Minnie grinned over her shoulder. ‘All right, Bess, I won’t. But you have to admit, Phyllis does bring home some choice bits of gossip now and then.’
Bessie chuckled, then her face sobered. ‘Aye, but I don’t want poor Amy being one of them.’
‘All right, Bess,’ Minnie said again and trotted off to do as her friend bade her.
The sight of their neighbour stripped naked tore at the hearts of the two women and pricked their consciences.
‘Ya nowt but skin and bone, Amy lass,’ Bessie whispered as she gently soaped the woman’s hair and Minnie tipped a jug of water over it to rinse the suds away. ‘Whatever have you been doing to let yasen get in such a state?’
Amy said nothing but submitted meekly to their ministrations, her arms wrapped around her knees drawn up to her chin. Her crying had stopped and, just once, Bessie thought she saw the ghost of a smile on Amy’s mouth as Bessie’s motherly hands washed her. She sat staring into the glowing coals in the fire, a faraway look in her eyes. Then the smile faded and tears welled once more.
‘They had to sleep in the trenches, you know. Just where they were. In the cold and the wet and the mud. And rats, as big as cats, would snuggle up under their armpits at night.’
Bessie shuddered inwardly and glanced at Minnie. She had turned white. Stoically, Minnie said nothing but bent her head, continuing to soap Amy’s feet.
They let Amy talk, hoping that unburdening her terrible memories might help her. ‘And sometimes, they hadn’t proper food. Just bully beef and biscuits were all they had. Just think, Bessie . . .’ Amy gave a sob. ‘My boy – my baby – dying out there in all that. He was crying for me – I know he was crying for me. And I wasn’t there to look after him, to keep him warm and safe. I wasn’t there, Bessie. I wasn’t there.’
‘Stand up, love,’ Bessie ordered gently, but found that together they had to lift Amy bodily to stand up and step out of the tin bath. Then Bessie wrapped a thick, warm towel around her. For a moment she put her arms about Amy and held her close, trying to transmit some of her own strength into the frail, grieving woman. ‘There, there. You sit by the fire here. That’s it. Now, did you eat some porridge?’ When Amy did not answer, Bessie turned to Minnie. ‘Did she?’
‘Only a couple of spoonfuls.’
Bessie nodded and bent towards Amy. ‘Now come on, lass. Let’s get you into these clothes Min’s brought across for you. Then you can sit here for the day and have a bit of dinner with us. It’ll only be cold meat and pickle, ’cos me and Min’s going to give your place a good going over.’
‘Oh Bess, I don’t know about that,’ Minnie began. ‘My ol’ man’ll be home for his dinner and—’
‘Your Stan won’t mind. He’s got the kindest heart I know in a man.’ She grinned broadly, ‘’Cepting for my Bert, of course.’
Minnie smiled back. ‘Oh, of course, Bess.’
The smiles faded on the faces of both women when they looked back again to their friend.
‘We’ve got to help her, Min,’ Bessie said quietly. ‘We’d never forgive ourselves if . . .’ She left the words unspoken but Minnie, her friend of many years, understood perfectly.
The two women had a busy day, but by the time Bessie had to go to meet Mary Ann from school as she had promised, Amy’s house was positively gleaming. A fire burned brightly in her range. There was hot water in the boiler behind it and food on her table.
‘Sorry, it’s not more, Amy lass, but I’ve a regular army to feed at my house.’ As she said the words, Bessie heard Minnie’s sharp intake of breath and knew the woman thought her tactless. As she had worked through the day, Bessie’s thoughts had not been idle ones. At first, she had dwelt on the woman Amy had once been.
She remembered the Hamilton family coming to Waterman’s Yard. It was in the spring of 1900. Bessie remembered the date clearly because she had been expecting Dan when Amy and George had arrived to live in the corner house with their little boy, Ronald, who was just learning to walk. She had thought at the time, a playmate for my boy, so certain had Bessie been that her firstborn would be a boy.
