*
Fred Tulley had landed on his feet. Finally arriving in Wolverhampton, he strode into the nearest public house. Ordering a beer, he picked up the newspaper which lay on the bar counter. He flicked the pages over as the barkeeper watched and asked, ‘You looking for work?’
Tulley nodded. The barman placed a glass of ale on the counter and pointed to an advertisement. Giving his thanks, he paid for his beer and asked if he could keep the newspaper. With a nod from the other man, Tulley found a seat by the window and began to read.
An hour later and striding purposefully down the street, Tulley made his way to the address given in the advertisement.
Wolverhampton was much like Bilston but much bigger. Spread over a vast area it was a coal mining town, the dirty buildings bearing testament to that. Disused mine shafts dotted the scrubland that divided parts of the town and the poor roamed its streets in search of work or a handout from any that would give it. Carts rumbled on the cobbled streets going to and from the canal basins. Carriages trundled past small shops with filthy windows. Steam train whistles blew as the engines drew into and out of the railway station. Rich and poor alike trudged through the snow, the difference in their clothing the only thing telling them apart.
Walking into the office, Fred said he’d come about the job. The secretary led him through to another office, where he met with the Chairman of the Local Government Board for Wolverhampton Union Workhouse. Shaking hands, Tulley introduced himself.
‘So, Mr Tulley, you’re here about the position of Union Master?’ Tulley nodded, watching the man sat opposite him. ‘Do you have any experience in this field of work, may I ask?’
‘I was workhouse Master over in Bilston for many years,’ Fred answered as he saw the man’s eyebrows lift.
‘Why did you leave that position?’
Fred was prepared for the question. ‘I’m not sure if you know, but Bilston “Spike” is a small place and after being in charge for so long I had it running like clockwork. I felt in need of a change. I need a challenge.’ Fred smiled inwardly as his thoughts turned to Cara Flowers at his use of his final word.
‘I see. Well, Mr Tulley, I won’t lie to you, we are desperate for a new Master. I do, however, find it strange that you left your last position without having first secured another one. Can you tell me why that is?’
This was a question Tulley was not prepared for. ‘Well,’ he drew the word out, playing for time. ‘Truth be told, I had an altercation with the Matron. She actually tried to murder me!’ Fred felt his temper rising at the memory.
‘I see, and what did you do about that? Did you report it to the police?’
Fred began to sweat as he thought, this man wants to know the ins and outs of Peg’s arse! ‘Erm… no,’ he said, ‘I thought it best to just… move away from the area.’
‘Hmmm. Can you provide any references, Mr Tulley?’
Fred’s mind whirled. Bloody hell, he wants references now!
‘I’m afraid not, sir, as I left in rather a hurry, you see. After all, the Matron had injured me quite badly and I didn’t want to give her a second chance, if you understand me.’ Giving the impression he was running his hand through his hair, Fred swiped away the beads of sweat that gathered on his brow.
‘Very well, I can understand that.’ The man shuffled the papers on his desk then said, ‘All right, Mr Tulley, I am willing to offer you the position.’ Tulley grinned. ‘Your predecessor and his wife died of the influenza some months ago. It swept the town, taking young and old to the grave. The doctors were run ragged and the undertakers were on overtime in an effort to keep up with burial demands.’ Shaking his head, he added, ‘So you see my predicament.’
Tulley nodded again, saying, ‘I’m afraid I have no Matron to accompany me though.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that, we’ll sort something out. Firstly we need to get you ensconced in the Union.’ Fred watched as the other man made a telephone call before he said, ‘Right, Mr Dower the Chairman of the Board of Guardians will meet you at the gate of the workhouse and get you settled in.’
Shaking hands again, Tulley left the office a happy man. He was the Master of the workhouse once more, and this time without his wife to deal with. He couldn’t believe his luck!
The tall thin man waiting by the gate of the Union introduced himself. ‘Dower by name, dour by nature,’ the man said with a sickly smile. Fred frowned at his strange sense of humour. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Tulley.’
‘Likewise,’ Fred answered, giving the man a shifty gaze.
Mr Dower showed Tulley to his private quarters before taking him on a tour of the building. Strolling around the huge building, he was introduced to the staff, each showing deference to his status.
He noticed the gas lamps high up on the corridor walls which were whitewashed and clean. The oakum sheds were equipped with wooden benches and the workers supplied with thick gloves. The kitchen was spotlessly clean and large; the aroma of cooking food very appetizing. The laundry had large double doors at one end for washing trolleys to be pushed out into the garden where the clothes and bedlinen was pegged on clothes lines strung out in a criss cross fashion. Everything here was bigger and better than the poky little workhouse in Bilston.
Fred Tulley was a happy man to have been so fortunate, especially as the wages here were higher than he had previously earned. He was going to like it here.
As he familiarized himself with his new home, he thought this was one place Cara Flowers would not endeavour to shut down; it was far too big. With close on a thousand residents, Fred Tulley knew he had his work cut out. He needed to stamp his mark on the place and those within its walls immediately; they needed to be under no illusion he was their new boss. Thanking God for his luck, Tulley could hardly believe he had been made Master of the workhouse once more. Nothing was going to stop him this time.
