Whilst others droned on, the map continued to hold his eye. Africa, India, Mauritius, the West Indies, Hong Kong … Michael Melody would be going to all those exotic places soon. The wretch.
‘Well, we’ll have to be making a move if we’re to get home tonight,’ sighed Kit, easing her corseted spine. ‘We’ve got to call on Owen yet.’
The unspeakable one. Monty felt all eyes turn on him, as if to gauge his reaction. Deliberately he made no comment.
‘Would anyone like to come with us?’ Kit knew there was no point asking her elder brother, merely addressing his offspring.
Probyn wordlessly consulted his father who had not spoken to his younger brother in over five years, nor mentioned his name, save for one brief skirmish when their sisters had foolishly brought them together in an attempted reconciliation. In this he was not abnormal; many families had been fractured during the bitter miners’ strike of 1885, and there were those in the village who still refused to speak to Monty for his part in breaking the deadlock. That didn’t make it any less difficult for those such as Probyn who could not help admiring the reviled one over his adherence to principle.
Monty was terse. ‘They can please themselves.’
His daughter was apologetic. ‘I’d love to but I promised Mother I’d see to preparations for tomorrow’s dinner while she’s out.’ Wednesday was Mothers’ Night at chapel.
‘Oh, you don’t have to,’ permitted Ann, eager not to sound a domineering stepmother.
‘Yes I do! Make the most of it, there’s nobody else here who’ll help you when I’m gone.’ Merry and her stepmother had become firm friends since Ann Kilmaster had persuaded Father to see sense over his youngest daughter’s intended.
No such amity occurred between Ann and Probyn. He would certainly never call her Mother. None would take the place of his own. Though a nice enough woman, she would always be Mrs Carr to him. Relieved at being able to escape this atmosphere, he jumped to his feet, helped his aunt into her coat, then put on his jacket.
Passing Toby to her husband, who held him with incongruously delicate hands, Kit donned her flamboyant ostrich feathered hat and inserted a marcasite pin. Then, she and Worthy wished everyone merry Christmas and, with their little son, went out into the night followed by Probyn. In no time they were all seated behind a shaggy, plodding mare and on their way to Garborough Junction.
* * *
Responding to the knock on his door, Owen’s dark, billy-goat face peered warily round the edge of it. The astrakhan eyebrows remained lowered for a suspicious moment, before their owner saw who it was and bade his visitors enter. Outlined by the glow of a lamp was a thin, but not puny man, whose handshake implied a determination of character.
‘I weren’t aware there was an eclipse due to take place this year,’ came his dry utterance upon Kit and Worthy entering his parlour, their large bodies blocking out the lamp light. ‘Good Lord, when the two o’ thee get in a room—’
‘Eh, he’s that rude!’ scolded his wife, Meg, and shoved him out of the way. But seeing that Kit was laughing the motherly woman laughed too and paid court to their baby son. ‘Oh, hasn’t he grown! The little cherub, eh, who could hurt ’em? Well sit down. Now then, Probe! We’ve just had us teas but I’ll gladly make you something.’
Owen’s eyes perused Worthy’s massive bulk. ‘Aye, this lad hasn’t been fed in ages, judging by the look of him. Careful how the pair of you sit down, don’t go breaking me furniture.’
Probyn always felt uncomfortable when Uncle Owen made such rude fun of Aunt Kit and her husband. If Owen had a clever remark to make he didn’t care who he hurt only that his audience laughed, but then Kit did not seem to mind.
‘Eh, he’s always predictable, isn’t he?’ With droll expression, she lowered herself on a battered sofa, settling the drowsy babe on her lap. ‘Thanks, Meg, but we’ve already eaten.’
‘Oh aye, at t’other fella’s house.’ With a sage nod, Owen sat down too, offering Worthy a clay pipe which was politely declined. Settling back to smoke his own, he sniffed huffily and addressed his wife. ‘Funny, how they allus leave poor relations till last.’
‘Behave!’ ordered Meg. Although it was meant as a jest, there was a genuine rift between Owen and his brother and she feared his words might give offence to Probyn. However, her apology was directed at Worthy, a comparative newcomer to Owen’s idiosyncrasies. ‘You’ll have to excuse him he’s only kidding.’
