She turned quickly from him and moved her head impatiently.
‘What’s wrong in people knowing?’
‘Look, Tommy’—she spoke as if she was talking to a child—‘we’d better finish this thing now. It’s my fault; I should never have started it. But you were so damned nice, and nice blokes are few and far between. And you talked to me differently…about poetry and things. You gave me credit for what I haven’t got—a brain; and you didn’t just want the one thing. And I’ll be honest with you…that was your main attraction, that you didn’t grab like other blokes. Not that I haven’t gone out of my way to make you…because, well…I’m made that way. See?’
‘Oh, Beattie, be quiet!’ His voice was imploring.
‘No, I won’t be quiet, for you’re the only bloke I can talk to like this. It’s funny, but it’s the truth. If I went on like this to other fellows they’d gallop all over me. I’ve got to stave them off, and egg you on.’
‘Beattie!’ Now he looked and sounded distinctly shocked.
‘Oh, all right. But look, Tom.’ She became quiet, her voice, her body, even the restless flashing of her eyes, were stilled for a moment as she said, ‘I’ve got the feeling it’d be better for us both if we break now…a clean break. I could go on leading you up the garden; then if I left you flat, which ten to one I will do, it’d be worse for you. You’re too nice. That’s your trouble.’
‘We’re not going to break, now or at any time. I’ve never been more sure of what I wanted in my life. I want you…I want to marry you. And I will marry you.’
‘Well’—the quietness was sent flying away by her laugh—‘even God Himself couldn’t say I haven’t tried. But mind, I’m not seeing you in the town.’
‘Oh yes, you are. And you’re coming to Durham with me. We’re going to celebrate the day we met.’
Still laughing, but rather tensely now, she turned from him and looked towards the town again, clear now and uplifted in the first touch of the twilight. But although she continued to laugh, her voice was steely with finality as she said, ‘It’s up here or nowhere at all!’
So final was it that he had to accept the decision, and he thought: It’s because I go preaching that she doesn’t want to be seen with me…And so great was her power over him that he felt to give that up would be little loss compared with the gain of her.
And as he put his arm about her waist he shut his mind tightly against the voice that cried, ‘Tom!’ which his imagination suggested was Christ’s, but the tone of which held the firm ring of his mother’s.
Chapter Eight: By Any Other Name
On one day a year the pitmen from the surrounding towns gather in Durham, bringing their families with them. And on this day they are lords of all they survey; they may listen to their leaders, but there is no hesitation in making their grievances known. Old and young shout for their rights; men who rarely grouse or voice an opinion let themselves go on this, their day. The town is entirely given over to the miners. Only the cathedral standing on its mighty rock high above the River Wear remains untouched by them. Since Norman times it had watched invasions, and it saw little change in the character of man; he still shouted, he still strove—and it wondered at the little achieved in so much time. But knowing that the time past was only a fragment of that time still to come, it gazed down on the milling throngs with the tolerance and complacency of the aged for the very young. And it might be said that it wished for the morrow when the boards would be taken down from the shop windows, the streets and the greens cleared of litter, and the miners, once more clothed in their pit clothes and their right minds, would be striding up and down the hills to the work they cursed and would have denied loving.
But this year there was no invasion of Durham, for the men who usually thronged it were fighting on land, sea, in the air, down the mines, and in the factories. A few of those miners who were taking a well-earned day’s rest had come into Durham, however; but there was none of the zest of the Durham Gala Day, for even in daylight there were signs everywhere of the blackout, and people’s emotions seemed too wide apart for any real enjoyment.
Nellie, George and Ann, together with Kitty Taggart and Pat, had come to Durham for the day. It had been an excursion suggested by Kitty on the spur of the moment and backed by George. Tom had not come with them, having left the house before them for a destination known only to himself.
