A Crimson Dawn (20 page)

Swinging the little boy between Louise and herself, Emmie could hardly believe that slipping away from Tom had been so easy. They made towards the far side of the field and the rows of amusement stalls, coconut shies and fortune-tellers. As they queued to go on the shuggy boats, Emmie strained to hear what they were saying on the women's platform.

Louise nudged her. ‘Gan and have a listen. I know that's what you want.'

Emmie gave her a startled look.

Louise laughed. ‘Sam's in favour, even if my family isn't. He told me to get you over here while he kept an eye on Tom and Father.'

Emmie grinned and squeezed her friend's arm. ‘Ta, Lou. You're a canny friend.'

She slipped off to listen to Dr Flora and Frau Bauer, and a visiting speaker, Catherine Marshall, who spoke with passion of their successes.

‘It may be the militants prepared to go to prison who grab the headlines,' she cried, ‘but it is the dedication of the ordinary thousands who will turn the tide. Year after year, we have marched, petitioned and walked from the provinces to London. We have argued our case on the hustings, in hundreds of town halls and out on the streets. And we are being listened to! The new dawn is coming; the tide is on the turn!'

Emmie came away with a new optimism, scribbling down what she could remember on a scrap of paper before she forgot Marshall's words.

‘What's that you're writing?' Louise asked in curiosity.

Emmie stuffed it in a pocket. ‘Nowt important.'

Louise gave her a knowing look. ‘Nowt to do with writing for the
Messenger
, then?'

Emmie looked at her friend in alarm
. ‘The Messenger?'

Louise smiled in triumph. ‘I'm right, aren't I? Sam let it out that he knew who Artemis was. I put two and two together. MacRaes aren't very good at keepin' secrets.'

‘You'll not tell—' Emmie gasped.

‘Course I won't,' Louise promised. ‘Good on you, I say. Anything that'll make things better for lasses. I'm sick of being at Father's beck and call and not allowed to speak me mind on owt - just like Mam. You don't know what it's like, Emmie.'

‘I do.' Emmie pulled a face. ‘Tom's gettin' more like his da by the day.'

Louise laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. ‘Still, you've got your own place. I sometimes think me and Sam will never get away. It's the only thing we argue about - enough money to have a couple of rooms to ourselves. Sam thinks Father should help us out, but I know he never will; he's that tight with money. And Sam's beginning to argue back more than he used to. I tell him to work harder like Tom and get a hewer's job, then maybe we can get out and start a family …'

Emmie looked at her friend. ‘I didn't realise it was so difficult. I'm really sorry, Lou.'

The next week, Artemis's column gave a full account of the women's speeches at the gala. Emmie bought a copy, intending to send it to Dr Flora. Tom found it in the kitchen.

‘Where's this come from?' he demanded.

Emmie looked up from rolling pastry. ‘I bought it.'

‘What d'you do that for?' he asked, horrified. ‘It's anarchist rubbish - dangerous, me father says.'

‘Have you ever read it?' Emmie asked.

‘No, but I don't have to,' Tom blustered. ‘It's ungodly. Everyone knows Radical Rab wants to start a revolution - kill all the bosses in their beds - and not just the bosses, but respectable types like us and the minister.'

‘He wants nothing of the sort,' Emmie said, trying not to laugh. ‘Revolution yes, but social not bloody. Read it, Tom. There's all sorts of different opinions in it.'

He eyed her suspiciously. ‘How do you know so much about it? Have you read this before?'

‘Aye, I have.'

‘Well, you're not spending my wages on this filth,' Tom declared. ‘It's ganin' on the fire.'

She watched him tear it up and feed it to the fire, her words about Marshall turning to black ash. Emmie bent her head and continued thumping with the rolling pin, venting her frustration on the pastry. Tom was so narrow-minded he would not even consider reading the newspaper, just because his father had censored it. Well, she would not be censored! Emmie determined she would carry on writing for the
Messenger
for as long as it took to win the vote. She quelled any fears about what Tom might do if he ever discovered she wrote for it.

The talk of war came suddenly in late July, like the hot summer weather. Only those handful who had followed events in Europe were not taken unawares. Nobody could really believe it possible.

