by Val Wood
Lucy suggested many pretty but unsuitable names and in the end it was left to William who suggested Eleanor; he smiled at his wife and said, ‘Your name is a derivation of Eleanor, isn’t it, so why not give our lovely daughter the same name as her beautiful mother?’
Lucy put her head on one side and wondered why it was that grown-ups cried when something nice was said about them, as Aunt Nora was doing now.
The new century was fast approaching and although there was anxiety over the second Boer War and the British military that was once again fighting against the Boers in the Transvaal, amidst great celebration the year 1900 was ushered in; the city of Hull was thriving and almost every area had electric trams to convey passengers cheaply into and out of town. There were still many horse-drawn carriages, omnibuses and delivery wagons, but now that wide new roads had been cut through old properties and many, although not all, slum properties had been demolished there were more motorized vehicles, less congestion and fewer accidents than previously.
Electric lights had been installed in the theatres, brass bands played in the parks and many of Hull’s citizens developed a passion for cycling on the flat roads of the city. William, as a respected bank manager, had elected to join several charitable committees and Nora too had re-joined her women’s group as soon as she felt confident about leaving Eleanor with a nursery maid.
There were others, however, such as Mary and Joe Harrigan, who were not faring as well. Nora surreptitiously suggested to Ada from time to time that she might take bread and tea and any leftover meat from a joint or a chicken to her aunt, but without indicating it had come from her. She was sure that Mary would feel she was being patronized even though she was in need. They still lived in the same room and Joe’s work was never regular; Mary was also pregnant with another child and told her sister Dolly that she didn’t know how they would cope.
‘Honest to God, Dolly,’ she wept one day. ‘If I’d known how it would be, then I swear I’d have remained single all my life.’
‘You’d not be without your Sally, though, would you?’ Dolly commiserated. ‘Such a sweet bairn.’
‘Of course not.’ She wiped her tears on her apron. ‘But how am I going to feed another? We can’t keep tekking handouts, it’s not fair, and it’s not right to have to rely on all of you. You’ve got your own bairns to feed.’
‘But we’d not have you go short, our Mary,’ her sister insisted. ‘And once Joe gets back to full-time work you’ll be able to manage.’ She became thoughtful. ‘Who do we know in a position to help you?’
‘Nobody,’ Mary said. ‘And I wouldn’t ask if I did. I onny want what we can work for.’
‘Aye, that’s right. Course you do,’ Dolly said. ‘It’s what we all want. But there’s one rule for us who have nowt and another for those who have everything.’
It was the beginning of July and William pondered over his Saturday paper as he drank his coffee. He’d claimed his brother’s study off the hall as his own, and often thought of him as he sat in the deep leather armchair. This morning, though, he was troubled by the disturbing news he was reading.
During his various meetings he and his peers often discussed the topics of equality and the unfair distribution of wealth and success, and as a bank manager he was frequently asked for his opinion. There were also many hushed conversations and anxieties over what the new century might bring; conversations that the gentlemen didn’t take home to their wives. The Boer War was still giving rise to great concern and although it was looking increasingly likely that Britain would win, the methods employed against the South African farmers and their families were considered unworthy.
Increasingly, though, William was noticing the dissent throughout Europe as new challengers – Germany, Italy and Russia – battled for possession of lands held by the old colonial and imperial powers of Britain, France, the Netherlands and Spain; and in Germany in particular there were rumblings of nationalism and more worryingly anti-Semitism.
There were many in Britain unaware of the mobilization of troops, the crumbling of old alliances and the creation of new as their concern was concentrated on South Africa, but increasingly over the last few years Britain had found itself becoming isolated, and it was this in particular that was disturbing William as he considered the implications. Then, too, there was great concern over the queen’s health: it was rumoured that she was failing.
