Authors: Irene Carr
He
turned back to Katy. ‘Right y’are. But you’re outa here afore long. I’ll see to that!’
WALLSEND-ON-TYNE. JUNE 1907.
‘
So you can pack your gear and get out.’ Barney Merrick bawled it, getting gloating enjoyment from it.
Katy
had worked from dawn to dusk during the illness of her stepmother. Lotte had thankfully laid down the burden and gone back to her job and spending her evenings hunting for a husband. She had not expressed any gratitude to Katy, however. ‘Serves you right,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have given so much lip to our dad.’ She smirked with self-satisfaction but Katy had never expected any thanks and ignored her.
She
cooked, shopped, cleaned, washed, mended. She tended Marina, Barney’s new wife, all day long, ran errands for her and rubbed her with camphorated oil until she reeked of it. All the while Marina pointed out the shortcomings, to her eyes, in Katy’s running of the household. She wailed, ‘I’ll be glad when I can get out of my bed and put this house to rights.’
Katy
never complained. So that Barney jeered, ‘Are you hoping I’ll keep you on here if you behave yourself?’
‘
God forbid!’ answered Katy. She had entered into a bargain with her father and would stick to her side of it, was sure he would stick to his. Her grief at losing Charles and her anger at the way of her losing him, ebbed away, but she remained heartsore. She hugged that sorrow to her breast. There was no one she could confide in. She would not write to Charles Ashleigh. That episode in her life was closed, a mistake she would prefer to forget. She never received a letter from him so it was obvious to her that he had forsaken and forgotten her.
Katy
was terribly wrong in that because he wrote several times, marking the letters ‘Please Forward’. Mrs Connelly burned them all: ‘I’ll not encourage her to practise her profession through my house!’
Marina
finally rose from her bed out of boredom because her only intellectual activity was to stand at the front door to gossip with her neighbours and she was missing that sorely. On the day Marina pronounced herself fit enough for that, Barney announced to Katy, ‘I’ve been looking for a job for you and found just the place. You’re going to work as a maid for the Spargos in Sunderland. You’ve got aprons and dresses that will have to do. You’ll get no more money outa me but I’ll buy your ticket — one way.’ Then he issued his ultimatum: ‘Pack your gear . .
Katy
obeyed. She would miss the two boys who were awkwardly fond of her, but she could see trouble ahead between her and Marina. And she would be getting out of this, to a new job, a new start. She thought it would be better than her present situation — wouldn’t it?
Barney
put her on the train for Sunderland. Katy wore her best dark grey dress and buttoned boots. On the way to Newcastle Central Station she caught a fleeting glimpse of the
Mauretania
, the huge, 32,000-ton liner, lying at her fitting out quay. Barney, who worked on her, said with pride, ‘She sails on her maiden voyage in November.’ Katy reflected that he thought more of the ship than he did of her. But that was nothing new; she was used to it.
Arrived
in Newcastle, Barney strode along the platform ahead of Katy. She laboured after him with her cheap suitcase dragging at her arm, until Barney halted, threw open a door and gestured for her to climb in. He shouted above the hissing of steam and the clanking of shunting: ‘The Spargos will have somebody waiting for you at the station so you won’t have to carry that case far. They’ll be sending me ten bob of your money every month.’ That was half her pay. Katy did not answer, looked past him and he saw the contempt in her expression. So as the train started to move he warned her, ‘Behave yourself. Don’t expect me to support you again. If you get the sack I’ll report you to the pollis as a vagrant!’
That
was meant to break through her uncaring mask and it succeeded. Katy had heard, vaguely, of vagrants and how the police could arrest them. She did not know what was the truth of the matter but feared the unknown. Barney saw the flicker of apprehension in the quiver of the young girl’s lip and nodded with grim satisfaction. Katy still stood at the window of the carriage, twenty yards away now, and he shouted across the widening gap, ‘Just remember!’
