He gave a howl of fury and brought the stool crashing down on to the table. The legs cracked and splintered. Rose jumped back in fright, nearly dropping the candle in its tin holder. Hot wax splashed over her hand and she gasped in pain.
John turned to her, clutching the remains of the stool. ‘Well, I’ve some’at to please you, you ungrateful bitch! You can make a bit extra out of our new lodger.’
‘What you talking about, you drunken fool?’
He glared at her in triumph. ‘Pat’s moving in with us.’
‘Pat?’ Rose repeated incredulously. ‘He’s not stopping here!’
John came at her, jabbing the stool at her chest. ‘If I say he is, he bloody is!’
‘No, John,’ she protested, fending him off. ‘I don’t want lodgers in the house with the lasses. We’ll manage on our own.’
‘With what?’ he cried. ‘There’s no more work at the pig carrying.’
Rose stared at him, horrified. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You heard,’ he snarled. ‘They’ve laid me off. The work’s drying up - the mill’s on short time again. It’ll be a hard winter, they’re saying.’
Rose’s heart thumped like a steam hammer. ‘When did you know?’
‘Week ago,’ John said, his shoulders suddenly slumping. He dropped the broken stool.
‘The money for the races?’ Rose asked bewildered.
John’s look was empty as it met hers. ‘I had a lend off Pat.’
Rose felt breathless. ‘And we’re supposed to pay him back by giving him a bed?’
John nodded. ‘And he’ll pay for his keep.’
‘Where’s he working that he can afford to keep the pair of you in whisky?’ Rose demanded.
‘Down Tyne Dock,’ John answered in a flat voice. ‘Loadin’ iron ore off the boats.’
She stared at his bowed, dejected head. The fight of moments before had gone out of him. She was filled with both sadness and contempt. He was once more at the mercy of slackening trade, turned away from work through no fault of his own; yet he had kept from her the gravity of their situation, turning instead to his drinking friends and wild dreams of Irish freedom.
When she managed to speak, there was a bitter fatalism to her voice. ‘Pat can sleep on the settle. If there’s work at Tyne Dock you can try for it too. Monday, you’ll gan down the dock gates with your brother.’
She turned from him, swallowing the bitter bile in her throat, and made for the stairs. She tried to stem the panic that threatened to overwhelm her - and the belief that they were finally heading into the storm the gypsy had predicted.
Chapter 34
On Kate’s ninth birthday, the schools broke up for the summer holidays. She brought two friends home, promising them cake and home-made lemonade.
‘There isn’t any,’ Rose said sharply to her eager-faced daughter. ‘I never said there would be.’
‘But we always have cake on me birthday,’ Kate said in disappointment.
‘Not this year - we can’t afford it. Why’d you bring the lasses here?’
She felt ashamed that she had nothing to give them apart from tepid water and bread smeared with dripping. Maggie had brought her eggs the day before so that she could make a cake, but John had ordered that she boil them for breakfast for Pat and himself. Rose had seethed with annoyance, but since Pat had moved in, John had been lording it over her. If she argued back, her husband would shout at her foully in language that she did not want the girls to hear. It was easier to bite her tongue and try to keep the peace, so long as Pat was their lodger.
With dismay she realised that John’s brother was very content with his new lodgings, being waited on by her and Elizabeth, receiving the largest share of their meagre rations. Yet the paltry amount he contributed to the housekeeping hardly covered the cost of feeding him, let alone the rest of them. There was too little left when he and John returned late from the docks.
Rose knew that the work was gruelling, shovelling iron ore from the boats for ten hours a day. The men would return home soaked to the skin from standing thigh-deep in cold and filthy water, their clothes stinking and stained red from the iron ore. For their efforts they were paid a mere three shilling and sixpence, but by the time they had stopped off at the pub on the way home, Rose barely saw half of it. She knew that for John these drinking sessions blunted his exhaustion in the way that quaffing beer at the puddling mill had done for her. But it was she who was left to dry off their work clothes while they demolished what food there was in the house and sent one of the girls out to fetch another jug of beer from The Railway. While Rose worried over how to make ends meet, she grew resentful of John’s drinking with Pat, especially when there was not enough to treat her daughter and friends to a plain cake for her birthday.
