The Polish Connection 3

Chapter 3

May 1915

It was Beth who woke first in the morning, and she seemed quite frightened as she called out for her Papa. Both Rebecca and I rushed into her room, and she at first didn’t seem to recognise us or remember anything from yesterday. Rebecca put her arms around her gently and said, “Your daddy will be here soon. He just had to go and find out about something, so you don’t need to worry.”

Again, we had no idea if Beth understood or not, but the actions and tone of voice calmed her and I suggested that Rebecca took her into her bedroom and helped her put her clothes on at the same time she herself dressed. And she could show her how to wash and brush her teeth too, (I'd found a new brush for her) and I would in the meantime go down and make a nice breakfast for all of us.

I really wished that Rebecca didn’t have to go to school, but of course she did. She was only eleven years old, although she behaved much older, and I often felt that she is as much an adult as I am. She goes to Mellor School which is reached by going to the top of our road, and then on a footpath up a very big hill. If the weather was fine when it was time for her to go to school, I thought perhaps I would take Beth and we would walk part way with her, and that would make her seem part of our family unit. We could introduce her to any of Rebecca’s friends that we met on the way, and if she didn’t speak, as I was sure she wouldn’t, they would take it for her being shy and nervous, rather than not understanding.

Our kitchen in this house is too small for us to eat in, so we have all our meals at the dining room table, which we usually keep folded down small, but it could extend three times the size when we had more people to eat. But I felt that small and cosy would be the right thing for Beth this morning. Both Rebecca and I called her Beth, almost with every sentence, to make her understand that this was her new name and what we would be calling her. I hoped her father would approve, but anyway, he was giving me the job of taking care of her. It is my impression that this new name will serve her better than the old rather foreign sounding one.

The sun was shining and the air was warm so we set out, the three of us, up the hill at about 8.30, as it would take Rebecca a good 20 minutes to get to the school. The first part when we were going with her would be slower for her than usual. We live in such a beautiful part of the world. Each time I walk up our hill and look over the surrounding green hills I think how lucky we are. I came from Wisconsin which has a beauty of its own, and John came from Worcester which he feels is the best place on earth, but we both feel at home and comfortable in our new part of the world. I wouldn’t have wanted to live in crowded, grimy Manchester, and when John first said he had applied to work there, I was quite taken aback. He assured me that with the very fast and reliable train service from Marple into Manchester, he could as easily live in the country on the outskirts of the town and still get to work without much bother.

Just as we got to the gate by Townscliffe Farm, Rebecca was joined by two of her friends who were coming along from Knowle Road. She greeted them and said, “Look, I have a new cousin who is going to live with us. Her name is Beth.” And they both smiled and waved and said, “Hello, Beth.” But as expected she hid behind my skirt and didn’t say a word.

I decided we would leave Rebecca and her friends to go the rest of the way to school on their own, and we walked quite jauntily back down to our house. I saw Mr. Grant in his front garden as we walked by, starting early on his daily manicuring of his lawn, getting out each weed individually. “Good morning, Mr. Grant,” I said. “Isn’t it a lovely day? This is our little cousin who has come to live with us. Her mummy is no longer with us, if you know what I mean, so I am to take care of her. Her name is Beth.”

“Hello Beth,” he said, but not with much enthusiasm. But I knew the story of who she was and what she was doing here would quickly get around the neighbourhood as soon as he told his wife. Far better to make things as open as possible, so that when it came to secrets, they would be easier to hide.

We re-entered the house, and I told Beth that she could either play in her room or she could come and watch me do the wash. She didn’t answer, but as she wouldn’t leave my side, I decided that she had opted to watch me work.

I gathered all of Beth’s old clothing, and the soiled items of Rebecca’s and mine and put them in a large bag. I threw them down the stairs from above, making one less trip necessary.

I picked up a few of Rebecca’s sturdy toys to take down to the cellar with us. I took her hand tightly as we went down the stone stairs as they get slippery from moss. I have good reason to know the steps are dangerous as I fell all the way down them in the first week we lived here and had a black and blue bottom for weeks afterwards, and found it most uncomfortable to sit.

When we got to the cellar, I opened the door, and had Beth go in. There was a chair in the corner and a small table, and I sat her on the chair with the puzzles, and hoped she would amuse herself. Then I set to work sorting the clothes and putting them into the tubs according to colour. I had some strong soap which made into a lather with a little of the hot water and rubbed this into the dirtiest spots. Then I put the clothes in to soak for awhile. Meanwhile, I filled the copper with water from the gas water heater. I know from experience that if I soak the clothes before they go in, they will come clean much more quickly.

Finally it was all in order and I managed to get the wash done and rinsed, and holding Beth firmly by the hand, we made our way back upstairs, where we hung the wash out on the clothesline in the back yard. I had her carry the bag of pegs, and she felt very important. It was nearly noon by the time we finished the washing and pegging out, and we were both tired and ready for a break, but we were ever so lucky to have a clear warm sunny day for our washing. I looked at all the threadbare clothes that Beth had been wearing and thought what a life this poor child has had so far. It was a wonder she was as accepting as she was. “I must find out from Peter about her childhood and her mother, and things that will make her happy,” I thought.