The
train was not full and Katy had secured a seat by the window. She stared out at the scenery sliding by as the train trundled along, stopping at one small station after another, each with its little garden bright with flowers. She began in dejection but she was still not seventeen and soon became more cheerful. The day was bright and she was starting again in a strange place — and the flowers helped. The train halted at Monkwearmouth station to set down a number of passengers and then rolled on across a bridge. She opened the window and leaned out, caught a glimpse of the river below and saw this new place had a familiar look to it. There were the shipyards lining the banks of the River Wear as they did along the Tyne. Ships were tied up to the quays or lying to their buoys. She sniffed the salt sea smell and the reek of coal smoke from thousands of chimneys. There was bright sunlight sparking off the black water of the river, and a stiff breeze whipped at her hair and brought a flush to her cheeks. Her father and his threat were forgotten. He was miles away and she was free now. She laughed with delight, a young girl’s glee.
Sunderland
Central Station was an echoing cavern with a sooty glass roof and filled with the frequent thunder of trains pounding through or sighing to a halt. Katy struggled up the stairs to the concourse with her case a deadweight on her arm. Outside the station, in the sunlight, a cab stood at the kerb, the horse in its shafts with its head in a nosebag. The cabman on his seat was in his fifties, a stocky little man with a stubby clay pipe in his mouth under a walrus moustache. He lifted his whip to touch his bowler hat in salute: ‘Cab, miss?’
‘
No, thank you,’ Katy replied politely. She set down her case, stood at the horse’s head and rubbed his nose. ‘Good boy.’
A
cart passed in a clashing of steel shoes on cobbles and halted in the middle of the road, but beyond the cab and opposite a space between the cab and a wall. The driver of the cart jumped down, a tall, thin, gangling young man, sallow and his hair dressed with brilliantine and parted in the middle. A cigarette dangled from his lower lip and a thin moustache ran across the upper. He seized the head of his horse and backed it, cursing as it skittered, into the space. But he backed it too far and the cab shook as the tail of the cart slammed into its ironshod wheel.
The
young man spat out the cigarette and shouted querulously, ‘What’re you doing, backing into me?’
‘
Me?’ The cabman rejected the claim, bewildered. ‘I never backed up!’
‘
Yes, you did.’
‘
No, I didn’t.’ The cabman started to get down from his seat.
The
young man seized a length of wood from where it lay on the cart and brandished it like a club. ‘Come on! I’ll brain you!’
It
was then that a policeman came stalking with measured pace and demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’
The
driver of the cart whined, ‘This bloody old fool backed into me!’
The
cabbie stoutly denied this: ‘No, I didn’t.’ He inspected the rear of his cab and said placatingly, ‘No harm done, anyway.’
But
the young man retorted, ‘Yes, there is! Look at my paint!’ He pointed to the fresh scratches on the tailboard.
The
policeman hesitated, head turning from one to the other, his hand feeling for his notebook. But then Katy left the horse’s head and approached him: ‘Please, sir, the cab didn’t back.’
He
turned to her, pencil in hand. ‘You saw it, then?’ ‘I was standing at the horse’s head. The cab never moved.’ Katy said that firmly.
‘
Ah!’ The policeman pointed his pencil at the young man. ‘It seems to me that you’re the one at fault. What are you doing with that lump o’ wood?’
‘
Defending myself.’ The answer came sullenly, with a scowl for Katy.
‘
What?’ The policeman was contemptuous. ‘Against a chap twice your age? Put it down and get on about your business before you get into more trouble. What is your business, anyway?’
‘
I’m here to meet a new serving lass, come to work at our house.’ He jerked his head to indicate the cart: Spargo and Son, that’s us. Hauliers.’ Then he tapped his chest: ‘I’m Ivor Spargo.’
The
policeman was not impressed. ‘You behave your-self. If I have trouble wi’ you again, I’ll charge you.’ Now Katy, from her new position near the policeman, could see the legend on the tailboard of the cart: Spargo & Son. Her heart sank and she stepped back to stand beside her case. Just then a middle-aged, portly man in a check suit and carrying a suitcase, bustled out of the station: ‘Cabbie?’
‘
Aye, here y’are, sir!’ The cabman hurried to take the suitcase from him and stow it aboard. Then he took the nosebag off the horse before climbing up onto his seat. But as he swung the cab away from the kerb he called to Katy, ‘Thanks, bonny lass!’
