by Maggie Hope
It was the stalls themselves that really held her interest, though. The stallholders calling their wares, the piles of glistening boiled sweets and cinder toffee, and the wonderful smell from the penny dips and meat pies on a stall next to one piled high with cabbages and carrots.
Cabbages! ‘I must get on or Auntie Doris won’t let me come again,’ Ada muttered under her breath. If she did well, maybe Auntie would let her do the messages every Saturday afternoon. Maybe Thursday morning too, when the fishwives from Shields came and set their stalls up on the other side of the market square. Bye, she liked to see the fishwives from Shields and she liked the smell of the fish. It reminded her – what was it it reminded her of? Oh yes, the time when her star card was all filled up and she’d been able to go on the Sunday-school trip with Grannie. Ada struggled to remember that magical day and sketchily it came back to her.
The sea, bye, the sea was so big! The sands had stretched right along for miles and there had been fishwives on the quay, gutting the herring and throwing them into big boxes. It was Redcar, not South Shields, but Ada imagined it was just the same. Grannie had bought some herring and they had eaten them soused in vinegar and baked in the oven. How could she have forgotten that day? Reluctantly, Ada sighed and turned to the serious business of the afternoon.
Bustling now, she did a round of the vegetable stalls, checking the prices, looking for a stall that had almost sold out and was ready to pack up for the day. The serious shoppers had already bought and the crowds were just idling now, filling in the time before the Eden Theatre or the pubs opened. Youths were whistling boldly at girls and girls were tossing their heads, pretending disdain.
‘Tuppence a head, cabbages!’ A red-cheeked woman in a sacking apron and with thin, grey hair tied back tightly in a skimpy bun encouraged Ada as she picked over the produce on the woman’s stall. Critically, Ada pursed her lips in unconscious imitation of Auntie Doris and made as if to move away from the stall. She was small but she wasn’t going to be taken for a neddy.
‘Eeh, go on then, three ha’pence. An’ you won’t do fairer than that!’ the woman called after her.
Ada turned back and started to pick over the vegetables importantly, choosing half a dozen cabbages. Give them plenty vegetables, Auntie Doris always said, then they wouldn’t want so much meat. Eventually Ada had her bags full of carrots, cabbages, swedes, parsnips and leeks, but she turned down the Brussels sprouts as too dear. In the end she had to hoist the bags over her forearm rather than hold them in her hands or they would trail on the floor. But at last she was free to visit the toffee stall. Slowly, dragged down by the weight of the bags, she moved back along the line of stalls.
‘Get your toffee here!’ the stallholder was shouting as she wiped her hands on the bleached flour sack tied round her middle with a length of brown twine. ‘All home-made, I made it meself the day wi’ best butter and sugar!’
Ada quailed for a moment, eyeing the greasy, fair hair tied back with a length of the same twine, and the grimy marks on the flour sack. But the piles of cinder toffee, fudge and butter toffee, never mind the jars of boiled sweets, made her mouth water so much that she forgot about the dubious cleanliness of the toffee-maker as she pondered what to buy.
‘Aren’t you going to get pear drops?’ The laughing voice behind her brought her from her rapt contemplation of the goodies.
‘Johnny!’ She swung round to look up at him with a broad, delighted grin. It was lovely to be able to share her happy evening with him. Then her smile became anxious and slipped a little.
‘But you always buy me pear drops,’ she blurted. ‘And Auntie Doris said to buy toffee.’
‘All right! All right! I’ll still buy your pear drops.’ Johnny pretended to grumble but his eyes were alight with amusement. He waited, watching her eager little face as she turned back to the stall deciding at last on cinder toffee. The woman wrapped the broken pieces in a twist of paper and handed it over to Ada who stowed it in her skirt pocket. Johnny was fascinated by her total absorption in what she was doing as she methodically arranged the straps of the heavy bag over one arm and picked up the basket with the other.
‘I’ll carry them for you,’ he offered, taking the heavy shopping from her and lifting it easily. Though he was still thin and boyish, his muscles were already work-hardened.
