by Ruth Sutton
‘Hello, you two,’ John called out. ‘Tom, come and meet Father O’Toole.’
As the two men shook hands John and Maggie looked at each other. His heart turned with love.
* * *
‘Maggie and John,’ said Father O’Toole, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife. May you always be as happy as you are today.’
Maggie kissed everyone and the men shook hands again. Tom and John embraced as rugby players might after a sensational try. Father O’Toole was smiling. John took his hand in both his own. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ he said.
The priest leaned forward to speak to him quietly. ‘Will you do something for me, John?’
‘Anything.’
‘Be kind to your mother.’
As they blinked into the bright morning, Maggie turned to her husband.
‘If we go back on the train, what about the bike?’
‘You and John are on t’bike,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll be catching train.’
‘But that means we’ll be back at West Row in half an hour. We don’t have to be at St Mary’s until two o’clock.’
John smiled. ‘We’re going to Sandwith, Mrs Pharaoh. One or two things we need to do before it’s time to face Father Pryce. See you later, Tom, and thanks again.’
Tom and the priest stood side by side, watching as Maggie climbed up behind her husband, and the bike puttered off down the quiet street.
John parked the bike in the tiny back yard of the Sandwith house and then returned to the front door to carry Maggie over the threshold. They waved to the watching neighbours, and closed the front door firmly before scampering upstairs.
* * *
Compared to the wedding itself, the blessing of John and Maggie’s marriage in St Mary’s later in the day was a rowdy affair. Most of the noise emanated from a group of lasses from the Haig screen shed who had enjoyed a lunchtime drink at the Eagle and Flag on the High Road. It took several appeals from a mortified Violet and hard stares from Father Pryce before they agreed to vacate the front rows of the church and settle down more quietly further back, until hymn singing was called for, to which they made a particularly raucous contribution.
Father Pryce performed his duties with as much good grace as he could muster. His blessing on the couple was a little perfunctory, and Violet hoped that no one but she had noticed. It was all over soon enough, and the whole company led by the bride and groom spilled out on the High Street, acknowledged the applause of passers by, and walked down the hill and round the corner into West Row.
Tables and chairs had been dragged out of houses along the street and all the ration points that were available had been used up to provide food for the meal. Speeches were short and scurrilous, and when they were done, and the wedding cake cut, some of the party drifted away towards the Eagle, leaving twenty or so close family and friends clustered near the McSherry’s front door. The summer sun was dropping towards the horizon, glinting gold off tiny ruffles on the sea stirred by a rising breeze and ebbing tide. Chairs were pulled round so that their occupants could watch the vision of light and colour being unveiled before them, like cinema goers watching the show.
‘Look at this,’ said Frank. ‘This is where we live. All this beauty, but out there, under the sea, there’s poor buggers bent double in them bloody seams, risking their lives digging out bloody coal.’
Violet scowled at her husband. He turned to Tom. ‘How much longer will ye give it, Tom?’
‘Year or two,’ said Tom. ‘Every time them sirens start up, I think that could be me, or any of me mates. If someone offered me summat up top tomorrow I’d bite their ’and off. I’ve ’ad enough.’ He turned to John and Maggie and raised his glass. ‘You’re a lucky bugger, our John,’ he said. ‘Not just ’cos of that wife o’ yours. You’re lucky ’cos you can earn your pay without going down there in the filth and the sweat.’
‘That’s not luck, that’s schooling,’ said Maggie. ‘That’s why our Judith will stay at school as long as they’ll let her, be a teacher like John’s mam.’
‘Where is your mam?’ asked Frank. ‘When are we going to meet ’er?’
John squeezed Maggie’s hand. ‘I asked her, but she said she wasn’t ready to meet everybody.’ He hesitated, aware that the explanation was feeble. ‘She had a bad do in the spring, after that man at the camp drowned. She tried to stop him, I heard. Whole business left her pretty wretched. Just have to give it time.’ He paused, embarrassed, willing Frank to ask no more about it.
