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Jossey is a new friend, a budding Catherine Cookson who writes stories about Newcastle and its Quayside where her grandmother was born and the area fascinates her, as does her local football team who once used to be famous but that was when Jackie Milburn was playing for them.  She also writes poetry as do many of my friends just to make me feel inadequate – JC  

 

EVELYN

The sky was so vividly blue, that the sheer brightness of it caused her to cover her eyes, in a most grateful salute to the very shade that it supplied. Aided in this way, she viewed a pagoda shaped structure in the distance, and felt a glow of warmth enter her body; the closer she came to the building.

Although it was strange and unfamiliar, the sheer beauty of the place was like nothing she had ever encountered. Slowly she extended her hand to touch the door, and felt the rich texture of leaves and flowers, lavishly embossed in gold, looking and feeling so real. In the distance she became aware of a bell tolling as if to call the devout to vespers, turning to look towards the sound, she became aware of a man standing at her side. He was bearded, but not old, and was clothed in the uniform of a soldier. As she turned to look at him, he took hold of her hand, and the sound of his voice was so kind and so familiar.

 "Come my dear", he said. “Please enter". He led her into a great hall of extraordinary beauty, where rose petals fell from above, and formed a carpet, which reached ankle deep. Filling the air with a perfume so fragrantly pungent as to relax the mind and the body totally. She inhaled deeply, and felt as if she was floating.

Her companion was guiding her forward. She accompanied him freely, and was soon staring into the face of a smiling, rosy-cheeked woman, who then took the other hand of the man. They stood for a while together, sharing a moment of belonging, then she sensed the woman was holding something in her other arm, it was a small child. No words were spoken. It was as if an understanding between the three caused them to gather here at this time, they needed to be here together for the sake of the small infant. A butterfly fluttered down from above, only distinguishable from the petals, which were still descending, by it’s vibrant colour, it settled on the bare shoulder of the child.  The baby then laughed, a sound which seemed to carry up and up into the roof of the strange building.   Eventually the woman spoke.
“We call her Evelyn", she said, and smiled down into the baby's upturned face, with a look of love so endearing it crossed paths of time and locked them together forever.

Suddenly her companions were gone and Shirley was aware of harsh white lights above her head. Her world was filled with the sound of unfamiliar voices, giving orders, the pain shot into her body and she covered her mouth with the inhaler of gas and air.
"Take that away from her now, you need her help to bring this baby into the world, and if she gets another great gulp, like she took before she'll be away again".

"Yes sister", said the young nurse. "C'mon now love the heads there, we just need you to bear down hard, now, c'mon."
Pushing with all of her might, Shirley tried her best to focus her mind remembering the breathing technique shed been taught at pre natal classes.

“Dear God it hurts,” she yelled, but the nurses of course had heard it all before and firmly told her to hold her breath high in her chest and try the panting exercises.

She concentrated hard and realised there was nothing anyone else could do for her and so she let out the breath in short sharp gasps. Swearing, pushing then panting, grunting like an animal, until she thought that she could not go on, when suddenly, the child seemed to help, and swoosh it slid out and onto the bed.

Shirley saw her daughter for the first time the most gorgeous thing that she had ever seen in her life.  Masses of black curly hair stuck matted to her head, and the little hands wafted at the unfamiliarity of freedom of space around her.
When the cord was cut, the midwife placed the baby into her Mothers arms.  The pain and discomfort, the sheer animal nature of giving birth forgotten in that sharing moment between parent and offspring.

Later, after the baby was taken off to be washed and clothed the new Mother fell into an exhausted sleep. She awoke to find her own Mother sitting on a chair beside her. Shirley gave a great shuddering sigh of relief. "Mum, Oh Mum". Stretching out her arms as if she herself were still a child.  So pleased that at last she could share with someone like her Mum, whom she knew would be so proud of her, tears fell from her eyes with sheer relief.

"There we are now our Shirley, what a lovely little girl you have, she was fast asleep, wrapped tightly in her blanket, all of that black curly hair, she is amazing. I saw her in the nursery, the rest seemed to be bawling their eyes out, but she was in a deep contented sleep.”
Shirley let her Mother go on, she knew that it would be difficult to stop her as it was her first grandchild, and she had been looking forward to this day from the minute that she’d been told about the pregnancy. 

“ Just wait until her Father sees her”, she rushed on, hardly stopping for breath.  He’ll be here very soon; he’s coming straight from work.  He ‘phoned me for news, fortunately just after I had heard from the hospital. My first Grandchild, Have you thought of a name for her? Decided for sure, I mean?"

"Yes, it's Eve, but she is to be christened Evelyn”. 

“Evelyn, well, that is a surprise,” so much was it a surprise for Adel that she could hardly keep it from showing on her face.
“What is it mum?  I know we had another name picked out, but….”

Adel cut her short. “No love, you know that I wouldn’t interfere, especially in your choice of a name for the bairn, I was just taken aback by that particular name”.

Before Shirley could explain, her husband Rob entered the ward, his eyes searching each bed until he found hers, he came towards them arms outstretched, relief written all over his face   

Later all three cooed together as the baby was brought from the nursery so that her Father saw her for the first time.  Shirley could not take her eyes from her husbands face the love and joy that she saw there in that look renewed the memory of the dream that she had had, while under the anaesthetic, the dream she now related to Rob and her Mother.  Adding, this was the reason that she just had to call the baby Evelyn. “Oh Rob love, sorry to spring it on you like that, but as the lady said in my dream, she is Evelyn, you see?”  Rob was a little taken back as this particular name had never been on any of the lists of proposed names for the child.

“Besides, I just love the name Eve,” Shirley said, smiling warmly at her husband who was now looking a little uncomfortable, as Eve squirmed in his arms.

“Yes”, said Rob relieved to be passing his daughter over to his wife, “now Eve is a very nice name, I do like that”.  As Shirley tried to relax the baby and make her more settled by untangling her from the tightly wrapped blanket that had covered her, they all stared in disbelief at what they saw.  On the left shoulder of the child was a distinctive mark in the shape of a perfectly formed butterfly.  Both Rob and Shirley marvelled at this, for it seemed to link the whole episode of the dream and the name, from the imagined and into the reality of the real world. As they said later it was a miraculous thing, and it made this small new life much more precious and unique.  They were however unsure of what Adell was feeling as she had been seemingly struck dumb after the sight of the birthmark on the child came to light, she left them to go home soon afterwards.

“I don’t think that Mum is quite over my Grannies death, it was just almost a year ago you know?” Shirley took one hand from where she held the baby and reached for Rob’s hand.   “I had thought that the baby coming helped, she has been over the moon ever since I told her.  Maybe it’s all been too much for her and she is tired, or maybe she didn’t want to spoil our enjoyment and time together with our firstborn, oh! I wish Dad was still around.”

It was late afternoon when Adel reached the door to her little garden flat, she loved this flat and had bought it when her husband Jim died, she let herself in and sank onto the settee.   She desperately fought against the nausea and panic that was now threatening to engulf her whole being, and she shook with fear.  Never had she been afraid in this flat, it had always been a lovely safe and comfortable haven from the outside world, but now she shuddered and looked around the room feeling scarred and lonely.  She managed to light the gas fire and draw the curtains, later staring into the fire with a hot cup of tea in her lap, a picture of herself and her Mam and Dad together entered her mind.  It was when she was small before her Daddy went away to the war, a lovely happy time, when she was an only child and doted on by both of her parents.

