‘I didn’t believe him. Thieves around here pick your pockets and you don’t feel a thing; they don’t beat you up in broad daylight!’ replied Ned.
‘I got the impression he knew those men. He’s hiding something,’ said Tom. ‘Anyway, it’s time we got back. The next round will be starting soon.’
Tom lost in the third round but he didn’t mind. Getting to the third round had earned him nine shillings and it had been fun. He had enjoyed a good day out with his mates and they still had Ned’s contest to look forward to tomorrow.
That evening was warm and dry. Tom and Ned sat on the grass by the cart discussing the day’s events and enjoying their ale.
‘You did well today. Have you thought about taking up wrestling seriously? You can earn quite a bit if you travel around the shows,’ said Ned.
‘No, I don’t think it’s for me. It was fun today, but going away every weekend doesn’t appeal, and it would mean leaving the lads in the mine to manage without me sometimes. It wouldn’t be fair on them.’
‘With a bit of training, you could be really good. You mightn’t need to work in the mine anymore.’
‘Aye, that’s easy to say, but earning a living from wrestling can’t be easy.’
‘No, mebbe not. The likes of George Steadman do, but most of them have another job as well.’
‘Did you see where Joe went?’ asked Tom.
‘No.’
‘He’s been away a while. I think I’ll go and look for him.’
Tom left Ned by the cart and wandered off in the direction his brother had taken an hour or so earlier. In the distance, he could see the gas lights on the surrounding streets. On the open land by the river bank, there were lanterns glowing at many of the make-shift camps. He walked between the horses and carts, being careful not to fall over people who were sleeping on the ground. When he reached the river, Tom looked out over the dark expanse of water which flowed down towards the bridge that linked Newcastle on the north bank of the Tyne to Gateshead on the south. As he glanced downstream, he spotted Joe sat on the river bank, looking as though he was deep in thought.
‘So that’s where you’ve got to,’ Tom called out to let Joe know he was there. When he got closer, he could see Joe was upset. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I’ve made such a mess of everything, Tom.’
Tom thought it was very unlike Joe to admit that he had done anything wrong. He went over to his brother and sat down next to him. ‘What do you mean?’
Joe put his head in his heads and rubbed his face before replying,’ I shouldn’t have married Connie. She’s not the one for me.’
Tom was confused. ‘You mean you’ve found someone else already? You’ve only been married five bloody minutes.’
‘No, it’s not someone else. Well, I suppose it is, because it’s not Connie. I knew her before I got married and I really liked her an’ all. I should have married her, not Connie,’ Joe said. A few seconds later, he added, ‘She said she loved me as well. Can you believe that? Connie would never say that, she can hardly bring herself to lie with me, for God’s sake.’
‘I’m sorry Joe, I didn’t know things were that bad between you’, said Tom. ‘Who’s the lass?’
Without thinking, Joe said, ‘Mary, of course, who else would it be?’
‘Mary Watson?’ asked Tom, trying not to let Joe see how upset he was by this revelation. ‘She said she loves you?’
‘Aye, she did.’
Tom was silent for a second while he took stock of this. Lizzie Featherstone had said that the father of Mary’s baby was married. How had he not thought of Joe? Mary had left on his wedding day!
‘Right, let’s get this straight. You’re the father of Mary’s baby?
‘Aye.’
‘And Mary was in love with you but you left her so you could marry Connie Peart?’
‘Aye, that’s about it.’
‘What on earth were you thinking? You’re stupider than I thought, Joe Milburn.’
Joe didn’t reply; he simply nodded.
After another pause, Tom asked, ‘You didn’t?…’ Tom shook his head and then looked Joe in the eye. ‘You did, didn’t you? You married Connie just so you could get your hands on that damned farm?’
Joe gave a slight nod before holding his head in his hands once more.
Tom was dumbfounded. After a while, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Mary was a decent lass until you got your hands on her. How could you do that to her?’
Joe didn’t respond. He stood up and wiped the grass from his trousers.
‘Has she had the bairn yet?’ asked Tom.
‘No, I think it’ll be a few months yet. I’ve not seen her since she left.’
Tom could hardly control the rage that was building up inside him. Joe had always been selfish, but this was unbelievable, even for him. He had taken advantage of a beautiful, young woman — for pleasure. He had ruined her and then left her alone to have a child. A woman who loved him. What a fool! And then he had married a spoilt brat — for greed. And he had only just realised his mistake. No wonder he sat there with his head in his hands. He deserved far worse. How could he be feeling sorry for himself?
‘You have made a hell of a mess of things. How could you?’ he said through clenched teeth.
Tom wanted to turn around and walk away, turn the other cheek, but instead, he turned towards Joe and shouted at the top of his voice, ‘You stupid, selfish bastard!’ He punched him hard in the face and then he walked away.
The next morning, Joe had a black eye and the two brothers had hardly spoken a word to each other since dawn. The atmosphere between them was very tense. Ned asked Tom, ‘What happened last night?’
‘Nothing.’
He asked Joe the same question and got the same response.
