The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  Harry shrugged. ‘I was onny third hand, so no bonus is there? And ’word is that smacks are finished; there’s no profit any more.’ He paused for a second and then said, ‘So I’m applying to go wi’ one of ’bigger companies. Trawling.’

  ‘Trawling?’ Jeannie and Nan said as one. ‘You’ll be away longer,’ Jeannie added, ‘but there’ll be more security, won’t there?’

  Nan gazed solidly at Harry. ‘They’ll have you, will they?’

  ‘Aye, they will. That other business is forgotten. I wasn’t ’onny one who was blackballed,’ he said sharply.

  ‘Which company?’ Nan asked, unperturbed by his manner.

  ‘Humber Steam,’ he said. ‘It’s well established. Plenty o’ capital.’

  Nan’s mouth shaped into a round O. ‘That it is,’ she said. ‘Wish I’d had some money for a share in it.’ She turned to Jeannie. ‘Humber Steam ’n’ Fishing,’ she told her. ‘He’ll be all right wi’ them if he can get took on. They’ve got new steam trawlers as well as adapted ones. And ice,’ she added.

  She was well informed, Jeannie thought. The fishermen’s wives and mothers, and grandmothers too, it seemed, always were. They had the best interests of their men at heart and were always supportive, often vehemently so. But, she thought, working for such a large company Harry could never aspire to being more than a skipper. If smacks were finished, as he said, there would be no opportunity for a fisherman like Harry to become master of his own vessel. Men like Josh Wharton and Ethan who had bought shares in their ships would become a dying breed.

  This Christmas Day was going to be very special, Jeannie thought. Jack was nine days old, Harry was confident of getting a ship and life seemed much rosier than it had previously. She wrote to her mother and Tom and told them of Jack’s safe arrival and that she would try to come to Scarborough in the spring and bring Jack to see them.

  ‘You’ll adore him, Ma,’ she wrote. ‘He’s an angel. Nan says he looks like Harry, but I’m sure you’ll say that he looks like me. I haven’t been out yet, and am waiting until he’s been baptized, which will probably be in the New Year.’

  She had felt very homesick as she gave Harry the letter to put in the post box when he went out on Christmas morning to meet his mates at the Wassand Arms. She didn’t begrudge him this pleasure; she and Nan were preparing food and he had promised to be home by midday. Nan had warned him that if he wasn’t home as agreed then they would start without him; she wouldn’t overcook the beef and let it spoil, she told him.

  She and Jeannie had decided between them that they would have the meal ready by half past twelve in case he was late, and at precisely that time the yard door opened and Harry came in. ‘I’m not late, am I?’

  Jeannie was in the scullery and had started to smile at his sheepish demeanour when she realized that he seemed agitated. ‘What is it, Harry?’

  He put his finger to his lips. ‘Trouble, I think,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t know what to do.’

  Jeannie’s brows creased. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Harry nodded, and putting his hand on the door sneck said, ‘It’s Connie. She’s outside.’

  ‘What’s happened? Bring her in.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nan!’

  Harry didn’t know that Connie had been there when Jack was born, that Nan had, grudgingly at first, allowed her inside the house. Or that she had been useful to her.

  Jeannie put her hand over his. ‘Let her in,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  He bit on his lip. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and he opened the door.

  Connie was out of sight, crouching by the wall. Harry went out and pulled her to her feet and she turned towards Jeannie.

  ‘I didn’t want to come,’ she said thickly. ‘But Harry said I should.’

  Jeannie was appalled at the sight of her. Connie’s mouth was swollen, her lips twice their size; her cheeks and nose were puffy and one eye was completely closed. She was dressed inappropriately for the time of year, with just a thin shawl over her cotton skirt and bodice.

  ‘Who did this to you, Connie?’ Jeannie drew her into the scullery.

  Connie shook her head. ‘Can’t say,’ she mumbled, ‘or I’ll get more of ’same.’

  ‘Her uncle,’ Harry blurted out. ‘That’s who! Bastard! He’ll know about this, just see if he doesn’t.’

  ‘No,’ Connie moaned. ‘Don’t! You’ll mek it worse.’

