A Sovereign for a Song Read online

  ‘Have you any more washing to take, Mam Smith?’ asked Ginny.

  ‘There’s a couple of sheets and a few more towels want a good boil. I like to keep the poor lass sweet and clean.’

  Martin had put the sleeping child down and was back in his chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees and head in his hands, a curtain of corn-coloured hair obscuring his face. Ginny had an impulse to touch it, feel the silkiness of it as she pulled it away from his eyes to speak words of consolation. Instead she stood mute, staring at him. He never looked up. John lifted the basket of bloodstained linen and they left without exchanging another word.

  Mam Smith followed them across the yard. ‘He’s taking it bad,’ she murmured.

  ‘What other way is there to take it, like?’ asked Ginny.

  ‘It can’t be easy for you either,’ said John, ‘she’s your only daughter.’

  A grimace passed over the lined face. ‘Aye, well, I’m glad God gave her a good man, and a bonny bairn. She’s been happy. It’s a pity it’s not destined to last.’

  ‘You’ve about as much tact as my pit pony, our Ginny,’ said John, as they got to the end of the street.

  ‘I know, I could have bitten my tongue out as soon as I said it.’

  ‘What do you make of it all, though?’

  ‘It’s a bad job, and I feel sorry for Martin. But it makes me feel lucky. Lucky it’s not me laid in bed, gasping my last.’

  ‘You callous little beggar. It makes me realize what we’ve missed. Did you see the way he was cuddling that bairn when we went in? I envy that bairn. It must be grand to have a dad like that. Philip’s going to lose his mam, but he’s got the best dad I ever saw.’

  ‘He might soon have a new mam, and all. It won’t be long before he gets married again, if she dies,’ Ginny ventured, more to seek an opinion than to give one.

  ‘You’re wrong, Ginny. He worships her. Martin’s a good man – the best. I hope if I ever have any bairns I’ll be as good a dad as him. And as good a husband.’

  She grinned, unaccountably pleased to hear John’s praise of Martin. Perversely, all she said was, ‘Aye, and look how much good his goodness does him. Hard work and goodness don’t bring Martin a ha’p’orth o’luck. The more I see, the more certain I am. Don’t tell me anything else about a man. All I want to know is – what’s his luck?’

  John stopped short, brown eyes bright, and manner suddenly animated.

  ‘Well, wish me luck then, Ginny. I’ve a feeling in my marrow. My luck’s going to change from tonight on!’ She stared wide-eyed and he laughed. ‘It was Pay Friday yesterday, and I’m away to play cards at Jimmy Hood’s.’

  Ginny’s jaw dropped. Jimmy’s father was a notorious gambler. The family had been sold up twice because of his love of cards, dice, racing, and anything else he could throw his money away on. It was said he would place a bet on the nose of one of two flies crawling up a window-pane. Not to mention the fact that the Hoods were Catholics. Neither characteristic was likely to recommend them to her mother.

  ‘John! Whatever would me mam say?’ She shivered, as a delicious thrill coursed through her at the thought of forbidden pastimes in dangerous company, and the certainty of her mother’s deepest disapproval.

  ‘It’ll be all right. If I’m not back tonight, tell Mam Mrs Hood’ll give me a bed.’

  ‘Give you a bed? I doubt they’ve even got a one, and if they have you’ll have bought it three times over before they’ve finished with you.’

  ‘Jimmy’s all right. They might not be Mam’s chapel-going sort, but they’re all right.’

  ‘Aye, well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you get home if you do stay out all night, that’s all.’

  ‘Never bother about me. I’m one of the big lads now. I’ve got ideas of my own, and if they don’t always agree with Mam’s ideas, well, the apron strings have got to be cut sooner or later. You’ll realize that when your turn comes.’

  ‘Oh, will I? You sound like somebody’s grandfather.’

  They had reached the top of their own terraced row, Pleasant View, and stood to rest for a minute. John nodded towards the River Wear. ‘It’s a big wide world out there, Ginny.’ He thrust the basket into her arms. ‘Bye,’ he said.

  ‘Bye, John,’ she answered, ‘see you tomorrow. Hope you’ll still have your shirt.’

  ‘Aye, me an’ all.’ He lingered, looking at her, then took the basket from her and dumped it in the road before throwing his arms round her to give her a suffocating squeeze. Her eyes widened with surprise as he released her.

