The Workhouse Children

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘Oh! To be honest, Mr Lander, I don’t really know.’ Cara frowned. ‘Grandma would never speak of it.’ She bit her lower lip in an effort to beat off tears threatening to fall yet again.

  ‘If you can discover the reason, it might shed light on other things you may need to know,’ he said helpfully. ‘Your parents’ wedding certificate should list their occupations… it’s a place to start.’

  Cara’s spirits lifted slightly when Martin spoke again. He asked tentatively, ‘Would you like me to make an appointment at the workhouse on your behalf?’ Cara nodded and Martin pulled the telephone towards him. Gracie and Molly exchanged a look of abject horror.

  Thanking him, the women left his office and made for home, struggling against the icy wind that blew around their long skirts and coats. By the time they arrived, their noses were red and cold and their fingers and toes were tingling.

  Cara elected to eat her meal in the warmth of the kitchen with Gracie and Molly so they could discuss the day’s events.

  ‘So how did you feel about finding out that you were on the way before your mum and dad was married?’ Molly asked innocently.

  Cara stared open-mouthed. Molly shrank back into her chair frightened she’d upset the girl with her forthright question. Gracie slapped the back of the maid’s head and Molly cursed.

  ‘Molly, you are a genius!’ Cara gasped. The cook and maid shared a quick glance. ‘Don’t you see? If I was “on the way”, as you so delicately put it, before they married, that gives us an idea of a wedding date! We should be able to find their wedding certificate… which might tell us their occupations!’

  ‘Damn my eyes!’ Gracie said, slapping a hand on the table, making the others jump.

  Staying in the warmth of the kitchen, they made plans for the next day. They would again visit Josiah Colley; this time he would probably have more of an idea where to look for information on Cara’s parents and/or siblings.

  *

  Martin Lander sat in his small living room in his house in Alice Street which ran behind the ironworks. It was a comfortable two-up, two-down dwelling and it belonged to him. Working hard, he was now a junior partner in the business; he had his own home and now all he needed was a wife. He was in no hurry to be married, but as his thoughts roamed, he could not prevent the picture of Cara Flowers forming in his mind. She was a rare beauty. Hair like sunshine, eyes the colour of cornflowers. She had an innocence about her that added to her attraction. His mind moved to the challenge she’d been set by her wily old grandmother. It was a formidable task, one she apparently was undertaking with gusto despite being in mourning. Martin felt if there were any of Cara’s relations out there, she would most definitely find them. She had an air of sophistication about her too and he guessed she would not suffer fools gladly.

  He whiled away the evening hours thinking about ways he might be able to further help the beautiful Miss Cara Flowers. This was a lady he would like to get to know better. Besides her English rose beauty, she had an inordinate amount of money, which certainly added to the attraction!

  In his office the following day, Martin thought about his own ambition. He wanted to have his own suite of offices… his own business. If he could be instrumental in Cara having a desirable outcome to her search, this would add to his kudos. Once word was out about his successful case, more business would come his way. People would begin to request to see him by name. Then he could think about breaking free from the partnership and opening his own law practice. Happy to work towards his ultimate goal, he sighed contentedly and settled down to his work.

  *

  Cara was excited as she visited the Registrar for the second time. Once given an approximate date, Josiah Colley quickly found the marriage certificate of Elizabeth Selby and John Flowers. Cara saw her mother was listed as a housewife and her father was a carter. A carter… a profession where a man could travel many miles, visit many towns; her father could be anywhere. Elizabeth, a housewife – where? In Bilston? Or had she moved further afield with her husband? Where could Cara look next?

  Cara looked at the kindly old man who shook his head, then said, ‘I promise I will keep looking through my records now I have a better idea of what to look for.’

  Cara’s emotions fought with themselves as she walked home. Gracie and Molly had questioned her visiting the Registrar alone, but she had assured them she would be fine, she just needed to get out of the house for a while. One question had been answered regarding her parents’ professions, but that in turn had led to other questions. It was like being in a maze, unsure of where to go next.

