The Miner’s Girl

by Maggie Hope

  ‘Mind, you’re a stranger,’ Jos Turner commented by way of greeting. He gazed at her. She had her old brown hat pulled down over the bandage on her head; an equally old brown coat, which he seemed to remember from before her marriage, hung loosely on her shoulders. She was thinner and paler than she had been before and there were shadows under her eyes. ‘I cannot say that being wed seems to suits you; by the look of you it does not.’

  Merry sighed. ‘No, Mr Turner, it does not. I’m going to have to start again on my own and I need a job and somewhere to stay.’

  Jos was scandalised. ‘Leave your husband, you mean? Nay lass, you cannot do that! What about the bairns?’

  ‘My Alice got the diphtheria and died,’ Merry said baldly. Saying it didn’t make her emotional at all. She felt as though she was saying it about someone else’s child. Just now she had to think about the living; fight for the survival of Benny.

  ‘Benny got it too but he’s out of hospital now. He needs building up.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about the bit lass, but, well, it’s best you stay with your man, isn’t it?’ Jos Turner shook his head. ‘Especially if the lad is still sickly, like.’

  ‘He’s not the lad’s father,’ Merry cried desperately. ‘I have to get away; he hits my Benny and me and all. Look.’ She took off her hat and showed him the bandage on her head.

  Jos took a step back away from her. ‘Well, I mean, it looks like the man has good cause, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, Merry, but I can’t help you, you’ve made your own bed and now you’ll have to lie on it.’

  ‘But Mr Turner, I’m a good worker, you know that, I never let you down, did I?’ Merry appealed to him. She felt as if he was taking away her only chance to escape. ‘If you only knew—’

  ‘I think I know enough, lass. Now go on, get back to your man.’ He turned back to the papers he was sorting, shaking his head. By, he’d never thought Merry was a lass like that.

  Merry found herself walking back along Newgate Street, despair gripping her so that she could hardly see in front of her. Where could she get work that would pay enough to keep her and Benny? There was nowhere. Always there were lots of girls looking for work; she had been lucky to get the job with Mr Turner the first time.

  In the mining villages around the town there were no jobs for women, or very few apart from housework in the officials’ households. So Auckland was always saturated with girls out of work and chasing after every vacancy – most girls had to go into service miles away. But even if she tried that, no one was going to take on a woman with a young and sickly boy.

  Merry thought she had some time to spare so she decided to walk through the woods and save the tuppenny bus fare. Besides, she wasn’t ready for what faced her at home in Eden Hope. Her head had started to ache again, clouding her thoughts as she tried to find a way out.

  Maybe she could go back to Old Pit, get a goat from Mr Hawthorne, do farm work for Farmer Parkin. She remembered the days when she had lived there with Ben and her gran with a yearning nostalgia. The houses hadn’t been completely destroyed, she knew, though they were more and more dilapidated as the years went by. But she didn’t know if it was possible.

  Merry emerged from the wood near Winton and began to hurry along the waggon way to Eden Hope. The walk had taken longer than she had thought it would and she began to worry that Robbie would be home. If so he was sure to have upset Benny. Oh Lord, what had she been doing, taking so long? She ran along the end of the rows and down the back street to the house, her head thumping at every step.

  Robbie was home, standing in the window looking blackly down the yard; behind him she could see his mother smiling maliciously at her. The door was locked against her. She couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Robbie! Let me in!’ she shouted.

  ‘Go to hell,’ he replied.

  ‘Robbie, Benny will be frantic, let me in.’

  Robbie pushed open the bottom sash of the window. ‘You’re not getting in here again so you might as well take yourself off. An’ your by-blow isn’t here, I put him out an’ all. I’ve kept the bastard long enough.’

  ‘Where is he?’ she screamed. ‘If you’ve hurt him I’ll swing for you, I will, I’m telling you.’

