The Paper Mill Girl

by Glenda Young

Genres: Family Life; Historical Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

'Real sagas with female characters right at the heart' Jane Garvey, Woman's Hour

If you love Dilly Court and Rosie Goodwin, you'll LOVE Glenda Young's 'amazing novels!' (ITV's This Morning presenter Sharon Marshall)

'In the world of historical saga writers, there's a brand new voice' My Weekly

'She's just a paper mill girl.'

Seventeen-year-old Ruth Hardy works long hours at Grange Paper Works, with her younger sister Bea, and spends her free time caring for their ailing parents. Their meagre income barely covers their needs, so when Bea reveals that she is pregnant out of wedlock, Ruth knows even tougher times are ahead.

Ruth's hard work at the mill does not go unnoticed and it looks as though luck might turn when she's promoted. But when the arrival of Bea's baby girl ends in tragedy, Ruth is left with no choice but to bring up her niece herself. However, news of Ruth's plan brings a threatening menace close.

Although Ruth's friendship with the girls at the mill, and the company of charming railway man, Mick Carson, sustain her, ultimately Ruth bears the responsibility for keeping her family safe. Will she ever find happiness of her own?

What readers are saying about Glenda's heartwrenching sagas:

'Better than a Catherine Cookson' 5* reader review

'Wonderful read, full of rich characters, evocative description and a touch of romance' 5* reader review

'Just wanted it to go on forever and read more about the characters and their lives' 5* reader review


Praise for Glenda Young:

'I really enjoyed Glenda's novel. It's well researched and well written and I found myself caring about her characters' Rosie Goodwin

'Will resonate with saga readers everywhere...a wonderful, uplifting story' Nancy Revell

'All the ingredients for a perfect saga and I loved Meg; she's such a strong and believable character. A fantastic debut' Emma Hornby

'Glenda has an exceptionally keen eye for domestic detail which brings this local community to vivid, colourful life and Meg is a likeable, loving heroine for whom the reader roots from start to finish' Jenny Holmes

'I found it difficult to believe that this was a debut novel, as "brilliant" was the word in my mind when I reached the end. I enjoyed it enormously, being totally absorbed from the first page. I found it extremely well written, and having always loved sagas, one of the best I've read' Margaret Kaine

Look out for Glenda's other compelling sagas, Belle of the Back Streets, The Tuppenny Child, Pearl of Pit Lane and The Girl with the Scarlet Ribbon.

(P)2020 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: November 12, 2020

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 384

Sample

September 1919

Ruth Hardy walked into the yard at Grange Paper Works, and the cold air nipped her face. Women streamed past her, some linking arms and chatting, all of them heading to the black iron gates that led from the mill to the road. Some of the women would return to husbands and children, to homes with coal fires in cosy, warm rooms. Some would return to a cooked meal. None of these would be waiting for Ruth.

There was a spit of rain in the air that brought a sea-salt taste to Ruth’s lips. Behind her the ocean roared. She took her hat from her pocket and pulled it over her long brown hair, then scanned the gates where Bea always waited. She spotted her sister holding on to the gate, anchored in case she was cut adrift and floated out on the tide of women. Bea worked in the machine room, where her job was to keep the floor clear. It was a safe place to work and Ruth was grateful she didn’t need to worry about her little sister. Well, not at work anyway.

She made her way through the crowd, raising her hand to wave. Bea was a year younger than Ruth’s seventeen years, smaller too, and she looked lost in the throng of women streaming from the yard. She had Ruth’s features – there was no denying they were sisters – but there was a fragility to Bea. Ruth had a more determined, no-nonsense look about her. It was there in the set of her mouth and the glint of steel that flashed in her eyes.

Ruth reached Bea and kissed her on her cheek. It was how they always greeted each other at the end of their working day. She noticed that her sister looked as drawn and tired as she felt herself.

‘You all right?’ she asked.

Bea nodded. ‘You?’

‘I’m tired,’ Ruth said. ‘You look it too.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m fine,’ Bea said quietly.

