On a bright Saturday afternoon in April, Evelyn knocked on Daphne’s door in Chadderton Street. To her relief it opened almost immediately. The walk from Stan’s Mam’s round to Daphne’s was a long one. Her back ached and her ankles were swollen. Still nearly three months to go and already she was getting so tired. Daphne drew her into the chair nearest the fire.
“The boys and my Dad have all gone off t’match,” she said, “and Mam’s round at Gran’s. So we can just be cosy, eh? Eh, but you’re looking tired, lass. You’re carrying heavy.”
Evelyn sighed.“Aye, the Leighs all carry the first heavy,” she said. “I suppose that’s all there is to it.”
“Aye, perhaps. I’ll get kettle on.”
Evelyn smiled gratefully and leaned back in her chair. You didn’t have to spell things out to Daphne, she seemed to know. Now that Daphne had switched to the day shift they didn’t see so much of each other. A Saturday afternoon knitting by a nice fire and chatting with her friend was the one good thing to come out of Stan’s latest habit of staying away from home from Friday till Sunday. Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away fiercely, staring into the glowing yellow of the flames.
“I’ve not seen your Stan in a while,” Daphne said when they were sipping their tea, as if reading her mind.“Behaving, is he? How’s that mother of his?”
Evelyn hesitated, considering. There could be no harm in telling Daphne. What else were friends for?
“Oh, Daphne, I hardly see him myself. He stops over Fridays and Saturdays in Manchester these days. On Alan O’Reilly’s floor. Or so he says. O’Reilly’s only got the one room. On Reuben Street, over the pawnbroker’s.”
“He does what?”
“He says it’s the meetings,” Evelyn said quickly. “They’re going on later now, till after t’last bus on Friday night. Then they’re back at it all day Saturday an’ all, and Sundays. They’re up to something, I don’t know what.”
“Getting drunk, like as not. Or worse. Stirring up trouble.”
“Maybe. Wouldn’t be surprised, knowing O’Reilly.”
“Knowing Stan,” Daphne said, not too unkindly.
“Aye, I know.” Evelyn sighed and took up the little baby’s jacket she was knitting. “But at least he’s not coming home drunk. At least he’s not getting a name for himself round here. Oh, it is a difficult shade, this lemon. Fiddly.” She rubbed her eyes and went on to the end of the row.
“Give it here,” Daphne said.“Three-ply’s always hard going.” She took the work from Evelyn’s lap and examined it thoughtfully, then handed it back. “Plain enough, though. You could do it with your eyes shut.”
She took up her own work, bed socks for her gran in pale green. “I reckon I know what they’re up to, your Stan’s lot,” she said. “Our Paul’s been going on about it. You know Paul, can’t keep his mouth shut. Only it’s unofficial and he says I’m not to gab or they’ll put a stop to it. But there’s this big walk planned. They’re all going. It’s tomorrow.”
“Big walk? What big walk, where to? What on earth for?”
“Mind you, he’s not one of them agitators, Paul,” Daphne said quickly. “He’s not like some others. He’s harmless, just keen on his rambling. He’s going for the principle.”
Evelyn was perplexed. As they knitted, Daphne explained everything she’d heard from her brother. Paul regularly went out on Sunday hikes with a group of other young people, taking the bus out of the town and into the surrounding countryside. The trouble was that strictly speaking there weren’t many places they were allowed to go, even though they did no harm. Some landowners turned a blind eye to the ramblers but others put up fences to stop them. Sometimes the innocent walkers were threatened or even attacked by gamekeepers when all they wanted to do was go across empty land that was no good for livestock or crops. The landlords were within their rights to prevent them, but there was a rising swell of people, according to Paul, calling for a change in the law. Now things had come to a head. Hundreds if not thousands of people would be converging to join in a big walk planned for the next day. It would be no less than a mass trespass over Derbyshire’s most famous peak, Kinder Scout. At present ordinary folk were turned away from there and only a few snooty walking clubs got the necessary “prior permission in writing” from the landowner, the Duke of Devonshire, to go to the summit. Paul told Daphne that a gesture by ordinary folk walking up there peacefully would help get the law changed. If that happened, you wouldn’t have to be in with the toffs to enjoy a country walk. Sure enough there were folk spouting political nonsense about the rights of the working man but all Paul wanted was to be able to go on a harmless walk without getting accosted by a gamekeeper.
“He wants me to go as well,” Daphne said. “It’ll be a bit o’ fun, he says. We’re taking a picnic. There’ll be more folk up there tomorrow than you’ll ever see in your life.”
“But it’s breaking the law!” Evelyn exclaimed.
“That’s what I said,” Daphne replied. “But Paul says that’s the point. The point is there’ll be hundreds doing it, and it’s not the same as committing a crime when it’s the law that’s wrong and wants changing. I’m not bothered either way, it’s a day out. I reckon on going and I reckon you’re coming an’ all, Evelyn Ashworth. It’ll put the roses back in your cheeks.”
