The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘Come on in, Joseph,’ she called as he opened the door. ‘Sit yerself down, my love.’

  ‘I’m not staying, Auntie. Mam sent me to see if you feel like going on a picnic. She says we can paddle if we go up Warrentickle way.’ He edged a bit closer to the table where a game of happy families was in progress. ‘It’s shallower up there.’

  ‘Oh, can we, Mam?’

  ‘Let’s, Mam, please.’

  ‘Can I swim?’

  Joseph laughed as his cousins bombarded Auntie Lizzie for an answer.

  ‘Well, I don’t see why not. Providing you’re good,’ she added, welcoming the chance to bribe them into behaving.

  ‘Right, then. I’m to go and ask Auntie Ruth if they’re coming as well.’ He hoped Uncle Walter was at work; he didn’t fancy a mouthful of cursing from him. ‘Are yer coming with me, Harry?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘OK.’ Harry closed the book he was reading rather reluctantly, and tucked it under his arm in case he got a chance to read it on the way.

  ‘What time are we going?’ Olive asked and wondered what they could take to eat. There wasn’t much of anything, it being the day before pay day. It would probably be bread and jam, or lard. She would help her mother to make the sandwiches.

  ‘We’re setting off at three. Mam says we’ll meet by the bridge, oh and not to bother about food, she’s packing enough for us all.’

  Olive noticed the relief on her mother’s face. The little ones were skipping with excitement. Jimmy found a ball and a battered old cricket bat and started to practise batting.

  ‘Stop it, don’t be so daft,’ Olive chided. ‘You nearly knocked the ornaments off the dresser.’

  ‘Go and wash your faces, all of you, or we shan’t go,’ Lizzie threatened, and they began pushing each other to get to the sink. ‘There isn’t a water shortage,’ she called. ‘And don’t forget to use the soap.’ She set about raking the fire. If she popped some scrubbed potatoes in the oven now, they’d just about be done for George on his arrival home from work. She frowned at the meagre fare and wished there was some meat, but there was plenty of good grist bread to go with them, and one thing about George, he never complained. She changed Ernest’s nappy, coating him liberally with baby powder, before cuddling him and laying him in his pram.

  Joseph and Harry kicked at a stone all the way to Ruth’s. Joseph hated Wire Mill Place and felt sorry for Billy, especially when the lads at school belittled him for living there. Once Billy couldn’t go to school for a week because the bugs had come through from next door and covered them all with huge, red bites. Auntie Ruth had kept him away until they had disappeared rather than let him be bullied. Then she had sprinkled DDT all round the skirting boards in an effort to be rid of the horrible, brown, bloodsucking pests.

  ‘I hope he’s not in,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t like him, especially when he’s drunk.’

  ‘I don’t like him when he’s sober either,’ Joseph agreed. ‘He’s a pig.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Don’t let yer mother hear you say that.’

  ‘I don’t care if she does. In fact she can’t stand him either.’

  Ruth for a change had brought a chair outside and was watching the twins playing in a pile of soil Billy had loosened for them to dig in with a spoon. Some of the little ones from next door had joined them, one wearing nothing but a grey-looking vest and the other, a pretty, curly-headed little girl, looking as though she’d never been in a bath since the day she was born. Harry wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of urine. Ruth welcomed the invitation to get away and hurriedly set about washing the little ones with a flannel and brushing their hair. Nobody could accuse Auntie Ruth of not keeping them all clean. Joseph had heard his mother praising her for the way she coped against the filth and grime of their surroundings many a time.

  ‘Where’s our Billy?’ Joseph popped his head round the door in search of his cousin.

  ‘Over at Mr Baraclough’s, shovelling in the coal. They had a delivery this morning.’ She frowned at the thought of her son doing the back-aching work of an adult. ‘He should be back any minute.’

  ‘So he’ll be coming with us then?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t go without him.’

  ‘Goody.’ Joseph liked his cousin, who was always optimistic and joking. Billy never let anything get him down. ‘We can have a better game if there’s more of us.’

