The Tide of Life

by Catherine Cookson

  They took the early train to Gateshead. It was black with workmen and some of them had looked curiously at the tall young lass with the rosy complexion, clear blue eyes, and great mass of brown hair with the straw hat set on top of it, and whose appearance was in sharp contrast to that of the smaller girl who looked thin and puny, even enveloped in the coat that was much too big for her.

  Emily had forgotten the name of the street where their Aunt Mary lived, but she remembered her way to it, and the fact that the house was the third from the top end.

  When she reached the street she couldn’t help but be appalled by the sight of it. It must be three years since she had been here. Then she had only been able to compare it with Creador Street, now she was comparing it with Pilot Place, which although on the river front and amidst the working area, she had considered select in comparison with other parts of the town. The street was strewn with paper, the gutters were dirty; she thought that the scavengers must have closed their eyes and passed it by for weeks on end.

  When they stopped outside the third door from the top end of the street and looked at the scarred paint and the battered footboard, and the step that hadn’t seen bath-brick for years by her counting, then listened to the racket that was coming from beyond the door, they looked at each other and the apprehension in Lucy’s eyes was reflected in her own.

  She had to knock three times before the door was opened and a girl of about Lucy’s age confronted them and demanded, ‘What is it? What you after?’

  ‘I…we’ve come to see Aunt Mary. The Southerns do live here, don’t they?’

  ‘Aye, they do.’ The girl stared from one to the other for a moment; then, her mouth dropping into a big gape, she turned her head on her shoulder and yelled, ‘Ma! Ma! Here a minute.’

  And it was almost a minute before Mrs Southern appeared at the door, and when Emily looked at the enormous body almost filling the little passageway she couldn’t believe that she was looking at her Aunt Mary, for she hadn’t remembered her being this size.

  ‘Hello, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Emily and Lucy!’ The woman was bending towards them, her huge breasts almost bursting out from her faded blue blouse. ‘What’s up, an’ at this time in the mornin’? In the name of God, what’s brought you? Somethin’ happened your da?’

  ‘No, no, Aunt Mary; he’s still at sea. Can…can we come in?’

  ‘Come in. Come in. Of course, come in, lass.’ She now almost hauled them one after the other, together with the hamper, over the step, along a passage, and into the room that appeared thronged with children.

  ‘Shut up! Quiet, the lot of you or I’ll swipe the hunger off you!’ The bawl Mary Southern gave silenced her brood for a moment and they all looked towards Emily and Lucy. And now their mother, who was still yelling, said, ‘This is your cousin, Emily. Don’t you remember? Sit yourself down…Huh, lass, I said sit yourself down. That’s easier said than done. Get your backside off that form!’ With a sweep of a large none too clean hand she pushed two small boys and a girl on to the floor, then turning to Emily and Lucy, she said, ‘Sit yourselves down and I’ll get you a sup tea. Now tell us all about it. What’s brought you out at this hour an’ with your baggage?’ She nodded towards the hamper and bass bag. ‘The last I heard of you you were well set up in a good place, that’s when your da called in last.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was, Aunt Mary, but…but the lady died and me…me boss, well…well he was killed yesterday and his sister come and turfed me out.’

  ‘The bugger, she did! What for did she do that?’

  ‘Because she thinks that the house is hers, she’s the only livin’ relative. But he hated her guts; he wouldn’t let her in to his wife’s funeral.’

  ‘And she turfed you out?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘The grasping swine. By! I wish I’d been there, I’d have put me foot in her backside…Leave that milk alone else I’ll stick your nose in the tin!’ This last remark was fired at a boy of about seven who was now sucking his finger free of the condensed milk, and as Emily watched him grinning back at his mother and took in the condition of the room, its overcrowdedness, its dirt, its smell, its overall pattern of poverty, she couldn’t help but be amazed by the cheerfulness of them all. There were nine children in the room, but not one of them looked like those back in Creador Street, particularly No. 18; and she noticed that only two of them wore boots, the rest were in their bare feet. The fortunate ones were a boy of about six and a girl, whom she remembered faintly from when she was last here as being the eldest girl called Maria.

