by Maggie Hope
They heard the footsteps pause at the bedroom door and the door open. And Meg peered through the crack where the door wasn’t quite to and saw Jonty’s da walking over to the bed.
‘Father?’ he said.
Old Mr Grizedale stirred and opened his eyes, grunting when he saw his son. He pushed himself up against the pillows and as he did so began to cough, a harsh, dry coughing which seemed to catch his breath. His face coloured up with the effort of it.
‘What do you want, sir?’ he managed to say, between bouts of coughing. ‘Didn’t I make it plain you would get no more money from me until your next quarterly allowance?’
Meg watched. She didn’t know what to do. Should she come out and offer to get old Mr Grizedale some butter and sugar and vinegar for his cough to make him better? Maybe he would look after her and Jonty, maybe he wouldn’t let Jonty’s da be cruel to him. She hovered undecided and in that moment saw Jonty’s da pick up a pillow and hold it over the old man’s face. Jonty’s da was bending over the bed and holding the pillow down. Meg could see it plainly. Did he think that would make the old man better? For sure it had stopped him coughing. Behind her she could hear Jonty breathing. It was the only thing she could hear at all.
Jonty’s da straightened up and put the pillow back under the others on the bed. She could see Mr Grizedale now. He was lying quietly, peacefully, not coughing any more. Meg leaned forward, opening the door a little further the better to see what Jonty’s da was doing. And the door swung open and she fell headlong out of the wardrobe and into the room with Jonty behind her.
‘What the devil!’ cried Jonty’s da, and his face went purple with rage as he saw the two children come out of nowhere. Meg didn’t want to see what he would do, she had to save Jonty for it didn’t look like old Mr Grizedale would wake up and stop Jonty’s da hitting him. He must be having a really good sleep. She grabbed hold of Jonty yet again and fled out of the room and down the stairs to where Mrs Grizedale was just coming out of her sitting-room.
The two children paused. They had to say goodbye properly. Didn’t Mam always say they had to?
‘We have to go now, Mrs Grizedale,’ said Meg, if a little breathlessly.
‘Yes, we have to. Thank you very much for having us,’ said Jonty, though he didn’t take his eyes off the staircase. He was ready to fly the minute his da appeared at the head of the stairs, but they had to wait for Mrs Grizedale to answer them.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you wanted to look round the stables? It’s early yet, you know, not twelve o’clock.’
‘Aye, but me mam wants us to do the messages,’ improvised Meg.
‘Oh, yes, of course. I understand,’ said Mrs Grizedale, and as she turned away she added in her undertone, ‘Hannah must be near her time.’
Though she might as well have spoken out loud for neither Meg nor Jonty knew what she was talking about. And still Jonty’s da hadn’t appeared at the head of the stairs, even though they had to wait while Mrs Grizedale wound their mufflers round them and pinned them at the back, he didn’t come.
The children ran down the drive and over the fields, racing each other like whippets let out of the cage to chase a hare.
‘You’re soon back, mind,’ said Mam. She was kneading bread dough in the big earthenware dish, lifting the heavy dough from the outside and pressing it into the centre. The children watched, fascinated by the rhythm.
‘Da came back,’ volunteered Jonty, and Hannah frowned and paused in her work to look closely at him.
‘He didn’t touch you, did he, pet?’
‘We ran away,’ said Meg. ‘We said goodbye to Mrs Grizedale first, like.’
‘Good lass,’ said her mother. ‘I’m going to put the stotty cake in now. I’ll give you both a bit of dough and you can make little ones. Do you fancy doing that, then?’
The next half hour was spent happily, kneeling on the form at the table and moulding dough. Mam put the large bread cake on the bottom of the round oven and the slightly grey smaller ones beside it to cook, while the loaves were rising on the fender before the fire. And when the stotty cakes came out of the oven they ate them hot with treacle spread on them, soaking into the bread and oozing all over the place.
It was a lovely afternoon. Meg forgot all about Jonty’s nasty da as they sat, one on either side of Mam, on the settle drawn up to the fire. And she told the story about how she took Jonty when he was a baby to love and bring up with Meg.
