The Jarrow Lass (13 page)

Chapter 10

By October, William had paid a month's rent in advance on a small house in Raglan Street. It was not the house on the edge of the countryside that Rose had hankered after in her daydreams, but it was neat and respectable. It was one of the newer properties away from the stench of the river and had a tiny patch of ground between the front door and the street on which she planned to grow flowers. A short walk away lay the Recreation Ground, as Jarrow Park had become known, and it was ten minutes in the other direction to William's place of work.

‘We'll never see you!' Mrs Fawcett had repeated melodramatically for a fortnight before they moved. Her husband had tried to placate her.

‘Course we will. We'll see them every Sunday at St Bede's, and I'm sure Rose will be glad of your help with the babies during the week.'

Rose had smothered her real feelings and said she would be happy if her mother-in-law called round to see them whenever she wanted. But as she suspected, the older woman seldom did, unless she knew that William would be there. Rose had to put up with William calling in to see his mother on his way back from work more frequently than she would wish, but she was so relieved to have their own house that she did not complain.

Even though she was large with their third child, Rose busied herself making their house in Raglan Street into a cosy home. Maggie came to help her paint the walls and put up blinds and scrub the floors before putting down clippy mats and rugs. For the first time, Rose was able to unpack their wedding presents and put them on display: a china tea service with blue birds of paradise; brass tongs and coal scuttle for the hearth; a green baize cloth and glass cruet set on the table. Above the second-hand piano hung a gilt-framed oil painting of farm workers bringing in the harvest that reminded Rose of Ravensworth. They made up the bed with fresh, crisp linen and put colourful quilts in the girls' cots and patchwork curtains at the windows.

Rose revelled in her new home and in the freedom she felt at being solely in charge. She was careful with William's wages and was able to buy small treats at the end of the week: an extra piece of meat, some calico for the girls' dresses or a piece of sheet music for William. She thanked the saints that her husband never stopped off at any of the numerous pubs that he passed on the way home from work or drank away half the housekeeping like others did.

In early December, a few days after Elizabeth's first birthday, Sarah Ann was born safely. She was a contented baby, undemanding and easy to feed. Rose wondered if this stemmed from her own contentment and feeling of wellbeing that had settled on her since their move to Raglan Street. But she soon realised how tiring a baby and two infants could be in a house she now had to run herself, and her temper began to fray. William went to Maggie in concern.

Two days later, Lizzie came to help out with the older two, before taking up her new position as chambermaid at Ravensworth. Mrs Liddell had personally recommended her for the job. She was excited at the prospect and Rose had sent round a cake to Mrs Liddell as a thank you for her intervention.

‘Eeh, three daughters!' Lizzie marvelled as she fed porridge to Elizabeth on her knee, while Margaret banged a spoon in her high chair and squirmed to be out.

‘Aye, just like us three,' Rose sighed where she lay on the truckle bed suckling Sarah. ‘I hope they all get on as well as we did as bairns.'

‘We didn't always,' Lizzie declared. ‘You were always bossing me and Maggie about - sending us off on errands.'

‘I was the one doing the running around,' Rose protested. ‘I'd walk for miles with a basket on me head while you two ran off and played.'

‘We were helping Ma around the house,' Lizzie contradicted.

‘That's not what Ma used to say,' Rose snorted.

Margaret, tiring of her confinement, threw her spoon across the kitchen and yelled. Rose winced as the sound jarred her taut nerves.

‘Listen to her! You've no patience,' Lizzie said, wagging a finger at the wailing child. ‘Just like your mam,' she teased. Plonking Elizabeth on the floor, she reached over and hauled her eldest niece from her chair. The girl ran immediately to her mother and began pulling at the baby.

‘I want up, Mammy!' she cried.

‘Careful!' Rose scolded as the baby blinked in alarm. But Margaret pulled herself up on the bed and clambered over her mother, making it impossible to feed. ‘Get down,' Rose ordered weakly. Elizabeth crawled over to see what was happening.

Lizzie swept down and lifted her up, then grabbed Margaret by the hand and hauled her protesting from her mother's side. ‘Haway, we'll gan out for a walk, let Mammy get some rest.'

Margaret howled in resistance.

‘Go on,' Rose snapped, pushing the petulant girl away.

‘We'll see if the chestnut seller is up the street,' Lizzie coaxed.

‘Ta,' Rose said above the din, collapsing back.

Lizzie eyed her. ‘You'll have to find someone to help you when I'm gone. Can William's mam not lend a hand for a bit?'

‘No,' Rose cried in alarm. ‘I'll manage. I'll be on me feet again by Christmas.'

