Grief lay over Wednesbury town a death shroud, cloaking at least one family in three. Violet, as were other mothers, was deep in despair, and nothing seemed to lift her spirits. Work and the business forgotten, she sat day after day silently weeping for her lost son.
Spencer felt the waves of misery wash over him time after time. One minute he felt able to cope with Harry’s death as much as it was possible, the next he sat crying his heart out. He felt he would drown in his misery. He had tried to talk to Violet, to encourage her to speak to him, but she remained in a dark world no one else could penetrate. Spencer was watching his wife waste away and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The strain of this on top of his own grief was threatening his health too.
Violet stared out of her silent world. Snowflakes fell, adding to the pile already dumped overnight. The fire was lit but she didn’t feel its warmth. There were quiet conversations going on, but she heard no words. Her mind only saw and heard Harry as he was growing up. The pictures played in her head but stopped just before he became ill, then began again from his birth. Over and over they played, like she was stuck in time, unable to break the loop.
Her life was conducted in a trance-like state. At night she would take herself to bed, only to lie awake. During the day, she sat staring out of the window. Even Kath could not snap her out of the stupor that held her tight in its grip.
At the ‘Gift Shop’ work went on as usual, albeit in a sombre mood.
‘Violet is worrying me,’ Mary said to Martha one day, ‘she’s not eating much and she’s not sleeping.’
‘I know, wench. Christ it’s hard – no parent should have to bury their child, it ain’t right… it’s against the laws of nature!’
Giving a nod, Mary went on, ‘We have to do something, Martha… we have to!’
‘She just needs time, wench, it’ll get easier with time.’
‘Martha!’ Mary snapped without realising the sharpness of her tone until her friend looked at her. ‘Sorry… but this grief is killing her!’
‘I know, wench, I see it an’ all, but there ain’t nothing any of us can do. I wish she would come back to work with us, that might help.’
Settling back into the quiet, they continued working, each with their own thoughts about how to help Violet out of the blackness that surrounded her.
*
The snow continued to fall, adding bleakness to misery. The white landscape stood in stark contrast to the factory pall that always hung over Wednesbury.
Trudging to the marketplace, the cold bit to the bone and Mary shivered as her skirts brushed the snow, soaking the hem, making the going harder with the added weight.
‘Hello Mabel,’ Mary said to the woman standing their stall.
Returning the greeting, Mabel arranged the jars, saying, ‘Bloody hell, it ain’t half cold standing here today!’
‘Ar wench, see how it goes, and in an hour if business is slack, get yourself off home.’
Smiling her thanks, Mabel turned to speak to a woman approaching the stall.
As Mary turned to leave, Mabel called, ‘Mary… there’s a woman here wants a word.’ Retracing her steps, Mary looked at the woman Mabel indicated with a jerk of her thumb.
‘Take a walk with me, it’s too bloody cold to be standing. Mabel, never mind waiting, you just get yourself off home now,’ Mary said, finding a handkerchief to wipe her cold nose. Mabel began to pack the stall up, grateful she could go home to a roaring fire.
They walked slowly through the market when the woman said, ‘I need the help of the Wednesbury Wives.’
‘What’s your name wench?’ Mary asked as they strolled along.
‘Phyllis… Phyllis Brownlow.’
‘Well Phyllis Brownlow… what can the wenches do for you?’
‘You know them houses at Moore Street, over in Mesty Croft…?’ Mary nodded her head, giving the woman leave to continue. ‘Well there’s a couple of young kids living in one of them. The mother died in childbirth with the littlest, and the scarlet fever took the father. The kids are living on their own but they ain’t exactly living in the house.’
‘How do you mean, Phyllis?’ Mary asked perplexed.
Phyllis went on, ‘Well the house belongs to the Burrs Colliery and the boss put another family in when the father passed, so the kids are living in the lavatory outside!’
‘What!’ Halting in her tracks, Mary looked at the woman by her side. ‘How come they ain’t been noticed by the family?’
‘They go out in the day and then sleep in there at night.’
‘How did you find out?’ Mary asked.
‘My kids told me, they saw them while they were out playing and I was shocked, I can tell you!’ Phyllis said, shaking her head.
‘Poor little buggers,’ Mary said, blowing on her cold hands, ‘they’ll bloody freeze in there!’
‘That’s what I thought, but I can’t take them in, I’ve got a house full myself.’
‘Right,’ Mary said, ‘which house is it?’
‘I’ll show you if you have a minute?’
‘Are wench, come on!’ Pushing her arm through Phyllis’s in a show of unification, they strode out in an effort to combat the cold. They wound their way carefully down the snow-covered streets before Phyllis stopped and pointed. ‘That one, there, on the end.’
‘Right, Phyllis, I thank you for this; you can leave it with us now, wench. We’ll sort something out for these babies.’
Waving as she left, Phyllis went on her way, leaving Mary staring at the house imprinting it on her mind.
