Field of Dust

by Angela Jean Young

  The children laughed hysterically as one barefooted man after another slithered no more than a few inches along a greasy pole before sliding off into the water. Climbing back again, each continued the hopeless pursuit until one was finally declared a sodden winner, with another, a well-deserving runner-up. (First prize: a pig; second prize: a leg of mutton.)

  No sooner had the hilarity died down than a display of daytime fireworks filled the sky – much to Alfred’s dismay. It was the first time the four-year-old had witnessed pyrotechnics, and only the promise of an immediate penny lick seemed likely to placate him.

  The more serious events got underway just before 4 o’clock with a Training Ship Boys Race (first prize: two pounds and ten shillings), and a Four-Oared Amateur Race (first prize: five pounds and five shillings; second: five silver pencil cases; third: five silver-mounted briar pipes).

  Then at a quarter past five came the race Flossie was waiting for – the Pair-Oared Amateur Race, rowed on the ebb tide. Having won his earlier heat, Henry was about to row in the final. As the white flag was hoisted on the committee boat, Flossie knew she had little time to squeeze to the front of the crowd before the start. Leaving her family behind, she weaved her way forward, realising that the perfect vantage point would be on the beach. Several men had already breached the barrier, but she was to be the first woman. Grateful for years of practice in The Creek, she lifted her skirts and, casting care aside, made her way expertly across pebbles, seaweed, tar and broken glass to the water’s edge. With the finishing line now in view, she barely had time to catch her breath before the starting gun boomed across the water from the Clifton Baths Club House.

  Everyone peered into the distance, trying to catch their first glimpse of the sweep boats as they rounded Terrace Pier and then yelling encouragement as soon as they did so. Flossie watched in amazement at how two rowers, each working one oar, could make their small boats appear so totally at home on the heaving river. As the pair in the lead rounded the east flag and emerged from the shadows, Henry’s mop of yellow hair shone in the light and his stroke-side reflection danced artfully on the water. Flossie could barely contain her heart’s thumping as she observed him in mid-drive, legs pushing, arms extended in the power part of the stroke. He and his upright partner, both strong men, were perfectly harmonious and in time. It seemed they were sure to win, but the second boat was closing in and as they headed for the upper yacht buoy, the exactness of its rowers placed it smoothly and expertly in the lead.

  Trailing for what seemed like an age, Henry’s dogged determination finally came into play. His chest swelled as he began to dig deeper, encouraging his partner to do the same. The boats were neck and neck right up to the finish. Flossie screamed till she was hoarse and then cried with delight as the bow of Henry’s boat passed the finishing line first – by a whisker. As the winning colours were hoisted on the committee boat, the victor, dripping with sweat, headed across the beach. Grabbing Flossie round the waist and spinning her round until her bonnet fell down her back; he squeezed her tightly and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  It had been four months since Jess and Stanley’s wedding. Union business had kept Henry very busy, but he made sure he took every opportunity to walk out with Flossie on her precious free afternoons. They had talked and laughed, held hands and secretly kissed. Flossie had no doubts about her feelings. Henry Luck was the man for her.

  Now, standing next to him as the final of the Free Waterman’s Race started, she found it impossible to concentrate. Racing in old-fashioned wager boats, each competitor knew the stakes were high and no one wanted to come second, particularly as the first prize was a pristine boat. Henry jumped up and down frantically, yelling, and when, suddenly, the cheering erupted into tumultuous applause, Flossie realised that she hadn’t even noticed who had won.

  ‘J. Jennings,’ shouted Henry. ‘Good for him. He’ll be set up for life with that boat.’

  Flossie looked up at him and smiled at his boyish enthusiasm.

  With all the events over, it was time for the prize-giving. As the band of the Queen’s Westminster Rifles heralded the arrival of the Countess of Darnley, Henry made his way to the Clarendon Hotel’s beautifully illuminated lawn while Flossie wended her way back to Lizzie.

