Ellen Lowry by Christine Day

Ellen Lowry by Christine Day

Ellen Lowry is my name. Brought here by my mother, she cried to leave me. So many tibs here, row upon row, sleeping in this big room.

Working on the laundry we must obey our masters. I’m to go into service, so I’m told, for a better class of family than ever mine is deemed.

I don’t miss the lice and vermin, the gnawing pain in my empty stomach and the cold stones on my bare feet whilst trolling to sell my bundles of chip wood.

But there are no Mother’s kisses here and to cry is thought ungrateful. I’m reminded daily of my station and how I should be grateful for our masters’ charity.

It’s a hard road to follow but I have hopes for a better tomorrow.