by Mary Easson
‘They’re pit ponies, Minn. They’ve brought them up from below in preparation for shutting the pits.’
I must have looked puzzled. ‘Shutting the pits?’
‘Because of the dispute. The men and the owners can’t agree about wage rates and the owners are dead set against a four-day week. It’s happening everywhere, right across the country. They’ve threatened to lock the men out if they don’t withdraw their notices of intention to only work four days. The Union’s told them not to work on Wednesdays and Saturdays from the end of the month. The pits may be shutting indefinitely to force the union’s hand. It’s not looking good, I’m afraid.’
I was worried. I stroked the heads of several eager ponies as they jostled each other out of the way, their noses up, sniffing the air for signs of more grass, knowing it was always greener on the other side. Miss Fraser leaned over the wall until she was almost horizontal, doing her best to share out two handfuls of grass and flowers but failing miserably in the face of the onslaught of many hungry mouths. The bolder animals at the front took it all and the meek were left wanting, looking on from behind with sad eyes.
We continued our walk in silence. Everybody would be affected by the dispute if it wasn’t settled, and the sight of the pit ponies grazing in the field was proof that a long, difficult time lay ahead for the community.
At the end of the lane to the manse, Miss Fraser stopped to take in the view.
‘This must be a welcome sight when you return to your family each week, Minn.’
‘Aye, it is, Miss.’ I shielded my eyes against the brightness of the sun. I could make out the tall lines of the chimneys amongst the square sheds, the round wheels of the winding gear, and the pit bings that seemed to grow out of the moss like enormous pyramids.
‘There’s nae better sicht onie place. Its ay guid tae come back.’
I saw Miss Fraser staring at the back of the Smiddy which nestled at the bottom of the hill road and I wondered what was going through her mind.
‘Mr Tennant will feel the same when he comes back fae Canada, Miss.’ The words were out before I could stop myself.
She turned, quite stunned, and stared at me. ‘Mr Tennant?’
‘Mr Neil Tennant, Miss. Ma sister wrote tae me fae Canada. She wrote she’d met him.’
Miss Fraser’s face was a picture.
‘He telt her he was comin’ back tae Blackrigg at the end of the summer, Miss.’ I took a deep breath before going any further but thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
‘He said he had unfinished business here.’
‘Unfinished business?’
‘Aye, Miss. He has business tae attend tae. I hope it was a’richt tae tell ye.’
I pictured the bicycle on the moss and Mr Maclean when he had passed me on the road earlier, looking so happy. I bit my lip.
‘Of course it was, Minn.’ She stared hard into the distance. ‘I’m glad you told me. Thank you.’
I watched her shove the bicycle along Manse Lane. And I hoped sincerely that Miss Fraser really did want to hear that Neil was coming back to the village, in spite of any new feelings she might have had for Mr Maclean. If there was one thing I was learning about life, it was that decisions had to be made with all the facts in front of you. Otherwise, you might get the wrong idea and make a big mistake that you would have to carry with you for the rest of your life.
As Miss Fraser finally disappeared round the corner of Manse Lane, I prayed I had done the right thing.
Chapter 15
John
When we went back to Stoneyrigg after the camp, it was as if a new chapter had opened in my life. Although we’d grown up together in the Rows, a different sort of bond had formed between the friends because of our time together in the hills. I knew that I’d never be able to describe to anybody who hadn’t been with us just how rare the experience had been. It was like I’d joined a secret society with Jim, Dan, Bert, and Sandy – a society with a language that only we could understand. Afterwards, when we spoke about all manner of things, our understanding was coloured by our time together at the camp. My love for the countryside and everything it contained had been nurtured that week though I’d always loved wandering the paths and roads around Blackrigg enjoying the fresh air after long days down the pit. I became determined to pursue that delight in whatever free time I had from then on, not just in the Blackrigg area with which I was well acquainted, but also further afield in the Highlands and Border country where, as I now knew, there was so much to explore.
