Spinner's Wharf

by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)

  Rhian was fond of the big, gentle Austrian and she hated to see him fretting. ‘There’s a lot of gossiping to be done down at the market,’ she said. ‘It’s the best place I know for meeting your friends.’

  Heinz frowned. ‘Friends, eh?’ His tone was sceptical. ‘Well, it must be nearly time for my dinner; my big belly tells me that!’

  Rhian watched as he left the mill and strode up the yard leading to the house and suddenly she shared his unease. She switched off the loom and brushed the fluff from her hands; Gina shouldn’t really be out so long, it couldn’t be good for her to be on her feet all day with the baby due at any time. What if she started labour and was unable to return home?

  In the kitchen, Heinz stood staring at the coals dying into greyness in the grate. He had a perplexed expression on his open face and rubbed his hand through his hair like an anxious little boy. It was Rhian who took up the small shovel and began to mend the fire.

  There was a sudden noise outside the door and Rhian’s heart missed a beat. The sound of human voices baying like hounds after a fox penetrated into the silent room, filling it, growing louder, more menacing.

  Heinz moved quickly. Snatching up a knife from the table, he hurried to the front door with a lightness of foot that was surprising in such a heavy man. Rhian faltered to a stop behind him, her eyes widening in dismayed disbelief. Crouched against the wall of the house was Gina Sinman, her hands wrapped around her body and her head bent as though to protect her unborn child.

  Even as Rhian stood horrified, a stone whirled past her face, catching Gina a blow on the shoulder that sent her staggering to her knees. She looked up appealingly, her face deathly white, her eyes starting from her head and Rhian melted in pity. Another stone found its mark and Gina began to cry helplessly.

  ‘What do you women think you’re doing?’ Rhian hurriedly stepped in front of Gina’s crouched figure, holding out her hands appealingly. ‘Have you all gone mad?’

  ‘She’s a bradwr!’ a voice cried. ‘A traitor, and bearing a traitor’s spawn.’

  Rhian stared in the direction from which the voice had come. ‘Is that you, Sally Benson?’ She felt anger rise like a sickness, pounding in her head so that she could scarcely control her voice. ‘What gives you the right to pick on Gina Sinman – won’t your mam be there at the birth and glad to take her shillings, mind?’

  ‘My mam may be a midwife, but she don’t have nothing to do with the likes of this slut!’ Sally Benson shouted. ‘Everyone knows that Gina’s man is a German and most of us have got menfolk joined up in the Army to fight the Huns.’

  Rhian took a deep breath, suddenly at a loss, and it was Heinz who took command.

  ‘I no German, I from Austria,’ he said with painful slowness. ‘I haf lived with you all and worked with you ever since I was a young boy. How can you think of me as an enemy now?’

  ‘Austrian is the same as German – they’re all against us,’ Sally Benson called loudly. ‘What’s to stop you spying on us? I saw you with my own eyes down at the recreation ground, watching the soldiers marching. Come on, you women, let’s get them!’ Her voice rose to a screech.

  Heinz held up the kitchen knife, his face white and a dogged set to his lips. ‘I show you I’m on your side, that I do anything not to fight the people I grow up with. After today, I shall never be able to pull the trigger of a rifle.’

  Before Rhian could guess his intentions, Heinz had placed his hand on the pavement, square fingers outstretched. The blade gleamed in the sunlight as it swished downward, then there was a sickening thud and blood was streaming into the gutter.

  Sally Benson started back in consternation. ‘Jawl! He’s cut his fingers off!’ she said in disbelief.

  Gina staggered towards her husband, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Heinz, my lovely, what have you done!’ She knelt beside him, wrapping his hand in her apron and clinging to him in desperation.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll all go home now that you’ve done your worst.’ Rhian’s words fell into the shocked silence. ‘And I hope that you’re all proud of yourselves!’

  Gina was leading a white-faced Heinz indoors while Rhian took his other arm, her whole being dissolving into pity as she felt him trembling.

  ‘I’ll boil the kettle while you find some clean linen, Gina.’ She spoke calmly, though the raw pain reflected in Heinz’s face made her feel ill.

  ‘Oh, Heinz, what are we going to do?’ Gina asked as she bound his hand carefully. She was trying to hold back her tears as he held her against him, his usually ruddy cheeks pallid.

