The Emerald Valley (14 page)

‘Hey – you!' the man shouted again. ‘Yes – you, boy!'

As Harry turned to run he heard the heavy thud of police boots on the subway steps and hesitated as he realised whichever way he went he would have to pass one of them: the cane-waving pin-stripe gentleman or the sergeant. The choice was not a difficult one. Sergeant Eyles might not be as young as he used to be, but he had been a rugby player in his time and Harry felt instinctively that a flying tackle would not yet be beyond him. But the traveller looked about as athletic as Queen Victoria. As he shouted again Harry dived towards him, then cut a circular detour into the road and headed towards the second level crossing. Once over it, there were any number of places he could escape to and hide until they got tired of looking for him. He didn't think the police sergeant had seen who he was – all pit lads looked much the same in their rushy-duck trousers and caps and the Clements boys would certainly deny all knowledge of ‘goings-on'at the gates. Behind him he heard Sergeant Eyles' whistle blown sharply and imperatively and he laughed, risking a look over his shoulder.

Then, as he turned back to look where he was going, the laughter died. Coming down South Hill were not one but half-a-dozen burly policemen, looking to Harry's horrified eyes as if every one was as good a rugby player as Sergeant Eyles – and about half his age into the bargain. They were the reinforcements, drafted to the area in case of trouble in this centre of the Somerset coalfield during the strike, and billeted in the big house at the top of South Hill. Harry had forgotten all about them – but clearly they had not forgotten the blackleg train and had been on their way to see it safely through Hillsbridge when they heard the local man's whistle.

Instinctively Harry swerved into Frome Road. In his hand was the key and his first thought was that if they caught him all his efforts would be wasted – they would simply unlock the padlock and that would be that. Here at the entrance to Frome Road the bank shelved steeply away from the road into the river – so steeply and so suddenly that the sweets and newspaper shop on the corner had its back supported by stilts that were built right into the river – and Harry ran to the low stone wall, leaned over and threw the key towards the water as hard as he could. It landed with a small, satisfying splash and Harry knew a moment's triumph. But the delay had cost him his advantage in the chase and as he turned to run again, the two fastest policemen were almost on top of him – a short, hard-fought chase and they had him.

His arms held behind his back, Harry did not even bother to struggle. He was caught and he knew it. But at least the train would not go through! By the time the two policemen had frogmarched him back to the bridge where Sergeant Eyles was waiting, the damage had been discovered and a great deal of huffing and puffing was going on.

‘All right then, lad – where's the key?' the sergeant greeted him.

To his annoyance, Harry was unable to suppress a grin of triumph.

‘You think you've been very clever, I suppose,' the policeman said shortly. ‘Well, it's up to you. Tell me where it is here and now, or you cool off in a cell.'

This time Harry laughed aloud. ‘I'll tell you, for all the good it'll do. I threw it in the river!'

Sergeant Eyles lifted his chin and shook his head slowly from side to side in an expression of utter disgust.

‘Well, it's round to the station for you then, my lad, isn't it? And what your mother's going to say I don't know. Get him out of my sight!'

One of the constables jerked Harry's arms, turning him back towards the centre of town. But Harry had seen a figure coming past the George from the direction of Conygre Hill – a girl in the uniform of the Higher Elementary at South Compton – and he hung back against the rough grip.

It was her – the girl he had walked with yesterday and hoped to see again – still limping, but neat, tidy and purposeful … and carrying less than she had done yesterday. She had intended to catch the blackleg train, he supposed. But to his surprise, though she looked at him and at the policeman with a puzzled and concerned expression as she went by, she made no attempt to go into the station. Instead she marched on across the second set of railway lines and towards South Hill, only pausing occasionally to look back over her shoulder at the spectacle of her erstwhile companion being frogmarched in the direction of the police station by a squad of burly policemen.

In spite of his triumph, Harry felt a moment's regret that he could not explain to her what he had done and why. Perhaps she now thought he was a mischief-making lout – or even a criminal! But there it was, he could not explain, any more than he could ask her why she was walking when to all intents and purposes the town had believed there was a train running. As she passed the station and headed up the hill towards South Compton, she could not have known that the train would be very lucky to get any further than Hillsbridge before half the morning was past at the earliest.

‘Come on there, look where you're going!' One of the constables admonished him, pushing him so roughly that Harry almost fell. But he resisted, standing still for a moment and listening while a grin spread once more across his face. That distant sound coming closer and louder all the while was the unmistakable chug of the blackleg train as it steamed down the valley.

Irrepressibly he turned to the constable holding on to his arm. ‘Here it comes, then – but I'd like to see it get any further!' he said cheerfully.

