by Val Wood
But it was different in Hull, from what she had gathered. The fishermen of Scarborough were mostly self-employed, or at least if they didn’t own their own boat they often had a share in one. In Hull, so she had heard, there were big companies with several vessels and men were employed to work them. They were also away for longer periods, sailing to Arctic waters for deep-sea fishing.
The joy she should have felt was somehow eroded because of Ethan’s misery, and although she didn’t try to avoid him they didn’t meet, not even accidentally. She still went about her daily business and joined her mother down by the harbour as before, but her path never seemed to cross Ethan’s.
‘Have you seen Ethan, Ma?’ she asked one night. ‘I want to talk to him. I still want us to be friends.’
‘I don’t think that’ll happen, Jeannie,’ her mother said quietly. ‘He’s hurt. He’s licking his wounds. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.’
One morning Mary saw Josh and called him over. ‘There’s trouble between our bairns,’ she said.
‘Is there?’ Josh looked puzzled. ‘Is that why Ethan’s like a bear with a sore head? I’ve not had a word out of him for days.’
Mary told him the story as she knew it as she continued knotting and splicing the net on her knee. Josh crouched down beside her.
‘I always thought that they—’
‘Aye, so did he, but ne’er a word to Jeannie. This is the trouble, Josh,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘If nothing is said how is anyone to know?’
He straightened up. ‘It’s been hard, Mary. Very hard, bringing up bairns without a mother. A double tragedy for Ethan, losing Mark on the same day. No wonder he says so little.’ His face softened. ‘And my poor Susan, she’s lost her childhood trying to be a ma to the little ones, and raising Stephen.’
‘She has,’ Mary agreed, and wondered if Josh had ever noticed the occasions when she had looked after his younger children for a few hours so that his daughter could have some time to herself or with friends. Susan was eighteen and her hopes, if she had ever had any, of having a husband of her own must be rapidly fading with so little opportunity to meet people. Her younger sister Ida was courting a fisherman. The youngest girl, and Stephen, who was now eight, no longer needed constant attention, but Susan’s role of housekeeper to her father and surrogate mother to her siblings was a duty it would be difficult for her to abandon.
‘You should have married again, Josh,’ she murmured. ‘It would have been best for you all.’
Josh nodded. Like Ethan he was not communicative; he kept his worries close to his chest. ‘Mebbe I should. But what woman would’ve taken on a man with a house full of children?’
She smiled. He was a handsome amiable man. ‘A few, I should think, but your bairns are almost all full grown now, and maybe Susan won’t want to relinquish her position.’
‘But Ethan,’ he said. ‘What to do about him?’
‘Nothing,’ Mary replied. ‘There’s nothing to be done. Jeannie has set her sights and her heart on this fellow Harry. I only hope she’s not making a big mistake.’
Josh heaved a sigh. ‘I hope not too, but Ethan’s heart will be broken, I know that. I know my lad.’
March turned to April and the days were getting longer, the evenings cool but pleasant. Jeannie took to taking rambling walks after work, to parts of Scarborough which she normally wouldn’t visit. She walked beyond and above the Spa, admiring the rose gardens and the tree planting that was taking place for the benefit of visitors coming to the resort. Sometimes she walked in the parks, or gazed through the railings at the locked square gardens to which only the private householders had a key.
Sometimes she climbed the hill overlooking the North Bay and stood gazing at the power of the sea as it hit the rocks, or watched the ships dipping between the watery ridges of the choppy ocean. This eastern coastline was notorious for its shifting currents and the vagaries of its weather, which could change instantly from bright sunshine to enveloping sea mist, from gentle breeze to gale-force wind.
She made her way down the cliff and walked along the sands almost to the boundary of Scalby before turning about and returning home. There were times when she wished she could take out a boat and row or sail in the bay and round the headland towards the harbour. There was talk of a road or promenade being built to join the north and south bays, but it had come to nothing, though plans were being drawn up for pleasure gardens and landscaping and work had already begun to clear a woodland ravine.
