The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  ‘Oh, Ma! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.’ Jeannie burst into tears. ‘I was going to write and ask you to come!’

  Mary took Jack from her and gently kissed his warm cheek. ‘I couldn’t wait,’ she said softly, and then kissed Jeannie. ‘I couldn’t wait a minute longer to see you and my grandson.’ She turned to Nan, who was hesitating as if not knowing where to go or what to do. ‘Isn’t he a fine boy, Mrs Carr? And Jeannie looks so well; you’re obviously taking great care of her.’

  Nan wore a puzzled frown until Jeannie said softly, ‘I think this calls for a cup of tea, don’t you?’ and then Nan turned to the range, lifted the kettle and shook it, then put it on the hook.

  ‘Is there enough water in the kettle?’ Jeannie asked her, knowing that she had used most of the water for bathing Jack. ‘Does it need filling again?’

  ‘Oh, aye, reckon it does,’ the old lady muttered, taking it off the hook again. ‘I’ll just …’

  ‘I think she’s failing,’ Jeannie said in a low voice as Nan went into the scullery. ‘And she’s getting very forgetful. She keeps calling Jack Harry.’

  ‘Don’t correct her,’ her mother said. ‘You know who she means. It’ll embarrass her if you tell her.’ She smiled down at the child on her knee. ‘He’s beautiful, Jeannie. He looks just like you did when you were a bairn. Now, I want you to tell me everything. How are you getting on in this fine town?’

  ‘I don’t know it, Ma,’ Jeannie confessed. ‘I only know Hessle Road. I’ve not had the chance yet of looking at any of the other places. There’s a huge dock in the centre of Hull, and several others, but I’ve only seen St Andrew’s and the Humber Dock. The town’s much bigger than Scarborough. And there’s a fair,’ she added. ‘Only I didn’t know about it until it was too late. It was on the week after we got married. Nan says it always comes in October.’

  Mary hummed a refrain of the old ballad ‘Scarborough Fair’ to Jack, and Jeannie smiled.

  ‘Hull Fair stays for a week. Mebbe I’ll be able to go this year,’ she said. ‘But tell me about Tom and Sarah, Granny Marshall and Granny Anderson, and Susan Wharton and – everybody.’ She didn’t want to ask about Ethan, but she wanted to know.

  ‘Well, Granny Marshall’s tongue is as sharp as ever, but my ma didn’t come with the herring this year. She didn’t want to leave Andrew.’ Her mother laughed. ‘That’s my guess, anyway. Susan Wharton is going to marry her butcher, and Tom …’ – she hesitated – ‘our Tom and Sarah are going to be wed at the beginning of next year. He’s doing really well at the yard, Jeannie, and he’s got the promise of a regular job there.’

  ‘So you’ll be alone, Ma.’ Jeannie gazed at her mother with wide eyes. ‘And I’m too far away to see you very often.’

  ‘Ah, don’t worry about me, bairn,’ her mother said. ‘I might be alone but I’ll not be lonely. I’ve plenty of company by the harbour and—’

  ‘Plenty of work?’ Jeannie interrupted. ‘Harry says that smack fishing is about finished.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ her mother agreed. ‘But there are still plenty of nets to mend. Josh keeps me busy with them and so does Ethan.’ She glanced at Jeannie as she mentioned Ethan’s name. ‘You haven’t asked about Ethan,’ she said.

  ‘Oh!’ Jeannie said vigorously. ‘Yes, how is Ethan? Has he still got his smack?’ He called it after me, she thought, but perhaps he’s sold it now and bought another with a different name.

  Mary nodded. ‘He’s still got it, and half shares in another. He’s doing well is Ethan. Do you recall Pamela Osborn? She’s a year or so older than you.’

  ‘Vaguely,’ Jeannie said. ‘She was a chandler’s daughter. What about her?’

  ‘Oh, I heard that she and Ethan are walking out together. Don’t know if it’s true or not.’

  Jeannie felt an icy chill touch her. But he said there would be no one else for him, she remembered. It hasn’t taken him long to change his mind.

  ‘Where’s that tea?’ Mary whispered. ‘I’m fair gasping. I’ve had nothing to drink since first thing this morning.’

  ‘I’ll go and see what she’s doing,’ Jeannie said. ‘She doesn’t usually take so long.’

  Nan was standing in the yard with the empty kettle in her hand. She looked at Jeannie in an uncertain manner. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with this,’ she said. ‘What’s it for? I’ve got a headache.’

