January 1935
Martha Moffatt made her way along cobbled Frederick Street, the dim glow from the streetlamps lighting her way. Her breath steam-like in the frigid air, she pulled up the fur-trimmed collar of her coat as she turned the corner into Hake Street and entered the garage forecourt.
‘Happy New Year, lass.’ The tall, lanky figure of Alan Pearson, one of the mechanics, loomed out from behind a petrol pump. He stamped his feet and blew into his hands.
‘Alan… what a fright you gave me.’
‘Sorry, lass. But am I glad to see yi’. I’m frozen stiff standing in the cold. Hurry and open up.’ As he made for the office door, he called over his shoulder, ‘Are yi’ feeling better now?’
Martha followed him, her high heels tapping on the concrete.
‘Yes thanks.’
‘I hear it was the flu. Nasty that. There’s lots of it about. Did it spoil Christmas?’
‘A bit. I kept feeling sick.’
She still did. Bile rose in Martha’s throat and she swallowed hard. If only she dared ask someone if feeling sick occasionally at four months was natural… But there was no one she could trust. Intrusive and worrying thoughts invaded her mind and a rush of panic seized Martha. Her hand shaking, she fumbled in her bag for the key. She told herself she couldn’t go on like this. Her mind was made up; when she next saw the father, it was time to tell him that she was expecting his bairn.
She opened the office door and led the way into the office-come-spare-parts shop. Switching on the light, she hurried behind the counter and turned on the two-bar electric fire.
‘Have you heard the latest?’ Alan took the large key for the workshop from its hook. He turned and his deeply lined, good-natured face broke into a grin. ‘Fenwick and Son are going to open a second garage.’
Martha wasn’t surprised. ‘It makes a lot of sense. The haulage side of the business is profitable. And it’s well known the boss is a man with ambition.’
Four years ago, after she left school, Martha had done a stint at college learning secretarial skills, presentation and decorum. Seeing an advertisement for a secretary and cashier at Fenwick’s garage in Laygate, Martha had applied for the job. In the interview, Mr Fenwick, the owner of the garage – a tall and rather handsome older man wearing a smart double-breasted suit, crisp white shirt and flamboyant red and gold tie – had given her a charming smile and asked if she could start straight away.
She worked in the office with Mr Fenwick’s son, who also carried on the family name of Edward. As they chatted on their tea breaks, Martha grew to enjoy his company and they’d quickly become close. Edward – he insisted she call him by his Christian name when they were alone – was two years older than her, and she’d found out he was an only child and had no mam.
‘I was five when Mum died of the Spanish flu,’ Edward had told her, his intelligent and gleaming brown eyes clouded with sorrow.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Martha had said, full of sympathy for him.
Edward had shrugged. ‘I can barely remember her.’
‘Who brought you up?’
‘Mum’s parents wanted to, but Dad was having none of it.’
‘Gracious, did he bring you up on his own?’
‘Apart from the holidays which I spent with my paternal grandparents, yes.’
Martha’s admiration for Mr Fenwick had grown.
Her reverie was interrupted by Alan letting out a relieved sigh.
‘It’s champion news about the garage, isn’t it? I mean, in this climate nobody’s job’s safe. The news last night said industrial conditions are better than any other time since the slump in thirty-one.’ He pulled a sceptical face. ‘I dunno where they get their figures from but it’s certainly not this part of the country. Folk in this neck of the woods are scared to death of the dole and that bloody Means Test.’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘Sorry for the language, lass, but it makes me blood boil. Me neighbours next door were denied dole money because they’ve got two spare dining chairs and a piano they can sell. It’s criminal. You’ve got to be nigh on poverty stricken before—’
At that moment the door opened and Edward Fenwick junior entered, accompanied by a cold blast of air. He gave Martha a shy smile, then turned to Alan. ‘Are you sounding off again?’ His tone was convivial.
Martha could never get over the physical likeness between father and son. Both were tall with broad shoulders, a rather pleasing muscled physique and sandy-coloured hair. The difference between them was the colour of their eyes. Edward senior’s were a piercing blue, while his son’s were chocolate brown. In personality they were dissimilar too. Mr Fenwick was commanding, whereas Edward had a more amenable manner – though he seemed tense whenever his father was around, as though he felt under pressure to please his dad.