  Mary Southern, seeing Emily’s eyes on her daughter, said, ‘You remember her; that’s Maria. Grown, hasn’t she?…How long is it since you were here? Over three years? Well, I’ve had three additions since then. There they are.’ She pointed to three children sitting near the fender. ‘Betty, she’s nearly a year. Mike there, he’s on two…an’ Geordie…Oh, him! He’s a bloody rip if ever there was one. Just look at his eyes, can’t you see it! He’s only three by years but he’s thirty-three by wits and wiliness, aren’t you?’ She bent down to him. ‘Aren’t you, you little bugger? Aren’t you wily?’ Her hand went out and she clipped her offspring none too gently but with seeming affection across the side of the head; then continuing her conversation, she said, ‘Well, drink up your tea and I’ll do you a fry in a minute when I get rid of some of these. I’ve got two in work now, you know, full-time, and two part-time. And by, isn’t it a godsend? Pat’s with his da in the steelworks; Jimmy, he’s the eldest, he’s in the shipyard at Hebburn. And there’s two in the blackin’ factory, a couple of hours afore school, an’ as many as they like to get in after. If they’d only attend school as quick as they go to the factory there’d be less trouble. The school-board man’s never off the door. Aye, you’d think they would know when they’re well off, wouldn’t you? By, if only I’d had the chance. Me, no schoolin’ at all, here I am at thirty-eight years old and can’t write me own bloody name. The only thing I can do is bring another pair of bare feet into the kitchen every year. I’ve told Frank it’s got to stop, I’m sick of being bloody churched. Me, purified!’ Now she let out a great bellow of a laugh, pushed her hand in the direction of Emily and ended, ‘And I will when water flows uphill.’

  Emily was smiling. Since yesterday she had thought she’d never smile again in her life, but here she was smiling. Her Aunt Mary was a card; and she was nice was her Aunt Mary. She mightn’t be over clean, and the house was like a padden can, but everybody in it seemed happy, and that’s all that mattered, wasn’t it? It was funny but she had always thought that you couldn’t be happy unless you were clean; but her Aunt Mary and her family certainly gave the lie to that.

  She was learning things, and fast, but what she didn’t need to learn was the fact that they couldn’t stay here; this house consisted of two rooms and when the family were all together they would count up to thirteen. Anyway, for the next hour or so they could rest here and she could talk to her Aunt Mary; in spite of her aunt not being able to read or write she was, in a way, understanding.

  At ten o’clock the breakfast mugs and greasy plates were still on the table, and Mary Southern, the youngest child on her knee, the others crawling round her feet, was still talking and Emily and Lucy were listening; Lucy with a weary expression on her face, and her dry cough piercing the conversation at regular intervals. At one point Mary stopped and, nodding towards her, said, ‘That cough, it’s just like our Maria’s. It portends no good that, it should be seen to. The school doctor is looking after Maria’s. He says she’s got to keep out in the fresh air, there’s nothing like fresh air for clearin’ a cough like that. An’ you’re quiet, aren’t you, hinny?’

  When the big woman bent towards her, Lucy smiled weakly and nodded, but what Emily said was, and returning to the former line of conversation, ‘About these hirings, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Oh, the hirings. Well now, lass, there’s some in the Bigg Market in Newcastle just across the wat
er, and if I’m right about the time it’s the first Monday in November. That’s about three weeks or so ahead; it’s a long time to wait. There’s one in Hexham an’ all, but I think that one is further away still, around the middle of November. Anyway, I know they’re twice a year, May and November. But you wouldn’t want to go as far as Hexham, all those miles away. But listen, I tell you what, lass. Not a kick in the backside from here is Fellburn. You know Fellburn, now they have a market the day, an’ every Wednesday. It’s nothin’ like the Bigg Market in Newcastle or the Shields market. By! It’s a nice market, the Shields market, isn’t it? Homely.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Mary, it is a nice market…an’ homely.’

  ‘But they don’t do any hirin’s there, do they?’