Adel realised that she had fallen asleep, then to her horror she heard a sound , she shivered, it was so cold the gas had run out in the meter and the fire was now dead. Rubbing her hands she tried to get up to get away to pretend it was not true it was only her imagination, but there it was again.  The sound high pitched and excited a childs giggle a little girls laughter, an image came with the sound it was her, Evelyn. Mammy stood on the sandy beach a wonderful smile upon her face as she watched Daddy throwing the infant into the air.  Yes Evelyn, her little sister and apple of her parents’ eyes, a beautiful little girl eager and happy for the attention that was bestowed on her, happy to be alive and at the beach on this lovely sunny day.

When they came here they always spent the whole day, after lunch Dad would always take them both winkle picking in and among the rocks.  They sat up from the beach at lunchtime in the dunes. Mum and Dad said the protection from the wind there, helped to get the primus stove started, Dad felt good that he was there with them on leave from the army for a few days, he fussed over everything. He and Mum distracted by their labours did not notice the girls hurry off to look for adventure.  Adel leading her sister by the hand, she was only two and struggled to balance as they reached the rocks.

Lifting a bigger rock as Adel had often seen her Daddy do, she spied a cluster of winkles and pointed them out to Evelyn who jumped and shook with tingling excited laughter.  Then in her haste to collect them up, she pushed past Adel, bent her chubby little knees and leaned forward to gather the shellfish, the bigger rock upon which the girls stood suddenly tipped them and they fell into the rock pool.
Even now as Adel sat in her own living room a sixty one year old woman, she recalled the cold water soaking her clothes and her breath almost leaving her body as she gasped with fear and fright.   She had stood one finger in her mouth, and looked once more at her sister, the little beautiful sister who Mummy and Daddy seemed to prefer to herself, and who was now motionless lying face down in the water, her jet black curls bobbing on it’s surface.  Her skin was lightly tanned with the sun, which made the birthmark on her shoulder look even more pronounced.  Adel remembered staring mesmerised at it. Then the nearest people to them realised the children were in trouble.  Adel began to scream and scream with fear at what she had done and as others saw to Evelyn. A lady took Adel in her arms and tried to stem the waves of tears that engulfed the child’s now shaking body.

Although they used mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and Dad would not give up, even when the ambulance men told him it was no use, he took no notice, but she was dead.  A child can drown in inches of water they were told.
A week after the funeral Adel’s Father went back to the army, a while after that he was taken prisoner by the Japanese and Adell and her Mother never again saw him.

At her Mothers bedside when she was dying, the Mother who had kept a distance from her only surviving daughter just never managed to forgive Adel, not even with her dying breath.  For with Evelyn’s death and her Father’s incarceration and death, Adel’s Mother found an outlet for her grief by treating her only other child as a murderer, until she died, a bitter old woman.
Although they were close, She never dared tell Shirley of her own sister Evelyn’s, existence. Judged guilty by her own Mother she could never risk the consequences of Shirley’s reaction to the child’s death.

Everyone gathered round the font, it was time to take off the baby Evelyn’s christening shawl, she certainly had been good and looked a picture. Shirley’s best friend Rose was Godmother. Watching her struggle Adel was the first to come forward to help,
Rose was so relieved that she handed Evelyn over to Adel and stood back in line with the others. In truth Adel found herself having to deal with the feelings in public, that in private she had tried her hardest to block out. She’d had no intentions of taking over completely, only to help. If she told the truth she had not been able to hold her grandchild, because of the past with her sister.

What happened next changed Adel’s world forever as the baby Eve grabbed at her Grandmother’s hand, the vicar had to even pour the water over the baby’s head with her hand still clinging to Adel’s own.  The small child had been waiting for this moment since birth, for to share again with this being was what she was born to do, they looked into each other’s eyes.  The anointing finished, a high pitched laugh made the congregation gathered together gasp, later people were overheard saying it quite unnerved them, as it was not a tiny babies laugh.  . . . . .

 

 

Esme Soaper

She slipped out of the house soundlessly. She wouldn’t want to wake their Jack, fat chance of that mind, she thought.  Last night he had had quite a skin-full, even by his standards, in fact the name for that kind of state round here, was mortal, mortal drunk.  It was cold and terribly drizzly out, that kind of fine rain that soaks you in minutes. Esme pulled the shawl tighter round herself, being so very early there was no one about, good, she thought.  Her idea being to get down to the Quayside just as the boats were coming in and the fish had hardly been handled at all, never mind picked over by the other back entry drudges like herself. 

Poor buggers, who had to bargain a price with the fishermen on the wharf.  Yes and usually for the broken, unsellable part of their catch that should be thrown back into the sea, if the truth was told. So she stood shivering and watched them unload their catch, a good and heavy one by the look of it. Her shawl half hiding her face she did not see Ernie Mather approach and she jumped as he touched her shoulder.  “Esme that yee hinny”, what the hell are ye diyi’n oot at this hour, man it’s not half past five yit, and ye must be freezin’.  Ernie was once a near neighbour, and had been a good friend to her in the past; in fact he had saved her from a very severe beating from Jack, when he had found Esme down at the paddies market just about to hand over a shilling for a winter coat for herself, which she had considered a bargain. 

Jack had wanted to know there and then where the money had come from, and shook her to the core by shouting out that she must have been helping out the money he gave her with a visit to the Norwegian vessel that had been docked down by.  Ernie had heard what went on and was thoroughly shocked by Jack’s treatment of Esme, and within the next minute had knocked Jack Soaper clean out. Considering that anyone bad mouthing such a lovely lass as Esme Railton, her name before she had married that little waster, deserved a hiding. 

Esme tugged her frail shawl around her face but not quickly enough to hide the now swelling black eye, from her neighbour. “Oh Ernie, ah didn’t see you there.”  “Obviously not love whey it’s pitch black, ye couldn’t see a darkie wiv a flashlight this morn.  Now what yer after pet and divvin’t start telling is yer oot for a morning stroll coz I wouldn’t believe it."

Ernie was a lovely fella, Esme thought, he had been sweet on her years ago she knew, and thought how different life would have been for her if she had taken up with Ernie instead of Jack. “I just wanted a few pieces of fish Ernie, and as the bairn was sleepin’ a thought that I could be out and back before he wakes an a can get a bit of breakfast for our Jack an’ all”.

Ernie dismissed her hand-waving and her money, as he filled the hessian bag that she held out for the fish, perhaps her couldn’t have her for himself, as he had wished all those years ago. But, he argued at himself, today he was able to make just a little difference, and maybe give a little respect and comfort to his Esme Railton as she had once been.  Aye he thought as he watched her too thin too bent figure climb the cobbled hill towards the Swirled and the entry tenement houses. Things would have been a lot better for you Esme, if only a hadn’t been so bloody shy and you hadn’t let a big sweet talkin’ nowt like Jack Soaper win your love and for what, for you to end up old before your time and begging a breakfast for a slovenly drunkard who only ever found love at the bottom of his pint glass.

