Like Father, Like Son Read online

  DIANE ALLEN

  Like Father, Like Son

  PAN BOOKS

  For my sister Margaret, with love.

  Our farmer in the family.

  Also grateful thanks to all the hard-working people within the Ulverscroft Group who provide our libraries with an excellent selection of titles for the visually impaired.

  With a special thank-you to my fellow workers at Magna Large Print, who are like a second family to me. Keep up the good work.

  Contents

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  3

  4

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  8

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  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

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  16

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  18

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  22

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  25

  Author’s Notes

  1

  Garsdale, in the Yorkshire Dales, November 1886

  Danny Harper looked back down the dale as he climbed on board the steam train that was standing at Hawes Junction. He was half-hoping that his father would come rushing up the steep incline of the station hill and beg him to come home. Or perhaps ask him to sit down in the cosy kitchen of Paradise Farm and talk it through, like two grown men, but he knew that was not going to happen. For one thing, it was still black as pitch, the late-November morning yet to open to the day’s weak light; and for another, his father and mother wouldn’t yet be out of their beds – let alone have had time to read the note waiting for them on the cluttered kitchen table. Danny wasn’t proud that he was taking the chicken’s way out, by not daring to face his parents, but at this moment in time he could see no other way out of it, without living a life of drudgery and toil, trying to make a living on a Dales smallholding while raising a family.

  ‘Well, are you coming, mate? We can’t wait any longer,’ the guard on the early-morning mail train shouted, as the last bag of mail was passed into the stationmaster’s hands for safe delivery to the postman.

  ‘Aye, I’m coming – hold your horses.’ Danny stubbed out his cigarette and heaved his pack of possessions across his back, before climbing aboard the empty train, looking around quickly at the lighted signal box, afraid that the local signalman might recognize him as he gave a final glance around the dale of his birth, the only dale he’d known.

  Old Bunce, the stationmaster, blew the whistle, and the jolt of the carriages told Danny there was no turning back. He’d done it now; he’d left. No matter what happened, this was the start of his new life. He listened as the engine picked up steam, as every shunt and blow of steam gave more haste to the engine’s power. He felt for his most valued tickets in his pocket. This was only the first part of his journey. He knew this line like the back of his hand, but after he changed trains at Carnforth he wouldn’t know the line at all.

  The mighty port of Liverpool was his destination, and then over the sea to America – the land where dreams were made, and where Danny had decided life would be better for him. He’d thought about stopping at Liverpool. His mother had told him of his father’s kin living there, of keeping cows within the city itself and grazing them on the local parks and football fields, so that the city dwellers could be supplied with fresh milk. He remembered laughing when she’d told them how they kept the cows in back yards, and even in spare rooms in their houses, just to make money and supply milk to the mighty city. He’d even helped his father send kits full of milk on the train, when his aunt had been short, for her to supply to the townspeople. But, thinking better of it, Danny knew that Liverpool was perhaps not far enough away from his family; he wanted a bigger adventure, and the thought of it made him feel sick with anticipation as he felt for the tickets in his waistcoat pocket.

  His best friend Bill Sunter had helped him acquire the tickets, urging Danny not to get caught out with a wife and baby, like he had, and Bill had been all too happy to listen to how grand Danny’s new life could be in the promised land. Bill and Danny had sat for many an hour dreaming and reading about a better life, and the opportunities that lay in the expanding new world of America.

  ‘New York, United States of America.’ Danny whispered the words with reverence. His destination wasn’t just down the line, but over the great ocean. By, he didn’t dare think about it. Perhaps he should change his mind and go home – it wasn’t too late! Hitching a lift on the mail train was commonplace among the lads of the Dales. But to sail to America was a different matter.

  He sat back in the corner of the carriage and listened to the clatter of the train as it picked up speed down the track. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about what he’d done. His mother would be first up in the household. She’d probably find the letter after she’d lit the fire, put the kettle on to boil and then shouted to him and his father to get up. He imagined her tears as she read that he’d left, without giving any explanation, and then he imagined his father’s anger as he realized that not only had his son disappeared, but he’d taken all of his father’s savings from the tin cash box that was always kept under lock and key in the oak corner cupboard of Paradise Farm.

