A Mother's Sorrow, page 1
Margaret Dickinson
A Mother’s
Sorrow
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For all my family and friends for their love, encouragement and help throughout the years
One
Sheffield, September 1892
‘Get out of this house and don’t you dare show your face here ever again.’
Tears streamed down Mary Ellen’s cheeks as her father shook his fist in her face. She stood before him, broken and shamed, waiting for a sharp slap, but the blow never came. He had never, in all her seventeen years, struck Mary Ellen. His wife, Edith, and even Flora, his eldest daughter, had felt the back of Patrick Halliday’s hand more than once. But Mary Ellen had always been his favourite. Until this moment.
‘You can go to him,’ he spat. ‘Whoever he is, seeing as you won’t even tell us who the father of your bastard is.’ He paused and added bitterly, ‘I would never have thought it of you, Mary Ellen, but when I heard you retching into the chamber pot in your bedroom early one morning, I knew. It was just like your mother was when she was expecting.’
The tears flowed faster as Mary Ellen whispered plaintively, ‘Mam . . .?’
But there was no help to be had from Edith. She had been controlled and cowed since the day of her marriage to Patrick. Her parents had known he was hardworking and they’d believed he would care for Edith and whatever family they might have.
‘You’d do well to take him,’ her mother had said. ‘You’re not exactly the prettiest girl in the street, now, are you? You might never get another offer.’
In Edith’s world, it was all a girl in her position could hope for: to be married and to devote her life to caring for her husband and family. What neither she nor her parents realized then was that Patrick was a quick-tempered bully.
The first time Edith appeared at her old home with a bruise on the side of her face, her mother had been shocked. ‘I never would have believed that of him. He’s not the man I thought he was.’
An only child, Edith had been born and brought up in a two-up-two-down terraced house, in a street south-west of Sheffield town centre. Her father worked at a local cutlery factory and it had been there that he’d met Patrick Halliday and invited him home to tea.
‘He’s an enterprising young man,’ he’d told his wife and daughter. ‘He’ll go far. Rumour is that the boss has got his eye on him to be a foreman even though he’s only young. He’s a hard worker, I’ll give him that. Our Edith could do worse.’
And so Edith had accepted Patrick’s proposal and they’d settled into the terraced house where he’d been born and had lived on his own since the death of both his parents. It was situated in the next street to where her parents lived but a world away from the life she had known with them. The front door opened from the street directly into a narrow hallway with doors to both the front parlour and the kitchen on the left, while the staircase was directly ahead. The parlour was hardly ever used. It was the best room, with just a few ornaments which had belonged to Patrick’s mother in a china cabinet and on the mantelpiece. They were his treasured possessions and Edith’s hands shook whenever she dusted them. The kitchen was where the family lived day to day and contained the range where Edith did all the cooking. A small scullery had been built onto the back of the house and, across the backyard, was the privy and a wash house with a copper in one corner.
Although it was a friendly street, with the neighbours watching out for each other through good times and bad, Edith had not been able to make close friends with anyone; Patrick would not allow it. Even the two sisters, Flora and Mary Ellen, had never been allowed to play out in the street, at least not when their father was around. By the time he was due home, they were both washed and dressed in their prettiest dresses or playing quietly together in their bedroom upstairs.
Edith had worked hard all her life to keep her home neat and tidy and as clean as was possible in a town where factory chimneys belched smoke all day long. A hot meal was always on the table for Patrick when he came home after a long day at the cutlery factory. He was the master in the house and no one was ever allowed to forget it. From the day she first crossed the threshold, her days became one long, endless life of drudgery and fear. Everything had to be kept just as his mother had left it when she’d died and everything must be done the way she had done it. The only joy Edith knew were the births of her two daughters. But even in this, Patrick complained. ‘You’re useless, woman. You can’t even give me a son to be proud of.’
Although Patrick demanded his ‘rights’ almost every night, there were no more children. Patrick took little notice of Flora, their first born, still no doubt hoping that the next one would be a son. But when Mary Ellen was born two years later, he looked down at her and was enchanted. All thoughts of a boy were forgotten in that moment. The baby, even then, reminded him of his mother; the only woman he had ever truly loved and respected. ‘She’s to be called Mary Ellen,’ he’d decreed. ‘After my mam. The finest woman who ever drew breath.’
As the two girls had grown, Edith loved them both equally, but Patrick’s attention was wholly on Mary Ellen. She was a pretty little girl with golden curls, blue eyes and a sunny smile. Flora promised to be a handsome woman rather than a great beauty. She had even features with a firm jawline, dark brown hair and brown eyes. But there was determination in her face. And it seemed she was going to need all the strength of character she could muster right now.
