‘I’m not going,’ he declared again. ‘I’m not leaving Ashford – or Amy – and that’s final.’
Three
Martha lay in her single bed, her eyes wide open and staring towards the ceiling in the darkness. She and Walter had separate beds now for his constant restlessness disturbed her sleep. But tonight it was not Walter who was keeping her awake far into the night; it was her guilty conscience. Martha couldn’t remember ever having told lies in her life, except perhaps a little white one when Mrs Partridge had bought a new hat and asked Martha’s opinion. Of course, she’d said it was lovely and most appropriate for the woman with a surname like hers. The hat had been swathed in flowers with a tiny bird nestling in the crown. But it had been like a creation a music hall star might have worn! But tonight, even the memory of that moment could not bring a smile to Martha’s lips as it normally did. Her lie to her family had been a whopper. She had, indeed, spoken to Mr Trippet as she had told them but his reaction had not been one of kindness and a promise to help Josh find work in the cutlery manufacturing trade for which Sheffield was justifiably famous. His answer had been the opposite. Arthur Trippet was a large man, overweight through years of good living and self-indulgence. Although his sleek hair was thinning, he sported a well-trimmed moustache. His heavy jowls were speckled with tiny red veins and his blue eyes were cold and calculating, yet he always dressed like a smart Edwardian gentleman in morning coat and striped trousers, a waistcoat and white, wing-collared shirt and bow tie. The motorcar he drove to and from the city each day was more up to date than his mode of dress; it was a black and yellow 1919 Silver Ghost Rolls-Royce, complete with the flying lady emblem on the bonnet. It was the object of admiration or envy when it passed through the village.
Leaning back in the swivel chair in the room set aside in Riversdale House as his study and puffing on a huge cigar, Arthur Trippet had pursed his thick lips and shaken his head. ‘Oh no, Mrs Ryan. I don’t think it’s the kind of thing your son would take to. Besides, he’s doing very nicely with his own little cottage industry.’ The words – and his tone – were condescending. ‘And what about your poor husband? Here, he has friends and neighbours to help you should you need it.’
This was true and Emily had touched upon the same thing. Walter was well known and respected in the village. He had been born here, in the very house they still lived in, for whilst it was rented accommodation, the tenancy had passed down the generations to him and would one day likely pass to Josh. But Martha was not willing to see Josh as the next generation of chandlers. She had visions of his name being on one of the panels in the Cutlers’ Hall in Sheffield and of him living in a big house like the Trippets.
Martha had no intention of taking Arthur Trippet’s advice. He’s jealous, that’s what it is, she told herself. Just because his lad has had to start at the bottom in the business – not bright enough to be given a decent position from the off, I expect – he doesn’t want my Josh outshining his own son.
Thomas Trippet was a nice boy, a good boy, and Martha had been pleased enough that he was a friend of both Josh and Emily. She had seen it as a way for Josh to go up in the world. For her son to be friends with the offspring of the wealthiest man in the village had been a feather in her cap.
‘Master Thomas is coming to tea with us tonight,’ she would say loftily to Mr Osborne, who ran the corner shop just opposite the Ryans’ home. ‘A nice piece of your best cooked ham, if you please. Yours is so much nicer than I can cook myself,’ she would add with a smile that was almost coquettish, hoping her flattery would earn her a few coppers’ discount.
But they saw little of Trip now and it was not only Josh and Emily who lamented his absence; their mother, too, was frustrated at the severing of ties between the two families. She took it as a personal affront, believing that Arthur Trippet thought the Ryans were not good enough company for his son. Martha’s ambitious nature had been thwarted when she was young. She had been brought up in a large family, one of nine children, none of whom, in her words, ‘had amounted to much’. Being the eldest girl, she had often been obliged to stay home from school to help her mother with the younger children. As soon as she was old enough, she’d been sent from Over Haddon where she lived to Ashford to work in a small stocking mill there and that was how she’d met Walter Ryan, son and heir to the village candle maker. To Martha’s young mind, Walter, with his own business, would hold a respected position in the village. Pretty and vivacious, she had set her cap at Walter, sweeping aside any competition from the village girls and ensnaring him almost before he had realized what was happening. She had been a good wife and mother – no one could deny that – but from the day that her son had been born, she had become a boastful mother and soon the locals grew tired of hearing about how Josh had walked and talked earlier than any other child, how he could read even before he started school and knew his times tables by the time he was seven. Even then, she had firmly believed that her boy was going up in the world.
We’ll show Arthur Trippet, she told herself softly in the darkness. Josh will prove he’s ten times the man Thomas is. One day Josh will be ‘someone’ and where will young Trip be then? Nowhere, that’s where. But how am I ever to persuade Josh to move?
She lay there for a long time, twisting and turning as she thought over the problem. Sleep was impossible until she— and then she thought of something; something with which Josh could not possibly argue.
