by Maggie Hope
Jonty stood by the gate, watching her until she was out of sight, his heart soaring within him. She was his love and he would have her, he told himself, no matter what obstacles they had to overcome.
He rode back to the hall, his head full of her, his normally observant gaze not seeing his father’s horse galloping across the field jumping the hedge and blowing heavily as Ralph flogged it on.
Ralph was standing idly in the stable yard when Jonty cantered in. He was leaning against the stable wall, his bloodshot eyes gleaming maliciously, the horse, still saddled, panting beside him.
Jonty dismounted and unsaddled his mount, ignoring his father. Ralph had obviously been off with his cronies again and drink had given him Dutch courage. Just as well I got here before he could pester Grandmother, Jonty thought wearily. He moved to lead his horse past his father to the stable but Ralph blocked the stable door, one hand on his hip and the other on the door jamb; he grinned evilly.
‘Gadding about with a pitman’s woman, now, eh? Not such a saint as you’d have us think, are you? Whatever will your grandmother have to say when I tell her?’
Jonty halted and stared at his father, stepping back a pace as the stink of whisky-laden breath hit him. Ralph misunderstood the gesture altogether and laughed aloud.
‘That shook you, didn’t it? I saw you, you prating hypocrite, with that woman. Wasn’t that the lass you were so hoity-toity about a few years ago? What was that you said? The pitmen look after their own? We have to live in this community, you said. All bloody cant.’ He sneered. ‘Well, I suppose it shows you are a man, any way. I was beginning to doubt it.’
‘Get out of my way, Father,’ said Jonty, feeling sick to his stomach.
Ralph made an exaggerated gesture out of moving aside and bowing to his son.
‘By all means, lad, I’ll get out of your way. I have other things to do than stand here blathering to you. I’m off to have a word with your grandmother.’
‘You stay away from her, you hear me?’ Jonty barked. ‘If you say anything to her, tell her any of your lies, upset her in any way, I’ll – I’ll—’
‘You’ll what, lad? Nay, I don’t think you will. The old witch needs to be told about her precious grandson carrying on with a pit wife. I don’t think she should be deluded any longer, do you? It’s for her own good, after all.’
Ralph remained standing by the door though, making no move to go into the house and carry out his threat and Jonty realised his father thought he could blackmail him over this.
‘What do you want, Father?’
‘That’s better,’ said Ralph, his grin turning into a smile of satisfaction. ‘Now, I shall have to think about that for a minute.’
Grimly, Jonty led his horse past, put him in his stall and shook hay down for him. He went back and did the same for his father’s horse, without even looking at Ralph, then began to rub down both horses. He waited for Ralph to set out his conditions but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it meant much to him.
His grandmother’s health was precarious to say the least, she had to be protected from any unpleasantness. There was Meg, too. Ralph could make trouble in the village for her and her children. Whatever his father wanted, Jonty would have to go along with him, at least so far as he could. He finished rubbing down his own horse and began to see to his father’s before Ralph came in to the stable, triumph gleaming in his eyes.
‘Well?’ said Jonty, straightening up and giving Ralph a level stare.
‘I’ve decided I might not trouble the old witch,’ said Ralph. ‘Of course, one good turn deserves another, as they say. What are you prepared to do for me?’
‘I already do everything around here,’ snapped Jonty. ‘Come to the point, Father, what do you want?’
‘I want you to tell her to sign her shares over to me,’ said Ralph, getting down to business. ‘What does an old woman want with railway shares, anyway? She’s just being dog in the manger about them, I can put them to much better use.’
‘Oh, yes, like selling them and drinking the money,’ Jonty said bitterly.
‘Watch how you speak to me, you young lout, or I might change my mind and tell her anyway,’ snarled Ralph.
‘She can’t give you the source of her only income,’ protested Jonty.
‘No? Well, you know the alternative.’ Ralph scented victory. He crossed his arms over his paunch and grinned.
Jonty thought about it, absently rubbing down the horses as he did so. He had to do something. There was only one thing for it if he was to save his grandmother from his father.
‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you ten pounds a week if you leave Grandmother alone and swear not to mention anything about this to anybody else,’ he offered.
Ralph threw back his head and laughed uproariously, his hands on his hips and his belly shaking with mirth.
‘And where the hell are you going to get ten pounds a week?’
‘I can get it,’ said Jonty.
Ralph stopped laughing and looked closely at him, slowly beginning to believe that it might be true.
‘How will you get it? You’re not saying you have money, are you?’
‘I can get it, I told you,’ Jonty repeated.
‘Aye. And I’m not going to believe you until I see the money for myself.’
‘Wait here.’
Jonty went into the house and climbed the wide staircase, desperately trying to work out the best way to handle his father.
‘Is that you, Jonty?’ his grandmother called and he poked his head round her door.
‘Yes, Grandmother. I won’t be a minute, I have something to do, then I’ll be up to see you and we’ll have a chat. You’re feeling all right, still?’
‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine,’ she answered. ‘You’re so good to me, Jonty, such a good boy. What would I do without you?’
He smiled and hurried on to the old nursery. In the toy box, under the few remaining toys, he had hidden his money box. The nursery was one place he was fairly sure his father would not think of looking. Taking the key from his waistcoat pocket, he unlocked the box and took out twenty pounds before hiding the box carefully away again.
The money was all that was left of his last dividend and it had been earmarked for repairs at Home Farm. Now the repairs would have to wait.
Back in the yard, Jonty showed his father the four five-pound notes, being careful to keep them out of his reach.
‘Ten now, and ten next week,’ he said.
Ralph’s eyes widened, his scepticism turning to anger. He stepped forward aggressively, demanding to know where the money came from.
‘A bequest,’ said Jonty. ‘Now, do you agree or don’t you?’
‘A bequest?’ sneered Ralph. ‘Who in hell would leave you anything? Not your mother’s family, that’s a safe bet. Those pitmen haven’t a penny to scratch their arses with.’
For the moment, Jonty had to ignore the insult to his dead mother’s kin. He had the living to protect now.
‘It was Grandfather,’ he admitted.
Ralph laughed aloud. ‘Are you trying to say I wouldn’t know if you had been left anything in the old man’s will? Don’t be bloody daft, man, I heard it read myself.’
‘Not in his will, no,’ answered Jonty. ‘He put it in trust for me when I was born. He kept it from you because he knew you wouldn’t rest till you had it. Now, I assure you I can pay you ten pounds a week. It will be worth it to keep you away from Grandmother.’
‘Keep me away from her? Why, that sly old bitch must have known about it all this time! Conspiring against me, they were, their only son. All for the low-born get of a miner’s daughter. I’ve a good mind to go up and tell her now, I have.’
‘But you won’t,’ said Jonty. ‘Oh no, you won’t. If you do you will not get a penny from me.’
‘How much have you got?’ Ralph changed his tack. ‘How much did the old man rob me of?’
‘He robbed you of nothing. And I have no intention
of telling you how much I have,’ Jonty said firmly. He could see that his father was wavering, dying to get his hands on the money in Jonty’s hand.
‘Ten pounds isn’t enough. If you’re offering me ten pounds, it must mean you can afford to give me twenty. Twenty’s not too much to give for your beloved grandmother, is it?’ Ralph looked cunning, he thought he could bargain with his son.
Jonty put the money in his waistcoat pocket, deciding to chance all on a last bluff.
‘Right then, Father,’ he said. ‘Go on, tell her. Do what you like, I’m sick of it all. I’m going to take my money and emigrate, make a new life for myself in Canada.’
‘And what about your whore?’ asked Ralph with a sneer, but he looked somewhat uncertain now, as he saw the money disappear from view.
‘I won’t care what you tell people, not if I’m not here to face them,’ said Jonty, his expression bland, though his heart beat painfully at the thought of the humiliation Meg would endure if their affair was bruited about the village. I won’t let it happen, Meg, he vowed, silently, as he turned on his heel and walked away.
