Home Is A Strange Country Chapter 7

SEVEN

Bolton Wakes 1904

Florence pushed open the front door to the house on Waterloo Street, and with the free hand wiped a trickle of sweat with her shawl which had been irritating her face. The weather had been hot for a few days now, and the day's work at the cotton mill had been oppressively hot, made worse because of the unseasonably warm weather. The skies had been cloudless for several days and the temperature had soared into the high seventies and low eighties. The weekend just past had been spent mainly with Tommy and they had discussed much about their future together and his plans for the navy, and where they would live once they were married. The marriage plans were entirely based on him joining the navy and when that could be accomplished, but now she had another hill to climb, and the hill was her father.

As she hung the shawl on the hook on the hallway wall she called out,

'It’s only me Ma.' Her fathers’ voice came in reply from the kitchen.

'She’s not in. She’s run off and left you. You’re all too much for her.' Florence opened the door into the kitchen and saw her father sat in his usual armchair close to the left hand side of the range, a newspaper as usual in his hand and a large white mug of tea within easy reach on the corner of the kitchen table. His head did not lift up from the newspaper as Florence walked up behind his chair and bent down to fold her arms around his neck as she planted a kiss on the bald spot on top of his head. William Henry flicked the newspaper in mock annoyance, but a smile crept across his face. She was the only surviving daughter of the four his wife had produced for him, the other three, together with two other sons had died either in childbirth or within a few months. For that reason amongst others, she was special. 'What are you after young lady?' he asked gently. Florence unfolded herself from around his neck and stepped towards the range.

'Me?' she asked in feigned innocence. 'What makes you think I want anything Pa?'

'’Cos to begin with you always want something, and secondly you only make a fuss of me when you want something special,' he said gruffly. His eyes left the paper and fixed on Florence, the daughter he had always wanted and had finally been blessed with. She was a pretty girl he thought. No, no longer a girl, a young woman now. And here she was soon to get married, to a nice chap, who would look after her as well as he and her mother had. 'So, what it is?' he repeated.

'Do you want a cup of tea Pa?' Florence asked. William Henry pointed to the mug on the edge of the table with the corner of his newspaper.

'Got one thanks,' he said. 'There’s plenty in the pot if you fancy one.' He nodded to the large brown teapot warming on the iron griddle by the side of the range, it’s fire low in the grate. His eyes followed her as she bent to pick up the teapot and then carry it to the cupboard by the side of the range to pick out a mug for herself. Setting it down in silence on the table she poured the stewed tea into the cup and topped it with milk from a small jug which lay next to the bowl of sugar on the table. As she set the teapot back on the range she turned to her father and stood motionless in front of him.

'Pa' she began, then paused.

'Get on with it lass, better out than in.' He lowered the newspaper and took the mug from the table, to indicate to her that she finally had his full and undivided attention.

Florence took her mug of tea and cradled it in both hands, standing in front of him so that she was silhouetted against the bright spring light shining through the window overlooking the back yard. She took a sip from the mug and then placed it back on the table and folded her arms across her chest.

'It’s not long off the Bolton Holidays is it Pa?' she asked. William Henry nodded his head in agreement.

'What are you planning?' he asked.

Florence paused, unsure whether it was wise to ask her question, but realising that she had promised Tommy the day before that she would ask him tonight, and that if she didn’t, well, she would look a right fool.

'Tommy and me were thinking that, well, we were thinking  as he’s going into the navy, it would be good for him, and me, to have a little holiday before he went. So, we were thinking that, well, that we’d like to go to Blackpool for the first week of the holidays.' She paused to let this sink in. Her father said nothing, allowing the silence to encourage his daughter to pluck up the courage to end the small speech she had obviously been rehearsing. She took a breath and said,

'Tommy knows a B & B what he and his Ma and Pa used to go to on Hornby Drive in Blackpool, and he thinks he can get us two rooms there for the first week of the Bolton Holidays.' She gulped and quickly added. 'It would be alright Pa, it would be two rooms.'

'I should bloody hope so as well young lady' her father snapped. This was not what he had anticipated and the news had thrown him somewhat. 'I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to your Ma about it. Just ‘cos you’re getting married doesn’t mean to say that, well, that...' he paused and stumbled over his words, unwilling to say in words what his mind had been thinking, and in truth what Florence had known his thoughts would be.

