The Jarrow Lass

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘You’re fine where you are,’ she said brusquely. ‘No need for you to wait in the kitchen while we eat. Florrie, give the girl a cup of tea.’

  Rose felt herself shaking as she sat down again. She stared at William, but he was sitting with his back to her, bent over his plate. Mr Fawcett was already eating. Florrie handed her a cup of tea with a look of embarrassment. Rose felt like hurling it at the table, but she merely took it with a mumbled thanks. Inside she was sick with fury and shame. Who did these people think they were? They were humiliating her for no reason other than pure snobbery!

  To think how William had been welcomed into her home like one of the family, sharing as much food and companionship as they had to give. Why was he allowing his mother to treat her with such contempt? She glared at his back, but he did not look round. She attempted to drink the tea, but it stuck in her throat and she could not swallow.

  Suddenly Rose could not bear to be excluded any longer. Abruptly, she stood up. William was weak and she would not have him if this was how little he thought of her! Stepping over to the table she slammed down the cup and flowery saucer, slopping tea on to the starched white tablecloth.

  ‘Mind the china,’ Mrs Fawcett said in alarm. ‘And you haven’t finished, girl.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve finished!’ Rose glared. ‘And I’ll not stop here another minute where I’m not wanted,’ she said in a voice that trembled.

  Mr Fawcett looked quite bemused, while Florrie’s mouth fell open in shock.

  ‘There’s no need for rudeness,’ Mrs Fawcett tutted, the ribbons on her cap fluttering as she wagged her head in disapproval.

  ‘The rudeness isn’t mine,’ Rose replied, pulling her shawl tight about her. ‘We McConnells would never tret a visitor like this - keeping me from the table like I’m worse than muck. What are you afraid of- that I don’t know how to eat from a plate?’

  ‘Really!’ Mrs Fawcett said, going red in the face.

  ‘Well, I do. I used to envy Florrie living in a house like this, with fancy furniture and a piano in the parlour. But not any more. It counts for nowt compared to a house with love in it - however poor.’

  ‘Now, now...’ Mr Fawcett said ineffectually.

  ‘How dare you speak to us like that?’ Mrs Fawcett cried. ‘William, how could you bring such a girl here to insult us? I told you she was a common little thing.’

  All this time, William had not looked round at Rose, but had sat, shoulders hunched, as if he could protect himself from the confrontation. Now he turned and she could see his lean face was quite ashen. Rose knew in that moment that she had lost him, that he would never stand up to his censorious mother for her sake. She swallowed the bile of anger that threatened to choke her and strode to the door.

  ‘Stop!’ he said behind her. Rose checked her step but did not turn round. ‘Don’t go,’ William said more firmly.

  ‘She can’t stay now,’ his mother protested, ‘not after the way she’s insulted us!’

  Rose turned to see William confront the older woman, his face reddening.

  ‘We’re the ones who’ve done the insulting,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m ashamed to think you could begrudge her a bite of tea. And there’s nothing common about Rose. She’s got more kindness and decency than all the folk who live round here and think themselves better.’ He looked at Rose at last and she thought she would faint at the smile he gave her. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive us.’

  Before Rose could answer, Mrs Fawcett was on her feet and shouting. ‘Forgive us? How dare you? She doesn’t belong here!’

  William did not take his gaze from Rose’s. ‘Well, she will soon,’ he said stoutly. ‘Rose and I intend to marry.’

  This time it was Rose who was completely taken aback. She gawped at him, quite speechless.

  Mr Fawcett let out a belch that went unreprimanded. ‘That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? You hardly know the lass.’

  ‘It’s out of the question,’ Mrs Fawcett snapped.

  William stood tall, his shoulders braced against their opposition. ‘I’ve known Rose for years - and I’ve seen enough of her to know she’s the only lass I’ll wed. She’s a good Catholic and I’ll have no other.’

  Rose felt tears sting her eyes as she stepped swiftly to his side in support. He grabbed her hand.

