Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Catherine Cookson

  This was answered by a mouthful of cursing from a woman among the group and there was a ripple of laughter accompanied by bustle, and Katie whispered, ‘That’s big Meggie. She keeps them in their place, caution she is in more ways than one. Keep on the right side of her.’ The last was a whisper almost in Tilly’s ear. ‘Now here’s what you do. Your bait? Where’s your bait? . . . Oh my God!’ She reached out and snatched Tilly’s bait from a shelf of rock and on a laugh she said, ‘You’re green all right, that wouldn’t last two minutes there. That’s what I’d give it, two minutes afore Charlie’d be at it. Look, you see the knot in the string, you hang it up here, like this.’ She demonstrated by hanging the small parcel of food from a nail in a beam and allowing it to dangle downwards. ‘There! He hasn’t learned to walk the tightrope yet but some day I bet he does; he’s a clever ’un is Charlie.’

  ‘Why . . . why don’t you kill them, I mean him, the rat?’

  ‘Oh, we kill ’em, but not Charlie. The blokes are superstitious about Charlie. As long as Charlie shows his face they guess they’re all right. They say he can smell fire damp better than any of their newfangled ideas, an’ I believe that’s true, like I believe safety lamps is dangerous. Our lads won’t use them, they stuck out against them. There was war on at first but they stuck out an’ we’ve hardly lost any men in the last twenty years, well, not to speak of, not compared with others. There’s been hundreds killed in mines along here. Me ma remembers Heaton Colliery. Seventy-five killed in a flood there . . . Look’ – she broke off – ‘don’t stand there like a stook, do what I’m at, take that shovel an’ fill that skip, like this.’ She thrust her shovel into a heap of coal and she had filled the skip within a few minutes.

  Tilly took the shovel and began to fill a skip. Shovelling was no hardship, her muscles were attuned to the saw; what was troubling her was the coal dust in her throat that seemed to be choking her, the coal dust in her eyes that was blurring her limited vision in the dim light, and the noise, the bustle; and then . . . the lifting up of the skip on to the shoulders of the children. Some fell to their knees with the weight of them before they got adjusted, and the children didn’t go down the road she and the others had come up because this had the rolley lines laid on it; they went by a narrow bypass disappearing into blackness as if walking into the mouth of hell. Before she had been at the work an hour she was associating the whole place with hell and its horrors.

  When time had passed to which she couldn’t put a name, a halt was called and, dropping her shovel, she went and leant against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor; and there Katie joined her. She had brought a can with her and, taking the lid off it, she handed it to Tilly, saying, ‘Here, wash your throat, an’ spit the first mouthful out.’

  Tilly gulped at the tepid water and it tasted like wine, and had swallowed half of it before she aimed to spit it out.

  ‘You’ve done well for a starter.’

  Tilly made no answer.

  ‘You’ll get used to it after a bit. You’re achin’ now I know, but in a day or so you won’t know that you’ve got any arms or legs, or back, ’cos they’ll all work together; it’s only your throat that’ll trouble you.’

  A man came and sat down at the other side of Tilly. He was naked except for a pair of ragged drawers. ‘How’s it goin’, lass?’ he asked.

  Tilly did not know how to answer him; the answer she couldn’t give him was ‘All right’; it was Katie who replied for her, saying, ‘She’s a bit winded, Micky; but as I was tellin’ her, in a week or so’s time it’ll only be the dust that’ll worry her. I’m right, aren’t I, Micky?’

  ‘Aye, lass, aye, you’re right. ’Tis the dust that’s the trouble. Gets you, the dust.’ He took a swill from his can; then wiping his cleaned washed lips with the back of his black hand, he added, ‘And finally in the end. Aye, ’tis as you say, Katie, the dust. Anyway, it mightn’t trouble you for very much longer. Do you know what I was hearin’ when I was in Shields t’other Sunday? A fellow was spoutin’ and he was sayin’ that there’s one or two blokes up in London Town trying to get a bill out to stop bairns and lasses being down here, an’ in factories an’ all, that is until a certain age. But he’s tryin’ to potch women and children in mines altogether.’

