Seventeen-year-old Meg sat by the side of her mother as she lay in her bed unwell. Agnes had been getting progressively worse with each day, but despite her ill health, she always kept cheerful and planned for the future of her much-loved children. She instructed Meg daily not to waste her life and to count every day as a blessing and Meg in turn tried to reassure herself that things were not as bleak as both knew they really were. Meg’s father had died eleven years ago, killed in a pit disaster at Wheeland Pit. She could barely remember his face or voice, and now she feared she was going to be left to raise her younger sister, which was a task that she did not relish unless her mother’s health improved. She had already been helping out with earnings from doing errands for the market stallholders between looking after her mother and raising Sarah but she now knew she would shortly have to look to make real earnings in order to survive.
‘Aye, I’m aching today, my pet. Your mother’s not long for this world, I doubt.’ Agnes turned and looked at her precious daughter; she stroked the side of her face and smiled. ‘You’ll have to make the best of your life, when I’m six feet under. But before I do go, I need to see you in employment and then I know that at least you can keep this roof over your heads and your bellies full because I’ve nowt to leave you. Life has not been good to us, my sweet, and I wish I could have done better by you both. And you must promise me that you’ll take care of Sarah. I know she’s young and headstrong but she’ll soon grow up.’ She sighed and tried not to show the worry and pain that she was really in.
‘It’s all right, Mam, you’ve always been a good mother to us both,’ Meg replied. ‘We’ve both wanted for nothing. Love’s more important than possessions, and we’ve been shown plenty of that. You’ll have a better day tomorrow but you are right, with you being ill, we aren’t able to take any washing in. It’s too much work for you, and I haven’t the time to have my hands in soap suds every day and worry if I’m going to get it dry and ironed before it’s needed by our customers.
‘I wondered whether to ask Ted Lund if he needs help in his bakery. I can go early in the morning, he’s always got the ovens going by four in the morning, and he’s closing his doors by noon, so that would work out well for me while I’m looking after you and Sarah.’
Meg looked around the small bedroom that she and her sister shared with her mother. It was damp and cold. The wet dripped down the walls, leaving the once whitewashed walls black and mouldy, and the fire that burned in the hearth was only just keeping the creeping fingers of winter out of the bedroom. They had no money for the extravagance of extra coal to keep the bedroom and the kitchen fire alight, so Meg and Sarah had begged and pleaded the stallholders in the busy market in the town centre for their used packing boxes to burn just to keep their mother warm. However, Meg knew she needed paid work yet at the same time, she had to be there for her mother and sister in their hours of need.
‘He’s not up to much is Ted Lund, he’s as tight as a duck’s arse,’ Agnes told her. ‘He’s lazy and all, so he might just be willing to take you on if he thinks he can have a lie in his bed an hour longer – and at least you could bring us a loaf occasionally when he’s not been able to sell it. I’m surprised he sells anything: his bread is that rubbish, he should have been shut down years since, but folk will eat anything to keep their bellies filled in these hard times.’
Agnes sighed and held her breath as another bout of pain made her feel faint. ‘I need to see him. I’ll get up out of this bed tomorrow and tidy myself up so he doesn’t realize how ill I am. He owes me a favour; I’ve done his washing for years and he knows he’s paid me short on many a time. He’ll know that now he’s taking it to Mrs Battersby’s on York Street and it won’t be as well ironed.’ She held out her hand to be taken by Meg as she fought the pain and tried to smile. ‘You are a good baker, he’d be thankful for your light touch with pastry and cakes – not that his bakery’s that frivolous with fancy goods.
‘Now, you fill me this bed bottle and go and have a word with him. I’ll have myself forty winks while you are out.’ Agnes passed Meg the brown stoneware arched bottle from her bed, which was giving her the only warmth in her life. She felt death drawing ever nearer each day that she awoke.
‘I will, Mam, and I’ll not be long. His day will nearly have come to an end so he should be nearly finished in the shop.’
Meg took the hot water bottle from her hands and looked at her mother as she pulled the patchwork quilt that had been made by them both over many months when times had been happier from offcuts of worn-out clothes. Each stitch had been done with a smile and love as they had sat around the fire of an evening together. Now the love sewn into it was pretty much all that was keeping her mother warm, and she was glad of it.
