ANNIE’S CHAIR

Nanna Siddle has popped her clogs. Snuffed it. Kicked the bucket...Gone. The year was 1953 and those were just some of the expressions being used by families up and down our street to describe the demise of my great grandmother, Mary Jane Siddall.  As I was only ten years old at the time, and not a little naive, I was probably the last person in the street to discover that Nanna had, in fact, passed away. It was no great shock I might add. After all, Nanna was ninety-three years old and, 'had had a good innings' according to Dad. No, Nanna's passing was no great shock. But a shock was most certainly coming, and it was less than a week  away.

The talk in our family during the days leading up to Nanna's funeral was centred mainly around the fact that she hadn't left a Will, which, considering Nanna had outlived her own three children by a good few years, became a topic of much discussion between Dad, uncle Eddie, and little auntie Charlotte. I liked auntie Charlotte, and uncle Eddie too for that matter, but I don't think Dad liked either of them much. Dad said his brother should have been a vicar, because he was always poking his nose into other people's business. And he thought auntie Charlotte was 'a bit dim'. Dad said that when brains were handed out she must have been at the back of the queue, and by the time she got to the front, they'd none left.

"We'd better get on with it then."  Uncle Eddie told Dad and auntie Charlotte as they sat round the table in our front room. "And let's get one thing straight from the start." he said, warily eyeing his brother and sister in turn. "Everythin's goin' to be shared out fair and square. Agreed? Right, let's get crackin' then."  Auntie Charlotte said she thought it might be better if they waited until the funeral was over and done with. "It won't seem proper to go emptyin' Nanna's 'ouse before she's been buried."  she said, mournfully. Dad disagreed, and said the fact of the matter was, Nanna had gone, and he didn't see any point in hanging about. Dad then set the cat amongst the pigeon's by laying first claim to Nanna's mantelpiece clock. Uncle Eddie blew his top and argued that if anybody should have the clock, it was him, seeing as he was the eldest. Auntie Charlotte then quickly calmed things down by suggesting it might be a good idea to pin a raffle ticket on each item of Nanna's furniture, and then hold a sort of mini-raffle between the three of them, "Y'know, like they do in the Clayton Arms on a Saturday night." she said.  Uncle Eddie laughed and told her not to be stupid, which sent auntie Charlotte into a sulk.

Our front  room then fell quiet, and with darkness falling over the tired old rooftop's that sheltered the shabby little home's beneath, Dad struck a match and lit the oil lamp which stood in the middle of the table. "This is turnin' out to be more trouble than I thought." Uncle Eddie grumbled, lighting another cigarette. "But we'll 'ave to sort summat out, or we'll be 'ere all night." Auntie Charlotte then ventured, "What about card's?"  Dad and Uncle Eddie waited for an explanation, but none came. "What are you on about, our Charlotte?" Dad asked, finally. "Y'know! Cuttin' card's!" Auntie Charlotte almost shouted, as if speaking to a couple of imbeciles, "We cut card's, and whoever gets the highest number gets first choice. Do you know what I mean?" Uncle Eddie lay back in his chair, sighed deeply and told Auntie Charlotte to be quiet as he had a headache.  "Well if you can come up with somethin' better, then you'd better get on with it." Auntie Charlotte replied, stroppily, "At least I'm tryin'!"  Uncle Eddie sank deeper into his chair, "Yes I know," I heard him mutter, "Very tryin'."  Dad then offered to do a deal, saying that if he could have the clock,  the table and chair's, the rocking chair and the sideboard, they could have what was left between them.  Uncle Eddie's reply was short, sharp and to the point, though he did apologise to auntie Charlotte for his bad language.

