‘I’ve thought up a good game,’ Alice said – she had a vivid imagination. ‘The old bed up here can be a ship, and we can tie the curtains up to look like sails. I can use my hair ribbon. We’ll be sailors like Dada was when he was young. You can jump on the mattress as much as you like, because it will be rocking on the high seas.’
Tom wasn’t staying for childish antics. ‘I’m off to help with the beds,’ he said.
It was past midnight when Emma, Immi and Tom finally crawled into their own beds, exhausted, but all was quiet now on the home front. Puglet snored in his box beside the bed Immi shared with Alice, and Emma pulled the old purple eiderdown up round her neck after she’d closed her bible and said her prayers. Wasn’t it a blessing, she thought, that they had discovered the pair of copper warming pans hanging by their long handles on the hall wall. They were tarnished, but Immi had given them a quick rub-up and then filled them with red-hot cinders from the fire, so they had been able to heat the beds with them in turn.
Now that most things were in place, particularly in this room, including her mother-in-law Isabella’s trunk, and the tulip-patterned washstand from the Summers’ house, she felt at peace. She thought to herself, The mourning period is over, and this is our new life, here in this house which I am determined to make into a real home. I am going to work hard to be successful for my children’s sake. Immi, Rebecca and I will make a good team, I think, and Tom is growing up fast and will become the man of the house.
TWENTY-SIX
They awoke that first Sunday morning to a snowy world and the younger children wrapped up well and dashed out into the yard to throw a snowball or two, while Puglet stepped delicately on the thick carpet of white with a very aggrieved expression on his face. ‘Just like the old queen,’ Alice said with a grin. Then they rushed indoors to steaming bowls of porridge, thickened in its pot overnight on the stove, with plenty of brown sugar. ‘For energy,’ Immi said. ‘Not that they need more of that.’
‘Hurry up, or we’ll be late for church. Good job it’s not far to go,’ Emma said.
Tom came in with an empty bucket. ‘You were right, Mother, the pump is frozen, but Mr Neal is pouring boiling water over the spout to free it up.’
‘Your nose is running, Tom,’ Ernie observed.
‘It’s not surprising, is it,’ he returned. ‘Made the tea yet, Immi?’
‘Give me a chance,’ she said, as she lifted the big kettle with both hands.
Later, ‘washed and brushed’ as TF always described it when Emma took her children to church on Sundays, they walked along to the Congregational Chapel. This, they had learned, had been erected to replace a more primitive building in 1812, during the ministry of an inspiring preacher, Isaac Sloper. The building was extended in 1833, with a fine new facade and galleries within. The interior was panelled with pitch pine, an improvement on stark white walls. Some years later, a substantial two-storey extension was built to accommodate a vestry and a Sunday school room. Only last year a school hall was provided alongside the building and there had been further additions inside the church: a high pulpit, new pews, a balustrade and arched apse for a splendid new organ, recently acquired after much fundraising through musical events at the popular Assembly Hall. Handel and Mendelssohn were much appreciated by the audience but ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ was something everyone knew and could sing.
Joyous music pealed forth now as they joined the large congregation. They were welcomed by those already ensconced there into a side pew with warm smiles and handshakes. They looked up at the gallery. This too was packed with people.
‘I like this church,’ Alice said loudly, and there was no need to shush her for the minister, waiting to begin the service, looked up from his notes and gave her a little wave of approval.
As they emerged after the service, Emma became aware of two young men waiting to one side of the path to the gate who were doffing their hats to greet her as the family approached. She paused, and the little cavalcade halted behind her.
‘Excuse me, but I believe you are Mrs Meehan?’ the taller of the two enquired.
‘I am.’
‘My name is Walter Vincent and I am employed by Mr Ecclestone, the grocer. My friend and I are looking for lodgings in Hungate and he said we might ask you if you could help.’
‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,’ Emma said, hanging on to her hat in the bitter wind.
‘I apologise, but we were told you were likely to be in church this morning, and as we are not going home because of the weather – they say there are snow drifts on the railway line – we thought we’d come along.’
