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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In August 1900, ten-year-old Maddy has made a new friend on the sands of North Bay, Scarborough. The summer stretches out before Maddy and Jessie with ice creams, Pierrot shows and lots of fun to be had. And Maddy is enjoying having someone to show around her home town, relieved that the 'family business', Isaac Moon & Son, Undertakers, has not put Jessie off. While the two girls and the two families get to know each other, trouble lies ahead for Maddy as secrets buried long before she was born return to Scarborough and the present.
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Seitenzahl: 590
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
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A True Love of Mine
MARGARET THORNTON
For my husband, John, once again; with my love and remembering the happy holidays we have enjoyed in Scarborough.
And for my friend, Gladys Royston, who also loves Scarborough. Thanks to Gladys for her information about the work of an undertaker!
Contents
Chapter One
‘Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde,
And the band played on…’
Maddy Moon joined in enthusiastically with the song along with the rest of the audience, although she had no idea who Casey was, or what was meant by a strawberry blonde.
She knew that she, too, had blonde hair; a sort of golden colour which waved a bit and which shone with a reddish tinge when it was newly washed or when it caught the rays of the sun. So maybe that was what the words meant; hair that was golden-red, but not so red as to be called ginger.
Now the girl sitting near her, at the other end of one of the long forms that were provided for the children to sit on, she was a ginger-nut all right. Her hair, done up in two little bunches and tied at the ends with blue ribbon, was bright orange. Maddy wondered if it earned her the name of Carrots, like the boy in her class at school. She had noticed the girl before; she looked nice and friendly, and Maddy guessed she might be about the same age as herself; ten years old. She had the pale skin and hundreds of freckles that went with ginger hair. Suddenly she glanced in Maddy’s direction, as though aware of the other girl’s scrutiny, and Maddy saw that she had bright blue eyes. The girl raised her eyebrows, smiling at her a little curiously. Maddy smiled back, rather uncertainly, and then looked away quickly because she knew she had been staring. Her mother had told her it was rude to stare.
‘…He’d ne’er leave the girl with the strawberry curls,
And the band played on.’
The song came to an end and everyone clapped, and several of the children cheered as the troupe of Pierrots – the six men and three ladies, all dressed alike in white costumes with black pom-poms on their fronts and on their pointed hats – bowed and bowed, waved to the audience, then disappeared through the curtain at the back of the wooden planks that formed their stage, and into the bathing huts which they used as dressing rooms.
Immediately one of the men started to make his way around the spectators, shaking his wooden box, smiling and winking and chatting cheerfully to the children and to the grown-ups – especially the young ladies – in the crowd, encouraging them to part with another copper or two from their purses.
‘Enjoyed the show have you, luv? That’s good; we aim to please…
‘Aye, I’ll be singing for you again after the interval; doing a bit of dancing an’ all and cracking a few jokes…
‘And may I say that is an extremely fetching hat you are wearing this morning, miss…’
Maddy turned her head and saw the young lady who was wearing a straw hat – trimmed with pink ribbons and a big pink rose at the side – blush a little as she smiled back at the Pierrot.
Maddy knew that he was called Pete and that he was known as the ‘bottler’. That was according to her grandfather, Isaac Moon, who knew a good deal about the Pierrot shows, especially those that performed along the east coast, and most particularly the ones in their own town of Scarborough.
‘But he doesn’t carry a bottle, Grandad,’ Maddy had insisted. ‘It’s a wooden box that people put the money in. Why d’you call him the bottler?’
‘Ah, well now, it’s only what I’ve been told,’ Isaac had replied. ‘From what I’ve heard tell, they put all t’ money they collect into a big bottle, like, so that it can’t easily be got at. And then at the end o’ t’ week they smash it and share the money out amongst all t’ members of the troupe. At least that’s what they used to do. Happen they’re a bit more businesslike now. I believe they charge a copper or two more for the folk who sit on t’ deckchairs. Aye, they say a good bottler’s worth his weight in gold – well, copper, I suppose, to be quite honest – to a Pierrot show…’
This particular troupe which performed each day – three times each day, not just once – on Scarborough’s North Bay, was known as ‘Uncle Percy’s Pierrots’, and was a source of great delight to Maddy. She came to watch them at least once each day during the long August holiday from school. Her parents knew that she was safe enough there. It was not far for her to walk down to the beach – or to the promenade if the tide was in – from her home on North Marine Road. Her mother and father were both very busy in the family business and were glad she had something to occupy her mind. They insisted, though, that she went straight home after each performance. On no account was she to speak to anyone that she did not know, or go wandering off into the town, or get involved with the other beach entertainers; the fortune tellers and pedlars of dubious products and remedies, who aimed to make a living on the sands. Most of those, however, plied their trade on the South Bay beach, on the other side of the headland. The North Bay was a good deal quieter.
Maddy dropped her penny into the slot and heard the satisfying clonk and the jingle of coins as Pete shook his box and said, ‘Thank you kindly, miss. We’ve seen you here before, haven’t we?’ She nodded, feeling pleased that he had noticed her.
‘Well, that’s just what we want – satisfied customers.’
She smiled happily to herself. The show was just as good as ever. They had already heard a lot of singing. The Pierrots had sung songs with which all the audience joined in; a lady with a high voice had sung about a garden of roses; and a man with a deep voice had sung a song about the sea. And there had been the man who made you laugh – a comedian, and another man who was called his ‘stooge’, so Grandad said; and a lady with two little white performing dogs. And there was still a lot more to come.
She turned her head at the sound of a voice in her ear. ‘Hello… You don’t mind if I come and sit with you, do you? I’m on my own, and it looks as though you are as well.’
