Winter’s Daughter
Hull, November 1856. A storm surge sweeps up the Humber estuary, flooding an ancient cellar crammed with dozens of homeless people. Mr James Ripley, a well-respected businessman, rescues a dark-haired little girl who doesn’t speak English, and whose mother has vanished. Who are they, and what can he do to help Hull’s homeless? There are wealthy and prosperous people in Hull, but the destitute are usually ineligible for the town’s meagre charitable accommodation. Mr Ripley vows to do something about it: to set up a place where the destitute can be fed, offered a bed, a place to wash, and helped to get back on their feet. Interwoven is the story of the lost child’s parents, the Anglo-Turkish Adems and their small daughter. It is all too easy for them to get separated when disaster strikes.
I can understand why Val Wood is so popular in Hull; the story zips along, and the various locations are meticulously described. Unfortunately, the novel’s anachronistic 21st-century informality jars. Nowadays, we assume that formality is snobbish, and we use first names as soon as possible; in the 19th century, formality indicated respect. Mrs Ripley would always refer to her husband as ‘Mr Ripley’ especially when talking to a social inferior. She would never introduce herself as ‘Moira’ – to do so would indicate that she is lower class, a domestic servant, perhaps. She would introduce herself as ‘Mrs Ripley’. In Mrs Gaskell’s contemporaneous novel, North and South (1855) the heroine, Margaret Hale, is always ‘Miss Hale’ when visiting her working-class neighbours; and she always calls the hero ‘Mr Thornton’. For his part, he only calls her ‘Margaret’ when he is about to propose! Accuracy in mid-19th century correct form here would make a real difference to the credibility of this otherwise enjoyable book.
