CHAPTER FIVE
Bolton 1904
'Friday
is Fish Day,' so the children's rhyme went. In the Hadfield household this was
particularly true, not because the family were followers of the Catholic
religion; it was despite that they were staunchly Protestant that they ate fish
on Friday. 'A poke in the Pope's eye' Pa Hadfield had once commented when
presented with his tea one Friday, and followed it with 'One in the eye for the
left leggers'. Whilst Pa Hadfield was a regular church goer, and by the definition
of families in those days, so were his family. There was no malice in his
thoughts and feelings towards the Catholic neighbours and workmates he knew. It
was more of a feeling of class solidarity than anything else which, in truth,
stretched back over the previous hundred years when masses of Irish Catholics
were enticed over the Irish Sea to the mill towns of Lancashire, and in
particular Bolton.
A
rather more prosaic reason for the family invariably eating fish on Friday had
more to do with the occupation William Henry Hadfield carried out during the
week. He bought ribbons, laces, and general drapery from the manufacturers in
the town, and sold them door to door and also from a market stall on Ashburner
Street.
He
had not always done this job. When Florence had been born in Widnes near
Liverpool, he had had a business in the town as a photographer, but when his
small shop was forced to close due to the economic downturn at that time, he
sought more lucrative employment which offered itself in Bolton. He moved there
and eventually took up work as a machine minder in an iron foundry and then a
polisher. In the early part of 1904 he had set up a small business on the
market and took advantage of its location to purchase fish for the family tea
on Friday of each week, carrying it wrapped in newspaper home to his wife
Harriet to cook for the whole family.
Florence
arrived home from the mill that evening brimming with anticipation, fear and
excitement, and ran up the stairs to her room to tidy herself from her working
grime, then dashed downstairs to have a wash at the sink in the kitchen. Her
mother looked sideways at her as her daughter skipped into the room.
'You
seem full of it today young lady' she said. Florence silently elbowed herself
gently past her mother and ran cold water under her hands from the tap on the
top of the square porcelain sink. Quickly rubbing the water over her face and
hands she answered,
'I
need to tell you something Ma.' She said quietly. Harriet wiped her hands down
the front of the rather grubby apron she wore over her housedress, and sat
herself down in one of the chairs by the side of the range. Picking up the
poker from the hearth she dug its point into the dull coals in the fire making
them blaze up into life once more.
'Well,'
she said when she could bear the waiting no longer. 'What have you got on your
mind then Flo?' Florence wiped her face then her hands on a scrap of towel by
the side of the sink and slowly took up a position in a chair opposite her
mother. She placed her hands on her knees and sat upright in the chair, facing
towards her mother. Her face was red with excitement and her eyes bright with
anticipation. She took a deep breath and reached forward, stretching out her
hand as if to touch her mother's lap, but changed her mind and sat back in the
chair releasing the breath and settling herself down. She paused as though
unable to work out the exact words she wanted to say. Her mother flicked one
hand towards her in mock annoyance.
'Come
on Flo, get it out' she said agitatedly.
'I've
met a man.' Florence finally said, the words spewing out in one long subdued
noise. 'And I think I want to marry him.' She carried on, then slumped back
again into the chair, watching and waiting for her mother's reaction. It was
not long coming.
'A
what?' she exclaimed, 'Flo! You've only just turned seventeen.' A look of
horror crossed her face. 'Oh Flo, don't tell me you are, well, you know, not
having a babe.' She stopped and sank back into her chair, gasping for breath,
the last word lying dry and dead in her mouth.
'Oh
mother' Florence cried out in shock. 'How could you? I'm not that sort of girl.' Her mother's face
changed. She looked both shamefaced at having suggested such a thing to her
daughter, but relieved also that it was not true, that she was not pregnant. It
was a common enough state for many of the young mill girls. She drew several
deep breaths and carried on, in a relieved tone.
'But
you're right. But you are just a girl.' She paused as Florence shot a look of
anger and disbelief at her, then said, 'So, go on, tell me more. Who is he,
what does he do, how old is he?' The words tumbled out in one long torrent
making Florence smile at her mother's confusion and relief.