‘Well,’ Ada said doubtfully, ‘only till we get back to the gate.’ She knew Auntie Doris would be angry if she saw them together and her aunt’s parting stricture came back to her – Johnny was a lad and she wasn’t supposed to talk to lads. Yet how could it hurt? She decided to forget about the warning and walked happily by Johnny’s side through the thinning crowds up the narrow street of Bondgate and round the corner into Finkle Street.
‘I’ll go round the end of the street and come in the front door. Then there’ll be no bother,’ said Johnny. He was well aware of Ada’s dilemma. Rather reluctantly he handed over the heavy shopping.
Ada nodded. Oh, Johnny was so understanding, he understood everything, she thought as she watched his tall figure rounding the corner, sighing happily despite the weight on her arms. She’d had a lovely, lovely time. She opened the gate and heaved her burdens up the yard.
‘You’re back then,’ was all Auntie Doris said as Ada heaved the bags onto the kitchen table. ‘It took you long enough.’
‘Here’s the change, Auntie,’ Ada answered meekly, for nothing was going to spoil the day for her.
Later in the evening, when the work was done and Ada was sitting beside the kitchen fire toasting her toes and sucking a large piece of cinder toffee, she thought about Johnny and a warm glow enfolded her. Bye, he was nice! A real nice lad. She felt so lucky to have him as a friend. He was a big lad and he didn’t have to bother with a little lass like her but he was so kind. She smiled softly to herself as she gazed into the fire, completely forgetting to listen for footsteps in the passage.
‘Ah, little Polly Flinders, eh?’
Ada jumped in her chair as Uncle Harry shuffled in, rubbing his hands together and stretching them out to the fire to warm them. His pale-blue eyes watered above his pinched, red nose and the hairs of his moustache were stuck damply together. He took out a large, brown handkerchief and blew his nose loudly before stuffing it back into the pocket of his grease-spotted, baggy trousers.
Ada gave him a guarded smile, sitting up straight in her chair, her muscles tensing and uneasiness lurking in her eyes. Uncle Harry didn’t snap at her as Auntie Doris did; sometimes he helped her and spoke softly to her. When she had first come to live here she had craved affection and responded gratefully whenever it was offered but she didn’t like the way Uncle Harry touched her. It was always there, a cloud at the back of her mind; he whispered things to her which made her feel hot and uncomfortable and once he had shown her a postcard with a picture of a lady with her clothes off.
‘It’s a secret,’ he had said. ‘Don’t tell Auntie Doris.’ Ada hadn’t known what to say to him but she knew she could never tell her aunt anything like that.
‘Haven’t you got a hug for your uncle?’ he said now. His voice was soft and persuasive and there was an intent look in his eyes which Ada had grown to know and fear. She looked instinctively towards the door which led to the passage, hoping her aunt would come. The door remained tightly shut.
‘Yes, Uncle Harry,’ she said, her voice almost inaudible. She stood up awkwardly, feeling cornered. As he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, she stiffened, her slight body shrinking away from him, but it wasn’t any good. He held her whole body against his so she could feel the buttons of his waistcoat sticking into her chest. His hand slid down to her bottom, squeezing and pressing. Ada closed her eyes tightly. Suddenly she was released and flung back into her chair, red-faced and damp-eyed. The door had opened and Auntie Doris had come in. But Auntie Doris was not looking at them; she went straight to the sink and took up the kettle.
Uncle Harry turned swiftly and faced the fire. ‘Just having a b
it of a warm.’ He spoke over his shoulder while he thrust his hands deep into his pockets. Auntie Doris ignored him. She looked at Ada and jerked her thumb in the direction of the screen in the corner.
‘Off to bed with you, you’ve a lot on your plate the morrow. Sunday dinner an’ all, I want the fire going and the oven warming so that we can put the mutton in by nine at the latest. It’ll want a good doing, it looks a bit tough but I got it cheap. A good and slow cooking and it’ll be fine. An’ you know we’ve got extra for dinner.’
Ada did not need to be told twice. She was all churned up inside and happy to get behind the screen to her sanctuary, where Uncle Harry never ventured. At least he hadn’t yet. The thought niggled but she pushed it to the back of her mind. Uncle Harry was too frightened of his wife, she knew that. He wouldn’t want to be caught behind the screen. She undressed quickly and slipped into the chiffonier bed as soon as she could, snuggling down into its safety.
