The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
do you girls get yourselves into such awful trouble? You must want your head looking, Rosie. Get rid of him; that’s my advice. Get rid of him…How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘Eighteen, and pregnant by a wanted criminal. My God! Wake up, child, and make something of yourself, and do it while you’ve still got the chance. Then when you’ve done that, try and find yourself somebody decent. Life’ll be a lot easier, take it from me. A lot easier.’
Rosie sighed heavily. ‘It’s easy to say find somebody decent. But who? Anyway, if I am pregnant, it’s me own fault.’
‘Your fault? I’d have thought he’d had a part in it, Rosie,’ Clara suggested wryly. ‘It takes two, you know. Some men are all too keen to take advantage of girls. They promise you the earth. You should’ve been firmer with him. You should have said no. You should’ve told him you’d have no truck with doing things you ought not to be doing unless you’re wed. You should’ve told him – if he wanted that, he should give up his burgling and make a decent, honest living by working, like the rest of us have to, and then marry you. Good God, what’s the world coming to?’
Clara was in full flow, but she took another bite from her sandwich and munched it while she waited for the reaction of her younger workmates.
‘I’d never marry ’im, Clara,’ Rosie said, and licked jam off her fingers. ‘I’ve been a proper fool, but I’m stuck with it now.’
Clara flicked breadcrumbs from her apron. ‘Well the doctor can’t get rid of it for you. It’d be more than his life’s worth. But I daresay there’s some old women who know how, if that’s what you wanted. It’s always risky though.’
‘No, I’m gunna have the child, Clara.’
Edie Soap, whose real name was Edie Hudson, had been listening while she filled the kettle and put it on the gas ring to boil. She sat down on the charabanc seat.
‘And you, Edie,’ Clara said, ‘just mind what you’re doing with that Arnold Jennings.’
Edie adjusted the fall of her apron and opened her sandwich tin. ‘Doh thee fret, Clara,’ she returned, in her deep voice. ‘I’n sid enough o’ that Rosie’s plight. I’m keepin’ me legs crossed an’ me drawers on. Me fairther’d kill me if ’e thought I was lettin’ any chap interfere wi’ me. Besides, I’m afeared. Our Araminta says it ’urts vile the fust time. ’Er says it doh ’alf mek yer yowk.’
Clara smothered a chuckle. ‘It can be a lot of pleasure with somebody you love.’
‘Arnold’s younger than you, isn’t he, Edie?’ Henzey commented, as she stood up to stir the tea in the pot.
‘By a year. I’ve took to ’im a treat, but the trouble is, I doh think I can stand ’is moods for long.’
‘What makes him moody?’ Henzey asked.
‘Sayin’ no to ’im,’ Edie answered. ‘He’s like a bear with sore arse.’
‘Well, you know what some of these young men are like,’ Clara warned. ‘They only care about themselves. Things are different now to how they were before the war. A lot different. There are more girls than boys now, so to some extent boys can take their pick. Trouble is, because of it, the boys expect the girls to be easy. Well don’t be…You mustn’t be.
‘I remember years ago my mother telling me about one of her friends, Bessie Hipkiss. She was in service at a really well-to-do house in Birmingham. Anyway, she fell in love with the master’s son, and they had an illicit affair for a while. Long enough for him to put her in the family way, anyway. But when poor Bessie asked him what they should do about it, he said the child couldn’t possibly be his and sacked her for her trouble. She was broken hearted. All she’d got were the wages they sent her away with and the clothes on her back – and nowhere to live. As it happens, she remembered my grandfather and came straight to him for help. Her parents knew him well when they were alive, you see. She didn’t want to be a burden, though. She just wanted the chance to make her own way. It turned out that he’d got an empty house – he was quite well off and owned some property – and he let Bessie have it for nothing. It was only a little back-to-back in Flood Street, and you know what a slum it is down there. Damp as the Dudley Tunnel, it was, and overrun with vermin. But she was glad of it. The trouble was, when she gave birth, she didn’t have just one child, did she? Oh, no, not Bessie. She had twins – both boys, and like peas in a pod, my mother always said.’
‘Twins?’ Henzey exclaimed. ‘Just imagine being in all that trouble, then having twins.’
Clara nodded. ‘She did her best to rear them, but she was poverty-stricken. Anyway, she fell ill and, when they were just two years old, Bessie died of consumption, poor soul.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible. All because the father denied all knowledge…What a rogue! So what happened to the poor little lads?’
‘As it happens, Henzey, they were all right. My grandfather, being well respected in Methodist circles, found a nice family who took in one of them. Trouble was, they were poor, and they could only afford to take the one.’
‘You mean they were split up?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘So what happened to the other?’ Henzey’s eyes were misty with tears by this time. She was deeply touched by the story.
Clara shook her head. ‘We never knew for sure. My grandfather took him away, but he wouldn’t say where, though we’d got a good idea. He reckoned he was sworn to secrecy. He just said the boy was going to be all right. My mother was certain sure he took him back to the house Bessie came from – to the boys’ father – to make him face up to his responsibilities. Bessie had told him who the father was. But I never heard anything else about either of those two children since. Sad isn’t it?’
‘When did all this happen, Clara?’ Henzey asked. ‘How long ago?’
‘Well I was only a child meself when Bessie died. It’d be about 1902. Those twins would be about twenty-eight now if they’re still alive.’
‘Grown men. It’d be interesting to know what happened to them, wouldn’t it?’
‘I’d dearly love to know…But listen, I’ve told you girls this story to point out what can happen if you’re easy. Men will always take what they want, and then, when they’ve took it, they’ll be off like a shot unless you handle them right. Keep your man interested by being just a little bit elusive. That’s what I always say. Before you give yourself to a man be sure he’s in love with you. Or better still, wait till you’re married.’
‘“Elusive”?’ Edie queried. ‘What the bleedin’ ’ell’s that mean?’
‘It means, be a bit mysterious, Edie. Don’t be at his beck and call. Let him worry about what you’re up to. Let him think you’re up to no good sometimes when he’s not around. Give him a hint occasionally that you might be interested in somebody else. It works wonders.’
Henzey glanced from one to the other, trying to gauge the girls’ reaction to Clara’s sage advice. ‘You do seem to know a lot about men, Clara,’ she said. ‘I wish I did.’
‘I’m thirty, Henzey, and I know what I’m talking about. I’m not sixteen, like you. I’ve been married and I enjoyed married life, and no man will ever replace my husband. I loved him dearly – I still do.’
‘Are you saying we’re all too young to be messing about with chaps, Clara?’
‘No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying you’re too young to be doing what you do in the marriage bed, but see as many young men as you like. Have some fun, but save yourself for one.’
Henzey said reverently, ‘Oh, Clara, you are sensible.’
‘I try to be.