  ‘Is that true, Micky?’

  ‘Aye, I heard it from this fellow’s own lips, lass. And what’s more, I saw him gettin’ run in. He had a big crowd round him, Sunday strollers you know, and the pollis took him for breakin’ the peace.’

  Katie was silent for a moment before she said, ‘I was gona say bloody lot of silly Holy Joes up there tryin’ to take the bread out of wor mouths, but I don’t know, it could be the best thing that could happen, that’s if they give us other jobs.’

  ‘Aye, that’s it, lass, if they give you other jobs, but where are the jobs for lasses and women, only service, or the fields. You’ve got your pick, but whichever you choose you’re under a bloody master, aren’t you? Well, there’s one thing, lass’ – he now gripped Tilly’s knee tightly – ‘you haven’t got to get dressed up for this lark, have you? Wear nowt if you like. Aye, wear nowt. What about it, eh, Katie?’ He leaned over Tilly and peered at Katie and she pushed at him, saying with a laugh, ‘Go on you! You’re a Micky drippin’.’

  ‘Well, here we go!’ He pulled himself to his feet; then looking round at the squatting figures, he said, ‘Where’s big Meggie . . . as if I didn’t know? That lass should be in a bull pen.’

  A voice from the other side of the roadway shouted, ‘What d’ya think her secret is, Micky? Twenty-two years old an’ never been dropped yet; she should have had ’em by the litter with her carry-on.’

  There was muffled laughter as the various figures rose from the ground and the process of shovelling started all over again. Push in the shovel, lift, throw. Push in the shovel, lift, throw. When the rhythm stopped a small back was waiting to be laden with your efforts.

  Push in the shovel, lift, throw. Push in the shovel, lift, throw. Dear God in Heaven! she could never stand this. That place in Shields serving in the bar appeared like paradise to her now; even the boarding-house job seemed attractive. She’d have to tell Katie when they got out of here . . . when they got out of here. Would this work ever stop?

  Some time during the day it stopped for half an hour, then again for a break to sit down by the wall and drink from the can.

  Three o’clock in the afternoon and a final halt was called. She had lost count of time. She couldn’t hear what Katie was saying. Later, she couldn’t recall the walk from the face to outbye. She only knew she was aware that some of the children didn’t accompany them. It was later Katie told her that a few of them were on twelve hour shifts; two hours overtime she said, whether they liked it or not; they had to clear the face for the next shift.

  At one part of the road when coming out she had been aware of walking through water and of some of the men stopping and discussing it saying that the landing box must be overflowing.

  And she recalled standing at the mouth of the mine amid the sweating horses and blackened men and looking upwards towards the bright sky. The sun was shining, two larks were competing with each other in a chorus of sound, and as she gazed upwards the wind lifted her hair from her brow. And she could have stood like this, she felt, forever but Katie, practical to the last, said, ‘You can sniff it all the way home. Come on, lass.’

  And when she arrived home Biddy did for her what she had never done for her own children. In the narrow confines of the scullery she eased her into the tin bath and gently she washed the grime from her, hair and all. Then after helping her to dry herself she slipped over her head a stiff calico nightdress and led her to the shaky-down, and there she let her sleep for four hours before awakening her and giving her a meal. It was a bowl of mutton broth and dumplings and she brought it to the bed in a basin placed on a tin tray, and while Tilly sat up and then sleepily ate it, Katie lay snoring solidly by her side. And when she had finished the meal Biddy too
k the bowl from her, saying quietly, ‘Away you go, put your head down, lass; your first day’s over. It’ll never seem so bad again.’

  Eight

  The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and Tilly learned what it was to work in water up to her knees. She learned not to pass out when she saw a man injured by a fall of stone or coal, or saw one trapped in the brokens where he had been pulling the pillars in order to drop a roof. She learned how to make her own candles with cotton wicks and ox tallow because this worked out cheaper than paying the viewer to supply you with them. And she learned to trust Charlie. This happened on the day one of the men, seeing the rat standing on his hind legs sniffing before scurrying away up the road, cried to them, ‘Run for it!’

