by Annie Clarke
‘You need to understand – he was looking for me because I was pithering about and he was my mentor for the day.’ Ralph changed gear for the hill.
Sarah said quietly, ‘He was doing his job, that’s all. No one’s fault. Can’t you drive any faster?’
But Ralph was turning left into Massingham. Fran almost screamed, but controlled her voice and said, ‘He’s not here. He’s in Newcastle, and to be in the Royal Victoria Infirmary means he’s dead, or just hanging in. Where the bliddy hell are you taking us?’
Sarah reached forward and gripped Fran’s shoulder. ‘Hush, wee bairn. Hush.’ But her voice was tight, and sick with grief. Fran reached up and held on to Sarah’s hand as though she was drowning.
Ralph replied, ‘I’m picking up Mrs Bedley. My father suggested we should gather the whole family, but your father went in the ambulance with Stan.’
Sarah breathed, ‘Oh Stan, thank God.’
They turned down another left, and then a right, until Sarah yelled, ‘Stop here.’ Then added, ‘Please.’
She flew from the car and beat on the front door, screaming, ‘Mam, Mam, hurry.’
The door opened, and Sarah fell into her mam’s arms. Behind Mrs Bedley was Fran’s mam, who urged them towards the car and snapped at Sarah, ‘Pull yourself together, pet. This isn’t helping anyone, or anything. You’re a pitman’s daughter, and one who works in the midst of danger and laughs in its face. You remember that.’
Listening to her, Fran sat up straight, opened her door and stepped out. She hurried round and led Sarah and her mother to the car, passing neighbours who had gathered to help, and squashed into the back with them. This was where she belonged.
Her eyes met Ralph’s in the mirror. ‘If you would hurry on now, please, Ralph. And thank you. Please believe that accidents happen and you didn’t cause it. It was Davey’s job to check on you.’ Had she already said that? She didn’t know, or care. Ralph must put his foot down, because who knew how long Davey would live, if he would live at all?
Sarah, Mrs Bedley and Fran all held hands, their chins in the air. They were strong and did indeed laugh in the face of danger, as did their pitmen fathers and husbands.
They arrived as the afternoon was ending.
At the red brick Victorian hospital, Fran, Mrs Bedley and Sarah clambered from the car.
‘I’ll wait,’ said Ralph.
‘No need, lad,’ replied Mrs Bedley. ‘We’ll find a taxi or walk to the station.’
‘No, I’ll park and see how things are. My father will want to know.’ His eyes flickered from Mrs Bedley to Fran, who merely nodded because what else could she do? He was the boss’s son, and the boss wanted to know how her Davey was doing. It was what Mr Massingham always did, because he was a good owner. He even gave people time to find a different house if their man was killed or couldn’t work, and paid the first month’s rent. That’s if a replacement pitman needed the house, otherwise you could stay on. It was only when you’d done wrong, like stealing or poaching his stock or birds, that you could sing for kindness from the big house. Seemed fair; the man had a mine to run.
The three women entered the hospital, stopped at the desk and then found their way to the ward where Davey had been taken. Was it the same one as before, when Stan had been in the next bed? Fran couldn’t remember. They entered. A nurse who was sitting at a table in the centre of the room came to them, and Mrs Bedley explained who they were. ‘Ah,’ the nursing sister said. ‘Yes, indeed. Well, I’m Sister Newsome, and now you are here I need to shoo his father and friend away, and then I can let two of you in behind the curtain, but only two.’
Fran suddenly felt unutterably weary as she traipsed out into the corridor to sit and wait. Within a minute Mr Bedley and Stan were waiting with her, as black as any pitmen who had come straight from the pit, but their faces were smeared. Stan took her hand. ‘If he makes it, he’ll never work in a pit again, bonny lass. His bad leg is pretty buggered again. The rest of him … Well, there’s a limit …’ He shrugged.
She leaned against his shoulder while Mr Bedley sat on the other side of her, thinking of things that only he could see. She whispered, for Stan’s ears only, ‘Will he live? That’s all I need to know.’
‘Oh God, I hope so. He’s too much of a bliddy bugger to let a thing like a few tons of coal shut him up. He were talking about a key, a repeater, on and off in t’ambulance. Couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’
Mr Bedley nudged her. ‘Here comes Sarah. ’Tis your turn, lass.’
