her chair. ‘Eeh that were right gradely. Pour us some tea, lass. It’ll be strong enough to stand a spoon in if we leave it to mash much longer.’
Bella filled the two pint mugs which stood waiting on the table, almost to the brim and passed one to her friend, enquiring after the health of her large family as she did so.
Violet ran swiftly through them all, from little Joe the baby of the family at two who was having trouble walking because of a faulty hip, the six year old twins Emma and Hannah, then there was Pete and Georgie, always up to some prank or other; and Kate the eldest girl at fifteen who was causing her mother much grief over some boy she’d taken up with. Finally there was Ernest who’d found himself rushed into a hasty marriage at nineteen and Dan, the eldest and most sensible at twenty-four. He it was who brought in the highest wages and made all the decisions, acting more like the head of the family rather than the eldest son in lieu of a father who, in Violet’s own words was ‘A feckless lump, good fer nowt but one thing. All animal passion and no brains, ‘ceptin what he keeps in his trousers.’
Bella strived not to giggle to hear the inoffensive and overburdened Mr Howarth so described. Though it was true that for a man not known for drink, being a strong Methodist and teetotal, Cyril Howarth had certainly ‘done his duty’. He’d now been diagnosed with emphysema and was unable to hold down a job. Violet treated this tragedy with her usual degree of black humour and made sure everyone knew he still had his ‘faculties’. She’d been heard to complain for years that if she could have found a way to stop her numerous children from coming, she certainly would have done so. There had been several others, who now resided in the local cemetery and were visited every week, without fail.
‘I never wanted a large family and if I could find some daft cluck to take ‘em off me hands, I would. But who else would put up with ‘em but me, eh?’
Bella always smiled at these remarks for it was clear to all who knew her that Violet worshipped the ground her children walked upon. Her house was spotless, if Spartan so far as furniture was concerned, and if the children’s clothes were an odd assortment and practically threadbare, they were at least carefully darned with not a ‘bobby’s winder’- that is, hole in a stocking - to be seen. Despite her husband never earning more than twenty-six shillings a week throughout a lifetime of labouring on the docks, the stock pot had always been packed with good vegetables, grown on Uncle Albert’s allotment. From time to time it was enriched with the scraggy remains of an old hen, or a bit of mutton. Now Violet depended upon her older children to keep it filled but, despite all the family’s difficulties, was often heard to declare that no one in her house would ever go hungry, and she’d suffer no long faces neither.
‘Anyroad,’ she said now, finishing her tale along with the thick brown steaming tea, ‘I reckon I’ve fettled it. I’ve found a way to stem the tide,’ and chortling merrily she gave Bella a huge wink. ‘Not that I should be talking about such matters to a young lady such as yerself, but I’ve been and got summat that seems to be doing the trick nicely.’
‘What trick? Stem what tide? You’re talking in riddles, Violet.’
Violet leaned forward, picked up the tea pot and weighed it in her hand. ‘There’s happen enough for one.’ Bella shook her head so Violet half refilled her own mug with the brown sludge. ‘I’m talking about childer. What do you think I’m talking of?’
‘Childer. Lord, you don’t mean..?’
‘Aye, I do. I’ve worked out how to stop ‘em comin’ at last, though happen a bit late in the day. At least I’ve found a new doctor who’s worked it out and is willing to let me in on the secret.’
Bella gazed at her friend now with eager attention, leaning forward in her seat. ‘You’re
Bella filled the two pint mugs which stood waiting on the table, almost to the brim and passed one to her friend, enquiring after the health of her large family as she did so.
Violet ran swiftly through them all, from little Joe the baby of the family at two who was having trouble walking because of a faulty hip, the six year old twins Emma and Hannah, then there was Pete and Georgie, always up to some prank or other; and Kate the eldest girl at fifteen who was causing her mother much grief over some boy she’d taken up with. Finally there was Ernest who’d found himself rushed into a hasty marriage at nineteen and Dan, the eldest and most sensible at twenty-four. He it was who brought in the highest wages and made all the decisions, acting more like the head of the family rather than the eldest son in lieu of a father who, in Violet’s own words was ‘A feckless lump, good fer nowt but one thing. All animal passion and no brains, ‘ceptin what he keeps in his trousers.’
Bella strived not to giggle to hear the inoffensive and overburdened Mr Howarth so described. Though it was true that for a man not known for drink, being a strong Methodist and teetotal, Cyril Howarth had certainly ‘done his duty’. He’d now been diagnosed with emphysema and was unable to hold down a job. Violet treated this tragedy with her usual degree of black humour and made sure everyone knew he still had his ‘faculties’. She’d been heard to complain for years that if she could have found a way to stop her numerous children from coming, she certainly would have done so. There had been several others, who now resided in the local cemetery and were visited every week, without fail.
‘I never wanted a large family and if I could find some daft cluck to take ‘em off me hands, I would. But who else would put up with ‘em but me, eh?’
Bella always smiled at these remarks for it was clear to all who knew her that Violet worshipped the ground her children walked upon. Her house was spotless, if Spartan so far as furniture was concerned, and if the children’s clothes were an odd assortment and practically threadbare, they were at least carefully darned with not a ‘bobby’s winder’- that is, hole in a stocking - to be seen. Despite her husband never earning more than twenty-six shillings a week throughout a lifetime of labouring on the docks, the stock pot had always been packed with good vegetables, grown on Uncle Albert’s allotment. From time to time it was enriched with the scraggy remains of an old hen, or a bit of mutton. Now Violet depended upon her older children to keep it filled but, despite all the family’s difficulties, was often heard to declare that no one in her house would ever go hungry, and she’d suffer no long faces neither.
‘Anyroad,’ she said now, finishing her tale along with the thick brown steaming tea, ‘I reckon I’ve fettled it. I’ve found a way to stem the tide,’ and chortling merrily she gave Bella a huge wink. ‘Not that I should be talking about such matters to a young lady such as yerself, but I’ve been and got summat that seems to be doing the trick nicely.’
‘What trick? Stem what tide? You’re talking in riddles, Violet.’
Violet leaned forward, picked up the tea pot and weighed it in her hand. ‘There’s happen enough for one.’ Bella shook her head so Violet half refilled her own mug with the brown sludge. ‘I’m talking about childer. What do you think I’m talking of?’
‘Childer. Lord, you don’t mean..?’
‘Aye, I do. I’ve worked out how to stop ‘em comin’ at last, though happen a bit late in the day. At least I’ve found a new doctor who’s worked it out and is willing to let me in on the secret.’
Bella gazed at her friend now with eager attention, leaning forward in her seat. ‘You’re
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