Dad was clearly getting fed up with the whole business by this time, and especially it seemed, with uncle Eddie. He asked his brother to explain how on earth Nanna's things could be shared out 'fairly and squarely,' when in truth, all three of them wanted the same things. Uncle Eddie was momentarily, and unusually, lost for words, and leaned back in his chair deep in thought. "Right," he said, getting to his feet. "It seems to me the only way round this, is to sell all Nanna's stuff an' split the money three ways. What do you think?" By the look on Dad's face, it was evident he didn't think much about it at all. Auntie Charlotte, on the other hand, was immediately in full agreement, saying it would solve all the argument's about who was going to have what, and at the same time put some much needed money in her purse. "I'll be able to get our 'arold a pair o'shoe's," she said happily, "The soles of 'is boots are flappin' about all over the place, bless 'im."  Dad said he couldn't agree to the sell-off, and was surprised that they could even think of such a thing considering how long some of Nanna's possession's had been in the family.  Uncle Eddie then put it to a vote, the result of which was already cut and dried. Dad's brother said he'd contact a second hand furniture dealer he knew in Toxteth street, and arrange for Nanna's house to be emptied after the funeral. "Right then." he said, looking at Dad.  "Nobody's to touch a stick of furniture from Nanna's 'ouse until she's been laid to rest. Is that clear? Not one stick!"  And that's how things were left.

Saturday duly arrived, and brought with it a typically cold, wet November day.  The gloom of a funeral's bad enough without the weather wanting to join in, I thought, as I watched family and friend's pay their last respects to our Nanna. She had a good send off, but that was to be expected I suppose, after all, when you've spent ninety-three-years in the same neighbourhood, your bound to make one or two friend's somewhere. Mam and Dad went straight round to Auntie Charlotte's after the funeral for a booze-up with the rest of the mourner's,  and I went home.  On Sunday morning I was up early to go fishing with Tommy Wilson from Fitzroy street. And as I stood on our doorstep ready to close the front door behind me, I saw Dad coming down our street with his handcart full of Nanna Siddall's furniture, and I knew there and then, trouble would be following. As Dad placed his handcart down on the cobbled street outside our house, Mam appeared on the front doorstep beside me and berated Dad for bringing Nanna's rocking chair. 

Mam had given Dad strict instructions about the rocking chair, ie., she didn't want it.  Oh, she'd have anything else he could cram on his cart, of course she would. But not - most definitely not - that chair. Dad said the chair held fond memories for him and he was keeping it, and if Mother didn't like it she could lump it, and that was the end of the matter. With a bit of help from Albert from next door, the contents of Dad's handcart were soon unloaded and placed hither and thither in our two-up, two-down, mid-terraced home.  Mam seemed happy enough with the 'new' acquisition's that now adorned our front room, despite her deep seated reservations about Nanna's rocking chair. "Any funny business with that an' its goin' down the tip, George Siddall, even if  I 'ave to carry it there meself." she said. Why all this fuss over Nanna's old rocking chair?  I wondered. There was nothing special about it, least, not that I could see.  I asked Mam why she didn't want Nanna's chair in our house, and was told, 'what you don't know, won't hurt you'. In other words, mind your own business.

Walking around the chair, I noticed what appeared to be deep scratches running along the back of the headrest. 'Who marked Nanna's chair?' I asked. Dad said  if I looked closely enough, I would be able to see who had marked the chair. Intrigued, I looked again, and sure enough, there staring back at me was the name ANNIE, etched deep into the polished wood. "She was my sister." Dad said, pre-empting my next question. "She loved that chair, our Annie, she was never off it." I had no memory of her whatsoever and was puzzled. "Did she die a long time ago?" I asked. The expression on Dad's face changed. "Yes, son," he said, softly, "A long time ago." I asked how old she was when she died. Dad stayed silent for a moment, then.... "Nine." he said, in what was little more than a whisper. "Nine year old, that's all."  The silence that followed, was interrupted only by the ticking of Nanna's clock. 

"You reprobate!" Dad's brother shouted, as he stormed, uninvited, into our house. "I should 'ave known you'd pull summat like this, our George! I should 'ave flamin' known!" Uncle Eddie peered round the room, his narrowing eyes taking in the sight of Nanna's table, chair's, sideboard, rocking chair and mantelpiece clock. "I'm not having this, our George.  This is not on! This is not playin' the game!" 