Esme thought about the man who had just been so kind to her and for a moment her normally tough exterior broke down and her swollen eye hurt as she went to dab a tear away on her shawl. It was her mother's face that now came to mind, the dear mother that she had loved and adored, yes but the mother who had told her that to marry Jack Soaper would lead to misery. Esme had laughed then, at her mothers’ fears, and suddenly found herself laughing now, remembering the time when she believed that Jack was such a great catch. She dabbed once more at her weeping eye.  

Jossey

 

It’s a Wonderful Game.

Calder Mayfield had just dropped their Lizzie off at her sister Enid’s house.  “By lad,” he thought, “Them two could really talk. The hind legs on a donkey had nee chance with that pair.” He grabbed as many shopping bags as he could carry and helped them into the kitchen with them. He checked the clock on the kitchen wall against his watch. He had better make a swift departure.

“Don’t you be hurrying about,” said Lizzie, jabbing a finger down at his stomach as if she were addressing another little fella crouched up in there. “Remember your state of health!” Their Enid bustled up over- excitedly, “That game comes between you are your wits Calder Mayfield! Old men getting themselves over-excited!” She ended the sentence with a note so highly pitched it rang for a while amongst the sherry glasses in the cabinet.

If he didn’t get a move on he would miss the kick-off, and when it was a derby match they came to the St. James’s in their droves. If he found a parking space smartish, he would just have time to grab a cheese and onion pasty from Cleggs. As luck would have it, a woman shopper pulled out of a space in the lane near the Theatre Royal. “What about being in the right place at the right time?” he thought and patted the belly on the little fat Buddha smiling up at him from the dashboard. It was a good omen for the match. He would have to keep an eye out for other lucky signs.

Their Lizzie had warned him many times that his bad eating habits were making him far too fat, and although he knew that she was right, he could not resist the craving. After all who was it who had said, “Laugh and be fat. Beware the lean and hungry look!” Had it been the Buddha? Or maybe Mr.Clegg himself? But as the golden smell of pastry hit his nostrils, he cast all care to the wind and in minutes he was hurrying up Northumberland Street, a hot cheese pasty stuck in his face and another one in the bag. He almost tripped as he ran towards the stadium.

A season ticket holder for many years, Calder no sooner escaped the turnstile than Robbie Grameslaw fell into line beside him and they took their places together in the stand. Calder always got a lump in his throat and his chest seemed to swell with pride as his favourite team in the world trotted out onto the pitch. The rest of the crowd who felt the same way set up a roar that the people busy shopping in Northumberland Street could not fail to hear.

Allan Shearer the Captain strode out with the young mascot at his side. The boy suddenly stared up at his hero; pleased as punch to be wearing the black and white. They shared a moment’s conversation. Alan threw his head back and laughed at what the boy had just said to him. Calder thought Allan a grand lad and almost envied the boys closeness with the captain; it must be a great privilege and honour for the boy and then to make the great man laugh so effortlessly, without a whiff of condescension. They both appeared truly natural and so unfazed by the thousands of hollering fans and visitors staring down at them.

Two or three minutes after the teams kicked off, Sunderland got a terrific chance to go ahead, as Nial Quinn almost put one past Shea the goalie but fortunately for the Newcastle side, Shea just got his finger-tips to the ball and with exceptional dexterity Pushed the offending object over the top of the net and out of harm’s way.

Calder got up on his feet cheering, when suddenly a pain seared through his being and shook him into submission. His legs bowed-out into relegation and folded under his twenty stones of weight. He sank back down with a huge slap as he fell between the moulded plastic seat and the cold concrete. What happened next amazed the onlookers as the St. John’s Ambulance men went straight into action; well trained and ready for such an occurrence Calder soon found himself being hoisted into an ambulance and given the size and weight of the patient; people could only be amazed by their handling of the situation.

After a brief respite from the pain, he took in the fact that his heart had caused him to leave his most enjoyable pastime; his wonderful game. He strained with all of his might to move, longing to get back to his seat next to Grameslaw, aching to be soaking up the atmosphere of the match. Paramedics began working on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt, sticking on little plasters with wires attached, when suddenly a great roar poured in through the tank-like walls of the ambulance and he knew by the way the St. John’s Ambulance lads punched the air  above his head that his team had scored. “That’s a good time to leave it,” Calder thought to himself, and expired on a one goal lead against Sunderland. What an ending. He would be the first to take the news upstairs, even before the football Pink’s got there.

When they arrived at the General Hospital, a young nurse opened the doors of the vehicle, and as she grabbed one end of the trolley hoping to speed things up, she realised the fellow was already dead. She gave a look at the two paramedics from inside the ambulance and then back at the body. The man’s face had such a serene expression as to make the young nurse smile sadly; he looked totally at peace with his lot. The view from Calder’s side of things was rather different in a sparkling kind of way. A giant glittering staircase had latched itself to the back of the ambulance somehow and several tiller-girls plumed and feathered were making their way down to him. He moaned and sat up. He tried to get a glimpse of the name in lights at the top of the stairs, but the bulbs burned too brightly. “Is it Stanley Baxter?” He heard himself say.

“Don’t be silly now.” One of the tiller-girls whispered to him, and before he knew it they had crowded around him, helping him to his feet. He felt himself gliding upward. “What’s happened to me?” asked Calder. The lead dancer wearing a diamond tiara and some startling fish net stockings surprised him with the strength of her Geordie accent. “You went doon like a bag a’ hammers Calder man!” She said. Calder couldn’t help taking another peep at her dancer’s legs. “You’ve got legs right up to your handbag there.” He felt himself slurring as if he were slightly tipsy. “Er..That’s enough of that.” Cautioned the lead dancer who now also sported the wings of an angel. “Or I’ll show you the yellow card!” “But who’s the star? Calder squinted up at the name in lights once more.

“It’s all for you, Calder Mayfield!” Came a booming voice and down the stairs came a handsome man in a golden shell -suit who threw his arms out to the side ready embrace an astonished Calder who had just fallen to his knees. It had been the expansive gesture that had done it, or had it been the golden track-suit? There was no mistaking the Angel of the North. At last Calder’s eyes adjusted to the lights above and he read his own name in letters twenty feet high.

Heaven was a place called a win for Newcastle United over Sunderland after downing two Clegg’s pasties; still hot mind! Never eat them cold when you can have them hot!

Jossey

Kitty Hewlett (A Cullercoats Fishwife)

Kitty tutt tutted to herself, and shook her head in a bad tempered manner.  Reaching into the deepest bottom drawer of a chest of drawers, she produced a heavy petticoat to wear on top of her others.  ‘October’, she said out loud, and I’m having to resort to this already, what am I going to do when winter really sets in?’ The petticoat had several tucks, which Kitty had hand sewn into the garment to shorten it a bit, also it was a habit, a tradition of the fisher folk, for the more tucks in the underskirt the more strong the item became and the better the fit for it’s wearer.

