Her Father's Daughter

by Beezy Marsh

  Mam popped in to see her once, bursting with pride that her daughter wasn’t working in a factory, but serving behind a counter in the finest department store in the city instead. And Da, well, it went without saying that he was over the moon. He told everyone at his work down at the grocery wholesalers, where he was a clerk, that his daughter was working in Fenwick’s, and of course it was repeated in the church, where he was a lay preacher.

  Da always said she was a bright spark, his jewel. It was true, Ethel looked different to the girls in her street and that did set her apart. They dressed in lumpen shoes, shapeless pinafores and heavy coats, but her clothes were cut from a finer cloth and her dresses made at home by her mam in the latest styles. She was fine-boned, small and slight whereas some of the lasses had legs like pit ponies. She’d had her blonde hair cut into a fashionable wavy bob, which drew envious glances. Da had belted her for that, because he liked her to wear it long, but it had been worth it.

  Ada had promised to loan her some lipstick for later and Ethel was planning to nip to the make-up counter in her lunch break to get one of the girls to pencil in her eyebrows, to make them frame her face a bit more, because she was very fair. The only thing she didn’t much care for were her teeth, which were a bit crooked at the front, but that was the way God had made them and so there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  The hours seemed to drag by until closing time, when there was a stampede for the doors and all the shop girls met up at the tram stop to take them to Jesmond.

  Once they were on board, a whole gang of them started singing and Ethel found herself caught up in the excitement of it all, tapping her feet in time. ‘Oh, me lads, you should’ve seen us gannin, gannin along the Scotswood Road, with all the people standing. There were lots of lads and lasses there and all with smiling faces, gannin along the Scotswood Road, to see the Blaydon Races!’

  Nobody minded about the racket, they knew that they were all high as kites because of the Hoppings.

  All the shop girls were wearing beige nylon stockings rather than the boring black ones that working-class lasses wore, and some had rolled them down just below the knee, which was a bit of a daring fashion, because that meant you liked to dance. Ada had rolled hers and so while they were sitting at the back of the tram, Ethel did the same. She felt a little thrill as she did so, because she was more sheltered than most girls her age. Other lasses who were nineteen went out dancing sometimes with lads they liked but she was never allowed.

  They linked arms as they strolled along into Jesmond Vale, which had transformed from a peaceful, rural place, a spot for quiet family picnics, into a brash, bustling, noisy world of roundabouts, shuggy boats, sideshows, garish awnings and endless possibilities for fun. Black smoke and soot belched out from tall chimneys at the side of each ride, so that the punters didn’t get their clothes all covered in smuts. Towering above it all, painted in the boldest red and white stripes, was a helter-skelter and the shrieks of people whizzing down it could be heard across the fairground.

  The music of the steam-driven carousels was belting out and schoolboys had taken off their shoes and socks and were mucking about on the weir, which sloped gently from an old millpond nearby. Once they’d spent all their ha’pennies most bairns made their own fun in the water or just darting about around the stalls, occasionally getting a clip around the ear, but they didn’t seem to mind.

  A crowd of blokes had gathered outside a boxing booth and several were taking off their caps and rolling up their sleeves, ready to fight the champions who were lined up, bare-chested, showing off their muscles. A couple of clowns worked the crowd, trying to encourage volunteers to step forward. It was a sad fact that since the war, most of the contenders were still wet behind the ears or looked like they were too old to go more than a round before being knocked out.

  Ada wanted to buy a toffee apple, but Ethel was more interested in the sideshows which were offering everything from the Wonders of the East and the Mysterious Zano, to a living leprechaun and a lion-faced lady, so she wandered off while Ada queued up for her treat.

  Ethel joined a small crowd in front of a stall promising a flea circus, ‘The Smallest Show on Earth’, with a high wire, chariots no bigger than a farthing and even weights for them to lift.

  ‘Come on, step right up! Don’t be shy, only a ha’penny a turn,’ said the stallholder, who was dressed in the full circus ringmaster garb of top hat and tails.

