The Forget-Me-Not Girl

by Sheila Newberry

  The family rallied round and he was buried in the grounds of Wymondham Abbey. The pall-bearers were led by William and his sons, along with Chas and Jonathan. Rob was unable to attend, but from his side of the family, there was his Irish Uncle Pat with his son from Woolwich and his Aunt Anna from Birkenhead. The railways had made such journeys possible, although Keturah and Harry were unable to come, as Keturah was heavily pregnant. They were all reminded of the old saying: As one goes, another comes into the world.

  Emma was supported by Jerusha and Rebecca as well as Sarah and her daughter. Chas represented the LSC. Tributes were paid by family and friends. ‘He was a courageous man – a good husband and father.’

  There was one letter in particular which made Emma think of happier times, when she and TF met in Kensington and walked in the gardens with Anna, Frances and young Nan.

  Frances wrote to say:

  We are all sad to hear the news and are praying for you and your family, dear Emma. I often think how you befriended a rather lonely girl and how we walked in the gardens. I thought TF was so handsome and the perfect match for you – I was privileged to be your bridesmaid.

  You will see that I have a new address: after my father moved to Chislehurst with Rosalie and Adelaide and me, he became semi-retired. My eldest brother is now a practising solicitor back in Kensington, and he and his wife, Jessie, have three children. My younger brother is also married and is a vicar, no less! He and Barbara have two children. Maria is still in China. Anna keeps in touch with us and Nan.

  Yes, I am still a ‘Miss’ but if someone comes along . . .

  Your loving friend,

  Frances.

  Why is it always January and bitterly cold at these times? Emma thought, as they walked to the graveside. William had his strong arm round her shoulders, which was a comfort. The children had remained in the church with Jane and her young ones. Suddenly, as they stood round the grave and Reverend Eden began his committal speech, a shaft of winter sunlight haloed the small crowd of mourners. Emma said to herself, Tom can rest in peace here.

  Later, Emma received ‘under £200’ in his will, and used this money for a striking memorial stone erected over his grave. On this was engraved an entwined spray of forget-me-nots. Perhaps some saw it as a happy release from his suffering, and the end of a love story, but Emma would perpetuate his memory in family stories to the end of her own long life. She packed away the precious mementoes of TF’s life into his mother, Isabella’s, trunk, along with the out-dated clothes and the pink woollen bootees Frances had made long ago for little Gussie. His certificates, naval log books, his references from the fire brigade, family pictures, his Crimean War medals, his gold watch and Albert chain.

  A letter from the Reverend Robert Eden of Wymondham, was read to the LSC committee . . .

  . . . asking on behalf of Mrs Meehan, who is left with six children, for a continuance of the pension which ended on 31st January, granted to her husband Mr Foreman Meehan who died on the 10th of January. Resolved that Mrs Meehan be granted the allowance given to her husband for the period of six months from the present time.

  The LSC were greatly supportive, and the pension continued for the six months. As Emma said proudly, they recognised her husband’s qualities and he was privileged to have worked for them.

  Kind William had an idea and acted upon it. He told Emma, ‘Immi has always wanted a dog, and now her old cat is gone, us would like to give her one. It will be company for her in the house when you feel you must return to your work.’

  So, the first of a line of pug dogs joined the family and Immi immediately named him Puglet, which is what pug pups are called. This was an expensive present, for it was a popular breed among the upper classes.

  Puglet had a comical face and was an intelligent little fellow; he made the small, sad children laugh at his antics and was included in all their games. Emma thought that he was capable of guarding them if they were out walking and were approached by an unsavoury character, though this was unlikely in this friendly place. Puglet was Immi’s dog, they all knew that, and he developed an awareness of when she was about to have a fit. He would bark to alert the family, and then stay beside his mistress until help arrived. The little dog was a comfort to Emma too, and she ‘confided’ in him when she returned from a night call after the children were in bed, just as she had whispered to her much loved spaniel, Fly, when a child herself. ‘Oh, Puglet, I miss my Tom so much, but at least I have you to greet me when I come home.’

