The most exciting thing for Alice that winter had been going with the lodgers and her brother Tom to watch a donkey and cart being driven under the stone bridge on the frozen river. Bets were taken by men in the crowd about whether the ice would hold and hats were thrown in the air when it did.
Now it was spring, the river flowed freely once more, so she looked forward to the summer bathing, though she wasn’t sure Mother would allow her to participate. She had also enjoyed a family visit, along with Aunt Becca and her cousins, to Mrs Jolly’s Waxworks at the Assembly Rooms; the figures were eerily lifelike. She dared to touch the face of the look-alike Princess Alexandra after whom, of course, she had been named, and to finger the fine silk of her exquisite gown before she was reprimanded by a stern Mrs Jolly, who didn’t appear to live up to her name.
One morning, Aunt Becca was in charge because Emma had been called to a confinement as the regular midwife was unwell. ‘My big chance to show what I can do!’ she’d cried happily, while Immi fetched down her big black bag so they could check the contents were all ready for use. It was a Saturday so there was no school and Alice was bored. Immi was cooking a late breakfast for a young couple who’d stayed overnight, while Rebecca was sorting through the linen in the cupboard on the landing and tossing superfluous items into a pile on the floor. She carried these downstairs and told Alice, ‘Here you are, some of these can be cut up for cushion covers. Make yourself useful, eh?’
Alice found something of interest, a single green velvet curtain which she recalled had kept out the draughts from the Wymondham cottage kitchen door. It had originated from the farmhouse and Emma had regarded this relic sentimentally. Now, Alice folded and tucked the curtain under her arm to conceal it as she passed by Immi in the kitchen, went out into the yard, ostensibly to the privy, and then disappeared smartly round the back to emerge in the street.
Miss Janet responded to the knock on the door. She was a tall lady with a coronet of unlikely red hair and piercing dark eyes under thick brows, and she stooped to regard the golden-haired child on her front step. ‘You are one of the children from number 10, I believe?’ she enquired.
Alice gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Yes, miss.’
‘You have a message for me?’
Alice hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t thought up a reason for her impromptu visit. Then she said impulsively, because Miss Janet was regarding her in a friendly way, ‘I want to be a dressmaker myself one day, and I was wondering—’
‘You were wondering if I would invite you in, so you can see what we do here.’
‘Oh, yes, please!’
‘Your name is?’
‘Emma Alexandra, but I am always called Alice.’
‘Well, I am Jane, but I am always called Janet! Follow me, Alice.’
A door was opened, and Alice followed Miss Janet into the large workroom. The seamstresses sat in rows at two long tables, each with a shiny new sewing machine before her, guiding pieces of material under the darting needle with one hand while turning the handle of the machine with the other. At another table, two women were pinning paper patterns to cloth and then cutting out the various shapes with sharp scissors. They didn’t speak, for concentration was important, and the whirr of the machines and clatter of the shuttles was constant.
‘We have the latest sewing machines, the Jones Cat-Back model – in London they call it the Serpentine because of the graceful shape – see? We like to support British industry – these machines are made in Manchester.’
Alice revealed her secret with some relief. ‘I know this is just a curtain, but I think it might make a nice skirt for my mother – what do you think?’
Miss Janet took the curtain from her and shook it out, holding it up to the light to look for worn patches or small holes. ‘It’s a good colour still, a little faded here – but you needn’t use that part. You want this to be a gift, a surprise?’ Alice nodded. ‘Come through into the next room, and we will discuss it.’
This was a smaller room with a desk and cabinets and in a corner a dressmaker’s dummy with a gauzy dress displayed on it. ‘I am expecting an important customer to call for a fitting in half an hour. Now, Alice, tell me why you want to make this skirt for your mother?’
‘My mother wears black all the time since my father passed away and we came here. She used to wear smart clothes, or so my sister tells me, but she is a midwife as well as a boarding-house keeper now and thinks she has to dress accordingly! I think it would cheer her up to have an outfit which will make her feel younger and smarter!’