  ‘We are going to live here as always and do our work and pray that the people of Sweyn’s Eye will forget this madness.’

  Rhian steeped a pot of tea with hands that were unsteady. ‘Don’t think that everyone is against you,’ she said softly. ‘There’s daft those women are, like sheep following Sally Benson – want their heads knocking together they do.’

  Gina shuddered. ‘I’ll be afraid to go out,’ she said, covering her face with her hands as she began to weep afresh. ‘My poor Heinz, you’re so brave and there’s me blubbering like a babba.’ She kissed his cheek softly. ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we? You, me and our little one will be happy together and to hell with the rest of the world!’

  Rhian left them and returned to the mill. The long room was empty and silent, the loom and carding machine crouching in the shadows like animals about to pounce.

  She shivered. Until now she had not taken the war seriously; it was something that didn’t affect her, a silly quarrel over territories. She had seen the advertisements in the Daily Post telling the menfolk that Lord Kitchener needed them to add to his already considerable army, but after the initial announcement of war little had happened to disrupt the normal flow of life in Sweyn’s Eye.

  The attack on Heinz brought home with chilling emphasis the fact that the stories told of the war might not be gossip spoken by a few idle women, but a dreadful reality.

  She looked round her at the darkening shadows in the mill and wondered if she should light the gas lamps and do a little more work, yet somehow her heart wasn’t in it. She turned her back on the silent looms and carefully locked the door.

  * * *

  Carreg Fach was a small village hidden among a circle of hills which were almost indistinguishable from the towering slag tips. Winding gear rose like a sentinel against the sky and everywhere was the taste and smell and feel of coal, for the pit was the lifeblood of the valley.

  As Rhian left the tiny railway station a man in a cloth cap touched his brow to her. ‘Pony and trap is it, gel?’ he asked. But she shook her head and began to walk towards the rows of dusty cottages clinging to the hillside. She glanced ruefully at her boots, highly polished when she had left Sweyn’s Eye but now coated with gritty coal dust.

  Her steps faltered as she drew nearer the cottages. They were cramped, the door built low as though for people not used to walking upright, and Rhian’s heart ached for her brother. She took a torn piece of paper from her pocket and looked at the address on it.

  Delmai Richardson answered her knock and as she was admitted into the tiny kitchen, Rhian was aware of the net curtains moving on the windows of the house next door.

  ‘I’ve come to see our Billy.’ She felt uneasy, for Delmai was staring at her as though she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  ‘How did you know where to find us?’ she asked quickly, breathlessly, her cultured voice sounding strange against the backdrop of the sparsely furnished room. ‘Did my husband send you?’ The question seemed almost eager.

  Rhian shook her head. ‘No, though he did give me your address.’ She wondered if she should repeat his cryptic message, but for the moment she decided to hold her tongue.

  Delmai sank into a chair. ‘Billy’s not off shift yet, but he shouldn’t be very long. Perhaps you’d care for some chicken – I’ve just taken it out of the oven?’

  Rhian shook her head politely, seeing that the meagre bird would not b
e enough for three. ‘I’ve got bad news for Billy,’ she said gently. ‘Our aunt, the one who brought us up, has died.’ It was a bald statement but she could think of no other way to say it.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Delmai spoke without any real interest and Rhian felt her hackles rise. Delmai Richardson was not and never would be one of their kind, however much she looked the part in her stained apron.

  Rhian glanced round, wondering if she could ask Delmai about the baby. A crib stood in the corner, but it was empty. Delmai saw her look and pushed back a strand of hair wearily.

  ‘Mrs Jones next door is looking after Cerianne for a few hours,’ she said quietly. ‘If you like, I’ll go and fetch her.’

  There was such a world of reluctance in her voice that Rhian shook her head politely. ‘No, I can see her later.’

  Thankfully, Delmai sank into a chair. ‘Tell me about Sweyn’s Eye,’ she said hungrily. ‘What’s been happening there? Nothing goes on here in this godforsaken place.’

  Rhian took a deep breath. ‘It’s the same as ever really, there’s the constant talk of the war and many of the young men have enlisted.’ Her voice faltered into silence. There seemed nothing she could say to this woman who sat proudly in her flannel skirt and calico blouse as though she was wearing the finest silks. Delmai suddenly leaned forward.

