by Irene Carr
She rolled off the bed and shivered in the chill of the room, but pulled the nightdress over her head then washed in the bowl of water under the window. She dressed quickly, taking her old, worn clothes out of the box. Her new ones had been hung up behind the curtain by Bessie the night before. Chrissie knew they had to last and would only come out again on Sundays. She ran a comb through her hair, seeing herself in the mirror of the dresser, big eyed with nervousness. She wielded the comb quickly because she could hear the house already alive around her.
Out on the landing she saw the doors to the lodgers’ room and that of the boys were open and the rooms were empty. At the turn of the stairs was a window that looked out over the yard at the rear. She glanced out of this in passing and saw Daniel Milburn and his five sons already hard at work. They earned their living as hawkers, selling fruit and vegetables off horse-drawn carts going from street to street.
Now they were mucking out the stalls of the horses by the light of two flaring gas lamps in the yard and lanterns hung up in the stables. These stretched along the right-hand side of the yard. The midden was a walled enclosure sticking out from the stables, with a hatch from the stables leading to it. Steam rose from the muck forked out through the hatch into the midden. At the far end of the yard was the gate, still closed, and down the left-hand side were ranked the flat carts that would carry the fruit and vegetables.
Chrissie took in all this activity, the whistling, singing, calling young men going briskly about their work and the leather-lunged Daniel bawling orders at them: ‘I want Benjy today! I’ve got a big load and I’ll need him for the hills! Topper wants feeding but she’s not goin’ out wi’ that bad leg! Ronnie! What the ’ell ’ave you been doin’ all this time? You should ha’ finished that stall ten minutes ago!’ Chrissie remembered that Ronnie, fair haired, slim and tall for his age, was the youngest of the boys, just fifteen.
She went on, running down the stairs and into the kitchen. She fetched up beside buxom, red-cheeked Bessie Milburn who stood in front of a glowing fire. A big black iron frying-pan was balanced on the hob, hissing as rashers of bacon were spread across it. The huge kitchen table was set with places for a dozen. The lodgers, four men in well-worn overalls, sat at one end. They sipped at steaming mugs of tea cradled in their hands, enjoying early morning taciturnity. But then one of them grinned at Chrissie and said, ‘Hello, young ’un.’
Chrissie answered breathlessly, shyly, ‘Hello.’ Then asked, ‘Good morning, Aunt Bessie. Can I help?’
The woman glanced down at her and smiled. ‘You’re looking to have a bit more colour this morning. Aye, you can cut some bread. There’s the loaf and the knife.’
‘How many slices do you want?’
‘Just keep cutting till I tell you to stop.’ Then Bessie warned, ‘And I don’t want any o’ your fingers lying about on my clean table, so watch yourself!’
Chrissie sawed until the loaf lay across the board in slices and Bessie called to her, ‘Chrissie! Pass these plates!’ And she took the hot plates in turn, with an oven cloth to protect her small hands, laying one in front of each lodger. They reached for the bread she had cut and attacked the bacon and eggs in front of them. There was a rumble of talk and noisy splashing in the scullery that led off the back of the kitchen. Daniel and the boys had come in and were washing in the sink out there.
Bessie called, ‘We’ll want more bread, Chrissie.’ And as the girl began sawing at a fresh loaf Bessie set more mugs of hot tea on the table for her family.
They entered, the stocky Daniel grumbling, ‘You’ll have to wake your ideas up, my lad. You do bugger all if I’m not chasing you.’
Ronnie, of a height but only half Daniel’s width, protested, ‘I do my share! I did it this morning and you were only there at the finish!’
‘And you took your bloody time about it! You’ve got no interest in the job! You don’t try!’
‘I don’t want to muck out horses and shout round the streets selling taties! Mr Gorman says I could get an apprenticeship in Ballantyne’s yard.’
Daniel glowered at one of the lodgers. ‘He does, does he? Well, Joe Gorman isn’t your father. I am, and this business was always good enough for me and I’ll say where you work for your living. Now eat up. You’ve wasted plenty of time today as it is.’
