A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘What a silly fuss you make! I’ve just ironed that dress.’ And she would plonk her down and straighten the girl’s clothes. ‘Now sit on the fender, Kitty, and don’t fidget.’

  Gradually Catherine stopped running to greet Kate, rather giving her a shy, wary smile, and so Kate stopped trying to pick her up. She stifled her urge to hug and kiss until she almost thought of the young girl as her sister. Almost. But there were times when she caught a look of Alexander - in the bold hazel eyes, the glint of copper in her hair - that made her heart leap with bitter-sweet longing. At such moments she battled between wanting to hold her close and shake her until the pent-up rage subsided, for the girl was the only reminder that her lover had ever existed.

  Catherine was pretty but stubborn, and mostly Kate was glad it was Rose who had to discipline the child. She would wander off down the street and be found halfway across Tyne Dock, beyond the dripping archways or escaping up the bank towards Jarrow, swinging on the gates of larger houses.

  ‘She’ll be found face down in the Slacks!’ Kate protested after finding her playing on the waste ground above Jarrow Slake.

  ‘I’m too old to gan chasing after her,’ Rose defended. ‘But she gets a skelpin’ when she comes home.’

  Kate suspected that was frequently. Yet the child showed no concern at either threats or chastisements. She was lively and inquisitive, keen to join in the street games with the older children and capable of throwing a tantrum when told to come in sooner than she wanted. To Kate’s amazement, the only one who never lifted a hand to her was old John. Never had she heard that he unbuckled his belt for Catherine. He still threatened his own children with a thrashing, but never the child. He left that to Rose, while he patted Catherine like a pet dog and she sat close to him and shared his meals.

  It was a glimpse of the former John who had given them gruff love when they were young. Kate remembered how, as a child, she had tried so hard to please her stepfather, the way Catherine did now. So she made no comment and did not interfere, except over one issue, Catherine’s schooling.

  ‘She’ll gan to the Catholic school,’ John frequently declared, ‘be brought up in the Faith.’

  But Kate was determined that her daughter would not go to the local school in Tyne Dock where Father O’Neill held sway. So far they had managed to keep up the charade that Rose and John were Catherine’s parents, but Kate feared the priest would pick on the child, for she suspected he had guessed all along. She saw it in his sharp look, and blushed at his harsh words about sin. He would see it as his mission to be hard on the girl for her own good, to save her soul from the flames of hell.

  So when Catherine turned four and Kate was home in the late summer, she dressed her daughter neatly and marched her up the hill to Simonside parish school, while John was at work. Catherine skipped happily past the allotments and large houses of Simonside village, until they reached the school. It was set by the road, with the church behind and a field to play in between the two. Catherine was delighted and settled in happily.

  ‘Simonside?’ John exploded on his return. ‘It’s full of Protestants! I’ll not have her sittin’ next to dirty Protestants.’

  ‘It’s handy for her,’ Kate insisted. ‘She can walk herself up the bank.’ Then she held her stepfather’s look and added, ‘And none of the bairns there live round here, so they’re not ganin’ to talk about what they don’t know.’

  So reluctantly John had agreed that Catherine could stay. It pleased Kate greatly that Catherine enjoyed going to school and was doing well in her lessons. Already at five she was coming home and reciting rhymes to them on the kitchen hearth. The girl was quick and bright and Kate was secretly proud.

  Only when Mary left her job at Ravensworth and came home did trouble start over Catherine. At twenty-three, Mary had tired of chambermaiding and was desperate to be wed. She took a cleaning job at the tram depot and was soon courting a mild-mannered driver called Alexander. Kate couldn’t help wondering if she had chosen a man of that name deliberately, but Mary’s Alec was kind to Catherine so she said nothing. Her contrary sister was another matter. She alternately vied for the child’s attention and punished her for petty crimes.

  Recently, Kate had come home to find Mary spanking Catherine hard. For once she intervened.

  ‘The little bugger broke me pearl necklace - the one Alec gave me!’ her sister screamed as Kate pushed her aside.

  ‘I’m s-s-sorry!’ Catherine wailed. ‘Dolly snatched it at the p-party.’

