Read Online The Bells of Scotland Road by Ruth Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Hamilton
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houses. That’s why there’s a lot of rooms. Me mam says Mr Bell’s minted. Anyway,
that’s a storeroom and that’s another storeroom.’
‘What’s minted?’ asked Cathy.
‘Got a lot of money. No rent book. He bought this place outright. He’s got millions of stuff, millions and millions. There’s these bedrooms packed to the ceiling, things in the
roof,’ she pointed to a trapdoor above her head, ‘a storeroom in the back yard, one next to the kitchen and another under the stairs. Some people pawn things, and some people sell them
to Mr Bell.’
‘What’s pawn?’
Tildy sighed in the face of such stupidity. ‘On a Monday when there’s no money, you take stuff to the pawnshop – clothes and boots and wedding rings. Then, on a Friday when you
get paid, you redeem the things. Don’t ask me what redeem is – it’s a word for getting your clothes back.’
Cathy pondered for a moment. This girl was very, very quick-mouthed. It might be best not to mention that the nuns at home talked about redeeming souls by the grace of the Holy Ghost. It was all
very bewildering, but she did not wish to appear stupid, so she bit back a comment about the pledging of an individual’s inner spirit.
They creaked their way downstairs and into the shop. Tildy had been right – the shop did have electric light. Cathy wondered briefly about this miracle, spent a few seconds clicking the
power on and off. Then, finding herself in an Aladdin’s cave, she followed Tildy round Sam Bell’s kingdom. There were bicycles and bicycle lamps that worked when the pedals turned.
There was a wigwam, a box of lead soldiers, a set of drums and a box of football rattles.
‘This is the music department,’ Tildy pointed to a dusty corner. ‘That’s a cornet, trumpet, mandolin, guitar, zither.’ She stabbed a bitten, black-rimmed fingernail
at the exhibits. ‘He’d have pianos, only they won’t come through the door. He had bagpipes once and our Cozzer borrowed them. Sounded like a load of cats getting
tortured.’
Cathy wandered about looking at rugs, tin baths, bedsteads, chamber pots, butter dishes, hair clippers, gramophones, stock pots and fish kettles. At the front of the shop there was a huge window
filled with all kinds of booty from sewing machines to cricket bats.
Tildy joined Cathy at the window. ‘That’s Scotland Road out there.’ There was a kind of pride in her tone. ‘The other window on the side looks out at Penrhyn Street. He
keeps smaller things on show there, and new buckets and all that. The stuff with tickets stuck on,’ she swept a hand around the shelf-filled walls, ‘they’re all pledges and
they’re kept away from the rest. Nobody can buy them while there’s a ticket stuck on. But when your ticket runs out, he can sell your pledge.’
Cathy nodded thoughtfully. ‘If you have no money when the Friday comes.’
Tildy grinned. At last, her attempt to educate Cathy seemed to be paying off. ‘The dockers’ll be walking past in a minute. They work on the ships, loading and unloading. Me
dad’s a docker. It’s Friday, so this shop’ll be busy tonight when people start picking their pledges up. They’ll want their best suits and shoes for mass on Sunday. Mr
Mellor’s teeth’ll be under the counter somewhere. He only has teeth at weekends.’
Cathy’s stomach rolled cavernously as she thought about the poor, toothless Mr Mellor. ‘I’m starving,’ she decided. ‘The boat made me feel so sick, I thought
I’d never be hungry again. But I am.’ As if underlining her words, Cathy’s stomach rolled again magnificently.
Tildy knew all about hunger, though she had seldom appreciated it first hand. ‘Come round to ours,’ she said. ‘Me mam’ll have the porridge ready.’
The younger girl hesitated. ‘What about Mammy? She won’t know where I’ve gone.’
‘Don’t be worrying. Your mam’ll still be in bed.’
‘Where? There was no bed for her in our room.’ At
that’s a storeroom and that’s another storeroom.’
‘What’s minted?’ asked Cathy.
‘Got a lot of money. No rent book. He bought this place outright. He’s got millions of stuff, millions and millions. There’s these bedrooms packed to the ceiling, things in the
roof,’ she pointed to a trapdoor above her head, ‘a storeroom in the back yard, one next to the kitchen and another under the stairs. Some people pawn things, and some people sell them
to Mr Bell.’
‘What’s pawn?’
Tildy sighed in the face of such stupidity. ‘On a Monday when there’s no money, you take stuff to the pawnshop – clothes and boots and wedding rings. Then, on a Friday when you
get paid, you redeem the things. Don’t ask me what redeem is – it’s a word for getting your clothes back.’
Cathy pondered for a moment. This girl was very, very quick-mouthed. It might be best not to mention that the nuns at home talked about redeeming souls by the grace of the Holy Ghost. It was all
very bewildering, but she did not wish to appear stupid, so she bit back a comment about the pledging of an individual’s inner spirit.
They creaked their way downstairs and into the shop. Tildy had been right – the shop did have electric light. Cathy wondered briefly about this miracle, spent a few seconds clicking the
power on and off. Then, finding herself in an Aladdin’s cave, she followed Tildy round Sam Bell’s kingdom. There were bicycles and bicycle lamps that worked when the pedals turned.
There was a wigwam, a box of lead soldiers, a set of drums and a box of football rattles.
‘This is the music department,’ Tildy pointed to a dusty corner. ‘That’s a cornet, trumpet, mandolin, guitar, zither.’ She stabbed a bitten, black-rimmed fingernail
at the exhibits. ‘He’d have pianos, only they won’t come through the door. He had bagpipes once and our Cozzer borrowed them. Sounded like a load of cats getting
tortured.’
Cathy wandered about looking at rugs, tin baths, bedsteads, chamber pots, butter dishes, hair clippers, gramophones, stock pots and fish kettles. At the front of the shop there was a huge window
filled with all kinds of booty from sewing machines to cricket bats.
Tildy joined Cathy at the window. ‘That’s Scotland Road out there.’ There was a kind of pride in her tone. ‘The other window on the side looks out at Penrhyn Street. He
keeps smaller things on show there, and new buckets and all that. The stuff with tickets stuck on,’ she swept a hand around the shelf-filled walls, ‘they’re all pledges and
they’re kept away from the rest. Nobody can buy them while there’s a ticket stuck on. But when your ticket runs out, he can sell your pledge.’
Cathy nodded thoughtfully. ‘If you have no money when the Friday comes.’
Tildy grinned. At last, her attempt to educate Cathy seemed to be paying off. ‘The dockers’ll be walking past in a minute. They work on the ships, loading and unloading. Me
dad’s a docker. It’s Friday, so this shop’ll be busy tonight when people start picking their pledges up. They’ll want their best suits and shoes for mass on Sunday. Mr
Mellor’s teeth’ll be under the counter somewhere. He only has teeth at weekends.’
Cathy’s stomach rolled cavernously as she thought about the poor, toothless Mr Mellor. ‘I’m starving,’ she decided. ‘The boat made me feel so sick, I thought
I’d never be hungry again. But I am.’ As if underlining her words, Cathy’s stomach rolled again magnificently.
Tildy knew all about hunger, though she had seldom appreciated it first hand. ‘Come round to ours,’ she said. ‘Me mam’ll have the porridge ready.’
The younger girl hesitated. ‘What about Mammy? She won’t know where I’ve gone.’
‘Don’t be worrying. Your mam’ll still be in bed.’
‘Where? There was no bed for her in our room.’ At
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