For a Mother's Sins

by Diane Allen

  ‘You see, Mrs Pratt – or may I call you Rose? After all, I’m beginning to feel like one of the family.’

  Jim Pratt lifted his eyebrows at the over-familiarity of the minister. In Jim’s opinion it was high time the bugger cleared off to a home of his own.

  ‘There’s no structure to the living up here. It’s a free-for-all of drinking and gambling, not to mention fornication and children being born out of wedlock. Batty Green is a veritable breeding ground of sin – the Devil’s own playground!’ Tobias Tiplady thumped his fist hard on to the table, making the spoons and forks rattle with the force.

  ‘Is your hut nearly ready, Reverend?’ Jim Pratt lowered his paper and glared at his wife as he put the question. It was high time he had a bit of peace in his own home, instead of having to put up with the feverish lecturing of this overzealous preacher.

  ‘Mr Ashwell says it will be complete by the end of the week. However the brethren and I will need someone to cook for us while we go about God’s work. You can’t fight the Devil on an empty stomach! So my brothers won’t join me until I’ve employed a cook. I was thinking I might find someone suitable by asking at the market in Ingleton this Saturday.’

  ‘You needn’t do that, Reverend – I’ll cook for you all. It would be my privilege to keep you all fed. After all, there’s only Jim and me now. Our John’s hardly ever here. So don’t you be hiring any young bit of a thing – lasses today can’t cook.’ Ignoring the thunderous expression on her husband’s face, Rose continued: ‘What’s another few tatties and dumplings in the pot, Father, when they are going to such good, God-fearing people?’

  Jim shook his paper yet again. ‘What indeed?’ he muttered sarcastically.

  ‘Splendid! Splendid! I’ll pay you, of course, although the ministry doesn’t provide a vast allowance to support our well-being, I’m afraid.’ His rat-like features twitched in a smirk at the thought of getting a full stomach for a minimal outlay.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Rose. ‘Money will not come into it. I’ll be doing the Lord’s bidding in my own way. Another cup of tea, Reverend?’ She waddled over to the kettle and filled the teapot.

  Jim closed his newspaper and folded it noisily. He’d be having words with Rose later. The saying ‘poor as a church mouse’ did not ring true where Tobias Tiplady was concerned. If Rose insisted on cooking for him and his followers, then this ‘mouse’ had better pay, else he’d get flattened like the squeaking rat that he was. He got to his feet, put on his jacket and muffler and announced, ‘I’m off out.’

  ‘Now then, Father, what are you doing out here in t’ dark?’ John, arriving home at the end of a long day, was surprised to find Jim Pratt sitting on the steps to their hut.

  ‘I’ve had enough, lad. That bloody Tiplady, why if he’s a man of God then I’m the man in the moon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, sanctimonious leech, taking advantage of folk in need. And your mother’s too blind to see it.’ Jim kicked the step, swearing under his breath.

  ‘Aye, you’ll get no argument from me. But he can’t be here much longer, surely. His hut’s nearly finished. Come away, let’s go and have a pint together – Mother will never know, she’s too busy saving souls.’

  ‘Aye, well, it’ll be her soul that takes the most saving out of the lot of us,’ sighed Jim, reaching for John’s hand and allowing himself to be helped up off the steps. ‘She’s always up to something, is your mother. You’ll not believe this: she’s only gone and wangled herself the job of feeding Tiplady and his brethren, without so much as a by your leave from me – not that I have any say in owt nowadays. But I’ll tell her in the morning that they can pay for their own bloody food. I’ll not have her spending my hard-earned money on that bugger and his cronies, even if it means I burn in hell. At least it’ll be bloody warm there, not like this dump.’ Jim slapped his son on the back. ‘Come on, let’s make it a pint or two, we’ll soon shift the little bugger if we come home drunk – he’ll not like that!’

  By the time they got to the Welcome Inn, Jim and his eldest were laughing and chatting the way they used to before the business with Bob soured things.

  They took their pints to the snug and settled themselves in, looking around contentedly. ‘Do you know, Father, when that railway’s built I’d like a place like this. A good wife behind the bar, children running around my feet, and my own business,’ said John, licking the froth off his lip.

