An advertisement from Burke’s Peerage, 1893
Charles Jeffrey, chief clerk for the Bristol Times & Mirror, had recently received an order for six insertions to be placed in the “Miscellaneous Wants” column of the paper. The order was signed by A. Harding.
MARRIED couple with no family would adopt healthy child, nice country home. Terms, £10. – Harding, care of Ship’s Letter Exchange, Stokes Croft, Bristol.
Appearing alongside this advertisement on 18, 19 and 20 March 1896 was another:
NURSE CHILD – Wanted, respectable woman to take young child at home – State terms to Mrs. Scott, 23, Manchester Street, Cheltenham.
Mrs Scott was in fact a twenty-five-year-old barmaid called Evelina Edith Marmon who had given birth to a female child in January that year. Despite her feisty nature and the undoubted love she felt for her child, she knew she was not in a position to keep baby Doris.
Evelina had grown up in the Gloucestershire village of Hartpury, the youngest child of seven, living at the heart of a hardworking agricultural community. Her father James was a poulterer by trade and his farmstead was one of many clustered around the old manor house. The census of 1881 shows Evelina and her thirteen-year-old brother Ralph as scholars, while the remaining five siblings are listed as poulterer’s assistants. By 1891 Evelina’s mother, Mary, had died and Evelina was living with her older sister Isabella, then married to a local horse dealer in the neighbouring village of Maisemore, with four children of her own. Evelina was nineteen and, according to the census that year, seems to have had no particular occupation. Her brothers and sisters all married into the local farming community and continued to raise poultry and horses and to fish the local waters. It was a monotonous life. The days ticked by with a repetitive rhythm; children were born; marriages were made; one generation bleeding into the next.
Evelina was not content to lead the life of a farmer’s wife, to breed a flock of children destined for the same thing, then to die early as her mother had done, worn down and worked to death like an old carthorse. She wanted something better out of life; she wanted excitement.
The regency spa town of Cheltenham lay roughly ten miles east of Hartpury, and, although the popularity of its spas had waned by the end of the nineteenth century, it was still a tasteful town lined with cream and white terraced houses interspersed with genteel garden squares, the magnificent Royal Crescent and the cultivated tree-lined walk of The Promenade. It attracted a respectable class of wealthy visitors, drawn by the elegant architecture and the refined main street with its flourishing shops. To a girl brought up surrounded by chickens and dirt tracks it must have seemed a glittering city rich with possibilities.
Evelina found lodgings on Manchester Street with an old widow lady called Martha Pockett. Mrs Pockett and her late husband Charles had for many years run the bars of the Plough Hotel, an ancient coaching inn and the original stopover for Royal Mail post coaches. She was able, through her connection with the hotel, to secure for Evelina a position as barmaid. Evelina was a good-looking young woman with a fine, strong figure and striking blonde hair; she possessed all the qualities necessary to survive as a barmaid in the nineteenth century: stamina, a quick wit, thick skin and an independent nature. The Plough Hotel was a very respectable establishment, and advertised itself as such in the 1893 edition of Burke’s Peerage.
Nevertheless, bar work was not a respectable occupation, falling mainly to abandoned women or the wives and daughters of publicans. But it was a job nonetheless, and Evelina desperately needed to earn some money. Victorian sensibilities did not allow barmaids in respectable establishments to work anywhere other than in the plush surroundings of the saloon or lounge bars where the exclusively male customers tended to be wealthy. Despite its classier nature the bar-room banter would have been ribald and Evelina would have batted the bawdy comments away with practised detachment. The pay was low and the hours were long, for as well as serving customers there was the cleaning and preparation to be done before the tavern opened and the cleaning and tidying to do when the bar closed, often late into the night. Evelina would have spent hours on her hands and knees oiling and rubbing the woodwork of the bar, cleaning all the brasswork and polishing to a shine the decanters, wine glasses and tumblers arrayed on the shelves.
Unwanted pregnancies were an occupational hazard for barmaids, and an attractive girl like Evelina would have drawn the attention of many of the male customers.
Unusually for the time, Martha Pockett was a sympathetic landlady who allowed Evelina to keep her rooms even when her pregnant state became obvious and she was forced to leave her job. Martha was old, infirm and not in the best of health, so probably relied on Evelina more than she was prepared to admit. Baby Doris Marmon was born with a smattering of light brown hair and a healthy set of lungs on 21 January 1896. In the early, exhausting days of motherhood it perhaps crossed Evelina’s mind to return to the bosom of her extended family in Hartpury; but she must have known deep down that in such a small community, where decency, hard work and Christian morals were valued above all else, her fall from grace and her illegitimate child would only bring shame and sorrow to her family.
