Remember Me (6 page)

‘Very true,’ replied William. ‘We’re very fortunate to live in such a lovely place with such clean air. In Leeds, now, where our Maddy’s just been, you sometimes can’t see the sun for the clouds of smoke and grime. And it’s the same in Bradford and Halifax an’ all them mill towns. Aye, I reckon we’re very lucky… Here you are, Faith, love.’ He handed her Maddy’s letter. ‘Have a read of that and then we’d best get moving.’

‘And here’s Samuel’s letter,’ said Faith, ‘if you’d like to see it.’

William had already risen from the table. He shoved the letter in his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’ll read it later; see what he has to say about this expedition.’

‘Not a lot yet,’ said Faith. ‘I don’t suppose he knows very much himself at the moment… I’ll be with you in a few minutes, dear. Are you going to call a cab, or are you cycling to work?’

‘No, not this morning,’ replied William. ‘We’ll all travel in together. How about you, Father? Are you ready to be off?’

‘Aye, I’ll just pay a visit to the you-know-what, then I’ll be with yer.’

William went outside and hailed a hansom cab for the three of them. It was a good half hour’s walk from their home on Victoria Avenue in the South Bay area of the town, across to their place of work on North Marine Road in the North Bay. He walked there occasionally, but more often he rode there on his bicycle, a modern safety bicycle with Dunlop pneumatic tyres. Maddy and Jessie owned bicycles too, but more for means of recreation, and because it had become a popular pastime for both young men and young ladies, in fact for all ages and classes of society. The girls’ cycles were not in use at the moment, tucked away in the garden shed; but come the early summer Jessie would be out and about with the cycling club she belonged to; and when Maddy came home for the summer season the two of them would enjoy exploring the countryside around Scarborough.

Motor cars were beginning to appear on the streets of the town, Fiats and Fords and Renaults, and, very occasionally, a Daimler. A Daimler motor had been made at the beginning of the century for Bertie, the Prince of Wales, who was now King Edward the Seventh. He had become a great patron of the motor car, and the fact that he used one had made a major impression on the public and was acting as a big boost for the industry, which was still in its infancy.

William had not been tempted to buy one as yet, although he knew the time would come when it
would be deemed necessary for him, as a prosperous man of business, to own a motor car; just as he knew that, in time, their horse-drawn hearses would be replaced by motor transport. Not yet awhile, though; certainly not while his father was still alive.

Neither William nor Isaac had ever been wealthy enough to belong to the ‘carriage class’. Indeed, it had not been necessary, even if they could have afforded it, as for many years they had lived on the premises, their undertaking business being conducted from an office and workshop at the rear of the property. Now there was a larger office and showroom at the front of the premises. The reduced living quarters at the back and upstairs were occupied by Patrick, William’s 21-year-old son. He was engaged to Katy, his long-time girlfriend, and they hoped to marry in the spring of the following year.

Patrick had proved to be capable at fending for himself at home, and also at opening up at nine o’clock in the morning. He and their assistant, Joe Black, would start work on the coffin making until William and – sometimes a little later – Isaac arrived. The three generations of men worked well together; it had always been a close-knit family business. When William’s first wife, Clara, had been alive, she had helped as well with some of the laying-out tasks and, later, in the adjoining shop which they had opened some twelve years ago.
They now employed, in addition to Joe Black, a part-time worker, Mrs Price – a lady who attended the same Methodist chapel as the Moon family – who assisted with the laying-out and arranging for burial of the women’s bodies; something which William considered to be more seemly for a member of the same sex to do.

