Ironmonger's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

Tanner’op, Joyce. I ’eard there’s a new band there. We could practise the foxtrot an’ the quickstep.’
    ‘I don’t fancy dancin’, Mary. That fella shoutin’ down the megaphone gives me an ’eadache, especially after all that noise in the factory.’
    Mary thought for a while. ‘I know. Let’s go up the South London. Marie Lloyd’s up there. It’ll be a good show. We’ll’ave ter line up fer tickets though.’
    Joyce looked up at the evening sky. ‘It’s a nice evenin’. Let’s jus’ go fer a long walk.’
    Mary squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘We could take a tram ter the Embankment, an’ walk along the Strand,’ she said excitedly.
    Joyce turned up her nose. ‘What d’yer wanna go over there for?’
    Mary shook her head in disbelief. ‘Ain’t yer never bin up the Strand? There’s all those posh ladies in their fur coats an’ latest dresses, an’ there’s lots o’ really ’andsome men in top’ats and smart suits all goin’ in ter see the shows. It’s really excitin’, Joyce.’
    ‘Okay, I’ll come round soon as I finish me tea. I’ve gotta be in by eleven o’clock though. If I’m late me ole man’ll skin me alive.’
    Mary laughed aloud. ‘Your dad’ll be too pissed ter know whether you’re in or not. ’E always goes up the Horseshoe on Friday nights, don’t ’e?’
    ‘Not any more, Mary. ’E’s on short time again.’
     
    As the summer days lengthened, excitement grew at the Armitage factory. A notice had gone up in the canteen stating that the firm’s outing to Southend would take place on the first Saturday in July. The workers’ rumblings about becoming unionised ceased for the time being, and Gerald Armitage had to concede that perhaps the old boy was right after all.
    The day of the outing was warm and sunny, and the street folk watched from their doorways as the Thomas Tilling charabancs drove slowly out of the turning. The women sat upright on the open vehicles, showing off their new summer hats and their crisp cotton dresses, while the men, grinning widely, had their hair slicked down and some even wore silk scarves, knotted at the neck and twirled around their braces. George Baker watched as the Armitage workers left the street, then he turned to Toby Toomey.
    ‘Gawd ’elp Soufend when that lot gets down there.’
    Toby looked on enviously and wished that the totters could have an outing to Southend.
    The long summer day had turned to night and a full moon was rising over the rooftops when the charabancs returned, drawing up at the end of the turning. Helen Bartlett heard loud voices and then Kate’s footsteps on the wooden stairs and when she opened the door she saw her sister coming along the landing, a surly look on her face. Kate’s fair hair was hanging loosely and raggedly about her drooping shoulders and her knee-length, mustard-coloured coat was unbuttoned.
    ‘Did yer ’ave a nice day?’ Helen asked.
    Kate glared at her sister and nodded without comment, her mouth tight.
    ‘Connie dropped off ter sleep,’ Helen said, eyeing her sister intently. ‘She’ll be okay wiv us till mornin’. Are yer all right?’
    Kate moved on to the next stairway. ‘Yeah, I’m jus’ tired. It’s bin a long day,’ she said turning and wearily climbed the stairs.
    Helen sighed and shook her head slowly as she went inside and closed the door. Matthew looked up from the armchair and ran his fingers through his wiry hair. ‘She’s pissed I s’pose?’ he said quickly.
    Helen sat down facing him with a sigh. ‘I wonder about that girl sometimes. I dunno about Soufend. She looks like she’s bin to a funeral. She didn’t even ask about young Connie.’
    Matthew’s face showed his disgust as he got up and walked into the bedroom.
     
    During the days of short-time working and ragtime music, amid the gas-lit tenements and ramshackle houses of the tumbledown backstreets, the daughters of Kate Morgan and Helen and Matthew Bartlett slept peacefully, while all