She moved forward and stood beside her sister. She lifted her chin and faced their father. The years had not been kind to Patrick Halliday. He was thin and already round-shouldered, even though he was only forty-one. His features were sharp, his eyes beady and filled with bitterness. Once, he had been strong and upright, but his muscular strength had wasted through years of being a foreman. He had not needed to do physical labour for some years. He was not well-liked among his work mates and the only people he mixed with outside work and his home were the bar staff at the local pub, which he frequented most nights except Sunday.
‘And do you know why she’s in the family way?’ Flora said bravely.
Patrick’s mouth twisted. ‘Because she’s a dirty little trollop who’s let some – some tom cat have his way with her.’
‘No, Father, that’s not the reason. The truth is, she’s never been taught the facts of life. Neither of us have. She wouldn’t have known what he was doing. She certainly didn’t understand what the result would be. I doubt she even knew she was pregnant until now.’
Patrick’s mouth curled. ‘Don’t try to tell me that. Yer mam must have told you. You did, didn’t you, Edith?’
Edith was thin with her brown hair drawn back into an unbecoming bun. It was dull and lifeless, with none of the sheen that had been there in her younger days. There were even flecks of grey already. Her skin was sallow; she only ever went out into the backyard to hang out the washing or to the shops once a week. Her once warm brown eyes were now frightened and wary. As her husband snapped his question at her, Edith dropped her head and turned away and Patrick had his answer. He turned back to Flora. ‘So how come you’re so clever, miss? Who taught you? Some feller showed you an’ all, did he?’
‘No, I learned from the girls at school. I only wish I’d told Mary Ellen. I’m sorry now that I didn’t.’
‘Not half as sorry as she’ll be. She’s out. She’s to pack her things and go. I won’t have shame brought to my door. I’ll be a laughing stock among the fellers at work. I’ll never be able to hold my head up again if they find out. I’m their foreman. I’ve got to have their respect.’
It was all about him and his reputation, never about his wife and daughters. But Flora stood her ground as she said quietly, ‘If she goes, then I go too.’
Still Edith said nothing. She sank into a chair by the range and covered her face with her hands.
‘Go, then.’ Patrick shook his fist in Flora’s face. ‘But don’t think that you’ll be missed, because you won’t be.’
Patrick slammed out of the house, the back door shuddering on its hinges.
Mary Ellen broke into fresh sobs and buried her face against her sister’s shoulder. ‘Oh Flora, don’t do that. What will Mam do without you? He’ll be so unkind to her.’
Edith lifted her head, her face creased with sorrow. ‘You go with her, Flora. I want you to. None of this is your fault. Either of you. I’ve brought it all on myself. I should never have listened to my parents.’ She stood up, moved towards her daughters and put her arms around them. ‘You have both brought me the only real love and joy I’ve ever known. Even my childhood wasn’t exactly happy. My parents were strict and never showed me any affection.’ She sighed. ‘If they ever had any. I was expected to do as I was told, even to the choice of the man I married. How I wish I’d had half your strength, Flora, and stood up to them. But it’s all too late now. My life is not going to change, but yours can. So go together and take care of each other, that’s all I ask.’
The three women stood together, their arms around one another.
‘But are you going to be all right, Mam?’ Flora said. ‘Like Mary Ellen says, he’ll be so cruel to you.’
‘As long as I know you’re both safe, I can cope. You must write to me if you possibly can. Now, I have a little money I’ve squirrelled away over the years. You must take it.’
The sisters packed their few belongings into a carpet bag and were gone by the time Patrick came back late that night. Edith had no idea where he’d been, for it was a Sunday evening and the pub was closed. But she didn’t dare ask.
As the two young women climbed the hill leading out of the town towards the Derbyshire countryside, Mary Ellen gasped as she struggled to keep up with her sister’s long strides. ‘What about your Bert? Shouldn’t you tell him?’
A lump rose in Flora’s throat as she thought of the young man she’d been walking out with for the last three months. Only Mary Ellen knew about the romance; Flora had thought it best to keep it a secret from both her parents. At least, for now. Bert worked in the same factory as their father, but in the purchasing department. He was an office worker and wore a smart suit, a white collar and a neat tie to work. He lived with his widowed mother, Agnes, in a terraced house a few streets away.
‘We’ve got a tiny frontage,’ Bert had told her with a laugh, ‘but you can hardly call it a garden. No grass, just paving slabs. Ma likes to grow flowers in pots and in a window box.’
The house was slightly larger than where the Hallidays lived. It had three bedrooms, though the third was scarcely bigger than a box room, and it also boasted a small cellar. Flora had yet to meet Agnes but already she liked the sound of Bert’s mother. She was an outgoing, generous woman who only wanted her son to find the right girl and settle down. Since Bert’s father had died relatively young after a nasty accident at work, her whole focus had been on her son but she was not a jealous or possessive mother. All she wanted was his happiness and he, in turn, would always take care of her. It was too early in their relationship to talk of marriage, but Flora knew instinctively that Agnes would always be part of their lives if they did marry.