Nora had noticed on re-joining the women’s group that there were some individuals among them who were more keen to promote the cause of women’s suffrage than to support charitable concerns such as helping the local poor with their soup kitchens or speaking to councillors in charge of rehousing on behalf of those who had lost their homes as the city was bulldozed and modernized.
She knew she was one of the lucky ones who had escaped poverty and destitution and so could empathize with women who had been less fortunate, but as for voting rights, it wasn’t something she had ever considered. What she had thought about before she met William was how to keep body and soul together; but now she was beginning to consider the importance of the subject as she heard of women who were kept in subjugation by their husbands and allowed no say in the control of their lives or those of their children, let alone the choice of who should be in power.
She sat in an easy chair across from William’s and asked his opinion on whether women should be given the vote. ‘The oddest thing ever is that we have a queen on the throne and yet her female subjects are not allowed a voice.’
‘I have heard that her opinion is not in favour of the suffragettes,’ he said, ‘but like all monarchs she has no choice in the matter, as they do not have a vote.’
‘It’s an unfair world,’ Nora complained, and William agreed with her that it probably was.
‘But you made choices, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘You worked to keep yourself and your child and,’ he added, ‘agreed to marry me when I might have turned out to be a terrible husband, for we hadn’t known each other very long.’
She shook her head. ‘Working wasn’t a choice,’ she said. ‘It was a necessity. And I suppose when I met you I knew in my heart that you were a very honourable man.’ She hesitated; was it now time to be completely honest? ‘There are many men who are not, and I had known some of them.’
‘Including the father of Oswald?’ he asked softly.
She gazed at him through soulful eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Even so. William, I should tell you—’
‘No.’ He stopped her. ‘There’s no need.’
‘But there is. Especially now that we have a daughter of our own.’
‘We have a son too. Oswald is legally mine as much as he’s yours.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ she said weakly. ‘I lied to you. I wanted to be seen as respectable so I told everyone I met that I was a widow with a son.’
‘I know,’ he murmured.
‘I knew I wouldn’t get work or a room if I said I was unmarried with a child, so— Wh-what do you mean?’
He got up from his chair, and going over to her he took her hands and drew her to her feet. ‘I have always known. Since the day I went to arrange our wedding and you gave me your birth certificate as you professed you couldn’t find your marriage one.’ He smiled teasingly. ‘Milburn was your name before your so-called marriage. You forgot about that, didn’t you?’
She screwed her eyes up tight and opened them as he put his arms round her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I did. So – so you’ve known all this time and you never said?’
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘What was there to say? I had asked you and I wasn’t going to change my mind just because of a piece of paper. Besides …’ He hesitated. ‘I suppose in a way I thought I would be an absolute heel to back out when I guessed what you’d been through, bringing up a child on your own. I thought it showed great strength of character and determination on your part. Don’t cry,’ he begged as she began to sob.
‘I just wish I had had the strength to
say something before,’ she wept. ‘But I was afraid to.’
‘I know,’ he said, and smiled over the top of her head as he saw the door slowly open. Oswald, who was home for the spring holiday, stood there with a look of disgust on his face as he saw them locked in an embrace and quickly closed the door again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dolly Morris took it upon herself to approach the Thornburys regarding Mary’s situation, although she knew that her proud sister would have raised objections had she known. But Dolly believed that if you knew someone who might be able to make a difference, then it didn’t do any harm to ask; after all, they could only refuse, and on the other hand they might not.
Nora listened quietly to what Mrs Morris had to say and promised that she’d bring the matter up at her next women’s meeting. She often felt contrite about her behaviour towards Mary when they’d first met, and now realized that the reason behind her false superior manner was the fear of her own inadequacies coming to light. Now that she knew that William had known the truth about her all along and that it hadn’t made any difference to him, she felt that she could hold her head high, that there was no further need to pretend; she was as good as anyone. Or almost anyone. There were some women in her group who were decidedly superior and one of these was Mrs Warrington, mother of Henry and Elizabeth.