  ‘You can’t,’ his mother gasped. ‘She’s not good enough for you. You’re too young - you need our permission.’ She looked at her husband beseechingly. ‘Tell William he can’t do this!’ she wailed, then sank back into her chair and began to sob.

  Mr Fawcett said, ‘Florrie, comfort your mother.’ Turning to William he asked, ‘Have you asked Mr McConnell?’

  William flushed. ‘I mean to - just as soon as I get the chance. It’s just come a bit sudden.’

  His father grunted. ‘So sudden, I think it’s taken young Rose here by surprise an’ all.’

  Rose quickly spoke up. ‘I’m of the same mind as William. I’ll be a good wife to him - just as he’ll be a grand husband to me.’

  Mr Fawcett nodded. ‘We’ll see what McConnell has to say.’

  ‘So you won’t stand in our way, Father?’ William pressed.

  ‘I have no objection to the lass,’ he replied, which provoked an increase in wailing from the other end of the tea table. ‘Pull yourself together, Mrs Fawcett,’ he said in irritation. ‘If this is what William wants, you’ll just have to learn to get on with the lass.’

  Rose and William exchanged triumphant looks. He squeezed her hand tightly in his. She felt her whole body shaking with relief. Rose wanted to kiss him there and then, but thought the shock might send his mother into a fit.

  ‘Let’s go and ask your father now,’ William grinned, light-headed at their boldness.

  Rose could not escape fast enough. Moments before she had been convinced she would leave alone with a heavy heart and never return. Now she had William beside her and the promise of a future together. She thought she would burst with joy.

  They tumbled out into the dark evening, unable to contain their laughter. The street was lit by a bright moon that made the frozen cobbles sparkle like crystals, and clouds whipping past made it appear to move. Clutching her hand, William looked up at the full moon and cried out, ‘I’m so happy! Race with me, Rose!’ He began to run, pulling her along behind.

  ‘You’ve gone mad!’ Rose gasped, laughing in delight. ‘What are we racing?’

  ‘The moon, Rose, the moon!’

  As they skidded along the road, clinging on to each other tightly, Rose thought she had never been so happy. She had William’s love, and the moon - that angel-faced guardian of her childhood - was beaming down on them, blessing their union.

  ‘You’re a madman, William Fawcett!’ she cried as they ran like the wind after the elusive moon. What she meant, but was too bashful to say, was; I love you with every inch of my being.

  Chapter 6

  Rose and William were to be married that spring of 1878. Once Mrs Fawcett saw she was outnumbered, she accepted the situation with bad grace and tried to influence proceed-ings as much as possible.

  ‘Of course my William can’t go and live in a workman’s hut in the back of beyond,’ she protested at the idea of them starting married life at the McConnells’. ‘She’ll have to come and live here where I can keep an eye on her - teach her the ways of a good wife.’

  It rankled with Rose that her future mother-in-law continued to speak about her as if she was not in the room and never referred to her by name. But she curbed her tongue for William’s sake. It would be a temporary arrangement until they had saved enough to rent a place of their own.

  ‘Better this way than not at all,’ William reasoned, trying to cheer her. ‘We don’t want to give them the time to change their minds about us getting wed. And it will be handier for work living here.�
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  Rose found an unexpected ally in Florrie. She offered to move out of her bedroom and sleep in the narrow boxroom at the top of the stairs where William had been.

  ‘It’s not much bigger,’ said Florrie, ‘but it doesn’t seem right, you starting off married life in a cupboard. It’ll be hard enough living under the same roof as Mam.’

  Rose was surprised by her frankness. ‘That’s canny of you, Florrie; ta very much. I can make it nice and homely for the two of us.’

  The other girl nodded. ‘Somewhere to escape to.’

  Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought you were happy here?’

  Florrie gave a short laugh. ‘I’m counting the days till I can get married too. As soon as Albert has enough put by I intend to marry him and start a home of my own.’

  Rose gave her a shy smile. ‘It’ll be canny having you here until then. I hope we can be friends again?’

