7,19 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Southampton, 1912. Jessie is made from tough stuff. At just 19, after the death of her father, she opted not to follow her mother back to Ireland, preferring instead to take charge of her own destiny. When Jessie marries an Irishman and takes over the running of the cafe she works in, it seems as though all the pieces are coming together. But when destiny and a pushy local businessman have other ideas, everything she has worked for is taken away, bit by bit. Will she find the strength to keep fighting for the life she wants in the face of personal loss, gang bosses and embezzlement?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 434
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
Ähnliche
The Girl from the Docklands Cafe
JUNE TATE
For my dear friend, Glynis Blackburn. An indomitable lady with a great deal of patience and a wicked sense of humour!
Contents
Chapter One
Southampton, 1912
Jessie McGonigall was a hard woman, everybody said so. She did indeed have attitude; you only had to see her walk down the street to notice her with her vibrant red hair, her tall stature and the way she strode out with such confidence – her long skirt swishing, her shawl draped around her shoulders. Don’t mess with me was the message she gave out without speaking a word!
Her neighbours were careful not to cross her and those who had been foolish enough to do so soon realised that they’d made a serious mistake. Her red hair and Irish heritage was a force to be reckoned with in any altercation, but if she was your friend, she would walk through fire and water to defend you.
Young Daisy Brown would attest to that. She had arrived to take up residence with Bill, her young husband, in one of the council-owned two-up two-down terraced houses earlier that year and had been treated badly by a certain small band of women that Jessie referred to as the ‘Coven of Witches’. There were three of them who spent much of their time causing trouble through their spiteful gossip. They had ganged up against poor Daisy making her life a misery, commenting about her old clothes and the torn but clean net curtains at her window, until one day when Jessie happened upon them where they had cornered Daisy and were berating her. Jessie, infuriated by their cruelty and seeing the girl in tears, interceded.
‘Well, I can see that you bitches have found another victim! Haven’t you anything better to do? You, Emily Coates, would be better spending your time cleaning that shithole of a house. You can smell the filth just walking past the door, and a good wash down yourself wouldn’t come amiss! And you, Iris Jones, you would be a nicer person if you kept off the gin. Your morning hangovers make you bad-tempered and you have to take it out on somebody. And as for you, Betty Barnes, what the hell you’re doing mixing with these two old biddies when you have a mind of your own, I’ll never understand! Well, let me tell you all,’ – she cast a scathing look at them – ‘Daisy here is my friend. You insult her, you insult me. Do I make myself clear?’
No one dared to answer.
‘Good!’ She took Daisy by the arm and walked her away to her own house, opened the door and ushered the girl into the living room.
‘Sit down, love, and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’ She took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to her. ‘Here, dry your eyes. Those bitches aren’t worth the salt in your tears.’
Leaving the girl to recover, Jessie filled the pot of tea when the water had boiled, placed two cups and saucers on the table and, sitting down, poured the tea, added the milk and pushed the sugar bowl over to her visitor.
‘Help yourself.’
Once Daisy seemed settled, Jessie began talking to her, asking her how she came to move to Southampton.
‘Me and Bill, my husband, moved down from the north thinking jobs would be better here,’ she said. ‘He’s now working in the docks if he’s lucky enough to be chosen at the call-on every day, but we don’t have money for new clothes and curtains – well not yet. I try to keep the place clean and feed my hubby when he’s earning – after all, he needs a good meal, working hard as he does when he gets work.’
‘I know what hardship is,’ Jessie told her, ‘and so do those old bitches, but they wallow in it. I can see you’re a cut above them. I’ve a spare pair of nets you can have.’ As Daisy made to argue, she stopped her. ‘Look, love, I don’t use them, so you might as well and I’ve a couple of dresses we could alter. I’m taller than you, but we could shorten them. Are you any good with a needle?’
Daisy beamed. ‘As a matter of fact, I am. I did work as a seamstress before I married.’
‘Perfect!’
Looking across the table at her saviour, Daisy asked, ‘Why are you doing this for me? You don’t know me from Adam.’
Jessie smiled. ‘Because I was young and just-married once and I had to count every penny, and … I wanted to teach those wicked bitches a lesson. They make my blood boil standing there, spewing out their filth instead of doing something useful with their lives.’
With a chuckle, Daisy said, ‘You don’t half have a temper on you when you go!’
Jessie burst out laughing. ‘I’ve got red hair, so I’ve got to live up to it.’
When the girl had left, Jessie poured herself another cup of tea. Times were hard in the docks. The call-on every morning at seven-thirty and again at twelve forty-five was where the dockers who were not in permanent jobs lined up, praying to be chosen to work for as many or as few hours that were required. It was like a cattle market where men would call out to be chosen, pushing others out of the way to be noticed. There was no dignity here, just a desperate need to be one of the lucky ones. Her husband was fortunate to be a stevedore with a permanent position.