The second young man put in, ‘I am Frederick Curtis, cooper’s journeyman.’
‘It’s too cold to stand out here talking,’ Emma said impulsively. She smiled at them. TF would have approved of them, she thought, for they were polite young men. ‘Come back with us now and we will discuss the matter.
They were ushered into the kitchen. ‘The warmest room in the house,’ Emma said appreciatively. Immi divested herself of her cloak, tucked her hair, which had become loose when they were bowled home by the wind, behind her ears and busied herself with making tea for the unexpected visitors. Her mother noticed the tips of her ears were pink, which meant her daughter was blushing.
Frederick sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Something smells good,’ he remarked with a disarming grin. He was the younger of the two, and shorter and stockier than his friend.
‘Our Sunday roast,’ Emma replied. Thanks to Rebecca, she thought, telling the pork butcher about us. He had come around with a joint of meat to welcome them ‘to the best town I know of, Beccles.’
‘Reminds me of home,’ Walter said. ‘Thank you.’ He took the proffered cup and saucer from Immi. ‘You make a good strong cup.’
‘My father liked it like that,’ she said primly. ‘He called it naval tea.’
‘Sugar?’ Alice asked. ‘How many lumps?’ She liked using the silver tongs but was not as domesticated as Immi had been at her age. The only thing she concentrated on was sewing, at which she excelled.
‘You are very efficient for a little girl,’ Walter told her.
‘I’m eleven,’ she said firmly, ‘and if you’re wondering, my sister is fifteen.’
Walter smiled. Emma had seen the admiring glances directed at Immi.
‘Tom should have gingered up the sitting room fire by now,’ she said, rising. ‘Shall we go and discuss business in private? Immi, get the children busy preparing the vegetables, please.’
‘I’ll make the pastry,’ Alice offered unexpectedly. ‘I promise not to roll it too hard.’ Her last attempt had been candidly described by Tom as ‘heavy as lead’.
‘As you will see,’ Emma told her prospective boarders, ‘We are not settled in properly yet – I hope to make the place more like home shortly. I think it would be better, if you decide to come, to arrive next weekend. My terms are four shillings a week, full board and lodging. Meals with the family. I am going to the auction house as soon as I can to hopefully acquire a bigger table and more chairs, with a sideboard. My daughter Isabella and I do all the cooking between us and my sister is going to help generally. You would have separate bedrooms and the private use of the other sitting room across the hall when required, but that room will also be used by travellers who require overnight accommodation. Tom has painted a sign, perhaps Walter, as you are taller, you would put it up over the front door? You are welcome to have friends call but they should leave by ten o’clock in the evening. Baths – once a week in the scullery. I won’t charge you for bathing if you fill the bath yourself and empty it afterwards down the drain in the yard. There are washstands in each bedroom and Tom will bring up jugs of hot water in the mornings. If you require your laundry to be done by me, there will be a small charge.’
‘It all sounds very nice,’ the young men agreed. ‘We accept your terms, thank you.’
Frederick added. ‘We bathe in the river in the summer
months – most people do. There is a changing hut, and men and women have their own bathing places.’
‘The river is iced over at the moment, and there will be skating, tell the children,’ Walter said.
‘Oh, I couldn’t allow them to go there unsupervised,’ Emma said.
‘We would be happy to oblige in that respect,’ Frederick offered. ‘I am sure our employers would tell you we are trustworthy. We both have brothers and sisters in Lowestoft, though we only manage a monthly visit home.’
‘We’ll see.’ Emma smiled at them. ‘I can expect you next Saturday, then? I am sure we will all get on. Will you come up to see the rooms now?’
As she showed them out later, she thought, I must have a tactful word with Immi. Emma worried that although she looked like any other pretty young girl of her age, she wasn’t, and marriage and motherhood may not be possible for the future – it was sad, but a fact of life.
*
Alice, Ernie and Ted were enrolled at the board school in Peddars Lane, a short walk from their new home. They took a reluctant Ted along to the infants’ class where he was whisked inside by Miss Chastney.
