The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  ‘Can’t turn work away,’ Nan said. ‘I’ll tek ’rugs up and move ’table back and then there’s nowt to harm.’

  So Jeannie put on her rubber apron and sat by the fire and Harry brought in the nets for her to repair on her knee.

  ‘You sure you’re all right doing ’em, Jeannie?’ Harry asked one morning. He seemed quite solicitous and Jeannie thought that perhaps Nan had had a quiet word and told him that her time was almost due. ‘Don’t want you mekking yourself badly.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ She smiled. ‘And we need the money, don’t we? Another mouth to feed.’

  He nodded, and went out shortly afterwards. He didn’t come in until well after dinner time and Nan had put his meal in the oven to keep warm.

  ‘Got a ship,’ he announced. ‘I’m going out with Mike Gardiner’s lad again.’

  ‘Fleeting?’ Jeannie asked. ‘I thought you didn’t want to. What position?’

  ‘Onny third,’ he said. ‘But I told him I was willing to do it if he’d have me. Telled him I had a bairn on ’way and needed ’money.’

  ‘Oh, Harry!’ Jeannie was overcome with emotion. ‘Thank you.’

  He grinned. ‘Can’t have you losing ’bairn, can we, and it means you don’t have to tek on so much work.’

  There wasn’t much anyway, she thought. She’d finished Charlie’s nets and now his ship was laid up there wouldn’t be any more for a while. She had one more to do for Mike and he hadn’t promised any others. ‘I’ll be glad of the rest,’ she told Harry, and that night in bed he was tender and considerate and she felt happier than she had in a long time. ‘Come safe home,’ she whispered, and thought that when he did come home there might well be another person in the house.

  Harry had said that he’d be home for Christmas, and in the weeks running up to it Jeannie and Nan had prepared a plum pudding, mixed mincemeat for pies, and ordered a piece of beef, sausage meat and a pork pie from the butcher for Christmas Day.

  ‘Hope I’ll be able to eat it,’ she told Nan. ‘I’ve a feeling I might be otherwise engaged.’

  ‘I’ll ask Mrs Norman to call again,’ she said. ‘She’ll know.’

  Billy’s mother had called to see her once before and told Jeannie that she seemed very fit and there were no apparent problems. This time when she came she said that she thought the baby was due very soon. ‘Call me in if you need me,’ she said. ‘Any time, don’t matter when. Unless you want ’doctor to come?’

  Jeannie didn’t. They hadn’t the money to pay for him, for one thing, and for another, she had never to her knowledge ever seen a doctor. Her mother always had a host of remedies for any childhood ailments, of which there had been few. She and Tom had had a healthy childhood, spending most of their time out in the sea air. She began to take short walks in the mornings and then after the midday meal sat in a chair and rested. She felt heavy and sluggish, but thought that the walks did her good even though the weather was sharp and cold. The sky was often bright but then low cloud would descend and she felt that snow was on its way.

  On Sunday morning after Nan had gone to chapel, Jeannie wrapped up warmly and went out of the terrace and on to the road; she too was beginning to refer to Hessle Road just as the road, as the locals did. Ahead of her she saw Connie trudging along with her head down, and called her name.

  There was no response, though Jeannie thought there was a slight stiffening of the girl’s shoulders. ‘Connie!’ she called again. This time Connie turned round.

  ‘Oh!’ She looked relieved and her tense body relaxed. ‘It’s you, Jeannie. I didn’t hear you …’

  ‘Are you all right, Connie? How’s your hand? Are you back at work?’

  Connie nodded. ‘I did what you said and went to show them my hand. Somebody strapped it up for me, and ’foreman said he’d keep my job open. I’m back now, though it still hurts.’ She held out her hand and Jeannie saw it was still puffy and bruised. ‘Has Harry gone to sea? I’ve – I’ve not seen him about much.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie said. ‘He’s gone fleeting. He’ll be home for Christmas.’ She smiled. ‘Babby’s due any time, so it’ll be a Christmas present for him.’

  ‘Oh, that’ll be nice.’ Connie’s voice was low and without enthusiasm. ‘You’re lucky, aren’t you? I wish – I wish …’

  ‘What? What do you wish, Connie?’

  Connie shrugged. ‘I wish I was you. Looking forward to havin’ a bairn and havin’ somebody like Harry to look after me.’

