ISSUE 3 - 1972

cover size 296 x 215 mm

CONTENTS

WHAT VOICES IS ALL ABOUT

This is the third 'Voices'. It continues to -be a vehicle for working class expression. We want more writers. We want more readers. We want criticism and appreciation of this publication.

Voices exists because its publishers, 'Manchester Unity of Arts Society' , recognises that there is a need for magazines in which the literary potential of working people can develop and flourish, unhindered by traditions unrelated to their way of life, or by literary fads and fashions or commercial considerations.

This is in line with the general aim of 'Unity of Arts', which is to encourage interest in art, in all its forms, by organising exhibitions of workers' art, putting on plays either written by or about- working class people, sponsoring musical concerts and whatever other artistic activities our members or affiliated organisations call for at any particular time.

Eventually 'Unity of Arts' hopes to build up, with the assistance of working class organisations and other organisations in (sympathy with our aims, a cultural centre with an 'Arts Workshop', and other facilities for concerted artistic activities (Drama, Poetry, Literature, Painting, Drawing, Sculpture, Music), which will be at the service of working class organisations and the working class generally.

To achieve these aims the Society needs to be broadly based, with a powerfully affiliated membership throughout the Labour Movement. It is the Society's hope therefore, that Trade Unions, particularly, will want- to become affiliated and help us; and in this they could not do better than take a number of copies of 'Voices' to give or to sell to their members. It will cost 28p a copy (20p plus postage)

All enquiries to the Secretary, Mr. E. Morrison, 110 Edge Lane, Stretford. (061.865.5862)

A HOUSE IN THE MORNING

The three little girls were playing outside the old house in their terraced street.

"Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper..."

"Mind out of the way Julie!'" The little girl stopped turning her end of the rope, which hung in mid-swing, catching the skipper behind the ear, and she turned to see the old lady standing behind her.

"Sorry, Mrs. Milton..." as she moved aside to let the old lady pass; but Mrs. Milton made no reply. She walked slowly, with her head bent slightly forward, past the children and into the gate of the old house set amid brightly painted other houses. The dark stained brown door opened and swallowed the old lady up. The girls resumed their game. "Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper"

"I am - going to - my Aunty - Joans - today - she has - got a -new - baby", Karen recited in slow, chanting, rhythm, as she skipped.

The postman edged by and grinned as he passed.

"Have you got anything for us? Number seven?"

Annie dropped her end of the rope and ran after him, leaving the rope to finish its swing in a whiplash which wound around Karen's ankles as she stopped skipping.

Annie collected her letters and ran on to her own house, while the other two picked up the rope and began skipping together. "Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper,..salt...mustard..."

"Here, you kids! Out of the way". The man stepped from his van, collected the carry-crate from the back, and pushed past the girls. "Why can't you play somewhere else?" he grumbled and entered the gate to the first house.

Annie came back, and, ignoring the milkman, they began again. "Salt...mustard...vinegar..."

"I don't know why they can't paint this 'ouse. Its a bloody disgrace. 'Orrible old brown; can't see why they can't do it a nice blue, or green, even that orange; or even that purple over there; even that's much better. Bloody disgrace!" The milkman climbed back in the float and jangled off, down the road.

"Julie!" A voice rose from three doors down and the little girl stopped skipping, and the rope fell against her ankles.

"Oh! I've got to go - me and me mum are going to town to get some shoes"; and with that she left, dragging the rope behind her.

"Hey Julie! Lend us the rope please " . She stopped for a second, and then threw it, calling "O.K. Let me have it back later". The rope fell behind Karen, who turned to pick it up and found herself staring at a well polished pair of shoes, above which towered a priest .

"Do be careful children. That kind of thing can cause accidents". He half-smiled and walked on, entering the gate of the brown painted house with the dark windows. He knocked, and after a while the door opened, and he was gone. "Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper...salt...mustard.."

"Oh! I'm fed up with this" Annie grumbled. "Let's play hopscotch". Karen thought for a moment, and then dashed off saying "Alright - I'll get the chalk and a stone!" Annie picked up the other end of the rope and skipped alone.

"Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper...salt...mustard..."

Shortly Karen returned and marked the lines on the pavement.

" 'ere! What you drawrin' in front of our 'ouse for?" Eric had just come back from the baths; his hair was damp and uncombed. The girls invited him to play for a while and he said O.,. As they began, a big black car with darkened windows drew up outside the brown painted house with the dark windows and the half closed curtains. Three men got out and one went to the door and knocked. The other two followed him as the door opened, and they all were gone.

Annie's mother appeared, as if from nowhere, and took her away, saying as he left, "You two had better go home too".

The door outside which they were playing opened and a voice ordered Eric inside. A moment later the door re-opened and a hand reached down to pick up the wet, rolled-up towel from the step, and the same voice announced, "You had better go home now Karen".

As she turned to go, the street seemed suddenly empty and quiet. There was only the car, no other people anywhere to be seen. Mystified, she began to walk towards her own home, past the brown painted house with the dark windows and the half drawn curtains; and as she did so the door opened and the three men were slowly spilled out, carrying between them the long box coffin with the shiny handles. The driver got out, opened the door at the back, and the long box was inserted.. The four men then climbed back into the car and drove slowly off into the just beginning light rain, as the door of the house opened again and the minister appeared. He pulled the door gently shut and left in the direction he had first come, his back catching the lightly driven rain.

Annie stood, watching the car drive slowly down the street, as the quiet sounds of the engine diminished and blended with the returning sounds of distant traffic and the sounds of people; and the world returned to the street where the little girl stood outside the brown painted house with the dark windows and the half closed curtains framing the new shed rain tears.

And the little girl began to skip, slowly away from the scene, into the sounds.

"Salt...mustard...vinegar...pepper..."

T.M. CULLEN.