by Diane Allen
‘Right, young Lizzie, let’s go to the butcher first. A lot of folk go to Ivor Sunters, but not me. I’m fussy about my meat and I reckon nothing of him. I once got some pig’s trotters off Ivor and by the time I’d got them home, they already smelled bad. We’ll go to Ben Lawson’s. Ben’s always pleasant and he’s reasonable with his prices – you must remember to tell your mother.’
As soon as they were out of the butcher’s, Rose resumed her monologue, leaving Lizzie with no chance to get a word in as she was dragged through the market. ‘Next we need some candles and after that I want to buy some cotton, so we’ll get your ribbons then. And after that we can go to the new-fangled teashop that’s just opened. I bet you’d like to sit in and have one of those fancy cakes before we go home? Lord knows I need something to calm my nerves.’
Their progress was slow, with Rose constantly running into people she knew and stopping to exchange all the latest gossip. Invariably there would be curious glances at Lizzie, which would lead to whispered questions and explanations until curiosity was satisfied and everyone resumed speaking in a normal voice so that Lizzie could hear. But there was no whispering when they encountered a small man with dark, slicked-back hair, a sharp nose and rounded ears, who stood surveying Lizzie in a manner that reminded her of an inquisitive rat.
‘Good morning, Reverend Tiplady,’ gushed Rose. ‘And how are you this morning?’
‘A good morning indeed, Mrs Pratt,’ beamed the Reverend. ‘Has the Lord not blessed us with a beautiful day?’
‘Indeed he has.’ Rose was putting on her poshest voice and best manners. ‘Tell me, Reverend, are you visiting us with your missionary brothers?’
‘Yes, we travelled up from Bradford yesterday. As soon as I have attended to the needs of the navigators in Ingleton, I’ll be making my way up the valley to Ribblehead.’ His dark, beady eyes shifted from Mrs Pratt to Lizzie, peering at her so intently she could have sworn he was reading her every thought. ‘And who might this young lady be? I’ve not seen her in chapel on any of my visits.’
‘This is Lizzie. She’s staying with us for a while, just until her mother gets back on her feet.’
‘I see. And what is wrong with her mother?’ Reverend Tiplady’s lips twisted into an insincere smile that revealed his black, rotting teeth.
‘She lost her husband and her baby, and I regret to say it but she took to the bottle to drown her grief, poor soul.’
‘Ah, the Devil’s in the drink! He finds our weak spot and tempts us with his evil ways,’ roared the Reverend. Fixing his beady eyes on Lizzie, he added: ‘Take care, Mrs Pratt, that you’ve not invited him over your threshold.’
‘No, Reverend Tiplady, Lizzie’s a grand lass. She’s been a great help to me. In fact, we’re on our way to buy some hair ribbons as a little present from me.’
‘Vanity, Mrs Pratt! Beware of vanity.’ He smiled his rotting grin and told them, ‘I’ll bid you good-day, ladies,’ then wandered on his way down the cobbled street.
Rose waited until he was out of sight before speaking. ‘If it were up to him, Lizzie, we’d not dare to breathe. Thankfully him and the rest of his brethren don’t make it up from Bradford too often. I’m sure I don’t know why they bother coming at all – you’d think there’d be far more souls to save there than here.’ She tutted indignantly, then took Lizzie’s elbow and began steering her towards the haberdashery shop. ‘The Reverend’s got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, so we’ve got to keep the right side of him, pet. I know there’s wild ways to be avoided, and I want to meet my maker with a clear conscience, but I swear there’s something about that man that makes you feel like going the other way! Vanity, indeed. Since when did a few ribbons make anyone vain? Why, I’ve a mind to buy you the best ones in the shop.’
Deciding that now might be a good time to tell Mrs Pratt how she felt about ribbons, Lizzie piped up, ‘I’m not bothered, Mrs Pratt. Honestly, I’m too old for ribbons.’
‘Nonsense! Don’t let that old fool worry you, dear,’ admonished Rose, opening the door to the shop. ‘Come on, I’ve been wanting to do this for years.’
‘Well, don’t you look a tuttle! What has she done to your hair, our Lizzie?’ laughed Maggie when she opened her door and saw her daughter all decked out in her new finery.