‘I hope he won’t get chastised!’ Alice said to Ernie. Fortunately, Ted didn’t comprehend her meaning.
The board school had been built on the site of an old silk mill, a dwindling industry, and had previously been named the British School when it was founded by the dissenters, though at that time it was not intended for the poor of the parish. Now that education was compulsory for all children it still wasn’t possible for some impoverished families, for it was not free. Copperplate handwriting was demanded of every child and the headmaster was a great believer in the three Rs. One look from him was enough to quell a noisy class.
Emma insisted on further study at home, and they were also enrolled in the Sunday school. Tom, who was now errand boy for the grocer’s and becoming very superior in manner to his siblings, reminded them, ‘It costs Mother a penny a day to educate each of you and I am contributing to that!’ His wages were one shilling and sixpence a week and he was allowed to pocket any coppers given him by customers.
‘He push that old handcart so fast, sparks do fly from the wheels!’ Jim the grocer told Emma. ‘You can be proud of your Tom.’
The children were glad to put their books aside the following Saturday afternoon when the new boarders, Wally and Fred arrived, and to their great excitement, Alice, Ernie and Ted were allowed to go with ‘the lads’, as the family referred to them, to watch the skating on the frozen river. Tom went with them, and Ted clung to his big brother’s hand.
Immi stayed at home with Emma and young Frank. ‘He is too adventurous by half,’ Emma said.
‘Now they are out of the way, Mother, I’ll polish up the furniture in the Traveller’s Rest,’ Immi offered. Rebecca had suggested the name, and they all agreed it was fitting. The furniture had arrived from the auction house the previous day. It was of good quality, but old-fashioned and cumbersome, so Emma and Rebecca had been successful with modest bids.
‘And I’ll make one of my special fruit cakes for tea,’ Emma said.
‘I’ll lick round the bowl,’ Ted offered eagerly.
‘You’ll do no such thing, you’ll scrape round the bowl with a spoon!’ Emma reproved him.
Later, when the cake was in the oven, Emma sat at the kitchen table and opened the writing slope that TF had given her on that Christmas long ago. There were her weekly letters to write before the children rushed in, hungry for their tea.
The first letter must be to Jerusha in London, in answer to the one she had sent wishing them happiness in Number 10. Chas was now the London Salvage Corps Municipal Officer.
Dearest Jerusha,
We are settling in well, despite the bad weather. I am becoming used to all the space after our little cottage. We even have two boarders who arrived this morning! Nice young men. They asked permission to take the younger children to watch the skating on the frozen river this afternoon. Immi stayed to look after Frank, she is telling him stories by the fire at this moment. His favourite is ‘Three Little Kittens Have Lost their Mittens’.
Next week, now the children are at school, I will make myself known to the local doctor, as if I could resume my midwifery this would greatly help our finances. Immi is very capable in the house, thank goodness, and Rebecca will be helping and keeping an eye on her in case she has a turn, but thank God she has been well these past months. I sometimes wonder if I expect too much of Immi and Tom.
Emma paused, writing about Immi reminded her about Rob’s daughter Isabella in Amble, and she hoped she had also remained well. She finished her letter to Jerusha, and took out a fresh sheet of notepaper, intending to write to Keturah in Jarrow, who had recently set up as a dressmaker. I must tell her that Alice aspires to follow fashion too, Emma thought.
As she began to write, she was fortunately unaware that at the same moment, her sober, responsible Tom was strapping a pair of borrowed skates onto his feet, eager to join his new friends on the ice. Alice, with Ted clinging to her skirts, revealing her flannel petticoat, jumped up and down excitedly on the bank, shouting encouragement. She didn’t notice immediately that Ernie, bored because he was being ignored, had wandered off towards some boys kicking a ball. They immediately spotted his red hair and began to tease him: ‘Ginger nut!’ He went dashing after the ball, tears in his eyes: he had to put up with this during playtime at school, too.
