A Mother's Promise

by Dilly Court

  Hetty couldn’t resist the twinkle in his eyes. ‘All right, George. But one word against Charles and I’ll never speak to you again.’

  ‘Understood, but I think we’d better get on board. There’s a grumpy old man with a flag and a whistle who is giving us dirty looks.’

  Although she wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, Hetty was secretly pleased that George had decided to accompany her to Liverpool. The train was crowded and after an hour or two the slatted wooden seats seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. Their compartment was filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of pickled onions as the family opposite them ate their lunch, crunching the pickles and munching hunks of bread which they washed down with draughts of ale from brown glass bottles. Small children ran up and down between the rows of seats and infants howled until their mothers put them to the breast. If she had not been saving every penny, Hetty might have paid the extra to go second class, but it was George who made the long and tiring journey bearable by diverting her attention with racy anecdotes or pointing out land-marks of interest as the train sped through the English countryside. He had an easy way with people and soon had their fellow travellers joining in the conversation, even offering to share their beer with him. He declined politely, producing a couple of bottles from a poacher’s pocket inside his greatcoat, one of which he handed to the fellow who had by now drunk all his ale and the other he shared with Hetty. Opening his carpet bag, George took out two brown paper packets of sandwiches. ‘Here, made fresh this morning by your own sister. The finest ham sandwiches in London, so I say.’

  Hetty accepted gratefully. She had not had time for breakfast, and now she was starving. ‘You are amazing, George,’ she mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

  He raised the bottle to her in a salute. ‘Here’s to you making the right choice, Hetty.’ He took a swig, wiped the lip of the bottle with a surprisingly clean handkerchief, and passed it to her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’ She took a sip and pulled a face at the bitter taste. She didn’t much like beer but she was thirsty.

  It took almost six hours to reach their destination and Hetty had hoped to go straight on board the ship, but there had been some unexplained delay and she was told to come back first thing in the morning. Not for the first time, she was glad that George was with her. It was a rough area, heaving with sailors of all nationalities bent on having a good time, prostitutes, pimps and pickpockets, but he steered her through the crowds and eventually found them a hotel reasonably near the Huskisson dock. The hotel was cheap and clean, but there were some very shady characters hanging about in the public bar. George booked two rooms for the night and paid the landlord for the use of a private parlour. An overworked and surly maidservant informed them that a fire would cost extra, and they would have to wait for their dinner since she was rushed off her feet. Left to her own devices, Hetty would have accepted this without an argument, but George gave the girl a brilliant smile and encouraged her to talk about herself. He listened sympathetically to her tale of woe, and when she began to cry he patted her on the shoulder and told her that she was a brave girl. A generous tip made her smile and she hurried off to fetch kindling and a full coal scuttle. Hetty watched in silence and it occurred to her then that part of George’s undeniable charm lay in his genuine concern for other people. The servant girl could not do enough to make them comfortable; within minutes they had a fire blazing up the chimney, and a jug of hot toddy to keep out the cold. They dined off the best cuts of roast beef from the kitchen together with a dish of freshly cooked vegetables and piping hot gravy, followed by treacle tart in a pool of thick yellow custard.

  When they had finished their supper Hetty sat by the fire drinking a cup of coffee and George relaxed in the chair opposite her, smoking a cigar. The fragrant smoke wafted up the chimney and Hetty warmed her toes on the fender. She felt comfortable in his company, with no need to make small talk. She gazed into the fire, watching as the soot on the fireback was set alight, sparking and shifting like a miniature firework display. Jane called them glow fairies but Ma had always said it was people coming out of church.

  ‘A penny for ‘em,’ George said, puffing a hazy blue stream of cigar smoke into the atmosphere.

  Hetty looked up and smiled. ‘I’m glad you came with me, George.’

  ‘Are you really?’

  ‘I am. I would have felt very strange staying in a hotel on my own.’

  ‘Oh, well, then we’re all happy,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve escaped a possible breach of promise suit and you will have a safe and comfortable night.’ He tossed the cigar butt into the fire and rose to his feet. ‘I think I’ll turn in, Hetty. We’ve got an early start in the morning.’