  Old Tom Handley got a special cheer from the children as he collected his prize for coming second in the Veteran Scullers Race. Lizzie wondered what use he’d make of the cruet that was placed in his huge hands, but reckoned he’d find the 15cwt of coals useful. Soon it was Henry’s turn. He stepped forward to receive his prize of a set of binocular glasses, then, after thanking the Countess, turned to the applauding audience and gave a short, theatrical bow. The mischievous glint in his eye was not lost on Flossie.

  It was getting late. Lizzie made for home, leaving Henry and Flossie holding hands in the dark during the magnificent display of aquatic fireworks that sparkled and shimmered across the River Thames, transforming it into quite the most magical place.

  Walking back through the Fort Gardens, Henry pulled Flossie up the steps of the new bandstand and out of view. As he kissed her passionately, she felt her legs giving way under her.

  On 5th November, a telegram from Lottie in Toronto arrived at Stanhope Gardens. Its contents threw Flossie into turmoil. No matter how many times she reread the dozen or so words, she could barely believe what it was saying.

  No time to write.

  Leave Quebec November 8th on S/S Parisian.

  Arrive Liverpool 16th via Londonderry.

  Will go to Crick.

  Lottie and Andrew McPherson.

  Concentrating on Elizabeth Knight’s list of chores was almost impossible for the rest of the day, and it was a relief when seven o’clock arrived. Henry had planned for them to celebrate Bonfire Night on Hampstead Heath, and whilst Flossie knew that the event was likely to be spirited, she looked forward to telling him her news.

  Meeting at South Kensington, the couple crammed onto an already packed tram. Guy Fawkes Day attracted many thousands of people from all over the metropolis and everyone was out for a good evening. Competing against numerous loud voices, Henry just about got the gist of the telegram’s revelation. He was amused by Flossie’s undeniable excitement, her cheeks flushing as she gabbled ten to the dozen. Unable to get a word in edgeways, he finally signalled to her that they had reached their stop at The Hare and Hounds Hotel.

  On leaving the confined safety of the tram, they quickly found themselves in the middle of a large gang freely discharging firecrackers in the street. People were piling out of the many alehouses to await the procession, most the worst for drink. Henry held on to Flossie’s hand tightly as he found a place for them to stand away from carts pulled by boys bearing elaborate ‘guys’.

  At nine o’clock torchbearers arrived in a blaze of red and green fire, followed by a masquerade of characters including court minstrels, clowns, Spanish cavaliers and brigands. A brass band heralded the arrival of Britannia, behind which everyone surged onto the Heath where an immense fire lit the sky. Bonfire boys clad in every conceivable disguise promenaded with tar barrels before hurling them onto the fire. A great cheer went up as the effigies of Guy Fawkes burnt ferociously.

  As the crowd began to drift away, Flossie took advantage of the glow from the embers to show Henry her telegram.

  ‘I will have to make a trip home on Sunday to inform every one of their arrival,’ she declared.

  ‘But that’s only a week away,’ Lizzie said, trying her hardest to think where her guests would sleep.

  ‘Our little Lottie, married,’ Kate sighed. ‘I long to hear all the details.’

  Sam remained silent. With so little information he was inclined to wait until he saw the couple before making any judgement.

  ‘I think she’s grown into a sensible young woman,’ Flossie whispered, sensing his unease with all the enthusiasm. ‘I share your concerns, but I cann
ot fault the way she has remained true to Andrew these past three years.’

  ‘I hope you are right, my dearest Floss, but I’ll reserve judgement until I have seen her for myself,’ Sam replied, unconvinced. ‘Meanwhile, I’m off to watch our football team.’

  Heading off along Stonebridge Road, away from the excited women for a couple of hours, the thought of spending time at the newly formed Northfleet United Club was just what he needed. Not daring to air his suspicions, he feared more than anything that Lottie would be like her mother, having picked a wrong ’un and now looking for money. That, he knew, would break Flossie’s heart.

