At midday Evelyne woke little Davey and fed him, then sat and played with him on the doorstep, and still her mother and father had not returned.
Dr Jones came by, with his gold watch chain. Doc Jones only had the chain, no one could recall him ever having a watch on the end of it. So he very rarely knew the time and was known as Doc Clock because of it. He’d heard about Mary, and said to tell them he’d drop by to see if everything was all right.
Along the street net curtains twitched aside. Hugh and Mary, entwined in each other’s arms, walked slowly down the narrow, cobbled road. They were like young lovers — twice Hugh stopped and cupped his wife’s face in his big hands and kissed her upturned face.
Evelyne saw her big Da carrying her mother up the stairs. Mary was weak, and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. When Hugh came down again his daughter had already filled the tub with water for him. He said nothing, but began slowly to wash his face and hands, soap his hair. He bent his head as Evelyne scrubbed his back, and when he stood up from the tub his massive, muscular body looked like a warrior’s; there were deep scars and gashes across his back, arms and thighs. His body was still as strong as a young man’s, his thick grey hair stuck up in waves like a mane.
Evelyne kissed his back softly and he squeezed her hand. Oh, how she loved him. He was not a man of many words, never had been, but he had held them all together. The boys, all of them, adored him.
‘Your Ma wanted to go up on the mountains, that’s where we used to do our courting. She’s all right now, just very tired. Take her some hot tea, there’s a good girl.’
Evelyne prepared the tea, and just as she was about to take it up her father stopped her, took from the pocket of his old work coat a tiny wild flower, and stuck it in her hair.
‘Stay a while with her, until I’m home. That woman up there is part of me, understand, child? We just found a bit of our yesterdays … you get so you forget she was a rare beauty. Today she was just as beautiful again, I had almost forgot.’
Mary lay in the bed, her eyes closed. Evelyne placed the tea beside her and lay down close to her mother, took her hand and kissed it. Mary turned her huge, swollen body to face Evelyne. They smiled at each other as if they had an intimate secret. Mary looked into her daughter’s face, traced her high, strong cheekbones with her worn, rough hands.
‘You’re a good girl, Evie, I’m sorry to frighten you all so, I didn’t mean to, but I just had to go up there one more time.’
As young as she was, Evelyne seemed to understand. Mary held her daughter’s hand and whispered to her, made her promise on God’s Holy Bible …
‘Don’t let the mines take your youth. You get away from here, Evie, don’t stay too long. It’ll soon be time for you to go, find yourself someone from outside, promise me, Evie?’
Evelyne promised, but she was unsure exacdy what her mother meant.
She left her mother sleeping and went downstairs to give her brothers their dinner. They had just come back from the day shift. Will was laughing and shoving Mike … it seemed that Lizzie-Ann had said ‘yes’, and she and Will were going to be married. Only half listening, Evelyne gathered that Will planned for Lizzie-Ann to move in with them until they saved enough money for a small house of their own. So much for Lizzie-Ann and London.
Mike’s back was worse, the cuts deeper, and he said it was his own fault because the rocks were jagged and he couldn’t remember to keep his body crouched. His knees were in a terrible state, and his clothes were sodden.
Evelyne washed the boys, fed them, washed their clothes, washed out little Davey’s sheets. It was night again, and she was so tired her arms ached, too tired to get her school books out. She sat in her mother’s rocking-chair, close to the big, blazing fire. Evelyne and Mike were left alone. Mike subdued, his eyes red-rimmed, unused to the coal dust. His hands and nails were already becoming ingrained with black. Evelyne sat and listened to him, he needed so badly to talk to someone — not the lads, they already knew what he was saying, they had all been through it, but for Mike it was all new, all disturbing.
‘My legs were cramped all day, Evie, I got no skin left on the backs of my hands. An’ with the dust in your lungs you can’t stop coughing, an’ it’s burning inside your eyes. My skin is smartin’, flying bits of coal cut into your face … see, I’m in one of the lower surfaces, an’ I got to shovel on my belly.’
Evelyne listened like an old woman, nodding, darning the men’s socks. All the while she was alert for sounds from Davey or her mother. Mike started to tell Evelyne about the pit ponies. Mike had always loved the outdoor life, running up the mountain to school, and he loved animals, especially horses. Mike continued in his low, lilting sweet voice, like a musical whisper, telling Evelyne about how the horses were treated in the pits.
‘Poor devils, Evie, they work sixteen hours or more straight, they often have no water. One dropped this mornin’ from exhaustion — just dropped, Evie. I mean, it’s not all the men’s fault, sometimes you’ve got to take a horse out again right after it’s been workin’, so the poor bastard’s dead on his feet before you start your shift. You got to whip him to make him work.’
Mike went on about the conditions, and Evelyne listened quietly and continued her sewing. Mike was in tears as he told her how some of the horses had to work in tunnels that were too low and, like him, they couldn’t remember to keep themselves bent down, so they ripped their backs open on the jagged rocks. But they were whipped into such a frenzy that they kept on opening up the old wounds.
‘After the first time through the squeeze the horse knows it’s cut him, so next time he’s forced through he wants to go fast, but if he goes too fast and the handler loses control, the tram full of coal can tilt and spill out its contents … so the men put chains through the horse’s mouth to pull him back … and there he is, poor little bastard, with his back ripped open, his mouth chained, tortured …’
Evelyne looked up. Mike was on his feet, tears smarting in his eyes. He was talking about the pit ponies, but it was himself he was really talking about. And the more he talked, the more he upset himself. He ended up clinging to Evelyne and crying like a child.
‘I can’t go back, Evie, I can’t, I hate it, I hate it, I’m scared all the time, Evie, I’m scared, and they keep on tellin’ me terrible stories.’
Evelyne heard little Davey cry out, and she had to pry Mike’s arms from her and scramble up the stairs to look after the boy … she heard the scream from Mary’s bedroom as she reached the child’s door. It was Mary’s time. Hugh had already left for his night shift, he would miss this birth too.
They always said buy yourself a good dark suit, you’ll need it, and every man did have one good dark suit besides his working clothes. The dark suit was necessary because there were so many funerals.
Will, Mike and Dicken were all dressed and ready. They sat in the kitchen waiting for Evelyne to come down. Mrs Pugh had taken Davey until they came back from the service.
There was only one coffin for mother and child, and flowers around the simple wooden box were from all the villagers. The family had asked them to pick wild flowers — cornflowers. Two horses pulled the hearse through the streets, and the grieving family walked slowly behind up to the church. It was a good turnout, everyone spruced up and wearing their Sunday best. Funerals usually took place on Sundays, as the mines were closed and no one lost a shift.
Mary Evelyne Jones and her son were buried where they could always see the mountain.
Evelyne had been a calming influence throughout. A rock, as they all said, astounding for one so young. There was quite simply no one else to run the house. No time even to grieve, and she wept into her pillow at night, quietly so as not to wake anyone. Evelyne would never forget her father’s face as he watched the cornflower-strewn coffin lowered into the ground. He had been so silent, so isolated that no one dared interrupt his solitude. But there at the graveside he had roared out his grief, like a wild animal. The cry echoed round the mountain and chilled those standing at the graveside. Evelyne had held on to his hand, held it so tightly her nails cut into his palm.