Jessie thought back to her hard times. She’d come over from Ireland as a child with her parents, Siobhan and Brin O’Hanneran, but her beloved father had died of consumption when Jessie was nineteen. Her mother, distraught with grief, had returned to Ireland to live with her parents, but Jessie had insisted on staying on alone. She’d rented a room and made her living, cleaning to begin with. It had been lonely during those first months and she’d just made enough money to pay for her room and scrape by on bread and dripping, with the occasional stew made from scrag-end and vegetables, but that had changed when she ended up as a cook at a working man’s cafe from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon. It had been hard work, but she’d enjoyed it. She’d been confident enough by then to keep the male customers at bay and had earned their respect. Then one day, Conor McGonigall had walked in and her life changed.
Jessie walked out of the kitchen carrying three plates of steaming stew and dumplings and, with a smile, placed them in front of her waiting customers.
‘That smells good, Jessie love,’ said one.
‘And so it should be. Didn’t I make it meself?’
At that moment the cafe door opened and a tall, good-looking stranger walked in, glanced quickly around, saw an empty table and sat down.
Jessie walked over to him. ‘There’s beef stew with dumplings or shepherd’s pie,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’
The man looked up at her, his green eyes twinkling. ‘That’s it, nothing else?’
‘This is a workman’s cafe, sunshine. We serve simple food and a simple menu, but the food is good. You want a fancy menu, go to a fancy restaurant!’
He started laughing. ‘I came for a meal, darlin’, not a fight. I’ll have the stew, please.’
She walked back to the kitchen, smiling softly. It was nice to see a new face, especially one that was so easy on the eye, but she bet the new man could be a challenge if he so desired. Well she was very able to handle that. She’d been working in the cafe long enough. Her regulars now knew she was no pushover and took no nonsense from anyone, but she was an excellent cook and popular, and so the business thrived. Her boss realised what an asset she was and made sure she was happy working for him by paying her a decent wage for these times.
Jessie filled the plate with stew, potatoes and cabbage, took it into the dining room and placed it before her new customer.
He picked up the plate, sniffed it and, as he put it down, said, ‘Smells appetising.’
‘That’s because it is. There’s sponge pudding and custard after, if you’ve the notion.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said as he picked up his knife and fork.
Jessie watched him from the kitchen door between serving and was delighted when she saw how he tucked into her food with obvious enjoyment. When he’d finished she went over to the table, removed the now empty plate.
‘Pudding?’ she enquired.
‘Why not?’ he said and grinned broadly. ‘I’d like some tea too, please.’
She took a mug of tea and placed it on the table together with a small bowl of sugar and a plate with the pudding and walked away.
Her boss was at the till a while later when the stranger came to pay. She heard his voice as he handed over the money.
‘Sure, and that’s the best meal I’ve had in a long time. Who cooked it?’
‘Jessie, the young lady who served you,’ he was told.
‘Really?’ the man sounded surprised. ‘I may come back tomorrow.’
‘You’ll not find a better meal elsewhere,’ said her employer. He popped his head round the kitchen door when the stranger had left. ‘Another satisfied customer, Jessie!’
She was pleased with herself and wondered if the man would return the next day.
The new customer did indeed return the following day and sat at a table, waiting. When Jessie walked over, he looked up at her and grinned.
‘Beef stew or shepherd’s pie?’
She looked affronted. ‘Certainly not! Today we have chicken and ham pie or sausage and mash with treacle tart to follow.’
He looked at her with amusement. ‘A veritable feast for the gods. I’ll have the pie to start and tart to follow.’
‘Would you like a mug of tea now or later?’
‘With the tart will be fine, thank you. You have a good memory.’
‘Hardly,’ she said sharply, ‘after all, it was only yesterday you were here.’ She heard him chuckling as she walked back to the kitchen.
When later she served up the treacle tart and tea, the man smiled.
‘Thanks, that pie was lovely, and I believe you’re the lady that cooked it, is that right?’
‘It is.’
‘Ah, but your husband is a lucky man.’
‘I’ve no husband,’ she replied. ‘I’ve yet to find a man who suits me.’
Trying to suppress a smile, he asked, ‘And what kind of man might that be, may I ask?’
‘You may not!’ she retorted with a toss of her head, as she walked away.
The young man became a regular customer during the following weeks. Jessie learnt that his name was Conor and that he, too, was Irish. They exchanged a light, teasing banter every day, which she enjoyed, and she began to wait to see him walk through the door. Although he flirted with her, that was as far as it went. Jessie began to wonder why, because most new customers who were young never failed, eventually, to ask her out. She always refused, but Conor hadn’t done so.
Although the majority of the regular customers worked in the docks, occasionally a passer-by, smelling the appetising aroma, would stop by for a meal. On this particular day a man came in and walked unsteadily to a seat and sat waiting. He reeked of alcohol and loudly demanded a menu.
Jessie walked over to him. ‘There’s no need to shout,’ she said sharply.
He looked up at her and glared.
‘Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, missy.’
The usual chatter stopped and the dining room became silent.
