LUTHER: Yi, I do.
MINNIE: No — no! I’d rather have married a tramp off the streets than you. And — and I don’t believe you can have children.
LUTHER: Theer tha knows tha’rt a liar.
MINNIE: I hate you.
LUTHER: Alright.
MINNIE: And I will leave you, I will.
LUTHER: Tha’s said so afore.
MINNIE: And I mean it.
LUTHER: Alright.
MINNIE: But it’s your mother’s doing. She mollycoddled and marded you till you weren’t a man — and now — I have to pay for it.
LUTHER: Oh ah!
MINNIE: No, you’re not a man!
LUTHER: Alright. They’s plenty of women as would say I am.
MINNIE: They’d be lying to get something out of you.
LUTHER: Why, what could they get outer me?
MINNIE: Yes — yes — what could they . . . (She stutters to a close.)
He begins to take off his boots.
LUTHER: If tha’rt goin’, tha’d better go afore th’ strike begins. We should be on short commons then — ten bob a wik.
MINNIE: There’s one thing, you’d be on short commons without me. For nobody would keep you for ten shillings a week, unless you went to your mother’s.
LUTHER: I could live at our Harriet’s, an’ pay ‘er off after. An’ there’d be th’ furniture sold.
MINNIE: And you’d be delighted if there was a strike, so you could loaf about. You don’t even get drunk. You only loaf. You’re lazy, lazy, and without the stomach of a louse. You want a strike.
LUTHER: Alright.
MINNIE: And I hope you’ll get what you deserve, I do.
LUTHER: Tha’rt gi’en it me.
MINNIE (lifting her hand suddenly): How dare you say so — how dare you! I’m too good for you.
LUTHER (sullenly): I know.
MINNIE: Yes.
She gets a candle, lights it, and goes to bed. He flings on his scarf and coat and waistcoat, throws the pillow on the hearthrug, wraps himself in the blankets, blows the lamp out, and lies down.
CURTAIN
ACT III
A fortnight later — afternoon. The kitchen of LUTHER GASCOIGNE’S house.
MRS GASCOIGNE, senior, alone. Enter MINNIE GASCOIGNE, dressed from travelling. She is followed by a CABMAN carrying a bag.
MRS GASCOIGNE: What — is it you!
MINNIE: Yes. Didn’t you get my wire?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Thy wire! Dost mean a tallygram? No, we’n had nowt though th’ house ‘as bin shut up.
MINNIE (to the CABMAN): Thank you. How much?
CABMAN: Ha’ef-a-crown.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Ha’ef-a-crown for commin’ from th’ Midland station! Why, tha non know what’s talkin’ about.
MINNIE (paying him): Thank you.
CABMAN: Thank yer. Good afternoon. The CABMAN goes out.
MRS GASCOIGNE: My word, tha knows how ter ma’e th’ money fly.
MINNIE: I couldn’t carry a bag.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha could ha’ come i’ th’ ‘bus ter Eastwood an’ then a man ‘ud ‘a browt it on.
MINNIE: It is raining.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha’rt neither sugar nor salt.
MINNIE: I wonder you didn’t get my telegram.
MRS GASCOIGNE: I tell thee, th’ ‘ouse wor shut up last night.
MINNIE: Oh!
MRS GASCOIGNE: I dunno wheer ‘e slep’ — wi’ some o’s pals I should think.
MINNIE: Oh!
MRS GASCOIGNE: Thinks I to mysen, I’d better go an’ get some dinner ready down theer. So I telled our Joe ter come ‘ere for’s dinner as well, but they’m neither on ‘em bin in yet. That’s allers t’road when it’s strike. They stop mormin’ about, bletherin’ and boomin’ an’ meals, bless yer, they don’t count. Tha’s bin i’ Manchester four days then?
