Field of Dust

by Angela Jean Young

  Flossie left that last part out of her letter. Kate was entitled to her opinion, but no one deserved to die at the hands of a merciless killer.

  Come November, the last of the Whitechapel murders was still filling the pages of the newspapers, but Flossie had neither the time nor the inclination to read any more gruesome details. There were more pressing matters to deal with at home. All of Sam’s children had contracted whooping cough and there was real concern over the tiny baby Ada Eliza, who had only been brought into the world in August. To avoid his children becoming infected, Joe Ollerenshaw managed to find alternative lodgings for his family.

  The Gant house became eerily quiet. By day the children had to be kept calm so as not to provoke coughing fits. By night Flossie and Lizzie sat up trying to prevent them from choking. Battling tiredness, Flossie was relieved when Sam returned one day having found the money to buy some tincture of belladonna to help reduce the severity of the coughing fits. One by one the tots slowly recovered, except for the baby. By the end of the month and quite blue with lack of oxygen, Ada passed away. She was barely three months old. Another tiny coffin, thought Flossie.

  ‘Why don’t you move in here?’ Lizzie suggested not long after. ‘Now the Ollerenshaws have settled elsewhere, you can have their room. It’ll be company for me and the children would love it.’

  It didn’t take Flossie long to decide. Having a room to herself – even with small children rarely out of it – was a luxury she’d never experienced before. Besides, she could afford to pay a fair rent, having just been offered advancement at Northfleet House which, fortunately, didn’t require her to live in. Miss Elizabeth Knight had recently come of age and required a lady’s maid from seven in the morning until seven in the evening. Florence Gant was moving up in the world, and ironing newspapers was now definitely beneath her. Not that this lessened her thirst for information. Any chance she could get to read the news was taken, with cuttings of stories sent on to Lottie in Canada. Lottie, of course, was delighted, except perhaps for the rather gruesome report of a relatively unknown Dutch painter cutting off his own ear just before Christmas. A decidedly queer and miserable way to start the festivities, sister dear, Lottie remarked by return.

  Christmas at Lawn Road was anything but miserable, however. Flossie had bought warm coats from Nottons outfitters for the children, and was as pleased as punch to spot a newly devised board game in a toyshop window nearby. Snakes and Ladders quickly became everyone’s favourite game, and when Lizzie read on the box that the idea had been conjured up in India, it became even more exciting.

  Listening to little Henrietta squealing with delight when she discovered a straw doll at the end of her bed took Flossie back to the time when she and Lottie had received similar dolls from Sam. My, she thought, how innocent they had been then. She could still remember her own doll vividly, straw escaping from its thin calico casing after being kept hidden under her pillow at Dr Barnardo’s. Eventually it was so ragged that it had to be thrown away and, along with it, the last memory of happy times in The Creek.

  Now things had turned almost full circle, and for the first time in many a year she felt contented. I might be living in a different house as part of a different family, she thought, but with Sam still at the helm it feels quite normal. Like so many growing families all around them, there was never enough money to go round, but what he and Lizzie couldn’t give their children in terms of possessions, they made up for in love and attention.

  Flossie felt their affection enveloping her too, and was moved to tears when, a few weeks into the New Year, on her twentieth birthday, she came home from work to find a gathering of the masses in her honour. There was hardly room to breathe as the Gants, Baileys, Ollerenshaws, Larkins and Annie Devonshire crammed into every nook and cranny of the parlour, kitchen and scullery.

  ‘At least we can save coal money tonight,’ Sam quipped. ‘All these bodies means plenty of heat to go round.’

  Birthdays had always been ‘just another day’ throughout her childhood. Mary had no time for such things, and it was much the same at Barkingside. At Lawn Road, though, they were considered worthy of celebration. Flossie felt embarrassed to be the centre of attention when gifts were bestowed on her even by the children, and Kate had made an enormous cake.

