by Diane Allen
‘And who might George be?’ Molly smiled, noticing how Lizzie’s face lit up at the mention of George.
‘He’s Mr Ashwell’s son. He’s eighteen, Mam.’ Lizzie would have liked to tell her mother how her stomach filled with butterflies when he looked at her and how she couldn’t wait to go to work in a morning, just so she could see his smile, and that little frown of concentration he wore when he was studying the plans.
‘Well, mind you make sure George behaves himself.’ Molly looked stern for a second and then smiled. Her precious daughter was growing up so fast. Clearly George was her first sweetheart. ‘It’s nice to have a special friend.’
The mention of special friends jogged Lizzie’s memory: ‘John came in today, Mam. He said I was to tell you that his Mike has had a little girl.’
‘Does he think I care? I’ve washed my hands of that family.’ Molly cast her eyes around the table, as if trying to find something else to do.
‘Mam, you don’t mean that! You know you like John, and I know you miss him.’ She knew too that her mother would want to hear all the news she had to tell about John Pratt: ‘He came in to order more dynamite. They’ve hit a hard patch in the tunnel and it’s taking some blasting. He wanted rods as well, because he’s been given the go-ahead to drill and place the blast. He says he’ll make more money doing the drilling as well, now there’s only two men at home.’
Molly went quiet. ‘Next time he comes in, tell him to take care. He’s just daft enough to blow himself up – not that he’ll be missed.’
Lizzie knew her mother didn’t mean it. John’s cheery voice was missed by them both.
‘Mam, you’d be in tears, you know you would. The two of you’re best friends, but you’re too stubborn to—’
‘When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it, Miss Know-it-all.’ Molly tasted the stew, seeing if it needed anything added. ‘Did he say anything about his lodger? I bet the Reverend Tiplady isn’t going down too well with him.’
‘Oh, I know him! He’s horrible. I met him once when I went to Ingleton with Ma Pratt. He frightened me, and even she didn’t seem to like him much. He’s not living across there, is he?’
‘He is. That stupid woman has made her hut his home.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Rose Pratt and her bloody religion! Here, pass me two plates, Liz – let’s get these tatties out and have supper.’
‘Tell me, Rose, who’s the ginger-haired nurse that works at the hospital? She seems very wilful and opinionated.’ The Reverend Tiplady broke off tucking into his mutton and cabbage, gravy dribbling down his chin, to interrogate his host.
Both John and Jim sent warning glances in Rose’s direction. Both knew that once she started telling him her views, she’d never shut up.
‘That would be Molly Mason. She lives in a hut across the way. She’s—’
‘Have another piece of meat, Reverend,’ John butted in, desperate to stop her gossiping.
‘I don’t mind if I do. Now, this Molly, why is she living in this place?’
‘Her husband worked on the viaduct until he had an accident and died. Now she’s managed to talk herself into a job in the hospital. She’s a bit—’ Rose stopped in her tracks as both her men glared at her. ‘She’s a bit rough and ready, but a lovely woman once you get to know her.’ Rose daren’t say what she really thought. She knew by the looks John and Jim were giving her that there would be hell to pay if she did.
‘Hmmph,’ snorted the Reverend, unconvinced. ‘Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. She must have some qualities else the good doctor would not have her working in the hospital.’ He belched loudly and mopped the greasy gravy up with the crusty bread that was left.
‘We all have our weaknesses, Reverend,’ said John, forcing a polite smile to his face. Eager to escape the preaching of his mother and their guest, he excused himself from the table and went to put on his coat. He couldn’t stand being locked in the house with all that hypocrisy a minute longer.
He walked aimlessly until he came to the small bridge that crossed the source of the River Ribble. At this stage it was no more than a stream that gurgled over the flat limestone bedrock, a far cry from the swollen river that made its way out to the sea at Preston. It was a frosty night and the stars were twinkling bright and sharp in the clear sky. John made out the shape of the Plough and the Great Bear, and took a long drag on his pipe as he leaned back against the wall contemplating his life.
