by Mick Moran
Nevertheless the guns were pointed at the boys who were ordered to lie down. Only Martin was aware that his refusal was not taken seriously. The other terrified boys, lying face down were unaware of the smiles on the faces of the tans as they climbed back into their wagon that Sunday afternoon.
Martin thought if only the people who thought him so brave knew how short lived his bravery was and how almost immediately he regretted it.
It was true he didn’t lie down as the others did and he did say no, although he doubted if the tans heard him. However, no sooner had he uttered the word than had the sight of those fierce men with guns levelled at him, left him terror-stricken, believing his death was imminent. It was only because he was paralysed with fear that he didn’t then lie down with his pals.
He felt himself trembling. He was ashamed that it was the smiles on the faces of the tans- the smiles that ridiculed his stance- that helped him to somewhat regain his composure. He knew then that he wouldn’t be shot.
But, as the wagon drove off he was still shaking. His pals, hearing the wagon go, started to rise, but Martin still unable to speak walked out of the alley. He took deep breaths as he watched the wagon disappear over the hill.
“Have they gone now?”
Martin made no reply to John Grogan’s question. Standing with his back to the alley, with his back to his pals, he was still struggling to keep himself together. His voice, he knew, would surely betray his terror. Eventually he turned and walked silently to the far wall. He sat on the floor, with his back to the wall alongside John Grogan and Jimmy Moran. He was convinced that his lack of courage was obvious. But, his palls were too shaken themselves to notice.
There was no more handball played that day. They were all in a state of shock. A few left the alley and went through the motions of searching for a ball that was earlier lost in nearby rushes. Martin remained on the floor with John and Jimmy. For a long time no word was spoken. Then Jimmy turned to Martin. “Martin, you were very brave,” he said.
“You’ll be a hero when we tell people what you did,” added John.
But, whatever bravery Martin had that day had vanished. He certainly felt no hero. He wished to say no don’t tell anyone, but he was still unable to speak. He just shook his head.
***
The boys couldn’t wait to tell everyone they knew. Martin’s reluctance was taken as modesty. Inside a week his fame had spread far and wide. In the telling and retelling, as often, his bravery was much exaggerated. The story seemed to take on a life of it’s own. Each time it was told the brave act became braver and braver. It was said that Martin boldly faced the tans, ordered them to put down their guns and told them to leave the ball-alley. After a week the tale that was circulating was not recognisable to the boys that were there. But they didn't deny it. Their memory of the event was far from clear in any case. What they mainly remembered was their own petrifaction.
Martin had no idea how to handle his new reputation. When told how brave he was, he just shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. In many ways he felt a fraud. He knew he should have revealed how terrified he was that day. But, he didn’t and as time went on, to do so became more and more difficult.
After a while, however, the feeling of guilt diminished and he started to enjoy the praises. After all, he justified, he never asked to be a hero.
At that time Martin was already highly regarded in the neighbourhood for very different reasons. With fathers away, as they were every late summer and autumn, working on the big farms of Lincolnshire, it was a time of year when boys of Martin’s age become men. Although he was only fourteen, Martin, the eldest boy was expected to take on much of the responsibility of running the farm.
The farm, like most of the farms around there, was small. The land was poor and hard to work. Nevertheless, it provided most of their food. They had chickens, pigs and cattle. The cattle comprised of two cows, one milking and the other in calf, and four “dry stock” aged between a few months and two years. Martin remembered how proud he was to be involved in some of the decisions, even if his mother had the final say.
“We’ll have to sell one of those bullocks,” he said to his mother after stabling them one evening. “We haven’t enough hay to feed them all winter. I should take them to the fair next week.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. “But, I’ve heard the prices are very poor lately and you know what those jobbers are like at the fair. They’d try to take advantage of you. We’d better wait ‘til your father gets home.” Martin, though feeling aggrieved that his mother did not trust him to haggle with the jobbers, decided to leave it at that.
Apart from providing most of their food, there was little income from the farm. They sold a pig, or maybe two, a year and some eggs during the laying season. But, mainly, they relied on the sale of a few cattle. Therefore it was important to get the best possible price. The land around there was too poor to fully fatten the cattle. Therefore they were sold to jobbers who then sold them on to the rich farmers in the better lands of the north or midlands, who would then fatten them up ready for the butcher. However there was a strong suspicion that the jobbers were ripping them off.
Martin knew that in most other things his mother was more than satisfied with him. He was a steady and reliable boy who did everything that was expected of him, and more. He was a big boy for his age. Cutting the field of oats was no trouble to him. It was said he could swing a scythe as well as his father. He was a man before his time. The neighbours commented on how well he was coping. His mother was proud of him.