‘Look sharp,’ Edward told the mechanic, ‘the lad’s outside waiting for the workshop to be opened.’
The lad was young Terry, employed as an apprentice.
As Alan made for the door, Martha moved to the cracked mirror on the office wall and placed her cloche hat on the shop counter. Smoothing her blonde waves into place around her face, in the mirror she saw Edward’s eyes lingering on her.
She met his gaze, and he looked away.
Martha checked her reflection, making sure her lipstick didn’t need replenishing. Smiling, she inwardly thanked the elderly lady she’d sat next to on the tram all those years ago who’d given her such sound advice.
‘I won’t set a foot outside without first putting my face on. A bit of lippy, some attitude and drop the Geordie accent’ – she’d winked knowingly – ‘and you can fit in anywhere.’
Martha had never forgotten the woman’s words and did as she’d advised, putting her make-up on before venturing out and being careful to speak properly. She had the same light blonde hair as her screen idol, Carole Lombard (although she did wonder if Carole’s was dyed) and tweezed her eyebrows into the same elongated line, rimmed her eyes with black pencil and painted her cupid bow lips with bright red lipstick, much to Mam’s disgust.
‘You look like a trollop with all that muck on your face,’ Mam told her, her arms folded. ‘I don’t know, these days folk haven’t a ha’penny to their name and go around looking as though they’re made of money.’
‘Mam, I pay my board and lodgings and I’m careful with the rest. If I treat myself at times, it’s because if I look good it makes me feel good.’
‘Mark my words, my girl, one day you’ll get your comeuppance.’
That day had arrived, Martha thought, as she turned around from the mirror and faced Edward.
It had only happened once in the upstairs flat when she’d had her first taste of champagne – that is, first glass or two of champagne – and she’d felt rosy and giggly. Only now she was paying for her transgression. He’d given her a string of pearls and professed his love for her, as she had to him.
Everything would turn out right, when she told him, she reassured herself. Wouldn’t it?
Alan slammed the door behind him, and Martha jumped, her mind returning to the present.
‘D’you know who’s going to run this new garage?’ she asked Edward.
‘You know Dad never tells me anything.’ His lips pressed together in a mutinous fashion.
Martha knew from experience to drop the subject, as he was touchy when it came to his father. Edward wanted to strike out on his own and was biding his time until he would tell his dad – so he said.
Just then, the door opened and the man himself, Edward Fenwick senior, walked into the office, a blast of cold air from outside making the naked bulb that hung from the ceiling swing back and forth. Martha shivered. Mr Fenwick was a dashing man and she had to admit that whenever he entered the room, she was rather awestruck by him.
‘Morning.’ He removed his leather gloves and undid the belt of his double-breasted topcoat, shrugging it off to reveal a tailored suit. Hanging his coat on a hanger behind the door, he strode over to the electric fire and, reaching behind his back, clasped his hands together.
‘It’s gone half past eight.’ He glowered at his son.
‘I was just about to open the showroom.’ Unease emanated from Edward. Martha, frustrated, wondered if he’d ever find the courage to stand up to his dad.
The boss turned to Martha and raised a disapproving eyebrow.
She took the hint. ‘I was just about to start on invoices.’ Knowing the boss’s black mood was not one to be toyed with, she made for the typewriter at her desk.
But not before removing her coat. Hanging it on a vacant peg, she turned to see both men staring at her, their eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
She looked down at her abdomen and saw, where her white blouse had risen from the waist of her slim pencil skirt, the small mound.
‘Are you expecting?’ Mr Fenwick’s voice thundered.
Martha felt a flush creep across her cheeks. She hadn’t planned on it being revealed like this. She pulled back her shoulders. Maybe fate had intervened and it was for the best. ‘Yes, I am.’
His eyes went scarily dark and the atmosphere in the room turned ominous. ‘We can’t have customers seeing a pregnant woman on the premises.’
