A Sovereign for a Song

by Annie Wilkinson

  Standing around the head gearing were the same officials and medical gentlemen, and pressmen were everywhere. The police were stopping people from crowding up the incline, and guarding the entrance to the sawing shed, an improvised dead house. Nearby, pit ambulances waited. After a while the cage began to ascend and those who were on the hill gathered round the shaft to see it bring up more of the men who had been found at the bottom, all dead.

  The crowd had collected in the yard and formed an avenue through which the dead were carried to the sawing shed. People who had relatives or friends in the workings were in the front rows of one side or the other. Ginny went to join them, watching the faces of fathers and mothers, children and friends as corpse after corpse was carried past them. Some tried to lift the corner of a blanket that covered a face, others strove to catch a glimpse of shoes, or clogs, or trousers, and those who saw anything they recognized followed the body. As one corpse was carried past them, Ginny glimpsed a girl on the opposite side start and put a protective hand on her belly. Recognizing Maudie, she crossed to speak to her.

  ‘Have you seen me mam or our Emma?’

  Maudie shook her head. ‘Will you come with me to the sawing shed, Ginny? I don’t want to go on me own.’

  ‘You don’t think you’ve seen him, do you?’

  ‘Aye. He’s dead, Ginny. It’s not my luck for him not to be. Will you come?’

  They followed the bodies to the door of the sawing shed and stood among a group of people waiting their turn to go in. The policeman nodded in Maudie’s direction as they passed him at the door. ‘Make sure you look after her, she might be wanting a doctor before long,’ he told Ginny.

  It was hard to see on first entering the place, and the stench, a mixture burned flesh and excrement, made her feel nauseous. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Ginny saw fifteen blackened and disfigured bodies lying on the floor of the shed, every one of them battered and burned beyond recognition. People were examining clothing, feeling in pockets, trying to find anything that might help them identify their own. Maudie walked down the row, face expressionless, looking intently at each numbered body until she came to one with face and hands badly charred and half his skull blasted away.

  ‘That’s him,’ she said, ‘that’s Harry.’

  ‘How can you be sure, Maudie?’ asked Ginny, failing to see how anyone could recognize this remnant of a man, desperately hoping Maudie was mistaken, hoping her young husband was alive and whole.

  ‘It’s him, Ginny. See his socks? I knitted him his socks. I might not be much good at anything else, but I’ve always been a good knitter.’ Ginny saw the neat, even stitches, and put her arms round Maudie’s rigid, unyielding shoulders. Bleak eyed, Maudie said, ‘It’s awful. He was the only person in the world who ever thought anything about me. Thank God they brought him out. At least I’ll know where he’s buried now. He’ll have a proper grave.’

  Further down the row, a young girl saw a patch on a pair of trousers she identified as her own work, and sank to her knees beside another blackened corpse. ‘Oh, God, have mercy, it’s my brother.’ Unable to bear the sight, Ginny turned to Maudie, who stood like stone, stolidly staring in front of her.

  ‘Come on,’ Ginny said, taking her by the hand, ‘I’ll take you home.’

  They passed a policeman wiping tears from his face with the back of his hand, and walked on in silence, Ginny at a loss for words. At Maudie’s door, Ginny said, ‘I’ll go and fetch your mam. You shouldn’t be on your own.’

  Maudie shrieked, ‘No, I don’t want her. She never had a good word for him.’ She sat down on the path and began to emit howls of anguish, unlike anything Ginny had ever heard from a human being, an eerie stomach-churning noise that reminded her of a poor hare she had once heard screaming when caught in a gin trap. All attempts to comfort or to reason with her were useless, and Ginny abandoned them. She took the key and opened the door, then struggled to get Maudie on her feet and into the house. The ear-splitting wails continued as Ginny lit the lamp, then raked the ashes out of a filthy grate and lit a fire. She put the kettle on and surveyed the kitchen. Everything was in disorder, dirty and unkempt, except for a lace shawl of fine white wool still on the knitting needles.

  After what seemed like hours, Maudie clutched her sides. ‘The bairn’s coming!’ The howls began to subside.

  Ginny looked at her in complete consternation. ‘I’ll run and fetch Mam Smith,’ she said, and flew out of the cottage in the direction of Snowdrop Terrace. Half crying and half hysterical, breast heaving with exertion and emotion she burst in through Mam Smith’s door.

