‘When the ro-o-oll is called up yo-onder,
When the ro-o-oll is called up yo-onder,
When the ro-o-oll is called up yo-onder,
When the roll is called up yonder I’ll be there.’
The last chorus ended in breathless laughter, and Dozy Cordiner hoped the girls weren’t going to stop altogether. The long journey passed much quicker when they were singing the Sankey and Moodie hymns. ‘What about “Will Your Anchor Hold?” ‘ he asked.
Exuberant because they were free of their drab existences for a few weeks, they needed no further encouragement.
‘Will your anchor hold in the storms of life?
When the clouds unfold the-ir wings of strife …’
Lizann Jappy had joined in as lustily as any of them, but she leaned back now to have a breather. She had woken up at the crack of dawn telling herself that eight weeks would soon pass and looking forward to the adventure in front of her, though she hadn’t thought the travelling would be so much fun. The early-morning stir in the station at Aberdeen had been an eye-opener to her, and special trains had been laid on there to transport the fisher quines from all round the Moray Firth – and even Fraserburgh and Peterhead, judging by the tongues she had heard around her. Thankfully, they hadn’t had their kists to worry about, for the wooden chests containing their clothes – covered with sacking lashed down with ropes – had been loaded last night on to carts that went as cargo on the drifters also bound for Great Yarmouth.
Most of the gutters and packers were seasoned travellers who knew how long the journey took, and when their train was in motion the Buckie contingent had come to Dozy’s compartment to have a sing-song to pass the time. Others from farther along soon joined them, until the whole corridor was filled with women and girls singing the well-known hymns, and Lizann thought joyfully that if this stage of her first time away from her mother was anything to go by, she would never feel homesick.
The voices soaring into the final refrain, she took part again.
‘We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Steadfast and free while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Saviour’s love!’
Long before the journey’s end, the fishergirls were too hoarse to sing any more, and gradually they returned to their own compartments to eat the sandwiches they had taken with them and have a much-needed rest. Peggy May looked at Lizann with her eyebrows raised. ‘What d’you think? Will you be happy working with us?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lizann smiled. ‘I’m going to have a great time.’
‘Not too great,’ Dozy warned, from his corner by the window. ‘You’ll be kept at it, it’s nae a holiday.’
‘I know it’ll be hard work, but that doesn’t worry me.’
After about an hour, Dozy went to check on the other girls from his yard and Peggy May took the chance to say, ‘Never mind him. We’ll have some good times, and all. A lot o’ romances start in Yarmouth.’
‘I don’t need a romance there,’ Lizann protested, ‘I’ve got Peter.’
‘He’ll never ken if you’ve a wee fling.’
Too tired to argue, Lizann lay back and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t like to think Peter was having a ‘wee fling’ while she was away, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she had one.
At last, the train steamed into Yarmouth, empty now of holiday-makers, and the gutters, packers and coopers spilled on to the platform. ‘I’ll take you to my landlady,’ Peggy May announced, as they made their way into the street. ‘We buy our own food, but Mrs Marks cooks it for us.’
‘What happens about washing our clothes?’ Lizann enquired.
‘We send our dirty washing home every week.’
When they arrived at their lodgings, Peggy May asked the landlady if she and Lizann could be together. ‘It’s her first time away from home, you see, and she’s a bit shy of strangers.’
Having had a profitable summer, Mrs Marks relaxed her three-to-a-bed, six-to-a-room rule, on condition that they just used one of the two double beds, and that agreed upon, Peggy May took Lizann to the Denes to show her the farlans – the troughs which would soon be filled with herring to be gutted – where they would be working. ‘Some days,’ she explained, ‘if there’s nae a lot o’ boats in, we can finish early, but I’ve seen us working till near midnight.’
They waved to Dozy, who was checking that everything would be ready for the next day when the vanguard of the herring fleet was expected, and then bought some food on the way back to their digs, patronizing only those shops Peggy May knew to be cheap and reliable.
‘I couldn’t understand a word they were saying in there,’ Lizann observed as they left a small but crowded butcher’s. ‘It was like double Dutch to me.’