He badly wanted to win back Molly’s love. Ever since the first day he’d seen her, that wild hair blowing in the wind as she hung the washing out, she’d been the only woman for him. Yet here he was, the only son left at home, when all he wanted to do was escape the confines of the nest and fly to the arms of the woman he loved. Trouble was, she refused to believe that he loved her. Somehow he had to find a way to prove to her that they were meant for each other. In the meantime, he would go on loving her as long as those stars in the sky kept twinkling. He would not give up. Whatever it took, by God one day she would be his.
‘Mrs Mason, could I ask you to work a few extra hours this evening?’
Molly and Nurse Thompson were busily rolling bandages. There were a lot of them to get through, and Molly was so intent on finishing the task that she didn’t even look up at the sound of Doctor Thistlethwaite’s voice. ‘Of course, Doctor,’ she said, not registering anything unusual about the request and oblivious to Roger hovering nervously as he awaited her response. ‘Was there anything particular you wanted me to do?’
‘No, no. I just wanted to ask you some questions to see if you are up to scratch.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘Nurse Thompson, there’s no need for you to stay.’ Having said what he had come to say, Doctor Thistlethwaite hurried away, leaving them to their work.
‘Molly, forgive me: I had to make up an excuse so that I could catch you on your own.’ Roger Thistlethwaite paced the floorboards as he addressed her. ‘You see, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve led a selfish life and I suppose I’m still being selfish in what I’m doing now . . .’ He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. ‘What I’m trying to say is that time is running out on me and I’ve realized that plants and books are no substitute for the finer things in life.’
‘Roger, what’s this about?’ asked Molly. She had never seen Roger Thistlethwaite so flustered.
‘You see, when Lizzie and yourself came and shared Christmas with me, I realized what I’d been missing all my life. What I’m trying to say is . . . Molly Mason, will you be my wife?’ He turned, his almond eyes pleading with her over his glasses.
‘I . . . don’t know what to say. Did I hear you right? Did you ask me to marry you?’ Molly was shocked, the last thing she’d expected was to be asked for her hand in marriage.
‘Yes, I did. I know it’s a shock for you, but I can’t stand looking at you any longer and you not being mine. I used to see you laughing with that John Pratt and I wished that you would look at me the way you looked at him. Now that he’s no longer around, I’m taking my chance and asking you to marry me.’
‘I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I can’t marry you, I’m not your sort – I’m a navvy’s woman, not a doctor’s wife. Folk would laugh at you. I’m not refined enough for your sort.’ Molly rose from her chair, sending it tipping back on to the wooden floorboards with a clatter that woke one of the patients, who moaned quietly in protest.
‘What would we care? I love you, and I’d be a good father to Lizzie. She’s a bright girl, we’d make the perfect family.’ Roger Thistlethwaite pulled on her sleeve, urging her to reconsider.
‘Roger, there’s just one thing wrong: I don’t love you. I could never love you, you’re not my kind. I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but it would never work. I’m too independent in my ways to become a lady that takes high tea. I’m sorry, it wouldn’t be right. I’m truly, truly sorry but you’re not for me.’ She patted his hand and looked at him twiddling his glasses in his hands, avoiding meeting her eyes. Then she picked up her shawl and
turned away.
Doctor Thistlethwaite gazed after her as she walked the length of the ward, through the door and out into the night. He should have known better. What would a spirited woman like that want with a crusty old bachelor like him? He hung his head and turned to blow out the oil lamp at his desk.
From out of the dark, a voice whispered: ‘Never mind, Doc. You couldn’t have kept up with her anyway – she’d have killed you in the first week!’
The doctor shook his head. That Dan Oversby was definitely on the mend.
16
The snow that had blighted the early winter months had disappeared with the coming of the New Year. Under pressure to make up for lost time, the navvies were hard at work, wrapped up in several layers of clothes as they defied the bitter wind and damp conditions to complete construction of the viaduct and tunnel. The line of scaffolding now extended even further across the valley, and gangs of men worked to heave into place the huge foundation blocks, hewn from the granite of Littledale.
