by Maggie Hope
‘Sunbeam, that’s what it says,’ said Hannah. She was almost as entranced by the machine as Harry was.
‘Sunbeam coupé,’ said the boy and he climbed out of the car. All three children quietened and Harry drew close to his mother.
‘He talks funny,’ Harry said in a whisper which nevertheless was heard by them all. The boy smiled.
‘Would you like to sit in my seat for a minute?’ he asked Harry.
‘Eeh, no,’ said Mrs Armstrong, pulling the child to her.
‘Mam!’ said Harry, his eyes bright with hope, and she gave in.
‘All right, but just for a minute. We have to see the manager before he goes home,’ she decreed.
‘Oh, my father’s with him now, he won’t be going home yet,’ said the boy. He held the door open for Harry, who clambered on to the padded leather seat and sat quietly, gazing at the dashboard with its knobs and dials, happiness oozing out of him.
The boy looked down at Hannah, smiling, and she smiled back shyly. By, he was a grand lad, she thought, letting Harry have a go in his car. She reckoned he was about the same age as Alf, but he was so tall and good-looking and his clothes were so clean. Even his hands were clean, she saw, there were no scars or black bits under the skin, his hands were soft and white. He didn’t work on the screens, she decided. He had kind eyes, though. Was he a prince? A prince like in Cinderella?
Hannah looked up, startled, as the office window opened and a man stuck his head out.
‘Timothy! Get that boy out of there at once. At once, do you hear? God knows what dirt and disease he might be carrying, not to mention fleas. I told you to sit in the car until I was ready, did I not, sir?’
‘Come on, Harry, we have to go in now,’ said Nora. She had turned a fiery red and kept her head bent as she lifted Harry out of the car. Hannah was mortified, she burned with the shame of it. Her family didn’t have fleas, nor nits either. Everybody in the rows knew Mam was spitting clean – why, didn’t she rake their heads every night with the small-tooth comb? Just in case they picked anything up at school, that was.
‘We haven’t got fleas, Mam, have we not?’ she said as Jane and Harry began to whimper.
‘No, we have not!’ snapped Nora. ‘We’re as clean as anybody, we are.’
Hannah stoke a glance at the boy, who was sheepishly climbing into the car.
‘Dust the seat before you sit down, Timothy,’ roared the man at the window.
‘Yes, Father,’ the boy mumbled. He took a blue duster from the tray under the dashboard and rubbed it over the seat.
‘There’ll be no dirt on it,’ hissed Hannah and Timothy looked at her, his eyes shamed.
‘Howay, Hannah,’ snapped her mother and Hannah followed her up the steps and into the office.
There was a desk just inside with a clerk sitting behind it. Through the partition window behind him, Hannah could see the man, Timothy’s father, talking to the manager.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ demanded the clerk. ‘It’s almost closing time, you’ve left it a bit late, whatever it is.’
‘I’m Mrs Armstrong,’ said Nora, holding her head high. Two bright spots of colour still burned in her cheeks. ‘I’ve come to see the manager.’
‘Oh, yes, it was your man who was hurt by that last fall of stone, wasn’t it? Well, you can’t see the manager now, he has Lord Akers’s agent, Mr Durkin, with him. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.’
The clerk gave a dismissive nod and shuffled the papers together on his desk, but Nora was not about to go.
‘I’ll wait until I can see him,’ she insisted, her voice rising. ‘Surely he’ll see me, when my Jake’s had his back broke in the pit?’ The incident with Harry and the car had filled her with resentment, stiffening her resolve.
‘My good woman – ’ the clerk began, but he was interrupted by the manager, who opened the door to the inner office and poked his head out.
‘What’s the commotion, Robinson?’ he asked testily.
‘It’s Mrs Armstrong, sir, the wife of the hewer who was injured in that last roof fall. I told her you were busy.’
‘Get her to come in, Hudson, I might as well hear what she has to say while I’m here,’ a voice called from behind the manager. Harry shrank into Hannah’s skirt, whimpering once more.
Hannah patted his head. ‘It’s all right, Harry,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, of course, Mr Durkin,’ said the manager and held the door open for Nora and her children.
