‘No thanks, Mr Parkinson. I don’t know anybody in London.’
‘You know me.’
At the top of Pleasant View her voice held an almost imperceptible sneer as she asked, ‘Why don’t you come in and meet my family, Mr Parkinson? Then we’ll all know you and you’ll know us, and you can find out if you really have got anything in common with the pitmen.’
He laughed, a touch uneasily. ‘Perhaps I will, one day. But not today.’
She jumped down on to the cobbles. ‘Cheerio, then, Mr Parkinson.’
‘Au revoir, Ginny.’
Oh rev war? What the hell does that mean, she wondered as she watched him turn the carriage and drive away. She was disappointed he hadn’t driven her to the door. She would have loved to cause a sensation among the neighbours.
Once inside the house, all thoughts of Charlie Parkinson vanished. Mam Smith was there, and both she and Emma were in tears, with her mother trying to act as comforter to both. Ginny looked at her for an explanation, knowing before she asked what it would be.
‘It’s Maria, pet. She passed away this morning.’
Their attempts to console Martin on the day of the funeral were futile. ‘There is no God,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing but a Jewish fairy tale.’
‘We might not be able to understand God’s will, but that doesn’t mean He doesn’t exist, Martin,’ Ginny’s mother protested. She was dressed in black with a scarf draped around her neck and her head held discreetly down in an attempt to hide a large black bruise under her chin, a subterfuge that seemed to Ginny to make it all the more obvious.
Martin would have none of it. ‘No, there’s no understanding it because it doesn’t exist. That poor lass never hurt anybody in her life. Don’t talk to me about any merciful God.’ He met her mother’s eyes. Ginny knew that he saw the bruise, and that he wouldn’t humiliate her mother by making any comment. He looked towards the photograph of his blithe and bonny bride smiling down at them from her place on the mantelpiece, then at her bleach-white body lying in its open coffin supported on two dining chairs. He said again, ‘There is no God.’
Mam Smith groaned. ‘Oh, God help us all, he’s talking blasphemy.’
The three women looked at each other. Ginny felt shocked both at the sight of Maria and at this open defiance of scripture, but murmured, ‘Well, it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’
‘Hush, Ginny,’ her mother said. ‘There might be some excuse for Martin. There’s none for you.’
‘I’m glad she’s dead,’ Martin continued, ‘I was sick of seeing her suffer.’ He looked up, and seeing Mam Smith’s stricken face, held his peace. One of his three marrers, who, along with Ginny’s father, had volunteered themselves as coffin bearers, touched him on the shoulder.
‘It’s time we were away, bonny lad. They’ve got the hearse outside.’
Martin took a last lingering look at Maria’s remains. He touched her cold, white cheek, gave the blue lips a last kiss.
‘I can’t believe she’ll never wake up again.’
‘Come on, lad, bear up. It’s time to go. Come by, while I get the lid on,’ said another of his marrers.
As they lifted the coffin out of the house and carried it slowly down the garden and on to the hearse, a light rain began.
‘For what she weighs, you wad think it was empty,’ commented Ginny’s father. ‘We could have carried her the whole way to the chapel without feeling it.’
And save the expense of the hearse, thought Ginny, knowing that the same thought would be in everybody else’s mind. After Maria’s long illness money must be tight in Martin’s household, but no expense was spared for this, her final journey.
The whole village was out to watch her progress to the chapel, the men bareheaded to show their respects as the cortège passed. The rain became heavier, and those who had umbrellas began to put them up. Some of the people standing in doorways joined the procession. When all had passed through the dripping porch, the chapel was packed. The stove had been lit early, and with its cream walls contrasting with the mellow wood of floor, lectern and pews, it was a warm and welcome refuge from the grey November day. The bearers set the coffin down and Martin placed a wreath of evergreens on it. The young minister gave a solemn and respectful sermon, taking as his text an excerpt from one of the epistles of St Paul, which asks, ‘For what can separate us from the love of God?’ Ginny doubted that Martin had heard a word of it.