It was the girl with the ginger hair whom Maddy had noticed a few minutes ago, and the day before. ‘No, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Here – I’ll budge up, then you can sit next to me.’ There was plenty of room on the form, especially as the two smaller children who had been sitting next to her had disappeared. Her mother had told her not to talk to strangers, but she was sure that did not mean she hadn’t to speak to a girl of her own age.
‘I’ve seen you here before,’ said the girl. ‘Are you on holiday here, same as me?’
‘No, I live here,’ replied Maddy. ‘Not far away, just over there.’ She gestured towards the ruined castle on the headland. ‘This side of the castle, but lower down; North Marine Road, that’s where I live.’
‘Gosh, aren’t you lucky?’ said the girl. ‘Living at the seaside all the time. I wish I did.’
Maddy shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘I s’pose it’s all right living here. I’ve never really thought about it. I only come down to the beach during the school holidays, to watch the Pierrots. I love the Pierrots, don’t you? The rest of the time I ’spect it’s the same as living anywhere else. Where do you live then?’
‘York,’ said the girl. ‘It’s the capital city of Yorkshire.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ said Maddy. ‘We learnt that at school, but I’ve never been there. How did you get here then? On the train?’
‘Yes, we came last Saturday; my mother and me and my brother, and the twins. They’re four years old, our Tommy and Matilda – Tilly, we call her. But my father is staying in York. He works at a bank in the city, so he’ll just be coming to see us at weekends. At least he might… He said he would see.’
‘You mean…you’re staying here for a long time?’ Maddy knew that most of the visitors to the town stayed for only a week or so, at one of the various boarding houses. Unless they were very rich, of course, and stayed at the Grand or the Crown, or one of the other posh hotels on the South Bay.
‘Well, we’re staying for a few weeks – all of August. We’ll go back in time for Samuel and me to start school again. We rent a house for the season; we come every year. We’re staying on Blenheim Terrace this time, leading up to the castle. You can just about see it from here.’
‘You’re only just round the corner from where I live then,’ said Maddy excitedly. ‘Oh, isn’t that great? We’ll be able to come down together to see the shows. Oh…’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘D’you know, you haven’t even told me your name, and I haven’t told you mine. Aren’t we silly?’
‘I’m Jessie,’ said the ginger-haired girl. She grinned and held out her hand. ‘How do you do?’ she said, in a pseudo-refined voice. ‘That’s what my mother has told me to say when I meet somebody I don’t know. I’m called Jessica, really,’ she said in a more normal voice, ‘Jessica Barraclough, but everybody calls me Jessie.’
Maddy laughed. She knew she would like this girl; she was good fun. She, too held out her hand, and they shook hands, just like two grown-up ladies. ‘And I’m Maddy,’ she said. ‘Madeleine Moon, really, but they just call me Maddy.’
They discovered that they had been born within a few days of one another, in the month of June, 1890, and now, in the first week of August, 1900, they were both ten years old.
There was no time to talk any more because the second half of the show was about to start. The Pierrots were coming out from their bathing huts, one on each side of the stage.
‘Here we are again, happy as can be…’ they sang as they ran on to the stage. Maddy and Jessie grinned at one another, then settled down to watch the second half of the performance.
The man called Pete, the ‘bottler’, sang and danced a bit, as he had said he would do; then he told a few jokes assisted by his ‘stooge’, another of the Pierrots who was pretending to be stupid, although Maddy didn’t think he was anything of the sort really.
‘Who was that lady I saw you with last night?’ asked the stooge, in a daft sort of voice.
‘That was no lady – that was my wife!’ retorted Pete, followed by a quick rat-tat on the tambourine from a man at the side of the stage. That was to make the audience realise it was a joke and that they were supposed to laugh, thought Maddy. They all laughed obediently, although they had heard the same joke many times before, and Maddy joined in with them. She didn’t really understand it; why was his wife not a lady? she wondered. But she was enjoying the show more than ever today because she had somebody with her to join in the fun.
The lady with the high voice who had sung about the garden of roses came on again, this time carrying a huge teddy bear, and she sang a song about how much she loved him. Two men performed a tap dance, all the while grinning broadly at the audience, their feet darting back and forth and in and out, making a loud clattering sound on the wooden boards.
There was a funny sketch with two men who both wanted to win the affection of a young lady. They changed out of their Pierrot costumes for this, the men appearing as quite the dandies in their striped blazers and straw boaters, and the lady, in a bright pink dress with a large hat made of feathers, obviously enjoying the flirtation and having both the men ‘dangling on a piece of string’, as Maddy had heard her mother say.
All too soon the show came to an end and all the Pierrots, including the lady who had played the piano for them, came to the front of the stage and bowed to the audience.
‘That was good, wasn’t it?’ said Maddy, and Jessie agreed that it had been a ‘splendid show’. Maddy had noticed that she used rather grown-up words and that she spoke in quite a posh-sounding sort of voice. She didn’t appear swanky though, or at all stuck-up; but she did not sound like she, Maddy, sounded, or like the rest of the boys and girls in her class at school.
They made their way across the sand and up the wooden steps to the lower promenade, chatting together all the while, then up the steep path which led up to the cliff top and the hotels on Queen’s Parade. The backs of these hotels opened on to North Marine Road, which was where Maddy lived, but her home was on the other side of the road.
‘Will you come again this afternoon?’ asked Jessie.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Maddy. ‘I ’spect I will have a few errands to do for my mother. She’s busy, y’see, working in our shop, or else she’s out helping my dad with his job. So I help her during the school holidays. She doesn’t let me go into town on my own, not yet, just to the shops along our road. Some of my friends have to work really hard when we finish school, ’cause their parents have boarding houses, so I ’spect I’m lucky, really, just running a few errands, and helping to wash up and keep my room tidy. I’ll probably go to the show tomorrow, though. Will you?’
