The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  When I first got here I wasn’t feeling too well, and one young nurse sat with me all night. Yes, it was Nurse Allerton. She’s from Bradford. She used to work in the mills. Do you know she actually said if it wasn’t for the pain and suffering of the soldiers she would be happier being in Flanders than she ever was in England; that, in some ways, her life is much better here. Imagine what she left behind to prefer all this. She said I was to explain that I haven’t got that quite right, but you might know what she means, being a woman. I can’t say that I do.

  And the upper-class women, the ‘toffs’ as Nurse Allerton calls them, many of them say similar things. The world’s gone mad. How can they prefer it out here to being at home? But they’re real heroines, Ma, potty or not. The men sing aabout them, ‘It is the one red rose’:

  In the war’s great curse

  Stood the Red Cross Nurse

  She’s the rose in no man’s land.

  If I stay out here much longer, I’ll be writing poetry next. What would Father make of that? I wonder. I’m hoping to get back to the front soon. Not that I like the idea of battle but because I don’t want to let the others down. Who knows, there might be a Private Andrew Johnson who needs my help. I know that some poor souls don’t seem able to face going back there. They lie here, dazed and numbed, shaking with fear. But I don’t think they’re cowards. It’s always there, even in their dreams. Nightmares, I should say. I know it is in mine.

  How about your news, Ma? I long to hear about Worlington, but you never mention much about the estate. I dream of that as well. Being there in Kent. Has the war changed things much? The apple blossom will be out soon, and the swallows will be arriving. I wonder if they’ll fly across here first? Tell me about it all when you write.

  I sent a note to Julia. I hope she received it before she left for Ireland. Pass on my news to Paul and give my regards to Father.

  Nurse Allerton is going to smuggle this into the bag to get it past the censors. A real little spy. I don’t think there is anything these wonderful girls can’t do if they set their minds to it.

  With love,

  Robert

  PS If I were a swallow I would fly home to you at Worlington.

  * * *

  Leonore dropped the sheets of paper into her lap.

  The maid knocked and came into the bedroom, but Leonore didn’t seem to hear her, she just stared at the letter.

  ‘You’ve not touched your dinner, m’lady,’ the young woman said, picking up the tray of food from the bedside table. ‘Can I get you something else?’

  Leonore looked up at the maid and frowned as though she didn’t understand what she was saying to her.

  ‘Do you want me to leave it?’ the girl asked. Leonore shook her head in reply, and the maid took away the untouched food.

  Leonore turned and looked at the view from the window. Robert was right, the trees were in blossom. But she didn’t smile with pleasure to see the sun setting over the glorious English countryside as it spread out below her. In fact, she looked as though she would never smile again, as though her world had come to an end.

  She walked mechanically over to her desk and lethargically picked up her pen.

  My dear Robert,

  This is the most difficult letter I have ever written, and although I think you may already have heard by the time this reaches you, I have to tell you myself. Robert, Paul was killed in action in France. He will not be brought home for burial, but will be laid to rest there. It seems so wrong; he was so full of life, and now he is dead. There.

  I have written the words. He is dead. I used to think this war had at least some purpose; now I feel only bitterness.

  I am sure that you also know, or will not be surprised to learn, that Julia will not be returning to England. She has decided to stay in Ireland with her family. Even with the trouble over the execution of the rebels she insists she won’t leave there. Now Paul is no longer with us she says England holds no interest for her. I am sorry to be so blunt, Robert, but I think it is for the best for these things to be out in the open.

  I cannot write any more tonight. I will leave this for now and finish writing to you tomorrow. Goodnight, my darling.

  It is three days since I began to write this letter.

  I have read and reread your letter many times and thank God that you were saved. Private Johnson will have a place in my prayers for ever, alongside those I offer up for Paul when I pray that he did not suffer.