  Much like any other town in the Black Country, Bilston had its shops and businesses. These were surrounded by great expanses of open heathland dotted with old coal shafts and disused collieries. The Great Western Railway sliced straight through the centre of the town and on either side of the tracks warehouses and factories had sprung up. To the east lay the semicircular Birmingham Canal with its many wharfs and basins. Connected to other towns by a series of smaller inland waterways, it was an essential means of transporting cargo… and gossip. The ‘cut-rats’, or canal people, would carry messages to and from their destinations for those unable to travel. Narrowboats and barges could be seen lining the wharfs or moored up in the basins night and day.

  Bilston sported galvanizing works, ironworks, brass foundries and a massive area given over to the stone quarries. The disused collieries remained a blot on the landscape, unchanged since the last man had left their employ.

  Bilston also had its pretty areas; the allotment gardens in spring and summer boasted flowers that could rival Kew Gardens. Lunt Gardens also provided benches where people sat to enjoy its beauty. Picnics were often taken by families and it was made into a day out for their children.

  Despite the many businesses trading, however, poverty and unemployment was at an all-time high. With collieries closing down, the miners found themselves out of work and standing in the ‘Bread Line’ every day in the hope of someone giving them a job. Many people were starving, some finding admittance to the dreaded workhouse preferable to death; while others took their chances away from that hellhole.

  Cara noticed nothing of the town she lived in as she walked back to ‘The Laburnums’, her mind preoccupied with questions that gave her no answers. However, she thought, maybe the workhouse will provide some information. Her eyes on the ground as she walked, Cara didn’t really hold out much hope of that.

  Four

  The workhouse had been built at the end of Green Lanes, not too far from the Infectious Diseases Hospital. Situated on the edge of the town, everyone knew where these buildings were, and with the amount of poverty, unemployment and illness, people considered themselves very fortunate not to be in either one.

  Very few had the money to pay for a doctor’s visit when illness struck and so home remedies were heavily relied upon. A mustard and goose fat poultice bound on the chest for ailments such as pneumonia or chest infections was often used, but it rarely helped with the illness it was believed it would cure. The winter months took old and young alike to meet their maker; it was the undertaker’s busiest time.

  Cara shivered, she couldn’t wait for springtime to finally arrive, when new life would begin in nature. However, it would mean more babies would be born. Most households had six to eight children, and with both parents working, it was often up to the eldest to see to the younger ones. With only two bedrooms, the houses were overcrowded, but still the birth rate rose ever higher.

  Cara, with Molly and Gracie flanking her, walked through the cobbled streets, dodging wagons and carriages on their way to Green Lanes.

  ‘I don’t fancy this one bit!’ Molly fretted.

  ‘Nor do I,’ Cara answered, ‘but I have to see. If you prefer, you can both wait outside for me.’

  ‘Not a chance, wench!’ Gracie was adamant they would go inside with Cara. It was bad enough having to visit the place, but for the girl to go in alone? No, she wouldn’t even entertai
n the idea.

  Passing the allotment gardens, they trudged over the scrubland that separated the workhouse from the town. At the end of Green Lanes, they saw the imposing building which stood behind two massive wrought-iron gates and was surrounded by a high brick wall.

  Through the gates they could see the workhouse itself. Built in a single-storey cross shape, there were exercise yards between each arm of the structure. At its centre was a two-storey dwelling – the Master’s quarters. This had windows on all sides so the Master could look down on each part of the workhouse at any one time. A huge oak door dominated the front wall of the building, with arched windows either side. What couldn’t be seen from the front were the outbuildings at the back. These were the bakery, the laundry and the mortuary. Further back still were the bone and stone crushing grounds, which provided work for the adult males. Chimneys sprouted from the buildings but were rarely used; coal was too expensive to be wasted on inmates. Just inside the wrought-iron gates was the small porter’s lodge. The building seemed out of place amid the poverty strangling the town. The whole had the grandeur of a stately home, but its reputation preceded it and people had been known to take their own lives before being forced in there. Some people would starve to death rather than accept the ‘ticket’ offered by the Relieving Officer which allowed them admittance.

