If The World Hadn't Changed
by Kristen Stone
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: What if the social changes of the twentieth century hadn’t taken place? What would the world be like today?
_____________________________________________________________________
It was Friday tea-time. The family were gathered around the table in the kitchen-cum-scullery of the three up, two down terraced house. The evening meal finished, the dirty plates were piled one on top of the other in the centre of the table. Martha, the mother, was busy counting out the money from the various pay packets that had been handed to her, carefully dividing the money into separate piles to account for the various bills that would be coming in.
“Rent, electricity, rates, water, food for this week,” she looked up at the expectant faces watching her. “Not too bad,” she added. “I reckon you can take Bobby to the match tomorrow.”
Bill, thick set and grey haired, looked at the few notes Martha had placed in front of him.
“Is that it?” he asked. After working for 60 hours in the foundry he hoped for a bit more pocket money than the cost of a couple of football tickets.
“£10 is more than enough,” Martha retorted, although in her heart she wished it was more. “It’s more than the rest of us get. Anyway, things will get better soon. Annie is starting work on Monday. That will add to the pot a little.”
Annie pulled a face. She had just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. Maybe celebrated was the wrong word as the day had dawned with the knowledge that she was now no longer required to attend school and her older sister, Mary, had managed to arrange a job for her. Scullery maid at the home of Mary’s boss.
“I don’t want to leave school,” Annie said. “I want to stay on and get the chance to train as a nurse or a teacher. Miss Perry says I could do it, no problem. She says I’m the smartest in the class.”
“Being the smartest out of that bunch of losers is nothing to boast about,” Bobby said. He was a year older than Annie and had already started work as an apprentice at a local engineering factory.
“Less of your cheek, young man,” Martha said. “Else I won’t let you have the money to go to the game tomorrow.”
“How do you expect us to pay for you to train as a bloody teacher?” Bill asked. “We can barely survive as it is.”
Annie stared at the table top. She knew her father was right, but how she longed for a better life than that of a servant to a trumped up factory manager. Mary took her hand and caressed it.
“Don’t worry, Annie. The Palmers are a very nice family. And Mr Palmer has promised that if he is pleased with you, when there is a vacancy in my office you can have a job there. It’s quite good in the office, you know. Not nearly as noisy and dusty as where Mum works in the spinning sheds.”
Annie gave her a weak smile.
Mary picked up the money Martha had put in front of her and counted it.
“Is that all?” she asked. “I wanted to get a new pair of shoes this weekend. I’ve been saving up for weeks and just need two more pounds to get them.”
“What d’you want another pair of shoes for?” Bill asked. “You’ve got two pairs already. One for work and one for best. They don’t need mending, do they?”
“I want to get something more summery now that the weather is changing. I’ve seen a lovely pair of sandals in the Clarke’s shop.”
“Clarke’s!” Martha exclaimed. “Since when do the likes of us shop in Clarke’s. Go down to Shoefayre like the rest of us. You can probably get two pairs of sandals from there for the same price.”
“Don’t put ideas into her head, Martha,” Bill said, almost smiling. “At least something from Clarke’s might last a few years.”
“Here. Put this towards your shoe fund.”
This came from Billy, the oldest of the brood, named for his father. He was twenty years of age, on leave from the Army. He was tall and broad shouldered. His face was deeply tanned from serving in India, trying to keep the growing populace under control. The workers on the tea and cotton plantations were pushing for better working conditions which the plantation managers were loath to provide. His blonde hair was cut in the standard army style, close to his head, denying the natural curls a chance to grow. As a visitor he did not contribute to the pot, although he had given Martha money to buy his food. It grieved him to see his family struggle to pay their way but his own wages were equally poor and barely covered the things he needed. He knew when he had to leave the army in a few years’ time he would be reliant on any money he had managed to save until he found employment in civilian life.
“Thanks Billy, you’re a star,” Mary cried and jumping up from the table, she gave her brother a hug and a quick peck on his cheek. “I’ve got to go and get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Bill asked. “Where are you off to, young lady?”
“I’m meeting Pete. We’re going to the pictures.”
“Make sure you’re back home for ten thirty. I’ll be waiting. And no funny business. We don’t want you bringing disgrace to the family. We’ve enough mouths to feed as it is.”
Mary turned to her father, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“Honestly! What do you think I am? Your own daughter. As if I’d do anything like that.”
