Always I'Ll Remember

by Bradshaw, Rita

  This last thought prompted Abby to say, ‘It was nice of you to meet me out today, Da. You been to the shipping office?’

  ‘Aye. You know me, lass, a week on dry land and I’ve just about had me fill.’

  Abby knew it was her mam he’d had enough of but she didn’t comment on this, merely saying, ‘When do you sail?’

  ‘First thing Thursday morning.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘Two or three months.’

  Her heart sank but the training of years prevented it from showing in either her face or voice, and she reminded herself for the umpteenth time that it could be worse - Wilbert could have chosen to follow their da onto the ships and then it would have been only herself and Clara at home with their mam. She had felt pleased but guilty when Wilbert’s childish dislike of the sea had grown the older he’d become; her da would have loved his only son to work with him, but for herself she felt only overwhelming relief that Wilbert was staying put. It wasn’t just that the pair of them had some good cracks together, or that it was nice to have a man around for some of the heavier jobs like bringing in the sacks of coal or taties, more that Wilbert, with his sunny, relaxed nature, kept an uneasy peace in the house some of the time. Mind, even her brother wouldn’t be able to pour oil on troubled waters this night.

  Her shoulders instinctively straightened at the thought as though she was already doing battle with her mother, and a battle it would be. She knew it. Her mam was as determined to keep her working in the pickle factory as she was to escape it. It would be seen as a personal insult that her daughter had had the temerity to save what she could from the two shillings doled back to her from her weekly wage of ten and ninepence, solely in order to produce the fee needed for the shorthand and typing evening course at the technical college.

  ‘Well, lass, the fish’ll be biting at the dead man’s finger if we stay out here much longer. The sooner we’re in, the sooner dinner’ll be on the table and the sooner you can get what needs to be said off your chest. Ready?’

  ‘Aye, I’m ready, Da.’ As ready as she would ever be when a confrontation with her mother was looming. No one, not Wilbert or even her da, knew how her stomach knotted and how bad she felt when her mam was on her high horse about something or other. But she couldn’t say nothing and let her mother gallop roughshod over her like the rest of them did. It was just not in her somehow. Her mam said she was an awkward little madam and too big for her boots, and maybe she was, but she couldn’t help it.

  As always, Abby’s spirits dropped as she approached the house. Heavy starched lace curtains hung at the windows, the front door knocker was shining and the front step had the smart cream-edged finish which said the occupant was diligent with the scouring stone. She hated that step. She sometimes spent half an hour or more stoning the surface before her mother was satisfied it was done, and then the next minute someone trod on it with muddy boots or the grime and dust of the street settled again. It was pointless. She didn’t intend to ever stone her step when she was married and she didn’t care what the neighbours said.

  For some reason the thought strengthened her, enabling her voice to sound quite perky as she opened the front door and called, ‘We’re back, Mam.’

  There was no reply but she hadn’t really expected one. Quietly now, she and her father hung their coats on the brown pegs along one wall of the hall and walked past the front room door which, as always, was closed, and into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Number 12 Rose Street comprised four rooms and a scullery, being a two-up, two-down terrace with a privy in the backyard. The brick-built lavatory was their own but they shared a wash house and a yard tap with number fourteen. Her mother’s sister lived in this house with her husband and four children and Granda Dodds, who had been bedridden for years due to an accident at the shipyard just after the influenza had taken his wife in the winter of 1928. Abby loved her mother’s father and she knew the irascible old man loved her; she’d also known from a child without a word being said that this was not the case between her granda and her mother.

  ‘You’re ten minutes late.’

  Nora Vickers did not look at her husband and eldest child as she spoke. She lifted a large casserole dish out of the oven and placed it on the steel shelf at one side of the range, then began to slice a large loaf of new bread into thick slices. Clara was busy setting the table with cutlery and dinner plates, and the sisters exchanged a swift smile before Abby said, ‘Da met me out of work and we got talking.’

  ‘Got talking! Nice to have the time to waste to talk.’ It was said with contempt.

  Abby’s father shook his head in warning and Abby bit back the hot words hovering on her tongue and followed him through into the scullery. A tin dish half full of water and a tablet of carbolic soap were standing on a small table under the narrow window, next to which hung a towel from a nail driven into the brick wall. As they were drying their hands they heard Wilbert’s voice, and a moment later the tall, gangly figure joined them in the scullery. Smiles were exchanged but not a word was spoken as Abby and her father went into the kitchen and took their places at the table. Wilbert followed a moment later, rubbing his damp hands on his trousers.

  As her mother ladled out the first plate of meaty stew and dumplings from the dish beside the range, Abby said, ‘Shall I help you with those, Mam?’ and rose from her seat.

  ‘Bit late for any help.’ It was sharp. ‘You stay where you are.’

  It wasn’t until they had all begun to eat, helping themselves to shives of bread from the plate in the centre of the table, that Nora broke the silence. ‘Did you get a ship?’ she asked, without looking directly at her husband.

