The first really harsh blow to disturb her childhood came when Hannah was eight years old. Her grandmother, Grace, was taken ill with distressing sickness and diarrhoea and terrible leg cramps. Rebecca stayed at home from work to nurse her mother but after only three days Grace died. After a simple funeral attended by their neighbours, Rebecca and Hannah returned to the home that now seemed empty and soulless without the old lady who had been its centre.
‘I’ll have to go back to work,’ Rebecca said in her soft voice. ‘I’ll see if Auntie Bessie next door will take care of you.’
‘I can take care of meself, Mam,’ Hannah had declared stoutly, but Rebecca had shaken her head. ‘No, no, I won’t have you left alone. Bessie won’t mind.’ Rebecca had smiled gently. ‘She’ll never notice another one amongst her brood.’
So Hannah had become a daily visitor to the overcrowded house next door where Bill and Bessie Morgan, their three sons and two daughters lived. The Morgan children were all older than Hannah but they took the lonely child in and treated her as if she were another sister. Peggy, the youngest at twelve, was the closest in age, but even she was already working at the mill. Bill and two of his sons worked in the top floor garret of the house and Bessie had her hands full caring for them all.
‘’Course she can come to us. She can ’elp me with me washing,’ Bessie had said at once when Rebecca tentatively broached the subject. It was from Bessie Morgan, who sang all day long in her loud, tuneless voice, that Hannah, amongst the soap suds and steam of the back yard wash house, was to learn the words of all the hymns.
‘We’ll mind her,’ Bessie had promised. ‘You get back to your work, Rebecca, while you’ve still got a job to go to.’ She had cast a knowing look at Rebecca, and the younger woman had felt the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck.
In the uncertain silk industry, Rebecca had kept her place at the mill even through hard times when many had been laid off. She was well aware it was whispered that it was only because she was James Gregory’s mistress that she had kept her job. And, in a way, Rebecca had to admit that it was true. Whilst he’d never openly admitted to being the father of her child – and Rebecca maintained her steadfast silence – James Gregory had always made sure she’d a job at the mill. And though she was no longer his mistress – hadn’t been from the day he’d learned she was pregnant – he still favoured her, much to the irritation of the other workers. If she was feeling tired or unwell, he’d find her easier work. He allowed her time off – with no questions asked – if Hannah was ill. The other women grumbled, but there was little they could do about it other than to ostracize Rebecca. It was a lonely time for the young woman but she stuck it out. She’d no choice – hers was the only income her family had.
Hannah’s time with the Morgan family was short lived. Life swiftly dealt Rebecca another harsh blow. In less than a year, James Gregory had left the mill. She had heard the news from the gossip that rippled amongst the mill workers.
‘’Ave you ’eard, ’ee’s got himself another fancy piece. Daughter of a mill owner, no less. And her father’s made him manager of one of his mills.’
‘What about his wife and family? Gregory’s married, ain’t he?’
‘Oh, didn’t you know? His wife and kiddie died with the cholera last year. So he’s fancy-free.’
‘Is ’ee, by God! So, he’s not marrying that girl – what’s ’er name?’
‘Rebecca Francis. Oh no. ’Ee’s set his sights higher than ’er. And let me tell you something else. Once ’ee’s gone from here, that little madam ’ad better watch out.’
And soon after James’s departure, Rebecca was told that her ‘services were no longer required at the mill’.
For a few months, she managed to pay the rent, though she grew thinner from worry and tramping the streets in search of work. By the January of 1851 there was no food in the house, no fuel to keep them warm, their winter clothes had been pawned, and she was hiding when the rent man called. Two months later, Rebecca and her young daughter were evicted from their home.
The workhouse was the only place they could go.
