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Foxton
1896–1897
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25 January 1896
Frederick Adin made his way into the world one January morning in 1896. More than three and a half years since Clara was born, Emma found this birth more difficult than the others. Whether, because at nearly thirty she was getting older, or a sign Fred would cause a lot of pain during his lifetime, Daniel didn’t know. But the fact Annie was no longer with them and the new midwife not to Emma’s liking didn’t help. Whatever the reason, she had made it clear this birth would be the last.
In the months since that October day when he’d told her about her brother Fred being gaoled, he had been mulling over their situation and, in particular, their relationship. Emma had been overjoyed with the new boots – elegant walking boots, not everyday working boots as she had expected – which had made him happy, too. He was certain he could never live without her; she was his helpmeet for life. Even though that sounded soft and weak, and he’d never tell anyone how he felt, he was prepared to admit it to himself. He didn’t always make her life as easy as he should.
Emma had never said another word about marriage and rarely harangued him about the time he spent in the pub. She would send one of the kids every now and then to remind him to come home for his supper or, on even rarer occasions, she would come herself, but mostly she let him be. In fact, looking back, she had been particularly attentive of late, interested in what he was doing, whom he was talking to and what was in the news. She liked him to read the paper to her in the evenings when all the children were in bed.
“You can come in now, Mr Adin.” The haughty attitude of the new midwife annoyed Daniel as she stood back to open the door wide.
Handing the woman an envelope with her fee in it he said, “Leave us, please.”
The midwife nodded and shut the door behind her.
Daniel leant over Emma, who was sitting up surrounded by pillows, and kissed her forehead. “Good girl. Another boy.”
“Ja. You are pleased, Charlie?” Smiling down at the baby she didn’t see Daniel’s discomfort.
“Thank you. Yes.” The formality of his answer as he shaped various words in his mind to express what he wanted to say next, caused Emma to turn her head towards him. Her expression changed to concern.
“What’s the matter? Are you not happy?” Emma always could read his moods and now was no different.
“No, no. It’s not that. I wanted to ask you something. That’s all.”
“Well, ask. I’m listening, and I can hardly go anywhere at the moment.” Her eyes glowed as she looked up at him.
He sat awkwardly on the side of the bed, looking out the window, at the pictures on the wall and the scratch on the duchesse, noting a handle was broken. Anywhere, except at Emma. His voice was quiet when he spoke.
“Well, um, I wondered, what say we make you Mrs Adin, legal like? Would you like that?”
“Charlie. Look at me. Did I hear you right? Are you asking me to marry you?” reaching out to lay her free hand on his forearm. He turned to her. The smile on her face gave him the answer he was hoping for, but all he could do was nod. He was too choked up.
“What a silly you are. Of course I’ll marry you. I’ve been as good as married to you these last fifteen years. Carried your name and borne your children. It won’t make any difference but, yes. If that is what you want.”
Daniel stood up. Overcome, but trying not to show it. Rubbing his hands over his face, he turned and looked back at her, his profile in shadow with the light from the window behind him. “It is what I want. I want to be sure you will always be with me ...”
“We don’t need to be married for that,” Emma reassured him, peering to see his expression. “What else is there? Something’s on your mind.”
“Oh. Emma. You know me too damn well. But being married will make a difference. I been thinking a lot since you reminded me last year that we weren’t wed legal like. And, well ... um.”
“Yes?” she queried, trying to prompt him. “Go on.”
“Our children are ... You see, our children aren’t ... legal ... and would be treated bad if something happened to me. You’d have no say in what happened to them.” Rushing on before she could say something or change her mind, “I don’t want you to think the children are the only reason for us to marry. I do want us to. Marry, that is. But their legal standing is important.”
A moment’s silence followed. Daniel fidgeted while he stood waiting, watching. Wondering why he should feel so rattled.
Emma’s head was bent towards the baby; she stroked Fred’s cheek. “I agree, Charlie, and, yes.”