  ‘Why, what’s up, man?’

  ‘Nothing. Just tell Mam not to worry, and wish me luck.’

  He turned and strode off, boots rattling on the cobbles, and her heart missed a beat. She called after him, ‘Good luck, John, good luck!’

  He raised his hand and waved a farewell, without slowing his pace to look round. She gazed after him for a minute or two, then shrugged and heaved up the basket.

  ‘What the hell’s up wi’ him the day? It must be going to the Judes. It’s turned him soft,’ she muttered, as she carried it the last few steps home.

  Chapter 3

  Saturday night didn’t bring John, or Sunday either. By Sunday evening, an excited and inquisitive Ginny, accompanied by her furious father, arrived on the Hoods’ doorstep.

  ‘Why aye,’ Mrs Hood answered their questions. ‘He came here yesterday afternoon and had a hand or two of cards with Jimmy and Tom, then the two lads said they were going for a walk for an hour. I haven’t seen John since.’

  ‘Neither have we. But I bet Jimmy knows something about it.’

  A brown-haired, wiry youth appeared from behind his mother. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said.

  They stepped into the sparsely furnished kitchen. Three jam jars half full of weak, milkless tea stood on the kitchen table. The bare stone flags were graced by a worn clippy mat upon which a couple of barefoot urchins, too young for school, sat eating bread and dripping and staring at the visitors, with their backs to a fire that roared generously up the chimney, providing the only comfort in the room. Ginny’s quick eye took in the state of the place, a poor contrast with her own comfortable home. She smiled at the boys. Her father ignored them, looking pointedly at Jimmy.

  ‘I don’t know where he is exactly,’ Jimmy said, his hazel eyes holding her father’s stare with stunning composure, ‘but I suppose he’s on Newcastle docks, trying to get a ship, if he’s not already got a one.’

  ‘Cool as a bloody cucumber!’ exclaimed her father, fists clenching. ‘You young bugger, why didn’t you come and tell us afore this time, while we could have done something to stop him?

  ‘You couldn’t have stopped him, Mr Wilde. He was set on shipping out. He had his fortnight’s wages, he borrowed a shilling or two from me, and he got the train to Newcastle.’

  ‘And what about me and his mam?’ bellowed Ginny’s father, face reddening and veins bulging as he towered over Jimmy. ‘He’s not left her a penny.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about you and his mam,’ replied Jimmy, a fraction less composed. ‘I’m sorry for myself an’ all. He was a good marrer. I’ll miss him.’

  ‘Well, hev this instead, like!’ A hefty blow on Jimmy’s left ear sent him reeling.

  ‘Hey, Mr Wilde, you’re not at home now, you know! This is our home, and you’ve gone far enough in it!’ shrieked Mrs Hood, four foot ten inches of outrage. ‘You’d better go now, before I get my neighbour to run and fetch the bobby!’

  ‘Stop it, Dad, you’re showing yoursel’ up. Are you all right, lad?’

  ‘I’m all right, Ginny. Never bother.’

  ‘Come on, you,’ snarled her father, storming out of the doorway. Ginny followed, stopping to mutter a few words of apology to Mrs Hood.

  ‘Bugger that!’ Her father grabbed her by her hair and dragged her out of the cottage before sticking his own head back into it. ‘You want to get down to that bloody church of yours and say a few hundred H
ail Marys for what you’ve done to my family,’ he roared at Jimmy.

  ‘Go home, Mr Wilde,’ said the sixteen-year-old with some spirit, ‘I’ve done nothing to your family. John had his mind made up long before I saw him. When he got on the train he said you’d given him the last belting he was ever going to take from you.’

  ‘Aw, shut up, man, shut up! You’re just making bloody excuses for yoursel’.’ Her father didn’t stay to argue further, but strode off down the street, cursing to himself. He turned and shouted to Ginny, ‘Come on, you, get along home where you belong, and don’t you come here again.’

  Ginny gave the Hoods a broad wink and an even broader grin, then ran after her father, hugging herself with glee at Jimmy’s effrontery.

