by Val Wood
That had been eighteen months ago and had it not been for his reluctance to leave his mother and sister in the clutches of Fowler, Ted would have left to look for work elsewhere. But he had dug over the vegetable plot, dragged seaweed up the cliff and added it to the heap of cow pats, goat droppings, fowl dung and night soil to rot down. With this he had mixed ash and soot until he had a rich compost and by the following summer he had harvested a good crop of potatoes, cabbages and leeks, and in a bucket of sand and compost had grown the biggest carrots he had ever seen.
The kettle started to steam; he rolled out of bed and made a pot of tea, then cut two thick slices of bread and spread them with blackberry and crab apple jelly which his mother had made last autumn. It was tart to the tongue as she had had little sugar to sweeten it and make it set, but she had added honey from a jar which one of their former neighbours had given her when they moved to Seathorne.
He stood munching on the bread and drinking his tea, gazing out of the window at the dreary sky. ‘Wonder where they’ve got to? Shouldn’t mind if he didn’t come back. Ma and Daisy and me could get along fine wi’out him; till ’house falls over anyway. Don’t know how we’d manage then.’ He chewed over the possibilities of getting a job with one of the local landholders and being given a tied cottage, but he knew very well that hopes of that were negligible. ‘Perhaps we could go back to Hollym, mebbe get our owd cottage back if nobody else is living in it. We’re in Withernsea township just ’same as afore.’
He drained the pot of tea, had another slice of bread, and then dressed, putting on his coat and boots. As he laced up his boots he heard a sound outside. ‘That’s ’hoss,’ he muttered. ‘They’re back.’
He unbolted the door and opened it, letting in an icy blast of wind. He looked out but could see no one. Then he heard the whinnying of the horse from round the back of the cottage where there was a lean-to wooden structure which passed as a stable. He closed the door behind him and went out, wishing that he’d got up earlier to let out the fowl as Fowler would be sure to grumble that he’d done nothing but lie abed.
But there was no one there. The cart wasn’t there either, but only old Dobbin, who had settled himself behind the wooden wall. ‘What’s up, owd lad?’ Ted stroked the horse’s neck and unfastened the trailing reins. ‘What’s happened? You’ve been tekken out of ’shafts, so what’s going on? Have you run off? But why would you do that? You’re a docile old fellow usually. Nowt much bothers you as a rule.’
He rubbed the animal down with a sack as he was talking to him; his coat was very wet. He fetched an old horse blanket to put over him. He fed him and went to open up the ducks and hens and feed the goats. Then he walked across to their neighbour’s meadow with a pail in his hand to milk the cow. ‘Don’t understand it,’ he mumbled. ‘Hope that owd bugger hasn’t been up to summat; or mebbe he’s tipped ’cart over and they’re all lying in a ditch somewhere. But then Dobbin would still be fastened up in ’shafts.’ He went back again to look at the straps after he’d seen to the cow, and saw that they had been unfastened and not torn away.
By midday he was becoming very anxious; he climbed on the horse’s back and rode a short way down the road to look for any sign of them. Wherever they’ve been they’ll have to walk back, he thought, so I hope they’ve not gone further than Patrington. And Ma in her state won’t be able to walk fast. That’s it, he decided. Summat’s happened to ’cart, mebbe a wheel’s dropped off, and they’re having to walk and it’s tekking a time cos of Ma. He frowned and bit his lip. But then, why’s ’hoss come back on his own?
He turned about and rode back. Most of Seathorne village had succumbed to the sea some years before and the remaining few straggling buildings appeared to be deserted, or he might have enquired of somebody if they’d seen his family.
As he rode towards the cottage the roar of the sea was like thunder. The horse skittered about, afraid of the wildness of the wind that had risen and the crashing of the waves against the cliffs. Ted slid down from his back and led him towards his shelter. ‘Don’t be afeared, owd lad. Sea’ll not get you here. It’ll get me first if I stay much longer in yon hovel.’
He walked to the edge of the land and peered over. ‘Spring surge,’ he muttered as he watched the swirling, sand-lashed foam batter the cliffs. A chunk of boulder clay slithered down from the top, gathering up an avalanche of loosened debris, rocks, pebbles, shingle and clumps of grass, and depositing them into the buffeting waves.
