by M J Lee
‘Nothing to see there any more, dear, they ripped the heart out of my home town when they “developed” it in the seventies. I wouldn’t say it’s ugly, but it makes a slag heap look elegant.’
Jayne keyed in the address on the BMW’s satnav. ‘Let’s find Twenty-three Haggate Lane, shall we?’ She drove up Delph New Road. Despite it being close to the town, the road still had the feel of a tree-lined rural lane.
‘Delph’s a pretty place, but difficult to get to,’ said Vera, looking up from her knitting.
They passed an old blackened mill on a hill to the left, its soot-stained walls, tall smoke stack and broken windows a reminder of Delph’s once-busy industrial past.
‘I suppose the mill would have been buzzing with workers making textiles the last time Freda visited here. Now it’s just a decrepit empty shell. Makes me angry, what’s happened to our industrial past. I blame Thatcher and her lot. Bloody vultures, all of them.’
‘Shush, Robert, Jayne wants to listen to her voice.’
‘Turn right and then immediately left,’ said the impersonal female voice from the dashboard.
‘It’s amazing how it knows the right way to go.’
They drove up a hill, past the high stone walls of the old factory buildings.
‘That one’s still making cloth. Mallalieus, I remember it from when I was a girl.’
‘One of the few, that is,’ grumbled Robert.
‘You’ve been here before, Vera?’ asked Jayne.
‘I came with my mother a couple of times when I was little. I never knew why. Ooh, Jayne, I’ve just thought, do you think Mum came here looking for Harry?’
‘Perhaps, Vera, we’ll never know.’
As they climbed up Millgate, the road narrowed considerably, hemmed in on both sides by tall three-storied buildings. On the left an old Cooperative Hall with the words ‘Unity is Strength’ carved into the stone facade had been turned into an Arts Centre.
The satnav spoke again. ‘At the next junction, make a sharp left on to Haggate Lane.’
Jayne swung the car round and they headed steeply uphill on an extremely narrow road. On the left, modern bungalows squatted close to the ground.
‘This doesn’t look good. These houses were all built in the sixties.’
Then the satnav spoke again. ‘Your destination is on the right.’
From nowhere, a row of old three-storied weaver’s cottages appeared, built from local stone and still with the mullioned windows created so the weavers could use every bit of ambient light.
Jayne stopped the car. ‘At least these buildings were around in 1944,’ she said. 'Number Twenty-three is on the right, the last of the four.’
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Vera.
‘I’ll show you. This is fieldwork. Not the easiest way to find links to the past, but sometimes the only thing we have.’
Jayne marched up the stone-flagged path. On the left a small garden was in full flower, with hanging baskets decorating each side of the door. She knocked and stood back. Vera and Robert watched from the gate.
A young woman opened the door cautiously. ‘Yes, how can I help you?’
‘Hello, my name is Jayne Sinclair. I’m—’
The woman moved to close the door. ‘I’m not interested in buying anything, thank you.’
‘Please, I’m not selling anything. I’m a genealogical investigator and I’m researching somebody who used to live here.’
The woman stopped and seemed to be thinking.
‘It would help me immensely if I could ask you a few questions.’
The young woman nodded and opened the door wider. ‘Can you be quick? I’ve got my hands full at the moment.’
Jayne saw she had a young baby in her arms and another one with tousled blonde hair clinging to her legs. ‘Of course, I just want to know if you knew the people who lived here in 1952?’
The woman laughed. ‘I wasn’t even born then. We only moved in two years ago. Before then it had been empty for a couple of years, that’s why we picked it up cheap.’
‘It looks wonderful.’
‘My husband is a bit of a handyman. Sometimes I think he’s married to his Black and Decker, not me. He certainly treats it better.’
‘Okay, sorry to have bothered you.’
The woman went to close the door then opened it again. ‘You might want to ask David. He’s the man who sold us the house.’
‘David?’ Jayne took a stab in the dark. ‘David Beggs?’
