Remember Me

by Lesley Pearse

  But it was hard to believe God listened to her prayers. Did He know or care that she was terrified she’d never see Fowey again? Was it too much to ask to go back to stand on the hill and look down at the pretty little town as the sun was setting? To watch the fishing boats come in, laden with their quivering silver pilchards, or hear the men singing in the tavern by the harbour?

  Tears came into her eyes as she reminded herself that she had lost the chance to make her mother and father proud of her. That she’d never be able to dance at Dolly’s wedding. Mary knew they despaired of her for being a hoyden, but she had always known they loved her. What would it do to them when she didn’t come home again?

  Just as Mary was beginning to believe that the hot weather would never break and she was going to be stuck in the hold for all eternity, she was called out for work again. This time it was just herself and Sarah.

  It struck Mary that Sarah must have had some hand in it, as she’d spent two nights out of the hold since the wash day, but if she had, she didn’t let on. Once again they were instructed to wash shirts, and as they were lowering buckets over the side they saw a group of male prisoners being brought up for work too.

  Although Mary often spoke to the men through the grille and could put names to the different voices, she had no idea what any of them looked like. But the moment she saw a big man, well over six feet tall with wiry, fair hair, a thick beard and pale blue eyes, she knew with certainty that was Will Bryant, the man most of the other women liked best.

  Mary liked him too, mainly because he was Cornish and knew Fowey well. They had talked on several occasions, but once the initial delight of finding someone to share her memories of her home town had worn thin, she’d found him to be something of a braggart. He boasted he was one of the few men to be convicted of smuggling.

  This seemed odd to her, for it was a crime that was usually ignored because everyone in Cornwall, from the poorest people to the gentry, were involved in it to some extent. As he was a fisherman by trade, with a boat of his own, he would know the rugged coastline well, and certainly have all the necessary skills for bringing contraband ashore, but Mary didn’t believe that was all he’d done. Nor did she like the way he considered himself to be the cleverest, toughest prisoner on the Dunkirk.

  But seeing him in the flesh, she had to admit he was handsome. Even grime couldn’t spoil his strong features, or the loose shirt hide his muscular body. His fair hair shone in the sunshine, there was a sparkle in his blue eyes, and his skin was golden-brown from working outside. He was probably only a couple of years older than her, still fit and healthy despite having been on the hulk for over a year. Clearly he’d found a way to get extra rations, which proved he was resourceful.

  ‘Who are you two?’ he shouted, as if they were at the market place, not prisoners in chains.

  ‘I’m Sarah, this is Mary Broad,’ Sarah called back. ‘A good day for working outside!’

  ‘It’s worth breaking my back to see you two beauties,’ he replied impudently, making the other men with him laugh. ‘If you can get away later, I’ll meet you at the tavern and buy you both a drink.’

  Mary had to smile. A man who could still make jokes when he was about to start a ten-hour stint of shifting rocks was someone to be admired.

  ‘I’ll buy you two each, me darlin’s,’ another man called out. He had an Irish accent and Mary knew right away he had to be James Martin, the man who made all the women laugh with his florid and often suggestive compliments. But whereas Will was better in the flesh, James was disappointing. His large nose dominated his gaunt face, his brown hair was stringy, and his ears stuck out. His shoulders were stooped and his teeth were very brown.

  ‘I thought a horse thief would look more dashing,’ Mary remarked to Sarah as the men climbed down the ladder into the waiting boat.

  Sarah laughed. ‘That one’s got more cheek than an elephant’s behind,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he needs looks too to attract women.’

  ‘Who were the other two with Will?’ Mary asked. One had bright red hair and freckles and looked about the same age as herself. The other was younger still, perhaps only sixteen. He was very small and nervous looking, with sharp, bird-like features. ‘The young one had a nice smile.’

