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Opportunities come and go
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April 1901
Autumn sunshine extended the warm summer, allowing Charlie to launch his career as a hawker. After a few false starts, he decided on the days he preferred to use the tray and those when he would take the barrow.
Hugh had excelled himself with a lightweight cart with two wheels and shaft-style handles which were easy for Charlie to manage. Painted in the shop colours, with Gwenna’s Confectionery written on the sides, and a light canvas roof to keep the sun off the sweets, the effect was stylish and classy.
True to his word, Charlie attracted the children from school and soon had a small but loyal clientele. So far, he’d not run into any trouble – at least, nothing Gwenna heard about – but then he always stood on a different corner, or in a different spot, in the hope of catching a different crowd.
Thanks to Edward Turner, Gwenna’s order base through the markets was steady, but for some reason had not increased in several weeks. The battle between imported goods and those locally made continued, and competition was fierce among the big names in confectionery like Rowntree, Cadbury, Halls and Whittaker’s. Elias had said the same thing, even though their products were quite distinct from each other. Imported furniture selling in the big stores outsold anything locally made. Both he and Gwenna were determined to establish themselves as worthy rivals to that philosophy. Bespoke ‘anything’ sold itself by its quality to those who recognised it. The trick was getting people to understand the difference, then persuade them around to the idea of buying New Zealand hand-made products.
Charlie’s ploy was to offer free sweets as he marched up and down Queen Street, or walked around the picnickers at the park, or amongst the men playing cricket in the Domain. Often they would buy a small bag or two, and he made sure he handed out Gwenna’s trade cards – another of his ideas – to every new customer.
His stack of coins grew every day, and he kept them in a special tin labelled ‘Hopes and Dreams’. No one doubted his ability to succeed, but apart from saying he wanted to be a sweet maker like Gwenna, he wouldn’t let on what his other hopes and dreams might be.
“And I have to thank you for the increased trade, too, Charlie, my boy,” said Gwenna. “I’ve been surprised by how well you’ve done.”
* * *
Life settled into a routine. Louisa fitted into family life as if she’d never left. Her most surprising trait was her ability to handle people. The more fuss she could make of them, the better, and there were times when she undoubtedly enjoyed herself. Gwenna could see how easily she had become a leader of the women’s groups she had once belonged to. She’d resigned from them all, removing herself from her past life. When any of the women came into the shop, Louisa was as polite and friendly as ever but refused to engage further. She focused on working in the shop with Tillie, leaving Gwenna to experiment and make a lot more of Gwenna’s specialty sweet treats.
As Tillie suggested, Gwenna passed the boiled lolly making over to Hugh who, due to his strength, could manage larger quantities at a time. He no longer looked the forlorn derelict who had turned up on the doorstep all those months ago. Since his return from South Africa, he’d put on weight, and some of the deeper lines on his face had eased. He was still the silent and trustworthy man he’d always been, but he had left something of his true self behind on foreign soil.
Bethan started going out more to women’s groups; one day she came home and said she thought she might join the church choir. The girls were thrilled that she was, at last, coming out of the dark space she’d lived in for so long. They all were.
Only one blemish clouded Gwenna’s peace of mind: the dreams had returned and once again fear haunted her nights. There seemed no explanation. After the night she’d seen the shadow in the window and Hugh had scared the daylights out of her, her dreams had returned to normal. Worry about the figures adding up kept her awake more often.
But lately, her dreams had been far more restless, disturbed by shadows and vague shapes, and snatches of Johnno. During the day she put it all out of her mind, even though the calendar kept telling her Johnno’s anniversary was fast approaching, and with it came the memories she’d wished to put behind her.
After a tiring Saturday, which had at times required all three sisters in the shop, Gwenna collapsed into the armchair in the kitchen. Lamenting the fact she’d been feeling more tired than normal, Gwenna remembered she still wanted to tell Louisa what a difference she was making – in particular, with the customers.
Bethan was cooking her usual weekend meal of mutton and boiled potatoes with cabbage from the garden, and lashings of gravy.
“Have you seen Charlie?” she asked, getting the plates ready to serve dinner.
“He’ll be with Hugh or Tom,” said Gwenna, without moving from her chair. She’d closed her eyes to ease the itchiness, but she wasn’t so much sleepy as bone-weary.
She heard Bethan moving around the kitchen, going to and fro to the dining room and standing at the back door calling Charlie, but couldn’t stir herself to help. A few minutes later, Bethan rang her little brass handbell, which could be heard at Tillie’s, to tell everyone dinner was ready. They all ate together on Saturday night, including Hugh, who was working in the lean-to they’d converted into a storeroom.
