Scarlet Runner

by Lily Ennis

  Before they left for home they once again paid a visit to the gaol.

  ‘You don’t have to, ladies,’ said Ian as they walked to the gates. ‘You can wait here.’

  Isabelle pushed his aside. ‘Certainly not. We have to; for Clara.’

  The gaoler would only allow two visitors at a time. He called for an assistant who led Mary and Archie into the main building. The air was rank and moisture clung to the blue stone walls. Mary shivered. Archie held her hand. On they walked, into the dark, the air becoming staler and fouled with the smell of human waste. Mary held her hand to her nose. Finally the gaoler took them into a room, lit only by a shaft of thin daylight jutting through a narrow slit in the stone.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  His footsteps dulled as he retreated. Mary edged closer to Archie. It was an awful place. She didn’t want to be here anymore.

  The gaoler returned.

  ‘Follow me.’

  This time he led them to William and Floyd who stood behind bars in a room with barely more sunlight than the last.

  Floyd peered behind Mary. ‘Is Clara with you?’

  Mary smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry.’

  Archie relayed the events of the last two days.

  William whistled. ‘Twelve thousand!’

  ‘Ernie Hardcastle is having another crack in Wellington at the end of the week,’ Archie explained.

  ‘We haven’t lost our momentum, have we, Arch?’ said William.

  ‘Stronger than ever,’ Archie replied, ‘if the size of those gatherings are any indication.’

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Mary. ‘Ian and Isabelle are waiting to see you then we’ve got a train to catch.’

  ‘Give my love to Clara,’ said Floyd.

  ‘Oh, Archie,’ William called. ‘Can you check on my kids? Especially Jack.’

  ‘We will,’ Mary answered taking Archie’s hand.

  * * *

  Archie was disturbed by a tapping on his window. He hadn’t long been asleep. He snapped his eyes open. The room was pitch black; a thick cover of cloud obscured the new moon. The tapping continued then came a harsh whisper.

  ‘Archie, it’s me, Joe.’

  Archie staggered to the door and Joe slipped inside.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Archie.

  ‘I can’t be seen here.’

  ‘I know,’ said Archie as he walked through to the dining room. ‘Come in.’

  They sat in the dark.

  ‘The company’s starting back to work on Wednesday,’ said Joe. ‘Some have started already, on Saturday, but officially it’s Wednesday.’

  ‘Go on,’ Archie said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Some of the men formerly engaged on contracts approached us saying they’re ready to resume their contracts. I wasn’t sure if you knew.’

  Archie nodded slowly. ‘You know this will get nasty.’

  ‘You didn’t hear it from me,’ said Joe.

  ‘I guessed it was coming. You didn’t have to come here, Joe.’

  ‘Why don’t you leave, Archie?’ said Joe. ‘It’s gone too far for any good to come to you now. You’ll never work in this town as anything.’

  ‘But we haven’t won yet,’ Archie replied.

  ‘How can you win now?’ Joe thumped his fists on his knees. ‘More police arrive daily and men who’ll take your place, union or not. Your leaders are in gaol. You had an opportunity, Arch. You could have been the strike breaker. The men listen to you.’

  ‘It’s not over,’ Archie said gruffly.

  ‘There’s been a new union registered,’ Joe continued. ‘‘The Mine and Battery Workers’ Union. They’ve set up on Seddon Street.’

  Archie groaned. ‘Do you think we’ll call off the strike? Is that what the company expects?’

  Joe shrugged. ‘Guess so. Everyone thinks it’ll end now.’

  ‘Everyone’s wrong,’ Archie muttered. He stood up. ‘You’d better go.’

  Joe headed towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll slip out the back.’ He hesitated, his hand on the door latch. ‘I’m sorry, Archie.’

  Archie slumped into the fireside chair. ‘Me too.’