At Emma’s words, a gush of air escaped Daniel’s lips and he relaxed. “There’s a new law that means we can re-register the children and they will be legal then,” he said.
“I had heard about it. That would be very nice.” Emma’s smile was soft. As she turned her attention back to the baby, for the first time Daniel wondered if, somehow, she had brought this all about. He just had no damn idea how.
* * *
Daniel didn’t want to know what Emma and Mary discussed for hours, poring over the latest catalogues and visiting the general store. But now the date had been set for the wedding he was wondering what he’d got himself into. The house buzzed with anticipation, with new clothes for Emma and the children. He supposed he would have to get all trussed up like a stuffed bird too. His mate, Harry Proctor, had said he would stand up with him, and John Proctor had offered his house for the ceremony. He and Mrs Proctor would be pleased to put on some small refreshments to celebrate the day, he’d said.
On the eve of their wedding, there was much bustling in the house. The bath was hauled out so the children could be scrubbed until there was not a speck of dirt to be seen. New clothes were laid out ready for the morning, and long, loud instructions given for all the jobs still to be done. Daniel was pleased Harry had invited him to the pub to get away from it all. Harry had promised not to let him get too drunk, and to make sure he was dressed properly in the morning.
As it turned out Daniel had little memory of what happened that night. He woke to find he’d slept on Harry’s couch, being assured that everything was well at his house.
“Emma and the children were getting ready, last I heard,” Harry informed him, looking at his pocket watch. “Our Mary is there with her, helping, and Pa is taking the trap down to pick them up soon. Your girls and little Fred will travel with them. It’s a bit squashed but they’ll manage. I’ve arranged for young Charlie to take the cart into town with the other boys for later.”
“Thank you, Harry. You’re a good friend.”
Harry showed Daniel where he could wash and shave, and they set about getting him into his suit and tie.
“Once you’re ready, we can walk over to Pa’s house. Ma is expecting us. She’ll have some food an’ all, so let’s get a move on.”
Meanwhile, back at the house Emma had been up since dawn lighting the fire in the coal range, making a large pot of porridge for the children’s breakfast and setting the stewpot simmering for their dinner. Before anyone could sit down and eat, the chooks were fed, the house cow milked and the horse caught, groomed and tacked up ready for the trip to town. Her friend, Mary Pemberton Proctor, had been true to her word and arrived shortly after breakfast, bringing with her a few little extras.
Emma was not a fashionable person in the magazine sense. She eschewed most of the heavy boning, the leg o’ mutton sleeves and frills becoming prevalent, preferring the lightest of corsets, simple puff or ruffled sleeves, tight fitting past the elbow, and the shorter, mid-calf walking skirts and jackets. She was from peasant stock, used to hard work, and her clothes reflected her practical nature. Her hair, naturally curly, was kept shorter in front than the fashion so it would curl around her face; the rest was secured into a tight bun. Emma liked button-to-the-neck blouses, loosening the buttons when she was working in the laundry or in the garden when no one was around to see her. Wool or tweed skirts were the sturdiest, and a lighter cotton version in the heat of the summer was all she needed. The one outfit she considered suitable for going into town was the bombazine one she’d had made three years back when she had cast her first vote.
Mary had persuaded her that a new gown was essential for this important day. Emma had eventually agreed, but she would have none of the chiffons and frills that were evident in most wedding gowns. Instead, she had chosen a watered silk in the palest of soft dove grey, a new, longer length corset that shaped down over her hips, giving her a more s-shaped figure, allowing the skirt to fall naturally to her ankles. A small, embroidered fichu at the neck, pinned with a brooch she had borrowed from Mary, her new boots, a small bonnet and she was ready.
Mary had other ideas. She clasped a pair of small pearl earrings to the lobes of Emma’s ears, handed her a small posy of flowers and a fan to carry. “There now, that completes the outfit perfectly,” she said.
