The Jarrow Lass (15 page)

Once she might have believed that ill health was a sign of a person's sinfulness, but she could not think that of the rector, even if he was an Anglican. William had made her less tolerant of such ideas. ‘It's bad conditions that cause disease that are sinful, Rose,' he would say, ‘not the diseased.'

The rector's wife bowed her head as if ashamed of speaking such thoughts, and reached for a handkerchief.

‘He'll be greatly missed round here, Mrs Liddell,' Rose mumbled. ‘You an' all.'

Christina Liddell put her hand to her mouth to stifle another sob. ‘Thank you, Rose. We'll miss you all too.' She sighed heavily. ‘When we first came, I thought it the end of the earth - wanted to run away at once. But Edward felt akin to the people here. He hated the way they were forced to live, but never the people. Wherever we go next, half of him will always be here.'

Rose was moved by the woman's sadness, but said, ‘At least you and Canon Liddell have somewhere else you can go.'

‘You're right,' she said ruefully. ‘Yet he doesn't see it as escape, he sees it as a job left undone, his people abandoned.' She looked at Rose regretfully. ‘This may be hard to understand, but to my husband it will be a kind of exile.' She paused, then added in a whisper, ‘And to me it is the end of a dream.'

Rose stared at her in surprise. She had never heard of anyone who looked upon Jarrow as a dream fulfilled, except maybe her starving Irish forebears escaping the Famine.

‘What do you mean, Mrs Liddell?' she asked gently.

The older woman swallowed hard. ‘I - we had hoped to adopt Alexander - had almost promised him,' she explained. ‘But now with my husband's illness and no permanent home to offer, it's all too uncertain. We've abandoned the idea. And I had so wanted to. . .' She broke off, quite overcome.

Rose felt tears sting her own eyes. ‘Does Alexander know?'

Mrs Liddell nodded. ‘He took it badly - shouted and threw things about. We feel so awful at letting him down.'

‘You mustn't,' Rose said quickly. ‘You did what you could for him - and he's got plenty other relations to take care of him.'

Mrs Liddell hung her head. ‘Condemned to being passed around like a parcel. Besides, he's fast running out of relatives willing to put up with his unruly ways.'

Rose instinctively put out a hand and touched her briefly in comfort. ‘Maybes Canon Liddell will recover sooner than you think and you can give Alexander the home he wants.'

The older woman looked up and smiled in gratitude. ‘You are a kind girl, Rose.'

Bashfully, Rose withdrew her hand and muttered she should be going.

Mrs Liddell stood too. ‘Alexander was very taken with you and William,' she admitted. ‘He once asked if he could go and live with you both rather than be sent away south.'

‘With us?' Rose exclaimed.

‘It made me a little jealous, I must confess,' she smiled.

‘W-we couldn't have taken him in,' Rose stammered.

Mrs Liddell was quick to reassure. ‘Of course not. We wouldn't have expected you to take on such a burden. It was just Alexander's fanciful idea.'

Rose bristled. ‘We wouldn't have minded because of the cost,' she said proudly. ‘It's just him being one of the gentry - it wouldn't be right.'

‘No, I suppose not,' Mrs Liddell sighed. ‘Poor Alexander. He doesn't really belong anywhere.'

Soon afterwards, Rose gathered up the children and left the forlorn house that had once been so welcoming to all who came. She was saddened to think she might never see the Liddells again or know how Alexander's life turned out. They had been a link with a broader world outside the confines of Jarrow town and St Bede's church. This kind couple had given her friendship and work when needed, and a glimpse of paradise in that summer trip to Ravensworth for which she would always be grateful.

How strange, Rose thought, that the Liddells should have chosen to leave the security of Ravensworth for Jarrow, just like her mother. But Jarrow had taken these gentle people and drained the life out of them like a thirsty beast. Only the hardiest of people survived its appetite.

As she pushed the girls home, all perched on the pram, Rose pondered what Mrs Liddell had said about exile. She knew what the rector meant. If she were to leave Jarrow tomorrow and never come back, it would be like a slow death. It was not so much the familiar buildings or this particular stretch of river or even the hazy horizon of Simonside she would miss. It would be her family and friends. They were her reason for being, she thought with a fierce, protective urge. To be separated from your own people must be the worst punishment in the world.

