The Pride of Polly Perkins

by Joan Jonker

Genres: Family Life; Siblings; Friendship; World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

When tragedy strikes a family, their lives are never the same again... The Pride of Polly Perkins is a captivating saga of a warm Liverpudlian family hit by illness, and a nostalgic look back at the communities of yesteryear, from much-loved author Joan Jonker. Perfect for fans of Cathy Sharp and Katie Flynn. At the age of fourteen, happy-go-lucky Polly Perkins faces untold sadness when her beloved father is diagnosed with tuberculosis. As Tommy's stay in hospital turns from weeks into months, Polly's mother, Ada, becomes increasingly anxious as to how she will make ends meet. In an attempt to help out, Polly takes a job as a flowerseller, and when she sells a buttonhole to Charles Denholme, a member of the Liverpool gentry, she sets in motion a chain of events that changes her life forever... What readers are saying about The Pride of Polly Perkins : 'Joan Jonker is the best writer of good, old-fashioned story telling ' 'This has to be one of the best books I have ever read. It brings out a mixture of emotions all in one book: tears, joy and above all laughter. I could not put it down. I would recommend it to anyone'

Release date: March 29, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 416

Sample

It was dark in the narrow street of two-up two-down houses, and the howling wind blowing in from the Mersey was bitterly cold. It wasn’t a night to venture out if you didn’t have to, and most people were sat huddled around their grates to keep warm. There wasn’t a soul in sight except for two young girls playing swings on the gas lamp, which shed an eerie glow on the two slight figures. Polly Perkins and her friend Doreen Ashcroft had thrown a length of thick rope over one of the two arms of the gas lamp and were taking it in turns to swing around the iron post.

‘Ay, Polly Perkins, I can count, yer know! That’s ten swings yer’ve had an’ we said six each. So come on, let’s be havin’ yer, it’s my turn now.’ Doreen bent down to pull up the thick black socks lying in folds like a concertina around her ankles. ‘Me mam will be callin’ me in for bed soon.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Polly bent her legs back and scraped her shoes along the ground to slow down her speed. ‘You be quick havin’ your turn, then I’ll climb up an’ get the rope down before me dad comes in from work. If I’ve scuffed me shoes I’ll get me ears boxed, ’cos they’re the only pair I’ve got an’ me mam said she can’t afford to buy me new ones.’

This remark gave Doreen food for thought. Her father had put new soles on her shoes last week and had warned her about playing rough games or sliding down the railway embankment. If he knew she was using them as a brake she’d get more than a clip around the ears. She wiped the sleeve of her coat across her running nose before rubbing her arms briskly to warm herself up. The thin coat she was wearing was no barrier against the strong wind and she was frozen to the marrow.

‘I’m not ’alf cold, Polly, so I think I’ll skip my turn an’ have an extra one temorrer.’

‘Please yerself.’ With the agility of a monkey, Polly climbed up the post to release the knot in the rope. She was eleven years old, slight of build and a real tomboy who was far happier playing cowboys and Indians or football with the lads in the street than cissie games like skipping or hopscotch. ‘Come down the entry with us, Doreen, while I throw this rope into next door’s yard. If me mam sees me with it I’ll get a thick lip.’

Just then a door on the opposite side of the street opened and a voice yelled, ‘Doreen, get yerself in here, quick, before I belt yer one.’ The tone of her mother’s voice warned Doreen that it was woe betide her if she didn’t obey.

‘Comin’, Mam!’ She took to her heels, calling over her shoulder, ‘I’ll knock for yer in the mornin’ for school.’

Polly eyed the rope in her hands. She didn’t fancy going into the dark entry on her own, but if she took the rope home her mam would take it off her and she’d never see it again. Neither would the boy next door, Steve Mitchell, and he’d only lent it to her. She wasn’t going to let Steve down ’cos he was a good mate to her. When the lads were having a game of football, or marbles, they always told her to scram because they didn’t want to play with a girl. But Steve always stuck up for her, and as he was a big, strong lad for a twelve-year-old, the others all gave in and let her play.

Polly ran as though her life depended on it. With wings on her heels she was down the entry in a flash, had flung the rope over the high yard wall and within seconds was back outside her own front door banging hard on the brass knocker her mam polished every day.

Ada Perkins shook her head when she saw her daughter standing on the step. ‘It’s a wonder yer don’t catch yer death of cold playin’ out in this weather. Yer want yer bumps feelin’, yer know that, don’t yer? I bet there’s no one else out, they’ve all got more sense.’