Her determination strengthened as she turned over onto her side, closed her eyes and pushed away her guilty thoughts. It would all be worthwhile in the end. What was the saying she’d heard? ‘The end justified the means.’ Yes, that was it. Well, the end of all this would be that her Josh would rise in the world. He would rise so high that he’d leave all the Thomas Trippets on this earth wallowing in the mud at his feet. But first, they were all moving to Sheffield and now she knew how she was going to bring it about.
Her decision made, Martha slept.
The argument raged on for days and into weeks. Emily watched as Martha launched a tirade of reasons why the whole family should move to Sheffield. She hardly dared to look at her father, whose ravaged body seemed to shrink even more. He hadn’t spoken since the day he had come home from France, but Emily was sure he understood every word that was spoken in his hearing.
‘Just think of the opportunities you’d have in the city,’ Martha persisted, trying to wear Josh down. ‘You’d have a skill and a job for life.’
‘I’ve got a skill now,’ Josh muttered, his normal happy-go-lucky smile wiped from his face.
‘Pah! Makin’ candles! And how long d’you think folks are going to want them? We’re moving into a new age of inventions that folk like us have never dreamed of. Candles will be a thing of the past, but cutlery and the like will always be wanted.’
‘You sure, Mam? Maybe some clever feller will invent something that feeds us without us having to use knives and forks.’
‘None of your sarcastic lip, my lad,’ Martha snapped. ‘I’m only thinking of you and your future.’
‘Candle making is the family business, Mam, a business that our Great-granddad Ryan took on and Granddad and then Dad continued. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘Not much, no. Not when it’s your future at stake.’
And then, Josh blurted out the news that he had been trying to keep secret, but now found impossible. ‘I’ve asked Amy to marry me and she’s said yes. We’re going to be married in the spring.’
Emily’s head jerked up. For a moment she gaped at Josh and then her attention focused on her mother. What would she do now? To her surprise, Martha was smiling smugly.
‘Has she now?’ Martha said slowly. ‘Josh, you’re seventeen and so is she. What do you think her father’s going to say to that?’
Josh shrugged. ‘I’m eighteen in three weeks’ time. Besides, her father’s all for it. He’s even said we can live with him.’
Martha nodded slowly. ‘Of course he’s
for it. It’ll keep her at home, won’t it? Looking after him. Oh, you’re the perfect match for her as far as he’s concerned.’
‘I’m the perfect match for Amy, an’ all.’
‘Of course you are,’ Martha said again. ‘Nice little business already going—’
‘Exactly. Now you’ve said it yourself.’
‘And how d’you think that little business is going to support two families?’
Josh stared at her for a moment and then was forced to look away. The income from candle making wasn’t vast by any means and some weeks the Ryan family only just managed to scrape by. If he married Amy, he would obviously be expected to contribute to their household expenses too.
Emily rose from her chair beside her father where she’d been sitting holding his hand and patting it absently as she listened to the quarrel. She’d kept silent until now. Pushing aside her own secretly held reasons for wanting to move to the city to be nearer Trip, she said, ‘We can increase output. I could have a stall in Bakewell Market on a Monday. We used to do that years ago. You ran it yourself, Mam, before – before the war.’
‘You keep out of this, miss. It’s none of your business.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Emily said hotly, ‘if I’m to go to Sheffield too. And what sort of job can I get? I only know candle making, like Josh.’
Martha rounded on her. ‘You can pick up a job anywhere.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Martha snapped impatiently. ‘But there’ll be plenty of jobs in the city.’ She turned her attention back to Josh and Emily knew that she was forgotten.
‘Listen to me, Josh.’ Martha’s tone took on a gentle, almost pleading tone. ‘Don’t you think I have your best interests at heart?’
At the expense of everyone else, Emily thought, but now she said nothing.
‘I know that, Mam, but I don’t want to go “up in the world”. I just want to be happy. And I will be – with Amy.’
‘She’s not the right wife for you. She’s no drive, no ambition. You could do far better for yourself.’
‘I love Amy and she loves me.’
‘And when did all this happen, might I ask?’
There was a moment’s pause before Josh muttered, ‘We’ve been walking out together for over two months.’
‘And you never thought to say anything? You left it to your sister to tell me and that was only yesterday.’
Slowly, Josh raised his head. ‘I – we wanted to keep it to ourselves.’
‘Because –’ Martha nodded knowingly – ‘you knew that I wouldn’t agree to it.’
‘No – that wasn’t the reason. I didn’t know you wouldn’t be happy for us. I thought you liked Amy.’
‘I do like her. She’s a nice girl, but she’s not good enough for you.’
Josh gaped at Martha and gasped. ‘That’s a horrid thing to say. Who on earth do you think we are to be so high and mighty?’
‘Nobody – yet,’ Martha said, ‘but you’re going to change all that.’