  ‘Maudie says the bairn’s coming! She’ll need soap and flannels and towels and something to wrap it in and everything. She’s got nothing except a half-knitted shawl. It’s awful, I’ve just been with her to identify her husband, it was terrible, just terrible. He was burned, and the back of his head blown off. If it hadn’t been for his socks, she couldn’t have recognized him. What must it be like that happens down there, if it can do that to people?’ Ginny was crying, almost losing control.

  Mam Smith got up from her chair before the fire and without a word began collecting everything she needed and throwing it into a bag.

  Martin stood up, weary and begrimed, and held Ginny by the shoulders for a moment. ‘Steady on, lass, steady on. You’ll be no use to Maudie or anybody else in this state.’

  She looked him in the face. ‘Oh, Martin, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in me life. It’s horrible, too horrible for words.’

  ‘I know. I know what it’s like,’ he soothed. ‘We got the first bodies out before we came away. Shush, shush now. I might have some good news for you. Have you heard about Jimmy? We got him out alive, with a couple of others.’

  ‘Thank God, thank God. Does our Emma know?’

  ‘Don’t start thanking God too soon. He might not deserve it. He’s hurt bad. I don’t know whether he’ll pull through. Your Emma’s up at the hospital with him, with your mam and Jimmy’s mam.’

  ‘Oh, poor Emma. Oh, Martin, I’m so afraid, I’m so afraid. I wish you wouldn’t go down again.’ Saying it, she felt a traitor to all the men and boys still down there, to her own father and mother, to every girl with a husband or sweetheart like Jimmy, to every mother with a son, and to all those like Maudie, who, even if their loved ones were dead, wanted a body to say goodbye to and to lay in a proper grave. But it was true. If she could, she would have given the owners their wish to seal the pit. She would have done anything to prevent him going down again.

  He gave her a look of wonderment. ‘You’ve got to be where your sympathies are, lass, whatever the cost.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Mam Smith abruptly, her coat on and bag packed. ‘Let’s be off.’

  A good fire was blazing when they reached Maudie’s cottage, and the kettle was boiling. They hadn’t long to wait. Maudie soon gave birth to a small, sickly looking infant, and Mam Smith guessed she had been only about seven months gone. They tried him at the breast, but he wouldn’t suck so they wrapped him and laid him at the foot of the bed whilst they washed Maudie, dressed her in a clean nightgown and remade the bed with Mam Smith’s own clean bedding.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll wash the bairn. He looks that feeble, I think a bath might kill him,’ murmured Mam Smith as she picked the child up and put him in his mother’s arms. She cast an expert eye over Maudie, lying passively in bed with her eyes half closed. ‘His mother doesn’t look any too well, either.’

  ‘I’ll go and fetch her some brandy,’ said Ginny, remembering its qualities as a pick-me-up. Mam Smith looked at her as if she’d gone mad.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. She’s got a bairn now. She needs to be in her senses to look after him. If you want to make yourself useful, the best thing you can do is go and fetch her mother, or one of her sisters. She shouldn’t be left on her own tonight. I can’t do any more for her, and I’m needed at home.’

  Ginny felt foolish and humiliated. ‘But she
said not to bring her mam. She didn’t want her.’

  ‘Try one of her sisters, then,’ Mam Smith shrugged, and without more ado she put on her coat and hat, picked up her bag, and on her way out gave Ginny a cold, wounding nod.

  Reluctant to leave Maudie to go in search of anyone, she put the kettle on again. The baby was awake, so they tried him at the breast just as Mam Smith had done. He sucked a little.

  ‘What are you going to call him, Maudie?’

  ‘Harry,’ said the girl, as if stating the obvious, as if there were only one name in the world. ‘Thanks for helping me, Ginny. Don’t you want to get on home?’

  ‘I won’t leave you on your own. I’ll stop for a while.’

  While Maudie dozed in bed with her baby, Ginny washed the tea things and all the other dirty crockery she found laid about, banked up the fire, then put out the lamp and collapsed exhausted into an armchair.

