Victory for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘I think the scales would be quite evenly weighed,’ she said finally. She paused for another moment, before looking at Bel and asking, ‘What makes you ask that?’

  Bel looked at the front door, checking that her daughter was not about to come in. ‘I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been thinking about us both. Our lives. And how different they have been. Are. I know Ma chats to you more freely than she does to me. Does she ever tell you anything about the time after she came back from London?’

  ‘What? After she handed me over to complete strangers?’ Maisie said with a slightly bitter laugh. She still carried some residual resentment about being adopted out, and much as she had tried to shift it, she had accepted it didn’t seem to want to budge.

  ‘I know she came back here after she left me at Ivy House,’ Maisie said, keeping her voice low. ‘I know she didn’t go back and live with her mother and father – I don’t think they were exactly model parents, reading in between the lines. I’m sure she said something about being some kind of a maid. Not a chambermaid, though, I think it was something more downstairs than upstairs.’

  ‘So, let’s work this out,’ Bel said. ‘Ma was about … what, fourteen, fifteen, when she had you, and there is about a year-and-a-half age gap between us two.’

  ‘Sixteen months to be precise,’ Maisie said.

  ‘Sixteen months.’ Bel thought about it. ‘So that means I must have been conceived within seven months of her coming back to Sunderland.’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Maisie agreed.

  ‘So, the question is, what was Ma doing during that time, and who was she courting?’

  ‘I suppose she might have been seeing someone from the place she worked?’ Maisie volunteered.

  ‘Mm,’ Bel mused.

  ‘Why don’t you just ask her?’ Maisie said. ‘Just sit her down and ask her point-blank.’

  Maisie looked at Bel and cocked her head to direct her attention to Lucille, whose face was pressed against the glass doorway of the café.

  The bell above the tea-room door jingled and Lucille entered, followed by Kate. The little girl was determined to show her mother and aunty her new hair ribbons, which had been tied to the bottom of two perfectly woven pigtails.

  ‘Sorry, you two,’ Kate said. Bel hadn’t said anything, but it had been obvious she’d wanted to chat to Maisie about something important and not appropriate for little ears to hear. ‘But Lucille just had to show you her new hairdo.’

  Bel and Maisie looked at the beaming little girl proudly standing up straight, her two plaits placed on her shoulders to show off their new crimson bows. Maisie smiled at her little niece, thinking how lucky Lucille was.

  At least there was one little girl who was getting to have a happy childhood.

  As Maisie and Bel walked back to Tatham Street with Lucille swinging like a little monkey between the two of them, Bel cast a glance over to her sister.

  ‘Don’t suppose you could subtly quiz Ma, do you?’

  ‘What, about where she worked when she came back up north?’

  ‘Yeh, and if there was someone special in her life then?’

  Maisie nodded. She could pose the question, but she knew Pearl would suss out straight away what her daughters were up to. Maisie sympathised with her sister; she knew only too well what it felt like to want, more than anything, to know who your real mother and father were. She would have suggested that Bel try and get a look at her birth certificate – it was how Maisie herself had found out her ma’s name and had been able to trace her. She’d paid some shady bloke to find her certificate, check that her mother had not died, and find out where she was living. Her present whereabouts had been the hard part, and for this she’d had to shell out more money; her mother had moved about more than your average gypsy.

  But this was not the path that would lead Bel to her father. For starters, Maisie would bet her savings that Pearl had not put any name down on Bel’s birth certificate. So, even if Bel was able to unearth the certificate, something Pearl had apparently lost, it would not get her any nearer to finding out her father’s true identity.

  No, the only way Bel was going to find out the name of the man who had fathered her was through Pearl. And for some reason Pearl was not looking all that amenable to disclosing the information. From what Maisie had gathered, there was something about Bel’s father that Pearl wanted left well and truly in the past. And Maisie was astute enough to know that meant one of two things. Either Pearl had had her heart broken so badly she could not bring herself to relive the pain of it all, or she hated the man so much that she was determined he would not play any part in her life, or her daughter’s.

  Experience told her that it was the latter.

  ‘I’ll pop by later on in the week,’ Maisie said, giving her sister a quick kiss on both cheeks. ‘And I’ll see what I can find out,’ she added quietly.

  ‘And you, cheeky little monkey, behave for your mummy? Promise?’

  Lucille looked up at her aunty and nodded vigorously.

  After Bel and Lucille had gone inside, Maisie crossed over the road and headed towards the Tatham.

  ‘No time like the present,’ she said to herself.

  ‘Ta, Bill.’ Pearl took the two drinks from Bill, who had brought them over to their table, telling them they were ‘on the house’.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Bill. That’s very kind of you,’ Maisie added, making a mental note to bring Bill a bottle of some decent brandy she could subtly suggest be used whenever she popped in to see her mother.

  ‘So, Ma,’ Maisie said, taking a small sip, ‘you know when you came back up north, after abandoning me—’

  ‘I never abandoned you!’ Pearl was quick to snipe back. ‘I gave you a chance at life. Money, warmth, food in your belly, security. Acceptance.’

  Maisie could see that she had rankled her mother and knew if the conversation was to go the way she wanted, she had to pacify her.