‘I would like to,’ replied Jessie. ‘It all depends on what the rest of the family are doing. My brother likes fishing; that’s where he’s gone this morning, down to the harbour. It’s all he ever thinks about when we’re here, when he’s not reading his books, that is. I should think the twins might like watching the Pierrots though – they were too little last year – but if they get restless my mother could take them away to play on the beach.’
‘Is your brother older than you then?’ asked Maddy. ‘I s’pose he must be, if he’s allowed to go fishing on his own.’
‘Yes; Samuel’s fourteen, four years older than me.’
‘But… I thought you said he was still at school?’ said Maddy, a little perplexed. All the boys she knew had left school at thirteen, fourteen at the very oldest, and were working for their living. Many of them went out in the fishing boats, as did their fathers, or were apprenticed to some trade or other. Her own brother, Patrick, who also was fourteen, had left school the previous year and was now an apprentice in the family business.
‘Yes, he is still at school,’ replied Jessie, in answer to Maddy’s query. ‘Samuel and I both go to private schools in York. Mine is just for girls, and Sam’s is just for boys. We will both be staying there until we’re sixteen at least. My father would like Samuel to get a position in the bank, like he has.’
‘Oh, I see…’ said Maddy. ‘My school’s over there, near the Market Hall. But there’s lads in my class as well as girls.’ She waved her arm vaguely to the left. ‘My brother went there as well, and my mam and dad, ages ago. But Patrick, that’s me brother, left last year – we all leave when we’re thirteen or so – and now he’s working with me dad, learning to…well, to do what our dad does.’
‘You said you have a shop, didn’t you?’ said Jessie. ‘What sort is it? Do you sell sweets and tobacco and newspapers?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘When I was a very little girl I used to say that I wanted to be a sweet shop lady.’ She laughed, a merry sort of giggle. ‘But I’ve grown out of that idea now. I think I would like to work in a really elegant dress shop.’ Maddy would have said ‘posh’, not elegant. ‘But my mother wants me to go to a college where they teach shorthand and typing, then I could be a private secretary to someone… Go on, you said you would tell me what sort of a shop you have.’
Maddy, in fact, had not said so. She found it difficult to explain to people who did not know just what the family business entailed and what they sold in the shop. ‘Well, I suppose it is a sort of dress shop,’ she said. ‘It’s just round this corner.’
They had reached the top of the cliff path, near to the terrace where Jessie and her family were staying. ‘I tell you what,’ said Maddy, ‘you come with me now, and then you can see for yourself. It’s not very far for you to walk back, is it? Or will your mam be cross with you if you’re late?’
‘No, Mother doesn’t often get cross,’ smiled Jessie. ‘So long as I’m home by half past twelve, in time for lunch.’
They turned the corner into North Marine Road and walked northwards for fifty yards or so. ‘Here it is, this is where I live. That’s…our shop,’ said Maddy, stopping in front of a double-fronted shop with two large plate-glass windows.
Jessie gave a gasp of surprise and stared, open-mouthed, for a few seconds. Then, ‘Goodness gracious!’ she said. ‘How very peculiar…’
Chapter Two
Maddy felt a little annoyed at her new friend’s remark, which she considered rather rude. But when she looked at the windows herself – the windows which she passed by every day without so much as a second glance – she realised that to someone who was not used to such an establishment as this, it might well appear to be a trifle…peculiar.
‘Moon’s Mourning Modes’, proclaimed the sign, in gold writing above the shop, and if anyone was in any doubt as to the meaning of the words, a glance at the windows would tell them. They were filled with black clothing, the right-hand window containing men’s apparel, and the left-hand one clothes for women and children. Suits, waistcoats, overcoats, top hats for the men; silken dresses, cloaks, skirts and jackets, wide-brimmed hats trimmed with feathers for the women, and even a small black dress for a little girl of seven or eight years old and a knickerbocker suit for a boy of a similar age; all in unrelieved black.
But no, not quite. If you looked more closely you could see, here and there, a touch of colour. A mauve ribbon or a purple feather on a hat, a silk blouse with a high stand-up collar in a shade of pearl grey, and a white lace edging on the little girl’s dress.
At the front of the windows, on the floor, were boxes of white handkerchiefs with black edges; notepaper and envelopes, also edged in black; black stockings, gloves, muffs, fur stoles, beads and brooches made from jet… Everything, in fact, that you might require when a death occurred in the family, to see you through the funeral and during the – often extensive – period of mourning.
Jessie glanced uncertainly at her companion and gave a sheepish grin. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t a very polite thing to say, was it? But it gave me quite a shock, seeing all that black stuff. They’re clothes to wear when somebody dies, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ replied Maddy. ‘That’s what “mourning” means.’ She pointed to the sign. ‘My dad told me that it means…well…showing how sorry you are when somebody has died.’ She nodded knowingly. ‘And you wear black as a sign of respect. I’ve got used to it, ’cause I’ve always lived here, and I remember my mam and dad opening the shop when I was…ooh, about five, I think.’
‘Oh… I see,’ said Jessie. ‘And where did you live before that?’
‘I’ve just said; I’ve always lived here, ever since I was born. But before we had the shop we just had the undertaking business. My dad’s an undertaker, you see, and my grandad an’ all – he lives here with us. Well, it was his business really, and his “father before him”.’ She laughed. ‘He’s always saying that, me grandad.’
Jessie was looking quite startled. ‘You mean your father…makes coffins? That’s what undertakers do, isn’t it? And that he goes round to see…dead people?’
‘Sometimes he does, yes, and my mam as well, she goes with him. He has to measure the body, you see, so that he can make the coffin the right size.’
‘Oh, stop it! Stop it! You’re giving me the creeps,’ cried Jessie. ‘You don’t…you don’t have to see dead bodies, do you? I’ve never ever seen anybody that was dead…’ She was staring anxiously at Maddy, her blue eyes wide with alarm.