‘I’ll write to him when we get settled somewhere,’ Flora said now to her sister. She didn’t voice her concerns to Mary Ellen but she wondered how both Bert and his mother might react to the news that Flora’s sister was to have an illegitimate child. Perhaps the blossoming romance would be over before it had hardly begun.
‘But where? Where are we going?’ Mary Ellen’s anxious voice broke into her thoughts.
Flora’s footsteps slowed. Taking Abbeydale Road and the Baslow Road, they’d walked for several hours late into the night – or even early morning – Flora didn’t know which. They’d reached the edge of the town and now only the open countryside lay before them in the darkness. It was daunting to two young girls who’d only known town life with its rows of houses, any one of which would help them if they knocked on the door. But the open fields and winding roads were alien to them.
‘Come on, Mary Ellen. We’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight. Thank goodness the weather’s still warm. A hayloft will do nicely and then, tomorrow, I’ll find work. We’ll be all right. I promise. Come on. Best foot forward.’
Two
After dealing them a cruel blow, Fate now seemed to be trying to help. They found a farmer’s barn at the edge of a field and snuggled into the hayloft for the night. They left early the following morning before they might be discovered. They’d walked some distance by the time the sun was up and still there was no sign of a village or a small shop. They’d been walking for a couple of hours and already Mary Ellen was tired.
‘Oh, do let’s rest, Flora. My feet hurt.’
‘Just for a while, then.’
They sat down on the grass verge and turned their faces to the warm September sun. Mary Ellen lay down and was soon asleep, but Flora could not rest; she was too worried. Whatever were they to do? Where could they go? She hadn’t heard of many places in Derbyshire though she thought that perhaps they’d passed over the border by now. She’d heard of Chesterfield with its crooked spire and of Chatsworth House, where a duke lived, and the plague village, Eyam. And then there was a little town called Bakewell, where the famous Bakewell puddings came from. Maybe . . .? As her thoughts wandered as to where they might aim for, she heard the rattle of a carrier’s cart coming towards them from the direction they had come.
‘Mary Ellen, wake up.’ She shook her sister’s shoulder. ‘There’s a cart coming. Maybe he’ll give us a lift.’
Mary Ellen groaned as she roused herself. ‘But where to, Flora? Where are we going?’
‘Wherever he’s going.’ Flora stood up and waved to the man sitting on the front of his cart behind the two horses.
‘Whoa there, whoa,’ he shouted above the noise of the wheels and drew to a halt beside them. He gave them a wide, toothless grin. ‘And where might you two pretty maids be off to this fine morning?’
Flora smiled up at him. ‘Wherever you’re going would be such a help, if you’d be kind enough to give us a lift.’ She ran her tongue nervously round her lips and came to a decision. There was no time to discuss it with Mary Ellen before she said, ‘We’re heading towards Bakewell.’
‘I’m going in the right direction, miss, but on’y as far as Baslow. Bakewell’s on’y about five or six miles further on though. Will that do you?’
‘I’m sure it will. Thank you. Come on, Mary Ellen. Up you get.’
They climbed up, squeezing onto the seat beside the driver. As they travelled, the talkative man pointed out all the landmarks on the way. Flora was grateful; one day she would have to make the return journey home and she wanted to be sure she knew the way. Her first thought at the moment was for Mary Ellen, but if she could get her sister settled somewhere safe, Flora wanted to go back to make sure her mother was all right. And then there was Bert. She owed him a proper explanation.
‘Now, that over there,’ the carrier was saying, ‘is the parkland of Chatsworth House where the Duke of Devonshire lives. You can’t see the house from here but it’s a grand place. He owns a lot of the land and properties around these parts. If you’re looking for work, you could do worse than find a job on the estate.’
‘Thank you. I’ll remember that.’
As they drew into the village the carrier pulled up in front of a small shop that looked as if it sold anything and everything.
‘This is where I’m making a delivery.’
As the two girls climbed down, Flora said, ‘Thank you so much for your kindness.’
‘Safe travels to you both,’ the carrier said as he tipped his cap in farewell.
Flora and Mary Ellen walked a short distance down the road before Flora said, ‘When he’s gone, we’ll go back to the shop. I can see it sells bread and milk.’
‘I’m so hungry and thirsty, Flora.’
‘Let’s sit on this low wall and we’ll be able to see when the carrier leaves.’
It was already well past midday and they’d had nothing to eat since the previous evening when they’d finished the last of the sandwiches their mother had packed for them. When the carrier left, his cart rattling back up the road the way he had come, Flora and Mary Ellen went into the shop. With the little money their mother had given them, Flora bought a bottle of milk.
‘I don’t reckon I’ve seen you before.’ The jovial shopkeeper smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have forgotten you. Not from around here, are you?’
Flora hesitated. He looked a kind and friendly man. Tall and rotund with a beaming face for all his customers. He wore a striped apron and a straw hat.
