Ethel Palmer carefully nursed her bruised ribs. It hurt do anything more than pant in shallow breaths and she felt sure that at least one of her ribs was broken, so sharp was the pain.
Jack had come home from the pub in a foul, angry mood, something to do with a loss on the horses. He shouted at 3 year old Margaret for getting in his way and when Ethel mildly protested, he had turned on her, 5 or 6 heavy punches into her ribs before he stomped off to bed to sleep off the drink. Ethel would sleep downstairs in a chair, as she had been doing whenever he came home worse for drink and in a violent temper.
For 2 or 3 weeks following the death of Rosie, Jack had not raised his fist to her once or beaten her, or any of the children with his belt. He had shouted and sworn and threatened but he h