His second wife, Faith, had been more delicately bred than Clara, who had been brought up in a fisherman’s cottage in the poorer part of the town. Faith had been accustomed to a more affluent lifestyle when she had lived in York as a girl, and this had continued when she had been married to her first husband. And so William had never even considered asking her to help him with the intimate tasks that Clara had performed. But the wealth and comfort had not been able to compensate for the unhappiness that Faith had experienced in her first marriage. He had wondered how she might adapt to a different way of life, but he need not have troubled himself. She had volunteered, of her own accord, to take over the supervision of the clothing shop, if William wished her to do so. He had been more than happy to concur with her suggestion. During her marriage to Edward Barraclough she had, of course, not worked outside of the home, and they had always had servants aplenty to see to their every need. But she had settled into her new life, both at home and in the shop, with not the slightest doubt or hesitation.

William was in a reflective mood later that morning as he worked with his plane on an elm wood coffin. It was work he always found soothing despite the sorrowful concepts associated with such a task. He was thinking of the conversation they had had earlier at the breakfast table, about how lucky they were to live in such a place as Scarborough. William knew that he was not just lucky; he was, indeed, blessed, and not only because he lived in such a fine seaside resort. He was singularly blessed in all aspects of his life: in his home and family and with his lovely wife, Faith, just as he had been with Clara.

He would never have imagined that he could experience such happiness in a second marriage. When Clara had died he had felt that the light had gone out of his life. She had died so suddenly and unexpectedly at an early age, after an attack of influenza which had turned to pneumonia. He had felt that Fate – or God, because he had always tried to believe in the words he heard at chapel – had been cruel to him. But he had had to carry on, trying to hide much of his sadness for the sake of his son and daughter.

His friendship with Faith had started some years previously, in the first year of the new century, when she had visited Scarborough during the summer season for an extended holiday. Maddy and Jessie, meeting on the beach, had become firm friends, and thus Faith had also become a friend to both William
and Clara. He had been glad of her continuing friendship after his wife had died, although at that time he had not believed it would be possible for him ever to care for a woman in the way that he had cared for Clara. But gradually their friendship and affection, for both William and Faith, had developed into love. He would not – could not – forget Clara. Maddy, in particular, with her golden hair, brown eyes and finely drawn features, was a constant reminder of her mother. But his memories of Clara were now tinged with happiness, subduing the overwhelming sadness he had felt at first.

He was blessed in his family life too; not just with his own son and daughter, but with the new family he had acquired since his marriage to Faith. Jessica – Jessie – was a grand lass; he had always been fond of her ever since the early days when she and Maddy had discovered that they were kindred spirits. And Tommy and Tilly were delightful; high-spirited and naughty at times, but a constant source of joy and amusement.

The only fly in the ointment was Samuel. He was the only one who had seemed to resent his mother’s remarriage; the only one of the brood to call him William and not Uncle William; although he would never have expected them to call him Dad or Father. He had tried hard to like Samuel, but he feared that the lad had inherited far more of his father’s character traits – and looks, too – than those of his mother. He had not been sorry to hear the news that
Samuel would be working abroad for a while. He did not know for how long, but the longer the better in William’s view. There was always an atmosphere, a certain tension in the air whenever he stayed with them. He had noticed, also, the signs of a developing attraction between Samuel and Maddy. He had seen the way the young man glanced at her, and he had noticed, too, that Maddy was always pleased to see him; her eyes sparkled more than ever when she was in his company. It was an attachment that he, William, would not wish to encourage. The news that they had met in Leeds did not please him. There was something about Samuel that made him distrustful. Yes, William was not at all sorry that his stepson was going to Peru.

And then there was Henrietta – Hetty – his elder daughter from a relationship he had formed with Bella Randall when he was a young man of eighteen. It was with a sense of guilt and self-dislike that he looked back on that period of his life. Bella had been one of the herring girls working at the harbour. He had given little heed to the consequences when he had become enamoured of her, and when she had told him that she was expecting his child he had refused, to his subsequent shame, to take responsibility. The young woman had disappeared, back to Northumberland, whence she had come and the child had been adopted.

When Bella had reappeared in Scarborough
several years later William was, by then, happily married to Clara. She had been a disturbing irritant in his life especially when she had come to work in their store alongside his wife. But, to her credit, Bella had never revealed their shameful secret to Clara. William had not told his first wife about his one and only dalliance, something which had preyed on his mind, but which he had never found the courage to divulge.

