by Lily Ennis
Mr. Ashford stopped at a narrow wooden building. ‘Here we are.’
A few people milled around outside the door stamping their feet to ward off the chill air. Several were women which surprised Mary but put her at ease. It should be easier to put their case if she could relate to the wives. Within half an hour the hall had filled to capacity and Mr. Ashford introduced Mary and Isabelle.
‘Your husbands too scared to come?’ shot a voice out of the crowd.
Isabelle promptly took up the challenge. ‘Thank you for the opportunity to provide you with an introduction,’ she began. ‘My husband is Ian McCardie, secretary of the New Zealand Socialist Party and secretary of the Waihi Trade Union of Workers. He is also on the strike committee. Our men have much to do in the struggle for industrial unionism. It is with my husband’s blessing that we address you tonight.’ She paused cradling her bump. She had their attention and continued.
‘The reporting in the newspapers appears to be against us. They have chosen their side, that of the employer, that of unfair and oppressive legislation and to that end, they publish their own version of the truth. You must not believe all that you read. That is why my colleague and I are here tonight. There is a truth that you are being denied.
‘What do I see when I look at you?’ She waved an expansive hand in front of her. ‘I see my husband. I see hard working loyal employees. I see men who give their employer the best years of his life and in return receive unfair wages, ill health and no compensation.’
There was a shuffling in seats and a few nodding heads.
‘Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you have enough money left over at the end of the week to buy your wife flowers or your children new shoes?’
Mary smiled and looked at her shoes. Isabelle was good. She just seemed to swim with the salmon, using the vibrations as she received them.
‘Mary and I completely understand your reluctance to levy your pay to help us in this fight. For if you are on the contract system of wages, which I suspect you are, you barely have enough to put food on the table.’
The crowd murmured agreement.
‘Thought you weren’t arguing about wages,’ a voice rang out.
Mary stepped forward. ‘Quite so, sir,’ she said. ‘To understand how we got to that you must first understand the background.’
Mary explained the lead up to the strike and eventually returned to the question of money. But it was the complicated issue of registering unions under different Acts that required analysis and explanation. She continued. ‘We couldn’t continue to strike without the support of the Federation of Labour. Do you realise why the Federation was formed in the first place?’
‘They’re a communist party,’ a voice yelled.
The crowd laughed.
‘To oppose the Liberal Government’s Conciliation and Arbitration Act,’ Mary went on. ‘It’s illegal to strike if your union is registered under this Act. In fact, in 1907 penalties for striking were increased.’
There were puzzled faces and the men looked at one another.
‘But with the forming of the Federation of Labour unions could withdraw from the Arbitration Act and register under the Trade Union Act. The Federation now has nearly fourteen thousand registered members. That’s more than three times the entire population of Waihi.’
This time a man in the crowd stood. ‘How do you see the future of the strike with the advent of the new Prime Minister?’
Mary was taken aback. Archie hadn’t discussed that with her. It was known well enough that William Massey’s new government was anti-union.
Isabelle took the floor. ‘We welcome any opportunity to put our case to fresh ears,’ she said with a smile.
The man stood again. ‘It’s just what the government wants: two unions who can’t agree, holding the company to ransom. Do you think the company might beat you to negotiations with the government and if so what would you do if the government pledged its support to the company?’
Isabelle responded. ‘As we speak the Federation is organising public meetings up and down the country. We have many unions behind us and many more unions ready to strike with us. This struggle gentlemen, has become national, nay, international, for we have the support of Australian unions.’
Mary and Isabelle fielded a few more questions. The crowd seemed genuinely pleased to hear what was going on from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. And they weren’t totally against what they heard.
Mr. Ashford escorted the women back to the Claremont. He was conciliatory. ‘You did exceedingly well ladies. I have to take my hat off to you both.’
Mary slipped her hand into the crook of Isabelle’s arm. She beamed. The butterflies in her stomach had long since flown and now she was starving.
‘Might I offer you a nightcap?’ Mr. Ashford asked.
