The Watercress Girls (8 page)

The clergyman was elderly and stooped, with a quavering voice. When they knelt for the prayers, Mattie observed that he was wearing carpet-slippers and she had to tell herself sternly not to giggle.

The solemn vows and rings were exchanged; the clergyman’s homily was cut short by a bout of coughing. Miss Teazel fetched him a cup of water before playing the final hymn. It was not the one on the order of service, but the stirring
Rock of Ages
. It was a virtuoso performance by the pianist. The congregation sang with gusto. Pleased, Miss Teazel obliged with an encore. Voices trailed off. Which verse were they to sing?

In the church porch, Griff looked quizzically at Mattie. ‘Not quite the wedding we planned, eh?’ he whispered.

‘I enjoyed every minute of it!’ She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes.

They lined up obediently for the photographer. The pictures would naturally be in black-and-white, but would be tastefully tinted back at the studio. Sophia’s floral dress would prove quite a challenge.

The bride’s bouquet missed the outstretched hands of the bridesmaids and was caught by a surprised Hilda.

‘Well,’ Christabel said ruefully to Evie, ‘maybe it will work for
her
….’

Rufus had laid on a taxi service to take them back to the house. The splendid wedding cake was cut and sampled, and the wine flowed freely.

‘Make the most of it,’ Rufus told Griff. ‘Prohibition in Canada, like the USA!’

Their wedding night was spent at a modest hotel. In the morning they’d return to the house because Mattie wanted to spend a precious hour or two with her family before they boarded the train for home. None of them said, but they were all aware that it could be some years before they were together again.

‘We’ll have a proper honeymoon in Canada,’ Griff assured Mattie.

Sensing that she might have reservations about undressing in his
presence
, he decided to make himself scarce in the bathroom.

Mattie hung her wedding outfit in the wardrobe. She folded her new underwear neatly, rolled down her stockings and hung them over the back of a chair. She looked solemnly at her naked reflection in the cheval mirror, then pulled the silk nightdress over her head. It fell in sensuous folds to just below her knees. She adjusted the straps slightly to a more decorous level. She unpinned her hair, gave it a brisk brushing, pinched her cheeks to give her face some colour, then slipped into bed.

As if on cue, Griff appeared, in his pyjamas. He smelled of
eau-de-Cologne
, and she realized that he had shaved for the second time that day.

‘Light on, or off?’ he queried.

‘Off, I think. I’m tired,’ she answered. She realized what she had said. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean.…’ she floundered.

He put his arms around her. ‘It might have helped if we had, you know, before.…’

‘I’m sorry I made such a fuss about it,’ she admitted.

‘Well, let’s just get used to sharing a bed, shall we? We don’t want to force things: we’ve a lifetime ahead of us, after all.’

‘A kiss and a cuddle,’ she murmured, ‘would be good. Thanks for being so patient, Griff.’

‘Glad to oblige,’ he said gallantly. He thought, that could lead to other things, and I certainly hope it does!

Some time later Mattie whispered: ‘Griff?’

‘Mmm?’

‘If you still want to.…’

‘Shush … you don’t need to say any more,’ he said tenderly.

‘
W
e’re on our way,’ Mattie whispered tremulously to Griff. They were among a vast crowd on the lower deck. As the distance lengthened between them and their families on shore, waving goodbye, the gathering fell silent. Most of them realized that this could be a final parting.

The
Empress of Scotland
was an imposing sight, despite her decline in status, but she was once more headline news. Built in 1905 by Vulkan Shipyards of Stettin she had been the largest passenger steamship in the world, until superseded two years later by the ill-fated
Lusitania. Europa
, her original appellation, was the pride of the
Hamburg-America
line. She had been launched by the Empress of Germany and renamed in her honour,
Kaiserin Augusta Victoria
. Her maiden voyage had been to New York, with stop-overs at Dover and Cherbourg. Her passengers were predominantly the affluent and famous, who
appreciated
the lavish fittings and onboard entertainments, despite the fact that her slightly top-heavy design caused her to roll in rough waters. Her restaurant had been inspired by the Ritz Hotel.