‘I’ve been playing with Doreen.’ Polly smiled at her four-year-old brother, Joey. He was sitting at the table playing with coloured bricks, his nose running as usual. ‘What yer buildin’, Joey?’

‘An ’ouse,’ Joey said with pride. ‘One with a chimney pot.’

‘I’ll help yer.’ Polly pulled one of the wooden chairs close. She idolised her brother and acted as his guardian when he was playing in the street. Every kid in the neighbourhood knew that to upset Joey was asking for trouble. ‘What colour shall we make the roof, Joey? Red or brown?’

Joey laid his arms flat on the table and rested his head on them. ‘You build it, our Polly.’ His blue eyes twinkled. ‘An’ when yer’ve finished it, I can knock it down.’

‘Yer a little tinker, our Joey.’ Polly laughed. ‘I’ve a good mind not to play with yer.’

Ada was sitting by the fire darning a hole in the heel of one of her husband’s working socks. It was a darn on top of a darn and she knew it was a waste of time because there was none of the original heel left to weave on to. But new socks cost money, which they didn’t have, so there was no use complaining. She looked up from her task and studied her two children. They were as different in looks as chalk and cheese. Polly had her colouring – jet black curly hair and deep brown eyes, while Joey favoured his dad, with fair hair and blue eyes. And their natures were different, too. Polly was adventurous, outgoing, and as stubborn as a mule, while Joey was quiet, shy and would do anything for an easy life. Ada sighed as she lowered her head. She knew she’d never have to worry about Polly; her daughter would find her own way in life. With her pretty face, smiling eyes and deep dimples, she could charm the birds off a tree. And she wasn’t backward in coming forward, either! If she thought she was in the right she’d argue till she was blue in the face, and as for being a chatterbox, she could talk the hind legs off a donkey. But Joey was different and Ada feared for him. He’d always been a sickly child, never without a cold, even in the summer, and he was always listless as though he had no energy. But he was five in the summer and Ada was hoping that when he started school it would bring him out more. He’d have to learn to stick up for himself then because Polly wouldn’t be around to fight his battles for him.

‘Mam, look at this!’ Polly had tight hold of Joey’s hands so he couldn’t undo her handiwork. ‘How would yer like to live in a house with a red roof, a blue chimney and green windows?’

Ada smiled. She was thirty-three years of age and a fine-looking woman with a warm, passionate nature. There were no strands of grey in her dark, luxuriant hair, her complexion was clear and she had a slim figure with curves in the right places. ‘Make it a hundred times bigger, stick it in a field away from all the smokin’ chimneys an’ rotten middens, an’ I’ll buy it off yer.’ She heard a key turn in the lock and quickly put her darning on the floor at the side of her chair. ‘Here’s yer dad, clear the table.’

Joey didn’t need telling twice. He swept his arm through the bricks and sent them flying in all directions. He and Polly were laughing heartily when Tommy Perkins opened the door, bringing with him a draught of cold air. ‘Oh, aye! What’s all this, then?’

‘Our Joey’s just knocked me mam’s new ’ouse down.’ Polly ran to fling her arms around her father’s waist and raised her face for a kiss. ‘It took me ages to build an’ now it’s all over the floor.’

Tommy by-passed the puckered lips and kissed her on the cheek. Then he ruffled his son’s hair before slipping his coat off. ‘Hang this up for us, Polly.’ Shivering from head to toe, he moved to the fireplace and held out his hands to feel the warmth. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in all me life.’

Ada was carrying his dinner through from the kitchen when he began to cough. She stood by the door and sent a silent plea to God, asking why a good man like her husband should have to go to work when anyone with half an eye could see he wasn’t fit. She’d pleaded with him this morning to stay off, have a few days in bed, but he wouldn’t hear of it. If he didn’t go to work, he argued, he wouldn’t get any wages. And how would they live without money to pay the rent, buy the coal and food? Look how they’d had to struggle the few times he had taken a day off when he wasn’t well. By the time they’d paid the rent, bought a bag of coal and saved a few pennies for the gas, there was nothing left for food. Bread and dripping they’d lived on – and that was no good for growing children.

Ada banged the plate down on the table as anger built up within her. It just wasn’t fair! The war was the cause of his ill-health, but nobody in the whole wide world cared. Men like her Tommy were used when they were needed to fight the enemy, but when it was over those in authority conveniently forgot they existed. She’d started courting Tommy in 1920, two years after the war was over. He was very nervous in those days and had admitted to having nightmares about the horrors he’d seen. But they had fallen in love and Ada thought with lots of care and kindness he would soon be better. And he had improved – the nightmares happened less frequently until they disappeared altogether. He’d had a cough then, but it hadn’t been bad enough to cause concern and neither of them had worried unduly about it. But over the last few years it had gradually got worse and now Ada fretted constantly about him.