Mary Stokes a woman who lived in Simpson Street in Cullercoats made all of Kitty’s working clothes and those of most of the fisherwoman community, the dress was a code specifically adopted for the Cullercoats women.  ‘By’, she said as she pulled on the coarse skirt, ‘I’ll be glad of this the day and no mistake’.  Maybe, she thought with a wistful smile, she would have to admit to old age creeping on.  This thought struck Kitty again later, whilst ascending the long stairs from the Cullercoats jetty, her creel full to the brim with fish, causing her to shuffle along under the strain.  If she’d not seen red and completely lost her temper with that young slut Alice Cairns, she might have a bit more energy.

Kitty’s face burned with fury as she thought back to the scene she had just witnessed, that lass, the big blousy creature.  Kitty had almost tripped over them, her and that young lad. At it, she said to herself, like rabbits, no decent person would believe it!
What were things coming to when lasses gave away their favours for an extra basket of fish?  ‘Eer missus’, the fellow had shouted at Kitty “will yer watch where ya’ gannin’ man!”.  Kitty had been so startled that when she had managed to get her breath back, she looked straight into the eyes of the girl Alice Cairns and called her a ‘dirty bitch’. Alice just stared back with a look of unblinking disregard for the little woman in front of her and indeed the whole situation. What really took Kitty by surprise was that there was no sign of guilt or remorse at being caught in the totally debase situation.

In fact the girl just rearranged her clothing, brushed her hands down the long pinny that she wore, lifted the huge basket of fish and plonked it on her head and waddled off.  Where was her pride, thought Kitty, her self worth?  Obviously, she had little if any of either. How could this happen to such a person with her upbringing? The girl did not recognise Kitty, but Kitty knew Alice or should she say Alice’s mother Charlotte.  Charlotte Cairns had been a friend of Kitty’s and she would turn in her grave if she knew what her girl had come to.  Charlotte had been a neat kindly lady, proud and clever, but at the age of just 33 years she had succumbed to the consumption.  Kitty had cried and cried for Charlotte, but then Kitty’s own husband John had been taken with the same disease. 

Funnily enough she could not find it in her heart to cry too many tears for her John.  If any at all were to have been shed they would have been of relief, bordering on sheer joy at the passing of a bombastic little upstart such as he’d proven to be. Kitty had been a very hard working young wife, trying her best to save towards the future, but John had found the nest egg and spent the money on drink.  The drink would make him violent, and of course it terrified Kitty; twice she’d become pregnant only to loose the babies. After that she hated him drunk or sober, depriving her of a family, almost knocking her senseless on many occasions.  No, she would never shed a tear for John Hewlett. Never, dance upon his grave more like!

Thinking of that lad and Alice, his name was Matty, a fisher lad.  That would be one that Kitty would never patronise again, she thought, even if he had the best fish a man could catch and if he were giving it away!  Maybe Alice had wanted it, even enjoyed that sort of thing.  It was said by some that she sold fish in the daytime to the women of the district and for the husbands of the same housewives she dropped her knickers in the back lanes of Cullercoats at night. Kitty had heard Florrie Wainwright, a barmaid from Shields, say that the men’s bellies were seen to as often as twice in one day by Alice Cairns.  It was said to be funny but Kitty thought smutty talk such as the barmaid dished out was very low, and could only pretend to indulge in it because the Black Horse where Florrie worked, sent her out to purchase fish for the Governor.

Kitty was no fool and went along with such banter, as to procure a large order from the Black Horse Hotel could set a body up for a good few days, and Kitty Hewlett was not averse to a few extra sovereigns.  Adding them to her savings gave a pleasurable feeling of future freedom to retire and live happily in peaceful comfort. So, of course, Kitty was in no position to turn away business.  Had she not already anticipated a good lot of sales for herself today by head and tailing the fish to get more into the creel?  Friday was her best and busiest day.  Fish was the meal for most people today, so the more she could carry the better the business.

Getting to the main road she exchanged pleasantries with the older fishwives, the ones who had worked hard all of their lives ‘poor buggers’, Kitty thought.  Old and worn out through the daily grind even at this stage they had to sit it out by the roadside, cold and at times ill, they awaited the passer by trade.  They were treated no better than beggars, by people who cheekily lifted the covers from the baskets and raked through the wares for the best fish at the lowest possible prices.

A shaking of her long skirts brought Kitty’s eyes to rest on Eva Reignhart a lovely old woman and an acquaintance of Kitty’s. Eva was in her late seventies, a widow for the last 40 years, she was a regular street vendor.  “Hello Eva lass, how yi doing”, said Kitty looking down at the lady whose gnarled hands still held onto the bottom of her skirt. “Ee, it’s a bliddy cold wind blowin in on ya’ the day mind, can’t you stay home when the weathers so bad pet?”  Eva laughed, mouth agape, showing the two or three decayed front teeth still left in her head.
“Whey Kitty, after all this time on me own,” said Eva, “what would I do with meself? Gaan to Newcastle on a spending spree, or as usual talk to four walls while crocheting?  No Kitty love aa’m best out here even in all weathers at least aa’m in good company, having a chat with friends and folk a’ know such as your good self.  Before leaving Eva the ladies discussed the price of fish and the hopes for a good day’s business. Kitty also gave praise where it was due to the exquisite workmanship of Eva’s crochet. Her large basket was protected with a lovely finely made cover.

All of the Cullercoats fisher women had their own patterns passed down through the generations, Mother to Daughter, so that each work was recognised by a distinctive style. Eva had married young, falling for a wild Danish fisherman Arto Reignhart, who settled happily to live in Cullercoats with his pretty bride for the rest of his life.

Kitty left Eva with a wave and hoisted the heavy creel up onto her back, feeling the weight more cumbersome since stopping for the short while that it had taken to pass the time with the curb vender lady. Thick brown paper with goose grease, designed to stop the cold damp of the fish penetrating through to her bones crinkled noisily on her back. Please God, she thought to herself.  Please God I don’t end up working out my days like them sitting at the side of the road waiting for customers.  Kitty had a few pounds put away already for her retirement.  It was kept for her in entire safety, secreted away with a trusted friend. 

Scarborough, that would be the place for her.  It had been a special dream ever since their Mam had taken her and their Robert on a trip to the resort once when they were small children.  The sea was in her blood and so she could not envisage life without living near to it.  Yes, thought Kitty Scarborough would suit her very well. The leather straps on the large creel on her back cut into her shoulders, returning her mind from her reverie and back to the day’s work. She then set off in the direction of Whitley Bay in the hope of beating the Shields fishwives to the doorsteps of the gentry, in keen competition for their custom.  Theirs was the choice; the cooks at these houses could scold or lavish praise upon people such as Kitty, but she was pleased to have a couple of regulars, whom if she was there in good time would buy from her.  Aye and maybe provide her with a cup of tea; Kitty chuckled, if she was lucky.

The first two houses, one in Manor Road the other in Front Street, had taken a nice little package from her, even half a dozen crab, which, given the price had made kitty real glad and grateful not to be carrying them on to the next stop. Her third call was to one of the bigger houses near the Esplanade.  Her feet were now dragging a little but she plodded on.  Josie lamb, the head cook was a big-hearted woman whom Kitty had visited for years.  They shared a camaraderie and sense of humour, which had withstood the test of time.