But now in Durham, Nellie stood alone by the river staring at it unseeing. Each year on Gala Day she came to the river and watched the boats full of laughing couples gliding by under the shadow of the cathedral; but today she saw neither the boatless river nor the cathedral; all she could see was the face of her lad as she had seen it half an hour ago when, almost with pride, he had presented that lass to her; and not only to her but to Kitty Taggart and Pat. She had been only dimly aware of the unusual silence of the Taggarts, for her mind was numbed with shock. She could not take it in that her lad, her Tom, who was looked up to and respected by everybody, had taken up with such a one as the Watson girl.
She had never indulged in talk or scandal about the people of the town, yet she would have had to be both deaf and stupid not to know that the Watson family were the black spot in Fellburn. That several members of the family had no claim to the name of Watson was common knowledge; it was even vouched for by Mrs Watson herself, who, when in her cups, would tell all and sundry of the joys of her various amours. It was also well known that the only daughter was just a younger edition of her mother.
A spasm passed over Nellie’s face. Her lad…her lad, above all lads, had to take up with such a one! Now she knew the reason for the change in him during these past weeks. She had worried herself sick on his account thinking he was ill, not so much physically but mentally. She had put it down to nerves—men did get nerves—for she reasoned that he would be more subject to them than other lads because he thought and pondered over things so much. And she had forced herself not to worry him with her questioning, not even when he refused Mr Fraser’s most generous offer to him to take on the vacation services in Beckington. It was an honour he should have jumped at; and she had been hurt and puzzled by his refusal and by his stubborn silence as to the reason. But now she knew the reason for it…shame! He was ashamed to get up in the pulpit and talk to others about a way of life when his own could not be brought into the open. Yet today he had made it open…What did this portend? That he was serious? No, no. God in heaven, no! She would rather see him dead.
Out of the depths of her feelings she spoke the thought aloud, and she looked up towards the cathedral and repeated, ‘Aye, I would that…I would rather see him dead.’ And she nodded as if nodding to God Himself, materially present behind those walls. Then up from a chasm within her, wherein was buried a past sorrow, a thought was forced, and the significance of it blotted out the sky, the river, and even the majestic edifice of the cathedral itself. Words swam before her eyes, then doubled and redoubled themselves like an echo. Like father, like son, they said. Like father, like son.
She swung round on the river path and went briskly towards the town. She must get home; she must think; there must be some way to make him see sense…Be still and trust in God, she thought; only to refute the suggestion with, God helps those who help themselves. She had prayed to God to keep her lad out of the war, and He had done so; but she’d had proof before that when God answered a prayer He expected you to accept the consequences of the answer, and to learn the lesson it taught. But she could not learn this lesson. From the depths of her heart, she wished at this moment that her lad was beyond the Channel, among those left on the beaches of Dunkirk.
In Silver Street she met George and Ann. George’s face was stiff and anxious, and he asked harshly, ‘Where have you been, woman?’
She did not look at him, but said to Ann, ‘I’m going home.’ And George protested, ‘Now look here. You’ve only just come; and going home isn’t going to help you, he’s not there. We’ll talk to him the night.’
Nellie looked
at her husband, ‘I’m going home,’ she said.
After a moment, during which he returned her stare, George said flatly, ‘Very well. Have it your own way.’
‘I don’t want you to come.’
‘I’m coming.’
‘No, Da.’ Ann put out her hand towards her father. ‘You stay. I’ll go with me ma. Say I’m tired and my head’s splitting. And it is, it’s no lie. Go on’—she patted his arm—‘have a drink with Pat.’ She smiled at him, and as her mother turned away she whispered urgently to him, ‘Let her be. She’ll be better at home. She had to know some time.’
‘How long has it been going on?’
‘Weeks.’
‘Then why didn’t you say something afore now?’ He too was whispering. ‘You could’ve let on to me.’
‘It was none of my business. Look, I’ll lose her if I don’t go. You go and enjoy yourself and forget about it for the day.’
‘Enjoy meself!’ He shook his head, and his eyes gave her the impression that his thoughts were turned inwards and that he needed her somehow at this moment more than her mother did. But she swung away and hurried to join Nellie, and together they walked in silence to the bus stop.
