The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  The town had been built on the proceeds of whaling, fishing and commerce. This she was told by a woman whom she had asked for directions as she walked towards the town docks. The woman was a mine of information, having lived in Hull the whole of her life, she said.

  ‘Finest town in ’country,’ she vowed. ‘Though if you’re poor, it’s no better than any other, I suspect. It was founded on whaling in case you don’t know, and more recently on fish. Folks come from all over ’country to fish from our waters and to use our dock.’

  Jeannie nodded, but the woman seemed determined to continue. She had a confident, unabashed manner. ‘They’ve got a grand fish dock at ’top of Hessle Road; St Andrew’s. Fishing has really took off since that was built, and it’s freed up ’rest of town docks for other commerce.’

  She cast an eye over Jeannie. ‘You might wonder how I know all this. Well, I’ll tell you.’

  Jeannie was beginning to wish she had never asked for directions and found her own way, but the woman continued.

  ‘My family used to live on Hessle Road; my da was a fisherman, but now he sells it, rather than catches it. He’s opened a fish shop!’ Her voice rose with pride. ‘He and my ma cook it and sell it hot with ’taties. ’Finest food you can buy, and ’cheapest. He sleeps in his own bed at night and meks enough money not to worry about his future.’

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ Jeannie said, edging away. ‘It’s good to hear a success story.’

  The woman followed her. ‘Aye, it is.’ She shook her head. ‘But I miss being on ’road and so does my ma. It were a special place. Everybody looked out for everybody else. Still do, I expect,’ she said wistfully.

  As Jeannie finally managed to get away at last, the woman called to her, ‘Nice little babby cart you’ve got there. Did somebody mek it for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie said. ‘A friend.’

  After visiting the vast town dock to see the commercial shipping moored there, she walked over a swing bridge and alongside the Junction Dock, bearing towards the estuary. At last she stepped on to the wooden boards of the Victoria Pier and went to the rail to look over the Humber to Lincolnshire on the other side. The estuary was packed with shipping, with sail and with steam: a steam trawler alongside a trawling smack, a yawl with a coble on board; coal barges and oceangoing vessels were steaming towards the mouth of the estuary. Many of the vessels were trawlers laden with their catches of fish and there were some, though not many, sailing smacks, which were heading towards St Andrew’s Dock.

  Jeannie narrowed her eyes as she observed them. These vessels were the ones she had grown up with, like the one her brother had sailed in when he was so sick and decided against going to sea; like the one Ethan had sailed on as a boy, whose mast he had been tied to during the dreadful storm; and – she leaned forward the better to see – and yes, one of them was very similar to the Scarborough Girl; could almost be the same, except of course it wouldn’t be. To her knowledge, Ethan never came to Hull. There were two figures on board and one was sheeting in a sail.

  It was her! The Scarborough Girl. She could see the name quite plainly now. She felt a flutter of excitement, which quickly died; so he’d sold it after all. Well, that was men for you, full of promises which came to nothing. She felt sick when she thought that just as Harry had moved on from her, Ethan would have no use for the smack any more. They were both becoming outdated.

  She sat on a wooden bench to eat her bread and cheese and then nursed Jack. She wrapped herself carefully in her shawl as he nuzzled into her breast and pondered yet again on her circumstances.

  I could go home, she thought. Ma wouldn’t mind. I am after all a respectable married woman; but how would I explain being there without my husband? And what about the newborn? Will Harry want to see it? He said he’ll support us. Why did he have to say anything? I’d rather have been left in ignorance over his feelings for me than hear him say what he did.

  Jack gave a little cry and she lifted him to her shoulder, patting him gently. He burped and she said softly, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. Are my angry thoughts giving you wind, my poor bairn?’

  She put him to her other breast and watched the muddy brown water of the Humber, deep and strong, moving in-exorably on its journey.

