The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  ‘I – I wondered how you were, Jeannie,’ he said diffidently. ‘I didn’t want to leave without knowing you’d recovered.’

  ‘Will you sit down for a minute?’ she asked, and he came and sat opposite her. ‘I feel much better, thank you.’ She wet her lips with her tongue. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m pleased you’ve got such good folk to look after you. You’ve been neglecting yourself. Or at least’ – his eyes narrowed – ‘somebody else has been neglecting you.’

  She shifted in the chair. ‘You’ve heard about Harry? Did Mike tell you?’

  ‘Aye, he did, though I’d already guessed something was wrong.’ He bent his head as if he was thinking something over, and when he looked up she saw anger in his eyes. ‘The man’s a fool,’ he said bitterly. ‘As well as being a blackguard! How could he leave you to fend for yourself?’

  Jeannie shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I was the fool, Ethan. I was young and foolish and swayed by his promises and I believed them. But, you see, Harry lived by the rules that his grandmother laid down. She said he had to marry me, but once she was gone he had no rules to follow.’

  ‘Don’t defend him, Jeannie,’ Ethan said brusquely. ‘There are no excuses for his behaviour.’ He stood up. ‘I have to go; we’re sailing on the morning tide and I’ve to count the men on board and do a hundred other jobs. My da has arrived. He said to tell you that your ma is well and that she would’ve come through with him, except that Granny Marshall is ill and she doesn’t like to leave her.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jeannie said. ‘I must write. I’ll do it today.’

  She shifted in the chair, but he put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t get up,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  Jeannie swallowed hard and looked up at him. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered, a lump in her throat. ‘God speed!’ Tears which she had held back escaped and trickled down her face to her chin. ‘Come back safely.’

  He put a finger on her cheek and wiped away the tears; then he put his finger in his mouth and licked it with the tip of his tongue as if tasting the salt. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Be sure of it.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ON RETURNING TO the house at the end of the week following her illness, Jeannie found Mrs Herbert packing; her brother it seemed wanted her to move as soon as possible. Jeannie had to make a quick decision about her own future.

  During her convalescence she had given a lot of thought to what lay in front of her, and had realized that without some assistance she was condemned to a desolate and poverty-stricken life. She decided that the time had now come to be brave and ask for that help.

  She asked Dot if she would look after Jack for one more day in the week if she asked for the extra time on the fish quay.

  ‘It’s just until I get some money together,’ she said, ‘and then I’ll go back to three days.’

  When Dot agreed, for she was fond of the child and so was Minnie, who helped her with him, Jeannie asked Sam if he would grant her a small loan so that she could take over the rent for Mrs Herbert’s house. He said he would be happy to, but as she reckoned he was a hard-nosed businessman and she needed his friendship without conditions, she told him that she would naturally expect him to charge her interest as a moneylender would, but would pay it back within three months.

  He’d given a wry smile, but she was in earnest and told him that she intended to clean the house, light fires in each room, including the two bedrooms, and sublet those within a month.

  ‘A lick o’ paint wouldn’t go amiss,’ he said. ‘I’ll lend Hicks to you for a couple of weeks, for free. He does odd jobs for me and I’ve nowt much for him to do at ’minute. Just give him some bread and cheese at dinner time and he’ll paint or whitewash all your walls.’

  Jeannie had heaved a sigh of satisfaction. Now that she’d actually made the decision, she was fired up to get started. Physically she still felt weak, but her head was buzzing with plans. The landlord’s agent put her name on the rent book and she paid him two weeks’ rent. She ordered coal and Billy brought her another handcart of timber, and she decided to make Mrs Herbert’s room her own. It was warmer, being in the middle of the house, and she could cook on the fire as well as the gas ring in the scullery. Mrs Herbert had taken her furniture with her, so Jeannie brought her own bed and furniture into the room; she bought three cheap beds and second-hand chests of drawers and Billy made and put up shelves.

