The Songbird

by Val Wood

  Lena glared at her. ‘Years,’ she said. ‘We’ve lived here for years, since before you were born I shouldn’t wonder.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s when I knew your ma. We went away to live but I couldn’t settle.’

  Poppy nodded and opened the door. ‘Goodbye then,’ she said to Albert. ‘I expect we’ll meet again.’

  She dashed upstairs to her room and collected her shoes. They’re up to something, she decided as she ran down again. I bet Lena’s given him something from the shop and not charged him. I’ll tell Tommy – I daren’t tell Pa. I’m going to be late! Miss Davina will be cross. She hates unpunctuality. She says it’s so important to always be on time.

  When she went back into the shop, Albert had gone and Lena was flicking a duster over the shelves. ‘That Nan isn’t very good,’ she said caustically. ‘The dust is thick on these shelves. Don’t suppose she ever moves anything!’

  Poppy was too late for her lesson to stop and discuss Nan, but she knew that Lena was wrong. Nan was scrupulous in her cleaning; that was why her mother had employed her. She’d been with them for as long as Poppy could remember. She was thin and wiry and looked as if she had never had a decent meal in her life, and she probably hadn’t for she had been left a seaman’s widow when her daughter Mattie was only a baby. Since then she had scrimped and saved to keep her daughter in food and clothes and a roof over their heads. Summer or winter, Nan never wore anything other than a black dress and a grey shawl and worn down boots, but she never grumbled about her life and saw only those who were worse off than her, and never anyone who was better off or luckier.

  ‘You’re late, Poppy.’ Miss Davina had had a terrible gnawing fear that Poppy wasn’t coming for her lesson. The child had been distracted recently and unable to concentrate on her dance routine. She was relieved now to see her. ‘Is anything amiss?’

  ‘Not really.’ The flurry of annoyance that Poppy had felt towards Lena had dissipated, leaving her downcast and sad and missing her mother. ‘I was held up by someone, and I forgot my pumps and had to go back,’ she admitted, aware that that was the real reason for her lateness, but if she hadn’t gone back, she thought, then she wouldn’t have seen Lena’s odious son.

  ‘Are you not very happy, Poppy?’ Miss Davina asked. ‘You seem preoccupied.’

  Poppy looked down. No, she wasn’t happy, but she couldn’t say why. Miss Davina already knew about her mother. ‘I’m all right,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It’s just that nothing seems right any more.’

  Her teacher nodded. ‘It will take time for you to come to terms with the loss of your mother,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not easy at the best of times,’ she added. ‘And it’s worse when you’re young. How old are you, Poppy?’

  Poppy took a breath. Someone else was going to tell her that she was old enough to work. ‘Nearly thirteen,’ she sighed. ‘And I know how lucky I am.’

  ‘Do you?’ Miss Davina was surprised. ‘Not many people do. But . . .’ She hesitated and pondered that it wasn’t really anything to do with her, but she was quite fond of Poppy. The child had been coming to her for many years. ‘I just wondered if you have an aunt, or perhaps a former friend of your mother’s, whom you would feel comfortable talking to?’

  Talking about what, Poppy thought? My mother? How I hate Lena? How Pa doesn’t laugh much any more? That I don’t want to work in the shop when I finish school?

  ‘You are at a difficult age,’ Miss Davina continued cautiously. ‘Especially for females.’ She coloured slightly. ‘Erm, have you reached womanhood, Poppy? Sometimes the time of month makes a young woman feel out of sorts.’

  Poppy lifted her head and gazed at her. What was she talking about? She shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘Ah!’ Miss Davina was beginning to wish she hadn’t begun this conversation, but now that she had she must continue. ‘Women’s bodies change,’ she said nervously. ‘You should speak to another woman, older than yourself. Is there anyone?’

  Poppy blinked. ‘Only Nan,’ she said. ‘She keeps house for us. My mother always liked her. She’s got a daughter, Mattie.’

  ‘Do you like Nan?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I do. She’s really kind.’ Tears came to Poppy’s eyes as she recalled how Nan had put her arms round her to comfort her after her mother died.

