by Valerie Wood
‘Why did you say I was your brother?’ Mikey asked after they had got down and waved the waggoner goodbye.
‘Because otherwise he might have thought we’d run away.’ She smirked. ‘You know. To be together.’
‘Rubbish!’ Mikey said. ‘Why’d he think that? He’d see we’re not old enough.’ Though as he looked sideways at Bridget, he thought that perhaps a man wouldn’t be able to guess her age.
It was almost dark by the time they arrived in the medieval town of Lincoln the next evening, and the towering cathedral was etched against the night sky. They were very tired, having slept in a spinney the previous night and been awakened early by the cucketing cry of pheasants; they were also very hungry, having eaten only bread given to them by a villager whose door they had knocked on begging for water.
They wandered about, not knowing which direction to take, but needing food and shelter for the night. ‘We’ll go up to ’cathedral,’ Mikey said. ‘We should be able to find somewhere to sleep there.’ He was thinking of his former bed beneath St Mary’s arch. ‘And then we’ll move on in ’morning.’
‘I want summat to eat first,’ Bridget moaned. ‘I’m starving.’ She looked about her. ‘Over there, look. See that old bridge with shops on it? You stop here, and I’ll go and get us some food.’
Mikey waited, looking about him at the timber-framed buildings and the people scurrying about their business. It’s just ’same as at home, he thought. I suppose life is ’same wherever you are. You’ve got to work and you’ve got to eat.
Bridget returned in triumph ten minutes later. ‘I’ve got a penny loaf, half a meat pie and two slices of sweet cake.’
Mikey’s jaw dropped. ‘You said you’d onny got a tanner.’
She gave a little shrug. She hadn’t told him about the blackmail money the stranger had given her. ‘Baker was shutting up shop,’ she said. ‘He wanted rid of ’em. Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit and eat.’
They traipsed up an extremely steep hill towards the cathedral. Both puffed and panted, their lungs bursting and their legs aching, being used only to the flatness of the Hull streets.
‘I shall have to stop,’ Bridget gasped, halfway up. ‘I’ve no breath left.’
‘Nearly there,’ Mikey wheezed. ‘Come on. We can lean against ’wall. Think of all that feasting in front of us.’
Neither of them could speak when they reached the top and collapsed on the ground to lean against a wall outside the cathedral.
‘I need a drink,’ Mikey said at last. ‘There’ll be a pump somewhere.’ He went off to look and came back shortly with his face wet. ‘Just over there.’ He pointed. ‘Go on, tek a drink and then we’ll eat.’
Bridget did, but first relieved herself in some bushes. ‘Oh!’ she sighed, blowing out her lips. ‘That’s better.’
They ate their fill, leaving one slice of sweet cake for the morning, and Mikey said it was the best meal he had ever tasted. Bridget looked smug, but didn’t comment that he might have gone hungry but for her.
The night was damp, but they found shelter in a walled area within the cathedral grounds and were so tired they fell asleep almost immediately. They awoke to birdsong, and after drinking from the pump they shared the slice of cake.
‘I think we should move off now,’ Mikey said. ‘With a bit of luck we might get another lift, like yesterday.’
Bridget agreed. She’d done a mental calculation of the money she had left and knew there wasn’t enough to pay for transport, so they’d have to beg a lift. On their wanderings round the town when they’d arrived last night they had seen people scurrying towards the grey brick station with its tall ornate chimneys, but they knew that such travel was for the well-off, not for urchins such as them.
They saw the town gate as they moved off; the Stonebow, it was called, and the guildhall was above it. Bridget crossed herself when she saw the stone figures of the Archangel Gabriel and the Virgin Mary in the niches in the wall. She generally pooh-poohed any form of religion, but thought that perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to show a little respect under the circumstances.
‘We’ll make for Nottingham,’ Mikey decided. ‘I don’t know where next.’ He wasn’t confident about the rest of the journey. ‘We’ll have to ask ’way to London.’
Bridget had no idea at all of geography. Her life had been spent in Hull and she could find her way blindfolded down every street and alleyway of that town. She had known that Lincoln was across the estuary and London was a long way off. Of anywhere else, she knew nothing.