Bella had vanished from his life once again, just before his marriage to Faith; and he had believed that it was the end of the chapter. He had not wanted there to be any secrets between himself and his new wife, and so he had told Faith about Bella and about the child born out of wedlock, assuaging, to some extent, the guilt he had always felt at being less than honest with Clara.

It had not, however, been the end of the story. William had been astonished when, two years ago, his long-lost daughter, Hetty, had come to find him. Her adoptive parents had both died, and so had Bella, with whom the young woman had been reunited during the last two years of her real mother’s life.

William had realised almost at once that he liked Hetty. He had recognised her immediately; with her black curly hair, deep brown eyes and bold features she was the image of Bella, as she had been when he first met her. But Hetty was of a kinder, more gentle disposition than her mother; and William’s wife,
children and stepchildren had gradually come to welcome her as a member of their family. The only one who had not met her was Samuel.

Hetty had been brought up, as Henrietta Collier, by her adoptive parents in the town of Ashington in Northumberland. She still lived there, working in the office of one of the many coal mines. Her visits to Scarborough to see her father and her newly discovered family were not very frequent, but were always happy and enjoyable occasions. William had grown very fond of her during the two years he had known her; she was now twenty-six years old. He had realised that good could come out of something which, at one time, he had regarded as a disaster.

The firm of Isaac Moon and Son was continuing to prosper, too, which was satisfying to William and his father, and also to Patrick, who, one day, when William took over, would become the ‘son’ of the establishment.

The business had been started in the mid-nineteenth century, in quite a small way at first, by Joshua Moon, Isaac’s father. Over the years the firm had thrived and grown, earning them a good reputation in the town, due to their sympathetic dealings with their clients. In the early years much of the laying-out process had been done by a ‘handywoman’ of the neighbourhood, often the same woman who acted as midwife at the births. Nowadays the undertakers frequently performed this task themselves. For many years now they had
owned their own hearse and two black horses. Jet and Ebony, however, the two original mares, had been put out to grass for a well-deserved retirement. They had been replaced by two different mares, Velvet, an all black horse, and Star, who was black with a white star shape on her forehead.

Some twelve years ago William and Clara, with Isaac’s blessing, had opened an adjoining shop. This at first had been called Moon’s Mourning Modes and had sold all manner of clothes, for both men and women, and artefacts concerned with the cult of mourning, at its height during the reign of Queen Victoria.

Now, however, in keeping with the times and the reign of a new monarch, the store had diversified. It was now known as Moon’s Modes for all Seasons and stocked, in addition to a certain amount of mourning wear, clothing for all occasions: bridal gowns and wedding accessories as well as garments, both casual and more sophisticated, for afternoon and evening wear. Faith had now taken over as joint manageress, along with Miss Muriel Phipps, who had served them well for several years. It was typical of Faith that she had not wanted to rule the roost, even though she was the owner’s wife. The two women worked well together and that business, too, was flourishing.

William Moon, in the March of 1907, was a contented man.

Chapter Five

M
organ’s Melody Makers were to perform for two weeks in Blackpool at the Eastern Pavilion, at the landward end of the North Pier. It was a fairly new building, having been completed in 1903, its architecture consisting of a domed roof with pagoda-shaped turrets, and, inside the building, ornate marble pillars, brightly coloured paintwork and a multitude of chandeliers, each with a circle of electric light bulbs, suspended from the concave ceiling. The only drawback, to the audience if not to the performers, was the seating arrangement: rows and rows of wooden benches, with backs admittedly, but not nearly so comfortable as the plush seats to be found in the town’s Grand Theatre or the Winter Gardens Pavilion. But the members of the audience would not care overmuch about the numbness in their rear quarters if the entertainment on the stage was worth watching. And word soon got round the town in the week leading up to Easter that the present show was worth a bob or two of anybody’s money.