She made her way down the wooden stairs into the main kitchen and living room in their small one-up one-down on the street known as Sykes Yard. She poked the dwindling fire and added a piece of coal onto it before placing the iron kettle on the stand over the fire, knowing it would soon boil. The kettle was always kept full and warm at the side of the fire and she waited for it in the Windsor chair where her father had always sat. She closed her eyes and tried to think of better times when her parents had both been hale and hearty and money had not been the worry that it was now.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of people rowing next door. The noise coming through the red brick walls with clarity was nothing new. Twenty people were living there in a house the same size as theirs, a family with ten children, two grandparents, and various lodgers who came and went with the shifts in the local flax mill and slept in the basement. There were frequent arguments to be heard at number 8, so the day was nothing unusual and Meg found herself feeling thankful for her lot as she heard the baby next door squealing yet again and the father raising his voice. Meg’s family might be poor and share rooms but they were not as cramped or as poor as some of the families in the square.
Meg heard the front door of next door slam and glimpsed the father storming off down the cobbles, probably on his way to The Globe public house where he would find solace in a drink or two, then, depending on his mood on his return, would either return to his bed or to argue with his wife again. She heard his wife sobbing as the baby kept wailing and the children were turned out into the yard to play despite the cold north wind that was blowing along the Yorkshire streets.
It was always the woman that caught it, Meg thought as she went to the back door and emptied the stoneware water bottle down the back drain and lifted the now boiling kettle to refill it. There was no way that she was ready for marriage, not to be lumbered with a baby every year and a husband who drank. She was prepared to wait until a decent man entered her life, one like her late father. Or even better, she would make her own way in the world without the aid of any man, she thought, as she tightened the stopper on the bottle and made her way back up to her mother before heading out to visit the grumpy Ted Lund with her suggestion.
‘Meg, Meg, have you any spice?’ The oldest of the Hartley family from next door ran up to her in his rags and no shoes on his feet begging for some toffees as she pulled the front door behind her and wrapped her shawl around herself in protection from the sharp biting wind.
‘Sorry, Harry, I’ve no toffees today. I wouldn’t mind one myself.’ Meg smiled at the crowd of young children. Within the year, ten-year-old Harry would be made to go and work at the local woollen mill like his older brother, but as of now, he was in charge of his younger siblings, and unlike her younger sister, had a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders. ‘Are you all all right? Your mam, is she all right?’ Meg asked with concern as she looked at the rag-taggle bunch that looked half starved.
‘Yes, but my da’s in a black mood. He threw his dinner plate at her and said he was fed up with bread and dripping for his dinner and that it wasn’t fit to eat. He’s buggered off to the pub, so my mam and we have a bit of peace until he comes back.’ Harry put his arm around his sister and looked up at Meg with wide sorrowful eyes. ‘Is your Sarah coming out to play?’
‘No, she’s up the backyard, pretending to dance like those in the music hall. She is a right madam is our Sarah.’ Meg shook her head as she thought about her younger sister, whom she loved but who both she and her mam knew thought herself precious. ‘You look after your mam, and the others behave and be good, and I’ll see if I can afford you some spice in a day or two if I can find myself some work.’
Meg smiled and left the children playing around the gas lamp. They had tied a length of string to it and were using their feet to swing back and forward. She couldn’t help but think her sister would be better mixing in with them than daydreaming about something that she could never be.
‘You going to get a job, Meg? Where at? I can’t wait to work at the mill and then I can make some brass!’ Harry yelled after her as she walked down the cobbles.
‘Hopefully with Ted Lund,’ she turned and answered.
‘That old bastard? He’s a right skinflint, my mam says, you’ll not be able to buy us any spice if you work for him,’ Harry shouted back and then went to organize his siblings as they swung around the gaslight.
Harry was right, Meg thought as she walked quickly out onto York Street where Ted Lund’s run-down bakery was to be found. She stood and waited for a minute while she plucked up the courage to talk to the local baker; he was not known for either his manners or his generosity. She watched as he came out of the shop and picked up an advertising board and took it back inside his shop. She’d picked her time right – he was making ready to close, so he would hopefully have the time listen to her and be feeling tired. The offer of a willing pair of hands might be attractive as he thought wearily about the following day’s preparation. Her heart beating fast, she walked across the street and into the small bakery.
‘We are shut! Can’t you read the notice?’ Ted Lund nodded to the cardboard sign that he had just turned over in the window of the shop’s door.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Lund, but I have not come to buy anything off you.’ Meg hesitated as she saw the scowl on Ted Lund’s face.
‘Well, I can do without folk like you bothering me. What are you standing there for then? Bugger off!’ Ted moaned as he pulled the shutter down and then rearranged the morning’s leftover bread to the front of his counter for resale as new the following morning.
