The Jarrow Lass

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Rose had managed to persuade her mother-in-law to take baby Sarah for the day.

  ‘You’ll not catch me in Newcastle for anyone’s centenary,’ Mrs Fawcett had shuddered. ‘All those crowds! I think it’s dangerous taking the children.’

  ‘Maggie’s ganin’ with me,’ Rose said, keeping her temper with difficulty. ‘We’ll manage fine if you’d keep Sarah till tea time.’

  It took an appeal from William for Mrs Fawcett to consent to the idea. ‘Well, if William wants you all to be there, I suppose ...’

  Rose was as excited as the children as they clambered aboard the crowded carriage and steamed into Newcastle. William had left with his father at the crack of dawn.

  ‘Don’t suppose we’ll ever manage to meet up in this crowd,’ Rose said, as they gawped at the sea of people making their way into the city. All the bridges and roads snaking across the Tyne and up the steep bank were packed with revellers.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many folk in all me life!’ Maggie exclaimed, holding Elizabeth up for a better look.

  Margaret, dressed in a new sailor suit and straw hat, pressed her nose to the window and peered through the smoke of the engine. ‘Where’s me da? I want to see me da!’

  Rose hugged her tight. ‘You stay close to me, do you hear? We’ll find your da. He’s going to be carrying a banner and following the band.’

  ‘I want to follow the band!’ Margaret jumped up and down with excitement.

  ‘We will, hinny,’ Rose promised with a kiss on her cheek.

  They were carried forward in the sea of people wending their way through the streets of Newcastle, following the grand procession of trade union banners, civic dignitaries dressed in rich robes and representatives of railway companies from around the world. Finely groomed horses pulling models of engines, stamped and snorted behind military bands. The noise was deafening and Rose clung on tightly to her daughters and sister. But neither girl seemed frightened, each peering around wide-eyed at the spectacle, pointing and squealing at the horses. It was far too crowded to catch a glimpse of William, though Margaret insisted she could see her father every few minutes as another banner swept past.

  To Rose’s relief, they managed to find William and his father on the Town Moor where the procession ended, listening to a rousing speech by the Mayor of Jarrow. Afterwards they shared the picnic that Rose had brought, then milled around looking at the exhibition of locomotives. William took Margaret on a pony-and-trap ride around the open park, which so thrilled her that she refused to climb down at the end. Only Maggie’s bribe of a sticky piece of liquorice enticed her from the carriage.

  As the afternoon waned, they began to make their way back down to the station for the journey home. As the family stopped to watch a Punch and Judy show, Rose took the opportunity to disappear behind a bush and relieve herself. When she re-emerged she could see no sign of Margaret. She had been holding hands with her grandfather.

  ‘Where’s our Margaret?’ she asked him at once.

  He looked taken aback. ‘I thought she’d gone with you—’

  ‘No she didn’t!’ Rose replied. William turned at the sound of her anxious voice. He had Elizabeth on his shoulders; Maggie was still gazing at the entertainment, quite absorbed.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Rose gasped, fear choking her. ‘Where’s she gone, William?’ She spun around, grabbing bystanders by the arm. ‘Have you seen me little lass? Fair hair - wearing a straw hat - white and navy ribbons,’ she gabbled. People turned to look but shook their heads.

  William thrust Elizabeth into his father’s arms and shouted, ‘Stay right here and don’t let her out of your sight! Maggie, you look around here - we’ll gan back to where we started.’

  Rose looked around at the moor, still packed with revellers, some of them now well inebriated from a day’s drinking in the town. ‘We’ll never find her in all this!’ she sobbed.

  William took her by the hand. ‘Yes we will. Pray to St Anthony to find our little lass.’

  Rose’s panic was stemmed by his strong conviction. She ran with him through the crowds, searching and shouting for Margaret. They pushed their way back against the flow of trippers making back for the town, straining for a glimpse of straw hat or fair cheeks among the tired children being carried or led home. All the while they stopped people to demand if they had noticed a little girl in a sailor dress, but nobody had.