Edward looked stricken. ‘Dad, what are you saying? You can’t—’
‘Edward, keep out of this.’ Mr Fenwick moved towards Martha and took her coat from the peg. He handed it to her. ‘Go home. You’re sacked.’
Martha’s knees felt as if they were about to buckle. ‘You can’t do this, I—’
‘Silence. I can dismiss you and I will and there’ll be no argument.’ His expression was menacing as he towered over her.
Shocked, Martha looked at Edward for support, but his face turned grey. He avoided her eyes and stared at the ground. What was the use? She should have known he would never cross his father.
Without another word, Martha left the premises to an unknown and frightening future.
When Mam first saw the evidence of Martha’s pregnancy, her scrawny body bristled with outrage. ‘Don’t you dare tell me you’re expecting.’
Martha’s went mouth dry, and she could hardly speak. She swallowed hard. ‘I am.’
They stood staring at each other in the kitchen cum living room of their two-bedroomed flat. Mam’s lips a thin line of disapproval, she lashed out, ‘I hope whoever he is, he’s prepared to have a shotgun wedding. Because I certainly won’t be shamed or willing to take on his child. Who is he?’
Nothing would induce Martha to disclose the identity of the father; she was too ashamed to admit what a fool she’d been to expect someone like Edward Fenwick to stand by her. And yet, although on one level she’d lost all respect for him – Edward had betrayed her trust and treated her badly – deep in her heart, Martha couldn’t help but still love him. She swore she’d never trust another man again.
The future looked bleak, for who’d employ her now that she was an unmarried mother? And if she couldn’t support the bairn she carried, what was the alternative? The thought of poverty and the workhouse terrified her.
Even if Mam did offer to help, there was no way she could earn enough to feed and house the three of them.
Mam had worked as a cleaning lady ever since Dad had been killed when a roof collapsed in the mine in the winter of 1925. Mam was held in high regard and she worked in some of the big houses in town.
‘Silly bugger,’ Mam had said at the time of her husband’s death, her face white with shock. ‘Your da survived the Great War without a scratch, then came home and got himself killed.’ She never cried or spoke Dad’s name from that moment on.
Money was tight but Mam managed to keep a roof over their heads, renting a downstairs flat in Havelock Street with her earnings from working long hours. She had big hopes for her daughter and she had encouraged Martha to acquire the qualifications needed to work in an office.
‘I’ll not have you working as a skivvy like me. They’ll treat you right in an office job and I hear the pay is grand.’
The one pound seven shillings a week Martha earned helped with the rent and household bills. Mam had been overjoyed when she got the job because it meant she could lighten her workload by a few hours, as the arthritis in her hands was playing up something rotten. Each week Martha proudly handed over her board and lodgings to Mam and the rest she spent on personal items such as clothes, make-up and her favourite pastime of going to the flicks.
‘You should save your money for a rainy day,’ Mam scolded. ‘Just look around you in the streets; in these desperate times you never know when your luck will run out.’
Mam had led a hard life, and as a result she was cagey about the future. Her biggest fear was she’d be thrown out of her home and end up a pauper on the streets.
Until now, Martha had never had reason to worry. But that was before the bombshell of her pregnancy and her dismissal. Now, Martha’s mind was in turmoil; she couldn’t believe that Edward had been using her. She didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. With no way to prove who the father was, it would be her word against his and pride wouldn’t allow her to beg.
Mam had been right all along; caution paid, but Martha had learned too late.
It was Bessie Todd, Mam’s oldest friend, who eventually solved Martha’s problem.
Early one morning, when Martha was cleaning the windows of the downstairs flat – this was her penance, to help Mam around the house as much as she could – Bessie appeared at the front step.
‘I’m calling in to see your mam.’
‘Go in. Mam said she was expecting you.’
Bessie gave a friendly smile. ‘If ever yi’ fancy a cup of tea, hinny, and a chat, you’re welcome to call in at my place because I’m starved of female company. The lads are away at the pit and when there’s no work at the shipyards me old man is mostly at the allotments, heavens be praised, because he drives me mad moping about the house.’
