A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘Aye, I thought you might be. You have that look about you.’

  ‘What do you mean? What sort of look?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh…a canny look. One that says, “I’m somebody round here. I know my way around”.’ The girl gave him another impudent glance, but then her eyes softened a little as they looked straight into his. ‘How’s about you showing me the way around – round Scarborough, I mean – seeing as how you’re a local lad?’

  William was a little taken aback. He was not used to such bold behaviour from members of the opposite sex. The girls that he knew, from his neighbourhood and from his local chapel, would not dream of behaving in such an unseemly manner. He had taken one or two girls out, to concerts or for walks on the promenade or up to Oliver’s Mount on the outskirts of the town. He had indulged in a few innocent kisses and cuddles with a couple of them, but nothing more. William, despite his self-confident air, was quite inexperienced with the ladies, probably because he had not, as yet, met a young woman who appealed to him in a certain way.

  He had many friends of his own sex and was a popular young man in all the various aspects of his life: at work, at the Methodist chapel he attended with his parents and at the one or two drinking places he visited in the town. William did not adhere to the strict principles of his religion with regard to abstinence; neither – thankfully – did his father Isaac. It had been William’s grandfather, Joshua, apparently, who had been a strict follower of all the tenets of his faith, ruling his family with the proverbial rod of iron which had verged at times on harshness and near cruelty. Isaac was a much more tolerant father and William knew he was fortunate, blessed indeed, with such kind and loving parents as Isaac and Hannah Moon. He had never knowingly disobeyed them in any way. But what they would think of this fisher girl he had just met he was not sure…

  Well, he did know, deep down, if he was honest with himself. They would consider that she was not at all a suitable companion for him and that he should say a polite goodbye to her now, before he got himself any more deeply involved. But William was becoming mesmerised by the look in her jet black eyes; not a brazen look now but one that seemed to be imploring him to befriend her and spend a little time with her. And there could be no harm in that surely? He sensed that beneath her brash exterior there might be a much softer complaisant person hidden inside. Well, he would never know if he did not try to find out…

  ‘Yes…’ he replied. ‘I…er… I don’t mind showing you round a bit. Is this the first time you’ve been to Scarborough?’

  ‘Aye, so it is. I’ve worked at Whitby and Hull, and up north at South Shields and Tynemouth – that’s near where I come from.’ He had already guessed that. ‘But I must say I’ve taken quite a fancy to this place.’

  ‘Where are you staying then?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, at one o’ t’ little cottages over yonder.’ She pointed in the direction of Sandside. William guessed she might be staying in the area known as The Bolts, a not very salubrious part of the town, but no doubt all that the young women could afford. ‘Me and two more o’ t’ lasses… And I can see that me pal Mona has got her eagle eye on me an’ all. She likes to think she’s in charge of us all, see…’ She waved her hand to another lass, one in a white bonnet, who was standing at the other end of the stone slab, staring at her with her arms akimbo.

  ‘All right, Mona,’ she shouted. ‘Just ’aving a breather. I’ll catch up with you in a mo’.’

  ‘Aye, just think on as you do,’ replied the other young woman, picking up her gutting knife again and waving it menacingly at William’s companion. It struck him that he did not know the girl’s name, and neither did she know his.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said now. ‘I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? My name is William – William Moon – but my friends usually call me Will.’

  ‘How d’you do then…Will?’ grinned the girl. ‘We’d best not shake hands, eh, or you’ll get yerself all muckied up. I’m Arabella Randall, but me friends call me Bella. And now I’d best get on with me work if you don’t mind. I’m getting some pretty filthy looks and I don’t want to end up with a knife between me ribs.’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ he asked in some alarm.

  ‘Aye, I suppose I am. But tempers gets frayed, y’know, and one thing soon leads to another. Some o’ these lasses are tough customers and we all have to learn how to look after ourselves.’

  William guessed his new acquaintance might be well able to do that, and he knew it was time he took his leave. ‘May I…may I see you tonight then?’ he asked. ‘Bella…’ he added, rather liking the sound of her name.