The drip of the rain on black umbrellas, the shuffling of scores of feet and the muffled clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobbles were the only sounds to break the silence as they afterwards made slow progress towards the cemetery.
Maria could have been buried in the same grave as her father and brothers, but Martin, a man of twenty-three, had paid for a new one, talking of nothing but being buried beside her himself when the time came. As they watched the bearers lower the coffin, water dripped from the trees around them until Ginny thought that even they wept in sympathy. After the words of the burial service had been read, Martin threw the first handful of earth on to the coffin.
‘Your daddy’s crying with a big wide open mouth,’ Sally whispered to Philip. The child wrapped his arms tightly round his father’s legs but Martin seemed unaware of his son’s existence. Unaware of anyone’s existence, Ginny thought, with a void where her heart had once been.
Chilled almost to the marrow, the mourners began to disperse. Emma left early and took the children home, but Ginny and her parents stayed on until the family had said their private goodbyes, and returned with the funeral party.
They congregated in Mam Smith’s parlour, where the now empty double bed served as a silent reminder of Maria. Wet clothes were put over the chair backs, and Mam Smith stirred up parlour and kitchen fires whilst Martin poured tots of rum for the men. The women retreated to the kitchen.
‘By, it’s cold,’ said Mam Smith, with a shiver. ‘I wish I’d thought to wrap a shawl round her. My poor bairn.’ Her lip trembled as she searched her apron pocket for a handkerchief.
Ginny, who prided herself she’d never been seen to cry since her babyhood, said, ‘I’ll not be a minute, Mam, I just need the netty.’
She escaped thankfully into the yard, into the loneliness of the dank November afternoon. She leaned on the house wall and pushed her shoulders back against the cold bricks, sniffing and swallowing hard for several minutes to get rid of the tears. A few deep breaths restored her self-control, and, after wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she went in.
Hot comforting tea waited. ‘We’ll just drink these and have a rest, and then I’ll set the table,’ her mother said.
‘Have the men got theirs?’
‘They don’t want any yet, hinny. I gave them a jug of hot water to make toddies. They’re all right with them.’
They sat round the fire in silence. After a few minutes Mam Smith said, ‘Aye well, she had a good man. I’ll always be thankful for that. God knows what he’s going to do without her, though.’
‘Do you remember when they danced at their wedding? Do you remember the way they looked at each other?’ Ginny’s mother unconsciously fingered her bruised chin. ‘It did your heart good to watch them.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it, bonny lass. It’s a shame they couldn’t dance through life as easy. Still, this is not getting the table laid. The lads must be hungry.’
Grief didn’t spoil Ginny’s appetite. She fell to hungrily, as did her father and the other bearers. Martin and Ginny’s mother picked at the food, and Mam Smith ate nothing at all. With five pitmen sitting at the table most of the conversation was about work as usual.
‘The deputy fired a shot for me yesterday. There was a blow of gas, and it took us all our bloody time to put the fire out,’ said her father, ‘we were lucky it didn’t explode.’
‘Shot-firing should be banned where naked lights are banned,’ said Martin. ‘What’s the use of having locked safety lamps, then making a light with powder? Not to menti
on the fact that blasting’s apt to shake the roof down. It was somebody firing a shot that nearly crippled me before I got wed.’
Ginny’s father snorted. ‘The use of it is that it makes quicker profits, so it’s not likely to be banned.’
‘You’ll never make deputy, Martin. You’re too fond of telling people things they’d rather not be made to know. And you’re not fond enough of the bottle either,’ one of his marrers joked. ‘The manager was in the pit the worse for drink again yesterday. You could have got merry off his breath, man. You could smell him a mile away.’
Ginny knew Mr Vine liked a tipple, she’d smelled whisky on his breath herself from time to time, but she was surprised to hear he’d ever turned up for work after a drinking session.
‘Aye, and when he drinks, the over men and deputies have to follow suit, just to stay pals, like. And we’ve our lives depending on them making the safety checks. It’s time that Mines Inspector was round again,’ said another.