For the first time in my short life, a question arose in my mind about what I did for a living. In all the years of growing up, I had accepted that my fate was to work below ground. In fact, I’d looked forward with almost unbearable anticipation to the day when I would join the men surging down the pit road at the start of that first early shift. Maybe a life as a colliery worker wasn’t for me after all; maybe I could work above ground, out in the open. It was a strange and heady feeling that came with the realisation that life might contain choices about such things though it challenged all of my experience until then. I’d watched a generation of boys follow their fathers down the pit as if fated to do so by a greater power and I’d never questioned it until then.
At the end of the holiday period, I joined the long stream of workers leaving the Rows on the first day back at work. A small army of men and boys made their way towards the pitheads, boots crunching on gravel in marching time, and conversations hushed by the early morning mist that hugged the blanket bog like a shroud after the cool of the night. The silver disc of a low sun, newly risen above the eastern horizon, pierced the whiteness that would lift and melt soon after everybody had sunk deep into the ground. I had already served my time as a drawer and filler. Now I was working at the face with two skilled facemen, learning the ropes as I took my turn. I had a lot to learn but I was strong and smart enough, and willing. That morning, I was anxious about returning to my usual employment when I would step into the cage with a dozen others and drop to the depths, then wait for the bogeys that would take us down further to the dook, to the underground roads leading to the coalface. After the break in routine brought on by the holiday, I was feeling sick at the memory of the accident that had robbed me of my finger. I was no worse for the loss of it – the wound had healed and my workrate would not be affected – but it would take some doing to go back to the face again with the memory of the roof collapse still clear in my mind.
But there was nothing else for it that morning. Maun-be, as my mother often said.
With Jim, Dan, and Bert, I caught up with Rob on the road and said hello. We’d barely set eyes on him for nigh-on two weeks. Although we’d been kicking about the village for several days, Rob had been keeping his head down, staying out of our way. He seemed to be glad to see us but I wasn’t so sure. A discussion about Saturday’s football matches around the district started up. We regaled him with tales of our time at the camp, when we’d slept under canvas in a meadow by a burn, waking to birdsong and lambs bleating in the fields. It was braw. We’d gone swimming and fishing and hiking, we said; climbed Ben Venue and Ben A’an to admire the views of lochs and mountains; cooked over campfires; played football a million times. The weather had been mixed but it hadn’t stopped us.
What a pity Rob hadn’t been there, we agreed.
Rob said he had heard all about it from Sandy.
Maybe Rob would be able to go next year, we said.
Aye, maybe, agreed Rob.
Maybe.
Conversations about the dispute over the daily rates came to us through the crowd, reminding us of the coal masters’ latest request for a further reduction in the daily rates from what they had already secured. Because word of the coal masters’ refusal to accept the four-day-week had come at the start of the stoppage period, much of the heat had been taken out of the men’s reaction. Some had left
the village for the duration and others were caught up in family plans for day trips and outings to visit family who lived elsewhere. Some debate had taken place when they’d congregated at the steading or in the allotments but there was little that could be done about it until everybody was back at work again, after the stoppage. Even in our house, with Alex and Davy so closely involved in the union, without new information there was barely a mention of the situation.
As my mother had remarked, there was little talk of the mischief along at the Big House and the attack on the pit manager’s son. Anything that was being said was spoken in low voices but mostly folk were keeping their own counsel. In light of the dispute with the Coal Company, it was understandable that feelings were running high and some ill-folk had gone too far in letting those in charge know how they felt. The laying of tripwires, followed soon after by the fire, had folk thinking the two had to be related. Two were in gaol and another had died – a heavy price but maybe they had got their just desserts. If everybody kept their heads down things might blow over. Nobody wanted that kind of bother, no matter how sorely the masters might be treating them.
I noticed that Davy was spending more time in the house and less roaming the streets till yon time like he had in the past. I couldn’t have been the only one who’d seen him in the company of the three miscreants in the weeks before they had come to grief but his name didn’t seem to come up in connection with any of the crimes in question – otherwise Constable Mackay would have been at the door. If anything, Davy’s ability to command an audience was growing. Men sought his opinion along at the steading and listened when he explained a point of view about what needed to be done to make things better.
