Katy's Men Read online

  Katy had become uneasy under the stare from the old woman’s dark eyes, which had a glassy look to them now, like the marbles the boys played with in the street. But she felt her mother’s elbow in her ribs and answered, ‘Yes, Auntie Augusta.’

  ‘I remember. I saw you last summer. This last year has made a change in both of us.’ The glassy stare shifted to Ethel: ‘This one’s going to be a beauty.’ And when Ethel smiled complacently: ‘It’s nothing to be pleased about. She’ll have plenty of trouble in her life if she isn’t careful. She’ll have to fight. The men will be her downfall if she doesn’t. I know. They’d ha’ been the finish of me if I’d let them have their way.’ She nodded several times in emphasis, but then dismissed Katy and the subject with a wave of her skinny hand.

  The maid brought the tea now and there was lemonade and biscuits for the children. They said ‘Thank you’ to the maid, who finally smiled wanly as she left. The adults drank their tea while Katy and the boys devoured their biscuits and gulped down the lemonade. After that the women talked of families and scandals, present and past. Katy sat at the table with the two boys, turning the pages of a book showing pictures of Queen Victoria and her family.

  The boys were becoming restive when Augusta said, ‘That maid only comes in each day but she’s been told she has to tell you when anything happens.’ She eyed Winnie but addressed Ethel: ‘You’re sure this lass can keep her mouth shut?’

  The two friends flushed in unison but Ethel confirmed firmly, Winnie won’t repeat anything she hears. I’ve told you that before.’

  ‘Aye. I just wanted to be sure.’ Augusta cast that cold eye over the children: ‘The bairns are too young to understand. Except that one.’ The thin finger pointed at Katy.

  Again Ethel assured her: ‘She won’t tell anyone.’

  The old woman stared into Katy’s light blue eyes, open and honest, and nodded, satisfied. She turned to Ethel and asked, ‘You know where to look?’

  Ethel replied soothingly, ‘Yes, Aunt Augusta, but you mustn’t talk as if—’

  ‘Don’t be damned silly!’ Augusta’s cup rattled in its saucer. ‘It’s not a matter of “if” but “when”!’ She laughed, a dry rattle. ‘I never gave you much money, only a few shillings now and then, partly because I wanted to be certain I’d have sufficient to see me out because I saw enough of poverty when I was young. I’ll make damned sure I won’t die a pauper. But on top of that I knew that if Barney found you had money he would drink it. He’ll drink whatever I leave you now if you let him get his hands on it. Not that there will be much. They say you bring nothing into this world and you can’t take anything out. True enough. But I made my money and I’ve spent it. As I said, it’ll see me out. You’ll get what’s left.’

  She lay back in the chair now, weary, and said, ‘Those bairns are getting restless. You’d better be getting away.’ So they made their farewells, the children kissing her dry cheek, then Winnie and last of all, Ethel. Augusta held her hand tightly for a moment. ‘Take care now. Remember what I’ve told you.’ And then with a nod of the head towards Katy, ‘And watch out for her.’

  ‘I will,’ answered Ethel. Then the maid let them out. In the street Ethel opened her hand and saw a sovereign. She never mentioned it but closed her fingers again and they made their way home across Newcastle.

  The maid came some six months later, early on a bitterly cold winter’s morning. She wore a shawl wrapped over her head and around her shoulders to supplement her threadbare coat but her pale face was tinged with blue by the cold. Ethel opened the kitchen door to her knock and the girl standing in the passage outside held out the scrap of paper on which Aunt Augusta had written Ethel’s name and address. Shivering, she said, ‘Missus Fleming told me to tell you as soon as it happened. “Fetch the doctor and the undertaker,” she said, “and then tell Mrs Merrick.” Katy heard all of this, standing by her mother’s side, dressed and ready for school. The two elder girls had preceded her by a few minutes while the boys were still eating their breakfast and had not heard a word.

  Katy heard her mother’s quick intake of breath, then Ethel said, ‘Come in and get warm, lass.’ Ethel held the door wide to admit her. Then she turned to Katy and told her, ‘You can’t go to school today, pet. I want you to look after the two bairns for a bit. I have to go out — ’ she glanced at the boys and finished ‘ — shopping, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.’ She left shortly afterwards, accompanied by the maid, and Katy played with the two boys.

