The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  Shaking his head, Bert picked up his knife and fork. ‘Well,’ he said, knowing his beloved wife almost better than she knew herself, ‘while they live next door, she might get a bit of peace from him.’ He glanced up at her as he added shrewdly, ‘Because you’re not going to stand by and see someone knocked into the middle of next week, are you?’

  Despite the gravity of their conversation, Bessie laughed. ‘You’re right there, Bert, and — ’

  Whatever Bessie had been going to add was lost as the back door opened and they heard Dan calling, ‘Mam, where are you?’

  Tall and broad-shouldered, his dark brown hair curling on to his forehead, their eldest son appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Dan’s jaw was firm and square, his nose straight and his mouth wide and generous and, more often than not, smiling. But at the moment his face was serious, his hazel eyes worried. ‘Mam, there’s a little lass standing in the middle of the yard by the pump. She looks as if she’s been crying. I tried to talk to her, but she shied away from me.’

  Bessie followed him into the scullery and together they peered through the window at the young girl. Dressed in a dirty cotton dress, the hem ragged and uneven, her tangled black curls looked as if they hadn’t seen a comb in days, let alone soap and water. Her face was thin and tears had washed pale streaks through the grime.

  ‘I bet she’s the little lass from next door,’ Bessie murmured and went on to tell her son about the new arrivals. ‘The woman asked me if I’d seen her.’

  ‘How old do you reckon she is?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Anywhere between ten and thirteen. Difficult to tell.’

  ‘But she’s sucking her thumb. She’s a bit old to be doing that, isn’t she?’

  Bessie gave a wry laugh. ‘Aye, lad, and you’d be still sucking your thumb, I reckon, old as you are, if you had that feller next door for a dad. Come on, let’s go and see what we can do.’

  ‘Give us a minute, Mam,’ Dan said, sitting down on a stool, ‘while I get me boots off and I’ll be right with you.’

  Dan removed his flat cap and then eased off his heavy leather seaboots and thick socks, pushing his feet into a pair of slippers. Then he took off his gingham neckerchief and the thick woollen gansey that nearly all keelmen wore aboard ship and slipped on a checked shirt that Bessie kept hanging behind her scullery door for him to change into. His brown corduroy trousers he kept on. ‘Right, Mam, ready when you are.’

  Whilst Dan hovered near the back door, Bessie crossed the yard towards the girl. Closer now, she could see a faint bruise on the girl’s jaw, purple turning yellow. And she was barefooted too. Bessie clicked her tongue against her teeth. Such neglect.

  Bessie frowned. The girl was just standing there, motionless, with her thumb in her mouth. She was not even looking about her with a child’s natural curiosity. She was silent and so still. That was what worried Bessie. At that age, Bessie’s own lads would have been running riot about the yard, yelling and shrieking, with the neighbours appearing at their doors calling, ‘Shut up, ya noisy little beggars. Bessie, can’t you keep them lads of yours quiet?’ But Bessie would only smile and lean against her doorjamb, arms folded, to watch her healthy, growing boys.

  This child was quiet. Unnaturally so, to Bessie’s mind.

  ‘Take your thumb out your mouth, lass. You don’t know where it’s been.’ Bessie was teasing gently, but the girl, apart from a darting glance upwards at the woman towering over her, made no sign that she had even heard.

  The sight of this pathetic child touched Bessie Ruddick’s big heart and her voice was soft as she asked, ‘Are you the little girl who’s come to live next door to us? Are you Mary Ann?’

  Again, a swift glance from eyes that Bessie could now see were dark brown and fringed with long, black lashes. There was suffering in those soulful eyes, Bessie thought. She could see it, even in one so young.

  ‘Poor little bairn,’ the big woman murmured, resisting the urge to gather the child into her arms and carry her into her own home.

  The girl had looked away again, but now there was a tiny nod of the head. Bessie thought quickly. She was obviously terrified to go home, and with good reason, if her father carried out his threat.

  ‘I ’spect your mam’s busy getting things straight. Tell you what, would you like to come into my house, seeing as we’re going to be neighbours? You can have a bit of tea with us, if you like. My Bert’s already tucking into his shepherd’s pie. How about it, eh?’

  The girl stared up at her for so long now that even Bessie felt disconcerted by the look. Still, she did not speak.