  She sat by the warmth of the coal fire, wondering which man’s labours had won it from the earth and whether he was sitting so comfortably just now. An image of her far-off, fêted, waited-upon life in London drifted fleetingly into her thoughts, reminding her that she must write to Agnes and George Burns. Bone-tired, she lay back in the chair and closed her eyes, unable to sleep for the wind bellowing and roaring round the house. It put her in mind of some great black beast in pain, venting its almighty groans of despair, sounding both terrified and terrifying.

  Chapter 22

  A weak, pathetic wailing woke her from an uneasy sleep just before dawn. She stretched her back and rubbed her aching shoulders, wondering what the matter was, then got up and lit the lamp to see Maudie sitting up in bed, trying to soothe the baby.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ She stared helplessly at Ginny, and for a moment or two, Ginny stared just as helplessly back. Then, suddenly inspired, she said with authority, ‘Nothing that a feed won’t cure. Try putting him to the breast. And you’ll have to feed yourself, or your milk won’t come in properly.’

  The fire still burned and the cottage was warm and comfortable. Ginny made tea and breakfast for Maudie, then washed her baby with warm water from the range. It was light before she left, to walk through streets already alive with people making their way to the pit.

  At home, the air was heavy with expectation, her mother and Emma facing each other over the kitchen table. Ginny’s walking in seemed to serve as a distraction from the business in hand. After demanding the reason for her being out all night, her mother said, ‘Mr Parkinson was round looking for you. He said you’d arranged for him to come. You were expecting him.’

  ‘I didn’t ask him. That was his idea. And he knows very well I’d rather he’d stopped away.’

  ‘And I suppose you know what’s wrong with Emma?’ Her mother looked at her sharply. Ginny nodded. Her mother turned to Emma and said, with uncharacteristic bitterness, ‘I wondered when you were going to let me in on your secret. You must think I’m deaf and blind. I’ve heard you retching every morning for weeks and I get a whiff of sickness every time I go upstairs. Not to mention the washing we haven’t done for you lately, and seeing you looking done in. You might have thought I had enough to do, without you bringing trouble home. I suppose this is because your father said no to the wedding.’

  ‘We love each other,’ was all Emma had to say.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you do, because neither of you seems to have much thought for anybody else. I suppose there’s not much choice now, so the sooner you are married the better, and I hope you don’t live to regret it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I wish I could be as certain. He’s Catholic, in case you’ve forgotten, so he’ll do nothing to stop any more babies coming. You might end up having one every year, and a man who can’t work to keep them. I don’t know how you’ll keep yourself out of the poorhouse then, because I shan’t be able to help you.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ll help them,’ said Ginny.

  ‘It sounds as if you’re going to work miracles,’ her mother said, without conviction.

  The two disgraced daughters were soon walking together towards the hospital, both glad to escape the house, Emma in agonies to know how Jimmy was and Ginny as desperate for news of Martin. Passing the pit on their way, they stopped to watch still more bodies being brought to the surface. The sawing she could hold no more, and the processions of corpses and their followers were now making a track to the pay office. That place was almost full, and someone said that the cart shed was being fitted up as the next morgue. When they heard that Martin had gone down again, Ginny choked back a rising panic and could barely tear herself away from the scene to go on with Emma.

  ‘He’s got a compound fracture of his right shin and he’s lost a lot of blood from it. There are three or four cuts on his head, he’s got a lot of bruises and his left ear’s burned, but at least he’s conscious now. You can see him for a minute or two, but don’t stay longer,’ the ward sister told them.

  They were shocked at the sight of him, propped on pillows in the hospital bed, the pallor of his skin almost matching the starched sheets, only relieved by the purple and blue of the bruises and the black burn of his ear. He gave them a tired smile.

  ‘I never thought I’d see you again, bonny lass,’ he told Emma. ‘I never thought I’d see the light of day again.’

  Emma took his hand and held it fast. ‘Oh, Jimmy man, when they told me you were alive! I can’t tell you.’ Her grip tightened.

  ‘Aye, you can squeeze all you like. I think it’s the only bit of me that’s not sore.’

  ‘What happened, Jimmy?’