‘Well, Alice, I think this is an excellent idea. First, you must take your chance when she is not around, to measure a garment which you know fits her now – waist, hips and length. When you have these measurements, come back and we will decide on a pattern and style. A slight bustle at the back, I fancy, but nothing elaborate for a busy mother. Leave the material with me, and I will show you how to use a sewing machine. Now, I think you should go home in case your family are wondering where you are. I will see you soon.’ As she showed Alice out of the front door, she added, ‘My sister is out ordering new materials today, but I know she’ll want to meet you too.’
As soon as Alice returned to her house, Rebecca exclaimed, ‘Where on earth have you been? Poor Immi had one of her turns, and Emma hasn’t arrived back yet – fortunately the guests have gone – you had better see what the young ones are up to in the attic, and then get them some lunch. Tom will be back from his deliveries any minute now. I must go home and feed my family.’
‘Sorry, Aunt Becca – I’ll do it right away,’ Alice said. She was relieved not to be questioned further, or to be asked to sit with her sister. Tom was the best one for that job. She sighed; the two of them were hard to live up to. She and Ernie were the mischievous ones and the less studious members of the family too. Ted was obviously going to be a second Tom, and Frank was the family favourite. I was Dada’s pet, she thought, blinking away a tear; he never scolded me . . .
*
Emma certainly did when she returned to hear what had happened in her absence. ‘You mustn’t just disappear without telling someone where you’re going, Alice. That is a selfish attitude.’
Alice thought resentfully, It isn’t fair; I was only planning a surprise for you. However, she thought it prudent to tell Emma or Immi in future when she was visiting her new friends.
Immi was resting on the old daybed, with the protective Puglet curled up beside her. The tremors had ceased since Rebecca gave her the dose of bromide recommended by their new doctor. The drawback to this medicine was it could make her depressed. She managed a smile when she saw Emma and Alice. ‘How did it all go, Mother?’
‘It was not straightforward, but all was well in the end. A large baby boy,’ Emma said. ‘Alice, any chance of a nice cup of tea?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘but can I tell you where I’ve been first? I went to see Miss Janet next door. I want to learn all I can about dressmaking, then perhaps I’ll get an apprenticeship, and you’ll be proud of me!’
‘You still have more schooling to accomplish first,’ Emma reminded her. ‘When you are fourteen, well, we’ll see, but London is the place for high fashion.’
‘That’s where I intend to go!’ Alice said confidently.
Emma sighed. If only I could afford to buy my daughter a sewing machine, she thought. But the business was not proving as profitable as she’d expected because although the boarders were not much trouble, they did have hearty appetites.
*
The green velvet skirt was taking shape. There was ample material and the fashion now was for much narrower skirts with light padding judiciously placed for just the hint of a bustle lower down at the back, not prominent as in the past. It took several hours to tack the parts together.
When it was finished, Miss Sarah, who was just as nice as her sister, Alice decided, wrapped the finished garment in new tissue paper and tied the parcel with a white satin ribbon.
‘There, now you can present it to your mother. Do let us know what she thinks of it!’
When Emma saw it, she cried, ‘Oh, did you really make this all by yourself Alice?’
‘Yes,’ Alice said proudly. ‘I know how to use a sewing machine now, too.’
‘I shall wear the skirt to church tomorrow, with my new white blouse,’ Emma decided. She hugged her. ‘You have a gift, Alice. Make the most of it!’
*
In June, a new bathing place at the river was opened to the public, and Alice begged her mother to allow her to go there. Emma, who had never learned to swim herself, had a few reservations.
Tom and Ernie had already been taught how to swim a few strokes by Wally and Fred, but Alice had to wait for a chaperone. Rebecca offered to take her with her two young daughters, now six and seven. Bella, the toddler, could be with Emma and the younger boys for company, Becca suggested.