'Pa' she said, 'I promise you I will be alright. Tommy's a good bloke, and we will have separate rooms, and there will be other people in the house as well, and we’ll be alright, and he will take care of me, so I’ll be alright. And anyway, you know what Blackpool landladies are like.' The words tumbled out and she twisted her hands in discomfort, hopping from one foot to the other in front of the range.

'I said I’ll have to talk to your Ma about it Florence.  Let’s leave it at that for the time being shall we?' He picked up his newspaper and pretended to start to read it again, though his mind was anywhere other than the daily news from Bolton and District. Florence murmured quietly,

'Alright Pa. Thanks' and turned away to walk around the table to go upstairs to her bedroom.

Her head was down as she climbed the stairs and her shoulders slumped as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Throwing herself onto the bed she curled herself into a ball and soon felt tears flowing gently onto her cheeks. This had not gone how she had anticipated. Within a few minutes she had sobbed herself into a deep slumber in the bright light warmth of her bedroom.

Down below, her mother pushed open the front door with the bag of shopping she held in her hand, elbowing it open and pushing through into the hallway.

'I’m home!' she called out to whoever was in the house, knowing that it was likely to be only William Henry.

'In here love,' William Henry called out. As she came into the kitchen laden down with a half full shopping bag she was surprised to see her husband standing with his back to the fireplace range.

'What’s the matter?' she said, hefting the bag onto the table.

'It’s our Flo' he replied.

'What’s wrong with her?' Harriet asked, unable to hide the concern from her voice.

'She wants to go to Blackpool for Bolton Holidays with Tommy, in a bed and breakfast.' The look on his face told her that he not only did not approve of the suggestion, but was horrified by it. Harriet looked towards the teapot on the range.

'Is there any tea in that pot?' she asked.

'Eh? No, it needs a fresh brew,' replied William Henry shortly. Harriet started to empty out the shopping bag onto the table.

'Hand it to me then and I’ll make us a fresh pot then' she said. William Henry picked the teapot from the range griddle and handed it to her. 'Pop the kettle on will you while I make it.' William looked askance at her. It was his job to bring in the money to sustain the family. It was not his job to cook the food, and things like that. Because they were alone in the room and nobody else would see his action however, he quietly lifted the kettle from the griddle and set it down on the range fire. Taking the poker from its stand by the side of the fire he bent and adjusted the damper in the ceiling of the fireplace, and almost instantly the fire began to glow. Replacing the poker he stood once more with his back to the fire watching his wife put packets and produce away in cupboards around the room. His patience would only last so long.

'Well,' he said, 'What do you think?' Harriet said nothing until the last of her shopping had been put in its correct place, then turning away a stray wisp of hair from her forehead, she stood facing him on the opposite side of the table.

'What do I think?' she said, pausing for a moment to ensure she had his full attention. 'I’ll tell you what I think. I think that it'll be alright for her to go.' She waited for her husband to respond, but William Henry was initially too shaken to make any response, he stood looking at her speechless. He was just about to make a reply when she lifted a hand to cut him off. 'Wait a minute William Henry,' she said. 'She’s soon to be married, isn’t she?' He nodded his head in agreement and made as though to say something. 'Give me a minute love. She’s soon to be married, and if her and Tommy want to pretend they are already married then there is not much we can do about it. They’ll find a way won’t they?' She smiled at him and William grinned at some memories from their own past. He nodded his head slowly and prepared to reply. Harriet continued, 'And do you not remember what the landlady at the bed and breakfast we stayed at was like that time we went?' She paused to allow him time to recall the short holiday they had had together at Blackpool, the year before they had become married. It had not been altogether satisfying for either of them. Another grin crossed his face shyly and he murmured a noise of agreement and said, 

'Tell the truth, I’ve seen night watchmen with guard dogs friendlier than some of the Blackpool landladies.' She smiled at him and said,

'I can’t see them being able to get up to any mischief, can you?' William shuffled his feet and looked down at the home made rag rug where he stood.

'Suppose you’re right' he conceded eventually turning to regain his seat by the fire. He picked up his newspaper from the seat and opened it to start to read again. 'Can’t say I’m happy though.' he mumbled into the paper.