When the racking coughs eased off, she said softly, ‘Come an’ eat yer dinner, love, before it gets cold.’

‘Aye, I’ll do that.’ Tommy took a deep breath and undid the stud in the neck of his shirt. He felt terrible, worse than he’d ever felt. He’d almost collapsed in work today, and if it hadn’t been for his mates carrying his work load he’d never have completed his shift. ‘I think I’ll go to bed then, have a good night’s rest. I’ll take the oven shelf up with me to warm the bed up.’

Ada moved to the cupboard set in the recess at the side of the big black iron grate, and took out a piece of cloth that had once been a sheet. ‘If I take it up now it’ll warm the bed through before you go up.’ She opened the oven door at the side of the fire and with her hands covered with the sheeting, pulled the heavy shelf out. ‘But you’re not goin’ to work tomorrow, Tommy Perkins, yer goin’ to see the doctor.’ When she saw her husband open his mouth to protest, she held up her hand. ‘The longer yer leave it, the worse it’ll be, so don’t argue.’

‘I can’t keep takin’ time off work, love, otherwise I’ll be gettin’ me cards and then where will we be? Besides, it costs a shillin’ to go to the doctor’s an’ we can’t afford it.’

‘Yer can have my penny pocket money on Saturday, Dad,’ Polly said, a frown creasing her brow. If her father was having to go to the doctor’s then he must be really sick. ‘I don’t mind, honest.’

‘Yer can ’ave mine too,’ Joey piped up. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he could see his mother was worried and if his penny helped then he didn’t mind going without his black jacks or bull’s eyes. ‘Yeah, Dad, yer can ’ave my penny as well.’

There was a sadness in Tommy’s smile. He loved his children dearly and of late he had worried about what would happen to them and Ada if he was as ill as he thought he was. ‘We’ll see, we’ll see. But thanks for the offer, it’s very kind of yer.’

‘Well, we want yer to get better, Dad.’ Polly nodded her head solemnly. ‘If me mam says yer should see the doctor, then that’s what yer should do, ’cos me mam knows best.’

Ada hurried from the room with tears in her eyes. With the warm shelf held close to her chest she prayed softly as she climbed the steep narrow stairs. ‘I don’t ask You for much, God, but You know my Tommy’s a good man. He wouldn’t hurt a fly an’ would give anyone his last ha’penny.’ She slipped the oven shelf between the sheets on her husband’s side of the bed, then made the sign of the cross. ‘You’re the only one I can turn to for help, God, and I’m at me wits’ end. Please hear my prayer and make my Tommy better. You see, me an’ the kids love him so much an’ we need him. Don’t let anythin’ bad happen to him.’

Polly tutted as she dashed down the hall pulling her coat on. Her dad hadn’t got up for work this morning so he must be really ill, and there was Doreen banging the door down and making enough noise to wake the dead.

‘There’s no need for that racket, I’m not deaf.’ Polly stood on the top step and glared at her friend as she wound the woollen scarf around her neck and buttoned her coat up. ‘It’s only twenty to nine, we’ve got plenty of time.’

‘It said a quarter to on our clock an’ it’s always dead right.’ Doreen was hopping from one foot to the other. Being late for school meant three strokes of the cane and she didn’t fancy that. ‘Come on, slow coach.’

Polly closed the door slowly so as not to make a noise. She was worried about her dad, he hadn’t half coughed a lot during the night. And her mam had been up a few times because she’d heard the stairs creaking. Sighing, she reached for Doreen’s hand and pulled. ‘Come on, let’s make a run for it.’

But they’d only taken a few steps when a figure loomed in front of them. ‘Blimey, Steve, yer gave me the fright of me life! I nearly jumped out of me skin!’

‘I’ve been standing in the entry waitin’ for yer.’ Steve was a tall lad, well-built with a shock of sandy hair and eyes that were hazel one minute and green the next. ‘Where’s the rope? I told yer to throw it over the wall when yer’d finished with it.’

‘I threw it over the wall,’ Polly said, looking puzzled. ‘Honest, I did!’

