The Fisher Lass (35 page)

‘I was born in this house, you know,’ the frail voice began, but as she talked, Aggie became more animated, almost as if she were reliving her early years and some of the youthful
vigour crept into her tone just once more. ‘My father was a fisherman, a hard worker, I’ll give him that, for it’s a tough life.’ She paused. ‘But that’s about
all I can say good about him. He was a brute of a man. When he came home from sea he was straight to collect his settlings and into the Fisherman’s Rest. If my mother didn’t waylay him
somewhere between the two, there’d be no money till the next trip. Then he’d come home roaring drunk, knock Mam about – and us kids, too, if we got in his way – and then he
was off to sea on the evening tide the next day. We used to dread him coming back.’

‘How did your mother manage? Were there many of you? Bairns, I mean?’

‘Six. Well, eight really, but two died in infancy and I think she had a miscarriage somewhere in amongst us all. And she worked. Braided the nets and took work on the docks if she could
find it. I tell you, Jeannie, if it hadn’t been for her, we’d have starved. We damn well nearly did as it was.’ Now there was a bitter twist to her mouth. ‘But she was a
hard woman. Understandable, I suppose, when you think what she had to put up with, but she never showed us any affection. Never hugged us or praised us. She loved us in her way, I suppose.
Certainly, she worked hard for us, but . . .’ Aggie sighed. ‘Kids need to feel affection, don’t you think? They need to be told they’re loved.’ Again there was a pause
before she said softly, ‘I never knew what it was to be loved or what a good man was until I started courting George Lawrence. I’d always known him, of course. We’d been kids at
school together, though he was a couple of years older than me. I’d adored him then. Ever since the age of seven. You know how little girls talk, well, I was always going to marry George
Lawrence when I grew up and have two children, a girl and a boy.’ Her voice faltered a little.

‘When did you start courting?’

‘George went to sea as soon as he could. I think he even stowed away his first trip, he was that mad keen to be a fisherman. He was eighteen and I was sixteen when he first asked me out.
When I got home, my mother leathered me with Dad’s belt. I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong. We’d only gone for a stroll around the docks. He loved looking out to
sea, watching for the boats to come in on the evening tide. “I won’t have you hanging round the docks like a woman of the streets,” she yelled at me.’ Aggie chuckled.
‘Do you know, Jeannie, I didn’t even know what she meant? Well, the next time George was home, I met him in secret and we went on meeting like that for months, almost a year. That was
the happiest time of my whole life. I loved George and I knew he loved me. At least, he did then. Just for a year . . .’ The voice faded away as she remembered. She closed her eyes and
Jeannie thought she had dropped to sleep but then her eyelids fluttered. She sighed heavily and began to speak again but now her tone was flat with sorrow. ‘It was the middle of August and
that was when the Scottish fisher lasses arrived every year. It’s more than forty years ago now, Jeannie, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. George was a young deckie then. On the day
his boat was due in, I’d dress in my prettiest dress and go down to the docks. Of course the girls working on the fish docks called me names. Names that weren’t true. Not then. I was
just prettying myself up for my feller. You know?’

‘I know,’ Jeannie said softly.

‘They were hard workers those fisher lasses, all of them, and it wasn’t an easy life, not by any means, and I suppose when they stood there day after day with the stink of fish on
their clothes and in their hair, well, the sight of a girl with time to dress up and stand idly on a corner waiting for her man, it riled ’em I suppose.’

‘Aye, I suppose I could understand that,’ Jeannie said softly. ‘They’d be jealous of you, with time to spare and nice clothes to wear.’

‘When he came ashore, George came straight to me, of course, and we went off together, but they called after us, shouting things. He just turned and waved good-naturedly at them. Just a
lark, he said, that was all it was.’ She paused again and now a note of bitterness crept into her tone. ‘But the next day, it wasn’t a lark. I went to the quay to see him off, but
before he came a group of the girls surrounded me, dragged me into an empty warehouse and kept me there until his ship had sailed.’

She was silent for so long, that Jeannie said, ‘What happened?’

