Sarah was as good as her word, though she admitted often enough she found her last year at school no great hardship. Everything seemed easier when she knew the summer would finally bring her freedom. In the darkest days of winter she read widely, wrote to Hannah and Marianne, rehearsed for the Dramatic Society, worked on her pictures of the mills and the commentaries that went with them, and played hockey, all with the same vigour and energy.
As the worst of the winter weather passed and the first signs of spring became obvious, a long-awaited event occurred to delight everyone. Hugh’s motor carriage finally arrived, polished and gleaming and smelling of new leather. It was hard to tell whether he or her father was more excited by the prospects it opened up.
Sam had been spending more of his weekends in Richhill, but he promptly asked for a day off and arrived home one Friday night to study the specifications and the instructions for the chauffeur. The following morning, a mild, April Saturday the first trial runs were made, Sarah sitting beside Hugh in the front seat, Sam and John listening for trouble, ready for action, in the back. They drove from the temporary motor house down at Jackson’s farm to Katesbridge and back with no worse mishap than frightening a few chickens and amazing two old men sitting dreamily in the morning sun.
By the time the elegant new vehicle was tuned and modified to cope with the steepest part of Rathdrum hill, summer was on the way and Sarah was already making plans for her future.
‘Hallo, Mrs Jackson,’ she said cheerfully, as she came into the kitchen by way of the dairy, her arms full of the contents of her school locker on the last day of June.
‘Hallo, Sarah,’ said the older woman, getting to her feet. ‘You’ve caught me gossiping to your mother and I only came in to rest my legs for five minutes when I brought the eggs.’
‘Don’t run away, Mrs Jackson. Help me celebrate. I was thinking of burning my school dress on a bonfire, but the trouble is I’m too sensible,’ she said laughing, as she leant over the table and allowed the top layers of her assorted possessions to slide across its bare surface.
‘We could always chop it up and use the pieces for quilting if that would give you any satisfaction,’ Rose offered, as she came over and kissed her cheek.
‘Before I forget,’ said Mrs Jackson, shaking her head to an offer of tea, ‘Congratulations. Peter told us you’d won Artist of the Year.’
She blushed and looked pleased.
‘I’m not sure I deserve it,’ she said honestly. ‘They created a special category for photography and I was the only one in it.’
‘Ah now, that’s not fair,’ said the older woman, waving a finger at her. ‘My Peter says she was far and away top in the voting,’ she went on turning to Rose. ‘It was the others who were lucky they made a special prize. He says every lunchtime there was a crowd in the Art Room looking at her pictures. You know, Mrs Hamilton,’ she added, in a confidential tone, ‘some of them at that school don’t know what the inside of a mill looks like. No, nor the wee cottages the workers live in.’
She paused, as if about to say more, then changed her mind abruptly.
‘I must away,’ she declared. ‘If those two boys of mine are back and I don’t go and keep an eye on them, the cake tin’ll be empty. I’ll take a wee run up again next week, Mrs Hamilton. Cheerio now.’
‘I’d planned to have our tea all ready today,’ said Rose, smiling ruefully, as their neighbour disappeared in a flurry of skirts beyond the garden gate. ‘Best cups and a plate of cake.’
‘She’s a bit of a gossip isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is,’ Rose agreed. ‘But she’s never malicious. I think she gets lonely in a house full of men,’ she went on, as she pulled the kettle forward on the stove and warmed the teapot. ‘There are times it’s good to have another woman to talk to.’
‘Do you miss Elizabeth?’
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Rose honestly. ‘It’s not that I don’t see her almost as much, but it was so comforting having her just up the hill. I’m lucky to have you around for a wee while longer,’ she admitted, laughing, as Sarah pushed at her spreading possessions to leave a space for the cake tin she’d brought out from the dresser.
‘Mmm, this is good Ma. I was thinking about it all the way up the hill,’ she confessed, munching her fruit cake devotedly.
The late afternoon sun threw shadows diagonally across the floor as it moved westwards. There was silence in the room for a long moment.