‘Well, I can only stop another week,' Lizzie reminded. ‘Maybe Maggie can call in and help with the washing and ironing.'

Rose closed her eyes. ‘I'll be grand, the baby's no trouble.'

‘Aye, but these two are a handful,' Lizzie said, struggling to get her nieces into their coats. ‘Don't work yourself into an early grave like Ma did.'

‘Ma died of typhoid,' Rose pointed out.

‘And overwork - and too many babies too soon, more than likely,' Lizzie said forthrightly.

After she had gone and the noise of the girls grew faint, Rose lay back thankfully with her baby nuzzling at her breast. Maybe Lizzie had a point. She felt achingly tired despite Sarah being a tranquil baby, and the thought of William's attentions in bed beginning again made her sigh with exhaustion. She felt no appetite for lovemaking any more, but was sure this would pass as she loved her husband deeply. Besides, she knew it was her duty and would not be able to deny him for ever. But for now, she was happy to lie in the warmth of the kitchen on the truckle bed, rather than in the chilly bedroom upstairs. She did not need to retreat to their bedroom for privacy as she had done in James Terrace. As Rose drifted into sleep, she determined to delay the move back to the marital bed as long as possible.

On Christmas Eve, Margaret's second birthday, the family were invited round to the Liddells' home for a magic lantern show with members of the Sunday School. Rose took the small girls, and Margaret was entranced by the coloured pictures of the Holy Family resting in the stable, and shepherds and wise men travelling to see them. Edward Liddell gave a running commentary, and afterwards Mrs Liddell treated the children to mince pies and cocoa.

‘Where's Alexander?' Rose asked, thinking of the boisterous small cousin whom she had not seen since the late summer.

‘He's not with us any more,' the rector's wife answered with a look of regret. ‘He was sent south to start school. He's living with another of his mother's cousins now.'

‘I bet it's quiet around here without him,' Rose said.

‘Yes,' Mrs Liddell sighed, ‘especially after Verger was knocked over—' She broke off, her eyes welling with tears. Rose had heard of the rector's beloved collie being trampled under the hoofs of a dray horse that autumn. She still pictured Alexander rolling on the ground with the friendly dog and giggling as it licked his face. ‘Never mind,' Mrs Liddell said more briskly, ‘no doubt we'll see Alexander when we next go south to visit.'

‘Aye, well, say we were asking after him if you do,' Rose said, surprised that he had not come to say goodbye to them. There again, he was young and had probably not given them a second thought since the summer outing to Ravensworth. Thinking of that day prompted her to add, ‘Our Lizzie's that happy going to place at the castle. Ta very much for all your help.'

‘I'm glad.' Mrs Liddell smiled once more and, with a touch on baby Sarah's cheek, turned to see to the other children. Soon afterwards, Rose thanked them for the special treat and trouped out into the dark afternoon, thinking how tired and pinch-faced the Liddells had looked despite their cheerful welcome. She hurried home to prepare tea for William.

Rose had wanted to host their first Christmas in their own home, but had to concede she did not have the energy. So they went to the Fawcetts, taking the girls there after church for a lunch of turkey and potatoes, bread sauce and winter greens, followed by a large Christmas pudding and white sauce. The day was enlivened by seeing Florrie and Albert and hearing their news from across the river. William's mother fussed over her favourite, Margaret, making a great show of presenting her with an expensive doll's house. Rose felt aggrieved at being upstaged. William had worked hard at making their eldest a pull-along wooden lion in a cage with a red-coated lion tamer, which Margaret had delighted in that morning. Now it was forgotten in the excitement of her very own doll's house. But soon Elizabeth was trying to climb inside it and eat the miniature table and chairs, and the house had to be removed. Margaret burst into tears of frustration and would not be placated.

‘We'll keep the doll's house here in the parlour,' Mrs Fawcett ruled. ‘I can see it'll only get broken at your house. Margaret can play with it when she comes.'

But this only made the child howl the louder, until Rose smacked her in frustration. They ended up taking the children home early instead of staying for tea. Margaret's tantrum had blown over by the time they reached Raglan Street and she made no resistance at being put to bed. With the girls asleep upstairs and the baby lying swaddled in a soft woollen shawl on the truckle bed, Rose sank into her chair by the fire.

William disappeared into the yard to fill up the coal scuttle. He woke her from a doze with a soft call from the back door. ‘Come and look, Rose. There's a grand moon out the night.'

She roused herself and went to the door, yawning and pulling her shawl about her. It had turned bitterly cold since their walk back home. William was standing by the gate to the back lane, his golden hair illuminated in the moonlight like some angel. The moon was so bright it cast shadows along the street, its icy white light more brilliant than the winter sun. A sharp frost covered everything, turning the drab lane into a carpet of white and the rooftops sparkling silver. Straight pillars of smoke rose from chimneys, filling the air with their acrid scent.

