‘Innocent victims, all of ’em,’ muttered Raffy.
Bessie’s face crumpled. She knew that he included Beattie in that remark. To hide her distress, she hurried into the pantry. Blinking unwanted tears away and forcing a smile, she brought out the cake tin.
‘I could always lend a hand,’ she said brightly. ‘After all, I am their grandmother.’
As Amy struggled to hide her surprise, Raffy chipped in with ‘Them two boyos could help out rightly on the farm when they’re not at school.’
‘Aye, so they could,’ said Samuel. ‘They can pick stones in Low Fold and give a hand wi’ making silage.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Amy said, pleased to think that in a roundabout way she was keeping Bert’s sons from harm. ‘Maggie’s no bother, and she’s very good with the young ones. I enjoy having her about the place, but those lads are so lively I never know what to do with them, Sammy.’
‘We’ll keep ’em occupied, an’ I’ll give ’em a few coppers. I wouldn’t want ’em working for nowt.’
‘And you could send Maggie up here now and then to help with the hens,’ Bessie said, her satisfied smile suggesting that she had masterminded the solution to Amy’s problem.
*
And so, in the month of June 1916, whilst Amy tended the vegetable plot in Dr Hargreaves’ garden or knitted socks and packed comfort parcels, and sorted out Bert’s children, Jude was toiling underground.
Although he believed he had left mining behind him, probably forever, it made perfect sense that his regiment – most of them coalminers in peace time – should be called upon to tunnel under the German lines. Beaumont Hamel was the objective and Jude once again found himself deep in the bowels of the earth, this time beneath the Picardy Hills, toiling alongside the Royal Engineers in charge of hacking away the thick chalk deposits that lay beneath the surface. It was heavy work, and the close proximity to the front line meant that he could hear the rattle of heavy gunfire and the whistling explosion of shells. The dangers of war were now reality.
Whilst Jude and his compatriots in the 13th Battalion breathed chalk dust and heaved dirt, the 14th were deployed to the front line. At first, Jude felt cheated of a chance to demonstrate his skills as a fighting soldier but when news filtered down the lines of the horrors of trench warfare and the heavy casualties the 14th had sustained, he consoled himself with the thought that maybe mining was the better option.
The most hazardous part of any shift was the journey to and from the tunnels and several of Jude’s pals were killed or wounded as they made their way to and from the mines. Shells and shrapnel became an expected hazard on the journey and they knew to run for cover at the first explosion but there was no escape from the lethal gas canisters if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. Jude feared being gassed more than death itself. The sight of men, dazed and confused, their wits befuddled by the poisonous fumes tortured him. Better to die than return home with your brain addled, an object of pity to all who knew you.
Jude’s world centred around Mailly Maillet, Auchonvillers (or Ocean Villas as the troops called it), Beaumont Hamel and the road to Serre. His life was repetitive and tedious but Bert’s, on the other hand, was anything but; he was here, there and everywhere. From the moment he received his first driving lesson at Hurdcott Camp, Bert had found his true vocation. Behind the wheel of a truck, Bert felt like a god in command of a powerful beast. Not only was he a skilful driver, he knew every part of the vehicle like the back of his hand. He could nurture the most cantankerous rattletrap into action. As the officer in charge of transport commented, ‘That man’s a bloody marvel. Put him behind the wheel or under an axle and he’ll keep that vehicle driving to hell and back.’
And on a warm, overcast evening in the middle of June that’s exactly what Bert was doing. They might not have made a marksman out of him, but where transport was concerned, they had uncovered a genius.
As he swung the lorry over the ruts and hollows of the New Beaumont Road, returning from an ammunition delivery up towards Serre, a flurry of shellfire cascaded down from a German redoubt above Beaumont Hamel. Regardless of his own safety Bert swerved in and out of the bombardment, oblivious to the fact that a stray shell could blow him and the remains of his precious cargo to kingdom come. He’d seen a troop of fellows making their way back to the billets in Mailly Maillet and was intent on picking them up from the roadside and speeding their journey.
Putting his foot to the floor, he put enough distance between the lorry and the range of the shellfire and slewed to a halt at the side of the road. The miners, white-faced from a mixture of chalk dust and fear piled aboard and Bert gunned the engine.