‘Don’t, Mam. I blinking hate them. As soon as they’ve gone to chapel, I’m taking these plaits out. I swear she thinks I’m four, not fourteen.’ Lizzie batted her two long plaits away, wishing she could rip out the huge red bows that tied them at both ends. ‘I’d never have let her put them in, but she’s in a right mood today. I daren’t offend her for fear of making it worse.’
‘Why, what’s up, lass? Has she caught one of her lads drinking? Everyone in Batty Green knows they have a crafty one down the road when Rose isn’t looking.’
‘It’s worse than that. Mike, the middle brother, is bringing his sweetheart to tea today. His ma only found out about her yesterday. From what’s been said, I don’t think she’s suited.’
Intrigued at this latest development, Molly was eager to hear more. ‘Who is she? Come on, lass, you’ve only told me half a story – let’s hear the rest. If Mike is anything like his older brother then she’s got herself a good catch.’ Molly winked at her daughter.
‘Mam, stop it. Don’t embarrass me. All I know is that she’s from Gearstones Lodge. Her father runs the boarding house there.’
‘Does he now? That’ll not go down well with the old Bible basher! She’ll be having a fit, I expect. I can’t see that lasting.’ Molly laughed with delight, knowing that such a match would be the worst thing a religious woman like Rose Pratt could imagine. Seeing the unhappy expression on her daughter’s face, she reluctantly abandoned the topic and tried to think of something that would cheer her up. ‘How about I put some food in a knapsack and we take a walk below Ingleborough? It’s a grand day for a picnic, and I want to see what this limestone pavement looks like. Besides, I’ve something to tell you. Your mother’s been busy while you’ve been getting dressed up like a doll.’ Molly tugged on one of Lizzie’s plaits. For all her teasing, she was glad to see her daughter looking well and cared for.
‘Mam, stop it! I can’t help it – you’ve to do as you’re told over there.’
‘Well, see you do, miss. I’ll not say anything of the sort to Rose Pratt, but I’m fair thankful that she saved you from the workhouse. I’d not have been able to live with myself if I’d lost you an’ all.’ She looked into Lizzie’s eyes and confided: ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I came to an agreement with Rose. She’s paying me a shilling a week for your help and I’m putting it all away for you.’ She reached under her bed and pulled out a jar, rattling it so Lizzie could hear the coins. ‘See, it’s right here. If anything ever happens to me, this is yours, d’you hear?’
‘But, Mam, how are you going to get by? You don’t make enough from taking in washing, especially when the weather’s bad.’ Lizzie couldn’t believe that she was being rented out for a shilling a month and her mother was setting it all aside for her.
‘Don’t you worry about me, I’ve got it all sorted. I’ll tell you about it on our walk,’ said Molly gaily. ‘So come on, what are you waiting for? Everybody keeps telling me how bonny this limestone pavement is and I’ve never had chance to see it.’
‘What’s so special about limestone pavement?’ asked Lizzie, unconvinced. ‘We walked on many a pavement in Bradford.’
‘No, lass, don’t be silly. This is a different sort of pavement. It’s years old, made by Mother Nature and her best friend, the weather. It’s where the earth has worn all sorts of different patterns into the limestone. It’s terrible to walk on, so just you mind yourself when we get there.’
The walk up to the pavement was a tough one and both mother and daughter were out of breath by the time they reached the limestone escarpment. The tangled weathered forms of white limestone stretched out in front of them for miles with the odd hawthorn tree, twisted and sh
aped by the wild north winds, clinging to the precarious crags for dear life. In the far distance, they could see a man on his knees, peering into the crevices between the rocks.
‘Your father said the holes and stones were called clints and grikes. He was going to bring us up here and show us all the rare plants that grow in these parts.’ Molly’s voice fell and she gazed sadly around her. ‘What with your dad and Tommy dying, and then getting into a state, I’ve been looking on the black side of things of late. But it’s time to move on – right, love?’ She took a deep breath of the fresh air and waved a hand at the landscape in front of them. ‘Bye, this land’s wild. Smell that peat, and look at them clouds scurrying across the flank of Whernside. Mind, it’s a shame they’re making that blinking great hole in the side of the fell there.’
Lizzie knew how her mother felt. She felt the same way: there was something about this place. It made you want to fill your lungs with mountain air until they burst. She’d happily sit and gaze at this view for hours, never feeling bored because the mood seemed to change with every movement of the clouds and sun. She never wanted to go back to Bradford and she could tell her mother felt the same.