‘Why should we fight the Germans'?' Tom asked his father in bafflement. ‘We've nowt to do with the carry-on in the Balkans.'

‘The Liberal Government won't allow it.' Barnabas was adamant. ‘Grey will do his best to pour oil on troubled waters.'

Emmie itched to point out that the Foreign Secretary had bound them up in alliances with France and Russia that would drag them into war if their allies were attacked. This she knew from Rab. But she was not allowed to hold her own opinions, especially ones that differed from the Currans'.

When she visited the MacRaes, they talked excitedly of plans for a peace rally in Blackton the following Sunday. Rab was to be one of the speakers. They thought Charles Oliphant was to address the rally too.

‘All over the country, there'll be marches and church services against war,' Jonas told her. ‘Nobody wants this.'

‘Aye,' Helen agreed, ‘the Guild are marching with the suffrage societies. Will you come with us, pet?'

‘I'll try,' Emmie said.

At chapel, Mr Attwater announced the peace march.

‘We must send a message to our Government that we do not want war. We must urge restraint. Remember the commandment, Thou shall not kill. All those wishing to join the march should assemble outside the Co-operative Hall after morning service. I can offer transport for those unable to walk all the way to Blackton.'

Emmie was greatly encouraged by the minister's support. If the leaders of the Church were behind them, then the politicians might listen.

It was discussed around the Currans' table at Sunday dinner.

‘The lodge are sending a delegation,' Barnabas confirmed. ‘But I'll not march on the Sabbath.'

Tom looked torn. Emmie knew he liked the idea of a trip out, somewhere they could take Barny rather than be cooped up indoors on a summer's afternoon.

It was Sam who suggested they go.

‘If the union supports the rally then some of us should gan,' he argued. ‘We can take a picnic - a canny afternoon for the bairn.'

Emmie yearned to say she agreed, but knew this might provoke the Currans to say no. The words had to come from Tom. She gave him a look of appeal.

‘Aye,' Tom nodded, ‘and the minister's in favour.'

Barnabas grunted. ‘That young man has some strange notions about what's proper and what isn't.'

They all knew he was referring to when Mr Attwater had encouraged Nell to sing in the chapel.

‘Please, Father,' Louise pleaded.

Finally Barnabas nodded in assent. ‘As long as you conduct yourselves respectably.'

That week's
Messenger
carried a message from Artemis urging all women to take their families on the peace rally.

‘It is women who take the brunt of any war. Do we go through the pain of birth and spend years nurturing our sons just to see them sent off to war as cannon fodder? Support the peace march. We have no say in Parliament, but we can vote with our feet next Sunday.'

The day arrived fine and blustery. Emmie was overjoyed at the sight of so many villagers gathering in the main street behind an array of banners, many home-made. The Guild was there, the lodge, the Clarion Club and Jehovah's Witnesses. The socialist Sunday school had a banner alongside the Methodists, and the Suffrage Society rubbed shoulders with the Crawdene brass band.

Emmie waved at Helen as they moved off, Barny riding high on Tom's shoulders. She felt the same stirrings of solidarity as she had a month ago at the gala. If this was being replicated across the land - across the Continent - then their rulers could not make war.

The nearer they drew to Blackton, the bigger the crowds grew. People had tramped for miles around, from smaller pit villages to converge on the larger one. They congregated in the Board School playing field where a makeshift platform had been hastily erected. Barny ran around with the other children as the adults rested and ate their picnics.

Tom was in good humour and bantering with Sam. Louise lay back, sunning herself in the grass. Barny was attempting to play a big drum and laughing in delight at the sound. It was all so light-hearted that Emmie could not imagine they could be on the brink of war with people just across the North Sea.

The speakers began to assemble on stage and people drew nearer to hear.

Charles Oliphant began, his fair tangle of hair whipping across his ruddy face, still boyish-looking in his late thirties. His words wafted into the wind.

‘… the Christian way is the way of peace … there is no just war … pull back from the brink … our German brothers in Christ not our enemy … we are all God's people in the eyes of the Lord …'

He was given polite handclaps, many curious to see the son of the mighty coal-owner dressed in faded tweeds like a down-at-heel gamekeeper.