Three
‘Now, have you got everything? How generous Mr Goodbody has been.’ Rebecca fingered the clothes lying spread out on Hannah’s bed. The garments –two shifts, two frocks, two aprons and two pairs of stockings – were not new, but Rebecca had washed and lovingly ironed and mended them. It was the final motherly act she was to be allowed to do for her daughter. ‘And you must take care of this money. Two whole guineas,’ Rebecca told her, handing her a cloth purse. ‘Tie it round your neck for the journey, but you’ll have to give it to . . . to whoever’s in charge of you . . .’ Her voice threatened to break, but she smiled bravely and added, ‘Mind you’re a good girl, won’t you? Do as you’re told and—’
Hannah’s blue eyes brimmed with tears. She flung her arms around her mother’s slim waist and hugged her tightly. ‘I don’t want to go. Don’t let them send me away. I – I might never see you again.’
Though Rebecca embraced her fiercely in return and her voice trembled, she tried valiantly to make the words cheerful and hopeful. ‘Of course you’ll see me again. Once you’ve got settled in, you ask around. There might be a job for me there. I’m sure my experience in the silk mill will count for something, whatever Mr Goodbody says. You just mind you tell them about me. Don’t forget, now will you?’
‘Oh no, Mam. ’Course I won’t.’
The cart pulled to a halt at the top of a steep hill.
‘Right, out you get.’ The old driver dropped the reins and climbed stiffly down from his seat. He walked to the back of the cart. ‘Come on,’ he said roughly. ‘I ain’t got all night.’
Three of the four children riding in the back scrambled out. Only Hannah made no move to obey him. ‘You’re not leaving us here. There’s no sign of the mill and you were paid to take us all the way.’
The old man coughed juicily and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Well, this is as far as I’m going, missy. I’m on me way back to Buxton now. You do as you please. This is as far as I can take you. My old girl wouldn’t make it back up this ’ere hill if I teks ’er down. You’ll have to walk rest of the way. It’s down there.’ He pointed to the road, disappearing steeply down into the dale below them. ‘Just follow that road. Mill’s at far end. You can’t miss it.’
As Hannah climbed down, she looked about her and, suddenly, she smiled. The sun was setting behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the slopes and glinting on the trees. Even the rough road on which they were standing was bathed in golden light.
‘It’s a pretty place,’ Hannah murmured.
The man climbed back onto the front of his cart and picked up the reins. ‘Aye, missy, take a good look at the sunshine. Pauper’s gold, they call it. I reckon that’s the only gold you’ll ever see. And you won’t be seeing much of that either – not in Critchlow’s dismal mill, you won’t.’ He laughed loudly at his own joke and flapped the reins. The horse, as if knowing it was homeward bound, moved forward with an eager jerk. Within moments the cart was rattling back the way it had come, leaving the four youngsters standing forlornly in the road. Far below them a river wound its way through the deep valley between hills that seem to fold in on each other. They could see houses dotted here and there, and sheep in a line following a track along the hillside, making for home. But there was no sign of a building large enough to be a mill.
‘Should we ask the way?’ Luke jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the Wyedale Arms behind them. Hannah glanced at it, but the door was shut and there seemed no sign of life. She was the eldest of the four – and the boldest – and the others were looking to her to take the lead. She felt a tiny, cold hand creep into hers and looked down into the small, white face of the youngest. Jane was only ten and small for her age. She had been born to a young widow in the workhouse who had died at her birth. She was truly an orphan. She looked exhausted by the day’s travelling, her eyes huge i
n her pale, gaunt face. Tears were close. ‘Are we lost?’
Hannah gave the child’s hand a comforting squeeze. ‘No, ’course we’re not.’ She glanced round at the two boys – twin brothers, Luke and Daniel Hammond – trying to instil confidence into her voice. ‘Come on, you lot. It’s down this hill, the man said. We’d best get going if we’re to find it before dark.’
With more purpose in her step than she was feeling inside, and still holding Jane’s hand, Hannah strode down the hill, the other two falling in behind them.
‘Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us . . .’ she began to sing.
She’d sung the hymn through once and was about to start again, when Luke said, ‘How much further is it?’
‘Dunno,’ Hannah said cheerfully. ‘Maybe we’ll see it round the next bend.’