“Has anyone seen Charlie?” Bethan asked as everyone came into the kitchen.
A hand on her shoulder disturbed Gwenna enough for her to open her eyes.
“You must come and eat, Gwenna,” said Louisa. “Come on, I’ve got a story to tell you.” Louisa offered her hand and pulled Gwenna to her feet.
“Where’s Charlie?” asked Bethan again, getting more panicky as she checked the dining room after everyone had gathered and he still wasn’t there.
No one had seen him.
“He must be here somewhere,” said Tom. “Let’s call him again.”
“The last time I saw him, he was heading down Pitt Street,” said Hugh. “He said he was going to try his luck on the waterfront.”
“What time was that?” asked Gwenna, suddenly alert.
“Earlier this morning. About nine.”
“And no one’s seen him since?” queried Tom uneasily.
Heads shook and sisters held hands, worry written on every face.
“Where can he be?” fretted Bethan.
“I’ll go find him if you like,” offered Hugh. “You stay here and have your dinner.”
“I’ll go too. I’ll never forgive myself if anything has happened to him,” said Gwenna, heading towards the hallway.
“We’ll all go,” said Tom.
Dinner forgotten, the others grabbed their hats and were about to head out the door, when Tillie said, “We can’t all go. Someone has to stay with the children.”
Through eyes watering in despair, Bethan pleaded. “Will you stay, Tillie, dear? Please? I can’t sit still knowing he’s out there somewhere.”
“If you’d rather, Mam. But are you sure you want to go?”
Bethan was sure. She pinned her hat in place, pulled her jacket over her blouse and followed the others to where they stood in a group on the street.
Tom took charge while Hugh passed around hurricane lamps. “Hugh and ...” Tom hesitated. Deciding who should go with whom and understanding Tillie’s concern for Bethan, he paired the two. “... Bethan. Go down Pitt and Hobson to the waterfront and back up Nelson. Keep your eyes open up the side streets.”
“Gwenna, you come with me. Louisa, go to the Lewises and ask Percy to go with you. Check Queen Street and don’t forget the marketplace. It’ll be closed up now, but he could be locked inside. Gwenna and I will check Western Park while there’s still some daylight. There was a friendly cricket match there this afternoon.” He checked the setting sun against his pocket watch. “It’s coming up six o’clock. Meet back here in no more than two hours. It’ll be too dark to do anything further afield by then. Stay together, at all costs. I don’t want anyone on their own.”
Everyone murmured their agreement and set off as instructed. Gwenna and Tom set a fast pace, heading along Karangahape Road and down Ponsonby, looking down every side street and alley, before entering the park from the top end. Within moments the dark shadows cast by the trees and the fading light gave Gwenna the shivers. A sense of doom settled in her stomach. “Tom, what if something bad has happened to him. What will I do?”
“Hold fast, Gwenna. He’s a clever lad. He’s probably rushing home right now, realising how late he is. Don’t upset yourself. We’ll find him soon.”
The further away from the road they got, the more fearful Gwenna became. Tom lit the lamp he carried and pushed on, confident he knew the path in front of them. Feeling better for having a light close by, Gwenna followed, calling Charlie’s name over and over.
The shadows at the bottom end of the park were deeper, and the few lights from houses and gas lamps on the ridge looked a long way away. They could see little. About to make their way back up the hill, Tom spotted something pale on the ground. “Look, Gwenna. He’s been here. This is one of your bags.”
They called Charlie’s name again in unison, paused and waited, hoping to hear a response. “I’m just going over to check behind that clump of trees. Keep talking so I know where you are.”
Shaking like a leaf blowing in the wind, she blinked several times to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness. Still calling out and placing one foot carefully in front of the other, she walked a few more steps and found another bag; a third one lay a few feet further along. “Tom, I’ve found two more.”
Tom came rushing back and, taking her hand in his, they ventured further into the darkest shadows, calling Charlie’s name. They heard a faint answering cry.
“Wait here,” he said, hurrying towards the sound. But Gwenna didn’t listen and followed in his footsteps.
They found Charlie lying on the ground.
Tom put the lamp down and, kneeling beside the boy, turned his head towards the light. Gwenna gasped at the sight of the congealed rivulets of blood down the side of a face streaked with tears.
“Is he ...?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Memories of Johnno turned her knees to jelly and her tongue thick with fear.
“He’ll be fine,” Tom assured her.
“Gwenna?” Charlie groaned.
Gwenna dropped to her knees and started to lift him onto her lap.
“Don’t do that, Gwenna,” said Tom. “Let’s see if anything’s broken first.”
