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Authors: Lynn Knight
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she could. Though no fists flew at the grammar school, there were other ways of wounding with intent.
It was quite a performance to walk the five miles to school and back again at the end of the day, and so, for her fifteenth birthday, Dick and Betsy bought Annie a dark green bicycle from Flintâs on Whittington Moor, with dress guards to protect her coat and skirt from splashes. The bike had to be pushed uphill for the first leg of the journey, but Annie could cycle on through Brimington, into Staveley and on again to Netherthorpe.
My great-grandparents were so proud of their grammar-school girl, they had a new studio portrait taken and mounted on the wall, where it joined the panorama of family photographs. The new picture showed Annie in her grammar-school cap and uniform, hair flowing free, trusty bike in the foreground â the independent young scholar cycling into the future. Framed in gilt, with a slim green velvet border, the picture had pride of place on the wall. The first thing you saw when you opened the house door was young Annie.
She and Ethel saw less of one another when my grandma became a grammar-school pupil. Ethel left school the minute she could â she couldnât have stayed even if sheâd wanted â andwas soon stacking newly pressed glass at the bottle factory on Coronation Road. Faced with a choice of the sticky, scalding sweetness of the jam factory, fettling crocks at Pearsonâs Pottery, the yes/no servility of domestic service, or lugging bottles and crates, Ethel plumped for the latter. Cut fingers and an aching back were preferable to scalded hands and forearms, lungfuls of dust or mountains of some old biddyâs pots. While Annie was walking out in a dress so new its velvet shimmered, Ethel was collecting her first wage and tipping all but thruâpence up to her mam.
Now that she was working, Ethel had more of a voice in her household. Having her say did not make family life any easier, however. If Ethel had a view, she expressed it. She was sick to death of her fatherâs aggravating ways, his leathering the younger ones, bullying her mam and pouring half his wages down his throat. She put food on the table just as he did. One night, during yet another furious altercation, he lunged at Ethel who lunged straight back at him. Immediately, she was thrown out of the house.
Ethel was tearful and trembling, though defiant still, when she landed on my great-grandparentsâ doorstep. Of course she could stay, Betsy reassured her, and made up a bed in the attic, which, until now, had housed assorted sacks of grain, but there was a small table in one corner, an upright chair and a hook on the back of the door which would do for her things. It had a sunny aspect too, with stairs that came right into the room.
Ethel stayed with my great-grandparents for several months, returning home when she knew her father would be out, and washing pots and generally helping Betsy while Annie did her homework. She had always been grateful for the kindness they showed her, now she could not thank them enough. But Ethelcould not stay at the corner shop for ever. Eventually, she and her father called a truce. Theyâd been passing in the street without acknowledging one another, but Ethel had enough of that game, and wanted to be at home for her mam. Which was just as well, because life at the corner shop was set to change. Annie was about to get a sister.
Part Two
3
Pick Me
O N 2 F EBRUARY 1901, Q UEEN V ICTORIA WAS BURIED WITH state ceremony and full military honours. On the same day, a baby came into the world with no fanfare whatsoever, a daughter born to Emily and Thomas Martin. At least, thatâs what the birth certificate says. In fact, although they lived together for some seven years and he gave his name to their four daughters, Emily Ball and Thomas Martin never married, though thatâs less unusual for the time than some might think.
Thomas was a colliery
It was quite a performance to walk the five miles to school and back again at the end of the day, and so, for her fifteenth birthday, Dick and Betsy bought Annie a dark green bicycle from Flintâs on Whittington Moor, with dress guards to protect her coat and skirt from splashes. The bike had to be pushed uphill for the first leg of the journey, but Annie could cycle on through Brimington, into Staveley and on again to Netherthorpe.
My great-grandparents were so proud of their grammar-school girl, they had a new studio portrait taken and mounted on the wall, where it joined the panorama of family photographs. The new picture showed Annie in her grammar-school cap and uniform, hair flowing free, trusty bike in the foreground â the independent young scholar cycling into the future. Framed in gilt, with a slim green velvet border, the picture had pride of place on the wall. The first thing you saw when you opened the house door was young Annie.
She and Ethel saw less of one another when my grandma became a grammar-school pupil. Ethel left school the minute she could â she couldnât have stayed even if sheâd wanted â andwas soon stacking newly pressed glass at the bottle factory on Coronation Road. Faced with a choice of the sticky, scalding sweetness of the jam factory, fettling crocks at Pearsonâs Pottery, the yes/no servility of domestic service, or lugging bottles and crates, Ethel plumped for the latter. Cut fingers and an aching back were preferable to scalded hands and forearms, lungfuls of dust or mountains of some old biddyâs pots. While Annie was walking out in a dress so new its velvet shimmered, Ethel was collecting her first wage and tipping all but thruâpence up to her mam.
Now that she was working, Ethel had more of a voice in her household. Having her say did not make family life any easier, however. If Ethel had a view, she expressed it. She was sick to death of her fatherâs aggravating ways, his leathering the younger ones, bullying her mam and pouring half his wages down his throat. She put food on the table just as he did. One night, during yet another furious altercation, he lunged at Ethel who lunged straight back at him. Immediately, she was thrown out of the house.
Ethel was tearful and trembling, though defiant still, when she landed on my great-grandparentsâ doorstep. Of course she could stay, Betsy reassured her, and made up a bed in the attic, which, until now, had housed assorted sacks of grain, but there was a small table in one corner, an upright chair and a hook on the back of the door which would do for her things. It had a sunny aspect too, with stairs that came right into the room.
Ethel stayed with my great-grandparents for several months, returning home when she knew her father would be out, and washing pots and generally helping Betsy while Annie did her homework. She had always been grateful for the kindness they showed her, now she could not thank them enough. But Ethelcould not stay at the corner shop for ever. Eventually, she and her father called a truce. Theyâd been passing in the street without acknowledging one another, but Ethel had enough of that game, and wanted to be at home for her mam. Which was just as well, because life at the corner shop was set to change. Annie was about to get a sister.
Part Two
3
Pick Me
O N 2 F EBRUARY 1901, Q UEEN V ICTORIA WAS BURIED WITH state ceremony and full military honours. On the same day, a baby came into the world with no fanfare whatsoever, a daughter born to Emily and Thomas Martin. At least, thatâs what the birth certificate says. In fact, although they lived together for some seven years and he gave his name to their four daughters, Emily Ball and Thomas Martin never married, though thatâs less unusual for the time than some might think.
Thomas was a colliery
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