The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I know,’ Jeannie said softly.

  ‘They were hard workers those fisher lasses, all of them, and it wasn’t an easy life, not by any means, and I suppose when they stood there day after day with the stink of fish on their clothes and in their hair, well, the sight of a girl with time to dress up and stand idly on a corner waiting for her man, it riled ’em I suppose.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose I could understand that,’ Jeannie said softly. ‘They’d be jealous of you, with time to spare and nice clothes to wear.’

  ‘When he came ashore, George came straight to me, of course, and we went off together, but they called after us, shouting things. He just turned and waved good-naturedly at them. Just a lark, he said, that was all it was.’ She paused again and now a note of bitterness crept into her tone. ‘But the next day, it wasn’t a lark. I went to the quay to see him off, but before he came a group of the girls surrounded me, dragged me into an empty warehouse and kept me there until his ship had sailed.’

  She was silent for so long, that Jeannie said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was upset, of course. I cried a bit that I’d missed seeing George off, but I daren’t say anything to my family. They still didn’t know I was even meeting him. I was only seventeen, remember. And I think, at that stage, if I’m honest, the fisher lasses didn’t mean any real harm. They were only having a bit of fun, y’know, taking me down a peg or two for showing off.’

  ‘But surely, it was all right the next time he came home, wasn’t it? The fisher girls would have moved on by then.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t to be, Jeannie. Yes, they had moved on, but the boat that George was on had engine trouble and put into Yarmouth for repairs. And that’s where that same team of girls had gone. And of course, when they recognized him . . .’

  Jeannie was beginning to piece the story together now. ‘You mean that Nell was one of those girls? That she was one who locked you in the warehouse?’

  ‘No, no,’ Aggie said swiftly. ‘I’ll not accuse her of that, because I don’t think she was. No, she was a young lass, only a year older than me and down here on her first trip with the herring girls. Some of the older girls teased her a bit about George, told her he’d followed her down the coast. Come looking for her especially. He felt a bit sorry for her, all those miles from home, learning the trade. It is hard work, I know that. And she’d cut her finger badly. He told me years later that he’d said, straight up, that he had a girlfriend back in Havelock but then – then . . .’

  Her voice broke and tears threatened. Though she longed to hear the end of the tale, Jeannie said at once, ‘Aggie, dinna say any more.’

  She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘No, no, I want to tell you. I need to tell you, Jeannie.’

  ‘Then the girls told him that the time I’d not gone to see him off, they’d seen me go off with another feller whose boat’d just come in. They implied, you see, that I was there waiting for the fishermen to come ashore, collect their pay and then – then I’d go off with them.’

  ‘And George believed them?’ Jeannie was scandalized.

  Aggie sighed. ‘You couldn’t blame him, Jeannie. He was only eighteen. We were both so young, so innocent. And I mean that, Jeannie, ’cos we were.’ She paused and added meaningfully, ‘Then.’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that Nell made up that story about you?’

  The white head moved from side to side on the pillow. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think the girls – the older girls, that is – were just having a bit of sport with the two of them. Maybe they didn’t even mean to cause the trouble they did, though the story about me was unkind.’

  ‘To say the least,’ Jeannie murmured.

  ‘George’s boat repairs took a week. In the life of a fisherman, Jeannie, a week is a long time. He was far away from home with nothing to do. And so was Nell. Not able to work for a few days because of her cut finger.’

  ‘So, they spent a lot of time together?’

  ‘Yes. And they fell in love.’

  From the recesses of Jeannie’s memory, into her mind came Nell’s words when she had been telling Jeannie a little about herself. ‘I just never went home,’ she had said.

  ‘But – but when George came home from Yarmouth, didna you tell him what had happened? What they’d done?’

  ‘I tried, but I could see it was too late. Nell had hooked him and he was as helpless as a fish on the end of a line. I suppose in that week, they’d spent more time together than George and I had managed in almost a year.’

  ‘Oh Aggie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ah well, it’s all a long time ago now,’ Aggie said, but Jeannie could detect that the hurt and the loss were as keen as ever they had been. ‘And then, I suppose, you can guess the rest. I left home to escape my domineering mother. I just wanted to be loved by a strong, kind man. A man like George Lawrence. But, I never found him, Jeannie . . .’ The voice was fading now as Aggie drifted into sleep. ‘I never found another George.’

  For a long time, Jeannie sat there, imagining how it must have been. Imagining how the practical joke a group of young girls had played had led to the ruining of this poor woman’s life. And yes, she was a ‘poor’ woman, for she had been misunderstood and maligned the whole of her life.

  Over the next few weeks until the day that Aggie Turnbull slipped into unconsciousness from which she never recovered, Jeannie visited her daily, even sitting with her throughout that long, last night.

  And Aggie’s last words were to remain with her. ‘If you find happiness, Jeannie, take it. Grasp it with both hands and never let it go.’

  Forty-One

  He was going home. The war was over, in fact it had been over for almost five months. Whilst there would be work for the minesweepers for some time to come, Robert was no longer needed. He could go home. And now there was something – or rather someone – to go home to. A new year – 1946 – and a new life.

