The Workhouse Children

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  *

  Bertha Jenkins and Liza Townsend were getting on like a house on fire, and with the former working at the school, the latter took over the cooking and cleaning in the house they shared.

  Bertha was readying herself for work one morning when Liza said, ‘I believe there’s a property vacant over on “Flowers’ Fields”.’

  Liza Townsend’s eyes held a sadness as they met Bertha’s. ‘I suppose I should investigate the possibility.’

  Bertha felt the words pull at her heartstrings. Sitting at the table where Liza was reading the newspaper, she said, ‘Let me put this plainly… and I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, wench, but… you ain’t got any work, so paying rent will be a problem. Also, you don’t know any of the folk there, and it’s my thinking you’ll find it lonely. So, here’s what I thought. Why don’t you stay here with me?’

  ‘Bertha, you’ve been so very kind to me allowing me to share your house and not asking bed and board. I can’t impose on you further…’

  Liza’s words were cut short by a blustering Bertha. ‘Impose, my arse! You ain’t imposing on me! We get on well together, and God knows I need the company as much as you do. As for rent… you cook and clean, and I appreciate that more than money. So what do you say, will you stay?’

  Liza nodded. Both standing, they gave each other a hug, the first either had enjoyed in a very long time. It sealed their friendship tight.

  Bertha left for work and Liza resumed her reading of the newspaper. She was keeping her eye out for any work to be had, but there was something else she was looking for.

  Finding the article, Liza smiled as she began to read avidly. Fred Tulley’s trial.

  With no evidence or witnesses to prove his innocence, Mr Frederick Tulley was jailed for the murder of his wife, Ada Tulley.

  Liza lifted her eyes from the newsprint and stared into the flames of the fire.

  Liza still harboured doubts about what she’d done knowing it would be jail time for her if anyone discovered the truth. A picture of her little girl sprang up in her mind. These two people had robbed her of a life with her daughter. Knowing it was terribly wrong what she did, she still felt justified in her actions. The woman responsible for her child’s death was now six feet under, and the man who had not prevented it was rotting in a jail cell and would be there for the remainder of his life. Revenge was sweet, and Liza was going to enjoy its flavour.

  Now that justice had been done, Liza felt she could finally move on to what mattered to her most: her daughter. Putting aside the paper, she made her way out of the house. Walking into the Funeral Director’s office, Liza made her request. Could he tell her where her daughter had been buried?

  Jack Grindall said, ‘I can do more than that, Mrs Townsend, I can show you.’ Grabbing his hat and coat, he led her from the office.

  As they walked down the street to the little churchyard, Liza said, ‘Mr Grindall, I appreciate what you did for my Phoebe.’

  ‘Mrs Townsend, you are very welcome. It fair broke my heart that day in the “Spike” seeing you in that state.’

  Liza nodded as she recalled the last time she saw her little girl, and she felt the ache in her heart once more.

  Grindall went on, ‘I did the best I could for her, you know, she had a pauper’s grave.’ He saw Liza nod in acceptance as they continued to walk. ‘Well, there were no mourners and as I knew you couldn’t be there either, I said a little prayer over her.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Grindall, that was a very kind thing to do. Phoebe would have appreciated that, as I do.’

  Coming to the paupers’ area of the burial ground, Grindall led Liza to a small grass mound, the place he had laid the child to rest. As they both stared down at the spot, he heard again in his mind the screams of the woman now standing beside him. A chill ran down his spine as he thought then of his own five daughters and how he would feel if he lost any one of them.

  Placing a hand on her shoulder, he whispered, ‘Stay as long as you want, wench, and come back any time.’

  Turning, he walked away with a heavy heart.

  Clutching a handful of wild flowers from nearby, Liza knelt by the grassy mound. Laying the flowers on the grass, she stared with unseeing eyes. Silent tears rolled down her face as she lay down by the grave with no marker. Phoebe’s gaunt little face appeared in her mind as she relived the memory of their entrance into the workhouse.

