Patrick Kennedy had travelled the world in the Royal Navy, and during his seven-year service, he had seen and visited many countries: the best and the worst.
Sometimes he had found himself in places which were so run-down and overcrowded they were squalid and almost uninhabitable, and he had turned away in horror and disgust.
Now, on this muggy June morning in Leeds, where he had grown up, he was both startled and sickened as he approached the Bank, nicknamed the Ham Shank in the local vernacular of rhyming slang.
There was a stench in the air and, even from a distance, he realized how foul a smell it was. He took a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and held it to his mouth, wanting to protect himself from the effluvium of muck and slops and the malodorous stink of rotten food and other rubbish that floated around him. Glancing at his friend, Jack Blane, he raised a brow, and Jack nodded, as he too brought a handkerchief to his mouth. Blackie and Finn, who were walking alongside them, followed suit.
Once they came to the end of the road near the railway line between Leeds and Selby, Patrick stopped.
His three companions surrounded him and listened as he removed the handkerchief, and said, ‘It’s all round here that they’re doing the sanitary inspections and talking about knocking it down. It’s just a sprawling and decaying slum. And I want us to go in and out as fast as we possibly can. I don’t think we should expose ourselves to disease, and also to the thugs who are bound to be lurking around, intent on making trouble.’
Jack nodded. ‘I agree. It’s a very poor area, and there are criminals and prostitutes living among the decent people who also live there. Hundreds of houses and cottages were built cheek by jowl, all the back-to-backs, and are still being built today.’
Finn, who had been rendered speechless by the vile stench of the Bank filling the air and its deprived, poverty-stricken, soot-blackened appearance, now said, ‘Who in God’s name would send a young woman like Moira Aherne here?’ He shook his head, frowning. ‘We’ve got to make her leave with us today.’ He gazed up at Patrick, and asked, ‘Who would do this? Send her to a cesspit, a hellhole?’
‘Someone who didn’t know what it was really like. And you’re right, we must not leave her there. She must leave with us. As I told you all on the tram, Mrs Wilson is willing to employ her as a maid, provided her butler and housekeeper are happy with her manner. She will live in, be in service, and Mrs Wilson, a nice woman, will make sure she’s looked after properly by the housekeeper, Mrs Caulfield. I got all that finally settled yesterday.’
Blackie, his dark eyes filled with worry, asked Finn, ‘She does know we’re coming, doesn’t she? Ye did send a note, didn’t ye?’
‘No. The postman told me it wouldn’t be received. Ye see, the postmen are afraid to go into the Ham Shank. No post gets there.’
Patrick exclaimed, ‘Does she know about us? Does she expect us?’
‘Yes, she does,’ Finn answered. ‘Tommy O’Hara gave a message to a friend of his coming to Leeds several weeks ago.’
‘What was the message?’ Jack probed, puzzled.
‘That Moira was to stay at home on Saturdays, because I would go there the first Saturday I was free.’
Mollified a little, Jack turned to Patrick. ‘So, we go into the Ham Shank, find the house …’ He glanced at Finn. ‘You’ve got the address, right?’
‘I have,’ Finn replied.
‘Then let’s go,’ Patrick said. ‘Here’s the plan. We go in, tell her to pack what few things she has and leave, taking her with us. We’ll go to the Blue Door Café for a bite of dinner, then take her directly to Mrs Wilson’s house in the Towers. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ the three of them said in unison.
‘One thing,’ Jack began, as they walked across the road. ‘Let’s avoid trouble. The thugs are bound to shout insults and slurs. Ignore them. Don’t answer. Don’t speak at all. Keep your eyes open, lads, and be alert, sharp-witted. We must not get into a brawl. Our aim is to rescue that young woman unharmed, and scram.’
‘Well said!’ Patrick exclaimed, and covered his mouth as he marched forward alongside Blackie.
When they arrived at the edge of the Bank, the four men paused and put their handkerchiefs in their pockets. All of them gagged for a few seconds; the stench was stronger here, almost overpowering. Each wondered how long they would last in there.
Patrick said, ‘Let’s get this over fast. You take the lead, Finn, and get us to the house. It smells putrid in the Bank. I want us out in a few minutes.’
‘I’ll take the lead, ’course I will,’ Finn muttered, and covered his mouth with his hand.
‘There are three chaps in their shirts and braces, sitting just ahead of us on a broken wall, smoking, holding what look like tin cups. Ignore them, walk past them,’ Jack warned. ‘Whatever they say.’
‘I bet that’s not tea in the tin cups,’ Blackie muttered. ‘Booze, most likely.’ His head filled with sudden memories of the times he had spent here, relieved to be free of this place once and for all.
The four of them launched themselves into the Bank, moving at a fast pace, staring ahead. Fortunately, the three men ignored them. They looked weary, hungover, and out of sorts. Patrick thought they didn’t have an ounce of fight in them. Poor sods, he thought, they hardly have a life. It must be rough for them. Work. Booze. Struggle. They’d never know happiness.
Finn explained, ‘Here it is, Green Street! Let’s look for number eight.’ Within seconds the four of them were standing in front of the door to one of the small back-to-back houses, next to a narrow alleyway.
It was Finn who knocked. The next moment they were staring at the woman who opened the door. Dressed in a black frock, she wore a stained white pinafore.
She was tall, thin, and had faded fair hair and blue eyes. But her face was lined, and she had a dejected air about her. Her eyes were dead and seemed empty of life.