  ‘Aye.’ Raymond ate a large piece of dumpling, chewing slowly and swallowing before he added, ‘We sail Thursday.’

  If anyone had been looking at Nora they would have seen her stiff frame relax slightly, but no trace of this came through in her voice when she said, ‘How long will you be gone this time?’

  ‘Couple of months, maybe three.’

  Let it be three. Three months free of the irritant of having to look at him, to feed him, to lie with him. How could she ever have thought herself in love with this useless windbag of a man? It was a question she had asked herself numerous times over the years, and the answer was always the same: I was young and silly and swept off my feet by his looks and manner. He’d been so charming and handsome then - he still was handsome, but his attractiveness had long since failed to hold any appeal.

  All her pals had been mad on the small but personable sailor. When he had singled her out, her head had been turned, it was as simple as that. But she had paid for her vanity a thousandfold and would continue to do so - unless the sea claimed him. This thought made her uncomfortable - not the idea itself because it was by no means a new one, but the fact that it carried an ever increasing yearning with it.

  Nora glanced round the well-stocked table, her gaze moving to the shining range a moment later. She worked her fingers to the bone keeping them all fed and the house like a new pin, and not a word of appreciation, she thought bitterly, yet her fat lump of a sister was like a pig in muck and everyone thought she was wonderful. Her next words followed on from this train of thought. ‘Did you know next door have just got a new wireless?’ She looked straight at her husband for the first time since he had entered the house.

  ‘What? A wireless? No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Strikes me Audrey would have been better spent putting the money into the house. Her curtains are a disgrace and there’s holes in the lino and dirt an inch thick on the mats. Filthy hole.’

  Raymond’s hand moved stealthily under the tablecloth and tapped Abby’s knee in silent warning. His daughter was sitting bolt upright, her face flushed with indignant colour. ‘Ivor made their old set donkey’s years ago,’ he said mildly. ‘Likely it gave up the ghost.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘It’s their choice ho
w they spend what comes in. I don’t suppose they’re doing too badly with Ivor and the three lads back in work now all this talk of war is making the powers that be windy. You can’t fight a war without shipyards. ’

  ‘War. Huh.’ Nora tossed her head. ‘Ten to one nothing will come of it and they’ll be back on short time or the dole before you can say Jack Robinson. And what good will a new wireless do them then, eh?’

  He’d known something had got her goat from the minute he had walked in but he’d thought it was him and the lass coming in together - she never had liked it that Abby thought a bit of him. But it was her sister and this damn wireless. By, she was a bitter pill, was Nora. He bent his head to his meal without saying anything more, pushing his plate from him when he was finished.

  This was the signal for Abby to rise to her feet and gather the dirty plates and dishes together. She took them through to the scullery where she placed them on the table next to the tin dish ready for scouring later. She returned to the kitchen, took the kettle off the hob and swilled the big brown teapot with a little hot water to warm it before thrusting the kettle into the heart of the flames to bring the water to the boil. Once the tea was mashing she busied herself bringing the milk jug, sugar bowl and cups and saucers to the table, her heart thumping a tattoo all the while. It was only when she had poured everyone a cup of tea, Clara’s being mostly milk with a little sugar to sweeten it, that she took a deep breath and said, ‘I’ve some news, Mam.’

  ‘You? You’ve got news, you say?’

  Her mother’s tone made Abby’s heart beat still faster. ‘Aye. Good news.’ Just say it. Don’t make a big thing of it, just spit it out. ‘I applied for an evening course at the technical college, shorthand and typing, and I heard today I got in.’

  Her mother’s eyes were unblinking as she stared at her.

  Wilbert smiled. ‘Well done, Abby. When did—’

  Abby cut across him, the look on her mother’s face causing her to gabble. ‘They had to turn some people away because they had too many for the one course but I got in, so that’s good, isn’t it? Thursday and Monday nights I’ve got to go, every week till Christmas, then if I pass the exams I can go on to the next stage and—’

  ‘How long have you been planning this?’

  ‘What?’ Her mother’s voice had been so quiet it took a moment for the words to register, and then Abby said, ‘For-for months,’ hating the fact she had stuttered. ‘Ever since I left school, I suppose,’ she added more strongly.

  ‘And where do you think the money’s coming from to pay for it? Thin air?’

  ‘No. I—’

  ‘It’s out of the question. There’s an end to it.’

  A swift rise of anger suffused Abby but she forced herself to say calmly, ‘It’s all paid for. You have to give the money when you apply and then they return it if you don’t get in. That’s what the lady in the office said.’

  ‘You gave her the money?’ Nora rounded on Raymond so quickly she took everyone by surprise. ‘How dare you put her up to this!’

  ‘It wasn’t Da,’ Abby protested, her tone vehement. ‘I saved up.’

  ‘Saved up? Oh, of course you did.’ Nora nodded her head, her tone vicious. ‘It must have been easy with all them pounds and pounds you’re earning. Do you think I was born yesterday, girl?’ And then, as a thought hit, she said, ‘You had a raise you haven’t told me about?’