‘Well, it’s not in the yard an’ me dad will belt me when he finds it’s missing.’ Steve’s eyes were troubled. ‘He didn’t get taken on at the docks this mornin’ so he said he’d go out with the handcart to try an’ earn a few bob. He needs the rope to help him pull the cart.’

‘Well, I definitely threw it over the wall,’ Polly insisted before glaring at Doreen and pushing her hand away. ‘Stop pullin’, will yer? If yer that worried, you run on an’ I’ll catch yer up.’

‘Yer’ll be late an’ yer’ll get the cane.’ Doreen hesitated. She didn’t like leaving her friend but the thought of holding her hand out and seeing the cane descend to inflict a pain that would last for hours, filled her with dread. ‘I’ll go on ’cos yer can run quicker than me.’ Neither Polly nor Steve noticed her running down the street as though the devil was on her heels.

‘Are yer sure it was our wall yer threw it over?’ Steve asked. ‘’Cos I’ve searched the yard an’ there’s no sign of it.’

‘I’m not daft, Steve Mitchell! I should know which is your wall by now, seein’ as it’s right next to ours.’ Polly was flummoxed. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she did know she couldn’t leave Steve to face the music on his own, not when she was the one who had coaxed him to lend them the rope in the first place. ‘Let’s go down the entry an’ I’ll show yer how I threw it.’

‘We’re both goin’ to be late for school,’ Steve grumbled as they walked side by side down the entry. ‘If me dad doesn’t get me first an’ knock me into the middle of next week, then it’ll be six of the best off Mr Grundy. I don’t know which would be the least painful.’

‘If they both get yer, yer’ll end up in ’ospital with both yer legs in plaster.’ When they stopped outside the Mitchells’ yard door, Polly raised her eyes to the top of the wall. A sudden grin lit up her face as she pointed a finger to where she could see a short piece of the rope hanging from the roof of the lavatory. ‘There yer are, Steve! That’s one place yer didn’t think of looking.’

Steve let out a sigh of relief. ‘Put yer hands together an’ give us a leg up, Polly.’

Bending her body forward, Polly laced her fingers. ‘Make it snappy, Steve, before someone catches us.’ She gritted her teeth while she took his full weight on the cradle she’d made of her hands, but she was determined not to cry out like a cissie.

‘Thank the Lord for that!’ Steve smiled as he wound the rope into a coil like he’d seen his dad do hundreds of times. ‘You get goin’, Polly. I’ll just tie this up and heave it over. I hope me mam and dad don’t happen to look out of the window when it sails over the wall.’

‘It’s all my fault an’ I’m sorry,’ Polly said before taking to her heels and running as fast as she could. By the time she turned into the street where her school was, her chest was burning and she was gasping for breath. It crossed her mind that Doreen must have made it because there was no sign of her, but she groaned inwardly when she saw Mr Grundy’s head appear over the iron gates. His eyes narrowed as he watched her running towards him. She was within a few yards of the gates when he slammed them shut, bringing tears of anger to Polly’s eyes.

‘That’s not fair, Mr Grundy, it’s only nine o’clock.’

‘Don’t be impudent, girl!’ The headmaster’s nostrils flared. ‘You will stay here until after prayers, then you’re to go straight to Miss Wilton’s office to receive your punishment.’

Polly heard running footsteps and turned her head to see Steve come up behind her. Shaking her head in disbelief, and for a moment forgetting Mr Grundy’s reputation for cruelty, she blurted out, ‘He shut the gate in me face! He’s dead mean, that’s what he is!’

Steve’s eyes darted from Polly to Mr Grundy, and the look of anger on the headmaster’s face caused him to say softly, ‘All right, Polly, just leave it.’

‘Keep a still tongue in your head, boy!’ The man ran a finger round the inside of his stiff collar. His wife had been heavy on the starch and it was digging into his neck, restricting the movement of his Adam’s apple. His discomfort had put him in a foul temper and he vowed he would have strong words for his wife when he got home. Until then, providence had seen fit to send him two late-comers to vent his anger on. His view of children was that they should be seen and not heard, and they should, without question, be obedient to their elders at all times. Well, it was up to the headmistress, Miss Wilton, to chastise the girl, but he’d get a good deal of satisfaction out of punishing the boy. After six strokes of the cane he wouldn’t be so cocky.

‘You will both stay there until the caretaker comes to let you in.’ He pointed to Steve. ‘You, boy, will go straight to my office, and you, girl, will go to Miss Wilton’s. I’ll tell her to expect you and I will report your insolence to her.’