‘And what about those friends of yours from Boot?’ said Frank. ‘Didn’t you say they were coming?’
‘I thought they were, with Miss Plane. They said they’d be here this evening sometime.’
As if on cue, they heard the car engine before they saw it nosing round the corner at the end of the street. Agnes was driving, and pulled up before the long line of tables blocked her way. John and Maggie ran together down towards the car as Hannah and Fred emerged slowly from the back.
Hannah’s good eye squinted into the low sunlight, and Fred took a while to ease his wooden leg into the right position to heave himself upright. John led Hannah, and Maggie supported Fred. Agnes, smiling, confident, and carrying a bag full of presents, brought up the rear of the group as they made their way slowly along the gleaming cobbles.
Introductions were made and the three new arrivals were quickly seated, talking of mutual acquaintance and realising without surprise how many people they knew in common. It transpired that one of Frank McSherry’s cousins farmed not far from Boot and would have known Hannah’s father when the mill was still at the centre of the local economy.
Agnes knew of Father Pryce, which pleased Violet very much, but the conversation about John and Maggie’s defection to a church in Millom was too sensitive to be discussed. Fortunately, Agnes tried to reassure Violet, just a little, that Father O’Toole was well known and much loved down the coast, and a fine representative of the Catholic priesthood, but Violet’s only response was to sniff her continued disapproval. Paul Conley and his son Paddy from two doors down emerged from their house with a fiddle and accordion.
‘Thank God,’ said Frank. ‘Now we can stop talking about priests. Play us a tune, you two, to serenade the sunset.’
They played with such enthusiasm that Violet was persuaded to dance with her new son-in-law and the rest of the party clapped their approval. Before the flattened disc of the sun slid towards the grey horizon, Maggie fetched her father’s precious bottle of port from under the stairs and very small measures went far enough for them all to toast the bride and groom.
In the afterglow, cotton wool clouds in the east caught the pink that spread slowly across the sky above their heads. They sipped from their crimson glasses in a final toast to the happy couple, before John and Maggie left to celebrate their marriage in John’s bed in Sandwith and Agnes drove her guests back to the rare comfort of Applegarth for the night.
Jessie was still up when they got back, sitting alone in the fading light of the sitting room, where she had been all evening. She felt more than usually alone, longing for company but fearful of it. Privacy had become a terrible habit; she’d been convinced that it was essential for her survival, but now that conviction was crumbling. The truth about her past might hurt but it would not threaten everything. A man who loved her would stand by her, protect her, accept and understand what she had done and why she had done it. And her son was happy now, too happy to be angry with her, and that was all she wanted.
‘We had a lovely time,’ said Agnes as she ushered Hannah and Fred slowly into the room full of light and softness. Hannah perched on the edge of an armchair, feeling the fabric and stitching of the cushion beside her. Fred stared at the painting above the fireplace, and then at one of his own rugs, which was not on the floor under their feet, but on the wall, stretched and hung like a work of art. Agnes followed his gaze and smiled.
‘Too beautiful to stand on, Fred,’ she said. ‘I wanted to see your work more clear
ly, to let its colours glow and brighten the room.’
‘Aye,’ said Fred. ‘That’s a good ’un, reet enough.’
‘You’ve met Maggie, haven’t you, dear?’ said Agnes to Jessie who had watched and listened but said nothing as the news of the wedding party was relayed to her.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, taking a moment to choose her words with care. ‘Maggie and I had a chat a while ago, before they arranged to be married. I was struck by her straightforwardness, her energy.’
‘It’s the flaming hair,’ said Fred.
‘Did you see her daughter?’ Jessie asked, suddenly curious.
‘Too late when we got there,’ said Fred. ‘Bairn was in bed. Name of Judith. Bright wee thing, they say. Maggie’s very keen on schooling, her mam says.’
‘She’ll be a grand wife for our John,’ said Hannah. ‘He deserves a reet special lass, and that she is.’
