Scarlet Runner

by Lily Ennis

  ‘Well, when they do,’ Selwyn said, ‘this committee ain’t telling us who we can and can’t do business with.’

  The coal merchants left in a close bunch and the businessmen straggled out after them. Ian held the committee back. ‘They’re laying the strike on us,’ he said. ‘We need to be seen to support business. It’s one thing to get pay for our lads but we shouldn’t expect all the other poor buggers to be out of pocket. Council staff and the like, I mean.’

  Archie screwed up his face. ‘You’re right. I’ll get a list of creditors and start working with Mr. Brady.’

  As they left the hall Ted and Cyril Gilliespie approached.

  ‘Have you heard that Ewen Campbell is playing piano at the pictures?’ asked Ted.

  The whole committee rounded on Ted.

  ‘What!’ It was Ian. ‘He’ll do no such thing. What does he think he’s playing at?’

  Cyril explained. ‘Old Jonesy figured he wouldn’t be doing much business so he laid off the other piano player and hired Ewen for less.’

  ‘No!’ cried Ian. ‘We’re not having it. How dare a striking man take on other work. It undermines the bloody lot of us. And makes us look like monkeys.’

  Ian marched to the picture theatre followed by Floyd and Archie where the proprietor protested that he didn’t know Mr. Campbell was a striking man.

  ‘We’ll be instructing a boycott of the pictures if you continue his employment,’ said Ian.

  ‘But who can I get at such short notice?’ whined Jones. ‘I’m doing a show this afternoon.’

  Archie casually stroked his moustache. ‘I may be able to help you there. Ask Miss Bell, Gerald Bell’s daughter. She’s a piano teacher.’

  Floyd sucked in air through pursed lips. ‘I don’t know Arch. She’s not exactly neutral. Gerald is management – he’s not on our side. Her brother’s an engine driver. What about the woman who runs the music academy?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Archie. Funny how people saw things. Mary hadn’t shown her colours to him, but the boys were right. Mary’s family alliances were too obvious. She couldn’t possibly play.

  The committee left Jonesy with an ultimatum: a new approved piano player or a boycott.

  * * *

  Nell was hosting a small luncheon at the back of the academy when Jonesy turned up cap in hand asking her to play this afternoon.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Jones,’ said Nell. ‘You are in a bit of a pickle.’ Nell’s blonde bob bounced as she spoke and she had a twinkle in her eye as she poured tea for Mary and Josie, another former pupil. ‘I’m sure one of these girls might like to play for you this afternoon.’

  Mary frowned. Nell knew she could do no such thing, having Thomas to look after, unless Nell was also offering to mind the boy.

  Jonesy twisted his cap in his hands and grimaced. ‘No disrespect intended ladies, but I need someone who is, ah, let’s say, acceptable to the miners.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mary. ‘And you will of course pay Nell one and a half times what you paid Mr. Campbell.’

  Jonesy gagged. The ladies watched him as he squirmed like a worm on a hook. What could he do but agree.

  After he left the ladies laughed and by the time Mary returned to Archie’s she knew she would have to confront him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Archie was reading the Thames Star when Mary walked in. Thomas ran straight to his father who propped the boy on his knee.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Wright,’ Mary exclaimed. ‘You’re early today.’

  She grabbed her apron from the door knob then glanced at the paper as she tied the strings. ‘What news of the strike?’

  Archie read a few headlines. ‘The Waihi Trade Union of Workers asks the Waihi-Paeroa Gold Extraction Company to knock off, the new union is not registered due to an Auckland objection, the town is quiet and people are leaving for good.’

  ‘The town is quiet?’ asked Mary. ‘What do they mean by that? The town is buzzing. There are people everywhere.’

  ‘Perhaps more unrest is expected,’ Archie explained. ‘Idle hands and all that. No.’ He tapped the pages. ‘They’re saying that the ironmongers have been seen selling revolvers and there’s been a stop put to it.’

  ‘Revolvers!’ Mary cried. ‘I’ve not seen that. Have you got one?’