Polly had the sense to wait until his back was turned and he was walking away from them before she stuck out her tongue. ‘He’s the most horrible man in the whole world an’ I hate him.’ But for all her show of spirit she was worried. Her mam would go mad if she knew she’d got the cane for being naughty and Polly didn’t want to pile any more trouble on to Ada when she had her plate full with her dad being sick. ‘I’m not goin’ to tell me mam if we get the cane, so don’t let on, Steve, will yer?’

‘Nah! I never tell the old girl when I get the cane ’cos she’d only say I must’ve done somethin’ to deserve it an’ she’d give me a clip around the ears.’

Polly sniffed up her tears and managed a half-smile. ‘It’ll be our secret, then – eh, Steve? That’s what real mates are for, isn’t it? To tell their secrets to each other?’

‘Yeah, Polly, that’s what real mates are for.’ Steve looked down at the pavement. If the expression on old Grundy’s face was anything to go by, he was really in for it. Still, the caning would be over in five minutes, even if the pain lasted all day. He’d just have to grin and bear it … but he’d make sure he was on time tomorrow. There was no point in asking for trouble.

‘If you could just give me some medicine for me cough, Doctor, I’ll be fine.’ Tommy’s breathing was laboured, his face grey. ‘It’ll pass off in a day or two, it always does.’

‘Mr Perkins, you are a sick man and you should never have come here today. You should have sent for me.’ Dr Rigby’s kind blue eyes clouded over. The man sitting across the desk from him was a consumptive if ever he’d seen one. And he sensed that Tommy Perkins knew how ill he was, but he wouldn’t give into it because he couldn’t afford the luxury of being ill. Like most people in the area, the family were living from hand to mouth on the meagre wages Tommy brought in. If those wages stopped, it would be the poor-house for them. But even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t just give the man a bottle of cough medicine and allow him to go back to work until he died on his feet. During all those years of training to become a doctor his one aim had been to help people live healthy lives, not to help them die. ‘I’d like you to go to the hospital for a check-up.’

There was a flicker of fear in Tommy’s eyes as he shook his head. ‘I can’t do that, Dr Rigby. I can’t afford to take any time off work. I’ve got a wife an’ two kids to provide for, and even with me workin’ we have a struggle to keep our heads above water.’

The anger rising within the medical man wasn’t against Tommy; it was against the unfairness of a society where the rich prospered and the poor became poorer. Most of the people who came to his surgery wouldn’t need his help if they had a decent standard of living. How could they be healthy when they weren’t able to feed their families as they should be fed? Kids were running around barefoot, no food in their bellies, no fire in their grate and no warm clothes to their backs. And their parents were old before their time, bowed down with worry and despair.

John Rigby let out a deep sigh. ‘If you don’t get yourself seen to soon, you’ll be too ill to go to work – and where would that leave your wife and children?’ He dropped his eyes to avoid seeing the haunted look of hopelessness on the face of the man sitting opposite him. ‘Look, I understand your position, Mr Perkins, but as your doctor I have to be straight with you. A bottle of cough mixture isn’t the answer to your problem, and you know it as well as I do. You need to see a specialist as soon as possible.’

Tommy dropped his head to stare at the flat cap he was holding in his hands. He knew in his heart that the doctor was right, and in an ideal world he wouldn’t hesitate to go to the hospital and get himself seen to. But it wasn’t an ideal world.

He raised his eyes and in a low voice said, ‘I hear and understand what yer sayin’, Doctor, an’ I appreciate yer bein’ straight with me. But there’s no way I can take any time off work to go to the hospital, not just now, anyway. But if you’ll just give me a bottle of cough mixture to ease me throat, I’ll make yer a promise to come back, say in a couple of weeks, an’ yer can make arrangements for me to see a specialist.’

‘If you have no money now, what makes you think your circumstances will change in a few weeks?’ John Rigby’s voice was sharper than he intended and he mentally chastised himself. The poor man had no more control over his life than the man in the moon. ‘Look, why don’t you talk it over with your wife? It affects her, so it’s only right she should know what the situation is. It would be very wrong to keep her in the dark.’

‘I’ll have a word with her, Doctor.’ Tommy felt as though the room was closing in on him and he desperately needed to get some fresh air in his lungs. ‘Can I have the cough mixture, please?’

The doctor sighed as he pushed his chair back. ‘Yes, but it’s against my better judgement, Mr Perkins. I can’t force you to do anything, but I will stress that you need treatment as soon as possible.’

Tommy nodded his head. At that moment he would have promised anything just to get the bottle of mixture so the story he intended telling Ada would sound genuine.

