The Jarrow Lass

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Rose felt the blood draining from her face. ‘I used to deliver vegetables round her way, that’s all.’ She tried to make light of the connection.

  ‘She’s had a very hard time of it,’ Mrs Liddell continued. ‘But it seems one of her sons is in the army and sends back his pay. That seems to have kept them out of the workhouse.’

  ‘John?’ Rose asked. ‘They’ve heard from him?’

  ‘Yes, John, that was the name. I don’t know if they hear from him directly. All Mrs McMullen knows is that he’s out in India.’

  ‘India!’ Rose exclaimed. ‘Well, the saints—’ She clapped her hand over her mouth and coloured in confusion.

  Mrs Liddell said gently, ‘It’s all right, Rose. We know you’re Roman Catholic. You don’t have to pretend. It doesn’t matter to us in the least. Don’t ever be ashamed of who or what you are. We’re all God’s children, after all.’

  Rose went crimson. ‘Ta, Mrs Liddell.’ She bent her head and began scrubbing vigorously. As her employer moved on, she wondered why she had found it so disturbing suddenly to hear news of the McMullens. She had hardly given them a thought in months. John’s stormy face and whisky-breath kiss came back to her as if it had been yesterday. What had possessed him to run off and join the army and end up in far-off India? Perhaps there was more to him than she had ever given him credit for. She had thought he was just full of fighting talk and no action beyond a drunken brawl in the back lanes of Jarrow.

  Rose chided herself that she should hear of the McMullens second-hand through this woman who hardly knew them. It was shameful that Mrs Liddell had taken more interest in the McMullens’ plight than she had. It made Rose realise how much she had cut herself off from her old friends in an attempt to fit in with the Fawcetts and their more well-to-do neighbours. She had been so preoccupied with the baby and her own troubles that she had not even been to see her own father and sister in months. Rubbing the tiles furiously, she resolved that in future she would pay them all more attention.

  By May, William was recovered enough to begin work again and, as if signalling an end to the misery of the past months, spring finally broke through the hardened earth. Flowers burst from the hedgerows around Simonside and blossom on the trees. Rose went up to help Maggie on the smallholding, so that she had produce to sell that summer. Her father’s grip on the spade was more feeble and she knew she was going to have to help them out more. He was no longer capable of heavy work at the forge.

  On a visit to Mrs McMullen to show off Margaret, she suggested that one of the boys might like to earn a bit of extra food by helping her father with the digging.

  ‘That’s a grand idea,’ Mrs McMullen agreed, rocking Margaret in her lap. ‘I’ll send Joseph - get him out from under me feet. I wish I’d had a little angel like this one here. But not one girl among the lot of them!’ she cackled.

  ‘I hear John’s in India,’ Rose said bashfully.

  ‘Aye, taking off without a word to his mother!’ she cried. ‘I’ll box him round the ears when he next comes home. Michael thinks he might be fightin’ the Afghans. Read something in the newspaper about his regiment marchin’ with General Roberts. Now he’s an Irishman, by all accounts. I says to Michael, wherever your big brother is, he’ll be fightin’ someone, so he will!’

  As life grew easier again that summer, Rose resisted pressure from her in-laws to give up working at the rectory. She tried to make William understand that she liked working there and enjoyed the company, though it was getting harder to manage with Margaret. The baby was now thriving and was no longer content to lie still in her small drawer. Once she had rolled off the bed when Rose had been laying the fire in an upstairs bedroom and yelled the house down. Now she was crawling and had to be constantly watched.

  Then something happened that brought Rose’s small taste of freedom to an end. One day when she was polishing the banisters she felt a terrible pain shoot through her. She clutched her stomach and cried out in agony. Jane, who was passing through the hall, came running.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she demanded.

  Rose gasped for air as the pain shot down between her legs. ‘I need to lie down,’ she said in agony. The girl helped her on to the hall floor, where she lay feeling sick and dizzy.

  All at once, Jane screamed, ‘You’re bleedin’! Down there!’ She ran for Mrs Bradley, who helped carry Rose into the kitchen. By the time they had her lying in front of the hearth, Rose felt ill enough to die.

