by Diane Allen
Daisy wrote a few words, trying to convey her sympathies, but at the same time relay in her correspondence her own heartbroken feelings. She knew the blame would be laid at her door, and that her own feelings would be overlooked by Bob’s mother. She sealed the envelope. Tomorrow it would be delivered, and by Wednesday his mother would be arriving for the funeral. It would be then that she would face the wrath of the mother-in-law she had never met.
She lifted her flickering candle and went into the kitchen, because her stomach was complaining from a lack of food. She’d not eaten all day, and her legs felt weak. She snatched a piece of bread and cheese from the larder and dutifully chewed at them. The bread went round and round in her mouth, finally being washed down by a glass of milk. So this was her lot: a widow and not yet twenty, left with not a penny to her name and no roof over her head, after the funeral; reliant on Jenny’s generosity, and stuck cooking and cleaning at Gearstones. She’d had all she had wanted the previous day, but hadn’t had the sense to realize it.
She walked to the back door and opened it wide. Standing in the doorway, she smelled the moorland air. It was a mixture of dark, boggy peat and sweet moorland herbs, sharp with the threat of the coming autumn nights. She heard one of the Sunter bairns crying and watched the lamplight in the signal box – the relief signalman’s shadow playing on the wall. It seemed like a lifetime since the wild night when she had knocked on the door of Gearstones Lodge. Perhaps it was time to move on. People would only show her pity now: the lass with no family; the lass who had lost her husband. She wanted to escape – have a new life somewhere nobody knew her or cared about her. She’d done it before, and now she’d do it again. She closed the door on the outside world and quietly mounted the stairs. Tomorrow was another day; time enough to think then. Now, exhausted, she was away to her bed.
The little dark-haired woman climbed down from the train. She was as round as she was tall and struggled with the step, as the stationmaster offered her assistance.
‘Out of my way – I can manage without your help.’ She walked along the platform, leaning heavily on an ebony stick, dressed in black from ankle to neckline and with a mood to match.
Daisy watched the woman struggling to walk, before she plucked up the courage to introduce herself. She walked over and offered her assistance. ‘I’m Daisy, Bob’s wife. I’m sorry it’s been due to bad news that we have had to meet this way.’ She offered the woman the use of her arm to lean on.
‘Don’t you touch me, you trollop! You’ve killed my Bob. My boy – he was well and happy until he met and married you. Now I’m burying him in this godforsaken hole away from his father’s grave and mine, which I’ll soon be in, because of you.’ Her grey eyes were full of malice as she pulled her arm away from Daisy and walked, with the aid of her stick, through the station gates.
‘But, Mrs Lambert . . .’ Daisy pulled on her arm, tears in her eyes.
‘Get off me! Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me. I’m nothing to do with you – never have been, never will be. Now, I’m off to bury my lad, when I can get into this blasted trap.’ Bob’s mother swore as the stable lad tried to give her a helping hand into the waiting trap, which was lined up behind the hearse that was carrying Bob’s body.
Daisy put her head down and cried. She had known she would not get a warm welcome, but Mrs Lambert’s words cut through to her soul. She’d loved her man, and today she was burying him, and she had no family in the whole wide world to turn to.
Railwaymen always stood together and supported their own, and it was no exception at Bob’s funeral. Plate-layers, signalmen and station guards packed the tiny church and watched as Bob’s mother and his widow jostled for position in the quiet church in the glen. The vicar’s voice rang out clear and true, declaring his sorrow – and that of his parish – at the loss of someone so recently married, and saying that his heart went out to his young bride. Bob’s mother tutted loudly enough for the entire congregation to hear, making clear her feelings. The body was carried out with reverence and laid to rest in the extended graveyard of St Leonard’s. A bunch of dog-daisies and cranesbill was lovingly placed on the raw soil of the grave by Daisy.
‘You needn’t think you can get your hands on any of his money, you hussy!’ Bob’s mother spat as she walked away from the grave. ‘I’ve got it saved safely, away from thieving hands like yours. Bob’s been sending half his wage to me since he was a lad, and I’m not giving it to the likes of you. I know your sort – ten-a-penny in Leeds, you are.’ She urged the stable lad to assist her again as she walked to the trap, not bothering to talk to anyone.
