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1 Grace came into this world courtesy of a seaman from Abyssinia called Wolde, a young fireman who stoked coal into the boilers in the holds of merchant ships the hardest, filthiest, sweatiest job on board Wolde who sailed into South Shields in 1895 and left a few days later leaving behind the beginnings of Grace hidden inside her Ma who'd just turned sixteen who didn't know she was with child until Grace was almost ready to pop out, as Daisy told her little girl when she was old enough to grasp how babies were made he was your Pa, Gracie, he was very tall, he walked like he wasn't touching the ground, like he was floating on air, like he was from another world which he was I thought he was very gentle, unlike the local lads who thought we girls were theirs for the taking we used to flock down to the docks when the boats were off-loading

hoping we'd catch a seaman who'd take us far away to magical places with names like Zanzibar, Casablanca, Tanganyika, Ocho Rios and South Carolina your father spoke the little English he'd picked up as a sailor, so we had half-conversations with each other, and full-on gesticulations I come back for you, he promised, when I saw him off on the quay, walking backwards as I stood facing forwards not wanting to see him leave I come back for you one day we'll take a boat to Abyssinia and find him, Gracie, I'll knock on the door of his hut, push you forward and say, hey mister, look what you left behind had given birth to Grace in the tenement block where she slept on sacks on the floor along with her brothers and sisters her parents slept behind a curtain that divided the single room of their lodgings a half-caste Daisy's father said he'd never live the shame down at the pub where he went directly after thirteen hours spent underground chipping away at rock to extract coal before he staggered home to pick fights with Ma give the bairn up to the church or you'll not stay, he told Daisy as if I could ever abandon you, Gracie, so innocent and pure and whole and one of God's blessed creations? it was my job to protect and care for you, and I'd have murdered anyone who tried to prise us apart moved out, vowed never to talk to her Ma again, who was too weak to stand up to a father who cared more about what other people thought than helping his own child she found a job making artificial flowers for a hat factory, shared lodgings with Ruby, another youngster who had a five-year-old son called Ernest for a sailor who'd come and gone he came from somewhere called Aden next to the Red Sea

can you imagine, Gracie? a sea that's red? carried Grace everywhere in a sling because there was nobody to leave her with, nobody she trusted, enough after her entire family had cut her off certainly not Ruby, who didn't clean Ernest very often I washed you every day, Gracie, in a bowl of water I collected from the standpipe and warmed in the hearth where the iron pot stewed vegetables I washed you until you were squeaky clean and the lovely little curls on your head shone like dewdrops poor Ernest's hair was matted into clumps and Ruby was often out late and I'd have to stop him wandering outside on to the muddy alley strewn with garbage and broken glass I kept an eye on him but I couldn't take him on, Gracie, he wasn't mine I don't know what happened to him because we moved into a room with Mary at the factory who was married, had three of her own, and needed the extra cash promised to take Grace to the countryside what I'd give to see you run freely on the soft, springy grass with the sun shining on to your lovely caramel face, to hear you calling out, you can't catch me, Ma, you can't catch me she promised Grace she'd find a husband who provided for them, a carpenter who'd build furniture for their cottage of three rooms plus a washroom, a proper inside toilet, real flowers on the kitchen table, bread baking in the oven, good-quality air and a clean river to bathe in every day in summer who didn't reckon on starting up a wet, hacking cough when Grace was eight, made worse by the coal dust that swirled in the air she couldn't afford to be ill, she told her daughter, I can't afford a doctor, and even so, if I take time off sick I'll not get paid and might not have a job to go back to who will feed us, Gracie, who will feed us? I'll feed you, Ma, I'll feed you

was diagnosed with tuberculosis after the girls at work went in a group to complain to the manager that she was sick and was going to infect them a doctor arrived to inspect her and she was taken to be quarantined in the sanatorium with immediate effect Mary took Grace under her wing until Daisy (hopefully, miraculously) recovered only she drowned on the liquid and tissue sloshing about in her lungs while they ate themselves from the inside out Mary, who'd been raised in the Northern Association's Home for Girls in the countryside asked Mrs Langley who still ran the place, to take Grace in, it was perfect timing as one girl was going into employment she delivered Grace to the front door that winter, gave her an affectionate squeeze bye-bye, Gracie, they'll look after you here and teach you everything you need to know Grace watched Mary walk away, black boots split at the sides, ripped dress trailing the mud of the path, brown shawl wrapped against her shoulders, hair like a bird's nest with a hat on it, an orange rose Grace had made specially for her stuck on its side bye-bye, Gracie, she called out, her voice choked, not looking back, as she opened the gate and disappeared down the lane the last person Grace saw who knew her Ma.