  The sun was still warm, the sky bright with slow-moving wisps of cloud, but Jeannie felt cold and shivered in the cool breeze that was carried along the estuary. She stood, wrapped Jack up and placed him back in his cart, and went for one last look at the shipping. She took a deep breath. I just have to get on with life as best I can, she thought. I’ll try to get some work, at least until my time. And after that … well, I’ll think about that later.

  She took another breath, deeper this time, to give her energy for the walk back; a cormorant flew over, followed by a flock of herring gulls, screeching as they flew, and she smiled, though wistfully.

  ‘Listen to them, Jack,’ she said to the infant, who gazed up at her from his darkening eyes, eyes which would be like Harry’s and so a constant reminder of him. ‘Those are the sounds from the sea: of fishing, of deep briny water which gives us our living and sometimes takes it from us. And smell that!’ She closed her eyes and breathed in. Above the oily odour of fish meal came the essence of the sea, cleansing her nostrils, sharp, pungent and salty. The smell of home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  IT WAS A much longer walk back than when she came into town. She thought she could walk alongside the Humber bank towards Hessle Road; from Nelson Street, where the pier was situated, she cut to Wellington Street and found herself between a dock and a dock basin and on the wrong side of a railway line; she took another turning and became completely lost. The pushcart trundled and jerked over rough paving and Jack was jiggled about no matter how careful she was, and her back ached with trying to keep it on an even keel. If only the cart had springs, like perambulators, she thought, but I suppose that’s why they are so expensive.

  There were many people about, all going about their regular business, men with handcarts, women dressed in aprons and wearing clogs, and once more she asked for directions. She turned back along the dock, turned again to avoid another railway line, and became quite disoriented.

  She wanted to weep. She was tired and Jack was grizzling, but there was nothing for it but to try to find her way back to where she had started and begin again. She asked a dock worker for further directions and reached a street called Blanket Row on the corner of Sewer Lane before she faltered again. Which way now? She was hesitating when she heard the rattle of wheels, the clip-clop of hooves and someone calling out, ‘Can I give a damsel in distress a ride home?’

  Jeannie could hardly speak, such was her relief. ‘Mike! Rescue!’

  ‘What ’you doing down here, Jeannie?’ Mike jumped from his waggon. ‘Come on. Are you going home?’

  ‘I was.’ Her voice broke. ‘I was being too clever by half and thought I could walk home along the Humber bank.’

  ‘You can if you know ’way and if you’re not pushing a bairn in a cart. Come on, young feller.’ Lifting Jack out of his cart, he handed him to Jeannie, then picked up the cart and put it in the back of the waggon. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Exploring,’ she admitted. ‘I walked into town. I hadn’t been before and wanted to take a look to see what it was like. But it was a long way in, and’ – she gave a rueful grimace – ‘even longer coming back.’ She heaved a sigh and climbed into the front of the waggon, tucking the baby under her shawl. ‘I can’t believe that you’ve come to my rescue yet again.’

  ‘We shall get talked about.’ He grinned.

  Jeannie laughed. ‘That’s what Nan said.’

  Mike turned to look at her, then shook the reins and the horse responded. ‘You’re joking, of course?’

  ‘No. I’m not. I can tell you now that she’s no longer here.’ She hugged Jack closer as they trotted through the busy streets. ‘She said I hadn’t to let you into the house when I was on my own. She said that folk would talk
.’

  Mike grinned. ‘I’m flattered that ’old girl thought I still had a breath o’ life left in me. She’d forgotten that I’m old enough to be your father. Harry’s da and I were mates.’

  ‘It was because you are a widower, I think,’ Jeannie said.

  He shook his head and sighed. ‘I don’t think she ever forgave me for being alive when Fred wasn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘She never quite got over that.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Jeannie agreed. ‘During the last few weeks before she died she sometimes referred to Harry as Fred, as if she’d forgotten that he’d gone.’

  ‘Are you settling in at ’new house?’ he said after a while. ‘Are you managing all right? What did Harry think?’

  ‘He wasn’t pleased,’ she told him. ‘In fact he was quite angry; he said Nan had lived in the other house for a long time, it was where he was brought up.’