  The brattice, a wooden partition which aided the currents of air to flow, had in some way blocked the flow and a small child detailed to watch at the air door had fallen asleep. This time the build-up of gas was slight, but nevertheless it could have caused an explosion if touched off by a candle lamp. There was jollification the following day when Charlie returned, and pieces of bait were put on the shelf for him. Charlie, the men swore, was a better gas detector than any canary.

  Tilly also learned that most people look alike when covered in coal dust, for twice in as many months she had passed close to the master and he hadn’t even given her a second glance. She had wondered that if he noticed her name on the books whether he might seek her out and speak to her. But then, she supposed, he never saw the names of his workers; this was left to the viewer.

  One thing she knew for certain and that was she hated every day she went down into the depths of the earth, and that if there were the slightest chance of other work she would jump at it, even working in the fields. But there were queues for those jobs and the field managers picked their own gangs. Anyway, during the winter there was no work for them.

  Another thing worrying her was Sam. She could read the signs all too clearly. He had laughed at Steve’s first visit to the house to ask how she was, but when the lad put in an appearance on both the following two Sundays he hadn’t laughed or chipped her as the others had done. She had wanted to say, ‘Steve is like a brother to me, no more, no less,’ but that would have left the road open for him, so she said nothing and let them assume what they liked about her and Steve.

  Then something happened that made Sam show his hand. It was on a Sunday at the end of her fourth week down the mine. The family had gathered as usual, the children had been out playing in the road, and it was young Jimmy who rushed in gabbling, ‘Tilly! Tilly! there’s a gent on a horse askin’ for you.’

  Tilly had risen to her feet. There were two people she knew who rode horses, one was the master, the other was Simon, and she knew it wouldn’t be the master who’d come looking for her. She felt her face turn scarlet and, looking round the now silent company, she sidled from the form as she said, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Do you know who it is?’ It was Biddy asking the question, and she looked at her and said, ‘Yes, I think so, Mrs Drew. It’ll likely be Si . . . Farmer Bentwood. He’s . . . he’s the friend I told you about who looked after me granny and granda.’

  ‘Oh, aye, lass, aye. Well, ask him in. He’ll have to squeeze, but ask him in.’

  She did not say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to this but simply thanked Mrs Drew. She didn’t want Simon to see this overcrowded room, he wouldn’t understand her living in such conditions; nor would he understand the warmth and happiness they engendered.

  He was standing by his horse’s head in the muddy road. Several doors were open along the row and heads were peering out. She was embarrassed by the situation, she knew what they would be thinking: why was a lass like her being visited by a man on a horse and dressed as he was? For he could be taken for a gentleman.

  ‘Hello, Tilly.’

  ‘Hello, Simon.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t know where you had gone until . . . until the other day.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been here some weeks now.’

  ‘My God!’ The words came from under his breath as he looked up and down the row; then he said, ‘Look, we can’t stand here, come for a walk.’

  She looked behind her towards the half-open door before muttering, ‘I’ll get me hat and coat.’

  Back in the room she passed through them and addressed herself to Biddy as she said, ‘I’m . . . I’m just going for a short walk, I . . . I won’t be long, I’m gettin’ me hat and coat.’

  There was silence again as she returned pulling on her coat and it was Sam who spoke now, saying, ‘Why can’t you ask your visitor in?’

  She glanced at him as she said, ‘He . . . he hasn’t got much time.’

  Out in the road again, walking by Simon’s side, her eyes cast downwards, she realised that she hadn’t walked like this for some time now, it was as if she were ashamed. For the last few weeks she had held her head high; perhaps it was because she wanted to look at the sky and drink in the air.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to me after you left the Manor?’ He was muttering his words for they were still in the row.

  And she answered low, ‘You should know the answer to that.’

  They had passed the end of the row and were in the open country before he spoke again. ‘I could have at least seen that you were decently housed.’