  Rose felt herself ageing by years in those terrible minutes of gut-wrenching panic. How could they have lost her so quickly? She must have been snatched! She would never have just wandered away from her family. She might have been knocked over by one of the steam engines! Maybe at this very moment she was being trampled underfoot by a startled horse, just like the Liddells’ dog . . .

  Suddenly an idea hit her. She seized William’s arm and gasped, ‘The pony - the pony and trap!’

  Without another word they ran in search of the carriage that had been giving rides across the moor all day long. A young boy had been left in charge when William had taken his daughter for a ride. At first there was no sign of it and they feared the boy had gone. Then William spotted it next to the platform where the speakers had been which was now being dismantled.

  They rushed over and shouted to the boy holding the pony’s reins. He was eating a pie and had his mouth full. The carriage looked empty. Rose felt dashed.

  ‘Have you seen our bairn?’ William panted. The boy chewed and swallowed.

  ‘Is that her?’ he asked, nodding at the trap. ‘Didn’t know who she belonged to, but she said you’d come and fetch her.’

  They peered in. A small figure was curled up on the bench already fast asleep.

  Rose let out a sob of relief. ‘Margaret!’

  William reached in and gathered the child to him. She stirred sleepily, muttered something about the pony and then settled against his chest.

  ‘You naughty lass!’ Rose cried, quite shaken. She wanted to scold her into never doing such a thing again and crush her to her breast at the same time.

  William shushed her. ‘She’s alive, that’s all that matters.’

  Rose burst into tears. What worse fate could happen to her than to lose one of her precious children! She clung on to William and Margaret all the way back to the others.

  After such a scare they hurried for a train home, not waiting for the evening’s fireworks. Picking up Sarah from James Terrace, they all colluded in not telling William’s mother about losing Margaret. Their nerves were shattered enough without Mrs Fawcett berating them further.

  From then on, Rose was nervous about them venturing as far as Newcastle again. She was happier staying within the boundary of the town and being content with local entertainment, for Jarrow continued to mushroom as new waves of workers and their families arrived on the Tyne to fill the expanding shipyards. Dominating all was Palmer’s.

  The wealthy shipbuilder and local MP owned the means of production from the raw material to the finished ships. Sir Charles owned the ironstone mines in North Yorkshire, the port where the iron ore was loaded and the boats which carried it to the Tyne. He possessed the iron works, the blast furnaces, the puddling mills and rolling mills. He employed the fitters, riveters, platers and boilermakers who built his mighty vessels, and the joiners and carpenters who fitted them out. At his beck and call were the army of casual labourers who queued at his gates in the early morning for the chance to fetch and carry, shovel and haul, load and unload until dusk. Jarrow was a company town, its fate inextricably linked with Palmer’s success or failure.

  Idealists like William might rail against Palmer’s autocratic hold over his workers, but there was no escaping that their own prosperity and survival was bound up with that of their distant employer who lived far away in North Yorkshire.

  ‘He wasn’t always so grand,’ William pointed out that autumn as they
made ready to go to view the launch of the Virginia. ‘Did you know he’s the son of a master mariner from Gateshead? Now he’s one of the gentry with a fortune to his name - a fortune made for him by hard-grafting working men. The only time he shows his face round here now is at a launch or election time.’

  Rose ignored his aggrieved remarks. She was glad of this rare day off work together when they could take the girls on an outing. The late summer had been wet and the Durham Agricultural Show on the Recreation Ground had been washed out. They had taken the girls to see the animals and listen to the Royal Artillery band and another from a training ship, but had been beaten home by the incessant rain. To Rose’s alarm, William and the girls had caught chills, which had lingered on their chests and caused them to cough for weeks. But now they seemed recovered and she was determined to enjoy the day.

  ‘I think it’s canny giving you a holiday to gan and see the ship. Let’s make the most of it,’ she said cheerfully.