  Archie casually ruffled Thomas’ hair. ‘Don’t ask me, Miss Bell.’

  Mary retreated to the centre of the room. ‘Mr. Wright, I have decided to support you in your fight. There have been many things said in the last few days to help me make up my mind. But this afternoon I heard of a striking miner who took up work elsewhere. I was disgusted. The man has no principles and he should be ashamed of himself.’

  Mary was fervent. Her grey eyes pierced his as though they were daggers. Archie wanted to hug her he was so delighted. At the very least he wanted to smile but there was something about the steadfast way she stood that prevented him showing anything like happiness.

  She continued. ‘To that end I insist that you do not pay me for my work. This is a small way that I can show my support.’

  Archie set Thomas on the chair and straightened his jacket as he faced Mary. ‘You have thought hard about this. What about your family?’

  ‘They know.’

  Archie raised his eyebrows.

  ‘It isn’t what they expect or want,’ Mary explained.

  ‘I bet it isn’t,’ Archie muttered. ‘Miss Bell, you must let me pay you something.’

  ‘Pay me with victory,’ Mary replied. ‘Pay me with a united working class.’

  Archie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Well, Miss Bell. If I’m not to pay you then you must call me Archie.’ Now he smiled and Mary lowered her eyes. ‘May I call you Mary?’

  Mary nodded and allowed a slight narrowing of her lips before she strode into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Will returned from Wellington with mixed news: the Federation did not have enough funds to cover strike pay for the thousand men but it was behind them one hundred percent and would pull out every stop to extract money from its member unions. It would put men on the street in every major town and publish extensively on the Waihi workers’ strike. It assured the strikers of its loyalty to them and urged them to stand firm. He was hopeful that the Watersiders’ Union would pledge five percent of wages per man and the same from the Reefton Miners’ Union. The miners on the Huntly coal field were prepared to lay down their tools in sympathy with the Waihi strikers.

  Archie relayed the news to Mary who in turn filtered it to Gerald and Sam. Gerald appeared to have the world on his shoulders and his heavy presence subdued the family into prolonged silences. It seemed the easiest way for Gerald to cope with the whole problem was to not talk about it. Mary often found an ear in her mother and together they generated some philosophical debate without sinking into the blame game, always out of Gerald’s earshot.

  The days in the Bell house were odd: it was odd to have Gerald coming and going at different hours of the day and night. It was odd that only Percy was unaffected by the strike – at least, he went to school same as always. And it was a most odd thing that Mary should work for Archie for no money, even though Gerald had threatened to kick her out whether she worked for Archie at all, money or no money. He wouldn’t of course. Emily wouldn’t allow it. But it sure stuck in his craw.

  Sam had his own problems. One of his engine driver colleagues had defected and went back into the miners’ union. Sam was genuinely perplexed. He’d thought it was black and white. What possible reason would a man have to abandon his colleagues? Why, it was exactly what Archie Wright had done and Mary agreed with him. His sister seemed to have a more thorough understanding of the whole affair.

  Percy came home from school munching on a feijoa. He let the door slam behind him and dropped his satchel at his feet.

  ‘Swags of people are leaving town,’ he announced. ‘Jack’s dad says they don’t think they’ll get enough strike pay. He says the shops won’t let them book up f
ood so they have to leave.’

  Gerald bristled. ‘Percy, I want you to stop seeing that boy.’

  ‘But Jack’s my best friend,’ Percy protested.

  ‘Then he will be your friend when this has all blown over,’ Gerald reasoned. ‘Won’t be long now. In a couple of days it will be over.’

  Percy sulked. The boys had so far been observers of the strike. Percy, Errol and Jack saw no reason not to continue their after school retreats to the tree hut. Percy cursed himself. He wished he hadn’t been so open in his remarks. Now he wouldn’t be able to come home late, especially if Gerald’s comings and goings were indeterminate. He looked to his mother who merely gave him that look that says ‘you’ll do as your father says.’

