The Rocking Stone

by Jill Rutherford

  My mother continued to breathe noisily and I worried about her. I was wondering what to do when she came back to the present and looked at me with loving eyes. ‘Oh, cariad, maybe it is better that you do not know, you’re only a child. I don’t want to frighten you. We should stop now.’

  I was horrified. How could I make her understand that I really wanted to know the worst? ‘Please, Mam, please tell me. I really want to know and I’m nearly grown up. Please.’

  She sighed and looked at me closely. ‘All right,’ she whispered and I had a job to hear her, ‘maybe you’re right, but remember, it is not a pretty story, but it’s our life here . . . it’s the price we pay for being poor and working in the pits.’ She coughed and paused. ‘You’ll find out soon enough that poor people always pay the price rich people demand. They don’t care about us. Remember this story, for if you do marry a miner you could be doing the same thing I was.’ She took ragged breaths and I waited again. ‘Don’t forget, my lovely, when this happened, I was only fourteen . . . but after it was over . . . I left my childhood behind and became a woman shaped by the mines . . . ruled by them . . . reliant on them . . . and hating them.’ She looked at me to see if I had understood and I nodded.

  ‘Yes, Mam, I understand,’ although I didn’t, but felt so grown up that my mother was telling me such things.

  ‘Well, my lovely, will you pass me my tea again, I need a drink.’ I passed her the cup and she drank in small sips until it was empty. I put it down on the table and snuggled into her again. She rested as I held her until her breathing was easier.

  ‘Something like this is very hard to talk about. I’ve not talked about this to anyone else before . . . the memories are so real to me, even now, twelve years later.’

  ‘That’s before I was born . . . before I was me.’

  She laughed, gently. ‘Yes, that’s right, before anyone knew anything about you. I never thought I would have such a lovely daughter.’ She coughed. ‘I’m proud of you, Kate, and I love you very much . . . whatever happens, don’t ever forget that.’

  I snuggled closer to her and never wanted this to end. It was like old times when we would cuddle up together and sing songs and play games. I missed her so much.

  ‘What happened next?’ I asked, full of curiosity.

  ‘We continued to wait.’

  Her voice was so quiet now I could only just hear her.

  ‘Sometimes, bodies were brought up and women would cry thinking it might be their man. Hope went through us when someone was brought up alive. But mostly, the miners were dead . . . there were so many of them they had to lay them in the stables . . . they were empty you see . . . those lovely horses, over a hundred of them, were killed. Blown up or killed by the afterdamp. Poor, poor creatures, they deserved better . . . as did we.’

  She blew her nose again and fell silent.

  ‘What’s afterdamp, Mam?’

  She looked down at me. ‘Curious child, but that’s good. Find out as much as you can about the world, there’s more to life than Ponty and pits. Maybe your life will be different.’ I didn’t understand what she meant, but stayed silent.

  She coughed and breathed heavily and took another rest. I took hold of her hand and squeezed it. It was cold, like ice. She took a shuddering breath and spoke slowly. ‘Firedamp is a gas found in coal seams, it’s always a danger because sometimes it explodes and sets the coal dust alight . . . and the afterdamp is a gas that comes from that and is very poisonous. It’s a terrible thing . . . terrible. It will kill anything that breathes it in. That’s what happened to my dad.’

  ‘You found him then. When? When did you find him?’

  ‘Oh, it was a long time after. We’d all been standing at the pit for days. It was all very slow. It was so difficult underground . . . it was awful above ground too as so many people had come to watch . . . I remember those people . . . I hated them.’

  ‘Why, Mam?’