Worthy knew this, and performed his characteristic twitch of a smile. Despite all the insulting banter there was a happy atmosphere in this house. ‘Think yourself lucky we’re not imposing ourselves on thee for Christmas dinner.’
Worried that he might have overstepped the mark, Owen was immediately generous. ‘Eh, you can stay t’night if you want, tha knows! We’ve got family and t’grandbairns coming tomorrow, two more won’t make much difference. We’d be glad—’
‘Nay, we have to get back,’ chuckled Kit, kissing the top of her baby’s head. ‘But thank you anyway.’ He was a dry stick, her brother, but kind in his own way.
Owen relaxed amongst a cloud of tobacco smoke, his small pointed chin held at an interested tilt, the dark features turned on his nephew. ‘And how’s our Probe?’
Accepting a cup of tea and a bun, Probyn said, ‘I’m very well, Uncle, thank you.’
‘Hope you’ve been going to your union meetings.’ Owen had always been heavily involved in the union which to him was as much a religious occasion as attending chapel.
Whilst not so staunchly supportive of either, viewing the monetary subscriptions as one less treat for himself, Probyn told his uncle what he wished to hear. ‘Never miss.’
Owen looked knowing. ‘Eh, wash thy mouth out with soap an’ water.’
Probyn’s grin marked the start of an hour that was a good deal lighter than he had enjoyed at home. Aunt Kit had always been a great entertainer. Owen, too, could be relied upon to provide a certain dry humour, even if it was a little cruel, felt Probyn. But then much of his uncle’s humour was a reflection on life, and life in a mining village could oft be cruel, as was testified in Owen’s left hand, minus two of its fingers.
Fired by the jocular atmosphere, Probyn was lured into making his own contribution, and divulged the scene with the recruiting officer, using gross exaggeration to bestow a comic air that helped to remove some of the humiliation. ‘I’m just standing there all innocent and I feel this big hand grab me collar and shake me half to death, almost lifted me off me feet! I’m dangling like a bloomin’ puppet!’ He performed a contorted jig, mimicking Monty’s Somerset burr and making his aunts and uncles giggle. ‘I tried to tell him I were only watching but you know what he’s like. I thought he were gonna flatten the sergeant an’ all.’
The mirth was tinged with sympathy. Everyone knew how much he wanted to be a soldier and it must be hard to tell the story at his own expense.
‘Aw, poor lad.’ Kit wiped the moisture from her eyes, then soothed Toby who had begun to fall asleep before being roused by the sudden laughter. ‘You’ll have to stay away from that Irish chap in future.’ Probyn displayed frustration. ‘That’s the whole trouble, Aunt! I’d been trying to get rid of him all day. He stuck to me like pig muck.’ Loath for her to retain the misapprehension that he had purposely befriended Melody, he risked rebuke from his uncle to reveal the whole story. ‘You know the roof fall that me father was on about?’
‘What’s all this?’ Owen became alert. ‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘Aye, John Cox lost his leg,’ said Probyn adding quickly, ‘Me dad thinks it were my fault but it weren’t. The Irish lad were running away from Judson—’
‘I don’t think I know him,’ frowned Kit.
‘Dreadful family,’ provided Meg. ‘Lives in Fenton Row, next to that woman who stabbed her husband.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Kit nodded.
‘I had to help him, he would’ve got a pasting. Anyroad all we did was run into John Cox’s stall and at same time hi
s roof caved in. I could’ve been the one who lost me leg, worse even. It were just an accident but me dad blames me, and all because I were sticking up for somebody.’
‘I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions, love.’ Kit’s honest face showed remorse. ‘I should’ve known you wouldn’t be involved in owt daft.’
‘And now that blinkin’ Melody has caused all this trouble he’s off to join t’army! Lucky blighter. I wish it were me.’ Probyn sighed and flopped back in his chair. ‘I hate it down t’pit.’ Catching Owen’s eye, he sought to add, ‘Oh, I like t’lads and that, but …’
He didn’t need to finish. In total agreement, Owen bestowed a cognitive nod, puffing away on his pipe.