John made his way up to Blea Moor tunnel following a path that ran alongside an icy stream fringed by icicle fingers of frozen grass and bracken. Occasionally the stream fed into pools that reflected the clear blue of the sky; beautiful to look at, but breathtakingly freezing if you fell in. The clanking of picks and shovels followed him along the cutting as track gangs shovelled soil and ballast for the rails to be laid on.
‘Another bloody day!’ a work colleague greeted John as he half-ran down the steep face of the banking into the tunnel entrance.
The small cluster of huts known as Jerusalem was just visible. It was here that the tunnel men lived, the ones who built the airshafts and the blasters who set the charges. John had joined this elite group. The work was dangerous, but he was hell-bent on making enough money to break free of his mother. He’d put up with being treated like a child and forced to live a life of hypocrisy long enough.
As he entered the tunnel he nodded to his workmates, most of whom were gathered around a brazier. It was the best place to be on a day like today, with the clouds moving in around the tunnel head, threatening to obscure the newly built huts from view.
‘Watch what you’re doing with that dynamite!’ John shouted at the youngest member of the crew. ‘Don’t put it too near that bloody fire, else we’ll all know about it.’ He shook his head as the young man stood cursing him under his breath. Frozen dynamite wasn’t the easiest stuff to handle, but trying to thaw it out by placing it near the fire was a dangerous practice that might result in the explosives becoming unstable. ‘Don’t stand there cursing me – do as I bloody well say!’ John roared as he entered the lantern-lit hole.
‘Now then, John, we’ve a bit of bother this morning,’ said the ganger. ‘We’ve hit a right bad patch of granite, it’s taking some getting through.’ The two of them walked over to where men were shovelling debris into a cart that was sinking lower and lower as the stones and rubble were piled in. The horses, standing in harness ready to haul the back-breaking load, looked around with wild eyes. They knew it wouldn’t be long before they were whipped into action. The ganger indicated a seam of rock: ‘I think if we drill in deep here and here, and place a large charge here at this junction of rocks, we should crack it.’
‘Aye, I think I can do that,’ said John. ‘But it’ll take a bit of doing. Best empty the tunnel first – I don’t mind blowing myself up, but I’m not taking anyone with me.’ He lifted up his pick and started hacking at a crevice, widening it so that he could drill a hole deep into the seam.
‘Right, I’ll clear them out now and leave you to it.’ With that the ganger began ordering the crew to leave, slapping the horses’ haunches to get them to move out too.
‘Everyone out! And keep out!’ he bellowed, making his way to the entrance where the men were warming themselves.
‘Need we shift, boss?’ said the men, reluctant to leave the warmth of their fire. ‘We’re far enough away here, right?’
‘Nay, you’ll be all right here, lads. If it blows all the way back here, the whole mountain’ll come down!’ He walked away, the sound of their laughter echoing in his ears as he carried on up the banking side.
John drilled the hole deep into the granite face, then carefully padded it with dynamite. When he was done, he set the fuse, running it half the length of the tunnel. His fingers trembled as he used a burning candle wick to light it, and as the spark flared and hissed its way along the ruse he took off, running as fast as his feet would carry him in the direction of daylight.
Lungs bursting, wincing from the pain of running on her bad leg, Lizzie tore along the track to the hospital. She’d flown out of the surveying hut as soon as she heard his name mentioned, knowing that she must tell her mother immediately.
‘Mam! Mam!’ she yelled as she climbed the steps to the hospital. Still yelling, she burst through the door and stumbled the length of the ward until she reached her mother. Gasping for breath, she told her, ‘Mam, one of the runners just came down from the tunnel – there’s been an accident, they think John’s dead!’
Molly dropped the tray she was carrying. The blood drained from her face and her hands flew to her mouth. Not again, not again, not John, not when she hadn’t told him how she truly felt. She tore off her apron and head covering, thrusting them into Lizzie’s hand without a word as she ran out of the hospital. Stumbling on the uneven ground, she ran on past the shanties, past the scaffolding, past navvies making their way to the tunnel to join the rescue effort. On and on she ran, even though every breath hurt her lungs, desperate to get to the man she loved. Tears were streaming down her face as she neared the tunnel entrance and half-fell down the banking to the place where they were bringing out the dead and injured.