  Miss Davina heaved a sigh. ‘Then she’s the one,’ she said positively. ‘Go and see her and tell her you’d like to know about growing up. Now, come along, change your shoes and let’s get started.’

  She was late getting home as Miss Davina had given her the full lesson, but Poppy’s heart hadn’t been in it and she kept making mistakes. She felt tired and lethargic and full of unease. Her father was standing in the shop doorway as she came down the street.

  ‘Where’ve you been ’till this time? You shouldn’t be out on your own!’

  ‘I always go to my dance lesson on a Tuesday, Pa. I’m only a bit later than usual,’ she said defensively. ‘And I always go on my own.’

  He grunted and ushered her inside. There were several people sitting at the tables. ‘I’d forgotten that’s where you’d be. You should have reminded me!’

  ‘You weren’t here. I told Lena,’ she said. ‘I asked her to tell you so that you didn’t worry!’

  ‘She must have forgotten,’ he said. ‘Tommy’s only just come in as well. Go and slip off your things and come back in to help. I’ve had a rush on and nobody here to give me a hand.’

  ‘Where’s Lena?’ Poppy looked round. Some of the tables needed clearing; they were littered with coffee cups and empty pots of chocolate.

  ‘She had to go home. Something urgent cropped up. Just as I was getting busy as well. I could have done with her here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Pa,’ she said when she came back a few minutes later. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’ Her mouth trembled as she spoke, but she tried to smile at the customers as she went to clear the tables.

  Tommy seemed disgruntled too as he buttered scones, cut up fruit cake and arranged slices of ham, aislet, dishes of potted meat, cheese and pickle on a serving dish. ‘Where’s the old harridan tonight?’ he muttered to Poppy.

  ‘Had to go home,’ she murmured back. ‘Something urgent.’

  ‘Good! Let’s hope she doesn’t come back. She makes my skin creep.’

  Poppy glanced across at her father as he was talking to customers just leaving. ‘I met her son today,’ she confided. ‘He’s called Albert. He’s older than you. I didn’t like him. I think Lena gave him something. He was putting something into his pocket, anyway.’

  ‘Huh!’ Tommy grunted. ‘If he’s anything like his mother I don’t want to meet him.’

  They had a rush of grocery customers then, wanting flour, tea, potatoes and onions, for the shop stayed open until late. Joshua served them whilst Tommy made fresh coffee and supper for theatregoers coming from the Alhambra. Poppy cleared tables, washed cups and saucers, re-set the tables and took orders, and tried to listen to the conversations about the show. Finally her father said, ‘Off you go, Poppy. It’s ten o’clock; time you were in bed.’

  ‘All right, Pa.’ She reached up to kiss him good night.

  He patted her cheek. ‘I think we’ll talk tomorrow, Poppy,’ he said. ‘About school. Maybe you needn’t go back after ’summer holiday.’

  ‘But,’ she stammered. ‘Can’t I stay on a bit longer?’ She didn’t want to leave, not yet.

  ‘You’ve seen how busy we get. But we’ll talk about it.’

  ‘I don’t mind working after school,’ she urged, ‘except for Tuesdays and Wednesdays.’

  ‘Ah!’ He wagged a finger. ‘You can’t have it all ways.’ Then he smiled at her. ‘Go on, we’ll talk about it later.’

  Although there were several national schools in Hull, Poppy’s father paid a fee for her to attend a select private school in Albion Street, a thoroughfare which was lined with elegant houses and the grandest building in t
he town, the Royal Institution, which contained a subscription library and museum, and where the Church Institute, formerly a private house, was open for both men and women to attend lectures in advancement and instruction.

  A few days after her father’s warning about leaving school, Poppy asked her teacher if she might be excused early. ‘I have to go on an errand,’ she pleaded, and as she was one of the brightest of the pupils and didn’t take much time off, her teacher agreed.

  Poppy scurried away from school and to avoid Savile Street, where her father might see her, she took a longer route towards the old town where Nan and Mattie lived. She ran up Albion Street towards the Catholic church of St Charles and the Public Rooms in Kingston Square, where her mother sometimes used to take her to concerts, and cutting behind the Mechanics Institute, crossed the top end of George Street and headed towards the east end of the town dock where Tommy spent so much time. She huffed and took a breath and hoped that he was busy in the shop and hadn’t skived off to look at the ships or talk to the seamen.