‘Did you ever used to feel Ma that time would never pass?’ asked Sarah, at last.
‘Oh yes. Waiting is one of the hardest things we ever do. Especially when you’re young. And I don’t think it gets that much easier as you get older,’ Rose went on, putting out her hand to refill Sarah’s cup. ‘You become more reconciled to the need for it, but its still hard.’
‘Was being poor hard?’ Sarah asked, as she helped herself to a another piece of cake.
‘Whatever made you think of that?’ Rose replied, laughing at the unexpectedness of her daughter’s question.
‘The cake,’ she mumbled, having just taken a bite. ‘Mrs Jackson mentioned her cake tin and then I brought out ours. And I’m having a second piece, which is a bit greedy,’ she went on, with a slightly sheepish look. ‘I always think of Marie Antoinette when they told her the people had no bread. “Then let them eat cake,” she said. Do you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘So when I eat cake, I always think of people who are poor. But I’ve never been poor. I try to understand what it might be like.’
Rose sat and thought how she might explain. She saw herself standing in the bedroom of the old house, counting shillings into her purse. She had always given thanks for having her own purse and money to put in it.
‘There was one very bad winter when I had to keep buying more turf,’ she began. ‘I’d saved up a little during the summer for clothes for the boys and boots for your father, but the weather was so bad I had to use it all up on fuel. There was only a shilling left in the account and that was just to keep it open. We had almost nothing coming in except for what my sewing made. In the deep winter weeks, sometimes the forge hardly paid for the milk and eggs.’
Sarah finished her cake and sat silent, listening intently.
‘Being poor is tiring. It’s exhausting,’ Rose continued with a great heaving sigh. ‘Because you have to think about everything. Nothing is simple. And all the time you wonder if you’re going to fail, because if life should deal you one more blow, you’ll find yourself without food, or fire, or shelter. I used to think I could bear being poor if it were just me, or just Da and me. What I couldn’t bear was you children going short.’
‘We never did,’ said Sarah slowly shaking her head.
‘No, thank God,’ Rose said, smiling. ‘But there were times when it came too close for comfort.’
Sarah hung her school dress in the wardrobe. Even if she wasn’t keen on the style and was heartily pleased to be rid of it, she could imagine many a young woman who would be glad of something so well-made.
‘No need to think about that now,’ she said aloud, as she worked her way through the pile of things she’d carried upstairs.
There were some books she’d chosen to keep, her indoor shoes, her sketch book and the portfolio she’d made to hold her best prints, especially enlarged for the end of year exhibition. By the time she’d found a place for everything, she heard water running in the dairy. Her mother was washing the vegetables for supper.
‘Any post this morning, Ma?’ she asked, as she came behind her to take a peeling knife from the rack on the wall.
‘Goodness yes. I’m sorry, I forgot,’ she replied smiling. There’s one from Marianne. I could tell that handwriting anywhere. The other is local. Go and have a look if you want, there’s only the potatoes to do. I made a stew this morning.’
Sarah left her peeling knife on the draining board, went and lifted down her letters from the mantelpiece, put Marianne’s in her pocket to read later and tore open the other one.
‘Ma,’ she called out. ‘I’ve got a job.’
She ran back to the door of the dairy and leant against the doorpost as she read.
‘What? Already? I didn’t know you’d applied for any.’
‘I hadn’t. I just had an idea and went in to see them after school one day. It’s the new photographic studio. I asked the boss if he needed any help and he said yes, they needed someone downstairs in the shop and upstairs in the darkroom, but they hadn’t advertised it yet.’
‘So he’s offered it to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think you’ll like being in a shop?’ inquired Rose cautiously.
‘No, not much,’ Sarah replied. ‘But I need to learn developing and printing and enlarging. If I’m good enough at it, perhaps they’ll let me do more of it. Anyway, it’s a start.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Monday next, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.,’ she read out quickly. ‘One week’s holiday with pay after one year’s service. Bank Holidays. Half day off on Wednesday and Saturday alternately.’
‘And how much do they pay you, if it’s not a rude question?’