  It seemed to Hetty that the spell was broken. They were no longer at ease together and she couldn’t think what she had said that had altered things so radically. She stood up, smoothing the rumpled folds of her travelling gown. ‘Yes, you’re right. I am tired.’

  He moved to the door and held it open. ‘Goodnight, Hetty.’

  His tone was oddly formal and he avoided her anxious gaze. Hetty walked past him and she shivered. She felt suddenly cold and very much alone. ‘Goodnight, George.’

  A chill wind whipped across the water as Hetty and George stood on the quayside early next morning. It was several hours until dawn and the masthead lamps bobbed up and down, sending jagged shards of light reflecting across the dark water. The ship tugged at its moorings as if restless to be on its way across the Atlantic. All around them there was hustle, bustle and noise. The raised voices of the crew and the stevedores competed with the sound of barrels being rolled across cobblestones, the metallic screech of cranes lifting heavy objects, the clank of anchor chains and the throb of the engines purring away below decks. Passengers were arriving both by coach and on foot and their luggage was piled high in readiness to be loaded onto the vessel.

  Hetty had to hold on to her bonnet to prevent its being blown off, and she glanced up at George. He had been unusually silent during their hasty breakfast of bread rolls and coffee, and he seemed preoccupied as he stared up at the ship. He turned his head to look at her. ‘They’re boarding now. Perhaps you ought to go and stake your claim to a berth.’

  His tone was offhand and Hetty was unaccountably hurt by his indifference. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me, George.’

  ‘Sending you off into the arms of another man is not easy. For God’s sake, Hetty, just go.’

  She stared at him, shocked by his harsh tone. ‘George. What’s the matter with you?’

  He ran his hand through his hair, which was damp with spray and looked almost black in the dim light. ‘I can’t do this, Hetty. I can’t stand on the quayside and wave you off as if you were going away on the grand tour. I thought I could let you go to that fellow because I wanted above all things for you to be happy, but I just can’t do it. I’m sorry, girl.’ Ramming his bowler hat on his head, he strode off towards the hotel, leaving her standing alone and staring after him.

  ‘George,’ she cried. ‘Don’t go. Don’t leave me like this.’ She had witnessed all his moods, so she had thought, but she had never seen him so emotionally unbalanced. She had always thought of George as a good-natured clown who breezed through life without thinking or feeling deeply, but in these last hours together she knew that she had caught a glimpse of the man beneath the boyish devil-may-care façade George Cooper presented to the world. Anger roiled in her stomach. How could he be so cruel as to abandon her just when she was embarking on the most important journey of her life? Then, as she watched him disappear into the crowd, anger was replaced by a feeling of desolation and loneliness. Despite the coolness that had entered their relationship recently, she had always known that George was somewhere in the background. She had come to rely on him and had taken his friendship and loyalty for granted. Now she might have lost him forever and the thought sent a shaft of pain through her heart. She loved George like a brother and ha
d always thought that he loved her in the same way. The truth slapped her in the face like the cold wind off the River Mersey. There could only be one cause for a man to act so unreasonably. George was jealous of Charles. If he was jealous, that meant . . .

  ‘Move along, lady. You’re blocking the gangway.’

  The impatient tone of a man’s voice startled Hetty out of her trance-like state. She craned her neck looking for George but he had gone. She bit back tears as she tried to imagine his feelings. It was only now that she realised he had been trying to tell her that he loved her on so many occasions and she had laughed it off, treating it as a joke. How that must have hurt him. She could not bear the thought of giving pain to her true friend. If only she could turn back time she would tell George how important he was to her and how much she cared for him. The last call went out for passengers to board the ship.

  Someone jabbed her in the back. ‘Are you deaf, woman? Move on or do I have to carry you?’