Jeannie needed these walks alone as she slowly began to realize that there was a possibility that Harry might not come back; that what he had told her, of his love and of their marriage, might not be true. She had given him her address so he could no longer claim not to know where she lived, as he had said last time.
By the end of May she was becoming anxious and towards the middle of June she was decidedly so.
On the longest day of the year Mary rose and with a shawl over her nightgown began the breakfast; she took the pan of porridge from the fire where it had been simmering all night, stirred it, salted it and poured it into three bowls on the table, then riddled the coals and placed the kettle over the heat.
‘Come on, Jeannie,’ she called. ‘Six o’clock. Time you were up.’
Jeannie rolled out of bed and within a minute was heading for the outside privy. Mary heard the retching and placed a hand over her mouth.
‘Dear God,’ she muttered, ‘please. No. Not that!’
‘I knew that crab was off,’ Jeannie gasped as with watery eyes she stumbled back through the door. ‘Tom! Was that one of yours?’
Tom had purchased crab and lobster baskets which he took out at weekends. He was doing well with the boat-building company and at seventeen was assured of a regular job. He had also conquered some of his fear of sailing and the baskets were a sideline to bring in a little extra money.
‘Nowt wrong with my shellfish!’ he said. ‘Anyway, I had some and so did Ma and we’re all right.’
Mary said nothing, but her hand shook as she dished up the porridge and beckoned Jeannie to sit down.
Jeannie wiped her hand across her mouth. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve definitely had something that disagreed with me.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother’s voice was subdued. ‘I would say that you had.’
CHAPTER NINE
FOR MARY THERE appeared to be only one possible explanation for Jeannie’s nausea, and when she thought back to the day her daughter, so flushed and wide-eyed, had told her she wanted to marry the Hull fisherman, the interpretation seemed totally plausible.
As she walked down to the harbour to work on the nets she felt weighed down with shock and anxiety. What will we do if he doesn’t honour her and the child by marrying her? When Mary had first met Jack and they had fallen instantly in love with each other, he had treated her with respect and never asked her for more than she wanted to give.
But this Harry! We don’t know who he is; he could be married already. The thought of Jeannie bringing up an illegitimate child without the support of its father filled her with fear. Trying to earn a living is hard enough; we’re barely able to make ends meet as it is. And in a few years’ time she would lose Tom’s small contribution. Although he had not yet completed his apprenticeship, he was courting the daughter of one of his colleagues and already talking of marriage and saving to set up a place of their own once he was earning a living wage. Yet despite everything, the idea of having a small child tottering about and playing in the house also gave her a frisson of pleasure. By the time Jeannie was six she had wanted more children, but her husband’s tragic death had put an end to that possibility.
We’d manage, I expect, she considered, and not a word of censure penetrated her thoughts. Only the practicalities of dealing with the problem concerned her.
Granny Marshall will have plenty to say, she thought as she arrived at the harbour yard where the nets in need of repair were draped on racks; she nodded and
raised her hand in greeting to the fishermen and the other women who were also starting work. Aggie had become even more difficult over the last few years and nothing anyone did or said ever pleased her.
At midday Mary left the yard and took a walk towards the harbour. A fleet of drifters was coming in, and Josh’s boat was among them. He and another fisherman had recently bought the Bonnie Lass Two, which could hold about sixty drift nets. They had also invested in a steam capstan which made hauling the full nets on board a little easier, although it was still hard work and they needed a crew of seven or eight, but the bigger catch meant it was worth it.
Josh called to her from the deck. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she lied. ‘As right as can be. All right with you? A good catch?’
He nodded. ‘Pretty good.’ He grabbed a couple of herring from the deck and leapt off the boat. ‘Here.’ He handed them to her. ‘Fresh as they come. Ethan seems to be more settled. He’s not as morose as he was. Mebbe they’re seeing each other again – him and Jeannie, I mean.’