The back door was slightly ajar and the cook spotted the vendor approaching.  With a wide sweep of her ample fat arm, she called out in a friendly fashion.  “Ee Kitty love, how are ya’?” she smiled, as she manhandled little Kitty inside the kitchen.  “Sit yersell’ down now,” she bawled.  “Hey you Liza”, Josie shoved the little scullery maid in the back non- too gently.  “Get Kitty a nice cup of tea poured out, and mind put plenty a’ sugar in it ‘anaal”. She then turned her attention back to the baking board; her fat hands moving the pastry round in circles, kneading into it with the palm of her hand, she looked at Kitty.  “A’ don’t know why yer sit yersell right away in that corner Kitty”, she said, eyeing her little friend with affection.  “Get nearer the fire a’ tell ya” Josie worried that Kitty did not look well today.  They were of an age, both mid sixties, but the cook felt grateful for her own position in life as compared to Kitty’s.

Always having to hump that creel thing around, the climb up from Cullercoats Jetty was more than enough, aye, and in all weathers, winter and summer.  “That’s better Kitty”, get yersell’ properly thawed out, yer’ look frozen”, Josie smiled at her friend, then gruffly turning on the little maid she yelled. “Liza, give Kitty that big cup, plenty sugar in the tea, a shive of that plate pie would de’ a’ nee’ harm either”.  Liza did as she was told and Kitty fair waded into the feast.  She had not had anything as lovely tasting for ages, she thought to herself, and so took her time savouring every last morsel.

Josie needed a good order today and took most of what Kitty had left in the creel, in fact there only remained a couple of whiting and a deal of shrimp, which on reflection Kitty felt had been a mistake to bring.  No problem, she thought, she would even try selling them off cheaply to the roadside vendor women now that she could afford to. After all it was more in their line of trade.  The old women mostly found their best custom from day-trippers, and tomorrow being Saturday, there should be plenty of takers in that direction. Business done between the two women Kitty made ready to leave, but pressed into another cup of tea, she had no reason to refuse as her day, or what was left of it, could only be easy now.  Josie joined her and the two friends exchanged stories of local gossip, and then touched on the talk of a war coming.  They pondered on the changes it would make to life here in the northeast.

“Ee’ Josie”, said Kitty putting one small gnarled hand up to her throat and clutching the brooch that pinned her shawl together, “they say the young fishermen will all be recruited for the army, and that the beaches will be barbed wired to protect against invadin’ German forces”.  She’d heard it spoken of by local fisherfolk. “I ask you Josie, where would people like us be if it happens that way?” Josie bit her bottom lip and shook her head in full agreement; Kitty would indeed suffer a loss of livelihood. The fishwife stared vacantly into the fire and as if she was speaking only to herself, she said in a hushed tone. “Where would poor people turn, when the sea is what they rely on to live, all they have is the sea?”     

The two women ended up berating the Keiser.  “Fancy”, said Josie, her thick arms folded across her ample chest, “an him bein’ a close relative of our dear departed Queen, by God she would turn in a’ grave if she knew what was going on now. Josie was called away to speak with the lady of the house regarding meals for the following day, so Kitty sat finishing the last dregs from her big warm cup, she felt relaxed and comfortable.  One hour later, when the cook came back into the kitchen, she smiled to see the little woman still sitting, but she was now fast asleep.   Josie looked at the way Kitty sat there, peacefully by the fire, hands gently folded in her lap.  Those same hands that had worked for years, first sorting and gutting fish when she was no more than a bairn, and now a seller of fish.

That skinny little rake of a husband she’d had, neither work nor want was his motto, aye, Josie thought to herself, good job in a way that she’d not carried her bairns full term. As their Father, the little runt, would have seen them all in the workhouse rather than do a hard day’s shift for his family so he would. The friend knew well that Kitty felt proud of her endeavours and pleased at her independence, but to look on her now Josie felt nothing but pity.  She saw the cracked little shoes on the old woman’s feet her heart went out to her, so much so, she wanted to cry.  Still Josie thought Kitty would not be leaving it too long before retiring; she was the only one to know of her secret plans, as confidentiality was a mainstay of the two women’s friendship.

“Never mind now Kitty, you just fell asleep for a while, it’s that fire it knocks everybody over, but we have to keep it built up as it heats the water for the whole of the house you see”? Said Josie as her friend began to wake.  “Ee what have a done? Have a kept anybody back from their work?” said Kitty, with such a look of shame upon her face it would melt the coldest heart. “Whey no, sit yersell back doon, nowt spoiling”, said Josie. Kitty got to her feet, bid a hasty goodbye, and picked up her creel, once outside she felt her face flush with embarrassment.   Shame on you Kitty, she silently admonished herself, what came over you?

Fancy doing that she thought, and to people who were so kind, she hoped that they would not think too badly of her, but of late she had been feeling very tired and out of sorts, ever since that cold she’d had about a month ago.  It had left her quite weak.  It seemed to take her a long while to reach home, and she was more than a little peeved to find that the street seller women had left for the day.  After a sit down she began to feel such an ague and a chill through her whole body, she shook as if she had the fears of the world upon her.  Grasping the kettle she stirred the dead embers of the fire then with the help of the bellows, hung up by the side of the hearth, managed to get a good blaze going.   She gave a sad little smile to herself.

What was all this?  Had not she managed all her life?  No, give in to depression, not now, not as she was so near her goal.  Next year she thought that was the time for her to retire.   Yes, if things could only go to plan, round about March she would be looking into going, getting something together somewhere to live. Yes, a nice little place in Scarborough, with a view of the sea.  It was two days later…..
Len Madely the milkman’s son was passing by the row of cottages at the top of the bank, when he noticed Kitty Hewlett’s creel parked outside of her cottage door.  The time was eight thirty in the morning and he was just finishing off his milk round.  He frowned slightly to himself as he walked up to the door and banged upon it loudly.

She must be unwell, he thought, to be still home at this time on a Monday morning.  He knocked and knocked again, but received no reply.  The window at the side gave very little view into the room that Kitty used as a living room and bedroom combined, although, he could just see the kitchen table which held the remains of a meal. By eleven thirty, Ellen Withers had been contacted; it was found she possessed a spare key to Kitty’s home.  The body had been discovered.  It seemed that the poor fishwife had eaten a bit of supper then gone straight to her bed.  Then died in her sleep, peaceably, with no fuss, exactly the way that she had lived her life.

The doctor reckoned that his patient had been dead for at least 36 hours, probable cause of death pneumonia.  He kept his opinions to himself, but had many anxieties regarding the fishwives and their poor humdrum basic lifestyles.  He wrote out the certificate and handed it to a young woman standing by the corpse, guessing that this would not be the last one that he’d be writing this winter. Until Mariah Jenkinson, from Ferry Lane came to see for herself that Kitty Hewlett had really gone, no one realised Kitty had any family.  As far as they knew the old lady had no one after her husband had died, Mariah had other news to divulge regarding Kitty.