  Bessie held out her hand and, after staring at it for a moment, slowly the girl put her own grubby hand into it and allowed herself to be led towards Bessie’s door. Then, suddenly seeing Dan standing there, she hung back.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Bessie soothed. ‘It’s only Dan. He’s big, but he’s as gentle as a lamb.’

  He must have sensed the young girl’s reluctance, for Dan moved away from the door and disappeared into the house.

  ‘Now then,’ Bessie said, leading her into the scullery. ‘Sit up on that stool there and let’s wipe them mucky paws.’ She reached for a damp cloth from the draining board. Gently, she took hold of the thin wrist. Feeling the bones, the big woman tutted to herself.

  ‘You want feeding up a bit, lass, don’t you? Come on, let’s have that out of your mouth. A big girl like you didn’t ought to be sucking her thumb, you know. It’ll go all white and wrinkly and you’ll end up with crooked teeth, an’ all. Our Duggie – he’s me youngest – used to suck his thumb when he was a bairn. The times I ’ad to creep into his room in the night and take it out of his mouth. But he’s got the loveliest white teeth now you ever did see,’ Bessie added proudly. ‘And it’s all thanks to me. There you are, all clean. Now, let’s go and get you a bit of tea.’

  Leading her into the kitchen, Bessie said, ‘We’ve got a visitor, Bert. Make room at the table.’

  Dan grinned at them. ‘Already have, Mam. Come and sit next to me, little ’un.’

  Slowly the child moved to stand next to Dan, but she didn’t sit down. She glanced at the chair and then up at Bessie.

  ‘You can sit down, love, it’s all right,’ Bessie said, aware that in many households, children stood to have their meals. Only the grown-ups had chairs. In the Ruddick household, Bessie’s boys had all been provided with chairs from the day they left school and started work.

  ‘You’re a man now and earning, so you’ve a right to sit down to eat,’ she’d said to each one in turn as they reached school-leaving age.

  ‘You’re a guest,’ Dan smiled down at her.

  The girl sat down gingerly on the chair. Bert laid down his knife and fork and picked up an empty plate. ‘Like some pie, lass? And some peas?’

  ‘My mam’s shepherd’s pie could win prizes,’ Dan said and winked at her.

  At that moment, Ernie, Bessie’s second son, slipped quietly into the room and sat down at the table.

  ‘This is Ernie,’ Dan said. Ernie nodded shyly towards her, but then his gaze was firmly fixed upon his plate. ‘He’s quiet, too,’ Dan went on. ‘Never says much. But you wait till Duggie comes home. We’ll none of us get a word in edgeways then.’

  ‘I’ll put Duggie’s in the oven,’ Bessie said, piling food on to a plate. ‘And keep it warm. He’ll be late, as usual.’

  But only ten minutes later, the back door was flung open and the youngest Ruddick boy entered the house in a flurry of noisy greetings.

  ‘Mam. Dad. I’m home.’

  ‘Think we can’t hear you, lad?’ Bessie said, but she was smiling as she said it and already getting up again to take his meal from the oven. ‘You’re early, for you?’ She glanced at Mary Ann and explained. ‘Duggie’s always late. I tell him, he’ll be late for his own funeral.’

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’ Duggie, his brown hair flopping on to his forehead, bright eyes twinkling and a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, sat down o
pposite their visitor.

  ‘The little lass from next door. They’ve moved in today,’ Dan told him.

  ‘Hello, little-girl-from-next-door,’ Duggie said cheekily. At once the girl scrambled up from her chair and stood behind Dan, peering over his shoulder at the newcomer.

  Bessie almost laughed at the comical expression on Duggie’s face. Already, she understood the child’s fear of men, but her youngest son, the noisiest, funniest scallywag of the three brothers, was staring open-mouthed at the girl’s reaction to him. It was certainly not how girls, whatever their age, normally treated him.

  ‘It’s all right, love, he’s a noisy devil, but he won’t hurt you,’ Dan patted the chair beside him. ‘Come on, sit down.’

  The girl slid back into her chair, her gaze still on Duggie.

