The Railway Girl

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Perhaps when you are married and have children you will not feel so strongly about it,’ suggested Mrs Hawkins tentatively, feeling peeved at being rebuked by this pretty but vain and much younger woman, and unable to let it go.

  ‘Oh, but I don’t intend to have children, Mrs Hawkins. Too many women become stout when they have had children and I know I should, because it runs in my family … on my mother’s side at any rate. I’m afraid it would have to be a condition of my marriage that I should not have children.’

  ‘Then you would miss out on so much that life has to offer, Miss Chadwick.’

  ‘Please call me Dorinda …’

  ‘And besides, I don’t see how you can prevent children when you are married.’

  ‘Presumably by not doing the very thing that creates them.’

  Mrs Hawkins emitted a gasp of horror. ‘But my dear, the whole point of marriage is for the procreation of children, as ordained by God Himself, and clearly stated in the marriage ceremony.’

  ‘Yes, and I know from hearsay what goes on in the marriage bed, Mrs Hawkins. Nor does it sound exceptionally ladylike in any case. I imagine it is something that I could easily dispense with.’

  ‘But maybe your husband, whoever he turns out to be …’ Mrs Hawkins glanced at Arthur ‘… might have more to say about that.’

  There followed a prolonged silence when each avoided the others’ eyes and concentrated on the food on their plates.

  ‘And all this in the name of staying thin,’ Mrs Hawkins said at length, breaking the uncomfortable silence, but feeling obliged to pursue the issue for Arthur’s benefit for fear he was loath to. ‘I can honestly say that it was only after my first baby was born that I could understand the joys of motherhood, the joys that the good Lord sends in the form of children. After that, stoutness never crossed my mind. Stoutness became irrelevant, Miss Chadwick.’

  ‘Do please call me Dorinda.’

  ‘Besides, I don’t believe that having children makes a woman stout, you know. I know many women who have had several children, and yet they are as slender now as the day they were wedded in holy matrimony. I believe other factors come into play.’

  ‘As far as I can make out, most women over the age of thirty weigh more than nine stone, yet so few ever admit to being more than eight. Anyway, I’m interested to hear your views, Mrs Hawkins.’

  ‘Diet, of course … And activity. You say the women on your mother’s side are stout?’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  ‘But what about your father’s side? Do the women on his side of the family run to stoutness?’

  Dorinda shook her head. ‘No, they don’t, as a matter of fact. They are generally small and dainty.’

  ‘Then I suggest you will also remain small and dainty. I think if you were going to be stout, there would be signs of it already. But I see none. You are small-boned, with not an ounce of excess fat upon your person. I truly believe you will retain your slenderness even if you have a dozen children.’

  ‘Do you really think so, Mrs Hawkins?’

  ‘I most certainly do … Dorinda.’

  ‘All the same, I can think of nothing more horrid. Can you, Arthur? I mean just imagine having to wipe their smelly little bottoms and such, then having to contend with their vomit all over you when they’ve been fed.’ Dorinda’s lovely face exhibited a look of distaste.

  ‘Well, I certainly hold with wives having children, Miss Chadwick,’ Mrs Hawkins attested. ‘It finds them something to do between Sunday’s sermons and Saturday evening’s liver and onions.’

  ‘And I must say,’ Arthur interposed diplomatically, ‘Mrs Hawkins attends to her liver and onions with the same zeal that she harkens to the Sunday sermons. I just wish that I liked liver and onions …’

  Saturday 29th May 1858

  Dear Lucy,

  It was a lovely surprise to get a letter from you after so long and I thank you very much for it. Thank you for letting me know the excellent news that your sister Jane and brother-in-law Moses now have a little daughter. I have no doubt that they are thrilled, so please pass on my very best regards.

  As for Dorinda, yes, we are courting and have been for some months. She is very pretty and quite clever for a girl. At least she keeps me on my toes. Her family seem to have taken to me as well. It’s a bit early to say whether we shall ever get married but I like her enough although I haven’t asked her to marry me yet. She has mentioned it in passing a time or two, though. Dorinda came to tea yesterday and we discussed having children. She says if we ever get married, she is not of a mind to have any and I can see her point of view. So, it is likely that we shan’t. My landlady Mrs Hawkins says that it is a childish attitude for a young woman to take and maybe she is right. What would I know? I am but a man.