  ‘They were terrible. People can be so cruel. They came just to look. To look at our misery, to see our loved ones brought up. They rushed when they saw a body being brought up, wanting to see all the–’

  I looked up at her wondering why she’d stopped so suddenly as she took a shuddering breath and spoke very slowly. ‘They were . . . terrible people . . . some say twenty thousand came and it was difficult for us to move through them when we needed to go to our homes for some rest. Some even got drunk – it was shameful. The breweries sent drays of beer and sold it as if people were at an entertainment.’ She paused and when she spoke her whisper was fierce. ‘I felt like pushing that beer down their throats and it was only because I was so well brought up and I couldn’t shame my mother, that I didn’t. But Maddy Thomas didn’t have any such qualms. I remember her . . . poor Maddy . . . she took the mugs out of their hands and threw the beer into their faces shouting, ‘Shame on you. Get out of here and take care of your own.’ She paused. She got at least five of them before her sisters pulled her away. It was awful to see and I never liked people much after that: except you and Daddy and Davy, of course.’

  I felt my mother’s body stiffen, she was so tense. We were silent for a while until I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  ‘What about your dad? What happened?’

  She looked at me, searching my eyes. ‘I suppose I must tell you, you have to know the ending . . . but it is not nice.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said quickly, afraid she’d stop.

  ‘Well, give me a moment to get my breath.’

  ‘Yes, Mam. Will it help if I rub your chest? You know, like you do when I’ve got a cough.’

  She laughed a little laugh, like a baby I thought. ‘Oh, sweet Kate, if only . . .’ She looked at her pictures again and sighed. She coughed and spat a few times.

  She looked very serious. ‘The men, Katie love, the men were laid in the hayloft of the stables and we families had to go and look at every one of them and try to identify our own. It was hard . . . so hard. I went with my mother and sisters every day, but we never saw him. We had to look . . . oh, God help us . . . but never mind about that.’

  ‘What, Mam? Never mind about what?’ I was itching to know. It was like a mysterious insight into the adult world.

  She looked down at me and tears streamed down her face. ‘No, I’m sorry my lovely. Some things are too awful to say. You’ll be better off not knowing. Just let’s say that one day, we went and we found him. We buried him. We lived without him. It was hard.’

  ‘Is that why I don’t have a grandmother either? It was too hard?’

  She hugged me to her but it was so gentle it was almost no hug at all. ‘My mother died a year later of a broken heart. She just couldn’t carry on . . . she’d have been better off if she’d cried like so many of the women, but she kept all her feelings in. I didn’t see her shed a tear. It’s best to cry, Kate. Remember that, cry all you want, let that misery out of you . . . Let those emotions out into the air and with luck, that air will kill them. An emotion out of the body is one less to cope with.’

  Again, I didn’t understand but I nodded and said, ‘Yes, I’ll remember.’

  She coughed and spat into her jar again. I could see she was exhausted and I felt selfish but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘What happened? How could you live without a mam or dad?’

  She smiled. I smiled back and our eyes locked in love. I felt loved and wanted and important because my mother was sharing bad things with me. I loved her more than I could say.

  Her voice was getting weaker as I struggled to hear. ‘We went into service, became servants. That’s all we could do. I went to Cardiff and your aunties went to Brecon. They were lucky, they got work in the same house, but there was no opening for me, so I went to a big house in Cardiff.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was young, so I had to work as the scullery maid. I washed up the dishes and cleaned pots and kept the kitchen clean. It was hard work, but I had a roof over my head and I had food to eat. I tried not to think
about it too much . . . Then I met your dad, and we got married. He was a collier in Ponty so I came back here to live. Then we had you and Davy to complete our family. I’ve been so blessed. So very blessed. Never forget that your mother felt blessed.’

  ‘Yes, Mam, I’ll never forget,’ I said as I hugged her gently.

  She closed her eyes and I could see she was asleep. I stayed there, cuddled up, not wanting to leave her. After a while, as I listened to her trying to breathe properly, I got worried about the time. My dad would be home soon. He mustn’t catch me here, I knew that. I eased my way from under her arm and stood next to the bed as the cool air hit me like a slap. Tears filled my eyes as I looked at my mother. I picked up the cups and turned to look at her once more. I would remember this day forever.

  I just got downstairs in time to wash the cups and put them away before my dad came in from work.

  He was a small, thin man with a mop of black straight hair which he ‘kept short for the pits’. He looked old: much older than last week.

  ‘Where’s your aunty?’ he asked.

  ‘She didn’t come.’

