A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  ‘No.’ His mother gave a brief laugh. ‘We won’t. We’re a long way off the river, though we’ll cross over a bridge that goes over the haven in a few minutes. Big ships used to come up the haven in the old days, but it’s silted up now and isn’t much more than a stream. Look further up on the right; can you see those lights through the trees? That’s the Hedon Arms. If we don’t get a welcome in Paull we’ll come back and spend the night here.’

  He felt a rush of relief. ‘Perhaps we should book a room now, just in case?’

  She took his hand again. ‘No, we’ll take a chance.’

  ‘We’re in proper country now, aren’t we?’ he asked after about another half hour’s walking. ‘I can see better now than I could before; and I can smell the sea.’

  ‘Your eyes have adjusted,’ she said, ‘and you might be able to smell the saltiness of the estuary as we’re not all that far away. Not much longer now. You’re doing very well.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Really well.’

  They were passing fences and fields, thickly wooded copses and an occasional dark wooden building or barn; they crossed a bridge over water which his mother told him was the haven, and he thought that if she hadn’t been with him he might have been very frightened. A grey-white shape skimmed alongside them and he let out a startled gasp. His mother gave a small huff of amusement. ‘Only an owl,’ she said. ‘Hunting for his supper.’

  He’d never been in such a quiet and lonely area and wasn’t sure if he would like to live in such a place as this, even though the idea of living by a river had at first seemed appealing. He looked up at the sky and it was filled with so many stars that he felt dizzy.

  ‘Mr Crawshaw told me that when there’s no street lighting you can see stars called the Plough. Do you know which they are?’

  She stopped and pointed. ‘You see that line of seven stars that tips up like a tail? That’s the Plough. There are millions and millions of stars; too many to count. Navigators find their way by learning which is which and following them to get safely home.’

  He didn’t answer. He’d seen a light ahead. He pointed into the darkness. ‘I saw a light. I think it was moving.’

  ‘Maybe atop a ship’s mast,’ she said. ‘We’d be able to see the estuary if it were daylight. We’re nearly there. My parents’ cottage is this side of the village.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ he breathed. ‘Are they farmers? Do they have cows and sheep and things?’

  ‘No, it’s a smallholding, not a farm. They’ve only got a few acres. They keep ducks and hens mostly, and goats. Or used to,’ she added.

  He heard her wavering voice, and knowing she was nervous he squeezed her hand. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said softly.

  ‘Do you know why we’ve come, Jack?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘So they can get to know me? Cos you’ve not seen them in a long time?’

  ‘Something of the kind,’ she sighed. She was clutching at straws, she knew, but she had run out of choices of how to continue. Ahead of them he could see only a few lights and shapes of buildings which he thought could be houses or possibly farmsteads; after another quarter of an hour or so he saw a gleaming white tower which she said was a lighthouse but didn’t think was used as one any more, and in another ten minutes, when he could barely see his hand in front of him, she stopped by a field gate and looked over it. An unlit cottage or small house was at the end of a short track. ‘This is it,’ she murmured. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

  They walked to a smaller gate and she lifted the iron ring and pushed it open; the gate screeched as she did so and she gave a half smile, half grimace. ‘It always did need oiling.’ A dog in its kennel began barking furiously as the gate grated on its hinges when she closed it behind them. ‘They don’t oil it so that they can hear if intruders come through. As if they had anything worth stealing,’ she muttered as if to herself. ‘Nor do they ever think that someone might vault the gate.’

  A curtain was opened an inch and lamplight showed through. ‘Somebody’s home,’ Jack murmured; he was beginning to feel nervous.

  There was no knocker on the unadorned plank door and his mother curled her fingers into a fist and knocked with her bare hand.

  ‘Who is it?’ a woman’s voice called out, and the dog continued barking.

  Jack looked up and saw his mother’s hesitation. He nudged her.

  ‘Dorothy,’ she called back in a croaky voice.

  Jack’s mouth opened. Dorothy? Not Delia then?

  ‘Dorothy who?’

