The Legacy (4 page)

Hugh and Dicken began to run, and the word spread quickly. Soon they were joined by Shoni ‘Bully’ Thomas, Rees Jones, and Willie ‘Black Pipe’ Keenan. Still black-faced, covered in dust, they ran down the street. The day-shift men were leaving home and as word sped through the street, several of them dropped their tools and went to join the search. This meant a lot, for the day men would lose out on a day’s wages if they didn’t turn up at the pithead on time. Dicken, Will and Mike followed their father, all of them running out of the village towards the mountain.

In the early morning the mist had been thick over the mountain-top, but the sun began to cut through and it slowly lifted. Echoes of the men’s voices rang round and round as they called out for Mary. It was a strange sight, the searching, black-faced men calling to Mary as the clear, beautiful day began.

‘Oh Christ, man, where is she? Mary!’

Hugh Jones was beside himself. He thrashed at the bramble bushes, calling his wife’s name, his face streaked with sweat. He turned to the men, told them to go back, not to lose a day’s work because of him; he and his boys would find her. The men eventually turned back to their work or their beds.

The whole village was agog. What on earth was Mary Jones thinking of - a woman in her condition going up the mountain - she must have lost her mind. They discussed it avidly at the water taps, over the clanking of the buckets. They would occasionally look up beyond the village, not that they could see anything, but Mary was up there somewhere. Their menfolk down the pit talked about it and, like their wives, they were only too ready to recall stories of people lost up in the mountains, men who had run wild up there after being too long underground.

Hugh Jones was exhausted. He sat on a rock, his sons around him. They had never seen their father so distraught: he clung to Dicken and began to weep. The boys were scared. Why had Ma suddenly upped and left them in that condition? It was so strange. Their safe, strong Ma, where was she?

Evelyne kept on searching and calling, climbing higher and higher. Surely Ma could not have got this far, she must be below, they must have missed her. Evelyne looked down and could see her Da and her brothers way below like small black dots …

‘Ma … Mama … Ma!’

Evelyne’s voice echoed round the mountain. Mary was standing staring down at the river. There was a puff of smoke where a train had just passed below a bridge, a little train chugging on down the valley.

Evelyne called down to the men that she had found her mother, and they climbed up the mountainside towards her. Mary stood frozen, eyes staring vacantly into space. Hugh reached his daughter’s side and Eve lyne pointed to her mother, his wife … His face was almost clean of soot, whether from sweat or tears she couldn’t make out. He edged towards Mary, speaking her name, so softly the children could hardly hear him. They watched, bewildered, as the huge man moved closer and closer, saw him take hold of his wife, rocking her gently in his arms.

‘Gave us a proper scare, you did, Mary. Had the whole village out looking for you. Did you not hear us calling you?’

He turned back to his children, told the younger boys to go to the pithead and see if they could still get on the shift, the others to go home.

They began to wander down the mountainside, turn ing to look back up at their parents. They saw their father still holding their mother tight, so tight as if he was afraid she would throw her swollen body over the precipice. As they went further down the slopes, the two figures on the mountainside sat down, their arms around each other, their heads close, like young lovers.

Dicken could see his little sister getting anxious so he made light of it.

‘You know our Ma, Evie, she’s just wanting to have Da to herself.’

Evelyne smiled, then went and sat on the front doorstep and waited for hours. She saw Mr Williams’ dog wander past with his shopping bag and little leather purse, saw him trot into the butcher’s and collect the meat. Clever little dog, went by the main street there, but round by the back cobbles when he’d got the meat. That way he was sure none of the other dogs would steal his owner’s chops.

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.

That night his sons had taken him down to the pub and they had all got so drunk that Evelyne had to put each one to bed. Her father’s head lolled, his eyes unfocused, as she helped him to undress. Sadly, the drunkenness persisted. Mike and Will would come straight home as usual from the mines, but Hugh would remain in the pub until closing time. Dicken waited to help him home, help put him to bed. No one tried to stop him: it was as if they knew he was trying to ease the pain, the agonizing pain of life without his darling Mary.

SIX MONTHS passed and Evelyne did not return to school. There was always so much to do at home. Little Davey was dependent on Evelyne and the menfolk had to be cooked, washed and cared for. Lizzie-Ann had married Will and moved in until they could afford a place of their own. Evelyne put away her school books; her Christina Rossetti days were over.

Doris Evans had never been one to poke her nose in to anyone’s business. She had once, she’d gone to see Mrs Reece Mogg, wanting their youngest son to stay on at school. She’d been shown the door so fast, so the story

went, she’d left her brown lace-up shoes behind. However, she had thought about it for a good few weeks, she had decided she would try one more time, this

time with Evelyne Jones.

Doris dressed very carefully, in her brown hat, her brown skirt, and matching coat, set off by a nice cream blouse. She also put on her coral crepe blouse, but felt the cream more suitable.

Doris stood on the Jones’ front door step, thought it looked quite clean considering. She lifted the brass knocker, thinking it could do with a good polish, and tapped lightly, then rapped louder. She could feel inquisitive eyes boring into her back, net curtains flicked aside across the street. Her mouth went dry, her carefully rehearsed speech of introduction slipped away from her. She was about to leave when the front door was inched open.