Rose could hardly bear to look at Kate’s disappointed face. She came to a swift decision. ‘You mind Jack for half an hour,’ she ordered, ‘and I’ll fetch some’at nice for your tea.’
At once, Kate’s face broke into a happy grin. She flung her arms around her mother’s thick waist. ‘Thanks, Mam!’
Rose fleetingly touched her soft brown hair before pushing her away. ‘Haway, you’d think I’d promised you the crown jewels,’ she protested in embarrassment at her daughter’s open affection in front of her school friends.
Kate laughed and turned to pick Jack from the hearth where he was sitting chewing on a stale crust. She hauled him into her arms and staggered outside, calling to her friends to follow.
‘We’ll play houses with our Jack,’ she cried. ‘I’ll be the mam.’
Rose grabbed her thick black cloak with its stiffly embroidered collar and hurried out of the house. Half an hour later she had handed it in to Slater’s pawnshop and received enough in return to provide a handsome birthday tea. From the co-op she bought ham and cheese, jam, scones and currant buns, as well as a large cherry cake - Kate’s favourite. She dithered over whether to save the remaining pennies to put towards the gas, then doubled back into the shop and spent them on ginger beer and lemonade. She’d worry about the bills next week.
Kate’s eyes bulged at the sight of the meal spread out for them that tea time and Rose could see with what pride she welcomed her friends to the table. Maggie called in with Mary and baby Margaret and was equally surprised.
‘Don’t say a word to John, but I pawned me coat,’ Rose whispered. ‘Just hope the weather stays fine for a week or two.’
Maggie gave Kate a pair of mittens she had knitted for her niece. ‘They’ll come in handy for the winter,’ Maggie explained, smiling at Kate’s baffled look. ‘And this is for you an’ all.’ She handed over a book she had traded eggs for at a second-hand stall in the town. Kate flicked through it; saw too many words and not enough pictures.
‘Ta, Aunt Maggie,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll let our Lizzie read it first.’ She handed it straight to her sister.
Rose could not help a wry smile. It rankled that her sister could give her daughter presents when she could not. But Kate did not seem to mind. Being able to share a feast with her friends, to have the lively company of her sisters and playmates, seemed enough for Kate.
The children went outside again to play and Rose enjoyed a quiet cup of tea with her sister, sitting in the doorway catching the evening breeze. Maggie was the first to hear them coming, the thud of boots up the lane. She jumped up and grabbed Margaret, calling to Mary to come.
‘I’ll go out the front,’ she said nervously. ‘Call up soon with the bairns, now they’re on holiday - they can give a hand in the field.’ She flung the words over her shoulder as she retreated out of the seldom-used front door.
Rose hardly had time to call a goodbye. Behind her she could hear John shouting at the children in the lane and Pat’s loud fog-horn laughter. For the first time it struck her how eager Maggie was to
avoid the McMullen men. She was always away by the time they marched in, cussing the girls and ordering her about like a skivvy. When Rose thought about it, none of her neighbours called in any more for a quick word or to help her on her clippy mat.
Something was changing under her roof. The family closeness and teasing intimacy of the past year had evaporated since Pat had moved in and John had gone to work at the docks. Now the place jarred with shouts and swearing, the sound of legs being slapped by leathery hands and the swaggering of drunken men. No wonder Maggie was quick to leave and others were frightened to venture over the doorstep. But Rose felt anger rather than fear, and it was directed at her overbearing brother-in-law. Pat was to blame for this. He seemed intent on creating discord between John and his family. She could smell the drink on them the minute they tramped in the door.
Pat shouted for Kate. ‘Come here, lass!’ he commanded. ‘I’ve something for you.’
Kate came to the door, glancing at her mother cautiously. Rose shook her head, but John waved her in.
‘Haway and do as your Uncle Pat says,’ he barked. He grabbed Kate by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen, pushing her forward. Rose tensed. He was growing too rough with the girls.