  ‘Where’s Margaret?’ she fretted.

  ‘Divn’t worry about that bairn,’ Mrs Bradley told her. ‘It’s the one you’re carryin’ you should be thinking of.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Rose asked, light-headed.

  ‘Looks like you’re miscarryin’,’ the old woman said glumly. ‘I should know; it happened enough to me.’

  Rose’s heart thumped hard in shock. ‘But I didn’t even know I was expectin’!’ she wailed.

  ‘Well, you are,’ Mrs Bradley confirmed. ‘The only thing you can do is take to your bed and pray you keep it.’

  Chapter 8

  All August, Rose lay in the stuffy upstairs bedroom with the window open and the blinds drawn, listening to life going on normally in the street below. Time dragged and she thought she would go mad with boredom. The bleeding had stopped, but the doctor had ordered complete bed rest and William forbade her to move. Mrs Liddell had called with a basket of fruit, but Rose had heard her turned away at the door.

  ‘She’s too delicate to have callers,’ Mrs Fawcett had rebuffed her before closing the door.

  Rose lay in frustration, listening to the sounds of her mother-in-law coming and going with Margaret in the new pram bought since the men were working full time once more. For months she had resented the older woman’s disinterest in the baby for not being a boy, but now she feared her position as mother was being usurped. These days Mrs Fawcett monopolised Margaret. Occasionally she would bring the baby in for a feed, but Rose’s milk was dwindling and soon Margaret was sucking from a bottle more often than from her mother.

  ‘If you brought her up for a feed more often, me milk would come in grand again,’ Rose dared to protest.

  But this swiftly provoked a lecture. ‘It’s working like a skivvy for them Anglicans that stopped your milk. Yes, and it might cost you your unborn baby too. You’ll only have yourself to blame - we all told you to stop. But would you listen? No, you always know best. Pride and disobedience are sins, girl,’ she tutted. ‘From now on, I’m going to make sure you’re a dutiful wife to my son and a good mother to his children. You’ll not be carting Margaret over to that rectory any more and letting strangers take care of her while you neglect her.’

  ‘I’ve never neglected her!’

  ‘And what about that time she got a bump on her head falling off the bed?’ Mrs Fawcett accused.

  Rose flushed. ‘That could have happened anywhere—’

  ‘Well, it didn’t,’ William’s mother said sharply. ‘Now hand her over. I’m going to take her out to that new park to get some air. You should be more grateful that you’ve got me to help out while you lie in bed like a queen all day long.’

  Rose wanted to scream with annoyance, but bit back an angry retort and let go of her daughter. That afternoon she tossed restlessly on the bed, wishing she was the one pushing Margaret around the new recreation ground gifted to the town by Sir Walter and Lady James. She had heard the Liddells talking about the wealthy local patrons, for it was the Jameses who had asked Reverend Mr Liddell to take up the position at St Paul’s in the first place. Rose was sure the kind Liddells must have had something to do with the sudden bequest to the townspeople of open ground where they could walk and play sport away from the strictures of the crowded back lanes.

  As she listened to children playing in the street below and the call of the ice-seller further a
way, Rose determined that as soon as she was on her feet again, she would go looking for a home of their own. She could not bear the thought of another winter cooped up with her censorious mother-in-law. It would be an endless wrangle over what was right for Margaret, or William, or the new baby if it survived. She was tired of kowtowing to this woman who was wheedling her way into Margaret’s affections and treating William as if he were still hers alone.

  Placing her hands on her stomach, where she felt her baby flutter, she hissed, ‘Please don’t die! Prove her wrong and live!’

  On a raw morning in late November, Rose went into labour. William went rushing for the doctor, for he had worried about her and the baby ever since the threatened miscarriage. Despite his anxiety, his mother ordered him off to work.

  ‘We can’t pay the doctor if you get the sack!’ she scolded.

  To Rose’s relief the baby came easily and with a healthy wail, soon after one o’clock.