  ‘Be just my luck to get the thimble in my piece,’ Jessie said forlornly. ‘I’m destined to be embroidering for the rest of my life.’ Pulling a handkerchief out of her sleeve, she dabbed mock tears from her eyes and turned away.

  Flossie laughed out loud. ‘You’ll never be a spinster, Jessie Larkin,’ she said with a giggle. ‘You’re bound to get the coin. I’m the one that’s going to get the thimble.’

  Reflecting for a moment on what she had just said, Flossie wondered if she would ever meet a man with whom she could share her dreams and live in her own house like this. Looking around, she smiled at the cement dust on the floorboards, tramped in by numerous hobnailed boots. Opening the front door, she felt the heavily laden, gritty air wafting around her and watched the men from the factories heading off for their evening drink at the pub. A distant foghorn sounded from a passing ship. Suddenly she had an overwhelming sense of happiness. For the first time, she felt truly secure. This was where she belonged.

  ‘It’ll be good to get away from the freezing damp for a day,’ said Sam, wrapping scarves around his children. ‘And it won’t cost very much, only a few pennies on the train. The tram and the ferry will be free.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe, mixing with so many people?’ Lizzie said, a note of concern in her voice. She hadn’t let her children out during the winter due to a flu epidemic, and now rumours were spreading about an outbreak of typhoid fever in Portland Road. ‘Ten children in seven houses, Sam. When the little ones are digging in the brickworks breeze at the end of the road the stench is terrible. There’s dead dogs and cats in the heap.’

  ‘I think it’s more to do with shallow wells, my love. The water company have been urged to lay down water mains,’ Sam reassured her. ‘Besides, we can’t stay in forever; it’s nearly the end of March.’

  Lizzie reluctantly agreed and within minutes everyone was suited and booted and off on their new adventure.

  ‘How does the tram move without a horse pulling it?’ Henrietta enquired, pulling on her father’s arm.

  ‘By electrical traction,’ Sam answered matter-of-factly. ‘We’ve got one of the first electric tramways in the world. Only running from The Leather Bottle to Huggens College, but it’s a start.’

  ‘What’s “electric” mean?’ Henrietta responded, totally flummoxed.

  ‘Something that makes horse-power without needing a horse. It makes big things like tramcars move as if by magic.’

  The idea of a magic ride pleased Henrietta. Sam silently hoped there wouldn’t be too many more questions like that, as he was already out of his depth. By this time they were now at Susannah Cottages, where his eldest daughter collected the Ollerenshaw children. Once assembled, the troupe made their way to the new stop where they watched in awe as the mysterious horseless carriage came round the corner with Series Electrical Traction System painted along its side.

  ‘Well, that was a new experience,’ Sam said with a laugh as they alighted at the station. ‘A glimpse of the future, no doubt about that.’

  ‘Still prefer the old horse,’ Flossie mumbled, rearranging her hair after the juddering, stop-and-start ride.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ contested Lizzie. ‘I was on a tram when Strickland upholsterers caught fire. Horse was commandeered by the fire brigade, leaving me and all the other passengers stranded!’

  The station platform was crowded with other like-minded travellers, smoke from the oncoming locomotive causing them to cough and splutter. Sam pushed his way on board, grabbing each child as they were passed up to him by Lizzie and Flossie. The tiny ones needed consoling once on a lap as the thundering giant
had given them a considerable fright. Every spare handkerchief was needed to wipe their eyes and clean their smutty faces. Thankfully it didn’t take long to reach Woolwich Arsenal, the main focus of their day, and soon they were making their way through the busy town.

  It was an auspicious occasion. 23rd March 1889 – the day on which the Free Ferry was to be officially declared open. Woolwich town was decorated with flags and bunting. All the streets on the way to the river were lined with volunteers from the local artillery, so Sam found a suitable spot for the family to stand, giving them the best view. Thankfully they didn’t have to wait long before a huge procession could be seen in the distance, preceded by mounted police and followed by local traders and associations with their banners and bands. Sam lifted each child, one after the other, onto his shoulders so as to catch a glimpse of the open carriages carrying all the local dignitaries.

