An hour and a half later Mr Hartley was opening the front door of the little terraced house and Rose, carrying Betsy, was following him into the narrow hall. The small front room was immediately to her left and at the end of the hall was a kitchen with a tiny scullery which contained a pot sink with a cold tap. Hot water would have to be heated in the blackleaded fireplace boiler but that was all right, Rose thought as she looked around her. Upstairs were two square bedrooms, each one having a small fireplace. Situated across from the back door of the kitchen in the stone-slabbed yard was the brick-built privy, an ashpit with a large wooden lid containing the hole where one sat. A big tin bath hung in one corner of the yard and, in the corner opposite, a large wooden poss tub resided next to a small coal bunker. The house itself was devoid of furniture and there were no curtains at the windows, but the kitchen range was a good size and there was a bread oven on the other side to the boiler.

The house itself was none too clean and the range was filthy. It didn’t look as though it had been cleaned in months, thick grease coating it and bits of mould growing here and there.

Mr Hartley saw her looking at it and he shook his head. ‘Right dirty so-an’-so’s this last lot were. The place was as clean as a new pin when they took it on. Me wife an’ daughters always do a spring clean before we have a new tenant but it’s never been as bad as this. They were going to come in and see to it over the next day or two, but if you wanted to do it to your own satisfaction you could have a couple of weeks rent free. Does that sound fair?’

Rose nodded. She would far rather clean the place herself and compared to what she’d found at the Rowlands Gill mill this was nothing. ‘Thank you, yes.’

‘You got your furniture in storage?’

‘No, I decided to sell up when I left. It was easier that way.’

‘Aye, I dare say. Come far, have you?’

‘From Sunderland. My husband worked in a shipyard, that’s where he had the accident.’

‘Lethal places, sure enough. Well, lass, if you’re looking for good second-hand stuff, there’s a bloke in Store Street who’d sort you out. Jimmy Crawford. He has all sorts in his shop – furniture, linen, pots and pans, the lot, and there’s no fleas or lice either, not like some. He’d likely have everything you need.’

Again she said, ‘Thank you.’