Ruth grabbed Bea’s hand and the girls threaded their way through the crowd. Once they reached the road, they upped their pace. They were determined to get home quickly, for it was a long walk through muddy fields along clifftops overlooking bays of coal-blackened sand. In the fields, they lifted their skirts to stop them trailing along the wet soil. They walked in silence. Suddenly Bea stopped in her tracks.

‘Did you hear the news today?’ she said.

Ruth didn’t break her stride. ‘Come on, we can’t stop. Mam and Dad will be waiting.’

Bea ran to catch up.

‘What news?’ Ruth asked when her sister was back at her side.

‘I heard the men talking. There’s to be a new owner. Someone’s bought the mill from the Blackwells.’

This was news Ruth didn’t know, and it came as a shock. Old Mr Blackwell had passed away months ago. Ruth had heard that his wife had neither the experience nor the desire to run the mill on her own. Many said it was no job for a woman, but Ruth’s friend Edie said she’d heard of women running paper mills elsewhere.

‘Did the men say who the new owner will be?’ she asked.

Bea shook her head. ‘No names were mentioned. But I heard he’s a stickler for discipline. There’s talk of changes being made when he takes over. All our shifts might be changed. And they say jobs will go too.’

Bea’s words hit Ruth hard and a chill ran through her. ‘They really said that?’

‘That’s what the men were talking about today. They were huddled in groups around the room, so I took my brush and swept around them, listening. They ignore me, don’t even see me. I’m as quiet as a mouse.’

Ruth felt unsettled. It was another problem to deal with, and she could do without it. ‘Well, little mouse,’ she said. ‘If you hear any more, you must tell me.’

Bea nudged her. ‘Did you see your boyfriend today?’

Ruth glanced at her sister. ‘He is not my boyfriend,’ she laughed.

‘You like him, though, I can tell.’

‘Rubbish,’ Ruth replied.

She walked on with her head down so that Bea couldn’t see the smile on her lips or the flush in her cheeks. This rush of emotion happened every time she thought of Mick Carson. He worked on the railway that brought raw materials from the docks to the mill, such as esparto, a coarse grass that grew as far away as Africa. Ruth had met him a few times. The first time, they’d smiled shyly at each other when their paths crossed in the yard. The second time she caught sight of him, she’d waved and smiled a friendly good morning, and to her delight, Mick had waved back with a cheery hello. She’d found out his name from Edie, who knew a lot of the men at the mill. Since then, the two of them had talked often if they met in the yard. Oh, it was nothing serious, always light-hearted and fun, but she enjoyed chatting to him and passing the time of day. And Mick seemed to enjoy her company too. She had told Bea about him and Bea had teased her ever since.

Ruth and Bea continued to walk, leaving the paper mill behind, its chimneys belching smoke. The mill was a long, low building on a clifftop overlooking the sea. Work never stopped, not even at Christmas. When one shift ended, another began. The machines worked constantly, clattering and banging, turning raw materials into paper. At one end of the mill, the railway delivered raw materials of rags, grass and wood pulp. And from the other end, paper of all sizes and qualities was loaded up to be taken away.

Over four hundred men, boys, women and girls worked long hours in shifts. They were allowed one day off each week. Ruth and Bea earned a fair wage, although it was far from a fortune. From what they learned from the girls they knew working in domestic service, their jobs were a damn sight better than being at the beck and call of a housekeeper. There was structure at the mill. Everyone knew what was expected. The hours were long, but Ruth and Bea enjoyed working there for the most part. However, what Ruth had just heard from Bea about a new owner coming in and jobs being lost was bad news. She really could do without having work problems on her mind along with everything else. She needed to talk to her friends Edie and Jane the next day to find out if they’d heard anything. Jane’s boyfriend Davey Winter, a brute of a man who never cracked a smile, worked in the machine room. She wondered if he might know something.

Bea started lagging behind as they walked along Ryhope Road.

‘Come on, Bea, hurry up,’ Ruth urged. She spun around and waited for her sister to catch up. She couldn’t help noticing again how pale Bea was. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’re looking peaky.’

