The Exile Breed

by Charles Egan

  ‘Hold on,’ Roughneen said. ‘He went inside the hut, and rummaged through some papers.

  ‘You’ll need Joe’s address. I’ll write it out for you.’

  He handed the address to Murty.

  ‘Now, go on. Drop him a line and see what he says.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll think about it.’

  They left Roughneen.

  ‘Will you do it, father?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leave us?’

  ‘That all depends,’ Murty replied. ‘It depends on whether there’s other work to do. It’s your mother I have to consider first. But I’ll tell you this, Murteen, we were talking about how much your mother has changed. I’m thinking, it’s you who has changed the more.’

  Murtybeg stopped.

  ‘You might be right,’ he replied. ‘In fact, you are right. Perhaps I don’t see things the same way as you do any more.’

  ‘That’s only natural between father and son.’

  ‘True, but when you’ve been out of Ireland as long as I have, you’ll see things in a different manner. All I see around us are workless navvies, and even if they are working, it’s for very little. Danny doesn’t want to be like that, and I sure as hell don’t. I don’t know about yourself, father, but your opinions may change in time. Or…or…’

  ‘Or maybe I’m too old to change?’ Murty said. ‘Isn’t that what you’re thinking?’

  ‘Maybe, or maybe not. There’s many ways of looking at life. You have yours, I have mine. But one way or another, I’m not leaving Danny. Edwardes & Ryan is the future, I know that.’

  ‘Well, be that as it may, it’s your opinion. But there’s one other thing I’m asking of you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Secrecy. Not a word of this gets out to Danny. And I’m not just asking you, I’m ordering you, as your father.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Murtybeg replied. ‘I won’t breathe of it to a sinner. But what about Roughneen?’

  ‘He’s an honourable man. He’ll keep his mouth shut. But it’s not just his silence I’m worried about. It’s your loyalty. Do you see yourself as a loyal son, or is Danny more important to you?’

  ‘Now that’s an unfair question, father. You know my first loyalty would be to you and mother. Always.’

  ‘And what of your other loyalties? Is it money that’s most important? Or your own conscience?’

  ‘Damn it, it’s not that simple.’

  ‘Oh, but it is.’

  That evening, Murty and Murtybeg met with Danny and Irene.

  ‘I’ve just come back from Roughneen’s site,’ Murty said.

  ‘Well, what did you think?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Better lodgings, that’s for sure. Better than the other sites.’

  ‘That’s because it’s a Brassey site.’

  ‘I know.’

  Irene was checking through the figures.

  ‘They’re using a lot of timber.’

  ‘I know that too,’ Murty said. ‘It’s needed for the shacks.’

  ‘Shacks?’

  ‘Shacks for the workers. We can’t have mud cabins on a Brassey site.’

  ‘But our profit margin is down.’

  ‘Not much we can do about that.’

  ‘Oh, but we can. We can charge the men.’

  ‘Charge…’

  ‘Penny halfpenny a night for a bunk. A farthing for sleeping on the floor. It’s the going rate with all the contractors.’

  Danny cut across them.

  ‘We’ll see. One way or another, we have to complete the North Staffordshire for Brassey. All the railways are watching us on this one. And so are Brassey’s inspectors.’

  Chapter 24

  Morning Post, London, March 1848:

  Riots in the North. Manchester, Friday afternoon. The energetic conduct of the police during the whole of yesterday, has wonderfully cooled the ardour of the disorderly crowds who still make New Cross their headquarters. The last deliberate and organised act of violence yesterday was the turning out of the hands at a mill in Blackfriars Street. The police force from the Town Hall were upon them in an instant, and took most energetic measures to clear the street. The miscreants here, as elsewhere, were mostly youths. A great many of them got a severe drubbing, which compelled the whole band to rush through the bridge into Salford, where they dispersed through its narrow streets in knots of two and three. Towards five o’clock they mustered courage to return to New Cross by way of Market Street, at which time, and for a few hours after, several hundreds of the police were drawn out in single or double file.

