Cover

RITA BRADSHAW

The Winter Rose

Acknowledgements

The following books helped with my research for this story:

Consett, A Town in the Making, Tommy Moore

Consett, Derwentdale Local History Society

A Nostalgic Look at Consett, Derwentdale Local History Society

Consett, The Past Relived, Derwentdale Local History Society

Prologue

Rose was dreaming. Even in her sleep she knew it wasn’t real, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to stay in the dream where she was safe in Davey’s arms and he was smiling down at her, his brown eyes alight with love. But then his arms weren’t gentle any more. They were rough, pulling at her nightdress, and whisky-soaked breath hit her full in the face.

She reared up in terror, fully awake now as a hard weight descended on her. Her legs were being forced apart, and as she struggled and then screamed, the flat of a man’s hand slapped her violently across the face, jerking her neck so that she felt as though her head had been torn off.

Muttered obscenities and the rank smell of male sweat added to the horror of what was happening, and on the periphery of her mind she realized her screams had woken Betsy, who was crying and calling for her. In spite of the crippling pain in her neck and the sheer weight of him that was squeezing the breath out of her chest she continued to resist, kicking and biting and pummelling at his thickset body for all she was worth. Even when she felt him enter her she didn’t give in, and when he tried to adjust his position to grab her hands, she managed to twist and wriggle out from beneath him – but before she could escape he’d caught her again, pinning her on the edge of the bed now as he attempted to enter her once more.

Betsy’s cries were frantic, and it was this, her child’s distress, that gave her a burst of superhuman strength. From somewhere she found the power to push at him so ferociously that – perched as he was on the edge of the bed straddling her – he lost his balance and went catapulting backwards with a crash that shook the house.

Her only thought was to get to Betsy before he came at her again . . .

PART ONE

Judas

1902

Chapter One

As soon as David O’Leary opened the back door of the house and stepped into the kitchen he knew something was wrong. There was no dinner cooking in the range oven, no pans simmering on the hob and no Rose turning to greet his arrival with the smile that always lit up her lovely face.

He stood stock-still for a moment and then, as he heard a low moan coming from upstairs, he hurried into the hall, calling her name as he did so.

Before he’d put a foot on the stairs, Kathy Bates, the local midwife, appeared on the small square landing, her plump face red and perspiring. ‘Oh, it’s you, lad. That time already, is it? By, the afternoon’s flown by.’

Ignoring that, he said, ‘What’s happening?’

‘The babby’s coming, that’s what’s happening.’

‘But it’s not due for another two weeks.’

‘Well, it clearly didn’t get the message ’cause it’s on its way, lad. I dropped by mid-morning and Rose was having pains then so I stayed. It shouldn’t be much longer from the look of things. Now you’re here put some water on to boil and while you’re about it, make a pot of tea. I’m fair parched.’

‘In a minute, I want to see Rose.’ He took the stairs two at a time and when he entered the bedroom he saw his wife lying amidst the tangled sheets, her face flushed and her big eyes expressing the pain of a wounded doe. The bedroom was uncomfortably stuffy, the June day was a hot one, and as he reached the bed and kneeled beside it, he said softly, ‘I’m here, lass, I’m here. Why didn’t you send word to the shipyard?’

‘Send you word?’ It was the midwife who answered, having followed him into the room. ‘Don’t be daft, lad. What would have been the point of that?’

‘I could have come home to be with her.’

‘Oh aye, and likely lose your job in the process? Where would we be if a man came home before the end of his shift just because his wife’s having a bairn? No foreman would stand for that and rightly so. Now get out of my way so I can see to her.’

David had always liked Kathy but right at this moment he could have cheerfully throttled her. Rose was clutching his hand and trying to stifle another moan, and as he stroked the damp tendrils of hair from her brow, he murmured, ‘You’re doing fine, lass, just fine. I love you so much.’

Kathy shifted her feet behind him, clearly uncomfortable at the show of affection, and her voice reflected this when she said, ‘All right, she knows you’re home now. Go and put that water on and make yourself useful. This is no place for a man. And don’t forget the tea.’