“She’s got a niece at Tynemouth”, said Mariah with a huge sniff, and gathering her shawl tightly around her shoulders then drawing herself up to full height of importance she went on, “daughter of her brother Rob.  Oh yes, surprises you don’t it?” Mariah, lorded it up glad that for once she was centre stage with a bit of news to tell these others, who usually didn’t give her or hers the time of day. “Didn’t have much to do with her you know”, said Mariah, pointing a long spindly finger in the direction of the bed.  “No Kitty wasn’t good enough for the likes of Madam from Tynemouth, with her school teacher husband and her large semi detached residence. She’s a hoity-toity, sort and no mistake, considering that her Da’ died in a workhouse bed, aye, Lady all fur coat and no drawers we would say!  I don’t think that Mrs. Dorothy Graham liked for her snotty neighbours to know that she was niece to a woman who’s a common Cullercoats fishwife”.  Once more playing to her audience and loving it, Mariah lifted herself almost on tiptoe saying in a high falsetto, “what would her fancy neighbours think of her ladyship if they knew that?”

Bad news travels fast, and just as Dorothy began to pour her second cup of tea of the morning from her beautiful willow pattern tea pot into the matching large tea-cup, she flinched.  A loud knocking on her back door stopped the flow of tea, and brought her head up with a quick movement. She opened it to a rather burly man who stepped back, eyebrows raised at her and pronounced. “Excuse me for disturbing you,” Harry Madeley had been nominated to fetch the news to Kitty’s niece.  “I’m sorry, but it’s bad news that I am bringing you I’m afraid”, his words came out rather affected, but he stumbled and plodded on. “Your Aunt, Mrs. Kitty Hewlett, the lady from cottage row, Cullercoats, died in her sleep, some-time over the weekend it was.  My son Lennie found her just after he’d finished his rounds this morning.  We deliver the milk there.”  Harry plunged his large fists deep into his white overall pockets, to effectively show off his work coat and hide some of his embarrassment.  He squirmed as her eyes beadily gave him the once over.

Under the scrutiny of Mrs. D. Graham a lighted cigarette between her long painted nails, and her hair stuck up on end in pins, he found himself gabbling.  It was of course a sad message, the saddest, but something made his nerves give way and his mouth began to twitch.  He gave a little cough, as he realised that he was on the verge of laughter.  He then clamped his teeth together; he had to get control of himself, he stood to attention.   This would not do, he felt ashamed, was this the way to treat anyone who had just received such bad news?
Still, he thought to himself, he had seen some visions, first thing in the morning when housewives opened their doors to him, but this woman, was something else.  Not exactly easy on the eye, in fact she reminded him of one of the whores who walked the docks when a boat was in.  As well as a clown that he’d once seen in a circus!  The woman surprised him by what she said and did next. 

Dorothy took a deep breath as though the news was sinking in at last, then with a stern look upon her face, she told him.  “I can’t get along there until later this afternoon, Aunt Kitty and I were never that close you know?  But she is my late father’s sister and for that reason I’d like to come to pay my respects.  Please”, Dorothy sort of pointed at Harry, then the hand grabbing at the front of her blouse, she said in her rather high-pitched voice. “If someone would see to her by then, you know the washing and the laying out, that sort of thing, I just can’t deal with anything of that nature”.  Her eyebrows, drawn with a brown pencil were raised at the man standing in front of her. Harry was just a vendor, a servant.  She always talked down to people such as he, and yet in truth was often tongue tied and shy with the people she classed as her equals. Not, she thought to herself, not a person of any high standing at all, she wanted him to go now, she needed to dismiss him so that she could think.

Harry was so surprised at her reaction to her Aunt’s death, his mouth opened to speak but not a word did he utter.  He knew, realised sharply that she was now waiting for him to go.   So all that he found himself capable of, was a swift nod of the head, as he backed off up the path.  The door was firmly closed long before Harry got to the gate. Dorothy Graham had a mind and a tongue as sharp as a razor, but she always thought well ahead with the one before opening the other.  Thinking hard now of her new situation and the outcome of Kitty’s death, she began to sum up what, if anything, she could inherit from her. 

She’d had wind that Kitty was secreting away a tidy sum, she and her Arthur could do with a little windfall at this moment in time she thought.  It was getting chilly now the autumn days were closing in fast, they were in need of some new heavier curtains for the lounge.  It could mean that they would now get the very best quality drapes, her imagination ran wild and she saw herself purchasing them from Fenwick’s of Northumberland St. and would it not impress her snooty neighbours to have that posh green van arrive at her doorstep?
Having these lovely warm thoughts inspired and kindled the greed in Dot Graham and she decided that there was no time like the present to get things sorted.  Her mind raced as she thought of Kitty’s nosey neighbours poking around the aunt’s belongings. She bit her lip as she remembered telling that burly milkman person to ask people to lay out the corpse.

Leaving a quick letter for her husband Arthur, she stuck it up on the mantelshelf where he was sure to see it. She gathered herself together, and enveloped in her huge winter cape, left the house. Luckily there was a tram standing at the bottom of the road.  It was not of course her usual mode of transport, preferring a hackney carriage.   There was no way that she could take one of those she thought, not wanting to impress such people as the fishwife community, so she crammed right in and found herself a seat alongside the afternoon shoppers.
Josie Lamb heard the news just as she dressed the trays for afternoon tea.  Hands on her hips she stepped back to admire her handiwork and also check if she had placed enough cups and saucers for those at home.  She was smiling with satisfaction, when Liza the scullery maid, nearly knocked her over in her haste to deliver the bad news.

“What on earth’s the matter child?”   Josie asked, her cook’s hat pushed to the side of her head, such a panic was going on.  She turned to face the young girl, grabbing her arm ready to administer a hefty whack to the maid, but as she looked into the small face she saw that it was serious and waited for the girl to get her second wind to speak her news.  “Ee, Mrs. Lamb, everybody at the dairy was on about it.”
Josie had sent Liza on an errand to Madeley’s dairy for milk, not wanting to run out of the commodity altogether.  “That poor little woman, what a shame, an’ to think aa’ was just servin’ a’ with a bit of pie, Friday it was, ooh! It’s so sad”.  “Do tell me what’s up girl, ya’ wanderin’ calm yourself down now will ya’.  Now what is it and who are ya’ sorry for?”  “It’s little Kitty, you know?  The fishwife from Cullercoats, that’s what am’ saying”.  Liza walked over and brushed her hand over the back of a hair.  “She was sitting in this chair, just Friday gone it were. Now they’ve found her, found her dead in her cottage they have”.  Josie dropped down into the nearest seat, her heavy body shaking; she felt the breath leave her as it almost caused her to faint with shock.

“Oh no”, she sighed.  “Not sweet little Kitty, an her so near to retiring an’ all, I told her not to be overdoing it, she needed a well deserved rest”.  The cook lifted her clean white apron up to catch the tears that streamed down her face as she said, “and dear me that’s what she’s ganna’ be in for now.  That brave and good little soul, well may she rest in peace forever, God love a’”.  A deep voice from behind her gave her a start.  “Amen to that Mrs. Lamb”.

It was Mr Steadman the head butler, he had entered the room during the commotion, and had been stopped in his tracks at the news.  He came to check on the tea trays for the drawing room only to find himself confronted with such sadness.  Although he was now head butler at the house he had come here as a young boy of thirteen leaving his home in Allendale for the first time ever.  Kitty, a young woman then, with troubles of her own to contend with had nevertheless offered great friendship and kindness.  She had no children of her own, but showed great insight into his problems of shyness and homesickness.  He’d had a soft spot in his heart for Kitty and would never forget, although she had a hard working life herself, her compassion for him as a young man.  