  Jeannie reflected that Harry hadn’t done much looking after her, not until the week he’d gone away when he had suddenly become considerate. But then, she thought, if Nan were to be believed, in Connie’s eyes even what she had must seem perfect.

  ‘Don’t you have a young man, Connie?’ she asked. Connie was older than her, maybe about twenty.

  ‘Who’d have me?’ Connie’s voice was bitter. ‘I’m not pretty like you. No man’d look at me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not true,’ Jeannie said quickly, unable to suppress the thought that it was true Connie was not in the front row when beauty was given out. ‘You have lovely eyes. Such long lashes.’

  ‘But nowt else,’ Connie muttered.

  ‘Looks aren’t everything,’ Jeannie said feebly. ‘Men want a wife to talk to and bear their children, someone to be comfortable with. They don’t want to be looking at a beautiful face for the whole of their lives, and if they did, they’d be disappointed. Anyway,’ she added, ‘there are very few handsome men about, so why should women care?’

  Connie looked at her and Jeannie thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of jealousy in those brown eyes. ‘It’s all right for you,’ she muttered. ‘You’ve got Harry.’

  ‘I know,’ Jeannie said softly. ‘But Harry and I knew at our first meeting – we just – well, there was something special between us. It wasn’t as if I knew anything about him; I didn’t know his family or if he had another girl. Did he have another girl? Was there ever anybody else?’

  Connie dropped her gaze. ‘Dunno. None that I knew of.’

  But you wanted him, didn’t you? Jeannie thought. And you’d have every reason to stop and chat to him without it being obvious that you were totally besotted, because he was your friend’s brother. But he didn’t want you. Poor Connie. But it wouldn’t have worked anyway, because Nan wouldn’t have accepted you. She considers your family as the enemy – and then she recalled what Nan had said when she had asked why she had wanted Harry to be married: there had been some undesirable types of women, she’d replied. Not some, Jeannie thought. She meant Connie; she had seen that Connie wanted Harry and was determined to put a stop to it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JEANNIE TUCKED HER arm into Connie’s. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’ she said. ‘I don’t often get the chance to talk to somebody of my own age.’

  She felt Connie tense and look about her; then she said lamely, as they walked on, ‘I’m older than you. I’m ’same age as Harry. We went to school together.’

  ‘Oh, did you?’ Jeannie said, adding chattily, ‘Do you see much of Rosie? I haven’t seen her since our wedding day.’

  ‘No,’ Connie muttered. ‘Except at work. She’s not bothered about me any more. She onny went about wi’ me to annoy her nan.’

  ‘Did she?’

  Connie fell silent and Jeannie glanced at her; she seemed to be chewing something over, and as they walked, her eyes skimmed the street as if she was expecting somebody.

  ‘Why would Rosie want to annoy Nan?’ Jeannie asked.

  Connie shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Is it your father who’s a fisherman?’ Jeannie said conversationally.

  Connie gasped and stopped, pulling away from Jeannie’s arm. ‘Why ’you asking that?’

  Jeannie was astonished by her response. ‘No reason,’ she said. ‘I just heard the name Turnby crop up. Billy Norman happened to say they’d been in the same crew on the last trip.’

  Connie put her hand to her mouth, her expre
ssion scared as she glanced about her. ‘No,’ she muttered from beneath her fingers. ‘Not my da. My uncle. Des. He’s my da’s brother. He was on ’same trip as Billy.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I just thought …’ Jeannie bit her lip. ‘Have you – was your father lost at sea? Like mine?’

  Connie gaped at her; there was fear in her eyes. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not supposed to talk about him. I’d get a good hiding if they heard me.’

  Jeannie too glanced about her. They? Who were they? There were a few people about, but not many; most were just strolling, some of the women wearing hats as if they’d been to church or chapel. That made her think of Nan and wonder if she ought to be turning back.

  ‘Maybe I ought to be going home,’ she told Connie. ‘Nan will be back from chapel soon, and I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

  It was Connie’s turn to be contrite. ‘I can’t – I haven’t to mention his name, my ma says, and Uncle Des says ’same.’

  ‘I see,’ Jeannie murmured, although she didn’t. ‘He isn’t dead then? I’m glad about that, Connie. My father was lost at sea when I was six and I hardly remember him; not what he looked like or anything, although my ma always talked about him to me and Tom. Tom’s my brother,’ she added.