The line of men streaming down the pit road for that first early shift soon became a throng as we got nearer the pits. Something was blocking the way up ahead. We were still some way back and no one at the front seemed to be moving. Those who were taller strained to discover the nature of the delay. Voices complained that we needed to get a move on since we weren’t paid until we got to the coal face. Why should we be done out of wages because of the company’s inefficiencies in getting us down below? Questions went forward and information was relayed back until it soon became clear what was amiss.
A crowd had congregated around the main gates to the Broadrigg pits where a notice was pinned.
A simmering agitation – groaning and mild cursing that stopped this side of the wailing and gnashing of teeth – filled the bright mistiness of the morning, rippling outwards as if a stone had been dropped into a dark pool.
Alex barged his way through.
He turned to the men, his face almost black with fury, ‘They’re threiten a lockoot, boys. If we dinnae tak back oor notices aboot workin’ the fower days, it’ll be a fuckin’ lockoot!’
‘The bastards,’ muttered Dan’s father, a Christian man who wasn’t inclined towards bad language.
But overall, the response seemed muted, a restless whisper dampened by the mist. Maun-be. The men moved in the direction of the winding sheds.
I forgot about my fears as I lined up for the cage. The injury to my hand did not enter my head, nor did rock falls or flooding or choking dust, nor the absence of daylight and the smell of the moss. I was eager to get down below with the rest of them, down into that netherworld of tunnels and shafts. The men stood in line, eyes fixed ahead, jaws set, heads held high. These were the men who won the coal and I was never so proud to be one of them.
We were living through a time when the dispute in the mines was developing so fast – with regular meetings of the British as well as the Scottish executives of the Miners Federation – that it was nigh on impossible to keep the men up to date except by hastily organised assemblies, notified at the last minute by word of mouth. New questions arose all the time such that conjecture and rumour were soon presented as fact, creating a clamour for truth and hunger for debate. An impromptu meeting started up at Craigpark later that day, in the early evening. The warnings posted at the entrance to the pits had everybody’s dander up. The masters meant what they said – the talk about the pit ponies having been brought up from below over the weekend was confirmed. Surely, this was proof of their resolve. They were getting ready to shut the pits to get their way.
John Doyle and Joe MacNab stood unsteadily on the rim of a horse trough and called for order. Steeny and the others would arrive shortly, they said.
‘It’s a’richt for Mister James Doonan tae command fae oan high,’ said an angry voice, referring to the county union official. ‘The agent’s income isnae gonnae be affected b’ a fower day week, is it? Last I heard he was askin’ for a rise o’ ten bob for himsel!’
‘Aye, bloody parasites, the lot o’ them,’ agreed another. ‘Staun thegither, boys, we’re telt. But it’s no gaunae come oot their pocket, is it?’
‘The miners have got a’body livin’ aff their backs!’ shouted Jimmy Broadley.
‘A’richt, boys. Haud oan,’ called John Doyle. ‘Jist mind whau we’re takin’ oan here. It’s no the Union we’re fechtin. They’re oan oor side.’
‘Supposed tae be.’ Several voices together.
‘Aye, they’re takin’ their time makin’ up their mind ower this business,’ said another in more reasonable tones but clearly frustrated. ‘We jist want tae ken whit’s gaun oan. It’s no like we’ve been asked oor opinion. We’ve no been balloted nor nuthin.’
‘We dinnae want tae be hung oot tae dry for havin’ oor notices in, supportin’ the fower days. We could be oot oan oor necks wi’ nae place tae bide forby.’
Calls of ‘hear, hear!’ resounded round the assembly.
‘The Executive Committees in England and Wales arenae keen tae support the fower day policy. Is thon the wey o’ it?’