  Of course, there was still the company, such as it was now. He and Edwin would run the family firm together and one day Sammy would inherit it from them. Robert was sure Edwin wouldn’t mind. Maybe even Tom’s boy, Joe, would come into the company too. Jeannie would like that. Her son and the boy whom she had always looked upon as her own, running the Gorton-Hathersage Trawler Company. Then he could retire and he and Jeannie could travel the world. He could take her to all the most beautiful places. Oh, they were going to be so happy, he and his Jeannie . . .

  When she opened the door to him, he saw at once the anxiety in her face. That she was pleased to see him, he could not doubt, for even on the doorstep in full view of the whole street, she flung her arms about him crying. ‘You’re safe. Oh thank God, you’re safe.’

  But as she drew him into the house and closed the door upon the world and they sat together, their arms about each other, Robert said gently. ‘Something’s happened. What is it?’

  They had not written to each other, nor had he come to see her again, since the day of Nell’s funeral service. Deliberately, he had stayed away, confident in the thought that when the war was over, she would be waiting for him. Then, he had promised himself, there would be nothing and no one to stand in the way of their happiness.

  She told him of Aggie’s death, not sure whether he had heard the news. When she fell silent, he said, ‘But there’s something else, isn’t there? Something to do with us?’

  She looked at him then and, as she did so, Robert felt a stab of fear, for her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Robert, but I can’t marry you.’

  For a moment he could not speak. He just sat there, staring at her and gripping her hands tightly. At last, he said hoarsely, ‘Why?’

  She dropped her gaze, shook her head and then rested her forehead against his chest. His arms were about her. ‘Just tell me why, Jeannie?’

  ‘It’s the boys. They – they’re both so – against the idea. I could understand Joe, but not Sammy. I mean, you’re his u
ncle. But even he . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘I’ll talk to them . . .’

  ‘No!’ She pulled away from him then. ‘Please, let me handle it.’

  ‘Jeannie, I love you. I want you to be my wife.’

  She was shaking her head slowly. ‘I know, but . . . I’m not sure myself. Now.’

  ‘You mean – you’re not sure if you love me?’

  ‘Oh no, not that. I love you. Please don’t ever think that. Maybe it’s because I do love you so very much that – that I’m not sure. I’m so afraid. I mean, you live in such a different world. You’re from a different class . . .’

  Robert shook his head, his voice a gentle whisper. ‘Don’t talk like that. Not about me. Not about us.’

  ‘But it matters. I wouldna fit into your world.’

  ‘We’ll make our own world.’

  ‘But your family. It’s not true what they say, you know.’

  ‘What do they say?’ He traced the outline of her face gently with the tip of his finger. He wasn’t taking her seriously. He couldn’t believe that she could say she loved him and yet allow her boys to dominate the rest of her life. His life too. Their life together.

  ‘That you don’t marry a person’s family. You do. You marry into the whole family.’

  Suddenly, he felt cold, colder than he had ever been out in the North Sea. She was serious. She did mean it. She was afraid of losing her own son and Sammy too. Trying, still, to make light of it, he said, ‘But there’s only Edwin left now and he’s the most easy-going chap in the world. A good business man, mind you, but . . .’

  ‘But there are friends, the circles you move in. Even the world of business. Your wife would be expected to be a – a hostess.’

  He laughed. ‘Louise never once hosted a business dinner for me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, you’ve not a thing to worry about with my world, as you put it. The problem,’ he sighed heavily, ‘seems to be with your boys. What is it? Just that they don’t like me or . . .?’

  ‘I think it goes deeper than that. I think Joe is carrying on Tom’s resentment against you and your family.’ She glanced at him apologetically. ‘Tom never made a secret of it.’

  ‘Because of Grace you mean?’

  Jeannie said nothing. She didn’t want to tell him the full extent of Tom’s bitterness that concerned not only Grace but Jeannie herself. Robert sighed. ‘And I suppose Sammy’s resentful for the very same reason.’ He was quiet for a moment then asked, ‘And do they blame me for Tom’s death?’

  Carefully she said, ‘I think that comes into it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now his tone was flat with despair. ‘Well, there’s going to be no way I can win them over then. Not if their reasons are as deeply rooted as that.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, you’re going to have to choose, aren’t you? Me – or your boys.’

  Again tears filled her eyes and she nodded wordlessly, unable to speak.

  He closed his eyes and gave a deep-throated groan. ‘I can see you’ve already decided. But, oh my darling, please be sure you’re doing the right thing. They’ll marry, have families of their own. Are you really sure that you’ll be content to live your life through them? Don’t throw away the rest of your own life, Jeannie.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry. But I love them both as my own sons. I couldn’t bear to lose them. Not now, when they’ve come through so much.’

  Robert picked up her hand, traced the tiny scars on her fingers, the hardened callouses. Then he pressed it to his lips and murmured against her palm, ‘I thought you were made of stronger stuff, Jeannie.’