'Oh Willie, stop your worrying. If there’s anything going to go wrong, it’ll go wrong whether we are there or not. There’s nowt to be done about it. Just be settled with it now.' She looked at his head buried in the newspaper and said, 'You should be thankful she had the sense to ask you first and not me.' He looked over the top of the paper at her puzzled.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'You should be thankful she knows she can wrap you round her little finger like she can. Asking you first was a clever move on her part. Gives you time to get used to the idea before you blew up at me.' Harriet grinned at him and picked up the kettle to refresh the pot of tea. And with that the conversation ended, for the time being.

Upstairs, Florence woke to hear the tail end of the conversation being carried on below her, but could make out nothing other than the sound of two voices. She rolled over onto her back, squinting at the bright late afternoon sunshine flowing in through the bedroom window, and wondered when would be the right time to go down and face the music. She listened as the voices stopped and then she waited another minute before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and taking a deep breath, left the bedroom to go downstairs.

In the kitchen her father was still in his chair by the fire silently reading the newspaper. Her mother was seated opposite him nursing a mug of tea in her hand and gazing into the flames from the range. She turned towards her at the sound of the door into the kitchen opening.

'Hello Ma' Florence said.

Harriet lifted the mug to her mouth and glanced over the rim, trying hard to stop the laughter she felt in her eyes coming to her mouth.

'Well young lady, do you have something to say to me?' She finally said. Florence leaned her hands against the back of the hard back chair nearest to her and shuffled her feet nervously as she looked down at the linoleum floor covering. It was cracked and worn in holes in places. She scuffed one toe against one of the cracks.

'Well, I suppose you know don’t you?' she said eventually almost under her breath.

'Yes I do.' her mother replied briskly. 'And what I want to know is why you felt you couldn’t ask me first, you had to go round my back and try creeping up to your Pa with your suggestion.' Florence looked up at her mother.

'Sorry Ma,' she muttered. 'It’s just that you weren’t home when I got in, so I asked Pa instead.' William Henry’s eyes did not move from the newspaper. Harriet sipped loudly from her tea.

'Well, your Pa and me have discussed it, and whilst we’re not completely happy, well, at least you asked and didn’t tell us any lies. So that’s a good thing for you.' Florence smiled guiltily at her mother and nodded her head silently.

'So you can go. But if you think you are going to get up to any funny business whist you are in Blackpool, well, let me tell you, you don’t know what Blackpool landladies are like.' She paused to allow this to sink in and then continued. 'When are you thinking of going, you and Mr Thomas Alfred Fletcher Lowe?'

Florence breathed a sigh of relief and smiled warmly at her mother.

'First week of Bolton Holidays Ma.' She replied. 'We were thinking of going on the Friday night when we’ve finished work and get the train, or perhaps first thing on Saturday morning, from Trinity Street.'

'I think you’d be better off getting the Saturday morning train our Flo. The crowds on the Friday night will be terrible. Trinity Street will be packed, they’ll have you waiting down the street just to get on the station.'

'Right, well, we’ll go Saturday morning then.' She replied, pausing for a moment. 'Anyway, that’ll give me time to get home from work and get packed properly.' Her mother nodded her head.

'Has Tommy got the place booked then?' she asked.

'No Ma, not yet. We were waiting ‘til you and Pa said it’s alright. If it’s alright, I’ll pop up to his house tonight to tell him so he can write off to the boarding house. Can I?' She put on her special pleading face, the one she normally only used for her father. Harriet smiled and replied,

'Aye, course it is love. You get yourself off after tea and tell him the news.' She thought for a second. 'I suppose his parents know about your plans do they?' Florence nodded her head gently, her eyes cast down again to the floor. 'Well, at least you had the sense to ask first.' Harriet said. 'Now you can give me a hand making the tea.' She rose from her seat and Florence came round the side of the table, and gave her mother a warm hug. 'Thanks Ma' she whispered, 'I’ll be alright you know.' Harriet nodded her head gently and turned towards the sink. Sunlight was blinding her through the kitchen window and dust speckles danced in its beams across the glass causing her eyes to water. Her daughter seemed to suddenly have grown up.

................................................

Saturday 25th June

Florence’s mother had been wrong about the crowds leaving Bolton for the coast on Friday evening, Saturday morning turned out to be just as busy. The crowds were enormous, with all the cotton mills and other employers in the town having closed for the two weeks annual Wakes Weeks holiday the night before.