‘Go on then, Ma,’ she said, moving to a spot at the edge of the pavement where there was a smooth piece of rock for them both to sit on. ‘Tell me your news. What have you got planned?’
Molly sat down next to her, placing their unopened picnic at her feet. ‘Well, after I’d come to a deal with Ma Pratt, I decided it was no use me feeling sorry for myself – you don’t get anywhere if you start doing that. So I gave myself a good dressing down and told myself, “Molly Mason, you’ve two legs and two arms and a brain that’s not too coddled. It’s time you shifted yourself and found a way to make ends meet.” So off I went to the hospital to ask if they’d send me their laundry. At first it looked as if Doctor Thistlethwaite was going to send me packing, but as I was heading out the door he called me back. To cut a long story short, he’s given me a job. I start in the morning.’ Molly gazed triumphantly at her daughter.
‘What are you going to be doing, Ma? You don’t know anything about nursing.’ Lizzie was horrified at the thought of her mother working at the hospital. To her, it was a place of death. An image flashed into her mind of the night she’d gone there to fetch the doctor for Tommy, the fountain of blood spurting out of the man on the bed. She couldn’t think of anything worse than spending your days working there.
‘I’ll be helping out with anything that needs doing: changing bedding, cleaning the floors, writing letters for them who can’t.’ Seeing the scepticism in her daughter’s face, she said firmly, ‘It’s a job, our Lizzie. Beggars can’t be choosers. If they ask me to stand on my head, I’ll do it, as long as it makes us some money. Now, let’s open these sandwiches – I’m starving. It’s been a long time since breakfast.’
‘But they all die in the hospital,’ said Lizzie, watching as her mother unpacked the food.
‘No, they don’t, Liz. There’s George Thoroughgood – he’s mended now. Granted, he lost his leg. But he can fairly move on that peg-leg when he wants to. And there’s the fellow that lost his hand that sits outside Gearstones sharpening knives. He was in the hospital a long time, but he’s making a living now.’
‘Then why couldn’t they save Dad? Why couldn’t the hospital make him better?’ Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears.
‘He’d fallen too far, pet, he didn’t stand a chance. It was his turn to go, like it was little Tommy’s. Life can be cruel sometimes.’ Molly put her arm around Lizzie and squeezed her tight, kissing her gently on her furrowed brow. ‘But you know what, our Lizzie, you can’t let it beat you. You have to be like that piece of cotton grass over there, bending with the wind instead of letting it snap you in two. It took me a while to realize that, but now I’m going to start acting like that grass, weathering all the storms, clinging on regardless. Believe me, life’s going to be a whole lot better for you and me from now on, pet.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘I’ve thrown all the bottles out, stopped trying to drown my sorrows and faced up to them instead. I’ve made a fresh start. As old Ma Pratt would say, I’ve seen the light. Happen it’s not the same light as she sees, but it’s a light all the same. Now tuck in and then we’ll have a look for these fancy flowers that grow up here.’
They fell into a companionable silence as they tucked into their lunch and were lost in admiring the view when they were interrupted by a soft-spoken male voice coming from behind them.
‘Afternoon, ladies.’
Molly turned to face the man who was walking towards them.
‘Oh, afternoon, Doctor Thistlethwaite. I didn’t expect to see you up here in the wilds.’
‘Weather permitting, I often come up here to find a bit of peace and to indulge in my secret pleasure.’ He shrugged off the bag he was carrying over his shoulder and sat down beside Lizzie.
Unaccustomed to the company of gentry, Lizzie felt uneasy sitting next to this refined gentleman in his smart tweed suit.
‘And what is your secret pleasure – if it’s not too bold of me to ask?’ said Molly, surprised at her own daring.
‘I’m a secret botanist in my spare time.’
Molly had no idea what a botanist might be, but it sounded grand.
Seeing their nonplussed expressions, the doctor hurried to explain. ‘Forgive me, a botanist is a collector of plants. I take them home and draw them, studying their properties in minute detail. I find them fascinating.’ He opened his shoulder bag and pulled out some foliage. ‘Take my crowning glory today, for example. Isn’t she glorious? There are people in Kensington who would pay a fortune to have a hart’s tongue fern growing in their gardens. And how about this little beauty – it’s an orchid. They like the limestone, but I’m not quite sure the name of the species. I’ll have to look it up when I get home.’ He held the delicate pink plant in his fingers, extending his hand so Lizzie could inspect it.