  ‘You know I haven’t. You have my wage packet each week with the slip still in it. Like I said, I’ve been saving, right from when I first started at the factory. It’s taken me a long time but—’

  ‘Then it’s a pity the money’s been wasted because you’re not going.’

  Abby was stumped for words for a second; there had been a grim finality to her mother’s voice.

  Raymond had been quietly sipping his tea but now he inclined his head towards Wilbert and Clara who made themselves scarce. Then he faced his wife.

  ‘No need to get on your high horse, Nora,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason why the bairn can’t do this if she wants to. She’ll still be working at the factory in the day, after all.’

  ‘Oh you, I might have known you’d take her side, encouraging her to think she can go behind my back like this. Well, I won’t have it, I tell you. It’s all right for you, you’re not here for the best part of the year and it’s me who has to do everything.’

  ‘Don’t start that tack. Through the worst of the Depression you were damn glad I wasn’t in the mines or the shipyards like them lot next door, now then. You still collected me wage from the shipping office each week and you wanted for nowt, so think on. Trouble with you, Nora, is that you’ve got a short memory when it suits you. Half of Sunderland were starving and your own sister among ’em. And while we’re on the subject, if them poor blighters next door want to buy a wireless after the misery they’ve been through for years I, for one, don’t begrudge ’em it.’

  ‘No, well, you wouldn’t, would you! You’ve never been able to see further than the end of your nose.’

  It was with visible effort that Raymond controlled his temper. He took a deep breath before he said, ‘This isn’t about you an’ me, it’s about the bairn and this notion she’s got to try her hand at something different.’

  ‘And I’ve said I’m not going to have her gallivanting off here, there and everywhere. I need her here helping me in the evenings.’

  ‘I’ve paid for it and I’m going, Mam.’ Abby looked straight into her mother’s eyes. ‘I’ll still help in the house but I’m doing the shorthand and typing two evenings a week.’

  ‘You are not, madam, so think on.’

  The brown gaze did not falter. ‘I am.’

  Nora now rose from her seat, coming to stand in front of her daughter. Her voice low, she said, ‘You’ll defy me then? Is that what you are saying?’

  Her mother’s eyes were cornflower blue and her face heart-shaped. All Abby’s friends at school had thought she was lucky to have such a pretty mam. Why this thought came into her head at that precise moment she was not sure, unless it was the way her mother’s face had pulled tight so she didn’t look pretty at all. Abby jerked to her feet, pushing back the kitchen chair with her legs. She had seen the look in her mother’s eyes, the look that always accompanied a ringing slap across the face, and in spite of her father being home she knew her mother was incensed enough to go for her. For the first time in her life it made her angry rather than afraid. She hated her mam. It might be wicked and against everything Father Finlay preached, but she did.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Fanny Kirby at the factory, her lodger’s just done a moonlight flit and he only paid three bob a week for his room,’ she said loudly, as though her mother was in the scullery rather than right in front of her. ‘And she likes me, Fanny does.’

  She saw her mother’s eyes widen for a split second. ‘You threatening me, girl?’

  ‘No.’ Normally by now she would be backing away from the intent in her mother’s face but tonight there was fire in her belly. Her dream, her lovely dream of getting out of the factory and working somewhere where the air was clean and sweet, of doing something she liked, was not going to die. She wouldn’t let it. And her mam needed her at home. Only the two of them knew just how much she needed her - all the ironing, cleaning the range from top to bottom every week, scouring out the privy every other day and doing the kitchen from top to bottom every second Saturday, besides the everyday cleaning and washing and seeing to Clara. All that on top of giving her mam most of her wage each week. Her mam would be a fool to let her go and, whatever else she was, she wasn’t that. ‘I’m not threatening you, I’m saying I’m going on the course whatever happens.’

  Abby saw the indecision in her mother’s face and knew her hand was fairly twitching, but Nora didn’t lash out and send her flying. They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time to Abby’s overstretched nerves, and then Nora said, her words slow and flat, ‘You’re an upstart, girl. You know tha
t, don’t you? From the minute you were born you’ve been trouble. But just remember this, there’s none that get so high that they can’t be brought down, and that’s what’ll happen to you one day.’ And she turned on her heel and left the room.

  Abby was still biting hard on her bottom lip to prevent it trembling; it didn’t register for a moment that she had won.

  ‘That might have been hard, lass,’ her father said, ‘but if I’d stood up to her years ago instead of taking the easy road, things’d be different now.’

  Only then did Abby relax. But she felt no flood of joy that she had got her own way. The look on her father’s face and the way he had just spoken had taken care of that. He didn’t like her mam any more than she did and she wondered why the seriousness of that had never fully dawned on her before.

  Chapter Two

  When Abby walked into her aunt’s backyard the next morning she could smell bacon frying. She opened the scullery door and called, ‘Anyone at home?’