It was a peculiarity of the Lancashire Cotton towns, but also some of the Yorkshire and Westmorland industrial towns that the Wakes Weeks had started in the first place. In Bolton some 36,000 people were employed in the mills from a total population of 160,000, with similar figures for the other cottons towns of Lancashire. When it became evident that the industry was the major income earner in the region, the mill owners realised that to close all the mills at the same time would create an enormous problem for the industry as a whole in potential loss of orders and income, so it was decided that the individual towns would close their mills at set times during the year. For Bolton it was the last week in June and the first week in July, with other towns in the region following suit over the years, their weeks preceding or tagging onto the end of other weeks.

As the effect of the closure dawned on other companies in the towns other industries followed on so that all industry closed. Local government services were run on a reduced staffing level during the fortnight the mills were closed. In practice it meant that during the period of the Wakes the town was virtually deserted. Many retail shops also closed entirely for the two week period following the practice of the mills, so that newspapers were sold on street corners and fresh vegetables available only from the main markets in the town. Shopkeepers themselves were forced to take a two week holiday, whether they liked it or not.

The crowds on the railway platform were six to eight people deep as Tommy clutched Florence’s hand, and kept her close to him to ward off the potential danger of being knocked under the incoming trains. Florence held a small hard brown cardboard suitcase in her hand and gripped Tommy’s hand with the other. The noise of the arriving and departing trains from the other platforms, together with the vast crowds would have caused her to panic had it not been for the fact that she worked in an environment which was equally as busy. She held tight onto Tommy’s hand, excitement bubbling over as she squeezed it tighter and tighter.

They waited outside the station on Trinity Street with crowds of other excited mill workers in the warmth of the summer sun. Though it was still not ten o’clock in the morning, the sunshine was promising a golden day. She and Tommy had queued for half an hour simply to get into the railway station on Trinity Street, even though Tommy had already bought return tickets for the journey to Blackpool. She had fidgeted impatiently whilst they had waited, smoothing down the new dress she wore and adjusting the wide new hat on her head..

'What are we waiting for Tommy?' she asked him, looking up into his dark brown eyes. He smiled down at her from beneath the smart new straw boater he had bought that week, especially for the holiday. Squeezing her hand he grinned down at her.

'Not be long now love, there must be extra trains being put on. It’s always the same the first day of the holidays. Don’t worry, we’ll get there in good time.' Florence grinned at him,

'In time for what Tommy?' she whispered quietly. Tommy looked down at her and squeezed her hand tighter.

'Never you mind young lady' he replied grinning.

The sound of a train approaching from the direction of Manchester on the platform where they were waiting caused a general increase in the level of noise amongst the crowds on the platform. The level increased to almost drown out the roar as the train approached amidst a cloud of smoke and hissing of steam from beneath the engine. Florence edged forward to meet the incoming train, Tommy held her back gently from standing too close to the edge of the platform. In a cloud of steam and smoke the train eventually drew to a shuddering halt, and there was a final united movement of the crowd to open doors. Tommy and Florence joined the rush, and using his shoulders and height Tommy managed to open the door at one end of the carriage.

'Oh Tommy, it’s a corridor train' Florence squealed in delight. They pushed their way through the crowds of people into the carriage, and into the first of the eight seat compartments, sliding the door open and edging through with the bulk of their suitcases. Tommy hoisted their two cases onto the overhead netting luggage racks then turned to help Florence place her coat on top of it.

'I’ll keep my hat on Tommy' she said, turning to settle into a seat close to the window. With a broad smile wreathing her face, she watched as Tommy set his own case in the rack and sat down opposite her, his knees almost touching hers.

'Well', he said 'Let’s get this thing moving.' Florence grinned at him and leaned across to take his hand in hers

'I’m so excited Tommy' she said. 'I can’t believe we are going off for a week. It’s going to be so good isn’t it?' Tommy smiled back, nodding his head in agreement, then settled back as he felt the jerk of the engine pulling against the dead of weight of the now fully loaded carriages. The journey was a little over an hour in length to Blackpool North railway station, and for the people on the train, this journey was as much a part of the holiday as the time they would spend in the resort.