Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 Chapter 3 (4/6) By Frank Beill

(1/6), (2/6), (3/6), (4/6), (5/6), (6/6). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4.

'So how have you been getting by?' There was some life in the fire now. I stood up again to look at this sad wretch to whom I owed so much. 'You call this gettin' by.' There was that world-weary laugh again. 'The last of Stan's wages ran out weeks ago. Depend on handouts mainly now. George helps when he can but he's got Annie and their bai'ns to look after.' I hardly noticed the mention of my best friend.

'It's either go on the parish or go on the streets!' She took a deep breath. Her head dropped and tears streamed down her face. 'Not that I'd get much on the streets - the state I'm in!' 'Don't worry, Sal.' It was my turn to take a deep breath. 'I'm here. I'll help.'

'What for? You don't owe us nowt!' A note of weak defiance returned to her voice. 'Sal, I owe you and George more than either of you can ever know!' A hissing cinder spat out the fire and onto the floor as if to emphasise my words. Later that night when I left Sal and her child, Martha, they had full bellies and enough food to give them a good breakfast the next morning. I felt guilty going back to the comfort of the White Horse Hotel in the town (sorry, city) centre.

It wasn't as grand as either the Royal Station Hotel or the Imperial, which were used by Bill and the others back in 1888, but compared to Sal's mean abode it was a palace. I wasn't rich but I vowed to make a difference to the lives of Sal and her little girl. There was much more to it than repaying an old debt. Debt doesn't come into consideration where love is concerned. * *

The morning traffic in West Dock Avenue was moving in the direction of St Andrew's Dock or the 'Fish Dock' as everyone in Hull called it. Horseshoes and steel wheel rims clattered on hard wood sets. Why the street was named avenue, I don't know. There wasn't sign of a single tree in its whole length and no gardens either. Every building faced directly onto the pavement, except for those in narrow terraces that ran off on the school side of the street. I saw a well-trained horse waiting obediently in the shafts of a coalman's cart parked at the Hessle Road end of the street. Its master was making deliveries.

'How much for a bag?' I shouted across the street to the coalman. The man was heaving another large dark sack onto his bent back. He paused and two white eyes broke through a charcoal black visage, looking for the origin of the request. It was the first non-white face I'd seen in Hull and this was only because it was covered in coal dust.

Continued... Next Page (5/6)

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