Rose went to him and slipped her arm through his, feeling the returning pressure. Neither of them spoke, as if spellbound by the beauty of the moonlit landscape. They listened to the sounds of the night: footsteps ringing on the frosty cobbles in the next street; the screech of cats on the prowl; the muted sounds of neighbours having a singsong across the lane.

William kissed her head tenderly. ‘Are you happy, Rose?' he whispered.

She leant into him, thinking of their cosy home and three daughters who looked like cherubs when they slept. She thrilled at the feel of his warm hold about her. Tonight even Jarrow looked magical in the moonlight. She looked into his anxious eyes and knew how much she was loved.

‘Aye, I am,' she assured, ‘I've never been happier.'

And saying it out loud, she realised how true it was. She might feel overwhelmed at times with tiredness and the demands of three small infants, but that would pass. She had everything she ever wanted right there: a secure home, healthy babies and a husband in work whom she loved and who loved her in return.

William smiled bashfully. ‘Me an' all,' he said. ‘You make me that happy. I'd do anything for you, Rose - for you and the bairns. You know that, don't you?'

‘Aye, I do,' Rose smiled back, and lifted her lips to kiss him.

‘Come back upstairs tonight,' William urged. ‘I miss you next to me. Granny's old bed warmer isn't the same thing,' he joked.

Rose hesitated, feeling embarrassed. She glanced down the lane, but there was no one in sight to overhear their intimate conversation. ‘I want to,' she said, ‘but...'

‘What?' William asked. ‘You do love me, don't you?'

‘Of course I do,' she answered quickly, ‘it's just – I don't want any more bairns. At least not just yet.' She saw his face flush in the moonlight. ‘We've had three babies in less than three years and it's enough to cope with. I know what the priest says about it being our duty, but I'm tired out.'

William did not speak for a moment and Rose feared she had offended him. Then he squeezed her to him. ‘I'll leave you alone,' he whispered. ‘I just want to lie with you and baby Sarah, that's all.'

She hugged him back in relief. At that moment a small whimper started up in the kitchen. ‘Haway, then,' Rose said, shivering, ‘let's take her up to bed.'

Chapter 11

Heavy snowfalls and deep frosts that kept the streets treacherous and many labourers idle saw in 1881. Then February brought a thaw and Rose emerged from a state of hibernation to take the girls out to the shops and park. By the spring, trade was buoyant along the river and the town was thriving once more. In early June, the talk was all of the centenary celebrations to mark the birth of railway engineer George Stephenson. As trade union members, William and his father were involved in the procession, and a huge number travelled from Jarrow to join in the festivities upriver in Newcastle. The family decided to go. Extra trains were laid on, and Maggie met Rose early at the station to help with the children.

Rose had managed to persuade her mother-in-law to take baby Sarah for the day.

‘You'll not catch me in Newcastle for anyone's centenary,' Mrs Fawcett had shuddered. ‘All those crowds! I think it's dangerous taking the children.'

‘Maggie's ganin' with me,' Rose said, keeping her temper with difficulty. ‘We'll manage fine if you'd keep Sarah till tea time.'

It took an appeal from William for Mrs Fawcett to consent to the idea. ‘Well, if William wants you all to be there, I suppose ...'

Rose was as excited as the children as they clambered aboard the crowded carriage and steamed into Newcastle. William had left with his father at the crack of dawn.

‘Don't suppose we'll ever manage to meet up in this crowd,' Rose said, as they gawped at the sea of people making their way into the city. All the bridges and roads snaking across the Tyne and up the steep bank were packed with revellers.

‘I've never seen so many folk in all me life!' Maggie exclaimed, holding Elizabeth up for a better look.

Margaret, dressed in a new sailor suit and straw hat, pressed her nose to the window and peered through the smoke of the engine. ‘Where's me da? I want to see me da!'

Rose hugged her tight. ‘You stay close to me, do you hear? We'll find your da. He's going to be carrying a banner and following the band.'

‘I want to follow the band!' Margaret jumped up and down with excitement.

‘We will, hinny,' Rose promised with a kiss on her cheek.

They were carried forward in the sea of people wending their way through the streets of Newcastle, following the grand procession of trade union banners, civic dignitaries dressed in rich robes and representatives of railway companies from around the world. Finely groomed horses pulling models of engines, stamped and snorted behind military bands. The noise was deafening and Rose clung on tightly to her daughters and sister. But neither girl seemed frightened, each peering around wide-eyed at the spectacle, pointing and squealing at the horses. It was far too crowded to catch a glimpse of William, though Margaret insisted she could see her father every few minutes as another banner swept past.