‘We’ll have to look at ’milestones, Mikey,’ she said. ‘They’ll tell us how far it is.’
They passed through quiet villages and deserted hamlets, past ancient churches, old farmhouses and country inns; skirted streams and duck ponds, and travelled along country roads and lanes. They saw few people and didn’t speak to any, though they saw farm workers out in the fields gathering in the harvest.
‘Lincolnshire is isolated,’ Mikey commented as they sat on the verge to rest their feet. ‘It’s like East Yorkshire. Folks don’t travel through. They onny come if they want to be here.’
Bridget turned a weary expression to him. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well.’ He struggled to explain the conclusion he had come to. ‘Folks coming into Lincolnshire from ’south get as far as ’Humber estuary, and have to stop or else cross over it. And if they cross it, say on ’ferry, they come into East Yorkshire and if they keep going they’ll reach Spurn Point and ’sea. They can’t get any further, you see, unless they tek a boat.’
‘Oh,’ Bridget said. ‘So those who live here must really like it, mustn’t they?’
Mikey nodded. ‘Yeh, I suppose so. Unless they were born here and nivver moved.’ He got to his feet. ‘Come on. We’re not going to mek our fortune here, not unless we become farmers.’
‘Farm labourers, you mean.’ Bridget pointed across meadow land to a great house in the distance. ‘Look at that acreage! How could anybody be so rich as to own all of that?’
‘Lucky, I suppose,’ Mikey said. ‘Or else have a rich da or grandda. It’s lovely,’ he murmured. ‘So peaceful.’
‘And boring,’ Bridget scoffed. ‘What do folk do all day?’
‘They work!’ Mikey was indignant. ‘They don’t just look at ’scenery all day. They work on ’land, no matter what ’weather’s like, or dig ditches and drains and look after hosses. All sorts of jobs.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ he muttered. ‘Somebody’s got to grow corn and vegetables and keep pigs and cattle. How would we eat otherwise?’
Bridget shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘Hadn’t thought about it.’
The traffic became heavier as they approached Nottingham, many vehicles overtaking them as well as coming towards them; some of the vehicles coming from Nottingham were waggons pulling animal transporters or trailers piled high with machinery, or donkey drays loaded with canvas. There were also several horseback riders.
‘They’ve been to ’Goose Fair! We’ll miss Hull Fair,’ Bridget complained. ‘That’s where they’re heading. I allus go. Never missed afore!’
‘Well, ask if they’ll give you a lift back,’ Mikey said grumpily. ‘You don’t have to come wi’ me.’
A young dark-haired girl riding a Pinto waved to them and called hello. Mikey waved back, but Bridget only scowled. ‘Is she a gyppo, do you think?’
‘Romany, you mean. Yes, I think so.’
‘Anyway, I didn’t say I didn’t want to come wi’ you,’ Bridget continued. ‘I onny said we were missing Hull Fair.’
Mikey didn’t answer. Seeing the fair folk reminded him how he too always went to the fair with his mother and brothers and sister. They had little money to spend but that didn’t matter as they soaked up the atmosphere of music and drumbeat and rifle shot, the trumpeting of elephants and the roar of tigers. Dancing girls in bright costumes enticing visitors in to see their show, showmen cracking whips; such
sights and sounds were all for free and the memory of them saddened him.
It was a warm dry night and they slept in the open again, but the following morning, as they began the next leg of their journey, the rain began; light drizzle at first but then increasing to a downpour. They became so wet that they hurried off the road into a plantation of oak trees to shelter beneath the canopy, where the rain didn’t penetrate.
‘We’re miles and miles away from London, aren’t we?’ Bridget shivered. ‘When do you think we’ll get there?’
‘Dunno.’ Mikey was despondent. ‘I’ve been wondering whether to try for a job o’ work in Nottingham. Just to tide us ower, you know. Mebbe earn a copper or two to afford a bit o’ dinner.’ He only had a few coins left of the money that Milly had given him. He’d save it for a rainy day, he’d thought, but it was raining now. Bucketing down.
