by Meg Foster
Young Mary had a position in the wages office at the car factory. She still lived at home but had recently acquired her licence and a small car, making it easier for her to get out and about. Mary also knew that her mother was more capable than most people thought; Annie just wanted to be left in peace.
Grace
*****
Grace carefully wrapped the little china teapot that had sat on the mantle shelf for the last fifteen years. It was added to the box holding her best china. No removal men were allowed to touch these precious things. While her hands were busy with the packing Grace let her mind wander back through the years.
For the most part she had been happy in this house, they had come here when Robert was five and Eddie was on the way. Now Robert was twenty and stepping out with Agnes Chapman, and Eddie was a big hulk of a boy of fifteen. Thomas, her baby, had also been born here. He hated when she referred to him as her baby, so she did not do it very often, usually only to tease him. But in her heart that is how she would always see him. He was off with his friends on their bikes, up the pit road more than likely.
The pit was closed now. While many had lamented over the closure Grace was secretly relieved. She had long wished that Alex would find another job away from the pit but never voiced it to him. She knew that somehow he felt an obligation to the men who had died, especially Peter. Now, along with many other redundant miners, he travelled to the car factory that had been established near the new town.
The rows were due to come down now. Everyone had been allocated a council house. Many chose to go to the new town but Grace and Alex opted for the same scheme where Ellen and Nancy lived.
Grace’s mind went back to the drying green on that fateful day. Ellen’s clothes had lain in the rinse water for three days before someone discovered them. Chappie’s work things still in the scummy water in the boiler were quietly disposed of. Isobel’s sheets and Grace’s own wash had been taken down by neighbours, and returned folded and ironed.
Grace lifted the letter with the Australian postmark from the sideboard. Inside was a photograph of two young boys and a baby girl. The boys were swinging on an old car tyre hanging from a tree limb by a sturdy rope. The eldest, who had his birthday last week, was grinning from ear to ear. Grace wondered if Joseph Peter William Ford knew how he got his name.
Jim never again went near the pit after the terrible days of the unsuccessful rescue. Within six months, with Isobel and their baby son, he was on his way to Western Australia. They settled in the south west no to far from the coast. Many of the pictures Isobel had sent to Grace showed them on the beach. Jim was happy she wrote. It had proved the best thing to get right away. Perhaps some day when the children were older they might manage a trip back.
Last week the village held a memorial for the men lost ten years ago. At the service Grace had seen Alice sitting with her father, an older more mature Alice. It turned out she had also gone to Australia after Joe’s death, and now taught at a primary school in Kalgoorlie. Among her pupils, many were the children of miners. Alice had made the long journey back to be at the memorial and visit with her parents. When Grace told her that Isobel and Jim were in the south west of the same state she promised to look them up in the school holidays.
As Grace cleared the items from the drawer in the sideboard her hand came in contact with a small square velvet box. Opening the box she gazed on the medal presented to Alex in recognition of the part he played in the attempted rescue and recovery of the trapped men. Alex had accepted it gracefully, brought it home, and placed it in this drawer where it had remained unopened for the last ten years.
Closing the box Grace dropped it in with all the other bits and bobs and with a sigh continued packing for the move to their new home.
The End