  ‘Then go for it, lad. Don’t let your mother boss you – she’s had her own way too long. Get yourself across to that Mason lass. Bye, she’s a feisty one and will lead you a dance, but she’s a good woman and fellows will always turn their heads when you’ve that on your arm. Besides, you’ve a ready-made family with that Lizzie. She’s a grand one, is little Liz.’ Jim pulled on his pipe and acknowledged a workmate across the bar.

  ‘I didn’t think you knew about Molly and me.’ John looked at his father.

  ‘Give over, lad! I wasn’t born yesterday. You were always skulking across the way, and she was the talk of the viaduct gang yesterday after she ran all the way to the tunnel mouth to make sure you were alive. There wasn’t a man up that scaffolding that didn’t want to be you! Just be canny, though, and don’t get her in the family way like your daft brother did with his lass. Between us, we’ll manage to talk your mother around.’ Jim raised his glass at his son and got up from his seat. ‘Just off to catch up with Ginger over there. Let me know when you’re off home.’

  John watched as his father patted his mate on the back and sat down for a natter. Jim never ceased to amaze him. He barely said two words to anyone at home, yet he noticed everything and never let on. If it weren’t for the fact he’d been born in Durham, he’d have been the very epitome of a true Yorkshireman: ‘Hear all, see all – and say nowt.’

  17

  ‘John!’ Lizzie ran to the door and threw her arms around his waist.

  ‘Now don’t let young George Ashwell see you doing that, else he’ll be having words with me. He’s set his cap at you good and true, if you ask me.’ John could hardly get through the doorway, Lizzie’s grip on him was so tight.

  ‘You’re only joshing, he doesn’t think anything of me.’ Lizzie blushed and pretended to be coy as she pulled on John’s hand, leading him to a seat next to the fire. ‘Mam said we had a visitor tonight but she wouldn’t tell me who it was.’ She took John’s cap and hung it on the sneck behind the door.

  ‘If I’d told you, there’d have been no end to it.’ Molly laid the table and smiled at John, back in his rightful place next to the fire. ‘Pour John a drink then, I didn’t get a jug of ale from the inn for nothing.’ Molly stepped back from the table, making sure everything was perfect.

  Lizzie poured from the heavy jug into the earthenware beaker and watched as John took a long sip.

  ‘That’s grand, been looking forward to that all day – and your mother’s cooking.’ He beamed at both women. ‘So, what’ve you two been up to today? Lizzie, what great plans have you been making for the building of this railway?’

  ‘Well, Mr Ashwell says that the gradient’s too—’

  ‘Lizzie, what have I told you? What’s said in that cabin stops there. It’s not for us to know.’ Molly pulled her up sharp.

  ‘Moll, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have asked her,’ John cut in. ‘I ought to have known better. What I meant to ask was: what’s George had to say today?’ John grinned, trying to tease Lizzie out of the sulk that was looming on her brow.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s not much better! The boss’s son with his eye on my lass – I’ve told her to keep him at arm’s length. None of them shenanigans, she’s still only a bairn.’ Molly mashed the potatoes with fervour and dished them out on to three plates, trying to hide the grey lumps that were always present in her mash and hoping that John would not notice.

  ‘Molly Mason, I’ve missed your loving words and your winning ways, you miserable old woman.’ John stood up and kissed her hard on the lips while she stood
at the table with wooden spoon and potato pan in hand.

  Taken completely by surprise, Molly gawped for a moment and then blustered: ‘I’m only telling it as it is. And you can bloody well behave yourself, else you’ll get them enamel dishes to wash.’ Turning away, she smiled to herself, abandoning all pretence of being angry. It was good to have John back at her table.

  ‘How come your mother let you out to play then?’ Molly’s sarcastic question made Lizzie splutter on a mouthful of potato.

  ‘She doesn’t know I’m here. She’s too busy ordering them missionary do-gooders about. I doubt she’s even had time to make my father a warm supper tonight. That’ll not go down with my old fellow so well.’ John scraped his plate clean, relishing the warm supper Molly had prepared for him. ‘She’s besotted by that black crow, Tiplady. Him and his entire hellfire-and-brimstone gang. I didn’t think it could get any worse than having him living under the same roof, but me mam seems to be at his beck and call day and night now they’ve moved into their own lodgings. Father’s about ready to throw a fit.’

