The emerald valley, p.40
The Emerald Valley, page 40
As Harry listened to his drawling voice and watched the slow, deliberate way he went about his tasks, he found himself itching with impatience. Later, as Frank Horler aired his less-than-scintillating views on the politics of Ramsay MacDonald and the Labour Party, Harry thought: Good grief, I’m brighter than he is! If he can be an examiner, why can’t I?
He turned over the idea as he dragged his putt of coal along the narrow roadways, his knees scraping over the shining black-sprinkled ground, ducking his head to avoid an overhang here and there.
An examiner! If he was an examiner, it would be the first step towards respect and recognition. And it would be reflected in his paypacket, too. But how to set about it? Harry disliked the idea of talking it over with Frank or any of his workmates. It would seem presumptuous, he thought, and he could almost hear the comments his enquiry would arouse:
‘Oh – thinks’e’s too good for us, s’know.’
‘You – an examiner, Harry? You bain’t hardly out o’your napkins!’
No, Harry decided there was only one person to talk to, and that was Adam Barker, the manager. He might put him down, too, but at least his mates would not be there to see it.
It took all of Harry’s courage to knock on the manager’s door the following afternoon. An interview had been requested and granted. Now when he found himself face to face with the the small, compact man with the leathery lined face, dressed as was his wont in the highly unsuitable garb of tweed jacket and plus-fours, Harry found his nerve almost failing him.
‘Right, lad, what was it you wanted to see me about?’ Adam Barker was known not to suffer fools gladly and Harry pulled himself together.
‘I want to study for my Examiner’s Ticket and I need your advice on how to go about it.’
‘That’s putting the cart before the horse, isn’t it?’ Adam barked.
‘What do you mean?’ He had already succeeded in taking the wind out of Harry’s sails.
‘Surely the question you should have come here to ask me is whether or not I think you’re up to taking your Examiner’s Ticket?’
‘I’m sure I could do the job,’ Harry said stoutly. ‘I have no intention of staying a carting boy all my life.’
‘That’s unlikely, anyway. Carting will be done away with when the Guss Committee reports, I shouldn’t be surprised. Never mind that hardly any of those shouting about it have the first idea what they’re on about. It’s a matter where heart, not head, rules. What do you think about it, Hall?’
Inwardly Harry winced. He had taken the device too much for granted to resent it greatly, and he knew well enough the arguments in its favour. Seams here in Somerset were thin, roadways too small for tubs. If other, more expensive methods of getting the coal away were forced upon the owners and the pits therefore became uneconomic, jobs would be lost. But the Miners’Association had taken up the emotive contraption as their cause célèbre, the symbol of their oppression. Harry was in a cleft stick and he knew it.
‘The guss and crook will go eventually – it’s bound to,’ he said now, ‘What we have to do is hope it’s not outlawed until something has been found to replace it – something that will work as well here as in other coalfields.’
Adam Barker raised an eyebrow. ‘And what do you think that might be?’
Harry considered. ‘Some kind of low contraption on wheels, maybe. Though I’m not sure how well wheels would run on the uneven ground. A band conveyor would be better, if there was room for it.’
‘Hmm.’ Adam Barker was looking at him with new interest. He was not used to carting boys coming into his office and talking with such intelligence and foresight. ‘So you want to take a step up in the world, do you?’ he said, bringing the conversation back to Harry’s own future.
‘Yes, I do. But I don’t know how to set about it.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen. Going on seventeen.’
‘Too young to sit the exam for another four years or so,’ the manager commented. ‘When you’re eighteen or nineteen, you could start Examiners’classes up at the Higher Elementary School. You know about those classes, do you?’
‘Not really,’ Harry admitted.
‘They’re run a couple of times a week and you learn all you need to know. But as I say, there is no point in starting them for another year or so. What’s your general education like?’
‘I went to the Board School,’ Harry said defensively.
‘And left as soon as you could, no doubt? Well, if you want my advice as to how to get on, I’ll give it to you. Go back to school!’
‘Leave the pit, you mean?’ Harry asked, aghast.
‘No – go to night school – Evening Continuation Classes. You can take instruction in general subjects – arithmetic, English, drawing, geography – and get a certificate at the end of it. Anything you learn will stand you in good stead for when you’re old enough to go to mining classes.’
‘You think so?’ This was not quite what Harry had had in mind.
‘That’s my advice, for what it’s worth. And if you have the time, you could go to first-aid classes too. The St John Ambulance Brigade run them and a certificate in first aid is always an asset to anyone going underground. I tell you this: if I’m appointing an examiner and one of the candidates can do first aid, he’s always my choice.’
‘Has Frank Horler got first aid?’ Harry asked.
‘He has indeed and he did a fine job when a man was injured by a roof fall at his last pit.’ He looked sharply at Harry. ‘Your eyesight and hearing are good, I take it?’
‘Yes – of course …’ Harry looked puzzled.
‘There’s a stringent test for eyesight and hearing,’ the manager explained. ‘You have to be able to see well enough to read percentages of fire-damp, and hear well enough to be aware of any roof movements … timber cracking and the like. But I don’t envisage any problems for you there. You’re young and healthy – and you’re a likely lad; I’m only surprised that you haven’t come to my attention before this.’