‘I was upset, of course. I cried a bit that I’d missed seeing George off, but I daren’t say anything to my family. They still didn’t know I was even meeting him. I was
only seventeen, remember. And I think, at that stage, if I’m honest, the fisher lasses didn’t mean any real harm. They were only having a bit of fun, y’know, taking me down a peg
or two for showing off.’

‘But surely, it was all right the next time he came home, wasn’t it? The fisher girls would have moved on by then.’

‘That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t to be, Jeannie. Yes, they had moved on, but the boat that George was on had engine trouble and put into Yarmouth for repairs. And
that’s where that same team of girls had gone. And of course, when they recognized him . . .’

Jeannie was beginning to piece the story together now. ‘You mean that Nell was one of those girls? That she was one who locked you in the warehouse?’

‘No, no,’ Aggie said swiftly. ‘I’ll not accuse her of that, because I don’t think she was. No, she was a young lass, only a year older than me and down here on her
first trip with the herring girls. Some of the older girls teased her a bit about George, told her he’d followed her down the coast. Come looking for her especially. He felt a bit sorry for
her, all those miles from home, learning the trade. It is hard work, I know that. And she’d cut her finger badly. He told me years later that he’d said, straight up, that he had a
girlfriend back in Havelock but then – then . . .’

Her voice broke and tears threatened. Though she longed to hear the end of the tale, Jeannie said at once, ‘Aggie, dinna say any more.’

She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘No, no, I want to tell you. I need to tell you, Jeannie.’

‘Then the girls told him that the time I’d not gone to see him off, they’d seen me go off with another feller whose boat’d just come in. They implied, you see, that I was
there waiting for the fishermen to come ashore, collect their pay and then – then I’d go off with them.’

‘And George believed them?’ Jeannie was scandalized.

Aggie sighed. ‘You couldn’t blame him, Jeannie. He was only eighteen. We were both so young, so innocent. And I mean that, Jeannie, ’cos we were.’ She paused and added
meaningfully, ‘Then.’

‘Do you mean to tell me that Nell made up that story about you?’

The white head moved from side to side on the pillow. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think the girls – the older girls, that is – were just having a bit of sport with the two
of them. Maybe they didn’t even mean to cause the trouble they did, though the story about me was unkind.’

‘To say the least,’ Jeannie murmured.

‘George’s boat repairs took a week. In the life of a fisherman, Jeannie, a week is a long time. He was far away from home with nothing to do. And so was Nell. Not able to work for a
few days because of her cut finger.’

‘So, they spent a lot of time together?’

‘Yes. And they fell in love.’

From the recesses of Jeannie’s memory, into her mind came Nell’s words when she had been telling Jeannie a little about herself. ‘I just never went home,’ she had
said.

‘But – but when George came home from Yarmouth, didna you tell him what had happened? What they’d done?’

‘I tried, but I could see it was too late. Nell had hooked him and he was as helpless as a fish on the end of a line. I suppose in that week, they’d spent more time together than
George and I had managed in almost a year.’

‘Oh Aggie, I’m sorry.’

‘Ah well, it’s all a long time ago now,’ Aggie said, but Jeannie could detect that the hurt and the loss were as keen as ever they had been. ‘And then, I suppose, you can
guess the rest. I left home to escape my domineering mother. I just wanted to be loved by a strong, kind man. A man like George Lawrence. But, I never found him, Jeannie . . .’ The voice was
fading now as Aggie drifted into sleep. ‘I never found another George.’

For a long time, Jeannie sat there, imagining how it must have been. Imagining how the practical joke a group of young girls had played had led to the ruining of this poor woman’s life.
And yes, she was a ‘poor’ woman, for she had been misunderstood and maligned the whole of her life.

Over the next few weeks until the day that Aggie Turnbull slipped into unconsciousness from which she never recovered, Jeannie visited her daily, even sitting with her throughout that long, last
night.

And Aggie’s last words were to remain with her. ‘If you find happiness, Jeannie, take it. Grasp it with both hands and never let it go.’

He was going home. The war was over, in fact it had been over for almost five months. Whilst there would be work for the minesweepers for some time to come, Robert was no
longer needed. He could go home. And now there was something – or rather someone – to go home to. A new year – 1946 – and a new life.