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute, I didn’t say I didn’t agree,’ cried Ralph, running after him.
Jonty halted, forcing himself to keep calm as he faced his father again.
‘Go on, I’ll take the ten pounds,’ said Ralph. ‘I’ll say nothing, keep my mouth shut.’ After all, ten pounds a week would buy a fair ration of whisky. With ten pounds in his pocket he could afford to go off to Darlington more often. There was a barmaid in The Hole in the Wall he had his eye on, young and full-breasted and happy to make a little extra to supplement her wages. Girls these days weren’t so keen to go with him without payment in advance.
‘You’ll keep away from Grandmother?’ Jonty insisted.
‘What do I want with a snivelling old—’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Jonty, pressing home his advantage. ‘She has the right to expect some respect from you.’ He took the money out of his pocket and handed over two five-pound notes.
Ralph smiled his satisfaction as he took them. Life was definitely taking a turn for the better he thought. He was off to Darlington, as fast as his horse could take him.
What a sot he is, thought Jonty as his father rode out of the yard. He went indoors and tidied himself up before going upstairs to his grandmother’s room. At least one good thing had come out of it, they were unlikely to see much of his father until the money had run out.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so long, Grandmother,’ he said lightly, dropping a kiss on the old lady’s cheek. ‘I had things to attend to.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Meg was happily preparing the picnic basket one day the following week when the midday quiet of the colliery rows was shattered by the sound that was dreaded by everyone there, from the oldest down to the youngest school child. The piercing racket sounded over the rows, shrieking loudly before settling into an undulating wail like some tone-deaf monster. It was the call for the rescue men.
Dear God, she prayed, the happy anticipation which she had felt all the morning dropping from her and leaving in its place a dreadful fear. She was running to the back door for her old shawl in a split second, desperately going over in her mind which miners were down the pit at that time. Was Da? Or Jackie, or Miles? Miles, of course, Miles was there, and Da. Jackie was on night shift, he would be home, thank the Lord.
Maybe it was a false alarm, she told herself, maybe it was just a small fall of stone, someone injured. But as she joined the crowd of women hurrying from the rows to the pit head, she knew the siren would have stopped sooner if that were so. No, this was something more.
The women half-ran, ashen-faced, not talking to one another, not even looking at one another. And Meg knew they were thinking as she was herself, Let it not be my man, my lad. Let it be someone else, please God, let it be someone else. And were ashamed of wishing it to be so though still they wished it.
Alice joined Meg by the entrance of the pit yard and the sisters huddled together, united in their fear.
‘A fall of stone.’
The whisper came back to them through the thong. The cage had come to bank and the viewer, the colliery manager, was stepping in with the under-manager.
Alice and Meg looked at each other. A small fall of stone wasn’t always so bad. It would be localized. Da and Miles could have been a mile away, working another seam. The faces of all the women had lightened slightly. Not a major disaster, then.
The men were coming up, the rest of the shift, the ones not needed for rescue work. The women watched anxiously, hoping to see their own men among them. There were thankful murmurings going on all around Meg and Alice as wives found their husbands and mothers their sons. But there was no sign of Miles or Da.
‘They’ll be in the next lot up,’ said Alice, not looking at her sister.
‘Aye, they will,’ said Meg.
They waited, watching the winding wheel spinning round and round as the cage went up and down, anxiously peering at the men who emerged from the pit. An ambulance drawn by two sturdy galloways pulled into the yard. The women drew to one side to let it pass. The ambulance was a fairly new acquisition by the union. Before that the injured were often taken away in flat carts. Now only the dead were. The ambulance had a red cross painted on the side in brave new paint and the crowd looked at it nervously.
One or two of the younger boys who had come out of the pit and were standing around looking solemn, fingered their collars.
‘Touch collar, never follow, don’t come to my door,’ they chanted quietly.
‘It’s taking a long time,’ said Alice, and Meg nodded her agreement.