  That hurt. Oh, how that hurt her. She snatched her hand away, angry now, and pulled herself free of his embrace. She stood up. ‘How would you know what it feels like to be a mother? Or even a father? You’ve never had children of your own.’

  She saw at once by his bleak expression, how much she had now hurt him. But there was no taking back the words. They were said and could not be unsaid. He rose and gave a stiff little courteous bow towards her. ‘If that is your final answer,’ he said, his words clipped, ‘I will take my leave of you.’

  ‘Robert, please, try to understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘But you are hurting me, Jeannie. And, worse still, you’re hurting yourself just for the sake of two selfish young men who don’t know the meaning of love yet.’

  He turned away then and left the house without another word, leaving her bereft and empty, with a pain inside her too deep for tears.

  Three days later, she received a letter from him. ‘My darling, I can’t bear to part with you in anger. I just want you to know that I will always love you and always be here for you. If ever you should need me, you know where I am . . .’

  The loving, forgiving words brought tears to her eyes, tears that now spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Impatiently, she brushed them away. He was right, she thought. She was made of sterner stuff than this. She had never been the weepie sort and yet here she was, allowing others to dictate her life.

  I will go to him, she decided. I will marry Robert. Joe and Sammy will come around to it in time. Without stopping to think any more – she had done enough thinking over the past weeks, she told herself – she hurried to put on her hat and coat.

  She caught the bus to the outskirts of town and then marched purposefully along the road until the houses petered out and she was in the countryside, heading for the lane where she remembered Robert’s fine house lay. Frost lay on the hedgerows and the February wind was bitter, but Jeannie scarcely felt the cold.

  She couldn’t wait to see him now, couldn’t wait to tell him . . .

  She came to the gate. A wooden, five-barred gate had replaced the fancy wrought-iron one she remembered seeing on the last occasion she had come here. The war effort, she supposed, had taken them. It seemed so long ago now, since she had last stood on this spot. The two boys had been but bairns. She paused, her hand resting on the top of the gate. She was staring at the house set against a backdrop of trees, the long windows leading out on to the front terrace, the heavy oak front door, yet she was not really seeing it or the beautiful, well-kept gardens or the surrounding countryside with its flat, panoramic views.

  She was remembering Joe and Sammy as babies and reliving the feel of their chubby arms clasped tightly about her neck or a sticky kiss planted on her cheek. She remembered the day they walked for the first time, those first faltering steps, the wide grin on their faces at the sense of achievement. Joe had been first and a week later, not to be outdone, Sammy had followed suit. In those first few years they had grown together believing themselves to be brothers. Oh, they had squabbled like any siblings, but not until the day Joe had told Sammy about the circumstances of his birth, had the resentment between them begun to fester.

  Yet now, they were the closest they had ever been, united in their hatred of the Gorton family and so fervently opposed to her involvement with Robert.

  They were so passionately set against him with the sureness of youth that they were right, that she knew they would never come around.

  If she were to marry Robert Gorton and come to live in this grand house, she would lose her boys for sure.

  There was a lump constricting her throat as she let her gaze wander over the house for the last time. She knew now that she would never live there. Much as she loved Robert, the heartbreak marrying him would bring would blight their love and cast a shadow over their lives. In time, it would eat into their love like a canker. Of course, she was sensible enough to realize that in time, resentment might creep into her relationship with the boys for they were forcing her to make the most difficult decision of her entire life. But now, at this moment, she could not guess to what extent that might happen.

  Tears blurring her vision, she turned away. As she did so, she thought she caught sight of a figure standing at one of
the first-floor windows. This time she made no effort to wipe away her tears.

  This time she had good reason to weep.

  Forty-Two

  ‘Mam, this is Thelma.’

  Jeannie rubbed her hands down the front of her overall, held out her hand and smiled a welcome towards the girl who was standing nervously in the doorway. She was tall and thin, so thin that Jeannie could have believed the girl hadn’t eaten for days. And she stooped slightly, her shoulders rounded. Her dress was faded, the type a smart woman might have worn before the war and Jeannie guessed it was either a hand-me-down from a better-off relative or maybe even from the second-hand clothes shop. But her eyes were bright and sharp and her long fair hair curled around her face.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Jeannie said kindly. ‘Come in, hen.’

  The girl’s eyes widened and she giggled at the unfamiliar endearment. ‘Oh, you’re Scotch.’

  Jeannie bridled at the misnomer but let it go. ‘And you’re a local lass?’ she said instead.

  ‘Oh yeah. Born an’ bred in Havelock. Me dad’s a fisherman, just like Joe.’ The girl’s eyes turned towards Joe and Jeannie could see at once the adoration in her expression. ‘He’s a skipper, just like Joe’s going to be one day. Aren’t you, Joe?’

  Joe grinned, his arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘I reckon.’

  Jeannie smiled at the young man’s confidence.

  ‘The sea’s me life,’ he was saying, ‘Always will be. Thelma understands that, bein’ brought up in a fisherman’s family. She won’t mind being a fisherman’s wife.’