  ‘Where d’you get your fleas from?’ said a man who was standing next to her.

  ‘Steelworkers’ socks,’ said the ringmaster. ‘Well, we did find quite a few good ones in a house in Gateshead too, I can’t lie.’

  A ripple of laughter washed over the assembled punters and as Ethel giggled, the man turned to her and said, ‘That’s a bonny smile you’ve got there.’

  She blushed.

  He seemed quite a bit older than her but there was a light in his eyes and his mouth curled slightly at the corners as he spoke, which made him look boyish. ‘Can I buy you a ticket for the show?’

  Ethel wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d rather go on the scenic railway,’ she said, pointing to the gaudily painted, undulating ride across the way which had carriages shaped like motor cars. She’d been dying to go on that – it would probably be the nearest thing she’d ever get to sitting in a real one. Ada had chatted about it incessantly; she said it was the best fun ever. Well, now Ethel was going to go one up on her, by going on it with a fella!

  He smiled.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said, doffing his flat cap to reveal hair as black as coal.

  ‘I’m Ethel,’ she said, pushing her hat back on her head a bit, so that he could see her face better.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Ethel,’ he replied, as she gazed into his grey eyes – he was rather handsome. ‘I’m Harry.’

  Ethel selected the shiniest car, painted bottle green with red leather seats and brass fittings. There were three rows of seats in each carriage, but she took the front one to get the best view, smoothing her skirt down over her knees so that the tops of her rolled stockings were not visible – she didn’t want him to get the wrong impression. He climbed in next to her and paid their fare to a gent in a bowler hat as a steam organ pumped out a tuneless version of the ‘Can-Can’.

  Ethel grinned at him and murmured, ‘Thanks.’ She’d never had anyone buy anything for her other than her mam and da.

  ‘So, what’s the best thing about the Hoppings so far?’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, I’ve only just got here but I’d have to say, the company’s grand,’ Ethel replied, batting her eyelashes at him, just as she’d seen some of the other girls at work do. That felt good.

  The ride set off and as it spun faster, Ethel started to giggle. It was such a strange sensation, going up and down the slope. Her insides had turned to jelly.

  ‘That’s quite an infectious laugh you’ve got there, Ethel,’ said Harry. ‘Is it catching?’

  It was true, her da always said she could brighten up any room with it. She clung to the edge of the car windscreen, as the shouts and whoops of the bairns in the car behind filled the air.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But my head’s spinning!’

  After the ride they wandered off together towards the shuggy boats, but Ethel caught sight of Ada heading towards her with a face like thunder, so she pulled Harry into the bioscope to see some moving pictures. She was enjoying his company too much to share him with her friend.

  As the lights went down and the screen flickered to life, Harry slipped his hand into hers and she didn’t try to stop him. In fact, she quite liked it.

  By the time he got her home to Normanton Terrace, Ethel had found out quite a lot about Harry. He’d been lucky enough to survive the war and he had an easy manner about him, so it seemed as if they’d known each other forever as they sauntered along. He was softly spoken and not a show-off like so many of the fellas she’d seen at work. Perhaps it was because he was a bit older than her, six ye
ars to be precise, but that made him all the more attractive to Ethel. He was a perfect gentleman and he didn’t even try to kiss her; not like some of the gobby delivery boys that Ada had told her all about, with their wandering hands in unexpected places.

  Harry was educated and clever; he was working as an engineer, which would be sure to find favour with her da because that was a job with good prospects.

  Ethel hadn’t ever been allowed to walk out with anyone before – her da wouldn’t hear of it – but Harry had promised to come around and ask his permission, man to man. That was something that her father would respect, she was sure of it.

  But until then, she made sure that Harry dropped her off at the top of her street, just in case anyone saw them together, because if they did and Da found out, she knew she’d be for it.

  The following Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the front door, and Harry was standing there, cap in hand, when her da answered.