  ‘What’s going on? ’Dinner’s spoiling in here—’ Nan came through from the kitchen but stopped when she saw Connie and ran her tongue over her lips. ‘You’d better bring her in,’ she said. ‘She’ll need a cold compress on that eye.’

  Harry stared at his grandmother. He clearly wasn’t expecting such a comment. He ushered Connie in and turned to Jeannie with a questioning glance.

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ she breathed. ‘Connie was here when the bairn was born.’

  Nan sat Connie down by the fire, and fetched a bowl of cold water and a cloth. ‘Here,’ she said to Jeannie. ‘You bathe her eye while I dish up. Yorkshires are done. They’ll be ruined if we don’t eat ’em now.’

  As Jeannie drew up a chair in front of Connie and applied the wet cloth to her face, she saw Nan take another plate from the shelf, to make four. She gave an inward sigh of relief. The animosity appeared to be over. Connie was going to eat with them.

  The meal was eaten in silence, apart from Harry’s attempts to be jolly and exclamations that this was the best meal he had had in weeks. It was true the beef was tender and the puddings risen and golden. Connie ate very little, and Jeannie guessed that it wasn’t because she wasn’t hungry, but because her face ached. She put her hand over her mouth at one point and mumbled that she had lost a tooth.

  Whilst Nan dished up the Christmas pudding, Connie cleared away the dirty dishes and put them in the scullery sink. Jeannie followed her in.

  ‘When did this happen, Connie?’ she asked in a low voice.

  Connie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Day after I’d been here. Somebody had seen me coming out and told my ma. She slapped me about an’ said I hadn’t to come again, but then when Uncle Des came in he asked why I was crying an’ she told him.’ She took a choking breath. ‘An’ he said he’d give me summat to cry about. He gave me a good hiding an’ when I tried to get away from him I fell over and hit my face on ’table.’ Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘He pushed me out of ’door an’ told me not to come back till I’d bucked my ideas up or he’d give me summat else to remember.’

  ‘So where have you been since then?’ Jeannie whispered.

  Connie shook her head. ‘Nowhere. Just wandering about. I couldn’t go to work looking like this, could I?’ She sniffled. ‘I’ve probably lost my job anyway. ’Foreman won’t have kept it; there’s plenty o’ lasses looking for work.’

  ‘Come on; stop that nattering in there.’ Nan’s voice called them back to the table, and as Jeannie was finishing her pudding Jack woke up and bawled with such intensity that Harry cringed and Jeannie had to put down her spoon and feed the hungry baby straight away.

  ‘By, he’s got some lungs on him, hasn’t he,’ Harry said in amazement. ‘You wouldn’t think that such a little bairn could mek a row like that.’

  ‘He’s got to shout to mek himself heard,’ Nan said, ‘otherwise we’d never know.’

  Connie got up from the table and began clearing away. ‘Can I wash ’dishes, Mrs Carr? Then I’ll get off out of your road.’

  Nan pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Aye, you can.’ She paused, not looking at Connie. Then she lifted her head and stared straight at her. ‘An’ then where’ll you go?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Connie shook her head. ‘Not home, anyway. I daren’t go back. I’m too scared o’ him. I think he’ll kill me.’

  Jeannie drew in a breath and the baby hiccuped. ‘You can’t live on the street, Connie. You’ll be arrested as a vagrant.’

  ‘I’d get a roof over my head then, wouldn’t I?’
Connie said miserably. ‘It’s that or ’workhouse.’ She put her head down and muttered, ‘It’s cold out on ’street – and dark – and I kept getting accosted by drunks.’

  ‘All right!’ Nan seemed to have come to a decision. She sat up straight and folded her stick-like arms in front of her. ‘It’s Christmas and I wouldn’t like to think I was found wanting in Christian charity. I’ll not pretend that I want you here, cos I don’t, not after what has gone on afore wi’ your family an’ mine; but I’d not let a dog roam ’street at this time o’ year, let alone a fellow human being. You can stop here till you find somewhere else; a room or lodgings. There isn’t a bed, but you can sleep on ’rug in front o’ fire.’

  Connie stared at her, her lips parted. She seemed to be having trouble breathing, but Jeannie thought that was because of her swollen nose.

  ‘I’ll have to find work afore I can afford a room, Mrs Carr, an’ I’ve no money for my keep. I gave my wages to my ma.’