“Anything like what?” Annie asked as the sound of her sister’s charge up the stairs to the bedrooms filled the scullery.
“Never you mind,” Martha said.
At that point Cathy, the youngest at ten, started to cough. It was a deep hacking cough that made her eyes water and nose run. Martha offered her a glass of water but the coughing fit made it impossible to take a sip. Bill and the boys looked on, concern creasing Bill’s forehead.
“Have you taken her to the doctor?” Billy asked. It was the first time he had seen his youngest sister like this.
“We can’t afford no doctor,” Martha said. “It costs just to get an appointment, then there’s the cost of any medicine. I’ll get some more cough medicine from the shop tomorrow.”
“That stuff is useless,” Bill said. “You’ve been giving it to her for three months now and she’s still the same.”
Cathy sagged back into her chair. The coughing had stopped but the fit had left her weak and exhausted. She was breathing steadily but with much wheezing. She smiled weakly.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t go wasting your money on a doctor.”
“If I was a nurse I’d know what to give her,” Annie said.
“Well, you’re not and that’s the end of it,” Bill said.
Martha cleared the table, taking the plates to the sink.
“You can wash up, Annie,” she said. “And you can help her, Bobby.”
The pair knew there was no point in protesting. Billy was visiting and even Bobby accepted little Cathy was in no fit state to help. Reluctantly they went to the sink arguing about who would wash the dishes and who would dry them.
“It’s about time something was done to help us stay fit,” Martha said. “I bet them up in the big houses don’t have to worry about getting sick.”
“It’s them in the big houses that wants to keep us unfit,” Bill said.
“What’s the point of that? We can’t work if we’re not fit.”
“No. But we die off sooner. Then we ain’t a problem for anyone. Someone at work said George Preston died last week. Fifty-five he was. Not a bad age, really. ”
Bill pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. In two steps he had reached the coat rack by the front door.
“I’m off out,” he said.
“Don’t go spending all your money in the pub,” Martha warned. “Don’t forget there’s the game tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to the pub,” Bill informed her. “There’s a meeting down at the social club. Some fella’s coming to talk about making the government give the workers the right to vote. Then maybe we can get some decent working conditions and cheap health care. It’s happening in other countries, you know.”
“Yeah, and pigs might fly,” Martha said. “What do the workers know about running the country? Might as well give women the right to vote as well.”
“Now that would be stupid,” Bill said, laughing. He opened the front door and went out.
Martha gathered up the money from the table and put the individual piles into their own pots in the dresser drawer.
“And who does he think keeps this family afloat by looking after the money?” she asked no-one in particular.
There was a clattering on the stairs and Mary burst into the room, her best dress topped with a short jacket, her ‘going out’ shoes gleaming. She swung her matching handbag by its long strap as she crossed the room to the front door.
“And don’t forget what your father said,” Martha reminded her. “No funny business. I don’t trust that Pete Starkey for one minute.”
“Oh, Mother!” Mary exclaimed. “I’m eighteen for heaven’s sake. Stop treating me like a child.”
Cathy started to cough again as the draught from the open front door filled the room. Martha closed the door and sat down at the table, drawing her youngest daughter onto her lap to comfort her. She was so light, there was no flesh on her. Martha held the girl against her breast, her troubled eyes closed tight in despair.
Bobby finished drying the last plate and put his hand in his trouser pocket.
“Here,” he said. “Take her to the doctor. At least find out what’s making her cough like that.”
He handed over the money Martha had given him as his share of the pot.
“That’s your footie money,” she said.
“I’d rather you spend it on Cathy,” he said and he gave his mother a quick kiss before running upstairs to his room.
Martha sighed.
“Put the telly on, Billy. The news should be on now. Let’s see what happened in the local elections, not that it will make much difference to the likes of us.”
Billy got up and switched on the rented TV that sat in the alcove between the chimney and the window.
“Good evening and welcome to the six o’clock news,” intoned the newsreader. “Tonight David Cameron is celebrating again as the Tories have retained control in nearly three-quarters of the councils in this 2011 poll ….”
(This story was inspired by an email which claimed life was better 100 years ago.)
Swearwords: None.
Description: What if the social changes of the twentieth century hadn’t taken place? What would the world be like today?