‘Are you Finn, then?’ she asked, and looked at him keenly. ‘Come to fetch Moira?’
‘Yes, that’s me, Finn Ryan, Mrs.’
‘I am Mrs Walton. Come in, then. I’m Tommy’s cousin, well, cousin by marriage.’
They all entered the small room and introduced themselves.
‘Seems ter me yer’ve come in ter the Ham Shank like a bloody posse.’ She half-smiled. ‘Smart of yer, though, it’s not particularly safe. Every bloody man that lives here will start a brawl for no reason—’
‘Good morning, lads,’ a male voice said, and added, ‘I’m Stephen Walton, Jane’s husband.’ A thin, grey-haired man came downstairs and into the room, and went around shaking their hands. He, too, had a careworn face, but his demeanour was pleasant, even welcoming. ‘And ye are a posse, that’s a fact.’
Patrick said, ‘We wanted to come with Finn because we’d heard the Ham Shank was dangerous.’
‘Aye, it is that,’ the man agreed, nodding his head vehemently. ‘That’s why we haven’t let her go outside since she got here.’
‘Because of the way she looks,’ Jane Walton cut in, grimacing. ‘What a face she’s got. There’s no telling what men out there might do to her. They’re easily roused up around the Ham Shank.’
Jack, frowning, asked, ‘She’s different, is she?’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Stephen Walton muttered. ‘Just different ter most women we see every day.’
‘Ye are goin’ ter take her away with yer today, I hope. Whisk her off to Upper Armley, like Tommy said in his message,’ Mrs Walton said, sounding anxious.
‘Yes, that’s what I want to do,’ Patrick said, deciding to take charge, wishing to leave swiftly, get away from the Ham Shank more than ever.
‘We’ll go and get her,’ Stephen Walton said and, taking his wife’s arm, he led her out of the room and back up the rickety stairs.
Blackie said under his breath, ‘This room is clean, and the window and the white lace curtains are pristine, sure and they are. As for the Waltons, they seem like nice folk, friendly.’ The house was little more than one room above another but scrubbed and neatly kept.
‘I think so, too,’ Finn agreed. ‘And mebbe younger than we think. Mrs Walton is Tommy’s cousin of some kind, so he said.’
‘Moira Aherne needs looking after, getting to safety,’ Blackie said, glancing at Finn. ‘And we’ll do that, Finn. I swear on the head of the Blessed Saints I’ll do that, and ye all will. Correct?’
‘Absolutely,’ Patrick answered at once. ‘That was the reason we came here …’ He stopped speaking as footsteps were heard and Mrs Walton appeared, holding the arm of Moira. ‘This is Miss Moira Aherne, Mr Kennedy.’ She gave the girl a small push.
Moira walked across the floor towards him, her face serious.
Patrick was stunned by her looks and quite speechless when she drew to a halt in front of him. She stretched out her hand to him, and said, ‘I’m very glad to meet you.’ Her voice was low and melodic.
Patrick took her hand, cool to the touch, and managed to return her greeting. ‘And I’m happy to meet you, too.’
He found himself holding onto her hand, gazing at her, mesmerized. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful young women he had ever seen. Her hair was an almost white-blonde, her eyes pale grey and translucent, her face exquisite with delicate features.
Finn stepped forward and introduced himself. As she turned to him and took his hand, he felt himself blushing. ‘I’m Finn, Miss Aherne, Tommy’s friend.’
‘Oh, it’s lovely to meet you, Finn,’ she replied, a smile on her face. ‘Call me Moira, please. He’s said such nice things about you. And thanks for agreeing to take me away from the Bank.’
Finn swallowed, nodded, and finally said, ‘I’m happy to help you.’
Jack Blane, as astonished as the others by the young woman’s beauty and poise, came over to join them, followed by Blackie.
‘I’m Jack Blane, Moira. Call me Jack, and ask me for anything. I’ll do it if I can.’
Once again, she smiled and then thanked him graciously. A moment later, Blackie was shaking her hand and giving her his name.
‘And that’s a nickname, I think,’ Moira said, laughter echoing in her voice. ‘What’s your real name?’
‘Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill, but the whole world does call me Blackie.’
‘Because you’re Black Irish, descended from the Spanish sailors, who crawled onto Irish soil to survive at the time the Spanish Armada foundered on the rocks in the Irish Sea.’
Blackie chuckled. ‘’Tis true, to be sure it is, and I want to welcome ye to Leeds. I am at your service, Moira.’
‘And now we should leave and be on our way to Upper Armley,’ Patrick announced. ‘Do you have your things ready, Moira?’
‘I do, yes, thank you, Mr Kennedy. I’m packed. My carpetbag is over there by the door. I don’t have much.’
Patrick nodded and walked over to Jane and Stephen Walton. ‘Thank you both for looking after Moira.’
‘Tommy is family,’ Jane Walton said, really smiling for the first time. ‘I had ter do my duty, and she’s a lovely person. But whoever sent her ter me had no idea what the Ham Shank is like, or they wouldn’t have.’
‘We all realized that, Mrs Walton.’ Patrick half turned away, then paused, and asked in a lower tone, ‘But why did you suggest she was different in some way, just now?’
‘Oh, my God, did yer think that? We was trying ter explain she was so beautiful we daren’t let her go out. These buggers, these rough chaps in the Ham Shank would’ve grabbed her, mebbe raped her—’
‘That’s a certainty,’ Stephen Walton cut in quietly. ‘And probably one by one, taking turns. That’s how bad it is here.’