Why not? Martha thought. She had nothing better to do than housework or stare at the four walls while she listened to the wireless. Now, in her seventh month, she didn’t venture far from home; with no money to spend and folk spurning her, what was the point? Besides, her feet were swollen like puddings and her back ached.
‘That would be lovely, thank you. It would be pleasant to have a change of scenery,’ she admitted.
On a chilly April day, Martha caught the trolleybus and made her way to Bessie’s upstairs flat.
Bessie, wearing a turban-style headscarf covering her light brown hair, and an apron over a faded floral summer frock, appeared delighted when she opened the front door.
‘Martha, how lovely to see you. Come in, hinny.’
Bessie led the way upstairs into the kitchen-living room where there was a mouth-watering smell of something delicious baking in the range oven. With its brightly burning red coals and evidence of family clutter, the room was welcoming.
‘Make yourself at home and I’ll make us a cuppa.’ Bessie nodded to a horsehair couch that had seen better days and she disappeared into the scullery.
‘So, what’s goin’ to happen,’ she asked, when she returned and handed Martha a cup of tea, ‘about this bairn you’re carrying.’
Martha, taken aback, was at a loss what to say and took a sip of tea while she thought.
‘I’ve asked your ma but she stays tight-lipped.’ Bessie shook her head. ‘A problem doesn’t go away just because you ignore it.’ She let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘Don’t I know it with my lot.’
Martha blurted, ‘I don’t know what to do, Bessie. Mam looks furious most of the time and hardly speaks. I’m sure she hates me now for what I’ve done.’ She stared down at the large mound of her abdomen. ‘The worst thing is, I don’t want it, but I know it won’t go away.’
Tears blurred Martha’s eyes and her nose ran. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She loathed herself for giving in to snivelling. Bessie fumbled in her apron pocket and handed Martha a clean handkerchief.
‘As you know, me and your ma have been friends for a lot of years. She can be hard as nails sometimes, but that’s what’s seen her through the bad times. Inside, the woman has a heart of gold. She’s only ever wanted a better life for you and this business of you expecting has floored her. Something else I know is, you mean the world to her, lass, even though the woman will never show it.’
A lump squeezed in Martha’s throat and her eyes went watery again. That was the trouble these days, she got upset and weepy about the slightest thing. What a selfish cow she’d been, taking Mam for granted over all the years. She’d worked her fingers to the bone to give Martha a good start in life and this was how she’d repaid her, by becoming the scandal of the street. Mam didn’t deserve this.
‘I’m a disgrace,’ she wailed. ‘I’d do anything to put things right.’
Bessie shook her head. ‘It makes me blood boil how it’s always the lass that gets crucified and the lad walks away scot free. I’ve got two laddies and, by God, I’ll teach them better. If one of them dares to treat a lass the same way, he’ll have me to answer to.’ Her eyes flashed in anger.
If Bessie’s lads knew what was good for them, they’d think twice before crossing their mam, Martha thought as she blew her nose.
‘It’s hopeless. I’ve ruined everything.’
Bessie folded her arms, looking business-like. ‘I’ve had a talk with your ma and there is a way out.’
Martha wiped her eyes. ‘You’ve talked with Mam?’
‘Yes, because I knew she’d never broach the subject. You see, your mam’s just as scared as you about the future. I know I would be. She can’t discuss the problem because likely the worry will spill over into a fury she knows she’ll take out on you.’
‘She does. If I say a word, she bites my head off.’
In the silence that followed while they sipped their tea, Martha found herself thinking that she hoped she’d turn out as wise as Bessie when she was older. Though she doubted it, the mess she’d made of her life so far.
‘You said you you’ve thought of a way out?
Bessie, putting the cup and saucer on the floor, sat up and looked at Martha.
‘I’m lucky, hinny, I’ve had two bairns, three if I count the one who came before her time.’ Her face sagged in sorrow. ‘There’s couples out there that can’t have any, and they’re desperate for a family, so they’re looking to adopt.’
‘Adopt?’ Martha reeled.
Bessie’s candid eyes met Martha’s. ‘Aye, lass. And there are places that organise such things.’
‘You’ve spoken about this with Mam?’ Martha was incredulous. It was unbelievable Mam hadn’t mentioned something as important as this.
