Before I Was Here, Part I

Before I was here, there was a young woman called Gerty.  She hated her name, but wasn't willing to make a fuss about it because she was named in honor of a beloved aunt, and heaven forbid she should hurt anyone's feelings.  So, Gerty, obviously a rather dutiful young woman, took care of her three younger sisters while her mother, a weaver,  was working in the woollen mill, and then, at age 14, she left school to work in the mill as well, so she could add her small wages to her mother's to support the family.   You see, her father had been wounded in World War I, came back to England from the trenches of France thoroughly shell-shocked, and was unable to work on a regular basis because he had been bombed and gassed--his eyes constantly watered, he sometimes had difficulty breathing, he was very nervous, and he was quite deaf.

Each Saturday, Gerty went off to Woolworth's where she worked behind the makeup counter for eight hours, so she could have spending money for material to sew new clothes, buy tickets to the pictures, or have funds for a charabanc trip to Morecombe or Blackpool on occasional summer Sundays.   Most every Sunday though, she put on her navy blue and red Salvation Army uniform, including the bonnet with the bow on the side, and accompanied her grandmother to the morning and evening services or the evangelical marches on Friday evenings and Sunday afternoons.   These were fun, with the band merrily playing all the old hymns and accompanying the songsters who sang whenever they stopped on a vacant lot or on the grassy area outside the local picture house.    Her grandmother was the one carrying the banner at the head of all the processions.   At these outdoor events, she vaguely knew some of the band members, including the Chatterton brothers, Thomas and Ernest, who played euphonium and cornet respectively.

Her younger sister, Beaty, was the siren of the family and had a long line of beaux who fancied her.   On the other hand, Gerty was respectably engaged to a builder, Fred Kneeshaw, a stable and responsible young man who had good prospects.   One evening, Beaty, who had a mind of her own and had set her cap at Tommy Chatterton, stopped Gerty at the door to the house for a little chat.   She explained that she really liked Tommy and had tried to send him a message to that effect.  Unfortunately, the message reached Ernest instead, who promptly did the gentlemanly thing and asked her out.   Beaty accepted the date with the proviso that Ernest bring his brother for her sister, as that was the only way her mother would allow her out.   "Done!" agreed Ernest.

"You have to save me from a life of sadness and hopeless misery," moaned Beaty to Gerty.  And in  her usual dramatic manner she threw in, "You have to double date with the Chatterton brothers or I shall die."    Gerty was very skeptical.   "What's Mam going to say about  an engaged woman going out with another man for the evening?" she asked reasonably.   "And why can't you tell Ernest it's Tommy you sent the message to?  Why do you always have to lie?"  To underline her objection, she also threw in some drama, "What's more, you know mother'll kill me if she finds out what I've done."    Beaty had it all worked out.    "I can't tell Ernest that," she cried.   "It would make me look such a fool. Besides, they'll each be on their own motorbike, and they'll pick us up at the end of the street so Mam won't know.     You'll go first and climb on the pillion seat of Ernest's bike 'by mistake' then I'll have to climb up behind Tommy on his bike--reluctantly."  

After much persuading, pouting and generally making a nuisance of herself, Beaty finally got Gerty to agree to help her out.     On the appointed night, the two sisters walked to the end of the street where the boys in their leather jackets were confidently waiting.  Gerty slipped off her engagement ring and put it in her pocket.   The motorbikes were shined to a fare-thee-well, and as both Tommy and Ernest were trying to outdo one another in the engine revving department, it was quite easy for Gerty to perch behind Ernest, and for Beaty to fling her arms around Tommy's waist as she climbed up behind him.

Gerty and Ernest ended up in Guiseley, and over a penn'oth of chips and a fish each with salt and vinegar, they laughed and talked and enjoyed each other's company immensely.   Ernest asked Gerty out again, and to her surprise, she agreed before she realized what she was saying.   Ernest waited with her at the end of the street until Tommy and Beaty came roaring up, and then she slipped on her ring before walking up the street and into the house--where their mother was waiting with a face like thunder.     (to be continued)