Jessie stood defiantly as she said, ‘If you wish me to serve you, you’ll speak to me with a civil tongue.’
‘I’ll speak to you the way I want to, now what’s on the menu, girl?’
She took a step back. ‘We have nothing in here for you, so I’ll ask you to take your business elsewhere … now!’
He sneered at her. ‘No slip of a girl is going to tell me what to do. I’m staying until I’ve eaten.’
Conor stood up and walked over to the table. Gently putting Jessie aside, he faced the belligerent man.
‘You’ve been asked to leave, so I suggest you do so quietly and without any trouble or I’ll be forced to put you outside meself.’
The drunk staggered to his feet and lifted a fist to strike Conor, who quickly hit him in the stomach and, as the man doubled over in pain, he caught him another blow on the jaw, sending the man flying. Within seconds, two of the dockers came rushing over and, between the three of them, they picked the man up and firmly removed him into the street.
Conor stood over him. ‘Go and sober up before you get into real trouble and end up in the cells.’
The man glared at the small group and, muttering angrily under his breath, staggered away.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Jessie said as they returned, and to Conor she said, ‘That was kind of you. I’m grateful.’
‘Ah, for sure, I couldn’t have him upset my favourite girl now, could I?’ He winked at her and sat down.
Jessie walked back into the kitchen with a bounce in her step. His favourite girl, was she? But when she left at three o’clock she was surprised to see Conor leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d make sure that sot didn’t come back at closing time to trouble you. With that type you never know.’
‘But aren’t you supposed to be at work?’
‘I took a couple of hours off. Now, can I walk you home?’
That had been the beginning of their courtship, and they married a year later and moved into their council house. Conor was earning enough as a stevedore, but thinking of earlier times when the dockers were on strike, the future was uncertain so they were mindful of this and Jessie continued to work. Their marriage was, at times, volatile, but they loved one another deeply. Their one regret was that they’d never had children. It just hadn’t happened and now they accepted the fact that it probably never would.
Today was their third wedding anniversary and they were going to celebrate by going to the Dolphin Hotel for dinner, and then to the local pub for a few drinks. To this end, Jessie had a bath, ironed her best dress and laid out Conor’s one good suit. After all, The Dolphin was considered a smart hotel. Just before he was due home, she dragged in the tin bath and filled it with hot water she’d boiled ready for her husband, knowing he’d be covered in dirt after a long day, moving cargo onto the ships that had docked, as well as his other duties.
He walked in the front door, carrying a bunch of flowers and, taking her into his arms, kissed her thoroughly.
‘Happy anniversary, darlin’! These are for my girl.’ He handed over the flowers.
‘Oh, they’re lovely, but you shouldn’t have.’
He looked at her and burst out laughing. ‘Now, you know if I hadn’t you’d have flown off the handle thinking I’d forgotten!’
‘Ah, there, you know me too well.’ She, too, laughed. ‘Your bath is ready and your shirt and suit are on the bed with some nice clean underwear.’
He caught her arm and pulled her to him. With a voice full of passion, he asked, ‘Are you going to help bath me, then?’
She pushed him away, her eyes bright with amusement. ‘Now then, you well know if I did, we’d never get to The Dolphin! I’ll wash your back, but you keep your hands to yourself.’
He started to remove his clothing until he was down to his underwear. He leant forward and, holding her chin, gently said, ‘Then I’ll have to wait until later, unless when you see me all tarted up, you’re not able to keep your hands off me!’
‘Away with you!’ She laughed, as she walked to the kitchen.
They made their way through The Ditches and walked to the Dolphin Hotel, which years before had been an old coaching inn. In the dining room, the waiter led them to a table and left them to read the menu. Jessie read it with interest. It was indeed more sophisticated than the simple fare she cooked for a living. They looked at the hors d’oeuvres, but decided to have oxtail soup to start with, followed by sirloin steak with a selection of vegetables and chips.
Conor turned up his nose at the fish on the menu.
‘Sure, a man needs something more solid on his stomach after a hard day’s toil,’ he declared. ‘Fish leaves me feeling hungry!’
To the waiter’s chagrin, Conor ordered beer to drink, but Jessie asked for a glass of red wine. As the waiter walked away she frowned at Conor.
‘What?’ he demanded at her look of censure.
‘Beer with your meal? Honestly!’
‘It’s what I like and what I want! I hate the taste of wine, you know that. You’ll not change me, Jessie. Surely you’ve learnt that much in three years?’
With a wry smile, she answered. ‘Oh, don’t I know it! I had just hoped that for one night you might behave like a true gent.’
‘Is it drinking wine I don’t like just to impress that makes me a gent? I don’t think so, darlin’. Treating you like a lady makes me a gentleman and not a navvy.’
‘Oh, you and your silver tongue!’
His eyes twinkled as he said, ‘That’s what made you fall in love with me. Now don’t deny it.’
‘Not at all! The fact you were a good kisser was what won me over.’
‘Ah well, I knew behind that independent exterior beat the heart of a wanton woman!’