Regret and sadness surged through Jessie yet again. When Agnes returned from showing Hannah and Fred up to their room, Jessie was crying. Agnes sat beside her, and Jessie lowered her head onto her friend’s willing shoulder as the room darkened into violet and the short, star-filled night began.
CHAPTER 27
THE BLUEBRAE GUEST HOUSE IN GARLIESTON across the Solway on the coast of Galloway was the most luxurious house that Maggie Pharaoh had ever been in. John had used some of his savings to pay for their honeymoon there, and chose it because it had a bedroom with a view of Cumberland hills, and a private bathroom, just for them.
The landlady called it ‘the honeymoon suite’ and opened the door with a flourish when they arrived, the day after their wedding. Maggie was the first to enter, as John struggled up the stairs with their bags.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, John, look!’
Maggie examined every detail of the room. She bounced on the bed, felt the heavy smoothness of the curtains, and opened and closed every drawer, but most of all she wanted to stay in the bathroom.
‘There’s a bath here,’ she called to John, ‘with two taps!’ He heard the taps being turned on, and after a moment Maggie called to him again. ‘There’s hot water coming out, John. If I put the plug in I could have a hot bath, anytime I want!’
‘Yes you can,’ he said, laughing. ‘But there are some other things we could do to pass the time. Practice makes perfect, don’t forget.’
It was the happiest week of their lives, and the warmth of August seeped into their bones. Perhaps it was the heat, or swimming in the sea every day, that caused the grime of the screens to lift out of Maggie’s skin: she glowed. Both of them basked in the ease of life without their mothers.
‘When I was stuck there in the snow with her,’ said John on the Friday morning as they walked on the beach before breakfast, ‘she was so wrapped in herself it was like I didn’t exist. We had nothing to say to each other. But then, when the men from the camp arrived, she turned into this cheerful, kindly person, making them welcome, smiling. Sometimes I think I don’t know her at all.’
‘Is it any better now?’ asked Maggie, taking his hand.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but we’re not close.’
‘You two have to start all over again with each other. It’ll take a long time.’
They walked further, the early sun warm on their faces, looking across to the Cumberland hills.
‘I bet we could see West Row from here,’ said Maggie, ‘If we had a big enough telescope. All my life I’ve looked across here and wondered what it would be like.’
‘That’s why I chose this place,’ said John.
She stooped suddenly and stood quite still, rubbing her forehead.
‘Are you alright?’ he said, looking into her face.
She paused before she said, ‘Do you ever get a feeling that something might be going to happen? It’s a sort of twist in your stomach, or a buzz in your head.’
‘A premonition?’
‘Is that the word? I was thinking about Judith, just now, and suddenly felt it. Do you believe in things like that?’
‘Not really,’ said John. ‘I reckon most things like that are based on something, something real.’
‘So what could it be?’ she said. ‘Judith’s fine with Mam and Dad, and it can’t be school as they’re not back yet. Something’s happened, I know it, or it’s going to happen. How would they find us, if there was something wrong?’
John thought about it. ‘A telegram, I suppose. They know where we are.’
She looked up at him, her hair framing her face as the breeze caught it. ‘I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it, love. I can feel it, something bad, here.’ She pressed her hands against her stomach.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘We’ll have our breakfast and pay the bill and we’ll go.’
‘Now? Today?’
‘Only a day ahead of ourselves. Even if there’s nothing wrong, I don’t want you worrying. If we get an extra day at home, there’ll be plenty to do there before I go back to work. After that you can rest and get to know the place.’ John bent his knees to take Maggie in his arms, stroking her strong back and her hair. ‘Nothing’s more important to me than you and Judith,’ he said. ‘If you want to go, we’ll go. I’ll drive really slowly, and we’ll sleep in our own bed tonight.’
‘Can I have another bath before we set off?’ she said.
