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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