  One morning, Murtybeg was woken up by his father.

  ‘Come on, Murteen. We’ve got a site visit.’

  ‘I didn’t think we were planning one today.’

  ‘We are now. We’re going to Ancoats.’

  ‘Danny never said anything about Ancoats.’

  ‘Never mind Danny.’

  They walked rapidly to Stockport Station, where Murtybeg purchased two third class tickets.

  They arrived at Oxford Road, and stood at the edge of the Works. The stink of the place hit them at once. Pigs were snorting at sewage in the drain in the centre of one of the roads. They could see a number of houses had already been reduced to rubble. Navvies were lifting broken bricks into wheelbarrows and wheeling them in the direction of the rails that had already been laid. More navvies were shovelling the rubble onto wagons. Even from here, they could hear the Mayo voices, as the work went on.

  A group of people were sitting and standing twenty yards from the Works. They too had the accents of County Mayo.

  A well-dressed man came over to them.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Murtybeg stiffened with anger. He had hoped to come anonymously, but now decided to abandon all caution.

  ‘Who am I? Murtybeg Ryan is my name. And if you don’t know who I am, you damned well should. Now who are you?’

  ‘Ryan!’

  ‘Daniel Ryan’s brother. And this man here is our father. Now I asked you…’

  ‘Steele is the name,’ the man answered. ‘Samuel Steele. I’m the ganger on site.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about you,’ Murtybeg said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve been looking around.’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘If you wish,’ Murty said. ‘We’ll need to see your figures first.’

  ‘My figures?’

  ‘Wages, costs for timber, horses, food…’

  ‘Fine, so. I’ll show them to you after.’

  For some time they followed Steele around the site, taking in everything with a mixture of interest and horror. Murty noticed that one of the doors on the surviving houses was barricaded. Steele saw where he was looking.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ he said. ‘That won’t take long. The police will have that cleared soon enough.’

  They went back into a small house that Steele had cleared for his own office, and for some time they went through figures and timing.

  They heard the tramp of men outside.

  ‘Time for an eviction, gentlemen,’ Steele said. ‘Do you want to stay?’

  ‘We might as well,’ Murtybeg said, feeling he should at least witness what was being done here. They followed Steele outside.

  More police had arrived, accompanied by six armed soldiers. The police started to take down the barricade, as the soldiers stood guard. People rushed out from the other houses, but a fusillade, shot in the air, stopped them. The soldiers reloaded, and pointed directly at the crowd. There was complete silence. The police entered the house, and then the screaming started. They watched as women and children were dragged out. One man tried to resist, but he was flattened by a blow from a tall, heavy constable.

  ‘There’s few enough would stand up to a man like him,’ Murty said.

  ‘Aye, not many would be able for it.’

  The eviction went on, until no one was left in the house.

  ‘They’ll lodge in that again
,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘Not if we demolish it fast enough. And that’s where the problem arises. If we do it brick by brick, the workers would be attacked.’

  ‘So what do you do?’ Murty asked.

  ‘Blast it.’

  ‘Blast it!’

  ‘A few ounces of blasting powder. That’s all.’

  A gang of workers smashed small holes beside each of the four corners, enough to take out one brick. Blasting powder was tamped into the holes, and fuses attached. At a shout from Steele, each of the four fuses were lit simultaneously. The evicted family and the other inhabitants ran. There were four explosions over a few seconds, and the building collapsed.

  ‘Doesn’t take much powder for a job like that,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘Nothing like what we’re used to on other parts of the railways,’ Steele said. ‘If we used anything like that, it would break half the windows in Manchester.’

  Already the inhabitants were making their way back to the shattered house and their scattered possessions. Through all this time, Murty noticed that most of the navvies worked on, without comment.

  At length, they left the site and walked to the Cat & Cage bar nearby. Murtybeg felt deeply depressed. He ordered two beers, and two pork pies.