‘I was the same the first time I came,’ Peggy May grinned, ‘and they couldn’t understand me, but you soon get used to it.’
‘How d’you find your way about? This is a lot bigger than Buckie.’
‘Somebody asked Mrs Marks about that last year, and she looked it up in her Pears Cyclopaedia. It said Buckie had a population of … och, I canna mind, but Yarmouth was near seven times bigger. You can look it up yourself, for the book’s still lying on a shelf beside her umbrella stand.’
When they returned to their lodgings, the first thing they did was to check the encyclopedia. ‘Buckie,’ Lizann read out. ‘Fishing town, co … that would be county … Banff, Scotland. P … that must be population … eight thousand, nine hundred and twenty.’ She turned the pages slowly, her finger moving snail-like down the small print. ‘Ah, here it is. Great Yarmouth, co bor … county something … Norfolk, England, noted herring fishery, population sixty thousand, seven hundred and ten.’
‘It’s nae seven times bigger than Buckie, then!’ Peggy May exclaimed.
‘It’s nearer seven times than six times,’ Lizann pointed out.
The population of Great Yarmouth was increased by thousands in the herring season, perhaps surpassing the number of summer visitors who were more profitable to the landladies. For more than six months of each year, therefore, the town was probably more than seven times the size of Buckie, if the girls had but known.
Their voices brought Mrs Marks out of her kitchen. ‘What do you want me to cook for you tonight?’
Peggy May handed over the paper carrier bag. ‘Sausages and eggs.’
‘That won’t take long, you’d better eat before you unpack.’
‘Oh, have the kists come?’
‘The lorry delivered them all at lunchtime, and I asked the driver to put them in the proper rooms.’
After washing and having supper, the two girls went upstairs. ‘At least this is a decent place,’ Peggy May smiled, as she struggled with the knots in the ropes holding the sacking in place.
Giving a quick glance around the small but clean room, and even though it just had two double beds, two odd chairs and a cupboard for their clothes, Lizann nodded. ‘Aye, this is real nice.’
‘Them that go to Lerwick get put in huts wi’ nae heating … and it’s freezing cold up there in March. That’s why I’ve never went. It’s bad enough here by November, but Mrs Marks is real good. She lets us sit at her fire in the evenings, if we’re not out.’
‘Where do you go, if you do go out?’
‘It depends. If it’s dry, we walk round the town – we’re always coming across new places, it’s so big – or along the prom, the Parade, or up and down King Street, then if we click, they pay us into the pictures if it’s wet. And you can meet some real nice lads at the dances.’
‘I told you! I don’t want to get a lad.’
‘Suit yourself, but I’m nae biding in wi’ you if I meet somebody.’
Finished unpacking first, Lizann undressed and stretched out on the double bed by the window. Would it be so wrong to go dancing? Peter wouldn’t expect her to stay in every night, and she could tell all her partners she had a boyfriend at home.
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p; ‘That’s me done.’ Peggy May shed her clothes quickly, hauled on her nightdress and plumped down beside Lizann. ‘We’d better get some sleep, for we’ve an early morning.’
It had been a very long, exhausting day, and despite having to share a bed for the first time in her life, Lizann fell asleep almost as quickly as Peggy May.
They rose early the next morning and were on the Denes by six, but it was coming on for eleven before the first catch was in the farlans. The women and girls passed the time by knitting where they stood – Peggy May having warned Lizann about this, she had come prepared with a set of short knitting needles and wool to make socks for Mick. Her mother had taught her how to shape the legs with sections of rib, and how to turn the heels, so he would have no complaint about the fit.
Once they started work it was a different story. Their fingers, bound with rags to shield them from the razorsharp knives, slit each herring and removed the innards so fast that the blink of an eye could have made an onlooker miss it.
Lizann hadn’t realized how hard the work would be, nor that they would have to stand on the open quayside in all weathers. Some days, however, between one and two if they could get away, lorries took them to the White Lion for something to eat, a welcome break.