  ‘Your daughter Dorothy. Remember me?’

  ‘We ’ave no daughter.’

  ‘Come on, Ma,’ Jack’s mother pleaded. ‘Open ’door, for pity’s sake. I’ve got the boy with me.’

  There was no answer for a minute and then they heard the bolt being drawn back and the door was opened a crack. ‘You can’t come in. You know that.’

  Jack came closer to his mother and peered through the opening. A heavy chain kept them out. Someone, an old woman, he thought, with a shawl over her head, was backlit by lamplight as she peered out into the darkness.

  ‘What do you want? Your father’s not in; he’ll be back soon and you’ll not want him to catch you here.’

  ‘He’ll be at the hostelry, I suppose. Some things don’t ever change.’ The boy heard the bitterness in his mother’s voice as she added, ‘Don’t you even want to meet your grandson?’

  ‘Why would I?’ the woman said.

  ‘I’d like him to meet his family.’

  ‘He has no family, not here at any rate. And it’s more’n my life’s worth to let you in, you know that.’ She began to close the door. ‘Try the other folk. Mebbe you’ll have better luck with them.’

  The door shut and they heard the bolt being drawn across. A moment later the curtain was closed at the window and they were left in darkness.

  ‘Come on.’ Jack pulled on his mother’s sleeve. ‘Let’s go. We didn’t want to stay here anyway, did we?’

  ‘I should have known better,’ she muttered as they walked away. ‘Why did I expect anything different? But I want you to be settled. I want you to go to school every day like other children, and have other children to play with, instead of tagging along with a bunch of mismatched theatre performers.’

  ‘I can read and write,’ he said, as she fastened the gate behind them. ‘And I know poetry, and – and Shakespeare.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ She led the way back towards Hedon. ‘It’s law that every child receives an education.’

  ‘Are we going to that inn?’ he asked, as he tramped behind her.

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve just enough money for one night. Then tomorrow I’ll have another think about what we can do next.’

  The woman in the cottage leaned her back against the door and the heavy curtain hanging from it folded about her. She took a deep shuddering breath. She had thought she would never see her again; and she’d dared to bring the boy. She must be braver now than she’d once been. Half an hour earlier and he would have been at home and all hell would have broken loose. Her name had never been mentioned since the day she’d left and he never once asked about her or where she had gone. He never saw the photo postcards she sent every year, for she burned them as soon as she’d looked at them. There was no trace of her having ever lived there.

  She shivered and went to sit by the fire, recalling the day when she had told Deakin about her own pregnancy; she had held off giving him the news for as long as possible so that he didn’t suspect anything, for she had discovered early in their marriage that he had a violent streak. He had slapped her face and told her that she was a fool and should get rid of it, but later he had relented and said she could keep it, but woe betide her if she became pregnant again.

  I wasn’t brave enough to leave him. I don’t know where I would have gone. A stranger to these parts just as Deakin was, and a long way from our home in Brixham; I couldn’t understand then why he was in such a hurry to come away, for there was a goo
d living to be made, and a prettier little town you never would find. But now I know why and I suppose he thought that no one would ever find him here.

  She glanced down at the mat beneath her feet where the floorboard creaked. He’s the fool, she thought in satisfaction, and he’ll get his come-uppance one day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was late when they arrived at the hostelry and the landlord looked at them warily.

  ‘I need a room for tonight,’ Delia told him. ‘Just for the two of us; myself and my son.’

  ‘I’ve just one room with a truckle bed; it’s a busy time.’

  It didn’t look busy, the boy thought as he glanced round the dimly lit bar, and then the landlord went on, ‘We’re getting ready for tomorrow, getting ’bar stocked up.’ He pointed to where barrels were stacked against a wall.

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Delia asked.

  ‘Hah! You’re not from round ’ere, I can tell. It’s ’iring fair tomorrow. We’re in Martinmas!’

  ‘Oh, of course! I’d forgotten,’ she said. ‘I used to love it when I was a bairn.’ She stopped abruptly, thinking she had said too much.