‘You took your bloody time,’ a voice called above the roar of the engine. Bert glanced over his shoulder and saw the grinning face of Jude Leas. ‘What kept you? If you’d come earlier you could have saved us having to walk half a mile.’
‘I were takin’ tea wi’ General Haig,’ Bert yelled back. ‘He come over specially to ask me what I thought about all t’carry on here. I told him it wa’ about time we finished Jerry off an’ got back home.’
Wry laughter rose above the rattle of the engine, some of the lads adding their own ribaldry to Bert’s, but this quickly petered out at Bert’s next remark.
‘I’ll tell you now, there’s summat big bein’ planned. I wa’ up doin’ a bit o’ listenin’ in as you might say when I wa’ up at the front. There’s talk of a big push an’ we’ll all be in it. So you lot what’s never been further than a bloody hole in t’ground ’ud better watch out. You could be up there afore you know it.’
23
Samuel fixed a final screw into the new bookshelves in Amy’s bedroom. Amy stood back to admire his handiwork. ‘They’re grand, Sammy. Jude always said he wanted a library of his own and now he’s got one. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he comes home.’
Her heart flipped at the presumption, and swallowing the thought that he might never come home, she gabbled, ‘Jude’s set himself up as the librarian for his unit. What with all the books I send and those that the other chaps get, he’s persuaded the drivers of the supply trucks to carry them in used ammunition crates from place to place. He makes a note of whoever borrows them so that he can get them back.’
Samuel looked slightly bemused. ‘I wouldn’t o’ thought they had time to read,’ he said, shoving his screwdriver into his overall pocket and then brushing the palms of his hands together. ‘Mind you, I’m not one for books meself.’ He shook his head as though he couldn’t understand why anyone would be and then pointed to the shelves. ‘You must have nigh on a hundred here.’
‘Seventy-seven to be precise,’ replied Amy, walking out to the landing and calling down the stairwell. ‘Put the kettle on, Maggie. Uncle Sammy’s earned a cup of tea.’
Maggie served the tea and then joined Kezia, Mary and Henry in the parlour, leaving Amy and Samuel in the kitchen, Samuel remarking, ‘She’s growing into a right grand lass, isn’t she?’
‘She’s a treasure, Sammy; and clever too. What about the lads? How are they getting on?’
Samuel smiled into his cup. ‘Grand. They’re two right good little workers and they’re as happy as Larry when me mam lets ’em stay over at weekends. She says they can stay all t’time when school breaks up for t’holidays.’
‘I can’t imagine Beattie objecting to that, she’ll be glad to see the back of ’em, but she raises Cain if I keep Maggie too often.’ Amy pulled a face. ‘And that’s only because she wants her for the housework.’
Samuel sniggered. ‘From what I’ve heard, our Beattie doesn’t have time to do it, she’s too busy doing her own bit o’ war work for them that never joined up.’
Amy gave a sad smile. ‘Maggie’s awfully loyal to her mother, you know. She’d do anything for her, and she turns a blind eye to what Beattie gets up to. I think she feels sorry for her.’
‘She shouldn’t have to,’ growled Samuel. He thumped his cup down o
n the table. ‘When t’time comes I’ll make sure I earn my children’s loyalty.’
Amy blinked her surprise. ‘Your children?’
Samuel flushed. ‘Aye, Freda’s talking of us getting wed.’
‘And what are you saying, Sammy?’
‘I’m saying yes,’ he chortled, his bulbous blue eyes shining.
Amy laid her hand on his and squeezed it. ‘I’m happy for you, Sammy. You’ll make a grand husband and father.’ She smiled warmly at the brother she had once despised. Sad though it was, something good had come out of Thomas’s death after all.
Sammy smiled back, his eyes watering. ‘Do you think so, Amy?’
‘I know so,’ she said, giving his arm a friendly punch.
‘I’d best be off.’ They both stood, Samuel giving Amy a brief hug and saying, ‘You’re a lovely woman, Amy.’
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ she said, following him to the door, ‘and as long as we keep Bert’s kids out of harm’s way, I’ll be keeping my promise and you can practise being a good father.’
