Book Read Free

Workhouse Child

Page 27

by Maggie Hope


  ‘Well, what is it, Mrs Armstrong?’ asked Mr Hudson, who had returned to his chair behind the desk.

  ‘Well … ’

  Nora was suddenly tongue-tied.

  ‘Come along now, Mrs Armstrong, we haven’t got all day,’ Mr Hudson said briskly.

  ‘She’s been getting weekly compensation, hasn’t she, Mr Hudson?’ Mr Durkin put in.

  ‘Yes, sir, seventeen shillings and twopence,’ answered the manager.

  ‘Well, then, that’s all right.’

  ‘I was wanting to ask you if you’ll set our Robert on, on the screens, I mean,’ Nora said, finding her tongue at last.

  ‘Robert? Is that your son? We already have one son of yours working on the screens, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Alf. But Robert’s turned thirteen and he’ll sit the test to leave school. We need the money, sir, seventeen shillings doesn’t keep a family, sir.’

  Mr Durkin stopped playing with his stick and stared at her, frowning. ‘What do you mean, it’s not enough? I’d have you know, it’s all you’re going to get. The trouble with you people is you don’t know how to handle money correctly. Remember, the Compensation Committee haven’t decided on your husband’s case yet. There’s some question as to whether it was his own fault, and if that is the decision they come to, you are not entitled to anything. We are paying you now and we don’t have to, you know. And we’re allowing you to stay in the colliery house when we could put another workman in.’

  Nora gasped. Her face whitened and she leaned forwards, putting her hands on the desk to prop herself up. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  ‘Are you feeling faint, Mrs Armstrong?’ Mr Hudson got to his feet hurriedly and brought Nora a chair. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ He poured some water into a glass from the carafe on the desk and offered it to her and she took a sip.

  The agent watched the little drama curiously but with little obvious concern. When Nora sat back, the colour returning to her cheeks, he spoke again.

  ‘Come now, Mrs Armstrong, I only said the committee hasn’t decided yet. There’s no need to take on.’

  ‘I don’t know what we’ll do without compensation,’ said Nora. ‘We can’t hardly manage as it is.’

  ‘I did not say there would be no compensation, I simply said we as a company may not be liable. But Lord Akers is a benevolent employer, I think you’ll find. Now, come, we have work to do here. I think we have allowed you enough time.’

  Nora got to her feet, looking and feeling defeated. Hannah looked up into her mother’s face and saw the misery there; then she looked at Mr Durkin and she hated him. She hated the way he talked to her mother and most of all she hated the way he spoke, fancy like but frightening, like the wicked man in the pantomime she’d seen at chapel last Christmas. She took hold of her mother’s hand and squeezed it in an effort to comfort her as they turned for the door.

  They were in the outer office, almost outside altogether when Mr Hudson followed them and spoke to the clerk.

  ‘Robert Armstrong. Put his name down to start on the screens next week,’ he said. Without looking at Nora, he turned on his heel and went back into his office.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah was playing house in the yard with Jane when Robert came home. The two girls had their mother’s wooden clothes horse open in a V and an old blanket thrown over it to make a tent. Inside the tent was an old clippie mat and Harry lying down on it pretending to be a baby. Harry didn’t want to be the baby, he wanted to be the father, but he gave in when the girls insisted.

  All three children abandoned the game and scrambled out of the tent when they heard their mother’s voice at the gate.

  ‘Now then, Robert,’ Nora was saying, ‘you’re a big lad now, it’s time you went out to work. Anyroad, we need the money so that’s the end of that. Now stop making a fuss, there’s a good lad.’

  ‘Gran calls me Bob,’ muttered Robert, ‘and so does Uncle Billy.’

  Hannah stood in a row with Harry and Jane, watching her mother and Robert curiously.

  ‘Righto, then, we’ll call you Bob if that’s what you want,’ said Nora as she led the way up the yard. ‘Now, come and say hallo to your sisters and brother.’

  Three pairs of dark eyes looked solemnly at Bob as he stood awkwardly before them. He was a tall, ungainly boy with the same shock of dark hair as they all had. It was almost two years since they had last seen him, and only Hannah had any remembrance of him at all. The little ones were shy of him and huddled in Hannah’s skirts.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Bob, looking down at the brick-paved yard. He scuffed the hobnails of one boot back and forth over the bricks.

