The cobbled street clattered and clanged and echoed with tackety boots. The crowds hastily parted and before the policemen could find their batons the navvies had gone.
Chapter Twenty-six
Augusta’s feet crunched over the snowy ground as she trudged from her hut to where she conducted the school. Usually when it was dark Billy accompanied her. He carried a torch that sliced a yellow path through the blackness between the tightly packed rows of huts. Tonight, however, a full moon beamed down and reflected on a crisp icing of snow. She needed neither Billy nor his torch. It was Billy’s turn to work nights at the diggings where his job was to tend the horses and run them to the tip. She viewed this with considerable unease. Indeed she had mentioned her concern.
‘Luther, I cannot bear to look when Billy is running with a horse and wagon to the tip. Surely it is very dangerous to leap aside like that at the very last moment before the wagon tips over.’
‘The horse can get out of the way quick enough,’ Luther said.
‘It seems to me it is most hazardous for both man and beast.’
‘Every job at the diggings is dangerous, Augusta. What do you want me to do with him? He’s thin and agile but has little strength. But perhaps I should try and make a navvy of him.’
‘No, I did not mean that. He is intelligent, Luther. He would make a good dominie.’
‘There’s little money in teaching.’
She sighed, remembering the conversation, and her uneasiness trickled from Billy and touched Samuel and Alexander. She wanted better things for them than Luther seemed to be able to appreciate, though she was not foolish enough even in her own mind to denigrate his propensity for making money. Tonight the highlanders were just clearing up their part of the diggings. Luther’s section of the line had been finished in record time and he had been paid a handsome sum for his efforts. Now he had bid for and won the contract for another section, this time without Mr Campbell. She had been uncomfortable about that too, sensing that Luther had been very hard on poor Mr Campbell.
‘Why should I carry him any longer than is necessary?’ Luther said. ‘It wouldn’t make sense. Or good business.’
She supposed he was right but she would miss Mr Campbell’s visits. He had quite gentlemanly ways and knew how to speak to a lady. She had enjoyed his little courtesies and their conversations about books. Not that Luther was ignorant about literature; he had been to college and could even read some texts in the original Latin—something she could not do. But he just did not seem interested in literature or literary discussions. The diggings and the making of money were his most urgent interest and concerns. He had very little time for anything else.
She wondered what this next section would be like. Starting the New Year in a new place seemed significant to her, as if they were on the verge of a whole new life. In a way they were. For the first time Luther was a contractor in his own right. In view of his new status he had rented a cottage for her and the children. She had not seen it and was afraid to give way to the joy and excitement she felt in case somehow it would not materialise, or it would not be so very different from the huts. Her emotions, however, despite her trying to keep them firmly in order kept spilling over and straying out of control. When Luther had first told her about the cottage she had listened with dignified attention. Then later, for no apparent reason, she had burst into tears.
She had not really felt like taking her school this evening because she would have to be up very early next morning to organise everything on to the wagon before they moved away. But Maureen had pleaded with her so vehemently to come that she was obliged to agree for the sake of peace.
A few of the other wives had joined and brought some children so that there were now pupils of all ages from four years up to forty. All of them were Irish.
The long dormitory hut was packed when she reached it and lit by many candles. Seats had been improvised by planks supported by bricks. Augusta loosened her shawl but did not take it off as she made her way to the front. Despite the glow of the fire the air had a frosty nip and draughts made the candle flames jig about.
Suddenly, to her astonishment, the men roared out in song.
‘For shay’s a jolly good fella, for shay’s a jolly good fella.’ Boots clanged to a deafening crescendo with the voices. ‘For shay’s a jolly good fe-ella-a—and so say all of us!’
Riotous clapping and laughter filled the building to bursting point.
Standing before them in her blue cotton dress she somehow managed to look ladylike despite the shawl and the boots she’d been forced to wear to protect her from mud and snow.
‘Come now!’ she called out sharply in an effort to bring order to the proceedings. ‘This will not get any lessons done.’
Maureen, who was sitting in the front row next to Boozer, dug him in the ribs with her elbow and he shuffled to his feet grinning and pulling off his bonnet to reveal a knobbly shaven head.
‘Mrs,’ he said, ‘we’ve been grateful, so we have.’ Then he stood twisting his bonnet, laughter fading from his eyes and anguish replacing it as he struggled to remember the rest of what he was obviously expected to say.
Maureen bounced up. ‘Jaysus, will ye sit down and let me do it.’ Rummaging deep in his jacket pocket she came out with a box. This she immediately presented to Augusta. ‘Here ye are, Mrs. It’s from all of us and we thank ye.’
Speechless, Augusta opened the box. Inside was a beautiful gold watch engraved with the words: ‘To Augusta Gunnet, February 1839. With gratitude and respect from the navigators of the G & A Railway.’
Augusta raised her head to its haughtiest tilt. Only a panic of desperation kept her dignity intact. Even so, tears filled her eyes, making them over-large and unnaturally bright. But her voice without being loud reached every corner of the room with its usual polite distinctness.
‘How very kind! And what a beautiful gift. I shall always treasure it. And I shall always remember the kindness and thoughtfulness of every one of you. Thank you very much indeed.’