  Doris poked her head out by the side of her son’s. ‘If you’re that worried about him why did you leave him?’ she taunted. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, we put him out with the rubbish when the muck cart came round.’ She laughed, a hard sneering sound. ‘I’ve packed your box an’ all – if you don’t take it away it’ll go the same way.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Merry shouted. ‘Robbie, if you’ve hurt him I’ll—’

  ‘I never touched him,’ said Robbie. ‘Not but what the little bastard didn’t deserve it.’

  ‘Merry? Merry, we’ve got him round here.’ Merry turned to the high wall between the yards. It was Annie’s voice. She turned and ran down the yard and up her neighbour’s. Annie had gone back in the kitchen to where Benny was lying on the settee, his blue eyes the only colour in his pale face. She gathered him up in her arms and held him to her.

  ‘He didn’t hurt you?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, Mam,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t see him. Where’ve you been, Mam?’

  ‘Never mind that, I’m here now.’ Merry breathed a long sigh before turning to Annie.

  ‘I saw the pair of them turning the corner into the rows,’ said Annie. ‘I lifted the bairn and brought him round here.’ Anyone can see the lad’s not well yet. He’s best out of the road.’

  ‘Eeh thanks Annie,’ said Merry.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on. It’ll be a while before Jack comes in. Mind, I don’t know what you’re going to do. You can’t stay here, pet. I haven’t the room and any road Jack wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘No, no, Annie, I wouldn’t think of it,’ Merry said hastily but her mind was racing round in circles, as she tried to think of what to do, where she could stay.

  Twenty-Two

  Dr Macready ate his dried-out meal stolidly as he sat at the dining table and stared out of the window at his small front lawn. He wasn’t tasting his food nor seeing the lawn; in his mind’s eye he was seeing the young woman whose head he had bandaged that morning and her young son, just recovering from diphtheria.

  Miranda Wright was an intelligent woman trapped in an impossible situation. Perhaps the situation had been of her own making, for anyone could see that the boy was not her husband’s, but still, as a doctor he was not here to judge. All he knew was that Merry needed to get away from her brute of a husband before he killed her or the child, or even both of them. The child reminded him of someone he knew but no, that was impossible. In any case, that wasn’t the issue.

  Pushing away his plate, which was edged with dried-up gravy and curled-up scraps of meat, he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and took a drink of water before sitting back in his chair. He was tired, very tired. Before he came to County Durham he knew nothing about it or the people there. Now he was deeply involved with them and didn’t want to work anywhere else. It was just as well Kirsty, his wife, didn’t care where she lived. She was a painter and spent her days sketching in the surrounding countryside when the weather was clement, and when it was not she practically lived in her studio in the attic.

  It had been a hard summer and it wasn’t over yet but at least the diphtheria epidemic seemed to be waning. In its place measles and mumps were on the go. He needed help – Dr Moody who had replaced Gallagher in Winton shared emergency cover with him now but that wasn’t enough. Maisie just wasn’t good or reliable enough to take messages properly, though the poor girl tried. Kirsty wandered into the dining room and dropped an absent-minded kiss on his sparse grey hair. ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’ she asked, not noticing the dried-up remains on his plate.

  ‘Very nice, dear,’ he replied. She wandered over to the window and gazed out.

  ‘I think I’ll walk up Canney Hill this afternoon,’ she murmured, almost to herself. ‘There is such a view of the v
alley and the town there and I want to catch the effect of the afternoon shadows along the bottoms. The light is so . . . golden almost in the late afternoon, don’t you think so, dear?’

  Dr Macready grunted in reply. He looked up at his wife; though her thoughts were so often wrapped up in her art, she had a good mind and surprised him often with her common sense and straightforward approach to his problems. Now was a good time to talk to her.

  ‘Come and sit down, dear,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you; it won’t take long.’

  ‘Yes of course, what is it?’ Kirsty was immediately alert. ‘I know you’ve been busy with the diphtheria epidemic and there are all the other infectious diseases that come with the warmer weather.’ She sat down opposite him. ‘You look tired, dear. Perhaps you need some extra help.’ As usual, she surprised him by her perception. She gazed at him steadily, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘I have been busy, but no more than I would expect in a mining village with no proper sanitation. Dear Lord, the powers that be here think they have modernised when they changed from open middens to ash closets. I dread to think what would happen should the cholera sweep down this valley as it has done over Sunderland way. ‘I’ve tried talking to the Board of Health but to no purpose.’ Dr Macready paused and looked at his wife thoughtfully.