  Hannah suddenly felt sorry for Bob. His face was flushed and his eyes full of unshed tears. She smiled at him, while Jane and Harry hung their heads, overcome with shyness.

  ‘Clear that mess up, our Hannah, and mind, don’t forget to fold that blanket up properly and put it away. Right then, Bob, let’s away in. Betty will have the tea ready,’ Nora said briskly. She went inside, followed after a second or two by Bob and the two younger children. Hannah was left to dismantle the tent.

  The family were already sitting round the table when she got in after putting the clothes horse back in the wash house in the yard.

  ‘You bide with me, our Bob,’ Alf was saying in his ‘big brother’ voice which Hannah knew so well and resented almost as much. ‘You’ll get on all right on the screens tomorrow if you do what I say.’

  Bob looked down at the meat-paste sandwich on his plate. Hannah could see that his fists were clenched so hard the knuckles were white. She took a bite out of her own sandwich and chewed it carefully. He looks so unhappy, she thought.

  ‘Did you not want to come back home to live, Bob?’ she asked. ‘It’s nice here, you know, there’s the bunny banks and sometimes there’s the magic lantern at chapel. And – ’ Hannah meant to make Bob feel at home and tell him of all the nice things about Winton. But all she did was to cause his pent-up feelings to burst out. He stood up from the table and glared at her so hard she dropped her sandwich.

  ‘This isn’t my home!’ he shouted. ‘I live at Consett, that’s my home, with Gran and Uncle Billy. I’m going back an’ all, I’m going back to school and then I’m going to help Uncle Billy in his carrier business, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going down the pit, I’m not. I don’t care about your stupid bunny banks – what sort of a name is that for a rabbit warren, anyway?’

  ‘Robert! Sit down!’

  The roar came from the open door of the front room where Da was lying in his box bed. All the children gazed at him in shock. It was the first time they had heard Da shout since the accident. Robert subsided into his seat and there was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Bob,’ Nora said. ‘Bob, you have to stay here, pet. I know you love your gran, but you’re needed here.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ answered Bob, though this time he kept his voice low. ‘I’m going back. You didn’t want me when I was little, why should I come back now? Gran’s been my mam.’

  Hannah stared at him, wide-eyed. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she had to go and live in another place and go out to work doing something she didn’t want to do, but it was hard to imagine such a thing.

  ‘Bob, Bob, it wasn’t like that. We did want you, son, but Betty came along and you were nought but a babby yourself. Times were bad, pet, your father was on short time. Your gran could look after you and feed you better, your grandda was an overman and they only had Billy left at home. Try to understand, Bob, there’s a good lad.’

  Hannah watched her mother as she talked. Mam looked as distressed as Bob was himself. A lump formed in Hannah’s own throat. She looked down at the sandwich on her plate; suddenly she didn’t feel hungry any more and the sandwich looked enormous. If she didn’t eat it now, she would get it for her supper, she knew that well enough.

  She’d been looking forward to seeing Bob again. It had not occurred to
her that he wouldn’t want to come. Everything had changed since Da hurt his back in the pit, she thought. If only they could go back to the way it was before.

  It was Christmas before Jake’s claim for permanent disability compensation was allowed by the committee. Hannah came running in from school on the day before the Christmas holiday, clutching the green paper Christmas tree she had cut out in class together with a multicoloured paper chain and a hat made out of newspaper.

  ‘Look, Mam, look,’ she said, ‘we made them in school. Can we put them on the wall?’ She was excited and didn’t at first notice that Mam was smiling for the first time in months and Da’s ‘chariot’, as he had begun to call his wheeled bed, had been brought out of the front room and was by the settee.

  ‘Why, they’re grand, pet,’ declared Mam. ‘We’ll hang the paper chain round the mirror, what do you think, Jake? And the tree, why, it’s almost like a real one, isn’t it? We’ll stick it on the wall, eh?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Da. Hannah looked at him, he too was smiling.

  Forgetting about the paper tree and the chain for a minute, Hannah looked from one to the other. Her mother was relaxed and happy-looking, and so was Da. For a minute she had a wild hope that Da was going to get better and everything would soon be back to normal.