  It was only fair, Andrew thought, seeing as they were to spend their married life together in the Highlands, that his new wife should have her way now. So no sooner had they disembarked from their ship than they travelled straight to Northfleet. Cold and tired, Andrew had let Lottie talk non-stop about ‘The Crick’, but now, standing on the pavement outside Kate Bailey’s terraced cottage, he was somewhat bemused as to what had made her so determined. The street looked dismal to him: small dwellings covered in grime and full of runny-nosed children sitting on doorsteps, despite it getting dark. Struggling with their luggage from the station, the surrounding terrain was nothing like he had ever encountered before: massive chalk rocks that had been extensively quarried, leaving huge pits and perilous cliffs; cement factory after cement factory lining the riverside, emitting ear-piercing noises and dust that was already filling his lungs and boots. It was a far cry from the wilderness he was used to in both Manitoba and Scotland.

  Kate was expecting the knock on her front door. It was only natural, she thought, that Lottie would come to her first. With tears in her eyes, she beckoned them into her warm and welcoming home.

  Once they had some hot food inside them, Andrew soon revived and they all talked well into the night. Reminiscing about the past and discussing the future, both Kate and Lottie were full of questions. Life in Canada, Andrew’s family, Sam and Lizzie, Mary and, of course, Flossie.

  Kate warmed to Andrew straight away. ‘A respectable, responsible young man and a good match for Lottie,’ she revealed to a prying Bessie Turner the next day.

  Sam thought so too, which allayed his fears and brought him a great sense of relief. He also saw that the Scotsman was strong-minded, something he would need to be with Lottie. Taken aback by how much she looked like her mother in the early days, he was reminded of why he had found Mary so irresistible. Setting his doubts aside, Sam soon fell under the young woman’s spell, finding her enthusiasm and optimism admirable and her acceptance of his own failures humbling.

  Watching Lottie playing with the children, Lizzie was less enraptured. She was grateful that Kate had offered the newly married couple her front room. It had been easy to accept Flossie back into her family; she was so unlike her mother. But Lottie’s similarity was far harder to swallow, bringing back too many painful memories. Looking at herself in the mirror, her body altered by her sixth pregnancy, Lizzie couldn’t help feeling jealous of this beautiful young woman who appeared to have stolen Sam’s heart just like her mother had. With hormones raging and emotions out of control, she wished Flossie were there to keep Lottie in her place.

  ‘I am returning to university this weekend, Florence,’ said Elizabeth Knight. ‘There will be no work left here on my account, so I’ll speak to my mother to see if she will allow you to have a few days to reacquaint yourself with your sister.’

  Flossie tried not to show her excitement. Hannah Knight did not share her daughter’s compassion and had little interest in her staff. Miss Elizabeth often talked to Flossie. She knew all about the girls being abandoned at a home for destitute children, and Lottie’s transportation to Canada. Flossie occasionally wondered if her interest was more to do with studying the lower classes than genuine concern for them, but she tried not to be churlish. Despite being the same age and having been brought up within yards of each other, there was precious little similarity between Elizabeth’s experiences at Hive House, with its ten bedrooms, and Flossie’s two-up, two-down in The Creek. John Knight may have been dead ten years, but his widow and daughter never wanted for anything. Elizabeth was intelligent enough to know that they owed their great fortune to the hard toil of those he employed in his cement factory.

  Fortunately for Flossie, Miss Knight was also a determined young lady and could be very forceful. She convinced her mother to allow her maid a week off. It was without pay, of course, but as Elizabeth set off for Cambridge she handed Flossie an envelope. For expenses, it said on the outside.

  Flossie spent the entire train journey to Northfleet trying to remember the young child she had watched marching out of the mighty gates of Dr Barnardo’s. Then Lottie had been a bright-eyed, pretty little thing with golden ringlets, adept at getting her own way. There were times, Flossie had to admit, when her tantrums became insufferable, but mostly she was a loving, happy child who needed her older sister’s protection. It all seemed such a long time ago, especially as that child was now a married woman.

  As she slammed shut the carriage door, Flossie momentarily thought she was hearing things.