  ‘It was, but he was forgetting that there’d been no money going in for some time either. Nan must have been scrimping and saving to even pay ’rent.’

  ‘Yes, I think she was.’ Jeannie gave a deep sigh and on a sudden whim went on, ‘Harry wishes he’d never got married. He told me so. He says he’ll support me and he wants us to be friends – though we’ll not be – but he doesn’t want to be married.’

  Mike turned and stared. ‘Never! He couldn’t wish for such a thing.’

  Jeannie’s shoulders drooped. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything, but she felt the need to talk to someone and Mike had always been kind.

  ‘That’s what he told me,’ she said again in a quiet voice. ‘He said he wouldn’t have married me if it hadn’t been for Nan insisting; and she did. The first time I came to Hull looking for him and talked to Nan, she said he would have to marry me; she didn’t want the shame of it, and told him he should – would – honour his commitments.’

  Mike nodded. ‘That sounds like Nan,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity there aren’t more like her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie conceded. ‘But she’s not here now, so Harry can say and do whatever he likes.’ She gave an even deeper sigh; she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air and every breath she took might choke her with the stench of fish meal and the pungent odour from the smoke houses. ‘And what he did say was that he didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to marry me.’

  Mike was silent, but as they turned on to Hessle Road he said, ‘If he’d been my lad I’d have said he’d made his bed so he’d have to lie on it. So what are you going to do? What’s Harry going to do? He’ll surely not leave you? He’s got to support you and ’bairn. If he doesn’t his reputation’ll be torn to shreds.’

  ‘Two bairns, Mike,’ she whispered. ‘I’m pregnant with another. And I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll have to find work; I can’t rely on Harry’s promises to support us. I think he’s full of good intentions, but …’ Her words tailed away. Sooner or later Harry would resent having to support her, and whenever he came home from a trip he would call in at the nearest hostelry to drown his sorrows.

  Mike asked if he could drop her off near the end of the terrace as he was going back to St Andrew’s Dock for a meeting. He had said little after she’d confessed she was pregnant, but had just listened; it was as if he was shocked by what she had told him and she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed him. Where will his loyalties lie? she thought. He’s known Harry since he was a boy, the son of his best friend. I’m just a newcomer.

  The house was cold when she entered, the fine grey ash in the grate burned through. There would be no dinner unless she built a fire so that was the first thing to do. She wrapped another blanket round Jack but he kicked them off, gurgling at her and clapping his hands, which delighted her. How fast he was growing and developing.

  The bundle of twigs and small pieces of coal took ages to light no matter how she coaxed and blew on the flickering flame, but eventually it caught, drying out the damp wood and licking round the wet coal, issuing a spasmodic smoky blaze. Jeannie rocked back on her heels. It would take hours to heat a pan of soup or cook potatoes. She looked in her purse. Connie would be hungry when she came in after work; would she bring fish to cook, or maybe a pair of kippers? The last time Jeannie had eaten kippers she had had indigestion all night, and they hadn’t agreed with Jack either.

  She put her shawl back on and tucking Jack under it went out again, heading back towards the shops on Hessle Road to spend her precious money on a ready cooked meat and potato pie.

  ‘Mm.’ Connie wiped a slice of bread round her plate to soak up the gravy when she had finished. ‘That made a nice change.’ She licked her lips. ‘You must get fed up o’ cooking, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Jeannie answered. ‘But it’s not easy knowing what to have when there’s not much money. I couldn’t really afford to buy a pie, but the fire wouldn’t burn and I knew we’d be eating at midnight unless I bought some ready food. I’ll be pleased when Harry comes home. I don’t know how much longer I can manage.’

  It wasn’t meant as a hint that Connie had been lax with her board money again, but Connie took offence at the innocent remark and went upstairs, returning a few minutes later with her purse.

  ‘I’m not earning a fortune, you know! And I’ve to buy my dinner every day. I don’t pack up like some of ’lasses do.’