The Hamiltons had been a quiet family. George did not work on the river but had a job in the local engineering works. He was a reserved man and didn’t mix much with the other men in The Waterman’s Arms. He was friendly enough and always so polite, touching his cap when he met any of the women who lived in the yard and smiling his slow, gentle smile. Ronald, as he had grown, had resembled his father. He had been timid and studious and had rarely joined in the rough and tumble games of the other children. Who would have thought, Bessie shook her head sadly, that he would have been one of the first in the town to volunteer in 1914 and him only sixteen?
His mother, too, at first had seemed shy but Bessie had drawn her into the small community of Waterman’s Yard. Soon Amy had revealed a lively sense of humour and a sharp wit that, on a Monday morning when they all worked together in the wash-house, had had all the women reeling with laughter. Before long she was exchanging banter with Bessie and the others and was well able to defend herself when the occasional quarrel broke out.
Bessie longed to see the poor woman Amy had now become restored to the person she had first known, and by the time she and Minnie closed the door on Amy’s now spotless house, Bessie had a plan of action. In fact, she had two, one concerning Amy Hamilton and the other Mary Ann Clark.
As regards Amy, Bessie had no intention of pussyfooting around her, minding every word she said for fear of upsetting her. Amy, she had decided, would have to come back into the real world and she, Bessie Ruddick – with the help of Minnie and everyone who lived in their yard – was the woman to do it. She remembered Edwina’s mother clinging to her and wailing aloud, ‘Oh Bessie, what shall I do? What shall I do without him? My boy. My baby.’
‘You’ve Master Randolph and Miss Edwina to think of, madam,’ Bessie had said. ‘Miss Edwina’s hurting too. She needs you.’
But Mrs Isabella Marsh had been so lost in her own anguish that she had been unable to give comfort to her daughter, who was grieving for two men in her life she had loved. For a while, Bessie had mothered both the sorrowing women.
And now it seemed she had to start again with Amy.
Bessie’s plans for Mary Ann were less straightforward. This would be interfering in the lives of people she hardly knew and she doubted she would have the backing of her own family or neighbours.
Then she smiled to herself. She wasn’t nicknamed Battling Bessie Ruddick for nothing.
‘So, how did you enjoy your first day back at school, Mary Ann?’
The girl, though still sucking her left thumb and clinging on to Bessie’s hand with her right, nevertheless was hopping and skipping alongside her.
‘Tek that thumb out of your mouth and talk to me properly ’cos I know you can. And walk nicely, Mary Ann. You’re too big now to be acting like a two-year-old.’
Mary Ann promptly removed her thumb and glanced up coyly at Bessie. A smile touched her mouth and the two dimples deepened. ‘It was nice. That lady you know, she was ever so kind.’
‘And did you make some friends?’
Mary Ann pulled a face. ‘Not really. They all seem a bit posh and stuck up.’
Well, they would, Bessie thought to herself, seeing as the children who went to Miss Marsh’s school came from the moneyed folk in the town.
She felt a tug on her hand as the girl said, ‘Let’s see the boats. We might see Dan.’
‘Not this afternoon, Mary Ann. He’s gone to Hull.’
‘I want to see them anyway.’
Bessie didn’t need asking twice. Any excuse, her Bert always said, and she was down to the river like a water rat making for its home.
They went down the slippery steps of one of the staithes, almost to the water.
‘Be careful,’ Bessie said, gripping the young girl’s hand. ‘I don’t want you falling in the river. You’d get carried away by the current and caught amongst the weeds, else be swept unde
r the wharf there. Then we’d never get you out.’
‘Has there ever been anyone drownded?’ Mary Ann asked.
‘Oh aye, one or two,’ Bessie said, ‘so you just hang on tight to me.’
They stood on the step above the water line and looked up and down the river.
‘What a lot of boats.’
Bessie beamed, her gaze taking in the riverside scene. ‘Aye, there is, an’ all. See that down there? That’s the packet boat just coming back from Hull. It goes every day and calls at several places down the river as well as teking folks all the way to Hull and back again at night.’
‘Where’s Hull?’
‘It’s a big port on the Humber. This river . . .’ Bessie pointed to the water flowing past just below their feet, ‘is the River Trent. It flows into the Humber and then that river flows into the North Sea.’
‘Oh.’ Mary Ann did not seem to understand.
‘You ask Miss Edwina tomorrow at school. She’ll show you on a map and then you’ll be able to see just where Dan has gone.’