Fran rose, her heart thumping. Her Davey was in there, and now Sarah looked even paler, if that was possible. Mrs Bedley followed, her blue hat askew, her coat undone, showing her apron. She’d hate that she’d forgotten to remove it, but who would mention it, even if they noticed? Sarah leaned for a moment into Fran’s open arms. ‘The sister says he’ll live, probably. He’ll walk, probably, but the leg won’t ever be strong, not enough it won’t be, and I don’t know what he’ll do, and I don’t bliddy care, for he’ll live, probably.’
Mrs Bedley patted her hat. ‘Enough of that. Our Davey’s not going to leave us, cos he wouldn’t dare, and mebbe his leg won’t be strong, but our Davey always will be, you know that, you girls. And stand up straight, Sarah.’
She guided a weeping Sarah to a seat, and Fran set off into the ward, but as she was about to enter, something clicked in her mind and she turned. ‘I expect “key” was to do with his latest crossword. He was trying to fiddle about with a coded one and was looking for the key.’
Everyone looked up and Stan nodded. ‘Ah well, if he can’t remember, he’ll produce another.’
In the ward of about fourteen beds, Sister Newsome smiled as she stood in front of a curtained cubicle. ‘If you’re Fran, you’ll do him the world of good.’ The sister lifted the curtain. Fran entered and there he was, lying against a pillow, his face almost as white as the pillowcase, his grin a shadow of its normal self. He lifted his hand, and then let it drop. His leg was plastered to his thigh, and held up by a winch.
‘Fran.’ That was all.
She came to sit with him, taking his hand, lifting and kissing it. She said, ‘By, lad, they’ve scrubbed you cleaner than you’ve ever been.’
‘Aye.’ His voice was little more than a whisper. ‘And made me almost as good as new. It were Stan, you know. He stopped the bleeding in me thigh. Summat about an artery, so he’ll never stop going on that I owe him me life. It’ll be “Your round, Davey,” not once but a million times.’
They smiled at one another. Fran murmured, ‘Talking of keeping on, what’s all this about a key?’
‘Blowed if I knows, bonny lass. Our da asked an’ all, and Stan.’
She leaned close and kissed his lips, whispering, ‘I reckon it was about a coded clue you were probably working on.’
‘Maybe.’ He seemed to drift, then returned, concentrating on her. ‘I meant to ask Sarah … how you got away from t’Factory?’ His voice was little more than a sigh.
‘Ah, Beth threatened a strike, and Amelia took my place.’
At this he raised his eyebrows and grinned for a moment, looking more like himself. Then it was gone. In the ward, someone called, ‘Nurse, bedpan, please. Quick.’
‘Better make that bliddy quick, Sister Newsome,’ called another voice, ‘or it’ll be clean sheets needed an’ all.’
Davey winced. Again, that sigh and a half-smile. ‘The joys to come. Ah, so Beth is showing her mettle … at last. Knew it were there, somewhere. But how did you get here so quick … for it were quick, weren’t it? Lose track here, I do.’
Just then they both heard Ralph’s voice from the other side of the curtain. ‘Knock, knock.’
Sister Newsome let him in and Davey stared as Ralph came to stand behind Fran. Then Davey looked at her. His voice was just the merest whisper, the light in his eyes fading until they seemed almost dead and it scared Fran, but he spoke: ‘I see.’
He pulled his blue-scarred, and now black and blue ha
nd away, but Fran recaptured it, gently, but firmly. ‘Mr Massingham sent Ralph to pick up Sarah from the Factory and your mam from the house. I hitched a ride because if they could see you, I had to.’
Ralph laughed slightly. ‘Well, not quite like that. You leapt into the front seat, if I remember rightly. Talking of memory, young Davey, do you remember anything of what happened? I hear it was a close-run thing, but even if … Well, of course, there’s no doubt you’ll survive, but there will be a weakness, and perhaps the pit is a lost cause. There are surface jobs, I suppose, but other war work’s always an option.’
Fran turned, looked up at him and said, ‘We told you we could get a taxi home, so do please feel free to leave, and if you remember, I sat in the back with Sarah and Mrs Bedley once I’d collected my wits. But I do want you to thank your da, since it was he who asked you to help out. And now Davey is tired, Ralph, and these two visitors are one too many, because he’s real ill and he must get better, for he’s me life.’
