Read The Girl from Cotton Lane for Free Online Page B

the wind. ‘Well, I’d better be off. I’ve got me shoppin’ ter do before Will gets ’ome,’ she said. ‘’E finishes at twelve on Saturdays.’
     
    ‘I’m goin’ up the market, I’ll walk along wiv yer,’ Florrie said, straightening the wide lapel of her shabby coat.
     
    The two women bade Aggie goodbye and walked back quickly along the street, turning the corner by Galloway’s yard towards Jamaica Road. They nodded to Maggie Jones and Ida Bromsgrove who were chatting together on the doorstep, and to Grace Crossley, the landlady of the Kings Arms which stood on the corner of Page Street. Grace was standing at the door of her pub chatting to Maudie Mycroft.
     
    ‘I wonder what’s goin’ on there?’ Florrie asked, always keen to keep herself informed about local goings-on.
     
    ‘I dunno, but Maudie looks a bit worried,’ Nellie replied.
     
    ‘She’s gettin’ worse,’ Florrie said contemptuously. ‘It’s that new vicar at the church, I’m sure. Yer know ’ow nervous she is. Well, since you’ve bin away from the street she’s bin terrible. Last week she was out on ’er doorstep threatenin’ ter chuck a pail o’ water over a couple o’ Galloway’s carmen. They were only ’avin’ a chin-wag outside ’er winder an’ yer know ’ow they blaspheme. Anyway, they walked orf all sheepish when she started ravin’ at ’em, an’ then she goes marchin’ in the yard would yer believe ter see ole Galloway. ’E wasn’t there by all accounts but ’is son Frank was. Well, Maudie ’ands ’im a pile o’ leaflets she got from the church an’ tells ’im ter ’and ’em out ter the carmen. Now yer know what a cowson that Frank is. ’E told ’er ter piss orf out of it in no uncertain terms an’ Maudie told ’im she was gonna send ’er ole man round ter sort ’im out. I felt sorry fer ’er Ernie. ’E come ’ome that night wiv a few drinks inside ’im an’ ’im an’ Maudie got at it. She come over ter me cryin’ ’er eyes out. She said she told Ernie what she told Frank Galloway an’ Ernie said ’e wasn’t goin’ ter get involved, an’ she should send the vicar round ter sort Galloway out. What’s more, ’e told ’er if she didn’t stop ’er silly carryin’s on, ’e was gonna leave ’er.’
     
    ‘P’raps ’e ’as,’ Nellie suggested. ‘Maybe that’s what she was talkin’ ter Grace Crossley about.’
     
    Florrie shook her head vigorously. ‘Ernie ain’t left ’er. The poor sod was only sayin’ that ter make ’er act a bit sensible. ’E idolises ’er, despite what the silly mare’s doin’. I blame it all on ’im at the church. ’E sounds a right dopey git if yer ask me. I thought the last vicar was a bit dopey, but this one’s a sight worse. They should stick ter what they do best, like christenin’s, weddin’s an’ burials, and the Sunday services. When they start runnin’ those muvvers’ meetin’s they put a lot o’ nonsense in people’s ’eads. I only ever went ter one muvvers’ meetin’ an’ that was years ago. I remember it well.’
     
    The two women were waiting to cross the busy Jamaica Road, and once they had scurried across between the trams Florrie continued her tale.
     
    ‘It was near Christmas. ’Ninety-eight or ’ninety-nine it would be. Anyway, my ole man ’ad pissed orf an’ I was a bit short o’ money. I only went ’cos somebody told me they was ’andin’ out food parcels. Well, I sat through the service, tryin’ not ter fall asleep, an’ then the tea an’ biscuits came round. I got a right ear’ole bashin’ from two o’ the ole dears an’ then they give out the parcels. I got a jar o’ gherkins, a woolly ’at an’ a pair o’ bedsocks. White ones they was s’posed ter be but they’d bin boiled wiv the colours I should fink. Gawd knows who they come orf of. I give ’em ter ole Granny Pridey who used ter live next door ter me. She was glad of ’em. Come ter fink of it, she ’ad the woolly ’at as