  Kate threw her arms around the sobbing child. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here, pet.’

  ‘She deserved it,’ Rose said from her chair by the fire. ‘Made a spectacle of hersel’ at Dolly Lodge’s party - showing off by all accounts.’

  Kate ignored the remark and cuddled the shaking girl.

  ‘And what am I going to tell my Alec?’ Mary fumed.

  ‘He’ll not mind.’ Kate was dismissive. ‘You shouldn’t have let the lass have them if you cared that much.’ Mary had only lent the necklace to win Catherine’s favour and to spite her, Kate thought crossly.

  ‘That’s the last time I give her a lend of anything,’ Mary snapped. ‘I just did it out the kindness of me heart, so she had sommat fancy to wear for the party - ‘cos you give her nowt,’ she added cattily.

  Kate bristled. She hugged Catherine tight and whispered loudly, ‘Don’t listen to her - they weren’t real pearls anyway.’

  ‘They were so!’ Mary cried.

  But Catherine turned her face away from Kate’s and struggled to be free. ‘You smell nasty, our Kate,’ the girl complained finally. ‘You smell like me da.’

  Kate let her go as if she’d been scorched. ‘What you mean by that?’ she asked indignantly. Catherine rushed over to Rose and squatted between her legs without another word.

  ‘What d’you think she means?’ Mary was scornful. ‘You stink of booze like Father, that’s what.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ Kate said, blushing furiously. Catherine fixed her with frightened hazel eyes. ‘I just had the one on me way here,’ she blustered. ‘Bumped into Cousin Maisie outside the station - didn’t want to offend her.’

  Her mother’s look was full of contempt.

  ‘I’m entitled to a bit of fun on me day off,’ Kate protested.

  ‘Bad will out,’ Mary murmured maliciously.

  Kate rounded on her. ‘Don’t you give me that holy look! You’re no better than me - just luckier. I’m the one hands over me wages, not you. So I’ll spend me holiday how I like!’

  She had stormed out and gone back to the Railway Hotel, looking for her McMullen cousin, who had become her occasional drinking companion on days off. Maisie worked hard at a rope factory and liked ‘a bit sup and a sing-song’ in her free hours too. It was a respectable hotel back room, not the bar. There was no harm in it.

  Maisie had gone, but there were two other women she recognised who stood her a drink or two. Kate stayed until it was time to go back to Chester-le-Street and did not bother to go home again that day.

  Kate sighed at the memory as she gathered up her parcel of bakery. Now the train was pulling into misty Tyne Dock once again. This time it would be better. She would go straight home and not be tempted to stop off for a glass of beer, even though the thought made her throat feel dry. She shivered as she stepped on to the platform. The air was cold and clammy after the hot carriage. The sea mist clung to her hair and seeped into her thin summer clothes, making her shiver.

  Walking through the streets of Tyne Dock was an eerie experience. She could hear the clatter of wheels as trams rolled past and a dray horse whinnied close by, but could see nothing. The town was draped in a white pall, sounds echoing off unseen walls.

  Kate had hoped for a sunny afternoon where she could sit on the step and watch Catherine playing with her friends and she would please her da
ughter by inviting them all in for scones and cake.

  ‘Our Kate always brings home sommat tasty,’ she could hear Catherine boast. ‘Works in a posh shop, for the well-to-do.’

  Mary called it putting on airs, when the young girl spoke like that. But it pleased Kate, for no one was going to label her daughter a common street urchin like some of the scruffier inhabitants of Learn Lane.

  Her footsteps rang as she made her way down to the dockside street. As she approached Number Five, she could see a small figure squatting on the doorstep scoring the stone with a shard of glass.

  ‘Stop that, you’ll cut yourself!’ Kate cried, dashing forward.

  The child looked up in alarm. She had a round pale face and matted black hair.

  ‘Eeh, I thought you were Kitty,’ she laughed in confusion. ‘Is the bairn indoors?’

  The girl stared at her in suspicion. Kate wondered if she was a bit simple.

  ‘Kitty McMullen?’ she said impatiently. ‘Shift so I can gan in, hinny.’

