‘You could get the chance to do inside any Sunday, if you so mind.’
‘Aye, and have me legs scoffed off by Mr Holden or Coates or Lance Ritson.’
‘Why do you mind them?’
Roddy turned and looked at his mate now, saying, ‘Because they think it’s daft, lasses’ stuff.’
‘They don’t think Will Campbell’s daft and he carves wood into all kinds of things.’
Roddy considered for a moment and then nodded as he said, ‘Aye, he does. He’s clever at it an’ all. Yet somehow, they always scoff at me.’
‘They’re only pulling your leg. Anyway, Mr Mulcaster doesn’t seem to think you’re daft. He encourages you. Why don’t you ask him to let you loose inside? You’ve just got to say the word, I should imagine.’
‘Aye, I’ve only got to say the word and he would let me have the run of the place, when everything’s quiet. But I don’t want that: I want to go in and stand around and watch the lead being run off; I want to see the flue glass come off and men chokin’ with the dust like; I want to see them stuffin’ the coal into the cupola; aye, an’ I want to see them takin’ the hatches off to let the air through into the furnace; I want to see the lead comin’ out into the pan. Aw, you don’t understand, man, I want to see everythin’ as it happens like, you know, as it happens.’
‘Well, God above!’ Hal had moved to his side now. ‘You can see that every day in the week.’
It was some seconds before Roddy made a reply to this. He had dropped his slate onto the grass and his body had slumped and his voice had a weary note in it as he said, ‘Aye, as I’m runnin’ backwards an’ forwards like a scalded cat, wheelin’ the dross, blinded with sweat, half choked.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you be half choked if you were standin’ there drawin’, man?’
‘’Twould be different.’
‘You know what I think?’
‘Aye, I’ve a good idea.’
‘Aye, well, I’ll say it, you’re barmy.’
Roddy’s back straightened. He swung round on his knees, grabbed up his slate and got to his feet, crying, ‘Then why the devil do you keep taggin’ on to somebody that’s barmy? ’Tis true what Mary Ellen says, I can’t breathe without you.’
This unexpected attack, the very first he had experienced, caused Hal’s eyes to darken and the shape of the lips almost to disappear into a thin line. Then in a flash he was gone, and, almost as quickly, Roddy was running after him. But he didn’t catch up with him until they were dropping down the bank opposite the dam. Gripping the smaller lad by the arm, he pulled him to a halt, only to have his hand shrugged away. And when, his voice contrite, he said, ‘I didn’t mean that, Hal. I didn’t. There’s nobody I would have for a mate but you. You know that,’ Hal’s lips parted but the teeth were still tightly together and his voice came through them, saying, ‘On top, aye, but underneath you’re just like the rest.’
‘That’s not fair.’ Roddy was shouting now. ‘I’ve stood by you through thick an’ thin. And you’re not the only one that’s gone through the mill, we both lost our dads at the same time.’
‘Aye, we did.’ The boy’s voice was quiet now. ‘But the cases were slightly different, weren’t they?’
‘Aye, they might have been, but then you have one advantage over me; you can remember what yours was like, I can’t.’
‘Well, I would change places with you any day in the week, and I wouldn’t feel sorry for meself.’
‘Who’s feeling sorry for himsel’?’
‘You are, and always have done, ’cos you’ve been brought up soft, pampered by old Kate an’ the Lees, an’ nursed by that little tonguey bitch of theirs…’
At the same moment that Roddy threw his slate aside his other fist shot out and caught Hal on the cheekbone, and the next minute they were rolling on the ground, kicking and punching at each other.
What finally stopped them was a basket descending on both their heads spraying weeds over them. They rolled away from each other and lay for a moment, Roddy on his back, Hal leaning on his elbow, looking up at the red face staring down at them, and listening to her voice as high as a scream yelling, ‘What’s up with yous? Have you both gone barmy? An’ on a Sunday an’ all.’