‘Of course I don’t,’ said Maddy. ‘They don’t bring them here. My dad takes the coffin round to the person’s home, the day before the funeral. I did see my grandma, though, when she died two years ago. Dad said he thought I was old enough to understand. I didn’t think it looked like me grandma though… I told you, didn’t I, that my brother, our Patrick, he’s learning to be an undertaker as well.’
‘You told me he was going into the family business,’ replied Jessie, ‘but I didn’t know then what it was. Doesn’t he mind? Wouldn’t he rather do something more…more cheerful?’
‘I don’t think so. He seems quite happy about it all. If he’s not, then he doesn’t tell me. Patrick’s always laughing and joking. That’s what he’s like, and my dad, too; he’s very jolly and friendly. You can come in and meet them if you like. They’ll be working round at the back, I expect.’
‘Making coffins?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Probably.’
‘No, I… I don’t think so,’ said Jessie, a little hesitantly. ‘I won’t come and meet them right now. Some other time perhaps. I’ll have to go now, or else my mother might be wondering where I am. It’s been very nice meeting you, Maddy, and I hope we’ll be able to see one another again.’
‘’Course we will,’ said Maddy. ‘Why shouldn’t we? It’s not frightened you, has it, all that stuff I’ve been saying about coffins an’ all that? I didn’t mean to scare you. And I’d really like us to be friends…wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes…yes, I would.’ Jessie nodded. ‘I really would. I was being a bit silly. You can’t help what your father does for a living, can you? I mean…it’s a very important job, isn’t it?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Shall we meet on the beach then, tomorrow morning, to watch the show again? My mother and my little brother and sister might be with me, but you don’t mind, do you? I would like you to meet them.’
‘’Course I don’t mind. If the tide’s in, though, they’ll have the show up on the promenade. They have to watch the tides, but I think it’s all right for the rest of this week, in the mornings anyway… See you tomorrow then, Jessie. And I’m really glad you came to talk to me.’
‘So am I,’ said her new friend. ‘Goodbye then, Maddy, till tomorrow.’
‘Ta-ra,’ said Maddy, giving a cheery wave as she opened the shop door and went inside.
The bell gave a jingle as she pressed down the latch, not a jolly tinkling sound, though, such as you might hear on entering a sweet shop or a toy shop, but a more sombre tonking tone, as befitted the funereal establishment. Not that the emporium – which was a posh name for a big shop, her mother had told her – was at all gloomy inside. It was well lit with electric light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. William Moon had insisted on having electricity installed when the shop was opened, although their living quarters upstairs were still lit by gaslight.
The length of carpeting on which the clients walked on entering the shop had a deep pile and was patterned in a swirly design of maroon and black. The flooring consisted of highly polished wooden boards and there was a long mahogany counter along the rear of the shop, behind which the assistants stood to complete the purchases.
There was a comfortable plush sofa, also maroon, on which customers could take their ease, and discreet cubicles on either side of the shop behind maroon velvet curtains, one for gentlemen clients and two for ladies. There they could discuss their requirements in private with the sales assistants, and try on their choices from the myriad items of clothing in stock.
There were several racks holding the suits of black and charcoal grey and the ladies’ dresses, costumes and blouses, not only black ones but others in shades of grey, purple, violet and mauve, which were suitable to wear when the first period of mourning – usually lasting for several months – had come to an end.
A few of the most elaborate hats – wide-brimmed creations fashioned from velvet or straw and lavishly adorned with sweeping ostrich feathers, or more discreet toques of swathed silk trimmed with ribbons and flowers – were displayed on stands, but most of them, and the top hats for the men, were kept in round hat-boxes on the high shelves.
Maddy’s mother, Clara, assisted in the shop when she was not helping her husband with his other duties. Bella Randall, a family friend – or so Maddy’s mother said – worked there too, and they had recently acquired a new assistant, a fifteen-year-old girl called Polly who was still undergoing her training. To cater for the gentlemen’s needs there was an able young man in his early twenties, Martin Sadler, who had been employed at the shop ever since it opened.
Clara Moon was, virtually, the manageress of the shop, but it often seemed to Maddy – and to others as well – that it was Bella Randall who was really in charge. It was true that she sometimes had to take over and hold the reins in Clara’s absence, but at other times, too, she loved to make her presence felt and to strut about as though she owned the place. At least, that was Maddy’s opinion, although she had to admit – to herself, if not openly to her mother and father – that she might be somewhat biased because she did not like Bella at all. And she knew that the dislike was mutual.
On entering the shop Maddy realised, too late, that her mother was not there, but the other assistants were. Polly was serving a lady at the end of the counter with a pair of black gloves, and Martin, at the other end, was placing a top hat in a box for a gentleman customer. And Bella was standing in the centre on the carpeted area as though she was the Queen Bee.
‘Madeleine,’ she began as soon as Maddy stepped over the threshold, her forehead creasing in a frown and her black eyes glowering at the girl, ‘how many times have you been told that you must not come in through the shop, especially when you have been down to the beach. Look at you now, treading sand all over the place!’
Maddy looked pointedly down at her feet and at the carpet. There was not a grain of sand to be seen, but she knew better than to argue. ‘Sorry,’ she said, but not very graciously. ‘I forgot.’
It was true that she was supposed to go round the back, by the workshop, and enter the premises through the back door. But it was a ruling that was made to be broken and neither her mother or her father minded too much if she did not always keep to it. It was only Bella who kept harping on about it. Maddy was supposed to call her Aunty Bella, but she usually got away with calling her nothing at all.
‘I was looking for my mam,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell her something. Where is she?’
Bella sighed. ‘Where else would she be at this time of the day but getting your dinner ready?’ she snapped. ‘Off you go now, quick sharp, out of the shop. We have work to do down here.’
