The Harbour Girl (17 page)

He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Aw, sorry, Nan, it’s just—’

‘There’s a surprise for you upstairs, Harry.’ Jeannie tried her best to smile and look happy. ‘Nan’s given up her bed for us. We’ve swapped round.’

‘Have you, Nan?’ To Jeannie’s astonishment, he took a step towards his grandmother and planted a kiss on her leathery cheek.

‘Give over,’ Nan said, making a show of rubbing her hand across her face. ‘Daft beggar!’

I don’t understand him, Jeannie thought as she sawed the bread for Harry’s supper. One minute I could hate him, he’s so boorish, and the next he’s so sweet and lovable. Is it the drink that makes him so moody, or the fact that he’s out of work and feels worthless?

She looked up and smiled at him, and after scrutinizing her for a second with a small frown above his nose he smiled back. Perhaps it will be all right, she thought for the umpteenth time. We’ll both have to try harder.

In the larger bed that night he held her close and was more loving than he had been the night before. ‘I’m sorry, Jeannie; my lovely Jeannie. My sweet and bonny lass. I’m glad I married you, an’ I’ll get work, I promise. I’ll keep off ’drink and first thing tomorrow I’ll be off to ’docks.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered back. ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we, Harry? Together we’ll manage. We just have to trust each other and work together to make a home for us and our bairn.’

‘Aye.’ He yawned, and kissed her cheek. ‘That’s it. We will.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BUT HARRY’S ‘FIRST thing’ and Jeannie’s didn’t tally. At eight o’clock she and Nan were ready to go out
on ’road
as Nan put it and Harry was still in bed. Jeannie went up to wake him.

‘Are you going to get up, Harry?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It’s gone eight.’

He turned over in bed. ‘In a minute,’ he muttered, and sighed deeply. ‘I used to sleep in here when I was a bairn.’ He didn’t even open his eyes as he spoke and she knew he would go back to sleep as soon as she left the room.

As she and Nan left the house they saw that Billy had put up the frame in the yard. Nan muttered about folk working on a Sunday, but then added that Billy was a good lad. She led Jeannie out of the terrace and up Walcott Street and on to Hessle Road itself, which even at this early hour was teeming with people, with horses and carts, men pushing wheelbarrows, and packed horse trams.

‘We’ll go to ’butcher’s first,’ Nan said, ‘and let him know who you are.’ She clutched a small black cloth purse in one hand and in the other a cotton shopping bag. ‘And then to ’baker’s for some flour and yeast.’

‘It must be good to bake your own bread.’ Jeannie said. ‘We don’t have a range with an oven like yours; we just have a fire grate with bars in our cottage.’

‘What? Do you have to buy bread?’ Nan tutted.

‘No, Ma makes it once a week and the baker bakes it for us.’ Jeannie smiled as she recalled the mouth-watering smell when she fetched the warm bread from the baker.

‘Ah, well, some folk do that round here, but I wonder how they know they’re getting their own.’

‘Ma used to put our initial on it,’ Jeannie explained, but Nan shook her head as if she didn’t credit that.

They joined a queue of other women at the butcher’s shop and Nan spoke briefly to some of them, but Jeannie got the impression that Nan Carr wasn’t one for social chit-chat or gossip.

When they reached the counter, Nan told the butcher, ‘I’ll have a pound o’ scrag end o’ beef.’

‘No scrag end today, Mrs Carr,’ the butcher said. ‘I’ve none left. Nice bit o’ salt brisket, or how about some belly pork? Very nourishing, very cheap.’ He winked at Jeannie as he spoke. ‘Pigs’ trotters, neck o’ lamb, sheep’s eyes?’

Nan tutted and glared at his humour. ‘I’ll have a rabbit,’ she said. ‘Skin it for me, will you?’ It wasn’t so much a request as a command. ‘This is my grandson’s wife. You’ll have heard he’d got wed.’ She turned her head to the waiting queue of women to include them. ‘She’s from Scarborough. She’ll be doing ’shopping from time to time.’

‘How do, miss – missus,’ the butcher corrected himself. ‘Look forward to doing business wi’ you.’

Jeannie began to speak but Nan interrupted. ‘An’ we’ll expect ’same consideration. She’s one of us now.’