‘Conor! Someone might hear you. Will you behave.’
‘Then leave me to drink my beer in peace, woman.’
As they ate, Jessie told him about her meeting young Daisy and how she and her husband had been struggling, and wondered if Conor could help her husband get a permanent job.
‘I imagine he’s doing alright at the moment, what with the sailing of the Titanic soon. We’re working all the hours God sends to get her loaded, but when she sails, if he’s still having a problem, I’ll have a word. The foreman who chooses the workers owes me a few favours.’
After their meal, they walked down to The Dolphin tap bar for a drink. The pianist was playing and the mood was light, everyone singing along together, and they stayed until closing time. Walking home, arms entwined, they were still singing.
Chapter Two
It was early the following morning when Conor walked to the docks. Men were pouring in, some walking, others on bicycles, heads down, ready for the busy day ahead.
The liner Titanic stood proud at her moorings. It was due to sail in two days and there was still a lot of cargo to be stashed within her huge hold. Cranes began loading crates in large nets into the open space where the stevedores and dockers used a fiendish-looking large case hook on a wooden handle to help them grasp the goods and stack them safely, making sure that they were solidly placed and couldn’t move.
There was an order to handling a ship’s cargo. The lightermen conveyed the goods between ship and quayside, then there were dockers in gangs, usually about eleven or twelve in each, who worked together with a gangmaster, helping to load and unload under the supervision of the stevedores, the most skilled workers.
It was a dangerous occupation. Sometimes the nets, full of cargo, tipped and failed to hold the goods. Many a man had suffered serious injuries as the contents spilt out. Sometimes there were fatalities. Every penny by every man was well and truly earned, but when there was a shortage of vessels, there was little work and families suffered. The pawnshops were busy during such times. In the worse cases of hardship, the only forms of assistance were private charities and the Poor Law, offering help only after a means test, which was humiliating and was the last resort for many.
Today, the noise level during loading was high: the movement from the cranes, the tractors’ engines as they moved the goods, the voices of the gangs calling to one another and the stevedores, yelling their instructions.
On board the liner, the waiters were setting up the tables in various dining rooms, the stewards and stewardesses prepared the cabins and, in the galley, butchers hung their meat in freezers, while the chefs prepared the menus for the voyage, making sure that all their ingredients were being loaded, checking each delivery on the quayside against the long list in their hands. Vegetables and fruit came on board. Barmen saw to the bars and checked the stock that had been delivered. Floral displays were being made up for the public rooms. The air of excitement was palpable as you walked up the gangway.
There had been so much publicity about this beautiful passenger liner. ‘The ship that was unsinkable’. The passenger list was formidable with many wealthy passengers crossing on the maiden voyage. This only heightened the stress levels of the dockers to get everything right. It wouldn’t do for the cargo to move out of place during the voyage, it would make the ship unsafe. To this end, Conor was even more watchful for any mistakes.
It was a long day and the men were weary and dirty from working in the hold. They took a short break for lunch to eat a sandwich before returning to work. They worked under lights when it grew dark, which made their job even more dangerous. Conor called a halt until the morning. He wasn’t risking his men’s lives for the White Star Line!
Jessie looked up as she heard her husband open the door and saw just how weary he looked.
‘Sit down, darlin’. I’ve a kettle boiling for a good strong cup of tea, then I’ll fill the bath.’
Conor slumped down on the old settee, removed his boots, lit a cigarette and, leaning back, he closed his eyes for a moment.
‘That was a long day, Jessie, I wondered if we’d ever get home. In the end it got too difficult and dangerous in the hold as the light wasn’t enough to be safe, even with the ones we’d set up, so I called a halt.’
‘You were right to do so. Why put your neck and others’ on the line? Nobody will thank you for it.’ She poured the tea. ‘It must be wonderful to sail on the Titanic as a passenger,’ she added wistfully.
‘The ones with the money sail in splendour, right enough, but those in steerage are less fortunate; but then, if you have money in this world, you lead an entirely different life.’
‘Ah well, let’s hope those trying for a better life in America will find what they’re looking for. Sure, it’s a mighty big step to take to leave your country for the unknown.’
‘We both did it!’
‘Yes, but it was only across the Irish Sea, not the Atlantic; now that is an adventure.’
‘Not one I’m interested in. I’m happy staying here.’ Jessie didn’t say a word and Conor frowned. ‘I’m hoping you’re not having any dreams of emigrating?’
‘Not really, just wondering what it would be like, is all. I’ll get the bath ready,’ and she disappeared.
Life was hard enough in this country, Conor thought as he drank his tea. He was lucky having a permanent job, but that could all change in a flash, he knew that. Times were hard enough as it was. If that happened in America, what would you do? Where would you go? It was a big country, with millions of people. At the very worst, here they could return to Ireland if they had to, at least there they both had family. No, America was not for him!