  ‘From what I see of Reverend Tiplady, he’s an arrogant so-and-so who has no idea how tough it is to survive up here. Close your ears, our Lizzie, ’cause you haven’t heard me say this so you don’t repeat it, do you hear? I reckon the reason they’re here is because the big bosses in Leeds think religion would do us good. Bloody cheek! They’d do better to look after our bodies instead of our bloody souls. They should see what it’s like at the hospital on a bad day – one look at a man’s arm hanging off or a mangled leg and they’d be running off with their tails between their legs,’ Molly scowled.

  ‘Mam, stop it. Mr Ashwell knows what happens,’ said Lizzie, anxious to put in a good word for her employer.

  ‘Happen he does. But does he tell them in charge? And do they give a damn? There’s two sorts in this world, Lizzie: them that work and no matter what they do they’ll never get no better, and them that sit on their backsides all day telling folk like us what to do. They’ll never get their hands dirty nor have to scrimp and save for their next meal. They use folk for their advantage – don’t you ever forget that, my lass. Just think on that when the young George is winking at you, because he’s after something and he’ll not be paying for it.’

  ‘Molly, you’re a hard woman. George is a grand lad. He might be the boss’s son, but he’s a good ’un. His father’s brought him up well, and from what I hear, his mother is an ex-mill lass who’s come from nothing. Your trouble, Molly Mason, is that you know far too much for a woman. You need a good fella to take you in hand.’ John leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs while he ran his thumbs under his braces.

  Molly, passing behind him with the dirty plates on her way to the sink, gave the chair a quick shove with her free hand, sending John sprawling on the floor.

  ‘When I’ve found him, I’ll let you know,’ Molly chuckled and Lizzie joined in the laughter as John, nursing his wounded dignity, picked himself up.

  ‘That wasn’t fair, I was only sticking up for Lizzie.’ John sat back down, his face red.

  ‘Nay, you should know by now, Lizzie takes after her mother: we can stand our ground, it’s the fellas in our lives that cause the bother.’ Molly wiped her hands on her pinny and kissed John softly on the top of his blond hair.

  ‘Mam . . . do you have to? At least wait until I’ve gone to bed!’

  ‘Hark at you, Lizzie Mason! Her as makes eyes at George over the desk all day! You should practise what you preach, missy. Why, you’re no better that than Tiplady.’

  All three laughed, glad to be in one another’s company again. It had been too long since they’d laughed this way.

  Nurse Thompson and Doctor Thistlethwaite were deep in conversation, heads bowed and whispering. Molly was too far away to hear what they were saying but she kept an eye on them as she tucked in the sheets around her patient. Nurse Thompson had been smiling all day, something that was highly unusual. Eyes still fixed on the couple, Molly tucked the bottom of the sheet in, lifting the mattress up and dropping it down heavily – causing the patient to let out a yelp of pain.

  ‘Hey! Mind what you’re bloody doing – I came in with my foot to be mended, not bloody broken again!’

  Molly apologized to her upset patient and stood with arms folded at the bottom of his bed. That was it! She’d seen one flashy grin too many from Starchy Drawers. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Molly walked up to the pair of them.

  ‘Go on then, if I’m out of a job, get on with it. I can’t do with all the whispering and smiles.’ She glared at them, waiting for an answer.

  ‘Sorry, Molly, what are you referring to? Nurse Thompson and I haven’t mentioned you once. I’m sorry if we gave you that impression.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite stumbled over his words and blushed.

  ‘Tell her, Roger! Oh, tell her, please.’ Gladys Thompson pulled on the doctor’s sleeve and practically squealed the words.

  ‘I don’t think now is quite the right . . .’ Roger Thistlethwaite stumbled.

  ‘We’re getting married! We’re getting married in a month’s time – isn’t it wonderful?’ Gladys Thompson was beside herself. She giggled like a schoolgirl and kissed the embarrassed Roger on the cheek. ‘Yes, he’s asked me to marry him. Of course, it was only to be expected. After all, we are of the same class,’ she added, her snooty demeanour returning.