She had discussed Mary’s situation with William and told him that she wanted to ask for opinions from the women’s group. If there was no encouragement from that quarter, perhaps he might have some ideas of what could be done.
‘Mary won’t want any handouts from us, and of course she doesn’t know about her sister’s intervention, but isn’t it wonderful how they help each other? It’s such a close-knit family.’
He agreed that it was. ‘People without much do tend to help those with even less. Ask the ladies by all means. There already are charitable organizations helping out the poor, but there are some people, like Mary, who wouldn’t dream of asking for help even though they need it.’
She was very nervous of standing up and speaking to the assembled women. Her previous fear had been that she’d be considered unqualified to have a worthwhile opinion, but that was the old Nora; now she could speak out with knowledge and experience of what life could really be like.
When Mrs Warrington, the chairwoman and natural leader of the group, asked if there were any issues to be discussed, Nora stood up. She was trembling, but soon got into her stride as she told of a family who had been brought to her attention, who because of lack of work for the husband and unsuitable housing were finding it very difficult to manage. ‘With one child and expecting another, there is not enough money for both rent and food.’
Before she could go on to ask for suggestions or opinions, Mrs Warrington interrupted. ‘There are adequate soup kitchens in the town, and facilities are available when a child is sick. I don’t think we can do anything further about an individual family. We are living in the twentieth century now, and there has been much improvement in all our lives. The Junction Street scheme to form a square for her majesty’s statue has been started, and there are new reading rooms and lecture rooms which are open to women as well as men.’ She took a breath and Nora interrupted her, as she had been interrupted.
‘I wasn’t speaking of facilities,’ she said plainly. ‘I know of those. I was speaking on the subject of poor housing and lack of work for some in our affluent society. It is strange, is it not, that the two subjects often go together?’ She looked round the group of women, some of whom shuffled in embarrassment or found something interesting to look at in their laps; it was rare for anyone to disagree with Mrs Warrington, who had returned to her seat as if the subject were closed.
‘And so, ladies, to conclude,’ Nora continued: ‘in order that we do not waste the committee’s precious time, if any of you would care to approach me during our tea break with suggestions or recommendations on this contentious issue of the have-nots, I would be very pleased to discuss them.’
She was fuming, and felt that steam was coming out of her ears as she sat down. Mrs Warrington stood up again with a face like thunder.
‘Mrs Thornbury,’ she said icily, ‘you are perhaps unaware or have forgotten that all suggestions and recommendations must come through the committee, who will then make a decision.’ She glanced round the room and challenged any opposition. ‘Any more business? No? Then I suggest we break for tea.’
So that’s that, Nora thought as she sipped her tea. Her first impulse was to take her leave immediately, but then she considered that if she did that she wouldn’t ever feel like returning, and on the whole she enjoyed the company of most of these dozen or so women. She was pleased, therefore, when a young woman sidled up to her and said she would like to speak to her outside when the meeting was over; and then another, older woman, Mrs Walker, also came to talk to her, discussing generalities until Mrs Warrington called the meeting to order. Before returning to her seat, Mrs Walker murmured, ‘If I might have a word later, I have a suggestion about the family of whom you were speaking.’
Nora heaved a breath. She felt that she had won a battle, but kept her face straight so as not to show how delighted she was.
When Mrs Warrington finally declared the meeting closed, the young woman who was new to the group told Nora her name was Georgina Kemp and said hastily, ‘Sorry to rush off, but I have young children at home. I just wanted to say that my husband works for the railway and he’s told me that they’re about to have an employment drive; seemingly they are short of suitable porters. If the man of whom you told us applies now, he may get to the front of the queue, so to speak, before a queue actually starts.’
She dashed off, waving away Nora’s thanks, leaving her to speak to Mrs Walker. ‘May we talk on our way out, Mrs Walker?’
Mrs Walker nodded and they left together, walking away from the building towards Albion Street.