  How is your love life, Lucy? Do you still see that chap you took up with after I left for Bristol? If so, no doubt you are already thinking about getting married.

  You ask about my health. Well, I have never felt better than I do down here. I seldom get the toothache nowadays, nor catch so many chills, but I do get a bit of indigestion lately and constipation. Mrs Hawkins has plenty of remedies for such ailments though and dispenses them liberally. She really looks after me.

  Thank you for being so kind as to visit my mother. I imagine she would be delighted if you ask if she wants any errands running. I know my sister-in-law Magnolia helps her out while Albert my nephew is doing his schooling, but she has her own home to look after, them not having a maid. As for her pork pies, it sounds to me as though she won’t have had time to make any, fetching and carrying for the old man.

  As for coming home, it would be good to see your mother and father again, and Jane and Moses and the baby, but I can’t see my way clear to doing it. My work keeps me very busy and I don’t think it would be fair to ask for the time off. As you can very likely tell, I am very settled here in Bristol, although I do miss some of my old friends, and I confess it would be lovely to see you again, Lucy. I still have dreams about you (but don’t tell Dorinda) and I can picture those beautiful blue eyes of yours quite clearly still. Whoever this chap is who is courting you, I think he is very lucky.

  Well, I must close now, as I have to go out to see Dorinda and her family. This afternoon I went ferreting with her brother Cyril but we didn’t catch anything – again. Tonight I am eating at their house, then Dorinda and me might go for a walk after if the weather stays fair.

  Look after yourself.

  Your friend,

  Arthur Goodrich.

  The weeks passed by with no significant events occurring. Lucy did not respond to Arthur’s letter, but Arthur received a weekly bulletin on the decline of his father. It was on Saturday 21st August 1858 that an important letter from Talbot was awaiting him when he returned to Mrs Hawkins’s house after work that morning.

  Dear Arthur,

  It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I write this letter to let you know that our dear father passed away at five to ten this morning, Friday 20th. There has been no time as yet to make funeral arrangements, but as soon as I know when it is to be I shall write and let you know.

  We are all distraught, but Mother is bearing it well and I trust she will continue to do so. Her grief, I am sure, would be lessened if you could see your way clear to returning home, if only for a short while, to bring her some consolation.

  Yours very truly,

  Talbot.

  Chapter 18

  Monday 23rd August was a holiday. Lucy awoke to a morning that was fine, sunny and warm, with inoffensive white clouds skipping across the sky like lambs across a meadow of cornflowers. The day promised so much. At half past nine, Jane and Moses called for her with Emily, and they made their way to Brettell Lane station. Lucy relieved her sister of the baby while they waited for their train and Jane, in turn, took the picnic basket from Moses. While they talked desultorily the southbound platform was filling up, cheerful with excitement and the ringing of laughter.


  ‘What time did Dickie reckon the train would get here?’ Moses enquired as he repositioned his crutch under his arm.

  ‘It was due to leave Wolverhampton at quarter past nine.’

  Moses eyed the station clock. ‘Then it should’ve been here by now. The clock says quarter to ten, look.’

  ‘Have a bit o’ patience,’ Jane muttered. ‘If there’s a lot o’ folk to get on at every station it’s bound to be delayed. Anyroad, what’s the rush?’ She turned to Lucy who was adjusting the shawl around the baby attentively. ‘Is Dickie gunna be working today, our Luce?’

  ‘He said not. He said he’d got the day off. But he did say he’d travel here in the guards’ van with his mate, then with us in one of the carriages.’

  The occasion was a special excursion to Worcester, organised specifically for the Black Country’s Sunday School children and their teachers. Fares were offered at special cheap rates – only a shilling for a return ticket from Brettell Lane – and such bargains created a wave of interest all along the line. Thus, tickets were sold to anybody and everybody, whether they were attached to a Sunday school or not. After all, it was commercially expedient so to do, and any number of carriages could be attached to the train to fulfil the demand.