  Connie nodded. ‘Yeh, I remember him at ’wedding.’ She seemed to consider and she turned and walked back with Jeannie. ‘You’re lucky to have a brother.’

  Jeannie gave a small wry smile. Lucky again. Connie seemed to think that she was the only one who didn’t have any luck. ‘Don’t you have any brothers or sisters?’

  There was a slight hesitation. ‘I might have,’ she muttered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My da went off. He left home when I was ten. I haven’t seen him since. Well …’ She seemed uncertain. ‘I thought I saw him once, coming out of our house; onny Ma said it wasn’t. She gave me a good slapping cos I said I wanted to see him.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Connie,’ Jeannie said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Connie said in a strangled kind of voice and blew her nose on a piece of rag. ‘It’s quite good to talk about it really, seeing as I can’t at home. Uncle Des and his wife and their two lads live with us. They moved in just after ’time I thought I saw my da. Des said it was to mek sure my da didn’t come back and bother us.’

  Jeannie knitted her meandering thoughts together. ‘Was that about the time that Harry’s mother left? She went off with a foreigner apparently and took her youngest children with her.’

  Connie turned to stare at her. ‘He weren’t a foreigner,’ she whispered. ‘It was my da. Harry’s ma and my da went off together.’

  ‘Oh! But – Nan definitely told me she’d gone off with a foreigner.’

  Connie gave a choking sob. ‘He were from Brixham,’ she said. ‘And that’s where they ran off to.’

  ‘Brixham?’ Jeannie said.

  ‘Yeh,’ Connie said. ‘That’s where he came from. He was a trawler man and fetched up in Hull. There was a lot of controversy over trawling, so Uncle Des said, cos he came at ’same time. They both decided to stop here cos ’fishing was good. An’ then my da met my ma and they had me. I don’t know what happened after. I onny remember they were forever shouting at each other. I was ’onny bairn and I think Da would have liked a son. Ma allus blamed him an’ he said as it were her fault. I once heard him say that she was frigid. I didn’t know what it meant then but I allus remembered ’word.’

  Jeannie nodded. So that was why Nan was so set against Connie’s family. And that’s so unfair, she thought; when it was nothing to do with Connie but only to do with the adults.

  ‘I’m sorry I asked, Connie,’ she said again. ‘I’d no idea. Does Rosie know? Or Harry?’

  ‘Yeh. I think Rosie’s Auntie Dot told her and she told Harry. That’s why Rosie made friends wi’ me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jeannie said. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Because Nan never had a good word to say about Rosie’s ma, and she was allus mekking out that she’d gone off wi’ a foreigner and didn’t want Rosie but onny ’younger bairns. Then she made Rosie go and live with her Auntie Dot. She said that Rosie was flighty and needed a firm hand, but Rosie said that Nan onny wanted Harry cos one day he’d be a fisherman and’d be able to keep her. So when Rosie found out that it were my da that her ma had gone off wi’ and not a foreigner at all, I think she became my friend just to torment Nan; to keep reminding her of what had happened.’

  She paused for a moment as if considering something; her eyes narrowed and she put her chin in the air. ‘Rosie knew that I liked Harry and she tried to push us together, just to rub salt into ’wound; Nan would have been right mad if she’d thought that me and Harry – if we’d …’ She pouted. ‘But we didn’t – at least he didn’t, cos like I said, who’d look at me? Not somebody like Harry, anyway.’

  Connie turned her limpid gaze on Jeannie; her eyes were damp and soulful and she chewed on her lip. ‘Rosie was furious when Harry said he was going to wed a Scarborough lass, and after we’d met you at ’wedding she kept saying horrible things about you, trying to make me jealous and to hate you.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘But I don’t, Jeannie,’ she pleaded. ‘Honest to God I don’t.’

  Jeannie was stunned. She didn’t blame Connie. She was a pawn in a game that Rosie was playing. But what? Why should Rosie take against someone she didn’t know?

  ‘Here’s Nan coming up ’road,’ Connie gasped. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘No,’ Jeannie said. ‘Walk with me. If you will,’ she added. ‘I’ll choose for myself who my friends are, Connie.’ She smiled at her. ‘I don’t have to ask Nan.’

  Connie blinked. ‘I wish I was as brave as you. I’m scared o’ my own shadow.’