*
As work on dismantling the ‘Spike’ in Bilston proceeded, Cara had employed men from the ‘Bread Line’ to assist, along with those from Millfields Road cottages. She met again with Bill Rowley. The architect had brought his plans for her to see.
‘This is the basic idea, Cara, I hope it meets with your approval.’ Spreading the drawings on the table in the kitchen, he began to explain them to her.
Cara’s enthusiasm was contagious and he was effusive as he noted Charlie taking a keen interest.
There were to be many blocks of four houses back to back, a small communal garden between each block. With a kitchen, living room and two bedrooms, they would house four men; sharing a bedroom with another was preferable to sharing with fifty others. The standpipe network was to be extended, ensuring each block had access to fresh water, and a double lavatory building would be built at the back of each block. A trackway, the width of a cart, would run all around the perimeter of the land, which would later be cobbled. Each house would have a front and back door and a fireplace. The two bedrooms were to be reached by stairs leading off the living room.
Basic accommodation, but Cara knew the residents would be happy enough when they eventually moved in.
Cara met with her two foremen, Sam Yale and Wally Webb in the parlour of The Laburnums.
‘Gentlemen,’ she began, ‘I am looking ahead to when our new houses are built…’ Holding up a hand, she said quickly, ‘I know they are only in the planning stage at present, but once completed the men will be standing idle again.’
Nods confirmed her words as the foremen looked at each other, hoping she had a solution to the problem. Their eyes returned to her as she continued.
‘So I need ideas to help these men build a future for themselves and their families.’
Sam said, ‘Most can turn their hands to anything, but I know there are blacksmiths, cabinet makers, and plumbers.’
Wally added, ‘There are also tailors and shoe repairers.’
Sam intervened with, ‘I think there’s a couple of painters and carpenters too.’
Wally
spoke again as he nodded, ‘Their women are fine bakers and cooks – dressmakers an’ all, I believe, and… they all know their numbers and letters.’
Cara and her foremen discussed at great length the setting up of small businesses that could be worked from home.
*
The new year of 1902 had come and gone and the winter was reluctant to release its firm grip. The snow had melted away leaving dirty puddles everywhere, but the freezing wind cut to the bones of the men working on the site of the old workhouse, despite their warm clothing.
Alone in the parlour, Cara’s mind drifted to her grandmother. Henrietta Selby would never believe how much had been accomplished in such a short time. Cara smiled inwardly, albeit still feeling the pangs of her loss. She thought of her father, killed in a carting accident and of her mother who she knew nothing about. Maybe now would be a good time to attempt to discover more.
Staring into the heart of the fire, Cara wondered how she could find her mother. Who would know? Josiah Colley, the registrar, had come up empty regarding further information, and Cara had no idea where to look next. Why had her grandmother not told her more about the woman who had brought her into the world? What had Henrietta been hiding all those years Cara was growing up? Why had she become so upset when Cara asked about her parents?
Feeling again the sting of the loss of her grandmother, Cara walked from the room, up the stairs and entered Henrietta’s bedroom which had remained untouched since her death. Sitting on the end of the bed, Cara suddenly felt very lonely and tears welled in her eyes. Looking around her, she knew it was time to clear out her grandmother’s things. The clothes could be bundled up and passed to anyone who could make use of them. Jewellery and trinkets would be sold. Cara didn’t feel the need to keep anything but the letter left for her.
Opening a drawer in the cabinet by the side of the bed, Cara drew in a breath. Nestled inside sat a diary. It had Henrietta Selby’s name in gold lettering on the front. Cara gasped in disbelief as she looked at it then chided herself for leaving it so long before sorting the room out. Just looking at the name brought the tears tumbling and she allowed herself a good cry.
Twenty-Nine
Cara picked up the diary and held it reverently, looking down at its leather cover. Maybe there were other diaries, maybe her grandmother had always kept a journal. Searching the drawers and wardrobe frantically, Cara found nothing, then lifting the lid of an ottoman, she saw them. Diaries piled one on another, years of experiences written down.
Carefully Cara lifted them out of their hiding place and laid them on the bed. Twenty leather bound journals waiting to be read. Staring down at them, Cara wondered if they would contain information regarding her mother. Would they provide the answers she was seeking? Did she really want to know? Yes, whatever was contained on those pages would provide, at the very least, an insight into her grandmother’s thoughts. Gathering them up, she carried them to her own bedroom. Setting them in date order, she settled herself on the bed to read, the clearing of her grandmother’s bedroom quite forgotten.
The first entry was dated twenty years previous and Cara looked over the beautiful copperplate writing.
Elizabeth has decided she wishes to marry…
Cara read on.
She has met a man by the name of John Flowers. I have my doubts about the man. He is a carter by trade and I had such high hopes for Elizabeth to marry well. She is besotted with the man, but for the life of me I can’t see why. It would have pleased me immensely had she chosen a doctor or a lawyer, but love is fickle. How I wish her father was still with us, he would have advised her. Elizabeth always did listen more to her father than to me.