  By the end of the first week, Hicks had whitewashed her room, which brightened the sooty walls, and one bedroom, temporarily covering the damp patches, and lime-washed the scullery. She lit fires in all the rooms, swept and scrubbed the brick-floored scullery with soapy water and vinegar, washed the bedroom floors and donkey-stoned the front doorstep, something Mrs Herbert had done every week until the snow came. The snow thawed and froze again, but Jeannie’s house was warm, and every day after work, having collected Jack and brought him home, she cleaned windows and put up nearly new curtains bought from a second-hand shop, and in the evenings she sat with Jack on her knee in front of her own fireside.

  ‘I know somebody who wants a room, mum,’ Hicks said, when he came the following week to finish painting the walls. ‘My niece’s daughter and her husband are looking for somewhere decent. They got married last back end and have been living wi’ her ma. They’re very respectable, and they’re both in work.’

  ‘Send them to see me,’ she suggested. She had thought that the rooms would be taken by single people, but the larger upstairs room would easily accommodate a couple and so would the front room, the one she had previously rented. And, she thought eagerly, I can charge more for two.

  The young woman, Doris, worked at one of the smoke houses and her husband worked at the Dairycoates railway sidings. Both were earning good wages and Jeannie thought that they would eventually find a house for themselves. For the moment they just wanted to move from her mother’s house and have some privacy.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe some of ’rooms we’ve looked at,’ Doris said. ‘You wouldn’t want to keep a pig in ’em, never mind live in ’em yourself. Can we have use of ’scullery?’

  Jeannie told them that they could, but they would have to put money in the meter if they wanted to use the gas ring. ‘Or you can cook on your own fire if you want to.’

  ‘We’ll tek ’front room, then,’ Doris said; she seemed to be the one who made the decisions. ‘Can we move in at ’weekend?’

  Jeannie laid down some rules first. They could come through her room to use the scullery, but must always knock first, and never after eight o’clock as she had to go to bed early in order to be up for her morning shift. They understood that as they too were always up early.

  ‘Where’s your husband?’ Doris asked curiously, and nodded when Jeannie said he was at sea. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you ever want any jobs doing, Jim’s very handy. There’s nowt he can’t turn his hand to.’

  Jeannie thanked them and wanted to whoop with delight when they paid her two weeks’ rent in advance, covering the rent she had already paid the agent.

  Sam gave her a cash book to write down the names of her lodgers and the rent they paid. ‘Let them see you doing it,’ he told her, ‘then they can’t say they gave it to you when they didn’t. And give them a rent book wi’ their name in it.’

  Dot looked on approvingly. ‘I can see we’ve got a business-woman here. I think things are looking up for you, Jeannie. But have you thought of what might happen when Harry comes back? He might well want to come home when he sees what a cosy little house you’ve got.’

  Jeannie chewed on a finger. ‘Yes, it had crossed my mind,’ she said. ‘And he will have every right to do so.’ But if he does, she thought, I know he won’t stay. There’s been too much disagreement for us ever to make up and have a normal life. Aloud, she said, ‘We’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.’

  Dot gazed at her. ‘Yes. If in fact you ever do get to it.’r />
  By the second week in February Jeannie had let all the rooms and paid Sam something back from the original loan. He’d said he could wait a bit longer but she’d insisted. She didn’t want any debt in the new life she was creating.

  Another week, or possibly two, and Harry’s ship and Ethan’s would be on their way back to port. She saw Mike Gardiner one day on her way back from the quay and asked if there was any news.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit early. I’ve heard there’s been some rough weather, though. Two trawlers came in yesterday and they’ve sustained some damage.’ He shook his head. ‘They went too far for winter fishing, even though they got a good catch. They were tekking a risk, cos them islanders need their fish as much as we do. It’s ’onny living they’ve got.’

  ‘Why? Where’ve they been?’

  ‘South-east Iceland. Brought back plaice and haddock.’

  And that’s what it’s all about, she thought. Risking their lives to put food on the table.

