The Bobbin Girls

by Freda Lightfoot

  Rob did what he could to help in return for his keep, but they soon discovered that working the holding was a thankless task since little that the family planted survived.

  Worse, Phil was an unemployed miner. He knew nothing of sheep and goats, or trees for that matter, and the aching loneliness of the place almost drove his poor wife mad with despair.

  It might have sounded a good idea in Whitehall, but the project proved to be far less workable on the ground. It was rare for a family to rise above subsistence level since there were too many days when the snow lay thick on the fells, or the rain and winds were so fierce they’d blow a man down and work was impossible. Then they’d be left kicking their heels at home without pay. Every now and then, Phil would go back to Whitehaven, looking for what he called ‘proper work’, and his wife would dream of packing their bags and going home to her family and softer climes.

  They even considered taking the dole in preference to the kind of back-breaking labour that could lead only to starvation. But Phil was tough, not one to quit, and when the weather was fine, the pay was good.

  Rob accepted the difficulties without complaint, almost welcoming the harshness since it kept his mind from dwelling on Alena’s lovely face, and sent him exhausted to his bed at night. But he often dreamed of returning home, or even to Grizedale which he loved, and secretly he longed for news of home. Since he worked so hard and moved about quite a bit, at his own request, his mail took some time to catch up with him.

  But one day he collected a whole handful of letters. Several from Olivia and a couple from his father, enquiring as to his progress. And one in a strange hand that turned out, surprisingly, to be from Sandra.

  With April came the first real sign of a thaw. Water dripped like rain from the branches, the beck ran at full flood and pools of snowdrops appeared in the fields and hillsides, making everyone think of spring. And then came the news that Dolly was at last pregnant. It had been a bitter disappointment when the missed period before Christmas had turned out to be a false alarm. But this baby was real, conceived in love. The whole family rejoiced, not least for the obvious improvement in relations between the couple.

  ‘If it’s a girl, I shall call her Elizabeth Rose, after our two little princesses,’ Dolly said. ‘Oh, I do wish we could go to King George’s Coronation in May. Wouldn’t that be grand?’ Alena agreed that it would, while secretly finding little pleasure either in this momentous event or the prospect of her own wedding, which was now rapidly approaching. The elation common to most brides still eluded her.

  Over the last weeks, pressed by Mickey, she had striven to come to terms with the idea, but knew herself to be no nearer coming to terms with it. She felt confused and fearful instead of excited at the prospect of being a married woman. Acutely aware of a growing sense of panic, she feverishly attempted to quell it by giving her full attention to the smallest detail. She’d avoided the proposed trip to Kendal by pleading a sick headache, a weak excuse when really she should be telling him that she’d very nearly decided to call the wedding off. If only she could pluck up the courage to say the words.

  His constant nagging had won in the end, of course. He’d taken her shopping, and a length of satin had been purchased. Lizzie was sewing it at this very moment as Alena cycled home from work one day in late-April.

  The hedgerows were starred with stitchwort and celandine, the sun shone and sparrows dashed from branch to branch in a frenzy of effort to feed their newly hatched families. It was the kind of spring day that should bring a song to any bride’s heart. Except this one, who couldn’t get her mind off what might-have-been. Alena whizzed around a corner and almost cycled headlong into a man walking towards her with his head bowed.

  ‘Heavens, I’m sorry,’ she cried, skidding to a halt and jumping off her bike to go to his aid. He picked himself out of the hedgerow and dusted down his jacket. It was James Hollinthwaite.

  ‘That’s all right. I was hoping to run into you, Alena, though not quite so literally. I hear congratulations are in order at last?’ And he actually smiled.

  She found her voice with difficulty. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wish you well.,

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I always did, though you may not have believed so from my manner.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have to admit that my latest efforts on your behalf have been more fruitful.’ His smile sent a chill running down her spine.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

  ‘It was I who recommended Mickey for promotion, though it was deserved. He’s done well at the mill considering he hasn’t been here very long, and I couldn’t have my best foreman living in one room in seedy lodgings, not when he intends to marry a fine girl like yourself.’