‘Well, most o’ the lads anyroad.’ Probyn gripped the oaken arms of his chair. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing Judson when I get back to work.’
Owen removed his pipe to voice concern. ‘Tha’s not freetened o’ going back ’cause o’ that yahoo? I’ll have a word—’
‘Nay!’ Probyn didn’t want to appear any more foolish than he had already been made to look. ‘I’m not scared of him. I just think fighting’s daft.’
Owen gave a barely perceptible wink at Worthy. ‘Does this auger well for a military career?’
‘Nay, I mean fighting for the sake of fighting,’ Probyn explained to the gathering. ‘I can’t see t’point of scrapping with anybody unless you’re trying to kill ’em, for Queen and country, like.’
Meg had once witnessed Judson’s cruelty to animals. ‘Well, make sure you give him a real good braying. It’s long overdue.’
Owen took a sip from his cup, addressing Worthy again. ‘I always think compassion’s a fine quality in a woman, don’t you?’
Fired by the memory of that sergeant in his glorious scarlet tunic, Probyn barely heard the quip, offering more argument as to why he should be allowed to enlist.
But in this Owen shared his brother’s viewpoint, added to which was a distaste for imperialism. ‘You might change your opinion next time there’s a lock-out and the troops are called in. They’re hard cruel men.’
Probyn knew when to curb his tongue. He pulled out a rag and trumpeted into it, dislodging the black dust that perpetually coated his nostrils.
‘I’ll agree, no man should be forced to grovel in t’bowels o’ the earth like some parasitic worm to earn his living,’ continued Owen. ‘But coal’s got to be dug and somebody’s got to do it. And in the main you couldn’t ask for braver comrades than you’ve already got.’
Shoving the rag back into his trousers, Probyn gave a mature nod. Even in his few years down the mine he had witnessed acts of outstanding heroism. It was also true that there was a certain beauty in the gleaming black coalface. Yet he longed, yearned, to be free of it.
* * *
On the way home, he gave further vent to his yearnings, conscious that there was no way his aunt could help, but desirous of at least one sympathetic voice in the darkness. After rambling on for perhaps a mile, he had the feeling that his words were evaporating unheard into the cold night air, and tested Kit by asking her advice; not for the first time. ‘What would you do if you were me, Aunt?’
The only response was the steady clip-clop of hoofs upon the country lane.
Kit felt a nudge from her husband and came to life. ‘What was that, love?’
Probyn gave an inward sigh. Nice as it was to see his favourite aunt, she was different these days. You might be chatting away quite happily to her and she’d be nodding and smiling, but then you would notice a faraway look in her eye and you’d know she wasn’t really listening, and that had always been the nice thing about Kit, she had always listened even to a three-year-old’s babblings. He repeated his request.
Kit tried to shake off the image of the tiny grave she had visited this afternoon, that of her firstborn baby, then hazarded a guess as to her nephew’s topic. ‘About the army, you mean?’
‘Yes. Do you think Father’s being unreasonable?’
At first she refused to oblige. ‘Never interfere in other folks lives, Probe, that’s my motto. I only ever did it once and it ended in tragedy.’ She envisioned another dead baby and just as quickly thrust it aside, enfolding her own little son in a protective hug. ‘A person must make up their own mind.’
‘It’s not really Father’s view that worries me so much,’ –though the thought of a good hiding at his age did concern Probyn very deeply – ‘I’m more bothered about what me mam’d say.’
Kit made quiet utterance. ‘It’s good that you respect her wishes, Probe, but then you can’t live your life for other people.’
This in its own way was the advice Probyn had been seeking. He came alert. ‘Aye, you’re right, Aunt! I’m going to do it.’ But within seconds firm decision waned and his pose relaxed into despondency again. ‘Me father’ll go mad, though.’
Kit gave a tired shrug. The motion of the cart was almost sending her to sleep. ‘Well, to my mind, if a lad’s old enough to work he’s old enough to make his own decisions.’