She thought of young Alexander being shunted from pillar to post with no one really to care for him. He might be better off than they, but wealth did not seem to have brought the boy happiness. Her heart ached for him and for a brief moment she daydreamed about William and herself taking the rejected boy into their home. Impossible, of course. His own kind would have to take care of him.

On the way home, Rose stopped in at the church and lit a candle for the Liddells. She prayed for their broken health and sore hearts to be mended. She prayed for Alexander, that he might find someone to love him. Then she hurried back to Raglan Street, thankful that she had her young family around her.

Chapter 13

With 1883 came a further year of prosperity for William and Rose, and their young family throve. Rose was kept busy from dawn to dusk looking after the lively girls, and it was a source of great pride to see them turned out clean and tidy in new clothes from the Co-operative store. That summer the weather was fine for days on end and they spent as much of it as possible outdoors.

She would walk the children up to Simonside to play around her father's smallholding and picnic in the meadow. On Sunday afternoons, William would take the older girls paddling in the stream and catch small fish in a jam jar. If there was racing on the river, he would carry them on his shoulders to go and watch the rowers pit their strength against boatmen from as far away as the Thames.

On a glorious sunny August day, Jarrow was packed with crowds marching behind bands and banners for the laying of the foundation stone to the new Liddell Dispensary.

Rose had never seen so many townsfolk turned out to demonstrate their solidarity for the new clinic and their admiration for the former rector who had done so much for them. Every trade and friendly society in the town was represented and the Fawcetts marched with the crowds to see mighty Charles Palmer lay the stone.

‘Can you see any sign of Canon Liddell?' Rose asked William, straining on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the dignitaries.

He shook his head. ‘They're saying something about him now,' William told her.

Word spread back that the rector was travelling abroad for his health, and once again it saddened Rose to think of the warm-hearted couple in their solitary enforced exile. She wondered briefly where Alexander was now. In all likelihood they would never see the boy again either.

Putting sad thoughts from her mind, she and her family followed the procession to the Recreation Ground for the speeches, and the children ran around in the sunshine.

Her sisters lifted the babbling Kate from her pram and attempted to get her to walk, staggering along either side of her.

‘Let her alone,' Rose chided, seeing the pain in the baby's face as they dragged her forward. Kate began to whimper and protest.

‘She can't walk proper, Mammy!' Margaret cried in annoyance.

‘She's still a baby, hinny,' Rose defended.

‘Her foot's funny,' Elizabeth added, as they plonked Kate on the grass.

Rose stared at the red-faced baby, holding up her arms to be carried. She saw with alarm how the child's foot was turned in awkwardly. She had noticed her sitting like that before, but had convinced herself it would straighten in time, once she was on her feet and walking.

William bent down swiftly and lifted Kate into his arms. ‘There's nowt wrong with her foot,' he declared, avoiding Rose's look. ‘She'll walk canny in her own time.'

Rose knew how he doted on his youngest and would have nothing said against her. But from that moment, Rose knew there was something wrong with Kate's limb. Deep in her heart she had known from birth that the child's foot was damaged; it had never looked quite right. She suspected it was from the way the baby had been yanked from her womb, feet first, by the frantic efforts of Mrs McMullen to ensure both she and the baby survived.

Over the months she watched her daughter develop and grow into a lively infant with a sunny nature and infectious giggle, but she was slow to walk and preferred to pull herself along sideways like a crab, her crooked foot tucked in behind her. They all felt protective towards the baby of the family. Her older sisters mothered her and William made more of a fuss over her than the others. Rose bristled at the slightest comment on Kate's foot from other mothers, especially Mrs Fawcett.

‘She should have her leg put in callipers, that one,' William's mother advised, ‘straighten it out before it's too late.'

‘She's still a baby,' Rose retorted, ‘and she's not ganin' to be put in any irons.'

‘She'll be a cripple,' Mrs Fawcett sniffed, ‘spoil her chances of getting work or a husband.'