  Please give my sincere thanks to Nurse Allerton. She sounds a wonderful, brave girl. All those women you wrote of have my admiration. It makes me quite ashamed that I have not joined them. But I have been doing work of my own, Robert. Now, after all that has happened, I have decided that I must share a secret with you. I wish I had told Paul so that he would have known me better. Now it is too late. But at least I can tell you. Before the war I became involved with the suffragettes, taking part in many of the campaigns, and I am still deeply involved with my work at a centre for destitute women and girls from the London slums. Yes, Robert, me.

  You will not be surprised to know that I have never shared this secret with your father. I was not involved with the militants, however, unlike Dolly Carstairs, who now seems to be using her energies to do war work. Dolly is working in France, one of those ‘toff’ nurses your young nurse from Bradford spoke to you about. I might not always agree with Dolly’s politics, but she has always had the ability to make me laugh. Apparently she was patching up a young soldier recently and was sure she knew him, but couldn’t quite place from where. It turned out he was a constable before the war and had arrested her for agitating at a suffrage meeting. She had objected strongly to his actions and had blacked his eye for his trouble. Good old Dolly. She’ll keep order in those wards out there.

  It feels so strange writing to you like this, Robert, but I would like you to understand me better. I became involved after I met some people who introduced me to Sylvia Pankhurst. (This is still a secret from your father, remember, Robert; I still have to live here with him.) My cousin Amelia and I – for she too is part of the conspiracy – do what we can to improve the lives of some of the women and children who live in the slums. They, like me in some ways, are unfortunate prisoners of their birthright. Having the vote would mean very little to most of the women I meet, I think. But I am very unsure at times what I should think. I wonder too if I am right when I think you will be able to understand more about me now, Robert. I wonder if you can appreciate that, like you, I had to learn about the evils of poverty. What good is life for a woman if she has no food for her children and yet another baby on the way? Many of those brave men you write of must be married to women like the ones I meet.

  I really do hope that we are learning to understand more about one another and about ourselves now, Robert. I really do. I am certainly unsure whether I understand Sylvia Pankhurst’s views on pacifism, however, even though she speaks so eloquently about the war and the exploitation of the poor for profit. I really can’t make up my mind whether she’s right or wrong. Particularly since Paul was taken from us. Perhaps that’s one of the things we will discuss when you come home, Robert, when we discover what it is like to be friends. I so look forward to that time.

  There is so much I want to tell you, my dear.

  So many things I am keeping in my heart to share with you when you return to Worlington.

  With my fondest regards to Nurse Allerton, and my heartfelt thanks.

  And with my love to you always, Robert,

  Mother

  Leonore sealed and addressed the envelope. Then she went over to the window to sit and watch and wait.

  * * *

  Ted dipped the nib into the inkpot, and with his tongue firmly held between his teeth thought about what to write in his first letter home. He’d been in France for almost two days and it was all so exciting he didn’t know what to put first. But he’d promised his mum he would write and let her know he was safe, so write he did.

&
nbsp; Dear Mum and hello Miss Feldman,

  I got to France safe and sound but I ain’t seen our Sammy yet. It’s a lot bigger out here than I thought it would be. The trenches ain’t that bad. I don’t know what our Sammy was going on about, wanted us to feel sorry for him, knowing him. The blokes have got some of the dug-outs all done up like little houses. Pictures and everything. When you think how some of them lived down The Buildings they must think they’re in bloody palaces. Sorry, Mum, but all us soldiers swear. Worse than that and all. Should have heard them on the ships. You’d have gone potty. The officers moan a bit. They say it’s all squalor and there are a lack of facilities. Or something like that, but it don’t seem that bad to me so far. Mind you, Mum, they all say it’s rotten when the mud and snow comes. But I don’t think I’ll be here to see the bad weather. It can’t last much longer. They said it would be over in three years. But it’ll definitely be over by this Christmas.

  Here, how about this? Some of them what gets gassed have been sent to a big hospital in Kent near Tilnhurst. Used to be a loony bin they reckon. Blimey I never knew there was a bin there when we was down hopping. I’d have been right scared of the nutters if I’d have known. Still that old Kent air’ll do them gassed blokes a bit of good. Like it did your chest eh, Mum? Do ’em even better if they could do a bit of hopping as well. We had some laughs down there didn’t we. Remember when Home’s Arthur nicked that pig?