‘Well, thank you …’ Harry was flushing with pleasure.
‘A likely lad,’ Adam Barker said again. ‘Work hard, Hall, and I see no reason why you should not set your sights higher than examiner. Think of working towards your Second-Class Certificate of Competency.’
‘You mean … an under-manager’s ticket?’ Harry could hardly believe his ears.
‘Yes – and your First-Class-Manager’s. In fact, for a lad of your ability it might be worth your while to miss out the Second Class and go straight for the First. In that case, if you can fit it in with all the other studies, it might be an idea to learn something about surveying. That’s something you can always practise.’
‘Yes, sir. And thank you.’
The manager was on his feet, the interview clearly at an end. Slightly dazed, Harry made his way out of the office. A pale sun was warming the rough-hewn lias stone of the row of cottages, the saw-pit shed and the frame house on the opposite side of the yard, and glancing dully off the grey slate roofs. Harry walked into the sunshine, his mind spinning.
He had asked for advice and had certainly got it – far more than he had bargained for. Under-Manager … Manager … it was beyond his wildest dreams, but when Adam had talked about it so matter-of-factly it all seemed possible. Anything seemed possible at this moment.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting his breath come out on a soft whistle.
It would mean a great deal of hard work, very little free time and the shelving, for the time being at any rate, of any political ambitions. But if at the end of it he could be manager of a colliery – well, wouldn’t that be worth any sacrifice? People would have to stand still and listen to him then. He could do things his way.
He stopped for a moment, turning to look at the head-gear that towered majestically above the squat, dust-blackened colliery buildings, feeling the first stirrings of excitement. A colliery manager – responsible for the lives and livelihood of men like his father and his brother. Power undreamed of!
Yes, thought Harry. That’s what I’m going to do and the rest will follow.
He stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers and, still deep in thought, crossed the yard which might one day, he thought, be his domain.
Chapter Nineteen
Winter lingered and sometimes it seemed as if spring would never come. The wonderful summer was long forgotten now and the greyness had settled back around Hillsbridge … spreading, absorbing, tainting all it touched.
The sky was grey, heavy and laden, and the smoke from the pit chimneys rising into it was not black but merely another, darker, shade of grey. The batches, muddied by the persistent damp, had no shine of jet; the grass and bushes merged against them – a greenish grey, yes, but still predominantly grey; the ash and sycamore and beech trees raised bare arms as if to attract some attention to bring hope to their grey lives; the tall forked elms provided safe cover for the greyish nests of the rooks which cawed and grumbled as they swooped down to sit on the grey-painted railings that fringed the river. And the town itself was and always had been grey, every stone and slate – the church, the chapel, the shops, the pubs, even the magnificent Victoria Hall, home of dances and the billiard rooms, scene of the human lottery in 1918 when names had been drawn from a hat to send them to the hell that was France, which now looked out at the grey Cenotaph inscribed with the names of some of the men who had stood on the steps and heard their names called that day.
Grey, grey, all of it grey – and none of it greyer than the flatness Amy experienced each night when the end of the day meant the end of the panacea … work. From morning to night there was little time to think of anything else – unless it was how to keep home life for the children as normal as possible. But once they were in bed and an exhausted Amy turned out the lights, there was restlessness and regret. And sometimes, in the sharp, lonely wakefulness, the disturbing memory of the way Ralph Porter had made her feel during the short time they had been together.
She never saw him now – had not done so for months – and at first she had dreaded the imagined embarrassment of coming face to face with him again. But when he did not come to the office to settle the account – telephoning to suggest a more businesslike arrangement of payment by cheque through the post – she felt ridiculously cheated; and when one afternoon towards the end of February, his car had turned into the yard, all the emotions she had thought firmly under control surfaced once more.
‘Ralph – hello,’ she said, composing herself with difficulty.
‘Hello, Amy.’ His cool voice and frosty expression gave her an almost physical shock. ‘Can you spare me a few minutes?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘It’s purely business,’ he said, as if she needed reassurance. ‘I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving Hillsbridge for a while.’
‘Oh, are you?’ Ridiculously her heart had fallen away into a pit deep inside her.
‘Yes, I’m going to Gloucester. You remember that my sister was there at the New Year? When I went up to collect her, I realised the possibilities the place offered and I intend to set up a depot with a view to expanding my foreign contacts, import and export.’
‘Oh – I never thought of Gloucester as a port,’ she said.
‘It’s on the mouth of the Severn and I’ve had the opportunity of taking a lease on a property right on the docks. It should make an excellent timber yard.’
‘I see.’ But she did not; she could think of nothing but; ‘Ralph is going away!’ Though she had no intention of letting him know that.
‘I’m putting in a manager to run the business here for the time being,’ Ralph went on, ‘so you need not have any worries on that score. In fact, I should like to arrange a long-term contract for your lorry to continue working for us. A year, I thought, if that’s agreeable to you?’
‘Yes, of course …’
‘I have the papers here; I thought it would be a good idea for us to get things on an official basis before I go. I don’t know how available I shall be afterwards.’