‘Oh, heavens, no. Thank you, Mr. Ashford,’ Mary replied. ‘Waihi is dry, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
Mr. Ashford laughed. ‘Waihi might be, Miss Bell, but you are not.’
He tipped his hat and left.
The women retreated to their rooms and reflected on the night. For Mary it was the most exhilarating thing she’d ever done. She could hardly wait to do it again.
* * *
‘What do you mean she’s gone to Thames to speak to miners?’ Gerald barked. ‘Are you mad, Emily? You actually let her?’
Emily put her embroidery aside. ‘I didn’t let her Gerald. I tried to stop her. What could I do? She was packed and gone before I could do anything.’
‘She had it well planned.’ Gerald paced the room. ‘It’s an outrage! It’s bad enough working for that trouble maker Wright, but, but...’ He huffed.
‘Gerald, sit down,’ said Emily. ‘You’ll give yourself blood pressure. She’s with Isabelle McCardie.’
‘Oh God! It gets worse.’
Emily patted the lounge suite. ‘Sit.’
Gerald relented and sat next to his wife. ‘What are we going to do Em? She’s only thinking of herself; brainwashed by inarticulate miners.’
Emily placed a hand on Gerald’s lap. ‘Now Gerald, you know that’s not true. Mary is thinking of all but herself.’
Gerald couldn’t agree. ‘You’re on her side aren’t you?’
‘Of course I’m not, darling. I don’t like to see you so upset,’ Emily replied. ‘Everyone’s upset. Look at us; a locked out engine driver, a mine manager with no mine to manage, a daughter in love with a strike organiser and a son who dotes on his father.’
‘In love?’
Emily smiled and stroked Gerald’s cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Why else?’
Gerald grumped.
‘Surely you can remember?’ Emily asked.
‘And what about you, Em?’
‘Me?’
‘You didn’t say where you stand in this.’
‘Oh, I’m just a mother,’ said Emily softly.
* * *
William threw a copy of the Maoriland Worker on the table.
‘Page four,’ he said. ‘The Federation’s distributed twenty two thousand pounds in strike pay but they’re appealing for us to hold on.’
‘But strike levies are already tailing off,’ said Garrick. ‘It’ll just get less the longer we strike.’
Archie rubbed his chin. ‘Unfortunately there’s no pot of gold to get the town’s services back up and running. The fire brigade has had to stand men down. Do you know the Fire Council is paying ten shillings per week to each married fireman who can drive the motor, as long as he lives in the immediate vicinity of the station.’
‘Better hope we don’t need ‘em,’ said Leonard.
Mary lumbered through the back door carrying an empty washing basket. From the dining room Archie noticed Mary trying to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t like her to be tired in the mornings but lately he’d noticed a certain lack of verve. He puzzled that she was more tired after she’d slept late. Today she hadn’t plaited her hair and it hung coquettishly about
her shoulders.
William was speaking. ‘What do you think, Archie?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘A mass meeting,’ William replied. ‘I think it’s time we held another meeting for all the strikers.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t like the look of the Massey government,’ William explained. ‘The press is firmly against us. We need to boost morale.’
Mary perked up. ‘I agree. At the Thames we were specifically asked about our views on the change of the Prime Minister. There is an interest beyond Waihi. People want to know what we will do if the government comes down heavily in support of the employers.’
‘And current legislation,’ added Ian. He turned to Mary and smiled. ‘I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Bell. Isabelle tells me you did a sterling job addressing the miners in Thames.’
Mary flushed. ‘Oh, yes, well.’
Archie interjected on Mary’s behalf. ‘Mary is too modest. She was full of praise for your wife, Ian. But she said nothing about her part.’
The smile Archie had for Mary was not lost on the men. ‘Like Mary says, it’s the only true act of support she’s able to give,’ he said.
Mary flushed again and quickly fled the room, not daring to look at them, especially Archie.