Florence
sat forward in her chair and held out her hands towards the coal burning in the
fireplace, rubbing them together to try and get life and warmth back into them
after their immersion in the cold water, taking some enjoyment at the same time
from the discomfort she saw on her mothers' face. She took a breath and looked
up at her mother smiling.
'His
name is Thomas Lowe, he is twenty four and he works as a fitter and turner up
Deane Road. He's going to join the Royal Navy in a few months and move down to
Plymouth in Devonshire.' She paused for breath and also to gauge her mother's
reaction. There was none immediately. Harriet allowed no smile or frown to
cross her face. Florence continued, trying as hard as she was able to build a
suitably positive picture of the man to her mother. It was upon her mother's
reaction that the acceptance of Thomas into the family, and her life, that
Florence felt her future happiness depended. She was not wrong in this feeling.
Whilst her mother would have been seen by most people to have been just another
housewife, Harriet managed to keep a large household afloat with little money
and fewer resources, and this depended upon many of the household's important
decisions being made by her, alone. Whilst her husband, William Henry, was seen
by many to be the breadwinner, and therefore the most important person in the
house, it was Harriet who kept the ship afloat. A thought which went through
her mind at the time of the conversation, and one she felt was somewhat
apposite in view of her potential son in law's future profession.
Harriet
considered the news for a moment, absently smoothing out the creases in the
dress across her knees then looked up at her daughter.
'He's
a good seven years older than you Flo' she said, 'How long have you known him?'
'I
know how much older he is Ma, it doesn't make any odds though. We've known each
other since the start of the year and we've met several times since then. He
works hard Ma, he does a good job. He said that he won't finish with where he
is at the moment until he's finished the job he's on, then he's going to join
the Royal Navy.' She paused for breath and continued before her mother could
interrupt. 'He works at Horwich Loco Works. Has done since he left school. Got
an apprenticeship and says there'll be no trouble him getting a good job as an
arti, an artisif, an, an artificer, in the navy. It's the sort of job they are
crying out for.' She paused again for breath, her face now animated and beaming.
'It's good money too' she added finally and sat back in her chair once more.
Her mother nodded silently.
'Light
the lamps will you Flo?' she asked quietly, and nodded towards the gas light
fitted into the wall above the range they were sat. Florence rose to her feet
and took a paper spill from a small round home-made papier-mâché container on
the mantle-piece above the now blazing range. She pushed the end of the spill
into the flames and it caught immediately. Standing upright she reached to the
lead pipe protruding from the centre of the wall above the fire and with her
free hand turned the tap on the lamp and held the flaming spill into the gas
which poured from it. The gas burst into a yellow flame and she shook the spill
to extinguish the burning spill, then adjusted the flame from the wall light
until a bright yellow light filled the kitchen. Harriet nodded her head
backwards to the wall opposite the fire range.
'Do
the other one as well will you love?' she asked. Florence bent to re-light the
spill and moved around her mother to the far wall and repeated the process. The
room glowed with a bright friendly warmth as Florence took her seat again by
the fire. She waited in silence for a few moments and was about to say
something when her mother held up her hand to silence her. 'Leave this with
me,' she said. 'I'll break it to your Pa tonight when you've gone to bed.' She
looked up and across at her daughter, and smiled. Florence let out a long
breath of relief and her face creased happiness.
'Oh
Ma,' she said. 'Thank you so much. I was scared to death of telling Pa. I'm
sure it will be better coming from you.'
'Well,
we'll see.' Her mother replied quietly. 'Just say nothing to your brothers
until I've settled it with your Pa.' Florence nodded her head in silent
agreement, then stood to walk to the sink where she started to peel some
potatoes her mother had placed in the sink earlier.
'Maybe
we should ask him to come for tea someday,' her mother said, glancing in the
direction of her daughter bent over the sink peeling the potatoes. Florence
paused mid peel then dropped the finished potato into the sink and turned her
head to her mother. 'Thanks Ma. That would be nice,' she said quietly, and
turned back to her task. Harriet smiled to herself as she sat before the fire
and saw her daughters shoulders straighten visibly as the comment sunk home.
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