While all you do is go to blasted meetings!’

A long chilling moment ticked by before he answered, and when he did his voice was calm and oddly distant. ‘Aye, and I’ll go again to the meetings, if I’ve a mind to, for the sake of my children’s future. Someone has to make the government sit up and listen. I don’t like this situation any more than you do, Polly, but I’ll not have you bring shame upon us because of some fancy notion in your head to get above yourself.’

‘It’s not that at all, you know it isn’t.’

‘I know nowt o’ t’sort. You didn’t even discuss it with me. But I’ll tell you this.’ He wagged a finger in Polly’s face. ‘I’d stay away for ever sooner than see that happen.’ And with those warning words he swung about and strode angrily up the back street, his clogs sparking on the cobbles.

Polly stood stunned for a whole thirty seconds. As if to echo the bleakness of her thoughts, the rain started to fall. It drenched her hair in seconds, ran down her neck and soaked her to the skin, yet she paid it no heed as she ran after him, slapping at his broad stiff back, snatching at his coat in her desperate efforts to stop him. Matthew tried to brush her off as if she were an annoying fly, to walk faster and ignore her, but she held on, splashing through the gathering puddles, calling his name and several other less salubrious ones.

She was out of breath when finally he stopped and turned to her, but her green eyes were blazing. ‘Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you, Matthew Pride. At least I’m doing something positive. I can’t just sit at home and watch my children starve!’

He could no longer tell which were tears and which rain, but he could see the love she held for him in every line of her beloved face, in the way she pressed her small lithe body to his, as if begging him to understand and gather her close. Yet stubbornly he stuck to his principles, hardened his heart, knowing that if he gave in now she’d go on with this dratted carpet business, destroying the last remnants of his dignity by proving him incapable of supporting his own family, and making him less of a man as a consequence.

‘You think I’ve failed you? Is that it?’ His voice was so bitter, so cold and hard, it cut to the heart of her.

Polly struggled to hold on to her patience and calm her breathing. This isn’t the way, a voice at the back of her head warned. Tell him you love him. Tell him how you need him, that you’ll give up the carpet stall and stand by him. Instead, she said, ‘You know damn well I don’t think that at all. By heck, but you can be a stubborn old coot when you’ve a mind.’

‘And you’re not, I suppose, with the fire in your hair and your dander up?’ His eyes were upon her, and she saw a hint of something even at the height of his fury - admiration perhaps, desire , an echo of what they had enjoyed together through the years - and her heart instantly softened, temper diminishing as quickly as it had risen.

‘Aw, Matt, ‘tis awful hard living in an empty house. Will you not come home? I’d love to see you sitting in your favourite chair again. I’ve set it by the fire in the kitchen, exactly as you like it.’

He stood gazing down at her, considering. ‘And our bed? Is that exactly where I like it?’

After a tellingly long moment, she gave a small shake of her head.

He pursued his point, as if needing to inflict yet more pain upon himself. ‘The table and chairs? Sofa and buffet? Everything we own? Have you got those things? And our sideboard?’ Matthew looked into her silent, pale face and this time, when he walked away, she let him go.

There were a number of localised demonstrations and protests against the Means Test in and around Manchester in the weeks following Joshua’s meeting. He and a loyal band of followers were usually present. One of the most serious was in Salford where Chapel Street was completely blocked by the marchers. Their attempt to reach the Town Hall, however, was prevented by police who charged upon the peaceful demonstrators with batons, whereupon the marchers retaliated and mayhem ensued.

‘We’ll not give in,’ Joshua assured his listeners. ‘Next month we walk to Albert Square. Thousands will take part and we’ll be amongst them.’ Why shouldn’t his own small band of men make their voices heard and take part in this historical event? He handed over his bowler hat, which he always wore to meetings, to be passed around while grim-faced men searched near empty pockets for a coin.

‘Aye, we’re with you, Joshua.’

‘Count us in.’

The swell of opinion and support was strong in the hall. They’d make an impression on stubborn bureaucracy this time, he was sure of it. When the hat was returned Joshua was well pleased with the collection. He and his mother would eat for another week. He would, of course, have to order leaflets and posters for this next, most important demonstration, but he’d squeeze a good price out of the printer. Couldn’t have one working man making too much profit out of his fellows. Unless it was himself, for all the extra work and effort he was putting in.

When the last of the stragglers had gone, Joshua and Matthew walked home together by way of the canal towpath.

‘You’ll come too, brother.’ Joshua issued the words as if they were an order. Then, with a wry smile that brought a flood of angry colour to Matthew’s neck, added, ‘If that wife of yours will allow it.’

Matthew couldn’t help but remember how he’d once agreed he would not, in any way, become involved in political conflict, and how Polly had reminded him of that fact. Then he thought of the shameful way she had showed him up in front of everyone. How she had sold all their goods and chattels on a whim and taken up life as a hawker without asking his permission, and even now refused to stop. All because he, a skilled man, was unable to find a job to support his family.

‘I’ll be there. I care as much as you about the plight of the unemployed. Why would I not?’

Joshua snorted with derision. ‘At least I am doing something positive about it. While you are so ineffectual you cannot even control your own wife. She behaves like a loose bobbin. You should pull in the thread more tightly, brother. Keep her in check.’

Matthew almost laughed at the very idea. ‘You try controlling Polly. She’s a wilful woman, with a powerful Irish temper.’