More clapping and stamping of feet and cheering followed and she had to put up a hand to quell the noise.
‘But you must not think of this as the last evening of our school. Although I will no longer be living in the huts with the rest of you and it will not be convenient to hold classes so regularly or so often, nevertheless I will try my best to hold a class whenever possible.’
More cheers ensued. This time she waited patiently for silence and then continued:
‘Meantime I suggest that this evening, instead of lessons, we might have a little soiree. I know some of you have excellent singing voices. Perhaps one or two can entertain with recitations and, Lump Regan, you have a flute, have you not? Who shall be first? Come now, you cannot pretend that you are bashful.’
‘I’ll give you a song, Mrs.’ Up jumped Digger Donovan to immediately explode into a lusty bellow:
‘To view the railroad, away they did go,
It’s a great undertaking, you very well know,
It surpasses all others, believe me it’s true,
There’s tunnels for miles that you have to go through.’
The rest of the men began to thunder the words along with him.
‘The cobbler left all the old shoes in the shop,
Old women on crutches were seen for to hop,
And the tailor his customers would not obey,
But rode on his goose for to see the railway.’
Augusta smiled approval and encouragement.
‘Come, all you young fellows, and let us be free,
Again fill the glasses, now merry we’ll be,
Success to all trades in the reign of our Queen,
And the boiling hot water that travels by steam.’
No encouragement was needed. One song and singer followed hard on the heels of the other. Even Augusta took her turn with a rendering of ‘Where e’er you walk’. Horse O’Hoolahan gave a comic recitation and was rewarded with tumultuous laughter
and applause which delighted him so much he gave an encore.
Lump Regan obliged with a tune to which Maureen danced with mounting abandon, fiery hair streaming loose and skirts lifting and swirling higher and higher. Augusta tried to catch her eye to indicate that this was not ladylike behaviour. She did not succeed, but once the dance was over she firmly announced that the soiree had come to an end and reminded everyone that they had an early start next morning and a long march to the new section. Then after thanking them once more for the gift of the watch she bid them goodnight.
Outside it was very cold and quiet. Not too far away there were sounds of the men working at the diggings. Yet they seemed to come from another world. The rhythmic beat of pick and shovel, the sudden trundle of barrow and wagon wheels, the gathering speed of horses’ hooves, the sudden stop then the beginning again, reached her along beams of moonlight with ghostly unreality.
Her emotions were so stirred by recent events she could not settle her mind to return to her hut and bed. Sleep would be impossible. She stopped and looked around. This would be the last time she would live in a colony of huts. She wondered at the regret she felt. Why should she feel an attachment to any of these squalid places? Yet as she stood in the deep brown shade of the walls, around which the children had so often played hide and seek, she recognised the close community and the comradeship they contained which was completely misunderstood by the world outside.
This sense of comradeship extended even after death, and if a navvy died on the line hundreds would march with the coffin to the graveside even though the deceased was a newcomer and unknown to most of the mourners. In fact, a man who had just come from across the water and was a stranger in a strange land could be sure of the biggest turnout of all. Every navvy for miles would arrive to keep him company on his last journey. Augusta had always thought this to be wonderfully kind. There was never any question of burial by the parish. The rough brotherhood of the navvies always ensured that enough money would be collected for the interment and something over for the man’s widow and family if he had one.
She had gone in the wagon and on foot to many funerals, so had Billy and Luther. She had read in the newspaper afterwards of how the local population had been shocked to witness these processions at which most of the deceased’s fellow labourers had been wearing their usual working clothes. It had never occurred to the writers of such articles that the navvies not only might not possess a suit of blacks in their wardrobe but might not even possess a wardrobe.
But what really horrified outsiders was witnessing the navvies smoking their pipes on such occasions especially while they took their turn at bearing the coffin. This each one of them always did, moving up two by two to carry it upon their shoulders. The people in towns and villages or the newspapers that reflected their opinions obviously did not appreciate or understand the fellow-feeling and the kindness involved.
Surprised at how sad she felt, Augusta took several deep stimulating breaths of icy air before continuing her walk to her hut.
Luther was sitting at the table reading a newspaper. He glanced up when she entered. Yet he did not seem to see her. He was smiling but it was an inward secret kind of smile that shut her out.
‘What are you reading?’ she asked for his eyes had returned to the paper. ‘Is it good news?’
Luther leaned back, tipping the wooden chair on to two legs and hooking his thumbs into his belt. ‘Yes, it’s good news.’
‘Well?’ Augusta said after a minute. ‘Are you not going to share it with me?’
‘I told you railways were the coming thing. Now they’ve passed the bill for the line from Glasgow to Edinburgh.’
‘But we already knew about that.’
‘The stage-coach proprietors have begun to see the writing on the wall. But now they’re too late.’
Augusta’s heart gave a flutter of concern. ‘What do you mean?’
Luther stared at her long and straight and for no apparent reason she felt afraid of him. Breaking away from his stare she fussed with her shawl, taking it off, folding it neatly over the back of one of the chairs, then sitting herself down.