Maddy was very soon fascinated and overwhelmed
by Blackpool: the size of it, the noise, the brightness and the sheer exuberance of it all. She had been captivated the moment that she and her fellow artistes had emerged onto the forecourt of Central Station and she had seen the famous Tower, right there in front of her, its 518 feet of ironwork girders pointing up into the sky. You could not help but stare upwards at it, your eyes drawn to the topmost pinnacle where the Union Jack fluttered in the breeze. During the days that followed Maddy was to see countless visitors standing stock-still on the pavements of Bank Hey Street, which ran alongside the back of the Tower buildings, gazing into the heavens, pointing and exclaiming in wonderment.

‘Eeh, Fred, I’ve nivver seen owt like that before…’

‘Aye; ruddy marvellous, i’n’t it?’

‘Hey up; it looks as though it’s movin’…’

‘Don’t talk so daft, woman; of course it’s not. It’s been there ten year or more, so I reckon it’s pretty steady, like…’

It was, in fact, an optical illusion that the tower appeared to be swaying a little if you stared at it long enough. It was what visitors always did, gaze up at the Tower. The residents were more used to it by now. It had been there since 1894 and was no longer a novelty.

On that Sunday afternoon, the week before Easter, just a sprinkling of visitors were arriving in the resort for an early holiday, but that would
increase a hundredfold by the height of the season, in July and August. On the forecourt of the station there were hansom cabs and landaus piled high with luggage, and Maddy could hear a couple of lads shouting, vying with one another as to who could shout the loudest.

‘Half price lodgings, only five minutes’ walk away…’

‘You come along wi’ me, sir, madam. Me mam runs t’ best boarding house in Blackpool…’

Maddy looked questioningly at Percy who was standing beside her. ‘They’re touting for custom,’ he told her. ‘It’s quite a common custom hereabouts. A lot of visitors arrive “on spec”, as they call it, and the landladies know they want to find digs as soon as possible. So they send their husbands – or, more likely, their sons – to grab what business they can.’

One of the lads had a handcart onto which he was piling the luggage of a man and woman and their two children, who were dancing up and down with excitement.

‘No thanks, lad,’ said Percy, waving his hand at another youth who had accosted him with an offer of the best lodgings in Blackpool. ‘We’re fixed up, ta very much.’ They had already booked their lodgings for the fortnight at a boarding house on Albert Road. For once, Henry Morgan had managed to procure rooms for them all at the same place. ‘Right, lads and lasses,’ Percy called to his troupe. ‘Let’s get moving, shall we? It’s not very far,
only a few hundred yards up the road opposite us.’

‘Far enough with these heavy cases to carry,’ said Queenie Colman with a petulant frown, and Susannah Brown nodded her agreement.

‘I’m lucky though,’ she said, preening herself a little. ‘Frank’s carrying my case as well as his own.’ All that Susannah had to carry was her big circular hatbox, which contained a selection of elegant headgear. She changed her large-brimmed hats, bedecked with flowers, fruit, ribbons and lace, at frequent intervals throughout their performances.

‘And Carlo’s carrying mine an’ all,’ retorted Queenie. ‘But he’s not as young as he used to be. His arms’ll be pulled out of their sockets if he has to carry these more than a few yards.’

Percy and Henry always tried to get lodgings near to the station in each town they visited, and near to the theatre too, if possible. Sometimes the landlady’s husband or son would meet them with a cart to assist with their luggage, or they might hire a couple of cabs. On this, their first visit to Blackpool for a few years, it seemed that they must fend for themselves.

‘Aye, I see your point,’ agreed Percy. Indeed, all the men would be carrying two cases, their own and that of their wife; and then there was young Maddy to consider. ‘Here, lad; d’you think you could come and give us a hand?’ He called to a lad of about fifteen who was standing at the side of his handcart, not shouting, as the others were doing, but looking
a little lost and unsure of himself. ‘We’ll make it worth your while if you’ll take this lot up Albert Road for us. We’ve already got lodgings, but we’d be glad of your help.’