  * * *

  Emily opened and closed the kitchen cupboards. She wasn’t sure how she’d fit everything into this house. Then she remembered; there was one less person. Of course they’d fit. Hadn’t she been spoiled all those years that Gerald was mine manager. She’d taken it for granted. She never imagined a time when she wouldn’t have two living areas and double verandas. A mine manager’s house always had the privilege of location. Granted, it was near the mine but often it was elevated, sitting proudly above the surrounding workers’ cottages like the one she lived in on the Thames. Her Waihi house didn’t have that but it did have privacy as it stood apart from the rabble.

  And now here Emily was amongst the workers, thankfully not in a tight little cottage. There were many vacant houses in the town: one in five people had left. She had secured a fine bay villa which sat elevated above the road in Kenny Street. Neighbouring houses were shouting distance away at best.

  Emily was pleased to be busy. It amazed her that she could be so lonely with a house full of people. But of course they had lives to be getting on with. She’d had too much time on her own lately, too much time to think.

  A call at the door disturbed her. Sybil let herself in.

  ‘It’s only me,’ Sybil called as she marched in carrying a basket of warm scones. ‘The boys are right behind me.’

  She set the basket on the kitchen bench and briefly hugged Emily. ‘Mind if I have a look around?’

  Sybil poked her head into each room. ‘Thank goodness Gerald had shares. You’re lucky.’

  Emily sighed. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Oh, Emily. I’m so sorry,’ said Sybil. ‘I’m so careless.’ She clasped Emily’s hand. ‘You know what I mean.’

  At that moment there was a commotion on the doorstep as Sam and Percy struggled with a side dresser.

  ‘Where do you want this, ma?’ called Sam.

  ‘In the dining room. Then you can have a break. Sybil’s made scones.’

  Sybil led Emily back to the kitchen. ‘Emily, have you talked any sense into Mary?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know she’s gone a bit wild,’ Sybil replied.

  Emily bristled. ‘Speaking to a crowd of people is hardly “gone a bit wild.”. Anyway, from what I hear her talks are extremely well patronised.’

  ‘Yes, but for the wrong side.’

  Emily clattered a plate on the stone bench. ‘I’m not so sure anymore.’

  Sybil stopped buttering scones. ‘What?’

  ‘I never was sure who’s right and who’s wrong. Perhaps Mary has a point.’

  ‘But Gerald!’

  Emily took up a knife and with more grit than she intended dug into a jar of jam. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about things, Sybil,’ she began. ‘I was never against Mary. Good lord, you know I have an appetite for social justice. Perhaps I would have had a better understanding of the issues had Gerald not been mine manager. I certainly understood Gerald’s view.’

  Sybil scoffed. ‘Nonsense. It’s because he was the manager that you had a better understanding than most!’

  ‘Not true. Gerald was outraged at Mary’s stance and rightly so. Gerald was head of this family. It grieved me to see Mary openly defy him. It was my job to defend Gerald, within this house and to the world.’

  ‘And now poor Gerald’s gone you’ve changed your mind?’ Sybil was aghast.

  ‘It’s not that simple. I’m just not sure, that’s all.’

  Sybil pursed her lips. ‘It’ll be all over on Wednesday.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Emily set the scones on the side dresser as the boys dragged furniture into the house. There came a voice outside calling for Sam.

  ‘Bartie!’

  ‘I called round to your old house. Mary told me where to find you,’ Bartie explained. ‘You all set
to get back to work?’

  ‘Sure I am.’

  ‘There’s a lot of miners returned to Waihi to start work,’ said Bartie. ‘There’s a lot from the Horahora transmission line wanting to go back underground and also the eighty or so free labourers working at Waikino.’

  ‘But that makes them scabs, Mr. Gilliespie.’ It was Percy who appeared at the door eating a scone.

  ‘Aye it does lad,’ Bartie agreed. ‘It won’t be pretty. That’s why there’s so many police coming. We’re having police protection to and from the mine.’

  Sam threaded his fingers through his hair. ‘I just want to work.’

  Bartie slapped Sam on the back. ‘We all do, son.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Mr. Gilliespie,’ Percy called. ‘Do you not believe the strike will be over on Wednesday?’

  ‘I think it will get worse.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You look out for that sister of yours.’