  Nan pondered, and both Jeannie and Harry sat looking at her, waiting for her decision.

  ‘As soon as you’re earning then,’ she said at last. ‘You’ll give me your first shilling an’ after that you can look for a room.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ The relief in Connie’s voice was plain. ‘Thank you. I’ll not be a bother, an’ I’ll clean for you or do any jobs that you ask.’

  Nan nodded. ‘You can start tomorrow an’ donkey-stone ’doorstep. I like to see it white. And when you’ve done that you can go back to ’dock an’ see if your old job’s still open. Never mind about your black eye. Let ’shame of Des Turnby’s fist be clear for everybody to see.’

  Connie managed a smile but it was evident that she wasn’t too happy about that command. ‘I usually lie about me bruises,’ she said.

  ‘And your damaged hand?’ Jeannie asked.

  Miserably she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though I expect everybody knows. They all know what he’s like. He used to beat up his lads but now they’re bigger than him an’ fight back.’

  ‘What about them?’ Harry asked. ‘Have they ever hit you?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘An’ Des doesn’t hit me when they’re there. They’d stop him, I think. They’re nice lads.’

  Harry knew Des Turnby’s two sons, and told Jeannie later, when they were alone in the kitchen whilst Connie and Nan cleared up in the scullery, that although they were tough lads when they were in drink, they would never hit a woman.

  ‘I suppose Connie would be too frightened of her uncle to tell them,’ she said.

  ‘She’s frightened of her own shadow,’ Harry said. ‘Always was, even when she was a bairn; an’ I expect she tells ’em ’same tale as she tells everybody else, that she’s fallen or bashed her head on summat.’

  ‘It’s a pity no one else has told them,’ Jeannie said. ‘They might warn their father off.’

  Harry lifted his chin as he contemplated. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Mebbe they would.’

  He went out later that evening after they’d eaten a Christmas tea of cold sausages, pork pie and pickles, followed by fruit cake and cheese. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he told Jeannie. ‘I’m meeting some of ’lads.’

  This was not what I expected, she thought. We’ve had no time together, no time to talk; on Christmas Eve he’d fallen into bed and was instantly asleep and didn’t wake even when the baby cried during the night to be fed, and he was still asleep when she’d got up on Christmas morning.

  ‘Our Fred allus sleeps in after a trip,’ Nan had said when Jeannie went downstairs. ‘He gets worn out.’

  Jeannie had busied herself with Jack and this time hadn’t contradicted her, not over the use of her dead son’s name, nor when she had chucked the child under the chin and said fondly, ‘Now then, young Harry.’

  Now Harry had gone out, leaving the three women together: Nan knitting by the low light of the oil lamp, Connie lost in thought as she perched on a hard chair as if ready for flight, staring into the fire; and Jeannie, nursing Jack, thought that her first Christmas as a married woman was almost over. Another week would bring in a new year and a year after that a new decade.

  She looked down at the sleeping, satiated Jack, his milk-dribbled mouth still gently sucking, though he had abandoned her superfluous breast. What will those years bring us? she thought. Not riches, that’s for sure, and never having had them I’d not wish for them; but security, food in our bellies, a roof over our heads – that’s what’s important. She smiled and gently touched her baby’s soft cheek. Your da to stay at home sometimes would be nice, and a brother or sister for you.

  The baby gave a sudden cry of wind and she picked him up and patted his back. Nan looked up from her knitting and gazed from Jeannie and the baby to Connie.

  ‘Better put ’kettle on,’ she said. ‘Fred’ll be home soon.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN HARRY CAME home, jubilant, three days later to say he had been taken on by the Humber Steam and Fishing Company and hoped for a ship the following week, Jeannie didn’t mention her concern about Nan; she didn’t want him to worry whilst he was away. Connie had come in on Boxing Day and told them the foreman had taken her back in her old job at the fish quay, although he had warned her that any more time off and she would be out.

  ‘Did he ask how you came to be bruised?’ Jeannie asked and Connie shook her head.

  ‘No, but I think he knew. He asked if I was still living at home and I told him I’d found temporary lodgings.’