‘Your mother was my sister,’ Mam told Jonty. ‘Eeh, she was a grand lass, she was. I married Uncle Jack and she married Ralph Grizedale. And when she died you were a tiny baby so you came to live with us.’
‘Why did she marry Mr Grizedale, Mam? He’s a nasty man.’
‘Whisht, pet, don’t say that,’ said Hannah. ‘Our poor Nell – she was your mam, Jonty – she must have loved him. And he is Jonty’s da.’
‘Mrs Grizedale’s nice. She gave us gingerbread men,’ said Meg. She wished with all her heart that Mr Grizedale wasn’t Jonty’s da.
‘You won’t die, will you, Auntie Hannah?’ put in Jonty. He leaned against her and looked up into her face with anxious eyes. Meg hadn’t thought of that and felt a tug of fear. They knew what dead was. Hadn’t Mrs Hall in the end house died and they’d taken her away in a box and she’d never come back?
‘Nay, lad, I’m not going to die,’ said Mam, and Meg and Jonty sighed with relief.
At six o’clock Jack Maddison came home from his work on the line. He was a platelayer. Meg and Jonty both ran to him and he swung them up in the air and round and round before putting them down on the settle, breathless and laughing. But when he turned to face his wife he was no longer smiling. His face was grave.
‘Old Mr Grizedale died today,’ he said quietly. ‘This morning sometime. He was in bed with a cold. The maid found him when she took him up a dish of tea. It must have turned to congestion or something.’
‘Oh, poor man,’ sighed Hannah. ‘The bairns were up there today an’ all, but they came home early. Jonty said his da had come home, that was what it must have been for.’
‘Nay, lass,’ said Jack, ‘that cannot be right. Ralph Grizedale was away in Darlington all day.’
‘But – well, mebbe Mrs Grizedale just told them Ralph had come back so they would come straight home.’
‘Aye.’ Jack sat down by the fire and unlaced his boots. ‘The old man’ll be missed, he was a good man. At the chapel an’ all, he was a good preacher.’
Meg had been listening and understanding far more than her parents thought.
‘Jonty’s grandmother didn’t tell us, we saw him,’ she asserted, and Jonty nodded agreement.
‘Yes. Well, I think it’s time you two were in bed,’ said her mother, and Meg knew she thought she was making it up.
‘But it’s not time yet,’ she objected.
‘It’ll be nice and warm in bed. I’ve put the oven shelf in.’
Hannah was brooking no arguments and in no time Meg and Jonty were tucked into bed, their feet cosily on the towel-covered oven shelf and a new clippie mat over the blanket for extra warmth. And it was nice to cuddle down in the bed with only their noses out in the cold air. They were almost asleep when they heard a great commotion as someone came in.
‘I’ve come for the boy.’
The words and the voice speaking then sent terror coursing through Meg’s veins. Her eyes flew open and Jonty clung tightly to her, already beginning to tremble.
‘Get under the bed,’ she said urgently, but Jonty could do nothing but cling to her. She listened hard to what was going on downstairs. Da would stop him taking Jonty, wouldn’t he?
‘Why, man, the bairns are in bed,’ said Hannah. ‘You can’t take him now. Whatever for would you do that?’ Her voice was rising, she sounded panicky, thought Meg, not like her mam at all.
‘I can do what the hell I like, Hannah Hope. Haven’t you heard I’m master now?’
‘Not in my house, you cannot,’ said Da. ‘An
d my wife’s name is Hannah Maddison.’
Jonty’s da laughed and the sound of it gave Meg a horrible feeling in her stomach. She felt sick.
‘Your house, is it? This hovel doesn’t belong to you, Jack Maddison, it’s railway property. And now I’ll be on the board, think of that.’
The sound of his footsteps as he bounded up the stairs galvanized Meg into action. She jumped from the bed, pulling Jonty after her, and for the second time that day she tried to hide them both from Ralph Grizedale. But it was no good, he saw them straight away, they hadn’t time to get under the bed. He caught hold of Jonty and even though Meg clung on he managed to separate them, knocking her down with a backhanded blow across her head.