  Harry thought he would prefer to find a quiet place under the trees and read his book but knew he would be called a spoilsport if he suggested such a thing. ‘I should think he’ll be too hot and exhausted if he’s just got the coal in,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, not our Billy. He’s strong as a horse,’ Joseph said, causing Ruth to smile proudly. ‘Right then, we’ll be off. Mam says to meet by the bridge at three. Oh, and she’ll bring enough food for everybody.’

  Ruth felt relief wash over her. Sometimes she wondered what she’d do without Alice, and to think she’d considered her selfish at one time. But that was before she’d met Joe. She supposed it was love that had changed her sister, just as it had changed herself – made her hard and bitter in a way. But then, it hadn’t been love which had changed her. It was only when the love had turned to hatred that she had changed, and only towards him; she would never change towards her children. She would be a loving mother to her children and not even Walter Wray would change that. She hoped Billy would be back in time; if not they would follow on later. She wondered anxiously what Walter would say if he arrived home before they returned. He never came straight home without calling at the Rag, so it was unlikely that he would, but if he did she would just have to bear the consequences. She had made a pot of tripe and onions which would only need warming. He could pop it in the oven if she wasn’t back; it wouldn’t hurt him for once. All the same she couldn’t help worrying as she cleaned the twins’ down-at-heel shoes, worrying too about what to do when their feet outgrew them, which would happen in the next few weeks. She combed her hair in the mirror, cracked by a pint pot thrown at it in one of Walter’s rages. Examining her reflection, she thought it was a miracle she wasn’t grey and lined with all the worrying she did, but no, although she wasn’t at all vain Ruth knew her skin was soft and unblemished and her hair still as glossy as ever – both due no doubt to the concoctions Old Mother brought with her on every visit, such as rose and myrtle water, and oil of almonds. Ruth would repay her by doing the old lady’s washing free of charge. She worried about Old Mother, who had startled her on one of her weekly calls by turning all dizzy and almost fainting. The old woman had laughed it off and blamed the heat but Ruth knew it was something more than that. ‘Hot weather and old age don’t mix,’ she had laughed after the dizzy spell had passed. Ruth wondered how old she actually was but hadn’t liked to ask. ‘What I need is a drop of summat to buck me up.’ Old Mother’s eyes had searched the kitchen, but she knew without being told that if any spirits had been available she’d have been welcome to them. Come to think of it, any spirits would have been downed by Walter Wray before they ever reached Wire Mill Place.

  Ruth had mentioned Old Mother’s queer turn to Lizzie, who had given Olive the task of calling every day after school to see if Old Mother was in need of any assistance. Olive had accepted the job eagerly. She had always been fascinated by the tiny cottage with the mysterious odours and the row upon row of earthenware pots, each containing oils and spices. The low, beamed ceiling was almost hidden by bundles of herbs hanging to dry. Old Mother would explain to Olive what each of them could be used for and then she would totter out into the garden along the river bank and show her young namesake where to find them growing. Olive was so interested, she had saved her Saturday pennies and bought a notebook in which she could enter a description or a sketch of each plant and a list of things it could be used for. One day she had heard Auntie Lucy Crossman complaining about a weakness of the bladder and recommended she take a spoonful of dried parsley every morning. After a week Auntie Lucy had thanked Olive and laughingly t
old her the chamber pot had been allowed to cool down at last.

  Old Mother liked nothing better than to sit on the settle beside the fire chatting to Olive about the old days. Gradually the past was being pieced together like a jigsaw, and Old Mother was letting slip things which no one else in Cottenly knew about. Olive now realised that Old Mother was not as poverty-stricken as everybody thought. Her real name was Olive Burlington and her father had been an educated man and a pharmacist. Mr Burlington had employed a governess to assist with his daughter’s education, and then to his dismay she had suddenly fallen deeply and passionately in love. Unfortunately a child had been conceived and the lover had tragically died of typhoid before the wedding day arrived. Olive Burlington had lost not only her lover and her stillborn child but her family too, when her shamed father had disowned his only daughter. Olive was still waiting to hear what happened next, but no more information had been disclosed as yet, and the girl never asked. Neither did she tell anyone about Old Mother’s stories. Somehow it made her feel closer to the old lady.