  * * *

  Joe kept his regular hours at his regular job. Even if he’d done with work for the day he stayed on; he was a creature of habit. It felt wrong to be at home during the day and Sybil would worry. Joe was mindful of that; there was no point in worrying Sybil. The mere act cushioned Sybil’s understanding of the strike. Her days were filled with anything but the strike: she continued to paint. She pretentiously referred to it as dabbling in watercolour, but Joe knew she agonised over her efforts. She loved the fine arts and he knew she missed being part of the city art scene that she revelled in back in Australia. Joe felt for her. She’d dutifully come with him to Waihi for the better job, for the good of the family. He also knew she’d leave here for the sake of the family, to ensure none of the children ended up on the wrong side of the mine.

  Sybil sent the housekeeper to do the grocery shopping so she wouldn’t have to converse with the wives of the strikers, as if they had some disease she might catch. Sybil didn’t want to have any reason at all to see the other side of the strike. Nevertheless she firmly blamed Archie for the town’s troubles and labelled him as a ringleader. She was indignant.

  ‘After all we’ve done for that man.’

  Joe rolled his eyes. He’d been in meetings most of the day with the company’s top management and the Goldmine Owners’ Association. By God it was difficult! The Goldmine Owners’ President, George Graham, insisted the Federation was trying to say the fight was between the company and the union. Of course he was right – how else could the Federation garner nationwide support. It could hardly say two unions were squabbling; they’d never get their members to cough up part of their pay. No, it had to be an us and them fight to appeal to the masses of the working class.

  George had gone to press refuting the Federation’s claims. Further, the mine managers did not have the authority to confer with the Federation delegates if the Federation requested it.

  Then there was the matter of personal conflict. His own brother was on the strike committee; a position Joe found untenable. And he employed Gerald’s daughter who Gerald seemed to have no control over. The least Gerald could do was to stop that carry on.

  Joe was disturbed by giggling in the next room. The girls were playing hide and seek with Ralphie who was now able to totter around without assistance.

  Sybil threw a piece of wood into the range. ‘Are you listening to me?’

  Joe took a deep breath. ‘Of course, dear.’

  ‘Did you meet with the Federation today? asked Sybil.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘The president and the organiser are in Waihi,’ Sybil explained. ‘They met with the engine drivers and told them they would not tolerate this breakaway union. It fell on deaf ears. So they met with the miners and told them that they would meet with the mine managers today.’

  ‘Well they didn’t,’ said Joe. ‘You’re very well informed.’

  ‘I read the papers, Joseph.’ Sybil lifted a hot pot off the range and placed it on the table. ‘Why didn’t you meet with them?’

  ‘We had no such request. Look, Syb, I’ve had it up to my eyeballs today. Can we give it a rest for five minutes?’

  Joe lifted the pot lid and his thoughts turned to Archie: he hoped he had enough food in the house because he surely would have run out of money by now.

  * * *

  Archie shivered under the thin blanket thinking it was probably cold enough for a frost. The thought was depressing. He was coming into his third winter in this cold hole and he still wasn’t used to it. He tried to remember if he felt like this last year. He probably didn’t; he still had hope back then. The children had settled into their new home and Archie enjoyed leading Sybil on with her introductions, or at least he had more tolerance for the game.

  But today, on the first real day of winter, he didn’t have any of those hopeful thoughts for the future. Perhaps it was because he was hungry. He clutched his stomach as it growled.

  Mary had done a marvellous job with their dwindling supplies. The children didn’t mind porridge and feijoas twice a day but Archie found it a bit much. He hadn’t tasted a mutton chop for three days and the chickens had been off the lay for a couple of weeks. He’d have to kill a chicken today – there was nothing else for it.

  He was distracted by a light clunk at the front door. He forced his eyes open. It was barely daylight. He groaned. Of course it would be Mary so he’d better shake himself. But Mary didn’t let herself in. Puzzled, he threw himself out of bed and opened the front door. There wasn’t anybody, but there was a big hot pot on the mat.

  Archie peered to the street. He didn’t see the donor, only Mary walking down the slope, her basket hanging on her arm.