‘Whatever it is that’s going on between you two, I hope you’ll both be there to support me today.’
‘Aye, we will be, Ned,’ said Tom, and Joe nodded. They followed their friend to the competition area.
An even larger crowd had come to watch the heavyweight tournament that Ned had entered. There were fewer entrants and there would only be five rounds. Tom and Joe stood several feet apart but cheered Ned on as they had promised. He got through his first two rounds without much effort, but the contestant in the third round was much harder to beat. Ned scraped through to the semi-final.
He waited with the other semi-finalists to find out who he would be drawn against, and he hoped it wouldn’t be George Steadman again, or there would be very little chance of him making it to the final. When the draw was announced, he was pleased to hear that he would be wrestling against Billy Coulthard. Billy was a big man, but he could be beaten.
The first hold went to Coulthard. For such a large man, he was remarkably quick. Ned picked himself up off the ground and prepared for the second hold. This one went in Ned’s favour. The third hold would decide which of them would get a place in the final. Unfortunately, Ned lost his balance first and fell to the ground. Coulthard had won.
Ned was smiling as Tom and Joe went over to him and helped him up. He had won £3 in the competition and was very pleased with himself.
The men stayed to watch the final, where Steadman beat Coulthard and took the top prize. Then they began their journey back to Weardale.
Chapter 20
The Moss, Lanehead
June, 1873
The sun shone, and the hills beckoned Mary to go out onto them. Her baby was restless and she thought that a walk might settle him. She had no idea if she was carrying a boy or a girl, but she had always thought of her baby as him. She would find out soon; he was due in a few weeks’ time.
The familiar track leading to the fell was edged with long grass and dandelions, with an occasional clump of purple clover. It was so pretty at this time of year. A young blackbird landed on the stone wall and watched Mary inquisitively. It still had a few fluffy feathers, so it had recently flown the nest. Its mother flew over Mary’s head in warning, pr
otecting her youngster, and the fledgling took off again and landed clumsily further along the wall. A crow swooped down towards it but the mother bolted and attacked the larger bird in mid-air. The crow flew off and the blackbird chick remained unaware of the danger that had been averted.
Mary wondered what kind of mother she would make. She knew that she would love her baby; she already did. She would teach him and protect him, just like the blackbird had with her chick. She would make his life as happy as she could and tell him that not having a father didn’t matter. He would be a bastard. What a cruel word spoken by cruel people! She remembered children at school being bullied for being bastards, but children could always find a reason for bullying others — being tall, short, red-haired, cross-eyed, an incomer, in fact for being different in any way.
In a small valley like Weardale, where everybody knows everybody, Mary knew that word of her condition would have spread quickly, and that the dale’s people would be gossiping about why she had left the farm. Girls in service didn’t leave a job for no reason; they left because they were marrying, or they were needed at home, or they were having a bairn.
Mary thought it strange that the minister often quoted the verse from John, Chapter 8 in his sermons, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ Well it just went to show that the people either didn’t listen or didn’t want to hear. There were plenty of them eager to cast their stones in the dale and very few of them without sin.
Mary knew that as far as these people were concerned, falling pregnant before marriage was one of the most sinful things that could happen to a young woman, but it happened with surprising frequency. Some folk, especially the older women, shunned fallen girls and would never let their transgressions be forgotten. Getting married before the birth would lessen the sin, at least in their eyes, but there would still be speculation about whether or not the new husband was the father of the child.
Mary was pleased that she was staying at The Moss and was well away from the gossips. A gruff voice broke through her thoughts.
‘Tena, lena, catra, horna, dic.’
Mary was walking along the top side of the fell wall when she heard the strange chant coming from the pasture on the other side. The drystone wall had a row of tie stones sticking out about a foot from the ground. With difficulty because of her huge belly, she pulled herself up onto the ledge and peered over the wall. A wizened old man looked to be counting sheep in a pen, but she didn’t understand what he was saying. Her interest piqued, she climbed down and walked along to a small gate into the pasture and approached the shepherd.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Whee’s that?’ he said peering at her with rheumy eyes and pointing his crook at her. ‘Is that thoo, Hannah?’
‘I’m Mary, Hannah’s daughter. I’m staying at Aunt Lizzie’s, over at The Moss.’
‘Ah, you look just like tha’ mother. She used to walk ower here an’ bother me an’ all,’ he said with a croaky laugh. ‘We’re neighbours. Ted Curry’s me name, but they call me ‘Owd Ted’, ‘cos I’m getting on a bit thoo knows. I’m eighty-nine!’
‘You don’t look that old,’ said Mary, tactfully.
‘I put that down to plenty of fresh air — and a drop of firewater every night afore I gan to bed.’
Mary smiled. ‘I heard you talking before. Were you counting the sheep?’
‘Aye, I was. There’s a few lambs missin’. I’ve been all ower t’fell and cannot find them anywhere.’
‘A lot of sheep have gone missing lately. The constable at Westgate thinks they’ve been stolen.’
‘Well I never did. Stolen yer say? I’ve never heared tell of any bein’ stolen — not since that man from Stanhope was hanged.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Before, when you were counting, it sounded strange.’