  ‘What? What do you mean? One of them has to be here when I’m on shift. You’re too young to leave with mam like she is.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Davy?’

  ‘He’s gone to a friend’s birthday party. I have to fetch him at five o’ clock.’

  He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, ‘Well, you’d better go and fetch him then. You didn’t go upstairs to your mam did you?’ His tone made me wary.

  I didn’t know what to say but the words came out as if it was not me speaking. ‘No, Dad. I’ve been told not to.’ It was the first big lie I had ever told him and I felt terrible. I was afraid my mother would get into trouble more than I was afraid for myself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Three months went by and I hadn’t seen my mother since our secret talk. I missed her so much. We knew she was at the end of her struggle and my mother’s two sisters, Aunty Gladys, short in stature and temper, and stout with it and Aunty Irene, taller and thinner, but just as dour, had been in the house for hours. Neighbours came to the door saying, ‘Oh, what a pity, can we do anything to help?’ But I could see that they had excitement in their eyes, enjoying the drama of it, glad it wasn’t their kin dying like this. People said you got the consumption because you were a bad person, or a dirty person, or any other horrible thing that took their fancy. I hated them all and I hated what was happening most of all.

  My father refused to go to work that last week and he spent all his time with my mother and us, but mostly with my mother. Me and Davy didn’t mind too much. Dad had explained how it was his last chance to spend time with her and how much she needed constant care. He cried a lot, which made Davy cry and I comforted Davy and my father comforted my mother, or did she comfort him like she did with me?

  As we sat in our kitchen and waited I heard my aunties whispering to each other. ‘Who does he think will feed his family if he doesn’t go to work? Muggings us, that’s who. Well, it will be bread and jam and that’s that. And he’s called the doctor too! The expense! Well, it won’t stop her from dying.’ That was the first time I realised they didn’t like him, but I don’t think Aunty Gladys liked anyone.

  The thought of how my lovely mother could have two such witches for sisters kept going round and round in my head as Davy and me sat at the table, where we could see all that was happening. He was snivelling and frightened. Poor little Davy: I tried to comfort him, but he was like a dog who’d taken fright.

  Then, as we were eating bread and jam for our tea, Davy and me looked up at the noisy footsteps on the stairs. Our father appeared with the doctor. ‘Well, she’s at peace now,’ the doctor said as he looked around at my aunties and us. His gaze lingered on us. ‘Her suffering is over, thank the Lord.’ We looked down at the floor.

  ‘Who will look after the children?’ he asked.

  ‘They’ll go to my wife’s sisters for a while. They’ll help out,’ my father said.

  The doctor nodded and my aunties smiled sweet little smiles at him and when he was gone they glared at us. Davy looked up at me with pleading eyes and I put my arm around his bony shoulders and hugged him to me.

  ‘The doctor’s given me the death certificate,’ my father said. ‘I need some–’ I thought he was going to burst into tears. ‘I’m going down to . . . to register the death. I’ve just got time. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ And he picked up his cap and was gone.

  He’d left us! Left me and Davy with the aunties. The shock of that made me speechless. How could he?

  My aunties went upstairs for a while and then Aunty Gladys came down. Davy and me were still sat cuddled up.

  ‘Right, upstairs, both of you,’ she barked. Davy and I were terrified and I shook my head, afraid of what I would see. But Aunty Gladys stood over us. I knew she ruled her house with a rod of iron and my mother had always warned me not to get on the wrong side of her. Davy was still snivelling. She folded her arms and waited. ‘I haven’t got all day, get up those stairs and say goodbye to your mother.’ Davy and I looked at each other, terrified, but I knew we had no choice. I nodded, got up and took his hand pulling him up. He hung on to my hand tightly and I wanted to be brave for him.

  We stood in the bedroom doorway and looked at our mother. She was lying on her back and the smell in the room was even worse than before. I felt sick and Davy snivelled even more. The bedclothes were drawn up under her chin and her eyes were closed. But there was something different about her. Her ravaged look had gone and she looked young, almost happy.

  I felt a surge of happiness, she was better. ‘Mam, it’s us, me and Davy,’ I said.

