A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Rose heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank the saints it’s not you!’

  ‘So old John’s all right?’ Bill asked.

  ‘He’ll live,’ Jack muttered. ‘Shoutin’ at the nurses for baccy and beer when I left him.’

  Kate could not speak, as disappointment engulfed her. Yet she was seized with guilt at wanting harm to come to either man.

  Catherine came running in. ‘Is me da dead?’

  ‘No, hinny,’ Rose said. ‘He’s in the hospital. Be back the morra more than likely.’

  Catherine fell into her lap. ‘I’ll pray to Our Lady for him to get better, Mam. He mustn’t die with his sins unwashed.’

  ‘Aye, you do that,’ Rose agreed, stroking her head. ‘There’s a canny pile to wash.’

  ‘Time for bed,’ Kate said abruptly. ‘I’ll sleep with you the night, Mam. Kitty can go on the desk bed.’ She avoided Jack’s look. ‘We’ll not leave Mam on her own, will we, lass?’

  ‘Can I sleep next to you, Mam?’ Catherine pleaded. ‘Our Kate can gan on the desk bed.’

  ‘You’ll sleep where I tell you.’ Kate was sharp.

  Catherine’s look was stubborn. ‘I want to sleep with Mam. She doesn’t smell of whisky like you do.’

  Kate reddened. ‘Watch your tongue—’

  But Rose intervened quickly. ‘She can come in me bed -just while Father’s not here. Now off you go, Kitty, before I change me mind.’

  Catherine scampered off with a triumphant glance at Kate. Kate swallowed her humiliation and stalked back into the scullery.

  ***

  The next day, John was brought home in an ambulance. The whole of the street came to their doors to gawp. One trouser leg was ripped to the knee and his leg was heavily bandaged. He groaned and winced as he was helped into the house, but Kate suspected he was enjoying the fuss.

  ‘Fought the bloody Afghans and marched with Lord Roberts,’ he cried, ‘but I’ve never had pain like this. Shouldn’t have let the bloody doctors near me. Fetch me whisky, lass.’

  ‘You’ll drink tea,’ Rose told him firmly. ‘Get him on to the settle. He can give his orders from there.’ Her look was unsympathetic.

  Over the next few days, John held court from the high-backed bench. Drinking friends came in with bottles of beer and tots of rum, and sat around listening to the story of the accident. It grew in length and seriousness with each telling.

  ‘It’s a miracle you’re still here to tell the tale,’ Kate said drily, after hearing it for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Hold your gob and pour us another drink,’ John ordered.

  What was certain was that John had no intention of going back to work. A union official came to see him and talked about trying to get compensation from the yard. Kate watched her step-father visibly puff up with self-importance after the visit. But even she was excited by talk of lump sums. They could pay off all their debts in an instant. The bairn could have new clothes, she new shoes. Maybe she wouldn’t have to slave every waking hour to try to make ends meet. Oh, to be able to put her feet up at the end of the day and just sit for an hour!

  Kate’s spirits rose in hope. There was another bonus to her stepfather’s accident too. As he found it so difficult to move around, it was decided he should sleep on the settle for the time being. Every night, Kate escaped happily to the security of the parlour with Rose and Catherine, knowing Jack would not dare follow her there.

  Catherine, she noticed, was lording it over her friends with her injured father. She repeated John’s story until it became heroic. He had saved the other worker from almost certain death by taking the brunt of the falling timber.

  ‘And he used to fight the Afghans,’ Catherine boasted, ‘so my da’s braver than yours.’

  Kate thought there was little harm in it. But one chilly Saturday afternoon while she was standing at the kitchen window rolling out pastry, she heard shouting erupt in the back lane. Catherine had been playing ‘shops’ with some of the other girls, swapping and trading buttons and bits of broken china and coloured glass.

  ‘You took it!’ Catherine yelled.

  ‘I never!’

  ‘You did so - I saw you. Show me what’s in your hand.’

  ‘Gerr-off!’

  Kate wiped her hands on her apron and went to the back door. She was minding baby Alec for Mary and he was sleeping in his pram in the yard. The last thing she wanted was him waking up before she’d finished baking. On the point of calling for hush, Kate stopped. Something about the tone of the argument made her hesitate. There was menace in the other girl’s voice.