  ‘Aye, I reckon so…Will,’ she grinned. ‘Where d’you fancy taking me then?’

  ‘Do you know the Three Mariners’ Inn?’ he asked her.

  ‘Aye, of course I do. It’s not far from where I’m lodging.’

  ‘Well, shall I meet you there then? Say about eight o’clock? We can have a stroll around and then pop inside for a drink, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘It’s fine by me, bonny lad. And I promise I’ll have scrubbed meself up a bit by then.’ She threw back her head and gave a merry laugh and William found himself becoming more and more fascinated by her. ‘Cheerio then, Will. It’s been nice meeting you. See you later.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ he replied, touching the brim of his boater. As he turned and walked away he heard peals of laughter following him. He told himself not to be surprised if she did not turn up, recalling the outburst of – had it been mocking? – laughter that he had heard as he walked away from the quayside. Maybe she had only been amusing herself with him. But that evening as he approached the point where Sandside joined Quay Street he could see her, standing at the corner near the Three Mariners’ Inn. As she had said she would, she had scrubbed up more than a little since their encounter earlier that day. Her black skirt might have been the same one – he could not tell – but she was now wearing a blouse, long-sleeved and low-necked, made from a shiny material in a bright shade of green; he remembered his fashion-conscious mother referring to such a colour as emerald green. Perched on top of her mass of curly black hair, which flowed loosely almost to her shoulders, she wore a straw hat trimmed with a ribbon the same shade as her blouse.

  His heart gave a leap as he set eyes on her; she really was a most attractive and alluring young lady. Or, rather, young woman he supposed, reflecting briefly that his mother would certainly not consider this person to be a lady! Neither of his parents were snobbish – indeed there could be few men more down-to-earth than his father – but they both had certain standards which they had tried to instil upon their only son.

  He quickened his footsteps as he drew nearer to her. ‘Bella,’ he greeted her warmly. ‘I’m so pleased you decided to come. I thought you might…well…change your mind.’

  She smiled at him, her red lips parting to show her rather large and even white teeth. Obviously she took good care of them; there was no sign of decay or discolouring such as he had noticed in some young women’s teeth and which he always found repellent. William, despite the unpleasant sights he saw from time to time in his daily work, was fastidious about his personal appearance and that of others.

  ‘Now whyever would I want to do that?’ she said. ‘Turn down the best offer I’ve had in a month of Sundays? Not bloomin’ likely!’ She laughed out loud, opening her mouth wide and throwing back her head. ‘Hello again, Will. Glad you decided to come an’ all. I thought you might’ve been the one to change yer mind.’

  ‘Never let it be said that I should let a lady down.’ He inclined his head towards her gravely. ‘You will find that William Moon is a man of his word.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she replied. ‘I’ve found that they’re few and far between. Righty-ho then; where are you taking me?’

  ‘Oh, let’s just stroll along by the sea, shall we?’ said William. ‘Happen as far as the Spa Bridge, then we could come back here and have a drink o
r two. How would that suit you?’

  ‘That would suit me just fine, bonny lad,’ said Bella, tucking her arm companionably through his and smiling at him.

  They were much of a height. William, at five-foot six or thereabouts, was not very tall, whilst Bella was quite a reasonable height for a woman. She was a well-built lass; not what you would call fat or even buxom, but Will could not help but notice how her ample breasts strained against the shiny green fabric of her blouse, the low-cut neckline revealing a tantalising glimpse of her cleavage. He looked away quickly, smiling into her dark eyes; eyes that were already full of mystery and promise.

  ‘Hmm…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Come along then; let’s make the most of the fresh sea breezes,’ he said as they set off walking southwards along Sandside.

  Bella gave a deep sniff and laughed. ‘Not all that fresh,’ she remarked, wrinkling her nose. The stalls which did a busy trade during the day selling fresh fish and shellfish of many kinds had now closed, but the aroma still lingered on the air, as did the smell of herrings from the spot where Bella did her daily work. ‘Let’s keep to this side o’ t’ road, shall us?’