  It was almost ten o’clock when the locomotive came huffing and hissing round the bend, hauling the longest train any of them had ever seen. It was considerably longer than the platform. Lucy looked for sight of Dickie, and wondered how he would get to them from the guards’ van which was further up the line and actually out of sight. So she lingered, and Jane and Moses lingered with her.

  Then she saw Dickie strolling casually towards her beyond the station platform, waving, his usual matey grin adorning his handsome face. Her heart quickened and she smiled with relief at his arrival.

  ‘Which carriage should we get in?’ she asked when he’d given her a peck on the lips.

  ‘Suit yourselves.’ He gave Moses a chummy pat on the back in greeting. ‘See if there’s one with nobody in yet. Not that there’s much chance of it, and there’ll be even less chance of keeping it to ourselves the more passengers we pick up.’

  With a clear conscience, they settled themselves in a second class compartment. All class restrictions had been lifted in view of the across-the-board fares.

  ‘What held the train up?’ Moses asked Dickie when they were seated.

  ‘We had to put on eight more carriages and another engine at Dudley. That makes thirty-two carriages so far and two engines … Oh, and then a coupling broke. We had to stop and change it.’

  ‘D’you keep spare couplings in the guards’ van then?’

  ‘Chains and shackles. The shackles are them thick chains what attach to the staples at the centre between the buffers,’ Dickie explained. ‘There’s a smaller chain either side as well, so it’s secure enough.’

  Moses nodded his understanding.

  ‘Should be a good day out, this, with all these folk going,’ Dickie said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. ‘I’m looking forward to a tankard or two in Worcester, and a stroll along the river. Maybe we can hire a rowing boat. How’s the bab, Jane?’

  ‘She’s a golden child. Look at her. Comfortable as an old shoe, she is.’

  All eyes were on the baby as Lucy rocked her gently. ‘I daresay she’ll be waking up soon,’ she remarked, looking at her sister for confirmation. ‘What time was she awake this morning, our Jane?’

  ‘Just as it was getting light,’ Moses answered for her, ever the attentive father. ‘She’s been asleep about an hour now.’

  The train slowly pulled out of the station. First stop was Stourbridge. There they picked up many more day trippers, and five further coaches were attached. Next stop was Hagley. Almost as soon as they left Hagley station they all felt a harsh bump, making Jane and Moses lurch forward. The train stopped and they looked at each other with trepidation. Dickie opened the door of the carriage and jumped down to the side of the track to investigate.

  ‘Another coupling come adrift,’ he explained dismissively when he returned a minute or two later. He smiled as if to reassure them. ‘Only a side chain. Nothing to worry about. It’s fixed now.’

  ‘Is that ’cause there’s too many coaches being pulled?’ Moses asked.

  ‘No, I don’t reckon so. Just one of them things. It can happen from time to time.’

  They travelled on to Kidderminster without any further hitches, passing fields gold with ripening wheat and barley, and meadows cropped short by cows and sheep. By this time they were sharing the compartment with other passengers, and some lively banter broke out, which had them all entertained for the rest of the journey. With no further delays they arrived at Shrub Hill Station in Worcester, at half past twelve. Nearly two thousand people, adults and children, alighted from forty-five carriages and funnelled through the station’s exit into the city’s welcoming sunshine.

  The first thing Dickie wanted to do was find a tavern, claiming he was parched. Moses had no objection and, not knowing the city or its inns, happened upon one called the King Charles situated in the Cornmarket. Jane and Lucy decided to remain outside and enjoy the sunshine with little Emily. Presently, Dickie delivered them a tumbler of beer each, then went back inside, to Lucy’s discontent. They stayed for an hour replenishing their tankards and tumblers a couple of times, before deciding to make their way to the river. There, in a field which abutted the water’s edge and overlooked by the cathedral, they sat and ate their picnic, and Jane discreetly fed Emily hers.

  ‘I’d like to have a look around the cathedral,’ Lucy suggested.

  ‘What for?’ Dickie scoffed. ‘You going all religious?’