Well, I’m not stopping you! Maddy was tempted to reply. Bella certainly didn’t look as though she was exactly run off her feet, standing there like ‘cock of the midden’. That was an expression she had heard her grandad, Isaac, use about Bella. He didn’t seem to like the woman any more than she did, but that was their secret, hers and her grandad’s. She was annoyed now that Bella should have reprimanded her in front of the other shop assistants, and customers as well. Her mam and dad would never do that, and Bella, too, was more careful what she said to the little girl when either of her parents were around.
Maddy went through the door at the back of the shop, into the kitchen-cum-stockroom where the assistants could sit for a few minutes’ respite if they were not too busy, or make a cup of tea or eat their lunchtime sandwiches if they wished. Then she went through the door which led to the spacious living quarters of the Moon family.
Her mother was busy in the kitchen and she looked up from the stove as Maddy entered the room. Her face was red from the heat of the oven and she pushed back a lock of hair, almost the same golden shade as Maddy’s, as she smiled at her daughter. ‘Hello there, love. Have you had a nice morning?’
‘Yes, it was lovely, Mam, an’ I’ve got such a lot to tell you. I met a girl down there watching the show. I know you said I shouldn’t speak to strangers, but she’s a nice respectable girl – quite posh she is, really – and she’s called Jessie. She’s ten like me, and—’
‘It all sounds very exciting,’ said Clara, continuing to smile fondly at her. ‘You must tell me all about it later. But now…do you think you could lay the table for me? I’ve just been checking on the hotpot and I think it’s nearly done. And then you can go and tell your dad and grandad and Patrick that we’re ready.’
‘Yes, ’course I will,’ said Maddy. She sniffed appreciatively. ‘It smells good. Is it lamb chops in it then?’
‘Yes, proper Lancashire hotpot,’ laughed Clara. ‘I know we’re Yorkshire folk, all of us, but there’s some things they do in Lancashire that aren’t so bad, and their hotpot’s one of ’em.’
Maddy opened a cupboard drawer and took out a blue-and-white checked cloth and the ordinary cutlery which they used when they dined in the kitchen. They ate at the large pine table which stood in the centre of the room and was used at other times for baking and pastry making and bottling of pickles and preserves. On Saturdays and Sundays and on special occasions they dined in the dining-cum-living room, from the mahogany table, using the best silver cutlery, a white damask cloth and rose-patterned china cups and saucers. But it was blue and white earthenware for every day and the large plates were already warming on the plate rack over the gas stove.
‘Wash your hands first,’ her mother reminded her, so Maddy swilled them under the kitchen tap at the stone sink and wiped them on a striped towel, instead of going into the bathroom.
‘There, that’s all done,’ she said, a few minutes later, looking at the five places she had laid with the wooden table mats, knives, forks and spoons, blue and white table napkins, and the glass salt and pepper shakers in the middle.
‘Just get the pickled onions and beetroot out of the larder,’ her mother told her, ‘and the red cabbage an’ all. Your grandad’s partial to a bit of red cabbage. Then I think we’re all done and dusted… Thank you, luv; you’re a good help to me. Now, off you pop and tell the menfolk as we’re ready.’
Chapter Three
There were five of them, all the members of the Moon family, seated round the table. Isaac was at the head where he always sat, as William and Clara still deferred to him as head of the household. William and Patrick sat at one of the long sides and Clara and Maddy at the other.
‘We’ll just say grace, shall we?’ said Isaac, as he did at the start of every formal meal; and they all dutifully bowed their heads.
‘For what we are about to receive, may the good Lord make us truly thankful,’ said Isaac.
‘Amen,’ they all said.
‘Right then, Clara lass,’ said Isaac, in a much more jovial voice. ‘Let’s make a start of us dinner. Me stomach’s beginning to think me throat’s cut.’
The saying of grace was a ritual in their household, something that Isaac had been brought up with and with which he felt it was his duty to continue, more out of habit than anything else. He could not say that he was an overly religious sort of fellow, although he still, more often than not, attended the morning service each Sunday at the Methodist chapel on Queen Street.
His father, Joshua, had insisted that all the family – his wife, Abigail, and their five children – should attend chapel. Joshua had been a strict adherent to the principles and practices of Methodism, as preached by John Wesley. Indeed, his own father, Amos – Isaac’s grandfather – was said to have heard the great man himself preach on several occasions. John Wesley had been a frequent visitor to Scarborough between 1770 and 1790, preaching at the chapel on Church Street Stairs, leading down to the harbour, which the local Methodists had built as their first meeting place.
Joshua’s God, and that of Amos, his father, had been a harsh disciplinarian sort of figure. The young Isaac had felt the weight of his father’s hand, and of his broad leather belt, many times whilst he was growing up, for quite minor misdemeanours; none of the five children had dared to step too far out of line. Joshua had mellowed, however, as he grew older, and when he started his own undertaking business in the middle years of Queen Victoria’s reign, it had been Isaac, the youngest son, who had learnt the trade along with him. The other brothers and sisters by that time had broken away from their father’s harsh regime.
Isaac had been determined, were he to be blessed with a family, that he would be a kind and loving father, strict when it was necessary, but understanding as well. He and his beloved wife, Hannah, however, had been granted only the one son, William. When Hannah had died two years ago Isaac had felt as though the light had gone out of his life. But William was a good son – he couldn’t wish for a better one – and he had found consolation in his grandchildren, Patrick and Maddy, and his dear daughter-in-law, Clara. Now she was a grand lass if ever there was one.
He had been pleased to see William adopting the same affectionate tolerance to his own children as he, Isaac, had always tried to show. And William had the same easy acceptance of his faith in God as well.
It was difficult to understand sometimes, though, why God should act in the way He did; allowing little children to die, or cutting off a young man in his prime, when he had a brilliant future ahead of him. They came across many such instances in their day-to-day work, and were unable to offer any explanation to the often shocked and anguished relatives. But that was not really their place; it was their task just to show sympathy and compassion and to take care of the more practical matters regarding the disposal of the loved one’s earthly body.