They walked on beneath the canopy of trees overhanging the lane as the shadows lengthened and the sun dipped out of sight. Dusk settled into the dale.
‘I’m tired and me leg hurts,’ Jane murmured.
‘I’m hungry,’ Daniel moaned.
Luke and Daniel had been left at the workhouse door five years earlier when their mother had died and their father couldn’t cope with the lively six-year-olds. They hadn’t seen him from that day to this and had given up hope of him ever coming back for them. Now, coming up to twelve years old, they were excited at the prospect of a real job. They were small and thin like most of the children in the workhouse, but they were fit and healthy with the same mop of unruly light brown hair, hazel eyes and cheeky grins. Their teeth were surprisingly good, white and even. Just the sort of boys that Mr Critchlow was looking for, Cedric Goodbody had assured them.
But now, they too were tired, their excitement waning.
‘It can’t be much further,’ Hannah said, almost dragging the weary little girl alongside her.
The shape of a house loomed up on the left-hand side of the road.
‘Is that it?’ Jane pointed. ‘Is that the mill?’
Hannah eyed it doubtfully. ‘I don’t think so. It’s not big enough.’ She paused and added, ‘Is it?’ She wasn’t exactly sure just how big a cotton mill was, but she imagined it must be at least the size of the silk mill where her mother had worked.
‘That’s a farm,’ Luke said scathingly and his twin nodded. ‘It smells like one.’
Hannah glanced at them. She’d only known town streets with no trees or fields. The only animals she’d seen had been scrawny dogs and cats and most of them had been strays. So, she didn’t argue, aware that the boys had known six years of life before coming into the workhouse. Who was she to say that they hadn’t seen a farm?
As if answering her unspoken question, Luke said, ‘Our dad worked on the land, but he moved about from job to job.’
Daniel nodded. ‘Every Lady Day, we’d be packing up and moving to a new farm.’
She saw the two boys glance at each other and knew they were remembering happier times.
‘Come on, then. Best walk a bit further,’ Hannah said briskly, trying to inject some encouragement into her tone. But they’d gone only a few yards further when they came to a crossroads. The lane to the left led to the farm, but they’d no idea which of the other two roads they should take.
‘Which way now?’ Luke asked
‘I don’t know.’ Perplexed, Hannah glanced this way and that.
‘Let’s ask at the farm,’ Luke suggested. ‘They’ll know where the mill is.’
Hannah pulled a face, reluctant to knock on a stranger’s door, unsure of the welcome that four workhouse brats would receive. ‘All right then,’ she agreed diffidently, aware of how tired they all were. They were hungry and thirsty too. She turned and frowned at the two boys behind her. ‘But just you two mind you behave yourselves.’
They grinned up at her with identical saucy expressions. ‘Yes, miss,’ they chorused.
The four of them trooped through the gate, the boys closing it carefully behind them. ‘You always have to shut gates on a farm,’ Luke said.
‘Oh – yes – right,’ Hannah nodded. She wasn’t sure why it was necessary. There was no one about in the yard but, again, she didn’t argue.
As they neared the back door, there was a scuffle, and a black and white collie appeared out of a kennel set to one side of the back door and began to bark.
Jane gave a terrified scream and clutched at Hannah’s skirt, hiding behind her. Even the two boys took a couple of steps backwards. Hannah too jumped, but she pulled in a deep breath and held out her hand. ‘Here, boy. Good dog. Nice dog.’
‘He might not be as nice as you think,’ Luke muttered. ‘He’s a sheepdog. A working dog.’
‘And a guard dog,’ Daniel added.
But the animal ceased its barking, whined, wagged its tail and licked Hannah’s outstretched hand.
‘Well, would you look at that!’ Luke grinned at her. ‘Charm the birds off the trees, you could.’
In the workhouse, males, females, girls and boys had been strictly separated, but on the few occasions they had glimpsed one another, Hannah and Luke had liked what they’d seen. And now here they were, having travelled together all day, standing outside the back door of a farmhouse seeking help.
‘Go on then,’ Luke encouraged. ‘Get on with it.’