  ‘Let me rephrase that. After you did what you thought was the best thing for your baby, when you came back here – to your home town – where did you work?’

  Pearl gave her daughter a piercing look.

  ‘Why do ya wanna know?’ she snapped. No one asked about her life. No one had ever really shown an interest in anything about her. Unless they were after something. Apart from Bill, who had asked her a few questions after Maisie had turned up out of the blue. She’d told him a little about her past, but that was because he was a friend.

  ‘You’ve never been bothered before. Why now?’

  Maisie was taken aback by her mother’s sharpness and she knew then she had hit a sore spot.

  ‘Just curious, that’s all.’ Maisie tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Just want to get to know a bit more about me auld ma,’ she replied.

  Pearl gave her a look that said she did not believe her for one moment. Maisie was like her mother and as much as Pearl loved her daughter, she also saw her for the person she was. She was a beautiful, streetwise, determined young woman who took no punches, but she was also only really interested in anything that might affect her. Pearl knew that what her ‘auld ma’ had done and where she had worked were of no real interest to her.

  Whereas they might well be of interest to her other daughter.

  ‘Isabelle’s asked yer to ask me,’ Pearl said, looking Maisie straight in the eye. ‘Hasn’t she?’

  ‘Blimey, Ma, what’s that expression you’re so fond of? “There’s no flies on you.”’ Maisie let out a nervous laugh.

  ‘Don’t forget I’ve been on this planet twice as long as you.’ Pearl’s eyes squinted as she looked at Maisie. ‘So, it was Isabelle. Yer little sister got yer doing her dirty work fer her, has she?’

  Maisie hadn’t quite viewed Bel’s request as ‘dirty work’, or thought that her sister was using her, but now her ma put it like that …

  ‘Honestly, Ma, you make it sound like Bel’s trying to do one over on you – and I’m her dogsbody accomplice!’ she defended. ‘Be
l was just curious, that was all,’ she added, in what she hoped was a placatory manner.

  ‘Curious my foot!’ Pearl took out her cigarettes, pulled out two and handed one to Maisie, who got out her silver-plated lighter and lit Pearl’s and then her own.

  ‘That girl’s obsessed with finding out who her real da is,’ Pearl said, puffing away angrily and looking over to see where Bill was so she could signal to him she wanted – no, needed – another drink.

  Maisie finished off her own brandy and lemonade, grimacing slightly as she did so. The lemonade hadn’t managed to disguise the taste of the cheap brandy.

  ‘She just wanted me to find out where you worked, that was all, and to see if there was anyone, you know, special about at that time?’

  Pearl pursed her mouth, only opening it a fraction to take another long draw on her cigarette.

  ‘God, why that girl can’t just get on with her life and stop mithering on about the past!’ She spat the words out with a flurry of smoke. She looked over at Bill, finally catching his eye. He nodded, pulling out two brandy glasses and turning back to the optics lining the back of the bar.

  ‘I don’t understand why you don’t just tell her. Put her out of her misery,’ Maisie said. ‘I mean, you’ve told me about my father. Why not Bel hers?’

  ‘Different kettle of fish,’ Pearl said bluntly.

  ‘How? What’s the big secret about Bel’s da?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ Pearl said, even more tersely. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘I couldn’t tell you if I’ve not told Isabelle. Wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘Well,’ Maisie said, ‘I’m getting to know my little sister and I’ll tell you this for nothing, she’s going to keep badgering you until you tell her. You think I’m stubborn! Bel won’t let this go. She’s not stupid. She knows you’re trying to avoid her. She made a joke of it earlier on, but I could tell it was bothering her.’

  Pearl didn’t say anything. Since Bel had made her promise that she would tell her about the man who had fathered her, she’d been making sure she didn’t have a minute to spare, working every shift going at the pub, and when she wasn’t there, going out and about doing chores, seeing Maisie, taking Lucille out. And when she did tip up back at the house she’d sneak straight up to her room, even forsaking her last fag of the day.

  When Bill leant over with the drinks, Maisie insisted on paying. ‘You must be struggling to make a profit with this one working for you. Drinking the bar dry every night, I’ll bet!’ she said, walking with Bill back to the till. Maisie was pleased that nowadays no one in the pub batted an eyelid at her. The Tatham was one of the few places that had accepted her, or at least not made her feel like she was walking around with two heads.

  Going back to the little table she was sitting at with Pearl, Maisie wished she had kept her mouth shut. She shouldn’t have got involved. This was between her sister and her mother. They had a very tenuous relationship at the best of times and she should have known that it would have been wiser to steer well clear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  September 1913

  Pearl knew she would never be able to give her baby girl any kind of life. She was fifteen with no money, no home, no husband, and no family. Her mam and dad were unaware of her condition and would, without a doubt, thrash her to kingdom come if they found out. And if all that wasn’t enough, she had given birth to a coloured baby. Pearl knew that if she really loved her daughter, which she did – with every bone in her body – then she had to let her go. She had to give her a chance. A chance at life that she simply would not have if Pearl kept her.