Sarah laughed and told her.
‘Not a lot, is it?’ Rose said quietly.
‘I’d say it was a pittance myself. How much would you like for my keep, Ma?’
‘Sarah!’ she expostulated. ‘As if I’d want anything when you’re earning so little. Don’t be silly,’ she said laughing.
‘But Sam paid for his keep when he stopped being an apprentice,’ she protested.
‘Of course he did, but he did have a decent income then,’ she replied. ‘Besides,’ she went on gently, ‘it made him feel good. I used it to open a bank account for him. It’s all there for him when he needs it. What you’re earning won’t keep you in stockings.’
‘Do you mind, Ma? Do you think I’m being silly?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Rose said firmly. ‘I think you know exactly what you’re doing. I’m just so glad the money doesn’t matter. Your father will be pleased you’ve got something you want. In fact, he’s going to be delighted, given the little surprise he has for you. But I mustn’t say another word and spoil it,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Now go and find a clean tablecloth, will you, while I get these potatoes going.’
When John came in, they could see how tired he was by the way he hung up his hat and dropped his jacket over the back of his chair.
‘Sometimes I think a day’s work at the anvil is far easier than an afternoon sittin’ round a table,’ he said, as he came to the table, picked up his knife and fork gratefully and began his meal.
‘Ventilation again?’ asked Sarah quietly.
‘Aye,’ he said, nodding at her. ‘The people from Belfast specialise in drying equipment,’ he explained, turning to Rose. ‘Their big blowers are great if ye want to dry tons of tea in India, but we need to clean the air as well as move it. An’ there’s the problem of the heat generated as well. They’re comin’ again next week,’ he said with a wry laugh. ‘Remind me, Friday is the suit, not the corduroys.’
Rose laughed and was pleased to see him look easier.
‘Ach, sure I forgot,’ he said suddenly. ‘Haven’t we got a lady of leisure dinin’ with us tonight? So you’re all finished, Sarah?’
‘Yes. But I start work on Monday,’ she replied promptly.
‘You’re jokin’,’ he said, the lines of tension disappearing from his face.
‘No. No joke.’
‘Well you don’t let the grass grow under your feet,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Come on then, tell us all. Ma and I have a wee surprise for you and you’re definitely not havin’ it till you tell us what you’ve been up to. Isn’t she the sly one?’ he added, smiling across at Rose.
Sarah told her story and John nodded, as aware as Rose how useful this modest beginning would be. It was when Sarah mentioned the very small weekly wage that the lines of tiredness reappeared in his face.
‘I hope ye’ll not try to keep yourself on that, Sarah. Don’t for any sakes do what Jamie did, when you know there’s money in the bank.’
‘John,’ Rose said quietly, a note of warning in her voice.
‘Ach, I’m sorry. I shou’den have mentioned Jamie,’ he replied wearily. ‘Sure it wasn’t all about money, but that’s the part that sticks in my throat. An’ you’d never be like that, Sarah,’ he said looking at her directly. ‘You’re as different from Jamie as chalk and cheese.’
‘Will we tell Sarah where her wee surprise is?’ prompted Rose, as she took his plate away and stacked it.
‘Aye,’ he said, brightening visibly. ‘It’s in the parlour, under the table, with the chenille cloth pulled down over it. A right big box, quite heavy. It says “fragile” on it. Mind it doesn’t bite you,’ he added, winking at Rose, as Sarah hurried off to find it.
‘Put it down here, love,’ Rose said, folding the tablecloth back from the unoccupied end of the table.
John offered his penknife and she cut her way through the knotted string and the flaps of the substantial cardboard box. The top was full of squeezed-up newspaper. She paused and moved more slowly when she met long pieces of clean rag and the gleam of well-polished wood showed amidst the generous packing. Only when she removed the fabric that swathed the sides and revealed brass fittings and catches, did she begin to suspect what it was.
With a final effort to free the beautiful object, she thrust her hands underneath it and drew it out. Rose reached over and lifted the empty box onto the floor so Sarah could put her present on the table. She set it down gently, a few tatters of rag still clinging onto its grained surface, and stared at it.