  ‘They arrived about the same time I did. The one with the ginger hair is Samuel Bird. He’s a bit gloomy, not one to brighten up a girl’s day like Will and James,’ Sarah said with a grin. ‘The little one is Jamie Cox. He don’t say much, too shy I guess. He’s lucky Will and James Martin keep an eye on him, it don’t bear thinking of what some of the brutes in that hold would do to him otherwise.’

  Mary asked what she meant.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘If you don’t know, then I’m not going to be the one to tell you,’ she said. ‘There’s some things men do that are better not mentioned.’

  It was quiet up on deck after the male prisoners were rowed ashore. The sun was hot on the women’s arms and heads, and a heat haze shimmered on the water. They scrubbed at the clothes in companionable silence, and there seemed no need for conversation as both of them savoured the light breeze, the sound of the seagulls and the gentle movement of the hulk in the water.

  Later, once they’d rinsed the first load of shirts with fresh water, both women bathed in the water, giggling delightedly as they helped each other to wash their hair. The two guards, who were lounging on crates further back on the deck, smoking pipes, made no comment. Perhaps the hot sun had mellowed them too.

  The women’s clothes dried quickly as they hauled up fresh water for the second load of washing, but Mary was horrified to see how faded and flimsy her dress was becoming – another couple of washes and it would fall apart.

  ‘What will we do when these clothes are just rags?’ she asked Sarah. Many of the other women were already semi-naked, clutching the last vestiges of their rags around them to hide their bodies.

  ‘My man gave me this dress,’ Sarah said, her eyes downcast. ‘Hold out for clothes and food, Mary, don’t let him have you for nothing.’

  Mary looked thoughtfully at her friend for a moment. Her dress was blue cotton, nothing fancy, and it was too big for her slight shape. But it was by far the best one down in the hold. She guessed that Sarah had been quite a head-turner back in Penzance, for her red-gold hair was pretty and her dark eyes smouldered.

  ‘Is it terrible?’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never done it.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘I thought lying with my husband was wonderful,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘It hurt a bit the first time, but he was so gentle and I loved him. It won’t be like that for you, I fear, the men here that want a woman won’t care about your feelings. You are nothing but a warm body to use any way they like.’

  ‘Is there any way I can make it better?’ Mary asked nervously.

  ‘Don’t struggle, try to pretend you like it.’ Sarah sighed. ‘But don’t think he’ll love you, we’re only convicts after all.’

  Chapter three

  Around noon Watkin Tench came back to the hulk in a small boat. Mary’s heart leaped as she heard his voice calling out from below. But she continued bailing out the wash tub over the side, waiting for him to appear.

  As he clambered on to the deck, she smiled. He was wearing a white shirt and breeches and his face was shiny with perspiration. He looked hot and tired, but to Mary that only made him more desirable.

  He nodded when he saw the two women. ‘Good day, Sarah, Mary. I hope you are behaving yourselves today?’

  It was clear by his light tone and the hint of amusement in his voice that he’d heard about the bathing in the wash tubs. Mary wondered what he’d have to say if he knew they’d repeated it today. But their clothes were nearly dry now, and they were spinning out the remaining washing to delay the moment when they had to go back to the hold.

  ‘We’d behave still better with something to eat,’ Mary called out cheekily. ‘Any chance?’

  She saw Sarah turn away and guessed her frie
nd thought she was being too forward.

  ‘Isn’t it enough you’ve got out of the hold for a few hours?’ Tench asked, taking a few steps closer to them. There was no real irritation in his voice, and Mary decided she had to charm him now or lose the chance for good.

  ‘Oh yes, sir, we really appreciate the chance to come up here, to look at the woods and fields, hear the birds singing, and feel the sun on our faces,’ she said, trying not to laugh because she was aware she sounded insincere. ‘I wouldn’t complain about anything ever again if we had work like this every day.’

  He smiled then, his teeth very white against his tanned face. ‘Tell me about yourself, Mary,’ he asked, then added, ‘And you too, Sarah.’

