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Authors: Harry Bowling
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’ope.’
Later that morning heavy mechanical diggers and noisy tracked vehicles roared into Page Street. Maisie hurried over to Florrie to find the old lady standing at her front door.
‘Well, there’s the start o’ yer monastery,’ Florrie said sarcastically.
Maisie winced. Ever since the day she carried the false story to Florrie she had been reminded constantly not to be taken in by people. Fred, too, had been quick to give his gullible wife the edge of his tongue. ‘Bloody monastery?’ he shouted. ‘Yer gotta be dafter than ’e is ter believe ’im in the first place. I’ope yer ain’t bin spreadin’ the news about. If ole Florrie an’ Sadie get ’old o’ this they’ll bloody crucify yer fer the silly cow you are.’
Maisie had felt sick. She had been to tell Florrie and Sadie the news before she went home. ‘I’m gonna go round the council an’ see about this,’ she had raved to them.
Florrie had been convinced that her old friend had been duped and she said as much to Sadie after Maisie had left. ‘Let’er go if she wants to, but I ain’t gettin’ involved. Besides, me legs won’t stand up ter that bleedin’ walk.’
Sadie had never been one to pass up a fight, even if it was the borough council, but she had to admit the whole thing sounded fishy. ‘Where did Maisie get the information?’ she asked.
‘Well, yer know what she’s like,’ Florrie said, reaching for her silver snuffbox. ‘She felt sorry for the ole nightwatchman an’ she took ’im over a mug o’ tea. It was ’im what told ’er. The scatty ole sod was ’avin’ a game wiv ’er. The trouble wiv Maisie is yer can tell ’er anyfing an’ she’ll believe it.’
As she stood at Florrie’s front door and watched the activity taking place at the yard, Maisie thanked her lucky stars that her husband Fred had dissuaded her from making a fool of herself at the council offices.
It was not long before Maudie Mycroft came by. She was carrying a shopping bag and looking more worried than usual.
‘Can yer see what’s goin’ on?’ she said, putting her bag down and leaning against the wall for support.
‘I might be bad on me legs, Maud, but I ain’t blind,’ Florrie replied sharply.
Normally the timid Maudie would have retired into her shell at Florrie’s sarcastic reply but on this occasion she moved nearer her and whispered, ‘They’re buildin’ a shelter.’
‘Who told yer?’ Maisie asked.
‘My younger sister’s ’usband’s workin’ on it. ’E’s a foreman, so ’e should know,’ Maudie said with satisfaction.
‘I knew it all along,’ Florrie declared, taking a pinch of snuff. ‘What did I say? Didn’t I say it was gonna be a shelter?’
Maudie picked up her shopping bag. ‘Well, I best be orf’ome,’ she announced. ‘My ’Arold ain’t none too good.’
Maisie left soon after and Florrie went into her parlour and threw a small knob of coal onto the fire, although the day was mild. Standing at the front door had become tiresome lately, she sighed, and there were things to do. She sat down in the fireside chair and reached for a tin box at her elbow. From the bottom of a pile of old photographs and dog-eared papers she removed a large green document and put the rest of the bits and pieces back in the box. With a groan she stood up and placed the document against the side of the mantelshelf clock. For a moment or two she stood staring down at the smoking coals, then she reached up to the mantelshelf again for her purse and took out a florin which she slipped into her apron pocket. ‘I mustn’t ferget,’ she said aloud as she settled herself down in the chair once more.
On Friday Carrie held a meeting with her four carmen and told them that she intended to replace the horses with two new lorries. The news was greeted with a stony silence at first and then Paddy Byrne cleared his throat.
‘Well,
Later that morning heavy mechanical diggers and noisy tracked vehicles roared into Page Street. Maisie hurried over to Florrie to find the old lady standing at her front door.
‘Well, there’s the start o’ yer monastery,’ Florrie said sarcastically.
Maisie winced. Ever since the day she carried the false story to Florrie she had been reminded constantly not to be taken in by people. Fred, too, had been quick to give his gullible wife the edge of his tongue. ‘Bloody monastery?’ he shouted. ‘Yer gotta be dafter than ’e is ter believe ’im in the first place. I’ope yer ain’t bin spreadin’ the news about. If ole Florrie an’ Sadie get ’old o’ this they’ll bloody crucify yer fer the silly cow you are.’
Maisie had felt sick. She had been to tell Florrie and Sadie the news before she went home. ‘I’m gonna go round the council an’ see about this,’ she had raved to them.
Florrie had been convinced that her old friend had been duped and she said as much to Sadie after Maisie had left. ‘Let’er go if she wants to, but I ain’t gettin’ involved. Besides, me legs won’t stand up ter that bleedin’ walk.’
Sadie had never been one to pass up a fight, even if it was the borough council, but she had to admit the whole thing sounded fishy. ‘Where did Maisie get the information?’ she asked.
‘Well, yer know what she’s like,’ Florrie said, reaching for her silver snuffbox. ‘She felt sorry for the ole nightwatchman an’ she took ’im over a mug o’ tea. It was ’im what told ’er. The scatty ole sod was ’avin’ a game wiv ’er. The trouble wiv Maisie is yer can tell ’er anyfing an’ she’ll believe it.’
As she stood at Florrie’s front door and watched the activity taking place at the yard, Maisie thanked her lucky stars that her husband Fred had dissuaded her from making a fool of herself at the council offices.
It was not long before Maudie Mycroft came by. She was carrying a shopping bag and looking more worried than usual.
‘Can yer see what’s goin’ on?’ she said, putting her bag down and leaning against the wall for support.
‘I might be bad on me legs, Maud, but I ain’t blind,’ Florrie replied sharply.
Normally the timid Maudie would have retired into her shell at Florrie’s sarcastic reply but on this occasion she moved nearer her and whispered, ‘They’re buildin’ a shelter.’
‘Who told yer?’ Maisie asked.
‘My younger sister’s ’usband’s workin’ on it. ’E’s a foreman, so ’e should know,’ Maudie said with satisfaction.
‘I knew it all along,’ Florrie declared, taking a pinch of snuff. ‘What did I say? Didn’t I say it was gonna be a shelter?’
Maudie picked up her shopping bag. ‘Well, I best be orf’ome,’ she announced. ‘My ’Arold ain’t none too good.’
Maisie left soon after and Florrie went into her parlour and threw a small knob of coal onto the fire, although the day was mild. Standing at the front door had become tiresome lately, she sighed, and there were things to do. She sat down in the fireside chair and reached for a tin box at her elbow. From the bottom of a pile of old photographs and dog-eared papers she removed a large green document and put the rest of the bits and pieces back in the box. With a groan she stood up and placed the document against the side of the mantelshelf clock. For a moment or two she stood staring down at the smoking coals, then she reached up to the mantelshelf again for her purse and took out a florin which she slipped into her apron pocket. ‘I mustn’t ferget,’ she said aloud as she settled herself down in the chair once more.
On Friday Carrie held a meeting with her four carmen and told them that she intended to replace the horses with two new lorries. The news was greeted with a stony silence at first and then Paddy Byrne cleared his throat.
‘Well,
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