  ‘Are you a bit better, Da?’ she asked anxiously, fearful of his answer.

  ‘A bit, pet, a bit,’ he said. ‘All the better for getting my compensation through, I am.’

  Hannah smiled. The tiny hope that her father was going to get back to his normal health died, but the money made her mother and father happy and that was good. The atmosphere in the house had changed and she responded to it eagerly. ‘Can Bob go back to Consett now?’ she asked and her mother’s smile faded. ‘No, no, pet, he’ll have to stay here and work. He’ll be all right, you’ll see, he’ll get used to it. All the lads have to go to work.’ She looked down at Jake and bit her lip. Bob wasn’t settling down as they had hoped; he still hankered after going back to live in Consett.

  Hannah felt a twinge of sadness for Bob but it was soon forgotten in the excitement of decorating the kitchen for Christmas. Jane had a paper chain from school too, and there was some holly which Alf had garnered from the hedge by the bunny banks and with bits stuck on the frame of Jake and Nora’s wedding picture which hung on one wall, and the red paper bell which came out every year hanging from the gas light, the kitchen soon began to look quite festive.

  Hannah had made a star from silver paper culled from Da’s cigarette packet, and was pinning it to the top of the paper Christmas tree when Robert and Alf came in from work.

  ‘Hurry up, Hannah, and get the bath in for the lads,’ said Betty. ‘I’m busy tonight.’ She had been ironing a great pile of clothes on the table and now she rushed to get the ironing out of the way so that the table could be laid for the meal.

  Obediently, Hannah went out into the yard and reached up to take the bath down from where it hung on a nail.

  ‘Do you see my Christmas tree, Bob?’ she asked brightly as she lugged the bath in and put it down before the fire. She smiled as she ladled hot water out of the boiler into the bath ready for Alf, who always insisted on being the first to wash as he was the oldest. She was thinking the Christmas tree was just the thing to cheer Bob up, he was always so glum.

  Bob looked at the cut-out tree stuck on the wall with its star slightly lopsided on the top of it.

  ‘Uncle Billy bought a real one from the market last year,’ he said. ‘That’s just a bit of paper.’

  Hannah was crestfallen. Suddenly the tree didn’t seem quite so festive as she had thought it did.

  ‘Eeh, a real tree?’ Harry asked Bob, round-eyed. ‘A big one, like at the Sunday school party?’

  ‘Of course, a real tree,’ snapped Bob, ‘a big one an’ all.’

  Harry was snubbed; the light faded from his eyes and he looked down at his boots. He was still a little in awe of his new-found brother and easily put down by him.

  ‘Bob, what’s the matter with your face?’ Da asked all of a sudden, and everyone turned to look at Bob.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Bob.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Hannah, distressed, ‘you’ve hurt your eye, I didn’t see it at first.’ Bob’s left eye was swollen and bruised purple and there was a small cut and a streak of dried blood along the cheekbone underneath.

  ‘Who did that to you, Bob?’ asked Mam quietly. She had come out of the pantry carrying a tureen for the potatoes which were simmering on the bar. Putting the dish down on the table, she put her finger under Bob’s chin and lifted it so that she could look at the bruise in the gas light. Even though his face was covered in black smears from the coal dust, the black eye was becoming more obvious all the time.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Bob, twisting his face away.

  ‘It was Ralph Cornish, Mam,’ said Alf. Alf was already kneeling before the tin bath, stripped to the waist and lathering himself with a bar of carbolic soap.

  ‘Ralph Cornish? But he’s a full-grown man!’ exclaimed Mam. ‘Whatever did he do that for?’

  ‘He said our Bob was cheeky,’ said Alf. He bent over the bath and dipped his head under the water, rinsing off the lather before reaching for the towel which Hannah was automatically holding out to him.

  ‘An’ were you, Bob?’ Mam asked quietly.

  There was a low growl from Jake. ‘If he was, do you think that gives a ruffian like Ralph Cornish the right to hit a bit lad like Bob? What are you thinking about, woman?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything, Mother,’ said Bob. He was the only one to call Nora Mother. ‘We were just coming out of the pit-yard gate and he pushed me out of the way and I asked him who he thought he was pushing, that’s all.’

  ‘I told you to keep out of his way,’ said Alf. ‘He takes after his da, that one, they’re both of them bullies.’