  Sam and Percy transferred two more loads before Percy excused himself. He needed time to think. It was fair to say he’d lost his focus since Gerald died. At home, only Mary had strong opinions. She kept them all up to date with her comings and goings. But he didn’t have a handle on the other side anymore. What would his father have made of it? Scabs!

  Percy pulled his cap down tight on his head and walked out. He didn’t care where his feet took him. He thought he wanted to be alone but his feet thought otherwise as he trudged through the town. The atmosphere was charged; people stood around in groups talking about scabs.

  Soon he found himself at Jack’s. He stood outside the fence wondering what he was doing here. He certainly hadn’t planned it when he set out. Jack hadn’t been at school since the day William was sentenced and no one was surprised at that. Percy knew that Jack had joined several pickets. The men loved it. He was a prize in their demonstrations; poor boy’s father unfairly gaoled, their president no less.

  Percy hadn’t seen Jack since the funeral. The funny business had stopped, as Percy knew it would. He walked through the gate and instead of knocking on the front door he stalked around the house looking in the windows. Only the housekeeper was there, folding sheets. Percy was pleased. He didn’t know what he’d say to Jack anyway.

  As Percy wandered round the front he stopped in front of the plum tree. Before he knew what he was doing he climbed the ladder, then leaned against the wall of the hut and waited.

  * * *

  Daisy Gilliespie frowned as she emptied the basket. Amongst the tea, pepper and tin of pineapples was a packet of Oreo biscuits and a tin of Dr. Charles’ Face Powder. Suddenly she felt the weight of the strike materialise as tears streamed down her face. She sat and stared at the two treats. The kindness of folk! It was unbelievable. She slipped the powder into her apron pocket then on a scrap of paper wrote a note of thanks to her anonymous benefactor, before tucking the basket inside the front gate.

  She looked furtively up the street and startled to see Bartie and the boys. They all had faces like thunder. She sighed. Bartie never let up. Ted and Cyril got such a hard time from their father. Why they didn’t just up sticks and leave Waihi altogether was beyond her. It was harder for the household having them here. Their strike pay wasn’t enough to feed them all, not the amount those boys ate.

  Bartie was mouthing off at full steam and Daisy caught snippets even before they got to the house.

  ‘You’ll start work on Wednesday if it’s the last thing you do,’ he barked. ‘There’s no future in this town if you don’t. And there won’t be a roof over your heads either.’

  Ted and Cyril slunk behind, each waiting for the other one to defy their father.

  ‘Daisy!’ Bartie exclaimed. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Picking flowers,’ Daisy replied.

  Bartie frowned. They didn’t have any flowers and Daisy wasn’t holding any.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she quickly asked.

  Bartie strode into the yard. ‘The mine’s opening on Wednesday. It’s all over, love. We’re all going back to work.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Daisy cried.

  The boys grimly followed Bartie inside.

  ‘Why aren’t you pleased?’ Daisy asked them.

  Ted shrugged. ‘Ask him.’ He spat out the words as he looked at his father.

  Daisy glanced at each of them. She was weary. Since the beginning of the strike the atmosphere in the house was electric. It seemed the men were constantly at each other’s throats. If what Bartie said was true, things might get back to normal: if having to explain a pregnancy to Bartie was normal. She was holding off telling him. It would only increase the strain.

  Bartie explained. ‘The boys can start work, scabs or not. This is a working house. I’ll not have my sons sitting around on their arses while I’m out earning an honest day’s wage. No one’s going to make a laughing stock of Bartie Gilliespie.’

  Daisy sighed. Bartie was adamant. He was proud to be a working man, proud to be the provider for his family. Hadn’t he put food on the table for nigh on twenty years? Did Daisy have to take in washing to make ends meet? Did she have to do mending? No! Bartie Gilliespie kept his family in their modest cottage that no man could take from him. And that’s what gave him power. It was his right as head of the family to expect that Daisy and the children did what was right and proper; defer to him.

  Daisy smiled weakly as she surreptitiously felt the face powder in her pinny. The strike might be over on Wednesday, but she still had to play the peacemaker in this house.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Archie opened the door to Ian and Isabelle.