  Thousands of people surged slowly towards the riverside where the 154-foot-long Gordon, a side-loading paddle steamer with shiny black hulls and funnels, was waiting to make its first crossing. After the officials had boarded, the Gant women, skirts lifted well above their ankles and a child perched on their shoulders or balanced underarm, joined the undignified scramble to be amongst the hundreds squeezing through the makeshift turnstile onto the pristine vessel.

  Being capable of a speed of eight knots, it didn’t take long to reach the North Woolwich side, where the great and the good were met by yet another procession. Before the party recrossed the Thames, Lord Roseberry, leader of the newly formed London County Council, stood atop his carriage to declare the ferry ‘open and free forever’.

  On the way back the vessel had to stop to let a large ship pass. While this was going on, Sam and Lizzie found time to take the children to the door of the engine room, where they stood and watched the mighty machines power the paddle wheels.

  Finding herself alone for a brief moment, Flossie was idly watching the crew going about their business when a young deckhand caught her attention. His features and mannerisms seemed strangely familiar. Trying not to appear too interested, she cast her eyes at him again and realised he was Albert Bull’s older brother, Stanley, last seen by her when he was working on the Thames pleasure boats. He seemed extremely proficient at his tasks, giving orders to his subordinates, and a quick mental calculation told her that he had to be around twenty-three years of age by now. Although not particularly handsome, there was something about his strong, muscular physique that she found very appealing. Just as well this ferry is free, she thought to herself. I know where Jess and I will be spending our next afternoon off together…

  16

  Stanley Bull was leaning nonchalantly against one of the guard rails, smiling broadly at the girls.

  ‘That first weekend the Gordon came into operation, we had twenty-five thousand people making the crossing,’ he told them as he flicked ash from his penny cigarette over the side of the ferry. ‘Word got out that there was going to be a bare-knuckle fight somewhere on the Kent marshes. Londoners came out in droves. When the police stopped it, the contestants rowed across to Essex, so we were full going back as well!’

  ‘My goodness,’ Jessie responded coquettishly, running her hands through her long hair as she did so. ‘You must have worked really hard. It’s a good thing you’re so strong.’

  Flossie almost choked with embarrassment. She knew Jess was an unashamed flirt, but this really took the cake.

  ‘I’ve seen a few men smoking those new cigarettes in the hotel where I work,’ Jess continued, twisting a stray ringlet around her finger. ‘They make you look very manly. What are they called?’

  ‘Woodbines, five a penny,’ Stanley confirmed, taking a final puff and casting the stub into the river. ‘Listen, I’d better be getting back to work. This is two Sundays in a row I’ve stopped to talk to you two fair princesses. You’ll be getting me the sack.’

  Taking Jessie’s hand in his, he briefly kissed the back of it before rushing off. ‘Bye, Flossie,’ he shouted as he disappeared behind one of the churning paddle wheels.

  From the look in Jessie’s eyes, it was clear she was completely besotted. ‘Did you see the way he touched me, Floss?’ she said, spinning round on the deck. ‘The twinkle in his eye when he smiled at me? Do you really think he likes me?’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a minute, Jess dearest. He only had eyes for you.’

  Realising that this sounded a little like sour grapes, she turned and strolled over to the other side of the deck. It was true that she, too, found Stanley attractive, but Jess seemed to be falling head over heels in love with him after just a couple of meetings. So was this a little pang of jealousy? After all, it wasn’t as if Jess had stolen him from her.

  It didn’t take Stanley long to seek Jessie out on dry land. Flossie could see that he was proving to be the perfect beau for her friend, and fortunately was happy enough to act as their chaperone when walking out. The three of them often found themselves mulling over their respective upbringings in The Creek and Dock Row, and all the experiences they had shared since childhood.