“If you are putting together money for flowers or need help towards the funeral Mrs Lamb, could you please count on me to help in that direction?  I should like to contribute”.  With that statement and a brisk leaving of the room followed closely by Agnes Reeves the parlour maid with the tea trolley, Mr. Steadman sighed deeply and proceeded with his duties. Josie decided to leave as soon as she possibly could for Kitty’s cottage; fortunately she was to be given two days off from tomorrow, she’d had no time off for weeks.  So after she had organised everything for the evening dinner she took off in haste, but not before collecting a package from the house safe.

This she secured in her stout handbag, squeezing it tightly under her arm she marched with a determined stride on to her destination, passing holidaymakers out for a stroll before their evening meal.  Her thoughts were for her friend Kitty so swiftly taken from them, the dear sweet woman her plans for the future thwarted by a higher person, how very sad it all was.  “Who would have thought it “, she muttered under her breath.

At that moment she came to a decision, she would take it upon herself to settle Kitty’s affair.  She above all others she felt knew how her friend would have worked things out, had not she had Kitty’s plans and expectations told to her many a day? They shared an intimacy of secrets, which many people would never experience, this thought gave a new determination to Josie and she sped on to her destination.  It was almost five fifteen when Josie reached the row of cottages, which stood out eerily in the now fading light.  They faced the headland and the bleak North Sea. 

There was a small gathering of women, shawls pulled tightly around their shoulders against the strong wind, which was whipping up the sand and spreading it over the cobbled lane.  On seeing Josie approach they left their huddle and disappeared, near neighbours of Kitty’s taking a close interest in events of death. The door stood slightly ajar, and as Josie entered she took in the fact that Kitty had lived a very humble and meagre existence. Candles lighted the one room, which showed only a dirt floor and basic furnishings, the bed, on which Kitty now lay, stood in the corner.  A tall very thin young person attended the dead woman; she lifted her head and peered at the visitor, giving her a rather disdainful look.

“If you are kin of Kitty’s I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you took your time in getting here, you took too long”.  The woman went on speaking to Josie, but continuing with her task, and not looking up, said.  “I had to get her seen to; it’s not what I call dignified to let poor Kitty go unwashed and not readied. She’d lain too long on her own; she would be mortified if she’d known”.  With this the woman’s thin bony hand shot to her mouth as she realised the phrase she’d just used, but the effect on Josie was a good one and so she warmed to this stranger.

“Your right lass, no-one more I would say, here, said Josie,” taking off her coat and hat, and rolling up her sleeves.  “I’ll help, or I can take over now, if you’ve other things you need to see to?”  “You must be the niece that they’ve been saying is on her way,” said the woman, eyeing Josie more closely now.   In turn Josie looked right into the face of the There she saw hardship and etched on the face an expression of grim determination and acceptance of her lot in life. Josie thought that in spite of the poor garments wrapped around the thin frame, she saw a very proud woman, a woman not given to moaning.  Josie got the feeling that she was herself being assessed, as the woman looked her straight in the eye said, “I will leave you to it now, it’s much more fitting anyway for a blood relative to do these personal things for her”.  Holding the hand the corpse as if regretting handing her over to someone else she spoke again in a low voice.

“I’m Ellen Withers, Kitty was a friend to me, the only friend I have around here, I live at the back of these cottages. Kitty left a key with me, she trusted me”, the woman went on tilting her head higher, “to keep an eye on things when she was out on her rounds”.  Having given this information Ellen Withers placed Kitty’s cold hand upon the sheet and turned to leave, first she eyed Josie looking for a reaction as she informed her.  “I’m married to an Arab you see, and the people hereabouts are not too pleased at that”.  She paused “Kitty, well she lived and let live and I owe her a lot”.

On saying this she pulled her shawl tight around her bony shoulders.  “I’ll get back now and give my kids their teas. In future we won’t fare so well with Kitty gone”.   She had not explained to the other woman the fact that Kitty had been a great help in providing fish for her family when her husband could not find work, which was often.  Ellen shrugged as she thought that even when he was lucky enough to be given a job, he was paid less for his labours and worked harder than the others because he was a foreigner.  They considered an Arab to be the lowest of the low. She even used her maiden name now because she’d was put down and branded half-caste breeder.  This from some who had known Ellen all of her life, even worked along side of her.  

Josie thanked the woman, who to her looked as if a good feed was desperately needed to fill out that emaciated body of hers.  As Josie got on with the job in hand she tutted and sighed as once more she felt grateful for her own good job and station in life.  She felt another pang of guilt at the plight of Ellen Withers and what she and her family had to put up with because she’d married a foreigner.  Too late the cook realised that she had let the good helper go, believing that she herself was Kitty’s niece, maybe she could explain this another time she thought, and proceeded with the laying out of her dear friend.

Ellen had put aside a white nightgown, obviously not new, but nice and clean and sweet smelling.  The scented oils of jasmine balm that Josie had brought along to use helped a lot.  Spreading it liberally over the thin small body, she also combed it through Kitty’s hair, which she later plaited and draped over one shoulder.  What a lovely neat little shape her friend was, she reflected as she went about her task, her skin was as white as the nightdress, apart from the deep grooves in the shoulders from daily use of the creel.  This was the nearest that Josie had ever been to a dead person and although it may have seemed a rather scary situation to be in, she felt only emotions of pain and sorrow for the loss of a good friend.  The determination that she should do for Kitty as she alone would have wanted was, she felt, the last good deed one friend could offer another.          

Indeed Josie reflected upon the friendship that spanned almost fifty years, for when Josie had started as a scullery maid at the big house she’d immediately got to know the fish lass from Cullercoats. At that time Kitty’s mother and her brother were alive although the Brother Rob was about to be married and leave home.  Josie had no family of her own and lived in at the big house, she shared a lot of confidences with young Kitty and they became very close.  A happier pair you could not find at the time, but sadly for Kitty it all changed when she met and then married John Hewlett.

John had gotten just what he’d wanted in life a hard working young woman sweet natured and so kind.  He turned her into a drudge, who had to work hard to fuel never ending need for drink, the more she did for him the more he drank and beat her. Looking down at the tiny corpse lying so silent and looking so peaceful, beautiful even, thought Josie, a tear ran down her face and a little squeak escaped her lips as she hurriedly produced a hanky from her breast pocket, to stem the flow. “What a waste of a life, all work and at the end of it no one, except me’ self an perhaps Ellen Withers to grieve at the passing of Yi’”.  Josie said this patting down the covering sheet on the top of the bed and leaning in close to Kitty, she planted a kiss on the smooth cold cheek.  Turning now to walk over to the scullery Josie was stopped dead in her tracks, when the door flew open and in charged a huge creature wearing a dark brown cloak.

It took a little time for Josie to collect her faculties and focus on the person who had entered, but when she did, she felt annoyed and upset at the way the woman looked round at the tiny room and the sparse furnishings it held.  The cook could not but notice that this woman did not turn to the corpse but was making a sweeping assessment of the present situation, including herself.  Josie found herself dumbly staring, unable to believe that this woman could be any relative of Kitty’s.  Of course she knew it was the niece, the attitude of the big woman was enough to convince her of that, but she looked so common, so painted, like the caricatures Josie had seen in the paper they read at the house, it was called Punch.