But suddenly, as the though of Peter came to mind, I remembered something that had been nagging at the back of my mind all morning. In the cellar there are two entrances to under the floor of the house. In an emergency Peter could use them as a hiding place. He could come, if he needed a place to sleep, and sleep in the cellar, which, although it wouldn’t be warm would be out of the elements and he could have many blankets. And then when he left, we could hide his blankets and things in the under floor space. I was so pleased with myself for thinking of this and I couldn’t wait for him to arrive that afternoon so I could tell him of all my suggestions.

While Beth played I read the write up in the East Cheshire Herald about one of our Marple men who died at Ypres on May 15th. I knew about it already, but it was made more real by seeing it in print. He was called Joseph McDermott, and his parents lived at 26 Hollins Terrace, in Marple, right across the road from the Hollins Mill. He was 29, but in fact, he hadn’t lived in Marple for 10 years, but had been living in Australia and his parents hadn’t even heard about him for six years. But when his dad (his mother is now dead) got the message that he was mortally wounded, he had him brought back here, and he is now buried at St. Mary’s cemetery. I played the organ for the funeral as Mr. Campion was away.

I copied this from the paper and will send it to John.

The War Graves Commission are putting a plaque in the graveyard. Most of the men killed in the war won’t have the chance to be buried at home. He was in the 4th Battalion Kings Liverpool Regiment, 98th Brigade, 33rd Division. He was injured in the Battle of St. Julian which took place between the 24th of April and 4th of May. And according to reports the Germans unleashed gas into the battlefield in a vile and vain attempt to take the beleaguered Belgian town of Ypres. Our troops withstood the attack and Joe was shot when our side were not only defending our own lines but charging the enemy in his. On the 26thof April Joe’s regiment moved into the furthest northeastern outskirt of the village of St. Jean, one and a half miles north of Ypres and at noon the next day the brigade of the Lahore Division went over the top. The Liverpool regiment was in support of the other, and both battalions suffered very heavily during the attack. Nine officers and 374 of other ranks were killed, injured or missing. By some miracle Joe managed to come through the fighting unscathed but they attacked again and this time, at 3 pm on the first of May there was a battle in conjunction with French forces. The result was the same as the other. Many killed and injured. Joe suffered terrible wounds all over his body and succumbed to those injuries four days later back in England.

Joe was born at Marple Bridge, near the Smithy, on the Ludworth Road. At one time he attended Albert Schools, Marple, and as a youth he was employed in the weaving department at Hollins Mill. He was the youngest son of Mr. Thos. McDermott (Mrs. McDermott has been dead about six years), of 20 Hollins Terrace. For some years he was a steward on the White Star mail boats sailing between Southampton and New York. For six years his father and sisters never heard of him, and he was entirely lost to them until Sunday week, when a telegram was received by them from the War Office, stating that he was lying dangerously ill in Netley Hospital, Southampton, suffering from gunshot wounds in the chest, and both thighs. Miss Kate McDermott, his sister, and a nephew left Marple the same night for Southampton, and on arrival at Netley she found her brother worse than she had expected.

He had been in most of the big engagements up to Hill 60, where he received his wounds on Saturday week. He had been wounded in the thighs, had a bayonet wound in the hand, and one in the face on the left side of his mouth, while his chest was perforated with gun-shot. The doctors had tried to extract the bullets from the chest, but the soldier, with five distinct wounds, died on Wednesday week. “He never thought his end was so near,” said his father, to a Herald representative, “for he told his sister that he enlisted to serve his country, and when he was better he was going back to the war to payout the Germans for what they had done.”

“Pte. McDermott's brother, Mr. James McDermott, a goods porter at Marple Station, went to Southampton to make arrangements for the funeral, and as a result, the coffin containing the body was brought home to Marple, on Friday last, and taken to his father's home, arrangements were made by several gentlemen for his funeral.

It was the first ever military funeral seen in Marple. A large crowd of people assembled in Hollins Lane, on Saturday afternoon.

The coffin, which was of plain oak, was covered with a Union Jack, and was placed in a glass-sided hearse. Preceding the hearse walked the Mellor Volunteer Corps under Commandant Taylor. The Marple Band came next, and en route to Marple Bridge played the Dead March from Saul. The cortège proceeded slower than is customary, and the impressiveness of it brought tears to the eyes of the public who lined the road. Indeed from Marple to St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church, where the interment took place, the road was lined with people, and there were very few dry eyes amongst them. The Marple Boy Scouts, under Scoutmaster Turner followed the band, and they had bugles and drums. The muffled sound of the drums was awe inspiring. Then came a number of soldiers in khaki. They comprised soldiers from Brabyns, and local soldiers home on furlough, and they were headed by Colour-Sergt. Speakman, who carried out the military arrangements. Then came members of the public and friends, and these, included Councilor Joseph Smith and Councilor Alfred Pickles. Following the hearse were four coaches containing the mourners.

The Revs. Father McKenna (New Mills) and Father McSweeney conducted the last rites at the Church, and at the graveside. The coffin was borne on the shoulders of six soldiers from the bottom of the hill near the Congregational Hall to the Church. After a firing party, consisting of members of the Mellor Volunteer Corps had fired five volleys over the grave, Corporal Tomlinson, of the High Lane Scouts, who was over on leave to attend his grandmother's funeral, sounded the last post. This was the most touching part of a sad ceremony, and, affected everyone present.

There were many beautiful floral tributes placed on the coffin by friends of the deceased and the family.