The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson

even though he does have to get about on a crutch these days.’

      ‘Better to walk on crutches than be jed and buried in some graveyard in Balaclava, I’d say. I tek it as he can still get his good leg over the wench, though.’

      Haden guffawed. ‘’Tis to be hoped. He’ll be getting boils on the back of his neck, else. But there’s no sign of e’er a babby yet. Mind you, there’s no boils on his neck either.’

      They had arrived at the corner where Haden turned off. He thanked Ben Elwell again for agreeing to take on Lucy as a barmaid, waved and went home.

      Waiting by the entry was Bobby the shaggy sheepdog, named after Sir Robert Peel. Bobby lay with his nose between his paws and nonchalantly opened one eye when he heard Haden’s footsteps approaching. When he saw his master he stretched, got to his feet and wagged his tired tail, anticipating being fussed.

      ‘Christ, I bet you’ve had a bloody hard day looking after your mother, eh, Bobby?’ Haden said, bending forward to ruffle the dog’s thick mane. ‘All that shut-eye and lolling about. Christ knows how you keep it up.’ The dog licked Haden’s hand affectionately. ‘Is your mother inside then? Has her fed yer?’ He patted the dog and straightened up. ‘It’s all right for some, all rest and no work. I expect yo’ll want some dinner off me now, eh?’

      As he opened the door the smell of cooking welcomed him. He saw a pot of rabbit stew standing on the hob of the cast iron fire grate and knew that he would not go hungry. Lucy was standing half-dressed, tying up her long dark hair.

      ‘Where’s your mother?’

      ‘I’m upstairs,’ a voice called.

      ‘What yer doing up there? It’s time for me vittles.’

      ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

      Haden looked at his younger daughter as he tossed his snap bag on the settle. ‘I had a word with Ben Elwell. He says if you go to the Whimsey tonight his missus will show you the ropes.’

      Lucy’s eyes lit up and she grinned. ‘So he’ll let me start working there nights?’

      ‘And he’ll keep his eye on yer. I want no drunken louts a-pestering yer. All right?’

      ‘Course, dad.’

      ‘Then it’s settled. Lord knows what he’ll pay yer, though. We never mentioned money.’

      ‘I don’t care. I’d do it for nothing, Dad.’

      ‘No need to do it for nothing, my wench. Ben’s fair. He’ll pay fair. Now, get yourself dressed and fetch me some water so’s I can wash me feet. When yo’ve done that, tek the brown jug wi’ yer to the Whimsey and have it filled wi’ beer … Here’s sixpence …’

      So Lucy, grateful that her father had had a word with Ben Elwell, went to the pump down the street and fetched water. Then she took the brown jug from the cupboard next to the fire grate and stepped out into the early evening sunshine to fetch his beer.

      The Piddocks sat down to eat, civilly and with all the decorum of a well-bred household, a habit which Hannah, Haden’s wife, had imported and insisted upon. Her years employed as a housemaid in one of the big important houses in Kingswinford, the adjoining parish, had instilled much domestic refinement into her, which time and their own modest way of life had not diminished.

      ‘I don’t know as I hold with our Lucy serving ale to all them loudmouth hobbledehoys with their rough manners what get in the Whimsey,’ Hannah remarked with maternal anxiety. ‘No decent young woman should be seen in such a place. And will she be safe walking home at night?’

      ‘I’ll be walking home with her nights, I daresay,’ Haden said, and shoved a forkful of rabbit meat into his mouth.

      Lucy looked from one to the other. ‘I’ll be all right, Mother,’ she affirmed. ‘I’ll come to no harm. They’re not all rough folk that go to the Whimsey.’

      ‘’Tis to be hoped. But if ever you’m on your own and hear somebody behind yer, run for your life.’

      ‘I will, Mother. I’m not daft.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’m a-fretting about, Hannah,’ Haden said. ‘Things am quieter now than they used to be. I mean, there’s nothing to get excited about any more – well, not at the Whimsey, anyroad. There’s no bull-baiting or cock-fighting these days to get folk worked up. All right, there might be the occasional badger-drawing when the Patrollers ain’t about … I remember Coronation Day—’

      ‘Oh, spare us the details, Haden.’

      ‘No, Mother, I’d like to hear,’ Lucy insisted. ‘My dad always comes out with some good tales.’

      ‘Except I’ve heard ’em all afore, our Lucy. Too many times.’

      ‘Well, I haven’t. So tell us, Dad.’

      Haden took a long quaff from his beer. ‘It was June in thirty-eight,’ he began again with a smile for his daughter. ‘It started the day afore the Coronation of our young queen Victoria, God bless her. We’d heard that there was due to be a bear-baiting at the Old Bell up in Bell Street. The bear had been brought over from Wednesbury, and to keep him comfortable for the night they found him an empty pigsty. Next day, everybody as had got a bulldog – and that was a good many in them days – brought ’em along to bait poor old Bruin. So the bear-herd fetched the bear out o’ the pigsty and led him over to the old clay pit. They drove an iron stake into the middle and put the ring at the end of the bear’s chain over the stake, so as the animal could move about easy but not too far. Course, loads o’ spectators lined the clay pit, a chap in a clean white smock among ’em.’

      Bobby had installed himself at the side of the table near Haden and waited patiently with imploring eyes for a morsel to descend to the stone flags of the floor. But Haden was in full flow.

      ‘As it happened, the ground had been softened by rain a day or two before, and as the kerfuffle started nobody noticed that the stake had come loose in the mud. I tell yer, there was plenty fun as them dogs baited the bear, but then it dawned on everybody that the bear had got free. We all ran for our lives, and the poor bugger in the white smock fell over. He was rolled over umpteen times in the mud as folk trampled all over him.’ Haden laughed aloud as he recalled it. ‘He was a sight – the poor bugger did look woebegone.’

      ‘Then what happened?’ Lucy asked, wide-eyed.

      ‘The daft thing was, the poor bear was as frit as everybody else, and run off back to the pigsty.’

      ‘The poor, poor bear,’ she said full of sympathy for the animal. ‘I’m glad they put a stop to all that savagery.’

      ‘Savagery?’ Haden repeated. ‘I’ve seen savagery. I’ve watched bull-baiting at the Whimsey – in the days when everybody called it “Turley’s”. Once, a bull gored a bulldog, pushing his horns right into its guts. He ripped it open and tossed it higher than the house.’

      ‘Ugh! That’s enough to put you off your dinner,’ Lucy complained, turning her mouth down in distaste.

      ‘Another time at a wake,’ Haden went on, ‘I watched a bull, that was maddened by the dogs, break free of his stake and cause havoc among the crowd. When they caught him they slaughtered him without a second thought and cut him up, and the meat was sold to anybody as wanted it at a few coppers a pound. Then they all trooped off to watch the next baiting.’

      ‘I’m only glad it doesn’t go on now,’ Lucy said. ‘Do you remember it, Mother?’

      ‘I remember it going on. I’d never go and watch such things meself, though. But then I had you kids to look after.’

      ‘Yes, they was rough days,’ Haden admitted. ‘We only had one parish constable in them days and he couldn’t be everywhere. Like as not he was paid to turn a blind eye, especially by the street wenches or their blasted pimps. But folk was poor and