‘Shut up!’ Roddy pulled himself to his feet and, glaring down into Mary Ellen’s astonished countenance, continued to bawl, ‘As for you, you leave me alone, do you hear?’ Then added, turning his head in Hal’s direction, ‘Both of you. Get somebody else to trail.’ And with this he swiftly picked up his slate and marched away, leaving the two people who loved him staring after him.
Her eyes were moist and her lips were trembling when she turned towards Hal, demanding now, ‘What did you do to him?’
‘Me do to him? It’s what he did to me. Knocked me on me back afore I knew where I was.’
‘You must have said something.’
‘Aye, I did.’
She waited.
Wiping the trickle of blood from his jaw, he poked his head towards her, saying slowly and in a tone that always had the power to enrage her, for it laid heavy emphasis on each word, ‘I told him that you were a tonguey bitch and followed him about like a cacklin’ hen.’
‘Oh, you!’ Her mouth was thrust out, her small chest heaved and for a moment she seemed incapable of further words; but when she cried, ‘Talk of following anybody about, you don’t let him breathe. He just puts up with you, ’cos nobody else will. Nobody likes you; as for lovin’ you, nobody ever will,’ it was immediately evident she had struck home. The look on his face told her she had indeed hit him hard for his cheeks, usually red, were devoid of colour and the blood that was still running from the scratch looked scarlet.
She waited for the stinging retort. But none came; he just continued to stare at her for a moment before turning about and walking away. He did not rush as Roddy had done, but he went slowly like someone deep in thought, or sad.
She stood, her head drooped, looking down at the basket and the herbs scattered around it—and she wondered why she should feel so awful, not for the same reason which had brought the tears to her eyes a few minutes ago when Roddy had barked at her, but because of what she had said to Hal.
After picking up the best of the limp herbs and placing them in the basket again, she remained for a moment looking to where the stocky figure was disappearing round the bend in the path, and twice she said, ‘Well! Well!’ before swinging round and making her way back towards Kate’s.
And on the way she decided she wouldn’t tell Roddy about the bag, she wouldn’t tell anybody because she felt it would only open up trouble. What kind? She didn’t know, except that it would be grievous trouble and she had enough to contend with, because once she got to Kate’s she would have to explain why she had got so few herbs and that would bring out the row between Roddy and Hal. And having got that far, the cause would come to light, and then Kate might go for her for breaking up the friendship between the two lads, because Kate, in a way, had sympathy for Hal. And then if it came to the ears of her da there would be more explaining to do. And he would certainly go for her. By! He would that.
No, she would leave the bag where it was and let it rot there just as it had in the mire, ’cos she was in for enough trouble the night.
PART TWO
youth
One
‘And you really think they’ll like them, Mr Mulcaster?’
The overseer looked at the young man whom he had watched grow from a skinny youth at the age of ten into this upstanding figure that could be taken for a mature man in his middle years, not one who had just passed his twentieth birthday.
And it was odd about his birthday. It was one that old Kate had given him. He had come into her care on the last Saturday in September, eighteen hundred and seven, when she understood he was then seven and a half years old. And so when the boy never recovered his memory she added another six months on, so that he would have a birthday on the last Saturday of the next March, whichever date tha
t happened to fall on.
‘They are excellent drawings,’ Mr Mulcaster said, ‘and I’m sure Mr MacPherson will think the same. Now this could be a chance in a lifetime, Greenbank. Don’t be afraid to speak up because remember, after all, we are merely human beings, each one of us.’
Roddy smiled at the man as he thought, and you’re the best of them. Yet there were folks who didn’t like the agent. But then, there were folks who didn’t like anybody in power, and these were the ones who wouldn’t know what to do with it if they had it themselves. There were people who never saw two sides of a situation.
‘What if I can’t get back the same night, sir?’ he said.
Mr Mulcaster smiled as he replied, ‘Well, find somewhere to stay. Tomorrow’s Friday and the place won’t drop down without you for one day…or two.’ And he gave one of his rare laughs, which caused Roddy to hang his head slightly. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to be hurtful, but although he knew he was as good a worker as anyone else he wasn’t a natural smelter, not like Hal, because his heart wasn’t in it in the same way.