  For a long moment she simply stared at him. ‘Are you saying that you found the house for Mickey?’

  ‘As for Rob, he’s happily settled working in the plantations, which will be of great benefit to me when I come to start planting my own next year.’ As if he had planned as much all along: ‘1 shall put him in charge of planning and...’

  Why?’ she asked, interrupting the happy picture of a hard-working son. ‘Why did you go to so much trouble for Mickey?’ And then it came to her, clear as daylight. ‘Of course, why didn’t I realise? You promoted him, gave him a rise, made sure he had a house to offer ... so that you could be certain I’d accept him. Dear heaven, you’ve engineered all of this, haven’t you? It’s exactly what you wanted, what you’ve always wanted. For me to be married to someone else, and safely out of the running for Rob.’

  He acknowledged her remarks with a casual twitch of his dark brows. ‘You always were far too intelligent for your own good, Alena. You saw through my ploy, didn’t you? But then I’d have done anything to be rid of you. To be rid of your whole damned family.’ As he walked away along the lane, he called back over his shoulder, ‘Do at least send me an invitation to your wedding. I’d hate to miss that.’

  As she stood and stared after his departing figure, those few short sentences rang in her head. ‘You saw through my ploy, didn’t you?’ That’s what he’d said. ‘But then I’d have done anything to be rid of you.’ Alena recognised his words were as near an admission as she was ever likely to get. James Hollinthwaite had as good as told her that he’d lied. Even the arrogance in his swaggering walk reawakened her fury.

  Lizzie didn’t see it as a problem. ‘You’ve known all along it could be a lie.’

  ‘But now he’s as good as admitted it.’

  ‘He said he’d do anything to be rid of you? That’s not quite the same thing,’ she reasoned, much to Alena’s vexation. ‘And you still don’t have the proof you would need to convince Rob who, if you recall, is out of your life now. You’re to marry Mickey, remember, As for that other business, why shouldn’t Mickey accept promotion when it’s offered, or a house for that matter? It’s very good of Mr Hollinthwaite to be so generous. Mind you, he owns enough property in this village, so why shouldn’t he help? He owes you that much at least. You’ve either got to put the past behind you, Alena or call this wedding off, once and for all. Now which is it to be?’

  Alena considered Mickey’s likely reaction to being jilted, thought of how touchy he was and how he hated to be made to look a fool, and her courage failed her yet again.

  Lizzie’s heart went out to her confused daughter, but she merely remarked in rousing tones, ‘Right then, are you going to try on this frock? I need to pin the darts.’

  Alena stood meekly on a chair while her mother crawled about on hands and knees with pins in her mouth, tucking and tacking the dress which was to make her into Mickey’s bride.

  Sandra arrived, and sat on a stool to watch and offer advice. ‘Will we have a bit of a party afterwards? Down at The Stag perhaps? They’ve got a gramophone now so we could play some records and dance. You know, "Dancing Cheek to Cheek" and "Red Sails in the Sunset".’ She crooned softly, wrapping her arms about herself, then grabbed Lizzie an
d began to waltz about the room, the pair of them struggling to sing through their laughter. Even Alena found herself giggling.

  Harry walked in and found them. ‘So this is what you get up to when we menfolk are out?’ He grinned at Alena, smiling down at him from her precarious position on the chair, all pink-cheeked and clean and tidy for once, in pieces of pinned satin. He did not acknowledge Sandra’s presence, nor she his.

  Lizzie shooed him into the front room. ‘We’ve no time for waiting on you this evening.’ But she did take him in a cup of tea when Sandra refused to do so. Lizzie put it in her son’s hands and asked, ‘Any luck?’

  His silence answered her question and she knew, without asking further, that he’d done his best but no one was keen to take on a sacked man, particularly one who’d been accused of dishonesty. ‘Will you be walking Sandra home later?’

  A short pause, then he picked up the evening paper and shook it open. ‘I don’t think so, Ma.’

