it was me that was pregnant, Mother, I’d consider it my just desserts.’
But it was not in Henzey’s nature to be hard, least of all with the woman who had carried her, fed her, sacrificed everything for her and brought her up against all odds. Especially when she was crying. Always she’d hated to see her mother cry. It reminded her of when she was a child, how she would be filled with anxiety at the sight of Lizzie weeping over her poor, invalid father. It was the same now. Already she was regretting her harsh words. She began weeping herself and opened her arms to Lizzie. They held each other tight, letting the tears flow unabated. Lizzie needed Henzey’s encouragement, she needed her love and not least her friendship. Henzey could no more refuse these things than she could walk out of her life.
There was instantly a new bond; a new kind of love; a mutual respect that had not manifested itself before. They both felt it. Henzey sensed her own maturity and, for the first time, realised her mother’s fallibility. Lizzie was merely flesh and blood, prone to all its weaknesses and likely to be submitted to its derision unless they outfaced this thing together. And Lizzie realised that her daughter was no longer a child; she was a woman and could be addressed thus. Why had she overlooked it all this time?
Henzey spoke again, softly, tenderly. ‘What about the others, Mom? What shall we tell them? And when?’
Lizzie blew her nose. ‘I’m only really worried about our Herbert now. He’s the one who’ll feel it most, like you say. He’s sixteen in a week or two, and he’ll be ever so sensitive to it. I hope he won’t be awkward, because Jesse will never stand that off him. I’m not worried about the other two. They’ll think it’s lovely to have a baby round the house.’
‘Then why not ask Jesse to have a word with Herbert. He’ll take it from Jesse more easily. He’s got a way of explaining things.’
Lizzie agreed. ‘Come to think of it, he can tell our Alice and Maxine, as well.’
‘I’ll tell them if you like. Oh, I’m sorry I was so horrible to you, Mom, but it was such a shock. You can’t imagine. I never dreamed…I promise I’ll help all I can. What other folks think doesn’t matter, does it? As long as we’re all happy. I mean to say, you’re married now anyway and everybody knows you were about to get married. It’ll be nice having a baby round the house. Oh, I shall be able to take it for walks and buy it little coats and little shoes. Me and Billy will take it rides into the country, so’s it can have some fresh air. You’re right, Mom, you won’t get a look in.’
‘I suppose you’ll spoil it rotten,’ Lizzie said, smiling now through her tears.
‘Oh, I expect so. When’s it due?’
‘Donald Clark’s given me the first of October.’
Polling day was always more like a carnival than the serious election of a new government, and the one in 1929 was no different. Children were not at school, and they followed the candidates around, creating a din, banging draw tins and dustbin lids with sticks, and each getting a penny for doing it. This was designed to get the people out to vote. Coloured rosettes were in abundance, pinned on coats everywhere; red, white and blue for the Conservatives, yellow for Labour. Folk had put posters in their windows hailing one or other of the candidates, and even shop windows and pubs advertised their favourites. Carts and their horses were decorated in the colours of their owners’ political persuasions, as were any available lorries and vans. They toured the streets, some urging people to vote for Cyril Lloyd, the Tory candidate, others for Oliver Baldwin, the renegade Labour son of the Conservative Prime Minister, who had held a political meeting the previous evening in the Board School at Kates Hill.
Spirits were high, people were loud in acclaim of their preferred contender and even louder in their revilement of the opponent. Newspapers were full of electioneering, praising one party, denigrating another, and had been for weeks. Today, the people would decide it all, one way or the other. The trouble was, it would not be known who would form the government till some time tomorrow. Meanwhile, the public houses fared remarkably well out of it.
Billy collected Henzey at about half past eight that evening after taking his mother and father to vote. The weather was picking up encouragingly and, because of the lighter evenings, they decided to go for a ride out to Baggeridge Wood where it would be peaceful and quiet, away from the palaver of electioneering. Henzey was looking forward to having Billy all to herself for a while. He was feeling guilty, however; he wanted to take her home early, and told her so as they sat in the car under a tree watching the sun go down over Wolverhampton.
‘Oh, Billy, why?’ she said, with bitter disappointment. ‘I thought we might go to the Town Hall after to hear whether Cyril Lloyd or Oliver Baldwin won the Dudley seat.’
‘I can’t, my sweetheart, sorry. I’ll have to pick my father up from The Gypsy’s Tent just after ten. He’ll be legless. He’s the same every polling day.’
‘But I can wait in the car while you fetch him. Then we can take him home together.’
Billy sighed inwardly, wishing to show neither his frustration nor his guilt. ‘No, I’d best drop you at home first. God knows what sort of state he’ll be in. I don’t want you to see him like that. His language will be foul, especially if he’s had a rough time with his Labour mates – he’s ever likely to spew up in the car. I’m sorry, my angel, but it’s for the best. Besides, I suppose I’ll have to stop and have a drink myself. I won’t be able to get away that quick.’
‘Well, it’s hardly been worth seeing you. If you’d said so before I wouldn’t have bothered. I could’ve gone to the Town Hall with Florrie Shuker, or our Alice. Or even with Jesse.’
‘And how long have you been so interested in politics?’ There was sarcasm in his voice.
‘I’m not particularly interested in the politics,’ she said, ‘but it’s a nice atmosphere, with all those people late at night waiting to hear who got in. I just thought it’d be nice to be a part of it – with you, Billy. Still, it doesn’t matter.’ She sighed disconsolately. ‘Your family comes first.’
Henzey was acutely hurt. The men at work had been talking about going to the Town Hall later. It was a lovely idea and she’d been certain she could persuade Billy to take her, too.
‘Henzey, if I don’t get my dad home he’ll probably be set upon, just for wearing a red, white and blue rosette. It’s a rough area and, besides, when he’s had a drink he wants to fight every bugger, especially Labour folks.’
That bit was true. But it was only half the story. The other half he had no intention of confessing. Billy still possessed a jacket belonging to Nellie Dewsbury and he had already arranged to return it to her that night. Earlier, she had called at his house to see him, to ask when he could return it. He was not at home, but his mother innocently agreed an arrangement for him to deliver it to her on the night of polling day, as Nellie had suggested. Billy knew that Walter Dewsbury and his wife would be involved in the electioneering, so they would not be at home, and he recognised at once the intention in Nellie’s scheming. He was unable to resist what was a very tempting offer, especially as he had been celibate for so long.
Henzey saw little profit in arguing. In accepting his excuses she resigned herself to losing that battle and Billy delivered her home. After a quick goodnight kiss, off he went. She entered the house
