by Lily Ennis
* * *
The streets weren’t as busy these days, four weeks into the strike. Many people had left town with or without the permission of the strike committee, much to the disgust of the union executive who felt that the action undermined the strike.
A cold breeze funnelled down Seddon Street and Mary pulled her jacket tightly against her before pulling Thomas’ hat down over his ears.
Nell came out of the grocers, juggling boxes too big for her hands. Mary caught a packet of tea as it escaped Nell’s grasp.
‘Let me help you, Nell,’ said Mary relieving Nell of some packages.
‘Oh, I’ll be right, dear. Just pile them into my arms.’ Nell held her arms out.
‘Nonsense,’ Mary said laughing. ‘I’ll walk home with you. It’s nearly on my way.’
‘Are you not going to the meeting?’ asked Nell.
Mary looked across the road to the hall. ‘Archie’s in there now. There’s a good crowd again but it’s mostly miners. Besides, I don’t want to embarrass him.’
Nell wandered towards the hall. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t listen. Come on.’
A few picketers milled around the front of the hall. Mary and Nell edged up to the great double doors. William brought the meeting up to date on recent developments. The Federation had pledged an active campaign on behalf of the Waihi strikers and their Reefton counterparts who were locked out, and to promote public meetings in all centres. This met with general approval. He went on to say that the Federation would condemn the company’s attempt to introduce the single handed popper drill.
Mary frowned at Nell who simply shrugged.
Ian addressed the meeting by reading out a circular that the Federation executive had sent to its Australian counterpart. ‘A bitter warfare is raging in New Zealand against militant labour organisation and unionism but the two thousand men on strike or locked out are fighting for the right to refuse to work with a scab union on the grounds that this would imperil the solidarity and working class principle. Further, we fight against the compulsory use of a popper by one miner instead of two as this greatly increases the risk of miners’ phthisis, not to mention the risk to life and limb.’ The meeting noisily agreed and Ian brought the meeting to silence. He continued. ‘In addition, our unions oppose the further introduction of the sub-contract system. The circular goes on to ask for financial assistance, adding that in the past New Zealand miners have not been backward in aiding the unionists of Australia in their battles.’
Mary whispered to Nell. ‘Gosh, it’s fighting talk isn’t it?’
‘It has to be,’ said Nell. ‘Riles them up and keeps them strong.’
‘Oh?’
For a minute Nell was absorbed in her own thoughts.
‘Nell?’
‘Oh yes, dear,’ Nell replied. ‘I’ve seen it all before. Coal.’
Mary pulled Nell away. ‘Nell, the Federation is bringing more and more into the dispute. Why, every time there’s a meeting we learn the Federation has done this or that.’
‘It’s the right time to do it,’ said Nell.
‘But it’s changing the reason the men struck.’
‘As long as the men continue to strike then they’re happy for the Federation to fight for new demands.’
‘It seems scurrilous to me,’ Mary muttered.
Nell lowered her voice so even little Thomas couldn’t hear. ‘Mary, some of the wives are loosely organising themselves into a group. They call themselves Scarlet Runners.’
‘Beans?’
Nell laughed. ‘I rather though scarlet as in red, and red as in socialism.’
Mary frowned. ‘Of course. What do they do?’
‘At the moment they run messages and the like.’ Nell nodded towards the picketers. ‘See those women?’
In amongst the men were two women waving placards calling for unity.
‘They’re standing in for their sick husbands.’
‘Are you asking me to become a scarlet runner?’
‘You’ve clearly shown you’re colours, Mary. Although you might not want to openly join. Your father would have heart failure if you went that far.’
Mary gazed back at the hall and pictured Archie and his committee fronting those hundreds of miners. There was no turning back for Archie.
‘Hmm,’ she mused. ‘Indeed.’
Chapter Fourteen
The men piled into the company offices and slapped the rain off their suits. The sudden cold squall had caught them unawares. The delegates from the Federation, including William, numbered five, compared to eight from the Goldminers’ Association. If the unionists weren’t apprehensive before now the unbalanced numbers soon put them on edge.