She walked past bodies covered with coats or whatever else the men could find to cover the damage done by the blast. She passed men drenched in blood and crying out in pain. She walked between them, pulling on the sleeves of the men who were bringing out the victims, the ones who were attending the wounded, asking them if they had seen John. Their only response was a sad shake of the head. Then she went back to where the corpses lay, lifting the covers and checking their faces. The last body was so badly damaged it was unrecognizable, just a tuft of blond hair remained. She got down by the side of the corpse and wailed, doubled up with the pain of her loss. He was gone, her true love, her one hope of happiness. On her knees in the dust, past caring what kind of spectacle she made of herself, she used her sleeve to dry her eyes and wipe her nose.
‘Now if that had been Lizzie doing that, there would have been hell to pay!’ said a familiar voice above her.
She looked up, her tear-filled eyes widening as she saw the man coming out of the tunnel. ‘You’re alive! I thought you were dead – I thought this was you!’ Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All she knew was that John was here, alive. And now she knew just how much she loved him.
‘Aye, I’m here, but that silly bugger isn’t. I told him not to warm his dynamite next to the fire and now look what’s happened. My bloody charge didn’t go off, but his certainly did. What are you doing here anyway? You’ll be needed in the hospital when these poor devils are taken back down.’ John came and put his arm around her.
‘What do you think I’m here for? I thought you were dead.’ Molly wiped her eyes, angry at the question and angry at herself being caught shedding tears. Then she smiled, overcome with relief. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘So I do mean something to you.’ John grinned back at her.
‘I thought you were dead. I could never have lived with myself if this had been you. And Lizzie would have been so upset – she worships you.’ She lifted her sleeve again to wipe her eyes.
‘Here, borrow my hankie, for pity’s sake. Nurses shouldn’t wipe their noses on their sleeves.’ John pulled his hankie out of his pocket and passed it to her. ‘I take it we’re back to being mates then? You know I’ve done nothing else but think of you all these months.’ He pulled her
to him and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Molly, listen – just listen for once. This is all because of my bloody mother, she’s always to be in control whether she’s right or wrong. I’m standing up to her now. I’ve been saving up so I can make it on my own. I can’t get out fast enough, especially with that bloody preacher hanging around.’ Taking her by the hand, he led her to the side of the workings, pulling her down to sit next to him on the damp grass.
Molly wiped her eyes with his grey hankie, sniffling as she replied, ‘You’ve got to get away from your mother, John. She rules that house. Even your father won’t stand up to her.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about my father, he can stand his ground. You should have seen him the night we found out our Bob had died. He could hardly stand, he hit the bottle so hard. My mother didn’t dare say a word.’
He broke off to light his pipe. The rescuers were now loading the bodies on to a cart. He watched in silence for a moment and then said, ‘That churchyard’s going to be full with us lot before this is done. But in a few years we’ll have been forgotten, and there’ll be only the railway to remind folk that we were ever here.’
‘I’d better go. I’ll be needed at the hospital.’ Molly sniffed and stood up. ‘Will you come and see us? Lizzie really misses you, and in all honesty, she’s not the only one. It’s been a bloody long winter and I could do with a bit of sun to creep back into my life.’ Molly blushed. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she loved him – it wasn’t her way.
‘I’ll come around. I’ve missed Lizzie, too. I see her sometimes in the boss’s office, but she daren’t talk.’
Molly nodded, reached out as if to touch him but seemed uncertain, almost shy. Picking up her skirts, she turned and hurried back down the path to Batty Green.
He watched her for a good ten minutes until she was out of sight. It felt good to have her back. She might be a bit of a rough diamond, but he loved that woman. She was kind and good-hearted and would fight for those she loved. One day he’d marry her – and to hell with his mother!