Bessie screwed up her face as though she felt awkward. ‘I did and she said it had gone through her mind as well.’
A wave of disappointment at Mam washed over Martha. ‘Why didn’t she say?’
‘I think she would have done, pet, eventually.’ Bessie’s tone was conciliatory. ‘She’s probably biding her time, like you do when something’s difficult and you’ve to be in the right frame of mind before you speak out.’
Martha sagged. The enormity of what Bessie was saying was difficult to take in. Could she really walk away from her child? She tried to think of the subject dispassionately. Her baby would have a good home and it would make life so much easier.
‘Think on it this way, you’ll be doing some poor souls a great service and the bairn will never want for anything. And, you can get on with your life and everyone will gain.’ Bessie smiled reassuringly.
She made it sound so easy.
Martha held out her hands, palms upwards. ‘Is Mam happy with this?’
Bessie nodded. ‘She sees adoption as a solution.’
Martha reasoned she wouldn’t be doing it just for herself. Mam would benefit as well. She wouldn’t have the worry, the weight on her shoulders of providing for the small family, the shame of others around knowing her daughter would never likely marry. And the bairn wouldn’t live a life of shame branded a bastard.
As she felt the life inside her move again, a sense of wonder overcame Martha and she experienced a niggle of self-doubt. Was she being selfish putting her future above the bairn she carried? Would she regret her decision forever? Then, thinking of the benefits Bessie described, and of her mother and the bairn, Martha hardened her heart and brushed the intrusive thoughts away.
She made up her mind; for everyone’s sake she would stay strong and let go when the time came.
Two weeks before the baby was due, Martha, accompanied by Mam, travelled to the Mothers’ Hospital in Newcastle. Bessie had kindly made the arrangements for the birth and adoption as Martha, in some kind of mental stupor about the whole thing, hadn’t felt capable.
Matron, wearing a beige uniform, answered the door and led them to her office on the ground floor. Sitting behind her large mahogany desk, she booked Martha in, then told them, ‘The houses are used as administrative offices and nurses’ quarters, there’s also a dining room and kitchen.’ She spoke with the crisp voice of authority. ‘The wards, including the labour and delivery room, are housed behind in the large gardens. Follow me and I’ll take you to your ward.’
Mam, avoiding Martha’s eyes, declined the offer with a shake of the head, and got up to leave. ‘I’d best be off.’
Fear gripped Martha. ‘Will you visit?’
Her hand on the doorknob, Mam didn’t turn. ‘I’ll try, on me day off.’
Then she was gone.
As Matron took Martha to the six-bed ward which she would share with five other pregnant girls, a feeling of being forsaken overpowered Martha.
‘Welcome to the house of shame,’ a brunette occupying the next bed told her when Matron was out of earshot. ‘I’m Mavis.’
Martha gave a brief smile. She was still getting her bearings and couldn’t believe her life had come to this. But she’d rather be here than at home where recrimination festered in the atmosphere.
Life at the Mothers’ Hospital was made more bearable by the camaraderie Martha struck up with the other girls in the ward, who were in the same pickle as her.
‘Dad banished me from the house when he found out I was expecting,’ Betty, in the first bed on the ward, told the others. It was after lights out and they were all in bed staring at the ceiling in the darkness. ‘He said I had to get rid of it or I wouldn’t be allowed back home. I was sent away to live with an old aunt till it was time to come here.’
Mavis’s voice piped up. ‘Mine said if I’d kept me legs closed, I wouldn’t be in this jam.’
‘Does the father of the bairn know you’re pregnant?’ Martha couldn’t help but ask.
There was a long pause and then Mavis gave a sigh. ‘I met Mike at a dance hall. He was dreamy and I couldn’t help but fall for him. I was stupid and naive enough to think he loved me but all he wanted was a bit of hanky-panky. He scarpered when I told him.’
None of the others spoke. Martha guessed that Mavis’s experience mirrored theirs, as it did hers, reminding them of their own ignorance and gullibility.
She changed the subject. ‘Why do we have to stay three weeks after the birth?’
