‘Break . . . Break . . . Come on, break!’
The referee hauled Hammer off Freedom and gave him a warning against holding, which caused more loud boos and yells from the crowd. Hammer swayed and gave a quick glance to the man with the bell. He was sure it was time. That look was his downfall, he felt the left side of his face blow apart. He was reeling backwards, he stumbled, and the blows kept on coming and coming, then it was black, black on black; Hammer was going down, down into the mines. He was shouting for his Da to help him up, there was heavy, black, thick smoke everywhere. He couldn’t breathe, his chest heaved and he screamed again for his Da, screaming that the roof was caving in. He was falling, falling down a black shaft, no light, no sound, just silence.
The huge crowd in the tent was ominously quiet, they stared in disbelief as their magnificent Hammer crawled along the canvas floor. He seemed to be crying and his knees were gone, he couldn’t get himself up.
Then his body crashed, face down, the spray of blood and sweat drenching the first row of the audience.
Evelyne gasped as the red spray splashed across her suit, and she put her hands up to cover the nightmare in front of her. The huge man crying like a baby, his head split open and the cheering, screaming crowds. She heard herself shouting, and the next moment the place was in an uproar as the men clinging to the ropes high up in the tent fell, landing in the crowd. The benches started toppling as they were pushed from behind, spilling their occupants forwards on to the people in front. Bench after bench went over, trapping people underneath, screaming, fighting, writhing bodies everywhere, a mass of struggling arms and legs.
Freedom and his crew ran from the ring, pushing the avenging, clawing miners back. They were spat at, insulted, accused of cheating, rigging the match. This had happened once before at a boxing match and the gypsies knew they had to get out fast, move their wagons. The touts would collect the money and bring it to the camp; the main thing was to save themselves from the mob.
Hammer’s trainer and corners were still trying desperately to revive him, shoving the crowds out of the ring. It was pandemonium as a sprawling mass of bodies fought to get out of the crush. The apparently lifeless body of Hammer was passed over heads and outstretched arms to give him air, get him out of the tent.
Evelyne clawed her way up over bodies and finally stood, screaming for David, searching frantically for him. She saw Freddy dragging benches aside and he shouted for help. It looked as though David had broken his leg.
Rawnie pushed and shoved, trying to follow Freedom, and felt her scarf being yanked off her head by an irate miner, who held it in the air.
‘Here’s one of the bloody gypos!’
Hands were all over her, pawing at her, ripping at her clothes. Dear God, why hadn’t she listened, why hadn’t she done as she’d been told? Rawnie scratched at the leering sweating faces.
With the help of two of the others, Evelyne and Freddy finally managed to get David outside. He was bent double in agony, teeth clenched. Freddy tried to calm him, giving orders to the hysterical women. The rest of their friends were gathering, calling out to each other, thankful they were safe. There was so much shouting and screaming going on that their voices were drowned.
Freedom jumped aboard the wagon where the waiting boys patted his shoulder and cheered. There were two men up front, and one of them flipped the horses’ reins and the wagon made for the exit. Motor horns were blaring, and now above the yells could be heard the distinctive bells of police cars as they approached the field. The horses kicked and rolled their eyes, and Freedom climbed up front to take the reins.
The guv’nor, Mr Beshaley, ran to the wagon, his face flushed.
‘Get out, get out fast, past the law, he’s dead, Hammer’s not come round, they think he’s dead – I’ll sort out the cash here, see you back at the camp.’
Beshaley saw Freedom immediately draw the horses back as if to get down. He banged on the side of the wagon.
‘Get out of here, all of you . . . Go go go!’
The horses were skittish because of the running, shouting people and the sound of the police bells. A crowd of miners was heading for the wagons, shouting to each other. They were going to overturn the gyppos’ carts. The wagon moved forward, cutting through the mob. Suddenly Jesse was running wildly towards them, waving his arms and pointing back at the tent. Freedom stood between the horses, heaving them back by their collars, handed the reins to one of the other men and jumped to the ground. Jesse’s panic-stricken face was streaked with dirt from the clods of earth the miners had started hurling at them.