‘Oh aye.’ The butcher finished skinning the rabbit and wrapped it in a newspaper. ‘I allus look after ’locals, you know that, Mrs Carr.’

She paid sixpence for the rabbit and asked for a lump of beef suet, which the butcher gave her; then they went on to the grocer where she bought a stone of flour, two ounces of yeast, and a few slices of boiled ham. After that they called in at the greengrocer for a bunch of carrots and half a stone of potatoes.

‘What you’ve to remember,’ she told Jeannie as they walked back up the road with Jeannie carrying the parcel from the butcher, ‘is that it’s still possible to eat well even if you’ve not much money.’

Well, I know that already, Jeannie thought. We’ve hardly been living a life of luxury in Scarborough; I don’t really know what the word means. But we always ate a lot of fish; there was always plenty of that.

‘Don’t you get fish, Mrs— Nan?’ She found it difficult to call her Nan; maybe it would be easier after the baby was born. ‘We generally had it given, or at least bought it cheap.’

‘Aye, I did, but Harry’s not working, is he, to bring any home. So what groceries I’ve bought today will have to last all week. I’ve onny got my relief money to live on till Harry gets work.’

Jeannie knew how hard that must be. Nan was too old for regular work, although apparently she still mended nets when she could. The relief money, which Jeannie’s mother also received, was handed out to widows and orphans through a fishermen’s benevolent society. She resolved to start asking around for work immediately.

‘Do you know any fishermen who’d bring their nets to me?’ she asked Nan. ‘I’d like to get started right away and work for as long as I can.’

‘I’ll put ’word about,’ Nan said. ‘There’s still a few men work for themselves and not for a company, though they’re few and far between.’

And she was as good as her word. She stopped several times to speak to wives and mothers of fishermen; she told Jeannie that not all of them were able to mend nets, or even expected to earn, as their menfolk didn’t agree with women working, but preferred them to be at home looking after the family.

‘Which is all very well if your man is in work,’ she muttered. ‘Some of us can’t be that choosy.’

Jeannie’s spirits sank lower the nearer they got to the terrace. Would Harry be up? Might he even have gone out as he promised?

But no, neither of those things had happened, she discovered when they entered the house. Harry was still in bed. She went upstairs.

‘Harry, get up,’ she urged. ‘I want you to take me down to the dock. I want you to tell the people you know that I’m available for work. I’m a good net mender. There must be somebody who’ll employ me.’

Harry sat up and swung his bare legs to the floor. He stood up. ‘Are you trying to shame me?’ His voice was loud and angry.

‘No, of course not. I’m good at what I do,’ she retaliated. ‘And somebody has to earn money until you get a ship. Nan can’t keep the three of us and another one to come.’

‘Clear off downstairs whilst I get dressed,’ he shouted. ‘And get me some breakfast.’

She turned away and headed down the stairs. She was shaking; she could almost have imagined that he was angry enough to hit her. This wasn’t how she thought marriage would be.

When Harry had sullenly eaten his breakfast and drunk a mug of tea, and Jeannie had picked at a slice of boiled ham and a piece of bread, he told her to get her shawl and they’d go out.

‘An’ if I meet anybody,’ he warned, ‘don’t speak until I say so. I’ll not have any of my mates thinking I’m under your thumb as soon as we’re wed.’

‘No, Harry,’ she said meekly, though inwardly seething. ‘You do the talking, but don’t forget to tell them how good I am. One of the best braiders in Scarborough, I was.’

‘Mebbe so,’ he muttered. ‘But you’re not in Scarborough now.’

They retraced their steps from the day before, along Hessle Road and back to St Andrew’s Dock, and Harry walked by her side not speaking. They took the route alongside the dock and Jeannie observed the women and girls on the fish quay and thought that after the baby was born she might be able to get a job there; they seemed a friendly lot who waved and shouted to them. Some of them seemed to know Harry and he called back in a familiar manner.

Many of the ships they had seen on the previous day had sailed on the morning tide, but there were still hundreds of various types: the steam trawlers which were replacing smacks; paddle tugs which had been adapted for fishing; steam cutters making ready to accompany the fleet on the following day’s tide. Some of the ships were taking ice on board, for other industries had been spawned by this new dock and ice-making companies had sprung up in the area, as had smoke houses and roperies. Other ships were loading up with crew provisions and empty fish boxes ready for sailing.