  Jake swore. ‘By God,’ he said, ‘if I only had the use of my legs I’d go up there now and show him what for. Like his da, do you say? He hasn’t got a da, that one, or if he has, nobody knows who it is. Wesley Cornish took up with his mother when Ralph was a bairn. Aye, and left his own wife and bairns to God and Providence an’ all, he did. That Ralph’s a bas –’

  ‘Jake!’ Nora cut him off sharply. ‘The children are listening. Don’t use bad language in my house.’

  Hannah and Jane were indeed listening, wide-eyed. Their father’s head was moving restlessly from side to side in agitation on the pillow of the ‘chariot’. Harry got under the table and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Hannah’s brow creased in puzzlement. What did Da mean, Ralph Cornish hadn’t got a da? She couldn’t understand that at all.

  ‘Why, man, it’s enough to make a saint swear,’ said Jake, but his voice was quieter though still bitter. Nora shook her head at him and turned back to Bob.

  ‘Let’s get that face washed, lad,’ she said. ‘Betty, come on, we’ll empty the bath and fill it with some fresh water.’

  ‘It’s cold water that eye needs,’ counselled Jake. Before his accident he had started a first-aid course as part of his training to become a deputy. An ambition which was lost now, ‘like snow on the oven top’, as Nora had commented sadly.

  ‘You’ll have to wash up the dishes tonight, Hannah,’ said Betty. ‘I’ve got enough to do with the mending and darning.’

  ‘But we have to go to the choir practice, it’s the last one before the carol singing,’ said Hannah, dismayed. Hannah loved the chapel choir. She had a fine voice, pure and strong for her age and already showing signs of deepening to mezzo-soprano.

  ‘If you hurry you can still go, it’s not until six o’clock, is it? I can see to your da after that,’ said her mother, and Hannah relaxed.

  ‘We’re going carol singing all round the village on Sunday night,’ she announced happily. ‘Mr Hodgson says we’re even going up to the manager’s house, even to Mr Durkin’s house an’ all. We’re taking the little harmonium too, if it doesn’t snow, like.’ She wa
s torn between wanting it to snow for Christmas and wanting to sing with the accompaniment of the harmonium.

  Nora’s face hardened at the mention of Mr Durkin. She had not forgotten the humiliation she had had to endure from him at the colliery office.

  ‘You’ll not get much out of the agent,’ she observed tartly. ‘And his house is a mile and a half away from the village an’ all, it’ll be a long way to walk for nowt. Still, I dare say Mr Hodgson reckons he knows best, he’s the choirmaster, after all.’

  The snow came during the night, but left only a thin covering, which crisped into ice crystals soon after it fell. There was a little more on Sunday morning, as the children sat in Sunday school, and Mr Hodgson, who was a Sunday school superintendent as well as choirmaster, had a harder time than usual keeping order. The children were excited to see the soft flakes falling past the high windows. They sang ‘In the Deep Mid-Winter’, and Hannah threw herself into it heart and soul, imagining to herself the Baby in a cold, draughty stable with snow falling outside just as it was falling in Winton now.

  By the time the Sunday school was out, the snow had stopped and a strong, freezing wind was blowing down on them from the fells to the west.

  ‘I’m cold,’ whined Harry. Hannah tied his muffler in a cross over his chest and fastened it at the back.

  ‘We’ll have a race home,’ she said. She and Harry went whooping along the row and into the house, with Jane trailing behind them looking white and cold.

  ‘Does Father Christmas come tonight?’ Harry asked his mother as he’d asked her every day for a week.

  ‘Only to good boys and girls,’ said Nora.

  ‘Father Christmas!’ said Bob scornfully, but his mother quelled him with a look.

  At seven o’clock, the choir assembled outside the chapel. Hannah stamped her boots on the frozen ground and tucked her chin in her mother’s shawl which was tied over her coat, but she was so excited she didn’t really feel the cold. This was the first year she had been allowed to sing with the grown-up choir, not just with the Sunday school singers, and she held her candle carefully even though it was not yet lit, not here under the street lights lit by gas from the colliery. The candle was for when they walked out to the manager’s house in Old Winton and then on up to Durham Road, where Lord Akers’s agent, Mr Durkin, lived.

 

‹ Prev