  Although she had been born above the shop and had spent the whole of her life in the town, there were some areas where she wasn’t allowed to go alone. Savile Street was a respectable street at the edge of what had once been the walled medieval town of Hull. There were other streets that were not so respectable: streets with poor court housing, built at the beginning of the century and now so dilapidated that only the very poor lived there. Some of these courts were situated behind shops which the affluent patronized and where the poor could only look and dream.

  Poppy hesitated as she reached Lowgate. Charlie Chandler and his family lived and worked in a dark building down one of the lanes which ran between Lowgate and the old cobbled High Street. Scale Lane, I think it is, Poppy deliberated. She had been once with Tommy and seen Charlie’s father with his head bent over a shoe on a wooden last. Another such lane, worthy only to be called a yard, darker and narrower, too narrow even for a handcart, was Stewart’s Yard, where Nan and her daughter lived.

  She turned into Scale Lane and hoped she might catch a glimpse of Charlie. He and Tommy were still friends but their respective fathers kept both of them busy. Poppy never mentioned Charlie’s name to Tommy for fear of being teased. But she thought of him often and remembered how she had put her hand in his when he’d met her from the theatre. I was only a child then, she thought. I wouldn’t dare to do that now; and that reminded her of why she was here, seeking Nan.

  He was there! She saw Charlie sitting in the window, wearing a leather apron and with a bodkin in his hand. He looked up and she gave a tentative smile and waved her hand. His brow creased and with a swift movement he got up. Is he coming out, she wondered? Or has he only got up from his chair to do something else? Did he realize it was me?

  The door opened as she passed and she looked up as he called her name. ‘Poppy! Is it you? What’re you doing down here?’

  ‘Hello,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m going to see Nan. I have to talk to her about something. Do you know where Stewart’s Yard is?’

  ‘Yes!’ He stepped down from the doorway. ‘But it’s no place for you.’ He shook his head and she felt resentful as he added, ‘Not on your own.’

  ‘Nan lives there! And Mattie, and she’s not that much older than me.’

  ‘Yes, but they’ve always lived round here. They know it, you don’t!’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, I have to go. She’s always gone from ’shop when I get home from school.’

  ‘Wait a minute and I’ll come with you.’ He turned back towards the door and she didn’t know whether to be delighted that he was taking trouble over her, or peeved because he considered her a child and incapable of being out on her own.

  ‘It’s dark down there,’ he said, appearing a moment later without his apron and with a jacket on. ‘There are no street lamps in the courts.’ There were gas lamps in Scale Lane but they were not yet lit, only the glow from the windows of the buildings breaking the gloom. Ahead of them, Poppy saw a spill of yellow light coming from the door and windows of the Manchester Arms and a group of men gathered there.

  ‘You see!’ Charlie said, taking her elbow and steering her to the other side of the lane. ‘You’d need to avoid them.’

  ‘They wouldn’t bother me,’ she said. ‘Why would they want to? They’re only having a drink.’

  ‘Does your pa know that you’re out?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter whether he does or not! I’m not a child, you know. I’m old enough to work!’

  He looked down at her, and then he put his hand under her chin. ‘Little Poppy’s growing up at last.’ He smiled. ‘All ’more reason for taking care of you!’

  She melted and gazed up at him. Was this what Miss Davina meant about reaching womanhood? She swallowed and felt a strange surging in her throat and chest, a fusion of joy and excitement. Her mother had told her that love was for grown-up people, but she had also said that it wasn’t a question of age. Poppy could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head. ‘It’s a matter of meeting someone and knowing you love them.’

  I know that I love Charlie. She took a deep breath and felt a rush of hot tears fill her eyes. But what I don’t know is how to make him love me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Charlie kept his hand on her elbow as they walked into the High Street. She felt firm fingers beneath her sleeve and could feel her heart thudding because of them. ‘Do you still go dancing, Poppy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Every week. I go for singing lessons too. We don’t see you much now,’ she added quickly, fearing that soon they would be at Nan’s house and have to part company.