  ‘What are you going to call this pretty little maid?’ Dr Forbes asked in his cheerful way.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ Rose smiled at her new daughter, ‘after me other sister. She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s perfectly healthy. You must keep her warm, and try and feed her as soon as you can - especially while your mother-in-law is keeping Margaret occupied downstairs. Or would you like me to send them up?’

  ‘No,’ Rose said quickly, ‘not yet. I just want to lie here with the bairn. She’s taken that long to come -I just want to look at her.’

  ‘It’ll be a nice surprise for William when he gets back from work,’ Dr Forbes smiled. ‘He didn’t want to go this morning.’

  Rose sighed. ‘I know he would have liked a lad ...’

  The doctor turned from rinsing his hands in the washbowl and dried them on a linen towel. ‘Knowing William, he’ll just be pleased the pair of you are alive and well.’ He gave her an understanding look. ‘And it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.’

  Rose gave him a grateful smile.

  William was delighted with his second daughter and would have nothing said against her. This time they had a proper christening at St Bede’s, with all the family invited, and afterwards laid on a fine tea at James Terrace. This year the family were able to celebrate Christmas with presents for each other and have Rose’s family round for a meal, but Rose felt tense and tearful at the small criticisms she endured from her mother-in-law. One minute she was told she wrapped the baby too tightly, the next that she did not keep her warm enough. Her gravy was too lumpy or too thin. She neglected Margaret in favour of the baby or she spoilt her eldest with too much attention.

  How Rose hankered for a place of their own! But she had not been strong enough to go searching alone that autumn. Worryingly, William showed no great desire to move house. Florrie was engaged now, and planning to marry in the spring, and Rose felt a rising sense of panic that her one ally would soon be gone.

  ‘Margaret can have Florrie’s room soon,’ William had said, when Rose had brought up the subject. ‘Give us more time to save up.’

  ‘Why do we need to save?’ Rose demanded. ‘We can afford the rent on somewhere small now.’

  ‘It’s always best to have a little put by,’ William advised. ‘You never know what’s round the corner.’

  ‘If work slackens off again, we can just move back in here,’ Rose argued.

  William took her hands. ‘I want to provide for you and the bairns properly,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll know when the time is right for us to move.’

  Rose tried to pull away, annoyed by his intransigence, but he would not let the disagreement escalate. He pulled her towards him with a grin. ‘One day we’ll have a big house all of our own, full of bairns,’ he promised. ‘Now give us a kiss!’

  She could not be angry with him for more than a minute, for he still made her heart beat faster just by her looking at his handsome fair face. Rose kissed him back and soon she was thinking of nothing else beyond the taste of his mouth and the comforting closeness of him lying next to her in bed. They had not resumed love-making since Elizabeth’s birth, but he was tender and affectionate, and she felt stirrings of desire for him, despite the rawness of childbirth and the tiredness of feeding. She loved him deeply and wanted nothing more than to be with him and the girls. Rose resigned herself to being patient.

  In the spring of 1880, Florrie married Albert in St Bede’s and they had a grand reception in Lockart’s Cocoa Rooms. The Fawcetts hired the whole of the upstairs for the occasion and there was a band laid on for dancing, and a monumental tea of delicate sandwiches, cakes and scones. Rose could not help comparing it with her own modest wedding, but she was pleased to see Florrie so happy, and grateful to her sister-in-law for inviting Maggie and Lizzie. Besides, William had treated her to a new dress for the occasion. Rose felt like a real lady in her green striped gown and fashionable new hat that sloped forward over her high forehead, decorated with flowers and lace.

  She had spent hours grooming Margaret’s fair hair and keeping her white dress spotless, while the baby was trussed up in a profusion of lacy skirts and bonnet. William looked as handsome as ever in his best suit, with a new watch and chain in his waistcoat. Rose was so proud of her growing family!

  They danced to the band and Rose caught up on news from her sisters and Danny Kennedy, who was being particularly attentive to Maggie. Lizzie was not so happy.

  ‘Mr Flynn’s in bad health,’ she confided. ‘Terrible trouble with his breathing. All them chemicals at work, his missus says. She wants him to gan back to Ireland where the air’s better and they’ve family to look after them. I’ll be looking for another place shortly, wouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘Well, you’ve skivvied for them long enough,’ Rose declared.