Evelina realized that she could not rely on the charity of her landlady for long; she needed to go back to work. Finding another position as a barmaid would not be too difficult, but looking after her child at the same time would be impossible. Mrs Pockett was too old and ill to be left in charge of a young baby, so that left only one option.
Evelina placed her advertisement in the Bristol Times & Mirror hoping to find a loving and respectable woman to take care of Doris in exchange for a weekly fee. If and when her circumstances changed, she planned to reclaim her daughter and bring her home.
Evelina checked a copy of the Bristol Times & Mirror and saw alongside her own advertisement another placed by a childless couple named Harding, who described themselves as having a “nice country home”. Not wishing to incur the couple’s disapproval by admitting she was an unmarried mother, Evelina replied to the advertisement using the name of Mrs Scott; better to be thought of as an unfortunate widow than a fallen woman.
On 20 march she received the first of a number of communications from Mrs Harding.
To Mrs Scott,
Dear madam, – In reference to your letter of Ashton’s [the name of the letter exchange used] of a child, I beg to say I should be glad to have a dear little baby girl, one I could bring up and call my own. First I must tell you we are plain, homely people, in fairly good circumstances. We live in our own house. I have a good and comfortable home. We are out in the country and sometimes I am alone a great deal. I don’t want a child for moneys sake, but for company and home comfort. Myself and my husband are dearly fond of children. I have no child of my own. A child with me will have a good home and a mothers love and care. We belong to the Church of England. Although I want to bring up the child as my own, I should not mind the mother or any person coming to see the child at any time. It would be a satisfaction to know and see the child was going on alright. I only hope we may come to terms. I should like to have baby as soon as you can. If I could come for her I don’t mind paying my fare one way. I should break my journey at Gloucester. I have a friend in the asylum I should be so glad to call and see. kindly let me have an early reply. I can give you good references, and any other particulars you may ask me I shall be pleased to answer.
I am yours respectfully, A. Harding
Evelina could not believe her luck; Mrs Harding sounded every bit the respectable and caring woman that she’d hoped to find for Doris and she wrote back at once begging her not to consider anyone else until they had met and reached an agreement
45 Kensington Road, Oxford Road Reading,
Sunday march 22, ’96.
To Mrs Scott
Dear madam, – Many thanks for your letter of this morning. I shall not answer anyone else until I hear from you again. I do hope we may come to terms. Rest assured I will do my duty by that dear child. I will be a mother, as far as possible lies in my power, and if I come for her, if you like to come and stay for a few days or a week later on I shall be pleased to make you welcome. It is just lovely here in the summer. There is an orchard opposite our front door. You will say it is healthy and pleasant.
Hoping to hear soon
I am yours, A. Harding
I think Doris is a very pretty name. I am sure she ought to be a pretty child.
Evelina was certainly taken with the letters of Mrs Harding, but even so she wrote back seeking reassurance that she would be welcome to come and see her child any time she wished: all she wanted was for her daughter to be loved as much as she herself loved her.
45 Kensington Road, Oxford Road Reading,
Tuesday, march 24, 1896
My dear Madam, – your letter just to hand, and I shall be only too pleased for yourself, or any friends to come and see us sometimes. We don’t have many visitors out here in the country. I assure you it would be as great a treat to us as the change would be to you. I shall really feel more comfortable to know the dear little soul had someone that really cared for her. I shall value her all the more. Rest assured, I promise you faithfully, I will do a mothers duty by her, and I will bring her up entirely just the same as my own child. Every care will be taken of her, and when you come you will soon see I do my duty. Dear child I shall be only too glad to have her, and I will take her entirely for the sum of £10. She shall be no further expense to her family. I will come on Monday next. If I shall I will let you know later on what time train. I have not a timetable, but I will find out and let you know.
I am yours faithfully, A. Harding
But if Tuesday will suit you better kindly let me know, as either day will suit me
45 Kensington Road, Reading.
Friday morning
My dear Mrs Scott, – Just a line to say that, as I have not heard from you to say I must not come on Monday, I take it for granted that I may come for baby on Monday next. I shall leave here at 9.50 in the morning, and get to Gloucester sometime about 12. I shall go straight to Wootton Asylum. I shall not be there long as it will be their dinnertime. Then I will take the next train for Cheltenham. I fancy I can be at Manchester Street not later than 2 o’clock. I shall be glad if I can get an early train back; if I can get a fast train I shall not be so long on the road with baby. I hope it will be a fine day. I am faithfully yours A. Harding
P.S. – My husband says if the mother would like an agreement would you kindly draw one out, and we will sign it
45 Kensington Road, Oxford Road, Reading,
March 29, 1896.