  Jeannie tucked her arm into Connie’s again. ‘Come on then,’ she said firmly. ‘Let’s brave the shadows together.’

  It was as they were walking towards Nan that Jeannie felt a sharp pain in her lower back. She grimaced and clutched Connie’s arm. Then she felt another. Was this it? she thought. Is this how it happens?

  ‘I need to get home, Connie,’ she murmured. ‘I think I’m starting in labour.’

  Connie stared at her. Her mouth opened and she breathed heavily. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Just walk slowly,’ Jeannie said. ‘Don’t let me rush.’

  Connie held her arm steadily and then, to Jeannie’s astonishment, she signalled to Nan, who had almost reached the top of Walcott Street, that she should come to them. Nan hesitated, her back held ramrod straight, and then she hurried towards them.

  ‘What?’ She looked at Connie and then at Jeannie.

  ‘We have to get Jeannie home, Mrs Carr,’ Connie said nervously. ‘She thinks she’s starting wi’ babby.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any hurry,’ Jeannie said tremulously. ‘But the pain is spreading. And I need the privy,’ she whispered.

  Nan took her other arm and slowly they walked towards Walcott Street.

  ‘Are you all right, Jeannie?’ Connie asked softly when they reached the house.

  Jeannie pressed her lips together. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘I think so.’

  ‘We can manage now,’ Nan said curtly and put a key in the rarely used front door. ‘Thank you,’ she added.

  ‘No. Wait, Connie,’ Jeannie said. ‘Help me to the privy. I don’t think I can make it on my own. I’d love a cup of tea, Nan.’ Her voice sounded weak, even to her.

  Nan looked at them both but said nothing, and as Jeannie and Connie went through the house towards the scullery door she swung the kettle over the fire. When they came back, she had made the tea and put three cups on the table.

  ‘Shall I fetch Mrs Norman?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Drink your tea first,’ Nan commanded. ‘Jeannie, you’d better sit down.’

  Jeannie swallowed. ‘I’m not sure if I can,’ she said. ‘I feel very strange.’
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  ‘Help her upstairs,’ Nan told Connie, who hastily put her cup back on the table. ‘She might be better lying down.’ Her voice, though crisp, was shaky.

  Connie put her hand on the small of Jeannie’s back as she went up the stairs behind her. ‘Stop a minute,’ she said halfway up. ‘Tek a rest. ’Stairs are steep, just like ours.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie said breathlessly. ‘We didn’t have – stairs in my ma’s house.’

  When they reached the bedroom, Jeannie perched on the edge of the bed whilst Connie knelt down to unbutton her boots.

  ‘Will you unfasten my skirt, Connie?’ Jeannie whispered. ‘And then fetch Mrs Norman. Tell her it’s urgent.’

  ‘Yeh! I’ll run.’ She exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath. ‘It’ll onny take me five minutes. Had you better lie down like Nan said?’

  Jeannie shook her head. ‘No, not yet. Don’t be long, will you, Connie?’

  Connie sped down the stairs. Nan was sitting by the table with her hands clasped tightly together. ‘I’m going to fetch Mrs Norman,’ Connie told her. ‘Jeannie asked me to.’

  ‘You know where she lives?’ Nan asked. ‘Stricky Street,’ and at Connie’s nod she said, ‘Be quick.’

  It did only take her five minutes to reach Strickland Street, and Mrs Norman was at home. Connie hurried back and the midwife came on more slowly. ‘There’ll be no hurry,’ she called after Connie’s retreating back. ‘First babbies tek their time.’

  Connie knew nothing about babies, but her instincts seemed to tell her that Mrs Norman might be wrong.

  She knocked briefly on the scullery door and went in. ‘She’s coming,’ she called upstairs as Nan was no longer in the kitchen. She heard Jeannie’s faint voice but couldn’t catch what she was saying. She stayed at the bottom of the stairs until Mrs Norman knocked and came in, and then she moved aside to let her pass.

  ‘These stairs’ll be ’death o’ me,’ the midwife puffed. ‘Why they have to build ’em so steep I don’t know. Now then, Nan,’ Connie heard her say. ‘Why don’t you go down an’ mek us all a nice cuppa tea, an’ then put ’kettle on again for some hot water. Have you got plenty o’ clean towels an’ some old sheets?’