  ‘What you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’ll tell me ma on you,’ Catherine cried.

  Belle rounded on her. The look of savage triumph on her young face made Kate go cold.

  ‘She’s not your ma!’

  ‘She is so,’ Catherine exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘She’s not. If you want to know, she’s your grandma. Me mam says so.’

  ‘No she’s not. I’ll hit you—’

  ‘Your Kate’s your ma. And she drinks. I’d hate to have a ma who drinks like yours.’ Belle thrust her face right at Catherine’s.

  ‘No, she’s never,’ Catherine gasped, horrified. ‘I’ll get me da on you for saying so - and - and he’ll belt you one!’

  ‘Your da?’ Belle laughed in scorn. ‘I’m sick of hearing ‘bout your da - ‘cos he’s not your da neither. He’s your grandda. You’ve got no da!’

  Kate felt thumped in the chest. She staggered back out of view, gasping for breath. She could not bear to see the look on her daughter’s face. This was the moment she had dreaded since the day Catherine was born. But for her to find out from other children - friends - was too humiliating. She wanted to rush out and shake them till their teeth rattled for their cruelty. But she could not move. All that Belle said was true. Gripping the table to stop herself collapsing, she listened to the vicious taunting of the neighbours’ children who all took up the cry.

  ‘You’ve got no da! You’ve got no da!’

  Through the window she could see them circling Catherine in the lane, chanting as if it was a game. Kate’s throat burned.

  ‘What’s all that racket?’ Rose asked, turning in her chair.

  ‘They know,’ Kate whispered. ‘Everyone knows.’

  ‘Knows what?’

  Kate looked up, her face drained of colour. ‘Listen to them, Mam.’

  The high-pitched chorus rang out across the icy yard. ‘She’s got no da! She’s got no da! Kitty McMullen has got no da!’

  John paused in his game of patience at the table. ‘What them little beggars shoutin’?’

  ‘They’re teasin’ our Kitty,’ Rose said in distress. ‘They know we’re not her ma and da.’

  John thumped the table. ‘I’ll thrash the little wasters!’ he cried, going purple in the face. ‘If I had the use of me legs ...! Get after them, woman.’ He waved his stick at Kate. ‘Chase ‘em off!’

  But the next moment, Kate saw Catherine bolting through the yard gate, hands clamped to her ears. Tears were streaming down her face. Running towards the back door, she caught sight of Kate at the window and stopped dead.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Kate saw her daughter’s young face ravaged with doubt and confusion. The eyes that gazed at her were Alexander’s. How could she possibly deny the truth? There wasn’t a trace of McMullen in her. Catherine was Alexander’s through and through.

  Kate smiled tentatively. Perhaps now the truth was out, they could start again. Mother and daughter. Catherine stood, shoulders heaving as she sobbed. She looked so vulnerable and alone. Kate’s heart went out to her. She stepped away from the window to go to meet her daughter, throw comforting arms about her. In that instant, she saw fear cross the child’s face. Or
was it something else? Disgust.

  Kate withered inside. Catherine spun round and dashed into the privy. The door slammed and Kate heard the bolt lock. She crossed the yard and stood outside.

  ‘Haway out, ninny,’ she coaxed. ‘Come for your dinner.’

  ‘G-go away!’ Catherine sobbed.

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to what Belle says.’

  There was loud sniffing, then silence.

  ‘Just silly name-callin’.’

  ‘Go away - I hate you!’

  Baby Alec chose that moment to wake up and start crying. Kate gave up with a heavy heart. She picked up her nephew and took him back inside.

  ‘She won’t come out the netty,’ she told her mother.

  ‘She’ll come round,’ Rose said.

  But they sat on gloomily throughout the afternoon and the girl did not reappear. Eventually Mary came to claim Alec, and the lodgers and Jack came back for tea. Kate went out into the dark yard and hammered on the privy door.

  ‘You have to come out, Kitty. It’s past tea time. The men want in the netty.’

  There was no reply. Kate lost patience.