My Dear Madam, – Your letter safe this morning. Yes, I will come on Tuesday next by the 9.50 train. I will bring a good warm shawl to wrap round baby in the train. It is bitter cold here today.
I am yours faithfully A. Harding
Mother was glad of her heavy shawl and warm boots as she dressed to leave the house on the morning of Tuesday 31 March. She was going up to London, she said, to see Polly, and she was taking Willie’s carpet bag with some clothes in it for baby Harold. She left the house early leaving only a shilling on the table for Granny to buy the children’s food with.
“Mrs Harding” arrived at 23 Manchester Street at around half past twelve, having decided to forgo her visit to Wotton Asylum on account of the sharp winds and icy temperatures. Evelina was surprised to discover that the woman she had been corresponding with was rather more elderly than she had anticipated. But she seemed strong and capable and, more importantly, seemed to fall for the charms of baby Doris in an instant; and, as she had promised, she had brought a warm shawl to wrap the child up in against the cold.
Evelina had prepared well for Doris’s departure; she had sewn a dozen and a half little napkins and had, four days previously, taken the baby to be vaccinated. Her little arm was still swollen and sore. A smallpox epidemic was sweeping through the neighbouring town of Gloucester and many people were realizing their folly in evading the vaccination laws. The virus was spreading fast with one house after another becoming infected. The young were hugely susceptible and the consequences of catching the disease were usually fatal for any child less than twelve months old. The Gloucester authorities were desperately trying to contain the epidemic, issuing quarantine orders and sending a medical officer to every house to vaccinate, without charge, any man, woman or child who had not hitherto been vaccinated.
Even the local postal service adopted precautionary measures lest the virus should spread to other parts of the country via letters and packages. The local papers reported:
Instructions have been given for the use of disinfectants at the Gloucester Post Office with the view to reducing as far as practicable the risk of infection during the prevailing epidemic. All letters, packets, newspapers etc. are collected in a large basket for the purposes of disinfection. This is accomplished by means of the vapour arising from crude carbolic acid, which is contained in metal bowls placed underneath the letter basket; the acid being kept continually steaming by the aid of lamps under them. The contents of the basket are thus permeated by the fumes arising from the powerful disinfectant and in addition the mail bags are thoroughly sprinkled both inside and out with the carbolic before they are dispatched. It is satisfactory to know there has not been a case of smallpox in the established postal and telegraphic staff at Gloucester which numbers nearly 300.
Gloucester Journal, 18 April 1896
Evelina gave Doris’s vaccination certificate to Mrs Harding; she had also packed up a cardboard box of clothes – chemises, petticoats, frocks, nightgowns and a powder box – enough to last a good few months. Mrs Harding could not be persuaded to take a weekly sum for Doris as she wanted to bring the child up as her own, and did not want the worry that it might be fetched away at any time. But, she assured Evelina, she would be only too glad for her to visit the baby in her comfortable country home whenever she wished. The agreement was signed and £10 promptly disappeared into the layers of Mrs Harding’s skirts. Evelina comforted herself with the thought that at least her baby would be safe in the country, out of reach of the devastating effects of smallpox.
I, Annie Harding, of 45, Kensington Road, Reading, in consideration of the sum of ten pounds paid to me by Evelina Edith Marmon, do hereby agree to adopt Doris, the child of the said Evelina Edith Marmon; and do bring up the said child as my own, without any further compensation over and above the aforementioned sum of ten pounds. As witness herewith we have this day the 31st day of march in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and ninety six, subscribed our names, Annie Harding, Evelina Edith Marmon, in the presence of Martha Pockett, widow of 23, Manchester Street Cheltenham.
Doris was dressed in her best fawn-coloured pelisse and Evelina carried her to the railway station. Mrs Harding fussed all the way as to whether baby was warm enough, urging Evelina to keep baby’s head well covered from the biting chill of the cold march day. To gain some extra time with her child, Evelina accompanied Mrs Harding from Cheltenham Station to Gloucester Station, from where the connecting train to reading was to leave. Mrs Harding fetched a tatty looking carpet bag from the cloakroom at Cheltenham, telling Evelina that it contained some eggs and clothing for a friend. Evelina stood on the platform, straining for a last glimpse of her daughter as the choking steam enveloped the windows of the 5.20 train to reading. She returned to her lodgings a broken woman.
Mrs Harding had said she would let her know of their safe arrival in reading, and a couple of days later Evelina received the promised letter.