And there they were confronted by a prominent member of the chapel, whose greeting was such as to turn a screw in Nellie’s heart. ‘Ah, Mrs Rowan, off home then, are you? And so soon? But George is staying though, is he? And Tom?’ He nodded to her, a sly smile hovering round his lips. ‘He’ll not be going back yet either. I see he’s got himself a young lady. Is that why we haven’t been hearing his good advice so much lately?’
Only Nellie’s eyes answered him; and after a short and strained silence, he had the grace to bid her good day.
This was but the beginning. Mr Graham had always been jealous of Tom being picked to speak in the surrounding small chapels, when he had a son whom he considered to be more worthy of the honour. And now Tom had proved that he was right. Yes, this was only the beginning, for there were the men in the pit, hardbitten, dogmatic men. Yet such had been Tom’s appeal and Christian living that they were tolerant of him. But now, let him dare open his mouth and they’d throw the…Watson whore in his face. Her mind did not jib at using the word, but told her she was right, for her lad had met up with a whore.
It was dusk when Kitty Taggart came in from next door. She had not yet removed her coat and hat, and the first thing she did was to exclaim loudly at the dishes stacked with neatly folded wet linen.
‘You haven’t been washing? Why, Nellie! On a day like this an’ all. And are you all alone?’
‘Ann’s not been long gone,’ said Nellie. ‘I just thought I’d get them done. But I didn’t put them out.’ This last was uttered in a way as to suggest that she had not violated the propriety of the holiday.
‘No, no. But, anyway, you’ll be up at four o’clock, and if it don’t rain they’ll be dry afore breakfast…Oh, what a day we’ve had, trapesing round, and nothing to see. I’m glad to get home, I am that. You know, I was just thinking. Durham’s nowt without the gala.’
‘No, indeed,’ said Nellie.
An uneasy silence fell on the scullery, and Kitty watched Nellie folding and refolding more wet garments, and in a voice that sounded false to herself she began, ‘What d’you think those two swine of mine did last night? Did you hear the uproar? With Father McSweeney himself around!’
Nellie shook her head. It was plain to her that Kitty was endeavouring to steer clear of the subject she was wanting most to discuss…Tom and the Watson girl.
‘It’s jailed they’ll be, afore they’re much older. You know what they did, Nellie?’
Nellie again shook her head.
‘They held a funeral on the allotment; and dug a grave they did, and buried young Phil Reeves in up to the neck. Did you ever now! And they turned their coats back to front and read a funeral service over him, in their way. And what d’you think the devils said. That same bit as we used to say when we were bairns: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, If the Lord won’t have you the devil must.” You know. And there they were chanting this when himself passed. And he heard his own voice saying it and he was nearly startled out of his wits, until he looked through the palings and saw the pair of them making game of him—every look and antic to the life. And then what d’you think, Nellie. He saw a head sticking up out of the ground and the tears running down its face, and it yelling, “Let me up! I don’t want to be a corpse!”’
Here Kitty’s imagination got the better of her and her laughter gushed forth. ‘Oh, but I’d have loved to have seen it an’ all. You can just imagine, Nellie, how all the lads scattered at the sight of himself—twenty or more there was—and them jumping over the palings like kangaroos. And himself had to dig Phil out. And a sorry sight he was an’ all. He brought him to me to clean up. He would bring him to me, wouldn’t he?’ She nodded to herself. ‘And do you know what? He stayed until the twins came in. Yes, there he sat over me. And me wishing him far enough, God forgive me.’ She paused and dried her eyes. ‘I meant to tell you all this this morning, but you rushed off.’ Again she paused and waited. But Nellie offered no comment. And she went on, ‘As I was telling you, there he sat. And you should have seen their two faces when they clapped eyes on him. And you should have heard what he said. Blasted them to hell’s flames, he did. And there they were, the pair of them, making on they were scared out of their wits…But he’s got them now all right; at least he thinks he has.’ She scratched her ear. ‘You know what he’s going to do with them? Put them on the altar to serve mass. Every day, an’ all. Did you ever? I tried to get a word in, to tell like that it might be a mistake, but all he would say was, “Quiet now. They’ll start the day well, anyway. I’ll make sure of that. And they’ll not make game of anybody in the presence of God.”’ She held out her hand in dumb appeal to Nellie. ‘What can you do? And now I’ve got to get them surplices and slippers. And look at the expense!…And then there’s the contrariness of it. It’s been me life’s desire that one of me lads should be picked to serve on the altar; but devil a one was. And then he has to go and pick them two. Oh’ - she clapped her hand to her forehead—‘he doesn’t know what he’s up to. For there they were, genuflecting to the oven and serving mass on the fender afore breakfast this morning!’ The door, opening behind her, pushed her forward, and she was relieved of her effort to keep off the burning subject of Tom, for there he stood, his face grim and tight.