George Graham chaired the meeting and introduced Hector Fryer, the Waihi Goldmining Company superintendent and Gerald Bell, as well as mine owner representatives from Auckland, Reefton and Karangahake.
‘We’ve met with your request for a meeting. Let’s hear what you have to say,’ George began.
Ernie Hardcastle, the Federation organiser from Wellington, spoke first. ‘We understand the Goldminers’ Association wishes the press to be present. We are against that. The press reports have frequently contained misrepresentations that we feel lead to misunderstandings. The public have a right to the truth and the press has proved not to be relied upon.’
His colleagues muttered agreement.
‘That’s as maybe,’ said George. ‘However, I’m sure you’ll agree that whatever agreement we come to would be binding through the Arbitration Court.’
‘The Federation has no intention of going through the Arbitration Court,’ said William.
George laboured his point but the Federation would not alter its position. Jim Campbell pushed the meeting forward.
‘William tells me that the company knew of the formation of the Engine Drivers’ Union and actually had some hand in its formation,’ he said.
Gerald’s jaw dropped. ‘The untruths are not restricted to the press gentlemen,’ he said.
Jim was undeterred. ‘It was your duty to prevent a new union being formed.’
George was indignant. ‘I can assure you that the Waihi Gold Company had no knowledge of a proposed Engine Drivers’ Union and that it only came to light when the strike was declared. Mr. Fryer will testify that no complaint was received about the union being formed.’
Hector murmured agreement.
William banged his fist on the table. ‘The fact of the matter is the new union is a minority of forty two men. That tiny minority tried to coerce a majority and the Waihi Gold Company knew about it then sat on their hands.’
‘Absolute rubbish,’ George scoffed. There was a rumble of discontent around the table. ‘You seem to want something that we as goldmine owners cannot give you, Mr. Strawbridge. You want an agreement with us without seeing it enforced through the courts and yet the Federation is infamous for not respecting agreements. It’s nothing for you to set aside perfectly legal binding agreements. The Goldminers’ Association might be unwise to make any agreements with you.’
A rumble erupted again. Men shuffled.
Jim wasn’t deterred. ‘Gentlemen, some of us have travelled a long way for this meeting. Don’t let’s descend to mudslinging. ‘Now,’ he said addressing Hector Fryer. ‘What’s the company doing about the one man poppers?’
‘It’s a proposal,’ Hector replied. ‘It’s not agreed upon, and neither is it thrown out.’
‘They’re not used in Australia you know,’ William added.
‘I know that and I can only reiterate what I just said. The company has not made a decision on popper drills.’
Jim brought his full height to bear. ‘I see no use in wasting any more time. It’s quite clear that the mine owners have no intention of entering an agreement with the union other than binding them down as slaves. I regret nothing has been achieved today. I bid you good day.’
William backed up the Federation’s sentiments. ‘Before the president leaves the m
eeting I’d like our thanks recorded. The Waihi Union of Trade Workers thanks the Federation president, Jim Campbell, and the Federation organiser, Ernie Hardcastle, for travelling from Wellington to attend this meeting. I echo Jim’s words that it’s regrettable we cannot agree on anything. Ours is a hard task, a task made harder by the fact that the press and the non-working class are against us. Well look out! The gloves are off and it will be a bare-knuckled fight to the bitter end.’
With that the full Federation delegation left.
* * *
Mary wrapped the revolver in a cloth and hid it in the kitchen cupboard. Isabelle McCardie insisted she take it. For protection, she said, as if Mary needed protecting. It was incredible that Isabelle had a firearm; sales had been banned three weeks ago. It made Mary nervous but she took it anyway – if only to demonstrate her conviction to the cause. Besides, Archie’s refusal to answer her query confirmed that he did indeed see the need for one.