She couldn’t settle down to sleep, however. Her aunt and uncle were talking quietly together as Auntie Doris moved from sink to stove to table making cups of cocoa for them both. Ada heard the hiss of boiling water as it was added to spluttering milk and smelled the pungent aroma of rum as it hit the hot liquid.
‘Well, another couple of months, Harry, then we’ll be moving into Tenters Street.’ Auntie Doris smacked her lips as she took a long sip of her cocoa.
Ada pricked up her ears in surprise as she heard this piece of news. Tenters Street? Tenters Street was quite a posh street, the houses bigger and more modern than the one they were in.
‘Aye,’ Harry answered. ‘Well, I only hope you’re right and we will be able to ’tice the theatre folk in. One thing’s for sure, there’s more money in them than there is in the men from the works. And any road, they’ll be going to Middlesbrough now the steelworks are there.’
‘Aye. We deserve to get on, though, we’ve worked hard enough. We will do better in a bigger house and theatre folk’ll be cleaner, easier to see to than this lot.’
Ada lay in a turmoil at the news that they were leaving Finkle Street. Tenters Street was only just around the corner and a couple of streets away, but what about Johnny? Was he going with them? And what was that about the steelworks? Johnny worked at the steelworks.
It was a long time before Ada fell asleep. Apprehension flooded through her at the prospect of losing Johnny. She didn’t hear the couple leave the kitchen and when she did sleep she dreamed of Johnny going away, walking down a long street and never coming back while she gazed after him with tears streaming from her eyes.
Next morning Ada was so busy that all thoughts of the move were driven from her mind. She had to mend and bank the fire against the oven side of the range until it was hot enough to take the rack of lamb, or rather old mutton, and watch the fire so that the oven didn’t get too hot while the meat was cooking or too slow to cook it properly. All this while she had to attend to the great pan of porridge on the hob and the slabs of breakfast bacon in the frying pan. On Sundays, the meals were enormous as the men relaxed on their only day off.
Then there was the washing-up of the breakfast things to be done quickly to clear the way for the vegetables to be cleaned and washed in the brownstone sink. Twenty men were in to Sunday dinner, there were mountains of potatoes to peel, turnips and cabbage. Auntie Doris came in to beat up the great bowl of Yorkshire pudding mix and make the gravy. It was half past three before the washing-up was done and the house went quiet as the men went off to bed for their Sunday-afternoon sleep, replete with dinner on top of the beer they had drunk in the Sun earlier on.
Johnny was nowhere to be seen, he had gone out immediately after the meal. Ada wondered about it but she was so tired she felt only like flopping down on the chair by the fire and putting her feet up on the steel fender. She intended to keep awake listening for footsteps in the passage. She didn’t want to be caught again by Uncle Harry. But within minutes she was fast asleep, her dark curly head pillowed on her arm as the shadows lengthened across the kitchen floor.
It was not until Monday teatime that Ada had a chance to talk to Johnny and then it was only a stolen moment. He slipped into the kitchen where Ada was eating her meal. Everyone else was in the front of the house.
‘Ada, look – Lorinda,’ he said softly and for once he sounded young and awkward, ‘I have to tell you I’m going away at the end of the week.’
Ada stared numbly, her eyes enormous in her white face. She put down her knife and fork and moaned quietly. Johnny walked over to the table and sat down beside her.
‘I have to go, pet, I have to go to Middlesbrough. It’s the work, you know, I have to finish my apprenticeship in Middlesbrough, our Fred says so and he’s the boss.’
Ada didn’t answer, she didn’t know what to say. She looked up at this boy who always seemed to be growing out of his clothes, big-boned and gangly he was, yet with the promise of strength in his frame. He was her only friend. She turned her gaze back to her plate and, picking up the fork, traced rings in the pile of mashed potatoes. Her eyes blurred as tears threatened.
‘I’ll come and see you when I can, I promise I will. Come on, it will be all right. Let’s see you smile, Lorinda pet.’ Johnny grinned at her, trying to cheer her up. Her worries always seemed to become his worries. He couldn’t get this little girl out of his mind and he didn’t know why it was. He too looked at her fork going round and round in the potato. Her foot kicked the leg of the table softly but compulsively. How could he leave her with the Parkers? Especially Harry Parker. His thoughts darkened.