  Her imagination ran riot in the days that followed, weaving fantasies about John’s life of adventure and excitement, of riding the ocean waves, visiting exotic ports in Africa and India, seeing new sights, smelling new smells, hearing different conversations in different accents. John, in a wide world of freedom and wonder! There was no conversation in Annsdale except the pits, the wages, the bosses, the last strike or the next, the chapel or the club. Flights of improbable fancy about John’s supposed life of variety and adventure elated her.

  The rest of the household was plunged into gloom. Young Arthur protested at being in his bedroom alone and Lizzie revenged herself for all his torments by telling him that the devil was hiding under the bed, waiting to bite his toes off if he so much as stuck a foot out of the covers, an idea that none of them could dislodge. Sally cried for her favourite. Their father was more morose than ever. He earned a good wage as a first-rate hewer, but money was just that bit tighter without John’s wages, less for his pocket, and less to hand over the bar for beer and conviviality. Their mother said nothing. Her face was reproach enough.

  It was Emma’s reaction that surprised Ginny most. She seemed almost sunk into despair. She hardly slept, and hardly ate. Eventually even their mother seemed to forget her own grief in a new worry about Emma, and Ginny lost all patience with them both.

  ‘I don’t know what’s up with everybody,’ she burst out, late one evening, when the younger ones were in bed. Her mother was busy preparing a bite of supper for her father’s return from an evening at the club. Emma was sitting at the kitchen table, head bent over her school-book. Neither answered, and the remark seemed to drop into the void, until a large tear rolled down Emma’s cheek, and splashed on to her exercise book. Hiding her face, she reached for a towel and carefully dabbed at the page, trying not to smudge the ink any further.

  Ginny’s mother sighed. ‘You’re a hard one, Jane. I sometimes think you’ve got no feelings at all.’ The use of the name Jane was ominous.

  ‘No feelings my—’ Ginny almost said the word. ‘He’s not died. He’s gone to sea. And as for the money – he’ll send some, as soon as he can. He said as much, the time we were walking back from chapel, didn’t he?’ she appealed to Emma.

  ‘What’s this?’ Their mother’s cheeks coloured. ‘You never told me he was planning to go.’

  ‘He told us all he was planning to go the day after he got the belting! You saw his back yourself. He made his mind up then.’

  ‘But you encouraged him, Ginny. You made it all sound so exciting,’ Emma accused.

  ‘I never encouraged him,’ protested Ginny, aware of her mother’s eyes on her. ‘It was just talk. I never thought he’d really go.’

  ‘If I were a man, I’d go away – I’d go away and make my fortune!’ Emma mimicked. ‘Well, that’s probably just what he thinks he’s doing.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand how much damage “just talk” can do, my girl. We’d all be better off now if you’d just kept quiet – John most of all.’

  ‘No, me most of all.’ Emma burst into uncontrollable weeping.

  ‘That’s not fair. It’s not fair! How could I make him go? He’d already made his mind up. How could anybody blame him for going after the hiding he got?’ exclaimed Ginny. ‘And how can anybody blame me for making him?’

  But Emma’s tears went on and on, until their mother’s anger at Ginny dissolved into pity for Emma. She took the weeping girl in her arms. ‘Hey, hey, what’s this? There’s no need for it. Ginny’s right, he’s not dead, and knowing John he’ll write as soon as he can.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Mam,’ Emma gasped, between sobs.

  ‘Well, maybe we don’t – and we won’t, if you won’t tell us.’

  Emma turned her swollen, blotchy face towards her mother and said, ‘I had hopes. I was hoping to make my fortune here.’

  ‘Hopes of what?’ asked Ginny, completely mystified.

  ‘Of staying on at school, and being a teacher.’

  Their mother looked stricken. ‘I understand now. You thought that with John and Ginny out at work, your dad might have let you stay on at school.’

  ‘I know I could do it, Mam. Your dad was a teacher, and Miss Carr knew him. She says I’m clever, and I’d make a good teacher, as good as him probably, because it must run in the family. She’s going to put me in for the County Council Junior Scholarship. She says I’m sure to pass, because she’s been testing me with some of the old papers, and I’ve done well on them all. After we get the results, Mr Stringer’s coming to school to see which of the pupils who get a scholarship want to go on and be a teacher. And I do, Mam, I do. I’ve my heart set on it. I know I can do it, if I can just get the chance.’

  A teacher! Emma must think very well of herself indeed. ‘So that’s it! You don’t care about our John at all – you only care about his wages not coming in!’