Ada was peering through the net curtains when she saw Tommy walking up on the opposite side of the street and she had the door open before he had time to raise his hand to the knocker. ‘I’d almost given yer up, yer’ve been ages!’

‘There were a few people there ahead of me so I had to wait me turn. If yer didn’t have a cold before yer went there, yer’d certainly have one when yer came out, what with all the coughing an’ spluttering.’

‘How did yer get on?’ Ada held out her hand to take his coat. ‘What did Dr Rigby have to say?’

Tommy held out the bottle of dark red syrupy medicine. ‘He said I’ve got a bad case of bronchitis, but this should help.’

Ada tore her eyes away from his and turned to take his coat into the hall. He’s keeping something from me, she told herself as tears threatened. I’ve lived with him too long not to know when he’s lying, and right now he’s lying through his teeth. She screwed her eyes up tight and shivered as the blood in her veins ran cold. He was lying to protect her from worry and she loved him for it. But she wasn’t stupid, she knew that her husband was suffering from something worse than bronchitis. And she also knew the bottle of medicine he’d brought home was only a blind.

Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Ada returned to the living room. It was no good discussing it now, not with young Joey listening to every word. Better wait until the kids were in bed, then she could try and worm the truth out of him. If he still stuck to the same story, then rather than upset him, she’d go and see Dr Rigby on the sly. Because, whatever the future held for her Tommy she intended to stand by his side and they’d face it together.

Ada kicked angrily at a small stone and watched it bounce ahead of her, hitting the concrete path a few times before coming to rest on the grass verge. She paused outside the gates and looked back at the large double-fronted house which was both the doctor’s private residence and his surgery. When she’d walked up the path half an hour earlier there’d been a glimmer of hope in her heart that she was worrying unduly, making a mountain out of a molehill. Now that hope had been extinguished and her worry had turned to fear. Not that Dr Rigby had told her much; he wouldn’t commit himself on what he thought was wrong with Tommy, but then doctors never did commit themselves, did they? It was more than they dare do, in case they were wrong. But the little she’d been able to get out of him was enough to set the alarm bells off. Her husband was a sick man who needed treatment now. The two of them should sit down and discuss how they could manage for him to take time off work, and they should do it soon because the longer they left it, the worse it would be. The doctor hadn’t been abrupt; in fact, he’d been kind and understanding. But no matter how kind he’d been it didn’t alter the fact that Tommy was a very sick man and they were in trouble.

Taking a deep breath, Ada pushed her clenched fists deep into her pockets and started to walk in the direction of home. A lone tear ran down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. How could she explain red-rimmed eyes to Dolly Mitchell, who was minding Joey for her? She’d told her neighbour she was nipping to T. J. Hughes’ to see if they had any cheap working socks for Tommy, and while Dolly would believe her if she came back empty-handed, saying they were too dear, she wouldn’t see it as something to cry about.

Ada bent her head and quickened her pace as her mind ticked over. They had to think of some way that Tommy could get the treatment he needed. But as with everything else, it all boiled down to money, the root of all evil. She would willingly go out to work to earn a few bob, but who would look after Joey? And even if she got a job, women were very poorly paid and she wouldn’t earn enough to keep them. Tommy’s wages barely covered the necessities, she was living from hand to mouth every week, so God help them if they had to rely on her bringing enough in. If only Polly was two years older she’d be leaving school in a couple of months and finding herself a job. With her earning, and Ada with a little job, they could just about manage.

Ada sighed. Wishing her daughter’s life away wasn’t going to help. But they had to find a solution or God knows what would happen to Tommy. She loved him too much to just stand by and watch him work himself to death for the sake of his family.

Two tears escaped to run down her cheeks and she was so busy wiping them away as she turned the corner of the street, that she missed seeing the woman coming in the opposite direction until she bumped into her.

‘Glory be to God, Ada Perkins, is it meself yer after killing?’

Ada managed a smile for the woman who was struggling to steady the huge basket she carried on her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I was miles away.’

‘Miles away, was it?’ Mary, head slightly back and eyes rolled upwards, slowly took one hand from the heavy wicker basket, twisted her head slightly until she felt her burden was safely anchored, then she lowered both her arms. ‘Sure wasn’t it another world altogether yer were in, Ada, me darlin’?’

‘Well, you were the last person I’d expect to bump into,’ Ada said. ‘What are yer doin’ home this time of day?’

‘I’m happy to be tellin’ yer that I sold out in two hours, so I did. It was a day when t