  ‘What’s your name, then?’ Duggie tried again and Bessie was touched to hear the gentleness in his tone. Even Duggie, bless him, had been quick on the uptake, she thought. ‘That ugly brute you’re sitting next to,’ Duggie was saying, pointing his knife across the table, ‘is Dan and this,’ he added, nodding towards the taciturn figure beside him, ‘is Ernie. And I’m Duggie, the good-looking one.’

  There were derisory guffaws around the table from the rest of the family, apart from Ernie, but Duggie only laughed, the loudest of them all. Ernie, with neat dark hair and wearing a white shirt and tie, chuckled softly, but did not speak.

  Duggie leant forward as if sharing a confidence. ‘Ernie’s got a posh job in an office in one of the warehouses on River Road. He keeps ledgers and things. He has to write down all what the ships bring in and take out. That’s why he wears a smart white shirt to go to work, but he has a skin the same colour, ’cos he’s always indoors, see? Me,’ he added proudly, ‘I work on Miller’s Wharf at the moment but, one day, I’m going to be an engineer. I’m going to get an apprenticeship at Phillips’ Engineering Works. Do you know it? They made tanks in the war and—’

  ‘That’s enough chatter from you, our Duggie,’ Bessie said. ‘Get on with your tea.’

  As they ate, Bessie kept a surreptitious eye on the child. At last, the young girl took her thumb out of her mouth and picked up her knife and fork. Bessie noticed that she watched every movement Dan made and attempted to copy him.

  Dear me, Bessie thought to herself, has the child reached twelve or so without having learnt basic table manners? Pity for the girl almost robbed Bessie of her own appetite as she watched the child eating very little of the food placed before her. She picked at the shepherd’s pie and vegetables and played with the apple charlotte that followed, patting it with her spoon and then mixing it with the custard before spooning only a little into her mouth. Then she pulled a wry face.

  ‘Give the little lass a spoonful of sugar, Bessie love,’ Bert said kindly, noticing the girl’s grimace. ‘Mebbe the apple’s a bit tart for her.’

  Bessie rose from the table at once and went in search of the sugar, returning to heap generous spoonfuls over the girl’s pudding. But still, Mary Ann pushed the food around her bowl and made little effort to eat it.

  ‘So, are you going to tell us your name?’ Dan asked when the meal was finished.

  Again there was silence. Then, as they watched her, she raised her hand slowly and put her thumb into her mouth once more. Her huge eyes continued to stare at each one of them in turn, but returned each time, Bessie noticed, to Dan.

  Dan leant forward, resting his elbow on the table, watching her with concern in his eyes. At eighteen, he was now a man, whereas the younger ones – even Ernie at only a year younger – still had boyish features.

  Bessie Ruddick counted herself a lucky woman. None of her family had been involved in the dreadful war that had just ended the previous year. Her boys had been too young and her beloved Bert had been too old – just. They had felt the effects of the war, of course, as had the whole country, but she gave thanks every day of her life that her sons’ names would not appear on the war memorial that the town was planning to erect in memory of its war dead.

  The war had touched Waterman’s Yard, though, for Amy Hamilton had lost her husband in 1916 and then her only son too. He had gone through four years of war to be killed with cruel irony only days before the armistice had been signed. Now Amy had locked herself in her house in the corner of the yard and rarely ventured forth. Not even Bessie had been able to prise her out. At least not yet, for Bessie was not one to give up a battle. She’d have Amy Hamilton out of that house and back in the land of the living one of these fine days or her name wasn’t Bessie Ruddick.

  For the moment, however, Bessie’s attention was taken up with the little girl who sat at her table.

  ‘Has she said anything, Mam?’ Dan murmured.

  Bessie, her gaze still on the girl, shook her head.

  ‘Maybe she can’t talk,’ Duggie said.

  With surprising speed, the thumb was pulled out of her mouth. ‘Of course I can talk.’ Then she popped her thumb straight back into her mouth and glanced around at them triumphantly.

  Bessie laughed. ‘There you are, our Duggie, that’s telled you.’ But Duggie only grinned, pleased that his remark had at least sparked a response.

  ‘Come to live next door to us, have you?’ Dan prompted. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Well,’ Bert stood up. ‘I’m off for me pint, Bessie love. All right?’

  ‘’Course it is, Bert.’ She heaved herself up from her chair and began to stack the dirty plates. ‘I think it’s time you went home now, love. Must be nearly your bedtime.’ She paused before asking sensitively, ‘Will ya dad have gone out, do you think? Does he go to the pub for a pint in the evening?’