  Hetty mumbled an apology and hurried up the gangway. Once on deck she entered a scene of complete chaos. Emigrants laden with bedding rolls from which hung cooking utensils and all manner of objects, which were undoubtedly precious to them but looked like tinkers’ cheap wares, stumbled about between the freight and baggage piled up on the deck. Children were crying and stewards were shouting instructions. Some of the passengers clung to the railings waving frantic goodbyes to their loved ones on shore and others huddled together looking lost and disorientated.

  Clutching her ticket for berth number 34, Hetty followed a group of people who had been directed towards steerage. The scene below decks was even more confusing and disorderly than it had been above them. Passengers pushed and shoved their way along narrow, dimly lit passages and made their way down steep flights of stairs to the airless region above the hold. There was very little space in between the tiers of wooden bunks and the air was thick with fumes from oil lamps. Hetty was carried along on a wave of bodies until she managed to find a harassed steward who told her where to find her berth.

  She was in an area reserved for women and girls. Men had separate quarters, as had families with young children. The bunks were three to a tier and Hetty was relieved to find that hers was at the top. She hefted her case onto the bunk, clambering after it with her bandbox clutched in her hand. Occupying the bunk below her was a thin, fraught-looking woman from Birmingham who was travelling with her four daughters. The youngest took the bottom bunk and her three sisters were in the next tier. From listening to their conversation, Hetty gathered that the father and two elder brothers were in the men’s section. She watched the mother busying herself unpacking items that they would need for the journey and laying things out neatly in an effort to make their surroundings more homely.

  It was only now that Hetty realised that steerage passengers were expected to provide their own bedding, and she had none. She was marooned on her burlap mattress stuffed with straw which crunched every time she moved, and, most depressingly, her lifejacket which apparently doubled as a pillow. It was going to be a cold and uncomfortable crossing for which she was ill prepared. The throbbing of the engines seemed to vibrate through her whole body, and all around her women were shouting at each other in an attempt to make themselves heard above the din. Her head ached and the smell of sweat, unwashed bodies and damp clothing was making her feel sick. Hetty drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face in the folds of her travelling gown.

  Someone was tugging at her skirt and Hetty raised her head to peer down into the face of the older woman. ‘Are you all right, lass?’ The woman’s face was creased with concern and Hetty felt a lump in her throat. This person had her hands more than full with her own family and yet she was showing compassion for a complete stranger. Hetty managed a wobbly smile. ‘I – I’m all right, ta. It’s just so noisy and I came so ill prepared. I didn’t know we had to provide our own bedding.’

  ‘There’s nothing to cry about, love. I daresay we can spare you a blanket. Are you travelling on your own?’

  Hetty nodded. Suddenly, in the midst of a hundred or more souls, she felt utterly alone. ‘I’m going to Philadelphia to join my intended.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Hetty Huggins.’ Hetty held out her hand. ‘And you are . . .?’

  ‘Bertha Shakeshaft, and these are my girls – Emily, Doris, Olive and Violet. My hubby, Ernest, is in the men’s section with our boys, Ted and Jim. We’re heading for a new life in America.’ While she was talking, Bertha was unpacking a blanket which she handed up to Hetty. ‘There you are, love. It’s a bit thin but it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Hetty murmured, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. If Miss Heathcote could see her now she would have one of her seizures. The thought brought a reluctant smile to her face.

  ‘There,’ Bertha said with a satisfied grin. ‘Things aren’t so bad after all.’

  ‘Mam, I’m hungry.’ The youngest girl tugged at her mother’s sleeve.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until I’ve unpacked all our things, Vi.’ Bertha turned to the eldest girl who had bagged the top bunk and was sitting on it, swinging her legs. ‘Make yourself useful, Emily. Go and find your dad and see how he’s getting on. I’ll feel happier when I know where he is and the lads too. Take your sisters with you, and if you see a steward, ask him what time we get our food. We’re all bloody starving.’ She shooed the girls off, flapping her apron as if they were a flock of geese, and she grinned up at Hetty. ‘They’re good girls really. This is a big adventure to them, although I can’t say it’s my idea of fun.’