  ‘You said my husband gave you my address – did he say anything about me?’

  Rhian looked at Delmai askance. ‘I came here to see Billy, not to talk about your husband,’ she said evasively.

  ‘Well, there is no need to be hoity-toity with me, girl.’ Delmai rose to her feet, her chin in the air. ‘I was only trying to make conversation.’

  Rhian shook her head. ‘Are you stupid or something?’ She spoke abruptly. ‘Here are you living tally with my brother and having the nerve to ask me about your husband. You want to go back to him, don’t you?’ She could not prevent a note of accusation from creeping into her voice. ‘I know it’s true, so don’t bother to deny it.’

  Delmai pounced on her words eagerly. ‘Then he did talk about me! Tell me what he said… please,’ she added more humbly.

  ‘I only saw him for a few minutes,’ Rhian said, then she sighed in resignation. ‘All right, he told me to say that he’d take you back but not your bastard. I’m sorry.’

  Delmai sank back into the old rocking chair placed near the fire and rubbed at her cheek with her fingers as though trying to erase the shock of Rhian’s words.

  ‘He’ll take me back?’ she said. ‘I can go back?’ She spoke as though she could not believe the evidence of her ears.

  ‘I’ve just told you his exact words,’ Rhian said more firmly. ‘He was adamant that you can’t take your baby with you.’

  Delmai waved Rhian away impatiently as though what she had said was of no consequence. She stared into the flames of the fire as though lost in thoughts of her own and Rhian moved uneasily towards the window, staring out at the bleak landscape. Her heart leaped with joy as she saw the tall rangy figure of her brother toiling up the hill. It was his build and his walk that helped her to recognise him, for he was blackened with coal dust.

  He laughed when he saw her, his teeth unnaturally bright against the dust on his skin. ‘Rhian, cariad, there’s good it is to see you, and kiss you I would if I was a bit cleaner,’ he said in delight. ‘Go and fetch the bath, Delmai girl, let’s get a bit respectable like to welcome Rhian properly.’

  Delmai looked uncertainly at Rhian and Billy laughed out loud. ‘Don’t mind her, she’s my sister isn’t she – she don’t care if she sees me naked.’

  Rhian rose to her feet hurriedly. ‘I’ll go next door and fetch the baby, let you have a bath in peace,’ she offered.

  ‘Our Cerianne is with Mrs Jones again, is she?’ Billy frowned. ‘I swear that woman minds her more than you do, Delmai.’

  ‘Only so that I can have a rest,’ Delmai said defensively. ‘Anyway, Mrs Jones loves having her.’

  Rhian closed the door of the cottage tightly and stood in the sunshine, tasting the coal dust as the breeze drifted towards her. She was angry; Billy deserved better than a woman like Delmai – she obviously begrudged every little task she did, even palming off her baby on her neighbour.

  Mrs Jones smiled broadly as she led Rhian into the spotless kitchen, so different from the muddle next door, and gestured towards a comfortable armchair.

  ‘Sit by there, merchi. Duw, there’s like your brother you are! Here, I’ll hand your little niece over to you. A right beauty, isn’t she, and so sweet-natured like her daddy.’

  Cerianne lay in the shelter of Rhian’s arms – her eyes wide, blue and curious. She reached up a chubby fist and touched Rhian’s face and it was as if they recognised each other.

  ‘Duw, taken to you she has and her never set eyes on you before, there’s marvellous it is.’

  Rhian felt inordinately pleased. Impulsively she kissed the firm round cheek and with a laugh, Cerianne pulled at her hair.

  ‘Beautiful little thing, isn’t she?’ Mrs Jones was warming the brown china teapot, swirling the water round with quick easy movements of her hands, and Rhian felt much more at home in the small neat kitchen than ever she could in her brother’s house.

  The tea was fragrant and refreshing and Rhian smiled gratefully. ‘It’s very good of you to mind Cerianne like this,’ she said, careful not to reveal any criticism of Delmai in her voice.

  ‘No trouble at all. I love having the little girl by here with me – lonely I get sometimes, see. You got no babbas of your own, then?’

  Rhian shook her head. ‘I’m not married, just a working girl not long come home from Yorkshire where I’ve been learning to spin wool.’