  Liza had tried desperately to feed herself and her child. They had wandered the streets with no money and no home until eventually she had accepted the ticket from the Relieving Officer. She saw again Phoebe’s calm acceptance of being separated from her mother, no kicking and screaming like other children in the same situation. It was this calm acceptance that had chilled Liza to the bone. Phoebe had known her mother could no longer care for or protect her. In that moment, the last look they shared, Liza saw her six-year-old turn into a young woman way before her time.

  Silent tears became heart-rending sobs as Liza lay by the daughter she would never see again. The sobs racked her body and her shoulders heaved as she grasped hands full of grass. Drawing in a lungful of air, the wail that came from her soul seemed to last forever. Liza lay by her daughter’s grave all day and only moved when her tears slowly subsided and darkness crept around her.

  Kissing the grassy mound, Liza stood and stretched the stiffness from her body. Blowing a last kiss to the flowers on the grass, Liza turned and walked away. She had said her last goodbye.

  *

  Bill Rowley had visited Cara’s new acquisition in Broad Street, and now at home with the original drawings spread out on his dining table he scanned them carefully. Cara had told him of her plans for the building and it was his job to turn the massive old structure into light airy units. Each unit would house a different trade and once he had a list of these trades he would have a better idea of where each could be placed.

  The dividing up of the structure would prove more challenging to him than drawing up plans from scratch and he relished the task set before him. Dragging a blank sheet of paper over the originals, he began to plan section by section, constantly referring to the original for measurements. He noted the situation of doors and windows, and before long his ideas began to take shape. He envisioned dividing walls in place with doorways leading from one room to the next. Archways rather than doors to the inner rooms where they could steal daylight from the outer rooms. Large mirrors strategically placed would bounce the light to reach into corners. For trades that might need plenty of air, doors that could open top or bottom… similar to stable doors.

  As the plans took shape in his mind they were transferred to his drawings. Removing his small round spectacles, Bill rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired and his eyes ached but his ideas had him firmly in their grip. Replacing his spectacles, Bill grabbed his pencil and with renewed vigour returned to his sketches.

  *

  Sam Yale and Wally Webb, Cara’s foremen, were tasked with taking the names and original trades of each man in Cara’s employ. The young woman was astonished when told how many men she had working for her. Sitting in the parlour with the foremen, Gracie, Molly, Charlie and Daisy, she scanned the lists given to her. Gardeners, roofers, plumbers, painters and decorators, builders, boot makers, tailors, carpenters, cabinet makers, locksmiths, tilers… the list seemed endless.

  ‘Bill Rowley is drawing up new plans for the building in Broad Street,’ Cara said, ‘so he will know where to place each set of tradesmen. What we have to decide upon now is how to get these men set up in their respective trades.’

  ‘You can’t be thinking of spending more money, Cara, surely to God!’ Gracie was horrified.

  Shaking her head and with a smile, Cara answered, ‘What I propose to do is this… and I’d like your opinions, I thought to loan each trade a capital sum to outfit their workshop. It would then be up to them to draw in custom so they are able to pay rent for their premises. Naturally, there is nowhere near enough room for each man
to have his own workshop, so they will have to form co-operatives, as the women did with the baking stall in the market. Once the workshops are set to trade, I will give them one month rent-free. After that I will expect rent to be paid at the end of each month and on time. Sam and Wally as my foremen will collect the rent and keep a careful tally… that is, of course, if you are both willing?’

  Both men nodded.

  Gracie spoke again, ‘What if they can’t pay? What if they don’t get the custom?’

  ‘It will be up to them, Gracie, to ensure they do. Once the… building… is up and running I will ask the newspaper to write an article regarding the men’s achievements. I will place an advertisement outlining what is on offer there. Hopefully that will bring in some custom at the outset.’

  With everyone’s agreement, Cara said they would meet again with Bill Rowley when his drawings were complete.

  When everyone left to go about their business, Charlie remained behind with Cara.

  ‘What is it, Charlie?’ She asked.

  ‘I’m fifteen now, Cara, and I…’ Cara nodded, urging him to continue, but Charlie faltered.

  ‘You want a proper job? Not just labouring with the men?’ She asked. His nod gave her the answer. ‘All right, brother, have a think about what you’d like to do and we’ll see if we can make it happen.’ Cara smiled at the young man.

