Rosie stood close to the cracked mirror and applied the crimson lipstick. In her high heels, shortest of mini-skirts and top with a plunging neckline she’d soon be off to the far end of Dock Road and she hated herself for doing it. How had it come to this?
Rick had been fun, he knew how to spend money, how to go out and enjoy life and they’d had a whale of a time and then the first of the kids had arrived and the second within less than twelve months. Rick had walked out, vanished seemingly off the face of the earth – no maintenance payments and here she was in a two up and two down terraced house in the poorest part of town. She was struggling and it was old Trixie next door who’d put her up to it. Trixie had confided that she had been on the game herself when she was young – she schooled Rosie in the trade and said for a few quid she’d babysit when Rosie was out.
The neighbours began to guess what she was doing and then when she was fined for soliciting and her name appeared in the local press their assumptions were confirmed. Any attempts now to find alternative employment were thwarted. She had applied for a part-time job at the Oven Fresh Bakery in the High Street, but Meryl Evans, who ran it with her husband said bluntly “We can’t have harlots handling our Hovis.” A crude humourist down at the Red Lion dubbed her “a contractor for the demolition of temporary erections.”
The terrace in Albert Street was owned by an absentee landlord and managed by a local estate agent and their man Reggie Bates had called round for the rent that afternoon - she’d pleaded with him to leave the last twenty pounds till next time or it would leave her with nothing. Reggie was aggressively firm and had insisted on the full amount. So tonight once again she’d dumped the kids with Trixie and was on her way out.
The same evening Edward and Meryl Evans left their flat above the bakery and cut through Albert Street to the Evangelical Mission Church. It was Prayer Meeting night and Meryl prided herself on never being late. Half way along Albert Street they saw a groaning figure lying in the gutter and Edward Evans was about to respond but Meryl insisted, “No Edward don’t go across the road and touch him. You don’t know where he’s been and we run a very hygienic bakery. He’s probably a drunk we’ll ask everyone to pray for the poor man’s soul. Now hurry up. We mustn’t be late.”
Pastor John and those assembled that evening at the Mission Church listened to Meryl’s account of the man in the gutter and her request for prayer for him. Pastor John whispered into the ear of one of his elders, donned his coat and left the gathering.
Like his namesake, a blasphemous seaman over two hundred years before him Pastor John had had a remarkable conversion experience. John Newton’s experience had come during a violent sea storm which was eventually to lead him to becoming Vicar of Olney and penning the ever popular Amazing Grace. Pastor John had been a young delinquent in and out of Borstal Institutions and joining the army had saved him from a prison sentence. It was in an ambush in an overseas war that he’d called out to God for the first time in his life and crawled out unscathed amongst his dead limbless colleagues and his life’s direction and purpose had changed from then on.
He raced down Albert Street expecting to find someone who may have fallen among thieves. Muggings occurred often in that area. A mini-skirted young woman was trying to help the man to his feet. Pastor John’s first words were “Has he been robbed? Have you called the police?”
Reggie Bates, the rent collector, looked up with a bleeding nose and a closing eye and muttered through a split lip that he had not been robbed and in no way did he want the police involved. Rosie suggested they get him to her place just up the road and get him cleaned up.
While Rosie dabbed at Reggie’s face with damp cotton wool and Pastor John put on the kettle and found some mugs and teabags, Reggie began to pour out his sorry tale. “I should never had done it. What will my wife say. I’ve been a fool, I’ve been a fool. I’ll not do anything like this again.” The story slowly came out. Reggie who lived with his wife over in Moss Wood, the better area of the town, had felt his relationship with his wife was drifting apart. She’d been flirting with the manager at the office where she was a typist and thinking what’s good for the goose, Reggie had been finding some comfort with Cherry Burns who lived at 49 Albert Street. Now Cherry Burns' husband Bill, nicknamed Barnacle by his mates down at the Red Lion, was a merchant Seaman on a regular cross Atlantic run. Unfortunately for Reggie and Cherry due to favourable weather and winds Barnacle Bill’s ship had docked two days earlier than expected and he’d entered unannounced.
“What shall I do Pastor John?” pleaded Reggie. “Do you know the Reverend Wilshaw at St Marks over at Moss Wood?” queried Pastor John. Reggie affirmed that he did, the Reverend Wilshaw had conducted his wedding a few years ago, though he seldom went to church now. “I know Don Wilshaw well” continued Pastor John “and he runs an excellent marriage guidance course. I suggest you go home and have an honest heart to heart talk with your wife, and if she agrees attend one of those courses.”
Cleaned up a bit and steady on his feet now, Reggie stood up to leave thanking Pastor John for his advice. Then pulling out his wallet took out two twenty pound notes and pressed them into Rosie’s palm. “Call it a rent rebate, and thanks for being a Good Samaritan tonight Rosie.” Pastor John rose to leave too, but Rosie asked him to stay she had things she wanted to ask.