But in the technique that went into extraction of silver and lead from the ore, there he knew his interest lay. And there wasn’t a piece of machinery that he hadn’t drawn since first as a small boy he had raked out the bouse from the shoe and seen to it that the flow of water through the shoe kept the rollers cool.
As time went on he had drawn the waterwheel from all angles, every cog of it. As for the odds and ends such as the dolly tubs, he had dozens of drawings of these smaller items. In the smelting apparatus, he had done sketch after sketch of the ore hearth, the slag hearth, the assay furnace.
It wasn’t what they looked like from the outside, it was what went on inside that had fascinated him. Whenever there was a furnace to be cleaned down he was there drawing sections and cross-sections. One day one of the men asked him the purpose he had in doing all these drawings because all the hearths had been working as they should for years. How did he expect to better them? And his answer had been that he didn’t rightly know if he wanted to better them; he just wanted to draw the innards of things and satisfy himself why they worked as they did.
Most of the men laughed at him: even Mr Mulcaster hadn’t at first been in favour of his drawing the machinery, saying that the company had all the mechanical men and architects they needed. Yet, as years went on and the boy still drew, even going further afield on Sunday, tramping to the lead mines at Alston or Allendale, the man recognised that the boy had something that should be cultivated. But it wasn’t until he had seen a drawing that he had done, not of a piece of machinery, or of the innards of a smelting hearth, but of the abbey in Hexham that his interest had really been aroused.
Eventually he had spoken to a friend of his in Newcastle about this young fellow who had a flair for drawing beyond the usual. And so it had come about that an appointment had been made for Roddy to meet Mr MacPherson, one of a select group of people in Newcastle at that time who were interested in the arts, as it was said.
‘If Mr MacPherson so wishes he might invite you into the meeting,’ Mr Mulcaster was saying. ‘There you would make the acquaintance of Mr Richardson and Mr Parker, both fine artists in their own way. But now may I suggest something to you? Of course, it will depend on how much money you will have to spare. Have you got anything put by?’
‘Yes, sir, a little bit.’
‘Enough to get a change of clothes and shoes? Now, now, not that I’m saying you aren’t decently put on; in fact, I would say you are better put on than most of them around here, but your dress is typical of the country. Do you follow me?’
After a moment Roddy moved his head and said, ‘Yes sir, I follow you.’
‘I don’t mean to suggest that you should get anything elaborate or expensive, but something a little different. I mean no offence. You understand me?’
‘Yes, yes, I do perfectly, sir, and I’m of the same mind.’
‘Good, good. Well then, as you haven’t to meet Mr MacPherson until three o’clock tomorrow afternoon you’ll have plenty of time to get fixed up.’ He now held out his hand, saying, ‘I don’t know what might come of this, Greenbank, but I hope it will open up a new way of life for you.’
‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much indeed. I’ll always be beholden to you.’
They inclined their heads towards each other before Roddy turned away and went out of the office, down the stairs and across the yard, passing some men who, having withdrawn the dolly from the tub, were now beating the sides of it with hammers, a process that allowed the heavier ore to settle gradually at the bottom with the lighter refuse coming to rest upon it. And after they let the water out of the tub, they removed the dross to the dead heap, leaving the pure ore to be taken to the bingstead.
How many times he had trundled that dross to the dead heap during his early days, and in this moment he hoped he would never again hammer on a dolly.
The men chaffed him as he passed them, Paul and Johnny Fowler shouting after him, ‘Doubled your wages then, has he? By, we’ll have your neck for that, Roddy boy.’ Will Campbell just straightened his back and stared after him: nobody had ever shown any interest in his own handicraft, and he could whittle wood into any shape. Favouritism, that’s what it was, favouritism.
Roddy wasn’t unaware of the mixed feelings towards him in the mill. Most men didn’t like change, they feared change, and anyone who wanted change was to them a disturber of the peace. They had their pattern of life: they worked hard; the majority of them still drank hard, although now they didn’t allow their drinking to interfere with their work; they kept it to a Saturday night and Fair days.