  Jeannie took it from her. ‘Let me fill it for you, Nan,’ she said softly. ‘Come inside and see if the bairn is all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nan said vaguely. ‘I will. He shouldn’t be left on his own.’

  When Jeannie had boiled the kettle and made the tea, her mother said quietly, ‘Will you be able to manage with this one’ – she glanced towards Nan who was staring into the fire – ‘and the bairn as well?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ Jeannie told her mother that a friend had been staying with them, but not about Connie’s family or her bruises. ‘I’ll ask her to stay on. I know she’ll be glad to. She’ll help me and bring in some money until I can earn again. I’m fit enough to start mending but I can’t do that until after the christening and my churching.’

  Her mother clicked her tongue in a disapproving tsk sound. ‘The sooner the better then, Jeannie.’

  As she spoke, someone hammered on the back door. ‘Shall I go?’ Mary said, for Nan had not moved on hearing the knock.

  Jeannie had just sat down and picked up the child to feed him. ‘Please, Ma. If you will.’

  When Mary came back, she said there was a man asking for Connie Turnby. ‘I told him there was no one here of that name, but then he asked to speak to Nan Carr.’

  Jeannie swallowed. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, handing Jack to her mother and buttoning up her blouse. ‘Connie’s the friend I was telling you about.’

  At the door with his foot over the threshold was a thickset man, not tall but very broad across the shoulders. His face was weather-beaten, with purple thread veins around his nose, and his ears protruded from beneath his thinning hair.

  ‘Yes?’ Jeannie said. ‘Mrs Carr isn’t well. Can I do anything for you?’

  ‘Not well, isn’t she?’ he sneered. ‘Well tell her from me that she’ll feel more than sick if she doesn’t send that bitch of a girl back home to her ma afore ’day is out.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jeannie asked, though she could guess and quaked at his words. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Connie Turnby is who I’m talking about and we want her back home.’

  ‘So that you can beat her up again, Mr Turnby? Is that what you want? And you’re not even her father.’

  ‘I’ve never laid a finger on her,’ Des Turnby blustered. ‘Never in my life.’

  ‘That isn’t what I heard,’ Jeannie said bravely. ‘I heard from a reliable source that you often beat her.’

  Jeannie felt her mother’s presence behind her shoulder and then she heard her speak. Mary had a good vibrant voice when she was roused.

  ‘Did I hear you threatening my daughter?’ she said in her strongest Scottish accent. ‘Do I have to bring my brothers and my sons and all the fishermen of Scarborough to discuss your grievance? Who ever you are?’

  Des Turnby took a step back as if alarmed by this tall red-haired Scotswoman. ‘I’m – I’m not threatening her,’ he stammered. ‘I’m onny telling her that Connie’s mother wants her lass back home where she belongs.’

  ‘Then you’d better ask Connie’s mother to come here herself,’ Mary declared, ‘and tell her not to send any jug-eared errand lad with her messages.’

  Des Turnby backed away. ‘Didn’t mean to frighten you, missis,’ he began, ‘I just—’

  ‘Frighten us!’ Mary said in a sinister whisper. ‘It’ll take more than a sprat like you to frighten the Marshall clan. Now be off with you!’

  Jeannie’s heart was pounding when they went inside, but then she began to giggle. ‘You were magnificent, Ma. But what whoppers you told. Da wasn�
��t a Scotsman; there’s no Marshall clan. And you were an Anderson!’

  ‘There is a Marshall clan,’ her mother said. ‘A famous one that’s been around for hundreds of years. The first known one was reputedly a gypsy – a boxer and a bandit – so if that ruffian starts asking about the Marshalls he’ll soon find himself bogged down in clan warfare. And,’ she grinned, ‘a white lie now and again is quite acceptable. So, Jeannie, don’t give the wee bairn hiccups, but you’d better tell me what all that was about.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  OVER ANOTHER POT of tea and a slice of bread and potted meat, Jeannie told her mother about Connie. She’d poured Nan a cup but she seemed to be having trouble drinking it, lifting the cup awkwardly and not quite hitting the target of her mouth. She mumbled something and Jeannie asked her to repeat what she’d said as she hadn’t quite caught it, but Nan seemed not to hear her.

  Jeannie bit on her lip anxiously. ‘I don’t think she’s well, Ma. She’s acting very strangely, and she told me earlier that she had a headache.’