  ‘Me? No, I just think it would be nice. You have to admit it’s a beautiful building. I wonder how long it took them to build it.’

  ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘I’d like to go in, that’s all.’ She was disappointed with his abrasive attitude, probably caused by the drink. ‘I’ve never been inside a cathedral. I want to see if it’s any different to the Methodist chapel in Brierley Hill.’

  They all laughed at the absurd comparison.

  ‘Oh, I know it’s bigger,’ she said defensively. ‘If you won’t come with me Dickie I’ll go with our Jane …’ She looked at her sister pleadingly. ‘Come with me, Jane. I’d rather go in with somebody else, in case the vicar’s there and asks me what I’m doing.’

  Dickie looked at Moses. ‘Shall we let ’em go, mate? Me and thee could find another alehouse and have a few more, or we could see if we can hire a rowing boat for an hour.’

  ‘You won’t get me in a rowing boat,’ Moses jibed. ‘How do you think I’m gunna get in a rowing boat? The bloody thing’ll be bobbing all over the place and tip me up. I’ll end up in the river.’

  ‘No, I’ll get help to hand you in.’

  ‘All right. But only if I can row.’ Moses wore a look that told of his joy at the prospect of a challenge.

  ‘Can you row?’

  ‘Better than you, any day of the week.’

  ‘Then that’s settled.’ Dickie turned to Lucy and Jane. ‘We’ll see you in about an hour by the door of the cathedral.’

  Jane and Lucy thus made their way to the cathedral. A small group of children in rags and tatters were begging in a tranquil area called College Green and Lucy handed them each a penny.

  ‘Poor souls,’ she commented, ‘with no soles in their boots and no backside in the lads’ trousers. I wonder what the vicar thinks of them?’

  ‘Shoos ’em off, if he’s anything like most vicars I’ve ever happened across. Anyway, our Luce, I don’t think they have vicars in cathedrals. They have bishops.’

  ‘Vicars, bishops, what’s the difference? Anyway, I just wanted to go inside the cathedral and sit quiet for a minute or two to think. I thought it’d be a good place.’

  ‘You turning to religion, am yer?’

  ‘Lord, you sound just like him. No, I just want to be quiet so as I can think.
’

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘Oh, just things,’ she answered wistfully.

  Inside it was cool and Lucy was aware of the ancient, musty smell of the nave. Plenty of other people were in there too, some of the Sunday school children from the same excursion among them. Their in-bred reverence meant it was exceptionally quiet save for the occasional whisper, or scuff of a heel, which echoed off the tiled floor and into the high vaulted roof. It was evident that some serious restoration work was in progress if the wooden scaffolding was anything to go by. Lucy marvelled at the stonework, the stone pillars deeply fluted with Purbeck marble, and the sweeping arches that held the roof up miraculously.

  ‘Arthur Goodrich would be in his element,’ she whispered with a smile as she remembered him. ‘Good old Arthur …’

  Jane was cooing softly to the baby lest she cry and draw attention to them. ‘What made you think of Arthur?’

  ‘All the work they’re doing here. All the work that’s ever gone into it over the years. I suppose, when you think about it, the work Arthur does will last for donkeys’ years, like this cathedral. I mean, stonemasons must have worked on it from the start, and look how long it’s lasted … Centuries …’

  They ascended a short flight of steps into that part of the cathedral called the Quire, and happened upon the tomb of King John. Lucy gazed at the carving of the ancient warrior in his centuries-long slumber and thought again about Arthur Goodrich, wondering if he was happy, whether he was surer of Dorinda than he had been of herself. She looked up at the high, vaulted ceiling and gasped with admiration at the intricate patterns painted on it. Then she turned away, leaving Jane to wander around slowly with just Emily for company.

  Lucy descended some stone steps and found herself in the crypt and all alone. It was so cool in there, with light pouring in from side windows. It had an air of ancient mystery and devotion, and she could imagine monks in olden times chanting psalms that echoed all around the forest of pillars. She spotted a bench. When she reached it she sat down and shut her eyes, so as to exclude everybody from her thoughts right then.