Bea’s hand flew to her face. ‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly.

‘You need to stay in tonight. Look after yourself.’

She raised her chin. ‘Can’t. I’m going out.’

‘With Jimmy again?’

Bea nodded and Ruth’s heart sank. She didn’t like or trust Jimmy Tate. She knew him from school. He was lazy back then, copying other people’s work, even passing it off as his own. And he was still lazy now. Some people never changed. Jimmy was a shirker, a lazy good-for-nothing who drank too much. Try as she might – and she’d tried very hard for her sister’s sake after she found out Bea and Jimmy were courting – she couldn’t find one redeeming feature.

‘You don’t want to be going out gallivanting, or whatever it is you do with that boy,’ she said.

‘Jimmy’s not a boy; you make him sound soppy. He’s a grown man. He’s got a job now.’

Ruth couldn’t fail to notice Bea’s defensive tone. ‘Yeah? And how long’s that going to last?’ She tried to keep her voice calm, but she felt an anger building the way it always did when Jimmy was mentioned. She knew that Bea could do much better than the wayward lad. ‘He doesn’t stay five minutes anywhere he works. He turns up late and falls asleep when he gets there.’

‘That wasn’t his fault; he told me what happened,’ Bea said.

‘Oh Bea. Open your eyes and see him for what he really is.’

Ruth let the subject drop. Whenever Jimmy’s name was mentioned, a darkness settled between the sisters that often took hours to lift. She didn’t want to upset Bea or fall out with her. It would take more than a lowlife like Jimmy to come between them. But she wished to high heaven that he had never come into her sister’s life. He was a bad ’un and no mistake. Everyone in Ryhope knew it. Everyone, that was, except Bea.

As the girls walked on, ahead of them a welcome sight came into view. It was the spire of St Paul’s Church, a signal they were almost home. The night was drawing in as they turned on to Cliff Road. They walked past the Uplands, a grand house in its own grounds. Ruth usually enjoyed peering in through the windows to see the splendour of its furnishings. But this time, she didn’t stop.

Suddenly she slapped her hand against her forehead. ‘Damn it!’ she cried. ‘I’ve forgotten the eggs. I promised Mam I’d pick them up from High Farm.’

‘I’ll go,’ Bea offered.

‘No,’ Ruth said firmly. ‘You get yourself home. Make sure Mam and Dad are all right. Get the lamp burning for them, stoke the fire up if it’s needed and put the kettle on. I’ll walk to the farm. Tell Mam I’ll cook tea as soon as I get in.’

Bea scurried on while Ruth retraced her steps. High Farm was on the edge of the village green and sold milk and eggs from the farmhouse. Ruth’s business was conducted briskly with the farmer, Ralphie Heddon, a big fella with a thatch of straw-coloured hair and rough hands as big as shovels. He was well built and muscled with a ruddy face from years spent working outdoors.

‘Six white, six brown,’ he said as he placed the eggs into a box. ‘Just as your mam likes them. How’s she doing these days?’

‘She’s just the same,’ Ruth said. It was her standard reply. It was easier and quicker than giving everyone who asked the painful details of the illness that was slowly taking her mam’s life.

‘You still looking after her yourself, then?’ Ralphie asked.

‘Me and my sister do all we can,’ Ruth replied. ‘My dad’s not great himself these days. We’ve got him with his gammy leg and Mam with her bad chest.’

‘You take too much on yourself, lass. You should get someone in from the village to help look after your mam when you and your sister are at work.’

‘And how are we supposed to afford that?’ Ruth bristled. It wasn’t a question she expected an answer to.

Ralphie smiled kindly. ‘You’ve got a heart of gold, lass,’ he said.

It was a phrase Ruth had heard many times. She loved her family deeply; it was only right that she did what she could. She delved into her purse. ‘Here,’ she said, handing money over.

Ralphie pocketed the coins, then placed two extra eggs into the box. He winked at Ruth. ‘I always used to have a soft spot for your mam when she was a girl, you know. Take these with my compliments. Tell her I’m asking after her.’