  ‘Floss, Flossie? Are you there?’ The voice was unmistakable. Emerging through the billowing smoke and steam, Lottie rushed forward and threw her arms around her sister. The two women hugged until neither could breathe, their tears mingling, the years simply melting away. It was a moment Flossie never dreamt would ever happen.

  19

  Sam stood and stared up at the stars in the cloudless sky. He’d been sent to the coal bunker to scrape out what he could to keep the fire in Kate and William’s grate from going out. Doing up his coat buttons to keep out the cold, he took his time gathering his thoughts before returning. He was glad that the ‘reunion meal’, as Kate kept calling it, was being held at her house. Lizzie was losing her patience – and her temper – with him the nearer she got to giving birth. It had been out of the question to host any celebration at their house. Nevertheless, he was relieved that Flossie was staying at home with them during her week off as she definitely improved his wife’s mood.

  What he couldn’t fathom was why his daughter was walking out with Henry Luck. Remembering Henry as a young boy, Sam had never understood why the likes of Albert Bull and others seemed to hang on his every word. His bragging used to irritate, especially knowing how he came from Dock Row where the cesspits were always overflowing into the back gardens and people chucked their slops out into the street. The Crick certainly wasn’t Paradise, but Dock Row was scarcely fit for habitation. Now, his speeches encouraging the workers to join the union annoyed Sam even more. Protecting workers’ rights was an admirable cause, but anything that put the backs of the employers up just led to more job losses, and that wasn’t something anyone could afford to take a chance on. The factories were already struggling and the writing was on the wall for some of them. But which ones? The idea that Bevan’s might be forced to close didn’t bear thinking about.

  Shrugging his shoulders, determined not to let such bleak thoughts spoil the evening, Sam carried the ancient coal scuttle back into the scullery. He’d just about come to terms with Lottie being married, so if Flossie was heading the same way, he’d better seem pleased for her. He had to admit it was heartening to see both young women happy, and now that they were together again, everyone’s day would be brightened up with their chatter and laughter.

  It had been decided that Lottie and Andrew would stay until the day after Boxing Day, after which they would set off for the Highlands of Scotland, arriving, weather permitting, in time for Hogmanay. Kate was overjoyed that her kitchen would be full to bursting yet again. Filled with enthusiasm, she couldn’t imagine anything putting a dampener on the occasion.

  It was Bessie Turner who spotted her first. Scrubbing the doorstep had given her backache, so she was leaning on the windowsill to rest awhile when an unmistakable woman with wild red hair escaping from a f
aded red chenille bonnet turned the corner of Grove Road and entered The Creek. Scarcely believing her own eyes, Bessie watched, transfixed, as the woman hesitated slightly before entering The Hope.

  Knocking the bucket over in her haste to get inside, Bessie shouted for her husband. ‘Jacob! She’s back, that Mary Grant! Gone in The Hope. Can you believe it? Better not come knocking on our door.’

  ‘She might, if she thinks Sam still lives here,’ Jacob replied, a note of trepidation in his voice.

  Full of Dutch courage, Mary Oxer was soon staggering down The Creek. Bessie had been keeping an eye out for her and was scraping dust off her window as Mary rapped the door knocker at Kate Bailey’s house next door.

  ‘Fancy you having the nerve to show your face down here again, Mary Grant,’ Bessie spat, having had plenty of time to practise her words.

  Mary turned, momentarily confused. Before she had time to answer, Kate opened the door and gasped.

  ‘My God, Mary, whatever are you doing here?’ she said, visibly shocked at how ten years of heavy drinking had taken its toll on her old neighbour.

  ‘I’ve come to see my daughters,’ Mary slurred, slumping against the wall.

  Kate pulled the dishevelled woman across her threshold, grabbed a chair and helped her into it. ‘I can’t say I am pleased to see you, Mary,’ she continued, shaking her head. ‘It’s frankly a good thing that Flossie has gone back to London and is not here to witness this.’

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s my Lottie I’ve really come for. Back from Canada with a husband, I hear. She’ll be pleased to see me.’