Roddy had come among them as an odd boy who couldn’t remember his past, but now he was a young man who still couldn’t remember his past but who lived very much in the present and thought of the future and was one of them who wanted change. Moreover, besides his drawing, working on the rudiments he must have picked up while a boy in Shields, he had taught himself to read and write. But he wasn’t the only one who could do this, there was Hal Roystan. They said he had a shelf of books in old Abel Hamilton’s cottage. Of course, this was only since the old fellow died for he’d no use for books, old Abel; a pick and shovel had been his tools.
Hal Roystan, they thought, was as opposite in temperament from Roddy Greenbank as chalk was from cheese; yet they were very close in a way, and both connected with old Kate.
Now there was a funny one for you: you had to keep on the right side of her or you found yourself with boils on your neck, and even on your nether regions an’ all. See what happened to Ben Fowler that night he got blind drunk and took the wrong way home and kicked her mongrel dog while passing. He couldn’t move the next morning, stiff as a ramrod. It took him weeks to get his back straight again. And then what about Jed Pierce? Just because he made up to Mary Ellen Lee on the road on her Sunday off while going home. He had wanted to court her, he said it openly. And he told Kate that, after the lass had run from him to the old woman’s, and what had Kate said to him? ‘You wantin’ Mary Ellen! You can’t even keep your snotty nose clean. If you come within a mile of her again you won’t be able to sit down for a month, I’m tellin’ you.’ And begod! that’s what had happened. He got a carbuncle, as big as a double-yolked egg it was, and it nearly drove him mad, at least the treatment did, for his brother Roger and his two sisters had held him down while his elder brother Billy stuck a stone water bottle filled with steam on the offending carbuncle in an effort to draw it to a head. Jed had smashed half of the crockery in the kitchen before they got hold of him again.
So she had powers, had Kate Makepeace, and it was as well to keep on the right side of her, as those three certainly did, for they had all prospered in different ways: Roddy Greenbank was well in with the boss while Hal Roystan had risen to be one of the best-paid men on the floor; as for Mary Ellen Lee, Farmer Davison and his wife had almost adopted her, treated her like one of their own, they did. Aye, it was well to keep in with w
itches.
Roddy could almost hear their voices going through his head, and as he made his way quickly home, striding out as if he were going to his shift instead of just finishing the ten-hour stretch in the sweltering heat and dust. He wasn’t only thinking of the meeting with the artists, there was something else on his mind which was even more important than the success of his drawings. Yet in a way they were linked; the happy outcome of one might depend on the other.
Kate greeted him as usual. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘another one over?’
‘Aye, Kate.’ He put his bait tin down on the table and stood looking at her, a small shrunken figure with a face like a dried nut but with a voice that still denied age.
‘All set?’ she said.
‘Aye, Kate, all set. I go first thing in the mornin’. I’ve got a letter here’—he tapped the inside of his coat—‘and I’m likely to meet some big names. Well, that’s the impression I got from Mr Mulcaster. By the way, Kate, could…could I have a little money?’
‘Could you have a little money? Why do you ask me, lad? What’s there’—she now turned and pointed with a crooked finger to the inside of the chimney—‘is yours.’
‘No, no. We’ve had that out a long time ago.’
‘Aye, I know you’ve said that afore but I’ll say again, what’s there’s yours. Anyway, if you don’t have it now you would have it later. As you know, the money I took from your da’s belt went in the lean years, but the fifty-five pounds those thieving clerks sent for the sale of the house is still there as it came. Fifty-five pounds, when it was sold for a hundred an’ ten! Eeh! Daylight robbers. Anyway lad, take it for whatever you want to do with it.’
‘I don’t want fifty-five pounds, Kate. Look, I’ve got two of me own.’ He jerked his head now. ‘I know it should be twenty-two, and would be if I didn’t buy so much bloomin’ paper and the like, but if I could sort of take three. You see…Well, he meant it kindly enough, but I really don’t see any need for it,’ he lied emphatically, accompanying his words with a quick nodding of the head, ‘but Mr Mulcaster thought, seein’ as I’m meetin’ these upper type of people, I should have some different kind of clothes.’
A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Page 8