  Hetty nodded in agreement. She couldn’t help wondering how she was going to survive for the next twelve or thirteen days. A sudden lurch of the ship almost toppled her off her bunk, and the engines began to roar as they built up enough steam to get the vessel under weigh. For the first time, she doubted the wisdom of her actions. Perhaps she should have stayed in London and waited for Charles to come for her. What if she arrived at his home and found that she was not welcome? Why had she not run after George and begged him to take her home? Dear George, who loved her and had always tried to look after her. She had treated him so badly and she would miss him very much. She lay back on the mattress and closed her eyes. Bertha had said this voyage was not going to be fun – in Hetty’s opinion it was going to be sheer hell.

  Chapter Twenty

  As if matters were not bad enough in the safe haven of the docks, things did not improve when the Ohio reached the choppy waters of the Irish Sea. Within hours half the women were suffering from seasickness and Bertha’s girls were no exception. Hetty forgot all about her own discomfort as she held young Violet’s head over a bucket while she vomited, and when the spasm passed, she lifted her onto the bottom bunk and bathed her forehead with the brackish water which was supplied for their personal needs. No sooner had Violet drifted into a sleep of sheer exhaustion than Olive began to feel queasy, and Hetty looked after her while Bertha attended to Emily and Doris. All round them girls and women moaned, and those who were not afflicted went up on deck to get some fresh air.

  After an uncomfortable and disturbed night when sleep had evaded her, Hetty was glad to slither down from her bunk and take a turn on deck while others slept. It was still dark but there was a hint of light in the east and the huge vessel sliced through the Irish Sea like a hot knife through butter. Hetty breathed in the fresh salty air, and she leaned over the rail to watch the bow waves foaming and creaming on the surface of the inky water. The crew were going about their duties with quiet efficiency, and after a while a few early risers came up on deck to stretch their cramped limbs. A steward hurried past her carrying a can filled with steaming coffee, and as the fragrant aroma reached her nostrils Hetty realised that she was both hungry and thirsty. She went below to breakfast off hot rolls and several cups of strong, sweet coffee.

  Later that day the Ohio arrived at Queenstown. Hetty had thought the sh
ip was crowded when they left the Huskisson dock, but she was unprepared for the influx of Irish migrants who clambered on board bowed beneath the weight of all their worldly possessions, which were pathetically few. Some of them seemed determinedly cheerful at the prospect of a new life in the Americas, but others were silent and many were in tears as they left the country of their birth, most likely never to see it again. Hetty’s heart went out to them and she felt quite ashamed of herself for inwardly bemoaning the discomforts of the voyage. This was just an interim in her life. She had a reason for going to America and was not driven from her home by poverty or lack of hope. She, Hetty Huggins, had known what it was like to face near starvation; she had been homeless and she had suffered at the hands of others, but that was all in the past. She had dragged her family from the gutter and they were never going to suffer in that way again – not while she had a breath left in her body. For her there was more than hope: there was certainty. Charles would greet her with open arms. She imagined the tender scene as she lay in her bunk at night listening to the alternate snores, sobs, moans and occasional bouts of sickness from her fellow travellers. This was a necessary journey, but it had forced her to remember her roots and to realise just how far she had travelled and how much she had achieved in a short space of time.

  In the ensuing twelve days the capricious weather tumbled them into storms which lashed the ship, making it pitch and toss so that walking about the decks was virtually impossible. When there was a lull and the sun sparkled off the ultramarine waters Hetty made a concerted effort to be cheerful and to repay Bertha’s kindness by taking the two younger girls on deck for some exercise. She listened patiently to the grumbles of sixteen-year-old Emily, who had left a boyfriend behind in Birmingham, and fifteen-year-old Doris, who had been apprenticed to a dress-maker and whose ambition it was to own a dress shop. But these interludes were short and infrequent. For the most part they were all crammed together in the foul-smelling confines of the lower deck with the constant and deafening roar of the engines, and the slapping, crashing sound of the waves against the hull. These shared experiences made the women draw close together. People who would never normally have spoken to each other on the street suddenly became the best of friends. Occasional squabbles broke out but these were quickly settled and peace restored.