They had to work until eight to clear the farlans on Saturday night, because the herring would go bad if left uncleaned and unsalted, but that didn’t stop most of the girls rushing back to their lodgings to get ready to go dancing. In spite of washing thoroughly and changing into their best clothes, there was still the smell of fish about both men and girls, and there was a recklessness about them as if they were forced to make the most of every minute. The young fishermen came from all over – Lerwick, Buckie, Scottish east and west coast ports, Shields, Newcastle, Yarmouth itself, and Lizann meticulously told each of her partners about Peter. Most of them heeded her unspoken warning. A few tried to kiss her but didn’t persist when she shoved them away, and only one was a pest. He had been drinking heavily and, short of screaming, she hadn’t been able to prevent him taking her outside. She put up a desperate struggle, but he would have forced her to the ground if Peggy May’s father hadn’t come out for a smoke.
Dozy Cordiner – his heavy-lidded eyes had given rise to the nickname when he was just a boy – was quite short, but he had muscles as hard as steel and was more than a match for her would-be seducer. One punch was enough to send the drunk reeling away. ‘You’d better nae touch none o’ my lassies again,’ Dozy yelled after him, ‘or you’ll have a mouthful of nae teeth!’ He put his arm round Lizann. ‘Did he hurt you, m’quine?’
The concerned last word – fisher for ‘my girl’ – made her say, ‘No, I’m fine.’ Her legs were still shaking, but just with relief.
‘There’s aye one out to make trouble,’ Dozy laughed. ‘I was watching that ane a’ night, but he’d seen his chance when I went to the lavvy.’
It wasn’t funny at the time, but Lizann couldn’t help smiling about it when she was in bed. Dozy had been a comic figure to her at home, but not any longer. She would always be grateful to him.
Sunday was a day of rest. No fish were landed, and, accompanied by the overseers, coopers and driftermen – all in dark ganzies and cloth caps, almost like a uniform – the fishergirls went to church or to a mission hall, their pure sweet voices bringing tears to the eyes of the usual congregations.
Both afternoon and evening, Lizann and May joined the parade of bodies meandering about the town, some in gangs, some like them in pairs, a few already arm in arm with a young man. ‘I tell’t you a lot o’ romances started here,’ Peggy May reminded Lizann. ‘Mind you, some o’ the lads are married, so a lot o’ lassies go hame wi’ sore hearts.’
A complete contrast, since one had long, straight blond hair and the other had short black curls, they drew quite a few admiring glances, but they were chattering too much to notice.
On Wednesday, Peggy May took Lizann to the Wind-mill. She had never seen a film before and was fascinated by the moving pictures and the words that came on the big screen to let people know what the actors were saying. ‘I wish we could see one of the speaking films they’re making now,’ Peggy May whispered.
Lizann didn’t care. She was more than happy with what she was seeing, and she wouldn’t have missed all these new experiences for anything – not even for Peter. She didn’t grudge the sixpence admission fee, though their pay was just fifteen shillings a week, and seven of that had to go to the landlady for their rent. Everything else, including food, had to be bought out of what was left.
The time flew past for Lizann, each weekday fully occupied in keeping up with the other members of her crew – who did their utmost to beat the crews standing nearest to them – each Saturday evening taken up by dancing or going to a concert organized by the fisher people themselves, each Sunday gloriously free. Peggy May had gone out with three or four different boys – ‘None o’ them worth a damn,’ as she said – but Lizann had kept faith with herself and hadn’t accepted any of the invitations made to her.
She had written to Peter every Sunday, telling him about their working conditions, their living quarters, the friends she had made, the films she had seen with Peggy May, and how much she was longing to see him again. His replies had been disappointingly short and stilted, though he always wrote at the end, ‘PS. I am missing you.’ Maybe he was paying her back for going away, or maybe he just wasn’t good at writing love letters. She hadn’t mentioned the dances because she didn’t want to worry him or make him jealous, but she meant to tell him when she went home. It would be easier to make him understand, face to face.