Lizzie smiled, not knowing quite what to say.
‘You know, when I was doctoring in the Crimea, plants proved the saviour of many a patient. That squelchy moss that grows at the bottom of these great fells? It’s called sphagnum moss. If you have a patient with an open wound and no bandages to hand, you can apply sphagnum to soak the blood up. And yarrow – the ferny white flower that grows in the hedgerows – that stops bleeding. I could go on for ever, but I fear I’d bore you.’ He gently placed his precious plants back into his bag. ‘It’s a good job I’m not married, else my wife would constantly be bored to tears.’
‘No, no, it’s fascinating. In fact, that’s why we came up here today, to see the flowers. And to take the air. We just stopped for a bite to eat – would you like a sandwich? Lizzie, pass Doctor Thistlethwaite that sandwich.’
Molly nudged Lizzie, making her offer him their last sandwich.
‘So you were in the Crimea, Doctor? That must have been terrible for you. My husband’s brother died out there.’
‘It wasn’t pleasant. I can’t for the life of me understand why they’ve taken to naming places after some of the worst battles. You’d think the men who served in that war would want to forget about the horrors they’d witnessed, but when I walked under the viaduct to the new huts that have just gone up I saw they’d put up a sign saying Sebastopol. I could only shake my head in dismay.’
‘The men are proud to have served there, Doctor Thistlethwaite. Those navvies may spend their days knee-deep in peat and bog, but they are proud men and patriotic,’ said Molly.
Lizzie remained silent, watching the doctor eating her sandwich.
‘Are you ready to join us tomorrow, Mrs Mason? I warn you, it will be hard work, and there will be times when the stench will make you want to be sick. Are you sure you can stand that?’
‘It’ll be nothing I can’t deal with – will it, Lizzie? We’re used to hard work.’
Lizzie shook her head. She was nervous of speaking in front of Doctor Thistlethwaite. She recalled how sharp he’d been
with her the night she’d begged him to come to her brother. Now he’d just eaten their last sandwich and her mother was going to be working for him.
‘In that case, I’ll see you in the morning.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite rose and brushed the crumbs off his suit. ‘I look forward to working with you, Mrs Mason. Mind you don’t go fainting on me, that’s all I ask.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ Molly called after him as he set off down the fellside.
‘I don’t like him, Ma. He talks sharp,’ Lizzie whispered.
‘Liz, there is one thing you need to remember in life: no matter how posh folk talk, no matter what they wear, they all look the same with no clothes on and they all have to go to the toilet like we do. Even the Queen of blooming England does the same as us every morning, so we are just as good as any of them, my girl.’
Molly smiled at her daughter. Her father had said those same words to her when she was young. It was funny how the world turned.
6
‘Hold him down, woman! I’m never going to get his leg off if you don’t keep him still.’
Molly leaned all her weight into holding down the tunnel builder, who was screaming and thrashing about in agony, despite the dose of morphine he’d been given. Trying to avert her eyes from the man’s ruined leg, she looked at Doctor Thistlethwaite. His brow was covered in beads of sweat as he sawed through the smashed limb. Beside him, the nurse was white-faced. Despite her years of experience, the woman looked as if she might pass out.
It was quite an initiation into her new job at the hospital. Her first morning had barely begun when there was a clamour at the door and six strong navvies entered, carrying their injured colleague on a stretcher. The doctor had ordered them to place him on the scrubbed pine slab that served as the operating table, then he had sent the navvies packing and summoned Molly to cut away the man’s torn trousers. Seeing the smashed bone sticking through holes in the blood-soaked cloth, she had been afraid to touch the patient for fear of causing him more pain. But Doctor Thistlethwaite had shouted at her to pull herself together and get on with it. Hands slick with the blood pouring out of the man’s wounds, she had done as she was told and cut away the clothing to reveal the full extent of the damage. Trembling and fighting the urge to be sick, she stood back to let the doctor examine the injury. It took him only a moment to assess the damage and then he began instructing the nurse which instruments to fetch and which drugs to administer. To Molly’s dismay, he’d announced that there was nothing for it but to amputate the leg, and it would be her job to hold the poor soul down while the doctor did his work.