  ‘Can you see anyone, Mary?’ Archie called.

  Mary let herself through Archie’s front gate. ‘I passed Joe at the top of Clarke Street,’ she replied. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Archie picked up the pot and lifted the lid, its meaty smell causing his mouth to water. ‘I guess this is from him.’

  They went inside and Mary unpacked her basket of citrus. Archie set the pot on the range. ‘I’m grateful for the fruit, Mary.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she replied.

  Archie paced the room. ‘But it is. This is not a good position to be in. People, Joe, leaving food on my doorstep. It’s a disgrace, an embarrassment. A man should be able to put food on the table for his own family.’

  ‘It won’t be for long, Archie,’ said Mary. ‘What’s the matter? What’s got into you? Is it yourself you feel sorry for? There’s not a family in this town that’s prepared for this but you have a greater conviction than most. You understand the plight of the working class. Archie! Stand tall for goodness sake. We’re depending on you.’

  Archie was taken aback. This beautiful woman stood before him in his own home telling him to get a backbone. Mary’s golden hair caught the first morning rays of the sun as it beamed into the dining room. How it set her eyes on fire. Archie saw her in that minute like he never had before.

  Mary was a sponge for Archie’s socialist rhetoric. He knew she could parrot every idea she’d ever heard inside this house. She was thirsty for the cause.

  ‘You’re right,’ Archie replied. He smiled until Mary’s face softened.

  ‘Archie, I know the proposed union is unlikely to get registered and that should be the end of the troubles, but I can tell you there is a certain amount of distrust by the company.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think you are conceding too much power to the Federation,’ Mary explained. ‘Look at it this way. The union comprises men who you work with and who management probably would be happy to talk to. But you bring in these men from the Federation who nobody knows and straight away the company gets its back up. Of course it’s going to be suspicious. Do you know that the Federation has not even approached the company for a meeting. Father is perplexed.’

  Archie stroked his moustache, a gesture that Mary had come to regard as endearing.

  ‘You know the argument is between the proposed union and your union and yet you’re allowing the Federation to suggest the argument is between the company and the miners. That is clearly propaganda.’

  Archie pulled out a chair. ‘Mary. Sit down. I appreciate you
are your father’s daughter and therefore exposed to the company’s point of view.’

  She began to protest but Archie continued. ‘It’s important for me to know how management view things. The fact of the matter is; the Federation has no funds. It needs to raise strike pay by appealing to member unions in a manner that the working man can understand.’

  Mary scoffed. ‘Oh Archie! Give them some credit. Do you think that you and your colleagues are the only ones who read the Maoriland Worker? That only you understand what the Federation stands for?’

  Archie shook his head. ‘No, of course not and I absolutely accept what you say. But we don’t have time on our side. Our men need to be paid right now – today!’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘We cannot have families abandoning the town in droves. I have a moral responsibility to see these men right.’

  He reached for Mary’s hand. They both hesitated. It was the first time Archie had touched a woman since Ann died. He wanted to leave his hand on hers; it was warm and soft. He forced himself to meet Mary’s eyes. Her lips parted and her eyelids fluttered avoiding his gaze then she slowly reclaimed her hand.

  Fanny came into the room wiping the sleep from her eyes. Mary seized the distraction. ‘Why don’t you get the fire started while I see to the children.’

  She took Fanny by the hand and left Archie to ponder.

  * * *

  Surprised, Sybil took a step back when Mary opened Archie’s front door. ‘Mary! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Good morning Mrs. Wright,’ Mary said sweetly taking in Sybils’ new skirt.

  Sybil peered past Mary into the dark hall. ‘Is Archie in?’

  ‘No. He’s got important work to do,’ Mary replied. ‘He’s on the strike committee.’

  Sybil sniffed. ‘I must say I’m shocked to see you here. What does your father have to say about it?’

  ‘My father is both progressive and enlightened,’ said Mary. ‘He believes in women making their own decisions. Besides, mother keeps him in line.’

  If Sybil understood the barb directed at her she gave no sign of it.