Hannah glanced at the other three as she raised her hand to knock, seeing a mixture of trepidation and hope on their weary, pinched faces. It was exactly how she felt as she turned to face whoever should open the door.
They heard heavy footsteps and then the door was pulled open. A tall, well-built, red-faced woman wearing a white bib apron stood looking down at them.
‘Come away in.’ She smiled and held the door wider open.
It seemed they were expected, yet Hannah still hesitated. ‘Is this the mill?’
‘Lord bless you, no. This is Rushwater Farm. The mill’s further on . . .’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Along this road.’ Her smile broadened so that her round cheeks almost made her eyes close. ‘I guessed that’s where you’re heading. I’m used to youngsters coming to my door. Eh, dear me—’ She shook her head and her smile faded. ‘If I’d a pound for every child who’s knocked at my door to be fed, I’d be a wealthy woman.’
‘Oh, we . . . we only wanted to ask the way. We weren’t sure, you see, which road—’ Hannah began.
‘Come along in, all of you,’ the woman stood back and beckoned. A mouth-watering smell wafted from her kitchen and the two boys, forgetting their promise to Hannah, pushed forward.
Drawn by her own hunger and encouraged by the woman’s kindly, beaming face, Hannah stepped over the threshold. Jane, still clutching Hannah’s hand, followed.
‘Sit down, sit down. You’ve had a long journey, I’ll be bound, sitting in Bert Oldfield’s draughty cart.’
The four children gaped at her. ‘How . . . how did you know . . . ?’ Hannah began, but the woman chuckled. ‘You’re from Macclesfield workhouse, aren’t you? You’ve come on the carrier’s cart to Buxton and then Bert’s brought you to the top of the hill. But the wily old bird won’t bring you all the way down in case his scrawny horse can’t get back up again. Am I right?’
The children glanced at each other and then smiled.
‘How d’you know all that?’ Luke asked.
‘Because it happens every year, that’s why. When Mr Critchlow wants more children to work in his mill, he sends word to the master of the workhouse and along you all come. Bin happening for years.’
‘Why . . . why does he need so many?’ Hannah asked. A sudden shiver ran through her. She wasn’t sure she should have asked the question. She might not like the answer.
‘Ah well, now,’ the woman turned away, busying herself over a huge pan of stew sitting on the hob of the kitchen range, ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
Hannah stared at her stooping back. She had the feeling that the woman knew only too well, but didn’t want to tell them. She sighed, but as a plate of stew and dumplings was
set before her, she forgot about her worries and concentrated on filling her empty belly.
The farmer’s wife sat down opposite. She let them eat their fill before she asked, ‘Now, tell me your names. Mine’s Mrs Grundy.’
‘This is Jane Pickering and these two are twins.’
Mrs Grundy nodded. ‘Aye, I can see that. Like as two peas in a pod, aren’t you?’
‘Luke and Daniel Hammond and I’m Hannah. Hannah Francis.’
The woman smiled at them and nodded, ‘I’m pleased to meet you all. And don’t forget, if you want to visit me any time – any time at all – there’ll always be a welcome for you at Rushwater Farm. You’ll not meet my husband today. He’s busy with the evening milking now, but he’ll be pleased to see you an’ all. He loves children too.’
Hannah rose from her chair. ‘You’ve been very kind, Mrs Grundy,’ she said politely, ‘and we’d love to stay longer, but perhaps we’d best be going. Could you please tell us which road we should take to the mill?’
‘’Course I can,’ the woman said, heaving herself up from her chair and leading them to the back door. She walked out of the yard to the road and then pointed. ‘Take the road on the left here and just keep on. You’ll soon see it. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘you’d be best to go straight to the apprentice house. Go up the steep slope at the side of the mill to the row of houses directly behind it. It’s the third building along. A white house. Ask for Mr or Mrs Bramwell. They’re the superintendents. Now, off you go. They’ll be expecting you and it’ll be dark soon.’
She stood watching the children walk along the lane until they were out of sight.
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