  ‘I never thought I’d see anything like this outside of Ireland,’ Murty said. ‘Evictions too. I’ve seen enough in County Mayo, but to see them here in Manchester, in the industrial heart of the Empire! It’s unbelievable. What do you think, Murteen? What do you really think?’

  Murtybeg sipped at his beer.

  ‘It’s like you said, father. From County Mayo to the slums of Manchester. They don’t stand a chance. It’s what Roughneen told you. They’re all landless men. They don’t have any land, rented or otherwise. They’re nothing but the starving of Mayo. Why? Just think – what do they have in Mayo? Nothing. No land of their own. So they rent a tiny patch to grow a crop of potatoes for themselves, and pay their rent in labour. Do you know, some of these people have never seen money before they came here?’

  ‘How did they get here so?’ Murty asked.

  ‘Any little bit of money that’s earned here might be sent back to Mayo to bring out brothers or sisters. Walking across Ireland, then the cattle boat to Liverpool. They can’t speak English, so it’s hard to get work. No book learning neither. And if you think this place is bad, they might look at it in a different way. They have brick houses here, at least when they’re not being evicted. What did they have at home? Nothing but mud cabins. Whole mud villages all across the mountainsides. And while you might think it grim to see the pigs in the street here, it’s better than having no pigs at all. Isn’t it?’

  ‘You might have the right of it,’ Murty said. ‘But still, men and women from Mayo being evicted, while Mayo navvies just carry on working on the railway, pretending not to see anything.’

  ‘It’s their own families they’re thinking of. They need the money – here and back home. They have their eyes tight closed against anything else.’

  ‘So why not use English navvies? They’d have no problems with watching the Irish being evicted.’

  ‘Two reasons. You’d have to offer them three times the wages. Even then, they’re terrified of fever. And I’ll tell you this, father, these people have fever.’

  For an hour, they sat talking of Manchester and Mayo. Then they shared a third class carriage back to Stockport Station.

  ‘What will you do now, father?’ Murtybeg asked, as they walked back to the house.

  ‘I’ll write to Joe Gilligan. I’ll do it tonight. And not a word to anyone.’

  Next day, Murty brought up the subject of Little Ireland.

  ‘We went across to see the Ancoats site,’ he told Danny.

  Danny looked at him, startled. ‘I never asked you to do that.’

  ‘You asked me to visit your sites. You never said anything about not visiting any of them.’

  ‘So what’s your problem?’

  ‘The fever, Danny. Evictions too. It’s worse than Mayo, and it’s our contract.’

  ‘None of it has anything to do with us. The railway is going through, so the houses have to be demolished. And if you want to call that evictions, that’s up to you.’

  ‘And who’s doing the demolishing?’

  ‘It’s part of the contract. If we don’t do it, someone else will. What would you want us to do, stand back and wait ’till the houses are demolished, knowing well that they’re only being demolished for us to put a railway through? And that’s the reason I never asked you to visit Little Ireland. I knew it would only upset you.’

  ‘So why do you use Steele? A ganger who doesn’t come to any of our meetings. Why is that?’

  ‘It’s easier that way. That’s why.’

  When Gilligan’s reply arrived, Murty discussed it with Murtybeg.

  ‘Gilligan’s answered me, and asked to meet.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over on the Leeds & Thirsk. He’s sent directions.’

  ‘Will you go?’

  ‘I have to, Murteen, but I doubt I’d be able to find my way on my own, so I want you to come with me.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Remember what we said about loyalty?’

  Murtybeg knew he was trapped.

  ‘But what will Danny say? He’ll know we’re gone. We’ll have to stay a night away at least.’

  ‘I doubt Danny will care much.’

  Murty was right. He simply said that he was interested in meeting his old pupils in Yorkshire, and Danny accepted this. He also accepted that Murtybeg would have to travel with him, since Murty was not yet used to travel on English railways.

  On the following Sunday, they took the first train from Stockport into Manchester Piccadilly station, and made their way to Victoria station, the terminus of the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway. Then they took the train across the Pennines, past Bradford to Leeds.

