by Val Wood
‘No scrag end today, Mrs Carr,’ the butcher said. ‘I’ve none left. Nice bit o’ salt brisket, or how about some belly pork? Very nourishing, very cheap.’ He winked at Jeannie as he spoke. ‘Pigs’ trotters, neck o’ lamb, sheep’s eyes?’
Nan tutted and glared at his humour. ‘I’ll have a rabbit,’ she said. ‘Skin it for me, will you?’ It wasn’t so much a request as a command. ‘This is my grandson’s wife. You’ll have heard he’d got wed.’ She turned her head to the waiting queue of women to include them. ‘She’s from Scarborough. She’ll be doing ’shopping from time to time.’
‘How do, miss – missus,’ the butcher corrected himself. ‘Look forward to doing business wi’ you.’
Jeannie began to speak but Nan interrupted. ‘An’ we’ll expect ’same consideration. She’s one of us now.’
‘Oh aye.’ The butcher finished skinning the rabbit and wrapped it in a newspaper. ‘I allus look after ’locals, you know that, Mrs Carr.’
She paid sixpence for the rabbit and asked for a lump of beef suet, which the butcher gave her; then they went on to the grocer where she bought a stone of flour, two ounces of yeast, and a few slices of boiled ham. After that they called in at the greengrocer for a bunch of carrots and half a stone of potatoes.
‘What you’ve to remember,’ she told Jeannie as they walked back up the road with Jeannie carrying the parcel from the butcher, ‘is that it’s still possible to eat well even if you’ve not much money.’
Well, I know that already, Jeannie thought. We’ve hardly been living a life of luxury in Scarborough; I don’t really know what the word means. But we always ate a lot of fish; there was always plenty of that.
‘Don’t you get fish, Mrs— Nan?’ She found it difficult to call her Nan; maybe it would be easier after the baby was born. ‘We generally had it given, or at least bought it cheap.’
‘Aye, I did, but Harry’s not working, is he, to bring any home. So what groceries I’ve bought today will have to last all week. I’ve onny got my relief money to live on till Harry gets work.’
Jeannie knew how hard that must be. Nan was too old for regular work, although apparently she still mended nets when she could. The relief money, which Jeannie’s mother also received, was handed out to widows and orphans through a fishermen’s benevolent society. She resolved to start asking around for work immediately.
‘Do you know any fishermen who’d bring their nets to me?’ she asked Nan. ‘I’d like to get started right away and work for as long as I can.’
‘I’ll put ’word about,’ Nan said. ‘There’s still a few men work for themselves and not for a company, though they’re few and far between.’
And she was as good as her word. She stopped several times to speak to wives and mothers of fishermen; she told Jeannie that not all of them were able to mend nets, or even expected to earn, as their menfolk didn’t agree with women working, but preferred them to be at home looking after the family.
‘Which is all very well if your man is in work,’ she muttered. ‘Some of us can’t be that choosy.’
Jeannie’s spirits sank lower the nearer they got to the terrace. Would Harry be up? Might he even have gone out as he promised?
But no, neither of those things had happened, she discovered when they entered the house. Harry was still in bed. She went upstairs.
‘Harry, get up,’ she urged. ‘I want you to take me down to the dock. I want you to tell the people you know that I’m available for work. I’m a good net mender. There must be somebody who’ll employ me.’
Harry sat up and swung his bare legs to the floor. He stood up. ‘Are you trying to shame me?’ His voice was loud and angry.
‘No, of course not. I’m good at what I do,’ she retaliated. ‘And somebody has to earn money until you get a ship. Nan can’t keep the three of us and another one to come.’
‘Clear off downstairs whilst I get dressed,’ he shouted. ‘And get me some breakfast.’
She turned away and headed down the stairs. She was shaking; she could almost have imagined that he was angry enough to hit her. This wasn’t how she thought marriage would be.
When Harry had sullenly eaten his breakfast and drunk a mug of tea, and Jeannie had picked at a slice of boiled ham and a piece of bread, he told her to get her shawl and they’d go out.
‘An’ if I meet anybody,’ he warned, ‘don’t speak until I say so. I’ll not have any of my mates thinking I’m under your thumb as soon as we’re wed.’