"An' what is playin' the game, Eddie?" Dad said, getting to his feet. "Sellin' everythin' our family's possessed for generation's?  An' for what! Five quid the lot?" Uncle Eddie was adamant. "The fact remains, you've stolen my share of Nanna's belongin's. Not to mention our Charlotte's, an' your not goin' to get away with it!" Auntie Charlotte then entered our house, and the fray, and immediately set into Dad. "Do you know what you've done?" she said, emotionally, "You've got our 'arold cryin' his eyes out on our couch because I've 'ad to tell 'im 'e can't 'ave the shoe's I promised 'im, so I 'ope yer pleased with yerself!" The atmosphere in our front room was getting a bit charged up. I'd never seen auntie Charlotte lose her temper like this. And on the evidence I'd heard with my own ear's, I was beginning to doubt Dad's idea that Uncle Eddie 'should have been a vicar'. The squabble continued unabated, whilst Mother stayed in the kitchen out of the road. She said it was a family row between brother and sister, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

It was whilst all this commotion was in full flow that I noticed - out of the corner of my eye - a slight movement in Nanna's rocking chair. My attention was then quickly drawn away as Uncle Eddie was attempting to get his hands on Nanna's clock on our mantelpiece. As Dad was bigger, stronger and a good few years younger, his brother was struggling to get near the fireplace, even though he was being aided and abetted by auntie Charlotte who, having clenched her tiny fists, was pummelling Dad's back with all the impact of a butterfly alighting on a blade of grass.  Mother must have decided that the family row had now reached the point where it was a family row no more, for she rushed from the kitchen and grabbed hold of auntie Charlotte's hair. And that's when the trouble really started. The heat generated in our front room was near to boiling point, and then, Nanna's rocking chair started to roll back, and then forward, all on it's own. I shouted to Dad. "Look, the rocking chair, the rocking chair's moving!" The fighting quickly stopped and all eyes became fixed on the chair as it increased it's movement.  Mother drew herself back against the kitchen door, her face ashen. "I told you summat like this would 'appen," she stuttered, "I warned you, George. I warned you!"

We all watched as the rocking chair suddenly came to an abrupt halt, as though somebody had slammed a brake on, and an eerie silence settled over the room.  The oil lamp on the table flickered. It's light growing steadily dimmer until - as though suddenly starved of oxygen - the flame went out, and we were left with just the glow of the fire to light the room around us. Nobody moved, and not one of us dared take our eyes off the now motionless chair. Auntie Charlotte, shaking a little, sat down and asked for a cigarette. There then came an almighty crash from upstairs’, which caused the ceiling to tremble, sending flakes of plaster showering down like confetti being thrown at a wedding.  Dad and Uncle Eddie raced upstairs’ and, despite Mam's protest's, I followed.

"I don't believe it," Dad murmured, "What the 'eck's caused this?" I looked around the room and was startled. Mam and Dad's bed had been turned on it's side and shoved up against the wall; the blankets piled in the middle of the room. Pictures from the wall were strewn across the floor and Mam's net curtain lay in shreds on the windowsill. Uncle Eddie turned pale. "It's that blasted rockin' chair downstairs!" he said emphatically, "It's evil. Always has been. You've brought evil into this 'ouse, our George, you mark my words!" Dad turned away and shut the bedroom door. "Give over, Eddie. There's nowt wrong with the flamin' chair." he snapped, "Your beginning to sound like Edna. There's an explanation for everythin' if you look for it. Trouble is, people like you don't want an explanation. You'd sooner believe in ghost's!." 

Dad and his brother followed me downstairs where Mam and auntie Charlotte were waiting expectantly on our couch, and I watched Mam's face drain of colour as Dad explained what he'd found upstairs’. "Well if you think I'm sleepin' up there tonight, you can think again!" she shuddered, "I'm spendin' the night at Charlotte's with our David."  This was news to me, as I had no intention of spending the night at auntie Charlotte's. Though, with a bit of help from Dad, I did manage to persuade Mother that I was quite all right where I was, thank you. As Mam and auntie Charlotte disappeared through the front door, Dad and uncle Eddie wasted no time in donning their jackets ready to pay a 'quick visit' to the Clayton Arms at the bottom of our street. "I'll not be long, son," Dad said, straightening his cap in the mirror, "Anyroad, y'know where I am if you need me." And with that, they were gone.