‘Don’t you touch my bairn!’ cried Jack. He had followed Ralph up the stairs and just reached the small landing to see Meg go flying across the room. She lay for a moment, dazed, and saw Ralph give Da a great kick in the stomach which sent him flying, head over heels, to the bottom of the stairs. She screamed, and Mam screamed. But Jonty’s da tucked Jonty under his arm, though Jonty was kicking and yelling too, and took him down the stairs and out into the bitter cold night dressed only in his nightshirt.
He shoved his way contemptuously through the group of neighbours gathered to see what it was all about, climbed on his horse and galloped off.
‘Jack! Jack!’
Meg heard Mam cry as she got to her feet and ran down the stairs. Mam was there at the bottom, lifting Da and cradling his head in her arms. Now Da was stirring. He got to his feet and lifted Mam up with him.
‘I’m all right, Hannah,’ he said. ‘Oh God, Hannah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do anything.’
Meg clung to them both, hanging on to Hannah’s skirt with one hand and Jack’s trousers with the other.
‘He took Jonty, Da,’ she sobbed. ‘He took Jonty.’
Jack bent and lifted his daughter up into his arms. ‘Whisht now, petal,’ he said softly. ‘Whisht now. He was Jonty’s father, we couldn’t help it. I’m sorry, I’m that sorry.’ He carried Meg back to bed and lay down with her until she fell asleep.
Meg woke next morning and turned over on to her back, putting a hand out for Jonty before remembering what had happened last night. She got out of bed and pushed her feet into her boots and walked over to the window, shivering.
The world was white. During the night snow had fallen and everything was covered with it: the coalhouse roof and the nettie, the fields behind and the trees. Almost, she called for Jonty to come and see, before remembering numbly that he wasn’t there. She could hear Da moving about downstairs; she would go down and ask him if he could get Jonty back.
Da was standing by the fire, cooking strips of bacon in the iron frying pan.
‘Morning, petal,’ he said as he turned and smiled at her. He looked tired out, she thought, had he not been to bed? Why was Mam not frying the bacon?
‘Da, where’s me mam? Can you go up to the Hall and get Jonty back?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I cannot, Meg. I cannot, bairn. But your mam’s in the room, go away in and see her. She’s got something special to show you.’
‘But Da, I want you to—’
‘Go on now. Go and see your mam.’
Meg reluctantly went through the connecting door to the front room and over to the brass bed in the corner. Hannah was sitting up with a bundle in her arms.
‘Mam, why can’t we get Jonty back?’ asked Meg. All she could think about was him. It left no room in her mind for questions such as why Hannah was still in bed or what she was holding in her arms.
‘Jonty’s me brother, Mam,’ she said vehemently.
‘I’ve got a new little brother for you, Meg,’ said Hannah, and Meg stared.
‘Howay, hinnie, come and see your new baby brother.’
Meg clambered on to the high bed and peered at the bundle in her mam’s arms. She looked at the tiny nose and the fair downy hair on its head.
‘That’s not a proper brother,’ she said stoutly, ‘not like Jonty. That’s just a babby.’
Chapter Two
May 1878
‘The candymen! The candymen are coming!’
Mrs Hart’s warning cry rang through the houses, bouncing down the short street and reverberating off the middens across the back lane. Meg jumped up from the back step where she had been playing house with the peg dollie Mam had made for her, her heart beating wildly, responding to the alarm in Mrs Hart’s voice and increasing at the sight of Mam flying out of the house. Mam had a look on her face such as Meg had never seen before. It was enough to send fright racing through the little girl.
‘See to the bairn,’ her mother called over her shoulder, and Meg, peeking out of the front door before she obediently turned back to watch little Jack in his cradle, saw her joining the other women of the street and forming a line, a thin barrier against the half-dozen or so strange men marching on them.
Jack Boy, disturbed by the noise, began a fretful crying and Meg rocked the wooden cradle with her foot as she had seen Mam do while clutching her dollie to her and staring out of the door with round blue eyes.
‘Whisht, whisht,’ she said softly, her voice trembling. Where was Da? He’d been around the house for days and days, getting under Mam’s feet till she scolded him and, muttering, he would fling himself out of the door and go for a walk, calling to Meg to go with him if she wanted to. And she usually did want to now, for Mr Grizedale had taken Jonty away and stopped him coming to play with her and Meg didn’t know why that was. Her heart hammered as the shouting outside increased. By! She wanted Da to be here, she wanted him more than anything, and he’d gone out somewhere and this time hadn’t even asked her to go with him. Jack Boy snuffled and his eyes closed again so Meg stopped rocking the cradle.