‘Alice will need a swimming costume, Emma. Perhaps she could make it herself. I made the girls’ costumes from white calico – a simple tunic top and short pantaloons – I saw one displayed in a window and they were simple to sew . . .’
‘Calico is cheap enough from the market,’ Emma said. ‘Alice is growing apace at the moment, so it’s not worth going to a lot of expense.’
Alice didn’t think too much of Rebecca’s idea of a home-made costume because she had always admired the display of women’s fashionable swimming attire in the high-class dress show. However, her friends agreed to help her, and promised her the costume would be comparable to the ones she had admired.
Immi looked pensive after Alice went off with her aunt and cousins. ‘I expect you would have liked to join them, Immi?’ Emma said, putting an arm round her daughter’s hunched shoulders as she bent over a book she was reading.
‘No, Mother, I know you would worry I would have a turn and make an exhibition of myself.’
This response was unexpected. Emma’s eyes filled with tears. She hugged her daughter tight. ‘Oh, Immi, I don’t mean to make you feel different.’
‘But I am, Mother. You protect me because you love me, I know that – but even though Uncle Rob’s Isabella has the same trouble, she is training to be a pupil teacher. I haven’t even been to school.’
‘I’m sorry Immi, I thought I was acting for the best.’
‘Don’t cry, Mother. Please.’ Immi said. She kissed Emma’s damp cheek. ‘You look after me, and I love you, too.’
*
The water in the pool was cold, and due to the numbers of people who had already flocked to the new place since it had officially opened, it already looked murky. It was an overcast morning, and the sun was not yet up. It was a time reserved for the ladies, and they were complaining and shivering. The young cousins were soon asking to come out of the water, and Alice didn’t like the wet pantaloons clinging to her legs. She had only waded in up to her waist and it wasn’t long before she heaved herself out and dripped her way to the changing hut. The swimming season was over, and she decided she would wait for the winter skating.
She didn’t wear the new costume again, and by the next summer it no longer fitted. Alice was on the threshold of womanhood. There were rules to follow: no baths or hair-washing allowed at certain times of the month, and certainly no swimming. She became closer to Immi, who understood and sympathised with how she felt in her adolescence, because she had gone through it herself. However, Alice remained single-minded about her future career.
The popularity of the new swimming place soon waned. It wasn’t big enough for a large number of bathers and serious swimmers preferred the old place. Weeds hidden in the depths continued to be a problem there, but some clearing was achieved. There was still the occasional sad drowning and brave rescues, but the water in the new pool grew murkier and ‘lewd behaviour’ (skinny dipping?) was rumoured to carry on.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Beccles, 1882
When the family had been established in Beccles for more than a year, Tom had progressed from errand boy to grocer’s assistant, and his employer, Jim Ecclestone, asked him if he would like to be considered for an apprenticeship. Tom politely declined, explaining that his Uncle Richard felt he was old enough now to apply to become a railway clerk. Jim assured Tom that he would be happy to give him an excellent reference and wished him luck with his coming interview. Reverend Eden of Wymondham, on learning of Tom’s aspirations, also highly recommended him.
Being nominated by a respected member of the railway staff was always helpful but Tom was aware that he would have to pass a written examination to prove that he was both literate and numerate and had reached the required standard of education. Spelling was important, also handwriting, but most importantly applicants must be of good character. Tom had continued his studies diligently after leaving school and learned a lot about the origin of the railways and in particular about the local station from his uncle.
‘You will have more chance of promotion as a rail clerk, good pay and a job for life, if you want it,’ Richard said. ‘Porters like me, signalmen, cleaners, or even drivers, however long they have been with the company, know they can be dismissed with a week’s notice. There was some revolt against the rules, but they got nowhere. But if you work hard, boy, you can rise up to be a stationmaster in years to come.’ Tom was suitably impressed.