I didn't much fancy staying in our house on my own, so I went across the street to see if  Alf Gartside would come and sit with me until Dad got back. "No 'e can't, it's too late!" Alf's Mother shouted, "'e'll see you in the mornin'." After getting a similar reply at Tommy Wilson's, and then at George Dunn's, I decided to forget the idea and go home. On reaching our front step I sat down to wait for Dad, after all, he had said he wouldn't be long. But, about an hour later, and with rain starting to fall, I decided I'd had enough. So, after telling myself not to be a cissy, I got up off the step, walked into the house and shut the front door behind me. The room was a little darker than when I'd left it, with just a soft, dull light spread around the walls from the dying embers of the fire. I walked to the window and watched Mrs Higgins being hurried along to the Clayton Arms by the steadily increasing winter rain, and was glad I was inside. Then, from amidst the stillness, I heard the chair creak behind me - and I froze. 

Cautiously, I peered over my shoulder, then shuddered, as a girl was staring at me from the chair. I panicked and shouted at her to go away but she didn't react, didn't flinch, just kept staring; her eyes never leaving mine as I edged back towards the stairs. The chair suddenly lurched forward, and she lifted her head and smiled at me, which sent a shiver racing down my spine. Not daring to take my eyes from her, and feeling sick with fear, I nervously groped for the handrail on the staircase. And then, with my finger's wrapped firmly around it I heaved myself onto the stairs, taking them two at a time to my bedroom, where I slammed the door shut. My body trembled as I leaned against the door and closed my eyes, praying hard that somebody would come and end this nightmare. Where the heck had Dad got to anyway, he'd been gone ages. And why had Mother left me to suffer this! She must have known Dad would go off to the pub - that's all he ever did.  I was so afraid I lay down on my bed and wrapped Dad's old overcoat around me.

Outside, rain was pelting the house, it's thousand fingers frantically rapping at the window as though seeking shelter from it's own ferocity and the darkness of the night. My eyes were growing heavy, and I longed to put my head on the pillow and drift off to that place where nobody, and nothing could hurt me. Then the room suddenly grew colder, and I pulled the overcoat tighter around me as an icy breeze chilled the air, and a deep, breathless sigh echoed softly around the walls. Swallowing hard, I turned my head, and gasped in horror as I saw her lurking in the corner of the room, watching me.  I  looked into her eyes; those empty eyes that were looking back at mine, and I shivered. "Please go away and leave me alone, your frightening me!" I cried. Ignoring my plea, she moved closer, and put her small, frail white hands on the rail of my bed. Tears of confusion and fear dribbled down my cheek as I lay shaking in the darkness, my face buried deep in the pillow. Then, as the seconds ticked into minutes, and the minutes into what seemed like an eternity, I raised my head and peered around the room, but she had gone. 

A noise downstairs’ made me jump, then footstep's were coming up the stairs and my finger's gripped the overcoat tightly as my bedroom door flew open. "Sorry I'm a bit late, son, but I got chattin' to an old mate o'mine, are you all right?" I leapt from the bed and into the safety of Dad's arms in one movement, and nestled my face into his chest. He lifted my chin with his finger, and asked why I was crying. "Your not afraid o'the dark, are you lad?" he said, ruffling my hair. I told him what had happened, but he just laughed; said I'd been dreaming. I told him I hadn't been dreaming. "She was in Nanna's chair," I insisted, "And then she was in the bedroom - the same girl!" Dad chuckled, "It's just your imagination, son, that's all. It's bin a long day an' your tired. What you need is bed. Now, come on, give us a lift to get the front bedroom straight an' you can sleep in there with me if it makes you feel any better, okay?"

The following afternoon I arrived home from school to find Mother in the kitchen making tea. "I thought you were stayin' at auntie Charlotte's." I said, throwing my coat on the couch. "Aye, well, that was last night," she returned, "But I've decided I'm not bein' kicked out o'me own 'ouse by that thing in there." she said, referring to the chair, "Any road, I've decided to do summat about it." I followed her into the front room. "Do summat about it," I asked, "Why, what can you do, Mam?" Mother picked up my coat and hung it behind the front door. "You'll know soon enough." she said, determinedly, "I'm not 'avin' 'er playin' games in this 'ouse!" Mother sat down at the table with her cup of tea, and I quickly joined her. "Mam, there was a girl in the chair last night," I said.  Mother's eyes widened, "You mean, you saw 'er our David?" I nodded, then went on to tell her that the girl had followed me upstairs’ to my bedroom. "Who the 'eck is she, Mam? And what does she want?" 