‘I didn’t know he had any savings – that wasn’t why I married him.’ Daisy shook with grief as the insults were thrown at her.
‘Now look here, you. This lass loved your lad, although God knows why. She could have done a lot better, if you ask me. It wasn’t about his money.’ Jenny had seen and heard enough of this bitter woman.
‘You’re nothing but a trollop. I’ve heard all about you, and all. You came from nowt, with your fine airs and graces.’ Bob’s mother flung insults down from the trap, before yelling at the lad to whip the horses into action.
‘Aye, piss off, you old bugger! I’ll come down to your level – bugger off back to Leeds, where you belong,’ shouted Jenny at the trap, as it started off over the bridge back up the lane to the station.
‘Jenny, don’t – she’s not worth it. That’s the last we will ever see of her. Leave her be. You can’t blame her for thinking I killed her son.’ Daisy pulled on Jenny’s sleeve. ‘I’ve had enough; I’ve got to move on. Bob’s dead, I’m a widow, and there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘All right, pet. But she was a right old bugger, and she’d no right to talk to you like that.’ Jenny smiled and put her arm round Daisy. ‘Anyway, let’s go and see your old fella off in style with a few drinks. Tea in your case of course, seeing as you don’t drink, you funny bugger.’
Daisy smiled. Jenny was a rough one, but a better friend you couldn’t have. She gave a long look at the gravediggers filling in the grave of her dead husband, then slipped her arm through Jenny’s to walk with the rest of the mourners up to Gearstones Lodge. Her head was full of plans, but she was uncertain which way to go. For now, it was back to Jenny and her family, but in the coming days her plans for the future would have to be made.
6
Daisy looked at the bag of money in her hand. It contained four guineas, ten shillings and sixpence ha’penny. Along with Bob’s last week’s wages, she now had over five guineas. She’d never had that sort of money in her life.
‘Thank you, Bert. Can you thank everyone for me. Folk have been so kind – they really shouldn’t have given me all this.’ Daisy wiped a tear away from her eye.
‘Nay, lass, you’re one of us, like Bob was. We stand by our own on this line. Everybody’s put a bit in, no matter how small, because we knew how much Bob loved you, and he wouldn’t want to see you go without.’ Bert fumbled with his cap and looked round the empty railway house. ‘Have you emptied the place then? I hear the new fella moves in tomorrow. Don’t ken him – he’s from out of Lancashire.’
‘Yes, I’ve moved some of our furniture to Gearstones and left some in the house. I’ve no use for it.’ Daisy looked around at the house that had been her home so briefly.
‘Are you going back to work for Jenny then? I know she’s missed you!’ Bert had warmed to the idea of Daisy living nearby and being company for him, with Bob.
‘I am for now, and then I don’t know. I could do with a change, else I’m going to live here until I’m an old maid.’ Daisy gazed down the valley.
‘Old maid – tha’s nowt but a spring chicken! Now if I was a day younger and not married to my Mary, I’d wed you and run away to Blackpool with you,’ chuckled Bert. He had grown a bit sweet on Daisy.
‘I’ll never marry again, Bert, too much heartache. Now travel – that might be me. I’ll have to see; you can always come back home, if you
’re not happy.’ Daisy turned the lock of the door and hid the key under the flowerpot on the windowsill, as instructed by the stuffy landlord, for the new owner.
‘“Never” is a bloody long time, but whatever you do, lass, I wish you luck. You take care, and may God be with you. If there’s owt I can do for you, you let me know. I’ve friends from one end of the line to the other.’ Bert winked and slowly crossed the track to the signal box.
The youngest of the Sunters came running up with a bunch of heather. ‘Bye, Daisy. Mam says I’ve got to give you this white heather, for luck. We picked it from Dent Head this morning. Mam says she’s sorry she couldn’t give you any money, but she knows you’ll understand, with all her mouths to feed.’ The little girl wiped her nose on her tattered sleeve, before running back to the arms of her mother, who was standing watching at her doorway.
