A Liverpool Lass (2 page)

‘Yes, but what is the name?’ Nellie said anxiously. She herself was no foundling, she was Nellie McDowell, only daughter of Dolly and Cedric McDowell, deceased, with three older brothers and two younger ones living with relatives in Coronation Court just off the Scotland Road. Nellie knew that if the baby was known to be a foundling she would have the fact thrown at her head a dozen times a day for many years, but if she had a proper name of her own it would be easier for her to refute any insults and to tell herself that one day someone would come for her.

‘It’s
Larkin
,’ Mrs Ransom said, her brow puckering
afresh as she deciphered the tiny, handstitched letters. ‘That’s an odd sorta name; I just knew it were nicked!’

‘Perhaps that’s her last name,’ Nellie said hopefully. ‘You’ll have to give her a first name, Mrs Ransom.’

Mrs Ransom was sniffing once more at the smooth, expensive plaid. Suddenly she raised her head and nodded portentously, a smile dawning.

‘Lilac!’ she said. ‘It’s lilac, that’s what it is!’

And Nellie, who was no fool, saw her chance and jumped in at once.

‘Oh Mrs Ransom, you are so right – Lilac Larkin! Why, that’s the prettiest name, yet you gorrit straight off! And Mr Hayman’s always sayin’ each lickle child should have an individdel name ... oh, he’ll be tickled with that name! Lilac Larkin! Why, it sounds quite the lady!’

Mrs Ransom, about to explain that it had been the flower scent on the shawl to which she referred and not the child, opened her mouth and shut it again. It was true that Mr Hayman, the main benefactor of the orphan asylum, had impressed upon them the importance of finding each foundling an individual name. He had done it because Mrs Ransom, in an absent-minded moment, had named several of her girls either Ellen or Mary because it was easier to remember, but it annoyed Mr Hayman that there were now such a number of Ellens and Marys amongst the hundred or so girls within these walls. Boy orphans went two streets away, to Hope Street, where the home was run by a married couple, Mr and Mrs Dunn, and apart from glimpses in the street and in church, the children from the two homes seldom met. Despite the fact that the Dunns had charge of the boys, and boys are said to be more difficult than girls, the boys’ home had a better reputation. Mr and Mrs Dunn were strict but fair, they managed better, and what was more the Dunns put more
thought into the naming of boy foundlings than Mrs Ransom did with her girls.

‘Yes, Lilac Larkin will do,’ Mrs Ransom said, therefore. ‘Of course, the child’s mother might repent, come back ... but I doubt it. Not with a fatherless child and a theft on her conscience.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Nellie said, eyes downcast but with unholy satisfaction shining in them nevertheless. Long experience of Mrs Ransom had taught her that the older woman could be handled, if one was careful. She swept the baby, blanket, shawl and all, up in her arms but was arrested by a cry from the matron.

‘Nellie McDowell, just what do you think you’re doing? Put that child down at once and tek the shawl off of it!’

Nellie unwrapped the baby gently and saw the small face begin to prepare for grief once more. Mrs Ransom saw it too and spoke hastily.

‘There, take the child, then, but leave the shawl; it’s too fine for a foundling’s bedcover and besides, it’s still damp. Take it ... her ... to the nursery and find it a corner. I’ll speak to Mr Hayman after church on Sunday.’

Nellie picked up the child again, wrapped this time just in the piece of blanket, and the incipient wail was almost comically checked, as though in this skinny rabbit of a thirteen-year-old girl the baby could already sense an ally.

‘Right, ma’am,’ she said humbly. ‘I’ll heat some milk to quiet her first, shall I?’

‘Milk and water,’ Mrs Ransom said, not harshly this time but hastily nevertheless. ‘Better start as we mean to go on.’

Nellie gave a little bob, the child still clutched to her flat bosom, and left the room. As soon as she was out
of earshot of the matron’s room she addressed the baby lying quietly in the crook of her arm.

‘Well, and aren’t you my pretty, then? You’re my first foundling, for ’twas me who named you, even though old Ranny thinks ’twas herself! Be a good gel for Nellie, Lilac, and you shall have milk, and no water added, not tonight, for you’ve had a hard time of it, you poor crittur.’