  There was fleeting fear in the child’s eyes and all the Ruddick family saw it. Dan, for the first time, noticed the faint bluish mark on the child’s jaw and glanced at his mother. A swift look of understanding passed between mother and son as Bessie gave a little nod. She saw her son’s mouth tighten in a gesture so like her own.

  ‘I’ll take you home, little ’un, but first, are you going to tell me your name?’

  She removed her thumb briefly and wriggled down from her chair. She moved to stand beside Dan and looked into his face on a level with her own. ‘Mary Ann Clark and I’m twelve, nearly thirteen.’

  Dan stood up. ‘Well, Mary Ann Clark, twelve-nearly-thirteen, then you’re quite old enough to allow me to walk you home in the moonlight.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her as he added, ‘But don’t you be telling my girlfriend, Susan.’

  Bessie watched as Dan held out his hand to Mary Ann. The girl looked up at him, standing so tall above her now. Suddenly, a beaming smile illuminated the girl’s face. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief and two dimples appeared in her cheeks as she put her hand trustingly into his.

  Three

  ‘Mam, what’s going on in that house next door?’

  When he returned from taking Mary Ann back home, Dan’s face was grim.

  ‘You might well ask, lad.’ Bessie’s mouth was tight.

  ‘This poor woman came to the door. She’s got a cut lip that’s swelling out here.’ He held his hand about three inches from his own mouth, exaggerating the woman’s discomfort but Bessie got the message. ‘And wasn’t that a bruise on the kiddie’s jaw?’

  Bessie nodded. ‘I reckon so.’

  ‘So? What are you going to do?’

  Dan knew his mother well enough to know that she would not be able to ignore what they both guessed was happening within that household.

  ‘Keep me eyes and me ears open,’ she told him. ‘And be round there like a shot.’

  ‘She seems a nice little thing. Held me hand and skipped along at the side of me, she did.’ He paused and then met his mother’s gaze. ‘But she didn’t say any more. Not even to her mam. Do . . . do you think she’s, er, well . . .?’ He tapped his forefinger to the side of his head. ‘Y’know? All right?’

  Bessie frowned. ‘I’d need to know her a bit more before I could be sure
.’

  ‘Mm.’ Dan was thoughtful for a moment, then he seemed to shake himself. ‘Well, I’d best get mesen changed if I’m to see Susan tonight.’

  ‘Mind how you go and don’t be late in.’

  The young man grinned at her, put his arm about her ample waist and kissed her cheek. ‘Yes, Ma. No, Ma. Three bags full, Ma.’ Then he stepped smartly back out of the way as Bessie’s hand came up to smack his face. But the gesture was playful and affectionate with no strength or malice behind it.

  ‘Go on with you,’ she smiled at him. ‘And give me love to Susan. Time you named the day with that lass, y’know, else you’ll be losing her. She’s a nice girl.’

  ‘Oho, I’m not ready to tie the knot yet awhile. I want me own ship first.’

  Bessie shook her head, but there was fond pride in her tone as she murmured, ‘You remind me so much of me own father, Dan. He didn’t marry me mother until he skippered his own ship. Mind you, he never owned it. But I reckon he thought of it as his boat. I was born on the river, y’know.’ She grinned. ‘Somewhere between here and Newark.’

  Dan knew it only too well, as did all their family, but he listened patiently to his mother’s reminiscing. ‘Aye, it was me dad’s life’s ambition to own his own ship.’ Her tone became wistful. ‘But he never managed it.’ Then she smiled at her eldest son as she added softly, ‘Maybe you’ll achieve it for him, lad.’

  Dan grinned. ‘I mean to have a damn good try, Mam.’

  Bessie was dozing, her feet on the warm brass fender, when Bert came home from The Waterman’s Arms.

  ‘He was in the pub,’ Bert said without preamble as he lowered himself into the chair opposite his wife.

  Bessie opened one eye. ‘Who was?’

  Bert jerked his thumb towards the wall. ‘’Im from next door. Sid, er, Clark, was it the little lass said?’

  Bessie nodded.

  ‘He bought me a pint.’

  Bessie closed her eye and said drowsily, ‘I hope you didn’t buy ’im one back.’