‘She's not a cripple!' Rose cried, and snatched Kate from the woman's critical inspection. ‘She'll run as fast as the rest of them in time, you'll see.' And Rose determined there and then that she would.

Nevertheless, Rose took the infant to the doctor, not wanting anything to mar Kate's chances of getting on in the world. He advised against doing anything until she was older.

‘We don't want her to undergo the surgeon's knife so young. Wait and see. It might correct itself in time.'

The year ended in terrific gales and storms, which carried on into the January of ‘84. Chimneypots were blown off and shop windows shattered; a brig broke from her moorings and was smashed up against the quay. A man at the ferry landing was blown into the river and drowned, while a woman and her two children were killed by the gable end of their house falling on top of them. It seemed an inauspicious start to the New Year and Rose shuddered at how swiftly and brutally fate could destroy a family's security.

But in the spring Margaret started school and Rose was filled with pride that they could afford to clothe their eldest in smart shoes and starched pinafore and send her off clutching a penny to the Catholic school. Elizabeth missed her playmate so much that soon she was tagging along with her to the school gates until the teacher relented and allowed her to sit in class with her older sister. Margaret revelled in this new world of slates and chalk, and came home chanting her spellings and tables.

Rose enjoyed the few hours when she had Sarah and Kate to herself, and she took them to the park as often as possible, coaxing her youngest to walk and keep up with the inquisitive Sarah. She saw what an effort it was for the small girl, but Kate never complained and it surprised Rose how determined the easy-going Kate could be. In June came Race Week, when Tynesiders flocked to Newcastle's Town Moor for the horse racing and Temperance Fair. After the scare of losing Margaret there as a small child, Rose had no wish to go back and William could not persuade her to change her mind.

‘The bairns would enjoy the side shows,' he encouraged, ‘and we've got enough put by. Let's spoil them a bit.'

‘You do plenty of that already,' Rose replied, but with a smile that told him that she did not mind. ‘I'd rather take them to the seaside - the youngest two have never been.'

William was easily persuaded. Rose was thankful that he would never be the kind of man who treated Race Week as an excuse to gamble and get drunk and spend their hard-earned savings. So instead they dressed up, took a picnic and the train to South Shields and had their picture taken in a studio. They spent an afternoon on the beach, splashing in the shallows and digging in the sand. They ate fresh winkles washed down with ginger beer and saw a clown performing along the pier. For the first time, Kate ran six paces along the sand, holding hands with Margaret and Elizabeth, before her weak foot buckled under her.

Rose clapped in delight and William swung his dark-haired daughter high in the air and kissed her for being so clever. After that, they raced the girls, clutching Kate between them and lifting her off her feet every few steps.

‘See, you can fly, me bonny little nightingale!' William cried, and the small child threw back her head and squealed with laughter.

By the time they climbed on board the train back to Jarrow, they were all tired out, their cheeks ruddy from the sun and sea air, their toes gritty with the sand in their shoes.

‘Can we go again next week, Mammy?' Margaret pleaded, while Elizabeth's head already lolled sleepily on Rose's shoulder.

‘Soon,' was all she would promise, smiling across at William, who cradled the sleeping Sarah and Kate in his arms.

Margaret turned her attention to her father. ‘Can we, Da? It's canny at the seaside.'

‘We'll gan again soon, like your mam says,' he grinned.

Rose thought how glowing with health he looked that evening as they jostled home on the train. He still looked so boyish, despite his moustache and the thinning of his fair hair at the temples under his respectable bowler hat. She felt stout in comparison, having never regained her slim waist since Kate was born. But the way he looked at her made her feel girlish and desirable. How lucky she was to have such a husband, she thought, drowsily content. At that moment she wanted nothing else in the world, for Rose believed she had it all.

By the autumn, a slump in trade hit Tyneside, spreading hardship along the river and into the surrounding towns and villages. Relief funds were set up and soup kitchens opened once more to feed the hungry. Rose was thankful that through her careful housekeeping, they were able to live off the money saved during the past two years. She managed to scrape together enough to keep the girls going to school, for both she and William were determined that they should be educated. Christmas came, but there was little entertainment or celebrating in the town and the girls had to make do with second-hand toys and less meat on the table.