  Aunty Gladys interrupted, ‘She’s dead you stupid child. Can’t you understand dead? You’ll never see her again. She’ll never move again or speak to you again. She’s ready to be put into the ground. Say goodbye to her.’ She pushed us towards the bed and the smell got worse and I knew this person in the bed was not my mother, my lovely, pretty, happy mother, who had looked at me with such love.

  ‘Kiss her then,’ Aunty Gladys said.

  Davy stared up at me with a look of horror. Aunty Gladys picked him up and moved him so that his face was near our mother’s. ‘Kiss her then, child, I haven’t got all day.’ Davy made an exaggerated smacking noise with his lips although I could see he didn’t touch her but it seemed to satisfy Aunty.

  ‘Your turn next, child.’

  I didn’t want her to pick me up and force my face into my mother’s, so I took a deep breath and held it as I stood on tip toe and decided that, unlike Davy, I was going to kiss my mother. Touch her skin with my lips. I kissed her on her cheek and it felt clammy and odd, but I shut my eyes and saw my mother laughing and running over the mountain as we used to do together. When she didn’t take me into her arms but lay unmoving, tears filled my eyes. I knew then what death was. She’d left us.

  Aunty Gladys said, ‘Right, your bag is packed, let’s go. You’re coming to live with me for a while and I have to get the tea ready for my own family. They won’t take kindly to going without even though your mother has died.’

  I heard her say to Aunty Irene, ‘Don’t forget you get to look after them in six months’ time. I’m not having them a minute longer than I have to.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, we agreed. I’ll take them in six months and then they go back to you for another six.’

  ‘And back to you for another six,’ she hissed. ‘And don’t you forget it,’ said Aunty Gladys, glaring at her sister as she had done to us earlier. ‘Well, come on you two. Hurry up. Pick up your bag, I’m not a porter.’

  How I hated her. My heart was breaking and Davy was crying in earnest now. I took his hand and picked up the bag and followed her into our new life.

  ‘Is our dad coming to live at your house too, Aunty Gladys?’ I asked as she marched us through the streets to her house. ‘

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘I’ve no room for hi
m as well. He’ll have to find himself some lodgings with a family.’

  I tried to stop the tears welling up. So, no dad either.

  And with that, Davy and I started our loveless life. We were farmed out between Aunty Gladys and Aunty Irene. There was never quite enough of anything to go round, especially food, and we got the least of everything; consequently, neither of us grew very big.

  The houses around us were all built to the same design, grey stone and terraced, two rooms up and two down with a toilet at the end of the garden. They were so similar that I sometimes got confused as to whose house I was living in, but it didn’t matter as they all treated me as a skivvy. I hated them all.

  Aunty Gladys was the worst. She had seven children who she ruled with a rod of spite and a husband who got drunk regularly. She couldn’t rule him so she turned on us every time he turned on her. Fortunately, Davy, being so young, and a boy, got off lightly in comparison and didn’t have to do as much as me.

  I did a lot of the cleaning, washing and worst of all, the emptying of the chamber pots. No one wanted that job and it was left to me. If I didn’t do it, Aunty Gladys made sure I did. I learned what being a wife and mother in a mining town actually meant. The never-ending slog of day after day cleaning away the thick, heavy coal dust that settled on everything. Walls, doors and windows, inside and out, needed washing every day as even with the doors and windows shut the dust came in. It covered our food if we left it out of the cupboard and we breathed the horrible stuff into our lungs. We lived, breathed and ate coal dust and I knew no different.

  I had to help her eldest, Alice, with the cooking. She was thirteen and hated it, and made me do all the peeling of vegetables and the cutting up of what little meat there was even though I was too young for such a job. The knife was too big for my small hands and I had many little scars on my fingers where the knife had slipped. One day, while I was cutting up a poor rabbit that one of the boys had trapped, Alice shouted, ‘Stop that snivelling. What’s the matter with you?’

  I wiped my nose on my sleeve, sniffing loudly. ‘It’s still warm, and it’s so pretty. I feel sorry for it. I don’t want to eat it.’