They stood before the desk, Nora, Hannah and the two little ones between them. They were not offered seats though there were a couple of chairs by the wall besides the comfortable armchair occupied by Timothy’s father.
Hannah gazed at him in awe. It was bad enough having to come to see the manager, but Mr Durkin was like no one she had ever seen before. She looked at the smooth black cloth of his suit, his highly polished shoes and white spats. He held a shiny walking stick with a silver top in one hand and was tapping it idly against one leg of his chair. He was tall and elegant and his shirt collar was snowy white against the pale skin of his neck. She watched him as he looked the children over, his face expressionless.
‘Well, what is it, Mrs Armstrong?’ asked Mr Hudson, who had returned to his chair behind the desk.
‘Well … ’
Nora was suddenly tongue-tied.
‘Come along now, Mrs Armstrong, we haven’t got all day,’ Mr Hudson said briskly.
‘She’s been getting weekly compensation, hasn’t she, Mr Hudson?’ Mr Durkin put in.
‘Yes, sir, seventeen shillings and twopence,’ answered the manager.
‘Well, then, that’s all right.’
‘I was wanting to ask you if you’ll set our Robert on, on the screens, I mean,’ Nora said, finding her tongue at last.
‘Robert? Is that your son? We already have one son of yours working on the screens, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, sir. Alf. But Robert’s turned thirteen and he’ll sit the test to leave school. We need the money, sir, seventeen shillings doesn’t keep a family, sir.’
Mr Durkin stopped playing with his stick and stared at her, frowning. ‘What do you mean, it’s not enough? I’d have you know, it’s all you’re going to get. The trouble with you people is you don’t know how to handle money correctly. Remember, the Compensation Committee haven’t decided on your husband’s case yet. There’s some question as to whether it was his own fault, and if that is the decision they come to, you are not entitled to anything. We are paying you now and we don’t have to, you know. And we’re allowing you to stay in the colliery house when we could put another workman in.’
Nora gasped. Her face whitened and she leaned forwards, putting her hands on the desk to prop herself up. She closed her eyes for a moment.
‘Are you feeling faint, Mrs Armstrong?’ Mr Hudson got to his feet hurriedly and brought Nora a chair. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ He poured some water into a glass from the carafe on the desk and offered it to her and she took a sip.
The agent watched the little drama curiously but with little obvious concern. When Nora sat back, the colour returning to her cheeks, he spoke again.
‘Come now, Mrs Armstrong, I only said the committee hasn’t decided yet. There’s no need to take on.’
‘I don’t know what we’ll do without compensation,’ said Nora. ‘We can’t hardly manage as it is.’
‘I did not say there would be no compensation, I simply said we as a company may not be liable. But Lord Akers is a benevolent employer, I think you’ll find. Now, come, we have work to do here. I think we have allowed you enough time.’
Nora got to her feet, looking and feeling defeated. Hannah looked up into her mother’s face and saw the misery there; then she looked at Mr Durkin and she hated him. She hated the way he talked to her mother and most of all she hated the way he spoke, fancy like but frightening, like the wicked man in the pantomime she’d seen at chapel last Christmas. She took hold of her mother’s h
and and squeezed it in an effort to comfort her as they turned for the door.
They were in the outer office, almost outside altogether when Mr Hudson followed them and spoke to the clerk.
‘Robert Armstrong. Put his name down to start on the screens next week,’ he said. Without looking at Nora, he turned on his heel and went back into his office.
Chapter Two
Hannah was playing house in the yard with Jane when Robert came home. The two girls had their mother’s wooden clothes horse open in a V and an old blanket thrown over it to make a tent. Inside the tent was an old clippie mat and Harry lying down on it pretending to be a baby. Harry didn’t want to be the baby, he wanted to be the father, but he gave in when the girls insisted.
All three children abandoned the game and scrambled out of the tent when they heard their mother’s voice at the gate.
‘Now then, Robert,’ Nora was saying, ‘you’re a big lad now, it’s time you went out to work. Anyroad, we need the money so that’s the end of that. Now stop making a fuss, there’s a good lad.’