There was a great commotion on the street, there was. A lot of people were shouting and a woman was screaming. That was Mrs Hart, Meg knew her voice well. The ball of fear in the little girl’s stomach grew larger and larger. The screaming wakened the baby again but he didn’t whinge, he was just staring up at Meg with wide open eyes as blue as her own.
‘Whisht now, Babby,’ said Meg, as much to reassure herself as her baby brother. If only Mam would come back in. Fearfully, Meg went to the door and peeped round to see what was happening.
Mam was glaring angrily at the hefty Irishman confronting her, her anger heightened by her despair. It was hopeless, even little Meg knew it was, the women couldn’t hold out against men.
‘What did we do to you?’ Mam demanded. ‘Aren’t you ashamed, throwing women and bairns out of their homes?’
‘Just doing the work I’m paid to do, Missus,’ the man answered casually. At least that was what Meg thought he said, his speech was so thick she had trouble understanding him. Leaning over, he pushed Mam out of his way as easily as if she’d been a straw. Meg gasped as Mam staggered and would have fallen but for Mrs Hart, who held on to her arm.
‘Mind, Hannah!’ she cried.
Mam found her feet and would have fought back but just then a cry went up which sent her fleeing for the house.
‘The Bobbies! The rotten sods have sent the polis an’ all.’
Most of the women turned with her, they knew the day was lost. All they could do was get the bairns out of the houses before the dreaded candymen got in. They had to save what bits of furniture they had. Mam reached the door barely in front of a burly bully-boy. She rushed in and snatched the baby from his cradle, thrusting him into Meg’s small arms. She picked up the cradle as the grinning candyman reached for it. Shrugging, he picked up her two good chairs and flung them out of the house.
‘You didn’t have to be so rough,’ Mam cried, but his grin grew wider as he picked up the rocker, the old rocker that had been Gran’s, and threw it after the chairs with the ominous sound of breaking wood.
‘Now, Missus, out,’ he said, and started towards her. ‘Or I can always carry you out.’
Meg edged to the door whimpering softly
as her mother took the cradle outside and put it down beside the broken chairs before going back in for Meg and little Jack.
‘Away wi’ you then. Go out, pet,’ Mam said quietly as she folded the baby in her shawl. As Meg, crying softly but steadily now, went out of the door, Hannah Maddison gathered the spittle in her mouth and spat full in the face of the candyman. Then, quick as a flash, she turned and ran. Meg grabbed a hold of her mother’s skirts almost by instinct as she went, the angry roar of the candyman close behind them as they fled.
Meg’s terror flared. She ran as fast as her four-year-old legs would carry her, clinging on to Mam’s skirts for dear life, stumbling and falling over the uneven ground of the old railway track, past Mrs Hart’s door which was already being nailed up by the men, stubbing her toes on the stones through her thin boots, choking on her sobs.
‘Da! Da!’ she cried, for the Irishman would catch them, and then what? Her young mind couldn’t imagine what would happen then.
But Mam was slowing to a walk. She was looking over the field by the side of the old railway, the very first railway in the world, Da had said proudly, the irrelevant thought running through Meg’s head even as she gasped for breath.
‘I dropped me dollie!’
Meg rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and looked fearfully over her shoulder. The candyman had stopped too. He was watching them though. Meg followed Mam’s gaze. A man was sitting on a great grey horse in the field, just sitting there quietly, watching them, his face blank. A big man with a florid face, bigger even than the candyman who had been chasing them. Meg knew him all right, it was Jonty’s da. Maybe the sight of him had put off their pursuer, for now she saw the Irishman go back to the little row of cottages.
‘You did this.’
Meg stopped sobbing altogether and looked up at Mam, surprised. Mam was talking to Jonty’s da. Was he a candyman then? Meg stared at him. He was way up in the sky on his big horse. Cal. Short for California, Jonty had told her, but she didn’t know what California was any road. And then, Jonty’s da didn’t like her, Meg knew. He had yelled at her that time in the Hall and then he’d taken Jonty.
