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by

catherine cookson

Catherine Cookson was born in Tyne Dock and the place of her birth provides the background she so vividly creates in many of her novels.

Although acclaimed as a regional writer- her novel The Round Tower won the Winifred Holtby Award for the best regional novel of 1968 her readership spreads throughout the world. Her work has been translated into more than a dozen languages and Corgi alone has sold 40,000,000

copies of her novels, including those written under the name of Catherine Marchant.

Mrs. Cookson was born the illegitimate daughter of a poverty-stricken woman, Kate, whom she believed to be her older sister. Catherine began work in service but eventually moved south to Hastings where she met and married a local grammar-school master. At the age of forty she began writing with great success about the lives of the working-class people of the North-east with whom she had grown up, including her intriguing autobiography, Our Kate. Her many best selling novels have established her as one of the most popular of contemporary women novelists.

Mrs. Cookson now lives in Northumberland.

OTHER BOOKS BY CATHERINE COOK SON

NOVELS Kate Hannigan The Fifteen Streets Colour Blind Maggie Rowan Rooney The Menagerie Slinky Jane Fanny McBride Fenwick Houses The Garment The Blind Miller Hannah Massey The Long Corridor The Unbaked Trap Katie Mulholland The Round Tower The Nice Blojse The Glass Virgin The Invitation The Dwelling Place Feathers in the Fire Pure as the Lily The Mallen Streak The Mallen Girl The Mallen Litter The Invisible Cord The Gambling Man Miss Martha Mary Crawford The Tide of Life The Slow Awakening The Iron Facade The Girl The Cinder Path The Man Who Cried Tiny Trotter Tiny Trotter Wed Tiny Trotter Widowed The Whip Hamilton The Black Velvet Gown Goodbye Hamilton A Dinner of Herbs Harold The Moth Bill Bailey The Parson's Daughter Bill Bailey's Lot The Cultured Handmaiden Bill Bailey's Daughter The Harrogate Secret The Black Candle The Wingless Bird

THE MARY ANN STORIES

A Grand Man Life and Mary Ann The Lord and Mary Ann Marriage and Mary Ann The Devil and Mary Ann Mary Ann's Angels Love and Mary Ann Mary Ann and Bill

FOR CHILDREN

Matty Doolin Mrs. Flannagan's Trumpet Joe and the Gladiator Go Tell It To Mrs. Golightly The Nipper Lanky Jones Blue Baccy Nancy Nutall and the Mongrel Our John Willie

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Our Kate Catherine Cookson Country Let Me Make Myself Plain WRITING AS CATHERINE MAR CHANT

House of Men Heritage of Folly The Fen Tiger

THE GILLYVORS

Catherine Cookson

CORGI BOOKS

THE GILLYVORS A CORGI BOOK 0 552 13621 2

Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd

PRINTING HISTORY

Bantam Press edition published 1990 Corgi edition published 1991 Corgi edition reissued 1991

Copyright Catherine Cookson 1990

The right of Catherine Cookson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Conditions of sale 1. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

2. This book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of Net Books and may not be re-sold in the U.

K.

below the net price fixed by the publishers for the book.

This book is set in 1 Ipt Sabon by Chippendale Type Ltd. " Otiey, West sndvol32 Yorkshire.

Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd. " 61-63

Uxbridge Road. Baling, London W5 5SA, in Australia by Transworld Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd." 15-23 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW

2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (N.

Z.

) Ltd. " Cnr.

Moselle and Waipareira Avenues, Henderson, Auckland.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd. " Reading, Berks.

To Jack, with my warmest thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow legal-wise. May you continue to sing in the mornings to Kathleen If you are the bastard of a king, an earl, a lord, Although the shame will still be there, You'll get a cut from the world's fare;

Your mother too will have her share.

But if you spring from the loins of the poor, Your mother will be classed a whore, A Strumpet, a Gillyvor or a sot, And her bread will be dearly got.