‘I’ll tell Dad about your soft spot, shall I?’ Ruth laughed.

‘Well, he’s hardly going to come down here and give me a kicking, is he, not with his bad leg. Mind you, back in the day, he would’ve sorted me out. Oh! The temper he had on him in those days!’

Ruth kept quiet about her dad’s moods, which affected him still. ‘See you, Ralphie,’ she said, and walked away with the box in her arms.

Ruth’s exhaustion continued making itself felt in her neck and shoulders. How she ached after her day at the mill. Her work there was relentless, slicing cuffs and collars from clothes brought into the rag room. Long, low benches ran the length of the room, fitted with sharp knives that the twelve girls had to sit astride. With their nimble fingers they took the rags from wicker baskets, then ripped open the thick seams, tore off buttons and cut the rags into pieces. Hours and hours they spent ripping and tearing, slicing and cutting.

The only pleasure to Ruth’s day was working with her best friends Edie and Jane. The three had been friends since their first day at the mill. They’d worked their way up to the rag room from sweeping the machine room, a job that Bea held now. Dark-haired Edie, with her ready smile and forthright comments, sat on Ruth’s right. On her left sat Jane, the eldest of the three. Jane was engaged to Davey, who Ruth wasn’t keen on. He seemed a little too forward for her liking. She’d felt uncomfortable under his lecherous gaze when Jane had introduced him to her. He was a big man, well built, with thick arms. He wore a heavy moustache that made him look older than his years. Ruth didn’t think she had ever seen him smile.

Sitting on the bench cutting rags played havoc with Ruth’s back, and it ached. But at least she didn’t have far to walk now. Heading past the village school, she took one last lingering look at the Uplands on Cliff Road, and that was when she spotted Jimmy Tate beside a stone wall. It was definitely him. She recognised his dark curly hair, his shapeless black jacket, along with his scuffed boots and his grubby trousers with a hole in one knee. The scarf at his neck was one Bea had spent many nights knitting. But the girl who was with him tonight, the one he had his arms around, was one Ruth didn’t know. She gasped. The nerve of the lad! She was furious.

‘Oi!’ she yelled.

She wanted Jimmy to know she’d seen him and that she knew what he was up to behind her sister’s back. She waited for him to look up to see who was shouting, but he was wrapped around the girl, lost in his own world. Ruth marched towards them. She had always thought Jimmy lazy and a coward. She’d never had him down as a two-timing love rat as well. But she wasn’t in the least surprised. She wondered if there was anything Jimmy could do that would surprise her. Well, perhaps he could turn up at their door in a suit and tie, with a pocketful of wages and a bouquet, professing undying love for Bea and respect for their mam and dad. That would certainly be a surprise. But here he was, canoodling with a girl on Cliff Road. Bea must have just missed him. Ruth was glad. The sight would have broken her sister’s heart.

‘Oi! You two!’ she called again.

This time Jimmy looked up. Ruth saw the startled look on his face. He’d been caught. He stepped smartly away from the girl, and she spun around.

‘Hey, who do you think you are?’ she yelled.

Ruth glanced at her. She was a bonny girl, with dark hair and green eyes. ‘I need a word with Jimmy,’ she said sternly. ‘Alone.’

‘Jimmy?’ the girl implored.

‘Go,’ he said.

The girl looked from Jimmy to Ruth and back again. ‘But . . . Jimmy?’

He shook his head. ‘Go,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll come and find you later.’

Once the girl was out of earshot, Ruth glared long and hard at Jimmy. She saw him fidget. He ran a hand through his thick hair, rubbed his chin.

‘What do you want?’ he said at last. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

‘You’re disgusting, you know that?’ Ruth spat. ‘My sister thinks the world of you. You’re supposed to be courting her and you go and do something like this?’

Jimmy opened his mouth to reply, but Ruth wasn’t finished with him.

‘How many girls have you got on the go in Ryhope?’

‘It’s not like that,’ he said sullenly. ‘I was just cheering her up. She’d had some bad news.’