  ‘I want to be an architect like Bill Rowley,’ Charlie said simply.

  ‘I will ask him if he will take you on as an apprentice, how would that be for you?’ Cara asked.

  ‘Yes please!’ Charlie was overjoyed at the prospect. ‘I promise to learn all I can and show you how good I can be!’

  Daisy jumped up at his enthusiasm saying, ‘I want to be a baker. Gracie shows me all the time what to do so I can have my own bakery one day.’

  ‘That would be marvelous Daisy,’ Cara encouraged. ‘What will you sell?’

  ‘Cakes, bread…cakes,’ Daisy was thinking hard.

  ‘You said that already,’ Charlie interrupted.

  Daisy harrumphed and cast him a frown.

  Cara said quickly to dispel any forthcoming argument, ‘What about muffins and pikelets? Will you bake and sell those too?’

  ‘Yes!’ Daisy said as if she’d thought of it herself. ‘See Charlie Flowers, you don’t know everything!’

  Cara wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulder and beckoned to her younger sister to join them. Wrapping her other arm around Daisy she whispered to them both. ‘I love you two very much, and I know you will both be very successful.’

  Thirty-Nine

  As the finishing touches were made to the last block of houses on ‘Flowers’ Fields’, the men moved to turning the perimeter track into a cobbled street. The first chill winds of the approaching winter blew and the men worked fast before the ground froze hard.

  Daisy was helping Gracie to pickle onions bought from the allotment workers and Cara and Charlie were in the parlour with Bill Rowley and Martin Lander.

  ‘Bill,’ Cara said, ‘I have the greatest of favours to ask of you.’ Seeing his nod, she continued, ‘I wondered if you would take Charlie under your wing and teach him about architecture.’

  Rowley was not at all surprised by this request as the boy had been his constant companion on the old workhouse site.

  Spreading his drawings on the table, he called for Charlie to take a look and tell him what he saw.

  Charlie pored over the diagrams before saying, ‘Mr Rowley, if it were me I would move this window…’ he tapped a finger on the paper, ‘and put it on this corner wall, then another could abut it here,’ he tapped again, ‘letting in far more light.’

  Bill Rowley smiled as he nodded, ‘You’re right, Charlie!’ Taking his pencil, he amended the plan. Turning to Cara, he said, ‘Seems I have myself an apprentice… a good one too by the looks of it!’

  Charlie was beside himself with joy and sat down to scrutinize the drawings. He wanted to know where every wall, door and window was to be placed; he wanted to be on site when it all began; he was desperate to learn all he could.

  Whilst the two of them were deep in discussion, Martin took Cara’s hand and whispered, ‘My love, isn’t it time we made plans for our wedding?’

  Looking into his brown eyes, seeing the longing within, she said, ‘How does a summer wedding sound?’

  Martin’s grin lit up his face as he said, ‘It sounds wonderful to me!’

  Cara had committed herself at last and as she heard Bill and Charlie muttering together she tried to come to terms with the promise she’d made. Maybe by next summer she would feel more at ease about becoming Mrs Lander.

  *

  Before they knew it the autumn chill gave way to the driving bitter winds of winter. People of Bilston ventured out only when absolutely necessary; the coronation parties of the summer now a forgotten memory. Fancy straw boaters were replaced by thick woollen shawls draped over heads and pulled tight about the ears before being crossed at the chest and wrapped and tied at the back. Side-button boots replaced shoes and long thick skirts shielded legs from rain threatening to freeze. For men lucky enough to own one, overcoats were donned and cravats were exchanged for mufflers. Everywhere, chimneys smoked as fires were built up in the hearths, adding to the pall hanging over the town. Cab drivers draped blankets over their outdoor clothing in an effort to stay warm. Winter had come early and it was going to be a long and harsh one.

  The construction of dividing walls had begun on the new building under the watchful eye of Bill Rowley and his new apprentice Charlie Flowers. The cold wind whistled through the building as bricks were removed in readiness for windows to be installed. Steel lintels were put in place to take the strain of the roof over new doorways being marked out. Each area of the new building had been allocated to a different trade and each was clearly shown on the plans.