A few doors away, Daisy Brown was seeing to Bill, her husband. He’d had a bath and was now sitting down to a tasty stew with dumplings. Ever since the Titanic had docked, he’d been employed and was a happy man. It was grand to be earning money and not having to worry how to pay the rent and put food on the table. Knowing that he could be out of work again when the ship sailed, he’d put aside a few shillings whenever he could in a glass jar towards a rainy day, as he called it.
As his wife cleared the dishes, he noticed she was wearing a new dress and frowned.
‘Have you been shopping?’ he asked, nodding towards her new apparel.
‘No, of course not! Jessie McGonigall gave it to me with another. I just had to take up the hem.’
‘We don’t need charity, Daisy!’
She was furious. ‘This isn’t charity! Jessie is my friend and she offered. I’ve not had a new dress since we came here and the ones I had were threadbare. Do you want to see me walking around in rags just to satisfy your stupid pride?’
His cheeks flushed with anger. ‘Don’t you think I know what you’ve had to suffer with me not always able to get work? It breaks me up not being able to provide for my wife.’
At his stricken look, her anger melted away. ‘It’s not your fault, Bill. All dockers’ wives understand the difficulties when their husbands don’t get picked in the morning. There’s no shame in that and there’s no shame in me accepting a gift from a friend. If the tables were turned, I’d do the same for her.’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m just so tired – not that I’m complaining, of course. To be honest, when we moved south, I thought life would be easier and it isn’t. I feel I’ve failed us both.’
She knelt beside him. ‘Life is difficult for all the likes of us, Bill. The poor of the land, wherever they live, have to struggle, it seems to me. In this country it’s the rich and the poor. But money isn’t everything.’
‘You’re wrong there. With money you can be miserable in comfort!’
She had to smile at the thought. ‘Maybe, but I’d rather be poor with you, Bill, than rich without you.’
He gathered her close to him. ‘Oh, Daisy, I do love you, but you deserve better than this.’
‘Something will turn up, you’ll see. Now come on, off to bed. You’ve another long day ahead of you.’
As her husband slept, Daisy lay trying to think how they could improve their lot and eventually fell asleep with an idea that she would discuss tomorrow with her friend Jessie.
It had been a hectic day in the cafe and Jessie was feeling weary as she walked home. To her surprise, Daisy was waiting on her doorstep for her.
‘Jessie, do you have a minute?’ she asked.
‘Sure, I do, come on inside we’ll have a chat over a cup of tea.’
The women eventually settled and, as Jessie poured the tea, Daisy spoke.
‘I’ve been thinking of a way for me to earn extra money, but I don’t know how to go about it and I wondered if you could help. As I told you, I used to be a seamstress before I married, and I wondered if I offered my services, you know, doing alterations, making dresses, mending, would there be anyone interested, do you think?’
Jessie thought for a moment. ‘Well you could always advertise, put a notice in a couple of shop windows. Like the paper shop in East Street and a couple of shops in Canal Walk. It won’t cost you much to do that. A few pence, that’s all. It’s worth a shot.’
‘Would you help me to word it?’
‘Of course I will. Just let me find a pen and paper and we’ll see what we can do. Then you need to buy blank postcards to write out your advert.’
The two of them set about the task in front of them and after a while were pleased with the result.
PROFESSIONAL SEAMSTRESS
All work undertaken.
Alterations. Mending. Garments made.
All enquiries. Daisy Brown. 25 Union Street.
The women were pleased with the result and, after drinking her tea, Daisy rushed off to buy some postcards and visit a few shops to advertise her work when she’d written upon them, thanking Jessie profusely.
When she was alone, Jessie thought about her friend and hoped she would find some customers, knowing that once the Titanic sailed, jobs would again be short if there were not many ships in dock. But then she remembered that Conor said he would have a word with a foreman he knew. She so wanted to help the couple. But now it would be interesting to see how Daisy’s plan worked out. She poured another cup of tea. Conor would be late, she was sure. The Titanic sailed tomorrow and all cargo would have to be stowed by tonight. She’d made an extra pie in the cafe that morning and brought it home to save her cooking again. All she needed do when her husband was ready to eat was warm the pie in the black-leaded stove in the living room.
It was indeed late when Conor eventually arrived home. His clothes were ingrained with dirt from the hold, his face black and, when he removed his flat cap, there was a white area of his forehead that the cap had covered. It looked very strange.
Jessie had the bath all ready for him in front of the stove.
‘Now you strip off, darlin’, and soak in the hot water, I’ve a glass of the black stuff for you and you can drink that as you soak off all that dirt.’
He took off all his clothes and lowered himself into the hot water with a deep sigh and took the tall glass Jessie handed to him.
Taking a good gulp of the Guinness, he sighed. ‘You have no idea how good that tastes and how much I needed it tonight.’
‘Oh, I can see that just looking at you. Well, is the ship ready to sail?’
‘As far as my men are concerned it is. We’ve done our job, now it’s up to those on board. We’ll be on duty early as the passengers arrive for embarkation at nine-thirty, then at noon the ship sails.’