Back in the warmth of the gift shop, Mary relayed to the others what Phyllis had told her and set off with Martha and Joyce for Gittins Manor to inform Kath and Annie.
Tea was given as they entered the living room and they saw Violet in her usual place by the window.
Spencer, still in no fit state to be at work, had been talking in low tones, and continued as the women sat by the warm fire. ‘I’m at my wits’ end,’ he whispered. ‘I love Violet with all my heart and soul as I do… did… Harry.’ A sob caught in his throat as he corrected himself. ‘I don’t know what else to do! She won’t speak to me, half the time she doesn’t even know I’m here, and it’s breaking my heart all over again!’
Kath sighed, ‘I know lad. I see her every day and she’s not improving.’
Mary shuffled in her seat, saying, ‘I’m sorry Spencer, I can’t imagine how both of you feel, and I understand how important this is to you but…’
Nodding, Spencer asked, ‘You have something to tell us?’
‘Yes… sorry.’
‘Go ahead, Mary, let’s hear what’s worrying you.’ Spencer inclined his head.
Mary began to explain about the two children she’d been told were living in an outside lavatory with no parents to care for them.
‘Christ Almighty!’ Kath exclaimed.
‘Poor little buggers will freeze their arses off out there in this weather!’ Joyce added.
Martha asked, ‘Where are they, do you know?’
‘Yes,’ Mary acknowledged, ‘I went over to take a look. They’re in Moore Street over at Mesty Croft, just down from the infants’ school.’
‘Even if we rescue them, what will happen to them? Where will they go?’ Spencer asked, anguish written all over his face.
‘Probably the workhouse,’ Kath said sadly.
‘They won’t get the chance if we don’t hurry up and do something – them little uns will die of the cold!’ Joyce said vehemently.
‘Dear God, please don’t take any more kids,’ Martha prayed in a whisper.
Spencer burst into tears.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Mary admonished her friend.
‘Spencer lad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Martha patted his arm.
‘No, Martha, you’re right,’ he said, drying his eyes. ‘We cannot allow those children to perish.’
‘Right then, what are we going to do about this?’ Martha asked.
The silence that ensued was suddenly split by Violet’s tiny voice, ‘Bring them here to me.’
She was still staring out of the window as they all turned their heads as one to look at her.
‘Sweetheart!’ Spencer rushed to his wife and dropped to his knees by her chair. ‘Oh sweetheart!’ He laid his head in her lap and she stroked his hair. ‘Oh Violet, I thought you were lost to me forever!’ He gave a sob and looked up at his wife’s pale face. The glazed look in her eyes had gone and they swam with tears.
‘I want my baby back,’ she said as her tears fell, ‘but I know I can’t have him. These children you speak of need help, they don’t deserve the cards they’ve been dealt.’
The women who sat by the fire sniffed into their handkerchiefs.
‘If you can find them, bring them here,’ Violet reiterated.
Kath sobbed her relief that Violet was at last beginning to deal with the grief of losing her boy to scarlet fever. Mary knew she had a way to go, but this was the first step forward in what would take a lifetime in the mending.
As Martha said, ‘Right, this needs a deal o’ thinkin’ on,’ Mary could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile at the corners of Violet’s mouth.
*
The temperature dropped severely at night and if they didn’t act right away, someone could find those children frozen to death one morning.
As the day was pushed aside by darkness, it began to snow again. The snow glittered like millions of tiny diamonds in the light of the moon as Martha, Mary, Joyce and Kath made their way across the heath to Moore Street; their steps were silent as the snow cushioned their footfalls. The moon shone down reflecting off the snow bathing everywhere in a silvery light and Mary pointed to the end house. They swiftly made their way across to it keeping a keen eye out for anyone watching, it may look a little suspicious that four women were trudging about in the snow in the darkness. They then began to close their circle towards the toilet in the backyard. Martha carefully opened the door as Kath lit a small lantern she carried, hiding it beneath her shawl to prevent prying eyes spotting them. If they were challenged, how could they explain why they were rooting around in someone else’s lavvy block? They peered inside and sitting in a corner of the foul-smelling building sat two children, their eyes wide with fear and shivering with cold.
Moving in, Mary whispered, ‘It’s all right, we ladies are here to help you. We know about your mom and dad and we’re going to look after you both.’ The little girl began to sob and rushed to her. Scooping her up, Mary wrapped her in a warm shawl she’d brought with her. Watching the boy still cowering in the corner, Mary said quietly, ‘There, there, you’re all right, you are with the Wednesbury Wives now.’ At the mention of the name, the boy rushed to her, hugging her skirts; he too began to cry.
Wrapping the lad in another woollen shawl, Joyce lifted him, saying, ‘Come on bab, let’s get out of this bloody cold.’ The boy giggled at her language despite his misery.
