Tangled Threads (18 page)

Now Jimmy was scoffing. ‘He’d never let you. He won’t have women working in there, I can tell you. Andrew told me.’

But Jimmy had not overheard the conversation between their uncle and grandmother. There was a determined glint in Eveleen’s eyes as she said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

‘Huh,’ Jimmy said again, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and turning away, ‘Pigs might fly.’

Over the following few days, Eveleen gave a lot of thought to the idea. She made several excuses to visit the workshops and lingered as long as she dared to watch the men at
work. She was careful not to catch her uncle’s eye, for he would certainly have gestured that she should be about her own work. No doubt he would have misconstrued her reasons for being
there, thinking that she was flirting with the young lads. She kept her distance from Andrew Burns, for he never lost an opportunity to talk to her and would wink cheekily at her.

She was confident that she could learn how to operate a frame and the only thing that worried her was the physical strength that was obviously required. But she had worked on a farm, she
reminded herself. She had lifted churns of milk and sacks of corn. She had stood on the top of a stack at threshing time and wielded forkful after forkful of straw. Her muscles flexed involuntarily
at the memory.

Eveleen left the workshop and walked back down the brick path towards the cottages, returning to her own work. On Sunday, she decided, she would talk to her grandmother. Bridget and she had
drawn even closer and she knew the old woman would be her ally.

If anyone could help her persuade Harry to give her a trial at one of the frames, then it was her grandmother.

‘Gran,’ Eveleen began the following Sunday, as she sat working the pillow lace under her Bridget’s guidance. ‘Do women ever operate the
frames?’

The question obviously startled the old lady.

Eveleen paused in twisting the bobbins one over the other to form the spidery web of lace and repeated her question.

‘I don’t know about anywhere else, but they never have here.’ Bridget’s shrunken mouth widened into a smile. ‘Your uncle would think it a distraction to the fellers
to have a woman working alongside them.’ She put her head on one side and eyed Eveleen thoughtfully. As shrewd as ever she said bluntly, ‘Are you thinking of taking Jimmy’s
place?’

Eveleen met her grandmother’s gaze squarely. ‘I’d like Uncle to teach me how to operate a frame.’ Then she added deviously, ‘Perhaps with me there, Jimmy would work
harder. He’d not like to be outshone by his sister.’

Bridget laughed. ‘You crafty little monkey.’ Then, thinking aloud, she murmured, ‘Well, your uncle doesn’t like to have frames standing idle, and by what he said
yesterday there’ll be another from tomorrow morning. One of the older fellers was taken ill on Friday.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Poor old Alfie. He worked for your
grandfather ever since he started this place.’ The old lady’s mind was wandering off into her own memories but far from being irritated, Eveleen was fascinated.

‘When we first got married we came to live here in an old tumbledown cottage.’ She pointed down to the ground. ‘That stood where these houses are now. Your granddad started
with just one frame at home and I worked the stocking-machine and made pillow lace. We worked from dawn to dusk and then some. He had this dream, you see, that he’d build workshops, run his
own little factory. He bought this place because it had a good-sized garden to it and he could see the possibilities. Then he started to build the workshops, brick by brick with his own hands. It
took years.’

She fell silent and gazed out of the window as if her old eyes, which could not see clearly around her now, could see perfectly back into the past.

‘If Uncle would only teach me,’ Eveleen said, trying to keep her growing excitement in check, ‘there might be other people who would employ me.’

Bridget was dragged back to the present by Eveleen’s remark.

‘There might be,’ she said guardedly, not sounding too hopeful. ‘But I’m not sure any of them would employ a woman, let alone a young girl.’

Eveleen’s smile broadened and her eyes twinkled as she said, ‘We’ll see.’

‘No, no, it’s impossible.’ Harry shook his head. ‘It’s unheard of.’

‘Why, Uncle Harry?’ Eveleen said evenly, keeping her tone respectful and deferential.

‘Well, because it is.’ She could sense he was wavering. Whatever her uncle was, strict and uncompromising, he was also honest and truthful.

‘But is there any good reason why I shouldn’t learn, Uncle Harry? Other than that it isn’t usual?’