As for you, the stain is red, And qualifies you for any man's bed.

But should you rear and stand aside And demand to be a virgin bride, Prepare for ridicule and disdain.

Base-born, a child of Cain, A bastard, And that you will remain.

The fairest flowers o' the season ; our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.

From The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare

Part One THE FAMILY'll

Par? Five THE CROSS 329

Epilogue

"I tell you, Dada, that's what I mean."

Her face bright with merriment, the young girl read again from the magazine: "Ladies and farmers' wives will benefit equally from the scented sachets on their pillows. The fragrance is derived from rose petals, sweet briar blossom At this point the dark, bright eyes lifted from the page and swept over her family before she went on, gurgling now, " Cow pats, well ground, as in Farmer Cox's boxings, sold by the pound and dampened, for poultices on the chin, and boils where boils have never bin . Her voice trailed off and joined the peals of laughter as, dropping the magazine on to the low oak table, she turned and clung to her sister, the while her two older brothers, their bodies bent forward, made guttural sounds and their younger brother. Jimmy, lay on his back on the mat before the open fire, his legs in the air treddling as if he were on a mill; the youngest of them all, a nine-year-old boy, leaned against his mother's side, and she drooped her head until it touched his, and they shook together.

The father hadn't openly joined them in their laughter; but rising from his seat at the side of the fireplace, he slapped his daughter playfully on her bent head, saying, "One of these days. Miss Clever Clops, that tongue of yours will get you into mischief. Now come on, all of you!

It's half-past eight and bed is calling. "

Slowly the laughter subsided, as one after the other of the family rose to their feet and wished their mother good-night. First, there was Oswald and Olan, the eighteen-year-old twins, like her, both dark but different in stature, Oswald being almost half a head taller than his brother, and broad with it, and he, bending and kissing his mother on the cheek, said, "Now, I've told you, Ma, you're not to get up to see us out.

"We're big enough and daft enough to cook a bit of gruel and heat a part of milk." But to this Maria Dagshaw answered, "You see to your business, my boy, and I'll see to mine. So, go along with you both."

When, however, her son Olan bent towards her, she gripped his arm, saying, "D'you think you'll be able to stick that driving and the winter coming on?"

"Don't you worry, Ma; anything's better than the mine; I would drive the devil to hell twice a day rather than go down there again. And the smell of the bread, anyway, keeps me awake. A wonderful new idea, isn't it, Ma? To send bread out and about to the houses?"

"Well, they do it with the tea, why not the bread?" said Nathaniel.

The two young men turned and looked at their father, and Oswald said,

"You're right, Dada. And Mr. Green said there'll be other commodities on the carts before long. If they can carry stuff into the market on a Saturday, why not carry it round the doors, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday."

"Well, there's something in that." Nathaniel smiled on his sons and there was pride on his countenance.

"Good-night," he said. And they both answered, "Good-night, Dada."

Nathaniel now turned to his daughters, saying, "You two scallywags, get along with you into your bed before trouble hits you."

"Oh, you wouldn't whip us, Dada, would you? Oh, you wouldn't! Oh, you wouldn't!"

"Stop your antics. Cherry, else you'll see whether I will or not. And you, Anna, stop your jabbering in bed. And don't shout up to the boys else I'll be in there with a horse whip; you're not too old to be skelped. D'you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Three bags full." At this the two girls joined hands and were about to run down the long room when they turned again and doubled back to their mother, whom they kissed on both cheeks, while she smacked playfully at their bottoms.

When the door had closed behind them Nathaniel turned an unsmiling face towards his wife, saying, Those two are so full of the joy of life it frightens me at times. "

As Maria said, "Oh, don't say that," her fifteen- year-old son. Jimmy, looked at his father and asked him a question: "Why does it frighten you, Dada? Because they laugh, and sing, and Anna can make up funny rhymes and stories? What is there in that to frighten you?"