  ‘Well, and isn’t that interesting, then?’ Mrs Jones looked at Rhian with admiration. ‘I used to spin my own wool on a hand loom, but got in a terrible muddle with all them threads: ’tis work for deft fingers and my hands are peasant hands, no getting away from it.’

  Rhian smiled. ‘I’m working at Heinz Sinman’s mill, not far from the copper works. Perhaps you know it?’

  Mrs Jones shook her head. ‘No, bless you. I don’t get into Sweyn’s Eye much. But my younger sister Doris would know it, I expect. Used to work in the Canal Street Laundry, stoking boilers, till it closed. But a cleaner for Mr Gregory Irons she is now.’

  ‘I know Doris,’ Rhian said eagerly. ‘I used to work at the laundry myself – see that faint scar there on my arm, that’s where I was burned in the explosion.’

  ‘Bless me, will you just look at that!’ A silence fell over the small kitchen. There seemed nothing left to say and the ticking of the grandfather clock sounded loud but somehow comforting. Rhian was not at all uneasy; she felt peaceful and most welcome in the warmth of the spotless room.

  ‘I suppose I should be going,’ she said, almost reluctantly. ‘Shall I take Cerianne with me?’

  Mrs Jones shook her head. ‘No, leave her by here, merchi. I’ll give her a bit of something to eat and fetch her back later.’

  Rhian stood for a moment in the silence of the valley, staring at the towering slag heaps, knowing that the moment had come when she must break the news of Auntie Agnes’s death to Billy. She saw that the sky was blue above the hills and the sun warm and golden, highlighting the man-made ugliness of Carreg Fach.

  Delmai was sitting near the fire, her hands clasped in her lap, her mouth set in a straight line. From the almost tangible atmosphere of hostility, it seemed that there had been a quarrel. Billy was seated at the table; his skin shone and he had a fresh, scrubbed look. His hair lay flat around his face and Rhian was reminded of the time when he had been in prison with his head shaved. She swallowed hard.

  ‘Billy, I’ve got something to say to you, boyo.’ She sat on an upright kitchen chair beside him and rested her hand on his. ‘It’s Auntie, she’s dead. I’m sorry, there’s no other way to say it.’ She saw the changing expressions on his face and longed to put her arms around him and hug him close. But Delma
i was watching and there was an almost disdainful look on her face, as though any display of emotion was the height of bad manners.

  Billy looked at Rhian in disbelief. ‘How could that be and me not know anything about it?’ A muscle worked in his cheek and he looked down at his big hands; they were heavily scarred, the creases ingrained with coal dust, and he gazed at them as though seeing them for the first time.

  ‘I would have come running, you know that, Rhian,’ he said slowly. ‘Why couldn’t you have found me sooner – come to that, how did you find me now?’

  Rhian was suddenly angry, for it seemed that Billy was blaming her in some way. Delmai looked up, her face flushed, her eyes imploring, and Rhian bit her lips, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Come on, what’s going on here, I want to know?’ Billy was looking from Delmai to Rhian, his body suddenly tense. ‘Rhian, where did you get our address? No one in Sweyn’s Eye has it.’

  ‘I went to see Mr. Richardson,’ Rhian blurted out the words. ‘He’d had a letter from Delmai, that’s all I know.’

  Billy’s huge fist crashed down on the table and the wooden salt cellar bounced and then tipped, sending a shower of salt over the scrubbed surface.

  ‘Duw, don’t lose your temper, Billy, there’s a good boy!’ Rhian said in a low voice.

  ‘Writing letters to that man, are you? Well, I’ll want an explanation from you, my girl,’ Billy said. ‘I’ve had my share of bad luck over the past years, more than any man should put up with.’ He looked straight at Delmai. ‘I’m not a violent man, but jawl, I’d like to wring your neck.’

  Delmai rose to her feet, her eyes bright. ‘Don’t you dare scold me!’ She lifted her head haughtily. ‘Just what do you think I am, a drudge? I’ve lived here in this hovel, scrimping and struggling to make ends meet.’ She glanced around her scornfully. ‘I think you should go down on your knees in gratitude to me for remaining with you all this time.’

  Rhian picked up her bag. ‘I must get back to town,’ she said flatly, ‘I’ve got work in the morning and this is a private argument after all.’