Dousing the lantern before they left, they made their way back to Gittins Manor, talking quietly to the children as they went.
While the women had gone in search of the children, Spencer had drawn his wife to the fireside; he knew she loved to watch the dancing flames in the hearth, and thought it would help settle her nerves.
‘Oh darling, it’s so good to have you back, I missed you dreadfully.’ Spencer held her hand as they sat side by side on the large sofa.
Tears escaped from eyes that seemed too big for her face as she answered, ‘I don’t know how we’ll ever cope without… Harry!’
‘Oh my love, my darling!’ Spencer held out his arms and she leaned against him finally enjoying the warmth of his body once more. Kissing her hair, he whispered, ‘We take things one day at a time – together.’
He felt her nod then she burst into tears. They sat and cried together for what seemed like an eternity before Violet eventually spoke. ‘I hope the “Wives” find those children.’
"If anyone can, the Wednesbury Wives can." Spencer answered with a smile.
Spencer was still holding his wife as the women bustled into the room carrying the two shivering children.
Joshua had arrived not long before and was busy building up the fire as they sat the trembling children before it. Eyes full of wonder they watched the dancing flames then turned to look at each of the people looking down on them.
Violet saw their dirty faces as they glanced around the room. They sat very close, clearly afraid each might lose the other. Their ragged clothes hung from extremely thin bodies and their fingernails were chipped and broken. She gasped as she saw neither wore shoes or socks. Dropping to her knees, she began to rub the little girl’s dirty feet in her warm hands. Kath did the same with the young boy, trying to get the blood flowing again.
Quietly Violet said, ‘My name is Violet and this is my husband, Spencer.’
As Kath moved away, Spencer stepped forward and bending down he asked gently, ‘What are your names?’
The little girl spoke, ‘I’m Molly Fowler and he’s James.’ She poked a finger at her brother.
‘I ain’t James!’ spat the boy. ‘I’m Jim!’ he added, puffing out his chest. For all they had endured, the boy’s pride was still intact.
‘Well,’ Violet said, ‘Mary’s husband is called Jim as well, so if it’s all right with yourself we shall call you Young Jim.’
‘That’s all right by me,’ the lad said proudly.
‘Well, children, a hot drink and some food is called for, what do you say?’ Violet asked tenderly.
‘Yes please!’ they chorused.
Violet rang for the maid, who had returned along with the cook once the scarlet fever had left the town. She requested tea for all and hot chocolate for the children. She asked that some warm food be brought also.
It was not long when the cook and maid brought in a tray each for the two youngsters, containing a cup of hot chocolate, a bowl of re-heated stew and chunks of fresh bread. A small plate held a slice of cake.
Everyone watched with smiles as the children balanced the trays on their knees expertly and tucked in like it would be the last food they would ever eat.
Violet stared and Spencer wrapped an arm around her waist. ‘They were famished,’ he said quietly. Violet nodded unable to drag her eyes away from the two small children. She thought them to be perhaps not much older than Harry. A dry sob escaped her lips at the thought.
As the children drank their drinks, Kath removed the trays.
More trays with hot tea for the adults were brought in and the empty ones set aside to be taken away, along with the now empty cups.
Suddenly Young Jim burped loudly and said, ‘Compliments to the chef.’
The cook smiled as she and the maid left the room.
‘Our Jim, you’re such a pig!’ Molly said, digging him in the ribs.
‘I ain’t! Our dad used to say it to our mum.’
Titters sounded as everyone watched the two orphans.
Violet’s thoughts centred on the young children, thinking how they had appeared to have accepted their parents’ demise. She wondered how it was they were so resilient, and dealt with things such as death so much better than adults. How had they come to terms with losing both parents? They had had to scavenge to survive; they had lived in a lavatory in mid-winter to avoid the worst of the weather. Maybe they hadn’t had time to dwell on it, so great was their urge to live.
Violet watched as the boy wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand. Summoning the maid again, she waited a moment then said, ‘I’m sorry to have you running around so much, Betty…’ the maid smiled, ‘…but would you ask cook to see about heating some water for a bath for the children.’
The maid answered, ‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but cook thought as you might ask, so I brought in the tin baths from the scullery, and water is on to heat already.’
Violet nodded. ‘Thank you – both.’
The maid disappeared and Annie said, ‘Right you two, come along with me. You’re going to have a nice warm bath.’ She led the children down to the kitchen.
Martha asked, ‘Now what? They have no more clothes to change into and no home.’
Kath and Joshua eyed each other across the room and Mary and Joyce shook their heads.
‘Spencer,’ Violet said at last, ‘we can’t bring our beloved Harry back, but we could offer those two children a good home.’
‘We could and I think – we should!’
All had tears in their eyes as they saw Violet smile for the first time in a long while.
They all felt it was Molly and Young Jim who would be bringing Violet back from living in the twilight between life and death, and giving her life purpose once more.