‘I was just wondering… I mean I’d like to ask you if there is any chance of me getting employment with you. My mam says you’ve got to come and talk to her about it but I can ask for myself without bothering her at the moment.’ Meg had decided as she walked on her way to the bakery that she had a tongue in her head and she would ask for work herself. Besides, her mother was too ill to be bothered with grumpy Ted Lund.
‘She’s suffering at the moment, I hear,’ Ted said, less gruffly. ‘I miss her doing my washing – that woman further down the street charges more and doesn’t take as much care.’
Ted looked at Meg. He’d known her all his life and knew that things must be bad if she was seeking work with him. ‘What makes you think that I need somebody here at my bakery? I’ve run it by myself for years, so there’s no need for me to take on a slip of a lass that I’d have to keep my eye on all the time.’
Meg looked at the leftover bread and quickly replied, ‘You wouldn’t have any of this leftover each day because I’d work long hours for you and I’ll be good at sales. I could help bake in the morning and then you could have a sleep while I serve on. You could stay open until late then if there were two of us. I’d be able to work from early morning until one, and at least as long as my mam was all right, I could even come back and catch the mills turning out in an evening if you wanted me to.’ Meg immediately regretted that she had offered her services so much but knew she had to say something to make him see his business would be the better for taking her on.
‘I’ll see,’ Ted replied, and took a moment before continuing, ‘let me think about it. I’ve been thinking the mornings are beginning to take their toll on me. Let me sleep on it. I will however come and see your mother: she can tell me if you can bake or not. It’s no good taking on somebody who doesn’t have a feel for the dough. A baker’s not made you know, you are born a baker. My father was a baker and his father before him. This shop has been in our family for over fifty years; I can’t let it go to the dogs if I take you on.’
Ted went to his cash drawer and started to put the day’s takings into his pocket. ‘I’ll come around and see her about you tomorrow after I’ve shut shop. She’ll be looking to make sure I’ll treat you right if I do happen to take you on, if she is as bad as I’ve heard tell.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lund, we will both be grateful and I’ll be a good worker… and I can bake.’ Meg was smiling as she was ushered out of the shop by Ted, who just wanted to get home to his bed.
‘Aye, well, I’ve not said as much yet. We’ll see after I’ve talked to your mother. She’s a good soul, an’ I’ll not be easy to work with, I’ll warn you. You’ll have to do as you are told whether you like it or not.’
Ted scowled as he walked out onto the street with Meg and turned to lock his shop’s door. The church bells tolled for the hour and everybody knew it was just one o’clock in the afternoon so if they hadn’t caught the bakery on York Street it was too late because Ted was away to his bed, even if they wanted to give him their trade. ‘Until tomorrow – and don’t hold your breath, I might change my mind when I’ve had some sleep.’
‘Thank you, my mam will be pleased, we will look forward to your company.’
The smile stayed on Meg’s face as she walked with a spring in her step back down the street. The bakery was only small and Ted would probably pay her poorly but any money would be better than nothing.
‘Have you got your job, Meg?’ Harry asked, lifting his head at the sight of her returning as he sat on the unscrubbed steps of his home on his own in peace.
‘No, not yet, but I will. Then I’ll give you a farthing for some spice, I promise, Harry.’
Meg was still smiling as she waked up the pristine steps into her home. They might be poor but they had their pride and what they could keep clean they did. She prayed that Ted Lund would give her the job and that her mother would not be too ill the following day to see him. She loved baking. Her new position would be a godsend – it was made for her if Ted Lund would only take her on.
‘They look good, our Meg – the money spent on them will be worth it if it persuades Ted Lund to take you on.’
Agnes smiled with pride as she eyed the batch of rock buns that had been baked in honour of Ted’s visit. The recipe was one of the cheapest and tastiest that they both knew and eaten fresh there was nothing to compete with them. She sighed as Meg placed them on one of the better plates and put them down alongside the few pieces of good china that they owned ready for Ted to have tea with them. ‘Now do I look all right, not too ill? I don’t want that old devil thinking I’m on my last legs,’ Agnes said as she sat in the chair as close to the fire as she could. She had no meat left on her bones and found herself always cold as well as wracked with pain. ‘I’ll away back to my bed once he’s been and gone. I can’t sit here for too long.’ She wriggled in her chair and wished that Ted would hurry up.