  Florrie glanced over her shoulder before answering. ‘I always wanted to be,’ she admitted in a hushed voice, ‘but it would have caused too much fuss. Mother never wanted me to visit your house - said I would catch some illness from all the muck and animals. And it was always easier not to invite anyone back here for tea in case she took a dislike to them.’

  Rose felt sudden pity for William’s sister. What a lonely upbringing she must have had in this stark, spotless house, imprisoned by her mother’s censoriousness and obsession with order.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rose said. ‘I was wrong about you. From now on we’ll look out for each other, shall we?’ The girls hugged in agreement.

  The wedding was not as Rose would have planned it. Her father wished to kill a pig and lay on a meal for everyone they knew up at Simonside after the service. But the Fawcetts, being teetotal, shunned the idea of too much drinking and too many Irish.

  ‘Da, William’s parents won’t come if we hold the feastin’ up here,’ Rose tried to explain. ‘I can’t fall out with them over it - I have to gan and live there. Please let them arrange it their way.’

  ‘I’ll provide for me eldest daughter’s wedding, so I will!’ he blustered.

  ‘Me and William want it in Lockart’s - just a quiet tea, and maybes a couple of dances,’ Rose said stubbornly.

  ‘Dancing without the drinking!’ he exclaimed, quite baffled. ‘No one’ll come.’

  ‘We don’t want many there, Da,’ Rose said, tiring of the constant arguing. She had had enough of that with the Fawcetts. She silently agreed it would be a strange occasion, toasting their marriage with tea and cocoa, but if that was their way, so be it.

  He shook his head. ‘Well, Rose Ann, I shall give a party for your wedding day whether you come to it or not.’

  Rose sighed. ‘Just as long as you come to Lockart’s first,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Lockart’s Cocoa Rooms,’ he muttered. ‘Jezus, what’s the world coming to!’

  On a blustery spring day, Rose and William were married at St Bede’s by Father O’Brien. Rose wore a white dress of material that Florrie had secured for her cheaply and Maggie had made up on the sewing machine. It was not the silk dress of her childish dreams, but Florrie had persuaded her mother to lend a small bustle of horsehair to make the dress fuller and more fashionable at the back. They trimmed it with lace and made a veil decorated with orange blossom, just as she had always wanted. The Fawcetts paid for a colourful posy of flowers.

  At the church there was a large turnout of friends from the Irish community to wish her well, despite the Fawcetts’ intention of keeping it a small, select affair. Rose noticed two rows of McMullens as she came down the aisle, but knew there would be no drunken behaviour from John to mar the day. Maggie had heard from Danny Kennedy that John had disappeared one day in January. A week later his mother had been given a message from the knife grinder that John had joined the army. He had up and left without a word of goodbye to anyone. No one knew why. Now nobody knew where he was. Rose thought it just confirmed what a strange and cussed man he was, and then put all thought of John from her mind.

  Walking towards William, looking so handsome in his smart suit and shining fair hair, Rose felt she would burst with happiness. She wished her hard-working mother could have been there to see her a grown woman, marrying so well. And she knew by the proud squeeze of her father’s arm and the glistening of his eyes that he was thinking the same thought.

  The tea party at Lockart’s Cocoa Rooms on Ormonde Street was pleasant, if a little subdued at first. There were two dozen guests, mostly friends of William’s father from the steelworks and neighbours from James Terrace. But Rose’s sisters, along with Florrie and Albert, Danny Kennedy and a couple more of William’s workmates soon enlivened the afternoon. After a few stilted words from Rose’s father and the cutting of the cake, the younger guests persuaded William to play the piano and they all gathered round for a singsong.

  Rose liked nothing better than to stand at William’s side and sing along with him, their voices mixing in easy harmony. It was something at which she could equal him, despite her lack of education, and it filled her with a sense of wellbeing and contentment. The more she heard his strong voice, the deeper her love for him grew.

  But the room was only reserved for an hour and soon it was time for them to leave. Rose kissed her father and hugged her sisters goodbye, knowing they would be returning up the hill to continue the celebrations with others of their friends who awaited them there.