She thanked him for the herring and then said, ‘Don’t think so.’ She didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I think we can forget about that.’
He gazed down at her for a second before saying, ‘Pity.’ He turned to go back on board, where the other men were filling the baskets ready to send them to the curers, but then he paused. ‘I was wondering – now that we’ve got a bigger boat would you consider working on our nets as a regular job? These nets are thinner and they snag quite a bit. Simon and I will do the soaking, shan’t expect you to do that, but if we knew that somebody reliable could do the mending it would free us up.’
‘Yes, I would,’ she said, delighted to be offered regular work. She was hardly ever idle, but there were lots of women just as capable as she was of mending and braiding and it would be a comfort to know she need not worry about slack periods any longer.
Fishermen were very particular about their nets and many preferred linen or hemp over cotton, but sea water rotted them all and, to prevent this damage, they were soaked in vats of chemical solution to deter further disintegration.
‘You wouldn’t mind if I worked on anybody else’s, would you?’ she asked, mindful that they would need as much money as it was possible to earn. ‘If yours were finished? Yours would be the priority, of course.’
‘No, course not. If you like I’ll ask Ethan and his partner if they’ll give you theirs on a regular basis too.’ Ethan had shares in a boat and seemed to be making a reasonable living.
She accepted gratefully, feeling less downcast than she had been, and tried not to dwell on the future and its problems.
The next morning Jeannie was up first and immediately went outside, where she could be heard retching.
‘What’s up with Jeannie?’ Tom asked. ‘Has she caught summat?’
‘I think she has,’ his mother admitted.
‘Hope it’s not catching,’ he said. ‘We’ve the launch of a new coble in a couple of weeks and I can’t take any time off.’
‘I shouldn’t worry about that,’ Mary said dismally, and when he had left for work and Jeannie was toying with her gruel she decided that the time had come for discussion.
‘Are you going to tell me, then?’ She sat down opposite Jeannie. ‘What’s making you sick?’
Jeannie’s face was white, and her lips were pale as she faced her mother. ‘I don’t know, Ma.’
‘Don’t you? Can’t you guess?’ Mary took a deep breath. ‘You must have some idea, Jeannie.’
Jeannie’s eyes filled with tears and her mouth trembled. ‘I’ve missed my flux three times,’ she whispered. ‘Ma, I’m frightened. Am I pregnant?’
‘Are you asking me, Jeannie?’ her mother said quietly. ‘There’s only one way to get pregnant and you are the only one likely to know. Did you and Harry …’
She couldn’t bring herself to ask outright if Jeannie had allowed this stranger to debase her. Had she been willing, or had he committed an outrage? She’s just a bairn, she thought. Just a wee bairn.
But Jeannie was nodding her head and reaching for a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. ‘I loved him,’ she wept, rocking to and fro. ‘And he said he loved me and that it would be all right. But now he’s gone and I don’t know if he’s coming back.’
Mary privately thought that there was no chance in the world that he would come back, and beneath her breath she cursed him with all the vile words she knew but never uttered.
‘We’ll wait another month so that we’re sure,’ she said. ‘And then we’ll think of what we can do.’
‘I’d want to keep it,’ Jeannie cried.
‘That you will,’ her mother agreed. ‘We’ll have no backstreet abortion. It’s a life we’re talking about, if in fact you have been caught.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘We’ll wait and see.’ She raised her head. ‘Now, get ready for work. You’ve a living to earn.’
‘Yes, Ma,’ Jeannie said meekly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry!’
‘You’ll not be the first,’ Mary said. ‘Nor the last.’ Her eyes too were moist and her voice trembled. ‘But I never thought it’d happen to you, Jeannie. I feel as if I’ve failed you in some way. That what’s happened is my fault for not keeping you on the straight and narrow.’