‘That’s him. It was all getting too much for him, what with the stairs and all. He’s in one of the bungalows down the hill. I guess he didn’t want to move far.’
‘Do you know the number?’ Jayne asked tentatively.
‘It’s over there. The one with the red door, number eight.’
Chapter Nineteen
June 19, 2017
Delph, Lancashire, England
‘I remember Harry well. My parents were very fond of him.’
They were sitting in the spotless lounge of David Beggs’s bungalow, drinking the ubiquitous cup of tea. At least this cup was vaguely drinkable, unlike the one served by Vera’s brother.
Jayne scanned the room. It had the obsessively tidy look of a person who spent too much time alone; the cushions were in exactly the right place, the carpet had been freshly hoovered, the pictures were all aligned perfectly.
‘You must have played together as children.’ Jayne encouraged the old man to keep talking.
David Beggs was as tidy as his lounge, wearing a green tie, poplin shirt and freshly pressed trousers. A man who takes pride in himself, thought Jayne. The only thing out of place were his eyebrows; they were bushy, like a hairy caterpillar gone to seed.
‘Aye, we did. Even went to school together for a short time, before Harry was sent back.’
Jayne knew she would have to lead this man carefully. One wrong move and he would clam up. It had taken a long time to convince him they were simply genealogical researchers and not potential intruders. It was only the mention of Harry’s name and the reminder of his parents living at number 23 which gained them access and the requisite cup of tea.
‘What was the name of the school?’ she probed.
‘St Alphonsus, at the bottom of t’hill. Me mam and dad were staunch Catholics, wouldn’t let me go to any of them Protestant schools.’ He was silent for a moment, obviously back in the past. ‘I remember one day, Harry and I climbed the wall of Haggate House. It used to stand where these bungalows are now. They had a lovely orchard at the back, all chopped down now, of course. Well, us two, we ate those apples like they weren’t making them any more. Sick as dogs, we were. Both of us got a tanning from me dad. Nothing too bad, though, it were the telling off that was worse.’
‘When did that happen?’
‘Must have been 1950. No, I tell a lie, 1951. We were already in school.’
‘And then Harry was taken back by the home. When was that?’
‘Later in 1951. I don’t remember exactly when. We weren’t at school, so it must have been a weekend. A man in a big black car came for him. I remember being so jealous when Harry went in the car. I wanted to sit up front in those big leather seats too.’ He paused for a moment, taking a drink of his tea. ‘He had this toy soldier – a guardsman, really – and he slept with it, took it everywhere with him. As he was leaving, he pressed the soldier up to the window of the car. It was like the soldier was saying goodbye, not Harry.’
‘Who took him away?’
‘Like I said, a man in a big black car. I didn’t know his name.’
‘I meant which home did he go to?’
‘The one where all the other children came from. St Michael’s.’
Vera was about to speak. Jayne glanced across at her, signalling with her eyes to let the man continue talking.
‘Mum and Dad loved kids. I think they wanted them so much but nothing happened for a long while, so they decided to foster instead. And then I came along. God’s
grace it was, said Mum, for looking after the children from the home. So she carried on caring for them, just so God would look after me.’
‘St Michael’s, you say?’ Jayne repeated.
‘Aye, the one on Harris Road, next to the church. Harry came to us from there when I were a nipper. He was slightly younger than me, so I were always his big brother. Mum and Dad missed Harry so much when he left. We always thought he would come back but he never did. They even tried to adopt him but the home said he had gone away. I never saw him again. I always wondered what happened to Harry when he went away.’
‘Went away? What do you mean?’
The old man looked up from his tea. ‘You don’t know? He went to Australia with all the other migrant children.’
Chapter Twenty
April 12, 1952
St Michael’s Home, Oldham, England
Harry knew it was today.