‘Gran calls me Bob,’ muttered Robert, ‘and so does Uncle Billy.’
Hannah stood in a row with Harry and Jane, watching her mother and Robert curiously.
‘Righto, then, we’ll call you Bob if that’s what you want,’ said Nora as she led the way up the yard. ‘Now, come and say hallo to your sisters and brother.’
Three pairs of dark eyes looked solemnly at Bob as he stood awkwardly before them. He was a tall, ungainly boy with the same shock of dark hair as they all had. It was almost two years since they had last seen him, and only Hannah had any remembrance of him at all. The little ones were shy of him and huddled in Hannah’s skirts.
‘Hallo,’ said Bob, looking down at the brick-paved yard. He scuffed the hobnails of one boot back and forth over the bricks.
Hannah suddenly felt sorry for Bob. His face was flushed and his eyes full of unshed tears. She smiled at him, while Jane and Harry hung their heads, overcome with shyness.
‘Clear that mess up, our Hannah, and mind, don’t forget to fold that blanket up properly and put it away. Right then, Bob, let’s away in. Betty will have the tea ready,’ Nora said briskly. She went inside, followed after a second or two by Bob and the two younger children. Hannah was left to dismantle the tent.
The family were already sitting round the table when she got in after putting the clothes horse back in the wash house in the yard.
‘You bide with me, our Bob,’ Alf was saying in his ‘big brother’ voice which Hannah knew so well and resented almost as much. ‘You’ll get on all right on the screens tomorrow if you do what I say.’
Bob looked down at the meat-paste sandwich on his plate. Hannah could see that his fists were clenched so hard the knuckles were white. She took a bite out of her own sandwich and chewed it carefully. He looks so unhappy, she thought.
‘Did you not want to come back home to live, Bob?’ she asked. ‘It’s nice here, you know, there’s the bunny banks and sometimes there’s the magic lantern at chapel. And – ’ Hannah meant to make Bob feel at home and tell him of all the nice things about Winton. But all she did was to cause his pent-up feelings to burst out. He stood up from the table and glared at her so hard she dropped her sandwich.
‘This isn’t my home!’ he shouted. ‘I live at Consett, that’s my home, with Gran and Uncle Billy. I’m going back an’ all, I’m going back to school and then I’m going to help Uncle Billy in his carrier business, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going down the pit, I’m not. I don’t care about your stupid bunny banks – what sort of a name is that for a rabbit warren, anyway?’
‘Robert! Sit down!’
The roar came from the open door of the front room where Da was lying in his box bed. All the children gazed at him in shock. It was the first time they had heard Da shout since the accident. Robert subsided into his seat and there was a moment’s silence.
‘Bob,’ Nora said. ‘Bob, you have to stay here, pet. I know you love your gran, but you’re needed here.’
‘I don’t care,’ answered Bob, though this time he kept his voice low. ‘I’m going back. You didn’t want me when I was little, why should I come back now? Gran’s been my mam.’
Hannah stared at him, wide-eyed. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she had to go and live in another place and go out to work doing something she didn’t want to do, but it was hard to imagine such a thing.
‘Bob, Bob, it wasn’t like that. We did want you, son, but Betty came along and you were nought but a babby yourself. Times were bad, pet, your father was on short time. Your gran could look after you and feed you better, your grandda was an overman and they only had Billy left at home. Try to understand, Bob, there’s a good lad.’
Hannah watched her mother as she talked. Mam looked as distressed as Bob was himself. A lump formed in Hannah’s own throat. She looked down at the sandwich on her plate; suddenly she didn’t feel hungry any more and the sandwich looked enormous. If she didn’t eat it now, she would get it for her supper, she knew that well enough.
She’d been looking forward to seeing Bob again. It had not occurred to her that he wouldn’t want to come. Everything had changed since Da hurt his back in the pit, she thought. If only they could go back to the way it was before.
It was Christmas before Jake’s claim for permanent disability compensation was allowed by the committee. Hannah came running in from school on the day before the Christmas holiday, clutching the green paper Christmas tree she had cut out in class together with a multicoloured paper chain and a hat made out of newspaper.