Pastor John sat down again. His eyes wandered to her cleavage and exposed thighs. He consciously tried to check the lascivious thoughts invading his mind, situations like this had been the downfall of better men than him. “You passed no judgement on Reggie, but gave him helpful advice and hope” said Rosie “But I feel I’m a totally hopeless case, Pastor.”
“Rosie, I’ve lived on both sides of the fence so to speak, and needed my share of forgiveness too” responded Pastor John “No one’s beyond hope.”
“Everyone knows what I do when I go down Dock Road” wept Rosie, “I’m terrified when I’m down there. A week ago two fellows picked up a girl, roughed her up, robbed her and dumped her ten miles from town. Last time I was down there a pimp with knife threatened me because I was on his girl’s beat. I hate old Trixie for talking me into it. I hate myself for doing it, I feel disgusting. I hate the neighbourhood for not giving me a break. I just feel trapped in it all. If it wasn’t for my kids I think I’d end it all.”
Pastor John sent up what is known in his business as an arrow prayer. “God I’m stumped what do I say?” and almost before he had thought it through he was saying “Rosie we need a church cleaner and odd job person and I think if you would take it on for a few hours a week I might be able to find you some house cleaning work with a few better off folk over in Moss Wood who would be prepared to give you a chance. Would you give it a go?”
Rosie wept tears of gratitude “Yes, I’ll take it on and try my best to please.”
Pastor John walked back towards the Evangelical Mission hoping that his congregation would back his decision to engage Rosie, but knowing he’d get trouble from Meryl Evans, the Hyacinth Bucket of their community. Years ago when the modern English translations of the Bible had been introduced it had been “If the King James version was good enough for the apostle Paul it’s still good enough for me” and when a more casual dress style came in it was “I know we have to reach out to the riff raff but do we really need to dress like them.” When the humourist went to buy a bloomer loaf and cracked a mild double-entendre joke about her bloomers Meryl called him a disgusting pervert and banned him from the premises. In the Red Lion he related the tale and dubbed Meryl the “starched fart in the bakery”. Though he never repeated it Pastor John couldn’t resist an inner smile when he heard the term; it seemed to suit her.
Back in his church the meeting had finished and those assembled were chatting over coffee and biscuits. He called for silence and a somewhat startled group listened as he announced that he had just been talking to Rosie Grey and she had accepted his offer to become the new church cleaner. The first to respond was Meryl "Really Pastor, you’ve abandoned a prayer meeting tonight and neglected praying for that poor soul lying in the gutter – instead you’ve been consorting with a known prostitute and now you have the gall to tell us you’ve appointed her to a position in this church.” Then turning to her husband she continued “The time has come for Edward and I to resign from this establishment and find somewhere more respectable to worship.”
Before Pastor John had finished expressing his sorrow at their decision they had left the room, though inwardly he was having difficulty suppressing a mixture of joy and relief. A short mention of Mary Magdalene becoming the first disciple to proclaim the Resurrection of Jesus and he had won over those remaining.
It proved a successful decision. Rosie finished up with a paying cleaning round. At first she would come to services and sit quietly at the back, but she could play a guitar and sing, eventually becoming part of the music group. When she belted out “Oh Happy Day” her face shone with the reality of her experience. Her kids grew and joined the youth group that helped keep them off the streets and away from knives and drugs.
Reggie Bates went home that fateful night and after he and his wife shared some tearful confessions they decided to go and see the Reverend Don Wilshaw. They attended one of his marriage guidance courses and at a special service for those who attended they renewed their marriage vows.
Some live and learn and some do not. Barnacle Bill returned from the sea again and heard in the Red Lion his wife had been entertaining the milkman and Bill’s now serving eighteen months for causing grievous bodily harm to an innocent dairy employee. Cherry hadn’t told him she’d switched from the Co-op to Express Dairies. A sad business – everyone blames Cherry and she’s been as ostracized as Rosie used to be. Meryl calls her a “Jezebel” if she goes in the bakery but Rosie invites her in for cuppa and some sympathy sometimes.
Old Trixie mocked Rosie for going all religious saying she’d soon be back on Dock Road again. But, when Trixie, who had been brought up a Catholic was diagnosed with a terminal disease, for the first time in nearly sixty years she went to the priest and made her confession. She spent her last months in a hospice run by the Catholic Sisters of Compassion. Rosie was her only regular visitor.
Meryl and her husband now go to St Marks at Moss Wood – nicer class of people there. Pastor John prays that God will give his pal Reverend Don Wilshaw patience to cope with Meryl. Meryl has asked the Reverend Wilshaw to include Pastors who consort with prostitutes in their intercessions. Don Wilshaw wonders what Meryl will say if she ever finds out Rosie Grey spends every Thursday morning at the Vicarage efficiently cleaning it from top to bottom.
About the author
Guy Pratt is a retired octogenarian second hand bookseller who enjoys gardening, long walks with his dog and travel. He gravitated into the book trade after earlier years in farming, the army Intelligence Corps and the civil service.
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