Winners and Losers by Catrin Collier Page A

temporary housing for their bachelor workers; half a century later they were still in use, housing the poorest of the poor. The wooden walls were rotting, the glass in most of the windowpanes had been replaced by cardboard, and it wasn’t only Mr Evans and Lloyd who called them ‘a bloody disgrace’. She’d heard the traders in Dunraven Street describing them as exactly that, too.
    â€˜Do you know Mrs Hardy, Mrs Jones? Lucy Hardy?’
    Sali recalled a painfully thin, fair-haired woman, who always seemed to have a baby in her arms and several children clinging to her skirts. ‘Yes, I believe so.’
    â€˜Her youngest boy died last week, her baby not an hour ago. Her husband pawned the last of their furniture when the boy died to buy a coffin. I gave her some coal but they’ve had no food for days. If you could send a jug of soup down from the Catholic Hall she could feed the other children. Her husband isn’t Catholic but Lucy and the children are -’
    â€˜It’s like you heard, Mrs Richards. We don’t ask questions about anyone’s religion or politics in the Catholic Hall kitchen,’ Sali said firmly.
    â€˜The Hardys are too weak to walk up there.’
    â€˜Will Mrs Hardy see me?’
    â€˜She’s in no condition to stop anyone from visiting her, Mrs Jones.’ Mrs Richards led the way across the square and opened the door of the first hut she came to. Sali stooped to enter and found herself in a single darkened, bare room. Four children, all pale, emaciated, their stomachs swollen from hunger, lay wrapped in a single blanket on the floorboards in front of a pot-bellied iron stove, which, judging by the temperature in the room, had only just been lit. The walls bore splinter marks and Sali guessed they had held shelves that had ended up in the stove.
    A ragged blanket strung on a rope nailed to the walls, curtained off a corner of the room. Beryl Richards pushed it aside and Sali saw Lucy Hardy also lying on the floor curled in a blanket. Next to her lay a grey-white baby, still as a waxwork. Sali froze; there was a pinched look about Lucy’s nostrils and a far away, unfocused expression in her eyes that intimated she would soon be in the same state.
    A man crouched on the floor beside them holding a cup of water. He glanced up and Sali saw a flicker of hostility in his eyes. The last vestige of a ragged pride that had prevented him from seeking help until it was too late.
    Sali looked from Beryl, who was weighed down by her twins, to the man and back to the children. None of them was in a fit state to walk to Connie’s shop let alone the soup kitchen. Removing her coat, Sali laid it over Lucy and went outside.
    The nearest person was an absurdly young-looking constable with red curls spilling out from beneath his helmet, but moved by the urgency of the situation Sali didn’t stop to look for someone she knew. ‘Will you help me?’ She added, ‘Please,’ when she saw him hesitate.
    He and the officer closest to him walked warily towards her.
    â€˜Constable Huw Davies, ma’am, can I help you?’
    â€˜Will you go to the Catholic Hall and Rodney’s shop for me please. Tell Mrs Rodney that Sali Jones needs a basic parcel of food, especially bread, sent here as soon as possible, and ask Father Kelly to call right away with the doctor and a jug of soup. A baby’s just died, the mother is seriously ill and there’s four starving children and a man who haven’t eaten in days in this house.’
    The officer pushed open the door just as Beryl was leaving the curtained alcove. He saw Lucy lying on the floor with her baby and the children huddled in front of the stove. He shouted to his companion, ‘You go to the shop, Wainwright, I’ll go to the Catholic Hall.’
    Joyce Palmer stood in the doorway of her lodging house, effectively blocking it. ‘I will not allow any girl in my employ to have