‘She’s still in there, Rawnie, she went back in there, in the tent!’
Freedom looked back in horror. The boys tried to hold him back, but he just brushed them aside and took off with Jesse running at his heels, shouting as he went, ‘Get out, all of you, we’ll use Rawnie’s cart. . . . go, go, move.’
The wagon hurtled forwards, knocking three burly miners off their feet. They stepped out of Freedom’s way, wary of him as he raised his huge fists.
Freddy managed to lay David down on the back seat of his car, then ran to the driving seat. Evelyne held on to his arm.
‘He must go to the hospital, get him to a hospital.’
Freddy released her hand, ‘Get a lift home with one of the others, you can’t come with us, I’m taking him home, for God’s sake.’
Evelyne didn’t understand, and she was almost knocked over as Freddy drove the car out of the field. She stared after them. The rest of their group was already moving out, their cars heading for the exits, and Evelyne ran towards an oncoming car with Tulip clinging to the running-board. The car drove straight past, leaving her standing there.
Freedom kept on the move, and when any miner approached him with clenched fists and abuse he growled like a mad dog, baring his teeth and snarling, and they stepped back.
‘Fix . . . bloody fix, man, you cheatin’ bastard!’
With one hand Freedom grabbed the man, hauled him up and threw him against a pole in the side of the tent.
‘You want to take over the fight, man?’
The man’s false teeth rattled in his mouth, and he held his hands over his face, terrified.
‘Anyone else? Anyone else . . .?’
They backed off and let him pass. Jesse was waiting at the torn tent flap and together they went inside.
Chapter 8
Evelyne searched the ground for her handbag. She put her hands to her head in despair. Her hat? She’d lost her new hat! At first she felt tearful, then her temper flared and she turned back. She’d not paid fifteen shillings for a new hat to lose it, never mind her handbag. Her hair had come down from the bun, tumbling around her shoulders, and she was being shoved from all sides, but she gave as good as she got. She stood taller than a lot of the lads she battled through. Having been brought up with three older brothers and having Hugh for a father helped. She rolled up the sleeves of her new suit, it was like the old days out in the yard of a Sunday when she was no more than nine years old. Dicken, Will and Mike were always fighting, and she’d joined in. Now she was as good as any man around her, and she punched and kicked her way through into the tent.
Jesse searched the dispersing crowd without luck, then he jumped up on Freedom’s shoulders, looking for the familiar red scarf, and saw it being waved around by a group of men by the side of the ring. He urged Freedom forward like a stallion.
Evelyne felt her hair pulled from behind, and swung her fist round, belting the gormless young boy on the nose.
‘Christ almighty, there’s a bloody Amazon in there, bach.’
The police had imposed some sort of order now, and they gathered around Hammer’s body with their notebooks out. His manager and trainer stood by, helpless. They kept looking at each other and then down at the massive bulk of Hammer at their feet.
The crowds were thinning out faster than before because the police were there and no one wanted to get booked. Hammer was carried to an ambulan
ce and its crew worked desperately, massaging his heart and trying to resuscitate him. Eventually they were rewarded by a slight flutter of his chest, and he drew a faint breath.
Evelyne searched among the benches, lifting them up. She didn’t care about her suit, it was ruined anyway, but she wanted her handbag. It had more than three pounds and sixteen shillings in it, a new comb and mirror. Evelyne suddenly felt faint, oh God, she thought, my post office savings book! She didn’t care who saw her, she lifted her skirt and felt inside her bloomers, then she sighed with relief. Her precious savings – her legacy – was safe. Then her temper rose again as she remembered that her return ticket was also in the handbag.
She was now close to the ring. Its platform was on stilts, some six feet off the ground and was swathed in tarpaulins. Could her handbag have slithered beneath the ring? She pulled the fabric aside.
Underneath the ring, three lads held Rawnie down, her skirts around her head. A fourth was on top of her with his trousers round his ankles, while the others leered and encouraged him. Her face was scratched and bleeding, her mouth bruised and a tooth missing. She lay half-conscious mewing like a small, drowning kitten.
