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entered the cottage.
    ‘Steady on, you lot,’ she scolded with a grin, but then as her eyes came to rest on Mary she frowned.
    ‘Are yer all right, lass?’ she asked, exactly as Bessie had done only minutes before. Suddenly Mary’s lip trembled and her chin drooped to her chest.
    Bessie was beside her instantly. ‘Oh, there, there, lass, come on – tell me what’s wrong now,’ she pleaded, and the tears that had been threatening suddenly welled from her daughter’s eyes to pour in torrents down her pale cheeks.
    ‘I’m all right, Mam, honest – just a bit homesick, that’s all. Take no notice o’ me.’
    Bessie’s heart went out to her. ‘Come on, now – tell me what’s wrong, please. It can’t be just that yer homesick. There must be sommat else.’
    Catching Molly’s eye, she shook her head slowly. This wasn’t at all how she had imagined her daughter’s first homecoming to be. By now Mary could no longer stem her feelings and, burying her face in her mother’s ample bosom, she sobbed as if her heart would break. When eventually she managed to calm down a little, Molly ushered Beatrice and Amy from the room, then going to Mary she said gently, ‘Now then, darlin’, come on. All the little ’uns are outside out o’ the way now, so what’s really the matter?’
    Sniffing loudly, Mary slowly began to draw off the white cotton gloves she was wearing, and the sight of her poor hands made Molly and Bessie gasp. They were a mass of red weeping sores, the skin missing completely in places. At sight of them Bessie began to cry too.
    ‘Oh, yer poor little love.’ Guilt was flooding through her. ‘You ain’t going back there and that’s a fact!’
    Molly chewed on her lip. ‘It’s the washing soda that’s done it,’ she commented wisely. ‘It’s ’cos you ain’t been used to having yer hands in water all day. But I promise yer, within an hour I can make ’em feel easier if you’ll let me, though I’ll have to be cruel to be kind.’
    Looking Mary straight in the eye she waited for an answer and when the girl slowly nodded she crossed to Bessie’s sink where she collected a tin bowl. ‘Right, Bessie, get me a big block o’ salt,’ she ordered.
    Bessie hurried away to the pantry and when she returned with it, Molly had the bowl half-full of hot water. She began to dissolve the salt in it before telling Mary in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Soak yer hands in there.’
    Obediently the poor girl did as she was told but as her hands entered the water she cried out with pain.
    Holding her wrists, Molly ordered, ‘Keep ’em in there now, I promise you’ll benefit.’
    Ten tearful minutes later, the trembling girl lifted her sore hands from the water and Molly tenderly dried them. Then, taking some salt, she began to rub it as gently as she could into Mary’s chafed hands. Once that was done she hurried back to her own cottage and returned with a large jar of goose grease.
    ‘There – now rub some o’ that in, then put your gloves back on,’ she said kindly. When everything had been done as she had asked, she smiled sympathetically at the solemn-faced girl.
    ‘Now I know it hurts, but if you rub a bit o’ salt in every night and then some goose grease, your skin’ll harden up in no time. I know the goose grease has got a nasty smell, but I guarantee it’ll work. Here, look – I’ll tuck it in yer basket fer yer. There’s sommat else as will help an’ all if you’ve the stomach to try it.’
    When Mary raised a questioning eyebrow, Molly grinned. ‘Do yer have a chamber pot in yer room?’
    Mary flushed, saying, ‘Yes, we both have.’
    ‘Good, then each mornin’ wash yer hands in it afore yer empty it. Not the nicest o’ things to do admittedly, but if it helps then it will be worth it.’
    Mary wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought but then gave a watery smile. ‘Thanks, Molly, and don’t worry, Mam – I am goin’ back. Happen I was just feelin’ a bit