Samuel walked away laughing.
After he’d gone, Amy stood at the sink peeling potatoes and reflecting on how life was full of little blessings: Sammy, about to get married, and Bessie mothering Albert and Fred like she had her own sons. I just hope she doesn’t spoil them rotten, Amy thought, plopping potatoes into a pan. Still, it was good to know that the boys were in safe hands for much of the time, just as Maggie and Mary and Henry were when they stayed with her. She was pleased to see that in her care the children were thriving. Maggie read her books and learned from Amy and, following Kezia’s example, Henry and Mary were learning to play properly. What a blessing Kezia is, thought Amy, hearing her daughter’s merry laughter through the open parlour door. Jude would be so proud of her – and he’s still alive and doing the best he can so life’s not so bad, she concluded. The only fly in the ointment was Beattie.
‘I’m doing the best I can, Bert,’ Amy said silently to the pan on the stove, and at the same time wishing she could do something to change her sister’s heartless ways.
*
Lizzie Wainwright groaned and pulled the eiderdown up over her ear. Living next door to Beattie Stitt was no joke, she told herself, as thuds and yells penetrated the thin party wall. She buried her head deeper into her pillow only to bolt upright as an almighty crash shook the wall and a bloodcurdling scream split the night air. Tossing aside the eiderdown and blankets, Lizzie was on her feet as quickly as her aged bones would allow. A second scream sent her tottering down the stairs, her bare feet flapping against the worn linoleum.
When she opened her front door, she came face to face with Sam and Gert Barrett, Beattie’s neighbours on the other side. As they exchanged looks of alarm, the door to the Stitt house flew open and Maggie, clad only in her shift, catapulted out on to the flags, wild-eyed and shaking.
‘Come quick!’ she screeched. ‘He’s killin’ me mam an’ I can’t gerrim off her.’
Sam Barrett hesitated. At eighty years of age and fearing for his own safety he wasn’t about to commit any foolish acts of bravado for the likes of Beattie Stitt, but Lizzie Wainwright, some five years younger, had no such fears.
‘Run and fetch Billy Warton,’ she shouted, before lumbering into Beattie’s house. Lizzie reckoned that what with Billy being a brawler he’d soon sort out who it was up Beattie’s stairs.
Maggie ran, heedless of the sharp flints piercing the soles of her bare feet.
Bawling and shouting on every step, Lizzie heaved her bulky body up the narrow stairs, the noise above abating as though whoever was up there paused in their frenzy, listening for the intruder’s approach. Just as Lizzie reached the landing a clatter of footsteps below signalled Billy’s arrival. Lizzie stood to one side as he bounded up to the landing and into the front bedroom, fists raised.
Larry Hamby, his flies undone and his shirt flaps askew, folded like a pack of cards. Billy grinned and lowered his fists. Larry’s eyes begging for mercy, he gabbled his excuses. ‘She asked for it, Billy. I’d already given the bitch half a bottle o’ gin an’ two bob. I caught her emptying me pockets when she thought I wa’ asleep.’
Billy laughed out loud. ‘More fool you,’ he said, swivelling on his heels to look at Beattie. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his tone suggesting he didn’t particularly care.
‘Do I look as though I am?’ Beattie, half-naked, was sprawled on the bed midst the shards of a broken chamber pot, a dent in the wall above her head indicating where Larry had thrown it. Her left eye was swollen and her bottom lip split. Livid bruises were fast blooming on her arms. Apart from that she appeared to be unharmed.
‘I’ll get back to bed then.’ Billy glanced at Larry. ‘An’ you gerroff home, yer daft bugger.’ The young collier shouldered past Billy and ran. Billy jauntily saluted Lizzie, Gert and Maggie before following him.
Eyes wide, Maggie stared at her mother. Beattie grimaced, her injured lip curling to reveal bloodstained teeth. ‘You lot can bugger off an’ all,’ she grunted.
Nobody moved.
‘Cover thi sen up,’ Lizzie briskly ordered, as Sam Barrett slunk into the room.
Shamefaced, Beattie dragged at the bedspread. ‘I think that bugger’s broken me arm,’ she moaned. From wrist to elbow, her right arm was a livid shade of purple.