His uncle accompanied him to the main station – a red-brick building with gothic windows which was permeated with the powerful smell from the maltings next door – for his interview, but departed before Tom knocked on the door. When Tom entered the stationmaster’s office, his knees were knocking with nervousness – he was glad they were covered up by his first full-length trousers, which he had saved to buy.
The stationmaster, who was wearing gold pince-nez and sitting behind an impressive desk, regarded him solemnly and held out a large, warm hand for him to shake. ‘Sit down, Meehan. Now, tell me why you want to join the clerical staff here.’
For a nightmarish moment Tom could not recall a word of the introduction he had so carefully rehearsed and presented to Emma and Immi the evening before. But then, responding to an encouraging smile from the large man, he said, ‘I want to be a small part of a wonderful organisation, sir.’ Then, gathering confidence, he let the rest spill out.
Later, he dipped his pen in the inkwell provided and sat at a desk in a room where clerks perched on high stools were busy writing to do his written test. The majority appeared not to notice him, but a junior clerk raised his head and gave him a friendly nod. Tom was determined to do well and read the questions carefully before he began to write, and his confidence grew with every pen-stroke.
Tom was already aware that clerical workers were expected to stay at the long counters until their allotted task was finished, and it might be necessary to take work home at times. The day for them began at 9.15 a.m. but rarely did staff leave at 6 p.m. No overtime was paid. The rule book decreed they were to be on duty whenever required, even on a Sunday. They really earned every penny of their starting salary of £35 per annum, which seemed like a fortune to young Tom, even though he would have to work a month before he was paid.
Beccles was an important station from its inception. There were branch lines to Lowestoft and the original Waveney Valley Railway and a main line from Great Yarmouth to London. Facilities included a turntable, four platforms, station buildings and lofty goods sheds. There was also stabling for the majestic Suffolk Punches, which provided ‘horse power’ to haul disconnected engines along the track to the turntable or engine shed. The handsome chestnut horses could move up to three times their own weight and also carted any goods that arrived by train. There were sidings, signal boxes, many uniformed staff, cleaners and mechanics. Those crossing by the footbridge had an amazing view of luxuriant pasture land down the line.
A few weeks later, the family celebrated the news that Tom had passed his interview with credit and jolly Uncle Richard predicted, ‘The boy will do well.’ But later, when Tom wished his m
other goodnight before he climbed the stairs to bed, he mentioned something that worried him.
‘Immi didn’t say much, Mother.’
‘She’s happy for you, Tom, as we all are, but I guess she thinks this is the parting of the ways for you both,’ she said softly.
‘I – I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, Tom, it must seem to her that you won’t be in and out like you are at present, but away all day – she’ll miss your support.’
‘Mother, I’ll always look after Immi, I promise you!’ he said.
*
Ted was already determined to follow in his hero’s footsteps, but Ernie, who was now almost nine years old, had different ideas. He was a bright boy, Emma sighed, but not academic, and he was intending to leave school as soon as he could to ‘work with his hands’. He made a start by asking the friendly local butcher for a part-time job. He was soon earning sixpence a week for sweeping up the soiled straw on the floor each evening after the shop was closed, and replenishing it with fresh straw ready for the following day. He still felt sorry for the squealing pigs housed in the yard, knowing their fate to come, but he was overcoming his squeamishness in that respect, and was proud of taking home a parcel of meaty bones, given to him by his boss, with which Emma would make good soup and stock. Like Tom, he was contributing to the family, but in his own way.
‘He’s the most religious of the children,’ Emma said fondly to Rebecca when she shared her bounty with her sister. ‘Unlike school, he never has to be pushed to go to Sunday school. The teacher there speaks highly of him. He loves to sing and has joined the choir. His dada always said our Ernie takes after his father, Irish Tom. He was always happy and smiling as well. He liked to think of him like that, but the poor man didn’t recover from losing his wife.’
The Forget-Me-Not Girl Page 23
