Great Harwood’s new town hall, only completed ten years ago, is packed. It is a special meeting of the British Socialist Party, called to air opinions about the war. The room is full for two reasons. First, leading socialist Henry Hyndman is the main speaker, and he always pulls a large crowd. And second, the debate about the war has reached fever pitch in recent weeks as more and more join up for Kitchener’s Army and ever more bodies return from France.
After much cajoling from Mary, Cath has agreed to speak at the meeting. She is petrified. After several local speakers have addressed the meeting, Henry Hyndman, as usual, gives a typically rousing speech in support of socialist principles but, to the consternation of many in the audience – a few of whom boo the speaker – he also articulates a powerful defence of Britain’s war effort. His closing words bring the majority of the audience to their feet.
‘Comrades, our boys at the front are fighting a just war against an enemy bent on a new imperialism. The bloodlust of the Kaiser must be defeated. I know that our own leaders are hardly radicals, as we use the phrase, but the unity that we now see in Britain will bring inevitable change. Our servicemen are fighting for freedom in France and Belgium, a freedom that cannot be denied them when they return home. Until that time, we must do all we can to support them.’
The time has come for Cath to speak. She is the first woman to be invited to speak at any of the local Lancashire branches, an honour accorded her following the recommendation of several Burnley members. She is introduced by the Chairman of the meeting.
‘Comrade Catherine Kenny, a weaver from Burnley. Welcome, Cath.’
Cath’s heart is pumping so fast, she can hardly breathe. The fact that she is almost seven months pregnant is not helping; neither is the fact that, in the last couple of weeks, the baby’s little flutters of movement have been replaced by easily discernible kicks.
Mick is in the front row with Mary and Tommy. Nat and Vinny are at the back of the room with other friends who have travelled from Burnley to listen to her speak in public for the first time. Lieutenant Heys is there to hear her with several members of the Burnley Clarion Club who, of course, have cycled the six miles to Great Harwood.
Mary and Cath have abandoned the dowdy Lancashire shawls worn by the local working-class women, an attire that makes them look like impoverished nuns, and are wearing smart pleated skirts and blouses, like well-to-do ladies. Mick and Tommy are very proud; their lasses look very fetching indeed. The men are looking exceptionally neat and tidy: they sport short-back-and-sides military haircuts, clean-shaven faces, well-brushed Sunday best clothes and highly burnished boots. They look quite the part.
Henry Hyndman, seeing how nervous Cath seemed, took her on one side before the meeting began and gave her some simple advice: ‘Be yourself, be true to what you believe; you’ll be fine. They will love your honesty.’
The silence is deafening as her trembling fingers try to flatten her speech on to the lectern in front of her. She looks up and peers through the town hall’s window just as the clock on Mercer’s Tower nearby is about to strike eight o’clock. Cath sees the minute hand move, prompting her to begin, her voicing cracking with apprehension.
‘Good evening … Comrades …’
Then, as if on cue, the clock strikes with a loud clang. It stops Cath in her tracks and makes the audience laugh. Mercer’s Clock Tower was built by his daughter in memory of John Mercer, one of the giants of the cotton industry and the inventor of ‘mercerized’ cotton. An impoverished child, who never attended school, he taught himself to read and write and to understand the basics of chemistry. He would eventually be admitted to the Royal Society and become a juror at the Great Exhibition of 1862. Cath knows the story of John Mercer well. He is one of her heroes. As she continues to fumble with her speech, she remembers Henry Hyndman’s words of encouragement.
As the clock booms its seventh strike, she decides to heed Hyndman’s advice and, despite the hours of writing and rehearsing, abandons her scripted words and lays them to one side. She looks at Mick, who is as nervous as she is. But, as Mercer’s clock strikes its last chime, she smiles and thinks to herself: If little John Mercer can do what he did and transform the cotton industry, I can make a little speech. The weight of fear lifts from her shoulders. She rests her hands on the side of the lectern and begins.
‘It’s ’ard to foller a lad like Mr Hyndman. ’E’s cleverer than me and ’as ’ad a proper education. But I’m goin’ to try because ’e’s been an inspiration to me an’ lots o’ t’people in this room. Like John Mercer, whose loud clock is reet outside that yonder window, he’s an example to all on us.’
Cath begins to flow. For over fifteen minutes, she describes her childhood in the squalor of a cellar dwelling in Brierfield, a suburb of Burnley, the daughter of Irish immigrants, and how she struggled to learn to read and write. She speaks with an easy fluency, full of humorous detail about the delights of long-drop lavatories and carbolic soap, of visits from the schools’ nurse, ‘Nitty-Nora, the Bug-Explorer’, and tidemarks around children’s necks who are only able to swill their faces before going to school.
She describes the early socialist meetings she attended and her gradual conversion to the cause of equality for all. Her ancient East Lancs dialect is understood perfectly by the locals and even those who are not familiar with its nuances understand the greater part of it and enjoy its peculiar charm. Mick smiles broadly, proud of his wife. Henry Hyndman nods appreciatively as she gets to the nub of her proposition, one that is not in direct opposition to his, but more a cry from her heart.
‘I got t’sack fer picketin’ at Howard an’ Bullough’s strike, so did me ’usband, Mick, and me friends Mary an’ Tommy. We ended up wi’ no job and blacklisted in t’mills an’ t’pits. We ’ad nowt, an’ no prospects of owt. So Mick an’ Tommy an’ their mates Nat an’ Vinny joined up. Not because we ’ad a choice, but because we ’adn’t!’
A round of applause echoes around the room from those who think she is going to support the anti-war position. But they are to be disappointed.
‘Now we’re committed to Britain’s war effort, there’s no goin’ back. There’s lads’ lives at stake – one in, all in! Colliers, weavers, posh lads, poor lads, they all bleed!’
A much louder roar of approval reverberates around Great Harwood Town Hall. If Mercer’s Tower Clock were to strike again, it would not be heard.
‘So I ’ave no argument wi’ Mr Hyndman’s opinion o’ t’war. Like ’im, I support this war because it’ll bring change, an’ it’ll mean that when our lads come ’ome, it will be to a land fit for heroes!’
Cath’s closing remarks bring the entire audience to its feet. Mick jumps onstage to give his wife a warm embrace. Then Henry Hyndman does the same.
‘Comrade Kenny, that was an excellent speech. You are a natural; you should have no fears about speaking in public. I loved your closing line, “to a land fit for heroes”. Do you mind if I steal it?’
‘Do what tha wants wi’ it, Henry; I’m just glad it’s over!’
Lieutenant Heys appears at Mick’s shoulder.
‘Good evening, Mick!’
‘Even’, sir.’
‘Call me Fred; no formalities here, not at a meeting of socialists. Please introduce me to your formidable wife.’
‘Cath, this is Lieutenant Heys. ’E’s in charge o’ t’platoon.’
‘Rousing words, if I may say so, Mrs Kenny.’
‘Thanks, Lieutenant.’
‘I think you and Mr Hyndman are right, this war will herald a new order in Britain.’
Cath frowns.
‘Aye, mebbe … Just bring ’em ’ome in one piece.’
Later, back at Keighley Green Club, Tommy and Mick are enjoying a drink.
‘So, your Cath did alreet t’neet.’
‘She did that; I’m reet proud on ’er.’
‘Yer know what, Mick?’
‘What’s that, Tommy?’
‘We gonna ’ave to start listenin’ to our Cath an’ Mary; they’re cleverer than we are.’
‘I reckon tha’s reet, Tom lad.’