Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  Despite their poverty, mother and daughter chatted happily together seemingly undaunted by their circumstances. Poverty robs many of their dignity and self-esteem, but Harry and his family resisted this tendency valiantly. Their optimism in the face of hardship was reflected in the neatness of the little patch of potatoes and turnips that grew at the front of the house. Visitors always gained the impression that the O’Mearas took pride in their little home, humble though it was.

  Anna had enjoyed little formal education, but, nevertheless, she was quite a good conversationalist for her years. She always showed interest in what others were saying and doing and was more than capable of communicating her own thoughts. She and her mother had been discussing their recent conversations with Eliza and John.

  ‘Now dere’s a noice young marn,’ said Colleen, watching Anna’s reaction very carefully. ‘Do you loike ’im?’ Anna’s face flushed and she turned her head away with an almost inaudible murmur.

  With her suspicions confirmed Colleen continued, ‘John’s a strange lad to be shure. ’E seems to be caught between two worlds. ’E obviously comes from a rich family, and yet ’e stands up for us poor. Most people in ’is class wouldn’t give folks loike us d’ toime o’ day. What do you make o’ this tiff with the p’leece? Begorra, that must ’ave shocked ’is folks!’

  Anna’s unusual reticence betrayed more than a passing regard for the dashing young Mr Oxley. Colleen persisted, ‘Y’ know’, she said confidentially, ‘I tink’e’s keen on you. E looks at you loike your father used t’ look at me when I was young. When a marn is interested in a girl ’e gazes at her with longin’ eyes hopin’ t’ get some sort o’ sign from ’er.’

  ‘But Mother Oi’m too young for John. ’E wouldn’t want me as ’is girl,’ retorted Anna, somewhat indignant at her mother’s inquisitiveness.

  Colleen pondered Anna’s terseness. Perhaps she was jumpin’ t’ conclusions,’ she thought. Indeed, the thought of such an alliance both delighted and terrified her. On the one hand, such an eligible young man would probably never appear in Anna’s life again. On the other hand, John was not a Catholic. Colleen could just imagine Harry’s reaction to such a proposal. It was all very well to associate with Protestants and even to accept their friendship, but to marry one would surely be a mortal sin.

  Anna and her mother worked on in silence. Suddenly, a woman’s scream, emanating from the house next door, brought them up with a start.

  Quickly, Anna jumped to her feet and ran to find the cause of her neighbour’s distress. As she approached the front door, she saw that it was ajar. With a gentle push, the door opened to reveal her neighbour, Mrs O’Rourke, sobbing uncontrollably over the delirious form of her little boy, Danny, whose usually laughing eyes were rolling wildly in his highly flushed face.

  Despite her youth, Anna had gained quite a lot of nursing experience in County Cork before coming to England. Immediately, she recognised the little boy’s symptoms. Danny O’Rourke was suffering from the fever, and she must act quickly. She hurried to get some wet towels to place on his burning forehead and with a few brief instructions to Mrs O’Rourke ran off to fetch the doctor as if her own life was at stake.

  Although of slight build, Anna had a strong wiry body and kept running until she reached the doctor’s surgery. Anna’s compassion and quick thinking saved little Danny’s life that day. The news of her courageous effort spread rapidly around the Irish ghetto, and thereafter, people always greeted her respectfully. Leadership and compassion are admirable qualities at any age.

  It was Eliza, a regular visitor to the district, who was the first of the Oxley family to hear of Anna’s exploit. ‘She’s a courageous girl,’ said Eliza to Colleen when she called next day. ‘She’s Oilways been loike thart, Eliza, ever since she was a little’n,’ said Colleen proudly. ‘To be sure our Anna was the strength of the family whin the boys were so ill.’

  Eliza acknowledged the point graciously, but had other things on her mind and wanted to discuss them with her friend. She came straight to the point. ‘I’m worried about John, Colleen. It’s not like him to act as strangely as he has been recently.’ She related the story of the dinner party at Hedley Manor on the previous evening and of John’s subsequent behaviour. ‘He didn’t come home until morning,’ she went on. ‘I was worried stiff. There’s something troubling him deeply, Colleen, but he won’t let on to me.’