Isaac believed it would be impossible to do the job that was his without a belief in God and in the life hereafter. But one must also try to maintain a certain detachment and, perhaps above all, a sense of humour.
That was something that William was not short of, nor his son, Patrick. Isaac watched them now, laughing at something that Maddy had said.
‘Honestly, Maddy,’ Patrick was saying, ‘that joke’s so old it’s sprouting whiskers. Haven’t they come up with any new ones this year, those Pierrots of yours?’
‘’Course they have!’ retorted Maddy. ‘There was one about seagulls. Pete’s stooge says, “Have you noticed how clean and spotless everything is in Scarborough this year?” And then Pete says, “Aye, I have that. They’ve even taught the seagulls to fly upside down.” But I don’t think I really understand that one. I mean, they don’t, do they? Seagulls can’t fly upside down…’
Patrick roared with laughter, banging his spoon on the side of his dish, which earned him a disapproving look from his mother. ‘’Course they can’t, you ninny! That’s why it’s a joke, and not a bad one neither.’
Isaac smiled at Maddy’s perplexed frown. ‘Seagulls drop their mess everywhere, you see, luv. You’ve only to take a walk along Royal Albert Drive and see what a mess they’ve made on t’ cliffs.’
‘And if they flew upside down, then they wouldn’t be able to… Oh yes, I see it now,’ said Maddy.
‘Well, well, well; the penny’s dropped at last!’ said Patrick, grinning at his sister. ‘Give the girl a round of applause, everyone.’
‘And you stop teasing yer sister, young feller-me-lad,’ said Isaac, although he knew there was no malice in the lad’s remarks. The brother and sister were good friends most of the time. ‘She’s just as clever as you any day of the week, is our little Maddy. Go on then, luv; tell us what else they did.’
‘Tap dancing and singing – they’ve got quite a few new songs – and the lady with the performing dogs; that was a new act…’
‘And you were going to tell us about a girl that you met, weren’t you?’ said Clara. ‘Didn’t you say she was called Jessie? Does she go to your school?’
‘Oh no, she’s from York,’ replied Maddy. And whilst they ate their baked apples and custard she told them about how she had met Jessie Barraclough, how well they got along together, and what a nice respectable girl she seemed to be; that, she knew, would mean a great deal to her parents. They were not snobbish by any means, but they were quite fussy about the sort of friends that their children mixed with. ‘She walked back home with me, an’ I’m seeing her again in the morning. She wouldn’t come in with me, though… She seemed a bit – you know – scared, like, when she found out about us being undertakers.’
‘What d’you mean, us?’ quipped Patrick. ‘I didn’t know you were one.’
‘Don’t be silly, Patrick,’ his mother chided. ‘You know perfectly well what your sister means. Yes, people do sometimes think that what we do is rather…odd, but when you’ve been brought up in the business, you get used to it.’
‘You weren’t brought up in it, Mam,’ Patrick observed.
‘No, that’s true,’ said Clara. ‘But I’ve been involved in it ever since I married your father, and it suits me fine.’ She smiled lovingly at her husband and he smiled back at her.
Isaac, watching them, thought, once again, how glad he was that his son had had the sense to settle for Clara and not that other hussy, the one that served in the shop downstairs. The shop would be closed now, of course – between the hours of one and two – and Bella Randall would be having her lunch in the back room, or on a bench on the seafront, like the other two assistants. Isaac knew that she would dearly love to get her feet under their table, but William and Clara had made it clear, obviously to the woman’s displeasure, that she was not to be regarded as a member of the family, but as an employee. Except, of course, on special occasions when she might be included as a family friend.
‘I don’t want your new friend to think that there’s something strange about us,’ Clara was saying now. ‘Would you like to ask Jessie to come and have tea with us one day, then she can see that we are quite normal? What about Wednesday? That’s our half-day closing at the shop, and it will give me time to prepare a specially nice tea and do a bit of baking.’
‘Wednesday; that’s the day after tomorrow,’ said Maddy.
‘Well done, Maddy!’ Patrick clapped his hands loudly. ‘Thank you for that information. We would never have known.’
‘Shut up, you!’ Maddy stuck her tongue out at him.
‘Oh, take no notice of him,’ said Clara, laughing. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea, Maddy?’
‘Yes, thanks ever so much, Mam,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ll ask her tomorrow. And she said her mother would probably be with her as well, so she’ll be able to tell me straight away if she can come. And don’t you go frightening Jessie either, Patrick.’ She turned to her brother. ‘None of your tales about putting pennies on the corpses’ eyes, or trying to get their false teeth in.’
‘As if I would…’ Patrick’s brown eyes opened wide with innocence. ‘No, honestly, Maddy, I won’t. I shall be on my very best behaviour. Is there any of that apple and custard left, Mam?’
Isaac pondered on Clara’s words later that afternoon, as he worked alongside his son and grandson, about how, when you had been brought up in the undertaking business, you became used to it. In the end you thought very little about it, realising that death, in fact, was a part of life; the one inescapable part that everyone, sooner or later, had to face. The making of coffins and the organisation of funerals, for rich and poor alike, was just a job, the same as any other job. Isaac supposed he could understand, however, that some folk might consider it an odd sort of way to earn a living. And he had long become accustomed to quips that he would never be out of work.
At the moment he was keeping a sharp eye on his grandson who had been entrusted with assembling and lining a coffin, for the very first time. And a good job he was making of it too. He had fastened together the various sets – the wooden pieces of differing lengths, already cut to form the shape of the coffin – and now he was engaged in the task of lining the sides with pitch, which would make the box waterproof.