Then it all changed. That evening as he drank his third pint he thought of the anguish that his suddenly changed life must have caused his mother.
He lost interest in the farm. But’ it was the secret meetings he was having that really upset her. Because of his reputation, men came from afar and sought him out. His mother intensely distrusted those men.
Not understanding the secrecy (Martin was sworn to secrecy) she did not understand why Martin could not divulge what was discussed at the meetings. When she warned him about getting into something he was too young to understand, he got so angry, saying he understood things far better than she did. Looking back then he was not so sure. As often before, he bitterly regretted the pain he caused his mother and what he put his whole family through. There were three children, a boy and two girls, all younger than he was. The girls were in America: he knew not where. The boy had the farm.
Martin’s head was in the clouds. Those men with such radical ideas got him so excited. Joining them was all that mattered whatever the cost. He felt so grown up and honoured to be invited to their meetings. Because of his size they probably at first assumed he was older. But then his over-eagerness worried them and even they advised caution. He was told to abide his time and was not allowed to join in any action they planned. Reluctantly he accepted, but he continued to attend the meetings, to which he travelled long distances on foot, often returning in the early hours to a very anxious mother. No matter what the time she always waited up, only to be berated for her interference in his life.
Eventually the burden on Martin’s mother became so great that she could no longer bear it alone. She knew that Martin’s attendance at those meetings should be kept secret. Nevertheless she felt compelled to confide in a neighbour.
Martin knew he shouldn’t have blamed his mother. Even at the time when he became aware that the whole neighbourhood knew of his involvement, deep down he knew it was n
ot his mother’s fault. Although the woman confided in didn’t keep quiet as asked, she only confirmed what was already suspected. Previously another neighbour, attending to a calving cow, spotted martin returning home at a very late hour. That, and other late sightings of him, had got the neighbours already whispering.
But martin did blame his mother, although it was no longer just her that got on at him. Almost everyone he met advised him to be careful and reminded him of his young age. There was genuine concern for him and for his mother, but he would have none of it. He resented the criticism.
Of course, he only attended meetings, and not important ones at that. After a while he realised that he was kept away from the meetings at which action was planned. That really upset him.
Then Martin suddenly stopped attending the meetings. Much to the relief of neighbours and especially his mother, he stopped altogether. It wasn’t that he was worn down by the constant goings on of almost everyone he knew, nor that there was any waning in his commitment to the cause. On the contrary, his commitment was stronger than ever. It was the frustration at not being taken seriously that he could no longer stand. But, he never explained this to anyone. Most people thought his involvement had been much greater than it was. He let them think that. It made him feel important.
Martin was again a changed young man; no longer sullen and broody. Relations with his mother were improving. At least they were talking again, and with that she was more than pleased. Her prayers were answered. She had got her son back.
He was again showing an interest in farming, and the timing could not be more appropriate. The acre or so of potatoes required digging before the frost. His mother had made a start, but her progress was very slow. It was on the side of a hill and the ground was very hard. Martin still remembered the conversation they had one day. Looking up at the field of potatoes, his exhausted mother remarked. “Your father will be home in a few weeks. Wouldn’t it be grand if we had the praties dug then?”
“We will,” said Martin reassuringly,” don’t worry.
“It will be a lovely surprise for him. Last year he had the most of them
to dig after he got home and some of them were lost to the frost.”
“I was at school then. You wouldn’t let me stay off.”
“Your education was important. You should go back to school again.
When your father gets home; for the winter anyway.”
“Maybe I will.”
Martin did return to school that winter. He was not alone in doing that. Schooling was very interrupted in Martin’s school days. It was usual for boys, and some girls, to stop going to school during the summer and autumn months, when there was a lot of work to do on the land (especially those whose fathers went to England, and they were the majority around there) only to return to school in the winter. There seemed to be no fixed finishing age then. They came and went as they pleased. The teachers didn’t seem to mind. Some continued at school for the winter months until they were twenty or more. Some boys even went back to school after returning from England. In winter there wasn’t much else to do. They tried to catch up on the education they had missed out on in earlier years. But, it didn’t work like that.
It was one of the harshest winters Martin remembered. The school was a cold uninviting place, especially the large classroom he was in, not at all conducive to any kind of learning. Martin and the other winter only irregulars were put at desks at the back of the classroom, furthest away from the fire, which, in any case, failed to heat even the front part of the room.