Now he looked her up and down, appraising her.

‘I worked on a farm, Uncle,’ she reminded him gently. ‘I’m used to hard work. Physical hard work. I’m not afraid of it. Oh, I’m not saying I could operate a
frame at once. I can see how difficult it is—’

‘So that’s why you’ve been hanging around the workshops is it? I thought you were eyeing young Burns.’

‘You needn’t be afraid of anything like that with me, Uncle Harry.’

The man put his head on one side and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You’re a pretty young lass and one day—’

Eveleen shook her head firmly. ‘No, Uncle. I’m not interested.’ There was no need to tell him of the unhappy experience that had destroyed her trust in men. Instead, she used
the weapon that she knew would be most effective with this forbidding man. ‘I only want to work and work hard. You and Grandmother have been very kind to us, taking us in, especially after
what happened years ago. I know that. But we don’t want to be beholden to you for ever. I have to get this family back on its feet.’

Harry nodded. ‘Well, lass, you’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. Pity your brother isn’t out of the same mould.’ His expression lightened and Harry came as near to
smiling as he ever would. ‘You know your grandmother has been pleading your cause?’

Eveleen smiled up at him. ‘I hoped she might. And she did say’ – Eveleen’s heart was in her mouth as she played her final card – ‘that there’s a frame
not working now, because of Alfie.’

The frown was back and yet Eveleen could see the calculating look in his eyes. Anything – even this slip of a lass – was better than having a frame standing idle. ‘Aye.
It’s his frame, mind you. I’d have to ask him. In fact, I’d have to ask the other fellers. Can’t risk having a riot on my hands.’

Eveleen waited in a fever of excitement, pressing her lips together to stop more words tumbling out.

‘Tell you what. After work at night, I’ll give you a trial. If you shape up, lass, then we’ll see. Can’t promise more than that.’

‘No, Uncle, you can’t. But I won’t let you down. I promise you.’

‘You’d better not, lass.’

‘Now, I’ll show you first and then you can have a go. We’ll only do one strip although this is a wide frame and would usually produce three strips at
once.’

Harry hoisted himself on to the leather straps that formed the seat in front of the frame. First he pointed out all the different names of the parts: needles, jacks, sinkers, presser bar and
treadles.

‘You’ve got this metal frame and inside this you’ve got these plates. These are called the sinkers and they push the yarn around the needles to create loops. The needles are
spring-bearded needles.’

He picked up a loose needle from a box of parts at the side of the machine and held it out towards Eveleen. ‘The pointed end is bent into a hook which is closed by the presser
bar.’

‘Do the needles move in and out like the Griswold’s move down and up?’ she asked.

‘No, no. On the Griswold they’re latch needles but on this machine the needles don’t move at all. Now, watch carefully, Eveleen. It’s all a case of operating your feet
and hands in a series of movements. At the base, look’ – he pointed down to his feet – ‘there are three pieces of wood called treadles. The two outer treadles are attached
to that large wheel.’

Eveleen bent and peered through the workings to see a large, solid wooden wheel at the back of the frame. Harry went on explaining while Eveleen tried to take it all in, her quick mind racing to
keep pace with his demonstration.

‘And also attached to that wheel by these cords is the yarn carrier taking yarn from the bobbins at the top. Now, this treadle in the middle is attached to this bar called the presser bar
and that’s brought down to close the needles. So, Eveleen, my hands work these handles on either side of the machine with my thumbs on these two metal plates. My left foot is always on this
sinking pedal and my right moves between the two treadles and the presser bar in the middle.’

Eveleen nodded, her eyes bright with excitement as Harry began to operate the machine. ‘First, I bring the sinker bar forward . . .’

Fascinated, Eveleen watched the various parts of the machine begin to move under Harry’s experienced hands and feet. There was a sudden noise as the yarn fled across the needles and the
jack sinkers fell between the needles creating a loop across every two needles.

‘You can’t make a loop round every needle at once,’ Harry explained. ‘The yarn would snap. So, now we bring down a second series of sinkers by pressing on these thumb
plates and these form a loop over every needle. See?’