  William’s mood soon improved when they joined the throng of spectators heading towards the river. The expectation of the crowd was infectious. Never before had such a big ship been built at Jarrow, and newspaper boys shouted out the news. Rose and William clutched Margaret firmly between them, while Elizabeth rode high on her father’s shoulders and Sarah clung to her mother’s hip.

  The girls revelled in the lively bands and clapped their hands. Jubilant workers threw their caps in the air as the vast steamer was cut from its moorings and edged into the grey water of the Tyne.

  ‘You’ve been a part of that, William!’ Rose gasped in awe as the steel-plated ship groaned and sighed its way into the pewter-coloured river. She felt brimming over with pride that his long hours of labour should have helped produce such a large and imposing vessel.

  ‘My da’s ship!’ Margaret began to chant. ‘My da’s ship!’

  Rose caught William’s look of bashful pride and they both laughed.

  ‘Let’s pray there’ll be plenty more like that one,’ he said with a wry smile.

  That evening, William surprised her with a treat. Maggie came to look after the children and put them to bed.

  ‘Where are we ganin’?’ Rose asked in excitement.

  ‘Put your best dress on, Mrs Fawcett, we’re going out,’ William grinned.

  Rose dressed hurriedly in the green frock she had worn for Florrie’s wedding that hung in the large wardrobe and smelt of mothballs. Margaret demanded to know where she was going and that she should go too.

  ‘When you’re older,’ William placated her, ‘I’ll take you, an’ all.’ He swung her up and kissed her, then handed her to Maggie. ‘Tonight your mam’s getting the treat she deserves.’

  Rose laughed as she kissed the girls good night and headed out on William’s arm, determined to ignore Margaret’s protests at being left behind. As they walked up the street under the soft gaslight, she tried to guess where they were going.

  ‘Some’at’s on at St Bede’s?’

  William shook his head.

  ‘We’re meeting Florrie and Albert?’ she guessed again.

  ‘No,’ William answered with a secretive smile.

  ‘Lockart’s Cocoa Rooms?’ she asked in the hope it was something musical. But again he shook his head. Rose’s heart sank. ‘It’s not one of your lectures, is it? It’s nowt political?’

  William laughed. ‘Not exactly. But it will be stirring - something good for the soul.’

  Rose tried to hide her disappointment. ‘It’s a temperance meeting, isn’t it?’

  William just squeezed her arm in reply. They carried on through the town in silence, Rose trying to recapture the excitement she had felt earlier. At least it was an evening out with her husband. They were dressed up and free from domestic chores for an hour or two. What more did she want?

  As they turned into Ormonde Street, Rose was struck by how busy it seemed. A large throng of people were gathered on the far side. But then the town was bound to be full on the evening of a launch day and the pubs would have been doing brisk business. Yet this was no rowdy crowd full of drink. A moment later, it dawned on her they were gathered outside the new Royal Albert Hall. Her heart thudded.

  ‘William!’ she gasped, hardly daring to hope. ‘Are we ganin’ in there?’

  He smiled at her and steered her across the road. ‘The bands from the launch are playing tonight - and there’s singing too.’

  Rose let out a cry of delight. Jarrow had never had a theatre or music hall before and she had watched with interest as it was being built. Yet it had not occurred to her that she would ever go to a performance there. She had never been anywhere like it before. Any socialising they did was usually at the church. William would go out with his father to talks at the Mechanics’ Institute, but the theatre was considered frivolous and frowned upon in the Fawcett household. Maybe that was why William had asked Maggie to mind the children for them. She suspected his parents knew nothing about this trip to the Royal Albert.

  They stood in line for tickets, Rose fretting they might be turned away.

  ‘It’s huge, Rose,’ William assured her, ‘seats for eleven hundred.’

  Soon they were in and clutching a programme; William had splashed out and bought shilling tickets for the dress circle. They were ushered in by the proprietor himself.