  Danny covered his eyes with his hands and ran his fingers through his blond hair. What had he done? He’d broken his mother’s heart, and stolen from his father. He’d never be forgiven. He’d either have to make it big in America and come back the prodigal son or never show his face again. But most of all he thought of Peggy, the lass he’d thought he loved, up until a few months ago. But what a blow she’d struck him, when she said she was having his bairn. A baby, with him only twenty-two, and with so much to do yet that he didn’t want to be tied down, with a father-in-law nagging at him and a bairn around his feet. There was no way he was going to wed Peggy; no matter how sweet her kisses and how soft her whispers, he knew she’d change as soon as they were wed. He’d seen it so many times: young lasses changing to old women nearly overnight as, with each year, a new baby came along, and with it more work and worry. His mate Bill was a prime example, with his missus nagging him and a baby crawling around his feet.

  Nah! He was doing the right thing. Danny sighed loudly; the sooner he got to the Liverpool docks and on board the Albion, the better. He’d find work, perhaps make his way across the big new country, even find a bit of land and buy it – make something of himself. It would be better than scratching about on a smallholding up Garsdale or Dent, just about managing to put food in his family’s mouth from day to day. He’d send his father his money back, and more besides. His mother would forgive him – after all she hung on his every word; and Peggy . . . Well, it might not be his bairn anyway, for that Coates lad was always making eyes at her. Though it probably was his, now he thought about it.

  No, he was doing right, Danny thought. He sighed and scrunched up his coat behind his head to make a pillow. Time to get his head down. By evening he’d be in the port of Liverpool and he’d have to have his wits about him, if he wanted to survive. God only knew what lay ahead of him, but he knew all too well what he was leaving behind.

  Ada Harper shook as she stood, holding the letter that she’d just found on her kitchen table, tears running down her cheeks and her nose running freely, without care. The newly lit fire crackled as the kindling sticks took light, causing sparks to fly onto the pegged rug and singeing a hole in her home-made craftwork, before she had chance to put up the fire-guard to stop them.

  ‘What’s up, Mother? What are you crying about? I could hear the sobs as I came downstairs.’ Edmund Harper tucked his striped shirt into his brown corduroy breeches and pulled his braces over his shoulders. ‘What the
devil’s up with you? And where’s our lad? Has the lazy bugger not got up yet? Danny! Get your arse down these stairs,’ he bellowed, making Ada sob even louder.

  ‘It’s no good shouting, Father, he’s not there – he’s gone. Here, read this. What have we done to deserve a lad like this?’ Ada passed the brief note to her husband and slumped down into the Windsor chair that was Edmund’s, at the head of the table.

  ‘I’ll bloody kill him. He’s buggered off, without bye nor leave. No explanation. Going to America! I’ll give him going to America – I’ll kick his arse. And, worst of all, he says he’s pinched all our savings, and then said sorry and that we’ve to forgive him. I’ll give him bloody “forgive him”, if I catch up with the bugger.’ Edmund screwed up the scribbled note and stormed into the next room, where the cupboard that he kept his savings in hung on the wall. He strode back into the kitchen with the empty cash box, throwing it onto the table. ‘Aye, my brass has gone. He’s taken every bloody penny, all our savings – everything. For God’s sake, stop snivelling, woman. Think – am I in time to catch him? I need my brass back more than I need him.’

  ‘Oh, Father, stop it. He’s my lad, why’s he gone? He must be in bother, else he wouldn’t have done anything like this – you know he wouldn’t. How can he just walk out and leave us, with a note saying he’s sailing for America and we aren’t to worry. How can I not worry? He’s my only child, my Danny, and I love him. I just want him home!’ Ada sobbed.

  ‘He’s been skulking about for bloody weeks, him and that Bill Sunter, when I think about it. When we went into Hawes the other day, he struggled to hold a conversation with me and jiggered off somewhere, not saying where he was going. I should have known then that something was afoot.’