  ‘Men! Never know when you’re well off. You’ll be sorry one day that you didn’t hang on to her.’ She closed the parlour door with a firm click, leaving him staring sightlessly at the paper in his hands.

  Back in the kitchen she found Sandra had gone and Alena was ripping off the pattern pieces with little regard for the tacking or pins. ‘Take care, lass, you’ll ruin it.’

  ‘I don’t care. I hate satin anyway.’ Whereupon she burst into tears and ran from the room.

  With a resigned sigh, Lizzie picked up the discarded pieces of wedding dress and began to inspect the damage. No more than wedding nerves, she hoped. And poor Sandra still suffering. If it wasn’t one thing, she thought, it was another.

  Alena put on slacks and a sweater, pulled on her tam o’shanter and escaped, as she always did when she was hurting, to their special oak in the forest. She shinned up the trunk and propped herself upon a crooked branch, pressing her face against the roughness of the bark, hoping this would stop the tears. A wood pigeon cooed its monotonous call, soothing her nerves. She felt as unsettled as the weather. Clouds were gathering ominously, the wind veering round to the east with a hint of rain in it. But at least the days were longer now, so she needn’t hurry back. She might even take a long walk before supper. She needed to be alone for once. Most of all she needed to think.

  Ever since she’d bumped into James Hollinthwaite, half her mind seemed to be taken up with thinking of Rob: how he was, where he was living, and if he ever thought of her. Though, as Ma said, she shouldn’t really be thinking of him at all, not as an affianced bride a mere few weeks from her wedding to another man. It was just that the nearer the day came, the more she worried over it, and the more that small kernel of disquiet grew.

  She asked herself questions all the time. Did she love Mickey enough to spend the rest of her life with him? Why did she feel as if he’d talked her into this? Or as if everyone had taken it for granted that they would marry and she’d had no say in the matter at all, which was nonsense of course. She was a grown woman, surely old enough to make up her own mind. Even so, she’d once tried suggesting they might postpone it and he’d been aghast at the idea.

  She knew Ma watched her, aware of her confusion and unease, but Alena felt unable to explain how she felt because she didn’t fully understand it herself. She couldn’t describe the sense of uncertainty, the dizzy fear of being out of control of her own life. She’d made the decision readily enough, giggling with Sandra over the anticipated joys of her wedding night as if it were all a lark. So why didn’t she feel happy? Because it wasn’t a lark, or because every bride felt this way? Perhaps it was simply the wedding day itself that she dreaded. She’d always hated a fuss, and knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable in a fancy frock with everyone looking at her. So, if she was now experiencing doubts, or cold feet, as her mother put it, surely these would pass once the day itself was over and done with, everyone had thrown their confetti, played their little jokes and she and Mickey were alone in the little cottage?

  Oddly enough this prospect did nothing to lighten her mood and Alena felt a flare of irritation at herself. What on earth was the matter with her?

  Dolly and Tom had suffered their share of problems, after all, losing the baby and very nearly their marriage. But they’d pulled through and it was lovely now to see their obvious happiness in each other At one time this would have seemed impossible to achieve. They’d got themselves into such a muddle of misery and grief that they’d both quite lost sight of the fact that they were really very fond of each other. Perhaps that was what was happening to her.

  If only as happy an outcome could be found for poor Sandra. Harry now planned to take himself off to Liverpool or Manchester, some place where he hoped to find better luck in his search for employment. Lizzie doubted he’d be successful even there, but then she wanted him at home. At least she and Sandra had become quite close in their shared, if different, love for Harry.

  The wind tugged at her tam o’shanter and Alena grabbed it, chewing on her lower lip as these thoughts raced through her head. Mickey was working late, and had told her that he couldn’t come round this evening. This was happening more and more. Sometimes she wondered how it was he managed to find so much overtime when the mill was supposedly not doing as well as it should. Oh dear, there she went again, mistrusting him when he was really only trying to save hard for their life together. Why did loving someone have to be so complicated? Love should be freely given, joyfully received, and not hindered by awkwardness, jealousy and pride, or ruined by secrets and the interfering lies of other people. A lie to which James Hollinthwaite had as good as admitted.