‘My goodness,’ she whispered, suddenly afraid she was going to cry. ‘A plate camera. Isn’t it beautiful?’
She came round the table to kiss her mother and then her father, tried to find words to thank them and failed completely.
‘I know they cost a fortune,’ she said anxiously.
‘Aye, they do,’ said John laughing. ‘But your Ma says we can afford it. Sure it’s now ye need it, not when ye’ve saved up for ten years,’ he said, beaming with delight, as she opened the front, drew out the bellows and adjusted the polished brass rim of the lens.
‘If it’s any help to you, love, we’ve put the same amount of money in Sam’s bank account,’ her mother said softly. ‘Da thinks a plate camera mightn’t do him much good, but he’ll be thinking of a motor in a few years when they come down in price.’
Rose and John exchanged glances as they watched her search in the bottom of the box for the accessories and the book of instructions.
‘My goodness,’ she said, reading the cover quickly. ‘How did you know I wanted one of these?’ she demanded, looking from one to another. ‘Teddy says they’re better than the one he had at Ashley Park.’
‘All your father’s work, love,’ her mother admitted easily.
‘So how did you know, Da?’ she asked, staring at him intently.
‘Ach, it was Hugh. I never thought of him knowing anything about photography, but the minute I said “plate camera” he was away,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He’d all the details. Where to get it. What the different models were. What it would cost. I’ve no idea where he foun’ it all out.’
Rose nodded agreeably and glanced sideways at Sarah who’d disappeared into the bottom of the box to make sure there was nothing she’d missed. Perhaps it was just the effort of bending over immediately after supper, but she was almost sure Sarah was blushing.
Ballydown
August, 1900
My dearest Anne,
Yes, of course we are delighted. Such wonderful news. We had a letter from Hannah earlier this week and I must say she does sound extraordinarily composed. Were you as confident about your first child? I certainly wasn’t. I do so hope all goes well with her. I did miscarry twice myself, much to John’s distress, but I’m hoping that Hannah may be more fortunate.
That’s the second baby we’ve heard of this week. My dear friend Elizabeth is also expecting. I’m so glad she’s married to a doctor for she is rather old for a first child. On the other hand she’s is a very fit and healthy woman and she has a strong personal faith, something for which I have had cause to be grateful. From everything John and Sarah have told me, I doubt if many other women could have kept me in the land of the living the night I was so desperately ill.
I’m glad you’ve been able to have a proper summer’s rest at Ashley Park. It’s such a joy to me to be able to imagine you sitting by your window, or walking in the gardens, or out riding in the park. Of course I will come again, with or without John, but you’ll understand why I didn’t feel I could come this year.
Sarah has now been working for six weeks. The first three weeks were dreadful and I was so concerned about her. She came home every night pale with fatigue, almost too tired to eat. Of course, she’d been used to sitting all day in school, not standing behind a counter or in a darkroom, or running up and down the stairs in between. She’s getting used to that now. She admits freely that much of what she has to do is boring, apart from the darkroom work. What has been a surprise to her is how much she’s learnt from just being at work in the town, observing customers in the shop and in the studio. I’ve seen the notebooks come out again on a Sunday afternoon if we’re at home.
Now that Hugh’s motor is properly run in and both he and John can drive it, we’ve had some splendid outings. I’m sure you know the song: ‘Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea’. Well, last Sunday, we went to Newcastle with a picnic lunch. How strange to see ‘our’ mountains in this different setting. From the field gate across the road they’re misty blue shapes, that seem close, or far, depending on the weather. But in Newcastle, the little watering place at their foot, they are green and have shady paths where one can walk up to various viewpoints, though I preferred to sit on the beach with John listening to the sound of the sea. Last Sunday, we spoke of Kerry and thought of you and Harrington while Hugh and Sarah climbed up the lower slopes of Slieve Donard.
My dear, I have written enough for one letter, but I shall write again soon. Give my love to all our young ones and to Harrington and please do not exhaust yourself when you go back up to town, or I shall have to scold you as you would scold me.