  ‘It’s been the best day of me life, Da,’ Rose told him, feeling suddenly tearful. ‘Ta for everything. You will come and visit, won’t you?’ she asked, worried that he never would.

  ‘You come and see us when you can,’ her father answered with a gruff smile. ‘It’ll be terrible quiet without you, Rose Ann.’

  ‘I’ll stop by on me next half-day off,’ Lizzie promised.

  ‘Aye, do that,’ Rose smiled, then turned to Maggie, whom she would miss the most. ‘Take care of Da -I know you will. I’ll be up often to see if there’s owt I can do.’

  ‘We’ll manage fine,’ Maggie reassured. ‘You look to your new life - you deserve your bit of luck.’

  They hugged again, Rose trying to swallow the tears that flooded her throat. How she would miss Maggie’s company!

  ‘Come on, Rose,’ William said, tugging gently on her arm. ‘My parents are waiting outside.’

  They got into the small brake that the Fawcetts had hired to take them back to James Terrace in style. William had already loaded up Rose’s small mound of possessions - a bag of clothes and the bundle of linen, including the patchwork quilt that her sisters had made her for a wedding gift. Wrapped inside was an old copper warming pan that had belonged to her grandmother, and secured inside this was a silver tea caddy spoon and set of bone-handled cutlery from her father that had been her mother’s pride and joy. There were other household items gifted by the Fawcetts’ more prosperous friends, which would have to be stored until Rose had a home of her own.

  Ignoring Mrs Fawcett’s sniffy remarks about looking like tinkers on the move, Rose sat close to William, waving to her family until they were out of view. It was only when they arrived and disembarked outside the house in James Terrace that Rose was seized with nervousness. From now on she was going to be living in this place under the rule of her critical mother-in-law, day in, day out.

  She busied herself helping William carry her belongings up to their bedroom and took as long as possible sorting them out. There was a small chest of drawers, mostly full of William’s clothing, and a washstand with his shaving brush and razor. The small wardrobe in the corner still held Florrie’s dresses, for she had nowhere else to put them, so Rose hung her hand-me-down skirts and frocks over the end of the iron bedstead. She spent an age smoothing out the quilt over their bed, her insides somersaulting at the thought she would soon be sharing it with William. Feeling suddenly giddy, she sat down quick
ly.

  She had an idea of what consummating a marriage meant; she had seen pigs rutting noisily and observed the fluttering fuss and commotion of birds mating. She could hardly imagine William behaving like that, but it was something they would have to do. The priest had told her it was her duty as a wife and a good Catholic to have babies. Rose liked the thought of babies - lots of golden-haired infants with sweet smiles and voices like William’s. Conceiving these babies might take a few undignified moments of flapping and grunting, Rose was not entirely sure, but it would be over swiftly, that she knew.

  Then she remembered the strange whispered wrangling from her parents’ bed, protests from her mother to be left alone, that she would give her father no more bairns. Rose realised now that her mother must have been putting her immortal soul in danger for refusing to do her duty. With a stab of anxiety she wondered why her mother had found it such a hardship. Perhaps such urges were seasonal? Sitting on the bed, trying to regain her composure, she wondered how much William knew about these things.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ William smiled nervously, hovering by the door.

  Rose flushed. She could not possibly tell him what she had been thinking. She covered her mouth to hide an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Nothing,’ she murmured.

  ‘Florrie’s made some cocoa,’ he said.

  ‘More cocoa!’ Rose laughed. ‘Don’t tell me da.’

  William grinned. ‘I’ll bring it up, if you like - say you’re tired.’

  Rose gave him a grateful look. She had been delaying having to go down and sit with the Fawcetts in their dreary parlour, while up the hill her family and friends would still be celebrating her wedding day. She felt a pang of disappointment that they were missing out on the dancing, then remembered how lucky she was to have William. All she wanted was to be with him, whatever the circumstances.

  ‘Please,’ she smiled at him. Then more coyly added, ‘Could you take the warming pan and put some coals in from the kitchen fire?’