  ‘So you are from round ’ere, then?’

  ‘Erm, no. Over … York way. That’s where I was brought up. We’ve just come to see some friends in Hedon, but they’re away. I must have got the date wrong.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘But I remember them saying this was a hospitable place. You took some finding, though,’ she said after another tense hesitation.

  ‘Oh, aye, it can be if you don’t know ’way. Come on then. I’ll show you up.’

  The room was far superior to the one they had shared at Mrs Andrews’. An iron-framed double bed with a flowered bedspread and two soft pillows stood in the middle, with a chamber pot tucked beneath it; there was a matching jug and basin on a marble washstand against one wall, a fireplace with the grate ready laid with twigs and coal in the other, with a narrow wardrobe next to it, and a truckle bed under the window. Jack eagerly asked if he might have that.

  ‘Too old to sleep wi’ your ma, are you?’ The landlord gave the barest of grins.

  ‘No,’ his mother replied for him, ‘but he’s a wriggler. We’ll both sleep better apart. Will it be extra?’

  ‘Nay.’ He shook his head. ‘And ’price includes breakfast. But you’ll have to be out by ten, so’s we can get ready for ’rush at dinner time. Will you be wanting to eat tonight?’

  Jack saw his mother bite on her lip. He hoped she had enough money for supper. Then she nodded. ‘Something simple,’ she said, ‘so we’re not any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ he said. ‘I’ll get ’girl to light you a fire,’ he added as he left them.

  ‘This is nice,’ Jack said, trying out the truckle bed. His mother stretched out on the double bed.

  ‘It is, isn’t it? I think when we’ve had our supper we’ll have an early night, so we can be up early in the morning.’

  ‘Then where will we go?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I’ll show you the hiring fair in Hedon; there always used to be a lot going on when I was a girl.’ Then her animation disappeared and he saw her expression droop.

  ‘You told a fib, Mother,’ he chastised her. ‘Two fibs. You said you were from York, and—’

  ‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘There was a good reason and I’ll explain it all to you one day, but I didn’t want to tell him where I was from or anything at all, really, because one thing leads to another, and besides, who I was or where I’m from is nothing to do with anybody else.’

  ‘Not even me?’ he said in a small voice.

  ‘One day,’ she said softly, ‘I’ll tell you everything.’

  ‘Will there be roundabouts and things at the fair, like in London and Brighton?’

  ‘There might be, though it’s not an entertainment fair. It’s where people come at the end of a farming year to find new employment or where farmers come to find new workers. Those who are looking for work dress up to show what they can do,’ she explained. ‘For instance, a dairy maid will carry milk pails on a yoke or bring a three-legged milking stool; stable lads wear a harness round their necks or some horsehair in their caps, and a cowman mebbe carries a piece of cow tail. And although it’s a day of fun for those who are not looking for a job of work, it’s not for those who are seeking one, cos they have to stand in line whilst employers look them over. Rather degrading, I came to think as I grew up.’ She gave a sudden laugh. ‘And young lads who are looking for their first job are called Tommy Owt and are at everybody’s beck and call. Come on. Let’s go down and eat.’

  The bar was full of customers, but the landlord had set two places at a table for them and brought onion soup with thick slices of bread, and then plates of meat pie brimming with gravy and a dish of mashed potato, turnip and cabbage. They both refused apple pie for dessert, though Jack was tempted in spite of being full.

  ‘Best food I’ve ever tasted,’ he whispered to his mother and she agreed.

  The fire was lit and the room warm when they went up, and both fell asleep almost as soon as they got into bed. Jack woke early and heard strange noises, and as a grey dawn began to lighten the sky he could hear birds whistling.

  ‘Mother,’ he whispered, ‘there are a lot of birds outside. Have they got an aviary, do you think? And I heard a dog barking during the night.’

  ‘It might have been a fox,’ she murmured sleepily. ‘You’re in the country now and the birds are waking up and singing in a new day. In spring and summer they start very early, about four o’clock or so – as soon as day breaks.’