For some reason the sisters had been nice to him and the others for the last few days. A week ago, a doctor had come to the home and examined the eight of them who were going to Australia. Himself, Little Tom, Georgie, Ginger Jones, Fred Whatmough and Ernie Laurie from the boys, and the Astley sisters – June and Doris – from the girls. His hands had been cold and his voice gruff. He barely looked at the boys as they stood in front of him in their vests and underpants.
‘Wish he’d get a move on,’ whispered Georgie.
‘It’s freezing. And we missed out on breakfast this morning.’
‘You never finish the porridge, Ginger, so why you complainin’?’
‘Not the point, is it?’ Ginger said. ‘I—’
‘Be quiet, boy,’ shouted Sister Tomasina. They waited for the inevitable swoosh through the air as the strap swung down to catch one of them on the back of the legs, but it never came. Instead, she spoke in a strangely affected voice: ‘How long are you going to be, Doctor? The surgeon is waiting for them.’
‘Not long, not long. This one has something on his lungs.’ He pointed to Charlie, who was always coughing, especially when he first woke up. ‘Might be a spot of TB. Have to check him out, but he can’t go – not till he’s had an X-ray.’
‘Not to worry, Doctor. I’ll fetch another boy to take his place.’
She went to get Ernie. He hadn’t put his hand up to go when the priest came round, but it must have been his turn anyway. The doctor passed him as fit, barely glancing at him. Ernie was only eleven but looked older and was built like a strongman at a circus.
After the doctor had finished, a nurse had given each of them an injection in the left arm. ‘Won’t hurt,’ she said.
But it did. Harry’s arm was still aching when he finally left the home a week later.
After the injection they had been led next door, still wearing their vests and underpants, and told to lie on a trolley.
‘What’s happenin’, Matron?’ asked Fred Whatmough.
‘Well, if you’re very good, each of you will get one of these.’ She held up a bag of gum drops.
‘I like the orange ones,’ said Ginger.
‘No you don’t. You never had them before.’
‘Shut your mouth, Georgie. I have too, me Da bought me some.’
‘Liar. You don’t have a Da...’
‘I do, he’s gone away, that’s all, but he’s coming back for me.’
‘He’s never coming back for you, Jones.’ Sister Tomasina pulled the boys apart. ‘He’s in prison. And if you don’t want to end up locked away like him, you’d better mend your ways.’
The boys fell silent. The nurse offered the bag of gum drops to Ginger. ‘You can have the orange one. They’re my favourite too.’
‘You shouldn’t spoil these boys, Nurse. Sets a bad example,’ sniffed Sister Tomasina.
They all took a gum drop. Harry’s was blackcurrant, whilst Little Tom chose strawberry.
‘In a few moments, the doctor is going to cut your tonsils out. It won’t hurt at all. I’m going to put you to sleep with this.’ The nurse held up what resembled a rubber mask.
Little Tom nudged Harry. ‘It’s like what a pilot wears in the RAF.’
‘Why are you cutting out our tonsils, Matron?’ asked Ginger.
‘Well, sometimes they get infected, especially in young boys. And you don’t need them anyway.’
‘But Sister Mary said we are made by God. Why did he give us something we don’t need?’
‘It’s not your place to question God, Jones,’ Sister Tomasina stepped in. ‘Who are you to say want God does or doesn’t do? You’re nothing to him.’
‘But Sister Mary said—’
‘I don’t care, Jones.’ She stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to lie down on the trolley. ‘Is the doctor ready, Nurse?’
‘I think so.’
‘This boy can go first as he’s the most talkative.’
The nurse moved to the side of the trolley. ‘If you could hold his shoulders, Sister.’
Sister Tomasina pressed Ginger down into the trolley, digging her fingers into the soft flesh beneath his collarbone.
‘Now, Ginger – that’s your name, isn’t it?’
Ginger nodded, wide-eyed with fear.
‘The boy’s name is Jones, Nurse,’ barked Sister Tomasina.
The nurse stared at the sister before continuing. ‘I’m going to place the mask over your mouth and pour a few drops of this liquid into it. Then I want you to count backwards from ten for me. Can you do it?’