  Billy arrived back in time for the picnic, his body covered in coal dust and sweat, which had washed clean bits on his cheeks as it had trickled from his forehead, and soaked his thick, wavy hair.

  ‘Oh, Billy, you could do with a bath, love,’ Ruth told him anxiously. Billy grinned, found an old towel and a block of brown carbolic soap and announced himself ready for the picnic. ‘I’ll have a bath in the river,’ he said. ‘It’ll cool me down. I can wash me shirt while I’m at it. It’ll soon dry in the sun.’

  ‘Come on then.’ Ruth smiled. ‘Let’s not keep the others waiting.’

  ‘Nic nic.’ Frankie liked new words. ‘Nic nic.’

  Sadie gazed at her brother with large, solemn eyes. She was the only one of the three who looked like her father, but fortunately her temperament was as placid as Walter’s was violent. ‘Sadie, nic nic.’ She always repeated everything her brother said or did and it was uncanny how, if one of them had a pain, the other one would be out of sorts until the other was well again.

  ‘Picnic,’ Ruth corrected. ‘Come on, into the pushchair. Your turn first, Sadie. You can help me push, Frankie, and change over halfway.’ The pushchair was Ruth’s pride and joy, given to her by Annie Hampshire, who had made up her mind that she and Sammy would have no more babies. Annie had had her fun with one or two boys, including the Irish contractors, but Sammy had always been there on the sidelines and it was to him Annie turned when she decided she was ready to settle down. Mary said they were the ideal couple and an adorable little girl had made their happiness complete. Mary on the other hand was still fancy free and Ruth couldn’t help envying her best friend her freedom and the fashionable clothes she always wore. However, Mary, who spent her evenings out dancing or at the cinema over in Warrentickle, passed on any unwanted garments to her and was always buying something or other for the children, brushing aside Ruth’s protests by declaring that nobody would ever accuse her of neglecting her godchildren. Today Ruth was wearing one of Mary’s blouses and felt no shame at doing so. In fact she knew she looked lovely in the pink cotton with the puffed sleeves and the Peter Pan collar.

  It was lovely on the river bank, away from the town. Tiny streams trickled into the river proper, and it was near one of these that the picnic spot had been chosen, so that the little ones could paddle in safety and the older ones practise swimming, with Joseph supervising and showing off his breaststroke, taught to him by his father on holiday in Scarborough last year.

  ‘Oh, it is lovely to get away from the smoke and get some fresh air into our lungs.’ Ruth breathed deeply and stretched out on the grass slope, lifting up her skirt so the air could cool her legs.

  ‘By but it’s hot though,’ Alice said, fanning herself with a frond of bracken.

  ‘No wonder, with that dress on,’ Lizzie admonished her. ‘Haven’t you got any summer ones?’

  Alice coloured. ‘I’m right enough. I’m not one for flouncy, flowery things.’

  ‘Well no, but you’d be much cooler in something cotton. I’ll bet you’re wearing corsets as well.’

  Alice changed the subject. ‘Look at that butterfly over there. Right by thi side, our Ruth.’

  Ruth turned her head and the red admiral took flight. ‘I wish I was a butterfly,’ Ruth mused out loud, ‘flitting about amongst the moonpennies and the clover, away from the muck and the washing and ironing.’

  ‘I’m afraid tha made a life of drudgery for thiself, the day tha got wed, lass, there’ll be no escaping. Though I’ve told thee often enough if he ill treats thee, tha must come to us.’

  ‘No, Alice. Thanks for the offer, but I won’t run away.’

  ‘But you’ve only one life, Ruth love.’ Lizzie frowned. ‘You can’t waste it being miserable.’

  ‘Something will turn up.’ Ruth smiled and chewed on a blade of grass. ‘I have faith in Mother Buttercup. She’s usually right.’

  ‘Why? What did she say?’

  ‘It was the day she delivered the twins.’ Ruth assumed the voice Old Mother used. ‘“Their father’ll not live to see them growed.” That’s what she said.’