‘You’d like to tie it up now?’
‘That’s the general idea. Now, if I tell you a little about the arrangements I’ve made for my absence …’
As they talked business, Amy fought to keep her mind on the subject in hand. But she was still uncomfortably aware of him, uncomfortably conscious of knowing how it felt to be in his arms. It was no basis for a professional relationship. Perhaps it was just as well he was going away.
The discussion over and the relevant papers signed, he rose with an air of finality.
‘Right. It seems there’s nothing left then but for me to thank you for the way your firm has been handling my loads and hope that everything continues to run smoothly.’
‘I see no reason why it should not,’ she replied.
‘No, neither do I. By the time I come back, Amy, it wouldn’t surprise me if you have a fleet of half-a-dozen lorries and so much business that my account is very small fry indeed. Your husband would be proud of you.’
There was something in his tone she did not understand, but she had no time to ponder it.
‘Goodbye, Amy.’
‘Goodbye, Ralph. Good luck with your new venture – though I’m sure you won’t need it!’
He smiled briefly; the twist of his mouth wrenched at her heart.
‘One always needs a little luck. A lot of enterprise, a lot of imagination, a lot of determination and nerve. But a little luck too. Without that, the rest can all be undermined. Now … I’ll be going. I have a great deal to do and I’m sure you have too …’
She nodded. ‘Always.’
In the doorway he turned back suddenly. ‘Oh, just one more thing before I go – I thought you might like to have this.’
He took a small box from his pocket and handed it to her. Mystified, she opened it, then caught her breath.
Her engagement ring – the ring she had sold to the jeweller in order to pay off her debt to him!
‘My ring!’ Startled, confused, she looked up at him, but his face was expressionless, giving nothing away.
‘It came into my possession and I thought you would like it back.’
‘Oh!’ A dozen questions were occurring to her – how had he known it was hers, to begin with? But the way in which he had given it to her forbade her asking and she said inadequately, ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s all right. As long as you’re pleased.’ He did not add that he had hoped to return it to her under happier circumstances, yet instinctively she knew this was the case – and knew, too, that by choosing this moment when intimacy was at its lowest, he was in effect terminating the relationship that might have existed between them.
Sadness at the finality of it obliterated the joy she would otherwise have felt at having her precious ring returned, and as she watched him walk away across the yard the emptiness was yawning in her again – that inescapable sense of loss which had nothing to do with logical thought.
‘Oh Ralph! Oh Llew!’ she whispered and the tears gathered thickly at the back of her throat.
At the end of February Ivor Burge came to see Amy to tell her he was now fit to resume work, and she was left with no alternative but to tell Cliff Button she no longer needed him.
On the one hand she was sorry to have to do it – since her pep-talk Cliff had really put his nose to the grindstone and given her no further cause for complaint. But she never felt totally at ease when telling him what to do. Cliff had been his own boss for too long to be happy talking orders and she also suspected he might try to take advantage of his brother’s newly elevated position the moment her back was turned.
‘Don’t let it worry you, missus,’ Cliff said when she broke the news to him. ‘I was glad to help you out when you needed me, but I’ve been thinking of setting up on my own account again for some time now. I reckon that if I was to take my car to Bath, get it properly licensed and all, I could do a roaring trade. There’s more call for taxis in towns.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Amy said and thought: What is it I do to my drivers? Cliff would be the second to leave the district after departing from her employ, for Ollie Griffin, she had heard, had gone off to London – ‘looking to see if the streets are paved with gold’, Herbie had said and Amy had been relieved to hear it. She was still embarrassed by what had happened at Christmas – outraged, yes, but embarrassed too – and had had the unpleasant feeling that he would tell everyone he met about how he had tried to compromise Mrs Roberts, probably adding a few embellishments of his own to the tale into the bargain.
But now he was gone and Amy hoped he never came back. The city could swallow him whole and she would only heave a sigh of relief. But Cliff was a different kettle of fish.
‘If ever you want to come back, just let Herbie know,’ she told him now. ‘I know I’m not in a position to keep you on at the moment, but who knows what the future will bring?’
‘Right you are, Mrs Roberts, And I’ll say just one thing – it hasn’t been half as bad working for a woman as I expected,’ Cliff said.
Amy knew that from him this was praise indeed.
Winter crept towards spring on muddy, leaden feet. The wind was still biting, the sky grey and cold and last year’s dead leaves blew about in forlorn drifts beneath trees that bore the first brave spears of palest green. But in the front gardens of the houses along Greenslade Terrace snowdrops clustered, purest white against the brown, and the crocuses made cushions of gay purple and yellow.
Spring should be a season of hope, Charlotte thought, but somehow this year was not and the lowering sky and bone-chilling cold seemed to reflect her mood of depression and anxiety.
I’m getting older, Charlotte told herself. I feel the cold more.
And because I’m uncomfortable, I look on the black side of things and worry more.
But that was not the whole story and she knew it. The worries were real enough – and there were too many of them to brush aside lightly.
With the exception of Jack, each one of her children was causing her moments of anxiety at least, and some of the problems were enough to constitute a nagging ache in her heart.