On that March 4th morning, when Emma walked into the home of John Proctor accompanied by his daughter-in-law, Daniel was as proud as punch at how beautiful his bride looked. The Reverend Samuel Barnett stood waiting for them. Daniel, remembering the man’s earlier accusations that drinking men dressed the publican’s wife better than their own, did not like him, but he held his peace for Emma’s sake on this special day.
All too soon the service was over. He and Emma were legally wed.
“A toast to the bride and groom.” John poured sparkling grape juice into wide-rimmed glasses for the ladies and beer for the men. The women gathered round Emma to talk about her gown and admire her new gold band. The men talked about horses and the latest racing results. The children, for the time, ran around the garden watched over by Lizzie.
Later that day, after a light meal of sandwiches and cakes, Daniel and Emma sent the children home. They had important business to do with the registrar. When asked, Daniel stated his age, incorrectly, as forty-eight. Emma’s he gave, correctly, as thirty. The registrar did not hesitate and wrote down what he was told. In truth, Daniel would turn fifty-four the following month and, even to his ears, the age gap seemed huge. His vanity got the better of him. He didn’t want to appear an old man.
What was far more important to Daniel and Emma on the day of their wedding was not only did they register their marriage, they also registered the births of their six children. By the end of the month new birth certificates arrived stating the entries had been made under the Legitimation Act of 1894, and all previous records had been permanently sealed.
10 February 1897
“Thank you,” was all Daniel could say. On a beautiful February day thirteen months after Frederick was born and eleven months after their official marriage, Emma presented Daniel with his third daughter, little Emma whom he would call Amy. Despite her protestations Fred would be her last, Emma was besotted with her baby girl. Daniel, too, was happy with his little daughter, even though he worried about how he would feed and clothe seven children, let alone house them. The house was nowhere near big enough.
“Charlie, can you and the boys move the beds around today, please, so Lizzie can make them up?”
“I suppose that means Amy will be sleeping in our room?” he queried.
“Of course, where else do you expect her to sleep? All the babies have slept with us.”
Emma was rather nonplussed by his question. “Frederick is still young enough to sleep in with Lizzie and Clara. Set his cot up in there, will you? Lizzie will see to him if he wakes.”
“A’right.” Daniel left Emma feeding Amy and went to do as he was asked, muttering under his breath. He considered it high time he had a full night’s sleep rather than being woken all the time. He wouldn’t dare say anything to Emma but it wasn’t good for a man of his age.
Young Charlie, Henry and William shared the largest room, which was far too cramped to fit three beds. When the boys were younger and they could top and tail, it had worked. But now, at thirteen, Charlie needed a bed of his own, and Henry was too tall these days for that to be workable any longer.
Daniel loved all his children and gratified to see them grow into useful young people. Lizzie was a big help with the cooking and housework and looking after the little ones, and the boys helped on the land. He might not have much but there was always plenty to do – a fence to mend or a sheep to kill for eating, the cow to milk or feeding the hens, Clara’s favourite job. On top of that Emma had persuaded him to plant a larger vegetable garden and grow some crops for barter. Good, practical Emma, never misses an opportunity to save a few pennies.
All too soon, the summer months of long evenings and swimming in the river passed, and the autumn evenings closed in. Daniel found he enjoyed staying home more and more. He would sometimes bring a flagon home and have some ale at his own hearth instead of going to the pub.
“Pa, get out your harmonica, please. Play us a tune,” Henry asked that evening.
“Yes, yes,” chimed in the others. “Please, Pa.”
“Let’s play a merry tune to welcome wee Amy to the family,” said Lizzie.
It never ceased to amaze him how contented his family was, being together, always lots of laughter, the occasional flared temper soon forgotten, but each a friend and companion to the others.