To Rose's relief, they managed to find William and his father on the Town Moor where the procession ended, listening to a rousing speech by the Mayor of Jarrow. Afterwards they shared the picnic that Rose had brought, then milled around looking at the exhibition of locomotives. William took Margaret on a pony-and-trap ride around the open park, which so thrilled her that she refused to climb down at the end. Only Maggie's bribe of a sticky piece of liquorice enticed her from the carriage.

As the afternoon waned, they began to make their way back down to the station for the journey home. As the family stopped to watch a Punch and Judy show, Rose took the opportunity to disappear behind a bush and relieve herself. When she re-emerged she could see no sign of Margaret. She had been holding hands with her grandfather.

‘Where's our Margaret?' she asked him at once.

He looked taken aback. ‘I thought she'd gone with you—'

‘No she didn't!' Rose replied. William turned at the sound of her anxious voice. He had Elizabeth on his shoulders; Maggie was still gazing at the entertainment, quite absorbed.

‘She's gone,' Rose gasped, fear choking her. ‘Where's she gone, William?' She spun around, grabbing bystanders by the arm. ‘Have you seen me little lass? Fair hair - wearing a straw hat - white and navy ribbons,' she gabbled. People turned to look but shook their heads.

William thrust Elizabeth into his father's arms and shouted, ‘Stay right here and don't let her out of your sight! Maggie, you look around here - we'll gan back to where we started.'

Rose looked around at the moor, still packed with revellers, some of them now well inebriated from a day's drinking in the town. ‘We'll never find her in all this!' she sobbed.

William took her by the hand. ‘Yes we will. Pray to St Anthony to find our little lass.'

Rose's panic was stemmed by his strong conviction. She ran with him through the crowds, searching and shouting for Margaret. They pushed their way back against the flow of trippers making back for the town, straining for a glimpse of straw hat or fair cheeks among the tired children being carried or led home. All the while they stopped people to demand if they had noticed a little girl in a sailor dress, but nobody had.

Rose felt herself ageing by years in those terrible minutes of gut-wrenching panic. How could they have lost her so quickly? She must have been snatched! She would never have just wandered away from her family. She might have been knocked over by one of the steam engines! Maybe at this very moment she was being trampled underfoot by a startled horse, just like the Liddells' dog . . .

Suddenly an idea hit her. She seized William's arm and gasped, ‘The pony - the pony and trap!'

Without another word they ran in search of the carriage that had been giving rides across the moor all day long. A young boy had been left in charge when William had taken his daughter for a ride. At first there was no sign of it and they feared the boy had gone. Then William spotted it next to the platform where the speakers had been which was now being dismantled.

They rushed over and shouted to the boy holding the pony's reins. He was eating a pie and had his mouth full. The carriage looked empty. Rose felt dashed.

‘Have you seen our bairn?' William panted. The boy chewed and swallowed.

‘Is that her?' he asked, nodding at the trap. ‘Didn't know who she belonged to, but she said you'd come and fetch her.'

They peered in. A small figure was curled up on the bench already fast asleep.

Rose let out a sob of relief. ‘Margaret!'

William reached in and gathered the child to him. She stirred sleepily, muttered something about the pony and then settled against his chest.

‘You naughty lass!' Rose cried, quite shaken. She wanted to scold her into never doing such a thing again and crush her to her breast at the same time.

William shushed her. ‘She's alive, that's all that matters.'

Rose burst into tears. What worse fate could happen to her than to lose one of her precious children! She clung on to William and Margaret all the way back to the others.

After such a scare they hurried for a train home, not waiting for the evening's fireworks. Picking up Sarah from James Terrace, they all colluded in not telling William's mother about losing Margaret. Their nerves were shattered enough without Mrs Fawcett berating them further.

From then on, Rose was nervous about them venturing as far as Newcastle again. She was happier staying within the boundary of the town and being content with local entertainment, for Jarrow continued to mushroom as new waves of workers and their families arrived on the Tyne to fill the expanding shipyards. Dominating all was Palmer's.

The wealthy shipbuilder and local MP owned the means of production from the raw material to the finished ships. Sir Charles owned the ironstone mines in North Yorkshire, the port where the iron ore was loaded and the boats which carried it to the Tyne. He possessed the iron works, the blast furnaces, the puddling mills and rolling mills. He employed the fitters, riveters, platers and boilermakers who built his mighty vessels, and the joiners and carpenters who fitted them out. At his beck and call were the army of casual labourers who queued at his gates in the early morning for the chance to fetch and carry, shovel and haul, load and unload until dusk. Jarrow was a company town, its fate inextricably linked with Palmer's success or failure.