‘I mean,’ Luther said, ‘that coach builders and proprietors like your father and his friends are going to be ruined.’
‘Surely not,’ she managed faintly.
‘Why not?’
‘But . . . . there will always be coaches, railways cannot replace coaches.’
‘They already are.’
‘What does the newspaper article say?’
‘It’s a report of a coach proprietors’ meeting. It’s one long whine about road taxation and trying to blame that.’ Flicking out the paper he read: ‘. . . . is yearly increasing and hastening the destruction of the most respectable establishment in the country, no remedial measures have been introduced into Parliament, nor any means taken to avert the certain loss and ruin which await all those who are interested in Land Carriages moved by animal power . . . .’ He flung the paper down again. ‘Road Tax or no, they can’t compete. They’re finished.’
Augusta’s mind could not take in the implications of such a sweeping statement.
‘Not finished, surely. They could balance their losses by joining forces with the railway companies. They could buy shares in the railways.’
‘They haven’t had enough sense or foresight for that. They’ve ruined themselves by trying to compete. They’ve cut their prices down to nothing until they’ve no business and no capital left.’
‘My papa has always been a good sensible businessman.’
‘He thought he was God Almighty.’
‘He would see . . . .’
‘No, he wouldn’t, Augusta . . . .’
She turned away to prepare for bed. Her uneasiness had increased a thousandfold. So many changes and thoughts of changes were milling about that she felt helpless and confused.
And there was something, it seemed to her, very disturbing and frightening about Luther at times.
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Cream and sugar?’ Augusta reigned like a queen in her new parlour. A tray on the japanned table was set with china cups, gilt-edged and hand-painted with roses, and also a matching teapot, sugar dish and cream jug. On lace doilies on a tiered cake-stand were arranged crustless sandwiches no bigger than a thumb, buttered scones and a Victoria sponge cake.
Maureen perched on the edge of her chair at the opposite side of the fire. Her face shone like a russet apple. Her hair had been tamed with much water although there seemed a danger of it springing back to unruly life the moment it was dry. Her best green dress was hitched up to show that her boots had been scraped and polished and her legs properly clad in stockings, although the amount of bosom showing above her dress was anything but proper.
‘Wouldn’t that be a fine treat? But Holy Mother of God, them cups are so thin, amn’t I frightened to touch them. You could spit peas through them cups. They’re that bloody thin.’
Augusta winced. She was careful however not to let Maureen see that she was causing any embarrassment or disapproval. After all, Maureen was her guest.
‘Oh, isn’t it the miraculous thing that Father Mathews has done, God bless him for the holy man that he is.’ Maureen had a habit of bursting out with vigorous and unexpected pronouncements.
‘You don’t mean Boozer has taken the pledge?’
‘Hasn’t him and every man in the gang become as teetotal as the Holy One himself? Oh, and it’s doing my Boozer a power of good, so it is. He was always a big strong fella but half the time he didn’t know it himself with him being under the influence. Now isn’t he home from work and having his supper and fit and ready to get on top of me right away. Why, last night . . . .’
‘His name,’ Augusta hastily interrupted, ‘is no longer relevant, it would appear. Boozer is hardly a suitable name for a teetotaller.’
‘Jaysus, and there isn’t one of us that’s thought of that.’ Maureen laughed loudly and long, making Augusta wince again.
‘So what will you call him?’
‘Ach, Boozer he’s always been and Boozer he’ll stay.’
‘May I help you to a sandwich?’
‘You’ve a heart as big as a bucket, so you have.’ Maureen popped the whole sandwich into her mouth.
Augusta watched her with growing discomfort. It was not of course the first time that the other woman had been in the cottage. In the first few months since she and Luther had moved in, Maureen had called several times to help with the papering and painting, the scrubbing of the floors and the washing of the windows. It had been a great thrill for both women when they had seen the cottage and found that as well as two rooms and a scullery downstairs it had three tiny attic rooms upstairs. Right away Maureen had volunteered to help and had set-to with joyful enthusiasm, singing all the time. She could not have been more elated if the good fortune of acquiring such a dwelling place actually had been hers. Together they had sighed happily over the finished work. Into the stone-flagged kitchen with its whitewashed walls and brown woodwork they had arranged the brown painted dresser, table, stools, rocking-chair and the antimacassared easy chair. The warm dark brown was nicely set off by two green shelves stretching the whole length of one wall. The bottom one held pots and basins and a brass jelly pan and other utensils. The top shelf displayed china dogs, one at each end, and in between a water jug and bowl and a giant cheese dish and two soup tureens. A scullery led off the kitchen and it boasted a sink, some shelves and cupboards all painted green. A back door led into a drying area and a patch of vegetable garden. The stretch of garden was overgrown and neglected but this did nothing to dampen Augusta’s enthusiasm.
‘Imagine, just imagine!’ She clasped her hands under her chin in a rapture of delight. ‘A back door as well as a front door!’
Luther had grinned with amusement at her reaction to the first sight of the house. ‘You like it?’
‘Like it? Like it? I adore it. I simply adore it, Luther. You and Billy will be able to take your boots off and leave them in the scullery.’
The Dark Side of Pleasure Page 19