Isaac was right, Ruth was a merry one, and not only was she developing nicely but the lads down at the works were beginning to notice. Not one but two of them had asked her to walk on the moor on a Saturday. Up to now she had refused, preferring to go on the monkey run with her friends from the umbrellas. This was a walk from the bottom of Duncliffe across the river and on to the green, and the lads and lasses would troop along in groups of three or four, to the green and back again, giggling and making eyes at anyone of the opposite sex they happened to fancy. Most Saturdays the lads from Warrentickle would join in the promenading, which didn’t altogether please the local lads who preferred to keep the girls to themselves. Fist fights were known to have broken out on occasions. Not that anything untoward ever took place – the girls were willing to do little except tease – but it was a way of eyeing them up for the future, and a means of congregating for a talk and a laugh and, if they were lucky, the odd kiss. The fun was increased by the excitement of avoiding being caught on the monkey run, and Ruth knew that if Isaac became aware of his daughter’s whereabouts all hell would break loose. All the girls had to embroider the truth slightly, so a plan was devised where each of them would say she was visiting another, one not too well known by her parents, and it was rare for anyone to be found out.
At the moment the monkey run was the highlight of Ruth’s week. She and Mary Hampshire would talk of little else as they assembled umbrella frames from Monday to Saturday and it was obvious that Lizzie was bound to find out. Lizzie had only once joined the monkey run, before George Crossman came to occupy her thoughts night and day, but she was worried about Ruth, particularly as an unsavoury bunch of lads were on the prowl around Cottenly, some of whom had arrived in the town to work on the dam, and others who had begun travelling up from Sheffield now the new branch line was in operation. Lizzie had a few words of warning for Ruth and was disturbed when her sister disregarded her advice. The closeness between the sisters had somehow evaporated now that George was on the scene.
As it happened it wasn’t a newcomer who captured Ruth’s interest, but the son of a local family. Walter Wray was employed in the wire mill down at the works and could be quite charming when it was to his advantage, like the night he first met Ruth Stanford. They met as they were both crossing the bridge, Ruth with Mary and another girl she had known from school.
‘Nice night,’ Walter commented, addressing himself pointedly to Ruth. She thought he was very manly with his broad shoulders and hairy arms showing beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves. ‘Lovely for a walk.’ He grinned.
‘Yes.’ Ruth blushed. ‘We’re walking along to the green.’
‘Mind if I join yer?’ he asked. Mary giggled; she was always giggling.
‘All right.’ Ruth shrugged. She didn’t mind as long as she and her friends stayed together.
Walter moved over to walk beside her and slid his arm round her waist. She felt the colour rise into her cheeks. It was ever so exciting being with him, even if the others were trailing behind. She could smell the manly scent of him, a kind of sweet, clean smell. She glanced up at him. He had the thickest brown hair she had ever seen, and the longest lashes. He caught her staring and grinned, tightening his arm round her narrow waist.
‘Do you live round here?’ Mary enquired.
‘Aye, up on’t Duncliffe.’
‘Oh! Do you live on a farm then?’ Ruth said, trying to work out which one. She could see all the way up to Duncliffe from her bedroom window.
‘No, the row just round the corner from the bottom.’
‘Oh.’ Ruth felt let down. The farms always looked so quaint, even though they were on the wrong side of the hill.
‘You live up Queen Victoria Street, don’t yer?’ Walter said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Oh, I’ve had my eye on you for some time. I make it in me way to find out the whereabouts of a girl if I like the look of her.’
‘Oh,’ said Mary, ‘so how many have yer got on yer list then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, but I can tell yer you’re not on it.’ Ruth thought that was unkind of him. ‘Can’t yer friends go somewhere else?’ he said to her.
‘No,’ she answered swiftly, ‘we came together, we stay together.’
Mary had taken the huff. ‘It’s growing dark,’ she said. ‘I think it’s time we were going. If I’m late me mother won’t let me out again.’
‘Nobody’s keeping you,’ Walter said.
‘Right then, we’ll be off,’ said Ruth.
‘No, I didn’t mean you.’ Walter looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ll see yer home. I don’t even know yer name yet.’