  ‘No, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Well now, in Fellburn on a Wednesday afternoon they used to do quite a bit of hirin’, at least in the summer. It was a weekly affair, not on a big scale mind, it was just for people who wanted part-time work, like tatey pickin’ or extra hands for haymaking, or to replace some lass on a farm, say she had died an’ of course broken her bond, so they’d take another on temporary until the end of the year, you see. Now as far as I know they might be still doing a hiring or two on the side even this late in the year. Haven’t you ever been to Fellburn?’

  ‘No, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Well now’—she considered for a moment—‘as I said, it’s not a kick in the backside away, two or three miles or so I’d say, an’ you can take the tram. But don’t get on the wrong one an’ land up in Low Fell or Birtley. Once there anybody’ll show you where the market square is. Now there’s a clock in the middle of the square, an’ there’s fruit and vegetables on one side, stalls I mean, not hanging on the clock!’ She put her head back and let out a great guffaw of a laugh; then baring her breast and pushing the discoloured teat into the child’s mouth, she hitched it closer to her before continuing, ‘As I was sayin,’ t’other side is fish mostly, but to my mind it’s never fresh, not in Fellburn. Anyway, there’s a pub at the end of the fish stalls. It’s known all over as Paddy’s pub, but it’s got a name on the sign that says The Kicking Donkey. Well now, it’s just to the side of that, this stand for those who’s wantin’ a job, and those who’s wantin’ to hire them come along and look them over an’ have a natter. Now why don’t you go along and try your luck, eh? It’ll be for somewhere out in the country, mind, at this time of the year, likely out in the wilds. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they?’

  ‘No, Aunt Mary. An’ I wouldn’t mind going out into the country where it’s quiet like.’

  ‘Oh, lass, don’t get any delusions about the country being quiet. I once stayed in a cottage in me young days. Two nights I was there, an’ I couldn’t sleep a wink, what with the cock and the hens and the pigs, not forgettin’ the birds; some of them were on the roof. I couldn’t get back home quick enough.’

  Again she laughed, and her head went back taking her breast with it, and the child, denied for a moment of its feed, yelled and she cried at it, ‘Oh! There you are. There you are, stuff your kite.’ Then without a pause she went on, ‘Leave your things here, nobody’ll touch them. But I think you’d better take Lucy along of you, you want to let them see what they’re in for. By the way, did you inform the school that she was leavin’?’

  ‘No, Aunt Mary, there wasn’t time.’

  ‘Oh well, don’t wonder if you have trouble from that quarter.’

  ‘She’s only got seven months to go.’

  ‘Even so they’re funny. Still, they might let it pass. Well now, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll do as you say, Aunt Mary, and go along there.’

  ‘You might have to stand all day waitin’, you know that?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Aunt Mary, but I don’t mind how long I stand as long as I get a place, somewhere where we can both be together. I won’t take it unless.’

  ‘Well, go on, lass, and good luck to you. And by the way, if you don’t get set on straight away you can always come back. But I’ve got to tell you I can’t put you up here; I’ll have a word with Mrs Pritchard across the street, she’s got a spare bed she often lets. Anyway, don’t worry about where you’re going to kip, we’ll fix somethin’ up. An’ look, take a shive of bread with you, you’ll be hungry afore the day’s out.’

  ‘Thanks, Aunt Mary, but I’ve got cheese and bread in the bass bag, I’ll take that.’

  ‘All right, lass.’ Mary Southern now lumbered to her feet, the child still clinging to her, and she threaded her way between her family, out into the passage and opened the front door, and again she said as she called to Emily, ‘Good luck, lass.’ Then she added, ‘By, you’ve grown into a bonny piece! In another year or so when you get a bust on you an’ fill out all round with some pads on your backside you’ll have a job to keep the lads off you with a pitchfork.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Mary!’ Emily bowed her head, but not in laughter, she had a great desire at this moment to cry, just to lay her head on her arms and cry.

  Taking Emily’s action for smothered mirth, Mary pushed her on the shoulder and over the step, and then called after her, ‘And if there’s more than one about, lass, you pick and choose.’