  Molly smiled with relief. She’d been convinced that she was about to be dismissed.

  ‘Congratulations, I’m sure you will both be very happy and that you’ll make the perfect couple. You have so much in common.’ Molly noticed that Roger couldn’t look her in the eye. She would have dearly loved to tell Starchy Drawers that he’d asked her first and was only settling for second best because she’d turned down his proposal, but she didn’t want to upset Roger, and even Nurse Gladys deserved to have a bit of happiness – a commodity that was in short supply in this godforsaken place.

  Besides, she had her John back and that was all that mattered.

  18

  ‘Well, I suppose if your family is ill, you’ll have to return to Bradford. It’s unfortunate that you have only stayed with us such a short time. Of course, I’ll have to inform the Missionary Society of your decision.’ Reverend Tiplady scowled with displeasure at his assistant. If it were down to him, he’d have insisted that the man stay. It was most inconvenient his leaving now. He ought to be ashamed of himself, allowing a bout of winter influenza to stand in the way of his calling.

  The young missionary, red-eyed and sneezing violently, thanked the Reverend for his consideration, picked up his few belongings and set off for the train station at Skipton.

  ‘That’s a shame, Reverend. He was such a nice young man.’ Rose Pratt stopped sweeping and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with her idol, watching as the young missionary scurried out of the missionary hut and off down the track. In addition to cooking for the brethren, she’d taken on the role of Tobias Tiplady’s housekeeper. After all, the hut had few furnishings and keeping it tidy didn’t take too much of her time.

  ‘God works in mysterious ways, Mrs Pratt. Perhaps his calling was not as strong as it should be.’

  ‘I think he missed his family. It’s not easy up here, if you’re a good family man.’ Rose plumped up the straw mattress that had been the young missionary’s bed and rearranged the bedding. ‘I’m not changing this bedding, he’s only slept in it a week.’

  Tobias Tiplady grunted and walked to his desk in the far corner of his new hut.

  ‘It sounded as if he was coming down with something, the way he was sneezing. At least we’ll not be catching it now he’s gone,’ said Rose. ‘There’s some broth on the stove for your supper and I’m going to be away now, before Jim starts grumbling again.’ She picked up her empty dishes, jangling them into her basket before she threw her shawl on.

  ‘Your husband doesn’t know how lucky he is,’ complained Tobias, looking up from the letter he was writing to the Missio
nary Society. ‘Here am I, on my own again. The Lord’s work can be fearfully lonely.’

  ‘Now don’t take on so, Reverend. I’ll be back in the morning. Like you, I’ve to see to my flock. Mind you, it’s rare I have the time nowadays to see Mike and his family. They may only be up the road, but my old legs won’t carry me. Besides, it’s a terrible place. That’s where you ought to preach next, Reverend: Gearstones doss-house. Bye, they could do with a bit of religion up there.’

  Rose wrapped her shawl around her head and made for home, not waiting for Reverend Tiplady’s reply. Though the sinful doings up at Gearstones were a constant refrain of hers, the truth was she knew nothing of what went on up there. Her son offered no information whatsoever on what went on there, and as time went by she had convinced herself that she didn’t care. Tonight, as she made her way back along the rutted track to her hut, her aching back and limbs were so painful that she hadn’t the energy to worry about anything beyond getting home.

  Jim was sitting reading his paper when she walked in. He looked up as she pulled off her shawl and placed her heavy basket down.

  ‘It’s been a long day, Father, and I’m fair worn out. That new preacher’s gone back to Bradford already. Apparently, his family’s badly. Tobias wasn’t too happy about having to do without his help.’

  ‘He should bloody well do without your help an’ all,’ said Jim, looking at his wife’s tired face.‘Lord knows I’ve told you plenty of times: let him get a young lass in there to cook and clean. You’re an old bird, our Rose. It’s time you took it easy.’

  ‘Happen you’re right. I’ll tell him to go and hire somebody at the end of the week. I thought I’d manage. Turns out the head’s willing but my poor old body is on its last. I still think I’m sixteen, that’s my trouble. It’ll have to be a cold supper tonight, all right?’