Jack appeared again just in time for tea, like an animal scenting food. He eyed her as he slipped into his seat, but said nothing. Afterwards, she was left to clear up while Rose went to bed early.
‘I get tired with the bairn,’ she said, with a look that told Kate it was her fault.
Jack sprawled on the hearth reading an old newspaper, while John supped his way through the jug of beer. When that was finished, he roused Jack with a kick and told him to fetch another jugful.
‘Mam said that was to be your last,’ he muttered.
John kicked him again. ‘Don’t listen to her, you nancy-boy. Get up and do what I tell you! Tak some money from the tin.’
Jack jumped to his feet and went out scowling with a coin from Kate’s wages. Kate sat down on the settle with a sigh. She could not go to bed until they did, and now her stepfather was in for one of his drinking sessions.
When Jack returned, John turned to Kate and said, ‘You can stop your sighing and fetch another cup.’
‘Who for?’ Kate said irritably.
‘You,’ John answered, with a sly look. ‘And one for the lad for fetching the beer. We’ll all sit and have a drink together and a bit sing-song.’
Kate knew it was best to humour him, so did as he asked. She poured out three cups of the dark ale and nursed hers while watching the men knock theirs back. John wiped his mouth and stared at her.
‘Haway, get it down your neck. Tak the twisty look off your face.’
Kate sipped. It tasted bitter on her tongue.
‘And again,’ he ordered.
She took a longer swig. It frothed in her mouth, leaving a malty taste, more pleasant than the first. She took another. A warm feeling spread through her stomach. She drank again and realised the cup was empty.
John laughed and thumped the table. ‘That’s it, lass! Knew you’d like it. Makes your troubles fly out the door. Pour us another.’
Kate glanced at Jack and saw that his cup was empty too. They eyed each other and he nodded like a fellow conspirator. Best to keep the old drunkard happy, the look said. She filled up their cups.
After a few more swigs, she began to feel content, even merry. Her head was pleasantly fuzzy. It had just been a temporary setback with the baby. Tomorrow she would be full of smiles for her real mother. Kate would cuddle her and spoon her meals with the second-hand horn spoon she had bought her and bask in her daughter’s smiles.
‘Give us a song, lass!’ John ordered, sloshing more beer into her empty cup.
Before long, Kate was singing her heart out. Irish and north country ballads, popular music-hall songs. The words poured out of her like a river bursting its banks. She had not sung like this for an age - not since Ravensworth.
It was a blessed release. Kate had a vague recollection of more beer being fetched and more songs sung, until Rose banged on the wall and shouted at them to stop or they’d wake the baby. But they carried on, until the songs became maudlin and Kate could no longer sing for crying.
By the time she and Jack managed to frog-march John to his bed, the fire had almost died out. Kate stumbled back into the kitchen and collapsed on to the settle, her head spinning as she lay. She closed her eyes to stop the room moving. She couldn’t remember why she had been crying. Her mind was blanketed in alcohol, her thoughts woolly. The next moment she was deep in sleep and nothing mattered at all.
Chapter 36
June 1912
Peering out of the train window, Kate could just make out the dockside warehouses, but the river was hidden by a sea fret. She had left Chester-le-Street in bright sunshine, wearing a thin cotton lavender dress and a broad hat with large purple bow to match that Mrs Slater had given her.
‘You look bonny,’ the baker’s wife had told her that morning, loading her up with a cake and scones. ‘You enjoy your day off.’
She had asked for this Thursday off because it was Catherine’s sixth birthday. Kate was coming home as a surprise with a cake and a length of pale blue ribbon for Catherine’s long chestnut hair. She had saved up the train fare from the small amount her mother allowed her to keep each month since John and Jack were in regular work at the docks once more.
Several years of slump had hit Tyneside while Kate worked away. Old Charles Palmer, whose shipbuilding and steel empire employed most of Jarrow in the boom times, was dead. There had been strikes over reduced wages and scrapping over what little work there was. For two years hardly a ship was launched from Palmer’s, and the McMullens had only survived on the wages and food Kate brought home. Not that she got a word of thanks, she thought bitterly. As far as her parents were concerned, it was her duty and her penance. She would provide for her daughter, even though she was forbidden to be a mother.
In the early days, when she appeared on rare days off, Catherine would totter towards her and hold out her arms, squealing, ‘Kate! Kate!’ Kate would grab the small girl and swing her round in a boisterous embrace. But Rose was always there to snatch her back.
‘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 daughter 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 Leam 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 w
here 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 Leam Lane and their neighbour’s disdain. By God, she’d give them hell when she found them all!
THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow Page 71