The Girl from the Docklands Café

by June Tate

  ‘Is it drinking wine I don’t like just to impress that makes me a gent? I don’t think so, darlin’. Treating you like a lady makes me a gentleman and not a navvy.’

  ‘Oh, you and your silver tongue!’

  His eyes twinkled as he said, ‘That’s what made you fall in love with me. Now don’t deny it.’

  ‘Not at all! The fact you were a good kisser was what won me over.’

  ‘Ah well, I knew behind that independent exterior beat the heart of a wanton woman!’

  ‘Conor! Someone might hear you. Will you behave.’

  ‘Then leave me to drink my beer in peace, woman.’

  As they ate, Jessie told him about her meeting young Daisy and how she and her husband had been struggling, and wondered if Conor could help her husband get a permanent job.

  ‘I imagine he’s doing alright at the moment, what with the sailing of the Titanic soon. We’re working all the hours God sends to get her loaded, but when she sails, if he’s still having a problem, I’ll have a word. The foreman who chooses the workers owes me a few favours.’

  After their meal, they walked down to The Dolphin tap bar for a drink. The pianist was playing and the mood was light, everyone singing along together, and they stayed until closing time. Walking home, arms entwined, they were still singing.

  Chapter Two

  It was early the following morning when Conor walked to the docks. Men were pouring in, some walking, others on bicycles, heads down, ready for the busy day ahead.

  The liner Titanic stood proud at her moorings. It was due to sail in two days and there was still a lot of cargo to be stashed within her huge hold. Cranes began loading crates in large nets into the open space where the stevedores and dockers used a fiendish-looking large case hook on a wooden handle to help them grasp the goods and stack them safely, making sure that they were solidly placed and couldn’t move.

  There was an order to handling a ship’s cargo. The lightermen conveyed the goods between ship and quayside, then there were dockers in gangs, usually about eleven or twelve in each, who worked together with a gangmaster, helping to load and unload under the supervision of the stevedores, the most skilled workers.

  It was a dangerous occupation. Sometimes the nets, full of cargo, tipped and failed to hold the goods. Many a man had suffered serious injuries as the contents spilt out. Sometimes there were fatalities. Every penny by every man was well and truly earned, but when there was a shortage of vessels, there was little work and families suffered. The pawnshops were busy during such times. In the worse cases of hardship, the only forms of assistance were private charities and the Poor Law, offering help only after a means test, which was humiliating and was the last resort for many.

  Today, the noise level during loading was high: the movement from the cranes, the tractors’ engines as they moved the goods, the voices of the gangs calling to one another and the stevedores, yelling their instructions.

  On board the liner, the waiters were setting up the tables in various dining rooms, the stewards and stewardesses prepared the cabins and, in the galley, butchers hung their meat in freezers, while the chefs prepared the menus for the voyage, making sure that all their ingredients were being loaded, checking each delivery on the quayside against the long list in their hands. Vegetables and fruit came on board. Barmen saw to the bars and checked the stock that had been delivered. Floral displays were being made up for the public rooms. The air of excitement was palpable as you walked up the gangway.

  There had been so much publicity about this beautiful passenger liner. ‘The ship that was unsinkable’. The passenger list was formidable with many wealthy passengers crossing on the maiden voyage. This only heightened the stress levels of the dockers to get everything right. It wouldn’t do for the cargo to move out of place during the voyage, it would make the ship unsafe. To this end, Conor was even more watchful for any mistakes.

  It was a long day and the men were weary and dirty from working in the hold. They took a short break for lunch to eat a sandwich before returning to work. They worked under lights when it grew dark, which made their job even more dangerous. Conor called a halt until the morning. He wasn’t risking his men’s lives for the White Star Line!

  Jessie looked up as she heard her husband open the door and saw just how weary he looked.

  ‘Sit down, darlin’. I’ve a kettle boiling for a good strong cup of tea, then I’ll fill the bath.’

  Conor slumped down on the old settee, removed his boots, lit a cigarette and, leaning back, he closed his eyes for a moment.

  ‘That was a long day, Jessie, I wondered if we’d ever get home. In the end it got too difficult and dangerous in the hold as the light wasn’t enough to be safe, even with the ones we’d set up, so I called a halt.’

  ‘You were right to do so. Why put your neck and others’ on the line? Nobody will thank you for it.’ She poured the tea. ‘It must be wonderful to sail on the Titanic as a passenger,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘The ones with the money sail in splendour, right enough, but those in steerage are less fortunate; but then, if you have money in this world, you lead an entirely different life.’

  ‘Ah well, let’s hope those trying for a better life in America will find what they’re looking for. Sure, it’s a mighty big step to take to leave your country for the unknown.’

  ‘We both did it!’

  ‘Yes, but it was only across the Irish Sea, not the Atlantic; now that is an adventure.’

  ‘Not one I’m interested in. I’m happy staying here.’ Jessie didn’t say a word and Conor frowned. ‘I’m hoping you’re not having any dreams of emigrating?’

  ‘Not really, just wondering what it would be like, is all. I’ll get the bath ready,’ and she disappeared.