  Ethel returned before noon. She was flushed despite the cold, and breathless as if from running — or excitement. She took Katy aside and said, ‘Don’t say a word to your dad about that girl coming.’

  ‘No, Mam.’

  So Katy listened in silence when Ethel told Barney that evening, ‘I had a message today that Aunt Augusta died last night.’

  ‘Aye? Well, we’ll get over there and quick!’ Barney washed hastily and changed out of his dirty work clothes, then they all set off. The house in Gosforth was empty but Ethel had a key which she said the maid had brought her. The children sat in the chill, fireless kitchen, talking in whispers because of the body in the bedroom upstairs. Meanwhile Barney searched the house while Ethel followed in his wake. It proved fruitless.

  Barney gave up in anger and despair at last. ‘Nothing but her purse wi’ fifteen shilling in it! There’s a will, right enough, leaving all to you, including her bloody brooch, but this place was rented and there’s nothing but what the furniture will fetch!’ He glared up at the ceiling as if at the dead woman above. ‘The tight-fisted old hag!’ He cursed or maintained a brooding silence all the way home.

  Ethel kept quiet except to say once, ‘I’m glad she died in some comfort, not a workhouse bed.’

  Barney snarled in disappointment, ‘Aye, she blew it all on herself!’

  Ethel did not argue with that and said nothing more, not wanting him to transfer his anger to her. But now and again she smiled.

  *

  Matt Ballard ran home from school, partly to keep warm because he had no winter coat, only one old and ragged jersey pulled on over another. He was already tall and sturdy for his ten years, face red with exertion and the cold. He made little noise as he ran along the bare boards of the passage because he only wore plimsolls with his big toes poking out of them. He had no winter boots, either.

  He pushed open the door of the kitchen and saw his father sitting on a cracket by the small fire in the grate. Matt knew what that meant, and asked with a sinking heart, ‘No work today, Dad?’

  ‘No, but I’ve got a job.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Matt burst out excitedly. This news meant there would be enough to eat. Then he saw his father was not smiling, and his mother sat on the other side of the fire, her hands to her face and the big tears oozing out between her fingers. Matt’s father got up from the stool and went to put his arm around her. Matt asked, voice hushed, ‘What’s the matter with me mam?’

  ‘I’ve signed on in the Durhams,’ Davy Ballard explained. ‘There’s never any regular work around here for a labourer like me. So I’ve joined the Army. At least you’ll all have a roof over your heads and full bellies.’

  Matt’s mother wiped at her eyes with a corner of her apron and tried to smile. ‘Your dad will have to live in barracks for a bit but later on we’ll all be in a married quarter, probably down south in Colchester.’ A battalion of the Durham Light Infantry was stationed there. It was a foreign country to her. Her man would go and she would be left on her own and later would be cast among strangers. But she hugged Matt and told him, ‘So we’ll all be fine now. And here’s the rest.’ The trampling in the passage signalled the arrival of Matt’s four brothers and sisters. His mother stood up. ‘I’ve got some bread and dripping for your teas.’ She started to lay out the meal as the other children charged in.

  Matt tried to come to terms with what he had been told. His father was going to be a soldier. Matt would be living in a strange place with a new school and
none of his friends, just boys he did not know. He was not sure whether he was frightened or excited.

  Chapter Three

  WALLSEND-ON-TYNE. DECEMBER 1903.

  ‘Listen to me, Katy. Listen to what I tell you.’ Ethel Merrick was propped up by pillows in the bed where she lay. It seemed the flesh had run from her frame in these last weeks. Her thin hand held feebly to that of her thirteen-year-old daughter.

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ Katy was frightened because she knew she was looking at death though she tried to deny it to herself. ‘I’m listening.’

  Ethel paused to get her breath. She thought with pride, She’s nearly a woman, a fine young woman — but still too young to be left. She said, ‘I want you to have the brooch, the one your Aunt Augusta left to me. It’s in the bottom of the chest of drawers. I want you to think well of her. I know what your dad’s told you, but she thought well of you.’