Mary Ann smiled up at Bessie and the older woman was amazed, yet again, to see how the smile altered the child’s face. It was suddenly alive with fun and mischief. Bessie’s kind heart longed to see that look on the young girl’s face all the time, in place of the haunted, frightened look that fear of her own father caused.
Further down the river, men off-loaded sacks from a ship on to the wharf, running with a wheelbarrow up and down a long gangway from ship to shore. Beyond that, a crane lifted heavy cargo on to the land.
‘When I was your age, I lived on a ship. The one me dad skippered. In fact,’ Bessie added, with pride, ‘I was born on board.’ She laughed. ‘Somewhere between here and Newark.’
‘I’d like to live on a boat.’
‘A ship, Mary Ann. A vessel that size is called a ship. Their proper name is a keel. My dad was a keelman and so’s Dan. And then there are sloops. But they’re all ships. Don’t you let our Dan hear you calling them boats. Boats are the little ones you row . . .’
Bored now with Bessie’s explanations, Mary Ann tugged at her hand. ‘If Dan’s not here, then let’s go home, Auntie Bessie.’
With a stab of guilt, Bessie realized that the child no doubt wanted to see her mother, wanted to know that she was all right.
‘Come on, then.’ They turned and began to climb the steps, Bessie taking one last, lingering look at the water and the ships and busy wharves.
‘Will Dan be home tonight? Which way will he come?’
‘Upriver. Up on the tide. There’ll be a fair one tonight. I’ll be down later to see the Aegir.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The tidal wave that comes up the river all the way from the sea. It comes twice a day, just like the sea goes in and out, but you can’t always see it clearly. Sometimes the waves are only like ripples. But when it’s what they call a spring tide, then we get lovely big waves.’
The girl frowned uncomprehendingly. ‘I’ve never seen the sea. At least, only in pictures.’
‘You ask Miss Marsh tomorrow,’ Bessie said again. ‘She’s got some nice pictures of the Aegir. She’ll show you. She’ll explain it all to you.’
‘Can I come with you tonight to see it?’
‘Oh well, now, I don’t know about that. It might be past your bedtime.’
The girl pouted and then put her thumb in her mouth.
As they reached the top of the steps, Mary Ann said solemnly, ‘I’d like to see the ogre tonight, Auntie Bessie. I might not be here after tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have moved again.’
Bessie stared down at her. ‘Moved again? But you’ve only just got here.’
The girl shrugged, accepting the inevitable. ‘We don’t stay nowhere long.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Bessie said. But she didn’t. She didn’t see at all. And to her amazement the little girl’s words had brought the older woman a strange sense of loss.
She might not have known Mary Ann for many days, but already the child had wound her way around Bessie Ruddick’s heart.
Seven
At about half past eight the following morning, when the communal wash-house was full of steam from the bubbling brick-built copper in the corner and Bessie’s raucous singing could be heard echoing round the yard, Mary Ann, thumb in her mouth, appeared at the door. She said nothing but waited until Bessie spotted her.
‘Hello, love. You just off to school, then?’
The large brown eyes regarded Bessie soulfully. Then she removed her thumb briefly to ask, ‘Are you going to take me?’
‘I’m a bit busy this morning, love, as you can see. Can’t your mam take you?’
The girl shook her head. ‘She’s in bed.’
Bessie tutted to herself. ‘All this staying in bed,’ she muttered. ‘Must be catching.’ She sighed. ‘All right. We’ll just run across and ask Mrs Eccleshall to keep an eye on the copper. I’ll take you this morning, but after that, you’ll have to go on your own. You’re a big girl now. By rights, you ought to be working. It’s only ’cos they’ve upped the age you leave school that you’re stopping on.’
‘My dad says I can’t. He says I’ve got to earn some money.’
‘Oh aye,’ Bessie said wryly, ‘for him to spend in the pub, I suppose. Well, he’d better think again because it’s against the law and they’d have him in prison if they found out he was sending you out to work instead of to school.’
‘Would they? Would they really send him to prison?’
Bessie turned and stared at the girl in surprise. There was no fear in Mary Ann’s tone, no dread that her father might be sent to jail. Bessie blinked and stared harder. If she hadn’t been so young, Bessie would have said that on Mary Ann Clark’s face was a devious, scheming expression.