In the early evening, John turned the motorbike down the long hill into Whitehaven. He had expected busy roads at that time on a Friday but it was surprisingly quiet. Along the street as they passed, front doors were open and women stood in huddles on their doorsteps, their faces lit by the sun. The air was heavy and still. John braked gently to a halt at the corner of a street where a group of women and children were standing.
‘Has something happened?’ he asked.
‘The William,’ a woman said, pointing down the hill. ‘Sirens went off ten minutes since.’
‘An accident?’ asked Maggie. ‘How bad?’
‘Bad,’ said the woman. ‘Men ’ave gone down to see.’
‘Uncle Tom!’ said Maggie, clutching John’s arm. ‘Which shift?’
If the woman answered, John didn’t hear. He revved the bike down the hill until he could go no further. The way ahead was blocked by a van standing in the middle of the road. Bells were ringing and men running down towards the pit gate. John drove back up to the high road, south and then to the back road up to Kells. It was nearly seven when they got to West Row. Here, too, all the front doors were open, with people standing quietly in groups. Maggie jumped off the bike and rushed into the house. John found his wife a moment later, sitting on the bed in the front room with Judith in her arms, rocking back and forth. Frank was watching from his wheelchair by the window.
‘It’s Tom,’ said Frank. ‘He was on back-shift. Staggered shift men came up about half five. We ’eard nowt till after six, then all hell broke loose down there. Must be a big ’un. Ambulances, rescue teams, all the big shots, they all started pouring in. Nowt’s been said but everyone knows. Our Violet’s gone down, left Judith ’ere wi’ me. God knows how many there must be down there by now. Can you go and find ’er, John? Find out what’s ’appened. I can’t do ’owt, stuck ’ere like a cripple wi’ all the women.’
‘Maggie, love,’ said John. ‘You stay here with your dad and Judith. I’ll go to the Haig, they should know what’s going on, then I’ll go down and get your mam.’
‘What about Tom?’
‘There’s nowt we can do that’s not being done already, love. Don’t let Judith see you too upset. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
John went down to the Haig, and into the office.
‘It’s a bad ’un,’ said Arthur Curran. ‘We’re ’anging on to see what they might need. Chaos down there by sound of it. Hundreds of folk milling about already.’
‘My mother-in-law’s down there. Her brother was on back-shift, Tom Pickthall.’
‘Aye’ said Arthur. ‘How was th’oneymoon?’
‘Over,’ s
aid John.
He parked the bike on the south side of the harbour and walked round towards the William pithead. Arthur was right, it was chaos. Hundreds of women stood on either side of the road, watching the stream of lorries that inched past them, as rescue teams arrived from other pits around the town. John recognised the team from the Haig, grim-faced, waiting for orders.
He pushed his way towards them. ‘What’s up lads, what’ve you ’eard?’
‘Explosion, gas. You can smell it from ’ere. First gang didn’t get far in afore they ’ad to come back. Canaries collapsed. Roof’s down. Can’t get in without breathing gear. There were a dozen or so blokes on this side of whatever ’appened. They’re coming up, sounds as if they’re OK, but after that, nowt.’
‘How many missing?’ said John.
‘Hundred, more. Looks bad.’
‘Christ,’ said John. ‘A hundred.’
‘More,’ said the man, as the group shuffled off towards the shaft.
Suddenly a surge of men filled the yard. Volunteers for the search had been called for and two hundred men had pushed through the crowd, past the open gates. ‘Shut bloody gates,’ one of the managers was shouting. ‘No more!’ It would take hours to reach the spot where survivors might be found, if there were any. Slipping out of the yard as the gates opened again for more lorries and ambulances coming through, John began to scour the faces in the crowd, looking for Violet.
It was a beautifully warm and sunny evening. Dust from weeks of dry weather, stirred up by traffic and clogs, hung in the air. There was very little noise from the hundreds of women waiting for news. They stood, alone or in tight groups, clutching the hands of those around them, faces grey with tension and fear, watching the motionless wheels above the shaft.