  ‘Could it harve anyting to do with, Anna?’ queried Colleen knowingly. There was a pregnant pause. Eliza raised her eyebrows a little as she stared at Colleen, pondering the possibility. ‘I wonder’, she said pensively. ‘I wonder.’

  Like Eliza, John was becoming quite a frequent visitor to the O’Meara’s place ostensibly to discuss politics with Harry, but one would have had to be blind not to notice the frequent glances, smiles, and winks that passed between the young ones and the obvious enjoyment they had in each other’s company.

  Anna would never forget the summer’s evening when she and her family had gone to the fair at Doncaster Park. They had no money to spend on wasteful things like cocoanut shies and lucky dips, but, nevertheless, enjoyed the excitement and frivolity that pervaded the place. It was cheap entertainment when all was said and done.

  The family was standing together spellbound at the antics of an Indian juggler dressed for the circus and performing with seven balls at a time. The crowd stood open-mouthed at his skill and burst into embarrassed laughter when the poor fellow dropped a ball and had to start again. Anna looked with envy at the children standing nearby with huge toffee apples and coloured balloons, but accepted that it was her lot not to have such luxuries. After all, she was one of the poor.

  Suddenly, Anna felt a touch on her arm. She turned to see John beckoning her to follow him. Without a word she slipped away, and the two disappeared into the crowd before her parents realised that she had gone.

  ‘I’ve got two tickets for the carousel,’ he said excitedly. ‘Come, and we’ll have a ride.’ Within a few moments, the young couple were mounted on the leaping wooden horses much to Anna’s overwhelming delight. Such simple pleasures were unknown to the children of the great famine. John couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  The relief on Harry’s face when he finally found his daughter laughing so happily astride a make-believe horse suppressed his annoyance at John’s impulsiveness. ‘They’re only young once,’ said Colleen. ‘Let the young ones have some fun. Goodness knows she needs it. John’s a bit of a devil, but I like him.’

  Without warning, John grasped Anna’s hand and headed up a small hill that overlooked the fairground. ‘Slow down, John!’ cried Anna. ‘I can’t keep up with you.’

  ‘Of course, you can,’ said John looking over his shoulder at her. ‘You’re younger and fitter than I am. Come on!’

  Anna admired John’s vitality and ran hard in response to his challenge. She imagined that this was what she would probably have done with her younger brothers had they lived to manhood. It was nice to have a young man to share life with.

  The couple arrived at the top of the hill and, puffing and panting like race horses, turned to look at the people below. John was still holding Anna’s hand as he lifted his voice above the sounds floating up from the brass band playing raucously below them.

  ‘Oh, Anna, what a great . . . view!’ he shouted. ‘Just look at them all down there . . . not a care in the world . . . Look at those fellows on the tug of war rope. They’ll all have heart attacks if they keep that up.’

  ‘What a stupid game!’ exclaimed Anna with some passion. ‘All that effort . . . pulling against each other . . . That’s life, I suppose. People pulling in opposite directions and getting nowhere.’

  John was impressed with Anna’s youthful wisdom. She had a very good understanding of human nature and spoke a lot of common sense. He wondered why poverty and adversity seemed to give people a far more profound insight into the human condition
than did affluence.

  John thoroughly enjoyed that afternoon spent with Anna. She seemed to take his mind off the things that had been troubling him especially Charlotte’s birthday dinner and its consequences. With Anna, he could be himself. There was no sense of artificiality about his relationship with her.

  Several weeks had passed since the eventful night at Hedley Manor, when John noticed an announcement in The Times about a meeting of people interested in the Chartist Party. He had read something of the Democrats, as they were popularly known, and was aware of their philosophy of complete social equality, a sentiment to which he was becoming increasingly committed.