‘Look, Mam, look,’ she said, ‘we made them in school. Can we put them on the wall?’ She was excited and didn’t at first notice that Mam was smiling for the first time in months and Da’s ‘chariot’, as he had begun to call his wheeled bed, had been brought out of the front room and was by the settee.
‘Why, they’re grand, pet,’ declared Mam. ‘We’ll hang the paper chain round the mirror, what do you think, Jake? And the tree, why, it’s almost like a real one, isn’t it? We’ll stick it on the wall, eh?’
‘Aye,’ said Da. Hannah looked at him, he too was smiling.
Forgetting about the paper tree and the chain for a minute, Hannah looked from one to the other. Her mother was relaxed and happy-looking, and so was Da. For a minute she had a wild hope that Da was going to get better and everything would soon be back to normal.
‘Are you a bit better, Da?’ she asked anxiously, fearful of his answer.
‘A bit, pet, a bit,’ he said. ‘All the better for getting my compensation through, I am.’
Hannah smiled. The tiny hope that her father was going to get back to his normal health died, but the money made her mother and father happy and that was good. The atmosphere in the house had changed and she responded to it eagerly. ‘Can Bob go back to Consett now?’ she asked and her mother’s smile faded. ‘No, no, pet, he’ll have to stay here and work. He’ll be all right, you’ll see, he’ll get used to it. All the lads have to go to work.’ She looked down at Jake and bit her lip. Bob wasn’t settling down as they had hoped; he still hankered after going back to live in Consett.
Hannah felt a twinge of sadness for Bob but it was soon forgotten in the excitement of decorating the kitchen for Christmas. Jane had a paper chain from school too, and there was some holly which Alf had garnered from the hedge by the bunny banks and with bits stuck on the frame of Jake and Nora’s wedding picture which hung on one wall, and the red paper bell which came out every year hanging from the gas light, the kitchen soon began to look quite festive.
Hannah had made a star from silver paper culled from Da’s cigarette packet, and was pinning it to the top of the paper Christmas tree when Robert and Alf came in from work.
‘Hurry up, Hannah, and get the bath in for the lads,’ said Betty. ‘I’m busy tonight.’ She had been ironing a great pile of clothes on the table and now she rushed to get the ironing out of the way so tha
t the table could be laid for the meal.
Obediently, Hannah went out into the yard and reached up to take the bath down from where it hung on a nail.
‘Do you see my Christmas tree, Bob?’ she asked brightly as she lugged the bath in and put it down before the fire. She smiled as she ladled hot water out of the boiler into the bath ready for Alf, who always insisted on being the first to wash as he was the oldest. She was thinking the Christmas tree was just the thing to cheer Bob up, he was always so glum.
Bob looked at the cut-out tree stuck on the wall with its star slightly lopsided on the top of it.
‘Uncle Billy bought a real one from the market last year,’ he said. ‘That’s just a bit of paper.’
Hannah was crestfallen. Suddenly the tree didn’t seem quite so festive as she had thought it did.
‘Eeh, a real tree?’ Harry asked Bob, round-eyed. ‘A big one, like at the Sunday school party?’
‘Of course, a real tree,’ snapped Bob, ‘a big one an’ all.’
Harry was snubbed; the light faded from his eyes and he looked down at his boots. He was still a little in awe of his new-found brother and easily put down by him.
‘Bob, what’s the matter with your face?’ Da asked all of a sudden, and everyone turned to look at Bob.
‘Nothing,’ said Bob.
‘Oh!’ cried Hannah, distressed, ‘you’ve hurt your eye, I didn’t see it at first.’ Bob’s left eye was swollen and bruised purple and there was a small cut and a streak of dried blood along the cheekbone underneath.
‘Who did that to you, Bob?’ asked Mam quietly. She had come out of the pantry carrying a tureen for the potatoes which were simmering on the bar. Putting the dish down on the table, she put her finger under Bob’s chin and lifted it so that she could look at the bruise in the gas light. Even though his face was covered in black smears from the coal dust, the black eye was becoming more obvious all the time.