  William nodded. ‘You get used to it, though; the smell, I mean. It’s part of Scarborough; I don’t mind it. In fact, I quite like it.’ It was, indeed, preferable to some of the rather less pleasant odours that he came across in his occupation, but he did not say so. Time enough, later, to acquaint his new friend with the details of his work, although he did not imagine that anything much would disturb her.

  ‘You’re not working in it though, are you?’ said Bella. She was eyeing him appraisingly and he was aware that she was taking in his smart appearance. He was casually dressed in what was known as a Norfolk jacket, with a soft cap, such as that favoured by Bertie, the Prince of Wales. William always dressed fashionably, according to the company and the situation in which he found himself. He knew that Bella had already sized him up as a bit of a toff.

  ‘What is it that you do?’ she asked now. ‘No…don’t tell me, let me guess… I think you work in a bank…’ He shook his head, smiling a little. ‘Well, an office of some sort anyroad. I don’t reckon you get yer hands dirty.’ He burst out laughing at that, but still did not let on.

  She frowned a little. ‘Or you might work in one o’ them big posh shops. Floor walkers, don’t they call ’em? I can just see you in a black coat and pin-striped trousers.’

  ‘You’re not so far off the mark there, with the dress at any rate,’ he replied. ‘Well, some of the time I have to dress up… No, I’m not going to tell you, not yet, but I promise that I will, later. I work in my father’s business, and that’s all I’m going to say for now.’

  ‘I suppose it don’t matter much anyways,’ said Bella, briefly squeezing his arm. ‘I like you, William Moon. I’ve decided I like you a lot, whatever it is you do.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he replied. ‘And I’ve decided that I like you too… Now, how about a stroll over the Spa Bridge. You’ll soon get the smell of fish out of your nostrils over yonder.’ They had passed the harbour where the fishing vessels and leisure craft were moored for the night and, reaching the end of Foreshore Road, they started to climb the steps which led up, through a laid out garden area, to St Nicholas Cliff. Above them loomed the magnificent edifice of the Grand Hotel.

  ‘What d’you reckon to that then?’ he asked as they reached the top. ‘The Grand Hotel. It’s supposed to be the finest in all Europe.’ They stood and admired it whilst getting their breath back from the climb.

  ‘Aye, very lah-di-dah,’ said Bella. ‘Not for the likes of you and me though, bonny lad. Well, not for me anyways. Dunno so much about you, but I don’t reckon I’ll ever have the brass to stay in a place like that. I wouldn’t mind though…’ she added wistfully.

  It occupied a commanding position on the headland overlooking the South Bay, but it was considered by some to be overpowering in its enormity. You could not fail to be aware of it, looming over the town and dominating the skyline.

  ‘I’ve heard it has three hundred and sixty-five bedrooms,’ said William, ‘One for each day o’ t’ year. And twelve floors…’

  ‘One for each month, I suppose,’ said Bella.

  ‘Aye, that’s right. And four domes, one at each corner, one for each season.’

  ‘How long has it been there?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not quite sure. They were building it for years, it seemed, and then the company ran out o’ money. Anyway, a businessman from Leeds came to the rescue, and it opened in 1867, about thirteen year ago. And doing very well an’ all, so they say. Now, let’s have a walk on t’ bridge, shall we?’

  William paid their pennies at the toll gate and they stepped on to the broad walkway which spanned the valley. Halfway across they leant on the railings, gazing out to sea across the stretch of golden sand. There were still a few people strolling on the beach in the balmy air of the June evening, but soon they would be forced to leave as the tide was advancing. The view was quite breathtaking in its beauty, although William had seen it many times before. To the left the harbour and the sweep of the South Bay, with the ruined castle on the cliff top and, below it, the parish church of St Mary and the hotels facing on to the North Bay; and to the right, in their wooded setting, the Spa buildings after which the bridge was named.

  ‘D’you like listening to music?’ asked William, gesturing towards the newly renovated building of the Spa below them. ‘They have concerts there. I thought perhaps, sometime, we might…?’

  ‘What sort o’ concert?’ asked Bella. ‘I’ve never had much chance, y’see, to listen to what you might call proper music, and I don’t know as it’d be my cup of tea.’