Bad cavils, thin seams, roof falls, who had a near miss last week, who got fined how much for sending tubs up with the splint and stone that nobody could avoid, however careful, and the general cheating, chiselling, and contractual pilfering practised as a matter of course by owners and management – Ginny had heard it all before.
‘You never hear tell o’ them buggers hevin’ to pull their belts in, and it doesn’t matter what the market’s supposed to be like,’ commented her father. ‘That was a good tea, Mam. You want to get more of it down you, lad, you need to keep your strength up.’
‘Aye, I will, I’ll have a bite later, maybe before bed. I’m not hungry just now.’
‘They’re not going to pay you much for the coal you’ll win on what you’ve just eaten, and you’ve still got a house and family to keep going.’
Martin made no reply. Her father shrugged. ‘Ah well, you know your own business best, I suppose.’
When all those with any appetite were replete with food and awash with tea, the women cleared the table and returned to the kitchen. Ginny stood at the sink washing glasses and pots, and her mother dried them, leaving Mam Smith to put everything back in its proper place. She put the best tea service and the cake stand safely away, and sighed.
‘Barring Christmas, I think the last time that tea set was out was when Philip was born. I didn’t think when I was putting it away after his christening that I should soon want it for his mam’s funeral. I hope it’s a long time before I see it again.’
‘You might want it for something nice,’ said Ginny.
‘I can’t think what that’s going to be, now.’
‘You’ve still got Philip and it’ll soon be Christmas,’ said Ginny’s mother.
‘It will. But I don’t know how I’m going to face it, unless you know of any quick cures for broken hearts. I don’t, and this’ll take some getting over, both for me and his dad.’
‘You might not think I understand you, Mam,’ said Ginny’s mother, ‘but I do understand a bit. I’ve lost my father and my brothers. My father warned me I’d never be welcome again if I married Arthur, and I’ve never seen any of them from that day to this. He sent me some of my mother’s furniture and linen when I set up house, and that was the end of it. If you hadn’t looked after me when I came here, I’d have had nobody except Arthur. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘Aye, it’s cruel, lass, but it’s not like losing one of your own bairns. I hope you may never know what that is.’
‘But I do. John’s gone. And I’ve an awful feeling I’ll never see him again. It’s like a premonition.’
‘Well, take no notice o’ them, bonny lass. I never had a premonition in my life, and there’s been one tragedy after another in my family.’
There was a pause, and Ginny picked up her father’s voice, full of geniality and concern, trying to ply Martin with drink.
‘No, thanks, Arthur, I don’t want a one.’ She put a finger to her lips to signal the two women to listen.
‘Go on, it’ll do you good, man.’
‘No really, I don’t want one.’
‘You do – it’ll make you feel better. Drown your sorrows.’
‘My sorrows are not the sort that’ll drown. They’ll still be there tomorrow, so I don’t want a drink. What I want is my wife. Can you understand that, Arthur? I want me canny little wife, like other men have theirs. Whether they deserve them or not.’
‘What? What are you getting at?’
‘Some men don’t deserve the wives they’ve got. That’s what I’m getting at.’
Ginny and her mother waited on tenterhooks, fearing the inevitable violent outburst from her father. When it came, it was not as bad as expected.
‘Look here, you,’ said he, never a man to skirt round an issue. ‘Don’t you think I don’t know when I’m being insulted. I’ll let it pass this time, remembering what day it is. And I might let it pass for another week or two, considering your troubles. But you come it after that, sticking your nose into my business, and passing comments you’ve never been asked for, and you’d better be ready to settle it, man to man.’ He stood up a little unsteadily, and put on his jacket.
‘Mary Ann,’ he called, and she appeared from the kitchen. ‘I’m going on home, it’s past my bedtime. I’m on the graveyard shift tomorrow. You can stop here as long as you like and look after Mam Smith. I’m all right. And a goodnight to everybody,’ he said magnanimously, then, to Ginny’s surprise and relief, he made a dignified exit.
Chapter 5
‘There’s so much more to life than pits and housework, and clever girls choose more. I can show you how much more, if you’ll allow me. Come on, Ginny, don’t disappoint me; I’m going away soon. Dressed up and with your hair done, you’d easily pass for eighteen.’ Charlie Parkinson sat beside her at the kitchen table, offensively close.