‘That woman considers herself so superior,’ Mrs Walker said without preamble. ‘She was a nurse, and is now a doctor’s wife, so she must feel that she has gone up in the world. Not that there is anything wrong with being a nurse,’ she added, ‘not at all. An excellent band of women.’
‘You mean Mrs Warrington?’ Nora asked, hedging. ‘I don’t know her very well, but I must say I was rather surprised at her response. I thought that helping families in distress was the main purpose of the group.’
‘And so it was to begin with,’ Mrs Walker sighed. ‘But now that Mrs Warrington has reorganized the committee the direction appears to have changed. However,’ she went on briskly. ‘This family of whom you spoke. My husband is on the housing committee and interviews those who are in need of more appropriate accommodation. Ask the woman in question to go along and ask for an appointment with Mr Walker; tell her to take her child with her and say that her husband is out looking for work and can’t come himself. My husband will be sympathetic, especially if I discuss the situation with him first, which I will do this evening. What is the name of the family?’
‘Harrigan,’ Nora said. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Not at all,’ Mrs Walker said. ‘We must do what we can; and but for the grace of God, it could be us! We mustn’t forget that.’
‘Indeed we mustn’t,’ Nora fervently agreed. ‘How fortunate we are.’
She hurried home and asked Oswald and Lucy if they’d like to take a walk to High Street to see Mary. Oswald said he was too busy catching up with work he had to take back to school the following week but Lucy eagerly said she would and ran upstairs to change her shoes and get a coat.
‘We’ll see a change in Sally,’ Nora told her as they set off, ‘and Mary’s expecting another baby this year. Imagine that. A new baby in a new century.’
‘Are you going to have another baby, Aunt Nora?’ Lucy asked.
‘Erm, I hadn’t planned to.’ Nora smiled. The child was so direct; there was a time when it had irritated her, but now she found it refreshing and honest. ‘But sometimes they co
me along unexpectedly.’
Lucy sighed and frowned. ‘I can’t work out how it happens.’
‘There’s no need to try,’ Nora answered. ‘It will all be revealed in due course. Not for a few years, but eventually.’
‘Does Oswald know?’
Nora hesitated. Who would explain the intricacies to Oswald when the time was right? She hoped that William would. ‘No, I don’t think he does, but it’s not a subject that girls should discuss with boys, ever.’
‘Because it’s got nothing to do with them?’ Lucy asked, and Nora quickly took her hand to cross the road and avoid answering.
Mary was home and Sally, who was walking but not yet talking much, hid behind her mother’s skirts until Lucy enticed her out by playing peek-a-boo.
‘Joe’s working today, I think, as he’s not come back home,’ Mary told Nora when she explained why she’d come. ‘He goes to ’docks early every morning to try and get tekken on; but I’ll tell him to go straight to ’station yard tomorrow morning.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Thornbury.’
When Nora then told her of the link with the housing committee Mary was ecstatic and started to weep. ‘This room was supposed to be a bright start to our married life, but it’s awful. I’m constantly worried about Sally: she’s always got a cough and I’m sure it’s because it’s so damp; we’ve no inside tap and we share a privy. It’s no way to bring up children; it’s not what I’m used to. My family were allus poor, but it was never like this, never!’
‘I’m so sorry, Mary. You might think that when I say I understand I really don’t, but although I—’ Nora hesitated. ‘Well, when I was alone with Oswald, before I met Mr Thornbury, I often went without food in order to feed him. The little I earned just didn’t go far enough, so I genuinely do understand.’
Mary wiped her eyes and gazed at her in astonishment. ‘Really? How – how did you manage to work when you had a child?’
‘I left Oswald with a child minder; she was thirteen, one of a family of six. It was a risk and I wasn’t happy about it, but I had no other option.’ Nora couldn’t believe that she was confiding in such a manner, but she was dismayed that so little had altered in almost ten years. ‘It isn’t right,’ she said. ‘It’s time for change.’