‘You look fine, Mam, a lot better than you did yesterday,’ Meg reassured her. ‘You frighten me when you have bad days like that.’ She looked at her mother. In her prime she had been quite buxom with long black hair and a good glow on her cheeks. Now she was skeletal, her hair grey and her cheeks sunken, only half the woman that Meg once knew. She hoped that she would be forgiven for lying for a good cause.
‘Aye, well I frighten myself, my lass. I never thought this would happen to me. You think yourself immortal when you are younger and then Death points his finger at you and you know he’s waiting around the corner.’
Meg pulled a strand of loose hair back away from her mother’s tired eyes as they both heard a knock at the door. ‘Let him in then lass, don’t keep him waiting. Let’s get on with the show. He’ll wonder how he’s ever survived without you by the time I’ve built you up.’
Agnes grinned as Meg opened the door to the scrawny shape of Ted Lund as he took off his top hat and peered in at Agnes, registering the smell of sickness, the odour of rotting flesh that he had smelt too many times. He knew instantly that Agnes Fairfax was suffering more than she was letting on as she smiled and greeted him, trying to rise from her chair but then sitting back down quickly.
‘Stay where you are at, Agnes, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, and I’ll not be stopping long.’
Ted looked around the small room that was still spotless, a fire in the grate, and noticed that some of the ornaments that Agnes had been so proud of were missing. The room looked more sparse than he had remembered it from when he used to leave his washing with her. No doubt the pawnshop had benefitted from the dire straits they had found themselves in. ‘Now, your lass here, she says she can bake, is that right?’
‘Aye, look at the rock buns she made this morning. Try one with a cup of tea, and then you can tell me what you think of our proposal. She’d be a good help and no bother. Her grandmother, God rest her soul, learnt her how to bake before she could hardly walk,’ Agnes said, exaggerating the age that Meg had actually found a liking for baking.
‘Well they look all right… You’ve even put sultanas into them instead of currants. That’s a bit extravagant, I’d not be having you doing that in the shop!’ Ted bent down and cracked the rock bun in two. It crumbled but held its shape well as he took a bite.
‘Mmm… that’s all right, but it is one thing making cakes and fancies. Can you make bread, lass? That’s what I sell the most of in my shop.’ Ted looked at Meg as he finished his bun but shook his head to a cup of tea as Meg started to pour a cup for her mother and then him.
‘Yes, I can make bread. Why do you think we don’t buy it off you? It’s because we make our own,’ Meg said quickly and glanced at her mother.
‘Well cut me a slice of what you’ve made this morning,’ Ted said, quickly looking across at the sideboard where a breadboard was placed with no bread upon it.
‘I never made any this morning, I made these instead.’ Meg sighed, frustrated that she couldn’t prove her bread-making skills.
‘She can make bread, Ted, she makes good bread,’ Agnes put in. ‘We just didn’t have enough money to make both this morning and she’d made these before I could say owt. She needs a job, I need her in a job. Take her on, if only to make an ill woman happy. It’s your turn to do me a favour,’ she pleaded and winced as she moved in her chair.
‘You are not in a good way, are you, Agnes? I suppose I can try her for a week or two. It will give me a bit of a break, and aye, help you out. I’m not a millionaire though; she’ll get paid what I think she’s worth.’ Ted looked at Meg. ‘I’ll expect you at my bakery by four every morning and you do as you are told, no shirking or questioning what I do and why I do it. I’ll see how you work out and pay you what I think.’
Ted breathed in deeply and looked at the relief on both women’s faces. ‘I’m not promising owt, so don’t count on me; if I find your bread baking is worth nowt, then you’ll soon be on your way.’
‘Thank you, thank you, Mr Lund, I’ll not let you down, I promise. I’m a good worker and you’ll not regret your decision.’ Meg smiled at her mother as Ted made for the door.
‘Get your mother to bed and I’ll see you on Saturday morning, just for a half-day and then you can start properly on Monday if you are any good. Don’t expect any leeway on your first day, I’ll start as I mean to carry on. So don’t expect any niceties,’ Ted growled as he let himself out.
As he walked back home, Ted thought carefully. The rock bun he had tasted was excellent and if she made bread as good as her posh scones then she would be worth his money. Besides, her mother was in a bad way – she’d need some money coming into the house to pay for the laudanum to ease her pain which he had spied on the mantelpiece. He didn’t know how much longer Agnes would be with her beloved daughters but of one thing Ted was sure: there was going to be heartache soon at 10 Sykes Yard.