  Still had no word from Dad? Let’s know when you hear some news. I bet he must have been to every country in the whole world by now. I might have some good news soon. Nothing definite, but they reckon you can get promoted ever so quick out here. Can you imagine, Corporal Fairleigh. Like I said, nothing definite yet but honest to God, Mum, they promote lots of blokes. Right young ones and all. If you don’t get your head blown off first I reckon you could be a colonel after a few months. (Joke.)

  Lots of love from your loving son Ted and give Miss Feldman a kiss for me. That’ll surprise her.

  Chapter 17

  A Different World

  ‘So I’ll be leaving at the end of the month, Lady Worlington,’ the maid said matter-of-factly. ‘If that’s all right with you.’

  ‘I only wish you had spoken to me earlier, Daisy,’ said Leonore, throwing up her hands in exasperation as she rose from her armchair by the window. ‘I had no idea you were unhappy with us until Tyler came to me.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Daisy looked very bored. She examined her fingernails.

  ‘When Tyler informed me you had employment elsewhere I was shocked to hear it,’ said Leonore, walking over to the girl. She was standing close to the door which she had left wide open. ‘I might have been able to help you, Daisy, had you discussed it with me first.’

  ‘Oh no. It’s nothing like that, m’lady,’ Daisy said sullenly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I wasn’t specially unhappy here. Wasn’t specially happy either. I’ve never known no different really. Always worked here, haven’t I?’

  ‘You are not making this very easy for me, Daisy. Please, I want to know. Has somebody upset you? A man?’

  ‘I know what you’re talking about,’ said the maid, smiling archly, brave in the knowledge that she would soon be leaving. ‘It ain’t nothing like that. Nobody’s touched me or nothing. Anyway there’s hardly any boys left round here to try and “upset” me, like you say. They’re all over in France.’

  ‘That wasn’t exactly what I meant, Daisy. But I still don’t know why you want to leave Worlington.’

  ‘I’m off to do war work, actually, m’lady,’ she said.

  ‘You, Daisy?’

  ‘Yeh. Why not me?’ she asked impudently, then thought better of her tone; she hadn’t collected her wages yet. ‘I’m going to be a factory girl,’ she said more evenly. ‘Doing the munitions at Woolwich. I’m going to stay with Milly.’

  ‘Milly?’

  ‘Yeh, Milly Garnett.’

  ‘Mr Garnett’s daughter?’

  ‘Yeh. She’s earning a fortune. Nearly thirty bob a week with overtime.’

  Daisy’s enthusiasm for the wonderful new life Milly had made for herself made her tongue run away with her.

  ‘And when her work’s finished she goes home to her own room and everything. In a lodging house in Bermondsey it is. She said it’s hard graft but it was hard when she worked here. She loves it there.’ Daisy lifted her chin and looked Leonore directly in the eye. ‘It’s a different world now. And I want to be a part of it.’

  ‘But Milly’s working for my cousin in Belgravia,’ said Leonore, trying to work out what all this could mean.

  ‘Not any more she ain’t,’ answered Daisy with a barely suppressed snigger.

  * * *

  Leonore walked through the orchard towards the Garnetts’ cottage. 1917 was nearly over and still the war dragged on. There was not a family in the land which had not been touched by the death and destruction, who had not heard bad news from some unknown place in a foreign land. Daisy was right; it really was a different world. Everything she had been so sure of in the past had been turned upside down. Leonore hardly knew what to think about anything any more. But there was one thing about which she was always sure: as soon as Sylvia saw her grandmother, she would run to her and welcome her to the cottage with a happy laugh and a hug. Leonore thanked God that something still made sense. She thought more and more about how wonderful it would be if she could tell Robert he had a child, so that he and Jess could make a proper family for Sylvia. Perhaps after the war was over it would be possible. Perhaps.

