by Nancy Carson
I’m glad as you like Bristol, Arthur it sounds a lovley place and I hope as you have been lucky enuff to be given work on that lovley church you rit about I’m sure you will make a very good job of it because I know how carefull you are. As for visiting you for a few days I don’t know about that it would be very nice to visit you but I can’t see my way clear on account of work and how my father would take it if I said I wanted to go to Bristol for a few days on my own to be with you.
I hope as your tooth acke is better, and your soar throte. I spect you will end up having it pulled wether or no if you want some peace from it, and a good thing an all.
As for us getting wed, Arthur, I don’t think it would be good for you to set much store by that. Its not as if I don’t like you because you no I do but I don’t want to get wed. I told you all this before you went. So if you meet another nice young woman in Bristol I shant be offended. Our Jane says as how you deserve the love of a nice young woman who can look after you and cherish you better than me. All the same it will be nice to here from you from time to time to tell me how you are going on. I hope you make your fortune in Bristol, Arthur. My mother and father send there love.
Your ever faithful servant
Lucy Piddock
Sunday 26th July 1857
My dearest Lucy,
It upset me greatly to hear that you would not be offended if I took up with another young woman in Bristol. You seem to disregard my love for you as if it’s a fly landed on your shawl to be cast off with a swipe. Well I can assure you, Lucy, it’s no such trivial thing. I only hope you can understand the hurt it causes me when you say such things, because I could never inflict any such hurt on you. Then you sign yourself off as my ever faithful servant. Well you are not my servant, Lucy, nor ever likely to be, although I hope and pray you will be ever faithful, as I shall be to you.
You will doubtless be pleased to hear that I am now working for Mr Pascoe. I went to see him Monday as arranged and he told me I could have the job at seven and six a week more than my father was paying me. That’s a handsome rise and more than covers my lodgings. I am working on the St Mary Redcliffe church I told you about with another stonemason called Cyril Chadwick a bit younger than me who seems a decent sort, trying to restore it to its former glory. By the way, he has a sister the same age as you.
Mrs Hawkins my landlady is a good cook and she makes me some very tasty dinners and puddings, except for something she calls sillybub or sillybubble or something. I can’t stand it, so when she isn’t looking I give it the cat who seems to like it.
The other night I went ferreting with Cyril Chadwick but we caught nothing. I bought a ferret off Cyril for four shillings but he has to look after it for me, because Mrs Hawkins won’t let me keep it at my lodgings. That reminds me, could you ask my mother to send me my cricketing things. She could send them by rail and I could collect them from Bristol Terminus. There is a cricket team down here I could get in with, but not if I haven’t got any gear and I don’t see the point in buying new when I have already got some.
The weather here has been very fine and quite warm and I don’t mind working outside when it’s like that. I have a sniffly cold now which makes me feel very cross, especially when the weather is so warm. Also I cut my finger badly on a chisel. My toothache isn’t too bad at the moment.
Well, Lucy, I still miss you no end and I hope you miss me. Don’t forget to ask your father if you can come and visit me here. I know you would like it and it would be such a change for you to stay in Bristol for a few days. There’s plenty to see and we could even go to Bath for the day. Mrs Hawkins would put up some sandwiches to take with us I’m sure. I haven’t been to Bath myself yet, but the trains run there regular so it wouldn’t be any trouble getting there and back. Only like going from Brierley Hill to Wolverhampton and back. I bet you would like Bath. Please write to me soon.
Ever yours
Arthur
Sunday 2nd August 1857
Dearest Lucy,
I haven’t had a letter from you since last time I wrote so I hope yours and this one will have crossed in the post. I hope you can persuade your father to let you come to Bristol. Ask your mother to have a word with him. If you are strapped for money I could send you a post office order. You must be due for a few days holiday from the glass works, I bet. When you do come here I have decided to buy you an engagement ring. I am earning good money now and I can afford a decent engagement ring for you, what with my savings and all. There is a very good jewelry shop here that you would like. We don’t have to get married though till you are good and ready, but it would be nice to be engaged all the same.
