Field of Dust

by Angela Jean Young

  But the thing that caught Flossie’s eye was Emma’s role in setting up the Women’s Union Swimming Club in 1878, following the huge death toll in the Princess Alice paddle steamer accident on the River Thames. She revealed that because women had limited opportunities to learn how to swim, they would not have known how to save themselves in such an accident. Flossie remembered Henry counting the bodies of women and children as they floated downriver, and the men on Bevan’s Spry fishing them out of the water. Reading about the accident again sent a shiver down her spine.

  20

  Flossie had been enjoying an early dinner with Henry at The Gaiety in the Strand when he proposed to her. The restaurant was extremely busy and she could barely hear what he was saying, but the look of adoration in his eyes as he took her hand was unmistakable. Of course she accepted without hesitation, and the pair left the restaurant lost in their own world.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ Henry said as they strolled up Bow Street.

  ‘Another surprise?’ Flossie asked playfully.

  ‘I’m full of surprises,’ he laughed.

  Turning the corner, there, lit up by burning torches, stood the magnificent Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.

  ‘Harry Relph!’ Flossie exclaimed on seeing the posters advertising the leading man in the Christmas pantomime. ‘Oh, Henry, how wonderful.’

  Henry had told Flossie they were going to the music hall, but not that they were going to the Theatre Royal to see a young man they had last encountered tap-dancing on the cellar flap at The Elephant’s Head when they were children. Harry Relph had gradually worked his way to stardom. From earning pennies outside Rosherville Pleasure Gardens to pounds appearing in music halls across London, he had become famous touring America as ‘Little Tich’, as he now called himself, and was back in London performing with Marie Lloyd and Dan Leno in one of Drury Lane’s extravagant productions.

  Henry and Floss were thoroughly entertained watching Tich in the title role of Humpty Dumpty, where the skills displayed in his new big-boot dance captivated the audience. Standing on the tips of his twenty-eight-inch shoes and leaning at extraordinary angles, he had people crying with laughter. The ‘Young Tichborne’ had clearly come a long way.

  The show provided the perfect end to the perfect day and there was much to discuss as Henry escorted his new fiancée back to her lodgings in Earl’s Court. Kissing goodbye, Flossie couldn’t have been happier. For the first time, her future seemed to be mapped out with some degree of certainty.

  Kate Bailey was in her element when it came to the big day. A summer wedding was the best time for flower-arranging and St. Botolph’s looked glorious. She sat in the front row, hoping to take advantage of a few minutes’ calm, but it didn’t last long. Henry and Edward – his brother and best man – followed by the ushers Stanley Bull and Andrew McPherson, came through the heavy, creaking door and began pacing the nave. Kate could do nothing but smile.

  Back in Lawn Road, Lizzie was trying hard to keep the hoard of children in her front room as clean and happy as she could whilst Lottie and Jess battled to flatten Flossie’s hair. Given their previous experience, it began well, but getting the veil to stay on was trying their patience. At the same time, in The Creek, William was finishing off the adornment of Dobbin’s cart and, with a carrot or two to encourage the old horse, they set off together to collect their precious load.

  Flossie looked radiant as William helped her up into her ‘carriage’. Getting her attendants in alongside her didn’t go quite so well, but after a couple of false starts, Dobbin trotted off, clearly determined not to falter on this most important day.

  The church was full of family, friends and colleagues as Sam proudly led his daughter down the aisle. The bridesmaid, twelve-year-old Henrietta Gant, followed behind, glancing back occasionally at the three tiny, but perfect, flower girls: sister-Florence Gertrude, cousin-Agnes McPherson and Jessie’s daughter, Mabel Bull.

  As Henry and Flossie stood before the altar and said their vows, more than a few tears were shed amongst the congregation. Pronouncing them man and wife, the vicar gave the groom leave to kiss the bride. Against all convention a great cheer greeted the happy couple’s embrace. St. Botolph’s windows rattled with enthusiastic hymn-singing and as the bride and groom emerged into the sunlit churchyard they were covered in rose petals and rice.

  Elizabeth Knight had decided that the best wedding present was a contribution towards the cost of the reception, so Kate and Lizzie had prepared a fantastic spread for everyone back in The Creek. True to form, Henry was the life and soul of the celebrations. Later, spilling out onto the river’s edge, Flossie thought her heart would burst as she danced with him in the moonlight.

  Having saved up enough money, the newlyweds rented a small cottage in Greenwich, close by the river, so that they could be near enough to regularly visit their families. One day in April 1894, the Gants and the Lucks walked to the old riverside Red Lion public house at the foot of Crete Hall Road. A large residential area had just been cleared in readiness for the construction of another cement factory, and today was the official opening of its deep-water wharf. Projecting 230 feet into the Thames, it, for the first time, allowed vessels to moor and leave even on the lowest tides. Numerous press and shipping men had come to see it.

  Sam failed to understand the need for yet more competition when other cement works were struggling, but he and his sons couldn’t help but marvel at the vast amount of chalk being loaded into the massive hull of the Southern Cross, the first vessel to moor at the wharf.