  Watching the mountain scenery, Murtybeg felt more torn than ever. Yes, his first loyalty was to his parents, but he could not face the life of a navvy, even as part of the Gilligan gang. Danny gave him an opportunity of living a life far removed from all of that. And even further removed from County Mayo.

  When they reached Leeds, they left the station, walking through Swinegate, the Calls, and past the lower end of Kirkgate.

  Murty held his nose against the stink of raw sewage.

  ‘Good God! Is this the mighty Leeds we hear all about? Woollen capital of England?’

  ‘You get used to it,’ Murtybeg answered.

  ‘I’m sure you do. Danny’s huts would get you well used to all sorts of things.’

  Following Gilligan’s instructions, they left Leeds behind, and walked another hour until they found the lodging house.

  The men were still at their mid-day meal. Jim Doyle looked up in surprise.

  ‘The Master!’

  Gilligan swung around in surprise.

  ‘By God, you made it.’

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ Murty asked.

  ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘This is my other son. Murtybeg.’

  ‘Danny’s brother? I remember you now.’

  Murtybeg found the next ten minutes bewildering, as Murty shook hands with one man after another, sometimes hugging them tightly. Then one question after another about relatives and friends in Mayo. This was a little more difficult, in that Murty knew that some were dead, but it seemed in these cases, the men already knew.

  Then Gilligan raised his hands.

  ‘Enough of this. What kind of men are we? They’ve travelled across the mountains to see us, and we haven’t even offered them food.’

  Within minutes, they were cutting into pork chops, with fried eggs and potatoes alongside.

  ‘Ye eat well here,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘Sure why wouldn’t we?’ Ed Higgins said. ‘Good lodgings, I’ll say that.’

  ‘Better than you’d see elsewhere,’ Doyle said. ‘Wait ’till you se
e how the Irish have to live in Kirkgate.’

  ‘I know,’ Murtybeg said. ‘We came across the side of it, and that was close enough.’

  ‘Enough of that,’ Gilligan said abruptly. ‘I’d never have believed we’d see the Master over this side of the sea.’

  ‘And so you shouldn’t,’ Murty said, ‘except the Government is bringing in new schools back in Mayo. They want their own teachers, no time for an old fellow like me.’

  The landlady brought out another bowl of potatoes. Murtybeg was surprised, but took two more, leaving the rest for the others.

  ‘So, you’re working with Danny, the pair of ye?’ Doyle asked.

  ‘We are,’ Murty replied. ‘And I’ll tell you this, I must have sinned grievously to be working for my own son.’

  ‘The other lads don’t seem to mind. Jamesy, Johnny, Tim. All making good money, I hear.’

  ‘Yes,’ Murty said, ‘and in the worst way possible. Taking advantage of penniless men at a shilling a day. Danny pays his gangers a lot more than that, as well ye know. And I can’t complain about what he’s paying me. Still, Danny’s way of working is a terrible one, and I don’t want any truck with it no more.’

  ‘I can well understand that,’ Gilligan said. ‘And I’ve no doubt about one thing, you’d be far better off over here. Not the same as Danny is paying his gangers, that’s for sure, but we’d not be abusing Irish navvies the same way he does. Not that I’ve much time for them myself.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘They deserve all they get from Danny and the rest of the contractors. You’ve seen Kirkgate, have you? Go over to Bradford and see Broomfields. It’s worse, and full of Mayo men too. Not like us though. Rednecks. The lowest of the low, that’s what they are.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’d think that,’ Murty said.

  ‘It’s not surprising at all. The navvies hate the butty gangs, and we hate them. There’s no love lost either way. They reckon all we’re doing is spreading piecework, like was done on the Famine Roads in Mayo. But I’ll tell you this, there’s nothing wrong with a man being on piecework, so long as the man is willing to work.’

  ‘And if they’re not?’ Murty asked.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Higgins asked. ‘You’ve seen them on Danny’s gangs.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Murty said. ‘They’re starving.’