Evelyne let the tarpaulins fall back into place. ‘Go away,’ she told herself, ‘don’t get involved, get out of here, never mind the handbag, just get out, Evelyne Jones, and for God’s sake do it now!’ At the same time as the voice in her head was talking to her, someone else not Evelyne, she was sure, but another person entirely grabbed one of the broken bench legs and was under the boxing ring like a wildcat.
The lad on top of Rawnie had his head cracked by the bench leg, felt his hair being torn out by the roots, heard a scream like a tiger. Two of the others tried to grab Evelyne; one caught her by the hair, but she was kicking, biting, spitting, and punching with all her strength. The other tried to pull her off his mate and suddenly they all turned, open-mouthed. Light flooded beneath the ring as Freedom, his muscles straining, lifted the platform bodily upwards and tossed it aside.
Jesse took on one of the lads and Freedom, panther-like, moved towards the other three. He grabbed two of them by their necks, bashing their heads together, and knocked out the other with one punch. The boy’s nose split in two and blood streamed down his face.
‘You’re all right now, love, it’s all right, you’re safe, we’ll take you right now, nobody’s going to hurt you any more, it’s all right.’
Evelyne held the terrified, raped and beaten girl in her arms, covering her body with her own jacket. Rawnie moaned and clung to Evelyne like a child, her body heaving as she sobbed. Her small body jerked and shuddered, and Evelyne stroked her hair.
Evelyne talked non-stop, saying anything that came into her mind to try and calm the terrified girl. Wood splintered around them, cries of ‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’ went up. The tent was aflame.
Jesse repeated the cry as smoke began to billow from one side of the tent, the lanterns having fallen when Freedom moved the boxing ring. He called again, but Freedom was searching one of the boy’s pockets. Jesse pulled Freedom’s sleeve, urging him to get out, the police were inside the tent arresting everyone insight. Freedom still grasped the terrified boy with one hand and shook him, his feet off the ground, until his teeth rattled in his head.
‘Remember me, because I’ll be coming after you, each and every one of you, this is not the end of it.’
Jesse turned and gestured for them to hurry.
‘Bejesus, Freedom, it’ll be us in the clink if you don’t get a move on.’
Freedom picked up Rawnie in one arm as if she were no more than a rag doll, and with his other hand he guided Evelyne out. They kept moving, Evelyne crouching down as she ran along behind a row of chairs. Half of her felt she had no need to flee like a criminal, but the flames were spreading behind her and the boy she had walloped with the bench leg was shouting after them, pointing at her. The smoke billowed back and masked their escape, Jesse slicing through the side of the tent with his knife.
They made it to Rawnie’s wagon and Freedom helped Evelyne aboard. He laid Rawnie gently down, and the wagon jolted off, Jesse whipping up the horse. Evelyne had now lost her hat, her handbag and one shoe, her hair was loose, her stockings laddered and one sleeve was torn right out of her jacket and soaked with Rawnie’s blood.
As the wagon made its way across the fields, keeping off the roads and away from the police, one of the youths was telling a detective sergeant that he had seen with his own eyes an Amazon woman with a sword, and she was beating everybody up. It was she who had given him the bloody nose, he’d not touched a soul. The youth was thrown into a police wagon and taken away to be charged with disorderly conduct. He maintained his innocence in the wagon, still persisted with his story at the police station. There had been this enormous bloody woman, like an Amazon he had seen at the local cinema. She had red hair down to her waist and was screaming like a crazy horse. One of the other boys, with his head cut open, was put into the next cell. He said nothing, but by God he’d remember that wildcat as long as he lived. Nearly broken his skull, she had.
The Amazon sat hunched in the wagon, having no idea where she was going or with whom. She watched as the big fighter they called Freedom rocked the poor girl in his arms. He talked quietly, intimately, close to Rawnie, and his soothing voice and quiet strength calmed her. She lay with her face turned away from Evelyne and began to weep softly, and all the time Freedom talked in a language Evelyne couldn’t understand. She had never seen a man so gentle; it was hard to reconcile him with the fierce man she had seen fighting in the ring.
They travelled for about thirty minutes and then Jesse pulled up the horses. They were by a stream and Rawnie would want to wash. Freedom bent to lift her down.