During the war she had been commandeered as a military vessel, but remained in dock in Hamburg. In March, 1919, she was surrendered to Great Britain. In May, 1921, she was sold to Canadian Pacific, who renamed her yet again and refitted her to carry 459 passengers first class, and 960 second and third class. She was also converted to oil fuel.

This was only her second trip from Southampton via Cherbourg to Quebec.

Conditions were vastly superior to the insanitary, overcrowded steerage quarters on the pre-war immigrant ships. Of that category still in service, facilities had improved, with provision of rest rooms and basic meals. Now, though, there were lengthy forms to complete and immigrants must prove that they were financially solvent, or sponsored with jobs to go to.

The newly weds were determined to conserve their nest-egg as much as possible, and so had decided to travel second class. At least, Mattie
thought, they had a cramped cabin to themselves and were not forced into segregated dormitories each night. So many fretful children and tired mothers! Not much chance of sleep there.

Griff’s arm hugged her shoulders. ‘Cheer up! This may not be the fastest ship, and she’s not like she was in her heyday, but we’ll be in Quebec within five days.’

Mattie looked over the rail at the heaving dark-green sea. ‘I already feel sick,’ she said faintly.

‘You need something to eat—’

‘I don’t think l could.’

‘Come on, let’s go below, see what’s on offer in the canteen.’ He picked up their hand luggage. ‘This is just the start of our big
adventure
!’

By the time they stopped off at Cherbourg Mattie was feeling less queasy. She’d made a friend, too, which helped. Grace Dowling was a few years her senior, with two children, a boy of nine and a baby girl in arms. They were in the adjacent cabin to Mattie and Griff’s. Grace’s husband, Edwin, had gone ahead to Canada while his wife remained with her sister for the birth of the baby. She confided to Mattie that this was her second marriage. Her first husband had been an officer in the fire brigade. He was killed on duty when their son Tommy was a toddler.

‘Tommy knows that his dad was a hero. Things have been difficult. He was used to it being just the two of us. I had a good position as housekeeper in a big house at Newmarket where I was able to have Tommy with me. I met Edwin there. He was a jockey, rode some winners, but after he had a bad fall some years ago he was kept on as a stable lad. He isn’t used to children, but he does try,’ Grace said.

‘My family home is in Suffolk too!’ Mattie exclaimed. This was
something
they had in common.

Cherbourg proved disappointing – they didn’t disembark, but waited while some cargo was unloaded and replaced by other commodities intended for Quebec.

‘I wish it had been possible to visit Paris,’ Mattie said wistfully, as she and Grace sat on deck in canvas chairs, shrouded in mackintoshes and scarves. A keen wind whipped their hair into disarray. Grace’s tiny Lydia was cocooned in her shawl in her mother’s arms. Griff was at the rail with Tommy, pointing out things of interest.

‘I always dreamed of going to Paris too,’ Grace observed, ‘but that’s over two hundred miles from here. We’ll hear plenty of French spoken in Quebec! Griff’s good with young Tommy – are you looking forward to a family of your own?’

‘We’ve only been married a week, Grace!’ Mattie quickly changed the
subject. ‘It’s quite a coincidence we’re both travelling on to Moose Jaw, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll be very glad of your company. We first heard of the place when the Prince of Wales visited there, on his Commonwealth tour a couple of years ago. Do you remember that picture in the newspapers of him dressed like a Red Indian chief? He even drove a train part of the way to Ontario – a CPR engine, like the one we’ll be travelling on shortly.

‘We’ll be living out on the prairie, same as you. Edwin works on a large holding with horses. Our quarters are in the main house. I will be helping in the kitchen.’

‘Can you manage that – with the baby to look after?’ Mattie said, concerned.