  What was it he had said? ‘You saw through my ploy, didn’t you?’ What’s that if not an admission of guilt?

  It was just as the first drops of rain started to fall that she made her decision. Alena saw exactly what she must do. She must take control of her own life. She must make up her mind, as Lizzie had suggested, if her feelings for Rob were truly in the past. Only then could she decide about Mickey.

  The next day at work Alena feigned stomach pains, and the moment her shift was over she packed a bag and persuaded her brother Jim to give her a lift in his small van.

  ‘I’ll be back in a day or two. Tell Mickey I’m sick,’ were her parting words as the van set off, bumping and rattling up the rough track into the woods. He deposited her at the Forestry Commission’s offices, wished her luck and set off back home at once, Alena assuring him she could get a lift from someone when she was ready. She knocked on the office door but no one answered. When she tried the handle, she found the door locked

  ‘They’ll be out inspecting the work. There’s a sign on the door, see. Back later. Only they didn’t come back later, and probably won’t at all now, not till tomorrow.’

  This information came from a man leaning against a stone wall, smoking a cigarette. He wore the familiar work clothes of a forester and Alena tentatively approached him with her questions.

  Rob, it seemed, was not in Grizedale. The man told her he was either at Ennerdale or Whinlatter, he wasn’t sure which. Depression settled upon Alena as, with night coming on and no arrangements made for where she was to stay, both places seemed as far distant as the moon. Then she had an idea.

  ‘It’s really Mrs Hollinthwaite, his mother, I’m looking for. I was hoping he could tell me where I could find her so she can help me with - with a little matter.’ The little matter of her future happiness.

  The forester had no knowledge of Rob’s mother, and Alena knew that if he had met Olivia he would certainly have remembered her. But he did direct her to some good clean lodgings at a cottage nearby where a Mrs Blamire, who remembered Rob well since he was so tolerant of her cats, made a special fuss over this lovely young girl who had come looking for him. Alena accepted a hot drink then went straight to bed to avoid answering further questions.

  Refreshed after a night’s sleep, she enjoyed a good breakfast of porridge and a platter of ham and eggs any forester would welcome. As she set
tled her bill, she asked the landlady, ‘I don’t suppose you know a Frank Roscoe?’ It had come out of nowhere and she didn’t quite know why.

  The woman laughed. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Follow the smoke signals and you’ll find him not far away.’

  ‘Smoke signals?’

  ‘Where the charcoal burner is, sitting beneath his crab apple tree, you’ll more than likely find Frank.’

  Alena did not find Frank. But she did find an old man chewing on a bent Woodbine, and he was indeed sitting beneath a crab apple tree beside what appeared to be a smoking beehive. He looked so disreputable that for a moment she almost turned and ran away, but he interpreted her silence otherwise.

  ‘You’re admiring my tree?’

  ‘I was wondering how my landlady knew I would find you beneath it.’

  ‘Ah, charcoal burners always have a crab apple on their pitstead.’

  ‘Why?’

  He laughed, then tapped the side of his nose. ‘One of the mysteries of the forest. And very often an adder too, but I do not care for the creatures myself.’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d seen Frank Roscoe?’ She really had no wish to discuss snakes.

  ‘Good gracious me, you ask a great many questions, child. My mother told me that curiosity is ill manners in another house, but since we are not in a house mayhap I will forgive you. Frank is a will o’ the wisp, here today and gone tomorrow.’

  ‘I see.’ She couldn’t disguise her disappointment.

  The old man stood up, lithe and tall, lifted his hat and swept it before him, the pheasant’s feather making an arc of colour as he did so. ‘Pray allow me to introduce myself - Isaac, at your service. And you are?’

  She rewarded him with her sunniest smile. ‘I beg your pardon. Alena Townsen.’ As she thrust out a hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. Alena giggled.