Daisy would miss living in the little community of Blea Moor. They were good folk and had made her welcome, in the brief time that she was with them. With a heavy heart she trudged down the track back to the twinkling lights of Gearstones Lodge. Jenny would be there, along with Mike and the two boys, at their home, she thought, but it wasn’t her home. Her home was Grisedale – a place she hadn’t thought of until she had scattered earth on Bob’s coffin. The hurt caused by her family, and now the loss of her husband, overwhelmed her and made her want to run away from anyone who knew her. As she entered the door of the lodge, she knew she had to get away. And now, with those five guineas, she had the means. She’d wait just a few weeks until she felt more settled and then she’d start to look around for employment. Surely somebody, somewhere, would want her skills.
Jenny tied the ribbons of her hat under her chin and ushered her eldest boy into the back of the carriage that was waiting for them. ‘Are you sure you aren’t joining us, Daisy? It’s not too late to change out of that drab black. You can’t be in mourning forever, you know. Besides, you’d enjoy the picnic at Fox’s Pulpit, and there will be some eligible young men. I know Robert Stanley is going to be there, for sure.’ Jenny scowled at Daisy as she stood in the doorway, watching the picnic party depart.
‘No, I’ll not join you. It’s too soon after losing my Bob, it wouldn’t be right. And as for this black, I’m always going to wear it, just like our dear Queen does for her Albert.’ Daisy was standing her ground. She didn’t want to pretend to be happy. For the three weeks since Bob’s funeral she’d put her efforts into cooking and baking, and making sure that all was running smoothly at Gearstones, but now she wanted to be on her own.
Jenny looked at Daisy. She was going to have to chivvy the lass along. She couldn’t have her hanging about the place with a long face on her.
‘Nonsense, you’ll find another fella and be back to normal in no time. If you insist that you’re not coming, then don’t wait up. Make sure you keep an eye on the place. You know we are staying with the Staintons tonight, so lock up and we’ll see you in the morning.’ Jenny smoothed down her finery around her, before telling Mike to whip the team into action.
Daisy watched as they wandered up and over the moorland road towards the Dent Head turning. She couldn’t believe Jenny – sometimes she showed no respect for other people’s feelings. But now it was time to make good her plan. She quickly locked the door of the lodge behind her and climbed the stairs to her room. There she packed her few belongings into her carpet bag and carefully placed the lovingly handwritten note on the washstand. They’d understand that she needed a fresh start. She’d relied on Jenny and the comfort of Gearstones Lodge for long enough; her time was up. Now she’d have to hurry if she was to catch the eleven-thirty to Leeds.
Leeds – her heart missed a beat. The furthest she had ever been was Settle or Ingleton. But it was too late now to fret. She’d a train to catch and a new life waiting. She was off to Leeds, to seek employment as a cook in one of the great houses that were being built as fast as you could blink. Bert had told her of houses three storeys high, with parlours and drawing rooms where staff waited on the owners nearly day and night. And of how water was on tap in the kitchen and rooms were richly carpeted, displaying the best of furniture. It had been more than Daisy could have dreamed of, when Bert had been true to his word and had helped her secure a position with a friend he knew, who was about to set up in business. He was apparently a local chap from Skipton, and that was as much as Daisy knew. But Bert had assured her that he was a good family man and would treat her right, and that she could always come back to Jenny’s, if it didn’t suit her.
Daisy locked the huge wooden door of Gearstones Lodge behind her and placed the key through the newly acquired letter box. She was thankful Jenny had insisted that the door had one fitted a few months back, after she had caught the postman harassing Ivy in the kitchen. Daisy remembered the postman getting a good ear-bashing for his lustful antics, and that he was told in no uncertain manner that he was lucky he didn’t get reported. The following day Mike had been made to fit a letter box. Bless Jenny – she had been a mother hen to both Daisy and Ivy alike, and she’d be missed, for her care. Daisy breathed in deeply, savouring the clean, peaty air; it would soon be replaced with the smoke and smells of the city. She picked up her carpet bag, along with her courage, and stepped out to catch her train, giving one last, loving look at the sweeping viaduct and the double-fronted inn that had formed such a part of her life. She only hoped she was doing the right thing, and that she wasn’t running away yet again from her wounded feelings.