The lad seemed to be taking to his apprenticeship like a duck to water, as the saying went. Just as William, his father, had done, and, before that, Isaac himself. He reflected, though, that he had had little choice in the matter. His father had ruled him with a rod of iron, and so, when Joshua had started up his own business, in the mid-nineteenth century, after working as an undertaker’s assistant for many years, he had insisted that his youngest son should join him in the venture. Isaac, at that time, had been apprenticed to a carpenter, but had soon been released from his tenure.
The business had started off in quite a small way, until Joshua Moon and Son had started to make a name for themselves as a reverent and sympathetic partnership. They were frequently called out to the homes of the poorer townsfolk who, in spite of their shortage of money, had, nevertheless, ensured that their loved one would have a good send-off. The most widespread form of insurance had been that of saving for a funeral payment; indeed, at the start of this new century, it still was. A pauper’s funeral, in a plywood box in an unmarked grave, was to be avoided at all costs.
Most coffins, in those early days, had been black; black wood covered with a black cloth. It was a tradition which had gone on for a long time. Nowadays coffins were also made from elm or oak wood, waxed or highly polished and with brass handles, according to what the family could afford. For children of five years of age and under, though, it was still usual to have a white coffin. There had been a dreadful number of children’s deaths in those early years; stillborn babies, and others who had died from diphtheria, scarlet fever or whooping cough. And, regrettably, there were still too many infant deaths. That was the one thing to which Isaac had never become accustomed and he knew he never would. The sight of a little child laid out in a nest of white satin, no matter how peaceful he or she looked, never failed to bring a tear to his eye.
They had not often been asked to do the laying out of the body in those early days, and even now they were not always requested to do so. There was generally a ‘handywoman’ in the district whose job it was to do the laying out, before the undertaker was called in. This same woman often acted as midwife at the births as well. Nowadays, though, the undertaker usually dealt with every aspect of the death, sometimes not a task for the squeamish or faint-hearted, but Isaac was relieved to see that young Patrick was coping very well with it all. He was a sensible, well-balanced lad who, Isaac was sure, would be pleased to follow in his father’s footsteps. The sign above the workshop now read ‘Isaac Moon and Son’. And one day, no doubt, it would say ‘William Moon and Son’.
Not that Isaac had any intention of departing this earthly life just yet, not if he had anything to do with it. He was very hale and hearty for his almost seventy years and, if God was good, he hoped to continue to be so for many years. He was forcing himself to slow down, though, to a certain extent, leaving the more arduous jobs to his son and grandson because they would, ultimately, inherit the business.
They were in quite a big way now, of course, and Isaac was proud of the manner in which their business had increased. There had been a rapid growth in the social importance of funerals during the last half on the nineteenth century, due to the death of Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, Prince Albert, and the Queen’s subsequent mourning of him. Even now, almost forty years after his death, she still dressed entirely in black, although she sometimes condescended to wear a white lace cap.
The Queen’s interminable grieving for her husband had captured the imagination of the public. It had become customary, following the death of Prince Albert, for a woman who had lost her husband to wear her widow’s weeds for up to two years, and then to replace them with dresses of grey, purple or mauve. Nowadays, however, the strict adherence to periods of mourning had relaxed somewhat, several months being the norm, rather than years. But the shop that William had opened some five years before – his own enterprise – was still doing a good trade.
Isaac well remembered the grand funerals of eminent members of the public in those early years, when he and his father had been only a small and insignificant firm, striving to make their way amidst fierce competition. A town councillor, or a prominent lawyer, for instance, would take his final journey in a glass-sided hearse drawn by four black-plumed horses. At the front of the hearse there was often a man who wore a head-dress of black feathers, walking slowly and stately, flanked by two other men, known as mutes – because of their silence – whose job it was to open the doors. Or sometimes it would be the undertaker walking in front, as it was now with their own firm, wearing a black top hat, frock-tailed black coat, black gloves, and a white handkerchief with a black border in his breast pocket. Young Patrick had taken a turn at leading a funeral procession, but on seeing his sister watching him from the sidelines he had had difficulty in controlling his giggles. But he was gradually learning to behave with the dignity and solemnity due to the occasion.
Now that Isaac Moon and Son were themselves a prestigious partnership, they too were able to conduct funerals in a grand manner, according to the requirements of the family. They now owned their own hearse and two black horses, Jet and Ebony, who were stabled at the rear of the premises; in the early days they had hired the horses. Isaac could see the day when the hearse would be contained in one of those new-fangled horseless carriages, but not, he hoped, in his lifetime.
He had seen many changes, though. He remembered, in his early years as an apprentice undertaker, funerals taking place in the churchyard of St Mary’s, the 800-year-old parish church of Scarborough, on the top of the cliff facing the castle. It had been a stiff climb for the horses up the steep incline of Castle Road. As for the less affluent families, a pony or donkey might pull the coffin on a cart, or four pall-bearers would bear the burden on their shoulders all the way from the home of the deceased.
Now, the graveyard of St Mary’s was full, and funerals took place at the cemetery on Dean Road on the northern outskirts of the town. The ill-fated Anne Brontë had been one of the last persons to be buried in St Mary’s churchyard. She had died whilst on holiday in Scarborough in 1849 and was buried in the annexe to the main graveyard, which had already been full, on the other side of Church Lane.
‘Aye, I can see you’ve made a good job of that, my lad,’ Isaac said now, bringing his wandering thoughts back to the present time and casting a keen eye over his grandson’s efforts. ‘We’ll leave that ’un to dry out…
‘Now, how about trying your hand at lining this ’ere coffin? You’ve watched me and your dad often enough, haven’t you? Cotton wool padding first, then cover it all over wi’ this white satin. It’s quite a costly one, is this. It’s for one o’ t’ local bigwigs, a fellow from Merchants Row, so mind you do your best…’
Chapter Four
Maddy skipped along the path which led down to the lower promenade. She couldn’t wait to get to the beach this morning to meet Jessie again, and probably her family as well. She stopped by the railings, looking out at the wide expanse of golden sand and the bluey-green sea in the distance, with little white waves lapping at the edges like a frill of white lace.