‘Ah, I’d love to watch her leave,’ said Jessie, ‘but I’ll be busy. It’ll be a sight to behold right enough. You’ll have to tell me about it when you get home.’
The following morning, trains brought in the passengers. Crew took their baggage and helped them find their cabins. The band on the dockside was playing a selection of the favourite tunes of the time. Streamers fluttered from the ship to shore. Relations stood on the jetty waving goodbye to friends and family, some in tears, others laughing and calling out. The railings of the ship were crowded with passengers as the ropes were let go and hauled inboard. The four funnels let out their unmistakable roar as the ship slowly moved away from its moorings. Cameras flashed as the press took their pictures that would be front page news in the morning.
Conor stood and watched. He wished Jessie could have been here to experience the excitement. No matter how good he was at describing the scene to her, the atmosphere had to be seen to be understood. He turned away, eventually, to continue with his work.
Busy in the cafe, Jessie heard the sound of the Titanic’s funnels echo across the dockyards and into the streets at noon. There is no sound like a liner about to sail; it can make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There was a sudden wave of conversation from the customers as they talked about the ship, the pride of the White Star Line making its maiden voyage – the excitement of it all.
In the docks, tractors were removed, the quayside cleared ready for the next arrival, whenever it was due. The men queued for their pay now their job was finished and in the morning many of them would be standing in line at the call-on, praying to be one of the chosen.
The following morning, Jessie handed over her halfpenny to the newsagent for a copy of the Daily Mirror with a picture of the liner sailing out of the docks, showing the crowds waving her on her way. Conor had described the event as best he could and now seeing the pictures she could envisage the scene more clearly. She saw the passengers lining the ship’s rail and noted the high fashion of the women waving and smiling, and for just a moment she felt envious. How great it must be to have money, to be wealthy. Not to have to work long hours to be able to pay the bills and put food on the table. Many of them had servants to do the housework, see to the washing, even look after the children, she’d been told. Now that she could never understand! Why would you let another woman bring up your child? She’d never do that.
Just for a moment she was overcome with an emptiness that occasionally gnawed away at her. She would love to have a baby. In the early days of her marriage it was a deeply rooted need, but gradually when month after month she found she wasn’t pregnant, she put away the longing. Hid it way back in a recess of her mind, until it was only occasionally that it did appear … like today. She allowed herself to wallow in the need again, just for a moment, and then, getting to her feet, she shut it away for another time.
The town settled down after the sailing of the Titanic until the sixteenth of April when news that the ship had sunk hit the news and the headlines! Paper boys rushed about, selling their papers, calling out as they did so, ‘Titanic sinks after hitting an iceberg. Read all about it!’
The Daily Mirror’s headline mistakenly reported that no lives were lost, due to a wireless report that had been misunderstood. But when the news eventually broke about the loss of life, the relatives of the crew, many from Southampton, crowded outside the White Star Line’s office in Canute Road, waiting for further news … traumatised by what they might hear. The long wait began.
It was five days later when eventually lists of survivors were posted on boards outside the office. It was then apparent the huge scale of the loss. Weeping women were led away by family or friends. Whole streets in Northam and Chapel were draped in black crêpe. More than five hundred houses in the town had lost at least one member of their family. Of the 1,500 who lost their lives, 815 were passengers.
Although no relations of Jessie’s were on board, she knew several crew members who used the cafe when they were in dock and she was upset wondering if any of them had been lost. It was as if a black cloud had settled over the town as stories filtered through. The ship had hit an iceberg … there were not enough lifeboats. Then they heard about the Carpathia going to the rescue. This gave a grain of hope to those who had no definite news.
Those men still working in the docks who had stowed goods away in the ship’s hold were as shocked as everyone else. They, too, had seen the passengers embark.
‘Those poor people,’ said Conor that night after dinner. ‘So many children and women. At least they would be first in the lifeboats, but still …’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘So much for your poor buggers hoping to make a new life in America, Jessie.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, yet I can’t get it out of my head. Neither can anyone else. It’s the only conversation in the cafe, because almost everyone who comes in has lost a relative. I hardly know what to say to them.’
‘There’s nothing you can say, darlin’, just feed them well and smile. For God’s sake, there are so many sad faces, so smile; it may spread a little cheer.’
Chapter Three
Despite the tragedy that had happened, life had to go on. Young Daisy Brown had gleaned some success from her advertisement and she came in to see Jessie and to tell her about it.
‘Well isn’t that grand, Daisy. I’m really happy for you.’ But something was obviously bothering her neighbour. ‘What’s the matter?’ Jessie asked.
Daisy looked furtive as she answered. ‘I have had two ladies who want work done and a fair bit at that.’
‘So?’
‘They’re a couple of the local prostitutes! You’ll have seen them waiting to do business in Canal Walk just by the Horse and Groom.’
‘Their money’s as good as any other,’ Jessie remarked, ‘so what’s the problem?’
‘Bill. He’ll have a fit if he finds out!’