‘Cheering her up?’ Ruth hissed. ‘Is that why you had your tongue down her throat and your hands on her backside?’ She held tight to the box of eggs with one hand, and with the other poked Jimmy in the chest. ‘Now listen, you. I don’t like you one little bit. I never have. I don’t trust you an inch. I know you, remember? We were in the same class at school and you were a thief and a liar back then. You’re no better now.’

Jimmy shuffled awkwardly.

‘But for some strange reason that I’ll never understand, my sister likes you.’

He pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. ‘Are you going to tell her?’ he asked.

Ruth sighed heavily. She wanted nothing more than to tell Bea what a lowlife, cheating scumbag her boyfriend was. But she knew it would break her heart. She knew how much Jimmy meant to Bea. Her sister talked of little else. Ruth had seen the light dance in Bea’s eyes after she’d come home from spending time with him. He was the only thing, the only person, who could put a smile on her face. Heaven knew there was little enough for Ruth and Bea to smile about at home, looking after their poorly mam and coping with their dad’s mood swings. Ruth didn’t want to steal any of Bea’s joy from her with the truth about Jimmy. But neither would she let her sister be taken for a fool. If she told Bea what she’d seen, she’d have to choose her words carefully and pick the right time.

‘Get out of my sight,’ she hissed.

Without another word, Jimmy turned and walked sharply away.

Ruth hurried on, her heart heavy after the encounter. She wanted to protect Bea – she had to. There was no one else looking after her sister; they only had each other. Their mam was too poorly to speak some days. Their dad, since he’d been confined to the room in the pub where the family now lived, had become irascible. His moods changed quickly, his anger directed towards his daughters, though Ruth was the one who bore the brunt of his bitter words. She was his firstborn, he told her; she should do her duty and look after her parents.

She tried her best. She cared for her mam, propped her up on pillows, washed her and brushed her hair. She sat at her bedside and talked for hours, a one-way conversation that left her drained. As for her dad, she provided support for him to lean on when he needed to walk from his chair to his bed. She brought him the evening paper, and he devoured every word on each page, for he hated to miss any news. She cooked all the family’s meals, making hasty pudding for breakfast, warm oats and milk baked on their coal fire, before she and Bea set off for the mill each morning. And when she returned exhausted from a hard day’s work, when all she wanted was to sit down and put her feet up, close her eyes and rest, she had to prepare a hot meal for the four of them, for her mam was incapable and her dad didn’t know how. He’d never had to cook or clean in his life. Jean had done everything before she fell ill. Now Harry expected his daughters to take on her domestic role.

Bea helped, of course, but the bulk of the responsibility fell on Ruth’s shoulders. She took it all in her stride. This was her life, looking after and caring for her family. She kept their room clean and made sure the rent was paid each week to their landlady, Mrs Pike. The rent came from the money Ruth and Bea earned. What was left bought their food. There was nothing for treats, nothing to save. Every penny went into looking after their parents, each other and the room where they lived at the back of the Guide Post Inn, one of Ryhope’s oldest pubs.

The Guide Post Inn sat on the corner of Burdon Lane and Ryhope Street South. It faced Ryhope’s Grand Electric Cinema and was a favourite with those treating themselves to a night at the pictures. It also faced the police station, and for that, Ruth was grateful, it added an extra air of safety she welcomed. Not that the pub’s landlady, Mrs Pike, ever needed to call the police. Mrs Pike was a hard-working woman who ran a tight ship. She kept her pub spotless and its reputation intact. She was short and dumpy, with a large bosom. She wore black ankle boots with a fur trim, even in summer. Her greying hair was piled high on her head in a bun fastened with pins, not a strand out of place. Her face was set stern, always watching, on the lookout for anything in her pub that needed attention. She might have been in her late forties, even her fifties, it was difficult to tell and Ruth never dared ask. If she had done so, she would have been given short shrift.