_____________________________________________________________________
It was Friday tea-time. The family were gathered around the table in the kitchen-cum-scullery of the three up, two down terraced house. The evening meal finished, the dirty plates were piled one on top of the other in the centre of the table. Martha, the mother, was busy counting out the money from the various pay packets that had been handed to her, carefully dividing the money into separate piles to account for the various bills that would be coming in.
“Rent, electricity, rates, water, food for this week,” she looked up at the expectant faces watching her. “Not too bad,” she added. “I reckon you can take Bobby to the match tomorrow.”
Bill, thick set and grey haired, looked at the few notes Martha had placed in front of him.
“Is that it?” he asked. After working for 60 hours in the foundry he hoped for a bit more pocket money than the cost of a couple of football tickets.
“£10 is more than enough,” Martha retorted, although in her heart she wished it was more. “It’s more than the rest of us get. Anyway, things will get better soon. Annie is starting work on Monday. That will add to the pot a little.”
Annie pulled a face. She had just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. Maybe celebrated was the wrong word as the day had dawned with the knowledge that she was now no longer required to attend school and her older sister, Mary, had managed to arrange a job for her. Scullery maid at the home of Mary’s boss.
“I don’t want to leave school,” Annie said. “I want to stay on and get the chance to train as a nurse or a teacher. Miss Perry says I could do it, no problem. She says I’m the smartest in the class.”
“Being the smartest out of that bunch of losers is nothing to boast about,” Bobby said. He was a year older than Annie and had already started work as an apprentice at a local engineering factory.
“Less of your cheek, young man,” Martha said. “Else I won’t let you have the money to go to the game tomorrow.”
“How do you expect us to pay for you to train as a bloody teacher?” Bill asked. “We can barely survive as it is.”
Annie stared at the table top. She knew her father was right, but how she longed for a better life than that of a servant to a trumped up factory manager. Mary took her hand and caressed it.
“Don’t worry, Annie. The Palmers are a very nice family. And Mr Palmer has promised that if he is pleased with you, when there is a vacancy in my office you can have a job there. It’s quite good in the office, you know. Not nearly as noisy and dusty as where Mum works in the spinning sheds.”
Annie gave her a weak smile.
Mary picked up the money Martha had put in front of her and counted it.
“Is that all?” she asked. “I wanted to get a new pair of shoes this weekend. I’ve been saving up for weeks and just need two more pounds to get them.”
“What d’you want another pair of shoes for?” Bill asked. “You’ve got two pairs already. One for work and one for best. They don’t need mending, do they?”
“I want to get something more summery now that the weather is changing. I’ve seen a lovely pair of sandals in the Clarke’s shop.”
“Clarke’s!” Martha exclaimed. “Since when do the likes of us shop in Clarke’s. Go down to Shoefayre like the rest of us. You can probably get two pairs of sandals from there for the same price.”
“Don’t put ideas into her head, Martha,” Bill said, almost smiling. “At least something from Clarke’s might last a few years.”
“Here. Put this towards your shoe fund.”
This came from Billy, the oldest of the brood, named for his father. He was twenty years of age, on leave from the Army. He was tall and broad shouldered. His face was deeply tanned from serving in India, trying to keep the growing populace under control. The workers on the tea and cotton plantations were pushing for better working conditions which the plantation managers were loath to provide. His blonde hair was cut in the standard army style, close to his head, denying the natural curls a chance to grow. As a visitor he did not contribute to the pot, although he had given Martha money to buy his food. It grieved him to see his family struggle to pay their way but his own wages were equally poor and barely covered the things he needed. He knew when he had to leave the army in a few years’ time he would be reliant on any money he had managed to save until he found employment in civilian life.
“Thanks Billy, you’re a star,” Mary cried and jumping up from the table, she gave her brother a hug and a quick peck on his cheek. “I’ve got to go and get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Bill asked. “Where are you off to, young lady?”
“I’m meeting Pete. We’re going to the pictures.”
“Make sure you’re back home for ten thirty. I’ll be waiting. And no funny business. We don’t want you bringing disgrace to the family. We’ve enough mouths to feed as it is.”
Mary turned to her father, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“Honestly! What do you think I am? Your own daughter. As if I’d do anything like that.”
“Anything like what?” Annie asked as the sound of her sister’s charge up the stairs to the bedrooms filled the scullery.
“Never you mind,” Martha said.
