by Maggie Hope
The rest of the people were beginning to drift back to the cottages to pick over the piles of their belongings before each front door. There was no sign of the candymen, just a lone policeman, there to make sure no one tried to get back in the houses.
‘What are we going to do, Jack?’
One of the younger lads, a boy of sixteen but head of the family now his father was dead, fell into line beside Jack and Hannah as they approached the row. Jack shifted Meg’s weight from one arm to the other and smiled encouragingly at the boy.
‘Why, Albert,’ he said, ‘you’ll manage. It’s only May yet, the summer’s afore us. At least it’s not snowing.’
Albert failed to return his smile, his face woebegone.
‘Haven’t you any family, like? Somewhere you can stay for a while?’ Hannah suggested. The lad’s mother answered for him.
‘Why aye, we have that. I have a sister up at Coundon and another in Shildon. It would be no good going to Shildon, though, her man works on the line and if they took us in his job would go, likely.’ She turned to her son. ‘Nay, lad, we must go to Coundon. Our Betty’s man works in the pit. Howay, thou must be a man.’
Albert, who’d been told he must be a man over and over since the death of his father, sighed. ‘Aye.’ He regarded the pile of furniture which was theirs. ‘The thing is, what are we going to do about this lot?’ He picked up a chair with a broken leg, looked around and found the leg and tried fitting it together, dispiritedly.
‘You can use my handcart,’ offered Jack. ‘We’ll get your stuff shifted this morning then I can use it this afternoon.’ He put Meg down and walked across to where a small wooden cart was resting in the grass. Hannah followed him, speaking in an undertone.
‘What about us, Jack? We have nowhere. Now my mother’s gone, like.’ For Mrs Hope had not lived long after Nell died, she had lost any will to live.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ He paused and looked at her with a question in his eyes. ‘Grizedale might be your brother-in-law, but he’s not going to let us take shelter anywhere near the Hall. He’ll hound us out. But mebbe you and the bairns can sleep in one of his barns, just for a night or two? Then I can go and look for a place.’
Hannah shook her head in emphatic denial. ‘No, Jack, we can’t do that. I’d rather sleep in the open, any road. It’s May, the weather’s warm, we’ll take no hurt.’
Jack sighed heavily. ‘Aye. And then, if I was away for long and you had to apply to the Guardians – well, the way things are now, I could be taken up by the polis if I left you and the bairns to be a charge on the rates. No, we have to go together or all go into the workhouse.’
Hannah shivered. ‘Eeh, no, Jack, not that. We’ll sleep under a hedge first.’
‘Well, we won’t be the first ones to camp out on the fell. There’ll be more than us doing it this night.’ Jack patted her clumsily on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, lass. You’ll see, I’ll find something, see if I don’t. An’ it won’t be for want of trying if I don’t.’
Hannah nodded and managed to summon up a smile but in truth her hopes were not high. Jack was a leader and union man and would be blacklisted by the railways and banned from carrying on his trade as a platelayer. Even if the Board didn’t do it straight away, Ralph Grizedale would see to it that they did eventually.
‘Where are we going, Da?’
Meg, from her seat in the middle of the cart, asked the question as Jack turned left at Eldon and took the track which led to the Great North Road. It would lead them north and east and away from the Auckland district of south-west Durham. Until now, Meg had been quiet, staring around her with wide open eyes, awed by the events of the day.
The little girl had never in her life been this far away from the row of cottages on the old line which had always been her home. They had passed Grizedale Hall, glimpsed only fleetingly through the trees of the park created by Ralph’s father from farmland in imitation of the wealthy landowners surrounding him. Landowners made even wealthier by the coal under their land. She had looked and looked, hoping to see Jonty, but there was no sign of him, none at all.
At last Meg gave up staring as the tall chimneys of the Hall disappeared from view. Her father began to pant a little as he drew the cart up the steep hill. He had no breath to answer Meg for a while. Hannah, walking beside the cart with the baby slung in her shawl, shifted little Jack to her hip and lent a hand by pushing until at last they crested the rise.
Meg gazed round in surprise and pleasure at the rolling hills in the distance, one crowned by an ancient church. Everything was so green and fresh and glowing in the late-evening sun. By, she thought, it’s grand.