  Cara was thrilled when told everything would be finished before too long and the men could take possession of their units. Having already decided who would work with whom in their small co-operatives, all that was needed now was to get the place up and running as soon as possible.

  The newspaper office had sent a reporter to the site and he was writing an article on the work being undertaken. The reporter had interviewed Bill Rowley to glean as much information as he could knowing the populace would be very interested to know about Cara Flowers’ latest challenge.

  The reporter now sat in the parlour at The Laburnums. ‘So, Miss Flowers, tell me more about this new venture.’

  Cara raised her eyebrows and said, ‘I discovered the building some time ago. It was lying empty so I bought it.’

  ‘Just like that?’ The reporter was amazed.

  ‘Yes, I’m lucky enough to have a little money. Knowing the men would be standing idle again once ‘Flowers’ Fields’ was finished, I needed to ensure they had further work to go to.’

  ‘I see. Mr Rowley tells me the units will be up and running very soon.’ The reporter scribbled in a notebook as he spoke.

  ‘Indeed. Exciting, isn’t it?’ Cara laughed.

  Looking up, the reporter smiled at her exuberance. ‘This will be a rolling article…’ He saw her frown. ‘It means each week I will inform the reader of the progress made and of the businesses in situ. We can then have a grand finale article inviting the people of the town to visit, and hopefully spend their hard-earned money there.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful! Thank you on the men’s behalf.’

  ‘I will pop down every week to see how things are going and then I’ll be in touch about that grand finale. Maybe we can get a photograph of you on site and I can persuade the editor to put it in the newspaper with the article.’

  ‘Oh goodness me!’ Cara said all of a fluster. ‘I will be famous!’ She added with a laugh.

  ‘Miss Flowers, you are already famous,’ the reporter said as he waved goodbye.

  *

  Other than visiting her tenants occasionally to check on their welfare, Cara
found herself again with little to do, so wrapping up warmly she took her usual cab to the wedding shop in the town. Now was as good a time as any to choose her gown. The cabbie pulled the carriage out of the wind in the lea side of the building and settled down to wait.

  Cara entered the shop, which doubled as the owner’s front parlour, not at all enthusiastic about her shopping trip. Gown after gown was brought out for her inspection, none of which caught her eye. Eventually Cara explained to the shop owner what she was looking for and after having her measurements taken, and being shown a quick sketch of the finished dress, Cara left. The woman would make the gown and Cara would return for fitting sessions at a later date.

  Climbing into the cab, Cara thanked the cabbie for his patience and the carriage rolled back to The Laburnums. Once more by a roaring fire, Cara reflected on her achievements.

  The workhouse had closed and the houses on the site were all but filled. The cake shop was doing a brisk trade; her tenants were doing well and now the new building units were under renovation. Her brother and sister were living with her and she was at last planning her wedding. What was left to fill her time? With rents coming in from tenants, the allotments and soon the units, she could always buy up more property. She could get it renovated and sell it on to wealthy people. It was certainly something to consider. Then again, would she be expected to settle down and become a wife and mother? Cara sat by the fire to ponder the idea.

  Her thoughts turned again to ever increasing number standing the ‘bread line’ and she sighed loudly. Never mind the wealthy, it was the poor who still needed her help. She would find a way to aid them somehow.

  Her mind drifted to her mother and how the search for her had stalled. Cara didn’t know which way to turn regarding this. Mr Colley’s search of his records was fruitless so where could she look next? Cara had no idea.

  *

  Having prepared an evening meal for herself and her friend Bertha, Liza Townsend sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. So this was the young woman who had taken on the workhouse and won. Cara Flowers. In the depths of her mind the name rang a bell. Where did she know the name from? Maybe Bertha or Dr Cooper had mentioned it. Reading on, she spotted the names Charlie and Daisy Flowers, all siblings it seemed. Again the feeling came to her that she recognized these names, but she could not recall from where or why. Folding the newspaper, she sat with her tea and dredged her mind for clues.