The Stone Book Quartet (9 page)

Robert went back in.

‘Will he be all right?’ he said. ‘It’s a whole topcoat warmer against our back wall.’

‘Not for that old sweat,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘He did his soldiering in Mesopolonica. He’s used to it.’

Uncle Charlie lifted the boiling kettle off the fire and made a brew of cocoa. He took the brew, the kettle and his rifle with him into the garden.

‘Warm enough?’ he said.

‘Grand,’ said Faddock Allman.

Uncle Charlie gave him his brew. Then he cleaned his rifle. He put the bolt and the magazine on one side and poured the boiling water down the barrel, the whole five pint kettle.

He looked into the barrel from both ends, and pulled a length of rag through, fastened to a cord, time and time again until the rifle was dry. He picked up his oil bottle; and frowned.

‘Who’s had this?’ he said. ‘Some beggar’s touched this.’

‘It was me,’ said Robert.

‘And who gave you permission?’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘It wasn’t more than a drop,’ said Robert. ‘I needed it for her wheels.’

‘I don’t care what you need,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘And you don’t touch, think on.’

He oiled the moving parts of the gun, the catches, magazine, levers, bolt and barrel.

Father came round the corner of the house. He had put his bicycle against the gable end. He stopped when he saw Faddock Allman.

‘Now then, Faddock,’ said Father.

‘Now then, Joseph,’ said Uncle Charlie.

Faddock Allman drank his brew and said nothing.

Father looked at Uncle Charlie and went inside. ‘Put the kettle on, Dick-Richard,’ said Uncle Charlie.

Robert filled the kettle, and took it to the fire. Mother was serving Father his dinner. Robert ran back again quickly.

Uncle Charlie had assembled his rifle and was rattling the breech open and closed.

‘Ease! Springs!’ shouted Faddock Allman.

Father shut the window from inside.

Uncle Charlie smiled. ‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we, Dick-Richard? Your father and me? Him sitting up in that chapel, like a great barn owl, oiling his clock. And me, oiling this. Eh?’

Robert pointed to a bent piece of metal on the rifle.

‘Is that the escapement?’ he said.

(The eswhatment?’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘That’s the cocking piece locking resistence.’

‘Oh,’ said Robert.

‘I’d best be doing,’ said Faddock Allman. ‘Now as Master’s having his dinner.’

‘You stand easy, Starie Chelevek,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘I’ll fetch you some dinner meself.’

‘No. I’ll be off. Young un takes me,’ said Faddock Allman.

‘Does he?’ said Uncle Charlie. He picked up Wicked Winnie’s sashcord and put two turns of it around the boot scraper by the door and pulled all his weight on the knot. ‘Let him unfasten that, then. Come on, Dick-Richard. There’s top field to be cut this after.’

He took his rifle and Robert into the house and sat at the table, on the sofa by the window. Father was eating. Robert stood near the door. Mother poured fresh tea.

‘It’s not brewed,’ said Father.

‘It’s wet,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘Why isn’t this tea brewed?’ said Father.

‘By, it’s close in here, isn’t it, Joseph?’ said Uncle Charlie, and opened the window. Father leaned across and shut it.

‘Give over,’ said Uncle Charlie. I’ve been second man to Ozzie Leah on the scythe all morning, and I could do with a drop of coolth.’

Father tapped the table with his square-ended fingers as he spoke. ‘What’s yon Mossaggot think he’s doing here while I’m having me dinner?’ he said.

‘l fetched him. I’m feeding him,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘There’s a war on,’ said Father.

‘Eh up! Where?’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Now, Joseph: Charlie’s home. Joseph, whenever has the stockpot gone short when Charlie’s home, eh? There’s good flesh-meat, isn’t there, and without granching your teeth on lead shot? Come on, Joseph. Charlie’s home.’

He put his hand on Father’s arm. His own arm was thin and brown under the golden hairs. Father looked down at the arm.

‘Get off with your mithering,’ said Father. He ate angrily.

‘I seem to recollect, Joseph,’ said Uncle Charlie, ‘as how it hadn’t used to matter so much when Faddock Allman was being shot to beggary by them Boers.’

Father didn’t answer. Uncle Charlie cut a round of bread, spread it with dripping, and opened the window. ‘Cop hold,’ he said to Faddock Allman, and left the window open.

‘Eh, Dick-Richard,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Your father’s vexed, seemingly. What must we do to cheer him up?’

Robert looked quickly at Father, and caught a flash of blue eye. Robert said nothing.