Jack halted to take a breather and looked round at Meg, summoning up an encouraging smile. ‘We’ll see, pet, we’ll see. But I don’t think we can go much further tonight. Mebbe as far as Old Eldon.’ Taking hold of the handle of the cart again, he walked up the lane.
The sight of the village, the first one Meg had seen which was untouched by industry, made her gasp with delight. Here there were no slag-heaps, no smell of coal and coke ovens, just farms and little cottages. Under the hedge, primroses reflected the sun and in the field beyond, daisies and dandelions grew. Were they going to live here? She watched in fascination as a farmer herded a small group of cows up the lane and in to a field gate.
‘Cush, cush,’ he said quietly as they turned, followed by a bright-eyed collie. Meg looked at her father, wanting to share the moment with him, but he was looking at Mam, concern for her on his face. Mam was weary, Meg could see it in the way her body slumped as she leaned against the cart.
Propping the handles of the cart against the fence so that it remained approximately upright, Jack lifted Meg down and walked over to speak to the farmer. Meg went to her mother and stood watching quietly as the two men talked. Her thumb went to her mouth as the man looked over at the woman with a child in her arms and a small girl hanging on to her skirts. He nodded briefly.
‘Aye, all right, so long as you’re not tinkers. I can’t abide tinkers, thieving rascals.’ He clanged the gate shut after the cows and turned back to Jack. ‘You can sleep in the barn round the back. Keep out of the way, mind. There’s fresh milk you can have for the little ’uns but don’t light a fire, there’s still some winter feed in there.’ He frowned as Jack Boy woke up and started to cry fretfully. ‘I suppose you’ve been turned out? I heard of such goings-on today when I took the milk down to Eldon. I don’t like it, I don’t, turning women and bairns out of their homes. But mind, I’m only a tenant here. You’ll keep out of sight of the road and be gone first thing in the morning, will you. All right?’
Hannah and Jack hastened to reassure him that it was indeed all right and they were very grateful. So soon they were ensconced in the barn where the baby’s cradle was taken down from the cart and little Jack fed and put to bed. Meg, after a piece of bread and dripping and a drink of milk supplied by the farmer, was also put to bed in the hay.
Wearily, Jack and Hannah sat down, talking in hushed tones together. Jack sprang to his feet as the barn door opened and a middle-aged woman, obviously the farmer’s wife, came in with a tray which she put down at their feet. There was a pot of strong black tea and a piece of cold bacon together with fresh bread and home-made pickle. Hannah, who had not cried or complained all day throughout their misfortunes, felt her eyes fill with tears at this evidence of the innate kindness of folk. The woman understood, however.
‘Don’t thank me, Missus, it’s nowt, we had it to spare,’ she said, and hurriedly left the barn.
Meg watched as her parents ate their meal in the doorway so that they could take advantage of the waning light. Even though she was not yet four, she knew the food was especially welcome. They had brought some with them but their supplies were meagre. No money had been coming in because of the strike. And she had often heard Mam say she had to eat or she would lose her milk and then what would the babby do?
‘I’ll get up early and help the farmer,
we’re not taking any charity,’ Jack remarked, half to himself.
‘Aye,’ said Hannah. ‘By, I’m tired though. I don’t know where we’ll go either. I’ve got no one, not since me mam died. Just Cousin Phoebe, like, over in Haswell.’
‘Me neither, just me brother in Australia and we can’t go there,’ said Jack.
Meg could hear every sound made by the animals in the farmyard until at last she fell asleep through sheer exhaustion, as a cock crowed in the hen-house across from the barn and grey streaks of dawn slid in through the cracks in the barn door.
‘Cousin Phoebe might help,’ Mam was saying as she fell asleep, ‘we can ask. What else can we do? And Haswell is far enough away from Shildon for you to look for work, Jack.’
The day dawned clear and cold with a light frost covering the ground. Meg shivered as Hannah washed her hands and face and neck under the tap by the horse trough. She stamped her feet in their shabby, black boots to warm them up. But she forgot about the cold when she ran away into the field, watching the geese as they trooped out to go down to the pond at the bottom, scurrying away as the gander raised his wings and quacked angrily at her as he shepherded his family. She came back to Hannah with a bunch of wild flowers, primroses and dandelions, daisies and sweet violets, which she handed proudly to her mother, her blue eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy fresh with the sharp air.