The house was glum; the fog hadn’t lifted yet and it was already lunchtime. Mary heard the front door open and the thought of Archie nearly catching her with a revolver made her heart beat wildly. She rushed to meet him.
‘I didn’t expect you,’ she said.
Archie grinned as he threw some papers on the table. ‘Any chance of some tea?’ he asked.
Mary jumped to the task.
‘Will and Floyd are on a speaking tour around the Waikato,’ Archie explained. ‘It leaves the rest of us on the committee with a bit more work to do.’ He picked up the Maoriland Worker. We need to keep our issue fresh to our supporters. That means keeping our viewpoints in front of them every opportunity we have. I’m going to write about the Industrial Workers of the World.’
‘You don’t think you might alienate them instead?’ Mary asked.
‘That’s a good question. I suspect you think it would.’ He was guarded, careful not to show his pleasure that Mary was so interested.
Mary poured the tea and Archie pulled a chair out. ‘Please sit. I’m keen to hear how I might alienate my reader.’
Mary’s eyes danced. ‘I’ve seen some of your work and I have to say that it’s, it’s...’ She hesitated. ‘Academic.’
Archie laughed. ‘Is that a surprise to you? You surely would not have me speak like a miner so as to be understood by the working class! No, Mary. It isn’t a case of making the men feel inferior and therefore feel the need to be led by the few who are more articulate. I believe many men feel in their hearts sentiments they cannot elucidate. They should know that they are not alone, that men in Australia, the United Kingdom, the United States, in fact all over the globe, men are fighting a similar struggle. This knowledge will strengthen their resolve and help them to stand solid.’
Mary supped her tea. ‘I’m surprised that someone with your background should so vehemently support a class that you don’t belong to,’ she said. ‘You cannot deny that you are different from your colleagues. And you’re different from William and Ian. They’ve been miners since they went into long pants.’
Archie gazed out the window. It was still white.
‘I was fortunate that I received a very good education, like my father had. He owned a commercial building but if the tenant could ever not afford the rent he never kicked them out. They did their utmost to make money, put food on the table. Every sale made in that shop, every hour worked was honest earned wages. The rent my father received could be viewed as unearned income. Could a working class man, a miner, a watersider, a tramwayman, make unearned income? No. They could not. Of course unearned income is not really unearned for the term takes no account of capital outlay and the cost of expertise, whether it’s the owner’s or a contractor to the owner, or of acquiring the property in the first place. However, it was my father’s benevolence to the tenant that forced me to analyse the ideas in considerable depth.’
‘But you were a mine manager before you came here,’ said Mary. ‘Isn’t that the opposite what you stand for now?’
Archie smiled. ‘Another very good question. I’ve often asked myself this very thing.’ Archie cupped his teacup with both hands, enjoying its warmth. ‘Not really. I know management isn’t in the unions but in fact as manager I have a better input into the welfare of my men. It’s the best job in the world, Mary.’
Now it was Mary who grinned. Archie was enjoying talking to her like this and she was enjoying him. She’d almost forgotten about the revolver.
‘Tell me how you went from a capitalist’s son to a mine manager,’ she teased.
‘Oh life throws you an orange sometimes when you’re expecting apples,’ Archie continued. ‘I got a scholarship at the end of my studies to go to Auckland University College.’ He smiled as he remembered. ‘It was worth fifty pounds a year. I’d excelled in geology, mineralogy and metallurgy: that was all part of the mine manager certificate. Your father would have done the same.’
‘What did you study at the university?’ asked Mary.
Archie tightened. ‘I didn’t go. Ann was pregnant.’
Mary sensed Archie’s disappointment. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘Nonsense,’ he replied and topped up their cups. ‘I have Frances, Fanny.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘And what about you, Mary? If I am an enigma to you, I must confess it has puzzled me that you should take such an opposing stance to the rest of your family.’
Mary felt a flush creep into her face, sure that Archie already knew some of the reason. ‘Nothing as profound as you. I’d never heard of the Wobblies until I heard you speak of it.’ She stood and Archie suddenly stood and took her hand.