  Barney Merrick still remembered Aunt Augusta at intervals, when he cursed her for bequeathing him: ‘Not the price of a bloody drink!’

  Ethel went on, ‘And she wanted you to have some advice. She saw when you were just little that you were going to turn out a bonny lass. She said the men would be after you and you had to look out for yourself, that they’d ruin you if you let them. I want you to remember that, always. You hear now?’ The grip on Katy’s arm tightened.

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ Katy knew that, of late, some men had looked at her — differently. Sometimes it had instilled in her a vague fear. Her mother had taught her the basic facts of life but that had been just talk. Experience was something else.

  Ethel fumbled with the fingers of one hand with those of the other, took off a plain, gold ring and held it out to Katy: ‘My mother gave me this. Put it away until you’re older.’ And as Katy took the ring, Ethel went on, ‘I’ve got some things for your sisters. I’ll treat you all alike, as I’ve always done.’ But Ursula and Lotte had always taken their father’s side while it was Katy who cared for her mother. The two older girls respected and feared his strength and power. They had some affection for their mother but he came first in their thoughts because he made the rules. Now Ethel pushed up from the pillows and urged her, ‘Be a good girl. Try not to get across your father. I’m only trying to save you from a lot of grief. He can have a terrible temper.’

  Katy knew what was meant by this warning. Over the last few months she had taken over a lot of the work of the house because of her mother’s illness. The two elder girls had been excused because they were at work and putting money in Barney’s pocket — and Ursula, the eldest, was his favourite among the girls. So Katy had been working with or for her father and had begun to question his orders and argue against his judgments when she thought them wrong or unfair. She had been browbeaten and shouted down by him but had not given up. Her mouth had set in a stubborn line now at thought of him, but softened with her mother’s eyes on her. ‘I will, Mam.’

  Ethel sank back on the pillows, satisfied with that assurance. ‘You’ll be finished with school before long. Your teachers said you were a good scholar and there’s a job waiting for you in Mrs Turnbull’s shop. Your dad has arranged it.’

  Katy knew this and was not enthusiastic. She did not know what she wanted to do when she left school but hated the idea of serving behind a counter in a small corner shop. But at that moment she did not care. ‘Thanks, Mam.’

  Her mother smiled at her weakly. ‘I didn’t want to keep on at you, but I worry about you. You’re such a bonny little thing.’ She reached out to stroke Katy’s hair then let her hand fall. ‘Give me a kiss now and let me have a word with Winnie.’ So Katy left and cried in the kitchen.

  Ethel asked Winnie, ‘You’ve done what I asked? You’ll not let me down?’

  Winnie, not jolly now but close to tears herself, held Ethel’s hand, soothing: ‘I’ll see they get their rights. Just as you want.’

  Ethel said, ‘You don’t need to worry about Barney.’

  Winnie agreed, ironically, ‘No.’

  Ethel smiled faintly, ‘He cares for me, you know. He hasn’t — been near me for months — close on two years, in fact. Because the doctor said, you know, I couldn’t ...’ She paused, embarrassed.

  Winnie said quickly, to save her from it, ‘You told me.’ ‘Aye.’ And then after a time: ‘There’s somebody else.’ Winnie protested, ‘No, Ethel.’

  ‘There is,’ Ethel insisted gently. ‘I know. I can tell from the way he walks out of here some nights, and then he doesn’t come home till late. But he can’t help it. It’s just the way he is. He’s hidden it from me — or thinks he has —because he doesn’t want to hurt me. So don’t blame him. Promise me?’

  Winnie had to agree, ‘I promise.’

  Ethel managed to laugh softly. ‘Promises! It’s like we were two little lasses again. We had some fun in those days, didn’t we?’ And they talked of the old days and old friends, of when they were children playing in the street, until it was time for Winnie to go home and Ethel was exhausted.

  Winnie saw that and said, ‘I’ll come round tomorrow.’ Ethel sighed, ‘Aye. Tomorrow.’

  But there was no tomorrow for Ethel because she died in the early hours of the morning.

