read:
Cllr Wallace Jones with the volunteers of the Upper Wharf Street kitchen .
I hurried on to the next volume and discovered Mrs Raike’s activities reported on the front page for the first time. The same photograph had been reproduced next to an article headlined: WHARF STREET SOUP KITCHEN CONTROVERSY RAGES
A petition is calling on the city council to toughen its stance on the Upper Wharf Street soup kitchen. The association of grocers and food retailers has been leading calls for tax exemptions from which the charity benefits to be withdrawn, claiming the businesses of hard-working people were being damaged.
“There’s thousands being fed at Upper Wharf Street,” claimed Gerald Hackworth, association chairman. “Before the kitchen opened , they had money for vi ttles. Now, that money is spent on alcohol and horses.”
At the time of going to press 1700 citizens had added their names to the petition. “There are hundreds asking to sign,” Hac kworth claimed. “The City C ouncil will ignore us at its peril. ”
Another complaint against the soup kitchen is that it is taking women away from their work in the home. “They’re out of their element,” claime d one association member. “W omen can’t understand the damage they are doing because t hey don’t know business.”
I examined the photograph again. The image was less smudged in this reproduction. The caption read:
Cllr Wallace Jones (centre) and the Upper Wharf Street organising committee
A man stood on the councillor’s right hand side, a woman on the left. The woman was too close to him to be anything but a family member – a sister perhaps, or his wife. I judged them to be in their twenties.
A week later and the Herald was reporting that the petition, now numbering 2800 signatures had been delivered to City Hall.
After that there was nothing.
I moved to the next volume – August–-September 1996. I had my eye in now and it took only fifteen minutes to skim through. October–-December was similarly devoid of mention of the soup kitchen.
I had to work through all of 1997 and half of 1998 before I found what I was looking for.
MINISTER OF PRISONS PRAISES DERBY WOMEN
The work of Mrs Raike ’s girls, an organisation of local women, was recognised last week by Gordon Carlson. On his visit to the city, the Minister for prisons met Mrs Raike and some of her volunteers in their offices on Upper Wharf Street.
There was no photograph and little of substance in the report. But after a year and a half of obscurity, the organisation had re-emerged, and now in its familiar form.
Articles followed in train after that. Hardly a month went by without some new endorsement or report. There were occasional letters of complaint. Gerald Hackworth wrote in from time to time. Always there was a swift response, well- reasoned and amicable, in contrast to the attacks.
And there were photographs – Mrs Raike flanked by the great and the good standing at a distance from the camera. Eleven years had made no alteration to her appearance. She wore the same austere outfit that I had seen in Abbey Park, the same hat and veil. Nowhere was there a photograph of Councillor Wallace Jones and Mrs Raike together. Indeed, the articles did not mention him again.
I closed the last volume and tucked my pencil and notepaper into my sleeve. When I poked my head from the door, the young librarian jumped up from his chair and was at my side in three long strides. I wondered if he had been watching all the while.
“I’ll be leaving now,” I said.
He walked me back to the main entrance, the click of our shoes echoing from the veined marble walls. Of Dr Bowers there was no sign.
I thanked him as he held the door for me. And then, as an afterthought, I asked: “Whatever happened to Cllr Wallace Jones?”
“Something has happened to him?”
“I was reading about him. But that was twelve years ago. Is he still alive?”
The librarian began to laugh, as if I’d made
Cllr Wallace Jones with the volunteers of the Upper Wharf Street kitchen .
I hurried on to the next volume and discovered Mrs Raike’s activities reported on the front page for the first time. The same photograph had been reproduced next to an article headlined: WHARF STREET SOUP KITCHEN CONTROVERSY RAGES
A petition is calling on the city council to toughen its stance on the Upper Wharf Street soup kitchen. The association of grocers and food retailers has been leading calls for tax exemptions from which the charity benefits to be withdrawn, claiming the businesses of hard-working people were being damaged.
“There’s thousands being fed at Upper Wharf Street,” claimed Gerald Hackworth, association chairman. “Before the kitchen opened , they had money for vi ttles. Now, that money is spent on alcohol and horses.”
At the time of going to press 1700 citizens had added their names to the petition. “There are hundreds asking to sign,” Hac kworth claimed. “The City C ouncil will ignore us at its peril. ”
Another complaint against the soup kitchen is that it is taking women away from their work in the home. “They’re out of their element,” claime d one association member. “W omen can’t understand the damage they are doing because t hey don’t know business.”
I examined the photograph again. The image was less smudged in this reproduction. The caption read:
Cllr Wallace Jones (centre) and the Upper Wharf Street organising committee
A man stood on the councillor’s right hand side, a woman on the left. The woman was too close to him to be anything but a family member – a sister perhaps, or his wife. I judged them to be in their twenties.
A week later and the Herald was reporting that the petition, now numbering 2800 signatures had been delivered to City Hall.
After that there was nothing.
I moved to the next volume – August–-September 1996. I had my eye in now and it took only fifteen minutes to skim through. October–-December was similarly devoid of mention of the soup kitchen.
I had to work through all of 1997 and half of 1998 before I found what I was looking for.
MINISTER OF PRISONS PRAISES DERBY WOMEN
The work of Mrs Raike ’s girls, an organisation of local women, was recognised last week by Gordon Carlson. On his visit to the city, the Minister for prisons met Mrs Raike and some of her volunteers in their offices on Upper Wharf Street.
There was no photograph and little of substance in the report. But after a year and a half of obscurity, the organisation had re-emerged, and now in its familiar form.
Articles followed in train after that. Hardly a month went by without some new endorsement or report. There were occasional letters of complaint. Gerald Hackworth wrote in from time to time. Always there was a swift response, well- reasoned and amicable, in contrast to the attacks.
And there were photographs – Mrs Raike flanked by the great and the good standing at a distance from the camera. Eleven years had made no alteration to her appearance. She wore the same austere outfit that I had seen in Abbey Park, the same hat and veil. Nowhere was there a photograph of Councillor Wallace Jones and Mrs Raike together. Indeed, the articles did not mention him again.
I closed the last volume and tucked my pencil and notepaper into my sleeve. When I poked my head from the door, the young librarian jumped up from his chair and was at my side in three long strides. I wondered if he had been watching all the while.
“I’ll be leaving now,” I said.
He walked me back to the main entrance, the click of our shoes echoing from the veined marble walls. Of Dr Bowers there was no sign.
I thanked him as he held the door for me. And then, as an afterthought, I asked: “Whatever happened to Cllr Wallace Jones?”
“Something has happened to him?”
“I was reading about him. But that was twelve years ago. Is he still alive?”
The librarian began to laugh, as if I’d made
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