  Ethel hovered at the top of the stairs, listening to the murmured conversation, before Da turned to her, with a look approaching hurt in his eyes, and said, ‘You’d better get down here. And tell your mam to put the kettle on.’

  Harry smiled up at Ethel, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, to just stroll into her home and talk to her father. Her insides were churning but there was something about Harry that was so reassuring, she felt almost compelled to be near him.

  Da showed Harry through into the kitchen. He wasn’t about to welcome him into their front room, that much was clear, and Mam shot Ethel a concerned glance as the two men sat down at the table.

  Mam hurriedly swept some breadcrumbs away with a dishcloth and filled the kettle, before disappearing into the pantry with Ethel hot on her heels.

  ‘So, what are your intentions towards my daughter?’

  Ethel peered through a crack in the pantry door as Da sat, with his long legs splayed out in front of him, and eyed Harry across the kitchen table.

  Harry opened his mouth to speak but a football clattered against the back gate, where the lads were playing in the alley, and Da got up and yelled across the yard, ‘Pack it in or I’ll come out there and give you all a hiding!’

  He sat back down and returned his gaze to Harry, who smiled and said, ‘I’d like to take her out from time to time. Afternoon tea, a walk in the park, dancing perhaps . . .’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Da, as Ethel pretended to busy herself in the pantry with Mam, who gave her arm a little squeeze. ‘Our Ethel, she’s well brought up, not like the lasses you get from Jarrow, you know. Where’d you meet my daughter, tell me that, now, won’t you?’

  ‘At the Hoppings,’ said Harry.

  ‘My point exactly. She’s never been there before and she won’t be going again. Wrong sort of place for my daughter.’ He balled his hand into a fist and held it in mid-air for a split second, as if he were about to bang it on the table, but Harry just raised an eyebrow, and Da thought better of it.

  ‘She seems like a very sensible girl and I respect that,’ said Harry, leaning forward to make his point. ‘She knows her own mind and that’s because you’re a family with standards, but I wasn’t suggesting we go out alone. I’d be bringing my older sister. She’s a journalist, works for the Shipbuilder – she’s a senior sub-editor. So, you see, it would all be respectable.’

  Da stroked his moustache for a moment and gave a little nod, as if he were ruminating on this piece of information and was quietly impressed. ‘And you live over Heaton way?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘I’m an engineer at Hawthorn Leslie and my mother’s well known as a local school teacher.’

  Ethel brought the tea loaf she’d made earlier out of the pantry and started to slice some onto their best china plates.

  As Mam handed a piece of cake to Harry, Ethel couldn’t help noticing that her mother’s hands were shaking. Ethel brought the teapot over to the table and Da let it brew for what seemed like forever before he pushed a mug towards Harry, poured him some and said, ‘Well, all right then. She can go out from time to time. But no funny business, mind, or you’ll be hearing from me.’

  15

  Ethel

  Newcastle upon Tyne, January 1924

  It was such a grand place, with its chandelier, arched alcoves and polished wooden floor, that Ethel felt like a princess as she twirled around in Harry’s arms. The room was so elegant, with high ceilings and ornate plasterwork, it was like the inside of a palace.

  Ethel knew, from the ladies who came to the haberdashery counter at Fenwick’s, that a dance at the Assembly Rooms was the place to be seen in Newcastle. She’d never have dreamed that she might one day get to dance in the footsteps of all those rich folk, who arrived in their furs and fine jewels. Harry must have saved up for ages to afford it and that only made her feel more special.

  Mam had worked her fingers to the bone to get her beautiful dress ready on time. It wasn’t silk like the dresses of the wealthy ladies but that didn’t matter one bit. Hers was in gold-coloured rayon but it had been cut to the latest pattern from Fenwick’s, with a dropped waist, fluted hem and scooped neck.

  Luckily for her, Da had been out at the football when she left the house, or he’d have sent her back upstairs to change.

  ‘You look lovely,’ said Harry, as the orchestra struck up another tune and the pace quickened into a foxtrot. Ethel was light on her toes and although she’d never had lessons, she was a natural on the dance floor.