Chrissie handed out more hot laden plates, this time to Daniel and his sons. The lodgers drained their mugs, wiped their mouths on the backs of their hands, pushed back their chairs and stood up. Chrissie threaded her way between them as they picked up their ‘bait’, the packets of sandwiches for their midday meal that Bessie had prepared the night before. They lifted jackets off the backs of their chairs, shrugged into them and clattered off down the passage, wrapping mufflers around their necks and pulling on caps as they went.
Bessie winked at Chrissie. ‘That’s one lot gone.’
Daniel growled, ‘We’ll be out o’ your way soon enough.’ Then he, too, closed one eye at Chrissie.
It was not long before he and the boys were out in the yard again in the first light of day, backing the horses into the shafts of the carts then driving them out of the yard one by one.
Bessie said, ‘They’re off to the market, then on to their rounds.’ She patted Chrissie’s shoulder and told her, ‘You can cut some more bread, but this time for us. Then sit yourself down.’ And they ate together.
When they had done Bessie said, ‘No school for you today. It’ll give you a chance to settle in.’ She looked down at the face turned up to her.
Chrissie asked, ‘Can I go on Monday?’
Bessie, surprised, said, ‘I expect you can but you may as well stay at home today.’ She went on, ‘It’s going to be nice, having a lass in the house, a change from all these men. You could help me a bit about the place if you like.’
The solemn face broke into a smile and Chrissie said, ‘Yes, please.’
‘And we’ll start with the washing up.’
They worked together through the day and when the men came home in the early evening, Daniel last of all as usual, Chrissie helped serve the dinner.
That formed the pattern of the weekend. Bessie talked to the girl but Chrissie only answered politely, ‘Yes, Aunt Bessie,’ ‘No, Aunt Bessie.’
On the Sunday evening Bessie gave her a squeeze and told her, ‘There’s a good little lass you are.’
Chrissie asked, ‘So can I go to school tomorrow, please?’
Bessie was taken aback at that. Eager to go to school? But she answered, ‘O’ course you can.’
Chrissie beamed at her. She remembered what Mary Carter had told her: ‘Work hard at your lessons and get a good job, a place of your own . . .’
School was a new place of echoing stairwells and passages, dark green walls, big rooms each with a fire in one corner and shivering children in the others. Over all hung a smell of chalkdust, disinfectant and carbolic soap. There was a strange yard filled with shouting strangers. But some knew of her.
In the morning break she stood alone on the edge of the milling crowd by the railings dividing the girls’ yard from that of the boys. A voice behind her said, ‘Here, you!’ Then a hand shoved her in the back so that she staggered. She looked over her shoulder and saw a boy a year or two older than herself, taller and heavier. He leered at her through the railings. ‘You’re the orphan.’
Chrissie did not answer him and turned her face away. He taunted, ‘Yes, you are! My mam says you’re lucky not to be in an ’ome!’
She still did not answer and now the bell rang for the end of the break. The boy swung away, tossing one last threat over his shoulder as he went: ‘I’ll get you after!’
She worried over the threat all that morning and was reprimanded for not paying attention. When dinnertime came she ran from the school, trying to get away from the boy. But he chased her, caught up with her and kicked at her heels so her legs tangled and she fell. He bent down, grabbed her arm and twisted it, shoved his face close to hers and said, ‘If you te
ll anybody, you’ll get it worse. Have you got any money?’
But she hadn’t. He dug his hand into the pocket of her pinny but found only her handkerchief. He told her, ‘You bring some this afternoon or you’ll get another bashing. And you’ll get one if you tell anybody, so keep your gob shut!’ He shoved her away then and she made her way home.
Bessie asked her, ‘How did you get on at school for your first day?’
‘All right, Aunt Bessie.’ Chrissie’s thin face was impassive, her eyes evasive. Would Bessie protect her from the bully? Could she? Chrissie did not know. This was yet another new experience and she didn’t know how to cope with it.
Bessie commented absently, ‘You’ve got yourself dirty. Was that playing?’ But, busy serving out the dinner to Daniel and the boys, she did not pursue it. ‘I’ll give you a clean pinny for this afternoon.’