MINNIE: Yes.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Ay. — Our Luther’s niver bin up ter tell me. If I hadna ha’ met Mrs Pervin fra next door here, I should niver ha’ knowed a word. That wor yisterday. So I sent our Joe down. But it seems ‘e’s neither bin a-whoam yesterday nor th’ day afore. He slep’ i’ th’ ‘ouse by hissen for two nights. So Mrs Sharley said. He said tha’d gone ter Manchester on business.
MINNIE: Yes.
MRS GASCOIGNE: But he niver come ter tell me nowt on’t.
MINNIE: Didn’t he?
MRS GASCOIGNE: It’s trew what they say:
“My son’s my son till he ta’es him a wife,
But my daughter’s my daughter the whole of her life.”
MINNIE: Do you think so?
MRS GASCOIGNE: I’m sure. An’ th’ men’s been out ten days now, an’ such carryin’s-on.
MINNIE: Oh! Why — what?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Meetin’s ivry mornin’ — crier for ever down th’ street wi’s bell — an’ agitators. They say as Fraser dursn’t venture out o’ th’ door. Watna’ pit-top’s bin afire, and there’s a rigiment o’ soldiers drillin’ i’ th’ statutes ground — bits o’ things they are, an’ a’, like a lot o’ little monkeys i’ their red coats — Staffordshire men. But wiry, so they say. Same as marched wi’ Lord Roberts to Candyhar. But not a man among ‘em. If you watch out fra th’ gardin end, you’ll see ‘em i’ th’ colliers’ train goin’ up th’ line ter Watna’ — wi’ their red coats jammed i’ th’ winders. They say as Fraser’s got ten on ‘em in’s house ter guard him — an’ they’s sentinels at pit top, standin’ wi’ their guns, an’ th’ men crackin’ their sides wi’ laughing at ‘em.
MINNIE: What for?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Nay, that I canna tell thee. They’ve got the Black Watch up at Heanor — so they says — great big Scotchmen i’ kilts. They look well, ha’en them i’ Heanor, wi’ a’ them lasses.
MINNIE: And what is all the fuss about?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Riotin’. I thought tha’d bobbled off ter Manchester ter be i’ safety.
MINNIE: Oh, no — I never knew there was any danger.
MRS GASCOIGNE: No more there is, as far as that goes. What’s up atween you an’ our Luther?
MINNIE: Oh, nothing particular.
MRS GASCOIGNE: I knowed summat wor amiss, when ‘e niver come up. It’s a fortnight last Tuesday, sin’ ‘e’s set foot i’ my house — an’ I’ve niver clapt eyes on him. I axed our Joe, but he’s as stubborn as a jackass, an’ you canna get a word out on ‘im, not for love nor money.
MINNIE: Oh!
MRS GASCOIGNE: Talks o’ goin’ t’r Australay. But not if I can help it. An’ hints as if our Luther — you not thinkin’ of it, are you?
MINNIE: No, I’m not — not that I know of.
MRS GASCOIGNE: H’m! It’s a rum go, when nobody seems ter know where they are, nor what they’re goin’ ter do. But there’s more blort than bustle, i’ this world. What took thee to Manchester?
MINNIE: Oh, I just wanted to go, on business.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Summat about thy money, like?
MINNIE: Yes.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Our Luther wor axin’ me for forty pound, th’ last time ‘e wor up — but I didna see it. No — I fun’ him a’ as ‘e wanted for’s marriage, and gen ‘im ten pound i’ hand, an’ I thought it ‘ud suffice. An’ as for forty pound — it’s ter much, that’s what I think.
MINNIE: I don’t.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Oh, well, if tha doesna, a’ well an’ good. ‘Appen he’s paid it, then?
MINNIE: Paid it! Why, wheer was he to get it from?
MRS GASCOIGNE: I thought you had it atween you.
MINNIE: We haven’t.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Why, how dost mean?
MINNIE: I mean we’ve neither of us got as much as forty pounds.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Dost mean tha hasna?
MINNIE: No, I haven’t.
MRS GASCOIGNE: What’s a-gait now?