He didn’t answer the midwife directly, but as he stood he said to Rose, ‘I’ll bring the water up shortly and then I’m staying with you till it’s born.’

‘You are not.’ The midwife’s voice was sharper now. ‘I’ve never heard owt like it in all me born days. You’ll stay downstairs like any other man and I’ll call you once it’s all over and I’ve got Rose cleaned up. All right?’

‘No, it’s not all right.’ Glancing back down at his wife, he said softly, ‘Would you like me to be here with you, lass?’ and at Rose’s nod, added, ‘That’s that then.’

As he left the bedroom he could hear Kathy muttering under her breath but it didn’t bother him an iota. All he was concerned about was Rose and he knew she would want him to be at her side during the birth of their child. She’d had moments of panic about the confinement for weeks now, and the dire tales some of the old wives hereabouts took great delight in relating didn’t help. They never mentioned births that went as smoothly as clockwork but let them cotton on to a horror story and they couldn’t get enough of passing it on. If Rose had had a mam or a close female relative she could have talked to, it wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought as he got a big pan of water on the hob. As it was, she only had him to discuss her fears with and he’d spent many an evening holding her in his arms and reassuring her all would be well. Not that he had any clear idea of what exactly was involved in having a bairn, but he’d done his best.

When he returned to the bedroom with the hot water and a cup of tea, Kathy didn’t mention him leaving again but her attitude made it clear she was far from happy. He sat beside the bed, holding Rose’s hand and wiping the sweat from her brow now and again, murmuring words of love and encouragement as the pains intensified still more. When she began to push she clung to his hand as though it was a lifeline and he wondered how much more she could take. Stupid, perhaps, but he hadn’t expected the birth to be so painful or such hard physical work; how women did it over and over again was beyond him, but Kathy seemed to think all was well and progressing as she expected.

He saw the midwife look between Rose’s legs before sliding a towel under her bottom as she said, ‘Another couple of pushes and you’ll be holding your babby, Rose. Come on, lass, nearly there now.’ And sure enough a minute later Rose gave a long drawn-out groan and the baby slid into Kathy’s waiting hands, immediately giving a mew of a cry and then another.

‘You’ve done it, lass, you’ve done it,’ David whispered as he bent and kissed his wife. Kathy deftly cut the umbilical cord and put a clothes peg on it, before giving the baby a quick wash which made it squawk and cry in earnest. Wrapping it in a clean towel, Kathy handed the child to Rose, whose tired face was alight with happiness.

‘It’s a little lassie an’ right bonny an’ all.’ Kathy glanced at David as she added almost apologetically, ‘I dare say it might be a lad next time.’

He hadn’t wanted a boy. He could think of nothing more perfect than a miniature Rose and he had told her so in the past. Knowing Kathy wouldn’t understand he just smiled and thanked the midwife for all she’d done before leaning down and kissing Rose again. ‘Our bairn, lass. She’s here at last and she’s beautiful.’ Like her mam.

‘She’s so perfect, Davey.’ Rose was cradling the baby close, staring into the tiny face with an expression of wonder. The baby had quietened immediately she’d been placed in her mother’s arms as though she was exactly where she wanted to be.

‘Aye, she is.’ David found he was fighting back the tears, emotion overwhelming him at the look on Rose’s face. Only the presence of Kathy stopped him breaking down. Nevertheless, his brown eyes were misty as he reached out and stroked the small downy head with the lightest of touches.

‘Well, I need to get you cleaned up and the bed sorted, lass. Give the babby to Davey.’ Kathy was back to her bossy self. ‘Take the bairn downstairs so I’ve got room to do the necessary,’ she added briskly to David as Rose handed the infant to him. ‘I can’t be falling over you up here.’