  ‘Bet you’re glad that’s not your job today, James?’ said Henry’s mother, Daisy, as she affectionately squeezed her husband’s hand.

  Having watched the opening ceremony, everyone was eagerly awaiting the ship’s departure for America, but there was a delay. Sam went off to find out why, but as the children were becoming fractious, Lizzie decided she would take little Florence and nine-month-old Maud Eliza home, leaving Flossie in charge of the rest.

  ‘The crew’s gone missing,’ scoffed Sam on his return. ‘Too much free beer on the wharf, it seems. C’mon, chaps, let’s down a tankard ourselves in The Red Lion while we wait. There’s something I want to ask you, Henry.’

  Much to Flossie’s irritation, the thirsty men disappeared without giving her a second thought.

  ‘So what do you make of this letter that everyone’s talking about?’ Sam said between gulps of ale.

  Henry had been expecting such questions from him. The union had been involved in several heated meetings about the proposed cement factory lay-offs.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time, Sam,’ he replied. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Not right, I know, but if the cement’s being tampered with, it only worsens our bargaining position.’

  A circular letter had been sent to all the cement manufacturers on the Thames by a firm of London solicitors. They pointed out that the adulteration of cement by some works was a scandal which was bringing the trade into disrepute, and suggested that the only way to protect a threatened industry was to amalgamate the various manufacturers. That hadn’t gone down well with the workforce, and there was tension in the air.

  ‘But what will happen to all of our jobs?’

  Henry shook his head. What he suspected wasn’t something he wished to divulge. ‘Hopefully the worst is still a long way off,’ he said evasively.

  Sam stared at him for a moment and then drained his beer. Both men knew the writing was on the wall for Northfleet’s cement industry.

  Henry blinked as they emerged into the sunlight. A lot of people had already drifted away, but Flossie was still standing there with the children. She motioned for him to join her as something exciting was happening. No fewer than sixteen Trinity House pilots had assembled and were preparing to ease the mighty Southern Cross away from the wharf before navigating it out into the estuary. A blast on the horn made t
he children shriek.

  ‘Should all go smoothly now, then,’ Henry said with a guilty laugh.

  17th August 1895

  Glasgow

  Dearest Floss,

  I’m afraid this is going to be a short letter. Keeping up with Agnes, at three, and Arthur, who is walking, takes all my time.

  Our little family is expanding nicely as I am with child again, dearest sister. Andrew is proving to be an attentive father and I am turning out to be a fulfilled mother – which I expect surprises you!

  I was pleased to hear that Lizzie has given birth to Hilda Emily. That’s three girls in a row now!

  I had to smile when you wrote about the Thames being obstructed by large ice floes in February and Henry skating on the canal. Remembering how boisterous he was as a child, I had visions of the ice cracking beneath him and you having to pull him out.

  One final thing, my darling sister: I have to explain the scrap of newspaper I have sent you. I received it recently from our mother. It was her latest attempt at pulling at my heartstrings to convince me to send her money. All to no avail, I hasten to add. She obviously felt I should see what depths her ‘beloved’ Henry has sunk to, and how all their money goes on paying fines.

  I sincerely hope that we can all be together again this Christmas and New Year.

  All my love,

  Lottie

  Unfolding the piece of paper from the Ipswich Journal, Flossie read the account without emotion:

  10 June. Henry Oxer, described as labourer on tramp, fined 10 shillings for being drunk and disorderly in Carr Street. He said he would not go to the police station unless 40 policemen were called. However, he offered no real resistance.

  20 June. A sad story of domestic misery was disclosed in the progress of an assault case brought against Henry Oxer, labourer, from 2 Gooding’s Court, by his wife. It seems that on Monday the defendant struck his wife for not preparing a dinner for him; the woman plaintively added that she was unable to procure any comestibles, for she had no money. It next appeared that for ten years the couple had been parted several times – fined 10s 6d.

  Screwing up the flimsy scrap, Flossie threw it into the fire and watched it burn until the blackened fragments rose up from the grate and disappeared up the chimney.

  Mrs Hannah Knight and Elizabeth returned to Northfleet in November of the following year, 1896, to attend the official opening of the Knight Almshouses in Perry Street. As founders, there was much handshaking and polite conversation to endure but, as soon as she could, Elizabeth slipped away to meet Flossie by the old Five Ash Windmill close by. Once an essential feature of the local farming economy, the windmill had become obsolete as the wheat fields shrank and Perry Street expanded.

  ‘Seems strange not to see the old sails going round,’ Elizabeth said as they embraced upon meeting. ‘It’s too cold to stand still. Let’s take a walk around the church; I want to hear all your news.’

  The two women chatted for quite some time. Elizabeth’s experiences at the operating table made Flossie feel quite queasy, but there was no mistaking her enthusiasm for medicine. As for her own news, Flossie talked of her life with Henry, her job, Lottie’s and Jessie’s growing broods, as well as Sam and Lizzie’s eighth child, baby Ernest William.

  ‘And what about you, my dear? Elizabeth laughed, pulling open Flossie’s coat and staring at the slim figure before her. ‘No additions to your own family yet, I see.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ squealed Flossie, quickly closing her coat. Discussing something that private with her former employer made her acutely embarrassed.