‘Easier, while she’s small. I’ve always had to work, and the women out here are the same, it seems.’ She glanced down at Mattie’s smooth hands with their polished nails. ‘I can see that
you
were not in service!’

‘My parents ran the village inn, until just after the war. My mother had a woman in to do all the household chores in those days – my sister and I were not expected to do much in that respect. My first job was in the local post office, but for the past year I’ve lived with my cousin Sybil and her husband in Plymouth – Griff is his stepson. I was a drapery assistant in the family emporium. Griff was employed there too, in another department.’

‘Your new life will be very different, eh?’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Mattie said firmly. ‘Apart from the broken nails!’

They arrived in Quebec, on the northern bank of the St Lawrence River. Here were the termini for the Great Northern and the Canadian Pacific railways.

The harbour was vast and with so many people milling around, progress was slow. There was a formidable queue at the immigration office: papers had to be thoroughly checked after luggage was located and collected. Mattie and Grace took turns at carrying the fretful baby while Griff kept an eye on young Tommy. It was a chilly arrival in the new country; they’d been warned that winters were longer here, and summers shorter, but they’d left England on a balmy spring day. It was quite a shock to the system.

At least Mattie and Griff knew where they’d be staying overnight. Grace had to make her own arrangements. ‘Come with us!’ Mattie told her. She could see that Grace was fighting back tears, determined to stay strong for her children.

There was no time to marvel at the magnificent parliament building, which formed a perfect square, 300 feet in length, with towers at each
end, or to give more than a cursory glance at the statues of Wolfe, Montcalm and other historical figures. Griff hailed one of the many cruising taxis and they climbed thankfully inside. It was already evening, and they were hungry and weary. Little Lydia had cried herself to sleep.

They left the grand buildings behind and drove along meaner streets where every building appeared to be a lodging place. The taxi drew up outside a three-storey house.

‘Ma Smith’s,’ the driver announced. ‘You’ll be all right here. She’s from the old country. She don’t have to advertise; the word gets around.’

‘She’s not expecting
us
.’ Grace said faintly.

‘Don’t fret, Ma’ll fit you in,’ he said confidently. ‘You go up the steps and pull the bell while the young gent and I foller with the baggage.’

Mattie had pictured Ma Smith as comfortably plump and kindly. The woman who opened the door was tall and angular, with dark hair scraped back from a prominent forehead and piercing deep-set brown eyes. She was dressed in old-fashioned clothes: an ankle-length skirt in rather rusty black alpaca, and a jacket which buttoned up to her jutting chin. ‘Here you are, then,’ she greeted them. A searching look, a quick count, then her stern features were illuminated by a smile. ‘More of you than I expected. Come in. We can stretch the supper, no doubt.’ She took the baby and held her in the crook of one arm. ‘Follow me. Up two flights, I’m afraid.’

The first bedroom was under the eaves. There was a double bed with brass rails, and a sagging mattress. However, the sheets were clean, if much darned, and there was a brightly patterned patchwork quilt. There was a plain pine washstand with soapdish, jug and basin patterned with blue cornflowers. The matching chamberpot was hidden in the cupboard below the marble top.

Mattie was looking forward more to bed than to supper. She blushed at her thoughts. She and Griff had slept in narrow bunks in their cabin – no honeymooning there.

Ma Smith indicated the next door along. ‘The only one spare; it’s small, but there are two single beds – can you and the boy manage in there, Mrs Dowling? I see you’ve got a rush basket for the baby. I’ll have to make the beds up after supper – is that all right?’

‘I need to feed the baby,’ Grace said faintly. She sat down abruptly on the one chair in Mattie and Griff’s room. She unwound the shawl and Lydia’s pink, cross baby face was revealed. Her tiny hands flailed at her mother’s bodice, with the tell-tale damp patches.

Mattie and Griff exchanged quick, embarrassed glances.