With a laugh, Jessie said, ‘Don’t tell him, then. No doubt they’ll come for fittings when he’s at work?’
‘But what if he’s at home after not being picked in the morning? He’s working today, but you know there’s no guarantee that he’ll be working every day.’
‘He might not know they’re a couple of brasses and, if he recognises them, you tell him your clients are none of his business, just like who he works for is none of yours!’
Daisy looked shocked by the very idea.
‘Now you listen to me, girl. We wives stick with our men through thick and thin, but we must stand up for our rights. Don’t be a doormat or you’ll be treated like one! That’s what my mammy taught me. They are customers to be treated with respect. After all, Daisy, they’re working girls earning a living just like everyone else.’ She burst out laughing. ‘Well, maybe not quite like anyone else.’
‘They want mending done and each wants a dress made for them. It’s good money and they didn’t quibble when I told them my price.’
‘There you go, then, you’re in business. Who knows, Daisy, maybe one day you could have a shop of your own!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, will you behave.’
‘Ah, Daisy love, we all of us must have a dream, something to strive for.’
‘What’s your dream, Jessie?’
She sat back in the chair and thought for a moment. ‘My own business, maybe, and a small house with a garden, not too big, enough to grow flowers and vegetables and a lawn.’ She hesitated. ‘And a baby in a pram.’ There was such a note of longing in her last statement that Daisy knew instinctively not to remark on it.
Jessie rose to her feet. ‘I have a million things to do before Conor gets home. Now you just get on with your ladies and enjoy the money.’
With Daisy’s predicament at the forefront of her mind, Jessie spoke to her husband that evening. ‘Remember you said you’d have a word with the foreman about getting Bill from next door some work on a more permanent basis?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Could you do it soon? They really need the money and if you could help it would be a blessing.’
He looked fondly at his wife. ‘Why are you so concerned about them, darlin’?’
‘I’ve known hardship and how it can destroy you. They’re a lovely couple. I’d just like to help them out, is all.’
Putting his arm around her he kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll see the man tomorrow.’
Two days later, Daisy knocked on Jessie’s door, her eyes bright with excitement.
‘I’ve just come to tell you that my Bill has been taken on as a member of a gang. Isn’t that marvellous? No more worry about the bills and, even better, he doesn’t need to see my customers!’
‘That’s great news, Daisy. I’m really pleased for you.’ She gave the girl a hug.
‘Must be off,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ve work to do.’
It wasn’t long before, ‘The Coven’, as Jessie called them, realised that two of the ladies of the night were visiting Daisy and, not knowing the reason, began their twisted gossip. As Daisy left her house one morning to shop for food, the three women stood together and, with expressions of distaste, began to question her. Iris Jones was the first.
‘You thinking of going on the game to earn some money now, are you?’
Daisy was puzzled and more than a little shocked by her accusation.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The woman leant over Daisy, who stepped back to get away as the odour of stale gin assailed her nostrils. ‘We saw two brasses go in your place. We wondered if they was givin’ you instruction, you know, on how to please a punter.’
The girl was horrified. If these vile women were to tell her husband, she knew her business would be over before it began, but she remembered Jessie telling her not to be a doormat and she glared at them.
‘How dare you! It’s none of your business who comes to my house and if I hear you’ve been spreading rumours, ladies – and I use the term lightly – I’ll report you, Iris Jones, for libel and you, Emily Coates, for not cleaning your house, which must be rat-infested due to the filth you live in. She just glared at the third woman and walked away. But she was trembling from head to foot. As she rounded the corner, she leant against the wall, afraid her shaking legs wouldn’t hold her any longer.
Now she was in a state. If Bill got to know how her customers earned their money, there would be ructions in the house. He was aware she’d advertised and that she was sewing for two ladies and had been pleased to see his wife so animated about her work and earning more money. He’d been really proud of her and told her so. But if he knew the truth … there was only one person she could confide in.
Jessie was surprised to hear the cafe bell tinkle as a customer walked in. Breakfasts were over and it was far too early for lunch, so who could it be? When she walked out of the kitchen, she was very surprised to see Daisy Brown standing there looking worried.
‘Sorry to come to your work, Jessie, but can I have a word?’
Seeing the girl’s hands were shaking, Jessie sat her down, poured two cups of tea and sat at the table with her.
‘Daisy, you look terrible. What on earth is the matter?’
The girl told her of the women who had waylaid her and what was said, then she told her how she’d reacted.
Jessie roared with laughter and slapped Daisy on the back.
‘Good for you, girl! That showed them, and I bet it took them by surprise.’
‘But what if they let on to my Bill? I’ll have failed before I’ve started, ’cause he won’t have those women in his house, I can tell you that for a fact.’
‘Drink your tea, love. I’ll have a word when I go home. I know a few things about those old biddies that they wouldn’t want known, so stop your worrying.’
But when her neighbour had left, Jessie was livid that the three useless and vindictive creatures were in a position to do harm to her friend. Well she’d soon put a stop to that!