‘Ooh, ta, mister,’ said the lad. ‘Me mam’s sent me out to tout for custom, but it’s me first time this weekend, an’ I’m not right used to it. I don’t suppose she’ll mind though, if I’m earning a bob or two.’

He set to with a will, piling the suitcases and bags onto the handcart, with Susannah’s hatbox on the top. ‘Righty-ho, folks; we’re ready to go,’ he called to the little group clustered around him. ‘You’re all going to t’same place? Up Albert Road? Very well then, follow me.’

They crossed Central Drive and set off up Albert Road, and Maddy had her first real glimpse of the rows and rows of boarding houses. This was only one of many such streets in the town; long terraces of three-storeyed houses, built in Victorian times to cope with the increasing number of visitors from the inland towns of Lancashire, and further afield, who were taking advantage of the one week in the year, known as ‘Wakes Week’, when the mills and factories closed down and the workers had a chance to spend their hard-earned wages. There were many such boarding houses in Maddy’s native Scarborough, which prided itself that it had been a popular seaside resort – a spa resort – long before anyone had heard of Blackpool. But she soon
realised that this Lancashire resort was on a much bigger scale than her hometown across the Pennines, much larger, too, than the nearby towns of Filey and Bridlington, with which she was quite familiar.

All the boarding houses looked alike, at least at a first glance; all with donkey-stoned front steps and window sills, iron railings fronting small paved or grassed garden areas, and a bench, on which the visitors could sit, beneath the front window. Some of the houses had names: Sea View, which surely must be a misnomer unless the sea was visible from a topmost attic window; Tower View, which was more likely; Bella Vista, or Rest-a-While; or names borrowed from the Royal Family – Balmoral and Windsor House. Some names were derived, so it seemed, from the names of the owners: Wilmar or Kenlyn or Bertrose, whilst the majority just had numbers. By the side of some of the front doors there were framed notices declaring, ‘Mrs Ethel Brown is pleased to welcome visitors from Rochdale’, or some such epithet, indicating that this was the town from which the said lady had hailed. No doubt, though, she would be pleased to welcome visitors from other towns as well.

Maddy found herself walking alongside the lad who was pushing the handcart. He was a pleasant round-faced youth with unusual greenish eyes and curling ginger hair, from what she could see of it
beneath his flat cap, which appeared to be much too large for him. He seemed to have lost much of his shyness since he had been offered the job.

He grinned at Maddy. ‘Me name’s Joe,’ he said, ‘in case you’re wondering who I am. Joseph Murphy, but everybody calls me Joe. Me mam runs a boarding house in Adelaide Street, that’s the next street to this.’

‘Hello then, Joe.’ Maddy smiled back at him. ‘I’m Maddy; Madeleine Moon, but I’m usually called Maddy… Not all the time though,’ she added. She was always billed on the posters and in the programmes as Madeleine Moon. Percy had said that the name had a memorable ring to it. But she wouldn’t say that to Joe, whom she had only just met; it would seem like boasting.

‘Like I was saying to that feller…’ Joe cocked his thumb in the direction of Percy, ‘it’s the first time I’ve tried this touting lark; well, nearly the first. We only moved here last back-end, to the boarding house, I mean, and me mam’s trying to rustle up as much business as she can.’

‘Then I’m afraid we’re not much use to you,’ replied Maddy. ‘We’ve already got our lodgings booked.’

‘Ne’er mind,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll try again later.’ His eyes took in the group of people accompanying him and his handcart up the street. ‘Are you lot actors, or summat o’ t’sort?’ he asked. ‘You have that look about you, somehow.’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, we are,’ said Maddy, not without a feeling of pride. ‘We’re a concert party, and that man you were talking to, he’s Percy Morgan, our leader.’

‘So…you’re doing a show in Blackpool, are you?’

‘Yes, so we are – for the next two weeks.’