I still haven’t heard about my cricket things so can you go and have another word with my mother and ask her to send them, but to let me know when so as I know when to pick them up from the Terminus.
I have been invited to tea at Cyril Chadwick’s house this afternoon. His mother asked him to ask me to go. Maybe she feels sorry for me living in lodgings. I daresay I shall meet his sister who still lives at home. I believe her name is Dorinda and she is said to be quite pretty.
At least my cold is better and my poorly finger is healing nicely. I think the air down here suits me. I hope you are keeping well, and also your mother and father and Moses and your Jane. Well, Lucy, I’d better go and get ready to visit the Chadwicks now. Give everybody my best wishes and give Tickle a tickle for me, and I hope your letter will arrive in tomorrow’s post. If not, please write soon. I miss you terribly and I’m thinking about you all the time.
Ever yours
Arthur.
Sunday 9th August 1857
My dearest Lucy,
Why have you not written? Have I upset you in some way? If I have, I never intended to but I apologise just in case. I am worried sick about you, not having written. Are you poorly or what? Maybe you have written and your letters have got lost in the post. Perhaps you should check what address you are sending them to. Anyway, thank you for asking my mother to send my cricket stuff. I picked it up from the Terminus yesterday.
I’ve had a busy week working. On Tuesday Cyril and me were working on some statues of the Disciples set in the outside walls of the church trying to spruce them up, and he fell off the scaffolding. He swears one of them Disciples pushed him. I think he put his shoulder out but nothing worse than that. When you think about it, it could have been a lot worse. I had a very nice time last Sunday when I went to his house for tea. His mother and father are very nice and his unmarried sister Dorinda is such a pretty girl, I can’t think why she’s still a spinster. Anyway, Dorinda herself suggested I go to tea again today and her mother didn’t seem to mind her asking me. At least I’ll be able to see Cyril because he hasn’t been to work since his accident.
There’s not much else to report. The weather has been fair and warm, Mrs Hawkins continues to give me syllabubs a couple of times a week (I found out what they’re really called and how to spell it) and I continue to feed them to the cat, although I think even the cat is getting tired of them now. I shall have to tell her I’m not that fussed. A nice apple pie wouldn’t come amiss for a change like those your mother makes.
I really am quite content living down here in Bristol, Lucy. The only thing that upsets me is not being able to see you. I do miss you so much, so please be sure to write and let me know how you are and what you are doing. If you were here with me as my wife my contentment would be complete, but I can’t stand the not knowing. If I don’t hear from you soon I shall have no alternative but to return to Brierley Hill to see what’s wrong, but I could do without having a day off work so soon after starting. Give my fondest wishes to your family.
Ever yours,
Arthur.
Wensday August 12th
Dear Arthur
I’m sory I havent rote but I’ve been ever so busy what with work at the glass works and the Whimsey and everythink. I’m glad you got your cricket things after all. It prooves I asked your mother to send them. I s
till don’t know about coming to visit you in Bristol Arthur. I don’t think it would be a very good idea though so maybe you should forget all about it. I daren’t ask my father because I no what he wood say and what with work and everythink I can’t see my way clear. Anyway, it sounds as if you have good companey in the pretty Dorinda to worry to much about me. We are not betrothed to one another remember so it might be a good idea for you to take up with Dorinda while you are in Bristol if you like her. I woodnt mind at all and I woodnt blame you neither. She might be just what you need and she is from a nice family and all by the sounds of it.
I hope your friend Cyril gets better soon after his accident he sounds very nice. It’s a good thing it wasn’t you Arthur what got hurt else you might have had to come home to be nursed speshaly if you’d got hurt bad.
