Alexander ran away and they spent ten minutes hunting for him. Rose and Edward found the boy in one of the stables, sitting high up on Lord Ravensworth’s grandest carriage.
‘I’m a better coachman than my father,’ he declared. ‘I drive for Queen Victoria.’
‘Of course you do,’ Edward smiled, hiding his anxiety at the boy’s disappearance. ‘Now it’s time for you to drive us home to Jarrow.’
‘Jarrow’s not my home,’ he shouted petulantly. ‘It’s dirty and smelly and there’s no one to play with. I want to stay here.’
‘We all want to stay here,’ Rose laughed, ‘but none of us belong.’
‘I do,’ Alexander grew tearful. ‘Why can’t I stay here? And why didn’t William come? He said he would come. He’s spoilt everything! I hate you all!’
‘You mustn’t speak to Mrs Fawcett like that,’ Edward said, growing impatient. ‘Come, come, everyone’s waiting for you.’ He stretched up and took his young cousin firmly in his arms. Alexander struggled for a moment, then allowed himself to be carried outside. By the time they had reached the gateway through the woods, he was asleep in Edward’s lap.
Rose looked back at the lengthening shadows and the turrets retreating behind their fortress of trees, and sighed. It had been a perfect day and she wished William had been there to share it too. Next year, she would make sure he came on the outing. Her cheeks glowed from the warmth of the sun, and Elizabeth and Margaret slept contentedly after the unaccustomed fresh air.
Dusk was descending on Tyneside and a stiff breeze blew off the river by the time they rattled down into Jarrow. The countryside withered as it neared the town and the familiar smell from the chemical works was more overpowering than ever. The infants woke, stiff and fractious, and began to cry.
William was there to meet them and took the girls swiftly from Rose. With cries of thanks to the Liddells they trouped back to James Terrace. Rose felt suddenly overwhelmed with dissatisfaction for the house she had to call home. Here she was hemmed in, not only by the tightly packed cobbled streets, but by the strictures of her mother-in-law. She had tasted freedom today and it had left her hungry for more.
That night in bed, William kissed her and said, ‘You still smell of the countryside - hay and wild flowers.’ He buried his head in her long dark hair.
‘It was a glimpse of Heaven,’ she murmured, her body feeling pleasantly tired, not with the exhaustion of heavy housework, but from hours in the sun and fresh air. She stroked his face. ‘I want us to have our own place,’ she urged. ‘Somewhere I can grow a few flowers, where the bairns can play without fear of them being trampled on by the coal carts.’
William kissed her. ‘We’ll look for somewhere soon.’
Rose pulled away in frustration. ‘That’s what you always say!’ she accused. ‘I want us to start looking now, William. By Christmas we’ll have another bairn - I want it born in our own home. I’m sick of waiting.’
He looked at her in dismay. ‘What’s brought all this on?’
Rose looked at him keenly. ‘Today I’ve seen beyond Jarrow. I’d forgotten what life was like outside these few streets - but it all came back to me. Trees - proper trees thick with leaves - and grass you could get lost in. Just how I remembered the country from when I was a bairn. I want our lasses to know what that’s like. I want them to have a bit of Heaven, however small.’
William stared at her. She waited for him to ridicule the idea as being quite impractical, to remonstrate with her for having gone on the outing and come back so dissatisfied with her lot. He was forever telling her they should be grateful for what they had compared to the majority of working-class families in the town.
But he did not rebuke her. ‘Where do you want to live?’ he asked quietly.
Rose continued eagerly, ‘Somewhere up Simonside, above the town. Maybes with a little plot of land like me da’s where I can grow things.’
William nodded. ‘We’ll see.’
Rose was not content with this. She gripped his arm. ‘Promise me, William! Promise me we’ll be out of here before the bairn’s born?’ She searched his face for the telltale signs of weakness, the way his look would slip from hers, the apologetic shrug that came when he gave in to his mother rather than her. But he held her look with his keen blue eyes.
‘If it means that much to you,’ he said gravely, ‘aye, I promise.’
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.’
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sp; ‘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.
The Jarrow Lass Page 12