William tried to be optimistic with the dawning of 1885. In January, Palmer's launched the three-masted schooner, the Surprise, the first built by the company for the Admiralty.

‘I may be on short time,' he reasoned, ‘but there's work ticking over.'

There was a further launch in February and in June, the Dovenby Hall was completed, the largest sailing ship ever built at the Jarrow yard. Trade limped on, but there was an air of stagnation about the town and Rose grew used to seeing small shops boarding up their windows and removal carts piled with the belongings of those who could no longer afford to pay rent. They were just getting by on William's reduced wages and by limiting themselves to meals of bread and tea rather than meat and milk.

Then Rose's general unease turned to fear when a smallpox epidemic broke out in the summer and the dilapidated fever hut on the edge of town that served as an isolation hospital filled up rapidly. When the cases of smallpox slackened, the hut was hastily disinfected and prepared for a new wave of typhoid cases. Illness plagued the town and the sombre sight of horse-drawn hearses rumbling down the streets became commonplace.

Most alarming of all was an outbreak of infant diarrhoea that swept in with the hot weather and brought many deaths in its wake. Rose watched Kate like a hawk and when the child woke hot and feverish one afternoon, she went rushing for Dr Forbes.

‘Are you still feeding her yourself at all?' he asked.

‘No,' Rose blushed, ‘she likes the bottle - I keep it warm for her on the stove.'

‘You mustn't do that!' the doctor said sharply. ‘Germs can multiply in warm milk. Throw away the bottle, Rose, she's old enough to drink from a cup. And steer clear of grocer's milk till the hot weather is over. Give her boiled water that's cooled off in the pantry. Keep her cool at night too.'

Rose wanted to ask the doctor about Kate's foot again, but she could see he was frantically busy and preoccupied with stemming the tide of disease around him. So she hurried home and followed his instructions, coaxing her daughter to sip the sterilised water. Kate was fretful and listless for a couple of days then, to Rose's relief, suddenly perked up as if nothing had been the matter.

Rose tried to protect her family by feeding them what she had and denying herself. Some days she would eat nothing until William returned at tea time. Whether he had work to go to or not, he stuck to the routine of going out and keeping himself occupied, doing odd jobs at the church or reading at the Mechanics' Institute. But he noticed how the weight was dropping off her and insisted on sharing what she put on his plate.

‘We can't have you going sick for lack of food,' she cried at him anxiously. ‘You have to bring in a wage.'

‘And how will me and the bairns manage if you waste away?' he pointed out. ‘Now get some food down you.'

With autumn, the raging fevers abated. Luckily for the Fawcetts there was still work at the steel mills, if not in the yards. In November, a large gathering of businessmen met at Palmer's steel works for a special ceremony of tapping a new steel furnace, which was done by Mrs Palmer. William brought home enough for them to celebrate Christmas, but Rose's spirits were dampened by the obvious distress of so many around them. The unlucky ones had spent all their savings and pawned everything they owned to try to keep roofs over their families' heads.

Two skinny boys came knocking on Rose's door begging for food on Christmas Eve. She hurriedly wrapped up a loaf of bread and a couple of apples and sent them on their way before her own inquisitive children could ask too many questions. She wanted to shield them as much as possible from the hardship and poverty of the outside world that lapped at their door.

The year turned again and they prayed for better times. But the winter of ‘86 was unrelenting. In March, cold winds blew in from the east, bringing ferocious snowstorms that lasted for three days. The gales were arctic and the town disappeared in a white storm that kept people trapped indoors, as if Nature fought to take repossession of the polluted and despoiled land. Rose was too fearful to go out for food or fuel and kept the girls bundled up in bed together to keep warm. Margaret organised them into playing the Snow Queen, and Rose was thankful for the girl's imagination in keeping her sisters occupied for hours on end. For two days, William struggled down as far as the end of the street before he was beaten back by the weather. He could hardly retrace his steps in the blinding icy blizzard. He stumbled over the frozen corpse of a nag that had slipped and been abandoned to the smothering snow.