Cara was still seething as they set out to look for Daisy, so Gracie suggested a calming cup of tea. Marching down the street, the others trailing in her wake, they eventually bustled into a small building squashed between two others.
Sitting at the back of the almost empty tea shop, Cara fought to quell the emotions she was feeling, then once she felt a little calmer, she quietly directed her words to Charlie. ‘I need to know an awful lot more about that workhouse, Charlie. It needs shutting down, but I have to know how things work before I can even think about campaigning for its closure!’
‘I don’t know much about the workings of it, but I can tell you about what happened to me,’ the boy said as he eyed the cream cake in his hand.
‘That would be a good start. Maybe when we get home you could tell me what you know.’ Cara smiled as Charlie nodded, his mouth full of cake. Then looking at her friends, she said, ‘I’m on a mission, ladies, and it’s your choice whether you join me or not.’
‘I’m with you!’ Gracie said.
‘Me an’ all,’ Molly added.
‘Good, but first we have to get our sister back, right Charlie?’
The boy nodded with a big smile but, truth be told, his attention was more on his cake at that precise moment. He’d never had a cream cake before and he was savouring its delicious flavour, his eyes closing to enjoy the full experience.
*
Passing the railway station, Cara stopped and gazed at the wealthier members of the town as they came and went. Ladies in their large feathered hats, parasols clutched in gloved hands. Gentlemen in their great coats and bowler or top hats holding onto silver-topped canes.
Moving on into Railway Street, Cara saw a distinct change in the clothing of the people. Here the women wore long dark skirts over worn-out boots. No hats adorned these heads, only patched shawls draped over hair that looked none too clean. The men walked with a weariness that cut to the soul, their moleskin trousers ending just short of hob nailed boots. They wore collarless shirts and waistcoats, with mufflers tied about the throat; their jackets were threadbare. No top hats here, only flat caps pulled low over tired eyes.
Walking down the street that ran parallel to the railway line, Cara studied the buildings around her and the people she passed. Even in the weak sunshine, everyone walked with lowered heads. Poverty was beating them down; ambitions once felt in their youth had left them. The only thing left to them was where their next meal would come from, old age and death.
No one spoke as Cara, Charlie, Molly and Gracie trudged up Queen Street. The buildings were more scattered, in fact only a handful were still standing along with the Prince of Wales public house. The house they were to visit sat directly opposite the pub and Cara, the others in tow, marched up the garden path. Her anger had not completely abated and she hammered on the front door. A woman in a dirty apron answered, her hair escaping the confines of a makeshift turban.
‘What?’ The woman was obviously unhappy about being disturbed.
Cara’s anger bubbled up once more at being spoken to in such a way. Manners cost nothing.
‘I’m looking for a child called Daisy Flowers.’
‘Well, her ain’t here,’ the woman said, wiping her hands on the apron.
‘Can you tell me where she is?’ Cara heard Charlie gasp then asked.
‘No.’ The woman’s hands now rested on her hips.
‘May I ask why not?’ Cara sighed. This was the usual way Black Country people communicated – short answers but ‘going around the houses’ to get to the point.
‘You can ask,’ the woman said.
‘Why can’t you tell me where she is?’ Cara only just held on to her temper.
‘Cos I don’t know where her is!’ the woman retorted.
‘And why would that be?’ Cara’s patience was fast running out.
‘Her run off a few weeks back… I ain’t seen her since.’
Charlie, who stood by Cara’s side, gasped at the woman’s words.
‘Thank you!’ Cara snapped. Turning on her heel, she marched between Molly and Gracie, and grabbing Charlie’s hand walked swiftly away from the house, hearing the sound of the door slamming behind her.
Retracing their steps, again no one spoke. They had reached a dead end. Cara’s anger at the woman receded as she considered where they could next search for Daisy. The child could be anywhere. She felt a coldness in her bones as she wondered if her sister was still alive. She could have starved to death; she could have died at the hands of another…
Pushing away the thoughts that left her shivering, she picked up her pace. She wanted to have everyone safely home.
*
Martin Lander leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk in his office, contemplating the conversation he’d had with Cara Flowers. He did not know the lady well but her determination to find her siblings was evident. She had found young Charlie and was now in pursuit of a sister called Daisy. Once the child was safely in her care, Martin felt sure Cara would find a way to take on the institution known as the workhouse. How she would go about this he didn’t know, but he was certain she would give her all in an attempt to, at the very least, upset the regime.
Martin knew little about that place other than sharing the dread of it with every person in the town. He had heard the stories of the cruelty and starvation which were told by people who had been ‘bought out’ as servants. The majority of inmates, however, were resigned to their fate of never being free from institutional life again.
His heart sank as he considered this: how would he feel about being locked away for the rest of his life? Of having very little food? Of having to break rocks for no pay? Of spending all his time with other men and not seeing another female form? Of never being married or having children of his own? As he considered these questions he felt the anger of it all rise within him. The people in that place were prisoners, held fast by their own unfortunate circumstances. It was certainly a gross injustice.
Moving to the little fire on the other side of his office, he stabbed it with the poker then threw on more coal. As the flames licked the nuggets, he wondered how cold the workhouse was in winter. Again his anger bubbled up. As he retook his seat, a realization struck him which made him smile. Now he knew how Cara Flowers felt! He understood what fuelled her anger and frustration, it was that no one was helping the poor ensconced in the Workhouse, and he set his mind to helping the pretty young woman in any way he could.
*
Back at The Laburnums, the Charlie, Gracie and Molly sat around the kitchen table, as Cara’s frustration mounted. She paced back and forth, her hands clenching and unclenching. She drew breath in through her nose and puffed it out of her mouth. ‘Why couldn’t the woman answer my question in the first place?’