Ted glanced back to the cottage. ‘Will it last ’night? Dare I stop another night or will I finish up in ’sea?’
The horse whinnied and Ted looked towards the muddy track. Somebody was walking unsteadily along it. A bedraggled and weary figure who staggered from side to side.
‘Fowler!’ Ted shouted. ‘Is that you?’ Without waiting for an answer he shouted again. ‘Where’s my ma? Where’s our Daisy? What’s happened?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Where’s my ma?’ Ted went towards Fowler. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Mind your own ruddy business,’ Fowler grunted. ‘Get out o’ my way, you recklin’. I need my bed. I’m just about all in.’
Ted put his fist towards Fowler. ‘It is my business. Tell me where she is. Have you left her somewhere? Is she sick?’
Fowler sneered. ‘She’s sick all right, and so will you be if you don’t shift out o’ my road.’
‘I’m not moving till you’ve told me where they are.’ Ted drew himself up. He was the same height as Fowler, prepared to fight him if necessary. ‘Where’ve you been? Patrington?’
Fowler’s lip curled. ‘Further than that, and they’re not anywhere that you’ll find ’em.’ Maliciously he stared at the boy. ‘And you can pack your things and clear off. You needn’t think you’re stopping here wi’ me cos you’re not.’
Ted felt sick and angry. What had Fowler done? His mother wouldn’t have just gone off without telling him. He grabbed hold of Fowler’s coat and felt the wetness of it. ‘You’ll tell me where she is first or I’ll drop you ower ’side of ’cliff.’
‘You and who else?’ Fowler jeered, pushing him away. ‘You’ve nowt on you, you little ratbag.’
Ted tightened his grip, almost lifting Fowler off his feet. Though he was thin, he was stronger than Fowler, and had large hands and feet. Fowler was flabby and indolent and only ever moved slowly. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, pulling him towards him. ‘Tide’s in – you’d get a soaking.’
Fowler wrenched himself away. ‘They’ve stopped in Hull if you must know. Your ma said she wasn’t coming back. Fed up wi’ ’country, she said, and wanted to stop in town.’
‘I don’t believe you. Ma’s a countrywoman! Never been in town in her life. You’ve left her there, haven’t you?’ Ted shouted. ‘Left ’em both on their own! How will they get back? Where’s ’cart? Hoss came back on his own. Summat’s gone on that you’re not telling me.’
‘Axle broke.’ Fowler shrugged. ‘I had to push ’cart under a hedge. Damned hoss cantered off. I’ve walked from God knows where. Miles I’ve walked; now get out o’ my way!’
‘And that’s where you left Ma and Daisy? In ’middle o’ nowhere?’
Fowler grinned. ‘I just telled you. She’s stopped in Hull. Last time I saw her was in ’Market Place.’
‘But – but she’s—’ Ted didn’t like to mention his mother’s condition. He knew, of course; but it wasn’t something to be talked about, and certainly not to Fowler. The very idea of his mother and him together made him want to vomit.
‘In ’pudding club! Aye, I know that, don’t I? And that’s why I wanted rid of her; aye, and that sister o’ yourn as well. Now I’m shut o’ them both.’
Ted threw himself at Fowler, knocking him to the ground. ‘You’ve killed ’em,’ he yelled. ‘You’re a murderer!’
Fowler levered himself up, thrusting Ted away. ‘Daft young beggar! Course I haven’t killed ’em! I’ve sold her. Told ’chap what bought her he could have your lass a
s well for ’same price.’
Ted rocked back on to his heels. ‘You never! I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t do owt like that.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Fowler got to his hands and knees. ‘It’s not against ’law; anybody’ll tell you that, and I’m sick to death of having somebody telling me what to do in me own house. I like being on me own.’ He looked up at Ted. ‘So like I just said, you can clear off; pack your things, such as you’ve got, and go. Go on! Beat it!’
Ted saw red. His mother sold! That couldn’t be right. It had to be against the law. She wouldn’t have gone willingly, that was for certain, and she wouldn’t have left him. He grabbed Fowler by his jacket, pulling at him and shaking him violently. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he shouted.
