she’s got enough kids of her own to clean it and
as for “meladdo”, well if things are so bad, why shouldn’t he leave school and get a job? Oh, I know fourteen is the official
leaving age, but the School Board don’t pay much attention to it when it comes to the likes of him – not when things are so
bad.’
She stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘I want him to finish school and get a decent job.’
‘The only job he’ll get is a gofer.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You know, running errands. “Go fer this, go fer that!”’
‘Well, I’m not going to work in one of those stinking factories!’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . because I can do better than that!’ Seeing the quirk of amusement twist his lips, her colour heightened. ‘I
can! I know I can!’
‘Oh, aye, you can read and write and add up in your head! So can most people and it hasn’t got them anywhere!’
‘I could get a job in a shop!’
He was not cruel enough to mention her burning ambition, not even in jest. ‘You could go into service.’
‘That’s just the same as being at home.’
‘Except that you get paid for it.’
She wanted to change the subject, the food had made her feel sleepy and she was in no mood to argue with him. ‘Are you still
working on the cattle boats? Shouldn’t you be halfway across the Irish Sea by now?’
He ran one finger up and down the trellis design on the oilcloth tablecloth. ‘I got laid off. Last in – first out. That’s
the company rule and I was last to join.’
‘What about the Cunard ships?’
His handsome face clouded and he rose abruptly, the legs of the chair grating on the wooden floor. ‘Come on, I’ll see you
home!’
She was sorry she had brought the subject up. He had obviously tried and failed to get any other kind of ship. And he had
been kindness itself. In fact he seemed to have the knack of turning up when she needed him most. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t
mean . . . thanks for the supper.’
He ushered her out and they began to walk down Tithebarn Street.
‘I have got a job. A shore job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘A sort of handyman, cum gardiner, cum everything, at one of the big old houses on Everton Valley. I could ask Ma Travis if
she would take you on, that’s what I meant about going into service. She’s a widow. Her husband was a captain but he was lost
at sea years ago. She’s very houseproud and particular, especially about all the stuff the captain brought home. That’s how
come Rosie up and left her.’
‘Rosie?’
‘The housemaid she had. She dropped a vase and there was a right bust-up over it. The upshot was that Rosie packed up and
left. The old lady’s been doing it all herself and she won’t let me help.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t suit an apron!’
She laughed with him.
‘But it’s getting too much for her now and I reckon, the way things are, that she’d take someone on recommendation, without
experience.’
‘What would I have to do?’
‘What you’ve been doing at home, except that she’d pay you and she’d probably want you to live in.’
It was this last piece of information that made her really take interest. No more having to share everything. Being woken
up constantly by Dora who had a habit of jabbing her knees into her, or Ethel who often talked in her sleep. No more waiting
– jumping up and down in the yard – until whoever it was, finished in the privy. No more having to wait to see if you could
have a whole slice of bread instead of half when Maisey had finished cutting up the remains of yesterday’s loaf for breakfast.
But best of all, no having to listen to the constant bickering and rows. She wouldn’t have to see the dejection and despair
on her mother’s face either when Pa rolled in from the pub drunk. ‘Won’t I ever have to go back to Eldon Street?’
‘She’ll probably let you go home one afternoon in the week and most Sundays.’
The first initial rush of
as for “meladdo”, well if things are so bad, why shouldn’t he leave school and get a job? Oh, I know fourteen is the official
leaving age, but the School Board don’t pay much attention to it when it comes to the likes of him – not when things are so
bad.’
She stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘I want him to finish school and get a decent job.’
‘The only job he’ll get is a gofer.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You know, running errands. “Go fer this, go fer that!”’
‘Well, I’m not going to work in one of those stinking factories!’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . because I can do better than that!’ Seeing the quirk of amusement twist his lips, her colour heightened. ‘I
can! I know I can!’
‘Oh, aye, you can read and write and add up in your head! So can most people and it hasn’t got them anywhere!’
‘I could get a job in a shop!’
He was not cruel enough to mention her burning ambition, not even in jest. ‘You could go into service.’
‘That’s just the same as being at home.’
‘Except that you get paid for it.’
She wanted to change the subject, the food had made her feel sleepy and she was in no mood to argue with him. ‘Are you still
working on the cattle boats? Shouldn’t you be halfway across the Irish Sea by now?’
He ran one finger up and down the trellis design on the oilcloth tablecloth. ‘I got laid off. Last in – first out. That’s
the company rule and I was last to join.’
‘What about the Cunard ships?’
His handsome face clouded and he rose abruptly, the legs of the chair grating on the wooden floor. ‘Come on, I’ll see you
home!’
She was sorry she had brought the subject up. He had obviously tried and failed to get any other kind of ship. And he had
been kindness itself. In fact he seemed to have the knack of turning up when she needed him most. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t
mean . . . thanks for the supper.’
He ushered her out and they began to walk down Tithebarn Street.
‘I have got a job. A shore job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘A sort of handyman, cum gardiner, cum everything, at one of the big old houses on Everton Valley. I could ask Ma Travis if
she would take you on, that’s what I meant about going into service. She’s a widow. Her husband was a captain but he was lost
at sea years ago. She’s very houseproud and particular, especially about all the stuff the captain brought home. That’s how
come Rosie up and left her.’
‘Rosie?’
‘The housemaid she had. She dropped a vase and there was a right bust-up over it. The upshot was that Rosie packed up and
left. The old lady’s been doing it all herself and she won’t let me help.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t suit an apron!’
She laughed with him.
‘But it’s getting too much for her now and I reckon, the way things are, that she’d take someone on recommendation, without
experience.’
‘What would I have to do?’
‘What you’ve been doing at home, except that she’d pay you and she’d probably want you to live in.’
It was this last piece of information that made her really take interest. No more having to share everything. Being woken
up constantly by Dora who had a habit of jabbing her knees into her, or Ethel who often talked in her sleep. No more waiting
– jumping up and down in the yard – until whoever it was, finished in the privy. No more having to wait to see if you could
have a whole slice of bread instead of half when Maisey had finished cutting up the remains of yesterday’s loaf for breakfast.
But best of all, no having to listen to the constant bickering and rows. She wouldn’t have to see the dejection and despair
on her mother’s face either when Pa rolled in from the pub drunk. ‘Won’t I ever have to go back to Eldon Street?’
‘She’ll probably let you go home one afternoon in the week and most Sundays.’
The first initial rush of
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