  ‘Sylvia, come and give Grandmama a kiss.’ Leonore scooped up the giggling child and carried her into Mrs Garnett’s kitchen. ‘Good morning, Jessie. Is Mrs Garnett around?’

  ‘No, yer’ve missed ’er,’ said Jess, looking over her shoulder. She was standing at the tub washing Sylvia’s clothes on the rubbing board. ‘She went out really early with Mr Garnett. Into town.’

  ‘Does she never say anything, Jess?’ asked Leonore as she wound one of Sylvia’s golden curls round her finger. ‘Never ask any questions who the father is? About how all this could have happened? Why I take such an interest?’

  ‘No, like I said, I reckon she just accepts yer doin’ yer duty by me cos I worked ’ere. Never says a word about it.’

  ‘She’s an amazing woman.’

  ‘Yeh, she’s that all right. Been like a mum to me she ’as.’

  ‘But you still miss Rose terribly?’

  ‘Course I do,’ said Jess, rubbing vigorously at the cuffs of Sylvia’s blouse. ‘It really ’urts me to think ’ow she’s missin’ the little ’un grow up. An’ since she’s been in the factory, we don’t even see ’er at ’oppin’ time. Just them odd days she’s managed. Breaks me ’eart it does.’

  Leonore sighed loudly. ‘When I think about how all this happened, Jess, I really do feel so dreadfully guilty.’

  ‘Yer mustn’t get me wrong, Leonore. I’m ’appy ’ere, honest. An’ it’s lovely for Sylvia bein’ in the country. An’ it’s ’ardly your fault. I wish I could go ’ome, that’s all.’

  Leonore decided it was time to say what had long been on her mind. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that, Jess. About going home.’

  Jess let the washing drop back in the tub, then turned and stared at her, suds dripping unheeded from her hands on to the clean floor. ‘’Ow d’yer mean?’

  Leonore put Sylvia down on the rug to play with her building blocks and moved closer to Jessie.

  ‘Jess, even though you have never been officially released from the asylum I don’t see any real reason for you to continue hiding here. Not any more.’

  ‘Yer mean I can go ’ome? To Poplar? When?’

  ‘Don’t get too excited, Jess. Listen. Let’s sit down.’

  Jess wiped her hands on her apron and she and Leonore sat opposite one another at the table.

  Leonore kept her eyes on her hands; she patted her fingertips together nervously all the while she was speaking.

 
; ‘If you had tried to leave here before, my husband would have been sure to have found out that you had been released. From the carriage driver, from the porter at the station, oh, in any one of a thousand ways. From any one of the many people whom he owns around here. And he would have sent you straight back to the asylum, or somewhere even worse, miles from here. I’m afraid there will always be people willing to sell information for money, Jess. And there will always be people willing to gossip simply for the pleasure of it. Especially in somewhere as small as Tilnhurst.’

  ‘I know all that,’ said Jess, lifting her daughter on to her lap and cuddling her protectively. ‘So what’s different now?’

  ‘Since Paul was killed,’ said Leonore and stopped. She looked around the little kitchen, focusing on the inconsequential details of the Garnetts’ domestic life, struggling to maintain control of her churning thoughts and emotions. ‘Since Paul died.’

  ‘Yeh,’ Jess coaxed her gently.

  ‘Since that happened, his father has not been himself. He has lost interest in everything. Even his beloved horses. He lives in a daze, not caring or knowing about anything. He’s no threat to you any longer, Jess.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It must be ’ard for yer. But I still ain’t gonna risk getting found out, Leonore.’ Jess shook her head resolutely. ‘No. I’ve got to say it. I ain’t gonna risk yer son…’ Jess paused, taking a deep breath, trying, like Leonore, to remain calm. ‘I ain’t gonna risk Robert finding out about me.’

  Sylvia squirmed irritably, wanting to get back to her game. Jess lifted her off her lap and sat her back on the rug. She spoke softly, not wanting to upset her daughter by letting her hear the tension in her voice.