Views Road, Kensal Rise,
Dear Mrs Scott, – When I got home last night a wire was waiting for me. My sister dangerously ill; so this morning came up. My dear little girl is a traveller and no mistake. She was so good last night, and did not mind the journey. She slept all the way. I shall stop now till Saturday. Sunday I will write again if not before.
In great haste I am, yours, with love. A. Harding
A longer one next time.
Evelina wrote back at once, enquiring as to when they would be back in reading and wanting to know how the vaccination mark on Doris’s arm was faring. She was anxious, as it had been bothering Doris greatly, and she hoped Mrs Harding was taking good care of it.
She never received a reply.
It was nine o’clock in the evening by the time mother alighted from the train at Paddington, struggling to carry the carpet bag, a cardboard box, a small baby and a black and white checked shawl which had unravelled itself from around the infant. It was a dull, wet night and the broad pavements of the Edgware Road would have been slick and greasy, the heavy, lazy mist of rain made visible by the feeble glow of gaslight. A typical evening in the metropolis; the air a dingy yellow, and the rain only serving to enhance the stale, foul odours which swam in the layer of coal smoke and fog which hovered over nineteenth-century London. Pavements were lit here and there by squares of light thrown out by shop windows and public houses, and street vendors with their newspapers, hot potatoes and steaming kidney pies shouting over the rumbling of hackney cabs and carriages churning up the mud as they conveyed their passengers to theatres and parties.
Mother made her way through the throngs toward the omnibus terminus where the London general Omnibus Company ran a regular though ponderous service to Willesden. With a baby squirming in her lap and the cloying smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies adding to the unpleasantness of the journey, mother would have been relieved to pay her fivepence fare when the omnibus finally stopped near Mayo Road.
Mrs Mary Ann Beattie, a sallow-faced woman who lived at number 11 Mayo Road, had also been travelling on the omnibus, on her way home from an evening out. She alighted behind mother, and seeing that she was heavily laden, asked how far she was going. Learning she was making her way to 76 Mayo Road, Mrs Beattie offered to carry the older woman’s bag. The bag was scuffed and worn, obviously well used; it weighed a great deal and before long Mrs Beattie’s fingers began to ache. The baby was wearing a fawn-coloured cape, but it was not wrapped up in it tightly and its little limbs and face were exposed to the air and the cold, thin rain that was still falling. It was whimpering from the chill and Mrs Beattie, walking beside mother, tried to shield it with her umbrella and to pull the cape over its face. With three young children of her own at home she knew such a young baby should not be exposed to the dangers of the night air.
It was the last act of kindness baby Doris Marmon was ever to experience.
There was a young woman standing at the door of 76 Mayo Road, and Mrs Beattie placed the bag against the step explaining that she had carried it for the lady with the baby. As she set off toward her own home, she saw both women go into number 76, the older one carrying the infant. The door was shut behind them.
Inside 76 Mayo Road, the lid of a work basket was opened and rifled through. From the tangle of threads, bobbins, pincushions and thimbles, a quantity of white tape was removed. It was of the type commonly used to bind and edge hems and was of a good length: enough to be wrapped twice around the soft folds of Doris’s neck. The tape was pulled tight, held for a second, and then tied in a knot. Too young to comprehend, to fight back or resist, Doris would have struggled for her last breath until her limbs went limp and she lost all consciousness. For a few short minutes her chest continued to heave in an involuntary attempt to fill her lungs and her mouth opened and closed like a baby bird in a last, silent bid for life. Before the warmth had left her tiny body, she was wrapped from head to toe in a napkin and placed out of sight.
Mother and Polly opened the box of clothes that had been sent with Doris. There were a few good items and Polly sorted out those that would do for Harold. All children up to a certain age wore the same type of clothing, little boys as well as girls being dressed in frocks. There were a number of garments which Polly took a fancy to, in particular the fawn-coloured pelisse in which Doris Marmon had left home. The rest of the clothes were put to one side for the pawnbroker.
Charlotte Culham, the landlady of 76 Mayo Road, was not surprised to find Mrs Thomas in the Palmers’ sitting room on the morning of Wednesday 1 April. Since the Palmers had moved in at the beginning of January, the woman had been a regular visitor. She had arrived late the night before, she said, and had slept all night in the chair. She gave Mrs Culham a pair of child’s button-up boots, saying she thought they might be useful for her little girl, Ethel. When Mr Culham came in from his nightly carriage cleaning duties at the railway depot, Mrs Thomas went through to him in the kitchen and paid him the Palmers’ overdue rent.
The Culhams saw no more of Mrs Thomas or the Palmers until later that evening, when Arthur Palmer came home and asked Mrs Culham not to bolt the front door that night as they were going out and would not be back until late.