Your father hasn’t been keeping well at all by all accounts. I spect you’ve heard from your Talbot or his wife anyway letting you know. I don’t know what’s up with him Moses didn’t know and your mother didn’t tell me. Still I don’t think its anything bad enough for you to have to come back home. Mind you I can’t see you wanting to come back just to see him after the way you’ve talked about him rotten and the way he treated you.
My mother says as how she misses the rabbits you used to catch for us. Moses says he’ll try and catch some but he woodnt be too steady with a gun I don’t think on account of him only having one leg to keep him steady and our Jane isnt very happy over him trying. She says what if he falls off his crutch and shoots hisself in his good leg then she’d have a right game with him so I don’t think as Moses will go out shooting rabbits and he surley woodnt be any good at rustling pigs or even sheep.
Anyway I’d better close now Arthur as I’m writing this in my dinner time because I’m going out tonight for a change. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me all that often. It’s not that I don’t care about you Arthur its because I have to much to do.
Yours very truly
Lucy Piddock
Thursday August 13th
Dearest Arthur,
I expect this is a surprise hearing from me so soon after my last letter, but there’s somethink I wanted to say to you that I really mean. I do like you a lot Arthur and I admire you. You are honest and decent and you’ve always cared for me much more than I deserve. I know it better than anybody and I am thankful for it. Any normal girl wood be potty to give up the chance of being your wife and our Jane thinks I’m potty for turning you down. But the truth is, I’ve met somebody else who I like a great deal and I am very serious about him. I haven’t told my father yet but my mother knows and she thinks I’m potty as well.
So if you really like this Dorinda you wrote about then don’t feel bad about seeing her reglar as she sounds like a very nice girl and if she’s as pretty as I am potty then why not. You could do worse by the sounds of it and I know she could do a lot worse than to hitch up with you.
Please write to me from time to time to let me know how you are going on and you can even send me an invitation to your wedding if you ever deside to get married to the lovley Dorinda.
Arthur, I really think this wood be for the best. I know you will be disappointed in me and annoyed but in the end you will thank me. I don’t think I could ever have been any good for you and it wood be rong of me to hold you back from happiness with another young woman more deserving than me. I wish you well.
Your friend for ever
Lucy Piddock
Friday 14th August 1857
My dear, dearest Lucy,
I have just got in from work and Mrs Hawkins has just handed me your letter. I can scarcely believe what I have read. Lucy, I am heartbroken. I cannot describe how I feel. I suppose I should not be surprised really, the way you’ve never been able to commit yourself to me properly. I always hoped and prayed that in time you would, but evidently it is not to be or you are not giving it enough time. I feel so helpless being so far away from you and unable to do anything to try and persuade you otherwise. I know it was my own decision to leave home, and you know why, but I did it believing you would agree to us being wed once I was settled. Now my dreams are shattered.
Lucy, my own darling, you are the least selfish person I ever met for not begrudging me happiness. I want you to be happy too but I want you to be happy with me and not without me. Truly loving somebody means wanting them to be happy whatever way they choose, and if you are not able to be happy with me, I love you too much ever to begrudge you any happiness at all. Life is too short to harbour grudges, so I hope you and this new chap of yours will be very happy.
As for the lovely Dorinda as you call her, well it never crossed my mind to ask to see her while I thought you and I were courting. She’s a very nice girl, but I would never lead her on knowing there was to be nothing at the end of it for her, just because I was in love with somebody else – you!
Well, Lucy, I wish you well despite my being so upset. I hope and pray you will change your mind, that you will realise you miss me and want to be back with me. I yearn for that day. Write to me anyway from time to time and let me know how things are in Brierley Hill. If I find myself back there on a visit I shall come and knock on your door and say hallo. Until then, take very good care of yourself.
My love forever
Arthur.
Chapter 13
The first Sunday in September was dull and overcast. Autumn had arrived too early, bringing a dramatic change from the fine weather of August, which had ripened the barley in the fields around Brierley Hill. Lucy had risen early as usual, to help Hannah make breakfast, to clean and to make beds before she went to chapel. Haden had gone to see Jane and Moses, bearing a pheasant, one of a brace that had come his way. So Lucy took advantage of the time by herself to reflect. She sat on the settle, kicked off her boots and put her feet up, her back resting against one of the side wings. Through the squares of glass that made up the small window she could see out onto Bull Street. A cart clattered past, of no consequence.