  ‘Why doesn’t Kitty get up and dance?’ whispered Ethel in Harry’s ear.

  His sister was sitting at their table having another one of her long chats with Mr Philpott, her editor from the newspaper.

  ‘Oh, she’s enjoying herself fine,’ said Harry. ‘She’s not one for showing off and socializing, our Kitty.’

  For the life of her, Ethel couldn’t fathom that relationship out. Kitty and Mr Philpott seemed to spend a lot of time in each other’s company, but she’d once made the mistake of asking if they were walking out together and Kitty had shot her a look that could have curdled milk. Ethel had only once heard Kitty call him by his first name, Charles, in all the times they’d been out together as a foursome, and he called her Catherine rather than her pet name.

  Yet there were little signs of tenderness between them: he’d brush some hair out of her face when he thought no one was watching or touch her gently on the arm as they spoke. Once Ethel had caught them holding hands in the parlour at Harry’s house but that left them both incredibly flustered.

  ‘Are you worn out with all this dancing yet?’ asked Harry, as he pulled her closer to him. She felt her heartbeat quicken. There was something about him that just made her go weak at the knees. Her friend Ada at work reckoned it must be love.

  The music stopped, and the band leader held up his hands and called for ‘a bit of hush’.

  He flicked his tailcoat as he addressed the crowd. ‘There’s a very special announcement to make, so if we could all just clear the dance floor for a minute.’

  A murmur ran through the crowd as people edged their way back to their seats.

  Ethel was just heading to their table when Harry caught her by the hand.

  ‘Wait,’ he said.

  Suddenly, they were the only couple on the dance floor and all eyes were on them.

  He got down on one knee and pulled out a ring from the pocket of his waistcoat.

  Ethel gasped. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen: a huge sapphire set on a gold band and it sparkled in the light. The room started to spin before her eyes.

  ‘I love you, Ethel,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘You’re ganna be a blushing bride!’

  Ada picked up a yard of lace and threw it over her head as a makeshift veil, as she gallivanted around in the storeroom at Fenwick’s. ‘Now, show us that sparkler on yer finger again, I cannae believe it!’

  All the shop girls put their heads together as Ethel held out her hand to show them th
e beautiful sapphire engagement ring that Harry had given her. ‘Gan on, tell us again how he popped the question,’ said Ada, peering around the door in case their snooty supervisor, Miss Simpson, was on the prowl.

  ‘I was so surprised I think I nearly fainted,’ Ethel giggled. ‘Of course, I said “yes” and then we had a dance, just us two, with everyone cheering and clapping. It’s like a dream come true.’ Well, most folks clapped and cheered, but Kitty had sat there, with her handbag perched on her lap and a face like a wet weekend. Ethel wasn’t sure why, but she just got the feeling that Kitty thought she wasn’t good enough for Harry.

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ Harry would whisper whenever Kitty shot Ethel one of her reproving looks. ‘She’s just got her head full of ship specifications, that’s all. She carries a lot of responsibility, our Kitty does. You mustn’t hold it against her.’

  No matter how hard Ethel tried to chat to Kitty, about anything from the weather to the latest bolts of cloth she’d been selling on the haberdashery counter at Fenwick’s, Kitty just seemed bored by it. Harry’s mam was a different kettle of fish. She was kind, a bit nervous perhaps, but she’d welcomed Ethel into their home, which was so posh, it had polished wood furniture and fancy antiques and paintings on the wall. The only picture Ethel had in her house was one of Jesus on the cross and that hung in the kitchen and, to be honest, she hated it because it always reminded her, for some reason, of her mother just quietly putting up with Da’s moods, day after day.

  There was a bond between Harry and Kitty, something that Ethel couldn’t quite fathom. They seemed to know what the other one was thinking and were very protective of each other. All that would change as soon as she got married, Ethel was quite sure of that. She was Harry’s jewel now. He had told her so when he’d slipped the engagement ring on her finger.