  Jeannie had seen Connie a few times as she went to and from work, but Connie acknowledged her only with a smug glance which she chose to ignore. She wondered if she was lonely whilst Harry was away and whether she had any kind of conscience, or if indeed she ever worried that he might leave her as he had left his lawful wife.

  A week later the snow returned and the weather turned icy cold. Pipes, pumps and taps froze solid and on two occasions the women on the fish quay were sent home early as it was too cold to risk any accidents with cold fingers and sharp knives. Ships were arriving late and there were tales of vessels icing up in the North Sea as they made their way to port.

  There was also some unrest in the town when it was announced that a conference was to be held in Hull during that year regarding the proposed legislation to ban summer fishing from grounds which had already been over-fished. It was mostly the wives of the fishermen who were up in arms, and there was many a debate on street corners as they complained that they didn’t want their menfolk risking their lives with winter fishing and that they had to fish in summer in order to make a living. Those in authority argued back that some trawlers were catching young fish which were unfit to sell or eat from the foreign grounds and thereby depleting future stocks.

  That an international agreement was needed was the one thing that all bodies were agreed on. But for the women who waited, the debates faded into the background and their concern deepened day by day as first one, then two, then five and six vessels were reported late home.

  Jeannie heard the muttered gossip on the fish quay but refused to worry yet. The Arctic Star and Scarborough Girl were among those which were late. Ships were often late in winter, she told herself, and it was something wives and mothers had to live with, but there was an air of tension, broken only when a single vessel arrived home and told of one other ship, damaged, making her way up the Humber.

  Families of those on board the other vessels started to gather at the dock gates as they awaited news. Women with small children huddled by their sides, pressing against them for warmth, waited for every tide.

  The second ship arrived the following week and the skipper reported that several trawlers had been seen, but not close enough to identify. They were thought to be heading towards the east coast, but whether to Leith, North Shields, Scarborough or Hull couldn’t be verified. One more trawler limped home a few days later; it had sustained considerable damage during a violent storm and one man had been lost overboard. It had seen nothing of the Arctic Star, Scarborough Girl or the Mariner since the four ships had left home port on the same day.

  Jeannie took to walking beyond the end of the fish quay to gaze anxiously along the dock, hoping to be the first to see a late vessel entering from the estuary. She felt physically sick, unable to concentrate on anything, unable to talk, and at the end of another week she wrote a postcard to her mother: Dear Ma, Ships missing. Please come. I need you. Jeannie.

  Her mother and Tom arrived two days later, bringing Stephen, Josh’s son, with them. Mary, seeing Jeannie’s pale and anxious face, gathered her into her arms and held her close. Tom kissed her cheek and then took Stephen with him in search of information.

  Mary listened without a word whilst Jeannie poured out all that had happened to her. She told of Harry’s leaving her for someone else, of losing the child she was carrying, of selling her wedding dress and being without money and what she was doing now in order to survive on her own.

  ‘I’m so afraid, Ma,’ she sobbed. ‘I haven’t told anybody how afraid I am. And I hate leaving Jack with somebody else, even though Dot is so kind and loves him like her own. I have to work to survive, I know that, and I know that there are other women in the same situation as me, but I’m so lonely and I feel so weak and helpless.’

  She took a deep and shuddering breath. ‘And it’s not only Harry that I’m worrying over – he’s my husband, after all, in spite of everything – but—’ She burst into a fresh fit of sobbing. ‘There’s Ethan. I treated him so badly, and I didn’t – I didn’t realize – how much I miss him. And then there’s Mike Gardiner’s son, and Josh, and— Poor Stephen, how will he cope with the loss of his father and his brother?’

  ‘Shh. All is not lost,’ Mary murmured. ‘We don’t think the worst until the worst has happened.’

  Jeannie looked at her mother and realized that she was suffering too. She had lost her husband to the sea, and now she might have lost a good friend and his son as well.

  ‘Sorry, Ma,’ Jeannie sniffled. ‘I’m so – sorry. You must be worrying over Josh; he’s been a good friend, hasn’t he?’

  Mary smiled and nodded. ‘He asked me to marry him before he went away.’