  ‘If you don’t come out, I’ll get Bill to break the door down and hoy you out!’

  She heard a movement inside. The bolt slid back and the door opened. Catherine slipped out, shoulders hunched and face averted. She passed like a ghost, pale and silent. Kate followed her back inside.

  ‘Come and sit by me,’ John ordered. ‘You can share the top of me egg.’

  Catherine shot him a look, then slowly took her customary seat beside him.

  ‘What’s wrong with me chatterbox?’ Bill asked, unaware of the source of the tension.

  The girl neither looked at him, nor spoke.

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ Kate scolded, unnerved by her icy silence.

  Catherine glowered across the table. Kate filled with sudden fury. What was she supposed to do? She had protected her all she could. But none of them was immune to the bigoted censure of those they lived amongst. She had had to endure their whispering gossip and contemptuous looks for years. Catherine would have found out sooner or later.

  That night, the girl did not go to Rose to have her hair combed or stand between her knees while her grandmother checked for lice. She would not go near Rose at all or speak to her. Her look was full of hurt as if she trusted none of them. She went to bed without a word.

  Later, Kate found her curled up on the desk bed, hidden under the blankets. When she bent over her, the child shrank from her touch.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kate whispered, ‘sorry you had to hear it like that.’

  Catherine burrowed further into the covers.

  ‘It’s not easy for me an’ all,’ Kate sighed. ‘But now you know. I’m your mam and you’ll have to get used to it.’

  Suddenly Catherine emerged, her face hot and tear-stained. Her eyes blazed.

  ‘Never,’ she hissed. ‘You’re not me mam. I hate you.’ Her chin trembled as she gulped back more tears. ‘You’ll never be me ma!’

  Kate reeled with shock at the savage words. Her daughter hated her. She had never guessed how much she was despised. But it was written all over the girl’s hostile face.

  Something inside Kate snapped, a last cord of tenderness towards her troublesome daughter. If her own flesh and blood loathed her so much, what hope had she for love in this bleak world? Alexander had not only deserted her, he had cursed her with a child who despised her so much she would disown her as a mother! Well, she’d waste no more time trying to comfort the girl. Let her stew in her own misery.

  Kate got to her feet, blinking back hot tears. She wished she could tear out the pain inside her, run away and never have to face her daughter again. But she was chained to her for ever, tied to this place that was more prison than home. There was only one way to blot out the overwhelming desolation and rage.

  Kate swallowed her pride and begged her stepfather, ‘Give us a lend and I’ll gan fill the grey hen.’

  He fished out a coin from his waistcoat pocket and threw it across the table. Avoiding her mother’s withering look, Kate scrabbled for the coin and picked up the earthenware jar they kept for fetching whisky. She hurried out into the black, windy night, her step quickening at the thought of liquor. She would drink until she was senseless. Only then would there be no more pain.

  Chapter 40

  1914

  In the spring, John received one hundred pounds in compensation. The mood at Number Ten was joyous.

  ‘That’s me set for retirement,’ he declared, propping his bad leg on the fender. ‘I’ll have a new suit for starters, and we’ll buy furniture for the parlour like Mary and Alec got. Brand new from The Store. What about that, eh, Rose? And you can treat yourself to a Sunday bonnet, so you can tak the bairn to Mass.’

  ‘I need a new suit an’ all,’ Jack joined in.

  ‘Can I have a bicycle?’ Catherine asked in excitement. ‘Please, Da! I could cycle along the cinder tracks and fetch coal on a bicycle.’

  ‘Aye, you can have a bicycle,’ John said expansively.

  ‘Eeh, ta!’ The girl squealed in delight and clapped her hands.

  ‘After the rent’s been paid off,’ Kate added, looking up from the ironing.

  John waved a dismissive hand. ‘The lodgers cover the rent.’

  ‘No they don’t.’ Kate banged down the iron. ‘We’ve three months owing on the rent.’

  ‘That’s your business,’ John replied. ‘I’m a retired man. I’ve signed the papers, haven’t I, Jack? Said I won’t work at Tyne Dock again. Else they wouldn’t have coughed up the money.’