  Thankfully Elizabeth sensed her discomfort and apologised. Grabbing Flossie’s hand, she led her to a nearby bench.

  ‘I’m so proud of what you have become. We women have to stick together, to fight the good fight for our own sex. It makes me so angry that even Mr Gladstone is against giving women the vote.’ Picking up her bag from the floor, she pulled out a well-thumbed copy of The Emancipation of Women and Its Probable Consequences. Flossie noted that it had been written by a woman.

  ‘He has sent copies of this book to all the female members of the Liberal Party who support our cause. I must read you one passage, then you’ll see why we must fight together for women’s suffrage.’

  Indignantly, Elizabeth began reading: ‘If women take the jobs, men will not be able to support wives and families. Hence marriage rates will decrease. And if marriage rates decrease, culture will fail. Additionally, women who work will not be able to serve their husbands as they should, with the consequence that woman’s nature will be prevented. Even women doctors ultimately undermine women’s sacred role. Rather than trying to serve in more than one capacity, women should remember that the greatest civic role is to bring up their children well, and that the highest moral role is to serve their husbands.’

  Slamming the book shut, she added, ‘It seems we are a danger to the welfare of humanity.’

  Flossie was at a loss for words. Though she understood Elizabeth’s anger, they saw the world differently. If you came from the working classes you had limited expectations about self-improvement, let alone gaining the vote. With the damp air beginning to permeate her clothes, Flossie looked at her pocket watch.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I’ll miss my tram. I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.’

  Kissing each other on the cheek, Elizabeth took hold of Flossie’s arms and said seriously to her, ‘You do see that women should have a right to choose which path they take?’

  Flossie nodded as thoughts of her mother’s life in the slums of Ipswich flashed through her mind. ‘Some of us don’t have the luxury of choice, though,’ she found herself saying.

  Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Comparisons are odious. I may have had a more privileged upbringing than you, but today we are fighting for the same cause, and together we will win in the end. Look at the progress we have made already.’

  As they parted, Flossie found herself thinking that as nearly half the male population were still without the vote, there was a long, long way to go before women could dream of equality.

  Over the next three years life got even harder for Sam and Lizzie. Having well and truly outgrown their lodgings in Lawn Road, they moved back to The Creek at number 34. Sam worried constantly about paying the rent without boarders to help them out, but he kept such thoughts to himself. Lizzie blamed the sudden death of Ernest William on their overcrowded conditions, and was making herself ill over it.

  The ‘summer complaint’ – a deadly disease of the hot, moist months – struck the tiniest of children and poor Ernest had only just started crawling. He developed such a high fever that despite his two older brothers being told to run all the way to the chemist for a bottle of Mixture Cholera Infantum, the poor child died within twenty-four hours.

  Luckily another boy, Frederick Charles, came along barely a year later, helping Lizzie overcome her grief; then by the autumn of 1899, she gave birth to Herbert Henry.

  ‘I have to go, Lizzie dearest,’ Sam said, grabbing his cap. ‘Maybe Kate can help you. Send one of the girls next door to ask.’ He knew he wasn’t popular, leaving Lizzie to fend for herself now that Henrietta had a job as a scullery maid and wasn’t home to help.

  ‘Are you ready, son?’ he said, checking to see where Samuel Junior was hiding. ‘We mustn’t be late, this is really important.’

  Young Sam, now aged fifteen, had only just been taken on at the new Red Lion Cement Works – the first to use locomotives to haul chalk wagons. He’d been building up his muscles loading and unloading all day long, and was tired. Dragging his feet as his father rushed up Hive Lane, the last thing on his mind was having to be there for the beginning of the meeting. In any case, he’d heard that Red Lion were determined not to join the so-called ‘combine’, so he didn’t think there was any chance he would lose his job. His father, on the other hand, thought am
algamation spelt trouble for everyone and was not surprised to find the Factory Club full to bursting with like-minded individuals.

  It was difficult to keep order and the representatives from the proposed Associated Portland Cement Manufacturers looked flustered as they repeatedly tried to put across their argument.

  ‘Rationalisation of the industry is the only way to survive!’

  ‘We can eliminate unnecessary competition.’

  ‘Concentrate on the most efficient works.’

  A representative from the General Labourers’ Union, who had been drafted in for his local knowledge, spoke for the mob by asking the question that was on everybody’s lips: ‘But what about people’s jobs? Can you give assurances that no one will be put out of work?’ It was Henry Luck.

  Acknowledging that amalgamation would inevitably cause hardship for some, the cement owners professed that it was the only way to protect the industry from overseas competition.

  ‘We will protect one another. It will be those of you whose employers do not join the combine who will be at risk of losing your jobs,’ one of them said forcefully.

  ‘You see – the Red Lion works is possibly at more risk,’ Sam reminded his bored son.

  The meeting ended in rancour. There was little chance of finding common ground between the two sides. Sam Junior disappeared as soon as people started to move, while his father and Henry made their way to The Huggens for a pint. Both men appeared deep in thought. After a while, Sam asked Henry what he made of it all.