‘Then you’d better find it the same way you found my address.’ Ruth removed Walter’s arm and set off back along the track towards the bridge with her two friends laughing beside her.
‘That told him straight,’ Mary said.
‘Well, he shouldn’t have insulted you like that.’ Ruth paused. ‘Oh, but don’t you think he’s handsome?’
‘I don’t like him.’ The quiet girl spoke for the first time.
‘Neither do I,’ Mary agreed.
‘Oh, we just started off on the wrong foot, that’s all. After all it must have been embarrassing for him, with three of us trailing after him.’
‘We weren’t, it’s him who trailed after us. Anyway I still don’t like him.’
Ruth didn’t answer. She had liked the feel of his arm round her waist. She turned to see if he was still following but he had disappeared in the direction of the Rag. The Rag stood on the main street between the pawnshop and Miss Fiddler’s sweetshop, and it was said the public house would have closed without the pawnshop and the pawnshop wouldn’t have kept open but for the Rag. Her father had never set foot in either place, as far as Ruth knew, and she hoped Walter Wray wasn’t a frequent visitor either, because she liked him, she liked him a lot, and she couldn’t wait for next Saturday and the monkey run.
Isaac was happy to give his consent when George asked if he might marry Lizzie; in fact he thought it was long overdue the way they were carrying on. Not that he suspected George of having taken advantage of his daughter, but all the same he reckoned they’d be better off wed.
Lizzie looked a picture in a cream dress gathered at the hips and a large-brimmed hat to match, without a piece of second-hand material in sight. Isaac had been emphatic that no daughter of his was to be wed in anybody else’s cast-offs, and true to his word he had arranged an outing for the whole family in order to purchase anything anyone might need for the wedding. It had been a lovely surprise when he had suggested the trip, not just to Sheffield, but a whole day excursion to Buxton by train.
‘Our Lizzie’s leaving the family home,’ he said, ‘which is as it should be now she’s found herself a husband. Still, it might be the last chance I get to take my family out, all five of us together. So we’ll make a round tour of it, kill two birds with one stone, do some shopping and enjoy the scenery whilst we’re at it.’
They had set off early one Saturday morning, after leaving the key with Mrs Barrington next door, in order that she might keep an eye on the house and pop a bit of coal on the fire to keep it aired.
The girls were highly excited by the time they changed trains at Sheffield. Isaac pointed out places of interest on the way, and after a forty-minute journey the family arrived at Buxton. Isaac advised them to breathe deeply of the pure Derbyshire air in what he described as the highest town in the British Isles.
‘Just imagine that.’ Ruth was awestricken as they stood in the beautiful Pavilion Gardens. ‘Here we all are at the top of our country.’ She and her sisters were impatient to make for the shops, so Isaac handed over a pouch of money to his wife and settled himself down to wait for them.
‘If I’m not here when tha gets back, lass, I shall have taken mesen off to look at the baths and the pump room.’ He guessed he would have time to go to Matlock and back, now that Emily had been let loose at the shops with a bit of brass, and he
was proved right. The four of them were fascinated by the exclusive shops, not rowdy like the ones in Sheffield, but select and quiet. Emily realised why when she noted the prices, obviously set for people like the posh folk on the hill. However, Isaac had brought them and he was paying so she bought all that was necessary before they made their way back to Isaac in the gardens.
The train back to Sheffield was late, and by the time they reached the city their intended connection had already left. ‘We’re not going to let a little thing like that spoil a lovely day,’ Isaac said. ‘We’ll go and have summat to eat, pie and peas or summat, and catch the last train.’
‘Oh, our dad,’ Ruth exclaimed, ‘that’s the one they say all the drunkards go on after a night out.’
‘Be that as it may, we shall enjoy our trip no matter what.’
Then Isaac led them to a little restaurant, and it wasn’t until they arrived home and realised Mrs Barrington had long since retired to her bed and they were locked out that Ruth stopped giggling.
‘Tha’ll have to get down’t cellar grate, Ruth lass, and let us in,’ Isaac insisted.