Idealists like William might rail against Palmer's autocratic hold over his workers, but there was no escaping that their own prosperity and survival was bound up with that of their distant employer who lived far away in North Yorkshire.

‘He wasn't always so grand,' William pointed out that autumn as they made ready to go to view the launch of the Virginia. ‘Did you know he's the son of a master mariner from Gateshead? Now he's one of the gentry with a fortune to his name - a fortune made for him by hard-grafting working men. The only time he shows his face round here now is at a launch or election time.'

Rose ignored his aggrieved remarks. She was glad of this rare day off work together when they could take the girls on an outing. The late summer had been wet and the Durham Agricultural Show on the Recreation Ground had been washed out. They had taken the girls to see the animals and listen to the Royal Artillery band and another from a training ship, but had been beaten home by the incessant rain. To Rose's alarm, William and the girls had caught chills, which had lingered on their chests and caused them to cough for weeks. But now they seemed recovered and she was determined to enjoy the day.

‘I think it's canny giving you a holiday to gan and see the ship. Let's make the most of it,' she said cheerfully.

William's mood soon improved when they joined the throng of spectators heading towards the river. The expectation of the crowd was infectious. Never before had such a big ship been built at Jarrow, and newspaper boys shouted out the news. Rose and William clutched Margaret firmly between them, while Elizabeth rode high on her father's shoulders and Sarah clung to her mother's hip.

The girls revelled in the lively bands and clapped their hands. Jubilant workers threw their caps in the air as the vast steamer was cut from its moorings and edged into the grey water of the Tyne.

‘You've been a part of that, William!' Rose gasped in awe as the steel-plated ship groaned and sighed its way into the pewter-coloured river. She felt brimming over with pride that his long hours of labour should have helped produce such a large and imposing vessel.

‘My da's ship!' Margaret began to chant. ‘My da's ship!'

Rose caught William's look of bashful pride and they both laughed.

‘Let's pray there'll be plenty more like that one,' he said with a wry smile.

That evening, William surprised her with a treat. Maggie came to look after the children and put them to bed.

‘Where are we ganin'?' Rose asked in excitement.

‘Put your best dress on, Mrs Fawcett, we're going out,' William grinned.

Rose dressed hurriedly in the green frock she had worn for Florrie's wedding that hung in the large wardrobe and smelt of mothballs. Margaret demanded to know where she was going and that she should go too.

‘When you're older,' William placated her, ‘I'll take you, an' all.' He swung her up and kissed her, then handed her to Maggie. ‘Tonight your mam's getting the treat she deserves.'

Rose laughed as she kissed the girls good night and headed out on William's arm, determined to ignore Margaret's protests at being left behind. As they walked up the street under the soft gaslight, she tried to guess where they were going.

‘Some'at's on at St Bede's?'

William shook his head.

‘We're meeting Florrie and Albert?' she guessed again.

‘No,' William answered with a secretive smile.

‘Lockart's Cocoa Rooms?' she asked in the hope it was something musical. But again he shook his head. Rose's heart sank. ‘It's not one of your lectures, is it? It's nowt political?'

William laughed. ‘Not exactly. But it will be stirring - something good for the soul.'

Rose tried to hide her disappointment. ‘It's a temperance meeting, isn't it?'

William just squeezed her arm in reply. They carried on through the town in silence, Rose trying to recapture the excitement she had felt earlier. At least it was an evening out with her husband. They were dressed up and free from domestic chores for an hour or two. What more did she want?

As they turned into Ormonde Street, Rose was struck by how busy it seemed. A large throng of people were gathered on the far side. But then the town was bound to be full on the evening of a launch day and the pubs would have been doing brisk business. Yet this was no rowdy crowd full of drink. A moment later, it dawned on her they were gathered outside the new Royal Albert Hall. Her heart thudded.

‘William!' she gasped, hardly daring to hope. ‘Are we ganin' in
there
?'

He smiled at her and steered her across the road. ‘The bands from the launch are playing tonight - and there's singing too.'

Rose let out a cry of delight. Jarrow had never had a theatre or music hall before and she had watched with interest as it was being built. Yet it had not occurred to her that she would ever go to a performance there. She had never been anywhere like it before. Any socialising they did was usually at the church. William would go out with his father to talks at the Mechanics' Institute, but the theatre was considered frivolous and frowned upon in the Fawcett household. Maybe that was why William had asked Maggie to mind the children for them. She suspected his parents knew nothing about this trip to the Royal Albert.