Of course, there was still the company, such as it was now. He and Edwin would run the family firm together and one day Sammy would inherit it from them. Robert was sure Edwin wouldn’t
mind. Maybe even Tom’s boy, Joe, would come into the company too. Jeannie would like that. Her son and the boy whom she had always looked upon as her own, running the Gorton-Hathersage
Trawler Company. Then he could retire and he and Jeannie could travel the world. He could take her to all the most beautiful places. Oh, they were going to be so happy, he and his Jeannie . . .

When she opened the door to him, he saw at once the anxiety in her face. That she was pleased to see him, he could not doubt, for even on the doorstep in full view of the whole
street, she flung her arms about him crying. ‘You’re safe. Oh thank God, you’re safe.’

But as she drew him into the house and closed the door upon the world and they sat together, their arms about each other, Robert said gently. ‘Something’s happened. What is
it?’

They had not written to each other, nor had he come to see her again, since the day of Nell’s funeral service. Deliberately, he had stayed away, confident in the thought that when the war
was over, she would be waiting for him. Then, he had promised himself, there would be nothing and no one to stand in the way of their happiness.

She told him of Aggie’s death, not sure whether he had heard the news. When she fell silent, he said, ‘But there’s something else, isn’t there? Something to do with
us?’

She looked at him then and, as she did so, Robert felt a stab of fear, for her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m sorry, Robert, but I can’t marry you.’

For a moment he could not speak. He just sat there, staring at her and gripping her hands tightly. At last, he said hoarsely, ‘Why?’

She dropped her gaze, shook her head and then rested her forehead against his chest. His arms were about her. ‘Just tell me why, Jeannie?’

‘It’s the boys. They – they’re both so – against the idea. I could understand Joe, but not Sammy. I mean, you’re his uncle. But even he . . .’ Her voice
trailed away.

‘I’ll talk to them . . .’

‘No!’ She pulled away from him then. ‘Please, let me handle it.’

‘Jeannie, I love you. I want you to be my wife.’

She was shaking her head slowly. ‘I know, but . . . I’m not sure myself. Now.’

‘You mean – you’re not sure if you love me?’

‘Oh no, not that. I love you. Please don’t ever think that. Maybe it’s because I do love you so very much that – that I’m not sure. I’m so afraid. I mean, you
live in such a different world. You’re from a different class . . .’

Robert shook his head, his voice a gentle whisper. ‘Don’t talk like that. Not about me. Not about us.’

‘But it matters. I wouldna fit into your world.’

‘We’ll make our own world.’

‘But your family. It’s not true what they say, you know.’

‘What do
they
say?’ He traced the outline of her face gently with the tip of his finger. He wasn’t taking her seriously. He couldn’t believe that she could say she
loved him and yet allow her boys to dominate the rest of her life. His life too. Their life together.

‘That you don’t marry a person’s family. You do. You marry into the whole family.’

Suddenly, he felt cold, colder than he had ever been out in the North Sea. She was serious. She did mean it. She was afraid of losing her own son and Sammy too. Trying, still, to make light of
it, he said, ‘But there’s only Edwin left now and he’s the most easy-going chap in the world. A good business man, mind you, but . . .’

‘But there are friends, the circles you move in. Even the world of business. Your wife would be expected to be a – a hostess.’

He laughed. ‘Louise never once hosted a business dinner for me.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, you’ve not a thing to worry about with my world, as you put it. The problem,’ he sighed heavily, ‘seems to be with your boys. What is it? Just that they don’t
like me or . . .?’

‘I think it goes deeper than that. I think Joe is carrying on Tom’s resentment against you and your family.’ She glanced at him apologetically. ‘Tom never made a secret
of it.’

‘Because of Grace you mean?’

Jeannie said nothing. She didn’t want to tell him the full extent of Tom’s bitterness that concerned not only Grace but Jeannie herself. Robert sighed. ‘And I suppose
Sammy’s resentful for the very same reason.’ He was quiet for a moment then asked, ‘And do they blame me for Tom’s death?’

Carefully she said, ‘I think that comes into it.’

‘Oh.’ Now his tone was flat with despair. ‘Well, there’s going to be no way I can win them over then. Not if their reasons are as deeply rooted as that.’