* * *
In late April, the winter storms hit with a vengeance. They’d arrived early by anybody’s standards, but there was no telling when they might strike. Autumn was renowned for it. He stood at the window watching the rain, thinking about the warning telegram he’d received late on Friday night. The water level would be breaching the banks further up the river by now. Within a short time, every able-bodied person would be needed to help move stock or keep the roads clear. Daniel had a gut feeling this flood would be bad – very bad. Here it was, Sunday morning, and the rain had not eased.
“Emma, this one’s going to be big. Make sure you lift everything up and get the boys to sandbag all the doors.”
Daniel collected his hat and all-weather coat. He’d been feeling his age of late and often got the younger men to do the hard digging down in the drains, while he managed the horses on the ridge. Summertime wasn’t too bad, but the winters were getting harder. Today he had no choice. “I’ve got to be off to clear the drains down the far end to see if we can stop it flooding across the road. Unlikely, but them’s the orders.”
“Be careful, Charlie, please,” Emma’s voice trembled. “But don’t worry about me. The boys’ll help.” Emma thrust a brown paper bag into his hand. “Here’s some sandwiches to keep you going.”
Daniel paused and took a second look at Emma. He bent and kissed her cheek – unusual for him of late. “You’ve been a good wife to me, mein Liebling.”
Before she could respond he had closed the door behind him.
The rain was torrential and rivulets were skimming across the surface of the driveway, dragging loose stones along, as Daniel mounted his faithful draught horse and set off.
“Charlie, get your brothers together and make sure everything is secure outside first. Put the stock into the high paddock and do something with that hay left behind the shed, then get back here and start sandbagging that back door before it gets any worse.” The urgency in his mother’s voice spurred young Charlie into action.
“Yes, Ma. Right away.”
“Good boy. Lizzie, help me here.”
Emma placed Amy in the large wicker basket that served as a carrycot on the floor by the coal range. “Clara, sit there with your sister and don’t move.” Emma’s sharp tone brooked no opposition.
“What shall I do, Ma?” asked Lizzie.
“First, we’ll make some bread. We’ll need to have some food in the hours to come. Then package up some cold meat and cheese and put it in a basket. Come on.”
So while the little ones played on the floor, Lizzie and Emma stocked up. Emma put a thick stew on to simmer while she could, knowing that hot food would be needed later. Once she and Lizzie had finished their tasks, Emma stood in the middle of the kitchen thinking how best to prepare for the worst.
The three boys burst into the kitchen one after the other, soaking wet and dripping everywhere, and arguing with one another.
“Boots!” Emma pointed to their feet. “Out.”
In their haste, they had all come inside with their boots on. Sheepishly, they removed them and put them in the porch, shucked out of their jackets and took the towel Emma offered to dry themselves.
“I’ve done what you asked, Ma,” Charlie said, proud of his efforts. “But we need to do more work in the barn or Pa’ll lose all his tools. Is there anything to eat?”
“Lizzie, give them some of that bread and cold meat, will you? Thank you, boys. Your pa will be proud of you for helping me like this.”
Much to his disgust, Emma vigorously towelled Henry’s hair dry as she spoke.
“Ow!” he objected.
As quickly as they had arrived, they left again.
“Lizzie, help me push this table over there by the wall. Clear the chairs away and shove it right up into the corner. If all else fails, that’s our life raft.”
“You’re not serious, are you? The water won’t get in, will it?” Lizzie’s voice trembled, rising in alarm.
“It’s been through before, my sweet. But don’t worry; we won’t come to any harm. We need to be prepared, that’s all.” Emma rubbed her hands up and down the girl’s arm, trying to calm her, despite her own misgivings.
“Here, hold Fred for me.” Ripping a few lengths of cloth from an old petticoat, she fashioned a harness and fitted it on Fred, securing it with a safety pin. “I need to be able to move around without worrying where he might have got to.”
She strapped Fred to the table leg. Indignant at being tied down, he struggled and bellowed at the top of his lungs. Emma handed him a wooden spoon with honey on it, wrapped string around some metal spoons tying them together, attached them to him to play with and left him to his own devices.