As always, your loving friend,
Rose
‘There’s a letter for you today, Sarah,’ announced John, one Wednesday lunch time, some weeks later, as she stepped into the kitchen dripping puddles on the floor, having cycled through the grey, misting rain that swept in during the late morning.
Rose got up from the table where she and John had finished their meal and handed her a warm towel from the rack over the stove.
‘Thanks, Ma,’ she said, hanging her sodden cape on a hook and burying her wet face in the warm fabric.
‘Should you change that skirt?’ she asked, as Sarah wiped her wet face and towelled her hair vigorously.
‘No, its only the skirt, Ma, my petticoat isn’t wet at all,’ she said as she sat down and blew her nose. ‘Oh that’s better. Rain is so tickly running down your face,’ she went on as Rose brought her a bowl of champ from the oven.
‘Your Ma looked for a silver salver to put it on,’ her father continued, grinning cheerfully, ‘but she couldn’t seem to find one.’
‘Maybe you should eat a bite first, Sarah. You don’t often get letters from Westminster,’ added Rose.
‘Ma, this is wonderful,’ Sarah said, as she breached the pale green mound on her plate and watched the melted butter trickle out. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything hot.’
She munched vigorously, as she looked from one to the other. ‘Now what’s all this about a letter?’
By way of answer, Rose reached down a long, stiff envelope from the mantelpiece and placed it beside her plate.
‘House of Lords,’ said John, as she examined the embossed seal on the reverse. ‘Maybe they want you to go and take their picture.’
Sarah put down her fork, picked up a clean knife and opened it.
‘It’s from Lord Altrincham,’ she said, beaming, as she drew out two thick, folded sheets and glanced at the small, well-formed hand that covered the pages.
‘The man ye met at Ashley Park? Ye liked him but ye didn’t think much of the wife, did ye?’
‘That’s putting it politely, Da,’ she replied, taking up her fork again. ‘She was awful. But he and I talked a lot. That’s why I wrote to him.’
‘You wrote to him?’ he exclaimed, his eyes wide, as he glanced at the clock and stood up. ‘And now he’s written back?’
She nodded, her mouth full, as she scanned the closely written pages.
‘I’ll maybe walk up later,’ she said, as John reached for his coat and cap. ‘I think Hugh might be interested. It’s a bit tricky to make out but I’ll read it to you later when I’ve figured it out myself.’
‘Aye well, I’ll leave you to it.’
He bent to kiss Rose and then Sarah.
‘We don’t hear from the Houses of Parliament every day,’ he added, smiling to himself as he stepped out into the rain.
House of Lords
25th September, 1900
My dear Miss Sarah,
I was delighted to receive your interesting and informative letter. Our acquaintance may have been brief but I remember it with great pleasure and most certainly do not consider it impertinent that you should write to me.
On the contrary, I am honoured that you should confide in me and go to so much trouble to inform me of the improvements that your father and his partner, Mr Sinton, have been making towards the health and safety of the workers in the four mills for which they hold themselves responsible.
Would there were many more to take such a view of their responsibility. As we agreed at Ashley Park, questions of safety are seldom uppermost in the minds of those who see manufacturing merely as a source of profit for themselves and not as a means of livelihood for large numbers of workers, all of whom have families to support.
I must congratulate you on the photographs which you sent to me. My wife treasures the pictures that you and young Lord Cleeve took when we first met, but you have turned what many see as a pleasant hobby into a very effective tool. It doesn’t surprise me, but it pleases me greatly. With your pictures I can argue more specifically. It is not that my colleagues on the Factory Health and Safety Standing Committee are entirely ignorant of conditions in mills. Some of them have gone to considerable pains to educate themselves, but time is of the essence. Your pictures and annotations sum up the situation so clearly. Rest assured I shall make good use of them.
I would very much like to be kept informed of the progress of the innovations you have spoken of. I am familiar with the co-operative movement, but not of the particular application of which you speak. Similarly, the ticket system has long been overdue for reform. It seems you are already several steps ahead with your card system and in your plan for regular medical examinations and seaside holidays.