  ‘They’ve been canny enough in their own way.’ Lizzie was generous. ‘Kept me on when times were hard.’

  ‘Well, now’s your chance to find some’at better,’ Rose said, determining to help her if she could.

  When the time came for Florrie to depart, Rose was suddenly tearful to see her go. She was moving across the river to Wallsend, where Albert had recently taken up a new position as assistant manager in a bank, and she had given up her job in the haberdashery. Rose had grown to care for her shy, diffident sister-in-law and been grateful for Florrie’s quiet support these past two years.

  ‘I’ll miss you!’ Rose said, as they hugged. ‘You will come back and visit when you can, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Florrie promised, then added in a lower voice, ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you in your own house some day soon, eh?’

  Rose grinned. ‘Aye, soon.’

  The days that followed were dull and humdrum after the excitement of preparing for Florrie’s wedding. Mrs Fawcett was more querulous and demanding than ever, but for once Rose understood why. She was missing Florrie and nothing else could fill the emptiness in her life. Rose thought how bereft she would feel without Margaret or Elizabeth and yet they were still tiny infants. Imagine what it would be like to see them grow up and leave home! Feeling unaccustomed pity for the woman, she decided to delay her plans for moving out of James Terrace that summer. She did not think her mother-in-law could cope with losing William so soon after Florrie’s departure. Instead, she determined to enjoy the greater freedom that summer would bring.

  Rose took her daughters for walks around Jarrow Park and for visits to Simonside. She helped her father prepare for a flower show, and lay in the meadow, chewing grass and gossiping with Maggie, who was now courting Danny Kennedy.

  One day in late May, William came rushing in and scooped up Margaret.

  ‘Haway! If we hurry we’ll see the Cornelia going out to sea!’

  Rose grabbed the baby and ran out after him, infected by his enthusiasm and Margaret’s squeals of delight. They had watched the
pleasure yacht, built for the Durham landowner, the Marquis of Londonderry, being launched in February from Palmer’s yard. Now its fittings were complete and ready for the steamer’s first sea trials.

  ‘Why don’t we go up Simonside?’ Rose suggested. ‘We’ll get a view of it all the way down river.’

  William agreed and they hurried out of the town, climbing past the now derelict pigeon loft in which they had once taken shelter.

  ‘Remember that?’ William winked as they paused for breath and scoured the riverbanks for sight of the steam yacht.

  Rose laughed. ‘Doesn’t look that romantic now, does it?’

  ‘It’ll always look romantic to me,’ William grinned, hoisting Margaret on to his shoulders. He told his daughter, ‘That’s where I lost me heart to your mam.’

  Rose giggled and gave him a shove. ‘Nearly lost your life, more like! Catching pneumonia.’

  ‘It was worth it,’ William said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Suddenly, Margaret started to jig excitedly. ‘Ship! Ship!’ she said quite clearly. They both gazed at her pointing finger.

  ‘There! She’s right,’ William exclaimed. ‘Do you see the three masts?’

  Rose caught sight of the schooner, unfurling its white sails as it reached the mouth of the river and turned north into the choppy sea. It was too far to hear the throb of its engines, but it was racing at a jaunty speed.

  ‘By, she’s sharp-eyed,’ Rose said in amazement.

  ‘Like her mam,’ William smiled.

  ‘Clever like her dad,’ Rose insisted. ‘Words coming out of her little mouth already.’

  ‘I want the best for our lasses,’ William declared. ‘I want them to gan to school and learn things - get a good start in life.’

  Rose thrilled at his words. How proud she would be to have educated daughters who could read and write and get a good position in an office or marry well like Florrie. They would be shielded from the insecurity of slumps in trade and the fear of the workhouse that hung over the poor like a black cloud. Her daughters would not have to make a living digging or hawking vegetables in the freezing cold like she had, or wearing themselves out skivvying for others like Lizzie. All this, William would give them. How the saints had smiled on her the day she and William had taken shelter in that drab little hut.