The Knitting Shield

Nancy accepted the beautiful gift for what it was – a token of love . . .

HOW many rows should I do for the welt?” Nancy struggled with the work on her lap, the five needles clattering like the teeth of a child caught in the north wind.

She’d had plenty of experience knitting socks, but this was the first time she’d attempted a gansey and there was no pattern – only the one in her mother’s head.

“You’ll want a good four inches. After that, it’s plain right up to the gussets.” Her mother’s voice carried in from the yard.

Nancy shifted herself in the wooden chair by the fire and the ball of navy yarn bounded across the clippy rug towards the door, just in time for it to get trapped under a heavy boot.

“Matthew, get yer great ugly foot off that.” She scowled at the brother who was two years her junior.

“I didn’t spend ages getting it unravelled, washed and ready to knit up only to have you ruinin’ it with your clod-hopping boots.”

He twisted his foot, pressing the ball flat before picking it up and bringing it over to where Nancy sat.

Leaning close, he whispered to her.

“I’d give up, if I were you. A year under our roof hasn’t made him one of us, so no amount of knitting is going to make that boy a

Whitely. If you ask me, you’re wasting your time.”

The last word, though still whispered, was issued with force, making her flinch.

“It’ll be a long while before I’ll be asking your opinion on anything.”

Her chin jutted forward as she spoke, suggesting more confidence than she felt.

He might only be fifteen, but her brother was solid muscle.

“And given you’re a Whitely, I’m glad he’s not.”

If Elsie Whitely picked up on the tension between her two youngest when she came indoors, she didn’t show any sign.

She put the kettle on. “You’d better put that away for now and get out of yer dad’s chair – the others will be back in a minute, wantin’ their tea.”

Nancy didn’t need telling twice.

The men of the household rose early, going out on the sea in all weathers to keep the family fed, and it was up to their womenfolk to support them.

It wasn’t long before the air was full of male banter and their little cottage was crowded once more.

“How’s your Molly getting on?” Elsie addressed John, her eldest son, who hovered at the back door, reluctant to leave.

Six months earlier he’d married his

childhood sweetheart and they now lived in the back bedroom of her parents’ home a few streets away.

Although he saw his family every day, he missed living amongst them and was finding it hard to settle in with the Davies family, who were grocers and who did things rather differently.

“I think you’d say she’s blooming.”

There was no mistaking the love that lit up his face when he spoke of his new wife.

“In fact, she’s bustin’ out all over!”

“Not long now.” His mother nodded. “Tell her to pop over if she gets fed up.

“I know the last bit can be hard, waitin’ and worrying.”

John’s cheeks flushed a little and he didn’t meet his mother’s eyes.

“She keeps meanin’ to, but Mrs Davies likes her to help in the shop an’ that. You know how it is.”

“I think I do, son. Not to worry.” Nancy could hear resignation in her mother’s voice.

She was about to join in on the conversation when she spotted Frank in the shadows on the other side of the kitchen, beckoning her to go upstairs with him.

Once there, he took her hand and drew her into the room he shared with her brother, Matthew.

Behind the door, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him swiftly.

“Stop it!” She giggled, wriggling out from his embrace. “If our Matt catches us, we’ll never hear the last of it.

“You know he’s got it in for you. Defending my honour will give him an excuse to start another fight.”

“I’ve got something for you.” Frank put his hand in his pocket. “I’ve been working on it in between mending the nets and that.

“I kept looking at your mother’s and checking, so I think I’ve got it right, but I won’t know until you’ve tried it.”

He handed her a hollowed-out wooden stick.

At one end it had a carving of two hearts and a small flower, along with his initials and hers.

“A knitting shield.” Nancy held it reverently, admiring the workmanship and recognising it for what it was: a love token.

“Frank, it’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

She tucked it into her apron pocket, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Years of getting up before the sunrise and rattling the fire back into life might mean that she was used to early starts, but that didn’t make them any easier for Nancy.

From her bed in the corner of the kitchen she was the one best placed to get things going for breakfast, so her father and John could get the

Sarah-ann launched, ready to make their catch for the day.

Matthew and Frank took turns to go on the boat with them, spending the rest of their time on essential maintenance tasks back on shore.

As she went quietly about her morning chores, Nancy thought back to the day she first met Frank Cox.

Dad had turned up with him one day out of the blue, saying he’d found him sitting on the quayside shivering, with nowhere to go.

Apparently, he’d come from one of the villages further along the coast, where his parents had both died of a fever.

With no way to support himself, he’d been turned out of the cottage and had wandered about, trying to find work on a boat, without any luck.

By the time Arthur saw him, he was on his last legs.

They’d never had much as a family, but the Whitelys knew they were a lot luckier than many, so they took him in as one of their own.

The family were all gathering in the warmth of the kitchen to prepare for the day ahead when the door burst open.

“Dad! Can you manage without me this morning?” John was panting and his cheeks were flushed.

“Old man Davies has taken ill and they’ve got the doctor out to him.

“There’s a delivery due and there’s no way Molly can manage on her own, what with her condition and her mum fretting, so –”

“Don’t you give another thought to us.

“Matt and Frank are quite capable. Take all the time you need, son.”

Arthur stood up from the table, pulling on his gansey, which was warming by the fire.

“Come on, you two – look lively,” he declared. “Those silver darlings won’t catch themselves!”

“I’m not going out on the boat with him.” Matthew scowled at Frank. “I wouldn’t feel safe.”

Elsie bustled past her son to clear the table.

“You’ll do as your father tells you, young man. And you’ll be a darn sight safer with three on the boat, as well you know.”

She smiled at Frank before turning to her eldest.

“You get off, John. I’ll be over to see what I can do to help as soon as they are on their way.”

Instead of relieving his worry, this seemed to make John even more anxious.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Mother. It might be best for the house to be kept quiet.”

Elsie stopped her work for a moment and rested her hands on her hips.

“I know what you’re getting at, son.” She gestured around the simple kitchen.

“This wasn’t exactly what Madam Davies thought her only child would marry into, so you don’t think she’ll be that chuffed to have me stoppin’ by.”

She nodded to her son. “That’s as may be, but I know that, when troubles come, most times it’s the women who are left to pick up the pieces.

“Whether she likes it or not, our families are joined now, so I’ll be over in a while.”

It had been a strange sort of day for Nancy.

With her mother over at the Davies house, John helping in the shop and all the others on the

Sarah-ann, she had everything done at home far quicker than usual and was able to spend plenty of time on her knitting.

With the shield Frank had made her tucked firmly in the waistband of her apron, she got on much better; the right-hand needle was steadied and some of the weight of the work was taken, so she could knit faster.

It gave her so much pleasure to be making something she knew would keep Frank warm in all weathers, and would wrap closely around his body.

As she knitted, she sang a shanty her father had taught her about all the different fish they caught.

In the song, the fish spoke to the captain of the boat and told him when to go back to shore, because the weather was getting wild.

The greatest fear of all the fishing families was that their men would be lost at sea.

“There’s no point in learning that,” Arthur had argued when she’d asked him why neither he nor her brothers knew how to swim. “It would just drag things out.

“Better to die quick and get it over than to struggle trying to save yourself in a rough sea and end up dead anyway.”

A girl of eight or nine at the time, she’d cried her eyes out at the idea of losing the father she idolised.

Now the young man she loved was doing the same job and she had to accept the harsh realities of being part of the fishing community.

As soon as she heard the clatter of footsteps echoing up the narrow street outside, Nancy’s heart began to thump against her ribs.