It was made clear that despite their distress and unhappiness over the current situation, the women were fearful of change. Children still had to be fed, and if Kate’s new business didn’t survive, Swainson might not take them back. Then where would they be?
‘What will I do if no one will work for me, Millie?’ Kate complained, night after night. ‘I never thought of that. Why won’t they trust me?’
‘Because they’re scared. Give them time. They’ll come round.’
Undeterred, she rented an old abandoned rope works which would provide the space she needed, and give ready access to the railway. It took all of her nerve to approach the landlord but, despite the scathing disbelief in his face, he was willing enough to draw up a three year lease in return for six months rent in advance.
‘You’ll have gone bump by then,’ he scorned, clearly thinking he could let his property all over again to some other fool.
‘Oh no, I mean this business to thrive and prosper.’
She wrote to Dermot, hoping he might come back from Ireland to help her, and spoke to one or two of the old chaps who sat about doing nothing all day because they’d been ‘turned out to grass’ as they put it, by Swainson. When she suggested they might like to put their skills back in use again, they looked doubtful.
‘D’you mean work for thee? How can a li’le lass like you offer us a job?
‘Why not?’ Her heart beat fast with the temerity of her cheek, and wasn’t in the least surprised when the old men burst out laughing.
Kate shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘It’s up to you. You can believe in me or not, as you choose, but what have you got to lose? At worst you get a few months paid work. At best, you get steady employment for years to come.’
They considered her with greater thoughtfulness, knowing she’d had a bairn recently, and yet had been a widow this many a long year. They’d heard the gossip, listened to their wives sniffing their disapproval and tearing her to shreds. But there was something about the lass, no one could deny it. A certain audacity in the way she tilted her chin and met their scepticism with a steady gaze, challenging them to dispute the feasibility of her scheme, if they dare. With her arms folded, shoulders back and spine rigid with purpose, no one could doubt her determination to succeed. She’d stand on her own two feet, this one, and not beg for pity. So they agreed to give the plan a try. As she rightly said, what did they have to lose?
These men proved more than able to help her find second hand Blake sewing machines, wooden and iron lasts, and the right finishing machinery needed for her to make a start. And old Gabriel, who’d taught her brother his trade, stood at her elbow when she went to buy the leather, pointing out the flaws, the marks and small holes made by the blow fly, all of which damaged the quality of the finished product. All she needed now was to get the women on her side, the very ones she’d wanted to help in the first place.
The first to come round was Sally Wilshaw from the next yard. She came late one night, sporting a black eye and bruised ribs. ‘That devil has beaten me once too often. And he’s refused to pay me wages, all because I told him he couldn’t have any how’s yer father this week, because I weren’t feeling so bright. Nasty beggar clocked me one, then punched me in t’stomach, right in front of t’childer.’
‘You mean Swainson?’
‘Course I mean Swainson. Who else?’
‘Have you not thought to complain to Eliot Tyson about what he does to you?’
Sally’s face filled with a mixture of fear and scorn. ‘When have the toffs ever listened to the likes of us? Swainson is the one wi’ the power, because he’s the one what hands out the work, week after week. You knows that as well as I do, lass. So think on, when you get up and running, let me know. I, for one will be willing to give you a try. I surely can’t be any worse off.’
‘Tell him to sling his hook, your working fer me now,’ Kate said, eyes bright with hope. This was the breakthrough she’d dreamed of, for one of the women to give her a chance. ‘Here’s yer first week’s wages,’ she said, slipping several shillings into the astonished woman’s hand. ‘Be at the old ropeworks first thing tomorrow. I’ll find ye summat to do, even if it’s only sweeping the floor.’
‘Hey, watch that generosity of yours,’ Millie warned her, as the woman scuttled off. ‘You will be going bump if you throw yer money around so freely.’
‘You have to invest in folk, in order to win them over. And what about you Millie? Will you be giving me a try, or are you sticking with Swainson?’
There was a long drawn-out pause while Millie cast her eye over her sleeping children. Clem was at the Cock and Dolphin, as usual. Even when he wasn’t, he rarely brought home more than a shilling or two. Nothing had improved in all of these long weary years, in fact quite the opposite. There were more and more children to be fed, eleven the last time she’d bothered to count. And who had stood by her all this time? Who had provided clothes for their backs, food for their empty bellies? She looked at her friend and gave a rueful smile. ‘How can I refuse? But I want one o’ them top jobs, soon as yer mekking a bit o’ brass.’
Kate hugged her tight. ‘You and me stick together, right?’
Word got around and Sally proved to be the first of many. Once they realised that there was an alternative to Swainson’s bullying, when they saw how hard Kate was prepared to work herself, how determined she was, they were soon queuing up for jobs.
They flocked to the workshop she’d opened in the old ropeworks, knocked on her cottage door at all hours of the day and night till, in the end, Kate was turning folk away, although promising to keep a note of their name, just in case. She paid better wages than Tyson’s, offered shorter working hours and no outwork, no dust and filth going into people’s homes. None of this business of two hours work before breakfast, therefore no children forced into labour too, no blind eye turned when they ‘helped mam out’.