Griff said: ‘You must share with Mattie, Grace. Tommy and I will take the other room.’

Ma took it in her stride, with just a slight raising of her eyebrows.
‘Wear something warm in bed,’ she advised. ‘Gets mighty chilly at nights. It’s a draughty old house. Well, I’ll send me niece up with the hot water for you to wash, while I dish up the dinner. When you hear the gong, it’s on the table. Some of the lodgers got no manners – they’ll pinch bits off your plate, if you don’t hurry. No need to dress up!’

Mattie tactfully made her ablutions while Grace nursed the baby. This is certainly not the place to dress up, she thought, so I’ll borrow a pair of Griff’s flannel pyjamas tonight. No seductive silk nightdress – one night of love is all we’ve managed since we were wed!

They sat at a long table in the dining-room. The thick glutinous stew had more carrots and onions than meat. Ma ladled it out from a
blackened
cauldron in the kitchen, on to tin plates. It was accompanied by mugs of strong, sweet tea. Bread was sawn in uneven lumps; salt was scraped with a knife from a big block. The best part of the meal was rice pudding, cooked in a great earthenware dish, dusted with nutmeg and served with cream taken from the top of the milk. There were fifteen people round the table, and Ma was right, Mattie had to avert her gaze from a youth opposite when he picked up his plate to lick it clean. As she did so, her half-eaten crust disappeared by sleight of hand.

The conversation was mostly incomprehensible to the new arrivals. They’d expected some of their fellow diners to speak French, but there was a Scandinavian element, too.

‘Norwegian?’ she whispered to Griff, who was also eavesdropping.

‘Danish – Swedish?’ he countered, with a grin.

Then they heard a precise Scottish voice, ‘Make room for mother and child!’ as Grace hesitated at the door, with her replete baby in her arms. She was escorted to a chair at the end of the table by a stocky,
black-haired
man in a kilt.

Grace managed a brief wave at her friends.

‘Tommy,’ she called to her son. ‘If you’ve done eating, you can take Lydia.’

Tommy had been surreptitiously flicking pellets of bread across the table to another boy, of about his age. He sighed, but rose obediently to do his mother’s bidding.

Chairs scraped the uncarpeted floor; the other guests were returning to their rooms. Mattie, Griff and Tommy were waiting for Grace to finish her meal.

Ma Smith joined them for ten minutes, with her own mug of stewed tea. There was a clatter in the kitchen – her niece Jeannie was starting on the washing-up.

‘Going on to Moose Jaw, are you?’ she asked, fishing out a tea leaf with her thumb.

‘We are,’ Griff agreed. ‘Have you been there?’

‘No. Wild in parts, they say … you’ll be out of town, I reckon?’

‘My Aunt Anna and her husband farm there. We’ll be with them for a while.’

‘Ah – it can be a lonely life on the prairie. A hard life, too. When my husband and I came here ten years ago, we thought we’d do just that. We took on this place to get a bit of cash behind us, like, but he died in the influenza epidemic in 1918, so we stayed on, Jeannie and me. She’s getting married later this year.’ Ma sighed. ‘I get homesick for the old country now and then, but – I made my bed, and this is my life now.… Reminds me, I got those single beds to make up. If you’ll excuse me….’

Later, while Grace tucked Tommy into his bed, Griff and Mattie had a few minutes privacy to say goodnight in the other room.

‘You’re swamped in my pyjamas,’ he whispered ruefully. Rather than undo the buttons, in case Grace returned quickly, he groped under the flannel jacket. ‘You’re wearing a winter vest!’ he exclaimed.

Mattie giggled. ‘Well, Ma said the temperature drops at nights.…’

‘She didn’t put it quite like that. Well, that vest has definitely cooled my ardour!’

She clasped him to her. ‘We’ll make up for it in a day or two!’

‘An early start tomorrow, Mattie. We’ve still quite a way to travel,’ he reminded her.