‘That’s the way we’ve always counted sheep hereabouts. It’s just numbers. I learnt them from me father and they were passed down from his.’
‘Would you say the words again, please? I’d like to hear them.’
‘Aye lass, if yer want. It’s yan, tan, tether, mether, pip — that’s one to five. Then it’s tena, lena, catra, horna, dic — and that takes yer to ten.’
Mary recited the ancient numbers back to him. ‘It sounds like a rhyme,’ she said.
‘Aye, s’pose it does,’ he said thoughtfully. When he refocused on Mary, he said, ‘Are you alright, you look a bit upset, like?’
‘I was just thinking about how much I miss reading. I used to borrow books from the library at Westgate when I was staying there — mainly novels, but sometimes medical books and poetry.’
‘Don’t think I’ve read a book since I left school — never had an inclination.’ He pointed his crook at Mary’s belly. ‘It looks like yer time’s gettin’ near.’
Mary lowered her eyes at the reference to her pregnancy.
‘Sorry lass, me an’ me big mouth. Now I see why you’re stayin’ at Lizzie’s. She’ll take good care of yer when yer time comes.’
Mary smiled at Ted. ‘I’d better be getting back to help with dinner. She’ll wonder where I’ve got to. It was nice to meet you, Mr Curry, and I hope I see you next time I’m walking this way.’
It was just a week later, the first week of July, when Mary woke in the middle of the night. Her bed was wet. She wondered if she had wet herself. No, she would have woken if her bladder had been full. She needed to get up, dry herself and change her bedding. As she sat up, a pain gripped her around her middle. It was so strong that it took her by surprise. She couldn’t shout for help. It lasted a few seconds and then subsided. When it had gone, she stood up and went to Aunt Lizzie’s bedroom door. She knocked and shouted, ‘I think the baby’s coming!’ Aunt Lizzie’s sleepy voice came through the door, ‘Baby’s don’t come that quick. Just give us a minute.’ It felt like ages before Aunt Lizzie came to her room. Another pain came, and Aunt Lizzie held her hand until it stopped. She said, ‘It’ll be here before the day’s out, lass.’
Aunt Lizzie scuttled around the house, getting everything in place for the birth. Mary stayed in her bedroom. The pains were coming more frequently and she had vomited on the floor. Aunt Lizzie cleaned up after her. Mary found she was most comfortable standing up, and looking out the window gave her something to concentrate on between the pains.
The labour was progressing fairly quickly for a first child but Mary was concerned that it was taking a long time.
‘It’s taking ages, shouldn’t it be here by now?’ she asked her aunt between contractions.
‘Bairns come when they’re ready. You can’t rush them,’ said Aunt Lizzie. ‘You’re doing well. Ben can fetch the doctor if you need him later on, but you’re a long way off that.’
Mary was pleased to have her aunt with her for reassurance. Her mother had died after giving birth to John and that had been preying on her mind recently. She hoped that she and her baby would get through this birth safely; she knew she was in good hands.
It was late afternoon when the baby made an appearance. Mary felt exhausted by the time her daughter took her first breath. Lizzie cleaned her up, wrapped her in a clean sheet and placed her in her mother’s arms.
The new mother touched the wrinkled little face, the sparse downy hair on her head and the tiny fingers with tiny fingernails. She opened the sheet so that she could see her little feet with little toes. She wondered how she could have made something so perfect — how she and Joe could have made something so perfect. She wept silent tears— of joy or of sadness, she didn’t know.
Lizzie brought her a glass of milk and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s a privilege to be a mother. You think their yours and that you’ve got them forever once they’re here but remember you only have them on loan. They go their own way once they’re grown — if they’re lucky. Enjoy every day you have with her.’
A week later, Mary was ready to get up. She felt well and was bored lying in bed. She felt guilty watching Lizz
ie do everything for her and the baby, on top of all the usual work. She knew women were supposed to lie up for a month after having a bairn, but she couldn’t stand being in bed any longer. She was surprised at how weak her legs were when she first got out of bed, but she soon started to feel better as she began to walk around.
Lizzie had heard her moving upstairs and was pouring tea by the time Mary came down. ‘It’s nice to see you up and about, lass.’
‘Thank you. I couldn’t stay up there, knowing how much you have to do.’
‘Don’t worry about that yet, it’ll take a while for you to get your strength back. Anyway, I was thinking. Isn’t it about time that little one had a name? We’ll have to get her registered.’
Mary looked down at the little bundle wrapped in a woollen shawl. Her baby looked back at her, pulling faces as she tried to focus on her mother. Mary knew what her name would be. She had already been calling her by it in private, testing it out, and it suited her. Josephine. Her daughter couldn’t have her father’s surname and Joe’s name wouldn’t appear on her birth certificate — it would say ‘Father unknown’ — but she could give her his first name albeit the female version. Her little Josie.
Mary took the cup of tea that Aunt Lizzie handed her and said, ‘I’ve already decided on a name; I’m calling her Josephine’.
The Lead Miner's Daughter Page 12