Being careful not to hurt the boy, Tom ran his hands across Charlie’s shoulders and down his arms and legs until he discovered what had prevented the boy from returning home. His ankle lay at a sickening angle. Tom raised the lamp higher and Charlie flipped his arm up to hide the light from his eyes.
“Gwenna,” he croaked.
“Yes, Charlie, I’m here.” Tears flowed down her cheek, and she clutched his hand and kissed the grazed knuckles. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any harm to come to you.”
“The barrow’s broken, Gwenna,” he sobbed.
In the faint light, Tom spotted what was left of the barrow. The canvas roof lay in a heap, tossed to one side, one shaft had come to rest a foot or two beyond Charlie’s head; the side of the barrow had been smashed in.
“No matter, Charlie, bach. You’re all that matters.”
“There was too many of them, Gwenna.”
Tom interrupted. “Let’s leave the explanations until later, young man. Let’s get you home.”
Gwenna picked up the lantern while Tom gathered Charlie into his arms. They’d not gone far before Tom realised he wasn’t going to make it back up the hill with Charlie positioned as he was.
“Sorry, lad. I’m going to have to toss you over my shoulder. It won’t be comfortable and I’ll try not to bump your ankle, but I’ve no choice.”
Charlie nodded stoically, biting his lip to suppress a cry as Tom changed positions and leant into the hill. Tom forged ahead up Howe Street with Charlie’s head and arms bouncing against his back. Gwenna scurried along behind, holding one of Charlie’s hands and reassuring him.
Ten minutes later, Tillie welcomed an out-of-breath Tom into the house, relieved Charlie was safe and equally as concerned at the state of him.
“Put him on the sofa for now,” said Tillie, opening the door to the sitting room.
Tom lowered him down while Tillie eased a cushion under Charlie’s ankle. After a more thorough investigation, they decided it wasn’t broken, just badly sprained.
“You’re not going to be able to walk on it properly for some time,” said Gwenna, soaking a towel in cold water and wrapping it around the boy’s ankle to help reduce the swelling.
Tears rolled down Charlie’s face. “They took the lollies. And the money. I couldn’t stop them.”
Gwenna wiped his face clean with her handkerchief. “Shush, Charlie, bach. None of it matters. Only you, my pet.”
“Any sign of the others?” panted Tom, still trying to recover his breath.
“No, not yet.” Tillie checked the clock. “You said eight, and it’s not yet seven thirty.”
Getting to his feet, Tom turned for the door. “I’d better go look for them – Hugh and Bethan at least – and tell them I’ve found him.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Tom Griffiths,” said his wife. “Sit down. Get your breath back first. You don’t know for certain where they are and they’ll be here soon enough.”
A few minutes later, Louisa and Percy arrived back and were overjoyed to learn Charlie was safe.
“We hurried back to tell you we’d been talking to a couple of blokes near the markets,” Percy explained. “They said Charlie’s been having some trouble with a few of the older lads. Something to do with Charlie taking their trade. They said to check the park, which we knew you were doing.”
Within fifteen minutes, Hugh and Bethan returned. Nearly out of her mind with worry, Bethan rushed through to Charlie the second she heard he was safe. Fussing over him eased her nerves, and before long one of her famous poultices had been applied and he’d been given a small dose of laudanum to ease the pain. He fell asleep before he’d finished his story.
“Well, that’s it,” stated Gwenna. “He’s never going hawking again.”
“Don’t be hasty, Gwenna,” said Tom in all seriousness. “It wasn’t the lad’s fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Why would you even think it was? It’s those hooligans. Thugs. Beating up on a little boy. And left lying there on the ground, injured like that, in the dark. It’s just too much. The poor boy would have been frightened out of his mind.”
“Sounds to me like he stood up to them quite well,” said Louisa, who sat smoothing the sleeping Charlie’s brow.
“That’s not the point, though, is it? He was out there selling my sweets and got attacked because of it.”
“I’m sure he’s not telling us everything,” said Tom. “But this is likely to be a bit of rivalry gone wrong. They smashed up his barrow, yes, and they got into a fight. But he gave as good as he got by the state of his knuckles. You can’t blame the boys because Charlie tripped over a tree root and twisted his ankle. Nor for the cut on his face. He probably did that when he fell. It’s just a bit of boys’ rough and tumble.”
Gwenna wasn’t convinced, but the others agreed with Tom – Charlie shouldn’t be punished for it. “I’m not punishing him,” she humphed, indignant at the suggestion.
“Indirectly, you are. And Charlie will certainly think you are. He wants to be out on the streets selling sweets. If you won’t let him any more, he’ll believe you blame him for it all,” said Tom.
“Tom’s right, Gwenna, bach.”