  It seemed to Mary that Fate was smiling on her for once, for Tench sat down on a crate and looked relaxed as he talked to them both. No guards came near and there were no distractions of any kind; they could have been two ordinary girls chatting to a friend after work.

  Mary let Sarah talk first. She spoke of her husband’s death and the children she was afraid she’d never see again. She went on to explain that her parents were past the age when they should be bringing up children, and if they should die, the children would go to the workhouse.

  Tench really listened. Mary saw him clench his lips as if he was incensed that Sarah’s family circumstances hadn’t been taken into consideration when she was sentenced.

  Mary’s own story was very short. She told him about her family in Fowey and how she’d left for Plymouth to get work.

  ‘I wish to God I’d stayed at home now,’ she said ruefully, as Sarah tactfully moved away to check the drying washing. ‘It pains me to think that I’ll never set foot in Cornwall, or see my family ever again in this life.’

  She half expected Tench to insist she would, that seven years weren’t so long, but she knew by his grave expression he could hold out no hope for her.

  ‘It is more difficult for women convicts to return,’ he said. ‘Men can sign on a ship coming home when their time is up.’

  He didn’t have to add that there was no such opportunity for women, and therefore they were forced to stay. Mary heard it in his voice.

  ‘I’ll get back,’ she said with determination. ‘Somehow. But do you know where we are to be sent?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s talk of Botany Bay, in New South Wales, the country Captain Cook discovered. But no one else has been there to confirm or deny it’s a viable proposition. America is out of the question now since she gained her independence. They tried Africa and that failed.’

  ‘If we stay here on the Dunkirk we shall all die,’ Mary said dolefully.

  Tench sighed. ‘I agree it’s bad, but what can the government do? Every gaol is overcrowded.’

  Mary was tempted to comment that if they didn’t send people to prison for petty crimes like stealing a pie, there would be no overcrowding. But she wanted to keep Tench’s interest, not have him scuttling away in haste.

  ‘Tell me about you yourself, sir,’ she asked instead. ‘I heard you were in the war in the Americas?’

  ‘I was,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘Taken prisoner of war too. Maybe that’s why I’m a little more sympathetic to prisoners here than the average Marine. I grew up in Penzance too, so I also know how hard life is in Cornwall for most people.’

  Mary sat on the deck by the wash tub entranced as Tench told her of his happy childhood memories of Penzance. He had of course come from an entirely different world to her – a big house with servants, a boarding school in Wales, a family with a good name and money. But there was common ground, their love of Cornwall, his interest and affection for ordinary people. He could paint vivid pictures with just a few words of his life with the Marines, of America and of London.

  ‘I have to go now,’ he said suddenly, perhaps aware he’d stayed talking to her for far too long. ‘You empty that tub and clear away. I’ll bring you up a little something to eat.’

  ‘He’s not the kind to take a woman,’ Sarah said sharply as soon as Tench had walked away. She had remained silent all the time Mary was talking to him, only nodding and smiling from time to time. ‘You won’t get what you want from him, Mary.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Mary asked, hurt because she thought the older woman was ridiculing her.

  ‘I know about men,’ Sarah said simply. ‘He’s the kind who will save himself for the woman he’ll marry. A rare breed.’

  Mary thought Sarah was mistaken when Tench came back to give them a lump of bread, some cheese and an orange. But as he hurriedly walked away, urging them to finish up and go back to the hold, Sarah looked at his slender figure retreating down the deck and sighed.

  ‘He’s a kind, good man,’ she said. ‘No doubt if you can keep his interest he’ll always help you, Mary. But don’t hope for love, or even sharing his bed. His kind don’t fall for convict women.’

  The bread and cheese were both a little mouldy but that didn’t matter, it was solid food after all. It was the orange which thrilled them even more, for such fruit had always been a rare treat even before imprisonment. They ate it all greedily, even the peel, licking every last drop of juice from their chins and laughing at each other.