The older woman shook her head, castigating herself for such thoughts. ‘She’s only a bairn,’ she murmured. Yet Bessie was beginning to see that Mary Ann was a mixture of childishness and worldliness. So used to her own sons, who had always shown surprising maturity for their ages, Bessie found it unusual. But when she thought about it, Duggie could leap in seconds from being the hardworking lad on the wharves, with dreams of becoming an engineer, to a mischievous prankster, playing tricks on the unsuspecting Bessie and even, though not very often, putting one over on his older brothers. The thought crept into her mind now that perhaps, young though she was, this perceptive child realized that if Sid Clark were sent away, life for her mother and for her would be a whole lot easier.
When she returned from the long walk along River Road almost to the toll bridge, Bessie’s first thought was to check on Amy Hamilton. Finding that she was up, dressed and had eaten some breakfast, Bessie crossed the yard again to knock on the door of the house next to her own. When she got no response, as was her usual habit with her near neighbours, she opened the door and went inside.
‘And if she dun’t like it,’ Bessie murmured to herself as she did so, ‘she can lump it.’
Remembering how she and Minnie had startled Amy – and themselves – Bessie mounted the stairs calling out, ‘Elsie? Are you there?’
She glanced in the first open door and saw that there was no proper furniture at all in the room, just what looked like a straw mattress on the floor, the only covering a dirty grey blanket. In the far corner sat a doll and one jigsaw puzzle. Bessie shook her head in disbelief. Is this how that poor child was obliged to live? Angry and disgusted, she turned away and lumbered towards the closed door across the landing. Flinging it open, she called again, ‘Elsie, where are you?’
This time the shape beneath the bedclothes did not leap up in fright – it did not even move. Bessie stood a moment, her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear Lord,’ she whispered, ‘don’t say he’s done for her.’
She was lying with her face to the wall and, from where Bessie was standing near the door, Elsie Clark did not appear to be breathing, although in the light from the dirty window Bessie could not see clearly. She tiptoed across the room, w
ent around the end of the bed to bend over the woman, whose head was buried beneath the thin blanket. Gently, she touched her shoulder. ‘Elsie?’
To Bessie’s great relief the form stirred and a muffled voice said, ‘Go away. I’ve got flu or summat. You don’t want to catch it.’
Bessie laughed aloud in relief. ‘A bit of the sniffles doesn’t bother me. I haven’t had a day’s illness in me life. Not that I can remember, anyway. Great strapping lass like me,’ she joked. ‘Come on now, sit up and I’ll make you a cuppa.’
‘Please . . .’ The woman’s tone was pleading, fearful almost, Bessie thought. ‘Leave me alone. If Sid finds you here . . .’
‘And I aren’t frit of him, neither,’ Bessie snorted, ‘so come on, let’s be having ya.’
She tugged at the blanket until, with a sigh of resignation, the woman gave in and sat up with a wince of pain.
‘Oh, my good night!’ Bessie exclaimed. She didn’t need to ask what had happened. She could see.
Elsie’s face was a mass of bruises, some older than others. The most recent injury appeared to be to her left eye, which was so swollen it was closed. She sat up in the bed holding her left arm and, through a lip that was still swollen from two days previously, murmured, ‘I reckon me arm’s broken.’
Bessie, staring at her, sat down heavily on the end of the bed as she asked, yet again, ‘Aw lass, why do you put up with it?’
The woman shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. And I can’t explain it all. He doesn’t mean it. I know he doesn’t and he’s so sorry afterwards.’
‘Huh, I’d make the bugger sorry,’ Bessie muttered and added to herself, and I probably will. Aloud, she said, ‘I’ll make you that tea I promised and a slice of toast and then I’m calling the doctor to you, me girl.’
‘Oh Bessie, no. I can’t afford . . .’
‘Ne’er mind about that. I’ll pay, if necessary. If that arm is broken, it’s got to be seen to.’
That evening, Bessie was waiting for Sid Clark to arrive home. When she saw him with a pathetic bunch of flowers in his hand, she stepped out of her door and barred his way.
The River Folk Page 5