Nathaniel walked towards the fair-haired boy, who was a replica of himself when young.

"I'm always afraid they'll be hurt eventually," he said.

"And you know why, don't you? I've explained it to you."

"Yes, Dada, I know why. But as you said, the boys have weathered it, the girls are weathering it in their own way and I in mine, because I have learned to fight like Ossie has taught me. Nobody insults Ossie, either in the village or in the market. And they won't me either, because as I grow I'll become stronger. Anyway, I can use my fists and feet to match any two ... " Jimmy! Jimmy, quiet. You've heard me say the pen is mightier than the sword and from that you can gather the tongue is mightier than the fist or the foot. "

"No, Dada, I don't, not when you're dealing with Arthur Lennon or Dirk Melton."

"You should keep away from them."

The boy now turned to his mother, saying, "How can I, Ma, when I have to pass through the village to get to the farm?"

"Well, I take it back in the case of Arthur Lennon." His father smiled down at him now.

"Being the son of a blacksmith, he's tough. But still, as I've always said, if you can use your tongue, it's better in the long run, because you know you can confound people with words.

Only' he smiled now 'you've got to know what your tongue's saying and not let it run away with you. " And his voice now rising, he looked down the room and cried, " Like my dear daughters do! "

"Oh, Nat."

"Well, they are listening behind the door."

"They're not; they'll be in bed."

"I know them." He now turned to his son, saying, "And I know you, young fellow. Off you go; and take Ben with you, if you can drag him from his mother's arms." He bent down and ruffled the brown-haired boy who, when he turned his head and looked up at him, caused a strange pang to go through his chest as he asked himself again how he had come to breed this boy, who had the look of an angel in a church window and the manner and gentleness of a female and the questing mind of someone twice his age. He was the seventh child and a seventh child was always different. But Ben was so different that every time he looked into his eyes he thought the gods must be jealous of such as he, and he feared their decree that the good die young.

The boy kissed his mother on the cheek and drew himself from her hold, then put his arms about his father's hips and laid his head against his stomach;

and for a moment there came on the kitchen a silence that lasted while Nathaniel led his son up the room to the ladder that was set at an angle against the end wall. And as he helped his son onto it, he said softly, "Don't let the boys get you talking; they've got to get up in the morning. You understand?"

"Yes, Dada. Good-night, Dada."

The boy turned from the bottom rung and laid his lips for a moment against his father's cheek, and Nathaniel watched him climb, then disappear through the trap door and so into the long roof-space that held four beds, but which allowed standing-room only down the middle of it.

When he turned from the ladder it was to find Maria standing at the far side of the long trestle table, which was already set for a meal with wooden bowls, wooden plates and a wooden spoon to the side of each plate. In the middle of the table stood a china bowl of brown sugar, and at one end of it was set a bread-board with a knife across it, while at the other was a wooden tray holding eight china mugs.

Maria was looking towards them as she said, "We'll have to go careful on the milk until Minny is back in working order again. What d'you think she'll have this time?"

"Well, if William's done his duty it could be twins. Let's hope triplets, but that's too much to ask. If she comes up with one nanny we'll be thankful. Come and sit down."

He went round the table and put his arm across her shoulders and led her back down the room towards the fire. And there he pressed her into the seat he had recently vacated, and with the liveliness of a man half his forty-four years he twisted his body into a sitting position at her feet, and laying his head on her knee he remained silent for quite some time before he asked quietly, "How long d'you think it can last from now on? The twins are near men, the girls near women."

"Oh Nat. You mean, our way of life?"

"Yes, just that, Maria, just that; our way of life and this present happiness that has grown and matured in spite of everything."

"It'll last as long as we're together, and nothing can part us except death. And then if you were to go I wouldn't be long after, and I know it's the same with you."

He put up his hand and placed it on hers where it was resting on top of his head, and in a low voice, he said, "It's been a strange life, hasn't it?"