  The child did not move. Kate felt her temper flare quickly.

  ‘Haway, it’s the lass’s birthday - out the road!’

  ‘Mam,’ the glum girl suddenly whined, ‘Mam!’

  A moment later, a thin dark-haired woman came out clutching a broom.

  ‘What you want?’ she demanded.

  Kate stood back. ‘Sorry, must’ve got the wrong house -it’s like pea soup the day!’ But even as she said it, she knew she stood outside Number Five. She could smell the wafts of beer from the pub next door. She stepped forward again.

  ‘What you doing here? This is me mam’s house. The McMullens’.’

  The woman scowled at her, brandishing her broom. ‘This is our house. Don’t know of any McMullens.’

  Kate gawped in disbelief. Maybe they were all hiding inside, playing a silly trick on her. But then no one knew she was coming.

  ‘Don’t be bloody daft,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘The McMullens have lived here for years. Old John and me mam - and Jack -and the bairn.’

  The woman yanked at the child on the step and pushed her inside. ‘Well, they don’t live here now,’ she said shortly. ‘This is ours - paid for fair and square.’ She slammed the door shut.

  Kate stood speechless. What on earth had become of her family? At once, dire thoughts paralysed her. There’d been a terrible accident. They’d been burnt out. Jack had been injured at work, killed. They’d been evicted for not paying the rent. John had gambled it all away on Race Day. They’d had to go to the workhouse. Something awful had happened to Catherine - she was in the isolation hospital dying of summer fever - they all were!

  Kate’s heart hammered in fright. She could make no sense of it. In a panic she began running up the street, banging on doors and screaming.

  ‘Have you seen me mam? Do you know where they’ve gone? Has anyone seen the McMullens? Where’s our Kitty?’

  Finally someone loomed out of the mist. It was Mrs Lodge from four doors up.

  ‘Who’s making all that racket? Kate; is that you?’

  ‘Please, tell us what’s happened to me mam!’ Kate sobbed, fear clawing her stomach.

  ‘Calm yourself down, lass,’ Mrs Lodge said, putting out a hand.

  ‘I cannot find them,’ Kate gasped. ‘Has sommat bad happened?’

  ‘No, nothing bad. Well, not that I know of.’

  ‘Then where are they?’

  Mrs Lodge sniffed. ‘Done a flit. Up and offed about a month ago.’

  Kate was stunned. ‘A month?’

  ‘Aye, never said a word. But I saw the cart come for their things. That lass riding on top like the queen of the gypsies.’ Kate heard the disapproval in the woman’s voice. She hadn’t forgiven Catherine for spoiling Dolly’s party.

  Kate swallowed a swift retort. ‘Where did they gan, Mrs Lodge? Please tell us.’

  ‘Don’t rightly know. Somewhere up East Jarrow. Seen old John and the lad walking down the bank to work.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the Jarrow road. ‘Fancy them not telling you where they were going.’

  Kate went hot with indignation. ‘I’m sure they meant to. Ta for your help.’

  She turned and hurried down the street, away from the woman’s pitying stare. At least they couldn’t have gone far if the men were still working at Tyne Dock. She would soon find them. She had a hunch that they had returned to the New Buildings where they had lived once before in more prosperous times. If there was half a chance of renting round there, she knew her mother would jump at it.

  But to move without telling her! As Kate toiled up the hill towards East Jarrow, she became filled with anger at their thoughtlessness. She had thought them destitute or dead; she’d had to endure the humiliation of shouting up Learn Lane and their neighbour’s disdain. By God, she’d give them hell when she found them all!

  She lost her way in the fog and ended up missing the group of houses huddled at the top of Jarrow bank and found herself plunging down to the lip of the Slake. Kate could tell where she was by the stench of rotting rubbish and polluted effluent lapping on the tide. She cursed her mistake as her shoes stuck in the foul mud and backtracked hastily. She could hear the clang of chains and shivered. It sounded like the swinging of an iron gibbet. Was this where the pitch-smeared body of Jobling had hung to frighten the miners back to work? It was just the noise of a ship’s rigging, she told herself firmly as she fled up the hill.