  ‘Oh, they put on all sorts of shows at the Spa,’ said William, ‘especially since it’s been rebuilt. There was a terrible fire a few years ago and it only opened up again last year. There’s a theatre there now and they put on summer shows and a pantomime at Christmas.’

  ‘I shan’t be here at Christmas, shall I?’ said Bella, turning to give him a quizzical glance.

  ‘No… I don’t suppose you will.’ He looked into her dark eyes which were fixed steadily on him, reflecting that it was most likely she would be here today and gone tomorrow; well, not tomorrow, of course, but certainly at the end of the herring season. It was up to him to make the most of their time together, that was if she wanted to go on seeing him. ‘They have brass band concerts, though, on a Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘Brass bands?’ said Bella. ‘Now you’re talking! I’m all for a bit of tiddly-om-pom-pom.’ She moved her arms back and forth as though playing a trombone, her voice tootling a popular air from HMS Pinafore. ‘I’ve heard ’em on the prom at South Shields. An’ I like the music hall…’ Her voice rose on a cadence with enthusiasm. ‘Aye, I’m quite partial to – what do they call it? – that there vaudeville? My pal Nancy and me, we’ve had many a good night out at the music hall in Newcastle.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve any amount of theatres here,’ said William. ‘Highbrow and lowbrow, whatever you fancy. And shows on the beach an’ all. Minstrel shows, they’re all the rage at the moment.’

  ‘Y’ mean the ones wi’ black faces?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. They’re not really black, of course; they’re white men that paint their faces. Negro minstrels, they call themselves. My father, now, he’s become a right keen follower of ’em. Morgan’s Merry Minstrels; they’re his favourites. They’ve got a pitch over on the North Bay and he’s there every chance he gets.’ He chuckled. ‘He’s got me quite addicted to ’em an’ all.’ Both Isaac and William had found that watching the jolly antics and listening to the music – the oftentimes haunting and nostalgic songs – afforded a welcome respite from the more unpleasant aspects of their daily work.

  ‘I’ve never seen any of ’em,’ said Bella. ‘But it sounds as though it might be right up my street. Nowt too educated like; I’m only an ordinary sort o’ lass.’

  ‘You seem all right to m
e,’ said William as, by mutual agreement it seemed, they started to walk back the way they had come, along the bridge then down the steps to the promenade.

  Bella told him, as they walked, that her home was in Morpeth, or, rather, that was the place where she had been born; a ‘canny place’, she said, a market town surrounded by the rolling Northumberland hills. But she had left home when she was thirteen to go into service at one of the big houses in the area. He gathered that she had not been happy at home. As the eldest of six, she had been nothing more than a skivvy for her ailing mother; a pitiful woman, so it seemed, worn down by continual child-bearing. By the time the last child had been stillborn and her mother had also died, due to inadequate care, Bella had already been in service for nearly two years, working herself up from scullery maid to kitchen maid, and then to housemaid. She had ignored her father’s pleas for her to return home and, within a year, he had married again to the twenty-year-old daughter of a neighbour who had agreed to be a mother to his five remaining children.

  William had heard similar stories many times before. Frequently their clients were the husbands of women who had died in childbirth, and it was the task of Isaac Moon and Son to do their job with as much sympathy as they could muster, and not to criticise or condemn. William, now aged eighteen, had had his eyes opened to the grim realities of life. He had already decided that when he found a wife he would treat her with the respect due to her sex and status; he had been given a perfect example with his own parents.

  He was aware now that Bella was telling him only as much of her story as she wanted him to know. She told him, somewhat hesitantly, how she had left the house where she was working when she was sixteen years old. There had been a disagreement – that was as much as she would say – and the lady of the house had not quibbled when she had said she wanted to leave. She and her friend, Nancy, had then decided to follow the herring fleet down the east coast during the summer months. They lived together in ‘digs’ during the winter, finding whatever work they could, cleaning or working in bars. But now Nancy was married and Bella, in her third summer as a herring girl, would be on her own during the coming winter.