‘And best of all,’ Millie reminded them, ‘no Swainson coming to leer and poke his filthy fingers, or his cock, where he shouldn’t, using and abusing us women whenever it takes his fancy.’
‘You can count me in,’ they said, one after the other.
‘This is going to work,’ Kate said, hugging her friend with glee.
‘So all you have to do now, is sell the boots we make, otherwise we’ll have the flipping things coming out of us ears.’
Chapter Two
Even the sound of the name, the Great War, brought a chill to Kate’s heart. How could there be anything great about a war in which thousands of people would die? She supposed it meant that millions more would be saved, that men would be fighting for ‘Honour, Justice, Truth and Right’, or so it said every day in the newspapers. But how many mother’s sons would need to die before that was achieved? Not hers. She no longer had a son, although today, October 10, 1914, he would be eleven years old. Too young to fight, thank God. Wherever he might be, he would at least be spared that.
Not for a moment, let alone a day, had the memory of Callum slipped from her mind in all of this time. He was forever there, a part of her soul, living and breathing inside her head. And she had never given up hope of finding him. Without that, she might truly have gone mad. Somewhere, Kate was certain, Callum was alive and well, just waiting for her to bring him home.
‘Where are ye, me cushla? Mammy loves you,’ she would whisper, a dozen times a day.
There were times when she’d wonder what on earth she was doing working herself into a state of exhaustion when she should be out looking for her son. Days when she would find herself falling into a reverie, staring into the stark reality that she had no family, no one to call her own with her brother off somewhere in Ireland. She’d had only one letter from Dermot, and that begging for money. She’d sent it, of course. Rapscallion or not, he was her only kin.
But if she ever thought she was wasting her time, she’d think of Millie and all the other women she’d saved from Swainson’s unwelcome attentions, wipe away the tears of self
pity and get back to work. There was nothing more to be done about Callum, but she was at least doing something useful with her life.
And she did have a daughter. Kate counted her blessings every day for that fact, hardly able to bear being separated from little Flora. Even now she still sometimes woke with that sinking feeling in her stomach, that familiar sensation of loss rushing in upon her like a great black tide. Her first instinct was always to reach for Flora as the child was never far from her side, not for a moment.
Kate glanced across at her now, where she was playing with her doll on the clippy rug. A pretty little thing with dark brown wavy hair, like her father, that had a sufficient hint of red in it to mark her Irish background, together with his chestnut brown eyes and Kate’s own pale complexion. A beauty in the making with her pert little chin, snub nose and sparkling personality. Very much the little madam, and quite able to twist anyone who came within smiling distance, around her smallest finger.
The last five years had not been unkind, had proved surprisingly profitable in fact. Perverse to a fault, she had returned the key to Eliot and declined his offer of a cottage, determined to do things her own way. But she’d held on to the money, viewing it as a loan, making the decision that he owed her that much at least, for all the pain and loss she’d suffered.
It had been hard at the beginning, taking much more effort than she’d anticipated to get going properly. The money Eliot had given her hadn’t been anywhere near enough but the bank had been willing enough to lend her what she needed later, once they were satisfied that money was flowing and some profit being made. In addition to the women and the old men who first came to work for her, Kate had soon found a few younger men ready to make a bit extra on top of the wages they already earned at Tyson’s by doing a bit of part time work in the evenings.
And so, with everything in place and boots being made, she’d gone out on the road two days a week, taking her box of samples with her, and if at first shopkeepers had given her quizzical looks and been reticent to trust in her because she was a woman; had appeared sceptical when she promised to deliver the very next day should they require it, Kate hadn’t allowed their negative attitude to deter her.
‘I’m selling these fine strong boots at sixteen shillings and ninepence a pair, twopence less than you’d pay at Tyson’s. It’s an opening offer to encourage you to give us a try and if you buy more than twenty-five pairs, I’ll give you a five per cent discount. Like I say, assuming we have all the sizes you want, ye can have them delivered tomorrow, first thing.’
‘And will you give me ten per cent if I buy fifty?’ asked one astute customer.
Kate swallowed, swiftly decided to take a chance and agreed that she could. She’d worry about her costing later. What she needed right now was cash flow, or so the bank manager had carefully explained to her.
In the end her charm and winning smile won through. Few could deny her at least the opportunity to prove herself. Within eighteen months, she was seeking more men willing to work for her, needing them to be full time. And then she secured an order for two hundred pairs of boots from a customer supplying several large engineering firms in Birmingham, with the promise of more later.
She’d gone back to Kendal in a lather of excitement and worry. ‘Do we have two hundred pairs? Can we deliver them?’
They did, and they could, sending the goods by rail. It was the first of many such orders and Kate had known, in that moment, that the future of her business was secure.