  And so she’d handed her baby over to Evelina, but as she’d done so, the overwhelming love she felt towards her baby was replaced by the most soul-destroying sorrow. Left on her own in her bed, Pearl realised she couldn’t bear being at Ivy House a minute longer. She certainly didn’t want to stick around to meet the wealthy coloured couple who were to have her baby – no matter how lovely Evelina had reassured her they were.

  So, she cleaned herself up the best she could, got dressed, packed what few belongings she had into her small holdall and cleared off in the middle of the night without as much as a goodbye. She walked for miles and miles from Hackney to King’s Cross, crying on and off the whole way. She sat huddled under one of the stone arches in the main entrance of the station, not caring whether she lived or died as the cold crept into every part of her body. She was joined by a down-and-out who offered her a drink from a dirty bottle. The burning liquid brought her some respite from the unbearable grief and sorrow she had been choking on since being parted from her baby.

  Pearl caught the early-morning train up north and slept on the hard wooden bench of the third-class compartment for most of the journey. Arriving back at her home town in the afternoon, walking out of the main entrance she was greeted by a bright, autumnal sun, but despite nature’s cheerful welcome, Pearl felt a huge dark cloud of depression descend on her.

  She knew she couldn’t go back to the house in Barrack Street – back to the life she’d had with her ma and da and six brothers and sisters – back to all the dirt, drink and constant screaming and shouting, so instead she headed over to the other side of town and knocked on the doors of the big houses overlooking Backhouse Park where all the rich families lived, and asked in the most polite voice she could muster if there were any live-in positions available. She trooped up each driveway and stood for a few minutes while she plucked up the courage to lift the knocker or pull the bell on the doors of what could only be described as mansions. She must have heard the words ‘Sorry, pet,’ at least a dozen times in the space of an hour.

  She had got halfway down a road called The Cedars, presumably after the thick-trunked trees that lined the pathway, when she spotted another street that veered off to the right, following the perimeter wall of the park. Pearl looked at the cast-iron street sign embossed with the name Glen Path. This street also consisted of a long row of beautiful detached homes, all with sweeping drives, although many were cordoned off by huge metal gates. Not daring to knock on these doors for fear she would be chased off the property by the master of the house, or worse still, by one of the snarling hounds she’d heard rich people tended to keep to guard their homes, Pearl opted for those with nothing that suggested prohibited access.

  Knocking on the first two houses at the start of the street, Pearl was not even given the courtesy of a ‘Sorry, pet,’ but simply had the door slammed in her face. Following the road round to the left, she saw that it stretched right up to what looked like a main road.

  Looking up at the darkening sky and the huge trees, most of which were now almost bare of leaves, Pearl felt total despair. Her mind kept flitting to her baby. Her Maisie. She wondered if the couple who had adopted her had kept the name. She had almost begged Evelina to persuade her baby’s new parents to keep the name, and Evelina had promised Pearl she would do her utmost to fulfil her heartfelt request.

  Walking away from another house, and another rebuttal, Pearl suddenly felt exhausted. Her breasts felt sore and heavy with milk, her legs as though they were made of lead. She didn’t think she could walk much further. Her body urged her to sit down on the kerbside on top of the blanket of crisp yellow leaves covering the grass verge. She wanted – needed – to rest, but knew if she did, she might not have the energy to get up again.

  ‘Get to the end of the road and then you can give up.’

  Pearl spoke her words aloud to the crows above her who were squawking from the very tops of the surrounding trees – trees, Pearl thought, that brought to mind an army of skeletons, their bony arms stretching out to the charcoal-scrubbed skies above.

  Pearl decided if she had no joy by the time she reached the end of the road, then she would climb over the mossy wall and bed down in the park. If she didn’t make it through the night, she didn’t care. The thought of waking up and not having to face another day was almost a comfort.

  The housemaids who answered the door to Pearl at the
next couple of houses simply shook their heads and waited until Pearl was back on the main pavement before closing and bolting the door.

  Walking up the wide, gravelled entrance to the next house, Pearl stared in awe at its magnificence. All the houses she had been to were extremely grandiose, if a little dark and foreboding, but this house – this palace – was striking in its elegance. Pearl had never thought a building beautiful until now. She had to rock her head back to see the very top of the three-storey, red-brick house and couldn’t help but count the number of windows. There were twelve. And they were all as tall as they were wide.

  When Pearl brought her head back down she felt a little dizzy and had to grab on to the iron railing that led up the half a dozen stone steps to the red front door. Pearl had never seen such a brightly coloured door in her life. She looked to her right, where there was a long brass rod that must have been at least two, if not three feet long. She hesitated before pulling it. The effort of doing so made her feel weak and light-headed. Pearl doubted she would keep her promise of making it to the end of the road before she gave up and sought sanctuary in the park.

  Pearl heard the bell chime in the house and counted to ten. She wiped her nose, which had started to run. After the sunny day, dusk was falling and with it the temperature. Pushing some strands of blonde hair behind her ears, she pulled her grey woollen shawl tightly around her body in an attempt to hide the shabby blue dress she was wearing underneath.

  Hearing the click of the door latch, Pearl took a deep breath and put what she hoped resembled a smile on her face. Her hands were clasped together, unwittingly giving the impression she was either praying or begging.