“Will he be all right, Ma?” Lizzie bit her bottom lip, as she looked sideways at her young brother.
Emma’s growing concern made her cross. “You’ve seen me do this before. Why all the questions? He’ll soon quieten down. Make yourself useful, girl. Line those chairs up back to back and tie them together.”
Emma lifted Amy in the basket up onto the table and sat Clara with her legs dangling over the edge, handing her a griddlecake from the large tin. Checking that Lizzie had finished the chairs, she said, “Right, I’ll tie them to the table legs. You start lifting everything up as high as you can. Go on with you. You know the routine.”
Emma, the boys and Lizzie worked steadily as the hours passed, and the floodwaters advanced in the surrounding paddocks. Every now and then she stopped long enough to feed Amy, or release Fred so he could sleep, or have Lizzie read to Clara who was bored and whining. After a while, Emma was satisfied they had done all they could for now, even knowing there would be little rest for her and the older ones in the hours to come. As the day darkened and the water continued to rise, Emma prepared food for them all.
“Say your prayers,” she said, as they took their plate of stew and slab of bread from her. They sat where they could, on whatever chair they could find, or cross-legged on the floor.
“Ma?” Young Charlie asked when everyone was eating, “I’ve seen floods before but this one is really bad, isn’t it?”
“Hush, boy. There’s no need for talk like that. You’ll scare the younger ones.” Emma’s voice was strong, but he could see the strain on her face and the worried look she cast out the kitchen window. Even after all the years of Daniel working to clear the floodwaters, she still worried he would be all right.
Emma’s anxiety played on Lizzie’s nerves, and she became more agitated as time passed. “Pa’s not home yet. Where is he?”
“He’s busy. He’ll be here when he can. Now stop bothering,” snapped Emma. Immediately regretting her tone, she thought how she could distract them all. “How about a story? Lizzie, you read.”
Reaching up into the high cupboard for the precious book of Robinson Crusoe, she handed it to Lizzie. It was a favourite of theirs. They often made comparisons with their own father who left England to travel to a far and distant land. Emma settled into one of the armchairs by the coal range, Fred curled up in her arms. Lizzie sat in the other, with Clara squeezed in beside her; the boys sat on the floor, their backs resting against whatever they could find.
Lizzie’s voice was steady. She had inherited her father’s ability to tell a good story and could animate her voice to match the characters and situation.
“ ‘But alas! for me to do wrong that never did right, was no great Wonder: I had no Remedy but to go on; I was gotten into an Employment quite remote to my Genius, and directly contrary to the Life I delighted in, and for which I forsook my Father’s House, and broke thro’ all his good Advice; nay, I was coming into the very Middle Station, or upper Degree of low Life, which my Father advised me to before; and which if I resolved to go on with, I might as well ha’ staid at Home, and never have fatigu’d my self in the World as I had done; and I used often to say to my self, I could ha’ done this as well in England among my Friends, as ha’ gone 5000 Miles off to do it among Strangers and Savages in a Wilderness, and at such a Distance, as never to hear from any Part of the World that had the least Knowledge of me.’ ”
Not long after Lizzie started reading, Fred and Clara fell asleep. Emma wrapped Fred up and put him on a pillow on the table beside Amy’s basket. Then she lifted Clara up, resting her head on the corner of the same pillow with her shawl over her. The corner by the wall was now full of sleeping babies. In the pitch dark, the torrential rain hammered the roof. Emma had no idea how high the water might be, but it couldn’t have dropped. There had been no let-up all day.
“Keep reading, Lizzie, there’s no reason to stop. It’ll be a long night yet,” she encouraged. It took all her strength to remain calm and pretend this flood was the same as any other, but it wasn’t. Emma knew trouble was coming.