‘No, Harry,’ she said meekly, though inwardly seething. ‘You do the talking, but don’t forget to tell them how good I am. One of the best braiders in Scarborough, I was.’
‘Mebbe so,’ he muttered. ‘But you’re not in Scarborough now.’
They retraced their steps from the day before, along Hessle Road and back to St Andrew’s Dock, and Harry walked by her side not speaking. They took the route alongside the dock and Jeannie observed the women and girls on the fish quay and thought that after the baby was born she might be able to get a job there; they seemed a friendly lot who waved and shouted to them. Some of them seemed to know Harry and he called back in a familiar manner.
Many of the ships they had seen on the previous day had sailed on the morning tide, but there were still hundreds of various types: the steam trawlers which were replacing smacks; paddle tugs which had been adapted for fishing; steam cutters making ready to accompany the fleet on the following day’s tide. Some of the ships were taking ice on board, for other industries had been spawned by this new dock and ice-making companies had sprung up in the area, as had smoke houses and roperies. Other ships were loading up with crew provisions and empty fish boxes ready for sailing.
Hundreds of people allied to the fishing trade worked on or near this dock: carpenters and coopers, sailmakers and rope-workers. All depended on this industry for their living.
Harry nodded and greeted various acquaintances. He stopped once or twice and told the men that he was showing his wife the fishing craft of Hull.
‘She’s from Scarborough,’ he explained. ‘Doesn’t know Hull.’
They tipped their caps or touched their foreheads and she smiled back, but Harry didn’t introduce her, or mention the net mending. When she reminded him, he told her gruffly that they were mostly dock labourers and not fishermen and that he knew what he was doing.
‘But they might know somebody,’ she pleaded. ‘That’s how word gets around.’
‘Be quiet, will you,’ he said. ‘I’ve telled you I know what I’m about!’
And so she kept quiet, not wishing to antagonize him further and risk his turning back for home.
They came eventually to an area where some vessels were laid up for repairs and Harry hailed one of the men who was watching work being done on a smack. He straightened up and Jeannie saw that he was considerably older than Harry, with a wiry grey beard and keen blue eyes. He wore a navy fisherman’s gansey under his wool jacket and heavy cord breeches.
‘How do, Harry! Haven’t seen you about for a bit.’
Harry nodded towards the vessel. ‘This one o’ yours, Mike?’
‘Aye.’ The man grinned. ‘Mortgaged up to ’neck I am. But she’s a grand lady. We’ve had her modified and fitted her with a ten-horse-power engine. She’s just about ready and we’ll be off ’day after tomorrow.’
‘Have you still got ’Daisy Belle?’
‘Aye, but onny a quarter share; I’m not made o’ brass! She’s been refitted as well but wi’ a twenty horse power. We’re trying her out off Flamborough at ’minute.’ He glanced at Jeannie and touched his cap. ‘This your missis? I heard as you’d got wed.’
Harry reached out and drew Jeannie close, keeping his arm round her shoulder. ‘This is Jeannie, Mike. We’ve onny been married a couple o’ days.’
‘How do, Jeannie.’ Mike took off his cap, revealing thick grey hair. ‘Pleased to meet you. Glad to see that Harry’s settling down. How you getting on wi’ Nan? Leading you a dance, is she?
’
Jeannie smiled. ‘I’m watching my p’s and q’s,’ she said.
‘Aye, you do that.’ He grinned. ‘She was allus a bit of a tartar but she’s all right when you get to know her.’
‘Mike was a pal o’ my da,’ Harry explained to Jeannie. ‘Mike Gardiner. They were apprenticed at ’same time.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Then on impulse she added, ‘My father was a fisherman. He used to sail out from Scarborough.’
‘Did he?’ Mike folded his arms across his chest again, and then he frowned. ‘Was, you said? Lost was he?’
‘Yes. I don’t really remember him. It was ten years ago. A storm off the Dogger Bank.’
He nodded. ‘We’ve lost a few brave lads in those waters,’ he said. ‘Including Harry’s da.’ He sighed. ‘He was a good mate o’ mine. What you doing now, Harry? Are you wi’ one o’ bigger companies?’