Ralph looked as though he’d been slapped, and for some reason she felt sorry for him. He had been there, after all, and blamed himself. She said, looking back at Davey, ‘Davey, Ralph apologised for the fact that you had to come and find him, and were then caught in the roof fall.’
Davey frowned, shaking his head slightly. ‘I don’t remember, but it’s me job to do that, or were.’
Ralph said, ‘You really don’t remember?’
‘Nothing.’
A doctor entered with his stethoscope draped round his neck, his white coat as tired and creased as his middle-aged face. ‘Evening, all. I heard the last bit of your conversation, and it’s quite common to have memory loss. You will probably never remember. The brain is kind and wipes us free of trauma. I overheard you saying that his pit days are probably over?’
It was a question directed at Ralph, who muttered, ‘That’s what his father said, Doctor …?’
‘Wilson, Doctor Wilson. Listen, it’s too early to say, but that could well be the case. First we have to stabilise him, because he’s not out of the woods yet. But he’s a strong young man with, Sister Newsome tells me, everything to live for.’ He looked at Fran and smiled, then turned back to Davey. ‘Did you know your jacket came with you, young man, rescued by your friend Stanhope? Or was it Sid? In the pocket is my favourite crossword magazine, and I know your column well. I daresay you can find a way to earn a few pennies, once you are on your feet, for my bet is that you will be, and will put this behind you. Any takers for a few bob on it?’ He looked at Fran, who shook her head.
‘I don’t bet on certainties, Doctor.’
Dr Wilson muttered, ‘Very wise.’ Fran realised that he wasn’t as old as she had first thought, just weary. ‘We’ll know more as time goes by,’ he continued. ‘Talking of time, it’s time you went, sir.’ He nodded to Mr Massingham. ‘Let these two have a bit of peace and quiet together, eh.’
He held the curtain back, and Ralph could do nothing but leave, followed by the doctor, who winked at the pair of them.
Davey lay with his eyes closed, then murmured, ‘What good is a couple of quid from a magazine? I couldn’t even pay for a bliddy taxi for you, let alone drive you about in a bliddy great Rolls, ever.’ Then he slept.
Fran sat with him, letting her eyes wander to his leg and back to his poor, cut face, his arms, blue scars crossed with red gashes, and bruises wherever you cared to look, and that was just the outside. But he must survive, and out of the pit he’d be safe, that was the main thing. She could go on working at the Factory, and when the war was over she’d work somewhere else. Anything, anything at all to keep him safe, with no more of these bliddy slashes. No more pain. Now the tears were silently falling.
Finally Sister Newsome came to shoo her away so that Davey could be checked. Sarah was in the corridor, waiting with Beth. The others had left to find some food and a beer. The three girls waited and for a while Fran found peace and comfort, Sarah too. At length they caught the last train home, but before they did, Sister Newsome weakened and allowed the three of them to wait by Davey’s bed, whispering that the doctors were more than hopeful that he’d pull through, practically certain in fact. She left, and somehow the girls’ presence roused him.
He didn’t move, but he watched them stand around his bed. In that sigh of a voice he called them the three witches, and they called him the cauldron. His smile was slight, but his eyes were blank. It was as though something had gone out of him as he glanced at Fran, and then away.
While Fran talked quietly, speaking of the village, the beck, times gone by, Davey knew that something in him had changed. It wasn’t the roof fall, it was Ralph, and all that Davey had seen in Ralph that he himself couldn’t provide. And it was also Fran, because she had chosen to sit in the front with the whelp, not the back with Sarah, and hadn’t told him. It was more than he could bear.
The girls had to leave to get the train, and he knew they would be up and ready to catch the bus to work at 4 a.m. He longed to hold her when they said farewell, but he had no strength. She slipped from him and from his bedside, then through the curtain, and it was as though his life and courage, and the will to fight, left with her.
He lay there, his eyes closed, and when his parents came to sit through the night with him, he pretended to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
The next day Fran and Sarah were back at the bus shelter for the early shift, their minds and hearts full of Davey. They waited as the queue of women mounted the steps into the bus, Sarah hoping to see Stan before he went on shift.