A knock to her bedroom door disturbed Cara’s reading and she looked up when Molly walked in to tell her dinner was ready. She walked down to the kitchen with the maid.
Once seated, Cara told the others about her discovery. ‘I never knew Grandma kept a diary,’ she said, ‘and I’ve only read the beginning so far.’
‘Well, good or bad, at least you might learn something,’ Gracie said.
Cara nodded and turned her attention to the children who were bickering light-heartedly. Once her brother and sister were settled in bed she would return to the diaries.
No matter what she discovered she knew she would be glad she’d read them. She was a little apprehensive, but maybe they would fill the gaps in her life she knew nothing about. There had obviously been a rift between her mother and grandmother; would the diaries explain how and why this occurred? She certainly hoped so. There was so much she wanted to know.
Cara read long into the night and the story of her mother began to unfold. Elizabeth Selby had met and begun a relationship with John Flowers. This was no dalliance, they planned to marry. However, some months before the wedding, Elizabeth realized she was pregnant. Much to everyone’s surprise, John stood by his obligations and the ceremony was brought forward. They had moved into an old cottage on the heath as John refused to move into The Laburnums with his ‘interfering’ mother-in-law. Elizabeth had refused any financial help from her mother, saying John would provide for his family himself… thank you very much! If Henrietta couldn’t support her choice of husband, then Elizabeth didn’t want the support of her mother’s money. The couple would manage to scratch out a living for themselves.
As Cara read, her emotions swung every which way. She felt sorrow that her mother had found herself pregnant outside of marriage; the stigma attached to that must have been unbearable. She felt happy that her father had owned his responsibility and married her mother. Cara was proud that John wished to be independent and provide for his own, but hurt that her grandmother had been seen as interfering. She read on.
The day Elizabeth’s pains had started she had staggered home to her mother and Cara was born with the help of Henrietta. John had arrived some time later very drunk. He took his wife and newborn child home immediately. Elizabeth could have her ‘laying in’ time at home he had said.
Henrietta Selby had been distraught at her daughter and granddaughter being moved so quickly after the birth. She despaired at them living in the hovel John called home.
As time passed, Elizabeth had struggled to manage on John’s carter’s wage, or what hadn’t been spent on beer, and Cara was suffering. Constantly ill, the child was not thriving and Henrietta had helped as much as she could unbeknown to John and much to Elizabeth’s not wanting help from her mother. When Cara turned two years old, she contracted influenza and Henrietta sent the doctor to the cottage to administer to the sick child. John Flowers had thrown the man out, saying the little girl had nothing more than a sniffling cold. Cara’s health deteriorated and Henrietta arrived to take on the temper of John. She told him his young daughter would die if she remained in that filthy hovel. Henrietta wanted to take Cara and Elizabeth home to The Laburnums in order to care for them both. John refused to allow his wife to leave but said if Henrietta took Cara now, she could keep her. Henrietta didn’t think twice, she bundled up the little girl and took her home, despite Elizabeth’s wailing. She hoped Elizabeth would soon follow; Elizabeth didn’t. Henrietta suspected John refused to allow Elizabeth to visit her, but she had no proof of this. His way of keeping Elizabeth close must have been to have her travel with him on his cart everywhere he went, for whenever Henrietta visited the cottage there was no sign of husband or wife.
Cara closed the diary with tears streaming down her face. Dousing the lamp, she lay in the darkness reflecting on what she’d read. So it seemed Cara had been the catalyst in the breakdown of the family. Her heart ached as she thought about the misery her mother and grandmother must have felt. John’s need for independence, his jealousy of the relationship his wife shared with her mother had caused him to abandon his child. How could a man be so heartless? Why had Elizabeth allowed it? However her mother had not abandoned her willingly it seemed. The thought gave her some comfort as she drifted off to sleep, the tears still wet on her cheeks.
*
<
br /> Fred Tulley answered the telephone in his new office and was informed by Mr Dower, the Chairman of the Board, that a Matron had been appointed and he was to expect her arrival within the hour. He knew a Matron had to be appointed sooner or later as laid down in the Workhouse rulings. Replacing the earpiece on its cradle on the side of the telephone, he leaned back, wondering about the new employee. Would she be young and pretty? Would she be susceptible to his charms? Where would she sleep? Certainly not in his quarters with her not being his wife or sister. Closing his eyes, his mind wove pictures of a voluptuous young woman… with good teeth!
As Fred dreamed on about who would be joining him in his task in the Union Workhouse, he considered the circumstances. He knew jobs for Matrons were few and far between and he wondered why the new one was alone. Had her husband or brother died? If he was honest with himself, he didn’t really care. He had his position secured and that was all that mattered.
Fred’s eyes shot open as the office door flew open, and Ada Tulley strode into the room.
‘What the bloody hell…?’ Tulley gasped as he stared at his wife.
‘Hello to you an’ all,’ Ada grinned, showing her blackened teeth. ‘I’m the new Matron. Well now, aint this just grand!’
‘I ain’t having this!’ Fred snarled.
‘You ain’t got a choice!’ Ada laughed.
The Workhouse Children Page 21