  Ursula and Lotte had a day off work for the funeral while Katy and the two boys stayed home from school. They stood around the grave, shivering in the bitter cold. The freshly turned earth, dug only the previous day, was silvered with the frost. Katy saw her father grieving for the first time in her life, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and wiped away on the back of his thick-fingered hand, scarred from a lifetime of fighting. She felt close to him then but it was not to last.

  Some days later, after they had all eaten the tea which Katy had set out, and when they were trying to get back to normal living, Katy asked, ‘Dad, can I have my mam’s brooch, the one she promised me, please?’

  Barney put down his cup and said shortly, ‘Anything your mother left comes to me. I’ll decide who gets what.’

  The others were listening. Ursula, stolid and unimaginative, her dark hair crinkled like that of her father, nodded at Lotte, the other girl who always sided with her father: ‘We should have first choice.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’ Lotte, sallow and plain, agreed as always.

  Katy protested, ‘But Mam said I was to have it, that Aunt Augusta wanted me to have it.’

  Barney declared, ‘Nobody said owt to me. Anyway, what does a young lass like you want with a thing like that? It’s more suited to a grown woman.’

  Ursula put in, with a jealous glance at Katy, ‘You were always a favourite of that old Aunt Augusta.’

  Katy persisted, partly because she liked the brooch. It was of little value, a piece of costume jewellery Aunt Augusta had worn on stage, but it was pretty, with blue and white stones which sparkled in the light. But Katy also wanted it because it was hers by right. ‘It was Mam’s brooch and she said—’

  Barney shouted over her, ‘I’ve told you and I’ve had enough! Now shut up!’

  Katy was chalk white but for two splashes of red colour high on her cheeks. She refused to give in: ‘No, I’ll not! It should be mine! That was the last thing Mam said to me. She said—’

  ‘Never mind what she said!’ Barney kicked back his chair and started round the table towards her. ‘I’ve told you to shut up! You’ve got too much lip — a troublemaker!’ He had his hand lifted for the blow and Katy saw the others either ducking away from him or, like Ursula, waiting eagerly for punishment to be meted out. Katy ran. Barney shouted, ‘Come back! Damn you! Come back!’

  Katy did not. She fled in terror down the passage and out into the street, then wept as she walked around and around the streets. She was bitterly glad she had hidden away the ring her mother had given her. She had, at least, kept that. Fear kept her walking but the cold and lateness of the hour finally drove her home. As she entered, shivering and frightened, anticipating a beating, Ursula gloated, ‘Serves you right. Dad’s got dressed up and gone out. But he sa
id he’d deal with you tomorrow.’

  Ursula was to be disappointed. The next day Barney was in high spirits, grinning as he left for work and when he returned. It was a week later when Katy learned the reason. A letter arrived at the house, in a thick, white envelope addressed to Barney in copperplate. He opened it when he came in from work and nodded with satisfaction. When tea had been eaten he flourished the letter and fixed Katy with a grim stare. ‘You were supposed to have another two or three weeks at school but I’ve seen the headmaster and he’s letting you off that. He thinks you’re bloody marvellous but he hasn’t seen you around here like I have. Anyway, you’ll finish at the end of this week. I’ve got you a position through an aunt on my side of the family, never mind your Aunt Augusta. That’s Jinny Merrick as was. She married that Jim Tucker in North Shields and she’s been dead and buried these last ten years, but before she was wed she was a maid with the Barracloughs. I went up to see them the other night and it turned out they’re wanting a lass.’ He wagged the letter again. ‘Aunt Jinny was well-thought-of by them so they’re taking you on.’

  Katy whispered, ‘But I’ve got a job waiting for me at Mrs Turnbull’s shop.’ That seemed attractive now.

  ‘You can forget that,’ said Barney brutally. ‘I’ve told that Winnie Teasdale and she’s going to take you shopping for a box for your clothes and get you fitted out with black dresses, white caps and aprons. It’s costing me a pretty penny but you’ve been making too much trouble for me so you’re going to work at the Barracloughs’ house. They’ll pay you a pound a month but they’ll send ten shillings to me. Ten bob a month is enough for a lass like you.’