‘Here, Dick-Richard,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Over here.’

Robert went. Father ate. Robert was ready to run.

But Uncle Charlie was quicker. He grabbed Robert with both hands, and lifted him and stood him on the table. Robert’s boots clattered among the dishes and his head touched the ceiling beams. He was looking into both men’s eyes.

‘Give us a song, Dick-Richard,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘One for to win a war with, eh? A penny. See.’ He pulled a penny out of his pocket and slid it on the table, holding it under his finger. Robert looked at Father again, but Father was eating.

Robert’s boots shuffled the tea pot. He felt Uncle Charlie’s hand firm holding to his britches. So he sang.

‘Kitchener’s Army,

Working all day,

What does he pay them?

A shilling a day.

What if they grumble?

The Colonel will say,

“Put them in the guardroom,

And stop all their pay”.’

Uncle Charlie hefted Robert down by his britches, and pushed the penny towards him.

Robert took the penny. Father still ate.

‘Dear, dear, Joseph,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Will music never sooth the savage breast? What else can we do?’

He took the bolt and magazine out of his rifle, squinted down the barrel, and put it to his lips as if it were a trumpet. He blew a note.

‘Just tuning,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘No harm done.’

He blew again, and, by altering the shape of his lips, he played the notes of ‘Abide with Me’. His face was dark red and his eyes rolled.

‘You daft ha’porth!’ Father nearly choked on his food.

Uncle Charlie tried to wink at Robert, and went on playing. ‘You lommering, gawming, kay-pawed gowf!’ shouted Father, and coughed and laughed his dinner over the table. ‘Give over! Any allsorts can play that dirge! Let’s have some triple-tonguing!’

‘What tune must I play?’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘There’s not but one tune,’ said Father. He opened the corner cupboard and took out his own E Flat cornet. ‘There’s not but one tune.’ He wet his lips, loosened the valves of the cornet, and looked at Robert. ‘I’ll give you the note, youth. But you can stay off the table. Right!’

Father and Uncle Charlie drew in breath together, and Father began the great tune of the Hough, triple-tongued, fast. Uncle Charlie hit what notes he could, and Robert sang to the soprano E Flat.

‘Oh, can you wash a soldier’s shirt?

And can you wash it clean?

Oh, can you wash a soldier’s shirt,

And hang it on the green?’

‘And again!’ shouted Father. ‘Ready!’

Retreat! Forward! Charge!’ shouted Faddock Allman beneath the window.

Robert couldn’t sing. His neck hurt. Uncle Charlie slid under the table with laughing. And Father played, his cap on his head, standing above his dinner, and played until the tune was finished.

‘Ay,’ said Father. ‘Mesopolonica.’

After dinner, Robert took Faddock Allman back to the stones by the roadside. Uncle Charlie walked with him, carrying his rifle and a spade from the end room of the house.

‘Your father,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Take no notice. He was a bit upset.’

‘I know,’ said Robert.

‘He’s a man very fluent in giving.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s them horseshoes and the hours,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘They could take his touch away for ever, him as is the only best smith from Chorley to Mottram. If I was Joseph, I reckon I’d live in chapel clock till this lot was done with. But I’m lucky, Dick-Richard. It’s me trade. Now. What shall you be?’

Uncle Charlie lifted Faddock Allman onto his sacking and gave him the hammers, and the rifle.

‘I’ve not thought,’ said Robert.

‘Well, what do you want?’

‘All in!’ shouted Ozzie Leah.

The men and women moved to the top field.

‘What do you want?’ Uncle Charlie said again.

Robert went with him, pulling Wicked Winnie, up the hill towards the jackacre patch.

‘I like seeing to Mister Allman,’ said Robert. ‘And getting for him.’

‘Good God, youth, that’s no trade!’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘You want craft and masterness in you! You’re no Mossaggot! You’re a Houghite! You must have a trade!’

‘Can I work with you, then?’ said Robert.

Uncle Charlie picked up his scythe and gave the spade to Robert.

‘I work by meself,’ he said. ‘I’ve no apprentices.’

‘Have you not?’ said Robert.

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘I can be a soldier if I want,’ said Robert.

‘And why do you want?’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘The marching and that,’ said Robert. ‘And they give you medals, same as you and Mister Allman.’

‘Your father calls them bits stuck on the outside of one chap for sticking bits on the inside of another,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘And he’s right. No, youth. You must have the flavour for soldiering. I’ve got it, and you haven’t. It’s not in you. Now then: here’s your next fatigue.’