This time David made no protest, kissing Rose once more before he walked out of the bedroom, holding their precious bundle as though the baby was the finest Dresden china. Once in the kitchen, he sank down into his old comfy armchair to one side of the range, captivated by the little person staring at him with milky blue-grey eyes. Some of his pals at the shipyard who’d got bairns had warned him that they all looked like skinned rabbits when they were born, red and wrinkled and blotchy, but his daughter wasn’t like that. She was truly beautiful, he thought. One tiny hand, the fingers so delicate and the nails so minute he could scarcely believe they were real, reached out of the cocoon as the baby gave a big yawn, exposing little pink gums.

‘I’m your da,’ he whispered, the tears he had kept at bay so far now rolling down his cheeks. ‘And I’ll always love and protect you for as long as I live. It won’t matter if you’re all grown up in the years to come and you think you don’t need me any more, I’ll still be here for you, me an’ your mam. We’re going to be so happy, the three of us. Do you know that? We might not be rich or live in a palace but this little house will be filled with love for you. You’re going to heal all the past for your mam, I know that, you and me between us, all right?’

The baby yawned again and then surveyed him unblinkingly as though she understood every word.

‘And if some brothers and sisters come along for you to play with we’ll love them too, but if that doesn’t happen it won’t matter ’cause we’ve got you and you’re everything. Do you know that? Everything.’

He could hear voices upstairs and then the sound of Rose laughing. He smiled. He loved it when she was happy. Sometimes he would act the fool just to make her laugh. She hadn’t had much joy in her life before she had met him, but he intended to fill her world with it in the coming years. He knew he was the luckiest man in the world to have Rose as his wife and now – he looked down at the baby again – now he had the icing on the cake.

Some bairns were playing in the back lane beyond the yard and as the sound of their voices filtered through the open kitchen window, he settled more comfortably into the armchair. His daughter was fast asleep now, small rosebud lips pursed and tiny eyelashes resting on porcelain skin.

He didn’t think he had ever been so happy in his life.

Chapter Two

‘You look as rough as a badger’s backside, man. Had a few jars last night, did you?’

‘On my wage with a wife and bairn to keep? Chance’d be a fine thing. No, the babby’s teething and we’ve had a few bad nights, that’s all.’

‘Aye, well, I did warn you when you were set on rushing Rose up the aisle that it wouldn’t be all billing and cooing, didn’t I? An’ to fall for a bairn before the ink was dry on the wedding certificate weren’t none too bright either.’

‘I’ve no complaints.’ David grinned at his best friend, pulling the thick woollen scarf that Rose had knitted him tighter round his neck against the bitterly cold wind coming off the sea. The Sunderland shipyard where they worked as welders – Bartram’s – was the most exposed yard in the town being right on the seafront, unlike the other nine yards dotted along the banks of the Wear. When the men at Bartram’s did a night shift in the winter months it wasn’t unusual for them to wear two coats over a couple of jumpers, along with a balaclava and scarf, but David wouldn’t have dreamed of working anywhere else. Bartram’s was a real family yard. Everyone knew everyone else and the feeling of camaraderie was strong. It was safer than some of the others like Doxford’s or J. L. Thompson’s too; they were known as the ‘blood yards’. Accidents still happened at Bartram’s, of course – all the shipyards were dangerous places where conditions were dire and safety precautions non-existent – and since he’d been taken on as an apprentice at the age of thirteen he’d seen some things that had kept him awake at night, but you just had to get on with life, didn’t you, he thought to himself.

Nathaniel Alridge shook his head, punching David lightly on the arm. ‘Aye, well, I still think you should be sowing a few wild oats at your age and breaking hearts along the way. You’re only young once.’

David smiled wryly. ‘To my mind you sow enough oats for the pair of us and then some. Gladys Shaw’s mam was telling Rose that Gladys has been crying into her pillow every night for the past weeks over you.’

Nathaniel shrugged. ‘I never made any promises. You know me.’

‘Aye, I do.’ Nathaniel had a well-deserved reputation as a ladies’ man. Even when the two of them had been knee high to a grasshopper playing in the back lanes and alleyways, the lassies had made a beeline for him. They found his thick crop of dark blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and wide smile irresistible.