Wally and Fred were hanging on to Tom’s arms and propelling him along the ice. He quickly got the hang of it and shrugged them off, but within seconds he was out of control, his feet splayed, and he landed on his bottom, winded – but the worst thing was, his clean trousers were soaked. A passing lady helped him to his feet, which was highly embarrassing. Other pairs of skaters continued on their way, effortlessly it seemed, silver skates glinting in the pale sunlight across the glassy stretch of ice.
The big lads exchanged glances. Time to go back. ‘Maybe his pants will dry out in the wind,’ Fred said hopefully. He unbuckled his skates, and then dealt with Tom’s borrowed pair.
‘I’m cold,’ Alice realised. ‘Ted is shivering, and oh no, where’s Ernie?’
Ernie’s companions were tussling over the ball and had landed on top of the little boy, obscuring him from view. Ernie, sturdy child that he was, was intent on wriggling out from under the scrum. Wally ran up to help free him and brought him back, hanging firmly on to his collar. He said to Fred, ‘We got some explaining to do to Mrs Meehan – come on!’
When they stamped their feet on the doormat, Tom hared upstairs to his room for a quick change of trousers. He didn’t want to get his new friends into trouble and Alice put a finger to her lips. She didn’t wish anything said about Ernie, either.
The lodgers enjoyed their slice of cake, but then excused themselves. ‘We usually meet some friends on Saturday night.’ They didn’t add, ‘At the Barley Mow.’
‘Front door is locked at ten,’ Emma reminded them, but she was relieved they would have the evening to themselves. ‘Cocoa in the jug in the kitchen if you want a nightcap.’
The children were ready for an early night after the afternoon’s excitement, but Tom and Immi kept their mother company by the sitting room fire. Emma and Immi were tackling the darning of socks and stockings, which had been put aside during their moving-in, while Tom studied the train timetable given to him by his uncle. He wanted to be as knowledgeable about the railways as he could before his hoped-for interview with the stationmaster. The trouble was, this evening he found it hard to concentrate; his conscience was troubling him. Emma and TF had instilled in them all that they should always tell the truth. When Emma asked on their return, ‘Did you enjoy watching the skaters on the ice?’ Tom had replied. ‘Yes. I wished I could do it.’
‘Perhaps we can buy you some skates next year,’ she said.
Now, she looked up from her sewing and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Tom, is there something you wish to tell me?’
>
Tears welled in his eyes. ‘Mother, I’m sorry, but I borrowed some skates from Fred’s friend and – and I went out on the ice, and I know you thought I was just watching – but I had a go at skating and – I fell over.’
‘Did you hurt yourself?’ she exclaimed, her expression betraying her concern.
‘No – just winded – but my trousers were soaked and I changed them when I got home, so you wouldn’t scold me.’
‘My dear boy, I’m not cross, it’s natural to want to accept a challenge – it’s how a boy becomes a man. Your father was at sea when he wasn’t much older than you, climbing the rigging, fighting for his country even in the Crimean War. You are bound to make mistakes, but never lose your sense of adventure! Just think before you act. And never do anything you know is not right.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ Tom said humbly. He put his studies to one side. ‘I’ll get another bucket of coal in –then I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, Mother; goodnight, Immi.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Shortly after Emma and her family moved to Beccles, the large house next door was taken over by two middle-aged sisters who ran a dressmaking establishment which employed six local women. They soon had a good clientele as word spread of the superior garments, which they made on the latest sewing machines.
Alice was curious to find out more, and to meet the misses Janet and Sarah. Emma had taught her to sew by hand and she had practiced with a wide range of stitches on a sampler. However, she preferred to draw and colour her own bold designs, which Emma admired, but told her gently they were impractical. Emma had given up fancy frocks when her family grew, and now she was a matron, she wore plain black or grey garments and starched white pinafores, very like the uniform she had worn in her days as a cook-housekeeper, so her simple patterns were not the latest fashion. When Alice helped her mother to hang clothes in her closet after the move, she had spotted the cherished red velvet wedding dress. This was much more to her taste, and she thought, Perhaps I will wear it one day, too. Emma had looked at it briefly as Alice admired it and said, ‘I should have made something from that for you girls, but, well, I didn’t.’
The Forget-Me-Not Girl Page 22