‘Mary,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t shut off from me. Talk to me.’
Archie’s touch was mellow on her hand and her chest heaved as she felt his hand gently stroke her arm.
‘Mary,’ he whispered again.
He swung her to face him. His chocolate eyes swam all over her face, gazing at her eyes, her mouth, her throat. She let him draw her in to him and then he kissed her softly and warmly. It was the most tender kiss but Mary stiffened when she should have melted in his arms, but she didn’t push him away.
He broke off his kiss and brushed her hair off her face. He seemed to drink in every inch of her. But he couldn’t pull himself away. Finally he found his voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.’
Mary’s eyes sparkled. ‘You have?’
Archie could barely get any words out. ‘Yes.’
Mary took Archie’s hand. It was strong and warm. ‘Then you must do it again.’
This time Mary melted under him and his kiss couldn’t have been sweeter.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack had been on hot coals all day. Once the idea popped into his head he couldn’t wait to instigate his plan. In fact, he’d only thought of it this morning when he saw one of the children ride to school. It was the steam rising off the dung that gave him the idea.
School was unbearable now that he couldn’t play with Percy. He understood his father’s view, no trouble with that. But his father didn’t have to spend the whole day actually talking to people on the other side. He could avoid them if he wished. Jack couldn’t. And to make matters worse he would turn fifteen in a couple of weeks and as long as there was no work he had to stay at school. It was intolerable.
Jack’s father spoke freely of the strike at home. Jack and Errol absorbed his opinions and came to share his views: namely that management had forced the strike by condoning the formation of a new union. They soon became versed in union speak and in the wider subject of class warfare.
It was increasingly easy to alienate Percy, for he stood for the ruling class. Deep down he always knew Percy wouldn’t go underground with him. His father had higher aspirations for him, no matter how much Percy down-played it.
Jack waited until dusk to retrieve the dung. On a day like today it hadn’t dried out. Then he scooted along the main s
treet bold as brass until he got to the end of the block. Here he became furtive and made sure no one saw him slip into the short dead end road that housed the Bell house. He slipped into a hedge at the corner of the road and took the lay of the land. Coal fire smoke was thick in the air and a light fog threatened. A faint amber glow could be seen in the house.
Suddenly footsteps approached and Jack froze. He watched Gerald walk past. The man looked happy; too happy compared to everyone else who had the world and his dog on their shoulders. Jack’s father was right; management was playing them like a fiddle. Gerald probably got his wages while everyone else made do with donations. It was more than right that Jack not associate with Percy.
Jack waited until Gerald walked into the house. He saw someone pull the blinds down then made his move, running to the letterbox and stuffing the dung inside. He quickly retreated pausing long enough at the corner of the road to wipe his hands on the grass.
By the time Jack returned home William was just arriving. Jack looked forward to hearing about his father’s day. He wished he could tell him what he’d done. William would love it; probably wish he could do it himself. Jack smiled smugly to himself.
* * *
Emily dished up dinner, tired of the silence of the family. They each seemed to be lost in their own world. It wasn’t that the mood around the table was heavy, just that they were preoccupied with their own thoughts. They didn’t understand that the strike affected her too. Didn’t she have to go to town to do the daily shop? Wasn’t it she who spent the day with Rosa, a girl who clearly was on the side of the strikers but persisted with her job because the rest of her family was on strike? And of course to the good grace of Emily.
Sam broke the silence. ‘I hear there’s work on the Thames,’ he said. ‘Thought I would have a look.’
The whole family stopped eating and stared at Sam.
Mary clattered her knife and fork onto her plate. ‘You’re not serious,’ she exclaimed.
Sam spoke through mouthfuls. ‘Why not?’
Mary scoffed. ‘Because you have a duty to your so-called Engine Drivers and Firemens’ Union to stay with them. You’ve been locked out, Sam. You’re getting lock-out pay.’