Ginger nodded without saying a word.
Harry could see his bare foot, the dirty sole trembling against the white sheet covering the trolley.
‘Are you ready?’ She placed the mask over his mouth and poured a little of the liquid on it.
Ginger tried to get up, but Sister Tomasina pressed down on his shoulders, stopping him.
The foot trembled faster.
‘Don’t forget to count, Ginger,’ the Nurse said gently.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…’
Ginger stopped counting.
‘What’s happened to him?’ asked Harry.
‘He’s just gone to sleep. He’ll wake up in ten minutes.’
Another nurse came from the next room and rolled the still body of Ginger away on the trolley.
‘He’ll be okay?’
‘Of course he will. His mouth will be a little dry, that’s all, and he won’t have any tonsils. So, who’s next?’ she said cheerily.
Within less than an hour, they were all done and de-tonsilled, the doctor working with all the speed of a miner on piece rate.
The next week passed slowly for Harry. He was sure his mother would come to see him before he was sent to Australia. He had played with the globe in Sister Tomasina’s room; the country seemed an awful long way away. It would take at least a week for him to go there, see the kangaroos and come back. What would happen if his mother came for him whilst he was away?
A couple of days before they were due to leave, all eight of them were taken in a bus to Afflecks, the department store in Manchester. It was the first time Harry had been out of the home, other than to walk to Mass on a Sunday, since he had been taken back there. They drove down Oldham Road, past row upon row of terraced houses. It was a beautiful spring day; the sun shone down and the trees were just breaking into leaf. Harry stared out of the window, not talking to Little Tom by his side.
There was a buzz of excitement as they were led by Sister Morris into the store. First, the boys were taken to the third floor and told to sit down.
An assistant came out and measured them. ‘And how old are you?’ she asked Harry.
‘Seven, but I’ll be eight in August.’
‘You are tall for your age. We’d better give him the size for a nine-year-old. What do you think, sister?’
The nun shrugged her shoulders. ‘Whatever you think is right.’
The assistant came back with a raincoat, khaki and corduroy shorts, two khaki shirts, a white shirt, tie, belt, three pairs of socks, th
ree vests, three pyjamas, a pair each of sandals and pumps, a dark cap, a sun hat, three pairs of white underpants, a toilet bag with all the necessaries, two toothbrushes and a face flannel, complete with a small brown patent-leather case to put it all in.
‘Aren’t you a lucky boy? You’re going to look very smart in your new clothes.’
Harry said thank you very much.
‘And so polite. You have trained them well, sister.’
Sister Morris smiled proudly. ‘We try our best. With God’s grace, we’ll succeed.’
After the rest of the children had been outfitted with all their needs, they trooped back on to the bus.
On the way back from Afflecks, Harry plucked up the courage to sit next to Sister Morris at the front of the bus, just behind the driver. ‘Will you tell my mother to wait until I come back, Sister?’
The sister had peered at him quizzically. ‘Why, whatever do you mean, Harold? Ask your mother to wait for what?’
‘In case she comes while I’m away in Australia seeing the kangaroos.’
‘Oh, get away with you and your silly questions. Sure, haven’t you got enough to do, packing your things for Australia? And don’t forget your new underwear, you’ll need it on the voyage.’
But his mum hadn’t come. And now a young woman was standing in front of the eight of them, with the Mother Superior introducing her.
‘Now, this is Miss Anstey, she’s going to accompany you on your trip to Australia.’
The Mother Superior held up her index finger and waved it in front of their faces. Harry noticed it had a brownish stain at the end covering the nail, the same as the man who had brought him to St Michael’s. He wondered if they were brother and sister.
‘You must obey her in everything, children. Remember, God is watching you all the time. He will punish those who behave badly.’
‘So He has a strap too...’ said Ernie under his breath. Harry started to laugh.
Mother Superior stared at him. ‘Why are you laughing, boy? Do you find God funny?’
‘No, Mother Superior...’ mumbled Harry.