  ‘You have a plan?’ she asked.

  ‘Not for the big problem, no, I’m afraid I haven’t,’ he said. ‘But I do have a plan to get some help for myself and at the same time help a young woman I know. She has a young boy just recovering from diphtheria and a husband she is desperate to escape from. He is violent, both to her and the boy.’

  The doctor sat back and waited for Kirsty’s reaction.

  ‘Go on,’ was all she said.

  ‘There are the two rooms above the surgery. We don’t use them and they wouldn’t take much doing up. Being attached to the main house her lout of a husband won’t bother her, I don’t think. I have long been dissatisfied with Maisie answering the telephone, you know that. And Mrs Wright has some limited experience of nursing. She could be a great help to me.’

  Dr Macready paused to take a breath. In the end his ideas had come out in a rush. After all, he was asking a lot. Aiding a woman with an ailing child to leave her lawful husband was unheard of even if they were entering more enlightened times with the coming of the new century.

  ‘It might cause you problems with the locals if you take her on,’ Kirsty said thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes. But I’m sure they would blow over.’

  ‘I think you should do it, Ian,’ She said. ‘Ask her at least, anyway.’

  Dr Macready smiled and got to his feet. He had known what she would say really – he just needed to hear her say it. He had to go into the rows to see a baby who had been suffering from measles; the measles had gone but the disease had left him with severe bronchitis. He had left instructions for nursing the child and with luck he would be beginning to improve by now. Then it would be almost time for surgery. At least the surgery was by the house and wasn’t far to come home. The house was apart from the miners’ rows on a small rise but it was still close for his patients. And the pithead, should there be an accident, which God forbid.

  ‘I knew you would understand,’ he said and dropped a kiss on his wife’s head. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Don’t stay out sketching if the weather turns too cold, dear.’

  The doctor decided to take the trap into Eden Hope, though it wasn’t far. If there was time he wanted to go into Winton later and have a word with Dr Moody about the possibility of approaching the council concerning the open-topped carts that were used to empty the ash closets. If he passed one in the street he was obliged to hold his breath until it passed. Surely they were the perfect instrument for spreading infectious diseases?

  As he came around the corner to the top of the rows he was amazed to see Merry walking towards him. She was carrying the boy, Benny who was lying against her, his head on her shoulder. The bandage on her head had been knocked askew somehow and the edge of the livid bruise on her temple could be seen. Dr Macready stopped the cart.

  ‘Goodness, Mrs Wright, what are you doing? The boy should not be out here, not this late in the afternoon. It’s already turning cooler.’

  ‘I’m going into the town. I’ll have to find somewhere to live or I’ll have to go to the workhouse,’ she said dully. Her head ached and her arms felt as though they were being pulled out of their sockets. Benny’s thin little body had felt like no weight at all at first but now, after only a few minutes, it was becoming heavier by the minute.

  The doctor got down from his seat on the trap. ‘Give me the boy,’ he ordered. ‘And you, get in and sit down before you fall down.’ He waited until she had done as she was told, then went on. ‘Now, what’s all this about? I didn’t expect you to be leaving your husband quite so quickly. Has he been violent again?’

  ‘Robbie has locked us out,’ she said. ‘I have to find somewhere to stay.’

  The doctor looked around. Two women were walking along the top of the rows and they slowed as they approached. They gazed open mouthed at Merry and the boy on the trap and Dr Macready standing beside them. The doctor sighed. Goodness knew what tales would be passed around the community now unless he said something. Not that he cared for himself but there was the girl and her son. He beckoned the women over and they came almost at a run, lifting eager inquisitive faces to him.

  ‘Mrs Wright is suffering from concussion,’ he said. ‘I wonder if you could let Mrs Robinson know I have been delayed as I have to take her to Bishop Auckland. I will be back to see the Robinson child as soon as I can.’