Large and ridiculous, overdone was the word that Josie would use to describe the way the lipstick and powder had been spread upon the flat ugly face.  Josie knew of the niece the daughter of Robert, Kitty’s brother. When she and the little fishwife had sat together conversing in front of the fire in Josie’s kitchen in the big house often on a cold winter afternoon, her name had regularly come up in conversation.
Kitty told of Mother and Daughter, Robert’s wife and only child, who had allowed him after working all of his life sewing sails in a tiny loft high above the chandlers on the Newcastle Quay, to die alone in the workhouse.  Robert began to have problems, and started to suffer from pain and cramp in his legs, due to constant kneeling to attend and repair the sails.  He would be hours sewing great stretches of heavy sailcloth. 

Gracie, his wife, realising that he may become a cripple began to take comfort in the arms of another man.  This man was a wealthy widower, whom although he never married her, took Gracie and the young Dorothy to live with him in his fine house in Jesmond.   Robert devastated by her treatment of him, had deteriorated quickly, lost any meaning for life and died penniless in the workhouse.  The burden and payment for the funeral had come to Kitty, who had confided in her friend that she was the only one who had attended.  
Josie knew how it further saddened her friend that his grave was not even marked with a headstone.  It had always been a worry to Kitty that he was never mourned or given the send off which he rightly deserved.  Now standing right here in front of her was the woman, who had always been indulged, who’d wanted for nothing, and yet, Josie calculated had come here today only to see if there were any pickings from the belongings of poor Kitty.             

Dorothy saw a person who to her own way of thinking she would never dream of giving even the time of day to.  The whole situation unnerved her and assuming that this woman was a neighbour or friend from around the doors, she minced no words and got straight down to business.  “Now look here I can see that you have been busy, and have set about readying my Aunt, and I am grateful for her sake.  Did you or anyone who may have assisted you, remove anything from my Aunt’s person or belongings?  I ask because Aunt Kitty should have had savings from her work, after all from what I can gather, she was out selling fish most days and had worked at this for years”. Josie noticed that the other woman could hardly keep the look of distain from her face as she talked of Kitty’s work, she felt like answering these comments with a swift smack at the painted mouth, but kept calm.

Things would keep, she would give the woman a little more rope, taking a deep breath and thinking that nothing would be gained in this situation by losing her temper.  She needed to keep her wits about her to cope with what she thought was best for Kitty, and Kitty she knew only too well would not like for her life savings to go to this creature she now saw before her. 

The package Josie had brought with her contained the savings Dorothy sought; it was placed deep in her coat pocket.  Her eyes strayed to the coat, which at this moment lay over a chair by the table at the far end of the room. Quick thinking she knew was the only way to save her old friends money from being scooped up by Dorothy Graham.  Josie decided to reel in the upstart by playing the innocent, and by letting the woman think that she held the upper hand in the situation. “There has only been myself and Ellen Withers, another neighbour, attending to Kitty, we worried you see, that she’d lain so long, and to wait any longer to lay her out would have been undignified. 
As Josie said this she gave a sly glance at the face of the other woman, but no reaction seemed forthcoming and so she went on.  “As for money or belongings there has been nothing touched, I did notice that a small wallet is resting on top of the chest of drawers over there.  She pointed at the object in question but truly had no idea what it contained, if anything, but she watched as the woman hastened to get it, then tugging it open, she became oblivious to the present company. 

Extracting the contents she began to unfold a series of white five pound notes, which Josie caught sight of, she had a way of pretending that she was taking no notice of goings on, this being the habit of a lifetime through clocking sticky fingered staff at the big house.  Replacing the notes back into the wallet, Dorothy tucked the item deep into the pocket of her immense cloak; now that she knew money was around she got the taste for more.  She immediately began to pace the little room looking into places where things could be hidden.  The room was so devoid of furniture and artefacts that this did not take long, she spoke once again to Josie.
“Would you know anyone to whom my Aunt would entrust anything of value, she must have something more to show for her labours, who would know? Do you? ”Josie realised that it was not going to be an easy task to satisfy this woman, her greed was obvious, and she knew that she would have to tread warily to protect her friends nest egg.

“There is a money club. I know that Kitty is in that,” she watched the woman’s reaction as she leaned forward the better to hear what she wanted.  Josie went on.  “It’s a savings club, you know? A way of cover if we have an accident or fall on hard times.  Jessie May Radley runs it, has done for years “.  Josie looked at the woman whose eyebrows shot up in total disbelief at what she was hearing. “What?” said Dorothy.  “You entrust your money to the keeping of an ordinary woman, is she from here abouts?   Can I find her?  Speak with her about my Aunts affairs?”  The big woman could hardly keep the excitement from her voice.   Josie took a long deep breath and calculated her next move.  She knew that she would have to tread very warily. The way in which she answered the questions that Dorothy Graham now posed would be the make or breaking of protecting Kitty’s worldly goods from this predator. 

I’m very sure that Jessie May would be pleased to see Kitty’s niece, but she is a bit more than just an ordinary woman as you call her.  Jessie May Radley is a well educated woman and Kitty was the one who first advised us to trust her with our finances as you call them.  Yes it was a long time ago, Kitty first got to know Jessie May from visiting at the workhouse, during her visits…weekly visits.  Josie laid great stress upon the word workhouse.  She watched the other woman closely for effect, if the plan she’d devised was to work out she would have to sound convincing.

All at once she watched the woman’s face turn crimson, she began to cough and splutter.  Jessie worried looking at her, if she had gone too far but quickly decided that sympathy would be wasted on an uncaring being such as the one who stood in Kitty’s room.  “Excuse me one second,” said Dorothy pointing at her chest, then at the door.  “Some air,” she wheezed, producing a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, she staggered to the door.

A thought passed through Josie’s mind that if anyone out there saw Dorothy the niece of the deceased they would assume the tears were for Kitty.  When really they and the coughing were in reaction to a loss, which was much more important to Dorothy Graham and always had been, it was money and in this case not being able to get her hands on it.

Dorothy Graham, the only living relative of Kitty Hewlett was not to be seen anywhere near Cullercoats again, nor did she attend the funeral of her Aunt.  As the saying goes, Kitty was left to God and her good neighbours.   The fact of the matter was that her friend and confidant Josie Lamb, was to deal with everything herself.  She ordered and oversaw all of the arrangements, and with the help of the vicar and a wonderful man called Mr. Bywater the funeral director it was done.

The next time that Josie had two days off together was more than two months later.  She had to struggle and to insist upon it as it was mid December and there was so much work to be done in preparation for Christmas.  It had been extremely cold and Josie shivered as she stood in the graveyard next to the grave of her friend.  Kitty she felt would well approve of the special resting place facing the sea, and Josie knew her friend had loved the sounds and the sight of the North Sea. Rough wild and treacherous, but beautiful never the less, a fitting place for Kitty Hewlett, the Cullercoats fishwife.

Josie placed the bunch of little tight roses in front of the headstone, and read the words she’d thought up to mark the grave.