Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
‘These girls don’t half get us into some things, eh?’
‘What – you mean you’re saying you’ll go with ’em tomorrow?’
‘It’s just – all these years I’ve lived here, I s’pose I’ve closed my mind to the way a lot of people live. You know – in the yards, and . . . Well, you see people on the street, but I’ve never thought they’re anything to do with me.’
‘You do what yer can, Hatt,’ Eb said sleepily.
‘Not much though, when you come down to it. There’s not much help for people, is there?’
‘Ummmergh . . .’
‘Eb?’
Her reply was her husband’s heavy breathing.
‘D’you think that Philip Tallis is sweet on Margaret? I mean, that it’s not just that she’s kind to little Daisy? I mean, he must be nearly twice her age?’
‘————’
‘Eb?’ She poked him. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ebenezer Watts,’ she mumbled, turning over. ‘Just when I’m trying to talk to you . . .’
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
‘Are you ready?’
Annie was hardly back from work before she was nagging at them to go out with her, her head round the office door, hat still on.
‘Don’t you want a cup of tea first?’ Aunt Hatt complained. She was alone in the office – Susan and Bridget had both gone home. ‘I’ve a thing or two to finish.’ She looked at Annie’s pink, impatient face. ‘Mrs Sullivan’s put aside a pot of rabbit stew for them.’
Margaret saw Annie’s face soften. ‘I’ll have a quick cup. It’s nice of you to come with us. I just thought – you know, Auntie, with you being older. Maggs and I are just kids so far as Mrs Poole’s concerned.’
She took off her hat and wiped her hands over her face. ‘It’s a filthy day.’
‘Give me five minutes,’ Aunt Hatt said grandly, from her desk.
They set off into the evening. It was already dark, a mizzling, icy rain coming down, and it seemed a bad choice of night for Aunt Hatt to come with them. But it was too late now – they had started off. They kept their heads down, shielding themselves under hat brims. Margaret and Annie took it in turns to carry the pot of stew. Despite Aunt Hatt’s muttering about why ever she was doing any such thing, they blessed her generous heart.
The gaslight in the yard in Pope Street seemed to give off even less illumination than usual. The rain had become heavier as they walked and they could just see its blurred fall in the feeble light.