‘Where’ve you been?’ demanded a harassed Hannah. She was busy removing all traces of their occupancy from the barn, determined that their hosts should not think they were like the tinkers. She didn’t see the posy in her haste. The baby was wailing fretfully, something Mam couldn’t abide, Meg knew. It always made Mam anxious when Jack Boy cried; anxious and bad-tempered. Now she looked up angrily at Meg from her kneeling position by the cradle.
‘I wanted you to see to Jack Boy, maybe he’s getting a tooth already. You could keep his chin dry. He’s dribbling all over and his skin will get sore.’ Then she saw the proffered posy in Meg’s hand and the smile fading from her daughter’s face. She got to her feet and took the posy, burying her nose in its fragrance.
‘Eeh, I’m sorry, petal, I am. I didn’t mean to shout. By, they’re lovely, they are. I just didn’t feel very well, I’m badly like. Now howay, honey, we have to pack up and be on our way. Your da must be nearly finished his jobs by now.’
* * *
By ten o’clock, the family was once more on its way, making for the Great North Road then travelling slowly up to Thinford where they would branch off for East Durham and the smoky colliery village of Haswell. Hannah could only hope that Cousin Phoebe still lived there, along with her miner husband, Thomas. She was very thankful indeed when, after making a few enquiries, she knocked on a cottage door and it was Cousin Phoebe who opened it, a Phoebe Hannah would have recognized anywhere from her likeness to her mother.
‘Eeh, our Hannah, I can’t believe it’s you!’ she said when Hannah told her who they were. ‘By, I haven’t seen you since you were little more than a bairn. Howay in then, don’t just stand there on the step, like.’ Phoebe peered over Hannah’s shoulder at Jack who was carrying Meg in his arms. ‘Eeh, what’s the matter?’ Phoebe’s welcoming smile became a little concerned as she stood back to let them in.
Meg heard Mam going into lengthy explanations punctuated by Phoebe’s exclamations but she was more interested in the man who had been sitting in a rocking chair before a blazing coal fire. He had risen to his feet as Jack carried her in and put her down on the floor. He had red cheeks, a bristling walrus moustache, and his eyes twinkled in welcome. Eeh, Meg thought, he was just like her friend Molly’s granda who lived on the end of the row at home; he even smiled like Molly’s granda did.
‘Are you my granda?’ she asked, hope shining out of her blue eyes. She’d always wanted a granda like Molly’s.
The man chuckled. ‘No, pet, I’m not your granda. I’m not anybody’s granda. But I’m your Uncle Tot and that’s practically the same thing. You can pretend I’m your granda if you like.’
Meg swelled with happiness, Uncle Tot was a grand man, he was. The grown-ups were bustling about, Mam explaining why they’d come and Da and Uncle Tot were shaking hands while everybody talked at once.
‘Well!’ Auntie Phoebe said. ‘Mind, what a surprise! Not but what you’re not welcome – you are. Eeh, it’s lovely to see you. Me poor old mother was always talking about you and wondering how you got on, your man and you.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Things were bad then, they were, after the men were killed in the explosion. You were all the family we had left and you had to move away.’ All the time she talked she was filling the kettle and settling it on the coals and going to and from the pantry to the table. ‘It’s a good thing I made a pie the day – it was for the journey tomorrow but we can eat it tonight. I can do sandwiches for the morn.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Hannah asked, latching on to the important fact that Phoebe was talking about a journey.
She stopped setting the table and turned to look at her cousin. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, you know we would’ve took you in, but Tot’s got a new job to go to. He’s to be fore shift overman at Black Boy. We’re moving tomorrow.’ Even through her concern at telling Hannah they would be unable to take in the family, her pride in Tot’s new job shone through. But she saw the despair on her cousin’s face. ‘Eeh Hannah, you can come with us for a week or two. You know we won’t leave you with nowhere to stay. We’re kin. No pit folk would leave kin with nowhere to stay.’