Now
the policeman went on his steady way and Katy was left with the young man, who was moodily lighting another cigarette. She said miserably, ‘Please, sir, I think you might be waiting for me. I’m Katy Merrick, come to work for the Spargos.’
He
glared at her as if he could not believe it. Then he said bitterly, ‘You’ve made a bloody fine start! What did you take his part for?’ Katy could only answer, Because it was right. But she wisely kept her mouth shut. He went on, ‘I’ve half a mind to send you back where you came from.’ Katy swallowed, frightened. What would her father say — and do? Ivor saw or guessed at her fear and it put him in a better humour. He smiled unpleasantly, ‘You’d just better behave yourself from now on. Is that your case? Shove it on the cart then get up there.’
Katy
obeyed. The cart seemed to have been used recently for carrying coal. While its flat bed had been roughly swept out there was a pocket of black dust in one corner. A seat was fixed on the front of the cart and she sat on that. She knew Ivor had watched her for a glimpse of her legs as she scrambled up. Now he followed to sit beside her. He laid the whip across the horse’s rump and as it whinnied and jerked into life he wheeled the cart out into the traffic. ‘I’m Ivor Spargo. You call me dad Mr Spargo and me, Mr Ivor. I’ll call you Katy.’ He glanced round at her and demanded, ‘Well? Got a tongue in your head?’
‘
Yes, Mr Ivor.’
‘
That’s better. You’ll have to answer quicker than that with Ma or you’ll get a flea in your ear. You call her ma’am or Mrs Spargo.’ He smoothed his narrow moustache with one finger. ‘But when you and me know each other better and we’re on our own, maybe you can call me Ivor.’
He
glanced at her again and Katy answered quickly, ‘Yes, Mr Ivor.’
‘
That’s the way.’ Ivor showed his teeth in a smile then steered the cart close in to the kerb so a clanging tram could pass. He cursed its driver and then pointed with the whip. ‘This is Fawcett Street and that’s High Street East down there. . He charted their route for her as the horse walked on. And bragged, ‘Us Spargos are one of the biggest hauliers around. We’ve got another big yard full o’ carts and lorries, down in Yorkshire and there’s a manager looks after that. Ma likes it here and she won’t leave to go down there. We shift people’s furniture all over, and anything else for that matter. A lot o’ them take their coal with them when they move. . Katy listened, and saw that they were heading away from the bridge and the river, staying on its southern bank. The streets were crowded and busy and the people cheerful. After a time she thought that she could like this new place — except for Ivor. And what about Ma — and Mr Spargo?
He
proved to be in his late forties, with a pot belly swelling out the waistcoat of his shiny suit and a jowly face. The waistcoat hid the braces which held up his trousers, but they had to be there because the wide leather belt with brass buckle hung loose below his belly like a decoration. He stood in the centre of the cobbled yard as Ivor turned the cart in through the double gates marked: Spargo & Son, Hauliers. The house lay at the back of the yard while a shed which served as office was on one side of the gateway. Katy could see a clerk in there, bent over books, and a telephone standing on a desk. On the other side was a ramshackle wooden workshop of some sort holding benches scattered with tools. The rest of the yard was empty save for two carts standing idle, their shafts upended. There was a general air of untidiness with litter lying about and harness tossed carelessly aside.
Ivor
reined in the cart beside his father. ‘Here’s the lass, Da: Katy.’
Arthur
Spargo inspected her as his son had done, then said approvingly, ‘Work hard, do as you’re told and you’ll be all right.’
Katy
needed no prompting now: ‘Yes, Mr Spargo.’ ‘That’s right.’ Arthur turned away but told Ivor, ‘Take her up to your ma.’
Ivor
drove the cart up to the front door of the house, which was three-storied and brickbuilt. No untidiness there. The windows were clean, the curtains hung straight, the paintwork was without a mark or blister. Yet Katy found it oppressive because there was a harsh coldness about the place. Ivor pushed open the front door and bawled, ‘Ma!
Ma
! And then, stepping back into the yard, ‘Here’s the new lass, Ma.’