Fowler tussled with him as he rose, throwing wild punches to Ted’s face and swearing. ‘You haven’t got ’strength,’ he rasped, kicking out with his boot, catching Ted on his shin and making him wince. ‘Mammy’s little milksop. Think you can fight, do you?’ He lashed out, a glancing blow which struck the side of Ted’s cheek. ‘I’ll show you how to fight.’
Furious, Ted threw himself at Fowler, catching him off balance. They both fell heavily, and Ted, on top of the older man, rained blows on his head until Fowler called out, ‘All right! All right!’
They drew apart and Ted, breathing heavily, stared at his opponent. In those few seconds he was unprepared for Fowler’s fist as it landed under his chin. He drew in a sharp breath as he reeled and Fowler, with an unexpected spurt of energy, sprang to his feet and launched a boot at his ribs. ‘That’ll larn you to mess wi’ me, tha young varmint.’ He stood over Ted as he lay curled up, winded. ‘Now clear off and don’t come back.’
Ted started to rise, saw Fowler’s boot poised to kick again and caught it, bringing the older man crashing down. They rolled over and over on the muddy ground, slithering and sliding, punching and kicking, but Fowler was tiring and Ted felt that the blows aimed at him were lessening. He pulled back his fist to aim another blow, but Fowler saw it coming and rolled over, trying to get to his feet. ‘Young whelp,’ he snarled. ‘Get off into Hull and find your ma and tell her how you tried to fight, but hadn’t got ’marra.’
Ted jumped to his feet and grabbed Fowler. ‘Haven’t got ’marra? Haven’t got ’marra? I’ll show you what I’ve got, you clodhopping lumpkin.’ He shook Fowler and they shouted abuse at each other, pushing, shoving, aiming blows, and skidding on the wet and muddy cliff top.
Ted’s cold hands grasped Fowler’s jacket; it was soaked with rain and mud and he could barely keep a grip. He had pulled back a fist to aim another blow when his feet skidded from beneath him. Fowler started to laugh derisively but his laugh turned to a startled shout as Ted’s feet became entangled with his and he too began to fall. They had rolled about on the quaggy ground oblivious of how close they were to the cliff edge. Fowler’s arms began to flail as he fought to get a grip with his feet.
It was almost like slow motion, Ted thought, as, flat on his stomach, he gazed over the brink. One minute Fowler was there and the next he was falling backwards, first have that midwife his head, shoulders and body and then his legs and feet disappearing over the edge.
‘He’s done for,’ Ted muttered. ‘It’s not my fault. I couldn’t have hauled him back.’ He thought guiltily that even if he had been able to, he didn’t know if he would have stretched out a hand to Fowler. ‘I can’t see him. He’s gone straight into ’sea.’
The sea below him roared and lashed, foamy crests of wild water crashing against the cliff. He felt the sting of sharp sand as the spume spattered against his face. I hope nobody thinks I knocked him over. I know I said I’d kill him and throw him over, but I didn’t really mean it, and anyway, it might have been me gone down instead of him. He wouldn’t have helped me back either. Pushed me, more like. He glanced round nervously. Still, it’s a good job there’s nobody about to see us fighting or they might think I’d done it on purpose.
The waves were battering all along the cliffs as far as he could see. There was no shore at all; the sand was completely covered by deep water. ‘What’ll I do?’ he muttered. ‘If I go into ’village for help, by ’time I get back wi’ somebody it’ll be too late. And what if they start questioning me; what if they ask me what he was doing standing right on ’edge? What’d I tell ’em then?’
He got to his feet and the enormity of the situation made him shake. He put his hand to his mouth. Is it my fault? No, it’s his. He shouldn’t have said he’d sold my ma. No decent man would have done that. I didn’t want to kill him, not really. If he’d just tummelled over accidental like, I wouldn’t have been that bothered. I didn’t like him. Hated him even. But still!
He stood dithering with uncertainty. I wish Ma was here. I don’t know what to do. He looked again over the edge but could see nothing but battering waves; the sky was darkening and a huge rain cloud was hanging threateningly overhead.
‘Nobody’ll ever find him now anyway.’ He bit into his lip. ‘Even if they put a boat out. He’ll be washed up further down ’coast. Mebbe at Kilnsea or Spurn and nobody’ll know him down there.’