  ‘I’m busy,’ he said. ‘My da keeps me at it. We’ve a lot of orders in. But I’ve almost finished my time. I’ll soon be a fully fledged shoemaker.’

  ‘So will you work for your father?’ She glanced up at him and saw a grim expression on his face. ‘Tommy still wants to go to sea. He told me he did.’

  ‘I know. But he’s tied to your father’s shop, ’same as I am to mine.’ His voice was irritable and sharp. ‘But not for much longer. I’ll make my last pair of shoes and I’ll be off.’

  ‘But . . .’ She was horrified. That would mean that she might never see him again. ‘Isn’t that a waste? I mean, a waste of your apprenticeship? What will you do? Where will you go?’

  There must have been something in her voice, some hint of desperation, for he turned and looked down at her. ‘Will you miss me, Poppy, if I go away?’ He smiled at her; she saw amusement and averted her head to hide her face. ‘I’ll set up on my own, away from here. I’ll probably go to London. Start small, you know. But I shan’t be a cobbler,’ he added. ‘Not mending boots and shoes that rightly belong on ’scrap heap.’ He stretched his neck and squared his shoulders. ‘No. I’ll be shoemaker to ’famous. To royalty and nobility, to stars of ’theatre.’ He nodded, a look of pride on his face. ‘They’ll all be clamouring for shoes by Charles Chandler.

  ‘We’re here.’ He stopped abruptly and Poppy would have walked past the narrow opening to Stewart’s Yard if he hadn’t shown her. ‘See how dark it is down here?’ he said. ‘That’s why I came with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you.’ But I’ve still to come back this way, she pondered. There were quite a lot of people about: men pushing handcarts, women scurrying along with shawls about their heads, holding children by their hands. But they were moving purposefully as if they were familiar with the area, unlike Poppy who feared she might get lost within the alleyways and passages. They were close to the river Hull; just a few steps down the staith side and they would be able to see the water and the ships. Tommy came down here sometimes to watch the barges being unloaded or the ships making their way to the town dock.

  Once this was Hull’s main waterway, the mouth of the river whose source was up on the Wolds. For centuries it had served the whaling and fishing fleet, which had given the town its prosperity. Some old fishermen and boatmen still called it by its original name of
the Old Harbour or Haven. Now the old town of Hull was almost an island, ringed by docks which led into the Humber estuary, whilst the newer town spread its tentacles to the north, east and west.

  ‘I’d better wait for you,’ Charlie was saying as they entered the yard. ‘Will you be long?’

  I can’t let him listen! How can I talk to Nan when he’s there? ‘I shall be all right, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll get Nan to set me to Lowgate.’

  ‘What number is it?’ Charles peered at a doorway.

  ‘Four,’ she said, beginning to wish she hadn’t come. It was wet underfoot and there was a fetid smell. On one side of the narrow yard was a warehouse; on the other were small terraced houses. ‘There don’t seem to be any numbers.’

  Someone called out to them and they looked up. A man was standing by an open loading door high up in the warehouse. ‘Who do you want, mate?’ he shouted.

  ‘Nan Brewer,’ Poppy called back before Charlie could answer. ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘Second from bottom, left hand side. You can see ’light in ’window.’

  They called back their thanks and continued down, and Charlie cursed as he trod on something slippery. Poppy knocked on the door and it immediately opened wide and Poppy wondered at that, for she would have wanted to know who was there before unlocking it.

  ‘Hey, Poppy!’ Mattie stood in the doorway; she had an old blanket wrapped about her shoulders and a shawl round her head. Her face was white and her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. ‘Did you want Ma? She’s not back from work yet. Hello, Charlie! My, we are honoured with such splendid company. Come on in. There’s no fire cos I’ve onny just got in from work. Let me turn ’lamp up and we can look at each other.’

  It’s been a wasted journey, Poppy thought. And Pa will be starting to worry about me. ‘What time will Nan be in?’ she asked. ‘I wanted to ask her something.’