  *

  After some thought, Emma discussed her situation with her family and Reverend Eden and decided on their advice to begin a new way of life in Beccles as the landlady of a boarding house. Reverend Eden had a suitable large property in mind, in the centre of the main thoroughfare, which had been the home of friends in the ministry who had been tragically killed in a train crash. The house had been empty for some years, but was available for rent, complete with furnishings. It was the spur Emma needed to become independent once more and to be able to provide a good home for her children.

  She would be sad to leave William and Sarah, as they had looked after her family so well, but she felt she was a burden to them, though they insisted she was not. They were also bringing up their grandson, young William, since their daughter Jane had been widowed, but remarried a friend of her late husband, and had started a new family. William was considering turning over the threshing machine business to his elder sons, and while waiting for an opportunity to arise for a new tenant at Browick Bottom Farm, he intended to help Sarah in her shop. He continued to be listed in local trade directories as ‘Engineer and Shopkeeper’. Ten years later this would be amended to Farmer, Machine Owner and Shopkeeper. Jeremiah was engaged to be married and was learning the ropes on a friend’s farm in preparation for the time when there would be Wrights again at Browick Bottom Farm.

  Emma, if she seized this opportunity, would be near Rebecca, whose husband Richard was well-established as a railway porter at Beccles Station. They were a happy couple who doted on their daughters, Beatrice, Bertha and baby Bella.

  Emma twisted the turquoise forget-me-not ring on her finger. Tom would say do it! she thought. Her lower lip trembled, but she was resolute. Now it is just me and the children. I am both a mother and midwife, and my work will help us all survive.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Hungate, Beccles, 1881

  Rebecca was waiting for them inside the three-storied house in Hungate, Beccles, when they arrived. She lived just around the corner and her warm greeting was uplifting.

  ‘You and Aunt Becca look like twins,’ Immi commented. Emma was flattered by this, as she was six years older than her sister. But it was true: they were both small in stature, dark-haired, and had inherited their mother’s high cheekbones, as well as Sophia’s quick intelligence. Rebecca, despite spending part of her childhood in the workhouse, was always cheerful and positive. Emma had been the same until her tragic loss, and now she determined to be so again, for TF’s precious legacy to her was her six children.

  *

  A century or more ago Hungate had been a modest lane, but since the advent of the railway it had developed into a busy thoroughfare with a mixture of ancient, picturesque properties and newer business premises. It was now known as London Road. It seemed very noisy to the new residents after the country lanes around Wymondham.

  The cavalcade of horse-drawn carriages which passed constantly along the road to Norwich, Lowestoft or en route to London, just over a hundred miles distant, were well catered for by the local blacksmiths and coachbuilders, and travellers often broke their journey at one of the boarding houses and inns along Hungate. Emma’s intention was to provide accommodation here.

  Beccles, a market town on the edge of the Norfolk Broads, had the river Waveney at its heart. From Saxon times herring fishing had flourished there, but was now in decline. The residents were proud of the magnificent St Michael’s Church, overlooking the river. An imposing tower h
ad been built on the ‘wrong’ side of the church, as it was considered unsafe to position such a large structure on the far side because of the proximity to the cliff. The church was linked with famous names – Horatio Nelson’s parents were married there in 1749, and during the same era the Suffolk poet George Crabbe wed his wife there. Another name connected with Beccles was Sir John Leman, a Lord Mayor of London in the seventeenth century, who had once been a tradesman in the town and had a big influence on its prosperity.

  Emma and her family were not far from the congregational church with its new school room, where the late Reverend Stacey had been pastor. The Reverend Eden at Wymondham had warmly recommended Reverend Stacey’s successor, Jonathan Calvert, so Emma decided to attend this church with her family.

  *

  After the cottage in Wymondham, where they had lived for five years, the sight of the cavernous rooms in their new home, where greying dust sheets disguised what lurked beneath, made Emma’s heart sink. She looked up at the cobwebs, which festooned the rafters, and sighed, but Rebecca tackled them with a broom until the carter arrived and unloaded all Emma’s furniture higgledy-piggledy into one of the sitting rooms.

