The business was keeping all of the women very busy with exigent demands from the women of the town for their hair wash and face cream products.
Word had come through the grapevine of a fancy new shop recently opened in New Street, Birmingham, and Violet and Martha set their minds to visit in the hope that the shop might buy a stock of the new boxes. Spencer drove them there in his carriage and it was agreed he would be on hand for discussions, as male businessmen – no matter the business – would still not always deal with women.
Dressed in their Sunday best, they set off, the first of the boxes made tucked safely under Violet’s arm.
As the carriage rumbled along the Birmingham streets, they saw the poverty in this town was as bad as in their own. People milled about as if having nothing better to do. Men hung around on street corners talking and smoking. Women with gaggles of small children around their legs stood gossiping, the odd errant child receiving a smack round the ear for some misdeed. Horse-drawn carts and wagons rolled along heading for Gas Street Basin where they would unload their goods. The buildings here were blackened too from the smoke from house and factory chimneys. The steam trains puffed out there smoke further adding to the smell in the town of burning coal.
Arriving at the shop, the manager, at first, refused to see the women until Spencer stepped in, saying, ‘I suggest you hear what the Wednesbury Wives have to say before dismissing them out of hand!’
The mention of the name was an effective emollient on the manager, it seemed their reputation had made it even this far. The man listened patiently, an eye always on Spencer.
When the manager first saw the box, he was unable to contain his surprise.
‘Well of course,’ he said, quickly composing himself, ‘I couldn’t pay a lot for these, as I’m sure you are aware, I cannot guarantee they would sell from our salon.’ Looking at Violet, his deprecating smile vanished.
‘You’ll pay what we are asking and will be wanting to order more before you know it!’ she snapped. Salon indeed! It was a bloody shop, the same as all the others!
Regaining his composure, the man said with a sniff, ‘I will take one dozen and see whether or not our clientele would be interested in such trinkets.’
Spencer shook hands with the manager in a gentleman’s agreement and Violet huffed her way outside her indignation evident.
*
Martha was at home busy preparing an evening meal of sausage, mash and cabbage when Nancy came in sporting a swollen face.
‘What happened to you?’ Martha asked.
‘A woman hit me in the face,’ the girl said, bursting into tears.
‘You what!’ Martha demanded. ‘What woman?’
‘You know the family who live on the barge called The Margaret Rose?’
‘Ar,’ her mother said, moving to look at Nancy’s swelling face.
‘Well, they’re moored up in the Basin and wanted me to have their kids for a week while they took some coal down to Worcester.’
‘Bloody cheek!’ Martha said putting a cold wet cloth to her daughter’s face as Nancy winced.
‘Well, when I said no because I only look after the kiddies in the daytime… the mother hit me and called me a spiteful mare!’
‘Did she now… Right you’re not going to work tomorrow, you are coming with me! The wenches can manage without you for one day. Now, get that cup of tea down you.’
Martha related the incident to the women the following morning in Joshua’s kitchen.
‘I am not having that woman strike my child!’ she snapped.
Instantly shawls were grabbed as the ‘Wives’, with Nancy in tow, set off for the canal basin.
Marching down the towpath looking for all the world like a women’s militia, they halted by the side of The Margaret Rose.
‘Hello!’ Martha yelled, her voice splitting the air. ‘Anybody in?’
She watched as the canal folk climbed onto the decks of their barges. This particular issue was going to have to be settled out in the open. She didn’t like public confrontation but she also knew they would not be getting an invite to step aboard the boat.
A sallow-looking woman with dirty hair trying to escape the confines of a bun poked her head through the hatchway. ‘What you want?’ she yelled back.
Immediately seeing this was not going to go well, Martha’s anger rose. ‘You the one who smacked my daughter?’ she shouted as she dragged Nancy into view.
‘What of it?’ the woman jeered.
Anger bubbled just below the surface as Martha said, ‘Get your arse down off that boat!’
‘I ain’t doing no such thing,’ the woman replied.
‘Then I’ll come up and bloody drag you down!’ Martha exploded.
Kath and Joyce grabbed her arms, holding her back as the cheers of the canal people sounded loud and clear. Looking around, Martha saw a crowd gathering and someone from the next barge shouted, ‘You go get her, missis, she’s causing trouble on the “cut” all the while!’
The woman yelled at him, ‘You shut yer mouth, this ain’t nothing to do with you!’
Martha yelled again at the woman, ‘Are you coming down here, or am I coming up there?’
‘Bugger off!’ the woman shouted, a nasty grin showing on her face.
Before anyone could stop her, Martha was on the boat having escaped the grasp of her friends. Quick as a wink, the woman’s head disappeared into the belly of the boat, the hatch slammed shut and the bolt was heard sliding across, locking her safely inside.
To the accompaniment of shouts and applause from everyone watching, Martha hammered on the hatch with her fists. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this, lady!’ Martha yelled. ‘The Wednesbury Wives won’t let this matter rest!’
‘What are you going to do about this Martha?’ Kath asked once Martha had climbed back onto the towpath.
‘Buggered if I know,’ she said, watching where she stepped.
‘Well, if you ask me, I wish her boat would sink!’ Mary grumbled; she carried on walking as the rest of them stopped.
Turning, Mary rolled her eyes, muttering, ‘Oh Christ – not again!’