  ‘Is she usually fit?’ Mary asked. ‘I noticed she was walking with difficulty.’ She bent towards Nan. ‘Mrs Carr! Are you feeling unwell?’

  Nan gazed at her, and it was as if she couldn’t form any words, but Jeannie thought she was trying to say Fred. Or perhaps it was bed.

  ‘I think she’s had some sort of apoplexy,’ Mary said in a low voice.

  Jeannie gasped. ‘I don’t know what that is. What can I do?’

  ‘Make her comfortable.’ Mary looked round the room. ‘A pillow, if you’ve got one, and a blanket … and have you got a stool she can put her feet on?’

  Jeannie scurried to do her mother’s bidding, and then took a spoon and gently dribbled some tea into Nan’s mouth. Nan put out her tongue and licked her lips and Jeannie gave her a drop more. ‘That’s better, isn’t it, Nan?’ she said. ‘Nothing like a cup of tea.’ But her words were shaky as she considered what might happen next.

  ‘There’ll be no money for a doctor, I suppose?’ her mother asked, and when Jeannie shook her head said hesitantly, ‘If you can’t manage … I expect there’ll be a workhouse infirmary?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jeannie said. ‘Harry wouldn’t like that.’ She wondered whom she could turn to for help. ‘I’ll ask Connie if she knows who I can ask.’ She suddenly thought of Mrs Norman, who had delivered Jack; she seemed to be a person who would know about such places.

  ‘When Connie comes back from work I’ll ask her to fetch somebody. Oh, this is no good!’ she exclaimed. ‘I feel so helpless not being able to go out.’

  Her mother nodded. ‘But you must be careful not to overtire yourself, Jeannie. I know you’re young and fit, but …’ Mary had gone back to work at the harbour within two weeks of having Tom. She had wrapped the baby warmly in blankets and placed him by her side in a basket. Money had been short and her husband was away, just as Harry was now. ‘Be careful,’ she repeated, ‘but make arrangements for the baptism and churching straight away. No use waiting for Harry. He’ll understand, I’m sure.’

  He’ll be more concerned about Nan than about missing the christening, Jeannie thought. And Ma’s right – I can’t wait for him for I don’t know how long he’ll be away.

  Mary stayed as late as she dared, but she was fearful of missing her train. ‘I’ve to be at work in the morning,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken time off today and what a good thing I did, but I’ll have to catch up with the nets tomorrow.’

  When she stood up to leave she pressed a shilling into Jeannie’s hand and a silver threepenny bit into Jack’s tiny fist. She kissed his cheek and whispered, ‘I wish it were a silver florin, bonny bairn, but those are hard to come by.’

  ‘It’ll bring him luck, Ma. I’ll keep it safe,’ Jeannie said, swallowing a lump in her throat at her mother’s departure, but also knowing that the welcome shilling would buy them some supper.

  Connie was late coming in but she brought with her a parcel of fish. ‘I worked late to get in ’foreman’s good books,’ she said, ‘and he gave me all this cod. Shall I peel some taties to go with it?’ She looked at Nan sitting wrapped in the blanket. ‘What’s up?’ she asked in a lowered voice. ‘Is she badly?’

  ‘Badly? She’s not well, if that’s what you mean. My ma’s been today and she thinks she’s had some kind of apoplexy.’

  ‘Your ma’s been! From Scarborough?’ Connie’s mouth opened in astonishment. ‘Oh! Were you glad to see her? What’s an apoplexy?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Jeannie confessed. ‘A sort of fit, or something that goes wrong with your heart or brain, I think. She can’t talk, anyway. Connie – could you fetch Mrs Norman to take a look at her? Maybe she’ll know what’s wrong.’

  ‘Yeh.’ Connie gathered up her shawl from where she’d dropped it on the back of a chair. ‘I’ll go now. I thought she was acting funny ’other day and she seemed to be walking lopsided.’

  ‘We’ll soon have you put right, Nan,’ Jeannie said more cheerfully than she felt. ‘Mrs Norman will know what’s happened.’ But Nan just sat and stared into the fire and didn’t answer.

  Mrs Norman didn’t know, but agreed with what Jeannie’s mother had said, that Nan might have suffered an apoplexy. ‘They used to bleed people for that,’ she told her. ‘I think some doctors still do. Can you afford a doctor?’

  ‘What would they charge?’ Jeannie asked her. ‘I’ve only got about a shilling.’