Josh shook his head. ‘No – no, I’m not. I am staying here and—’
‘You are not. You are moving to Sheffield and one day you’re going to make even the likes of Arthur Trippet sit up and take notice.’
‘You can’t make me.’ Josh was showing stubbornness that none of them had ever seen in him before and whilst it frustrated Martha, it filled Emily with pride and admiration. She’d thought she was the only one who ever stood head to head and argued with their mother. Now she was a mere bystander as Josh remained adamant.
But Martha had a trump card up her sleeve and now she played it.
‘You’re not of age yet, Josh. You’re not even eighteen. You need my consent to get married before you’re twenty-one.’
Josh stared at her, dumbstruck now in the face of her declaration, which he knew to be no idle threat.
‘You – you wouldn’t?’
Martha smiled as she said softly, ‘Oh yes, I would, Josh. It’s for your own good. I’m not letting you throw yourself away on the likes of Amy Clark when you can do so much better for yourself. Do you think Arthur Trippet would let his son marry Emily? Of course he wouldn’t and I’m not going to let you marry beneath you either.’
At her mother’s words, Emily’s heart constricted. It was like a physical pain in her chest. She’d never stopped to think for one moment that Trip’s family would be against their friendship, but now her mother was voicing it.
‘I shouldn’t wonder if that’s not why he’s sent young Thomas away to work – and live – in the city. To get him away from the village and prepare him for his rightful place in the world.’
Emily felt her legs weak beneath her and she sank back down into the chair beside her father. To her surprise, Walter reached out a shaking hand and put it over hers. She turned to face him with tears in her eyes and though he did not speak she could see his features working with emotion and the anguish in his eyes broke her heart. She knew that he understood every word that was being said, but was helpless to do anything about it. Though his hand trembled against hers, his touch and his obvious understanding comforted Emily, even though, in that moment, hope died within her. Emily loved and respected her mother, but she had always idolized Walter. He had always been a kind and loving father, never too busy to mend a broken toy, to join in a childish game or to bathe a scraped knee. Martha had been the one to discipline their children, to teach them right from wrong and instil in them the right values and morals – a good code of life – but it had been Walter who had brought fun into their lives. Sadly, now he could only sit and listen to the raging argument, unable to voice his point of view, at the mercy of Martha’s sharp tongue.
Josh was still not ready to capitulate. ‘Dad would sign for me. I know he would.’
‘No doubt,’ Martha said tartly. ‘But, even if he could still sign his name properly, which I doubt, who is going to take the word of a broken man against mine?’
Now Josh had no answers left – and neither, sadly, had Emily.
Daughters of Courage
Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven, and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape. Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by a number of further titles including Plough the Furrow, Sow the Seed and Reap the Harvest, which make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy.
Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county but in Tangled Threads and Twisted Strands, the stories include not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham.
Her most recent novel, The Buffer Girls, was a Sunday Times Top Ten bestseller.
ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
Plough the Furrow
Sow the Seed
Reap the Harvest
The Miller’s Daughter
Chaff Upon the Wind
The Fisher Lass
The Tulip Girl
The River Folk
Tangled Threads
Twisted Strands
Red Sky in the Morning
Without Sin
Pauper’s Gold
Wish Me Luck
Sing As We Go
Suffragette Girl
Sons and Daughters
Forgive and Forget
Jenny’s War
The Clippie Girls
Fairfield Hall
Welcome Home
The Buffer Girls
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My grateful thanks to Alison Duce, the Collections Manager at the Kelham Island Museum in Sheffield, for her valuable help and advice. And for his continuing support and encouragement my sincere thanks to Mike Hodgson, of Thorpe Camp Visitor Centre at Tattershall Thorpe, Lincolnshire, which is dedicated to the history of RAF Woodhall Spa and the squadrons that operated from the airfield during World War II. Thank you, too, to Steve Roberts of the Battle of Britain Memoria
l Flight reenactment group, whom I met at a 1940s weekend at Thorpe Camp. Our chat was extremely helpful – thank you.
A great many sources have been used in the research for this novel, but I must mention Sheffield in the 1930s by Peter Harvey (Sheaf Publishing Ltd in association with The Star, 1993).
Although in this book I have used real place names, streets and even actual buildings in both Sheffield and Ashford-in-the-Water, the characters and events in the story are entirely fictitious.
My love and thanks to my family and friends for their constant encouragement, especially those who read the script in the early stages; David Dickinson, Fred Hill and Pauline Griggs. And never forgetting my wonderful agent, Darley Anderson, and his team, and my editor, Trisha Jackson, and all the team at Pan Macmillan.
First published 2017 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-9090-2
Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 2017
Models © www.colinthomas.co.uk
Factory © Wolverhampton City Council – Arts and Heritage / Alamy Stock Photo
Girl in car © ClassicStock / Alamy Stock Photo
The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
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