‘I’ve got some money left,’ Bridget admitted. ‘When we get to Nottingham we’ll spend it on a hot dinner.’
Mikey was about to ask where the money had come from when she suddenly called out, ‘Look, there’s a waggon coming over.’
He looked up to see a two-horse waggon trundling towards them. The driver sat in front, his shoulders covered in a waterproof cape, and in the back of the waggon someone was sitting hunched up under a sack.
‘Hey up!’ the driver called to them. ‘Room for us?’
‘Plenty,’ Mikey called back. ‘You going far?’
The driver wiped his streaming face with his soft hat. ‘Aye. To Nottingham town.’ He indicated the back of the cart with his thumb. ‘But this young feller’s getting soaked so I said I’d stop until the rain eased up a bit.’
The sack was thrown off and a fair head appeared. A youth of about Mikey’s age looked out at them. ‘I’m wet through,’ he said. ‘I should have brought my mackintosh.’
A swell, Mikey thought, noting the boy’s accent and the fact that he could afford a proper raincoat. ‘Where’re you heading?’ he asked.
The youth hesitated. ‘I’m hitching to see my aunt in Nottingham.’ He glanced towards the driver. ‘My parents are dead and I’m hoping she’ll let me stay for a while. What about you?’
‘We’re going to London,’ Bridget interrupted.
The boy jumped down from the waggon and stretched himself. ‘I’m going to London too as a matter of fact,’ he murmured, his back to the driver. ‘But I don’t want to tell the driver in case anybody questions him about me.’
‘Who would do that?’ Mikey asked. ‘Are you in trouble?’
‘I will be if my father finds me,’ the boy muttered, his voice full of cynicism. ‘I’ve run away from home. Have you? Is that why you’re on the road?’
‘No,’ Mikey said. ‘I haven’t. I haven’t a home to run from, and Bridget …’ He hesitated.
‘I haven’t run away.’ Bridget tossed her head. ‘I left a message for my ma that I was going away for a bit. But I’m old enough to leave home anyway,’ she added truculently.
‘Well, if this waggoner’ll give us a lift, we could mebbe travel together?’ Mikey suggested. ‘Or do you prefer to be on your own?’ he added, recalling how reluctant he had been to have Bridget tagging on.
The boy shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. It would be good to have company. What’s your name?’
‘Quinn.’ Mikey told him. ‘Mikey Quinn. What’s yours?’
‘Simon,’ he said. ‘Just Simon.’
They left the thick woodlands behind and entered the teeming, congested textile town of Nottingham. Mikey and Bridget put their remaining money together and had just enough for a night’s lodgings. Bridget slept in a dingy rooming house and Mikey shared a hostel dormitory with working men. He reflected that the slum dwellings here were on a par with many in the back streets of Hull. Simon said he would find his own accommodation and meet them the next morning, which he did.
He told them about the hosiery and lace-making in Nottingham and how the merchants were moving further out of the town as it grew bigger. ‘Much the same as in Hull,’ he said airily. ‘The merchants don’t want to share the same air as their workers.’
‘How come you know so much?’ Bridget asked pertinently. ‘Did you go to school?’
Simon gave a disdainful laugh. ‘Of course I went to school! But I was expelled. That’s why I’ve run away.’
‘Expelled? What does that mean? Were you at Hull Grammar?’ she asked.
‘No. Boarding school, of course. I was sent away when I was eight. Hated it,’ he said with venom. ‘Hated it! I was always in trouble. The masters beat me and the other boys bullied me when I was young, and I was expelled – asked to leave because I beat up another boy. He deserved it, though.’
‘But why have you run away from home?’ Mikey asked. ‘Were you lying about your parents being dead? Won’t they worry about you?’
Simon held out his hands, palms uppermost. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘My father did that.’ His palms were cracked and swollen. ‘He was going to send me away to another school. A much stricter one than the other.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And he promised me a beating every day until I agreed to mend my ways.’
‘Haven’t you got a mother?’ Mikey asked, thinking how horrified his own mother would have been. The only punishment she ever meted out to him and his brothers was the sharp end of her tongue. ‘Won’t she be worried about you?’