Lizzie did as she was bid, and they were soon so wrapped up with the excitement of the story, they almost forgot the weather outside. But the rain had not ceased. The water continued its relentless sweep across the land.
“Ma, look,” squeaked Lizzie, raising her eyes from the book at the end of a chapter to see a trickle of water oozing under the sandbags.
The boys leapt to their feet to rearrange the pile when their mother stopped them.
“Don’t touch!” Emma rarely raised her voice but when she did, it demanded immediate attention. “You’ll let more in. Try to stuff more in the gaps. Take the towels and blankets from the window and use them. Let’s hope there is enough to soak up the small amount coming through.”
Everyone’s nerves were now fully stretched. The wind whistling through the gaps in the windows didn’t help, but water coming through the door was more important than a little wind.
“Ma, it’s up to the front door now,” Charlie told her as he returned with some extra packing materials. She could tell he was frightened but hoped the others wouldn’t notice.
Despite their efforts the water continued to rise.
Emma made an extra effort to be calm and practical. “Get your coats and boots on, then gather whatever is left to keep warm. All we can do now is sit it out.”
She banked the coal range up, raised the cooking bar and the laundry rack as high as they could go, lit another lamp and hung it on a peg on the wall.
“Now up on the table with the lot of you. No point in standing in it and getting wet unless we have to.”
Once everyone was settled as best they could, Emma perched herself on the edge of the table. “Lizzie, keep reading for as long as you can, my dear. It will help us all.”
One by one the children dropped off into fitful sleep, leaning against one another. Lizzie had long given up reading, the lamp having guttered in the wind. Emma managed to lean against the wall to ease her aching back, but she could hear the water sloshing under her feet below and prayed it wouldn’t rise any higher.
The night seemed endless. Sleepless, Emma fretted about everything – the damage to the farm, her vegetable crop, and where Daniel was. The children tossed restlessly, waking each other up, and full of complaints and grizzles she tried to soothe. At least they were dry, or as dry as they could be, but they weren’t warm. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her and tucked the blankets tighter over the youngest children.
At long last Monday morning arrived, and in the daylight they could see how bad it had been. They were forced to wade through the two feet of water that had washed through the house during the night. Lizzie put together some sort of breakfast from the food they had put away the day before, while Emma plodded her way out the front door to see if she could raise anyone.
The sight that met her was one she had never seen before or wanted to see again. There was water as far as the eye could see. If she had been a tearful person, she would have cried.
She saw Mr Stansell, the coach driver, taking his passengers by boat to the waiting ferry and had never been so relieved.
“Cooee,” she called out. “Cooee,” waving her hands above her head to attract his attention.
He was astonished to see her, thinking she was safe in town like everyone else. As soon as he had disembarked his passengers, he rowed over to rescue them.
“I am ever so pleased to see you,” Emma said as he rowed them all the way into Foxton. “Have you seen my Charlie?” was her first question.
“Aye. The last I saw of him he were wet through and tired, but thanks to him the water was diverted into the newly dug drains and the worst of it joined the river. He’s a hero, he is. He was at the council offices last I saw.”
“Is he all right?”
Even Mr Stansell could tell she was worried. “He’s exhausted, but he’ll be fine. No wonder he wanted to get home, but the bosses wouldn’t let him. Made him rest and have a cup of tea first. Well earned, if you ask me. Well earned. It were a bad un, Mrs Adin. I tell you that for nothing. Real bad.”
“You’re right there, Mr Stansell.”
“I feel real sorry for you having to spend the night with so much water going through the house and all. Must have been a huge worry for you with the little ones.”
Emma was grateful that he kept up a non-stop banter as it saved her the need to speak and explain. She was too exhausted.
“It’s going to take a while to clear away this amount of water before you can get back in and start the clean-up,” Mr Stansell continued. “I’ll help find a place for you all to sleep. Let’s get you back to Foxton and reunited with Charlie first. You can worry about it all later.”
Emma couldn’t have agreed more.