  Emma lamented, ‘I had been looking forward to living in a big house again but, oh, Becca, not somewhere as neglected as this! Where are the furnishings they promised?’ She warmed her hands at the fire, which Rebecca’s husband had lit first thing before going to work. ‘I’m grateful to Richard for sweeping the chimney though,’ she added.

  Rebecca uncovered a faded tapestry chair. ‘You should have seen the soot . . . two sacks full. Sit down. You look worn out already, Emma. This motley collection was donated by the good folk of the local church. I was told that the Reverend Stacey and his wife auctioned their belongings before they left the house six years ago for the mission field, but perished soon after in that awful train crash at Thorpe.’

  ‘I tried not to think of that when we boarded the train this morning. It was good to see Richard waiting on the platform at the other end. Three rooms downstairs, besides kitchen and scullery; five bedrooms and five attic rooms. How on earth can we manage to make a home here? Let alone take in boarders.’ Emma sighed. ‘You mustn’t overdo it either, Becca, you’re a nursing mother, remember.’

  Rebecca blushed. ‘It won’t stop me doing my bit. Richard’s mother enjoys looking after the baby, the girls are at school all day, and I will be glad to come in and help for as long as you need me. I can always pop home to feed little Bella. We get on well, don’t we? I know you can’t afford to pay me at the moment, and of course, I don’t expect it, but when you are looking for permanent help, well, put my name at the top of your list, eh? And with regard to the house, there’s a good kitchen for a start. The stove is hot and Immi is making a large pot of tea. Gas lighting, no smelly oil lamps and wicks to trim. Tom is taking the little ’uns for a grand tour – can’t you hear the thumps from overhead?’

  Emma managed a smile. ‘There are the beds still to carry upstairs.’

  ‘Richard and his mates will be along after work, they said leave the heavy stuff to them. Tom will need to get busy at the pump in the yard. You have a right of way to that and to take water. It belongs to your neighbour.’

  ‘I hope we don’t get snow or the pump is bound to freeze. Tom should fill all the pails under the sink tonight, just in case.’ Emma heaved a sigh. ‘Why did we choose January to move?’

  Immi came into the room. She looked quite grown-up at fifteen, with her hair piled high and one of her mother’s white aprons wrapped round her slender frame. Emma accepted the steaming tea gratefully, warming her cold hands round the cup. Puglet waited for his saucer of tea and then lapped it eagerly.

  ‘Make sure he goes out in the yard after that, we don’t want any puddles,’ Emma reminded her daughter. This was likely to happen when the little dog was excited.

  ‘The kitchen is well equipped, Mother,’ Immi said. ‘We needn’t unpack our boxes yet. Thank you for the scones you made, Aunt Becca. I called the children – they must be hungry by now. We had breakfast so early.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. I must go after the tea – I have to meet the girls from school and get something from the grocers for their supper,’ Rebecca said as the children rushed into the room.

  ‘Guess what we found,’ Tom said to his mother. He was twelve and had decided to be known as Tom, not Tommy, after his father died.

  ‘Spiders?’ she suggested.

  ‘No! A four-poster bed with curtains all round it.’

  ‘No one inside, I hope?’

  ‘Of course not! We pulled the curtains and they were so rotten they tore a bit – don’t be cross, will you?’ Alice interrupted. She wouldn’t tell tales about her little brothers jumping up and down on the sagging mattress. At ten she was supposed to be sensible like her older sister, or serious like Tom, but she was more like Rebecca had been at that age – jolly and high-spirited. Her aunt winked at her.

  Ginger-haired Ernie dusted his grubby hands on the back of his trousers before Alice, handing round the scones, would permit him to put his hand in the tin.

  ‘Can us boys sleep in that bed tonight, Mother?’ Ernie asked Emma, prodding his small brothers, Ted and Frank, to agree. Ernie was seven and the boys were two and a half and eighteen months old.

  ‘Certainly not! Your own clean beds will be ready later. You three boys will have the room next to me and the girls on the first floor. The other bedrooms will be for the boarders – when we find them. We will sweep the attic through, but not furnish that at present. That will make a good play area for the children. The family will use this big sitting room and the other will accommodate travellers in need of overnight accommodation. The regular boarders will have their meals with family in the dining room. Thank goodness the washstands and chamber pots were left in the bedrooms, there’s a heap of good linen in the cupboard, and dear William gave us two extra single beds.’ She paused for breath.