  Drawing in a breath and casting a glance at the women by her side. This was Cara’s first visit to the awful place and her mouth dried out at the thought of entering. She, as many others, had avoided it all of her life. She looked around her then seeing the handle on the gate she took hold of it and pulled. A moment later a porter appeared from somewhere behind the wall. A short man wrapped in an overcoat that reached almost to his boots, he wore a flat cap and muffler round his neck. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets.

  The man looked at the three women standing at the other side of the gate. Dressed in their finest clothes, he determined they had come to buy a servant or two.

  Cara waited and the porter waited. Each watching the other, neither spoke. Exasperated, Cara eventually said, ‘I’m here to see the Master.’

  Doffing his cap, the porter pulled a ring of keys from his thick leather belt wrapped around his overcoat. Shuffling through attempting to locate the correct key, he grinned at the women, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.

  ‘Please be quick, it’s rather cold out here,’ Cara said, feigning impatience.

  ‘Tell me about it. I’m doing my best lady,’ the man answered indignantly.

  ‘How long have you worked here?’ Cara asked as the gate opened.

  ‘Fifteen years, man and boy,’ the porter said proudly, hoping it would impress the women.

  ‘Well, after fifteen years you should know which key is the correct one!’ Cara sniffed as she walked through the now open gate. Gracie stifled a laugh and Molly sniggered. The porter slammed the gate shut with a bang, muttering as he watched the women walk away from him.

  Giving the knocker on the door three sharp raps, they waited. Just being on the inside of the grounds gave them a shiver, and Cara wondered how long the doom and gloom she felt wrapping itself around her would last. The door slowly slid open to reveal a thin, pasty-looking woman. Standing aside to allow them entry, she then shoved the door closed. Hooking a finger, she beckoned them to follow her. They walked through the long cold corridor to a small room where the woman knocked on the door and promptly fled. The three exchanged a glance at the woman’s strange behaviour.

  ‘Come!’ A man’s voice boomed out.

  Cara opened the door and they trooped into the office.

  A burly man sat behind a desk with a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. A mass of unruly salt and pepper hair surrounded a fat face. Grey eyes looked over the spectacles at the women who stood in his office. Seeing their attire, he immediately softened his demeanour.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said with an affected charm, ‘what can I do for you?’

  Looking around her, Cara saw no chairs – obviously no one was invited to sit whilst in this room. ‘I am Cara Flowers and I have an appointment,’ she said as she looked back to the man slouching in his chair.

  As her eyes had roamed the room, she had noticed a glass-fronted cupboard which held an array of canes. Stifling the shudder she had felt beginning to rise, she continued, ‘I have come to enquire after anyone with the surname of Flowers that may reside here.’

  ‘Have you now?’ The man slouched further into his chair, his thumb and index finger rubbing his chin. ‘For what reason?’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you Mr…?’ Cara huffed, anger now replacing the nervousness she had felt on entering the office.

  ‘Tulley,’ the man said with a grin, ‘and you do have to explain yourself to me as you’m in my place!’

  ‘Mr Tulley, I am looking for anyone who might be connected to my family.’ It stung that he had won that round, but she maintained her confidence and bit back her anger.

  ‘There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Tulley grinned again. ‘I don’t think we have anyone of that name here.’

  Cara changed tack and smiled sweetly. ‘How many people are housed here, Mr Tulley?’ She asked, all innocence now.

  ‘Oh a couple of hundred, I would think.’ The man was enjoying seeing the shrinking violet in front of him.

  Cara nodded and his eyes widened as she leaned both hands on his desk and said, ‘You think! You don’t know… exactly?’ She leaned in closer, ‘And you know all of these people by name, do you?’

  Tulley blustered, ‘Well… no, of course not!’

  ‘Then I suggest you check the records… now!’ Cara let loose her anger before straightening her posture. Gracie’s nod added the full stop to her sentence.