  They had just emptied the last of the washing water over the side when Lieutenant Graham appeared. He was in full uniform and looked very hot and tetchy.

  ‘Time you were back in the hold,’ he said curtly.

  ‘We were just going to take down the dry washing and fold it,’ Mary said.

  She had caught the sun on her face and arms, she could feel the familiar sting and knew it would be tender for days. But up here she felt free and even happy and she didn’t want to go back down to the hold just yet.

  ‘My men will do that,’ he said, giving her a piercing look. ‘I know what you women are like, you probably aim to steal a shirt or two.’

  ‘You are mistaken, sir,’ Mary said indignantly. ‘We just wanted to finish the job properly.’

  He leaned back against the sawn-off mast and sneered. ‘Is that so? I think it’s more likely you’d sell your souls for a new dress, food or a drop of rum.’

  Mary glanced at Sarah, saw her anxious expression and guessed she had already passed a message that Mary could be tempted into becoming a bed partner. After talking to Tench, Mary had no real interest in Graham any longer, but her common sense told her she mustn’t wipe him right out of the picture.

  ‘I wouldn’t sell my soul,’ she said pointedly. ‘And I haven’t considered selling my body either, not yet.’

  ‘You women are all whores,’ Graham said nastily. ‘Now finish up and get back.’

  His words stung, but as they lifted the tub to empty it completely, Mary felt Graham’s eyes on her legs. She had tucked the sides of her dress up into the chain around her waist and forgotten she’d left it like that.

  She looked round at him and winked cheekily. She had no doubt he could be lured, even if Tench couldn’t.

  Over the next few weeks, Mary was called out for work regularly. Sometimes it was just with Sarah, often with other women. But she wasn’t slow to notice she was always picked, whether it was for washing, mending or peeling vegetables. Sadly, she had no way of knowing whether it was Tench or Graham who was putting her on the list.

  She saw both men on nearly every occasion, and although Tench didn’t stop to speak again for as long as he had before, he almost always slipped her something to eat. Graham on the other hand lingered longer each time, often calling Mary away from the other women under a pretence of chastising her for something.

  The man puzzled her. He could be so curt and even nasty, but now and again he showed a touch of real kindness, like the occasion when she got a splinter in her foot from the deck planking. Several of the women had attempted to get it out for her without success. By the end of the day she could barely stand on it, and when Graham saw her limping, he called her over.

  ‘What’s wrong with your foot?’ he asked.

  She
explained, and he asked her to let him see it. She turned her back on him and with some difficulty because of the chains, lifted her foot up by bending her knee.

  ‘It’s embedded,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a needle to dig it out.’ He then ordered the other women back to the hold and told Mary to stay where she was.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said sharply as he came back with a needle and a small bottle of liquid.

  Mary did as she was told, and Graham squatted down on a crate before her and lifted her foot on to his knee. It hurt as he prodded the needle in, but he eventually got the splinter, then rubbed a dab of the contents of the bottle on to it, making it sting. Mary squealed with pain.

  ‘That’s to kill any infection,’ he said. ‘Now, put something round it, and don’t walk around in any muck until it’s healed.’

  ‘Difficult down in the hold,’ she retorted.

  ‘Don’t you ever give up on complaining?’ he asked, but he was still holding her foot in his hand.

  In that moment Mary knew for certain he did have a real interest in her. ‘If you think that’s complaining, just let me get into my stride,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘What would you like to hear about? The filth, the stink or the lack of decent food?’ She laughed then, to soften her words. ‘But I don’t want to put you off your supper tonight. It was very kind of you to see to my foot.’

  He said nothing, but his hand strayed on to her leg, just above the shackle, smoothing the skin. ‘You keep yourself cleaner than the others,’ he said, his voice suddenly lower and more intimate. ‘I like that about you. I wouldn’t want to see you get a poisonous wound.’

  ‘Keeping clean is one way to survive this hulk,’ she retorted. ‘That’s my aim, to survive it, whatever I have to do.’