‘That would appear tae be the case,’ confirmed Joe MacNab. ‘But I wouldnae like tae say aye or no for sure. Best haud oan tae Steeny comes by. He’ll avail ye o’ the facts.’
‘If we drap the fower day week, it’ll be a strike then?’
‘Aye, maist likely,’ called out Steeny from the edge of the crowd. He pushed his way to the front. Alex and Davy followed in his wake.
Silence.
‘The fower day policy has been drapt,’ he confirmed. ‘A telegram was sent tae the Coalmaisters’ Association at their meetin’ in Glasgae. We’ve threatened a strike if they dinnae see sense an’ agree tae negotiate.’ He held up his hand for calm. ‘The Federation in England and Wales werenae keen tae support Mr Broon an’ the Scottish delegation on the fower day week.’
‘Why no?’
‘Aye, why no? They should be backin’ us. We’ve backed them in the past.’
‘They’re offerin’ tae support a strike should the owners persist in their ettles tae tak wage rates doon ablow seven bob,’ stated Steeny.
Alex explained, ‘The British Federation have their ain agenda and the current Scottish dispute doesnae fit in wi’ their plans. Negotiations inside the Federation are ettlin to keep the union sooth o’ the border on board but dissent is apparent in several regions there. They’re no ower keen tae back a strike in the Scottish coalfield that’d compromise the Federation’s financial position, no when a national dispute, alang wi’ the ither big unions lastin’ several months might be oan the cairds, come the back-end.
‘Mebbe we should dae for oorsels,’ somebody shouted. ‘If they dinnae back us a hunder percent, the Scottish union should split.’ The idea had many supporters.
‘Thon micht jist be whit happens. A split’s been mooted an’ a’body will be balloted.’ Steeny allowed a moment for the crowd to come round and realise that their opinion in these matters counted with the leadership.
‘There’s plenty at stake here, lads, in mair weys than yin. But we’ll just have tae wait for a bit an’ see what happens.’
When the crowd had decided that Steeny had no more to give them, men started to le
ak away, heads down, and their representatives watched them go. They began to discuss how desperately the Scottish union had tried to avoid a strike. The four-day week was a better policy from their point of view. It had given everybody a feeling of power, the possibility of control over the price of coal which the coal owners insisted should be the reference point for wage rates.
The men had argued for long enough in the past that prices – the market – were nothing to do with them since they didn’t sell the coal. They sold their strength and skill to the employers and produced the coal in return. Surely their labour amounted to the same one day as it did the next? But the owners would have none of it. The four-day policy had been a stroke of genius – the men could act to manipulate the market in their favour and keep wages high. But that hadn’t pleased the owners. And they held all the cards. A lockout or even a strike of limited duration would put up the price of coal, so profits for the owners would rise. Yet still they would argue that wages had to come down at the end of the day.
‘Mebbe we should be gaun oor ain wey, richt enough,’ said Alex. ‘Staun up fur oorsels here at hame. Ye’ve tae strike when the iron’s hot an’ it’s burnin’ somethin’ fierce the noo, in ma opinion. Tae hell wi’ the union doon sooth. They’re no happy aboot supportin’ a strike here cause it’s interferin’ wi’ their plans. It’s enough tae be up against the coal maisters an’ be ill-done b’ them. But when ye feel ill-done b’ folk ye thocht were oan the same side as ye... weel, it maks ye sair.’
Hands in pockets, with little left to say but plenty to think about, the five men ambled the few paces to the roadside together where some of us were standing, wondering where to go, what to do next. They dawdled and we dawdled as well, staring across the road at the works half-hidden in shadow from the great heap of spoil above Stoneyrigg Pit, closed long ago and left to rot by the Coal Company. The Glasgow train chugged out of the station in a puff of smoke and steam. The place seemed suddenly deserted where minutes before a large crowd had assembled. I noticed how quickly the swallows reclaimed the steading, dipping and diving as the insects returned. Swifts came back from nowhere, circling high on the warm air, arrow-like against a blue sky, while cattle lowed lonely and long in the nearby fields.