Jessie strode purposefully along Union Street and knocked on the door of Iris Jones’s house. Iris looked flummoxed to see Jessie standing there.
With her green eyes flashing with anger, Jessie glared at the woman.
‘I hear you’ve been interfering with the affairs of young Daisy Brown, Iris.’ As the woman opened her mouth to speak, Jessie carried on ‘Now, I’m sure you wouldn’t like your neighbours to know that you go round the market every morning, begging for money, the money you tell the people is for your poor starving children – which you don’t have – when it’s really to buy the gin you pour down your miserable neck!’
The woman paled.
‘The police might be interested to hear how you behave. They don’t like beggars, as you well know, so I suggest you keep your evil thoughts about Daisy Brown to yourself. If I hear you even murmured anything to her husband, I’ll have you. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Iris in barely a whisper.
‘I didn’t hear you, Iris!’ said Jessie loudly.
‘Yes!’ This time her utterance was clear. Then she slammed the door.
With a broad grin, Jessie moved along to Emily Coates’ house and banged on the door.
When it was opened, the rancid smell seemed to rush out as if wanting to escape. Jessie stepped back. ‘Jesus Christ, Emily, this place is a health hazard!’
‘What’s it to you?’ the woman snapped.
Jessie grabbed her by her filthy shawl and put her face close to the other woman.
‘If you give Daisy Brown any more grief, I’ll have someone from the council down here to fumigate this place and, when they see the state of it, you will be out on your ear.’
‘I didn’t say nothing, it was that Iris Jones what did it,’ she said as she grabbed the shawl out of Jessie’s hand.
‘But you were there ready to put in your two pence given the chance, of that I’m sure. Now, I don’t want to hear any more. Understand?’
‘Yeah, I understand, now bugger off!’ She turned and went inside.
As Jessie entered her own home, she was chuckling to herself. She’d not bothered to go to Betty Barnes’ house as she wasn’t a worry, she just stood and let the others spread their gossip. No, she wasn’t a concern, but she felt sure the other two would keep quiet after her visitation.
But the following morning, Jessie was faced with a problem of her own.
Chapter Four
On the dot of seven o’clock, Jessie opened the door of the cafe and locked it behind her. Her employer always came in later, leaving Jessie and the young girl who helped start work on their own, preparing and cooking the food for the day, before opening at eight o’clock. She and her helper, Nancy, who had arrived shortly after Jessie, were busy in the kitchen when George Ames let himself into the premises. He popped his head round the kitchen door.
‘Jessie, can I have a word with you?’
Wiping her hands on a cloth, she went into the cafe. Looking at her boss, she saw his usually florid face was worryingly pale.
‘Are you alright, George?’
‘Come and sit down,’ he said, motioning to a table and chairs. Then he began, ‘I’m going to have to sell up, love.’
This was the last thing she expected and for a moment she was speechless. ‘Blimey, George, that came out of the blue! But for heaven’s sake why?’
‘I haven’t been feeling well and went to the doctor’s … well to cut a long story short, I’ve got a dicky heart and I’ve got to rest, so I’m moving back to Bradford to live with the old folk.’
‘Oh, George, I’m so sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say she was so shocked. It also meant she would be out of a job. ‘How will you manage, financially?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a bit saved – after all, this is a good business.’ He looked at her with a thoughtful expression. ‘Why don’t you take it over, Jessie?’
‘What?’
‘The building is on a lease; the rent isn’t bad and, let’s face it, you know as much about running it as I do. I’ll sell you my equipment at a decent price, which you could pay back monthly.’
This completely threw her, but then she began to think about it. ‘Let’s get today over and when we close we’ll talk some more. Meantime, perhaps you’ll write down some figures, the rent, how much for the equipment, so I’ll know what it would entail.’
The rest of the working day went by in a blur and they were extra busy, so Jessie didn’t have time to think until she shut the door after the final customer had left, then she sat down with George and the notes that he’d made. After, she went home to discuss the situation with Conor.
They sat together poring over the figures. With them both working they had some savings, enough to pay the rent for three months, but if Jessie took over, she’d have to stock up with fresh food to cook and pay the bills herself. If business was quiet, that could cost them the rest of their savings.
‘What if the business fails?’ Jessie said, frowning with concern.
‘Come now, darlin’, you keep that place going. Without your cooking and personality, George would be quids out of pocket, even if he had another cook. The men like you and are used to you; they wouldn’t enjoy a change, that’s for sure.’
She looked wistful as she said, ‘It’s been my dream to have my own business, but it’s a serious decision to take. All our savings would be gone; we’d have nothing to fall back on if it went pear-shaped.’
‘What are you worried about? I’m earning, and my job is as safe as it can be in the docks. If the cafe failed, which it wouldn’t, my money would still be coming in. It’s up to you, Jessie, but I’m all for it.’
She stretched and yawned. ‘I’ll sleep on it and make up my mind in the morning. Come on, let’s go to bed.’