Nellie was in the corner, bending over the boiler and drying it out before replacing the wooden cover that converted it into a table. She did not turn round; only her hand that was swirling inside the bowl became still for an instant when Kitty exclaimed, ‘Why, Tom, you’re back early! Did you see anything of Pat?’
Tom stood just inside the door, the knob still in his hand. He did not look at Kitty, but at his mother’s back as he replied shortly, ‘No.’
‘Ah well, he’ll be dropping in on his way home. He’s like death and danger, he’s always there. Famishing, like the lot of them.’
Tom stood aside to let her pass, and as she stepped into the yard she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and she was unable to refrain from asking, ‘Enjoy yourself the day, lad?’
Tom stared back at her, and answered unsmilingly, ‘Yes, I did.’
‘That’s right then.’
The door closed, and there was only he and his mother. The air was warm and prickly with the smell of washing powder, and he sneezed twice and blew his nose as he watched her lifting the dishes of wet clothes and placing them side by side on the boiler top.
‘Mum.’
‘Yes?’ Still she did not turn towards him.
‘We’d better have this out.’
Nellie covered the dishes with a sheet. Then her hands went to her apron; as she dried them her eyes flicked around the scullery, making sure that all was tidy. Then still without looking at him she walked along the passage and into the living room.
Tom stood for a few seconds longe
r after she had gone; and his face was twisted with his perplexed emotions. Then with something of a blustering attitude he strode down the passage, but at the sight of his mother sitting by the fire, each hand lying in apparent placidness along an arm of the rocking chair, the bluster left him, and he walked quietly to her side, and, putting his hand on her shoulder, said, ‘Mum, can’t you understand?’
Now she looked up at him. ‘What do you want me to understand? That you’ve picked up with the lowest of the low? That because of such a one as that your chapel and your God and your family are to be put aside?’
‘Look, Mum…’ His tone was soft, almost wheedling. ‘You’re not the one to judge hastily. Would you lay the blame of all her family on her? If you only knew her…’
‘I don’t want to know her.’
‘There you are!’ He made a hopeless gesture with his hands. ‘Can you wonder I haven’t told you about her before?’
‘Tom’—her hands were gripping the arms of the chair now—‘you’re not serious, are you? You don’t mean to keep this up? Tell me you’re not serious.’
Never had he seen such pleading in her eyes. The pain in their depths aroused an agony of remorse and sorrow within him, and had he the strength he would have put his arms about her and said, ‘No, I’m not serious; it’s just a bit of fun.’ But Beattie did not mean fun to him, she meant life; she had become a cause, a cause for which he was prepared to sacrifice everything. God could be a cause—He had been, with him; the pit could be a cause, and in its own way still was; but no cause could have led him blindly on as did that of Beattie Watson. He firmly believed that beneath the exterior, classed as common, lay qualities surpassing the ordinary; he felt that no woman could be as open and as honest as she was unless these attributes were part of some exceptional character. No woman had the power to arouse such passion and yet inspire him to lift it from its own realm, to sublimate it in love that, at times, seemed to him to be bodiless. How could he give her up and live?
Maggie Rowan Page 14