  ‘Did he?’ Jeannie’s eyes started to spout fresh tears. ‘What answer did you give?’

  ‘I said no,’ her mother said, with a catch in her voice. ‘And he was sad and disappointed, so I have that on my conscience.’

  Tom returned to the house having found out nothing at all, and Jeannie thought how strong and purposeful he was and what a great support for her mother. Stephen was wide-eyed, not yet comprehending that his father and brother might not be returning home.

  Tom returned to Scarborough the same evening; Mary said she would stay a few days longer, but promised to write if there was news. Given the option of returning with Tom or staying with Mary, Stephen decided he would stay.

  ‘But I can’t take too much time off,’ her mother told Jeannie. ‘I have a living to make too.’ She put her arm around her daughter. ‘You can always come home; you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie murmured, but wondered if she would or whether she would stay with the folk on the road who had treated her as one of their own.

  She went to work the next morning, leaving Jack with her mother rather than taking him to Dot’s, and as she reached the entrance to the fish quay she saw Connie standing as if waiting for someone. She came abreast of her, but kept her eyes in front and didn’t glance at her. Connie turned and called her name.

  ‘Jeannie! Jeannie, will you talk to me? Nobody’ll talk to me. They’re saying it’s my fault.’

  Jeannie looked at her. Connie’s face was swollen with crying and her eyes were bloodshot.

  ‘What’s your fault?’ she asked dully. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Connie began to weep. ‘Harry’s ship,’ she wailed. ‘Some of ’lasses are saying it’s my fault it’s missing.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Jeannie said sharply. ‘Stop bothering me! Don’t you realize what this is doing to me?’ Her voice rose, the tension escalating. ‘Have you no idea of my feelings? Are you so totally selfish that you don’t care about anybody but yourself? Go away!’

  She hadn’t realized that she was shouting until she saw heads being turned in their direction. And then she saw that Connie was gasping for breath; she seemed to shrink and become the girl she had been when Jeannie had first met her, nervous and withdrawn and unsure of herself.

  Jeann
ie stood staring at her. ‘Are you ill?’ she said at last.

  Connie retched as if her throat was closing. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Jeannie staggered at the news. Another child of Harry’s to grow up without him.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you.’ Connie’s voice was choked. ‘That’s why it’s my fault. I realized I was pregnant on ’morning Harry sailed and I chased after him to tell him. He was aboard by ’time I reached ’dock and they were already under way. I ran down ’side of ’dock shouting his name.’ She wiped her wet cheek with her shawl. ‘Some of ’men on ’deck were yelling at me to clear off but somebody else went to fetch Harry.’

  She began to weep again. ‘He came up on deck and I shouted to him that I was pregnant, but they were drawing away out of ’dock and towards ’estuary and he couldn’t hear me, but – but I could tell what he was saying by ’way he was waving his arms.’ She almost retched again as she continued. ‘He was shouting get back, get back. It’s unlucky, you see.’

  Jeannie could barely hear her, but caught the last few whispered words.

  ‘It’s unlucky to see ’lads off on a trip. I was so excited about ’bairn that I’d forgotten. How could I? How could I forget when it’s so important? And them other three ships; they were sailing on ’same tide an’ ’men on board saw me as well cos I was stood on ’side of ’dock.’ Connie took another trembling breath. ‘And so it’s my fault that they’re missing.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  JEANNIE TRIED NOT to waken her mother, who was sleeping in the bed with her and Jack, but she tossed in an uneasy sleep for most of that night, thinking of a pregnant Connie, thinking of Harry somewhere out at sea, and thinking too of Ethan, the three of them in a bewildering tableau clinging to a broken mast and torn rigging; the scene set against heavy seas, with ships awash with fish and violent waves and herself on an open bridge shrieking orders that no one could hear. Timbers were crashing and fish boxes were sliding over the deck and then she was abruptly awakened by someone banging on the middle door. It was her lodger Jim, barelegged, his hair tousled, dressed in his nightshirt with a jersey over the top.