Lizzie sent Gert for a bowl of warm water and a cloth. ‘Once we’ve got you cleaned up, we can see how bad you are,’ she commented pragmatically. ‘See if you need t’ doctor.’
‘I don’t want a doctor,’ snapped Beattie. ‘Our Maggie’ll see to me.’
*
‘We’ll keep the lads up here full time.’ Bessie showed not an ounce of sympathy when she heard about Beattie’s misfortune. She was more interested in keeping Albert and Fred close by. ‘Raffy’ll run ’em to school in the morning and they can walk back in the afternoon. That way she’ll not have to bother about them.’
Amy agreed that it made sense. ‘Maggie’s looking after her and I’m minding Mary and Henry,’ she said, nodding over at Beattie’s youngest children and Kezia who were playing with a new litter of kittens by the hearth. ‘I’ll help Maggie out where I can but there’s not much more I can do.’ She shrugged disconsolately. ‘I suppose we should be glad that Beattie’s in no fit state to entertain her gentlemen callers,’ she added sarcastically. ‘She just sits there moaning and grumbling.’
‘She doesn’t have a grateful bone in her body,’ Bessie retorted.
Amy gathered the children, and as she walked back to Wentworth Street she contemplated on the state of affairs. How many times had she wished something would happen to make Beattie change her ways? Well, she hadn’t reckoned on her getting a beating, but if it had knocked some sense into her sister she wouldn’t complain. She decided she wouldn’t mention it in her letter to Jude; he had enough to worry about. And she would advise Maggie to do the same in her next letter to Bert.
When they arrived back at the house there was a letter on the mat behind the door. Amy settled the children in the parlour with milk and biscuits. Alone in the kitchen, she sat holding the letter against her breast, praying as she always did that its contents would tell her Jude was safe and well and then tearing it open with trembling fingers.
She read that he was in good health but tired much of the time, and glad to be no longer working underground. He was on the move, marching. ‘I’ve so much to carry I’m loaded like a packhorse and clank with every step,’ he wrote, ‘and whilst I can’t tell you too much, we are heading for one almighty dust up. They are saying this will be a battle to end all battles and I can only hope I survive it to come home to you and Kezia. If luck is against me, know that you have given me the greatest joy in my life and that I love you both dearly and will still love you should we be parted.’
Amy wept.
The following day, the Barnborough Chronicle reported that something the generals were calling the ‘Big Push’ was about to take place, an intensive tha
t would finish the Germans once and for all. The article mentioned places called ‘The Somme’ and ‘Serre’ and although Amy had no idea where they were or where Jude was, she read she prayed for his safety. Fortunately, for her balance of mind, she was totally unaware that Jude’s first taste of action in the front line would shortly be in Serre.
24
‘Warnimont Wood…’
‘Matthew, Mark, Luke and John: four small copses.’
‘The first objective…’
‘Point of entry…’
The officer’s words buzzed in Jude’s ears commingling with his thoughts. Wood and copses; it was as though they were about to embark on a countryside ramble. If he’d been at home it would have been Stainborough Park, Wentworth Forest and Miller’s Wood.
‘Our job is to capture Serre and to do so we…’
Jude shook his head and blinked his eyes rapidly. Pay attention, he sharply told himself; lack of it could cost you your life. Weary from days and nights spent tunnelling under Beaumont Hamel and Hawthorn Ridge and then the long march, this unaccustomed lack of activity was having a soporific effect. He forced himself into a more upright position to take better notice. The young officer’s voice droned on.
Jude listened.
He’d realised days ago that something big was coming up. On his way to and from the tunnels he had observed huge quantities of trench mortars, small arms ammunition and Mills bombs, crate after crate of them, being taken from the dump and loaded onto trucks. Bert had confirmed that the stuff was being taken up to the trenches. It looked as though the ‘Big Push’ was beginning to take shape. Jude had wondered what part he might play in the ‘Big Push.’ As like as not he’d be left digging tunnels, he’d thought, as it seemed that was all that life had in store for him. Now, as he listened to the officer outline the plan, he knew otherwise.
The Collier’s Wife Page 19