‘And where is it, like?’

‘We’re appearing at the Eastern Pavilion at the end of the North Pier; the promenade end, I believe,’ Maddy told him.

‘Just as well.’ Joe nodded. ‘There’s another theatre up at t’other end, the Indian Pavilion. You’d get blown to bits walking t’length o’ t’pier every night. And what is it that you do then?’

‘I’m a singer,’ she added modestly. ‘I wonder if you might like to…?’ She was just starting to ask him if he would like to see the show – there were always complimentary tickets to be handed out – when Percy and Pete Pritchard came to walk beside them.

It was Pete who spoke. ‘Hang on, lad,’ he began. ‘Just have a rest for a minute and listen to me. We’ve got another job for you, if you’re willing, haven’t we Percy?’

‘We have indeed,’ agreed Percy. ‘We’ve just been saying that you seem to be a hard-working lad.’

‘We’ve left all our props and stuff back at the station in the left luggage place,’ Pete continued. ‘We’re artistes, you see – we just heard a bit of what Maddy was telling you – and we need somebody to
shift it for us to the Eastern Pavilion. Would you be willing? I’ll come along with you – I’m always in charge of the props – to help you to load and unload it.’

‘I’ll say I’m willing,’ said Joe, a wide grin spreading all over his rosy-cheeked face. ‘It’s a darned sight better than touting. I reckon I’ll have to do that an’ all, though, to keep on t’right side of me mam.’

‘We’ll make it worth your while,’ said Percy, ‘like I told you before. How about ten bob in all, for this job and for moving the props?’

‘Gosh, that’s grand, mister,’ said Joe. ‘Ta very much.’

‘And I think we might throw in a couple of free tickets for the show,’ Percy went on. ‘Happen you could take your girlfriend along, eh, Joe? It is Joe, isn’t it? I heard you saying so to our Madeleine.’

Joe blushed crimson. ‘Aye, I’m Joe. But I haven’t got a girlfriend; I’m only fifteen. I could ask me brother to go with me, though.’

‘Take whoever you like, Joe,’ said Percy. ‘It’s all the same to us. I tell you what; we’ll let you have another couple of tickets for your parents. It’s a shame to leave them out. Er…you do have both your parents, do you?’ he asked, knowing it was sometimes widow women who ran the boarding houses.

‘Yes, ‘course I have. But me dad’s got a job; he has nowt to do wi’ t’boarding house. Thanks again,
mister… D’you think their tickets could be for a different night, though? We can’t all be out at once in case the visitors want summat.’

‘Certainly,’ agreed Percy. ‘Anyroad, you don’t want to be with your mam and dad all the time, do you? Come on then, let’s get on our way. It’s not much further, is it, to our lodgings?’

‘No, I think the number you said is just the other side of Coronation Street,’ said Joe, taking up the handles of his handcart again. ‘Follow me…’

Maddy found herself sharing a room once again with Susannah Brown and Nancy Pritchard. Two of the married couples – Percy and Letty, and Carlo and Queenie – had rooms to themselves, leaving the others to fit into the available rooms the best way they could. Not one of them complained, especially as Mrs Jolly, the landlady, had not objected to accommodating Nancy’s dogs. Moreover, she had agreed to cook a midday meal for all of them each day in addition to their breakfast, and snacks and cups of tea at other times if they required them.

‘We’re not right busy at the moment,’ she told them when they arrived. ‘The season hasn’t got started properly yet. We could’ve been full twice over for the Easter weekend, mind, but I was only too thankful that I’d got you lot booked in. Come Whit week and after, the town’ll be bursting at its seams. We’ve got some more pros staying later on, appearing at t’Winter Gardens, I believe. Anyroad,
come on in and make yourselves at home. And Sid’ll show you to your rooms. Sidney…’ she shouted, and a tall thin man appeared from the rear of the house. He had a striped apron tied round his waist, which he hastily pulled off and hung over the banister rail.