MINNIE: Nothing.
MRS GASCOIGNE: What hast bin up to?
MINNIE: I? Nothing. I went to Manchester to settle a little business, that’s all.
MRS GASCOIGNE: And wheer did ter stop?
MINNIE: I stayed with my old master.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Wor there no missis, then?
MINNIE: No — his wife is dead. You know I was governess for his grandchildren, who were born in India.
MRS GASCOIGNE: H’m! So tha went to see him?
MINNIE: Yes — I’ve always told him everything.
MRS GASCOIGNE: So tha went clat-fartin’ ter ‘im about our Luther, did ter?
MINNIE: Well — he’s the only soul in the world that I can go to.
MRS GASCOIGNE: H’m! It doesna become thee, methinks.
MINNIE: Well!
Footsteps are heard.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Here’s them lads, I s’d think.
Enter LUTHER and JOE.
JOE (to MINNIE): Hello! has thee come?
MINNIE: Yes. I sent a wire, and thought someone might come to meet me.
JOE: Nay, there wor no wire. We thought tha’d gone for good.
MINNIE: Who thought so?
JOE: Well — didna tha say so?
MINNIE: Say what?
JOE: As tha’d go, an’ he could do what he liked?
MINNIE: I’ve said many things.
MRS GASCOIGNE: So that was how it stood! Tha’rt a fool, our Luther. If ter ta’es a woman at ‘er word, well, tha deserves what ter gets.
LUTHER: What am I to do, might I ax?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Nay, that thy wits should tell thee. Wheer hast bin these two days?
LUTHER: I walked ower wi’ Jim Horrocks ter their Annie’s i’ Mansfield.
MRS GASCOIGNE: I’m sure she’d got enough to do, without two men planting themselves on her. An’ how did ter get back?
LUTHER: Walked.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Trapsein’ thy shoe-leather off thee feet, walkin’ twenty miles. Hast had thy dinner?
JOE: We’ve both had free dinners at th’ Methodist Chapel.
LUTHER: I met Tom Heseldine i’ “Th’ Badger Box”, Mother.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Oh ay! Wide-mouthed as iver, I reckon.
JOE: Just same. But what dost think, Mother? It’s leaked out as Fraser’s got a lot o’ chaps to go to-morrer mornin’, ter see after th’ roads an’ a’ that.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Th’ roads wants keepin’ safe, dunna they?
JOE: Yi — but if th’ mesters wunna ha’e th’ union men, let ‘em do it theirselves.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha talks like a fool.
LUTHER: What right ha’ they ter get a lot of scrawdrags an’ blacklegs in ter do our work? A’ th’ pit maun fa’ in, if they wunna settle it fair wi’ us.
JOE: Then workin’s is ours, an’ th’ mesters’. If th’ mesters wunna treat us fair, then they mun keep ‘em right theirselves. They non goin’ ter ha’e no third body in.
MINNIE: But even when it’s settled, how are you going back, if the roof has come in, and the roads are gone?
JOE: Tha mun ax th’ mesters that. If we canna go back ter th’ rotten owd pits no more, we mun look elsewhere. An’ th’ mesters can sit atop o’ their pits an’ stroke ‘em.
LUTHER (to MINNIE): If I got a woman in to do th’ housework as tha wunna do for me, tha’d sit smilin’, shouldn’t ter?
MINNIE: She could do as she liked.
LUTHER: Alright. Then, Mother, ‘appen tha’lt boss this house. She run off ter Manchester, an’ left me ter starve. So ‘appen tha’lt come an’ do for me.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Nay — if ter wants owt tha mun come ter me.
JOE: That’s right. Dunna thee play blackleg i’ this establishment.
MRS GASCOIGNE: I s’ll mind my own business.
JOE (to MINNIE): Now, does thee think it right, Minnie, as th’ mesters should get a lot o’ crawlin’ buggers in ter keep their pits i’ order, when th’ keepin’ o’ them pits i’ order belongs by right to us?