Mother's face had turned the colour of chalk, and she hesitated for a moment. "It's Annie." she said, in a hushed voice, "Can't be anyone else." I asked how she could be so sure, and she said the whole family suspected it was Annie. "It was only after she died that the chair started playin’ games." she said, "An' they all knew how much Annie 'ad loved playin' on it." I asked her why Nanna hadn’t got rid of the chair, and Mam said Nanna didn't want to. "Because if she'd got rid of the chair, she'd 'ave got rid of Annie as well, and Nanna didn't want that." But wasn't  she frightened, I asked. "Far from it," Mam said, "Nanna adored 'er little granddaughter. She was absolutely 'eartbroken when she died. An' when she knew Annie was still around - so to speak - Nanna was more than 'appy to keep 'er there. Any road, Nanna's gone now, an' it's time someone got shut of it." Mam then told me to wash my hands ready for tea, as Dad was due home from work.

Dad arrived home at six o'clock, and at half past, we sat down for tea. "I've got a bone to pick with you, George," Mam said, stirring her tea, "Fancy leavin' our David on 'is own last night. 'ave you no sense." Dad said he didn't know what she was going on about, "I only nipped out for a quick pint, I wasn't out long." he said, defensively. "Wasn't out long!" Mam shouted, "No, just long enough for our David to be scared 'alf out of 'is wits, that's all!" Dad rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "Oh, David's told you about 'is nightmare then, 'as 'e." I reminded Dad I hadn't had a nightmare, but he told me to keep quiet. "Anyway," Mam said, defiantly, "I'm puttin' a stop to this before it goes any further. I'm not 'avin' any funny business in this 'ouse!" Dad eyed her suspiciously, "Your not thinkin' of throwin' the chair out, I 'ope. Because if you are, you can forget it." Mam shook her head, "I don't understand you at times, our George. I really don't. You saw what 'appened last night. What, with the rockin' chair, an' then all that palaver upstairs in our bedroom. Yet you dismiss it as though it were all quite normal!" Dad lit a cigarette and threw the match in the grate. "I don't believe in any o'that stuff, Edna, you know that." Mam stared at him, "Well you tell me what caused it then. You explain to me an' David why the chair moved, an' 'ow the bedroom got tipped upside down! Come on, George, we want to know!"

"Subsidence." Dad said, knowingly, "You know as well as I do the mines run under 'ere from Bradford Pit. It's subsidence, Edna, that's all." I could see Mam was getting annoyed. "Subsidence?" she scoffed, "An' was that subsidence that frightened our David 'alf to death, eh? I don't think so, George. I don't think so!" Dad got up and reached for his coat, "I'm goin' for a pint," he said, "I'm not stayin' 'ere listenin' to you goin' on about ghosts, an' things that go bump in the night. I've got better things to do." Dad put his coat on, straightened his cap in front of the mirror and walked to the front door. "I don't know what you've got in mind, Edna," he said, "But that chair better be 'ere when I get back. Do you 'ear me!" After helping Mam clear the table, I asked her what she was planning to do with the chair. And she said it wasn't a case of what she was planning to do, but what she had already done. "I've sold it!" she said, defiantly, "I called at that furniture dealer's in Toxteth street an' 'e came round this afternoon an' had a look at it, agreed a price, an' said 'e'd pick it up in the mornin'."  I didn't need to tell Mother what would happen when Dad found out, but I did anyway. Mam was unrepentant. "Your father goes through life with blinker's on, our David, an' it's time 'e opened 'is eyes a bit wider."

