‘When Daisy takes the bairns round to see Lonnie’s mam an’ da she tries not to use the privy,’ Amy continued as they turned into Harvey Street. ‘She’d been used to ours at home and she nearly died the first time she went there when they were courting. It’s all midden privies in Puddlers Row and thereabouts, and three or four privies empty into one ashpit that’s not even covered. She won’t let the bairns play out there either ’cause when the scavenger’s cart comes they barrow the filth out onto the back lanes or streets and bits fall off.’ Amy wrinkled her nose. ‘Course, where the company own the houses they clean the ashpits, but private owners are supposed to do it themselves and in some of them the ashpits are always overflowing. Me mam says Puddlers Row and Consett Terrace and the rest of ’em round there ought to be knocked down and the company fork out for new housing. Me da says fat chance.’

They continued to chat as they walked, Amy pointing out streets she considered better than others. Rose had told her that she wanted to rent somewhere and that she’d had a payout from her husband’s company after the accident to tide her over for a month or two. Amy had already offered to ask Daisy if she knew of someone who could mind Betsy during the day when Rose found work.

Rose was grateful, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving her daughter with a stranger, however reliable the woman was purported to be. She’d told herself she was being silly, but she couldn’t help it. She had a fear of letting the child out of her sight for a second, and the older Betsy got the stronger it became. She hadn’t confided this to Amy because she knew the girl wouldn’t understand. Bairns played out in the streets and back lanes even before they could walk, older children looking after the younger ones and wiping snotty noses or pushing them about in old prams. Even as the thought crossed her mind they passed a group of little ones, a protesting baby being mothered by two small girls who couldn’t have been more than three years old, while three slightly older lads played with some round shiny pebbles in the gutter. They were all barefoot and dressed in not much more than rags but seemed happy enough, the two little ‘mothers’ taking turns in jogging the unfortunate infant so violently on their knees it was a wonder its head didn’t fall off.