‘We can’t go to Black Boy,’ Hannah said hopelessly, ‘it’s too near Shildon.’
Meg heard the silence which fell on the grown-ups; saw the dismay on their faces. They sat round the table and looked at each other. Suddenly little Jack began to cry, a hungry insistent sound. But for once Hannah didn’t jump up and go to him immediately; she didn’t seem to hear him.
‘Mam, the baby’s crying,’ Meg said, and when her mother didn’t answer she went to the cradle herself and rocked it gently with her foot. ‘Whisht, babby,’ she said.
Uncle Tot watched her a moment then cleared his throat. ‘Mebbe it’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘You can camp out in here till Saturday, the key’s not due to be given up till then. You have some furniture. An’ then mebbe Jack can find a job. There’s the pit . . .’ He faltered, knowing Jack was no pitman. But then Tot remembered something else. ‘Hang on, wait a minute, I heard today that there were jobs going in the quarries up Marsden way. What about that, Jack?’
Three
Ralph Grizedale rode over the fields to Grizedale Hall and trotted California straight round to the stables at the back of the house. A young groom came running as he yelled imperiously and Ralph flung himself off the horse and threw the reins to the boy.
‘Give him a proper rub down – I’ll have no skimping, mind. And when you’ve done that, take a broom to this yard, it’s filthy.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The boy’s voice trembled as he answered, he had a healthy fear of Ralph. Taking the reins, he led Cal over the already spotless yard. Hadn’t he been up at five that morning to clean the stables and sweep the yard? But if Master wanted it swept again, well then, that’s what he would do. He needed to keep this job.
Ralph strode into the house and across the hall to his study, feeling decidedly out of temper though he didn’t know why. Shouldn’t he be feeling better now that Hannah, that thorn in his side for so many years, had gone and taken that prying brat of hers with her? If he didn’t see Hannah he would forget about her, he would find a wife among his own kind and put her out of his mind altogether. Striding over to the bell-pull by the fireplace, he jerked it a couple of times and when his man appeared, ordered whisky and water. Something he hadn’t been able to do when his father was alive, he thought, feeling amused for a moment. What the old man would have said if he’d heard the order. When the drink came Ralph threw himself into a great leather armchair by the ornate fireplace and sipped from the brimming glass.
In spite
of himself, he couldn’t keep his mind off Hannah and her brat. He could still see the two pairs of eyes staring up at him after the eviction – eyes so alike, so intensely blue, emphasized by the milky white complexions and fair, almost corn-coloured hair glinting in the sun. The familiar ache of longing rose in him and turned to the usual bitterness. She had chosen to marry a common railway worker, let her take the consequences. And her child . . . too sharp for her own good, that one. He remembered the way she’d lifted her chin and glared at him. So like her mother she was. Well, she had to be separated from Jonty, there was danger there.
Ralph frowned heavily as he heard a child’s voice in the hall. Hadn’t he told Jonty to keep away from the front of the house? Mouthing an oath, he stalked to the door and flung it open.
‘Look at me, Grandmother, look at me!’ Jonty was at the foot of the stairs, standing on his head and with his face red from the effort of holding his balance, his legs wavering in the air before he toppled over. Mrs Grizedale was in the doorway of her sitting-room, clapping her lace-mittened hands gently and smiling at the child.
‘Oh, clever boy, clever,’ she was saying, and Jonty giggled as he jumped to his feet. But then he saw his father, face black with rage, striding over towards him and his face went from red to white and his eyes widened in terror.
‘Don’t—’ Mrs Grizedale stepped forward to put herself between her son and grandson, but she was too late. Ralph held Jonty by the scruff of the neck and was holding him off the ground and shaking him.
‘How many times do I have to tell you not to make a noise in the house? And to use the back stairs, not to come into the front hall at all.’
‘Ralph! Ralph!’ Mrs Grizedale caught hold of the boy and held him to her, shaking along with him until Ralph let go his hold and Jonty collapsed into a sobbing heap.
‘It was my fault, Ralph, not the boy’s. He was with me, we were going to have tea together in my room. I didn’t know you were back from your ride,’ cried Mrs Grizedale. She bent protectively over the child, while looking up at his father beseechingly.