She looked at him speculatively. Going away? Well, she wouldn’t ask where to. It was none of her business, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeming to show any interest.
‘No thanks, and anyway, it’s not likely that my father would stand for me going to any music hall with you, even if I wanted to. You’d better take your sister. She might enjoy it.’
‘But I wouldn’t. Not when I’d rather be with you. Fifteen, and never been to a music hall. Never been kissed either, I shouldn’t wonder.’ A smile played on his lips, suggestive, quizzical. She said nothing. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed, ‘you’d like it. You might even have enough talent to do a turn yourself, if you had the right man to introduce you to it. Your father needn’t know. I’ll give you a good time, and I can guarantee you’d be the best-looking girl in the place. I’ll drive you there. You’ll like that.’
‘You might as well save all your soft soap for the other lasses, Mr Parkinson, it’s wasted on me,’ she replied, and returned to the task of peeling shallots for pickling. The thought of a swim in the Wear wearing a pick for headgear was obviously not enough to put Charlie off.
‘What other lasses are you thinking of, Ginny – can you recommend any?’
‘I can’t, but maybe your sister can. You’d better ask her. I think she’s on the look-out for a good catch for you. Probably a bonny farmer’s daughter, who’ll be like the dairy cream she makes, rich and thick.’ Her eyes watered and she blinked.
‘Oh, poor Ginny, you’re crying at the thought of losing me!’ he exclaimed in mock sympathy. ‘I always have that effect on women. I can’t help it. Here, take my handkerchief.’
She took the spotless white handkerchief, pressed and beautifully monogrammed, and shook it out before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose noisily into it. She thrust it back into his hand. ‘It’s more the thought of the poor onions losing their skins. That’s what’s breaking my heart.’
‘And you’re what’s breaking mine.’ Charlie inspected the slimy contents of the handkerchief, before wrapping them up and replacing the handkerchief in his pocket. ‘I shall never allow this to be washed again. In future,
I shall wear it pressed close to my heart, to remind me of Cruel Ginny, my black-haired beauty.’
Flattered in spite of herself, she was barely succeeding in suppressing a laugh when Helen Vine entered – so promptly that Ginny had a suspicion she’d been listening at the door.
‘I don’t want you distracting her, Charlie. There’s too much needs to be done to get this house ready for Christmas. Ginny, go outside and sweep the leaves off the lawn. I’ll finish off here,’ she said sharply.
‘I doubt if I’ll be able to see the leaves, Mrs Vine. It’s nearly dark, and it’s starting to rain. Besides, Mr Dyer’ll have swept up any that were left.’
Helen wavered. ‘All right then, you can take a bucket of hot water with a drop of ammonia and go and wash the paintwork in the dining room. Just be careful you don’t spill any of it on the polished tops. I want everything gleaming in there. I’ll be doing a lot of entertaining this Christmas.’
Ginny pulled a face. Nothing like ammonia for making a mess of your hands. She went through to the scullery to gather the necessary equipment, then sallied forth into the dining room, to make shorter work of the task than Helen had anticipated. When she returned, it was her turn to overhear the tail-end of a conversation at the door.
‘Don’t worry, sis,’ Charlie’s tones were reassuring, ‘the girl attracts me, I admit, but I’m not a complete fool.’
No more am I, thought Ginny grimly, before pushing open the door, and crossing the kitchen to replace the bucket. The shallots had been abandoned, and Helen was busy with a knitting needle, poking holes in the large Christmas cake and feeding it with teaspoons of spirit. The room was full of the rich aroma of fruitcake and brandy.
‘I don’t know if I’ll have enough with one cake. I think I’d better get cook to do another to be on the safe side. What do you think, Charlie?’
‘You know best.’
‘Yes, I usually do. You can go now, Ginny,’ she said, offhandedly, not bothering to look up to meet Ginny’s eyes. ‘I think it’s your time.’ Charlie did meet her gaze, and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
A Sovereign for a Song Page 5
