Read Online The Sunday Girls by Maureen Reynolds - Free Book Online

crowd ran round the horses and the police wagons. The sound of the horses’ hooves against the pavement was terrifying but, above this noise, the shouts of neighbourly comradeship could be heard being hurled down towards the heads of the protesters and these grew louder and angrier whenever they could see demonstrators being herded into the police wagon and taken in to custody.
    ‘What a bloody noise you bobbies are making. No’ to mention your snorting horses,’ shouted one elderly woman whose thin wrinkled face was minus any teeth. She shook a blue-veined feeble arm into the air. ‘But never you mind, lads – just give them hell.’
    From our vantage point on the edge of the riot we were unable to see if Dad or any of our neighbours were involved and it looked as if we would have to run the gauntlet of the fighting mob. I was scared – not for myself but for Danny because the policemen seemed to be collaring all the young men, regardless of the fact that many of them had been minding their own business and had merely been caught up by accident.
    Frightened, howling young children were frantically holding on to their parents but the older braver ones were throwing stones at the horses. They then darted away like thin wraiths into the warren of tenements.
    ‘We’re never going to get past that crowd,’ I shouted to Danny. ‘Maybe I’ll be better on my own.’
    He shook his head. ‘Granny will skin me alive if I leave you here. No, we’ll take a shortcut.’
    He grabbed my hand and we raced along Dudhope Street. When we reached Dallfield Walk, we skirted around the many washing lines in the back courts to emerge at Shepherd’s Pend. This detour brought us out at the Progress Hall and above the riot. The noise was still as deafening but at least our way wasn’t obstructed by shying horses and irate bobbies.
    Just a few steps from our close, we were appalled to see a human bundle lying against the wall. With a feeling of fright and apprehension, we lifted the coat lapel which was obscuring the face.
    ‘Oh, it’s old Mrs Dodds and she’s been hit on the head.’ I pointed to a two-inch gash above her eye. ‘She must have been injured in the riot.’
    She lived a few yards from us on the Hilltown and Danny picked her up in an effortless manner while I put an arm around her waist. Fortunately she was a small wiry-framed woman so it wasn’t too difficult to make our way slowly towards her house.
    Suddenly Rita appeared and I was so grateful to see her. I ran ahead, leaving Danny with the injured woman. I almost bowled them over in my haste.
    ‘We found her lying on the street and we think she’s been hit in the riot.’
    Rita summed up the situation. ‘Better bring her up to my house and we’ll have a look at her.’
    We slowly made our way up the stairs but before we reached the flat, the old woman groaned and Danny lowered her on to the shabby linoleum-covered lobby. She groaned again, her eyes trying to focus on her small audience.
    As Rita knelt down beside her, a loud bellow erupted from the direction of her flat, accompanied by the piercing cries of a child. The man bellowed again. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rita, will you come in and see to this child or we’ll all be deafened.’
    She ignored this summons and inspected the woman’s cut. ‘Oh, it’s just a wee graze you have there, Mrs Dodds. How did it happen? Did you get mixed up in the riot?’
    Mrs Dodds looked at her with a puzzled frown. ‘No, no, lass, I was in the snug bar of the Windmill Bar and I think I had too much stout to drink.’ She laughed feebly, showing a row of discoloured teeth. ‘What riot are you talking about?’
    Rita sounded incredulous. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know about the fighting at the foot of the street? The noise alone would waken the dead, never mind the living for that matter.’ She pointed behind her where husband and son were now competing for the highest decibel prize. ‘Oh, I expect I’d