Pat beamed at her, showing the gummy gap where four rotten front teeth had been knocked out in a fight on St Patrick’s Day. He was shorter than John, stocky and thick-necked, his hair almost gone. His muddy brown eyes were frequently bloodshot from grit and drink, and his face was flushed and perspiring from the three-mile walk home.
‘Come and sit on me knee,’ he said, slapping his sodden thighs. Kate looked at him appalled.
‘Not while you’re still in those stinkin’ trousers,’ Rose intervened. ‘And you shouldn’t be sitting in the chair either.’
‘Stop fussing,’ John said with a dismissive wave of his arm. ‘Gan on, Kate. See what he’s got you.’
Kate edged forward and bravely tried to smile. Pat pulled her on to his knee and put his filthy arm about her. ‘Never had a lass of me own,’ he said, putting his head close to hers.
‘She might have nits,’ Rose said suddenly, and saw with satisfaction how Pat leant quickly away.
‘If she has, you’ll chop her long hair off,’ John said, irritated by Rose’s lack of co-operation. ‘Haway, Pat man, and give her the present. It’s from the two of us,’ he said proudly.
Rose watched dumbfounded as Pat pulled something from his pocket and placed it in Kate’s hand. It was a battered pack of playing cards tied together with string.
‘There, isn’t that grand, Kate?’ John prompted.
Kate nodded, a little unsure. ‘Ta very much, Uncle Pat. Can I go and play now?’
Pat laughed, squeezed her and planted a kiss on her lips that made Rose queasy. ‘Off you go then,’ he conceded. As Kate slipped from his knee, Rose saw the girl wipe her lips on her arm.
‘Don’t I get a kiss an’ all?’ John asked in mock hurt. Kate leant up and kissed him on the cheek, then bolted for the doorway where her friends and Sarah were watching at a distance.
When they had disappeared, Rose rounded on the men indignantly. ‘You didn’t buy those cards for the lass, you bought them for yourselves. So you two can play cards late into the night while you sit there boozing!’
John seemed taken aback by her outburst. He gawped at her in surprise. But Pat tutted and shook his head as if dealing with a naughty child. ‘Now, now, Rose Ann. A little gratitude, a little gratitude. That’s no way to speak to the man of the house.’
She was infuriated. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion,’ she snapped. Turning to John, hands on her ample hips, she berated him. ‘You never said you had any money spare for the lass’s birthday. We could’ve got her some’at she wanted - a spinning top like the other bairns in the street. What do you think it’s like for me, her own mam, having nowt to give her? I even had to pawn me coat to put tea on the table today! How long is this ganin’ to go on? With him sitting there like the Viceroy of India taking everything we have!’
Behind her she heard Pat tutting again and saying, ‘Haway, John, I wouldn’t stand for a woman talking to me like that.’
Rose swung round to give him a piece of her mind and that was why she did not see the punch coming. But an instant later, she felt as if an iron hammer had been swung against her ear. It exploded in pain as she staggered back, caught off balance, and went crashing to the floor, hitting her arm on the table as she fell. The half-eaten cherry cake toppled after her.
For a moment she lay there dizzy and wondering what had hit her. Her ear buzzed and throbbed with pain. She looked round vacantly, trying to remember what had just been said. Rose caught sight of John’s haggard, sweating face peering down at her. He was clenching and unclenching his fists. She stared at him in sickening realisation. He had hit her. He had dared to hit her, his own wife! Revulsion and shame engulfed her.
John stepped towards her and for a fearful moment she thought he would strike her again. She flinched from him, but he just stood looking over her, his eyes as hard as flint.
‘Rose?’ he growled. ‘Rose Ann! Get up!’
Just then, Elizabeth came in from the yard, Jack in her arms. ‘Mam, are you all right?’ She hurried over, plonking her brother on the floor.
Rose’s instant response was to cover up what had happened, to protect her daughter from the violence, to deny it had ever happened. She still could not believe that it had. Other women were beaten by their men behind closed doors, but not her! And not her John! He was a man with a temper, a fighter on the street maybe, but not the type to hit women. She had married a soldier, one of Lord Roberts’s brave campaigners, not a coward or a bully.