  Life was hard enough in this country, Conor thought as he drank his tea. He was lucky having a permanent job, but that could all change in a flash, he knew that. Times were hard enough as it was. If that happened in America, what would you do? Where would you go? It was a big country, with millions of people. At the very worst, here they could return to Ireland if they had to, at least there they both had family. No, America was not for him!

  A few doors away, Daisy Brown was seeing to Bill, her husband. He’d had a bath and was now sitting down to a tasty stew with dumplings. Ever since the Titanic had docked, he’d been employed and was a happy man. It was grand to be earning money and not having to worry how to pay the rent and put food on the table. Knowing that he could be out of work again when the ship sailed, he’d put aside a few shillings whenever he could in a glass jar towards a rainy day, as he called it.

  As his wife cleared the dishes, he noticed she was wearing a new dress and frowned.

  ‘Have you been shopping?’ he asked, nodding towards her new apparel.

  ‘No, of course not! Jessie McGonigall gave it to me with another. I just had to take up the hem.’

  ‘We don’t need charity, Daisy!’

  She was furious. ‘This isn’t charity! Jessie is my friend and she offered. I’ve not had a new dress since we came here and the ones I had were threadbare. Do you want to see me walking around in rags just to satisfy your stupid pride?’

  His cheeks flushed with anger. ‘Don’t you think I know what you’ve had to suffer with me not always able to get work? It breaks me up not being able to provide for my wife.’

  At his stricken look, her anger melted away. ‘It’s not your fault, Bill. All dockers’ wives understand the difficulties when their husbands don’t get picked in the morning. There’s no shame in that and there’s no shame in me accepting a gift from a friend. If the tables were turned, I’d do the same for her.’

  He let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m just so tired – not that I’m complaining, of course. To be honest, when we moved south, I thought life would be easier and it isn’t. I feel I’ve failed us both.’

  She knelt beside him. ‘Life is difficult for all the likes of us, Bill. The poor of the l
and, wherever they live, have to struggle, it seems to me. In this country it’s the rich and the poor. But money isn’t everything.’

  ‘You’re wrong there. With money you can be miserable in comfort!’

  She had to smile at the thought. ‘Maybe, but I’d rather be poor with you, Bill, than rich without you.’

  He gathered her close to him. ‘Oh, Daisy, I do love you, but you deserve better than this.’

  ‘Something will turn up, you’ll see. Now come on, off to bed. You’ve another long day ahead of you.’

  As her husband slept, Daisy lay trying to think how they could improve their lot and eventually fell asleep with an idea that she would discuss tomorrow with her friend Jessie.

  It had been a hectic day in the cafe and Jessie was feeling weary as she walked home. To her surprise, Daisy was waiting on her doorstep for her.

  ‘Jessie, do you have a minute?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, I do, come on inside we’ll have a chat over a cup of tea.’

  The women eventually settled and, as Jessie poured the tea, Daisy spoke.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of a way for me to earn extra money, but I don’t know how to go about it and I wondered if you could help. As I told you, I used to be a seamstress before I married, and I wondered if I offered my services, you know, doing alterations, making dresses, mending, would there be anyone interested, do you think?’

  Jessie thought for a moment. ‘Well you could always advertise, put a notice in a couple of shop windows. Like the paper shop in East Street and a couple of shops in Canal Walk. It won’t cost you much to do that. A few pence, that’s all. It’s worth a shot.’

  ‘Would you help me to word it?’

  ‘Of course I will. Just let me find a pen and paper and we’ll see what we can do. Then you need to buy blank postcards to write out your advert.’

  The two of them set about the task in front of them and after a while were pleased with the result.

  PROFESSIONAL SEAMSTRESS

  All work undertaken.

  Alterations. Mending. Garments made.

  All enquiries. Daisy Brown. 25 Union Street.

  The women were pleased with the result and, after drinking her tea, Daisy rushed off to buy some postcards and visit a few shops to advertise her work when she’d written upon them, thanking Jessie profusely.

  When she was alone, Jessie thought about her friend and hoped she would find some customers, knowing that once the Titanic sailed, jobs would again be short if there were not many ships in dock. But then she remembered that Conor said he would have a word with a foreman he knew. She so wanted to help the couple. But now it would be interesting to see how Daisy’s plan worked out. She poured another cup of tea. Conor would be late, she was sure. The Titanic sailed tomorrow and all cargo would have to be stowed by tonight. She’d made an extra pie in the cafe that morning and brought it home to save her cooking again. All she needed do when her husband was ready to eat was warm the pie in the black-leaded stove in the living room.

  It was indeed late when Conor eventually arrived home. His clothes were ingrained with dirt from the hold, his face black and, when he removed his flat cap, there was a white area of his forehead that the cap had covered. It looked very strange.

  Jessie had the bath all ready for him in front of the stove.

  ‘Now you strip off, darlin’, and soak in the hot water, I’ve a glass of the black stuff for you and you can drink that as you soak off all that dirt.’

  He took off all his clothes and lowered himself into the hot water with a deep sigh and took the tall glass Jessie handed to him.