Today, Kate had twenty clickers working for her. These were the men who cut the leather, and in the closing room she had near on a hundred women and girls putting it all together to form the uppers. The soles were cut by thirty or so men in another room using machines designed specially for the purpose. In the final part of the process, the machinist eased the boot onto the last, bringing the welt and boot together. Last of all, the boot was burnished and buffered and polished, paired off and strung together. After that they were sent to the packing room, where they were marked, sized up, and packed ready for dispatch.
She’d acquired the much hoped for order from the army, and her own workshop, small by comparison, was way ahead of Tyson’s in providing boots for the forces. She’d succeeded to such an extent that recently she’d been approached by the Russians, to supply them too. Kate fully intended to open a whole new department for them alone soon.
Once having got the business going, Kate and Flora, together with Millie, Clem and the children had moved into one of the better yards off Highgate, renting a white-washed limestone cottage which had three bedrooms, in addition to the kitchen and a privy all to themselves. Luxury indeed. Here, with her friends, she’d found a sort of peace, if not exactly happiness. That was a state she could never entirely achieve, not without Callum. Happiness would have to wait until the day she found him, although she still hoped to attain contentment some day, were she ever able to fill that other void in her life, the lack of a good man’s love. There were several around who would have been more than willing to fit the bill.
In this yard alone there was Josh the cabinet maker who’d begged her to wed him, as he was in need of a wife to mind his three children. Then there was William the printer, a shy man who had sent her a very formal letter listing his not inconsiderable assets. There was Mervyn, who worked at the tannery down by the river, not forgetting Thomas Hodgson, who’d taken quite a shine to her and offered to share his large corner property and thriving metal workshop with her.
‘You’re a bonny lass, and I’d do me best to mek thee happy,’ he would say. ‘How can you resist my ample charms? Aren’t I handsome enough for you?’
Course you’re handsome, Tommy. I really don’t know how I resist you, but I fear I must try. I’m far too busy to even think of marriage right now. Sorry, love.’
Just as well she did. Tommy was one of the first to join up, attending the Territorial Army training camp in July 1914, leaving for France only a few weeks later.
‘I’m that excited,’ he told her. ‘I’ve never been further than Blackpool afore. You will write, won’t you lass?’
‘She wrote every week, gently ignoring his oft repeated, and increasingly ardent proposals. But he never did see even one Christmas on foreign soil, as he was returned to his elderly mother in a coffin before the year was out.
Kate was sad but didn’t regret her decision. She was content to remain single and devote all her energies to her business. She’d wanted only one man and he had let her down, supposedly because he was way above her station, or didn’t trust in her morals. Whatever the reason, he’d never properly understood her. The reality, in Kate’s mind at least, was that he had failed her at a much more intimate level. Now, five years on from their last meeting, she saw herself very much as his equal. She’d made something of herself, achieved a great deal, and if initially it had been with the money he gave her, the main part of her success had been down to her own efforts. Her stubborn determination not to be beaten by life.
Further contingents of optimistic young men continued to leave from Kendal station, new boots highly polished, and with hope and patriotism burning high in their hearts. Many, like Kate’s devoted suitor, did not return. Some were drowned when their ships were sunk, others died of festering wounds, or returned home having lost their sight, or a limb. Some were more fortunate and came home to Kendal to be treated for their injuries at the VAD. hospital that was set up in the Friends’ Day School, before being sent back to the front, into the ‘jaws of hell’, for more punishment. By the spring of 1915 over a thousand young men had joined the Kendal Pals, each being given the guarantee that they would be kept together, through thick and thin. And so they would remain, to the ultimate end.
Eliot saw men from his own factory joining up by the score. Clickers and cloggers and clerks. He made up his mind to join them. How could he not, when his country needed him? Besides, he had no family, no wife, no children to consider, and it would be one way of escaping the strangu
lating hold Lucy and the aunts had upon his life. Eliot realised that he had lost much more than Callum, the adopted son he’d come to love. He’d come to terms with the fact that his beloved wife was dead. He would always love and miss Amelia but life went on and he accepted that fact. She would not have wished him to waste it in endless mourning.
Losing Kate though, was another matter entirely. It had come as a nasty shock how very much he did miss her. Her cheerful presence, the challenging way she would take him to task if she disapproved of something he did or said, that enchanting smile and the teasing gleam in her eye when they had one of their spats. That’s what he missed the most, in a way, the little verbal combats they’d had.
He could see now that he might have been a touch hasty in his condemnation of her, made in the heat of the moment when he’d been at his lowest, in the depths of despair. But then he’d never expected her to simply walk out and go back to Poor House Lane. Apparently he’d even said the wrong thing the day he’d taken the doctor to help her through that difficult delivery. Even though he’d swiftly responded to her call for help, she hadn’t been in the least bit grateful. And all because he’d asked her to name the father of her child. Wasn’t he entitled to know the truth? Could the child indeed be his? He was haunted by the thought that she might be. Why wouldn’t the dratted woman tell him?
Kate O’Connor was as obstinate as they come, refusing to answer his questions, or even accept the cottage he’d offered to buy her, although she’d made use of the money he’d sent, he noticed, and set up in competition against him. It felt very much as if she was hell-bent on destroying him.
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