‘Cos that aint the Black Country way, wench,’ Gracie said.
‘Now we have no idea where Daisy might be.’
‘She could be anywhere,’ Charlie agreed sadly.
‘Well at least we know she’s not in the dreadful workhouse or with that termagant of a woman!’ Cara said.
Cara felt Charlie’s eyes on her and as she looked back her heart went out to him. He was relying on her to find Daisy. The onus was squarely on her shoulders to discover the whereabouts of the child.
‘Charlie,’ she said gently, ‘I know it must be painful for you, but I have to know everything you can tell me, so I might know where to look for Daisy.’
The boy’s head dropped as he relived old memories. Then, taking a deep breath, he began. ‘We lived in a little cottage out on the heath by the railway. It was a dump, but it was our dump!’ His chest puffed out slightly, showing he was immensely proud of their ‘dump’. ‘I aint sure who it belonged to, but mum never had the rent money, cos that…. Cos dad had drunk it all up the wall! So when the rent man came calling, we had to hide. Mum turned it into a game for us so Daisy wouldn’t get scared.’ He tried to give a little smile at the memory, but it only lifted the corners of his mouth.
Cara gave him a small smile of encouragement.
‘When Daisy and me came back and found them gone, mum and dad I mean, we d’aint know what to do at first. Daisy cried and cried, and I tell you I felt like it an’ all, but I knew I had to be strong for her. So we went scavenging, and I turned it into a game like our mum would have done.’ A sob escaped his lips and the tears showed themselves once more. ‘Then we waited, hoping they’d come home, but they didn’t. Well, one day we didn’t hide fast enough when the rent man came. When he found out our parents had done a flit, he reported us and we was chucked in the workhouse.’ His eyes moved to Gracie on her sharp intake of breath. ‘When we was took in there, our Daisy was put in with the other girls and she screamed the place down. I couldn’t get to her, they held me back and she was crying and screaming out my name as the women dragged her away.’ Charlie began to cry out loud, unable to hold back any longer. ‘I ain’t never felt so bad in all my life!’ He said at last, ‘Then I was dragged away as well and told I’d be in with the boys. The matron had my hair shaved off and then I was scrubbed down with carbolic soap. My own clothes were taken away, and I was given them rotten old clothes you burnt, Mrs Cox. My own clothes d’aint fit any more anyway.’ Charlie wiped his nose on a handkerchief handed to him by Gracie, but his sobs continued.
‘What was the food like, Charlie?’ Gracie asked.
‘Thin soup mostly, made outta rotting vegetables. God, it was horrible, tasted like horse…’ His sentence trailed off as he cast a glance at Cara. ‘At least when I scavenged, the bits I got were fresh!’ Charlie swelled a little with pride at the memory.
‘Go on, Charlie, you’re doing so well,’ Cara whispered.
‘Ar well,’ he sniffed, ‘we was supposed to go to school in the workhouse… and some did for three hours a day, but old Tulley kept me oakum picking. That’s unpicking old rope with a metal spike. It don’t half hurt your hands, makes ’em bleed if you don’t do it right. It d’aint matter about the school though, cos our mum had taught us our letters and numbers.’ Again, tears formed at the memory and Charlie lowered his head to hide his misery.
Gracie listened as she bustled about the kitchen making tea. Molly grabbed the cake and sliced it, her eyes constantly darting to the young boy.
‘Now, Charlie, when I was in Tulley’s office I saw a cupboard full of canes.’ Cara saw him nod. ‘Were you ever caned?’
He shook his head and Cara sighed with relief.
Gracie spoke up, ‘Thank the Lord for that!’
With tea and cake before him, Charlie nodded his thanks before he continued. ‘No, I wasn’t caned but there was plenty who were.’
‘Whatever for?’ Molly asked in disbelief.
‘Some of the older lads got cocky and answered Tulley back, for which they got a thrashing. The schoolmaster caned some for being unable to learn their letters. It weren’t their fault, they was just slow.’ Charlie bit into his cake as he watched the women exchange a glance. ‘One little kid got so scared he wet his pants and we found him in a drawstring bag hanging from the rafters crying his heart out. A couple of the big boys got him down and Tulley thrashed them for interfering.’ Charlie finished his cake and sipped his hot tea.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Gracie gasped, her hand flying to her chest. ‘You hear such terrible stories about this sort of thing, but I always hoped it weren’t true.’
‘It still goes on, Mrs Cox, and it will until someone puts a stop to it.’ Charlie’s eyes moved back to his big sister and Cara felt the weight of obligation settle on her.
‘The matron used to thrash us with a stick as well sometimes,’ Charlie muttered.
‘Christ A’mighty!’ Gracie rasped through clenched teeth. ‘What I’d like to do to that woman!’
‘Me an’ all,’ Molly added.
‘Charlie, a very important question now. Was anyone killed while you were there?’ Cara had to ask, she needed ammunition if she were to fight this battle.
‘Not killed as far as I know. If somebody got ill they was put in the hospital part and the doctor would come. I couldn’t be sure about anyone dying, cos it were the men who worked the mortuary.’ Charlie sighed as if in resignation. ‘I suppose that’s life… or in this case… death.’
Cara was amazed at the adult way Charlie was relating his experiences of the workhouse.
‘I think that’s enough for now.’ Cara said, ‘Charlie you’ve done well.’
‘What about our Daisy?’ he asked.
‘We will find her, but at the moment I’m not sure where to look. One thing I am sure of though, I won’t give up looking for her.’ Cara steeled her resolve once more.
The boy said quietly, ‘Neither will I.’