Later that evening, as I sat reading by the light of the fire, and with Mam upstairs, I flinched at a sudden drop in room temperature and looked to see if the front door had blown open, but it was shut tight. Dismissing it from my mind, I returned to my book. But, as I turned the page, a darkness as black as pitch descended around me, and the room was suddenly engulfed in a complete and utter silence. Then I was floating. weightlessly drifting like a cloud in a quiet, colourless sky. And then, nothing. Just blackness. "Come on my luv," a voice called in the distance, "Come on pet, dinner's on the table." I opened my eyes to see a girl staring at me. "Who are you?" she asked, "And 'ow did you get 'ere?" I looked around the familiar confines of Nanna's backyard, and wondered how on earth I had got there.  "My name's David." I said. The girl smiled, "Do you want to play? I know a good game. Will you wait for me until I've 'ad dinner? Will you, David?" I said I would, and watched as she hurried through the kitchen door into the house. 

Sitting down in the yard, I heard the sound of  laughter coming over the wall from a gang of kid's in the entry outside, and I got up and peered through a crack in the gate to see if Tommy Wilson was amongst them, but much to my surprise, I didn't recognise a single face. I considered that strange, as I thought I knew virtually every kid in the area. Puzzled, I turned from the gate and sat down, and moments later the girl re-emerged from Nanna's kitchen and informed me she was now ready to play. "Okay," I said, "But what game do you want to play?" She raised her eyes to mine, and I had the oddest feeling I had met her before. "My game." she said, "Come inside an' I'll show you." I got set to follow her, then held back. "What about your Mam, won't she mind?" The girl laughed, "My Mam's not in there, silly. Nobody's in there. Come on, I want to show you my favourite game." Again I paused, "But who called you in for dinner?" I asked. "Nanna," she giggled, "This is Nanna's 'ouse, but she's gone now. Come on, David." With more than a little trepidation, I followed her through the kitchen to the front room, which was stripped bare of furniture, with just one exception - Nanna's rocking chair. "What's that chair doin' 'ere?" I asked. She seemed puzzled by my question. "It belongs 'ere," she said, indignantly, "It's my chair, see, I scratched my name on it." A bead of sweat trickled slowly down the back of my neck.  "Annie?" I stuttered, "But....but Annie's dead."

For a brief moment, I saw confusion in her eyes, then she looked away and went and sat on the chair. "Come an' sit down, David, I want to show you just 'ow fast I can rock the chair." Unable to stop myself, I walked to the chair and sat down beside her. She put her hand on mine, and I shuddered at the icy coldness of her touch. "There," she said, "Now we can be friend's, can't we." The room, already cold, grew suddenly colder as she turned and smiled at me. "You look frightened, David. Don't be frightened, I wont make the chair go too fast, I promise." Then she started to rock the chair, her laughter increasing with the pace of the rocker's as they moved faster and faster over the stone-flagged floor of the room. 

I was terrified, and shouted at her to stop, but she didn't - wouldn't listen, just kept going faster and faster until the chair reached such a speed it was rocking wildly, crazily out of control. I heard a loud crack behind my head as the chair hit the wall with a thud and I was flung across the room like a rag doll. Then, as I hauled myself from the floor, my eyes were drawn to a light which had suddenly appeared in the corner of the room.  Annie was staring at it, as if entranced; bewildered. The light was growing brighter and it started to move towards her, as though pushing back the darkness around it. Then a figure was standing there, in the light, and I gasped - it was Nanna. She held out her arms and called to Annie, gently, reassuringly, "Come on, my dear. Come on."  Annie gazed at her for what seemed like ages, then slowly she moved towards Nanna and appeared to just simply melt into the dazzling, white light......and she was gone.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. "David, wake up. David, do you 'ear me." Mam was standing over me, looking concerned. "Good God." she said, "I don't know what you've bin dreamin' about, but you were makin' such a racket you 'ad me worried." I looked at the chair. "Mam, you wont 'ave to sell Nanna's chair now." I said, "Annie's gone." Mother put her arms round me and gave me a hug. "So that's what you've bin dreamin' about, our David. I can't say I'm surprised though. Your poor little 'ead must be reelin' after what you've bin through these past couple o'day's." I told Mam I hadn't been dreaming, but, like Dad, she didn't believe me. Then she saw the shattered headrest hanging from the chair, and her jaw dropped. "'Ow the 'eck 'as that 'appened, our David!" I told her I didn't know. But then, she wouldn't have believed me if I'd told her the truth anyway. It was the strangest experience that has ever happened to me in the whole of my life, and I will never, ever forget it.                       

                                                                                     Dave Siddall

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