MINNIE: It belongs to whosoever the masters pay to do it.
LUTHER: A’ right. Then it belongs to me to ha’e any woman in ter do for me, as I’ve a mind. Tha’s gone on strike, so I ha’e the right ter get anybody else.
MINNIE: When have I gone on strike? I have always done your housework.
LUTHER: Housework — yi! But we dunna on’y keep th’ roof from comin’ in. We get as well. An’ even th’ housework tha went on strike wi’. Tha skedaddled off ter Manchester, an’ left me to’t.
MINNIE: I went on business.
LUTHER: An’ we’ve come out on strike “on business”.
MINNIE: You’ve not; it’s a game.
LUTHER: An’ the mesters’ll ta’e us back when they’re ready, or when they’re forced to. An’ same wi’ thee by me.
MINNIE: Oh!
JOE: We got it fr’ Tom Rooke — ’e wor goin’ ter turn ‘em down. At four to-morrer mornin’, there’s ower twenty men goin’ down.
MRS GASCOIGNE: What a lot of fools men are! As if th’ pits didn’t need ter be kep’ tidy, ready for you to go back to’m.
JOE: They’ll be kep’ tidy by us, then an’ when we’ve a mind — an’ by nobody else.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha talks very high an’ mighty. That’s because I ha’e th’ feedin’ on thee.
JOE: You put it like our Luther says, then. He stands for t’mesters, an’ Minnie stands for t’men — cos ‘er’s gone on strike. Now becos she’s went ter Manchester, had he got ony right ter ha’e Lizzie Charley in for a couple o’ nights an’ days?
MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha talks like a fool!
JOE: I dunna.
MINNIE: He’s welcome to Lizzie Charley.
JOE: Alright. — She’s a nice gel. We’ll ax ‘er to come in an’ manage th’ ‘ouse — he can pay ‘er.
MINNIE: What with?
JOE: Niver you mind. Should yer like it?
MINNIE: He can do just as he likes.
JOE: Then should I fetch her? — should I, Luther?
LUTHER: If ter’s a mind.
JOE: Should I, then, Minnie?
MINNIE: If he wants her.
LUTHER: I want somebody ter look after me.
JOE: Right tha art. (Puts his cap on.) I’ll say as Minnie canna look after th’ house, will ‘er come. That it?
LUTHER: Ah.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Dunna be a fool. Tha’s had a can or two.
JOE: Well — ’er’ll be glad o’ the job.
MRS GASCOIGNE: You’d better stop him, one of you.
LUTHER: I want somebody ter look after me — an’ tha wunna.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Eh dear o’ me! Dunna thee be a fool, our Joe.
Exit JOE.
What wor this job about goin’ ter Manchester?
LUTHER: She said she wouldna live wi’ me, an’ so ‘er went. I thought ‘er’d gone for good.
MINNIE: You didn’t — you knew.
LUTHER: I knowed what tha’d towd me — as tha’d live wi’ me no longer. Tha’s come back o’ thy own accord.
MINNIE: I never said I shouldn’t come back.
LUTHER: Tha said as tha wouldna live wi’ me. An’ tha didna, neither, — not for —
MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, Minnie, you’ve brought it on your own head. You put him off, an’ you put him off, as if ‘e was of no account, an’ then all of a sudden you invited him to marry you —
MINNIE: Put him off! He didn’t need much putting off. He never came any faster than a snail.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Twice, to my knowledge, he axed thee — an’ what can a man do more?
MINNIE: Yes, what! A gramophone in breeches could do as much.
MRS GASCOIGNE: Oh, indeed! What ailed him was, he wor in collier’s britches, i’stead o’ a stool-arsed Jack’s.
MINNIE: No — what ailed him was that you kept him like a kid hanging on to you.
MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ tha bit thy own nose off, when ter said him nay. For had ter married him at twenty-three, there’d ha’ been none of this trouble.
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 723