  Flossie had been terribly shocked on learning that Albert Bull had died four years earlier fighting for Queen and country in the Sudan, but now, listening to his older brother describe the circumstances, she was overcome with sadness. It had always been the conscientious and steadfast Albert who could be relied upon to build the children’s camp while the others were climbing trees or swinging on ropes, so it was no surprise that he saw it as his duty to join the army as soon as he came of age. Signing up with the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment, he only got in when the infantry lowered their minimum height requirement by three inches to five foot three, acknowledging that men from the urban slums were part of a shrinking generation due to the fall in nutritional standards.

  Having proudly accepted his despatch to Khartoum as part of the Gordon Relief Expedition, Albert marched across the desert to the aid of the besieged General Gordon, only to fall at the Battle of Abu Klea, fighting bravely against the Mahdi’s forces.

  ‘He never got to see his fellow soldiers in the British Desert Column emerge victorious that day,’ Stanley told the girls. ‘Probably just as well, though. They arrived two days too late to stop our brave general, and the garrison, from being massacred.’

  Flossie shivered at the thought of young Albert dying out there in the African desert. Losing a life to illness or poverty on their own doorstep was somehow understandable, but to die in battle thousands of miles away was unfathomable.

  ‘If Gladstone hadn’t delayed the rescue,’ Stanley snarled, ‘Albert’s death might not have been in vain. Our ma’s never got over it.’

  Jessie stroked Stanley’s arm affectionately, aware that his brother’s loss had wounded the Bull family very deeply. For all the pride they felt, there was an equal measure of pain to deal with. Flossie turned away with tears in her eyes, flashes of their childhood adventures evoking memories of scrambling around steep-sided disused chalk pits and sitting on jetty walls watching the clippers unfurling their sails in the sunset as they made their way down the estuary towards the open sea.

  At the beginning of June, Flossie, Jess and Kate Bailey managed to get the increasingly frail Annie Devonshire onto a tram. She had been saying for ages that she wanted to witness Gravesend’s new clock tower being formally dedicated, so the women were determined to get her there. It was obvious to everyone that this was likely to be Annie’s last outing and it was only dogged determination that eventually enabled her to straighten her body and lift her eyes to admire the finished fifty-foot tower in all its Portland stone glory.

  It had been two years since the foundation stone had been laid at the top of Harmer Street as part of the Queen’s jubilee celebrations. Finally, enough money had been raised to complete the building. Annie clapped as the mayor started the clock just before midday, informing the assembled audience that, come evening, the dials
would automatically be lit by gaslight, which would turn itself off again in daylight. It seemed nothing short of miraculous.

  Flossie was pleased they had made the effort because Annie went steadily downhill after that. Prolonged humidity dampening lungs already clogged with cement dust proved too much for her. The delightful old lady with whom she had loved spending so much time died peacefully in her favourite chair. St. Botolph’s was full of townsfolk whose lives she had touched, and because she had led a long, fulfilling life, her funeral service was reflective rather than sad.

  After Annie’s favourite hymn, which she called For Those in Peril on the Sea, Flossie gave the eulogy. Surprising herself for having the courage to stand at the pulpit, she told the congregation how much she had loved hearing Annie’s colourful stories and how they had taught her so much history. She regaled them with humorous anecdotes about the visit to the Grand Exhibition at the glittering Crystal Palace, where Annie was more impressed by the shimmering four-ton pink glass fountain than the famous Koh-i-Noor diamond, which she said didn’t sparkle nearly enough. And although she had marvelled at the full-sized trees growing inside the palace and the miles of exhibits of every conceivable invention, it was Northfleet’s own Portland cement stand that she was most proud of. The only thing that had really niggled her was Robins paying the entry fee for their workers, yet leaving her to find her own shilling.

  After a respectful time at the graveside, the congregation made their way back to the riverside and piled into The Huggens Arms. Raising their glasses to a ‘stalwart of The Creek’, everyone acknowledged that she would be sorely missed.

  Lizzie caught sight of Flossie sitting alone in a corner. ‘I know it’s an odd time to be telling you this,’ she whispered, sidling up to her, ‘but you look like a bit of good news might not go amiss.’