When Dozy said that the season was nearly finished, Lizann felt quite glad that she would soon be on her way home. She would miss the company, the friends she had made, the money in her pocket, but she was missing Peter more, and she would accept his proposal – if he still wanted her.
Hard at work one forenoon, she sensed that someone was watching her and curiosity made her raise her head. Her eyes met those of a young man who was staring at her intently and, flustered, she concentrated on her job again. When she looked up minutes later, he had vanished, and she wondered who he was and why he’d been studying her. He wasn’t carrying a camera, so he couldn’t be one of the photographers who sometimes came to take shots of the Scottish fisher lassies, and anyway he was dressed in seaman’s garb. He’d looked really nice, though.
At last the farlans were empty for the day, and Lizann straightened up and rubbed her aching back before joining the throng of girls who were making for their lodgings, still laughing and talking although their faces were drawn with fatigue. She was listening to someone’s account of a tussle with a boy the previous night, when Peggy May nudged her. ‘I think there’s a lad after you, Lizann.’
Looking round and seeing that it was the young man she had noticed earlier, she smiled shyly and, seemingly encouraged, he put out his hand and drew her to a halt. ‘Lizann?’ he said. ‘That’s a bonnie name. Mine’s plain George.’
He looked so solid and dependable that she murmured, ‘It suits you.’
Her friends were well ahead now, but she was still taken aback when he asked diffidently, ‘Will you come out with me the night?’
The resolution she had previously made didn’t enter her head, but when she was telling Peggy May in their room later, she finished, sheepishly, ‘I shouldn’t have said I’d go … oh, I’d better not.’
‘Don’t be daft! Go and enjoy yourself, it’s maybe your last chance.’
‘What if Peter finds out?’
‘Who’s going to tell him? I’ll not say anything.’
While she washed, dressed and had her supper, Lizann continued to feel guilty about deceiving Peter, but the minute she saw George again she knew why she had agreed to meet him. He was tall and broad, with untidy brown hair slightly lighter than Mick’s and the same brown eyes, but above all, he had something about him that played havoc with her heart.
As she walke
d by his side, she contemplated telling him about Peter – it wasn’t fair to let him think she was free – and she was on the point of confessing when George said, ‘Lizann, I’d better tell you … I’ve got a lass at home in Cullen.’
Relieved in one way, she said, ‘I’ve a lad in Buckie.’
‘Are you promised to him?’
‘Not exactly, not yet. Are you promised to her?’
‘Not yet.’
Nothing else was said for several minutes, then George told her a bit about the other members of his ship’s crew and asked her about the girls she worked with. Wanting to learn more about each other, they discussed their relatives, their homes, their likes and dislikes, and they kept walking and talking until it was time for Lizann to go back to her lodgings.
Before she went in, George slid his arms round her. ‘A first and last kiss, Lizann?’ he coaxed.
She wouldn’t have refused even if he’d given her the chance, and she was sorry when he stopped at one. ‘That’s it, then,’ he sighed as he released her. ‘I hope you and Peter make a go of it. Goodbye, Lizann.’
Peggy May was waiting eagerly to find out what had happened. ‘Did he kiss you?’
‘Just once.’
‘What’s his name? Did you like him? Is he as nice as he looks?’
‘His name’s George, and yes I like him, and yes he’s nice, but he said he’d a girl in Cullen and I told him about Peter.’
‘Will you be seeing him again?’
‘No, he’s sailing home tomorrow.’
‘So that’s it?’ Peggy May was disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to you telling me what you and him got up to, the juicy bits, but there’s nothing for it but go to sleep.’
Lizann’s thoughts kept her from sleeping for some time. She shouldn’t have gone out with George but she had, and she wished he hadn’t waited so long to kiss her. If he’d been quicker, he’d have had time to do it again … and again? Imagining it, she could actually feel the thrill of it and her heartbeats quickened at an alarming rate. His hands would have run over her, gently at first, then more insistently until … Oh, God, what had got into her? She should be thinking of Peter, of his kisses, of his arms around her. It wouldn’t be long now.
The Girl with the Creel Page 4