  They had been standing to the side of Paddy’s pub for almost three hours. Her Aunt Mary had said if there’s more than one about pick and choose, but nobody had even spoken to them, either man or woman. Some men on their way into the bar looked at them curiously, and some woman would check her step and turn her head towards them when Lucy coughed.

  Emily’s legs were aching, her feet seemed to have swollen inside her boots; they were also dead cold. She looked down anxiously at Lucy, and when she coughed again she said, ‘Look along there, there’s a herbalist shop, they’ll likely sell sarsaparilla. Here’s a penny. Go and get a glass, it’ll likely ease your cough. But if they sell other drinks ask the man what he advises to take best for a tickly cough, he’ll tell you.’

  ‘Yes, Emily. Can…can I bring you something?’

  ‘No, no, I’m all right. You go on; but don’t stay too long, mind.’

  Left alone, she looked about her again. She felt she knew every fish on every stall in the row to the side of her. She certainly knew every fishmonger, even if she had been blindfolded she could have made each one out by his particular call. Business had been brisk at all the stalls over the last two hours but now it had slackened off and she wasn’t surprised when the man from the end stall came towards her and spoke to her. ‘Hoping to be set on, lass?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll have no luck the day. It’s service you want, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For you and the little lass?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Aye’—he shook his head—‘I doubt you’ll be lucky, it’s the wrong time of the year. An’ then there’s never much doin’ in that line here now, anyway.’

  ‘I know, but…but I thought I’d try.’

  ‘Well, there’s no harm in tryin’, lass, but you’ve been here since this morning, you must be froze to the bone!’

  ‘Yes, I am a bit cold.’

  ‘I’d get meself away home, lass, if I was you.’

  ‘I’ll…I’ll stay a little longer.’

  ‘Well, please yersel, please yersel.’ He nodded at her, smiled, then went back to his stall, where he slapped a fish back and forth on his slab and cried his wares to an almost empty market.

  It was as she made up her mind to return to her Aunt Mary’s as soon as Lucy came back from that shop—and she seemed to be taking her time—that she saw the high trap being driven into the market square from the far end. At first, she took no notice of it, not even when it passed her and the driver looked down on her; not until the gentleman, for she judged him to be so by his clothes and the fine turnout he was driving, pulled the horse to a halt almost opposite the herbal shop, dismounted, then tied the horse to an iron post, one of many that ringed the market square; after which he w
alked back towards her.

  She knew he was going to speak to her because he kept his eyes on her all the way along the pavement. Then he was standing in front of her. ‘You’re out for hire?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He didn’t speak for a moment but looked her over; then said, ‘Have you been in service before?’

  ‘Yes, sir, over two years full-time, an’ for part-time long afore that.’

  ‘In the town, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir. In South Shields.’

  ‘You know nothing about farm work then?’

  She shook her head slowly and her voice had a dull note to it as she said, ‘No, sir, I know nothing about farmin’ work.’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. I’m…I’m told I’m a good cook, and good at housework an’ washin’ an’ bakin’, and the rest; anything to do with the house.’

  He pursed his lips, half turned from her, looked towards the ground; then swinging round to her again, he said, ‘Would you object to seeing to an invalid?’

  ‘An invalid?…Someone in bed, kind of bedridden?’ Her voice was rising to a squeak.

  ‘Yes, you could say that.’

  Now her smile was wide as she answered, ‘Oh no, sir, I wouldn’t mind at all; That’s what I’ve been doin’ for most of the last two years. Mrs McGillby, that was my missis, she…she was ill in bed nearly all the time an’ I saw to her. She died three months gone.’

  ‘Why are you out of work?’

  She swallowed deeply, ‘Mr McGillby, he…he died an’ all, just…just recently.’ The thought of how recently caused a lump to come into her throat again, but she swallowed on it when the gentleman said, ‘I’ll take you on. Three shillings a week to start, and all found. Your hours are six to six and later if needed; half a day off a week. You’ll have to learn how to do outside work too, at odd times in case you’re needed, such as dairy work and milking. My name is Birch. My house is Croft Dene House; it lies a mile or so outside the village of Farley Dene. Do you know it?’