‘Acoi Rawnie, chies so betie, you’ll wash here you’re so chiklo, an’ Jesse mun, we’ll leave gav, the gav mush will be after us.’
Evelyne did not understand what they were saying. She saw Freedom lift Rawnie in his arms and then Jesse grabbed him.
To Evelyne’s astonishment the men argued, the poor girl between them. Rawnie clung to Freedom’s neck as Jesse tried to pull her out of his arms.
‘She’s ma woman, raped mun, we take revenge.’
Freedom snarled angrily, his voice hissing, ‘Kek, kek.’
Evelyne stood up and hit her head hard on the roof of the wagon. She saw stars before her eyes and slumped down again.
‘Will you stop your arguing, the girl should be washed.’
They carried Rawnie to the water and she was silent, head bowed.
‘Leave her with me, go, the pair of you, and let me help her.’
Jesse gave her a foul, snarling look and Freedom held him back.
‘Thank ye for this, woman.’
Freedom filled a pail with water and placed it beside Evelyne. Then he took off his shirt and ripped it in two, throwing her the pieces to use as washcloths. The two men went back to the wagon, still arguing.
Rawnie sat staring, stunned, and Evelyne wet the cloths and washed the girl’s face and neck, then sat down and eased the girl’s skirt back to wash her thighs, and was horrified. Her legs were crusted with blood and bruised, deep blue and red marks where the boys had forced her thighs apart.
‘Oh God help you, God help you.’
As Evelyne washed her gently, the girl laid her head on Evelyne’s shoulder.
When it was done Evelyne whispered to her that there was no trace left, she was clean. She dried Rawnie with the remainder of Freedom’s shirt and called out that they were ready. It was Jesse who gently scooped Rawnie into his arms and helped her up the wooden steps of the wagon.
Evelyne went to empty the pail of water. Her foot slipped and she ended up standing in the stream. Freedom appeared on the bank and held out his hand to her, and as she reached for it she slid down the bank again, ending up sitting in cold water to her waist. Freedom hauled her out with one jerk of his strong arm, but her new suit was now soaked.
‘Ye’d best come back
to camp and dry off by the fires.’
Evelyne hesitated, and he cocked his head to one side and waited. Then she gave a brief nod and was helped aboard. Well, she couldn’t really arrive back at Mrs Pugh’s in this dishevelled condition.
As the wagon rumbled and bumped its way along the rutted lanes, Rawnie sat staring into space, her hands plucking at her brightly coloured skirt. The bracelets tinkled and jangled, but she stared straight ahead, her beautiful face scratched, her lips puffy and bruised. She was calm now, her eyes impassive and distant. Evelyne supported herself on the wooden frame of the wagon as it jolted and swayed. She tried to remember what she had in her handbag, maybe the return ticket was on the dressing table at Mrs Pugh’s, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. How much money? The more she tried to remember the more she felt like weeping. Her lovely hat, oh God, fifteen shillings gone. She sat as far from the fighter as possible, aware that he kept staring at her. She felt no fear, she wasn’t afraid of them, just extremely worried about her purse and the waste of money, bag, hat and shoes. She bit her lip to force back the tears, then felt disgusted with herself – that poor girl raped and all she was worried about was her outfit.
At long last the wagon stopped, and Jesse opened the flap. They helped Rawnie down, she wouldn’t be lifted but stepped down, her head high, even her dark eyes were proud, her face a mask. Caravans and wagons formed a semicircle with large tents and the site was lit up by a huge, blazing fire in the centre. Women sat on caravan steps, while cooking pots on stands around the fire sizzled and boiled.
The gypsies had done well that night and they were celebrating. Four girls danced around, flashing their skirts. In the firelight they glittered with gold and their red underskirts flashed as they clicked their heels. A fiddler started to play and an old woman beat her fists against a ribboned tambourine. As Freedom stepped down from the wagon, they cheered and a group of small children clustered around him. Jesse took Rawnie’s hand and led her towards a painted wooden caravan, its shafts laid flat on the grass.
The Legacy (1987) Page 15