She could see two men assembling the wooden platform which the Pierrots would use; and there was the ‘barrer man’ pushing their piano on a handcart, down the broad slope which led to the beach; her grandad had told her that that was what they called him. There were a few bathing huts drawn up at the edge of the water; nearer to the sea wall there was an ice-cream stall and, further along, the gaily striped box of a Punch and Judy show. It was far enough away from the Pierrots’ stage, so that there would be no distraction between the competing entertainments, although it was unavoidable sometimes to prevent the sound of laughter and singing being carried on the wind.
It was quite early in the morning, but there were already several holidaymakers on the beach, ladies with parasols and men in white flannels, blazers and straw boaters, strolling along by the edge of the sea, and others taking their ease on deckchairs or on rugs spread out on the sand. One or two brave souls were emerging from the bathing huts into the sea. The men and women alike were clad in knee-length bathing drawers and round-necked bodices, and bathing caps which completely covered their hair.
As Maddy stood and surveyed the scene below her she caught sight of a familiar head of bright ginger hair. She had met her only the day before, but surely there could not be another girl with such flaming orange hair as Jessie. Yes, it was Jessie, and there were three other figures with her who must be her mother and her little brother and sister. They were walking in her direction from the stretch of sand below the castle.
Maddy started to wave, but they had not seen her yet. She opened her mouth to shout, ‘Yoo-hoo, Jessie…’, and then she realised that perhaps she shouldn’t. Her mother had told her that it was rather vulgar to shout in the street, and she supposed that went for the sands as well; and Jessie’s mother, Maddy guessed, was a rather posh sort of person who would be sure to disapprove of such uncouth behaviour. She hurried down the nearest set of steps and ran to meet them.
‘Hello, Jessie…’ she began, a little out of breath. ‘I saw you coming from up there.’
‘Hello, Maddy.’ They smiled at one another, but somewhat shyly now after their easy friendship of the day before. Then Jessie remembered her manners, and in a grown-up voice she said, ‘Maddy, this is my mother. Mummy, this is Maddy.’
‘How do you do, my dear?’ said Mrs Barraclough, smiling very charmingly and holding out a white-gloved hand. ‘Jessica has told me all about you.’
‘Has she?’ said Maddy, rather nonplussed. ‘Er…how do you do?’
She was a very pretty lady with ginger hair, but of a darker hue than Jessie’s. It was the colour and sheen of a sleek chestnut horse, and she had bright blue eyes. Maddy thought that her own mother was pretty, but she guessed that Jessie’s mother might be considered beautiful. Her dress was the blue of the sky on a sunny day, and it made her eyes seem even bluer. It had a high white lace collar and lace cuffs, and her straw hat was trimmed with a posy of bright blue cornflowers.
‘This is Tommy, and this is Tilly,’ she said. ‘Say hello to Maddy, you two. She is Jessie’s new friend.’
‘Hello,’ said Tommy, looking at her curiously and rather boldly, with eyes of the same blue as those of his mother and elder sister.
His twin, clearly less confident than her brother, glanced at Maddy shyly from beneath her eyelids. ‘Hello,’ she whispered, then quickly looked away again. Her eyes were grey rather than blue, and she appeared to be altogether a paler version of her bright and exuberant brother. Her hair was a lighter shade of ginger and she was shorter and less sturdily built than Tommy.
Both children were dressed in sailor outfits, which were still very popular. This style of dress for children had come into fashion in the middle years of the last century, when Queen Victoria had had a portrait painted of her eldest son, Bertie – now the notorious Prince of Wales – wearing one. Tommy’s navy jacket had shiny buttons, a large collar with three white stripes and a lanyard, and his knickerbockers fastened at the knee. Tilly’s dress, also navy blue and made from shiny stiff cotton, had white stripes around the wide collar and the hem.
‘Hello. You look very smart, you two,’ said Maddy. She was not really used to smaller children, having no young brothers and sisters of her own, but the boy, at least, looked as though he wanted to be friendly.
‘Mummy bought these special for our holiday,’ said Tommy. ‘They’re for best an’ we haven’t to get them messed up. Mummy says we can go paddling in the sea, p’r’aps another day. Do you go paddling, Maddy?’ he asked, looking at Maddy in her far less elaborate clothing.
Her cotton dress was dark green, a colour which would not show the dirt, with long sleeves and a high neck with a rounded collar. She had noticed that Jessie’s dress was a much paler shade than her own; green also, but a pretty leaf green trimmed with white braid. Both girls, however, were wearing long white socks as a concession to the summer weather. For most of the year, and always for school, Maddy wore black stockings and black button boots, rather than the brown lace-ups she had on today.
‘Yes, I sometimes go paddling,’ she replied in answer to the little boy’s question. ‘Not often though, because my mam says I have to have someone with me when I go in the sea, and she and my dad are usually too busy to come to the beach.’
‘That is very sensible of your mother, dear,’ said Jessie’s mother. ‘The sea can be quite dangerous, even if you are only paddling. It is far safer to keep to the rock pools. But we are not paddling today, are we, Tommy? Don’t you remember? We are going to watch the Pierrot show. Jessie was telling us how much she enjoyed it.’
Tommy nodded. ‘Can Maddy go paddling with us another day? Can you, Maddy?’ He looked at her, his blue eyes alive with curiosity.
‘Yes… I think so. That would be very nice,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have to ask…my mother.’ She had been about to say ‘me mam’, but just a few minutes in the company of this family had made her think that she ought to try and speak nicely, as she knew she could do when she was on her best behaviour.