What you say of your own present employment is somewhat alarming. You, who are campaigning for shorter hours, are working very long hours yourself. I know your dear mother will be taking great care of you, but may I, as someone who sees the potential of your future work, beg you not to exhaust yourself.
I have no doubt that you will be visiting your sister at some future date. Should it be convenient for you to visit while they are in London, I would be very pleased to entertain you in the House and to accompany you to the Stranger’s Gallery should you wish to observe a debate.
Please convey my good wishes to your dear mother and to your sister.
I remain,
Yours faithfully,
Altrincham
‘Well,’ said Rose, with a great deep breath, as Sarah finished reading the letter to her, ‘you’ve begun. I said you’d change things and it looks as if Lord Altrincham thinks so too. Congratulations, love. I think you should be pleased.’
She smiled awkwardly.
‘Yes, I am pleased,’ she admitted, leaning back comfortably in her father’s armchair. ‘But I couldn’t have done anything if you and Da and Hugh hadn’t helped me. It’s their work I’ve written about …’
‘And your pictures you sent.’
‘And some of the best were taken on the plate camera you and Da gave me,’ she continued, not to be deflected from expressing her sense of fairness.
Rose laughed.
‘I highly approve of modesty in a young woman.
It is very becoming,’ she said in a teasing tone, ‘but I will not let you diminish what you’ve achieved. Take it, treasure it, build on it. There will always be disappointments enough you’ll have to carry. If you don’t take the goodness of what you achieve you won’t have the strength of spirit to weather the bad bits.’
She nodded and stretched her legs out in front of the stove. A faint mist of steam drifted upwards from the damp hem of her dress.
‘Oh, it is lovely to sit and talk, Ma,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s what I miss most as a working girl. All our cups of tea after school and on Saturdays if there wasn’t a hockey match. Now its Wednesday or Saturday afternoon, and that’s only when I don’t go to one of the mills.’
‘Yes, I miss you too. But one day you’ll be gone altogether, so I’m enjoying what I have,’ she replied quite calmly.
‘Oh Ma, don’t be daft. I’m not going to marry an English Lord like Hannah. Ireland is my place and Down is my corner. I won’t be far away. There’s work enough to do here without me emigrating,’ she declared. ‘I’ll maybe be one of these fierce old spinsters who are doing such good work on women’s rights. Could you see me in the Suffrage Movement?’
‘Goodness knows what you’ll get up to, but there is something I want you to think about.’
‘A blessing on Lord Altrincham for paving the way for me,’ she said sighing. ‘I know you’ll say that other girls have to work even longer hours than you, Sarah, but other girls may not have the gifts you have,’ she began cautiously. ‘If you exhaust yourself out of sympathy for them, you won’t be able to do much to help anyone.’
She nodded and admitted that sometimes she was so tired by Saturday she just wanted to sit by the fire and read a novel.
‘What I want you to do is see this job as a temporary thing. Give it up when you’ve learnt all you can. Take some months off. Go and visit Hannah. I’d love you to come with me to Donegal to visit your Aunt Mary. It would be marvellous for your landscape work. Then, when you’re ready, look for something different. You don’t have to earn a living. That’s a real gift, but it’s you who must take it.’
Sarah beamed at her.
‘Am I easier to talk to than I was when I was at school?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
‘Yes, you are. They say girls in their teens go through a rebellious phase. They always hate their mothers. You didn’t do that, thank goodness, but you did do some hating. I used to feel I was treading on eggshells when I tried to help you.’
‘Isn’t it nice to be old, Ma. One’s got past all that.’
‘Old?’ Rose retorted. ‘Do you mean me, or you?’
‘Both of us. We’re both so old we can talk to each other like friends. I’m so happy about that.’
Rose looked across at her, as she bounced up from her chair and looked out of the window to see if the rain had stopped.
‘Yes, I’m happy about it too. It’s much more restful,’ she said laughing gaily.