  Rose gawped in amazement at the vast auditorium below with its tip-up seats and the distant balcony above where the cheapest seats were. There was a hum of excited voices as people settled down and watched the bandsmen setting up their instruments on the raised stage. William helped her off with her cape and Rose glanced around. She recognised one or two shopkeepers, well dressed and middle class. Others were obviously prosperous working class like themselves, the elite of Palmer’s workforce.

  ‘I feel like the aristocracy,’ she joked. ‘Tell me what’s in the programme.’

  But before he could do so, the proprietor came on and began to banter with the audience. People shouted loudly from the balcony above to get on with the entertainment. Soon it started and Rose felt swept along by the music. A military band played rousing martial pieces and a colliery band played jaunty local tunes. A men’s choir sang popular songs that brought Rose close to tears, then a comedian came on and had them laughing, provoking ribald exchanges with those in the pit stalls. A singer joined him and they gave a rousing comic duet. The evening finished off with the colliery band playing once more.

  Emptying out into the street, Rose and William felt their ears still ringing with the music, and people around them repeated the jokes they had heard inside and laughed again. The couple went home arm in arm, humming the tunes of the evening.

  ‘It was the best night ever,’ Rose declared.

  ‘We’ll go again soon then,’ William said, his spirits quite lifted by the experience too. It was so seldom that they had any time off to enjoy together away from the demands of work or daily chores. Tonight they had seen a whole new dazzling world that existed right on their doorstep, a place of music and make-believe hidden behind Jarrow’s grimy streets. What harm was there in escaping to its bright, welcoming interior once in a while?

  That night, still giddy from the experience, William and Rose made love for the first time in months. Their heads were full of music, their bodies energised rather than achingly tired. They made love with vigour and enthusiasm, their usual shyness at such an act quite dissolved. Afterwards, they lay cradled in each other’s arms, wrapped in deep contentment. Rose wondered, before falling asleep, if they had created new life that night. What a passionate and loving baby that would be! A baby made from sweet longing and deep affection, a baby with music in its soul and laughter on its lips.

  The following summer, as the roses outside their house burst into bloom, their fourth child was born.

  Chapter 12

  Lizzie happened to b
e home visiting from Ravensworth the day the baby bellowed its way into the world. Lizzie had come down with Maggie and her father to visit Rose and the girls. They found Rose pacing the kitchen, unable to get comfortable, while the girls played about on the backdoor step. Margaret leapt up in excitement at their appearance and took charge of the cinder toffee that her Auntie Lizzie held out.

  ‘The bairn’s on its way,’ Rose told them matter-of-factly, between grimaces of pain.

  ‘Get yourself upstairs now,’ Lizzie ordered. ‘Maggie, boil up the kettle - and fetch newspaper.’

  Old McConnell looked alarmed and raised himself up stiffly from the chair by the hearth. ‘I’ll take a walk down to the Queen Victoria . . .’

  ‘No you won’t, Da,’ Lizzie told him. ‘You’ll stop and give a hand with the bairns while me and Maggie see to our Rose. You can do your celebratin’ later.’

  He grumbled to St Patrick but sat down again, allowing Sarah to pull herself up on his knobbly legs. ‘Can you manage a boy this time, Rose Ann?’ he called after her. ‘I’ve had a lifetime of being bossed around by women, so I have.’

  ‘Spoilt rotten, you mean!’ Rose managed to shout back, before another spasm seized her.

  Her sisters set to work stripping the linen from the bed and lining it with newspaper, while Rose got out of her clothes and put on her nightgown. She felt huge with this baby, like an overgrown marrow that was ready to burst. With the others she had felt nauseous and tired, but with this one she was always ravenous. For months she had had the appetite of someone who worked in the fields and she had satisfied her cravings with anything sweet: mounds of bread and jam, scones and cakes. There was plenty of work at the mill, William was bringing home a steady wage and they had fed well all year. The girls were thriving, William was happy and Rose felt luxuriantly fertile when he touched her full body and complimented her on her plumpness. Now this greedy baby, whom she felt sure must be a boy, was ready to leave the abundance of her belly.