‘Yes, yes, I see,’ Eveleen could hardly contain her eagerness and her fingers itched to try for herself. ‘The first set of sinkers went up a bit,’ she said.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. His beard hid his mouth but there was a smile in his eyes. ‘That’s right.’ There was a hint of pleasure in his tone at her quick understanding.
‘That’s so that all the loops are equal. Now.’ Harry pulled the carriage forwards and the new loops were pushed into the hooks. The carriage was lifted, the presser bar brought
down to close the hooks and then the carriage was pulled forward again to bring the old loops over the closed hooks. A new row of knitting was formed.

‘And then we start again,’ Harry said as he carried on working several rows, but at a much slower rate than the knitters normally worked. ‘The best knitters can work forty-two
rows a minute,’ he told her.

At last he stopped and swung his legs over the seat. ‘Right, now you have a go.’

Her palms were clammy as she wriggled on to the seat.

‘If you can’t reach the pedals, we’ll have to get you your own seat made.’ He gave a short bark of laughter. ‘That’s if you shape up, lass.’

Licking her lips, Eveleen put her hands and feet where she had seen her uncle place his on the machine.

‘Take it steady and I’ll tell you what to do.’

She followed his instructions carefully and when the first row of loops fell to form a new row, she felt a thrill of achievement.

‘And again,’ Harry said, and repeated his instructions.

Again and again, row upon row, until cramp seized the back of her calves and her thumbs ached from pressing on the metal plates, but Eveleen kept on.

There were no words of praise from Harry, but there was no criticism either. And that, for Harry Singleton, was praise enough.

Gradually, he stopped repeating every single move, just giving a reminder now and again, until finally he fell silent and watched her steady, rhythmic flow of movements and the rows of neat,
perfect knitting.

Eveleen went on until the yarn ran out on the bobbin. Then she turned to the man still standing at her side. He gave a brief nod and said, ‘Tomorrow night I’ll show you how to take
off the finished strip and thread it all up from scratch. Leave it for tonight. No one will touch this machine tomorrow. Come along, now, Rebecca will have our supper ready.’

Eveleen swung herself off the seat. She staggered a little as she stood up and found her legs were trembling. Her neck and shoulders burned with pain and, as she stumbled after her uncle, she
rubbed her aching thumbs and wrists.

But her physical discomfort was nothing to her for she was filled with exhilaration and hope.

Harry paused at the top of the stairs. ‘You’ve got the hang of it now and all you need is practice. Come up here every night and in a week I’ll see how you’re shaping.
You can use that old yarn there.’ He pointed to a basket of hanks lying in the corner. ‘It’s below standard, but it’ll do for you to practise on.’

‘Thanks, Uncle Harry,’ Eveleen said, sounding a little breathless after the exertion it had taken to operate the heavy machine.

He nodded and, as he turned away and clumped down the stairs ahead of her, she heard him mutter again, ‘Pity the lad’s not like you.’

‘What did they say, Uncle Harry?’

Eveleen had not been able to keep still but had paced up and down outside the row of cottages. It was a week since Eveleen had sat in front of the frame for the first time and her uncle was
asking the workers now, this very minute, if they had any objection to his niece working alongside them. Eveleen felt as if her future – the whole future of her family – depended upon
their answer. She pictured each of the men in turn, trying to guess whether they would be for her or against her. The younger ones, Andrew Burns among them, would be on her side. They would laugh
and tease her, she knew, but she couldn’t for one moment imagine them objecting. It was the older workers who worried her. They didn’t like change. They didn’t like going against
tradition. A woman’s place was in the home, not in the workplace. A young lass like Eveleen should be occupied within the home or sent into service. That was their thinking, she knew.

As she paced, she wrapped her arms around her, the pit of her stomach churning with nerves. She wished she dared to creep up the stairs and listen to what was happening, but she did not want to
risk being caught eavesdropping.

As she reached the end house and turned to walk back again, she heard a sharp tap on the window and turned to see her grandmother beckoning her inside. She opened the door and stepped into the
warm living room.

‘For Heaven’s sake, child, stop pacing up and down like a caged lion,’ the old lady grumbled, easing herself back into her chair beside the fire. ‘You’re getting me
all of a dither just watching you.’