All except one lass, David corrected himself. His Rose had never taken to Nat, not from the first day he’d introduced her to him a short while after he and Rose had met. Funny that. She was always polite to Nat, and she hadn’t raised any objection when he’d wanted him as his best man at their wedding, but she didn’t like him nonetheless, he could tell. He’d once made some laughing remark that it was fortunate he’d seen her first before she saw Nat, and she had stopped what she was doing and put her arms round him and, her face deadly serious, had said that he was ten times the man Nat would ever be. She’d been baking at the time and he’d been sitting at the kitchen table watching her, and when he had pulled her onto his lap and started making love to her, the fruit scones had burned.

His mouth quirking at the memory, David said, ‘You know I’ve never had a way with the lassies like you, besides which Rose is enough for me and always will be. I thank me lucky stars each night she looked the side I was on, man. I still can’t believe me luck.’

Nathaniel made no comment to this. The two men were crouched on a top saddle tank doing some welding, and he turned his head so his face screen hid his expression. It amazed him that his friend had never guessed how he felt about Rose, but he knew he hadn’t. Davey was an open book, he thought with a feeling of scorn. If he’d suspected anything he would have had to bring it into the open, that was what Davey was like.

Rose . . . Nathaniel pictured her in his mind’s eye, his body hardening. Thick chestnut-red hair, heavily lashed clear green eyes, small nose and a full mouth set in a heart-shaped face that was so beautiful it made a man ache. She had taken his breath away the first time he’d seen her. She still did.

She had been sixteen when Davey had introduced them and as innocent as a lamb. He’d had several girls by then and could recognize those with experience a mile off. Davey, on the other hand, had never so much as walked out with a lass before, and then he’d gone and reeled in a corker like Rose. It was still a mystery to him what she saw in his friend and if he could have lured her away from Davey he’d have done so like a shot, best pal or not. But for some reason Rose only had eyes for Davey.

‘You still seeing that lass from Baxter’s sweet shop, Millicent, wasn’t it?’ David asked after a minute or two.

‘Mildred, and no. We’d only seen each other a couple of times and she wanted to invite me to Sunday tea with her mam an’ da.’ He had seen Mildred more than that as it happened, and the last time they’d walked out he’d had her on the bank at the back of the engine works near South Rocks. He’d lost interest after that.

David shook his head. ‘Poor lass. Another one who’ll be crying into her pillow over your ugly mug then.’

Nathaniel glanced at his friend, grinning at the backhanded compliment to his good looks as his gaze ran over David’s short stocky body and rough features. He knew Davey had never minded him getting all the lassies and he didn’t understand that either.

The men’s conversation had been conducted at the top of their voices; from when the buzzer sounded at seven-thirty in the morning all hell was let loose. Riveters, caulkers and others working on their respective jobs meant the noise was deafening, but neither David nor Nathaniel noticed the din any more, not after six years of it. At nineteen years of age they were hardened veterans.

In the next moment the dinnertime buzzer cut off the noise like magic. Men downed tools and made for the canteen, pushing and shoving and laughing as they went. David and Nathaniel had a system which worked well. David would collect two bowls of soup and two puddings and make his way to one of the tables to save them seats. Nathaniel would join the longer queue for the main dinners. These were served out of large boiler-like containers – one for the meat, one for the vegetables, and potatoes from a third, with gravy being poured out at the end of the line onto each meal from a massive tin jug held by Ada, the supervisor of the canteen and something of a dragon.

A couple of men nicknamed the ‘sand dancers’ were standing in front of Nathaniel when he joined the queue. With Bartram’s being situated in an exposed position on the south dock, sand was brought in by the tide each day and the sand dancers had to shovel it away. It was an unrelenting and back-breaking task. One of the men turned and glanced behind him, and seeing Nathaniel, nodded to him, saying, ‘Hey, Nat, how’re you doing?’

Nathaniel nodded back. ‘Fair, Terry. Fair.’

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