Worthy cringed, but voiced no judgement of his wife’s assertion, holding the reins and looking straight ahead, relying on the mare to steer him through the darkness. He tended to detach himself from the Kilmaster family’s affairs. Life had been very dull before his marriage to Katherine, but during the last year it had been turned completely upside down. Still, the deep love she inspired in him decreed that he would change it for nothing.
Probyn leaned on his knees, swaying with the rhythm of the cart, trying to reach a final resolution. ‘I shan’t be going anywhere this week. Father confiscated me bit o’ brass.’
‘Oh that’s not right.’ Holding Toby with one plump arm, Kit delved into her coat pocket. ‘Here’s half a crown. Go on, it’s Christmas.’
Though a refusal was the last thing on his mind, Probyn delayed his acceptance, not wanting to look as if he only viewed his favourite aunt as a source of funds. After respectable hesitation, he received the coin in exchange for deep gratitude. ‘Eh, you’ve always spoiled us, Aunt.’
‘You can’t spoil quality, Probe,’ she issued fondly. ‘And if I had more to give you’d have it. You’re going to have to sit up straighter than that though if you’re off for a sodjer!’
He sat bolt upright then. ‘I am! I’ve decided, I’m definitely off!’
‘Bravo!’ Kit displayed the smiling urge to help. ‘Do you want us to come in as moral support while you tell your father?’ They had almost reached the fork in the road where they would drop him off.
Probyn shook his head rapidly. ‘No, you were right, it’s my decision and I have to do it me own way.’ And he had finally decided how this way was going to be: he could not, would not, risk a beating from his father. He would simply go without saying anything. It wasn’t cowardice, just expediency. There was a vast difference between running away and running to.
Responding to the soft tug on her bit, the mare clip-clopped to a halt.
‘Thanks anyway, Aunt. Enjoy your Christmas. You too, Uncle Worthy.’ Patting little Toby on his bonneted head, Probyn jumped down from the cart, then stood at the roadside to wave them off, face bright as a soldier’s buttons.
Adding her endearments to the resonance of hoofs, Kit waved back over her shoulder until her nephew’s figure melted into the darkness, then she faced the road ahead. Despite the fact that her husband had offered no opinion, she read his mind and, as the cart proceeded on its homewards journey, she tendered, ‘I’m going to cop the blame for this, aren’t I?’
The mere turn of his ox-like head was enough to convey that Worthy agreed.
‘Oh well,’ Kit pulled the baby’s shawl up under his chin and cuddled him closer, kissing the top of his head. ‘That’ll be nowt new, will it, Toby Treasure?’
2
On Christmas morning they went to chapel where, to Probyn’s chagrin, his stepmother took the liberty of inviting the minister, Mr Lund, for tea at the weekend. That would mean he’d be kept in check even mo
re, sighed Probyn. Mrs Carr was a fervent chapel goer. Some days she was there morning noon and night. If she wanted to see the minister so much, why hadn’t she married him and not Monty Kilmaster?
Though wet, the rest of Christmas was enjoyable enough with sisters Rhoda, Alice, Ethel and Wyn coming to visit.
However, by the Sunday afternoon before the pit was due to reopen his nerves at the thought of his daring plan had begun to affect him physically and it did not go unnoticed that he vanished to the privy for long spells.
‘I wonder if that stuffing’s to blame,’ worried Ann. ‘It was very rich.’
‘It were beautiful,’ corrected her husband, others in agreement. ‘Stop worrying your head about that little so-and-so.’ Monty detested the way his son acted towards Ann who was the most inoffensive person and had shown him nothing but kindness. Oh, the lad was neither ill-mannered nor blatant enough to come right out with it, but the polite thank yous and may I pleases ill-disguised that fundamental air of resentment. Monty could tell, for much of it was directed at himself. For pity’s sake, it wasn’t as if Sarah had hardly been cold when he’d remarried. If the lad only knew what it was like being wed for almost thirty years to someone totally unsuitable he wouldn’t be so quick to judge. After dutifully bringing up six siblings plus seven children of his own, wasn’t a man allowed a little joy before he died?
Family of the Empire Page 4