  ‘What about me? ‘Tom asked.

  ‘You’ll be a working lad soon, Tom. You deserve a room of your own. There is the small bedroom at the end of the corridor. And you must keep up your studies, your uncle says, if he is to recommend you for a position in the station office when you are a little older. Now, will you go into the yard and pump enough water for the next couple of days, please? Ernie, you can pass the empty buckets to him to fill. Then you can go along with Aunt Becca to the grocer’s and introduce yourselves – say that I shall need a delivery tomorrow. I’ve written an order, oh, and an advertisement for his window.’ She took the papers from her purse. At least she didn’t have to worry about money this week. William had made sure of that.

  *

  Rebecca, Tom and Ernie walked along the street to the grocery store. Signs outside proclaimed: General Grocer, Tea Dealer, Cheesemonger. There was also a crate containing glass, earthenware and china in straw. Like Aunt Sarah’s little shop, it sold a variety of goods. Under the overlap of the long counter were stacked the containers of biscuits, sacks of sugar, flour, and potatoes, and boxes of giant carrots, onions, swedes and winter greens.

  Tom, who was already a head taller than his aunt, bent down to read the labels on the biscuit barrels. ‘Garibaldi – I’d like to try those but Mother makes all our biscuits and cakes.’

  Rebecca reminded him, ‘Give the grocer your list. I don’t make my own bread nowadays, the loaves here are always fresh – Jim, the grocer, gets them daily from the baker’s shop at number 4 – and bread is so much cheaper than it was. The children will like Miss Money’s little front room shop, too. She’s a dear old lady – such tempting cakes and jars of sweets. I don’t suppose Emma buys margarine instead of butter? Or canned food?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Dada always said Mother has a passion for cooking – they had the best food in the big house in Kensington.’

  ‘You all look well fed, I must say. I made the scones with margarine; I don’t suppose you could tell the difference? May I have a dozen eggs,
please,’ Rebecca asked the smiling girl behind the counter, while her father, Jim, in his spotless white apron, carved bacon from a flitch. ‘I got a nice piece of haddock from the fishmonger when he called yesterday and the family like a poached egg with that,’ she added.

  ‘Sausages,’ Jim said, when he perused the list Tom passed to him. ‘Now, lad, you can’t do better than go down the road a bit to the pork butcher, old George – he hev fresh sausages every day. He hev his own slaughterhouse in his yard.’

  ‘Poor pigs!’ said Ernie.

  ‘That reminds me, I’ll come with you, Richard likes his chaps,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘What are chaps?’ Ernie wanted to know.

  ‘Pork cheeks my dear, cheaper than chops and meatier too. Don’t you like pig’s trotters?’

  ‘No! Only Dada ate those.’ Ernie gave a shudder.

  ‘Ernie’s squeamish,’ Tom told Rebecca.

  ‘Afore you goo, boy,’ Jim told Tom, ‘tell Mrs Meehan I will deliver the goods tomorrow morning. What’s this other piece of paper? Oh ho, I see she’s looking for gentlemen lodgers. Might be able to help her there, I hev a young journeyman who need a home from home. I’ll tell him to wait a day or two. He hev a friend who is a cooper at the local brewery, he was asking me if I could recommend a good place. I don’t suppose you want a part-time job, do you?’ He looked Tom up and down approvingly. ‘You look a strong young man, and smart with it. I need an errand boy.’

  ‘I’ll have to ask my mother, but I think she’ll say yes!’ Tom said.

  *

  A loud knocking on the front door of number 10 heralded the arrival of Richard and two friends. Richard was a short, stocky man with a smiling face, an impressive sandy moustache and twinkling blue eyes. ‘Reinforcements!’ Richard told Emma, and Immi went to brew more tea for the workers while they carried the beds one by one up the main staircase to the respective bedrooms. Alice was asked to take the smaller children up to the attic to play while the older children were helping Emma. ‘But come down when I call,’ she reminded Alice. ‘And see they have a good wash before going to bed.’