  ‘Well, he’s gone, and I’ll never see him again. You shouldn’t have been so hard on him, Father. He’s our only one, my baby!’ Ada cried and sunk her head onto her chest.

  ‘Shh now, lass, he’ll be back by night. He’ll think twice about running away, and I bet he’s back by suppertime. He’s never gone further than down the line to Settle – that’s probably where he’s gone.’ Edmund patted Ada on the back. Any other man would have held his wife in his arms, but not Edmund. He didn’t believe in showing his feelings, for it was a sign of weakness. Even though his heart was aching, he wasn’t going to show it. He knew his lad had gone, and he’d gone a lot further than the nearby town of Settle.

  30 January 1887

  Bernard Dinsdale cursed as he lost his step on his steep decline of Dent Fell. The snow was falling faster now, and in another hour or two it would be nightfall, and he wanted to be back in the safety of his home, Lamb Paddock, in the small dale of Cowgill. His jacket flapped in the sharp north wind and the snowflakes stung his weathered face as he gained his footing. He checked the safety of the bundle he was carrying. It was held in place with a piece of string tied tightly around his waist, and his coat was buttoned up to his neck, making a warm, safe place for the newborn baby that was his granddaughter. The snow was settling now, making it more urgent that he made his way down the outrake into the neighbouring dale of Garsdale.

  The first sight of smoke rising from the cottages that followed the winding river of the Clough gave Bernard heart and he strode out faster, in the knowledge that in another few minutes he’d be at the doorstep of Paradise Farm. There he’d hand over the small body that he was carrying and be away to his wife Dora and her new ward, and back to the heartbreak that the birth of two babies had caused.

  He swung open the wooden gate that barred the way to the rutted road that followed the course of the river down to the market town of Sedbergh, and looked across at the Wesleyan chapel. It had been a long time since he’d attended services there. He’d lost his religion when his mother died, and the more life threw at him, the more he knew that there was no God – or, if there was, he was a bloody cruel one. He peered down into the warmth of his coat and watched the small fingers of his granddaughter curl up around the knitted shawl that his wife had placed around her. Poor Dora, she hadn’t wanted to part with the bairn, but he couldn’t afford to bring up two young ’uns. Besides, when he was old enough, the lad would earn his keep.

  He walked in silence, his heart pounding and his breath short as he passed the cottages on either side of the road, which he knew to be called The Street. Lamps were now being lit, and he could see the occupants of each cottage getting ready for nightfall. Finally he crossed the bridge that spanned the river and made his way up the path to Paradise Farm, knocking loudly on the weathered oak door inside the whitewashed porch. He listened. He could hear chairs scraping as they were pushed back on the flagged floor of the kitchen, and the sound of voices, surprised that someone was visiting at this time of day and in bad weather.

  ‘Now then, Bernard, what brings you knocking on our door at this time of day and in such weather?’ Edmund Harper opened the door and frowned slightly at the visitor he knew to be Bernard Dinsdale.

  ‘It’s your lad, Danny; and it’s a bloody good job he didn’t open the door, else I’d have knocked his block off. Just let me in, Edmund. I need the warmth, and what I’m going to tell you isn’t good news.’ Bernard couldn’t help how he felt; the bloody Harper lad had never been away from his lass, Peggy, and now he knew the consequences.

  ‘Well, if it’s our Danny you want, he’s not with us any more. He’s sailed for America, leaving us penniless and worried to death for his safety. We’ve not seen him since the end of November. Our Ada here is heartbroken. What’s he been up to, to make you come over in such a mood in this weather?’ Edmund rubbed his head as Bernard pushed past him into the warmth and light of the Paradise Farm’s small kitchen. The more he heard about his lad, the more he was wondering where he had gone wrong as a parent.

  ‘Now then, Ada, you’d better sit down, pet. I’ve some news for you, and it’s not pleasant.’ Bernard’s face looked troubled as he watched the stout form of Ada Harper drop into a chair, and Edmund Harper stand sternly behind her. He fumbled with the string around his waist, swearing as the cold made his attempts at untying the knot clumsy. He eventually managed to untie his coat without dropping the precious contents.