  Kate stared at him. ‘But you will give us some money for the rent, won’t you? You’ve enough to keep the roof over our heads for the rest of the year - and still have plenty to spend.’

  John glared back. ‘Don’t think you’re ganin’ to see a penny of this. I’m the one who suffered. I’ll never walk proper again.’

  ‘Only ‘cos you wouldn’t let us change the bandages and got infected.’ Kate was scathing. ‘Too stubborn to let the doctor see to it. That’s why you’ve got a gammy leg.’

  It was the wrong thing to say. John went a belligerent red.

  ‘Doctors! They kill more folk than they cure. It’s my money and I’ll spend it how I want. The housekeepin’s your concern.’

  Kate was speechless. He was being handed a fortune, but she was the only one not going to see a ha’penny of it. She appealed to her mother.

  ‘Mam, tell him! It’s not fair. I deserve a bit too—’

  ‘You’ve got more than you deserve,’ John barked, before Rose could speak. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t hoy you out on the street years ago. So don’t you gan tellin’ me how to spend me compensation.’

  Kate went puce with indignation. But there was nothing she could do about it.

  As summer came, she watched John squander the money on clothes and furniture, drinking and betting. Despite his bad leg he managed trips into town to spend his windfall round the pubs. He and Jack went on all-day drinking binges, so that sometimes Kate was the only one bringing in any wages at all. John’s money was locked in the drawer of Rose’s sewing box and jealously guarded. Occasionally Rose managed to slip Kate a few coins which she thought John would not miss. Kate spent them on beer, sometimes pressing a ha’penny into Catherine’s hand to buy a comic. She saw how the child waited eagerly for John to buy her the promised bicycle, but the weeks went by and it was never mentioned again.

  Instead, most of the money went on drink. The men would stagger up the street swearing at children playing late in the twilight and shout obscenities at the neighbours. Late into the night they would sing and curse and fall into argument over whether Britain would go to war with Germany or not. No lodgers wou
ld stay more than a night, so Kate gave up trying to keep them. She lay tensely in bed in the back room, praying for the fighting to stop and silence to fall. For only if they passed out with drink did she feel safe.

  Even sharing the bed with Catherine did not keep Jack’s unwanted attentions at bay. Fortified with drink, he would sneak into their bedroom and seek her out. She would be dragged out of exhausted sleep by a shake on the shoulder and a pleading whisper. ‘Please, our Kate, give us a bit love. Just let me lie with you.’

  ‘Gerr-off, Jack!’ she would hiss, pushing him away. ‘You’ll wake the bairn.’

  Sometimes it worked and he slunk away. On other nights he cursed her for being heartless and swore he would not stand up for her again. ‘Me da’s right, you’re just a slut,’ he would accuse. Only when Catherine stirred would he stagger from the room.

  In the morning he would often look at her with remorse, but neither of them spoke of his night-time visits. If only he could get away from John’s malign influence, Kate thought bleakly, he would not be like this. The longer he stayed, the more she feared for both Jack and herself.

  Another fear that kept Kate awake at night was debt. She woke sweating and pulse racing from nightmares about being hauled in front of the county court for not paying the rent. It terrified her in the same way as the stigma of ending up in the workhouse did. She might be sent to prison; then who would look after her mother and Catherine?

  When fear grew insurmountable, she would parcel up John’s new clothes for the pawnshop in Bede Street. One Monday morning, when Catherine was moaning about being tired and the long trek to school, Kate snapped.

  ‘You can stay off then and tak these clothes to the in and out.’

  The girl looked at her in shock. ‘I - I cannot. I’m not old enough.’

  ‘Here’s a penny,’ Kate said grimly. ‘Ask a wife to put them in for you. Gompertz won’t mind, he’s a canny man.’

  ‘But I don’t want—’

  ‘Be off with you! Haven’t I got enough on me plate? Don’t come back with anything less than ten bob for that lot.’

  Kate steeled herself against the girl’s pleading look and retreated to the wash house to start the mammoth weekly wash. When she emerged again, Catherine was gone. It was nearly dinner time before she returned and Kate was getting anxious, going into the lane and peering down the hill for any sight of her.