  The three women watched the frolicking children in silence. The drone of a bumblebee and a black-bird’s song vied with each other against the flapping ripples of the flowing river. Suddenly the sound of a horse’s hooves echoed from the path along the top of the bank.

  ‘Mam, mam, it’s the ragman. Can we go and meet him?’ little Jimmy called.

  ‘Well, so long as you don’t make a nuisance of yerselves, I suppose so,’ Lizzie answered. The youngsters, bare-footed and wearing nothing except pants, or in Bessie’s case with her frock tucked down her knickers, ran hell for leather along the bridleway, shrieking and laughing. When they returned they were riding either on the cart or astride the docile grey horse, held securely by Jack Dolan’s capable arms.

  ‘Afternoon, ladies,’ he called as they drew level. ‘It’s OK for some, nothing to do but lie in the sun. Though I must say, the sight of three pretty things like yerselves brightens up the day for the likes of us working men.’

  ‘Flattery’ll get yer nowhere, Jack Dolan,’ Alice called, but she was laughing all the same.

  ‘Oh well, that’s a shame, but there was no harm in trying.’ He lifted the youngsters down and produced a bag of jelly babies, handing them round the little ones and counting out some for the older ones.

  ‘Let’s see, how many of you are there altogether?’

  ‘Nine,’ Bessie answered, ‘not counting Ernest Edward because he’s too little.’

  ‘Good Lord, it’s like the Sunday school outing.’ Jack laughed.

  ‘You’re only jealous, Jack Dolan,’ Ruth chided. ‘It’s time you had a couple of yer own by now.’

  ‘I need a woman first, lass.’ Jack laughed again. ‘And as all the best-looking lasses are spoken for it looks like I shall have to remain a poor, lonely bachelor.’ The crestfallen look he put on his face caused the sisters to moan in sympathy, before they all burst into laughter. Then the man slapped the horse’s rump and continued his journey. ‘So long, ladies. Be seeing yer.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a roll in his haystack,’ Ruth commented after he was out of earshot.

  Alice looked shocked. ‘Ruth Stanford, thar a married woman and don’t thee forget it. Besides, I’d have thought tha’d have had enough of men.’

  ‘I’m Ruth Wray, not Ruth Stanford, more’s the pity, and you’re right, I don’t care if I never sleep with another man ever again.’

  ‘Well, I’d certainly miss sleeping with George. Well, not sleeping, exactly – it’s what we do before we go to sleep that I’d miss.’ Lizzie blushed as she realised what she’d said, in front of Alice as well.

  Alice’s face was redder than her own. ‘Aye, I must agree with thee. I’d miss sharing my bed with Joe.’

  ‘Alice?’ Lizzie’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Are you and I talking about the same thing?’

  ‘I reckon so. I can’t t
hink of owt else a husband and wife would do before they go to sleep.’ She grinned. ‘Unless it’s reading in bed.’

  Lizzie sighed. ‘Oh, it is good to be with you both, talking like this. We should get together more often.’

  Only Ruth looked troubled. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she muttered. ‘Besides, the bloody midges are biting something shocking.’

  ‘If tha doesn’t pull thi frock down, they’ll be biting up thi bloomers,’ Alice warned, and even Ruth laughed.

  ‘It’s been a lovely picnic. Thanks for bringing the food, Alice. It was really good.’

  ‘There’s still some sandwiches left. Take them home – they’ll only be thrown to the ducks otherwise, and I think they’ve had enough today. They’ll be sinking if the kids have their way.’

  It was turning dusk as they wended their way along the bridlepath, tired and well fed, and happy that tonight the kids wouldn’t need to be coaxed into being washed. They were all spotlessly clean, except little Ernest Edward, who was sleeping soundly, full of good, fresh Warrentickle air, and, as Old Mother had once said, without a thought in his head to worry about.

  Ruth knew she would pay the price for her afternoon out when she saw that the door was open and Walter was already home.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she muttered to herself and Billy glanced anxiously at her.

  ‘Well! And where do you think you’ve been?’ Walter wasn’t shouting, which meant he must be sober, but the quiet tone of his voice sent shivers down Ruth’s spine.

  ‘We’ve been on a picnic up the river, haven’t we, Billy love?’