  That should do it, he thought. Surgery might be late this evening but it couldn’t be helped. ‘Gee up,’ he called to the pony and cracked the reins, setting off at a steady trot for the town.

  He turned into the gates of Oaklands, the workhouse hospital. Merry’s heart felt like a great leaden weight in her chest. Weak tears sprang to her eyes; her head throbbed.

  ‘I don’t want to go in, please, Doctor,’ she pleaded. ‘They’ll take Benny from me and put him in the children’s Ward. They might put him in the Children’s Home, mightn’t they?’ The Children’s Home on Escombe Road had recently been built and children were no longer kept in the Workhouse.

  ‘No they won’t,’ soothed Dr Macready. He gazed at her keenly. Perhaps she really was suffering from concussion, in which case the sooner she was put to bed the better. ‘Give me the boy.’ But Merry was clutching Benny desperately and her son was clinging just as hard to her.

  ‘Look, they won’t separate you, not tonight,’ said the doctor. ‘I’ll see to that. I am on the Board of Guardians.’ Not that it did much good, he thought to himself. His was a lone voice among the rest. ‘Come on, the boy will catch a cold if he’s out here much longer.’ He held out his arms again and reluctantly Merry handed him over.

  ‘You promise me?’

  ‘I do,’ said Dr Macready. At least he had enough clout to see they stayed together for the night. ‘I’ll take you in now. You will be looked after for the night. Then I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry now, just try to have a good night’s sleep.’

  They were put to bed in a narrow, cell-like room that Merry knew was meant for someone who was dangerously ill or suffering from an infectious fever. Not that there was any danger, the smell of Lysol was so strong it seemed to burn her nostrils. There was a bed and a baby’s cot and Benny was laid in the cot. His thin legs reached to the iron rails at the bottom but he didn’t appear to mind; his eyes were closing almost before the blanket was laid over him.

  The day had been altogether too much for the bairn, Merry thought as she looked down on him. She lay back on her hard pillow and sighed. She had to make plans for the future, she told herself; she would never sleep until she did. She vowed they wouldn’t stay another night in the workhouse even if it were the hospital part of the institution; the shame was too much. Until now she had not met any of the nurses
she had worked with in what seemed another life, but she was aware that it was only a matter of time before she did.

  Tomorrow, she thought drowsily, and fell into a deep sleep from which she was only awakened when the nurses began clattering in the adjacent ward with bedpans and washing bowls.

  ‘Mam? Mam?’ Benny was awake too as he sat up in the cot and turned to her in fright. ‘Mam? Where are we, Mam?’

  ‘It’s all right, pet,’ she soothed. ‘I’m here. Lie down again and the nurse will bring you a drink in a minute.’

  But Benny was not to be reassured so easily. He clambered over the side of the cot and onto her bed, diving under the blanket to cling to her fiercely. She could feel his heart beating rapidly against her ribs and anxiety filled her. He wasn’t strong enough for this upheaval, she thought. Dear God, what was she going to do?

  The nurse came in and gave them tea and porridge made with water and a drizzle of milk on top. ‘He should be in the cot,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘I don’t know what Sister will say.’ But she made no effort to make him leave his mother’s bed and said nothing else. Merry asked what time Dr Macready was expected but the nurse simply shrugged and went out, though not before giving mother and son a strange look.

  When the doctor did arrive later in the morning Merry was sitting on the single hard chair in the room with Benny on her knee.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so long, Mrs Wright,’ he said before turning to Sister who came puffing out of her office. ‘Don’t let me disturb you, Sister, I have just come for Mrs Wright and Benny.’

  ‘If you’re taking them you will have to sign them out according to the rules, Dr Macready,’ said Sister.

  ‘Yes, I will see to it. Now I know you’re busy, Sister, so don’t let me keep you.’ He waited until Sister had swept back into her office before turning to Merry. ‘Now, how do you feel today my dear? Sleep well?’

  ‘I did, thank you, Doctor,’ she replied.