‘I had a dizzy spell, that’s all,’ she said, brushing off Elizabeth’s attempts to help her. ‘Hit me head off the table.’
The girl glanced up at her stepfather.
‘Aye, she fell,’ he mumbled.
Pat rose and came over. He looked down at Rose with a satisfied glint. ‘Should be more careful, Rose Ann,’ he said evenly, and she heard the mockery in his voice. ‘Come on, John. We’ve that meeting remember.’ He prodded the fallen cherry cake with his dirty boot. ‘There’s nowt left for us to eat here. I’ll treat you to hot peas on the way.’
Rose watched her husband hesitate. His jaw was clenched as if he were biting down on words that were trying to escape. But what he wanted to say to her she never knew. For with an impatient grunt, he turned from her and strode after his brother.
Rose stared after him, feeling some small flame of hope smother inside her and go out. Heavy-hearted, she dragged herself up from the floor. She felt light-headed as she stood, sounds from far off jangling in her ears. She touched the tender spot where John’s fist had caught her. The bruising was swelling. Elizabeth came with a cold damp cloth and held it to her mother’s face. After a minute Rose pushed her away and said she was fine.
Somehow, Rose managed to go about her chores without showing her pain or giving in to the tears that pricked her eyes. She retrieved the cherry cake and put it in the pantry. Kate’s friends went home and Rose packed the girls off to bed, only half listening to their chatter about what they would do with the holidays. Rose thought with a leaden heart how she would have to get them working rather than playing out in the street. Already her mind was grappling with how she would cope with this new situation. By the saints, she would not allow her family to fall apart because of Pat’s boorish, bullying influence!
Only when Rose finally collapsed into bed did she give in to the bitter sorrow that gnawed at her insides like a rat. She wept with humiliation and anger.
Bending over the cot where Jack lay sleeping untroubled, she hissed, ‘Don’t you turn out like those McMullens. Don’t you dare!’
Chapter 35
After John’s callous attack nothing was quite the same. Rose su
spected his outbursts were to satisfy his older brother, yet she was wary of his temper now. They desperately needed money and she saw no end to John and Pat’s spendthrift drinking. Yet she still resisted John’s attempts to have Elizabeth sent into service.
‘She’s not yet twelve,’ Rose pointed out; ‘it wouldn’t be legal. We’d have the priest on our backs for truancy.’ Usually mention of the priest would stop John’s badgering.
Over the summer she sent the girls up to Maggie’s to help in the field and sell vegetables around the town. They learned how to use the McConnells’ old sewing machine and made a few pennies mending and altering clothes for customers too. Sarah and Kate got jobs scrubbing doorsteps for the more well-off in the surrounding streets and Rose made elder-flower juice and sold it from their kitchen window.
But much of this extra income evaporated when the girls went back to school at the end of the summer. They continued to scrub doorsteps in the chill early morning before lessons, but with autumn came the need for more fuel and candles, and Rose’s debts began to mount. Yet still she stubbornly resisted pressure from the men to have Elizabeth sent out to work. She clung to the ambition that her eldest would make something of herself. The thought kept her going when she trailed to the pawnshop each Monday morning or chivvied her inebriated husband to bed late at night. Besides, Rose had grown to depend on her eldest for company as well as help around the house. She had taken the place of Margaret in her affections.
While she welcomed Elizabeth’s growing maturity, the signs of her womanhood were a cause for concern. Her daughter was tall for her age and bashfully pretty with her fair hair and soft skin. Increasingly she noticed Pat’s lascivious looks and the way he tried to touch her as she served him at table. Elizabeth had taken to carrying water up to the bedroom to wash rather than risk Pat surprising her as she bathed in front of the fire.
Rose wanted to talk to John about his brother’s unhealthy interest, but she dared not provoke another row over Elizabeth. It might only add fuel to his argument of sending the girl away rather than Pat. So all Rose could do was keep a watchful eye on her brother-in-law and protect her daughters from his groping hands and ribald remarks. How she longed for the day when they could be rid of him!
THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow Page 31