Jeannie stared at her mother. ‘It’s not your fault, Ma. It’s mine – and Harry’s too. But I didn’t think of the consequences, I was just – just …’ How could she possibly explain to her mother how she had felt about him, how he thrilled her to her very being and that she had wanted him as much as he wanted her – or, she amended, as much as she had thought he wanted her. Perhaps, she thought miserably as she set off for the chandler’s shop, he didn’t feel the same way she did. Perhaps he only wanted the thrill of the chase, and not anything permanent.
There was plenty of work on the nets, so Jeannie gave in her notice at the chandler’s. She saw Ethan several times and he always came over to speak to her, but she found she had nothing to say, nothing that would heal the breach between them.
Her sickness eased but she felt sluggish and lacking in energy, although she suspected this was because of her worry over the non-appearance of Harry rather than anything physical. Her shape remained the same and each morning she ran her hands over her waist and belly to check if there was any sign of swelling, but there wasn’t; yet still her flux didn’t appear and she was convinced that she was carrying a child.
Mary took Tom aside one evening just before he went out. ‘I want to talk to you, Tom.’
‘What have I done?’ he exclaimed, seeing his mother’s serious expression.
‘It’s not what you’ve done but what you might do,’ she said. ‘Sit down. I want to discuss something.’
Obediently he sat, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘I’m meeting Sarah soon,’ he said.
‘It’s about Sarah I want to speak,’ Mary said, and Tom’s mouth dropped open. ‘It’s my duty as your mother to make sure you are treating her with respect. I know that you love her, but I want to say …’ She took a breath. This was something a boy’s father should do, not his mother.
‘I want to say that you must always treat her honourably—’
‘Crikey, Ma! I’ve known Sarah since I was six!’ Tom broke in.
‘I know that,’ she said, ‘and all the more reason why you must show her regard and not familiarity.’
Tom’s cheeks suddenly crimsoned as he understood his mother’s meaning.
‘What I’m saying, Tom,’ Mary went on, ‘is that it’s all right to have a kiss and a cuddle, but nothing more than that. Do you know what I’m saying?’
‘Yeh! Course I do,’ he mumbled. ‘And I won’t. Crikey,’ he said again. ‘Have you seen the size of her da? He’d have my guts for garters if I did summat I shouldn’t.’
‘Good,’ she said with a heave of breath. ‘That’s all right then. So long as you know. It’s not a good way to start a marriage if you’ve to wed in a hurry.
’
He stood up and towered over her. ‘What brought that on?’ he asked. ‘You know I’ve been courting Sarah since she turned sixteen.’
The same age as Jeannie, she thought, and look at what’s happened there. She shook her head. ‘Just thought it needed mentioning, that’s all. I dare say Sarah’s mother has said the same thing to her.’
He gave a little shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘She might have done, but Sarah’s never said. But she’s never needed to, Ma,’ he said gently. ‘She knows that she can trust me.’
Mary held back her tears until he had gone and then gave way to them; she was just composing herself when the door opened and Jeannie came in. She was flushed and windswept, her thick brown hair wild and tangled, but she looked beautiful, Mary thought.
Jeannie smiled at her mother. She seemed relaxed yet buoyant, more cheerful than she had been for some weeks.
‘Ma,’ she said, ‘I’ve made a decision. I’m going to Hull. I’ve enough money for the train fare. I’m going to look for Harry.’
CHAPTER TEN
JEANNIE HAD DECIDED that evening, as she set out on her usual walkabout, that she would confront the demons which were holding her fast, and to this end she took the steep hill up to the castle. She entered the gateway and walked across the rough grass to the edge of the rocky promontory and gazed down at the well-loved view of the medieval town which had been built close to the harbour and now climbed up the precipitous limestone cliffs. The town had been founded by and named after the Viking raider Thorgills Skarthi, though Jeannie remembered being told at school that the castle had been built by King Henry II, who had granted charters to the town.
A fleet of fishing cobles and smacks was putting out to sea on their way to night-time fishing, and she wondered if Ethan was sailing tonight. From this distance she couldn’t see either the name of his ship, the Scarborough Girl, nor the flag that it flew.