The boy twisted her arm again and punched her after school finished for the day, then issued the same threats. That went on all week, twice a day, except for two occasions when Chrissie had been given a halfpenny for running an errand for a neighbour in the street. The boy took the money those times and left her alone. Truth to tell, he did not expect money from her because none of the children had any. He inflicted the pain for his own pleasure and the coppers were a bonus.
One morning Chrissie saw him kicking one of the smaller boys and a teacher shouted, ‘Stop that, Victor Parnaby!’ So now Chrissie knew his name, but it was no help to her. She had not been long enough at the school to have friends to confide in, or to be able to appeal to a teacher. She had not known Daniel and Bessie long enough to go to them. And Victor Parnaby had warned he would beat her worse if she told anyone. She was caught in a trap.
Her teachers grew irritable because of her inattention and sloppy work. She became the butt of the class.
Bessie told Daniel, ‘Something’s wrong with that girl.’
Daniel sucked at his pipe, scowled in puzzlement and said, ‘She seems all right.’
Bessie said, ‘She won’t tell me what it is.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe this is how she is all the time.’
‘I thought she was starting to turn to me. You couldn’t expect it when we first brought her home because she’d need time to get used to us, but after the funeral I thought we were getting on together. Not now, though.’
‘She’s a quiet little lass. And polite.’
Bessie shook her head, ‘Too quiet and too polite. I can’t get on with her. If I put my arm round her it’s like she was a block o’ wood, straight and stiff.’ She sighed. ‘It’s got me worried sick, I can tell you.’
On Saturday morning a small boy, in layers of ragged jerseys and wearing a pair of cracked old boots handed down from his brother, knocked at the front door. He asked Bessie, ‘Can I see Chrissie Carter, please, missus?’
Bessie stared down at him. ‘Who are you? I haven’t seen you round here before.’
‘Frank Ward, missus. We lived next door before Chrissie came over here.’ His dark hair was cropped like a convict’s with only an inch-long tuft left at the front, and his face, hands and knees needed washing. But he grinned up at Bessie and she found herself smiling back.
She asked, ‘Did you walk all this way?’ It was a distance of three or four miles by road.
He answered innocently, ‘I got a ride on the ferry.’ That cut the journey down to two miles.
Bessie said, ‘Oh, aye.’ She could guess at the nature of that ride, sneaking aboard behind the ferryman’s back without paying. She had seen it done many a time. ‘Well, now you’re here you’d better come in.’ And she led him along the passage to the kitchen, calling, ‘Chrissie! Here’s your young man come courting!’
Chrissie had been peeling potatoes for the dinner but Bessie took over that job and told her, ‘I expect he’d like a cup o’ tea and a bite.’
So Chrissie poured him the tea, cut him thick slices of bread and spread them with dripping. Frank stuffed himself and chattered happily. It was only with reluctance that he refused Bessie’s wry offer: ‘You might as well stop for your dinner.’
‘Ta, missus, but I can’t. Ted’s getting the loan of a barrow this afternoon and we’re going round the doors selling sticks.’
Bessie knew about that one as well. The sticks would come from empty boxes bought for a penny each at the market, chopped up into firewood and sold on to houses in the better parts of town. She said, ‘Well, come and see her again. You’re always welcome.’ Chrissie had shown more life while talking with Frank than she had all the week. ‘Go on, lass, see him as far as the ferry.’
So Chrissie walked with him through the streets winding steeply down to the river. They stopped on the landing stage and Chrissie fell silent. It was only then that Frank thought to ask about the least important area to him: ‘Do you go to a school over here?’ And Chrissie burst into tears.
He did not know what to do, looked around him helplessly, then asked, ‘What’s the matter?’ And because there was no one around to hear, and because he came from another world on the other side of the river, she told him.
On Monday dinnertime she left school and started to run home to escape Victor Parnaby but he caught her round the first corner. He swung her by one arm so her back thumped against the wall and she cried out. He demanded, ‘Give us your money!’ And then the bombshell hit him.