Nothing and no one slipped past Mrs Pike’s beady eyes. She was often to be found standing at the open door to her pub, passing the time of day with those walking by. It was her way of finding out what was going on. She especially liked to chat with the mothers who came past pushing bairns in prams. She loved making a fuss of the bairns. She kept a packet of boiled sweets in her pocket ready to hand out to any youngster who might like one.

The Guide Post was still referred to as an inn, but Mrs Pike had long ago stopped taking in lodgers. It used to cater to weary travellers who stayed overnight before continuing on their journey south to Stockton, or north to Newcastle. Now the rooms were used by the landlady as her home. All except the one at the back, which she rented to the Hardys.

There were windows in the room, but no view to speak of; just the yard with its barrels and boxes and the gate that led to the cobbled lane. Inside, it was light, with warmth coming from a coal fire. Ruth and Bea shared a bed that was old and creaky, and it groaned each time one of them turned over. At the other end of the room, underneath one of the windows, was a bigger bed for Harry and Jean. It was Jean’s sickbed now. Two armchairs and a small sofa sat in front of the fire. Behind this was a wooden table and four chairs. A sideboard ran under another window and held a water jug and bowl. The netty was outside in the yard, shared with Mrs Pike and her customers.

The once vivacious Jean Hardy was now little more than a shell of a woman. She spent her days propped up in bed with a pillow at her back and a sadness etched on her face. Some days her chest wheezed heavily. But in her watery eyes there was a tiny reminder of the same steely glint Ruth had inherited.

Life hadn’t always been so tough for the Hardys. The family had once had their own home, a miners’ cottage in a pit lane. That was in the days when Harry had been working, before the accident that had laid him off. With no job at the mine, the family had lost their pit house and their free coal supply. Ruth knew how much this had hurt her dad’s pride. Not only had he been thrown out of his home, but he couldn’t find work elsewhere in Ryhope, not with his damaged leg. Now his world was confined to the four walls of the room at the back of the pub, and this darkened his mood further. Mrs Pike popped in when she could, did a bit of shopping if needed while Ruth and Bea were at work, and Ruth was grateful for her help.

There were three public rooms in the Guide Post Inn: snug, billiard room and lounge. The snug had upturned beer barrels to sit on instead of chairs and stools. It was a poky little room, a place where women weren’t allowed. Next to it, the billiard room was thick with tobacco smoke. The lounge was the largest room, with seats and tables and a makeshift stage. The pub piano stood there, played by Mrs Pike herself, who could turn her hand from a sombre hymn to the frivolity of a music-hall song that would have everyone up on their feet. All the rooms had coal fires, and on a cold night with three fires roaring, it was cosy indeed.

On Saturday nights, at eight p.m. sharp, Mrs Pike employed a singer in the lounge for an hour. The songs could be heard all the way in the back room, and the Hardy family would sing along. It was a highlight of their week. There was a different singer each week. Ruth liked the male singers best; their voices carried further. On Saturday nights Bea was often out with Jimmy. Ruth could have gone out too. Edie was always asking her to go with her to the pictures. Jane too had asked her to join them. This was in the days before she met Davey; since then, Ruth noticed that Jane was even quieter than she used to be. But Ruth had no money to spare to enjoy the pictures or a fish supper on a Saturday night with her friends. Instead she stayed in to look after her parents.

When she arrived home with the box of eggs from High Farm, she pushed Jimmy to the back of her mind. She cooked the eggs with ham for tea, then she and Bea made a start on washing plates and pans. Ruth could hardly keep her eyes open. The weight of the day lay heavy on her shoulders and a headache was building. She wanted nothing more than to slip into bed. But first she had buckets of coal and water to fetch from the yard. Then there was her mam to settle and her dad to help. And all the while, her stomach churned. She knew that Bea was planning to head out to meet Jimmy. She glanced up from the dirty dishes at her sister’s face. She really was looking tired and pale.

‘You sure you’re feeling all right?’ Ruth asked her.

Bea shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She concentrated on cleaning the plates and looked away from Ruth’s gaze.

‘Don’t stay out too long with Jimmy,’ Ruth said. She had battled . . .