‘Wait up, Sarah.’
There was the sound of running and Stan’s whistle rent the air. Sarah looked for him, and she and Fran heard Sid and Norm yelling at her to wait or they’d have to put a sock in Stan’s mouth to stop the wailing. The other pitmen were streaming towards the pithead as usual, calling their ‘’Ow do,’ and one said, ‘Sorry about your Davey, lasses.’
Another said, ‘Howay, he’s a grand lad, and’ll get on his feet soon.’
Another, ‘Aye that he will, or find a way through if he can’t.’
But none stopped striding towards the pithead.
Stan weaved in between them, running up and pulling Sarah to one side so that others could mount the bus. Fran waited on the pavement, of course she did, because Stan looked strange, all of a dither, a bit … weak? Yes, that was it, and Stan never looked weak.
He was pulling Sarah to him, his voice desperate, his words hurried, his breathing rapid. ‘You be safe, bonny Sarah. You hear me? Be safe, don’t you be careless, cos I love you and we’ll marry when this lot is over – if you’ll have me – and then we’ll never be apart.’
There it was, thought Fran, the weakness, the desperation. Sarah leaned back in his arms, the circles under her eyes deep, and the vestiges of her skin’s yellow tinge visible in the early-morning moonlight. ‘What?’ she gasped.
As Fran watched, she suspected that after a night of pacing and worrying about his marrer, Stan had realised what life would be like if Sarah, his love, was ever hurt or killed. She had heard him rattling about in the kitchen at two in the morning. Slipping on her old dressing gown, she had joined him by the range and he had said, ‘I don’t know how you can bear it?’
And she’d replied, ‘I’ll take whatever I can have of him as long as he’s alive because I’ve always loved him, I always will. I’ll scrub every bliddy floor in Massingham to keep us and not count the cost.’
He’d stood there, his Woodbine between his lips. ‘You sound like a bleedin’ play.’
‘Aye, well, that’s as maybe, but I mean it, you beggar.’ They’d laughed together and he held her as the range spluttered on its slack and they gave one another what comfort they could.
She watched now as Stan pulled Sarah close again. ‘Life’s too damned short to mither on. I love you, lass, and want you for my girl, for ever. Say you will.’
Sarah looked from him to Fran just as Bert called, ‘Say aye, for the love of God,
lass, or we’ll be late.’ The bus exhaust was cloudy in the freezing predawn.
The whole bus yelled then. ‘Aye, course she will, our Stan.’
Mrs Oborne’s voice reached them. ‘Get on with it, do.’
Maisie’s followed. ‘Got a bottom drawer?’
Laughing, Fran added her own voice. ‘Do you love my daft great brother, our Sarah, or not? That’s the question.’
Sarah flung her arms around Stan’s neck. ‘Course I do, and course I will.’ She kissed his mouth, and he lifted her up, spinning her round, then putting her down as Sid and Norm, who had been waiting near the shelter, banged their bait tins together.
‘At bliddy last. Come on, lad, or we’ll be running, and we’ve got Davey’s load to make up today.’
Sid called to Fran, ‘T’manager said yer lad’ll get his pay if we meet the target. ’Twas what Massingham woulda done afore it were under government war management. Though I reckon he’s had something to do wi’ it.’
Fran smiled. ‘That’s right good of you, lads.’ She squeezed past Sarah and Stan, winking at her brother and grinning, but the smile wouldn’t mean anything until she knew Davey was really going to live.
Sarah was climbing up behind her and the women on the bus were cheering. Mrs Oborne grabbed Sarah’s mac belt as she passed. ‘That Stan’s a good ’un.’
‘But it’s Davey we need to know about,’ called Maisie.
The two girls took a seat behind her. No one spoke while Bert drove past the Hanging Tree, but afterwards, in the quiet, Sarah left it to Fran to tell the women.
‘Doing as well as expected, so they said. Too early to tell if his perfection is blemished, but probably not.’ She put on a posh voice because no one must know how close she was to screaming.
The women laughed along with Fran, which was what she had intended. Sarah laughed too, and then sat quietly as the bus eased over a beck bridge and on towards Sledgeford. At last, she whispered, ‘It seems bad to be happy when Davey’s so hurt.’