‘Listen, Lorinda,’ he said, his face puckering earnestly – but how could he say it? How could he make her understand what he feared without disturbing her innocence?
‘Johnny?’ Ada gazed up at him, puzzled, her eyes large and dark in her white face.
‘I wanted to say …’ Again he faltered. She watched him carefully, trying to read his expression. His face flushed a painful dark red.
‘Lorinda,’ he tried again, ‘I wanted to say … don’t trust your Uncle Harry!’ There, it was out. But he had to say it – Harry Parker was known as a dirty old man among the children round about the doors, even if not to the adults. They whispered and sniggered in corners about him. But Ada did not mix with other children, she didn’t get the chance to hear the tales.
Ada’s face flushed as darkly as his. She looked down quickly, remembering other times like Saturday evening. She felt dirty, guilty. What did it all mean?
‘Uncle Harry?’ she faltered.
‘Just be careful. I mean …’ His voice trailed off, in truth he wasn’t sure what he meant. He only knew he couldn’t bear to see the way the older man looked at Ada, especially when he thought he was unobserved. But in this Ada was beginning to know more than Johnny did himself. In fact, she felt relief in an odd sort of way. It couldn’t all be in her imagination if Johnny thought there was something about Uncle Harry too.
‘No, Johnny,’ she said now, squaring her chin and looking him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t worry, I know.’
‘You know?’ Johnny jerked his head up in disbelief and outrage. What did she know? ‘He’s not touched you, has he?’
‘Touched me?’ Ada thought fleetingly and with distaste of the feel of Uncle Harry’s hands on her body. But Johnny must mean had Uncle Harry hit her and he had never done that. Eeh, no, she thought, Uncle Harry would never hit her, she was sure.
‘No, no, he doesn’t hurt me. I only meant I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s a nice man, do you, Johnny?’
Johnny sighed in relief and shook his head. She really didn’t know and if Harry had touched her she would do. ‘Well, I mean, pet, just be careful.’
‘What are you two up to? Ada! Finish your supper! It’s time you were clearing the tables.’ Auntie Doris had come in unnoticed by them and Johnny stood up sharply, pushing back his chair. He turned on Doris Parker defensively, more for Lorinda’s sake than his own. If the old harridan said any more to Lorin
da he would tell her a thing or two! But Ada had picked up her fork and was eating methodically; by now she was used to covering up in front of her aunt.
Doris Parker glared pointedly at Johnny and after a moment he dropped his eyes and went out into the yard. She watched him go and then turned back to Ada.
‘Well, we won’t be seeing much more of him, he’s off to Middlesbrough at the weekend.’ She studied Ada carefully for any signs of distress or surprise but Ada merely nodded and continued with her meal.
At last she was finished, and, feeling slightly sick, for she had had to force the food down, she picked up a tray and went to the dining room to clear the tables. Ada knew better than to let her aunt see she cared about Johnny leaving. If I let on, she thought bleakly, I’ll be accused of daydreaming every time Auntie Doris is in a bad mood. And that was often enough these days, what with her rheumatism and all.
She piled the plates and mugs onto the tray, her thoughts dark: the future stretched ahead greyly. It was best to forget about Johnny – he wouldn’t even write, he would have so much else to think about once he got home to Middlesbrough. And even if he did write, her aunt would intercept and read the letters first. And even if Ada did get to the letters first herself, she couldn’t read them properly any road. She carried the tray back to the kitchen, the heavy load seeming to pull her arms out of their sockets. She was strong, though, she managed the job. As she rubbed her shoulders before starting the washing-up, she decided there was nothing she could do about the situation so she might just as well get on with it.
Chapter Four
Johnny went off to Middlesbrough with a light heart and some excitement, for he was looking forward to seeing his family again. He climbed onto the train leaving for Darlington, where he had to change for Stockton-on-Tees, and took a corner seat, where he could look out at a countryside shrouded in fog. His mind wandered, thinking about his brother, Fred. He had told no one in Bishop Auckland of his brother, Joseph Frederick Fenwick. Well, it might not have done him any good with his fellow workers in the ironworks or with the lodgers in Finkle Street.