  ‘Be quiet, Jane.’ Their mother looked into Emma’s bloodshot eyes. Even insensitive Ginny could see that her sister was balanced on a knife-edge between hope and despair.

  ‘You say she’s already put you in for the scholarship?’ Their mother’s pale face was sympathetic enough, but the eyes contained not a flicker of hope.

  ‘No, but she will, because she’s tested me with some of the old papers and she says I’m the best pupil she’s ever had.’

  ‘But you haven’t passed the real scholarship yet.’

  ‘I know I would.’

  ‘Well, you might not, you know. We’ll just wait and see what happens.’ Their mother’s voice was tinged with relief.

  ‘Well, I can go and ask Lady Muck for my job back,’ offered Ginny. ‘I heard she’s sacked Maudie, and that comes as no surprise. I’ll ask her for better pay while I’m at it.’

  ‘She’s not going to give you enough to keep Emma at school.’

  ‘I know that. But I’d be worth it. She won’t get anybody that can get through as much work as me.’

  ‘I don’t dispute it, but they’re not going to pay you anywhere near a putter’s wage. We’ll just wait and see what happens.’

  By the time their father got home that night, Emma was in bed. After a good supper he sat down by the fire, lit his pipe, and stretched out comfortably in his chair, while Ginny helped clear the table. Her mother was pensive.

  ‘Penny for ’em, Nance?’ her father offered, using the pet name he’d given her during their courting days.

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, nothing. I’m probably worrying over nothing.’ After a few minutes’ silence, she asked, ‘Everything going all right at work, Arthur?’

  ‘That it’s not. I’m in a bad stall. I can hardly bloody breathe down there, and it’s as hot as hell. I’m stuck with it ’til Christmas, though, when we draw lots again. Hope for better luck next time, eh? There’s not going to be much money though, lass. It’s bloody hard work for nought a yard, and with our John gone . . .’ He stopped, and added, ‘Bairns! You work your guts out to bring ’em up, and as soon as they could start repaying you, they bugger off.’ He cleared his throat and spat. A mouthful of coal-dust-blackened phlegm shot into the fire and sizzled in the flames.

  ‘You know why he went, Arthur.’ Her mother finished drying the last of the pots, and turned to fa
ce him. Ginny busied herself cleaning the sink, hoping not to be noticed and packed off to bed.

  ‘Aye, well, I’m too tired to argue. All I know is, I got many a worse hiding than that, only I didn’t bear a grudge, and I didn’t desert my parents.’

  ‘You bore a grudge, and you got away from home as fast as you could,’ her mother said.

  A grunt was her only reply. After a long pause, she asked, ‘Arthur, what would you say to our Emma being a teacher?’

  ‘What’s she want to be a teacher for? Give hersel’ a lot of airs and graces until she ends up looking down on her mother and father. Bring no money in for years, then she’ll get wed, and that’ll be an end on’t. Waste of time and money, and with John gone, and that one,’ he nodded in Ginny’s direction, ‘getting hersel’ the bloody sack, it’s money we can’t afford. Don’t run away with the idea that I’m going to break my back in the pit and live from hand to mouth to keep a lot o’ good-for-nothing lasses in idleness, because I’m not.’

  At eight o’clock the following day Ginny, Emma and even eight-year-old Lizzie stood threading needles whilst their mother set up the quilting frame in the front room, resting one end on the windowsill, the other on the back of a chair. Sally was still asleep.

  ‘Get as many threaded as you can, I might be able to get four or five hours in before your dad gets home while our Ginny’s here to do the housework,’ said their mother as she settled to the work, elbows lifted halfway to shoulder level as they rested on the frame.

  Once all forty or so needles were threaded and left ready for use, Emma and Lizzie set out for school with young Arthur. Ginny cleared the kitchen table, washed pots, filled the coal scuttle, swept and polished the hearths, shook out the mats and swept the floor, before preparing vegetables for her father’s dinner.

  ‘Well, Mam, at least me being at home lets you get on with the quilting,’ she commented, as she tossed another shovelful of coal on to the front room fire.

  ‘It does, pet, but I don’t think I’m going to make a fortune quilting. There were only six of them in the quilting club to start with, and now there’s only one quilt left to do after I finish this one, so we can’t rely on that bit of money coming in very much longer. Your wages were more useful.’