Chapter Eighteen
Low cloud rumbled in from the east causing the late afternoon to feel like early evening. The air was still and charged. Every now and then lightening crackled in the distance followed by a heavy roll of thunder. The storm was making its way to Waihi. Easterly storms were the worst, bringing unimaginable amounts of rain straight off the sea.
Archie arrived home early. He’d collected Fanny from school.
Mary accepted his kiss. ‘You’re early,’ she said.
‘There’s a storm coming, darling,’ Archie explained.
‘I’ve been listening to it.’
‘You must get on home,’ he said. ‘Before it comes.’
Mary sighed. ‘Oh, Archie. How I want to listen to the storm with you.’
Archie took her face in his hands. ‘I know my love,’ he murmured. ‘I know.’ Then he kissed her and Mary felt her legs weaken. Archie held her tightly, squeezing her body against his.
‘Oh, Archie,’ she whispered.
Archie stroked her hair, then her shoulders and arms. He slipped his hands around her waist and she buried her face into his neck. Her aroma aroused him. Just a little longer... He turned to nuzzle her throat, just a little bit more of Mary. But then he groaned and gently pushed her from him. He gazed at her mournful eyes and could only manage a whisper. ‘You know it’s because I love you so much that you must go.’
Mary nodded. His chocolate eyes implored her to succumb to him, but Archie was wise. Of course she had to go now.
Archie saw her to the door. The wind had got up. ‘Don’t come in the morning if it’s stormy.’
Mary thought she’d die if she didn’t come tomorrow. They kissed long on the doorstop.
She hurried home, collecting an empty basket from a cottage on Clarke Street on the way. By the time she turned into her road drops of rain fell slowly and heavily, like they were deliberately aiming for her to warn her to take cover before the real downpour.
When she walked into the house Emily rushed to meet her. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘I hoped it was your father.’
‘What is it?’ asked Mary.
Emily led Mary into the lounge and gazed up at the ceiling where there was a clattering sound. ‘There’s some loose iron on the roof. Hear it?’
Mary did. ‘Where’s Sam? Surely he can get up and fix it before the storm comes.’
Emily let her hands fly then bounce off her thighs. ‘I don’t know. Out sly drinking I suppose.’
Mary knew then her mother was frustrated. Ordinarily she would never concede that people drank on the quiet. It was too much to admit given she’d given so much of her life rallying against it. Mary hadn’t even thought about Sam drinking.
‘It’s all right, ma,’ said Mary. ‘They’ll be home soon. They’ll fix it. What about Percy?’
‘I’m not sending him out there on his own. But if someone doesn’t come soon...’
Mary led her mother back to the dining room where a hot pot sat simmering on the coal range. ‘Did you send Rosa home?’
Emily nodded.
Mary laughed for Emily’s benefit. ‘Archie sent me home too.’
‘Mary.’ Emily frowned. ‘Mary, your father’s extremely upset with you for speaking publicly.’
‘I know. That’s why I’ve been keeping out of his way.’
Emily shook her head. ‘That’s not the answer. This will come to an end one day and we all have to live with each other, now and later. Honey, look I know you love Archie...’
Mary cut her off. ‘I’m head over heels in love with Archie and he is with me.’
‘This stance you’re taking,’ Emily continued, ‘is hurting your father. He sees it as a personal attack.’
‘That’s silly, ma.’
‘I know. But that’s how it is.’ Emily took hold of Mary’s hand. ‘Try to understand. Stop public speaking. Please. I’m not going to ask you to give up Archie. I know you won’t do it.’
Mary gulped down her secret. Emily didn’t know the half of it: food drops, letters to newspapers and the union magazine, pickets. But something in Emily’s tone made Mary want to believe that her mother would approve of the Scarlet Runners.
Mary turned away from Emily and held her hands above the heat of the range. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Over the next hour the wind strengthened, whipping the iron into a flapping frenzy. Finally the first drops of rain oozed through the ceiling. Emily was just about to let Percy climb onto the roof when Gerald walked in. He was greeted with the sounds of the iron finally tearing free and clattering along the roof. The women screamed and clutched each other staring at the ceiling.