  ‘More’n that,’ Mrs Norman said wryly. ‘If I were you I’d wait till ’morning and see how she is. I’ve got some aspirin you can give her. Finest medicine you can tek, I allus say, ’cept for laudanum, but I don’t suppose you’ve got any of that, have you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Jeannie admitted. She felt like a stranger in the house. She didn’t know where Nan kept items like aspirin or bandages, or whether indeed she did. Jeannie’s mother had always kept a box with medication and scissors, liniment for chesty coughs and ointment for sore elbows and knees when she and Tom were children; every spring she mixed up a concoction of flowers of sulphur and treacle which they had to submit to.

  ‘We’ll try the aspirin, Mrs Norman,’ she said. ‘Thank you. If she’s no better in a few days, is there a hospital that would take her?’

  Mrs Norman took a deep breath. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Not without a doctor’s say-so. Don’t worry about her now. She’ll be all right, I expect. She’s a tough old lass. Aren’t you, Nan?’ She bent down and shouted in Nan’s ear. ‘Nowt much wrong wi’ you, is there?’

  Nan gazed at her from blank eyes and lolled to one side of the chair. ‘Mm.’ Mrs Norman screwed up her mouth. ‘I’ll come again in ’morning, and if she’s no better you’ll have to send for ’doctor an’ scrape up as much money as you can.’

  After she had left, Jeannie and Connie debated how they’d get the old lady upstairs to bed. ‘We’ll never manage her up those stairs,’ Connie said. ‘I think she should sleep down here in ’chair. I’ll keep an eye on her during ’night.’

  ‘Will you, Connie?’ Jeannie said gratefully. ‘It would be for the best, I think, and if we got her up we’d never get her down again. She’ll rest easy enough in the chair by the fire.’

  It was late by the time Jeannie had cooked the fish and potatoes, and although she tried to persuade Nan to eat she wouldn’t open her mouth except for sips of water. Jeannie made her as comfortable as possible and Connie built up the fire, and when at last Jeannie climbed the stairs holding Jack in her arms she felt quite exhausted and rather tearful.

  ‘I wish your da were here,’ she whispered to the nuzzling baby as she sat in bed and he searched for her breast. ‘He wouldn’t be able to do any more than we’ve done, but he’d take the responsibility.’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I’m not ready for being grown up yet, even though I love you. I don’t want to run a household, which is what I’ll have to do if Nan is ill. I want my ma.’

  Mrs Norman didn’t come until after eleven o’clock the next day and
Jeannie pottered about the house as she waited for her. Nan was lying quite still and again would only take a sip of water, which Jeannie dribbled into her mouth.

  ‘I’ll pop to ’doctor’s on ’way home,’ Mrs Norman said. ‘There’s nowt more we can do.’

  ‘Mrs Norman,’ Jeannie said desperately. ‘I can’t go out because I haven’t been churched and Jack hasn’t been christened; do you think that the parson would call here?’

  ‘Aye, he might.’ The midwife pondered. ‘Some folk are very particular about it. Tell you what. Why don’t you pop out to church now and I’ll keep an eye on Nan and on ’bairn? Put a shawl over your head and nobody’ll know you. You’ll be back in ten minutes and nobody any ’wiser. You can have ’bairn christened at some other time, cos you’ll have to arrange for godparents.’

  ‘I’ve asked Connie.’

  ‘You’ll need a man for him as well.’

  Jeannie was glad to escape the house and she knew that Jack would be safe in Mrs Norman’s care. She wrapped her shawl over the top of her head and kept it low, and relished the freedom of being outdoors again.

  As Mrs Norman said, it didn’t take ten minutes for the blessing. The parson insisted that she should bring the child to be baptized the following Sunday; she explained that there was some difficulty at home but said she would try. She heaved a sigh, but at least she could walk back to Walcott Street with her head up without risking offence.

  Someone called her name and she looked round, surprised as always that anyone should know her. It was Mike Gardiner, smiling and waving, and she felt a surge of friendship towards him.

  ‘Hello,’ she called back. ‘Happy New Year.’

  ‘And to you, Jeannie.’ He took her hand and shook it. ‘And congratulations. I heard that you’ve a son. Are you well?’

  ‘Yes, I’m very well, thank you, but Nan isn’t. Harry’s away, and I don’t know whether I should send for a doctor. Nan’s not talking or eating and just sitting in a chair. Mrs Norman is with her now and looking after the bairn. I’ve been to be churched,’ she added, ‘so that I can go out and do the shopping and – and everything.’