‘Oh, I can’t, Dad, not in my best clothes!’
‘Take thi frock off then. I’ll turn me back and no one else’ll see thee at this time of night.’ It was the others who were laughing now, fit to burst, as Ruth took off her dress and slithered down into the cellar to go and open the door.
‘Oh, it has been a lovely day, our dad,’ Lizzie said, and knew she would remember it for the rest of her life.
‘Aye well, lass, as I said, it might be the last one we have all together.’ Lizzie smiled, but almost wished she was staying single, rather than having to leave this lovely, caring family.
The actual wedding day dawned with a sky as blue and clear as Lizzie’s eyes. ‘The sun shines on the righteous,’ Isaac said as he and Lizzie left the house for the short walk to the chapel. The small chapel yard was filled to overflowing with friends, workmates and puny, ragged children from the Twenty Row and Donside. Isaac was well prepared with a pocket full of pennies which he scattered for the eager children.
‘Eeh, lass,’ he said to Lizzie, ‘I bet there isn’t a Congregationalist in Cottenly or Warrentickle who hasn’t turned out to see thee and George wed.’ Then he turned serious as he said, ‘I know he’s a good lad, Lizzie, but tha knows it’s not too late to change thi mind if thar not sure. When tha comes back out of’t chapel tha’ll have made thi bed and tha’ll have to lie on it. There’ll be no turning back then.’
‘I don’t want to change my mind. I love George, for better or worse. I shan’t have any regrets.’
Isaac grinned. ‘Then we’d best not keep him waiting any longer. Let’s get it over with.’ He tucked his daughter’s arm through his and led her into the small, sparsely furnished chapel and towards the smiling faces of George, Emily, Ruth and even Alice.
‘Aye well,’ he said to himself, ‘that’s one of my little lasses grown up and leaving the nest. I only hope she’s as good a wife to George as her mother’s been to me.’
By the time Alice followed Lizzie into wedlock, Lizzie was already carrying her second child, and contented as the day was long. The circumstances this time were different altogether. For one thing, whereas Lizzie and George had begun married life in a neat but small rented house almost at the bottom of Queen Victoria Street, the end one in a row of six, Joe had saved a substantial deposit and was purchasing a semi-detached villa with a small secluded garden overlooking the green. Even the wedding reception was a more exclusive affair. Lizzie’s had taken place in the chapel lecture room, but Joe had booked a private room at the Rag Inn. He had also hired a photographer to take pictures of them all, standing to attention like a row of penguins. Alice’s costume had been bought from an exclusive Sheffield shop and though it had cost far more than the material Emily had used to make Lizzie’s dress, and though Alice looked smart as a mannequin, Isaac couldn’t help but compare her cold, dark beauty to the soft, warm loveliness of Lizzie on her day. He wished now he had thought of a photographer; he must remember that when it was Ruth’s turn.
Isaac frowned as he looked across at Ruth, pretty as a picture in one of Emily’s creations, and his gaze wandered to where Walter Wray was paying attention to another young lady, one of the girls from Alice’s office he shouldn’t wonder. There was something about Walter Isaac couldn’t take to. Oh, he was keen enough on Ruth, he supposed, but Isaac wondered if he was keen on a few others too, as well as his daughter. Besides, he seemed to spend far too much time here, down in the tap room, but what with young Ruth thinking he was some kind of Greek god Isaac was at a loss as to what to do about the situation. He just hoped the lass would come to her senses sooner or later.
When the reception was over Ruth made her way home with Isaac and Emily. She was feeling miserable, not only because Walter had been paying too much attention to one of Alice’s friends but because he had also consumed an enormous amount of ale and seemed to turn sarcastic by the end of the night. However, when Ruth had accused him of showing her up, he had become all lovey-dovey again and apologised, looking at her in a put-upon way. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that your sisters are both wed and going off to their marriage beds, and I can’t even get close enough to you for a kiss and a cuddle. We could go outside for a breath of air.’
‘I can’t,’ Ruth had insisted. ‘Our dad’s never taken his eyes off me all night.’
