THREE
(My apologies. The second chapter is after this for some reason. Please read that one first then thie chapter, chapter three)
New Years Day 1904
Florence sat on the edge of her bed in the front bedroom which she shared with her parents and two younger brothers, and she was sulking. The sulk was because of the aftermath of the argument which she had had the previous evening with her father, over his refusal to allow her to go to the funfair on Howell Croft. She tapped her foot on the bare floorboards in annoyance, trying to work out how she could persuade her Pa to allow her to go to the fair with Hettie. Leaning forward, she pushed with her finger at the thin curtain and looked out of the bedroom window for inspiration, but saw nothing in the heavy grey sky to help her. The weather was cold, and there was a wind blowing from the west which normally meant rain, but it was not normal December or January weather, it was too warm. But still wet and miserable, which did nothing to lift her spirits or inspire her. She sighed loudly and kicked at the book on the floor which she had been reading alone in the bedroom, rather than reading it downstairs in the company of the others. She could hear the noises from the room below of her mother preparing a meal, and trying in vain to carry out a conversation with her husband, who was trying to read the early edition of the Bolton Evening News and the latest news from India of the opening of the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Bombay. He knew he would never have the opportunity to visit the place, but he read the account with interest, as he did with most items on the international stage. It was a trait he had passed on throughout the lives of all his children, an interest which was wide ranging and inclusive. His was a home grown knowledge which he fostered in all his children, and which he enhanced with visits to the free library.
The noises from below were part of the background to her life as she racked her brain to try to overcome the argument from the previous evening. She was determined to get her Pa to change his mind. She and Hettie had been planning a visit to the opening night of the annual winter fair for several days, and finally had decided on what they would see and what they would do during the visit. During tea, when the whole family was seated around the kitchen table eating their meal, she had casually announced to them all that,
'Me and Hettie are off to the fair tonight, should be good fun.'
Her father continued to move the knife and fork on his plate, and failed even to raise his head from his position of intense concentration on the meal.
'I don’t think so young lady' he said quietly. Florence looked across the table at him, her face blushing red with anger.
'Pa! She said, 'I’m grown up now and bringing in a full wage, so I think we should be allowed to do what we want.' She looked to her older brothers for their agreement. The brothers said nothing, simply kept their heads down and carried on eating, though Willie who was four years older than her, grinned and fought hard to stop himself bursting into laughter, anticipating the coming storm. Her father, William Henry, placed his cutlery down on the table, resting the knife and fork against the side of his plate. He quietly brought his hands together, his fingers forming a pyramid above his plate, and turned his head upwards to view his daughter at the opposite side of the table. There was silence for a moment, as the children old enough to recognise the challenge to their father’s decision waited for the explosion which must be just around the corner.
'You might be old enough' he said menacingly, 'and yes you are bringing in a full wage, but you are not going to the fair on New Year's Eve with only Hettie by your side.' He paused, then carried on as Florence fought to stop tears of frustration brimming over her eyes and down onto her fair cheeks. 'It’s a dangerous place for young women to go by themselves. You don’t know what could happen. There are too many rough drunks there. You’re not going.' He met her eyes quietly and held them until she broke his gaze and blinked in frustration and pique. 'Its' for your own good.' William picked up his knife and fork and continued to eat slowly, his head bent down to the plate. Florence banged her chair back from the table and stalked furiously from the room, stamping up the staircase which ran between the two downstairs rooms, and into the shared bedroom. She slammed the bedroom door shut and threw herself onto the bed, tears streaming from her eyes, her fists clenched in frustration. In the room below, her father looked around the table at his two sons.
'Don’t think you two are going either' he said quietly, pointing from one to the other with the knife in his right hand. 'It’s too much likely there’ll be trouble.' He licked a piece of food from his lips before carrying on. 'Don’t want my family becoming known to the Police after getting into trouble.' The two boys nodded silently and carried on with their tea. Silence fell, other than the muted sounds from the bedroom above of Florence crying to herself.
In time Florence dried her eyes and reached below the bed for one of her hidden books and curled up under the covers for warmth, and in time fell asleep reading.
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