melanite. No neighbour could ever tittle-tattle that Mary wasn’t clean. Bacon and pork was plentiful, for they kept pigs in those days. Sometimes they’d be given a rabbit or wring the neck of one of the plump chickens that strutted round the yard. They also ate the other things that Black Country families ate; chitterlings, liver faggots with grey peas, lambs’ brains with egg, pigs’ trotters and grawty pudding. They never went short.
Even at the age of five, it struck Daisy that her mother, unlike other women she knew, was not having any babies. Naturally enough, she was not familiar with the arcane secrets of conception, so it never occurred to her that her father might also have something to do with it. Babies, she had the distinct notion, came from a woman’s belly or bottom somehow, but none were coming from her mother’s. Friends who were the same age as Daisy all had at least one brother or sister to play with, and often more. Some even had nine or ten. Why did she not have a brother or sister? Just one would do. It wasn’t fair. Then, one day in October 1874, when Daisy was eight years old, Mary Drake announced that she was going upstairs to have a baby. A few hours later Sarah was born, all red-faced and puckered. Daisy was bitterly disappointed at the sight of her. She had expected to see a pretty baby that would gurgle at her, hale and hearty with plump rosy cheeks and wide blue eyes that would smile appealingly. All she beheld was this ugly, hairless little bundle of wrinkled flesh that struggled to make any sound at all – even when she cried – and slept the rest of the time. Sarah was a disappointment at first, but Daisy loved her all the same.
Nevertheless, that ugly little bundle showed early signs of growing into a beautiful princess. When she was five and Daisy was thirteen, Sarah had the most engaging blue eyes, the prettiest little nose and delicious rosebud lips. Daisy loved to press her cheek against Sarah’s and feel the incredibly warm infant smoothness against her own face. It was obvious even then, that given time, all the lads would be chasing her. Already, boys of seven and eight would call for her to come out to play.
Not only Titus, but Mary too, was a great influence on Daisy as a young girl. Mary was small in stature, slender, and had a natural grace that folk reckoned Daisy had inherited. Although she was from a poor family, she kept a good house and ensured that everything her daughters did was done properly; a discipline Mary had learnt from her days as a servant in a big house in Pensnett. Early on in her daughters’ lives, Mary had the foresight to take out a small insurance policy for each in turn, in readiness for the day when they too would enter domestic service and have to pay for their uniforms. She insisted that they go to church every Sunday morning and evening. Because they dwelt opposite the glassworks in Campbell Street, in the parish of St Thomas, they attended Top Church, as it was known. Standing majestically at the top of the town, Top Church was the tallest building for miles with its tapering steeple pointing high into the sky. You could see it piercing the skyline like a saddler’s needle from a long way off. It was a great landmark, almost as great as the Norman castle that dominated the other end of the town.
Another good influence on Daisy was Miss Payne, her schoolmistress at St Thomas’s School. Alice Payne taught her common sense and how to do complicated sums. She taught her to read and write, to appreciate the more cultured aspects of life, and vigorously discouraged her from speaking with a broad Black Country accent, correcting her at every slip. Miss Payne’s influence stayed with Daisy.
Daisy’s best friend in those days was Emily Tucker who went to work in service at the house of Mr Charles Ralph Spencer, a highly respected solicitor. He regularly attended Top Church.
‘Guess what,’ Emily whispered to Daisy at a moment when the point of Reverend Cosens’s sermon was particularly elusive. ‘There’s a position to be had at Mr Spencer’s. They’m after a maid. Why don’t you apply?’
‘Me?’
‘Tha’s what you wanna do, in’t it? Work in service?’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Yes.’
‘So ask about it. Mr Spencer’s in church. Ask him about it after.’
Emily was older than Daisy and far more sensible, Daisy thought. After fretting all through Matins and taking furtive peeps at the lordly Mr Spencer, to try and judge just how approachable he was, Daisy finally managed to pluck up the courage to address him after the service as he and his wife were leaving.
‘Excuse me, Mr Spencer,’ she said apologetically, running beside them down the stone steps that spilled onto High Street. ‘My friend Emily Tucker says you have a vacancy for a maid. I … I wondered if you would consider me?’
Mr Spencer’s initial expression was one of disbelief that any girl as young and insignificant as Daisy could have the brazen audacity to confront him on God’s day of rest. But he got over his shock and smiled at her patiently and rather politely, considering her lowliness.
‘Your name, Miss?’
‘Daisy Drake, sir.’
‘One of our regular congregation,’ Mrs Spencer, who was holding his arm, informed him pleasantly.
‘Of course, I know your face,’ he said with an agreeable smile. ‘Well … How old are you, Miss Drake?’
‘Thirteen, sir,’ Daisy answered, blushing as she realised just how forward she must have seemed. ‘Thirteen in May.’
‘Do you know where I live?’
‘Yes, sir. On Wellington Road, sir. I know just where it is.’
‘Come and see my wife at half past four tomorrow afternoon … and don’t forget to bring your character.’
As he and Mrs Spencer left, Daisy looked at Emily with open-mouthed disbelief and chuckled at her own audacity.
‘There you am,’ Emily said. ‘Easy. Yo’ll get that job and no mistek.’
‘But who’ll give me a character?’
‘Ask the vicar.’
It was July 1879 and since Daisy was just about to leave school, the timing could not have been better, for she was given the job, as Emily had predicted. Although she was thrilled, she was naturally sorry to leave her mother and father and little Sarah in that modest terraced house of theirs. Her mother was so proud, however. She cashed in her older daughter’s insurance policy, bought her uniform and off Daisy went to work. For many a young girl, leaving home to live and work in a strange house was a lonely and depressing experience. Daisy was lucky; she knew Emily. Otherwise, for a time, she might have been lonely even though Mr Spencer was very kind to his staff. She had Sunday afternoons off, when she would visit her family, one night off every week besides, and she was promised two weeks’ holiday a year. In addition, she was to be paid an annual salary of £10, most of which she hoped to give to her mother.
Daisy and Emily joined the St Thomas’s Girls’ Friendly Society which they attended on their night off. It provided social and religious activities and sewing. They bought material at half the price it was offered in the town shops and a lady came in and taught them how to cut it and sew it, so they could make dresses and other garments. There were Bible readings from Reverend Cosens, beetle drives, and Daisy made friends with some lovely girls, though not all were in service. She felt a great affinity to that sisterhood of young women who taught her so much, not just about sewing either, but about life.
She settled well into working at the Spencer household and enjoyed it. Once, she was taken ill with flu and Mr Spencer paid the doctor to come and see her, then allowed her home for a week afterwards to convalesce. Yet, despite his kindness and commendable charitableness, he docked her a week’s money.