  ‘You don’t mind if Isabelle sits in do you?’ asked Ian as he escorted her through the house. He carried Sarah and little Liam trotted ahead.

  Archie called the committee meeting at the house; the Union Hall was too raucous. Mary had made oat cakes and she offered them to the children.

  ‘Thomas,’ she said. ‘Take Sarah and Liam to your room to play.’

  Garrick and the rest of the men arrived.

  ‘I’ve just seen the police commissioner get off the train,’ said Garrick. ‘And there was another bloke with him. I think it was the chief of the Thames.’

  Archie frowned. ‘They’re expecting trouble.’

  Ian pulled a newspaper from his jacket. ‘If we ever thought it was just a rumour this says it all.’

  ‘Read it out,’ Buster instructed.

  Ian paraphrased the article. ‘Hector Fryer says that the overhauling of the boilers and power station has been completed and they’re ready to start work. Coal is arriving from Huntly. Men are busily engaged putting the final touches to the overhaul gear in preparation for tomorrow’s opening. Winding gear has been overhauled and tested, signals and telephone connections are in thorough order, electric light throughout the various levels is working. The inspector of mines has investigated and approved.’

  The men looked from one to the other.

  Ian continued. ‘Further down there’s something from the Goldminers’ Association. After twenty weeks idleness the Waihi Goldmining Company is set to resume work with one hundred and ninety two men of all ranks, including miners, drivers, mechanics, blacksmiths, tramwaymen, labourers, battery hands, tallymen, clerks and office staff. He goes on to say how far from accurate was the idea of Mr. Hardcastle and party that the company would be powerless to recommence operations with any miners. The numbers don’t include workers on the Horahora line or the power company. The total workforce is three hundred and twenty seven.’

  There was silence around the table. Isabelle clutched her stomach and reached for Ian’s hand. ‘Baby’s active,’ she explained.

  ‘Which is what we need to be,’ said Archie. ‘We want every spare man and woman demonstrating tomorrow morning. Can you get your ladies out in force, Mary?’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ she replied.

  ‘But they mustn’t harass the black legs,’ he said. ‘It has to be peaceful.’

  ‘Do you really belie
ve a clash between hundreds of men can be peaceful?’ asked Isabelle. She frowned. ‘You are becoming agitated sitting here. Black legs? Archie, they’re strike breakers; at least that’s what the company is calling them.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Archie agreed. ‘It’s going to be tough. I hope you ladies can be a calming influence.’

  Mary groaned. ‘You haven’t seen Bessie in action!’

  ‘Well gentlemen. Let’s get the word out,’ said Ian. ‘Every street around the mine entrances must be targeted. I suggest we have a meeting in the hall tomorrow night, to sum up the day.’

  ‘Isabelle, you can’t come,’ said Mary. ‘There’s a lot of aggravation in the pickets now. We don’t want baby coming a month early.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Isabelle replied. ‘I’m doing my bit badgering the government and working with the Federation planning its strategies. And I’m going to make some more placards for you.’

  Archie left with the committee. Mary’s stomach churned. It was the first time since she’d delivered her first speech that she felt apprehensive.

  * * *

  Archie was pleased with the turnout. Masses of demonstrators lined all the roads that led to the mine entrances. The women were out in force, many with toddlers in tow. They stuck together behind a huge crimson banner that read ‘ Workers of the World Unite.’ Workers four abreast formed a column as they solemnly marched to the mine while the police trotted their mounts alongside the column frustrating the efforts of the demonstrators. The picketers hooted and hollered at the workers calling them scabs and black legs. Ted and Cyril came in for extra attention when it was realised that they were members of the Waihi Miners’ Union.

  Suddenly Ted felt a crack on the back of his head and he went down. The stench was something else. He clutched his hands to his head and they came away with rotten egg all over. Cyril helped him up as the procession continued its steady march.

  ‘You gonna let them get away with that?’ Cyril yelled to the police. But there was more action ahead that demanded police attention.

  Jack tried to barge through the crowd into the stream of scabs but he was held back by the demonstrators, saying he was going the right way to end up in gaol.