They were at the jackacre patch. It was a sandhole with stones, ragged at the edge from Robert’s morning.

‘You can fill this lot in,’ said Uncle Charlie, ‘and grass it over.’

‘I’ll not fill that in!’ said Robert. ‘There’s ever so many stones come out.’

‘No,’ said Uncle Charlie, ‘but you can smooth it round for Ozzie Leah to lead his cart in for the kivvers when they’ve stood. He’d break an axle, the way you’ve got it now.’

Ozzie Leah, Uncle Charlie and Young Ollie took their stand in the field. The scythes lifted and the swarfs fell. Round the field they went. The sun shone.

Robert tried to level the hole. It was a lonely, hot job, dull, not like the morning when everything was being found. He shovelled and sweated, patched the ground with turf and trod it in.

The sun was so hot that it took all colour from the land.

‘Whet!’ shouted Ozzie.

Everywhere but the corn was black and dark green. Saint Philip’s church was black, its weathervane cockerel black and just proud of the horizon. The whole land lacked shadows or relief, but for the corn and a bloom of light on the tops of the beech trees in the wood above Long Croft.

They worked the afternoon.

‘Whet!’ shouted Ozzie.

Kivvers and stubble followed the men, round and round, the square spiral tightened on the field.

At baggin time Uncle Charlie came down to see how Robert had managed. He looked at the grass and earth.

‘I said smooth it, youth, not build a flipping parapet.’

‘Well, cob you!’ shouted Robert. ‘Cob you, then!’

And he stuck his spade in the ground and ran down the field to Faddock Allman. Uncle Charlie followed with the beer. He was smiling. Robert lay under the hedge, batting at flies with his hands.

Faddock Allman and Uncle Charlie drank, and Uncle Charlie passed the stone jar to Robert. ‘There’s more to feckazing than feckazing, isn’t there, youth?’ he said.

‘It’s these clegs,’ said Robert. ‘They’re eating me.’

‘Clegs don’t bite,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘They’ve got hot feet.’

The sweat dried.

‘But, without you’ve a trade, feckazing is all you’ll get,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘I want more stone,’ said Faddock Allman.

‘Then you can want,’ said Uncle Charlie, and polished the stock of his rifle.

‘Where are you working? said Robert.

‘Oh, all over,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Wherever there’s call. Plug Street, mostly.’

‘Where’s that?’ said Robert.

‘Aback of Leah’s Hill,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘How do you get there?’ said Robert.

‘Train. Then boat. It costs nowt. The King pays. Then another train. Then you walk it. Past Dicky Bush and Roody Boys, over Hazy Brook, till you come to Funky Villas. Turn left for Moo-Cow Farm, and Plug Street’s second on the right.’

‘You’re twitting me,’ said Robert.

‘But that’s where I’ll be working, Tuesday,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Plug Street.’

‘Is it a journey?’ said Robert.

‘It is when you’re carrying full pack,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘But I reckon I’ll go a shorter way, meself. I reckon I just about shall. I might just go the aimer gate this time. I’ve done enough traipsing.’

‘All in!’ shouted Ozzie Leah.

Uncle Charlie and Robert went back up the field. It was still hot, but the sun was redder.

Robert took all the turf off the jackacre and curved its line and shallowed it. Then he put the turf back. He watched the reapers. They moved more gentle than the chapel clock.

‘Whet!’ shouted Ozzie.

There was a square of corn uncut in the middle of the field. Ozzie and Young Ollie sharpened up, but Uncle Charlie came down to the corner by the gate where Robert was, and laid his scythe against the hedge.

Robert pointed to the jackacre. ‘Will it do?’ he said.

‘Ay. It’ll do,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Now fetch Faddock Allman and me rifle.’

Robert went down the hill on Wicked Winnie, using his heels.

‘Mister Allman,’ he said, ‘me Uncle Charlie wants you, and we’re to take him his rifle.’

Faddock Allman swung himself into Wicked Winnie and picked up the rifle wrapped in sacking. ‘All present and correct!’ he shouted. ‘Mount!’

Robert put the sashcord across his shoulders and climbed the field. His boots were still slippery, and Faddock Allman was so heavy that Robert had to zig-zag along the hill. ‘You can go where you please, you can shin up trees,’ sang Faddock Allman at every turn, ‘but you can’t get away from the guns!’ Robert was sobbing with sweat by the time he reached the top field.