Surprised Mam would agree with Tom, Gwenna stared open-mouthed at Bethan. “Not you, too?”
Bethan smiled. Now Charlie was safe, she could consider the event more rationally. “You don’t know little boys very well yet, do you, Gwenna, dear? Charlie’s been too sickly till now to be one of the lads, and I’m right glad he is well enough these days,” she shrugged. “Boys will be boys. You’ll see, when Georgie gets bigger.”
“No son of mine is going to be found brawling in the streets.” Gwenna folded her arms across her chest in a perfect imitation of her old schoolteacher. No one bothered to cover their mouths or hide their mirth.
Hovering in the background, perched on the edge of a balloon-back chair listening to it all, sat Hugh. “The lad’s capable of looking after hisself, Miss Gwenna.” If Hugh spoke when the family were together, he always addressed her formally, which sounded odd to her ears. “I’ve been teaching him a few moves,” smiled Hugh – something he didn’t do often. “I’d heard about these other lads pestering him, so I figured he needed the odd trick or two up his sleeve. I’ll take a bet the others don’t look much better. He’d ’ave landed a few punches.”
“And you never thought to tell me?” challenged Gwenna.
Hugh shrugged. “It’s boy stuff. You’d have stopped me if you’d known.”
“Did you suspect something like this might have happened when we set off?” asked Tom, slightly miffed Charlie hadn’t asked him, or more to the point that he, Tom, hadn’t thought of it. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I couldn’t be certain, and I didn’t want to upset Mrs Price till I was sure. I thought we’d find him down amongst the sailors. Charlie’d not said anything in a while about the other lads.”
“You mean this has happened before?” squeaked Tillie.
“No. Not like this,” Hugh reassured them. “Just a bit of pushing and shoving. He’d lost a few bags of lollies and they took his money once. It was the last straw as far as he was concerned and he asked me what he could do.” Hugh coughed to hide his embarrassment. “He thinks the world of you, Miss Gwenna. He’d protect you with his life if he had to.”
The unspoken echo, ‘and so would I’, filled the room.
Exhausted, Gwenna could take no more and burst into tears.
* * *
Days passed and nerves settled as Charlie recovered his spirits and chafed against being kept indoors. Even little Olwen and Georgie held no interest for him any longer. He’d grown out of them in the weeks when he’d been helping Gwenna. But never mind what he said, no one, not even his co-conspirator Hugh, would let him go anywhere.
“But I feel fine now,” he said, hobbling badly.
“Will you sit down, Charlie!” barked Bethan. “You must not walk on that ankle.”
She tended all the cuts and grazes, rubbing balm into his aching muscles and with the uncanny ability of the young, Charlie bounced back quickly. Even Bethan admitted he’d come to no great harm.
The next day, Hugh appeared with a home-made crutch. Charlie was thrilled and soon learnt how to get around the house, annoying them all with his demands to be useful.
In the end, Gwenna gave in, and with a newly made stand Hugh had put together, she allowed Charlie to sit up at the corner of Pitt Street, peddling sweets and waving a sign with an arrow on it pointing to the shop.
“Do not move until someone comes to get you. Do you hear me?” Gwenna was terrified to let him out of her sight in case something happened to him again. She was determined to make him understand. “You are to sit here and wait. Hugh will carry the stand back.”
“All right,” Charlie said, bemoaning his lot. In all innocence, he gazed at his big sister. “Gwenna? Your eyes are all black. You don’t look good.”
“I’ll see you later,” she said, ignoring his comment, and returned to the shop.
She wasn’t at all surprised by what Charlie said. She had reached the point of dreading closing her eyes at night. Within minutes of falling asleep, the dreams began. She often woke in a sweat and gasping for air, as if she’d been running, and could only doze from then on until Georgie and the dawn light allowed her to get up.
The anniversary of Johnno’s passing was fast approaching. She hoped and prayed once the 18th – the date on Johnno’s death certificate, and her twentieth birthday – had passed, she would sleep again. She’d told no one – not Tillie, not Mam, not even Hugh – the date written on that miserable, defining piece of paper, the day when life had pitched her in another direction. It was bad enough that she associated her birthday with such horror, but she wouldn’t inflict it on others. Tom knew of course, but he, too, had kept it to himself. Gwenna assumed the others would mark Johnno’s funeral date as his day of passing, if they bothered. Johnno meant little to anyone else. Either way, the week ahead would be a trial.
Last year on her birthday, a day of supposed celebration, she’d been alone in the house in Onehunga. This year, she sensed Mam and Tillie had plans for a celebration. She would have to find something inside her to show appreciation for their efforts, even if she was feeling tormented.