Daisy sat in her carriage studying the people seated opposite her. One was a sharply dressed businessman, obviously on his way to do business in Leeds or Bradford, perhaps to trade in wool or cotton. Daisy deduced wool, for his complexion was red and weathered as if he had walked many a mile to view sheep. Next to him sat a small, demure little woman with a natty hat on her head, who never dared look at anyone. Daisy thought she looked like a shy sparrow, her eyes never making contact with anyone. After sussing out her travel companions, Daisy gazed out of the train window, though the steam from the engine kept floating down, obscuring the view. The green fields of the Dales and the Ribble valley had long since gone, giving way to tall mill chimneys and the back-to-back terraces of town living. Daisy had never seen so many houses before and marvelled at how people lived in such cramped conditions. She was just admiring the winding canal, and the barges unloading at the wharfside, when the guard came by, shouting out, ‘Next stop Shipley. Change there for Bradford, and then it is Leeds, our final stop.’
Daisy secured her hat, as the man in the suit rose to go to his destination. She clung to her bag. It was all she had in the world, and she was not going to let anyone part her from it. Town folk were different – you couldn’t trust them. After meeting Bob’s mother, she feared that Mrs Lambert might be making the same trip, on board the train bound for Leeds station. After all there couldn’t be that many folk living in Leeds!
The train jolted to a halt and she could hear the great engine let off steam, as if exhausted. The salesman coughed apologetically as he pushed past her, in a hurry to go about his business, and the slight form of the woman rose and disappeared amid the engine’s steam. Daisy stood in amazement, staring at the sheer number of trains standing at platforms and at all the people – they were like ants! Never had she seen so many people: women with hats, men in suits, children squabbling, plus trains blowing whistles and porters yelling. If this was Shipley, then what was Leeds going to be like?
‘You all right, miss? Do you know where you are going?’ The guard of the new train she had joined stopped for a moment as he slammed the carriage door shut. He couldn’t help but notice that Daisy was all alone. He saw that she had a fresh-from-the-country look and knew that she might need his guidance.
‘Er . . . I’m fine, I’m going to Leeds.’ Daisy blushed. She felt like a very small fish in a very big pond, and she felt stupid at her reply. Of course he knew she was going to Leeds. She was sitting on the Leeds train, wasn’t she?
‘The tra
in is just filling with water. We’ll be on our way again shortly.’ The guard pointed to the front of the crimson-coated engine with its block of carriages. ‘Take care, miss, just be careful who you talk to.’
He started walking back down the train. He’d seen so many young women travelling from the Dales to Leeds to seek work in the mills. It was a shame they couldn’t find work in their home towns. It was even worse when, on his walk back home of an evening, he met some of the same girls, touting for business as ladies of the night, down by the wharfside. He hoped the fresh-faced lass he’d just helped didn’t go the same way. He couldn’t help but notice that she was in mourning, otherwise he’d probably just have left her and not enquired about her welfare. Anyway he had enough of his own worries – she’d have to survive. Sink or swim, that’s what she’d have to do.
To detract from the silence, Daisy unfolded the address that Bert had given her. He’d also told her to get some lodgings, just for the night, as soon as she arrived in Leeds, because his friend lived some way from the station and she wasn’t expected until the following day. She looked at the address, trying to memorize it and picture her new place of employment:
Mr William Mattinson,
4 Newtown Terrace,
Leeds
She folded the address and placed it back in the safety of her bag. She couldn’t thank Bert enough for his help. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, playing idly with the brooch that contained a lock of Bob’s hair, in remembrance of him. A tear came to her eye as she remembered clipping it from his head before the coffin lid was closed down upon him. Poor Bob, he would never have been happy with her; perhaps it was for the best that their moments together had been fleeting. She closed her eyes, trying to block out thoughts of the funeral and the life she had just left. The slamming of the carriage door and the sudden jolt of the carriages made her come to her senses quickly.