  Harry heard some of the conversation. ‘I just happened to mention to Billy Norman that I’d seen you, and that Des Turnby had given you a beating. He knows Des and his lads so it’ll get back to ’em that folks know about it.’

  Connie looked at him with frightened eyes. ‘I hope he doesn’t come lookin’ for me,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘He won’t come here,’ Harry assured her. ‘I’m bigger than him.’

  But when you’re away he might, Jeannie thought, and wondered if Des Turnby would come and warn her and Nan off befriending Connie.

  ‘I’ll leave as soon as I can,’ Connie said. ‘I’ll give your nan ’first shilling like I promised and look for somewhere else to live.’ She bit on a fingernail. ‘But everybody knows everybody else on Hessle Road; he’d soon find me.’

  ‘Then you’d better stay here for a bit longer,’ Harry said. ‘Nan won’t mind an’ while I’m away you can sleep wi’ Jeannie and ’babby.’

  Jeannie looked sharply at him, and Connie must have seen the protest in her face for she quickly said, ‘I’m fine down here in front of ’fire.’

  ‘Better there than being woken up during the night,’ Jeannie said firmly.

  Nan made no objection; in fact she appeared to have forgotten her original bidding that Connie should look for lodgings after paying her the shilling. After the New Year, Harry left on his voyage and Nan bought the same amount of food for the three of them and seemed to accept Connie’s presence.

  ‘What’ll I do, Jeannie?’ Connie whispered. ‘Shall I pay Nan for my keep at ’end of ’week?’

  ‘Give it to me,’ Jeannie said. ‘Then she won’t be reminded that she asked you to leave. I’ll put the money in her purse when she’s not looking.’

  But when she did that, at the end of the following week, worryingly she saw that Nan’s purse was almost empty, apart from a few coppers. Yet she had gathered up the money that Harry had brought home from his last voyage.

  It wasn’t much, I know, Jeannie thought. But if it’s all spent, then we must be living on credit. She attempted to ask Nan if she was managing all right, but was brushed off with the rejoinder that she had always looked after the household purse and didn’t need any advice from Jeannie.

  ‘Stay a little longer, Connie,’ she said one evening. Nan had gone outside to the privy. ‘There’s no hurry for you to leave,’ and once again, Connie gave her the money for her board and lodgings, keeping only a few pence for herself.

  ‘I don’t need much,’ Connie
said. ‘There’s nowt I want to buy, and besides I feel safe here.’

  ‘I wish I could go out,’ Jeannie said. ‘When Harry comes home I’m going to ask him to make the arrangements for the christening and my churching, and I’m going to ask my ma if she can come. The weather’s not bad, although it’s wet, but she’s used to that so I think she will. I want her to see Jack.’

  She glanced towards the scullery door and heard Nan come in from outside. ‘Will you stand as Jack’s godmother, Connie?’ She knew no one else she could ask, and knew that Connie was fond of the child.

  ‘Oh!’ Connie’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘Do you mean it? Honest? Oh, yes, I will. Nobody’s ever asked me such a thing afore. I’d be, I’d be – what’s ’word I’m lookin’ for?’

  Jeannie smiled at her exuberance. ‘Erm – honoured? Privileged?’

  ‘Yeh,’ Connie agreed. ‘But – special. I’d feel special if I was asked to be a bairn’s godmother, cos I don’t think I’ll ever be anybody’s real mother.’

  ‘You shouldn’t think so poorly of yourself, Connie,’ Jeannie chided her, but then surreptitiously put her finger to her lips as Nan came into the room. Twice that day Nan had referred to the baby as Harry, and chucking him under his chin had told him that his da would soon be home.

  Mid-morning the next day, as Jeannie was changing Jack, someone knocked on the front door. ‘Nan,’ she called. ‘Are you there? There’s somebody at the door. The front, not the back,’ she added, as she heard Nan lift the back door sneck.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Nan grumbled as she came through from the scullery. ‘Trouble, I’ll be bound. Nobody ever comes to ’front.’

  I did, Jeannie thought, though I suppose I was trouble. It’s somebody who doesn’t know us, anyway.

  But it was someone who knew her. She heard Nan muttering that they’d better come through; when she looked up she felt a sudden rush of joy as she saw her mother standing in the doorway.