‘The iron’s come loose,’ Emily yelled against the din.
‘It’s come off completely,’ added Percy.
Gerald ran outside beckoning Percy to follow. He fetched a ladder from the back shed and planted it against the back wall of the house. ‘Hold the ladder,’ he yelled to Percy.
Gerald scrambled up onto the roof over the slight slope at the rear of the house and up onto the double gables. He cursed whoever designed the central gutter system as he watched a torrent of water overflowing the leaf-filled trough. He couldn’t see any gaps in the roof. He cursed again as he realised that the missing iron was on the outside of the gable. He squinted against the fierce rain and tentatively climbed onto the roof. Then he saw the gap. The iron next to it was flapping also threatening to completely dislodge. He inched his way back to the ladder and yelled to Percy.
‘See if you can find the iron, Percy.’
Percy ran off round the side of the house while Gerald descended.
‘Found it!’
It was buckled. Gerald grimaced. It was all they had. He managed to find some nails and a hammer. He slipped them inside his jacket and climbed back onto the roof.
‘Do you want some help, dad?’ Percy called.
But Gerald had climbed out of earshot and out of sight up onto the steep part of the roof. Percy hopped from foot to foot. He was getting cold and he really should be helping his father. He climbed up. It was even windier up here and he couldn’t stand to full height. The trees surrounding the house were almost bent double. For an instant his mind wandered to Jack’s tree hut.
Then he heard banging. He followed the sound; slowly. His feet suddenly had a light feeling, like he was flying. It unnerved him. He hadn’t for a minute considered he might be afraid of heights. He’d had no experience to know. But right at this minute his heart was in his mouth. Gerald was stoically banging the roofing iron back into place. He gingerly continued inching towards Gerald.
Percy scaled the side of the gable. He could see Gerald about twelve feet away with his back to him, pe
rched perilously near the edge of the roof. He waited until Gerald paused and as his father reached awkwardly into his pocket for a nail. Percy cried out.
It was such a shock to Gerald that he lost his balance and tumbled off the side. Percy screamed and threw himself prostrate across the roof to look over the edge. His father lay in an unnatural position on the ground and didn’t move no matter how much Percy yelled.
‘Oh God!’ Emily screamed as she ran to the window. ‘It’s Gerald.’
Screaming Gerald’s name Emily rushed outside, Mary fast behind her. Percy scuffled back down the ladder, by now trembling like a leaf. Emily tried to rouse Gerald, screaming at him to get up. She became louder and louder, her screams turning to sobs as Gerald refused to respond. Mary wrapped her arms around Emily trying to pull her away from her father.
‘Mother, mother,’ Mary screamed. ‘Father’s dead.’
Emily flung herself on top of Gerald.
‘No!’ she moaned. ‘No, no, no, no. Gerald.’
‘Percy,’ Mary barked. ‘Help me.’
Against the rain and the wind Percy hauled his father along the muddy ground as Mary pulled Emily away.
‘Get inside, mother,’ Mary yelled. ‘Or help us with father.’
The rain lashed Emily’s face, her salty tears finding fresh tracks over her cold cheeks. Percy struggled with the dead weight. There seemed to be no strength in him; he could only feel a heaviness in his stomach and his legs trembled so. Mary scrambled to help him, taking hold of Gerald’s legs. Emily clung to Gerald making Mary and Percy’s task even more difficult.
‘Get the door,’ Mary ordered Emily.
They struggled inside, finally out of the rain and the wind and laid Gerald on the floor where again Emily tried to revive him.
Mary gently put an arm around her mother’s shoulder and all three of them sobbed hunched around Gerald not knowing what to do.
Mary began to tremble. She’d let her father down and she hadn’t meant to, and now she could never explain, never say she was sorry. She wallowed in self-pity until the freezing rain brought her around.
‘Mother, listen to me,’ Mary said. ‘Lay father out on the bed. Make him look nice. Percy can run to the undertakers.’