  Finally Kate caught sight of a street corner emerging out of the mist. A glimmer of sunlight stabbed through the grey blanket, throwing a mysterious pearly light on the brickwork and bay windows. This was Simonside Terrace, the grandest of the half-built plot. Kate stopped to get her breath back. How was she to find them? She could not go yelling round these streets where she was not known. What if they weren’t here at all? She panicked. She would have to go back to Chester-le-Street not knowing what had become of them. The thought was too unbearable. She clung to the hope they were somewhere in the New Buildings.

  Clutching her now battered box of cakes, she strode down the terrace and turned into Phillipson Street. Peering into the strange hazy light, she could not see a soul, though she could hear children playing somewhere nearby. Their ghostly voices echoed around her. Kate searched the street. She spotted two boys throwing stones at a target on a yard wall.

  ‘Have you seen our Catherine?’ she demanded, grabbing one by the arm. ‘Kitty McMullen.’

  ‘Na, missus!’ he cried, alarmed by the sudden appearance of the angry woman.

  Kate let go. It was useless. She couldn’t search the whole of East Jarrow in the short time she had left. The sing-song voices of a girls’ skipping game came suddenly from very close. Kate spun round and ran to the end of the lane. It petered out into open land where the rest of the street should have been built but never had. Left took her into William Black Street; right into Lancaster Street. The noise seemed to be coming from the left.

  Kate swung into William Black Street. She could just make out a huddle of children beneath a solitary lamppost. They were spinning around in dizzy circles, holding on to the end of a rope that was tied to the post. Kate ran towards them. There was something about one of the girls, the glint of long plaits.

  She was almost upon the group when she recognised Catherine’s startled face. The girl was staring up at her as if she had seen a ghost. Kate reached out and seized her in relief.

  ‘You little bugger! Where’ve you been?’ she shouted, shaking her hard, not wanting to let go. ‘I thought you were dead! Don’t you ever do that to me again, do you hear?’

  ‘No,’ Catherine gasped, looking terrified.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ Kate barked.

  ‘In the house.’

  ‘And where’s that?’ Kate shook her angrily. ‘Show me!’

  The other children
scarpered in her wake as Kate hauled her daughter down the street. She had been frantic with worry all this time, but now she was filled with an inexplicable fury at the young girl. She had been playing happily with her new friends, indifferent to whether Kate returned or not. She probably hadn’t given her a second thought since the last time she saw her. Damn the child!

  Catherine, half running, half dragged, led her to Number Ten. Kate shoved her through the door. The front room with the best furniture and her parents’ bed was empty. Kate stormed into the kitchen. It was cluttered and untidy as if they had lived there for years.

  She caught sight of her mother dozing in a chair under the picture of Lord Roberts and threw Catherine forward. The girl stumbled into Rose.

  ‘What?’ Rose started from her nap. ‘What you doing here?’

  ‘Aye, it’s me!’ Kate let fly. ‘The one you didn’t bother to tell. I’ve been all over bloody Jarrow looking for you. Why didn’t you send word? I thought you’d gone in the workhouse!’

  ‘Don’t be so daft,’ Rose retorted. ‘We’ve come up in the world, not down. Yards are working full time, so we took our chance. Maggie told us this was for rent. There’s no need to fuss. You found us, didn’t you?’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ Kate shouted. ‘You should’ve written, Mam. I nearly went back not knowing ...!’ She burst into tears.

  ‘You know I cannot write letters,’ Rose blustered. ‘Anyways, I’m too busy.’

  ‘Mary can,’ Kate sobbed.

  ‘She would’ve done in time. I wasn’t expecting you. Why you back, any road?’ Rose went on the attack. ‘Not got yourself in trouble again?’

  ‘No!’ Kate sniffed, feeling doubly hurt. ‘Came back for the bairn’s birthday.’ She looked around, suddenly guilty at the way she had taken her anger out on Catherine. ‘I’m sorry, pet.’ She wiped her face and held out her arms, but Catherine sat rooted to her refuge on the steel fender, watching her warily.

  ‘I’ve brought you a cake - and a present,’ Kate said in a gentler voice. ‘Do you want to see what I’ve got?’