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Authors: Annie Murray
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‘Don’t cut yourself or there’ll be that to deal with as well. Take ’em down the yard. You’ll ’ave to do your business in the bucket from now on, the pair of yer.’
She went off, heavily, down the stairs. They heard her cursing over the broken tread.
Still rubbing her sore head Mercy gaped at Susan in bewilderment. Susan’s face broke into a broad, mischievous smile.
Chapter Six
May 1912
‘Come and see, Mom – Mr Pepper’s nearly finished it!’
Mabel Gaskin sat on a rickety chair outside number two, Nine Court, Angel Street, her face bullish with resentment. Susan’s joyous cry as she came rattling towards her along the yard only made her scowl more and pull her arms tight across her pendulous bosom.
Susan’s face was alight with hope and laughter as Mercy hurtled along with her, squeezed into the go-kart belonging to the twins, Johnny and Tom Pepper, from number one. Susan was clinging to the sides of the ancient black pram from which it was made, her wasted legs and feet flapping up and down over the end.
‘I ain’t shifting nowhere,’ Mabel snarled.
Her eyes met Mercy’s for a second over Susan’s shoulder. The girl’s hair was a tumbling skein of gold after last night’s dunking in the tin bath, and there was so much of it it almost seemed to overwhelm her delicate face. Her prettiness was marred though, by harsh mauve bruising round her left cheekbone, and the expression of loathing in her narrowed eyes directed at Mabel could have melted lead. Mabel glowered back. Every time she looked at that kid nowadays she longed to batter her. And that was often what she did.
‘’Ere—’ Alf Pepper called. He was a huge bloke, a Black Countryman with a ruddy, bashed up face from boxing and the nickname ‘Bummy’ on account of his low slung trousers. ‘I’m gunna need them wheels off o’ there in a minute.’
Eyes smouldering with triumph, Mercy struggled to turn the go-kart and, leaning all her weight on it, rattled back along the blue-brick yard to where a gaggle of the neighbours was gathered round Alf who was building Susan the first wheelchair she had ever had.
Susan turned her head for a moment, eyes pleading, but Mabel stuck her nose in the air and looked away. She wasn’t going to stay out here to be shamed any longer. She got up and carried the chair indoors in as stately a manner as possible and slammed the door.
‘Old misery,’ Elsie Pepper said, bending to pick up little Rosalie who was ‘momming’ at her skirts. She was a sturdy-looking woman, dressed in her usual attire: a long, rough skirt with a blouse tucked in. Her thick auburn hair was usually taken up under a man’s cap when she was working, which was nearly always, but she’d left it off today. ‘There’s summat wrong with ’er, that there is. That child’s right enough given a bit of kindness.’
Elsie was in her mid-forties, had given birth to nine children, eight surviving, and believed implicitly in hard work and family life. She was blessed with more energy than the average person, had a sound idea of how to feed a big family well on Bummy’s modest but regular wages as a chippy and, to make means stretch further, took in washing. She always had a house full of it.
There were several things which made Elsie’s blood boil and these were dishonesty, men with no sense of responsibility, and cruelty, especially to children.
Cruelty was what she saw in Mabel Gaskin, and Elsie had made it her business, as she did frequently for folk in need, to look out for Mercy and Susan and take them under her wing.
Inside the house Mabel climbed the rotting stairs shaking with rage and humiliation. Going to the girls’ room she stood back from the window, peering out at the far end of the yard which was buttressed by the high wall of the wire factory.
They were all out there, laughing and carrying on, all against her as usual. Most of all she loathed the Pepper family with all their kids and their
She went off, heavily, down the stairs. They heard her cursing over the broken tread.
Still rubbing her sore head Mercy gaped at Susan in bewilderment. Susan’s face broke into a broad, mischievous smile.
Chapter Six
May 1912
‘Come and see, Mom – Mr Pepper’s nearly finished it!’
Mabel Gaskin sat on a rickety chair outside number two, Nine Court, Angel Street, her face bullish with resentment. Susan’s joyous cry as she came rattling towards her along the yard only made her scowl more and pull her arms tight across her pendulous bosom.
Susan’s face was alight with hope and laughter as Mercy hurtled along with her, squeezed into the go-kart belonging to the twins, Johnny and Tom Pepper, from number one. Susan was clinging to the sides of the ancient black pram from which it was made, her wasted legs and feet flapping up and down over the end.
‘I ain’t shifting nowhere,’ Mabel snarled.
Her eyes met Mercy’s for a second over Susan’s shoulder. The girl’s hair was a tumbling skein of gold after last night’s dunking in the tin bath, and there was so much of it it almost seemed to overwhelm her delicate face. Her prettiness was marred though, by harsh mauve bruising round her left cheekbone, and the expression of loathing in her narrowed eyes directed at Mabel could have melted lead. Mabel glowered back. Every time she looked at that kid nowadays she longed to batter her. And that was often what she did.
‘’Ere—’ Alf Pepper called. He was a huge bloke, a Black Countryman with a ruddy, bashed up face from boxing and the nickname ‘Bummy’ on account of his low slung trousers. ‘I’m gunna need them wheels off o’ there in a minute.’
Eyes smouldering with triumph, Mercy struggled to turn the go-kart and, leaning all her weight on it, rattled back along the blue-brick yard to where a gaggle of the neighbours was gathered round Alf who was building Susan the first wheelchair she had ever had.
Susan turned her head for a moment, eyes pleading, but Mabel stuck her nose in the air and looked away. She wasn’t going to stay out here to be shamed any longer. She got up and carried the chair indoors in as stately a manner as possible and slammed the door.
‘Old misery,’ Elsie Pepper said, bending to pick up little Rosalie who was ‘momming’ at her skirts. She was a sturdy-looking woman, dressed in her usual attire: a long, rough skirt with a blouse tucked in. Her thick auburn hair was usually taken up under a man’s cap when she was working, which was nearly always, but she’d left it off today. ‘There’s summat wrong with ’er, that there is. That child’s right enough given a bit of kindness.’
Elsie was in her mid-forties, had given birth to nine children, eight surviving, and believed implicitly in hard work and family life. She was blessed with more energy than the average person, had a sound idea of how to feed a big family well on Bummy’s modest but regular wages as a chippy and, to make means stretch further, took in washing. She always had a house full of it.
There were several things which made Elsie’s blood boil and these were dishonesty, men with no sense of responsibility, and cruelty, especially to children.
Cruelty was what she saw in Mabel Gaskin, and Elsie had made it her business, as she did frequently for folk in need, to look out for Mercy and Susan and take them under her wing.
Inside the house Mabel climbed the rotting stairs shaking with rage and humiliation. Going to the girls’ room she stood back from the window, peering out at the far end of the yard which was buttressed by the high wall of the wire factory.
They were all out there, laughing and carrying on, all against her as usual. Most of all she loathed the Pepper family with all their kids and their
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