  She turned on him now, her voice high. ‘I am decently housed. I’m happier with them’ – she jerked her head backwards – ‘than ever I’ve been in me life with anybody . . . well, except me granda and grandma. But they were old; back there, the Drews, well, they’re all youngish, and the place might look awful but they’re clean, an’ they’re good, an’ it might surprise you, Simon, but they’re happy.’

  He pulled the horse to a standstill and looked at her. ‘And you, you’re happy, working down the pit, because that’s what they tell me you’re doing?‘

  She swallowed and looked to the side now as she said, ‘No, I can’t say I’m happy workin’ down the pit, but . . . but I have them to come back to.’

  ‘Look’ – he bent towards her – ‘I’ll give you the money; you can get a decent room in Shields until you find a place to go into service or some such, but . . . but I can’t bear the thought of you down there’ – he now thumbed angrily towards the ground – ‘and the things that I hear go on. They act like beasts.’

  ‘No, they don’t. Well, perhaps a few of them do’ – her voice was raised again – ‘but you can’t judge them all alike. As for acting like beasts, there’s plenty of them up top, and you should know that. I’ve just escaped one because he’s gone to sea.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ His tone was quiet now. ‘Yet Tilly’ – he shook his head slowly – ‘I somehow feel responsible for you.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t, I’m responsible for meself and workin’ for me livin’; I’m on me own feet, and what’s more I’m not hounded any longer. Even over there’ – she pointed in the direction of the Manor – ‘they would have burnt me alive, aye, and I’m not kiddin’. Take us back a few years and they would have had me burnt alive. They were as bad as the villagers, except for a couple of them, and the tutor.’

  He stared at her in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Does he know that you are working in his mine . . . Sopwith?’

  ‘I don’t know, and it wouldn’t matter if he did. But I do know this: if he had offered to keep me on in a job below stairs I would have refused it, an’ I was badly in need of a roof over me head at the time. Such was the feeling against me that I’m tellin’ you I would have refused it because they, all of them’ – again she thumbed in the direction of the Manor – ‘they’re a lot of thieves an’ scroungers an’ not fit to wipe any one of the Drews’ boots. Diddling him, the master, at all turns. You’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Diddling?’ He raised his eyebrows and smiled weakly at her. ‘Well, everybody knows that goes on.’

  ‘Aye, it might, a bit here and there, but not to the extent that lot
takes it to. You know nothing, Simon. If your men were robbing you like the staff rob Mr Sopwith you’d go broke within weeks, I’m tellin’ you.’

  ‘Well, that’s his lookout. He’s got a housekeeper, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Huh! housekeeper. Anyway, that’s over and done with, I’m here and I’m gona remain here till something better turns up. But whatever it is I’m stayin’ along with the Drews as long as they’ll have me.’

  ‘So I needn’t have worried?’

  She looked him full in the face now, saying quietly, ‘No, you needn’t have worried, Simon.’

  Again there was a long pause; and when he eventually spoke his voice was soft and full of meaning as he said, ‘I’ll always worry over you, Tilly. No matter what comes my way in life, nor no matter how I change, my feelings for you will remain the same as they’ve always been.’

  She stared into his face for some seconds before saying quietly, ‘Good, like they were when I was a little girl.’

  Her eyes were unblinking and he closed his own for a moment and bit on his lip before looking at her again and murmuring, ‘Just as you say, Tilly, like they were when you were a little girl.’

  His gaze was hot on her belying his words and she turned her head to the side, saying slowly now, ‘I may be starting courtin’ soon.’

  When he made no answer she looked at him again. ‘Sam, he’s the eldest, he wants me; he’s a good fellow.’

  ‘And you? You want him?’

  She forced herself to look straight into his eyes as she answered, ‘Yes, because I can’t see I’ll do any better and I’ll have a house of me own and . . . ’

  ‘Huh! a house of your own,’ he broke in, his voice almost a shout now as he cried, ‘Don’t be silly, a house of your own! I wouldn’t use any one of those along that row for sties.’