At that point Cathy, the youngest at ten, started to cough. It was a deep hacking cough that made her eyes water and nose run. Martha offered her a glass of water but the coughing fit made it impossible to take a sip. Bill and the boys looked on, concern creasing Bill’s forehead.
“Have you taken her to the doctor?” Billy asked. It was the first time he had seen his youngest sister like this.
“We can’t afford no doctor,” Martha said. “It costs just to get an appointment, then there’s the cost of any medicine. I’ll get some more cough medicine from the shop tomorrow.”
“That stuff is useless,” Bill said. “You’ve been giving it to her for three months now and she’s still the same.”
Cathy sagged back into her chair. The coughing had stopped but the fit had left her weak and exhausted. She was breathing steadily but with much wheezing. She smiled weakly.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t go wasting your money on a doctor.”
“If I was a nurse I’d know what to give her,” Annie said.
“Well, you’re not and that’s the end of it,” Bill said.
Martha cleared the table, taking the plates to the sink.
“You can wash up, Annie,” she said. “And you can help her, Bobby.”
The pair knew there was no point in protesting. Billy was visiting and even Bobby accepted little Cathy was in no fit state to help. Reluctantly they went to the sink arguing about who would wash the dishes and who would dry them.
“It’s about time something was done to help us stay fit,” Martha said. “I bet them up in the big houses don’t have to worry about getting sick.”
“It’s them in the big houses that wants to keep us unfit,” Bill said.
“What’s the point of that? We can’t work if we’re not fit.”
“No. But we die off sooner. Then we ain’t a problem for anyone. Someone at work said George Preston died last week. Fifty-five he was. Not a bad age, really. ”
Bill pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. In two steps he had reached the coat rack by the front door.
“I’m off out,” he said.
“Don’t go spending all your money in the pub,” Martha warned. “Don’t forget there’s the game tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to the pub,” Bill informed her. “There’s a meeting down at the social club. Some fella’s coming to talk about making the government give the workers the right to vote. Then maybe we can get some decent working conditions and cheap health care. It’s happening in other countries, you know.”
“Yeah, and pigs might fly,” Martha said. “What do the workers know about running the country? Might as well give women the right to vote as well.”
“Now that would be stupid,” Bill said, laughing. He opened the front door and went out.
Martha gathered up the money from the table and put the individual piles into their own pots in the dresser drawer.
“And who does he think keeps this family afloat by looking after the money?” she asked no-one in particular.
There was a clattering on the stairs and Mary burst into the room, her best dress topped with a short jacket, her ‘going out’ shoes gleaming. She swung her matching handbag by its long strap as she crossed the room to the front door.
“And don’t forget what your father said,” Martha reminded her. “No funny business. I don’t trust that Pete Starkey for one minute.”
“Oh, Mother!” Mary exclaimed. “I’m eighteen for heaven’s sake. Stop treating me like a child.”
Cathy started to cough again as the draught from the open front door filled the room. Martha closed the door and sat down at the table, drawing her youngest daughter onto her lap to comfort her. She was so light, there was no flesh on her. Martha held the girl against her breast, her troubled eyes closed tight in despair.
Bobby finished drying the last plate and put his hand in his trouser pocket.
“Here,” he said. “Take her to the doctor. At least find out what’s making her cough like that.”
He handed over the money Martha had given him as his share of the pot.
“That’s your footie money,” she said.
“I’d rather you spend it on Cathy,” he said and he gave his mother a quick kiss before running upstairs to his room.
Martha sighed.
“Put the telly on, Billy. The news should be on now. Let’s see what happened in the local elections, not that it will make much difference to the likes of us.”
Billy got up and switched on the rented TV that sat in the alcove between the chimney and the window.
“Good evening and welcome to the six o’clock news,” intoned the newsreader. “Tonight David Cameron is celebrating again as the Tories have retained control in nearly three-quarters of the councils in this 2011 poll ….”
(This story was inspired by an email which claimed life was better 100 years ago.)
About the Author
Kristen Stone describes herself as a frustrated writer looking to conquer the world. Although born in London, she knows all the words to 500 Miles, has attended several Burns Night Suppers and would love to play the bagpipes. She has even offered to change her name to McStone. Those are all good reasons for McStorytellers to grant her the status of Honorary Scot.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Edge of Extinction can be purchased at the link below.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Edge of Extinction can be purchased at the link below.