  Ada gasped as the small form of a pink sleeping baby came out from under the coat, its eyes crinkled and its black hair still damp with afterbirth, completely unaware of the tragedy that she and her brother had caused.

  Bernard Dinsdale stifled a sob and wiped a tear away from his forget-me-not-blue eyes. ‘Our lass, Peggy, died in childbirth this afternoon, giving birth to twins. This is the lass; Dora’s looking after the lad. Before she died, she told us that they are your bloody lad’s. Perhaps that’s why he’s buggered off. At least I can’t get hold of the bastard, else I’ll be honest, Edmund: I’d kill the bugger! Not only has he not stood by his responsibilities, but he’s killed our lass. My Dora’s broken-hearted, as am I. I loved my Peggy, she was the apple of my eye.’ Although he was over six feet tall and solidly built, Bernard crumpled into a shaking mess as he spoke of his loss, and watched as Ada took the small body of his granddaughter.

  Ada held the baby tightly and looked at her, searching out signs that would show her that the baby was her son’s, before taking the shawl from around her and wrapping her up in a blanket. ‘The poor mite is half-frozen. Aye, Bernard, I’m so sorry for you and Dora. What can we say, for we knew nothing of this. I wondered why our lad had to get away so quick. He not only broke your Peggy’s heart, but he’s broken mine, by going without bye nor leave. I knew there was something wrong.’ Ada held the baby close and automatically rocked her back and forth, her mothering instincts returning as she looked at the small bundle in her arms.

  ‘You can’t blame our lad, for he’s not here to defend himself. I’m sorry for your loss, Bernard, but them babies might not be his. Your lass could have gone with anybody.’ Edmund Harper was thinking on his feet. The last thing he wanted was another bairn to bring up. They’d only had Danny, but that had been enough family for
him.

  ‘Father, think on what you are saying. Look at Bernard – he wouldn’t come to our door with all this worry if it weren’t true. You and I know that our Danny had been acting strange these last few months. Then, all of a sudden, he had to be up and gone.’ Ada knew that what Bernard had said was true; the baby in her arms was Danny’s, she just knew it was.

  ‘Aye, well, he’s made a good mess for us all. I’ve no daughter, and my Dora’s heartbroken, holding a baby that’s no bigger than my fist, and then there’s this ’un here.’ Bernard nodded at the baby in Ada’s arms. ‘We can’t cope with two of ’em, so I’ve brought her for you to fetch up, hoping that you’ll share the burden that our two have made.’ He put his head in his hands and looked down at the oak table with the white ring marks on it, where hot cups and plates had been placed, tracing them with his finger as his mind wandered back home.

  ‘Course we’ll share the burden. Not that it’ll be a burden. It’ll be grand to have a new life in the house. I don’t know if I can do sleepless nights like, but we’ll manage. It’s the least we can do – it’s both our children’s faults, so it’s only fair.’ Ada smiled as the baby wriggled and clasped her finger with its small, perfectly formed fingers. ‘Good job we’ve got a good milk cow. At least she won’t go hungry.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody come to me, woman, when you are dead on your feet. You’re forgetting how old you are. You’re its grandmother, and it’s a lass. She’ll not even be any good around the farm in our old age. No son to look after us, and now a squawking baby.’ Edmund Harper shook his head as he stoked the fire and looked out of the window at the snow, which was falling faster now. ‘Do you want to stop the night, Bernard? You might have brought bad news to my door, but I wouldn’t send a dog out into this weather. It will be wild up on that fell top.’

  ‘No, I’ll be away back to Dora. She’ll not want to be left tonight, with Peggy dead in her bed and a newborn baby on her hands. Besides, like you, our cow will need milking; it too has a hungry mouth to feed now.’ Bernard buttoned and tied his coat close to him. ‘I’m sorry I brought bad news to your door. Your offspring never grow into what you want them to. I had high hopes for our Peggy to be a teacher, and now she’s gone.’