‘He doesn’t trust me, that’s why.’ Ruth had blushed, knowing that was true. In fact nobody at all seemed to approve of Walter. Lizzie thought he was too gushing to be genuine and Alice had given her a talking to about his drinking too much. ‘Tha’ll never have a nice home if tha marries Walter Wray, he’ll fritter every penny away. And another thing,’ Alice had stressed, ‘he has too much time off work. Too many hangovers I shouldn’t wonder.’ The awful thing was that Ruth knew they were right and yet she was besotted with Walter. He only had to look at her with those large, brown eyes and she was lost. Besides, he was more fun to be with than anyone else she knew. She realised, though, that Walter was now playing for sympathy. ‘Your family will never accept me, just because I haven’t as much money as Joe Jackson, and I don’t go to chapel like George Crossman.’
‘Oh, Walter, how can I convince you that it isn’t you personally? It’s just your drinking, that’s all.’
‘And don’t yer see why I drink so much, Ruth Stanford? It’s because I love yer and want to be with you so much it hurts, so I drink to take my mind off yer.’
‘Oh, Walter,’ Ruth muttered helplessly.
‘It’ll be different when we’re wed, you’ll see.’
Ruth’s eyes shone. ‘Is that a proposal then?’
‘Aye, it is that, and the sooner the better.’
‘But we’ll have to wait a few years, Walter, until I’m a bit older.’
‘I’ll wait, but I’m going to marry you, I’m determined.’
That was another thing Ruth couldn’t resist about Walter; he was so forceful, and she admired that in a man. She went over the conversation in her mind as they climbed the hill.
‘You’re quiet, Ruth. Is something the matter?’ Emily asked.
Ruth sighed. ‘Not really, it’s just that it won’t be the same now without our Alice.’
‘Aye, we’re all going to miss her,’ Emily said. ‘But she’s got a good man in Joe. He’ll look after her, we can count on that.’
‘It isn’t the same, though. It was awful without our Lizzie, and now it’ll be even quieter on my own.’
‘Eeh, but young Harry’s a credit to our Lizzie,’ Isaac mused. ‘He’ll liven the house up when he gets another year or two on his back.’
‘Oh, he’s a lovely bairn all right, and the image of George.’ Emily hoped Lizzie’s next confinement would go as smoothly as her first and would be the last for a while. She blushed as she found herself wondering how Alice would cope with the intimacies of marriage. Emily had never worried about Lizzie on
that score, but Alice was different. Oh, well. Joe seemed to approve of Alice the way she was and that was all that mattered.
* * *
Alice had worried for some time about her wedding night. Unlike Lizzie and the umbrella girls, she had never giggled and discussed the subject of sex, but no doubt Joe would know how to carry on and she would do her duty by him, however painful it might be. It was with some trepidation that she donned her lovely new silk nightdress and brushed out her hair. She sat before the dressing table mirror and began to plait her thick, dark tresses, then changed her mind. Joe had never seen her with her hair loose and it looked lovely against the pastel pink of the nightgown. She pulled down the bedclothes and climbed in between the pristine whiteness of the brand new sheets, and lay waiting, her heartbeat quickening as she heard Joe’s feet on the stairs. The candle flickered with the draught as he opened the door, sending shadows rising and falling on the newly papered wall. Joe stood gazing at Alice, transfixed by the sight of her, transformed by her hair falling in waves about her face. He had always thought her attractive in a severe sort of way, but now he recognised her as a startlingly beautiful woman.
Joe took off his jacket and trousers, fumbling as the latter became entangled by his shoes. He kicked them off, embarrassed by his state of undress, but Alice didn’t flinch. She watched him, mentally preparing herself for the ordeal to come. Joe walked round the bed and climbed in beside her, and only then did he remove his long underpants and kick them down the bed. He moved closer to Alice and thrilled at the warm silkiness of her gown. He drew her towards him and threaded his fingers through her hair. Her fragrance began to arouse him, a mixture of lavender and roses which had trimmed the prayer book she had carried in chapel.
‘Oh, Alice,’ he murmured, ‘I love you, lass.’
The Stanford Lasses Page 4