Hundreds of people allied to the fishing trade worked on or near this dock: carpenters and coopers, sailmakers and rope-workers. All depended on this industry for their living.

Harry nodded and greeted various acquaintances. He stopped once or twice and told the men that he was showing his wife the fishing craft of Hull.

‘She’s from Scarborough,’ he explained. ‘Doesn’t know Hull.’

They tipped their caps or touched their foreheads and she smiled back, but Harry didn’t introduce her, or mention the net mending. When she reminded him, he told her gruffly that they were mostly dock labourers and not fishermen and that he knew what he was doing.

‘But they might know somebody,’ she pleaded. ‘That’s how word gets around.’

‘Be quiet, will you,’ he said. ‘I’ve telled you I know what I’m about!’

And so she kept quiet, not wishing to antagonize him further and risk his turning back for home.

They came eventually to an area where some vessels were laid up for repairs and Harry hailed one of the men who was watching work being done on a smack. He straightened up and Jeannie saw that he was considerably older than Harry, with a wiry grey beard and keen blue eyes. He wore a navy fisherman’s gansey under his wool jacket and heavy cord breeches.

‘How do, Harry! Haven’t seen you about for a bit.’

Harry nodded towards the vessel. ‘This one o’ yours, Mike?’

‘Aye.’ The man grinned. ‘Mortgaged up to ’neck I am. But she’s a grand lady. We’ve had her modified and fitted her with a ten-horse-power engine. She’s just about ready and we’ll be off ’day after tomorrow.’

‘Have you still got ’
Daisy Belle
?’

‘Aye, but onny a quarter share; I’m not made o’ brass! She’s been refitted as well but wi’ a twenty horse power. We’re trying her out off Flamborough at ’minute.’ He glanced at Jeannie and touched his cap. ‘This your missis? I heard as you’d got wed.’

Harry reached out and drew Jeannie close, keeping his arm round her shoulder. ‘This is Jeannie, Mike. We’ve onny been married a couple o’ days.’

‘How do, Jeannie.’ Mike took off his cap, revealing thick grey hair. ‘Pleased to meet you. Glad to see that Harry’s settling down. How you getting on wi’ Nan? Leading you a dance, is she?’

Jeannie smiled. ‘I’m watching my p’s and q’s,’ she said.

‘Aye, you do that.’ He grinned. ‘She was allus a bit of a tartar but she’s all right when you get to know her.’

‘Mike was a pal o’ my da,’ Harry explained to Jeannie. ‘Mike Gardiner. They were apprenticed at ’same time.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Then on impulse she added, ‘My father was a fisherman. He used to sail out from Scarborough.’

‘Did he?’ Mike folded his arms across his chest again, and then he frowned. ‘Was, you said? Lost was he?’

‘Yes. I don’t really remember him. It was ten years ago. A storm off the Dogger Bank.’

He nodded. ‘We’ve lost a few brave lads in those waters,’ he said. ‘Including Harry’s da.’ He sighed. ‘He was a good mate o’ mine. What you doing now, Harry? Are you wi’ one o’ bigger companies?’

‘Not at ’minute I’m not,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve refused a couple o’ jobs wi’ them and word got round that I was work-shy, which I’m not. But I’d rather be wi’ one of ’smaller owners like yourself, Mike.’

Jeannie was unsure whether what he said was true or not, but Mike was listening sympathetically and nodding his head.

‘If you’re owt like your da, you’ll not be work-shy,’ he said. ‘So what ’you doing for money?’

Harry shrugged. ‘On ’slate,’ he said. ‘Folks know me so they know I’ll pay ’em back.’

Mike grunted and shook his head. ‘Hard though, specially when you’re just wed. I reckon you trusted him enough to tek a chance, eh, Jeannie?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘And I’m looking for work too,’ she added. ‘Just to tide us over. I’m a net mender; one of the best’ – she smiled – ‘though that sounds like boasting.’

‘Ah! I might be able to put some work your way then,’ he said. ‘And Harry, I need a third hand for this smack. It’s a bit lowly for you, I know, but if you’re willing to tek it on for this trip, there might be ’chance o’ summat better later on.’