POOR MARY

1907

 

“Mary, get a move on, I’m off t’mill. Get the boys to school then set about your jobs,” mam shouted up the bare wooden stairs.

Groaning, I got out of the bed that I shared with my two younger sisters and crossed the draughty landing to a tiny bedroom, no bigger than a cupboard, to wake my brothers, who were curled up together in a small, homemade bed.

“Come on sleepyheads, time for school,” I whispered, gently shaking the sleeping pair.

Down in the small kitchen, I was pleased to find some tea still remained in the cracked pot and poured on more hot water, breathing new life into the well-used tea leaves. The milk jug on the slab had enough for just a splash each, to accompany our slice of drip bread… and this was a good day! At least the boys would get food of some sort at school; I no longer had to trail out to get them at midday, which was a great help.

Once I’d left them to their three R’s I rushed back to find Annie and Sally still asleep; I didn’t like leaving them alone, but the rain was coming down like stair rods and I’m a lot quicker without them clutching at my skirt. Glancing around I was pleased to see that the fire had survived the night. Kneeling, I fed it just enough coal to last a couple of hours. I’d check it again later; there’d be hell to pay if I let it die out.

Running out into the back yard through the rain, I entered the wash house that we shared with the others in the yard, today it was our turn. It took an age to fill up the copper tub, carrying buckets of cold water from the old stone sink in the corner, but eventually it was full enough to light the fire. Thankfully, the boys had chopped plenty wood for the task. The bucket of soiled linens that had spent the night soaking were the first load in, once the water was hot enough. At least the rain had stopped, but it’s still wasn’t hanging out weather yet.

Seven-year-old Annie appeared at the wash house door in bare feet.

“What are you doing out here child? Go back to your sister,” I snapped.

Her innocent face failed to hide her feelings and I felt mean for being so sharp, but she needed to learn, no place in this world for emotions. She would have to toughen up, and soon. I wouldn’t be there for much longer, then she would be head cook and bottle washer, while her mother worked her tired fingers to the bone. This summer I would be fourteen and fortunate to have a place as a scullery maid up at the big house, mam said if I minded me P’s n Q’s and kept my nose tidy, I’d soon climb the ranks. I couldn’t wait to escape from this life but feared for my sister’s future.

Annie and Sally were sitting in front of the fire with the now cold tea and drip bread; my next job was changing the beds. Swapping the top sheet to the bottom, removing pillowcases, and remaking the beds, it took a took a while. Annie helped while Sally watched and learned. With the wash day rotation well underway, I spent most of the afternoon rinsing and wringing then hanging as much as possible on the creel and clothes horse; one day some clever person would invent a machine to do all of this! Short of time, I put some turnip and spuds in with the mutton bones left from Sunday, before going back to get the boys.

Returning to the warmth of the kitchen I put the pan on the range to simmer. Mam ‘n’ dad would be home at six and expected to walk into a hot meal; it should be ready by then. And, there was enough baking left in’t tin to keep the little ones quiet ‘till supper. I couldn’t waste the hot water; floors and stairs to scrub next, and it was my turn to do the back yard.

Ten past six and they arrived, regular as clockwork.

“Summat smells good lass,” dad shouted as he hung his grimy overcoat and moth-eaten cloth cap on the back of the door.

“Good lass,” mam whispered quietly, as she touched each of her children briefly in turn on the top of their heads.

After supper, dad sat in his worn armchair and unfolded his newspaper whilst lighting up a woodbine; it wasn’t long before the usual coughing fit ensued, followed by mum sighing.

“It’s time you packed ‘em in Edwin.”

All very predictable, same again tomorrow, except it was ironing and mending day!

The rest of the week followed its usual pattern, just like night follows day; get the boys to school, do the chores, teach my sisters, and make supper. Sunday being my only respite, I still needed to get my siblings to Sunday School but I was free from the burden of chores; mam cooked Sunday dinner when we got back from church, while dad went down for a pint or two, then spent the afternoon snoring in his chair in front of the fire.

Tuesday of the following week however, was different, very different. When I got back from taking the boys to school, dad was sat in his chair, choking on a woodbine. Shocked I looked at him.

“What are you doing here dad? Is summat wrong?” I asked, alarmed.

Standing, he wobbled a little, obviously unsteady on his feet, then lurched towards me. That was when I smelled the booze on his breath mingled with the stench of his woodbine.

“Wrong! I’ll tell you what’s bloody wrong young lady,” he slurred, grabbing me by the wrists, his hands still black from shovelling coal at the railway yard. “You’ve let the bloody fire go out. Perhaps it’s just as well seeing as I’ve been laid off and won’t be able to get any more knock-off coal!”

“Shush dad, you’ll wake the girls and there’s not much left for their breakfast, best they stay where they are as long as possible. ‘Ere, let me help you to bed,” I said, guiding him carefully to the bottom of the steep stairs.

With him safely in his gloomy bedroom, I turned to leave.

“Get thi’sen ‘ere girl!” he growled as he removed his belt.

Not understanding quite why I deserved a hiding, I tried to make my escape.

“Not so quickly lass!” he continued, tottering towards me.

He grabbed me by the waist and threw me on the bed and lifted my skirt. Screwing my eyes tight shut, I waited for the familiar sting of his leather belt on the back of my cold, bare legs, but it didn’t come. Instead, I heard the bedsprings groan as he climbed on the bed behind me. What came next was worse, far worse. Trying to contain my sobs I stared at a stain on the wall and waited for it to stop.

The bedroom door closed and I heard him, as he tripped clumsily on the stairs before slamming the front door behind him. Time seemed to stop. How long had I been laid here? Voices from the room next door brought me back to the present; the girls were awake. Trying to make myself decent I stood and made it to the communal, outside toilet before Annie and Sally appeared in the kitchen. As if sensing my distress Annie didn’t speak but set about making a meagre breakfast for her little sister.

The day passed in a blur, most of my chores left undone, Annie did her best to help but asked nothing. Six o clock arrived, the time I’d been dreading, but mam arrived on her own.

Surprised, Annie looked up from the sock she was darning. “Where’s dad?”

Mum peered back at her with tired eyes and sighed. “Don’t fret love, he’s got a job working down t’pit now, so he won’t be home for a while yet. Better save him some supper though.” Looking over to me she continued, “Are you not well Mary? You’ve not done the ironing.”

Sagging with relief that I didn’t have to face him, I managed a weak smile. “No mam, coming down with summat I think.”

Concerned she replied, “Off to bed wi’ you love. I’ll see to things this evening.”

It was two days before I had to endure his company again, acting as though nothing had changed, sat in his chair choking on his woodbine.

Four months later, on what should have been baking day, my scanty belongings were packed in a small cloth bag and a carriage arrived for me. It wasn’t the journey up to the big house to start a new life as a scullery maid, though doubtless that’s what the neighbours had been told. No, the driver was instructed to take me to the infirmary to be incarcerated as ‘feeble-minded’, abandoned by my parents for making up such a wicked story about my hardworking farther.

Bent over on all fours, scrubbing the floor in the bathroom, a gush of water left my body and the searing pains started. I was instructed to clean up the puddle before I was allowed to be excused. Six hours later and it was unbearable, but no one came to check on me and the poor girl in the next bed was wailing and thrashing; alas she got no attention either. Darkness descended, but brought little relief. A doctor eventually arrived, examined me roughly, and told me to push.

The physical pain subsided as I delivered my daughter and sister. They held her up briefly for me to see before they took her away, forever. What would become of her? I prayed that she would have a better life than me.

Poor Emma.

 

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