Simon swallowed and blinked, and when he spoke again his voice cracked. ‘I expect she will be, but she’s afraid of my father. He wouldn’t beat her, of course,’ he added hastily. ‘He doesn’t beat women; though he locked my sister in a cupboard for speaking to me when I was sent to Coventry. But he would find a way of punishing my mother if he thought she was favouring me.’
Seems to me that there’s not much difference between rich and poor if you’re in a family like that, Bridget thought. Her father was a bully and her mother always had to appease him, whilst the children kept out of his way, especially when he was drunk. Perhaps Simon’s father drinks a lot, like mine, and that’s why he beats him.
My father wouldn’t have beaten me if he’d been alive, Mikey thought. Not to make my hands bleed like his. Ma said Da was a good man. She allus said that; but even if he had done, Ma would have stuck up for me – for all of us. She wouldn’t have allowed anybody to bully us, but neither would I have run away and left her to face such a man by herself. Simon’s ma must be very frightened on her own. Seems to me that it’s harder being rich than it is to be poor.
Simon hoisted his knapsack further up his back. He thought that he was luckier than the other two. He had a clean pair of socks and another pair of trousers in his pack, whereas they were a scruffy-looking couple and carried no luggage. Not two halfpennies to scratch together, I bet, he surmised. He had enough money for food and lodgings, though the accommodation last night had cost more than he had anticipated. London was where he was bound and he considered himself fortunate to have company for the journey. It’s safer to travel with someone else, he thought, but I’ll ditch them as soon as we arrive.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tempers had been simmering for days. Each nightfall, or even before it was dark if they were very tired, Mikey and Bridget would search about for somewhere to sleep – a shop doorway, beside a brick wall or even beneath a tree if it was dry – whereas Simon would sidle away, murmuring that he was going to take a look round. He wouldn’t come back until the next morning when he would reappear looking clean and refreshed.
‘He’s stopping somewhere,’ Bridget grumbled as they watched him amble off early one evening. ‘He’s got some money but he’s not sharing it wi’ us.’
‘That’s what I think,’ Mikey said. ‘Not much of a pal, is he?’ Then he grinned at Bridget. ‘Not like you, using your money to buy food for both of us.’
She shrugged. ‘But we knew each other before, didn’t we? Perhaps he doesn’t trust us.’
‘Mebbe,’ Mikey said thoughtfully. He got up from where they were sitting by a bridge
in a village. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s be off.’
‘What? I’m tired,’ Bridget complained. ‘We’ve been walking all day. Besides, what about him?’ She jerked her head to where Simon was heading down the village street.
‘We’ll not go far,’ Mikey said. ‘Just a couple o’ miles to ’next town or village. And we’ll let him find us. See how he likes being on his own.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Serve him right.’
They walked down the road for another two or three miles, travelling through dense woodland and coming to the town of Retford, which was split in half by a river. There was a market fair in the town square and many of the traders were packing up for the night. Some of the stalls had been selling food cooked on braziers whose coals were now burning low.
‘Come on, young feller, and you, young lady,’ a stallholder called to them. ‘Last of the sausages and bacon. Don’t let ’em go to waste.’
‘No money.’ Mikey walked up to him. ‘Can I do any jobs for you to pay for ’em?’
‘You can help me pack up if you like. I’m moving on tonight. Help me strip down the stall and you can have what’s left.’
‘What can I do?’ Bridget said eagerly. ‘Can I help? I’m starving!’
‘Starving! You don’t know what starving is. All them curves on you.’ He winked. ‘I can see you’ve been well fed.’
‘Shall I try to drum up some customers?’ She smiled at him, dimpling her cheeks.
‘Aye, you can do. Save some for the two of you, but there’s hot meat pies left, and a pan o’ peas.’
Bridget cleared her throat. The smell of the food was making her salivate. ‘Come on, folks,’ she called to passers-by. ‘Special price, don’t miss a bargain. Hot pies and peas for supper! Warm bread cakes.’ She’d noticed the bread in a basket and put some to heat up by the brazier, keeping the rest on one side for her and Mikey.