‘Bet the major's not turned up to hear him,' Tom scoffed. ‘Looks a right state.'

‘Na,' Sam chuckled. ‘Boss probably hopes there'll be a war so he gets conscripted.'

‘Sam!' Emmie chided. ‘He's a canny man - married me and Tom, don't you forget.'

Louise sat up, her face anxious. ‘There won't be conscription, will there?' They all exchanged glances.

‘Course not,' Sam assured. ‘They only do that in countries with despots.' He swung an arm around his wife and kissed her boldly. Emmie's heart twisted. Tom had not shown her such open affection in a long time.

Flora followed her husband on the platform, speaking for the women's movement and their international friends. She introduced Frau Bauer.

‘There are many like her who are working for peaceful change. We women do not want war between our men. It will undo all our efforts over the last few years to gain justice and equality. We have no quarrel with Gemany - she is a natural friend of England. Our government should be fostering friendship with Germany, not war.'

Two other speakers followed, their voices too faint in the strong breeze to be heard. The crowd was growing restless, drifting away. Then Emmie heard Rab's strong voice boom out and felt the back of her neck prickle.

‘Haway,' Sam said, ‘let's get nearer to hear.'

Rab strode up and down the stage, no notes to prompt his passionate denouncement of war.

‘This is not our fight! This is a scrap between the imperialists, the money-grabbing, land-grabbing capitalist class. They are the ones who start wars for their own ends, but we are the ones they use to do their fighting! The working classes on both sides fighting the bosses' battles, while they sit back and count all the money they make out of war. Do you want to be dragged into war just because our government has made a pact with a despotic tsar? Course you don't!'

Some of the crowd shouted out in agreement. He had caught their attention.

He shook his fist in the air, his bearded face full of urgency, exhorting them like a prophet.

‘But they cannot fight their wars if we refuse to fight - if our comrades in Germany refuse to fight, if our Russian brothers refuse to fight. Give them the lead and they will have the courage to follow. Stop the war!'

There was a burst of applause. Suddenly, Emmie caught sight of Barny. Somehow he had clambered on to the stage and was throwing his arms around Rab's legs.

‘Wab! Wab!' he giggled.

Rab swung him up and tickled him. Tom looked dumb-struck.

‘What the hell's he doing with Barny?'

Before Emmie could stop him, Tom was shoving his way through the crowd to the stage. He held up his arms.

‘Give him o'er,' he ordered.

Rab smiled and handed the boy down. Tom returned, his face thunderous.

‘What's he sayin' about Rab and grandfather clocks?'

Emmie went puce. ‘Must be some'at he sings to him.'

‘Sings to him?' Tom was indignant. ‘When does he sing to him?'

‘When I gan round to China Street on Friday evenings.' Emmie tried to make light of it. ‘Barny's that quick at pickin' things up.'

‘Didn't know Rab was there. You've never said,' Tom accused.

‘He isn't often,' Emmie said, aware that people were beginning to stare.

‘I'll not have him fillin' the bairn's head with his rubbish.' Tom was shouting now. ‘You're not to take him round there if that anarchist's gannin' to be there, you hear me?'

Sam and Louise arrived beside them, their glances embarrassed. Emmie knew they would say nothing about the
Messenger
, but it worried her that a slipped word might land her deeper in trouble.

‘Haway, Tom,' Sam cajoled, ‘don't be hard on the lass. All Rab did was pick the bairn up. Let's gan back, eh?'

‘Aye, it's getting chilly,' Louise agreed, hastily packing up the picnic.

They tramped back to Crawdene, a more subdued band than had set out a few hours earlier.

As she lay in bed that night, wrestling with whether she should give up writing for the
Messenger
, Tom reached for her hand.

‘Emmie,' he said awkwardly, ‘I'm sorry for shoutin' at you earlier - about the bairn.'

She shifted to look at him in the half-dark, his expression contrite.

‘It's this talk of war - puts me on edge,' he continued. ‘Then the sight of that man holding our Barny in his arms - and the bairn lookin' all happy - it made me jealous, like.'