The baby sighed and snuggled and Nellie’s heart contracted with pleasure; after her parents’ death she had been brought here because her aunt could only cope with the boys, but how she had missed them, Charlie, Hal, Bertie, Fred and Matt! But Charlie, Hal and Bertie had been big enough to be useful, and Fred and Matt were the twins, just babies. It was only Nellie who, it seemed, was too much trouble, only Nellie who was sent away from the warmth of Scotland Road and the bawdy, hungry life of the court to be brought up amongst strangers.

‘You’ll ’ave a full belly and you’ll get schooling, and they’ll tek you into service because you’ll be trained up right,’ her Auntie Ada had said on that long-ago day when six-year-old Nellie had first been brought to Rodney Street. ‘I know it seems ’ard, queen, but you’ll thank us when you’re growed.’

‘We’ll come and see you, our Nell,’ Charlie, the eldest, had said reassuringly. ‘When we’re workin’ at the docks we’ll come and tek you on outings in the charrybang, and gi’ you jam butties and a toffee stick. We won’t forget our Nellie.’

They came, a time or two, every year. Stiff-faced, adam’s apples bobbing, hair slicked down with water. But Mrs Ransom didn’t let her little girls go out with young fellers, even if the young fellers swore blind they was the little girl’s brothers, and even Charlie and Hal
got sick and tired of sitting in Mrs Ransom’s dark, overcrowded sitting room and trying to find something to say which they wouldn’t mind Mrs Ransom overhearing.

Last time they’d come they had reminded her she would be working herself in a couple of years and then she could come back to the court and see them, and Auntie Ada and the twins.

‘We’ll ’ave a hooley for you,’ Charlie said. ‘Do you ’member when our Mam taught you to sing “Only a bird in a gilded cage”? I’ve gorra mouth organ now, I can play it real well, we could do a nice duet.’

But here she was, skivvying for Mrs Ransom, not due to go into proper service for another couple of years at least and maybe longer, since she did her work well and never complained. The twins would be big boys now, getting on for eight years old, and the others were young men.

Nellie reached the kitchen door and swung it open. It was dark and cold and Nellie knew that when she lit the gas blackbeetles would leg it for the darkest corner and would scrunch beneath her cold bare feet if she wasn’t careful. The room smelt of gas, the coke-burning range, stale food and old meals. She had to lie Lilac down whilst she lit the gas, but when the light slowly bloomed she looked round almost with contentment. She had someone of her own, now, to love! They had taken her away from the lads, stolen her home – which had only been one room when all was said and done, but what a deal of laughter and love had dwelled there – and given her into slavery with Mrs Ransom. But now she had little Lilac and no one would take her away. Not likely!

‘Nellie loves you, Lilac,’ the girl murmured as she poured milk into a pan and set it on the stove to warm.
‘Nellie’ll look after you, don’t you fret. Oh, you’ll be quite the little lady, Lilac Larkin!’

Nellie and baby Lilac became all but inseparable as time went on. Lilac was not claimed and everyone at the Culler, even the nursery staff, were too busy to object when the little maid of all work found time, energy and love for the new foundling.

Nellie even took the baby to church with her, though the rule was that only children over five should attend the services. Smaller children grew bored and fidgeted, wailed or even talked, to the despair of accompanying staff. But Nellie seemed able to keep Lilac quiet and content just by holding her, so on Christmas Day, when the service was brightened by the giving of small gifts from other parishioners to the inhabitants of the Culler, Nellie was allowed to take her place, with the baby in her arms, along with the other twelve- to fifteen-year-olds attending morning service. Churchgoing children were split up according to age into two groups, and they went either to morning or evening service, following a rota kept by Miss Hicks, one of the least popular members of the teaching staff.

So on this particular Christmas morning, Nellie set off with the others. She wore a tickly brown dress, too short in the skirt and too long in the sleeves, a white calico pinafore, a brown cloak and a big brown felt hat which came so low over her eyes that she had to tilt her head to see under the brim. Clothing at the Culler was a communal business: you were given, fresh from the laundry, a dress which approximately fitted you but not the one you had handed in for washing the previous month, and hats and cloaks, though supposedly
one’s own, were also treated in a cavalier fashion and simply seized by anyone wishing to go out.

But baby Lilac wore a soft, much washed cream-coloured woollen shawl and a long gown which was almost new and smelt sweetly of soap, and she snuggled happily against Nellie’s scratchy cloak and slept deeply, her cheeks a healthy rosy pink, her big blue eyes demurely closed.