‘It’s so we’re given the chance to bond with our bairns and maybe decide to keep them.’ Betty’s voice was wistful. ‘I’ve heard there’re places where the baby’s taken off you straight after the birth.’ Her voice quivered. ‘I wanted to keep mine but Dad would never allow it.’ She gave a sob. ‘It’s probably for the best as I don’t want mine to have the same upbringing as me. I want the best for my baby.’
Martha was surprised how the others thought of their babies as a person. In her mind she had an it growing inside her – because she found it safer that way. But most of the time she tried not to think of it at all.
That night Martha was kept awake by Betty crying in bed. The lass was due any day now, but you wouldn’t think it to look at her as she was tall and slim and her mound was well hidden beneath the loose maternity top she wore. Martha’s abdomen was enormous and she couldn’t see her feet. She worried about how it would get out as surely it was bigger than the opening down there. She was ignorant about such topics as birth as it was something you didn’t talk about, especially with your mam – that would be excruciatingly embarrassing.
Next morning, after breakfast, a nurse with a stern expression walked over to Martha’s bed and pulled the curtains around them. She put her notes on the bedside table. ‘Hello, Martha.’ She gave a brief smile. ‘Just an initial examination to check you and baby are doing fine. I expect you know the routine.’
Martha didn’t. Neither could she admit she’d never been to see the doctor, an old gentleman she’d known since she was a child, as she was too ashamed. She couldn’t bear to see the judgemental expression on his face. Besides, there’d been no need as she’d been fit all throughout her pregnancy and it had grown to this huge size without any problems.
She felt nervous, and she didn’t know what to expect.
The nurse asked her questions about her pregnancy and took Martha’s blood pressure, all the while writing things down in the notes.
‘Pull up your maternity top,’ the nurse instructed.
Lying there, the enormous mound of her stomach exposed, Martha felt self-conscious.
The nurse brought out what looked like an ear trumpet and placed it on Martha’s belly. She bent over and listened. Martha guessed she must be trying to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Moving the trumpet to different areas of Martha’s belly, the nurse frowned as she concentrated.
A moment of worry seized Martha. ‘Is… is it all right?’
The nurse stood and her smile was back. ‘Two strong and healthy heartbeats.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘The twins are doing fine.’
‘Twins…?’ A rush of panic coursed through Martha. ‘There must be some mistake…’
The nurse studied her, her eyes pitying. ‘Did you not know you’re expecting twins?’
The thought had never entered Martha’s mind. She felt weak with shock.
She was carrying two babies. The enormity of it sank in. Did she really have the strength to place two bundles in another woman’s arms? Angry at herself for getting into this pickle, tears of remorse stung Martha’s eyes. What if, she thought, having twins lessened her chances of having them adopted.
A feeling of dread overcame her as she realised she would have to tell Mam.
Mam came to visit the next week. She looked furtively about and spoke in a low voice. ‘I don’t want you looking like something the cat brought in.’ She opened the brown paper parcel she carried and handed a cotton nightdress with buttons down the front to Martha. ‘It’s not new but I haven’t the money to splash on something you’ll only be wearing for a couple of weeks.’
‘Thank you.’ Martha shook out the folds and looked at the tent-like nightdress. She had to stifle a nervous giggle with a cough.
They sat in silence after that, Mam looking as if she wished she were someplace else, while Martha tried to find the courage to tell Mam the catastrophic news that she’d received last week.
‘Bessie says hello. She hopes you’re—’
‘I’ve got some news…’ Still reeling herself, Martha dreaded telling Mam. She felt lightheaded and faint. Best to get the deed over with. ‘I’m expecting twins.’
Mam looked at her, eyes wide with shock. ‘Two?’ she exploded.
Martha braced herself for the usual rant: how she was an ungrateful wretch and how Mam had worked hard to give her daughter a better life – which was true, Martha knew – and this was her repayment.
But Mam, her face now stony, stood up to leave, her lips pressed in a severe line, as though the news was too much even to comment on.
The fight went out of Martha as she watched her mam leave the room; she wasn’t even worth shouting at.
When Betty’s baby was delivered, she was insistent that the . . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