  ‘Well, you could,’ Jeannie told her. ‘There’s usually enough bread.’ But the reason Connie didn’t pack up was because she was essentially lazy and would rather spend another quarter of an hour in bed than get up to prepare food for her midday break.

  Connie handed over her money. It wasn’t enough, she surely knew that, but she didn’t look at Jeannie as she announced, ‘Anyway, I’m going to mek it easier for you to manage. I’ve got another room. A bob a week including coal for a fire. I’ve just to find my own food.’

  Jeannie felt as if she’d been struck. ‘Why?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘That’s what you pay to live here and I provide the food, except when you bring fish.’

  Connie shrugged. ‘I fetch ’fish in. I can cook it m’self so I’ll eat for free.’

  There seemed to be no logic to that. ‘But why?’ Jeannie asked again. ‘I thought we were company for each other.’

  Connie stretched and then sat down. ‘We were. But I’m going out more now. I’m getting on better wi’ lasses at work, and anyway once you’ve got another bairn to look after you’ll not have ’time to talk. And I don’t really like this part of ’road either.’

  Jeannie thought for a moment. She’d felt that Connie had been behaving oddly for some time. She’d been unsettled, more like the person she’d been when Jeannie had first met her.

  ‘Is it me?’ she asked. ‘Is it something I’ve said or done that’s made you want to move? Or Harry! Has Harry said something to upset you?’

  Connie did look at her now, lifting her head and speaking sharply. ‘Harry? No. Why’d you think it was Harry? No. It’s nowt to do wi’ him.’

  But Jeannie noticed a slow blush on her cheeks and thought that perhaps she wasn’t being truthful. Connie had had a soft spot for Harry. Maybe she was finding it difficult living in close proximity. ‘When will you be leaving?’

  ‘End o’ week. Sorry.’ Again she looked away. ‘It’s nowt personal. But I’ve got on me feet and I can manage on me own now. About time, isn’t it?’ She gave a forced laugh. ‘I’m not scared like I used to be. I’ve grown up.’ She dropped her eyes to Jack sleeping in his makeshift cot. ‘I’ll miss ’bairn, though.’

  ‘Come and see him then. When you’ve the time.’ Jeannie could hardly speak. Another slap in the face. Unwanted. There’s only Jack who really needs me. She heard her voice mouthing words. ‘Don’t think that you can’t call, Connie. I understand that you feel the need to have your own place.’

  ‘Yeh, I will.’ Connie got up again. ‘I’m off out now. I need to buy some cups and plates an’ stuff – an’ sheets. I don’t suppose—’

  ‘No,’ Jeannie said firmly. ‘I’ll need all the crockery
and bedding, especially when I’ve two bairns. I might have to take in a lodger,’ she said, as the thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘To make ends meet.’

  ‘Oh, yeh!’ Connie nodded. ‘Course. Mebbe you could get somebody down on their luck who’d look after ’bairn while you get a job.’

  ‘And teach them how to stand on their own two feet?’ Jeannie couldn’t help the sarcasm, but it was wasted on Connie. ‘I don’t think so.’ Her eyes began to stream. ‘I’m very particular about who looks after my child. Harry’s child.’

  ‘Well, you would be.’ Connie stared at her for a moment and then ran her tongue round her lips. ‘He’ll be precious to you. And you’ll bring him up right, won’t you, Jeannie? No matter what.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Connie shrugged. ‘Nowt really. It’s just – well – we don’t know how life’s going to turn out, do we? It’s a struggle, I know that better’n anybody. Abandoned by my da, and unwanted by my ma.’ She seemed to be searching for words but couldn’t find the right ones. ‘But you’re strong, aren’t you? If somebody knocked you down you’d get up again.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Connie.’ She was beginning a headache and wished Connie would go out and leave her to her thoughts.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that I allus need somebody to pick me up and point me in ’right direction. But you, you allus know which way to go or what to do; you don’t need anybody else to tell you.’

  What I wouldn’t give right now to have someone tell me what to do for the best, Jeannie thought. But there’s no one. Only my mother, and I won’t ask her. Why would I worry her?