The master, Mr Regan did his best, but he had to concentrate his attention on his younger regular pupils, leaving little time for those at the back. Nevertheless he did try. He set them tasks, which he took home and marked. However, the very mixed abilities of those older pupils, and their differing attitudes to education, made his job almost impossible.
School that winter may have been of little academic value to Martin. Nevertheless the experience would never be forgotten. On reflection, it was educational in many ways. The poverty all around him was so obvious. Yet, at the time, he barely noticed it. They were all in the same boat, or nearly all. There were a few desperate exceptions.
They called themselves hard men, and they were. They had to be tough to survive. At the back of that classroom, often the frost remained on the windows all day. The clothes they wore were inadequate; ill fitting handed down and patched. Martin’s overcoat (a coat that had been on his bed the night before) although obviously repaired in several places, was warmer than most. Yet on most days he was too cold to concentrate on the task the master had set. His fingers were too numb to hold a pen. His feet too sometimes lost all feelings. The master got annoyed when they all stamped their feet.
Tom Ward, a tinker boy (he came to school occasionally when the family camped nearby) was the hardest of all. They laughed at him because he had no shoes or socks on. The master told him off for not washing his feet. Sympathy was in short supply in those days. They said tinkers were harder than the rest of them. However, Paul Henry arrived at school one morning with a pair of clogs under his arm, sent by his parents for Tom. But, Tom never got those clogs. The family had moved away the precious day.
Martin remembered some good times too. At break times, and sometimes at other times when the master noticed how cold they were, he told the to go outside and exercise. In the field next to the school they played football, often with a pig’s bladder. Tom Ward could kick the ball with his bare feet as well as those with boots or clogs on.
When the nearby lake froze over, as it did most of that winter, they used to slide on the ice. The clogs were best for sliding on the ice. Martin, in his clogs, could slide from one end of the lake to the other in one go. Tom Ward was not allowed on the ice. It was said that once his bare feet started to melt the ice and spoiled it for the others.
***
Hearing his name spoken jolted Martin back to the present. Men who had worked with him until that afternoon (Eddy’s men) were standing at the bar. One of them made a gesture of recognition. There would be much sympathy with his position. Eddy was far from popular, even with his own men. But, Martin had no wish for sympathy. He acknowledged the gesture, quickly finished his pint and left.
***
When Martin returned to Mary’s, to his surprise, Andy was sat at the dining room table with a cup of tea. The table was set for the evening meal. Paddy was sat in the corner apparently asleep. Looking at Paddy, Martin shook his head disapprovingly. “Mary said he’s been on the bear all day,” said Andy in a low voice. “She’s mad at him.”
Martin nodded. Then turning to Andy asked, “Nothing wrong, is there?”
“No. I just came to see if you’re all right, and I have a message from John.”
“I could be worse.”
“John asked me to tell you that there’s a job for you in his gang, at the new site next week, if you want it.”
Martin sat down shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Sure won’t that edjet be there as well.”
“Well think about it anyway,” insisted Andy. “John said you have ‘til the weekend to make your mind up. He said you can call round to his house to have a chat about it. He’ll be in every evening. That’s his address.” Andy handed Martin a piece of paper.
Ma
rtin glanced at the address, nodded and put in his pocket. Then, a loud snore from Paddy reminded them of his presence. Paddy shuffled in his seat and continued sleeping.
“You should have a word with John anyway,” urged Andy. “Sure you’ve nothing to loose.” With no response from Martin Andy continued, “There isn’t much other work around here.”
“Maybe I won’t be staying round here.”
“Where would you go?” Andy was surprised.
“I don’t know.”
“I thought you were happy here.”
Again there was no response from Martin. Instead he took his pipe from his pocket and all his attention seemed to be concentrated on preparing it.
Andy watched for a while in silence and thought of his other reason for visiting Martin. It was a subject he was wary of raising and the timing was far from appropriate. However, as Martin talked of leaving the area, it might be his only opportunity.
Andy nervously cleared his throat. “My mother, in her last letter,” he began, studying the side of Martin’s face. “She said, your brother Jim is worried because you haven’t answered his letters.” Martin’s face seemed redder. Otherwise he might not have heard. Concerned, Andy asked, “are you sure you’re all right?”
“Clearly annoyed, Martin turned to Andy. “Yes, I’m all right,” he replied angrily. “Just stop interfering in my life.” Martin rose and left the room, slamming the door after him, leaving Andy more puzzled than ever.
Andy finished his tea and rose to leave. Clearly, his business there was over. Then Jimmy entered. “I see you’ve got your feet under the table,” remarked Jimmy jokingly.
“I, Mary made me a cup of tea,” explained Andy. “I came to see Martin. John asked me to see him.”