  Taking a good gulp of the Guinness, he sighed. ‘You have no idea how good that tastes and how much I needed it tonight.’

  ‘Oh, I can see that just looking at you. Well, is the ship ready to sail?’

  ‘As far as my men are concerned it is. We’ve done our job, now it’s up to those on board. We’ll be on duty early as the passengers arrive for embarkation at nine-thirty, then at noon the ship sails.’

  ‘Ah, I’d love to watch her leave,’ said Jessie, ‘but I’ll be busy. It’ll be a sight to behold right enough. You’ll have to tell me about it when you get home.’

  The following morning, trains brought in the passengers. Crew took their baggage and helped them find their cabins. The band on the dockside was playing a selection of the favourite tunes of the time. Streamers fluttered from the ship to shore. Relations stood on the jetty waving goodbye to friends and family, some in tears, others laughing and calling out. The railings of the ship were crowded with passengers as the ropes were let go and hauled inboard. The four funnels let out their unmistakable roar as the ship slowly moved away from its moorings. Cameras flashed as the press took their pictures that would be front page news in the morning.

  Conor stood and watched. He wished Jessie could have been here to experience the excitement. No matter how good he was at describing the scene to her, the atmosphere had to be seen to be understood. He turned away, eventually, to continue with his work.

  Busy in the cafe, Jessie heard the sound of the Titanic’s funnels echo across the dockyards and into the streets at noon. There is no sound like a liner about to sail; it can make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There was a sudden wave of conversation from the customers as they talked about the ship, the pride of the White Star Line making its maiden voyage – the excitement of it all.

  In the docks, tractors were removed, the quayside cleared ready for the next arrival, whenever it was due. The men queued for their pay now their job was finished and in the morning many of them would be standing in line at the call-on, praying to be one of the chosen.

  The following morning, Jessie handed over her halfpenny to the newsagent for a copy of the Daily Mirror with a picture of the liner sailing out of the docks, showing the crowds waving her on her way. Conor had described the event as best he could and now seeing the pictures she could envisage the scene more clearly. She saw the passengers lining the ship’s rail and noted the high fashion of the women waving and smiling, and for just a moment she felt envious. How great it must be to have money, to be wealthy. Not to have to work long hours to be able to pay the bills and put food on the table. Many of them had servants to do the housework, see to the washing, even look after the children, she’d been told. Now that she could never understand! Why would you let another woman bring up your child? She’d never do that.

  Just for a moment she was overcome with an emptiness that occasionally gnawed away at her. She would love to have a baby. In the early days of her marriage it was a deeply rooted need, but gradually when month after month she found she wasn’t pregnant, she put away the longing. Hid it way back in a recess of her mind, until it was only occasionally that it did appear … like today. She allowed herself to wallow in the need again, just for a moment, and then, getting to her feet, she shut it away for another time.

  The town settled down after the sailing of the Titanic until the sixteenth of April when news that the ship had sunk hit the news and the headlines! Paper boys rushed about, selling their papers, calling out as they did so, ‘Titanic sinks after hitting an iceberg. Read all about it!’

  The Daily Mirror’s headline mistakenly reported that no lives were lost, due to a wireless report that had been misunderstood. But when the news eventually broke about the loss of life, the relatives of the crew, many from Southampton, crowded outside the White Star Line’s office in Canute Road, waiting for further news … traumatised by what they might hear. The long wait began.

  It was five days later when eventually lists of survivors were posted on boards outside the office. It was then apparent the huge scale of the loss. Weeping women were led away by family or friends. Whole streets in Northam and Chapel were draped in black crêpe. More than five hundred houses in the town had lost at least one member of their family. Of the 1,500 who lost their lives, 815 were passengers.

  Although no relations of Jessie’s were on board, she knew s
everal crew members who used the cafe when they were in dock and she was upset wondering if any of them had been lost. It was as if a black cloud had settled over the town as stories filtered through. The ship had hit an iceberg … there were not enough lifeboats. Then they heard about the Carpathia going to the rescue. This gave a grain of hope to those who had no definite news.

  Those men still working in the docks who had stowed goods away in the ship’s hold were as shocked as everyone else. They, too, had seen the passengers embark.

  ‘Those poor people,’ said Conor that night after dinner. ‘So many children and women. At least they would be first in the lifeboats, but still …’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘So much for your poor buggers hoping to make a new life in America, Jessie.’

  She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, yet I can’t get it out of my head. Neither can anyone else. It’s the only conversation in the cafe, because almost everyone who comes in has lost a relative. I hardly know what to say to them.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can say, darlin’, just feed them well and smile. For God’s sake, there are so many sad faces, so smile; it may spread a little cheer.’

  Chapter Three

  Despite the tragedy that had happened, life had to go on. Young Daisy Brown had gleaned some success from her advertisement and she came in to see Jessie and to tell her about it.

  ‘Well isn’t that grand, Daisy. I’m really happy for you.’ But something was obviously bothering her neighbour. ‘What’s the matter?’ Jessie asked.

  Daisy looked furtive as she answered. ‘I have had two ladies who want work done and a fair bit at that.’