‘Not at ’minute I’m not,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve refused a couple o’ jobs wi’ them and word got round that I was work-shy, which I’m not. But I’d rather be wi’ one of ’smaller owners like yourself, Mike.’
Jeannie was unsure whether what he said was true or not, but Mike was listening sympathetically and nodding his head.
‘If you’re owt like your da, you’ll not be work-shy,’ he said. ‘So what ’you doing for money?’
Harry shrugged. ‘On ’slate,’ he said. ‘Folks know me so they know I’ll pay ’em back.’
Mike grunted and shook his head. ‘Hard though, specially when you’re just wed. I reckon you trusted him enough to tek a chance, eh, Jeannie?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘And I’m looking for work too,’ she added. ‘Just to tide us over. I’m a net mender; one of the best’ – she smiled – ‘though that sounds like boasting.’
‘Ah! I might be able to put some work your way then,’ he said. ‘And Harry, I need a third hand for this smack. It’s a bit lowly for you, I know, but if you’re willing to tek it on for this trip, there might be ’chance o’ summat better later on.’
Jeannie held her breath as Harry appeared to consider. It was a lower position than he was qualified for, but at least it would bring in some much needed money and put food on the table.
‘Well,’ Harry said slowly, ‘I could. I’m doing nowt right now – so, aye, I will! Thanks very much, Mike.’
They took their leave after Harry had been given instructions on times and terms of employment and walked back along the dock. Harry said nothing but kept his arm on her shoulder, until, out of listening distance of Mike Gardiner, he blew out a long breath and gave her a huge squeeze.
‘Phew! Thank God for that.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Telled you, didn’t I, that I knew what I was about?’
‘You did, Harry.’ She smiled, and thought how lucky it was that after a good deal of persuasion he had at last agreed to come down to the dock. ‘You did really well. How lucky that we should see your father’s old friend.’
‘Aye, he’s done well has Mike. If my da had lived, well who knows but he might have been a partner wi’ him. He allus dreamed of having his own ship, or at least shares in one.’ He paused and considered; then, drawing himself up tall, he said, ‘And I’d probably be skipper by now. He’d have seen me right would Da.’
Jeannie squeezed his hand. ‘That he would,’ she said, thinking of Josh Wharton and Ethan and his stepbrother Mark. ‘You’d have worked together. Does Mike Gardiner have any sons?’
‘Aye, he does.’ He gave a laugh. ‘One’s a butcher; the other’s a skipper. Not much older than me.’ Then his mouth turned down. ‘He’s allus had his da there to give him a helping hand.’
‘You’ll be all right, Harry,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Your da would be proud.’
‘Do you think so, Jeannie?’ A frown wrinkled his forehead. ‘Do you reckon he’s watching?’
Jeannie swallowed. If Harry’s da was watching him, then her own father would be watching over her and Tom too. That was what her Scarborough grandmother had taught her, but was it what she believed?
‘I hope so, Harry,’ she said. ‘I really hope so.’
They walked on and turned on to Hessle Road, heading for home. There were still crowds of people about and the long row of shops was thronged with shoppers.
‘Your nan will be pleased to hear about the job with Mike Gardiner,’ Jeannie said. ‘She’ll know him, of course?’
He nodded. ‘Oh yeh. Known him all his life.’ He looked about him as if assessing something. ‘Erm, tell you what, Jeannie. You go on home and tell Nan about Mike. I’m just going to have a jar of ale and meet up wi’ some of ’lads, them that’s about, and tell ’em ’good news. I’ll not be long. Save me some rabbit stew.’
I should have known, she thought despondently as she watched Harry enter the nearest hostelry and then walked slowly on alone. I really should have known.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHEN HARRY SAILED two days later Jeannie heaved a sigh of rather guilty relief. The last few days had been very draining. The experience of being married and finding it wasn’t quite what she expected, living with Nan who, even when in the best of humour, was inclined to be acerbic and blunt, and the effort of encouraging Harry to make a real thrust at finding work, had left her feeling tense and on edge. She hoped now that after spending a few weeks apart they would be able to make a fresh start under better circumstances and rekindle the emotion she still wanted to believe they had both felt on their first meeting.