The boy crashed into him running, hurling all of his weight into Victor Parnaby, sharp little fists driving agonisingly into the small of Victor’s back, cracked old boots kicking at his shins. Victor staggered and tried to step away but the fists were now flailing at his face, his legs tangled and he fell. His head cracked on the pavement and the boy dropped to land on Victor’s chest with a thump, driving the air out of Victor’s lungs. He lay helpless, with the boy squatting there on his chest, bony knees pinning his arms to the ground. And the fists kept pounding.
When Frank finally stood up Victor lay still and wept. Frank was out of breath, his arms ached and his knuckles were cut and bruised. Now the anger – and the fear – had left him and he was appalled by what he had done. But then he remembered why he had done it, and that in spite of his apprehension at tackling a boy older, bigger and heavier than himself. He panted, ‘You leave her alone from now on or I’ll murder you.’
Frank walked with Chrissie to the end of her street. She said, ‘Aunt Bessie’ll give you some dinner.’
He shook his head. ‘She’ll want to know why I’m not at school.’
Chrissie, fearful for him, asked, ‘Will you get the cane for being off school?’
He lied, ‘It doesn’t hurt.’ And left her then.
Chrissie did not see Victor Parnaby again until the middle of the week. He returned to school then but his face was still bruised and hatched with healing cuts. When she started home she met him and he gave her a sullen glare, but she met that with a bold stare, told him, ‘His brother’s bigger,’ and saw his gaze fall.
She ran home and into Bessie’s arms, laughing.
A month later Bessie told Daniel, ‘That little lass is a Godsend. She sits in my pocket every minute she’s here, and whatever there is to do, she’s in it. She was up first thing this morning, knew it was my washing day and had the boiler filled wi’ water and the fire lit underneath it afore I got down here. She’s a real little worker.’
But life was not all work for Chrissie. Bessie talked to her and taught her – to knit and sew, wash and iron – but she also bought a cheap bathing dress for the serious little girl who was learning how to smile again. Bessie took her down to the sea, taught her how to swim and found her an apt pupil. So she told Daniel, ‘She’s like a fish in the water!’ And on a weekend she would take Chrissie out of the town and into the fields, show her the flowers and give her their names.
Chrissie was happy, content that this life should go on for ever.
But it would not.
Chapter 7
September 1907
‘He’s coming down the str
eet now, Dad!’ Ronnie Milburn called from where he kept watch at the open front door.
Daniel answered him, ‘Right! Good lad!’ And shoved up out of his armchair, picked up the whip and headed for the street.
Chrissie came running down the stairs. She was just into her teens now, leggy and awkward, still slight, but a burgeoning young woman. She was ready to go out, in a loose-fitting dress reaching just below her knees that she had made herself. She carried her coat over her arm and in one hand her wide-brimmed straw hat. She halted on the last step with a hand to her mouth, scenting trouble, as Daniel stamped by.
Bessie came after him as far as the kitchen door and called after his retreating back, ‘Now you go steady! You should be in bed wi’ that cold, anyway. And we don’t want the pollis round here!’
Daniel did not pause but turned his head to growl, ‘Steady on? Be buggered to that! He’s been shooting his mouth off down the Ship, saying how he sold me a dud.’ He shoved past Ronnie and stepped out into the street.
Chrissie asked, ‘What’s going on?’
Bessie replied, ‘That horse Charlie Trembath sold him, it’s got a worse cough than Dan has hissel.’
‘Who’s Charlie Trembath?’
‘A feller that lives two or three streets away. He’s not lived long around here.’
‘I don’t know him.’
Bessie said grimly, ‘He doesn’t know Daniel.’
‘What’s Uncle Daniel going to do?’
‘Talk to Charlie about it.’
‘What does he want the whip for?’
‘He thinks Charlie’ll understand him better wi’ that.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’ Bessie sighed and went back into the kitchen to go on with her ironing.
Chrissie hesitated a moment, then ran along the passage to halt behind Ronnie. He was a grown man now, twenty-one years old, tall and slim. He had just completed his engineering apprenticeship at Ballantyne’s yard. Daniel had been persuaded to let him take up the apprenticeship soon after Chrissie had gone to live with the Milburns.