Because it was Christmas the church was packed, but the Culler pews were reserved, girls to the left, boys to the right. Bitter experience had told Nellie that the Culler boys were best avoided; full of mischief, said people who liked them, whilst those less charitable – particularly those who lived near the Dunns’ establishment – called them Dunn’s devils and worse.

However, she had no choice on this occasion but to sit on the end of a row, since Miss Hicks had bidden her to do so, adding, in a hissing undertone, that should Lilac start to cry Nellie must take her out at once, whether it was before or after the distribution of the Christmas boxes.

But Lilac was good, though she woke up when the singing started. She was probably woken less by the carols, Nellie thought indignantly, than by the efforts of Mr Dunn’s devils. They certainly were not a musical crew; voices which were totally flat, others which creaked and soared unevenly, others still which roared in the bass, made the noise from their pews hideous and Nellie suspected that they were doing their best to ruin the service for everyone else. She didn’t blame them for that, particularly, but she did hope they wouldn’t make Lilac squall, for though the baby was good, and Nellie had thoughtfully provided herself with a bottle of sweetened water which she had stuck into the pocket of her pinafore, there was always the
chance that strange and discordant sounds might upset the child.

But Lilac just lay in Nellie’s arms blinking her big eyes and moving her mouth occasionally in a reminiscent sort of way, as though she was savouring, in memory, her breakfast milk. And they got through four carols, three lessons, a couple of psalms and were settling down for the sermon before the accident – if it was an accident – happened.

The boys were quiet, apart from scraping the floor-tiles with their boots, coughing, whispering sibilantly one to another and occasionally sighing or giving a stifled snort. And then, out of the blue, there was a brief scuffle from the pew opposite Nellie’s and a large glass olly rolled slowly across the aisle. It was a prince amongst marbles, streaked with red and blue, a winner which anyone would have been proud to own. It trundled unerringly across and came to rest right by Nellie’s boot.

And behind the marble came a boy, one of Dunn’s devils, and behind him, bent on destruction, came Miss Hicks, who must have seen the marble’s journey from her own pew further back and was determined to make the owner suffer.

Nellie told herself afterwards that she acted instinctively, out of a deep-rooted fellow feeling for another orphan. Lilac appeared to give a convulsive heave and a kick and her shawl dropped down, right on top of the marble. Just as Miss Hicks reached for the boy’s shoulder, Nellie bent and retrieved the shawl, ignoring the fracas and smiling into Lilac’s small, fair face as she adjusted the garment.

Miss Hicks let go of the boy and gave Nellie a push, trying to see if the marble still lay at her feet. Nellie exaggerated her stagger and her shoulder struck her
next-door-neighbour, who bumped into the girl next to her, creating a domino effect which made the last girl in the pew give a rebellious squeal as she was thrust rudely against the wall.

‘Did you pick up that marble, Nellie McDowell?’ Miss Hicks whispered vengefully, whilst the boy hovered, bending down to see if his property was amongst the girls’ boots and the church hassocks. ‘If you did ...’

‘Ssshhh,’ hissed the congregation, including some of the bolder orphans, and Miss Hicks grabbed once more at the boy’s shoulder, giving him a hard shake as she did so.

‘Stand up this minute, you wicked boy, and ...’

The boy obeyed with startling suddenness so that his head struck Miss Hicks in her thin chest. She gasped and stepped back, and Nellie caught the boy’s bright, dark eye. A wordless message passed between them: Do you have it? Yes, I do. Then the dark eye flickered into a wink, a grin tilted the corners of his mouth so briefly that no one but Nellie could have seen, then the boy dropped his gaze and spoke, not to Nellie but to the teacher.

‘Sorry, Miss. I was only lookin’ for me olly, like. It’s gone, anyroad.’

‘Ssshhh!’

The boy turned to go back to his own pew and Miss Hicks, with a furious glare at the people who were shushing her, turned back too and marched noisily across to her own place. She sat down and Nellie tried to concentrate on the sermon whilst still wondering what her present from the congregation was to be.

When the sermon was done the presents were given out and proved to be a small bar of Fry’s chocolate for each child. Nellie’s mouth watered for the rest of the service but she knew better than to try to sample the
treat. Nothing would give Miss Hicks more pleasure than confiscating the chocolate. So Nellie bided her time and at last the service was over and the orphans began to spill into the aisle, boys and girls together for once in an undisciplined crush.