  John studied the notice carefully. It spoke of the failure of the middle-class leadership in government to satisfy working-class aspirations. It outlined the party’s belief in universal suffrage and canvassed the possibility of violent revolution if things did not change. His furrowed brow signalled his deep interest in the subject. ‘Was this the opportunity for him to become seriously involved in a cause he could now really believe in?’

  John made up his mind to attend the advertised event and to invite Anna to go with him. ‘Perhaps she was a bit young to take a serious interest in politics,’ he thought. But she’d make a far better fist of it than Charlotte.

  John broached the subject on his next visit to the O’Meara’s. ‘Harry, I’d like to take Anna to the torchlight meeting of the Chartists tomorrow night? They’ve got some good speakers coming up from London. Would that be all right with you?’

  By this time, Harry felt that he knew John well enough to trust his daughter to John’s safekeeping, but he wondered about his choice of entertainment for a first date. Anna was delighted to be invited and threw her arms around her father and hugged him with excitement at the prospect of going out formally with a young man for the first time.

  Although Anna knew of John’s involvement in a social set of his own class, the prospect that she might have been romantically linked to one of them had never crossed her mind. But romance had never been the basis of his relationship with Charlotte. Indeed, John was seeing less and less of her, and it was then only on formal occasions. His gradual realisation of what real love was and its importance in a happy relationship were now uppermost in his mind. He was only waiting for an opportune moment to ask Charlotte to release him from their engagement.

  The following night Anna was ready and waiting a full hour before the appointed time of John’s arrival. She and her mother had been busy all day, modifying a summer dress which Eliza had given her for a special occasion such as this. The needles had been at work frantically as they took up an inch here and took in half an inch there until the dress fitted well.

  John could hardly believe his eyes as Anna opened the door to greet him. ‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he said admiringly. Indeed, they made a handsome couple as they bade goodnight to Harry and Colleen.

  ‘Now you be takin’ gud care of ’er, John. And make sure she’s home by midnight,’ called Harry good naturedly as they walked down the path to the jinker. With a flick of the reins John’s horses started into a canter, and they bounced away down the potholed street, which led north towards Ecclesfield.

  The jinker took them through the rows of cottages past the old mill on the river and along the road out into the countryside. John was surprised at the large number of people walking briskly towards the Ecclesfield moor, the site of the meeting. Arriving at the place where the Sheffield-Ecclesfield Road met the road from Stockbridge, John tied the horse to a fencepost. He and Anna began to pick their way carefully across the tussocky field towards the crowd, which was assembling on a slight rise some hundred yards away.

  ‘Hello, John’, boomed a voice from behind him. Turning to respond, John got the shock of his life to see Constable Johnson the policeman who had arrested him several weeks earlier striding towards him. ‘Now you mind, you don’t go causin’ any trouble tonight. I want this to be a peaceful and an orderly meetin’.’ Turning to Anna, he said, ‘You’ll make sure, he behaves himself, won’t you, miss?’ Anna smiled disarmingly at the constable as John squeezed her hand reassuringly.

  A group of rather scruffy looking lads who were obviously the worse for drink were already looking and sounding dangerous. John steered Anna away in the opposite direction as one of them began to eye Anna mischievously.

  Coming closer to the centre of the crowd, by now several hundred strong, Anna could see a raised wooden dais on which the speakers for the evening would obviously stand. John was glad he had brought nothing of value with him and warned Anna to keep a sharp watch for pickpockets, not that she carried anything of value worthy of their light-fingered attention.

  ‘John’, she said, ‘who are all these people?’ It was perfectly obvious to her that most of them were not middle-class gentry such as John. There was an uncouth aggression in their manner that frightened her. She kept close to her escort in case of trouble.

  Within minutes, a commotion near the dais indicated that the speakers had arrived and the noisy crowd hushed a little as the official party mounted the platform. A dapper little man with a black moustache lifted a megaphone to his lips and began to speak.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you here this evening in the name of all working men of this country. I welcome you too in the name of those who have no vote—all of those who for too long have been pawns in the hands of unrepresentative politicians who have ignored their interests and profited unfairly from their work.’