  ‘I like it,’ he said, turning over to face her. ‘It’s better than hearing wagons and cabs trundling past.’

  ‘Oh, you can hear wagons here too, especially at harvest time; the wagoners begin very early.’

  He sat up in bed and leaned on his elbow as he looked across at her. ‘Why did you leave home? Was it because you wanted to be a singer and your parents didn’t want you to?’

  She tucked her hand beneath her cheek and gave a deep sigh, blinking her eyes awake. ‘That’s another thing I’ll tell you about one day,’ she said. ‘When you’re older.’

  He rolled out of bed and went to the window. It was barely light and a frost had draped fine cobwebs over the branches. A small terrier wandered over the grass and cocked his leg against one of the trees. Terriers were yappy dogs; it wasn’t his bark he’d heard during the night. His mother must be right; he liked to think it was a fox he’d heard.

  After a substantial breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausages and an enormous pot of tea, they collected their few belongings, paid the bill, thanked the landlord, and went on their way, but first of all they walked along the narrow trickle of a stream that was all that was left of the Hedon haven. Jack found it difficult to imagine that large ships used to sail up it from the Humber.

  ‘It was a long, long time ago,’ his mother told him. ‘Before my time, or even my parents’ time. It was when Hull became a successful port that Hedon’s shipping failed and the haven dried up.’

  They walked on towards the town and into Market Place and already there was a buzz of conversation and shouts of laughter coming from a crowd of young people gathered there. As his mother had said, there were dairy maids carrying milking stools and servant girls wearing mob caps or carrying feather dusters, trying to impress sour-faced housekeepers dressed in black bombazine and carrying umbrellas and large leather bags. Some of the young girls were not staying in Market Place but heading for the town hall, and his mother said that perhaps the rules had changed about exchanging contracts with only a handshake.

  Horse lads chewed on pieces of straw as they joked with their peers, and gentlemen in tweed jackets and sturdy well-polished boots were walking amongst them and asking questions, as were rough-skinned, red-faced farmers dressed in cord breeches and jackets who barked interrogations to determine the suitability of raw and tongue-tied working lads.

  He watched as a young boy
performed a clog dance, and a small girl tucked into a shop doorway sang sweetly to the accompaniment of her father’s concertina and nodded her thanks as people threw coins into a cap on the ground. I’d be able to quote Shakespeare, he thought, except that I don’t know the full verses but only parts of them. Arthur Crawshaw only ever asked him to read the first few lines of a speech so that he might prompt him to begin his recitation, as he said that once Jack had started he could remember the rest.

  He suddenly missed Arthur; he thought of how he used to turn up, even if he wasn’t appearing in the same theatre as his mother, and shake him by the hand as if he were a properly grown-up person. I wish he would turn up now, Jack thought. Arthur would know what to do. He would be able to advise her.

  ‘Come on,’ his mother said. ‘I’ll take you to see the church; it’s a very important one.’ They walked out of the Market Place and turned a corner and there it was on a slight rise in front of them. ‘It’s very ancient,’ she told him. ‘It’s called the King of Holderness.’

  He nodded. It was very fine, he thought, but really he wanted to go back to the busy Market Place and watch the local folk; the way they behaved and talked. He couldn’t understand all of what they were saying. They spoke quite differently from people in the south, especially those from London or Brighton. Those were the places he knew best, even though – he mentally counted where else he had been – he also knew Oxford, where they had stayed for a couple of seasons, and Manchester, where his mother had been booked for a season but left after a week, for it wasn’t a theatre at all but a tavern where customers chatted and drank whilst she sang … and then there was Glasgow. He had overheard her telling Arthur Crawshaw, when they returned to the south, that she would never in her life go to Scotland again, for the patrons were bawdy, rude and very suggestive.

  What the patrons had suggested he never did find out, as his mother hadn’t said and Arthur Crawshaw had just shaken his head and tutted and said that it wasn’t fitting for a lady to visit such places. Now he wished that he had taken more notice, but then, he reminded himself, he had only been about six or seven years old at the time.