“But there might be trouble. What if something happens?”
“Don’t talk daft,” Daphne said.“We’ll be with Paul, and anyway it’s all to be peaceful. We’ll keep ourselves to ourselves and just have a nice day out.”
“I shouldn’t,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “It’ll be ruddy freezing for one thing. Anyway, I’ve been. I was out Kinder Scout way years ago, on the Chapel Whitsun outing. And anyway,” she went on, “I’m not going climbing mountains in my condition.”
“No fear, no more am I!” laughed Daphne. “It’s only a hill, not a proper mountain. We’ll wrap up warm. It’s only for a walk. We’ll just go as far as we fancy, find a nice spot, and watch the fun.”
“I’m not getting caught up in any monkey business,” Evelyn sniffed.
“ ’Course not,” Daphne said.“It’s just summat to watch. It’s a good spin out to Hayfield on the bus and it’ll be nice round there at daffodil time.” She picked up Evelyn’s knitting and began working a row. “You can bet your Stan’ll be going. You can bet tomorrow night he’ll saunter back to his Mam’s expecting you there with his tea ready.You surprise him. Show him if he can go marching up Kinder Scout, so can you.”
The needles clicked. “He takes you for granted, does your Stan.”
Evelyn sighed again.“All right,” she said.“I’ll catch my death like as not, but I’m going.”
Dear Ruth
I know it’s been a while but I’m not myself in some ways. Hand bandaged. Plus I’m very busy plus leg ulcers-no fun I can tell you.
Also no fun-bloody nurse, two of them now and you never know which, meddling with legs, now interfering with hand on almost daily basis and they don’t care how much they hurt me. Plus Carole and Mrs. M barging in.
And NOW that woman from your little writing group keeps coming. They’re working on a memorial, she says. Della, that’s her name-she seems to be the ringleader.
I haven’t mentioned your story to her, that’s between you and me. You put in Kinder Scout! I have to correct you though, on that bit about it being cold up there. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. You get the shelter of the hill if the wind’s in the right direction. Overdale Lodge itself I grant you could be on the Spartan side but you have to admit it was quite cosy after the storage heaters went in. 1978 or thereabouts.
Had a few photos down to look at. Happy days.
Anyway back to these women turning up on doorstep. They’ve all got a look in their eye. They’re all in it together, they think I can’t see that. Usually they wake me up-on top of that they bully me about my clothes, too.
EG-Mrs. M appeared uninvited with what she called a complete hot dinner and without so much as a by-your-leave sticks it in oven, fusses about setting the timer but she didn’t know how to work it, neither did I. She said it’d take 30 minutes and that was just enough time for a bath, wouldn’t it be a good idea if she popped up and ran me one. I spoke quite sharply.
I think she’s definitely after me.
She said she’d be calling back for the dish and she’d better find it empty, wag wag goes the finger, she thinks she’s funny. Well, forewarned-I just won’t answer the door.
Though the dish IS empty because I flung the whole lot into the back hedge.
Gave me an idea though. If you ask me the bloody council’s messing about with the bin day and not telling me so I’m not bothering putting ours out now. Anything for chucking can go in the hedge. Or it can stay here, plenty space in the hall-I’ll get round to a big sort out when it suits me.
All these people. They all still ask how I am and I say nothing and I have nothing much to contribute on other subjects either. What difference does it make if I agree it’s a nice day or not? It’s not long before I see their mouths squirming around for something to say. Throats get cleared and looks flit from one pair of eyes to another. No wonder I lose my temper.
Mrs. M: Am I sure I’m not a big casserole fan? It’s just good plain English food-no garlic!
Della: She’d be only too pleased to make me a cup of tea to have with the cake she’s brought. Ruth liked Earl Grey, didn’t she? Della likes camomile of an evening but she can’t get along with peppermint, it repeats on her.
Nurse: Isn’t Arthur a naughty old lazybones, not cutting his nails, she’s got people who’d love to be able to cut their nails for themselves.
Carole: Is the pressure cooker perhaps standing for something else? Is the pressure cooker maybe not really about the pressure cooker? Is it symbolic of earlier times?
See what’s going on? They think they can get me via toenails and tea and tributes.
And not a word these days about how it’s all right for me to be angry.
Example-I told Carole in no uncertain terms what I’d do to that bastard driver if I got my hands on him.
Oh, she pretended to understand, but I wasn’t fooled. “Oh. Oh, Arthur, yes I see, well, but, oh dear, you don’t think maybe justice is best left to the police? Of course it’s understandable…”
The police are useless! Fucking useless! I told her. Scared her, I think. Obviously she doesn’t think the anger’s all right at all-first signof it and she wants it all bottled up again. Stupid bitch in my opinion (as I pointed out).
Relieved to see the back of them all
What makes these people tick?
I don’t even know them.
And I like garlic, as you know.