  ‘I was working in one of the banks a long way from the shaft when I heard such an almighty crack, I thought it had burst my eardrums. I knew it must be a gas explosion and I’d visions of the roof coming in, so I ran for the main way to try and get out.’ His hazel eyes widened, the irises darting from right to left, as if he were watching the scene right then. ‘When I got nearly there I saw the fire, just like a flood, just like a river of flames, roaring down the main way, filling the whole passage. Another minute and I’d have been right in its path. I was helpless. It just lifted me off my feet and dashed me back into the side road. I ended up flat on my back. I couldn’t move for the pain in my leg, and I thought I’d broken my back and all. I must have passed out after that.’ His face relaxed and he sighed heavily. ‘But at least I don’t need the last rites yet, not like that poor lad down there.’

  They followed his glance towards a man down the ward whose arms, hands and face were badly burned. He seemed delirious and kept calling out pitifully in a language they’d never heard before. The priest, an emaciated middle-aged man dressed in a shabby black suit almost green with age, stood mumbling prayers in Latin by his bed.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He’s a Hungarian, I don’t know what his name is. He came with a couple more and they got work at the pit about three months ago. They’ve lived in the pit yard ever since. The other two are still trapped,’ said Jimmy. The mere effort of speaking seemed to exhaust him.

  ‘Has the priest been to see you? Have you asked him about getting married yet?’ asked Ginny. Emma shook her head at her, a warning look in her eyes.

  ‘Aye, he’s been to see me, but I haven’t done much talking.’

  The priest had finished his ritual and was packing his things away. He gave the man a final blessing, then walked down the ward towards them. After nodding an acknowledgement to Ginny and Emma, he said, ‘I’ll look in and see how you are tomorrow, Jimmy.’ Jimmy nodded, and the priest passed on to leave the ward.

  Ginny stood up. ‘I’ll leave you two alone. See you outside, Em.’

  ‘Father!’ The word felt strange in her mouth. He turned and waited for her at the hospital door. ‘Will you marry them? Will you marry Emma and Jimmy?’

  ‘Emma’s the girl with Jimmy now, is she?’

  Ginny nodded.

  ‘Have they said they want to get married?’

  ‘They
’ve got to get married.’

  ‘I see,’ said the priest, his lined face grave. There followed scores of gentle questions. Did her parents know, did they agree to it? Did his parents know? There were many difficulties. Emma wasn’t a Catholic, would she agree to bring her children up in the faith? The bishop would have to agree to it. There were many, many difficulties.

  ‘But can’t you ask Mr and Mrs Hood?’ Ginny asked. The priest hesitated.

  ‘They have one son still trapped in the mine, their youngest. They have another almost at death’s door here. How can I give them any more to contend with?’

  ‘But what if Jimmy is at death’s door? What if he dies? What about his bairn and our Emma? At least if they’re married, the baby’ll have a name and it won’t be so bad for them. Will you ask them? Will you try to get them to say yes? They’ll listen to you.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s a hard thing you’re asking. I don’t think you realize how hard. But yes, I’ll see Jimmy and your sister now, and if they want me to, I’ll speak to his parents.’

  She didn’t follow him back to the ward, but waited for Emma outside, an excess of nervous energy driving her to pace continuously backwards and forwards. Suddenly a low, thunderous rumbling shook the very ground under her feet, stopping her in her tracks, then an almighty boom stopped the breath in her throat. She picked up her skirts and ran.

  Huge volumes of smoke were bellowing from the pit mouth and the crowd on the bank was increasing rapidly. Her mother stood with Mam Smith and Philip. Ginny threaded her way swiftly through the throng towards them, but they knew no more than she. The officials were trying to lower the cage but someone said that the pit bottom was too full of debris to get it down completely, and nobody could tell what was happening down below.

  Charlie and Helen arrived. The chauffeur drove their open Daimler towards the police cordon, forcing the crowd to make way for them and stopping only when the wheels began to sink in the mud. Helen remained in her seat, her pale complexion and luxuriant red curls contrasting strikingly with the fashionably cut black outfit she was wearing. Her demeanour was one of haughty disdain rather than grief, putting Ginny suddenly in mind of the ladies of the Empire Promenade. Charlie jumped down and walked up the hill with the authority of an owner, unchallenged and unhindered by the police. He spent some time conversing with the officials, then scanned the bank and saw Ginny. As he pushed his way through the crowd towards her, she sensed the hostility of many of those nearby. But if Charlie felt it, he disregarded it as he came to stand close beside her.