Lucy inspected her fingernails cursorily. Packing glassware into crates did not help in the struggle to keep them in good condition but, although uneven, at least they were clean due to their often being in water. How nice it must be to live the life of a lady of leisure and have pretty nails, and nothing more to worry about than what dress you were going to wear for dinner, or whether the maid had cleaned the silver cutlery properly.
The fire spat, diverting her attention. Her blue eyes were drawn to the glowing coals and she stared, deep in thought, into their glimmering flames, turning them into grotesque faces. One such image reminded her of Arthur. It had been six weeks since he had left, driven out of house and home by his father’s relentless abuse, and still he popped persistently into her thoughts. It had also been six weeks since her first arranged meeting with Dickie Dempster. Since that day she and Dickie had been regular companions a couple of times a week. She had changed her Wednesday nights working at the Whimsey to Thursday to accommodate him, and continued to meet him on Saturday afternoons at Wolverhampton Low Level, where he persisted in taking her to the Old Barrel at Boblake. Dickie had finally admitted that the room they always occupied he reserved specially for them, so they could be alone together. There they kissed and cuddled and laughed and sighed, and drank beer till it was time for her to go. Yesterday they had tarried long, leaving it till the very last minute to return to the station, just in time to get the six o’ clock train back to Brettell Lane.
‘What time’s the next train?’ she asked, always reluctant to go.
‘Ten to eight,’ he replied without hesitation.
‘Damn. I’d never get to work in time.’
The station was busy, but that did not deter them from standing dangerously close. She held her face up to him, poised for a kiss, and he obliged. She felt the lush softness of his lips again which matured into a deep, probing, hungry kiss, one that would have to keep her going till next Wednesday. The guard on duty, Fred Cooke, whom Dickie knew well, gave them a l
ow wolf-whistle as he walked past carrying his flag. They broke off, and Dickie grinned waggishly at his friend.
‘All right, Fred, the lady’s going now. I’ll just see her into a carriage, then you can let the train go.’
‘Sorry to rush you, mate,’ Fred said in a head-shaking show of mock regret. ‘Must keep the trains running to time, Dickie. You know the rules.’
Thus Lucy reluctantly left him so that she could return home and get herself ready for serving beer at the Whimsey, to customers who often seemed ungrateful and abrupt, and who were not aware of the tenderness and desire she had experienced during the whole of the afternoon with the man she loved more dearly than she had ever thought possible.
It crossed her mind that now she had achieved this ambition of finding the man of her dreams there was no longer any point in working at the Whimsey, of putting up with their brusqueness. She had taken work there merely temporarily, to put herself on display, to attract a suitable man. As it turned out, all she had attracted there was Arthur Goodrich, an insignificant prize. Indeed, the Whimsey had not provided the man of her dreams at all from its clientele. But the railway had. And what changes the railway had brought her. What a difference it had made to her life.
Some things had not changed, however. This settle on which she was relaxing, for instance, was the same settle she had known since childhood. She knew intimately every knot in the panels of its backrest, every tiny scratch in the varnish of its curved arms, as surely as she knew her own face. The same cast iron fire-grate before her seemed to have adorned that one wall of the cottage since time began, and she knew every blemish on its surface at least as well as she knew every tiny mole on her own body. There were the treasured trinkets her mother had collected over the years, prized and cleaned and steadfastly returned to their appointed place on the mantelshelf week in week out, month after month, year on monotonous year. Through her sadness, through her joy, through the tediousness and even the excitement of life, through her torments, through her pleasures, these articles had remained constant, unchanging, and unaffected by the perpetual tide of events that influenced her. No, some things never changed.