He made a sudden decision and with one last look over his shoulder he ran towards the cottage. He took a blanket from the bed and wrapped a clean flannel shirt, his other pair of trousers and a pair of socks into it and rolled them up into a knotted bundle, and he went outside to the wood pile and found a stout stick and threaded it through the knot. He stopped and considered. What to do about the hens and goats, and the cow which was over in John Ward’s meadow? Nowt’s ever straightforward, he pondered. I can’t just leave them.
He nibbled on his fingers as he cogitated. But I can’t take them with me either. I’ll take ’hoss and ride him into Hull. He sighed and put down the bundle and went into his precious vegetable plot. He’d only just started planting seeds and beans so he reckoned that not much would be wasted. He scurried across to the henhouse and began to unravel the chicken wire which surrounded it. The hens rushed squawking on to the fresh piece of earth and began scratching about. He went inside the henhouse and came out with two eggs; one he cracked and swallowed raw and the other he put into his coat pocket. He unfastened the goats from their tether and let them free. That just left the cow, and he was sorry to leave her; they hadn’t had her long, having swapped her for the old one, a clutch of eggs and a basket of vegetables. He knew that she would let John Ward know that she needed milking the next morning. He had often found her standing near the fence next to Ward’s yard and he was certain that the farmer would milk her when no one else came to do it.
Back inside the house he beat up the other egg into a cup of milk and drank that, then picked up his bundle of clothes. ‘Nowt else to take,’ he murmured. ‘And I’d best be off now rather than wait till morning. Nobody’ll see me now that it’s nearly dark.’
His eye caught Fowler’s rubber coat hanging behind the door. Fowler hadn’t thought fit to take it when he set off on the journey to Hull, and Ted recalled how wet his jacket was. I’ll take that. It’s no good to him where he is, he told himself, and he gave a shudder at the thought of his stepfather’s body being washed down the coast. He put on the coat and was glad of it when he stepped outside, for the cloud had opened up and heavy rain was pelting down.
He closed the door behind him and went to the shelter, fetching out the agitated, nervous horse, tacking him up with an old and worn saddle, and placing the blanket across his neck. He put his foot in the stirrup and jumped on his back, setting his bundle in front of him. ‘Cheerio, Seathorne,’ he muttered as he wheeled round towards the track. ‘Shan’t be seeing you again. Not if I can help it, anyway.’
As he rode off he heard a crashing, reverberating thud and lifted his head thinking it was thunder; then it came again, a slithering, rumbling sound, like muffled drums. He glanced over his shoulder and his mouth dropped open. The cottage door, which he had closed, was swinging wide, banging against the frame. The ground in front of the cot
tage where a moment ago he had been standing had fallen away, leaving nothing beneath it but broken cliffs and foaming turbulent water.
CHAPTER SIX
Lily leaned heavily on Charles Walker’s arm. Hope to God it isn’t far, she worried, or I’ll give birth out here in ’street. Daisy scurried at her side, patting her arm and whispering that she’d be all right now.
‘Here we are,’ the chemist said. The door to his premises was already held open to admit them by a young man who ushered them through to a small room behind the counter: a room with a wall full of shelves containing bottles in blue, green, black and clear glass. It smelled very clean, like soap, just as her old kitchen at Hollym used to do on washdays. There was a narrow bed along a wall with a white sheet and a blanket folded neatly upon it and on the other wall was a sink with a tap.
‘I can’t pay you,’ she gasped. ‘My husband’s abandoned me. Sold me, he did.’ In spite of her anger and pain, or perhaps because of it, she began to weep. ‘I’m destitute, yet ’workhouse turned us away.’
‘A terrible place. You wouldn’t want to be in there. But don’t worry about that now,’ he said gently. ‘First we must make sure that you are delivered safely of your child.’
‘I won’t be. It’s too early, and besides I took a battering coming in ’cart. We’ve come from ’coast, near Withernsea.’
He led her towards the bed. ‘I’m not a doctor,’ he told her again. ‘I’m a chemist, an apothecary. But I’ll send my son for a midwife; I know of one who lives nearby. Your daughter can stay with you until someone comes.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she breathed, and thinking again of the expense added, ‘but I don’t want to be a bother. Do you have a wife who could help me instead?’
Charles Walker cleared his throat. ‘She’s out at present.’ He thanked his luck that she was, for she would have had something to say if she had been here.