  Snatching a large ledger from a drawer, the man dropped it on the desk top with a bang. He then ran his eyes and a finger down the columns. After what felt like hours he finally said, ‘We do have a Charlie Flowers here… boy aged twelve years.’ Tulley looked up. ‘No others.’

  Using his words of earlier, Cara said, ‘There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I’d like to see him.’

  Drawing an irate breath, Tulley looked like he might refuse her request, but Cara cut him off. ‘Now, Mr Tulley, unless of course you’d prefer I make a complaint to the Board of Guardians?’

  Throwing the ledger back in the drawer, he slammed it shut. ‘Follow me,’ he muttered.

  Cara’s excitement grew as they walked through the cold dark corridors once more to the back of the building. They entered a work shed which stood at the end of the exercise yard. There was little light and the boys inside were oakum picking – unpicking old rope with a metal spike. With fingers sore and bleeding, the children sat on the floor with nothing between the cold slabs and their trousers.

  ‘Flowers! Charlie Flowers!’ Tulley bellowed.

  A small voice called from the back of the room. ‘Yes sir?’

  ‘Here to me, at once!’ Tulley yelled.

  The young boy stepped forward and Cara sucked in a shocked breath. Rail-thin, pasty skin and dressed in rags, the boy stood before her, his eyes downcast. His mind was searching for a way out of whatever it was that awaited him.

  Turning to the burly man, Cara gathered her courage and said, ‘I’d like to speak to the boy in private.’

  Shaking his head so his fat jowls jiggled, Tulley spoke. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’

  ‘Then I request you move back, this conversation is not for your ears!’ Cara snapped.

  Tulley harrumphed and stepped back a few paces bumping into Gracie who stood behind Cara. Gracie pushed him away from her. Molly scowled at the man as he leaned forward in a desperate effort to overhear what was being said. With a grumble he moved back further still.

  Bending down in front of the boy, Cara whispered, ‘Charlie, I have a few questions for you, and it’s really important you answer them truthfully.’ Charlie’s blue eyes looked into hers and she went o
n. ‘What is your mother’s name?’

  ‘Elizabeth Flowers, Miss,’ the boy whispered back.

  Cara drew in a breath with a shudder and felt rather than saw Gracie and Molly exchange a glance. ‘Good boy, and your father’s name?’

  ‘John Flowers, Miss.’

  ‘Do you know where your parents are, Charlie?’ Cara’s excitement grew but she held it in check as she pressed gently. Charlie shook his head and lowered his eyes. Placing a finger beneath his chin, Cara lifted his head. ‘It’s all right, Charlie, you are doing very well.’ A thought flitted through her mind just then, was it possible her parents were in this dreadful place too? Cara sighed with disappointment as the thought left as quickly as it had come. She remembered Tulley’s words… ‘We do have a Charlie Flowers here… boy aged thirteen years… no others.’

  Gently she asked, ‘Now, do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  Nodding, the boy rasped, ‘A sister, Daisy, but he sold her!’ Charlie indicated with a tip of his head the man still straining to listen in to the conversation. Gracie and Molly turned to face Tulley and both scowled at him. Cara’s jaws clamped together. She was horrified and fought to keep it hidden for the sake of the child.

  ‘Good boy. Here, this is for you.’ Cara gave the child a toffee wrapped in pretty gold paper. The sweet was in his mouth before she could wink, a grin by way of thanks.

  Standing once more, Cara turned to the man watching her. ‘Mr Tulley, I want this boy released into my custody… today!’

  Stepping towards her, his piggy eyes screamed greed as he rubbed his whiskers. ‘Well now…’

  Cara held up her hand, forestalling his words. ‘Mr Tulley, please don’t play games with me! I’m not sure how this works, so I suggest we all retire to your office where we can sort this out.’ Turning to Charlie once more, she added, ‘Charlie, please come with me.’

  The boy nodded and moved closer to the young woman who had given him the toffee.