The day hadn’t started well. Jeannie had woken very early, but when she nudged Harry to awaken him, he’d turned over, grumbling that there was plenty of time.
‘But there isn’t,’ she’d urged. ‘Come on, I’ll go down and make your breakfast whilst you get dressed.’
She’d gone downstairs in her nightshift and shawl, riddled the fire and put on more coal, and swung the kettle over. There was gruel in the oven which had been simmering all night and she cut two slices of bread and brought out a pot of jam which she had bought from the grocer as a special treat. But she could hear no sound of activity from upstairs and she crept back up to find he was still in bed.
‘Harry,’ she’d whispered urgently. ‘It’s half past five.’ It was a lie, but a justified one, she thought; the night before she had moved the hands of the clock forward ten minutes in case of just such an emergency. It had the desired effect, for he sat up with a start and scrambled out of bed and into his trousers and navy blue gansey.
‘For God’s sake, Jeannie, why didn’t you wake me? You know I’ve to catch ’tide.’
She hadn’t answered, but went downstairs again to make and pour his tea and dish up the gruel.
He’d glanced at the clock on the wall as he sat down at the table. ‘Onny twenty past.’ He frowned. ‘You said half past.’
‘I think the clock is slow,’ she replied calmly. ‘I noticed just the other day. Anyway, don’t you have to be on board and out of the dock before the tide turns?’
He paused in the act of taking a gulp of tea. ‘Don’t be telling me what I already know,’ he muttered. ‘There’s nowt you can tell me about ships and tides.’ He pressed his lips together with his fingers. ‘So button up!’
She sat down opposite him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’m nervous. I want this to be a really good trip for you, Harry.’
He’d pushed aside the empty gruel dish and picked up a slice of bread which she’d spread with jam. ‘It will be. But I’m tekkin’ a lowly position, you know, just to be in work. I should be skipper by rights.’
‘Yes,’ Jeannie murmured. ‘I realize that.’ She turned her head at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. ‘Here’s Nan coming down to see you off.’
Nan came into the kitchen dressed in a long flannel nightgown with a shawl over her shoulders and her grey hair in a long plait. She looked tired and old, Jeannie thought, with her back bent and her thin face pale and wrinkled.
‘No need for yo
u to be up yet, Nan,’ Harry had told her. He pushed his chair back from the table. ‘You get off back to bed.’
‘I just wanted to tell you that ’clock’s a bit slow,’ she croaked. ‘Don’t want you to miss ’tide.’
‘For heaven’s sake, both of you,’ he exclaimed, but he said it with good humour and Jeannie had felt the tension easing. He picked up the heavy bag containing his oilskins and boots which was by the door. ‘Cheerio, then. I’m off. Give us a kiss, both of you.’
He put his cheek towards Nan who gave him a peck, but Jeannie said, ‘I’ll come to the door with you.’ She wanted to give him a proper kiss, a loving, come home soon kind of kiss. One that he could think about whilst he was away.
‘Right then.’ He turned to the door leading to the scullery. ‘But don’t come out,’ he said. ‘I don’t want folks lookin’ at you in your bedgown. And don’t whatever you do come down to ’dock when we sail.’
‘I won’t,’ she said.
‘Nor down to ’river!’ he warned.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not. There won’t be time.’
‘I’m not talkin’ about time,’ he said sharply, opening the back door. ‘I’m talkin’ about bad luck if you do.’ He frowned. ‘You know about that, don’t you? Being a harbour girl?’
‘I know about it, yes,’ she agreed. ‘I won’t come. Give me a kiss, Harry. I’ll see you on your return.’
He’d kissed her lips. ‘Yeh. About three weeks, that’s all. We’ll have a good fish supper then!’
When she returned to the kitchen Nan was pouring a cup of tea. She looked up at Jeannie. ‘You wouldn’t think about going down to see him off, would you? We don’t do that here; ’fishermen don’t like it.’
Jeannie had sat many times by the Scarborough harbour and waved goodbye to the fishermen, but she knew that many were superstitious about such things and wouldn’t allow their wives to see them off. She didn’t believe in such old wives’ tales herself, but she showed respect to those who did.
‘I won’t go,’ she said. ‘Not if Harry doesn’t want me to.’