Jackie came running into the pit yard. He had been away up the fields when the siren went and had had to run all the way back. He had changed into his pitclothes ready to go down if he was needed.
‘The face is a distance in bye,’ he said. ‘It will take a while.’ He had caught Alice’s remark and answered it as he went past his sisters. ‘I’ll see if I can find anything out,’ he promised, going off to join the knot of miners preparing to go down with a second rescue team. But he did not return with any news. He glanced over to Meg and Alice and then he was stooping to step into the cage and was gone. And they waited and waited.
‘You go back for the bairns coming in from school,’ said Alice.
Meg shook her head. ‘No, no, they’ll be all right, they’re old enough to wait. I can’t go till I know.’
Alice left it at that. Meg was right about the boys, they were a miner’s children. They would wait quietly, along with a lot of other children in the rows.
And then the whistle blew and the great wheel began whirring again and a shout went up.
‘They’ve got one lad! He’s alive.’
They were manoeuvring a stretcher with a man strapped to it out of the cage. The man screamed. Only it wasn’t a man, it was a lad, a boy of twelve or thirteen, and his body was lying at a strange angle, his head right back on his shoulder blades, and he was screaming.
‘It’s Owen Thomas,’ someone said and they watched as he was put into the ambulance and the colliery doctor climbed in beside him. After a few minutes, the screaming stopped, become a low whimpering as the doctor gave him something to ease his pain. And the driver turned his horse and drove out of the pit yard.
The wheel was moving again. It was a full-grown man this time, he fairly filled the stretcher.
‘Who is it?’ Meg ran forward and caught hold of the sleeve of one of the men. ‘Who is it?’
It was Wesley who stepped forward. He had been a member of the first rescue team and had helped to carry the injured boy.
‘Come away, Meg, come away,’ he said, the first soft words he had had for her in years. ‘You can’t do anything. It’s Miles. Don’t look, Meg, it’s his head. Howay, lass, don’t look.’
Meg pulled her arm away from Wesley. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true, he was just trying to torment her, she
thought wildly. But Alice was standing with tears streaming down her face and Auntie Phoebe came and put an arm around each girl and drew them away.
‘Hold up now, you have to hold up. There’s your da yet.’
‘What?’
Meg stared stupidly at her, what was she saying? She turned to Wesley, unable to put the question into words, but she didn’t have to. He was nodding sombrely.
‘He’s under the stone, Meg, we haven’t got him out yet.’
Da under the stone. Da who had always been terrified of being in confined spaces, who had surprised everyone when he went down the pit to earn enough to keep his family. And now he was buried.
‘We still could get him out alive,’ said Wesley. ‘He wasn’t working directly under where the stone fell, he could be in a pocket of air. He might be fine, Meg.’
Fine? Da, buried alive and still fine? Dear God, she prayed, let him be dead. He was a railway man, not a pitman. Why had he stayed in the pits when his family had grown? Her thoughts were racing round and round, jumping wildly from one thing to another.
‘Howay, lass, there’s nothing you can do. It could be a while yet before they get to him. You and Alice, you have to go home and see to things for Miles,’ said Auntie Phoebe. ‘I’ll ask Dolly Bates to keep an eye on your lads.’
So Alice and Meg, with Auntie Phoebe and Uncle Tot, followed the flat cart to Pasture Row, the cart which held the body of their young brother Miles, twenty years old that week.
The rescue team with his son among them got Jack Maddison out alive, hardly a scratch on him. They had been sure he was dead. Every few minutes they had jowled on the coal with a stone and listened for an answering jowl from the trapped man, but none had come.
‘Did you not hear us, Da?’ Jackie had cried, but his father had withdrawn into himself. He sat passively on the stool he had used to lean on so he could swing his pick in the confined space, the pick in his hand still. He made no move to follow them out of the hole they’d made in the fall of stone. Jackie and his marra had to lead him, bit by bit, forcing his hand open to release the pick first to make it easier for them to get him out. There was hardly a scratch on him.