  For a Methodist lay preacher, this fellow could put words together well and was a superb warm-up act to the main event.

  ‘As far as I am concerned, the faceless politicians of Westminster have no interest in us or our families. The Democrats say that the voices of the ordinary people need to be heard in London. We agree! We want social equality, and we’ll settle for nothing less!’

  A murmur of approval swept over the crowd. ‘We demand the right to elect our own representatives,’ he continued, his voice rising to a crescendo. John enjoyed the spirit of his oratory and joined in the cheering with enthusiasm. Anna suddenly took hold of John’s arm. ‘Look, John!’ she said inquisitively. ‘The men over there seem to be lighting torches. Who are they?’

  The evening sky was darkening rapidly and the sight of the light being passed from torch to torch as each was lit provided a fascinating metaphor for those who had assembled on the Ecclesfield Moor that evening. ‘Oh, isn’t it pretty!’ said Anna. The cool night air was becoming chilly as John put his arm around her and drew her close to him for warmth.

  ‘Now Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce to you our guest speaker for the night—the national leader of our movement—Mr Isaac Ironside. Mr Ironside has spoken at many gatherings like this all over the country, and we are very fortunate to be able to have him address us. Will you welcome Mr Ironside?’

  There was a great roar of support as Ironside stood to his feet. An impressively tall, bearded man dressed in frock coat and top hat stepped forward to acknowledge the noisy welcome. The crowd had by now grown to three hundred or so, and their faces, which were illuminated by the flickering torchlight, revealed the gaunt features of hungry men, hungry not only for bread, but also for hope.

  The group of youths whom John had noticed earlier were becoming more and more unruly as the night wore on. It was not hard to gauge their loyalties. One could be forgiven for thinking that they were present with the sole intention of causing trouble.

  Ironside was endowed with an arresting resonant voice with a strong Geordi accent. John took hold of Anna’s hand and edged closed to get a better view of this compelling figure.

  ‘Men of Yorkshire!’ The words rang out across the moor with crystal clarity. There was a deathly hush as if the last trumpet had sounded. ‘We have come here tonight because we’ve had enough of pernicious poverty. We give notice that we will no longer tolerate the life that has been foisted
upon us by those who consider themselves to be our masters. Now is the time for us, the workers of this country, to rise up and say, “No more!”‘

  The surging crowd responded exuberantly to the rousing words. Constable Johnson looked decidedly ill at ease. ‘Aye! Aye!’ called one. ‘We’re with you all the way!’ yelled another. ‘Fine words!’ cried John momentarily forgetting his assurance to Anna that he would not get involved., ‘But what are you going to do about it?’ Anna tugged at his arm as if to say, ‘Go carefully, John.’ He fell silent as Ironside continued.

  ‘The goal of the Chartists is basically an economic one. We want social equality that sees every man with a job, every man with a simple, decent house to live in, and every family in this country with food and clothing to sustain them.’

  Now all of the rhetoric was very appealing to the colliers, puddlers, and handloom operators of the Midlands who were passing through a period of extreme misery and deprivation.

  The speaker continued as the full moon rose above the horizon, illuminating the moor quite brightly. Ironside’s bulky frame appeared even more compelling in silhouette than it did in the twilight. ‘There are important principles at stake here,’ he said in reasoning tones. ‘And you all need to understand them and talk about them wherever you go.’

  ‘We demand universal suffrage! Every man should have the right to vote for his own representative in parliament. How can those with money, land, and position speak for us? They don’t understand our problems.’ Pointing accusingly in the direction of the city, he continued, ‘Who of them can’t afford a physician when his wife takes ill? Who of them can’t put a proper meal in front of his children? Who of them knows what it’s like to live in a draughty hovel?’ With an evangelical fervour Ironside’s stentorian voice penetrated to the far edges of the great crowd and deeply into their souls.