And although the constable only glared and hastened him on, the smile stayed on his face. He had done what he intended. By the time they had found somebody to saw through the chain and release the gates there would be a few frayed tempers to say the least – and a point would have been made.

Yes, whatever he had coming to him it would be worth it, Harry decided. And for a very long time he would be proud to tell the story of how he had stopped the blackleg train single-handed.

Harry was at the police station for the best part of two hours,

locked in a cell until Sergeant Eyles eventually returned from the scene of his triumph; then he was treated to the kind of roasting for which the bluff sergeant was noted.

‘Aren't you going to have me up, then?' Harry asked when the policeman at last opened the door and told him to, ‘Get on home, then!'

‘Not this time, lad,' Sergeant Eyles said shortly. ‘Try some damnfool trick like that again, though, and you won't be so lucky. Now clear off before I change my mind. And I should steer clear of those Clements boys if you know what's good for you,' he added as an afterthought. ‘You can say what you like – they put you up to it and if I had a scrap of evidence they'd be here along with you. They're trouble, those two.'

Harry knew better than to argue, but all the same he felt hurt that the Clements boys should be credited with his idea.

They were waiting for him, squatting with half-a-dozen other striking miners against the low wall that edged the road between the two sets of railway lines. When they saw Harry, they gave him a hero's welcome.

‘They let you go, then?' Tommy asked when the hubbub had died down a bit.

‘Yes, but not before they had me locked up in a cell.' Harry was enjoying himself now. ‘And what about the train? It's gone, I see!'

They laughed. ‘Only just. They had to get a hacksaw to cut through the chain. Oh, you missed it, Harry! It was a picture. And you haven't heard the best bit. There was this one bloke – stuck-up sort of toff, kept marching up and down looking at his pocket watch and saying it was only what you'd expect in a place like Hillsbridge. Well, Reg and me went round the Co-op and got a couple of eggs, then we hid behind the water tower and took aim next time he came strutting down the platform. And we got him lovely! One egg all down his suit and the other on the back of his neck. And we got away with it, too, though we was laughing so much we could hardly stand up.'

Harry laughed with them, but the mention of passengers on the blackleg train had reminded him of the girl.

‘Did you see her?' he asked Tommy, describing her as best he could. ‘She came down over our hill and then went on, walking. It didn't look as if she was going to catch the train.'

‘Well, she wouldn't, would she?' Tommy replied. ‘Don't you know who that was?'

‘Wouldn't ask if I knew, would I?'

‘That's George Young's daughter. You know George Young – he's a big noise in the Labour Party. You can bet he'd never let his daughter ride on a blackleg train.'

‘Oh, is that who it is?' Harry said, pleased. He had really liked the girl and it was nice to think that she too had been opposed to the blackleg train – so opposed that she was prepared to walk the best part of three miles rather than ride on it.

Then suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to have been walking that way himself … to see Dolly! She would be wondering what had happened to him. Though since he was supposed to be there, at least his mother would not yet have begun to ask questions about where he was!

He grinned ruefully. There was going to be hell to pay when Charlotte found out what had happened. The wigging Sergeant Eyles had given him would be nothing with the one that his mother would hand out when she got to hear what he had done.

But it was worth it, all the same. The most worthwhile thing he had ever done in his life. And then and there Harry came to a decision.

It might have been his first act to further his new-found cause. But certainly it would not be his last.

The atmosphere was strained in the Roberts household and had been since the night the General Strike was announced. Too many things had been said that night which would have been better left unsaid, and the quarrel had been slept on – something Amy had known instinctively was a dangerous state of affairs. The next morning they had maintained an icy politeness and although when Llew had left for the yard Amy had cooled down and made up her mind to put their differences behind her, as soon as she saw him again all her anger had boiled up once more.

No further mention was made of the work Llew intended to try to get while the strike held, but Amy knew he was looking for it all the same and the knowledge festered inside her. She could understand it in a way, knew that if he was to stay solvent he could not afford to have the lorries idle for long, but it made no difference. It was like turning against her own to be a party to it, and she felt strongly that the more solid the backing for the miners the shorter the struggle would be.

Listening to her crystal set, Amy followed the progress of the strike. With no national newspapers, the BBC was almost the only means of learning what was happening in the outside world – apart, of course, from the news sheet known as the
British Gazette
which was being put out by the Government – and which Amy felt was hopelessly biased – and the equally slanted view of
The British Worker
, printed and distributed by the trade union leaders. But the BBC seemed reasonably impartial, and Amy listened avidly to reports of marches and rallies, arrangements for the distribution of food in the cities – such as the closure of Hyde Park in London for use as a centre for the capital's milk supplies – and news of transport at a standstill, miles of docks silent and abandoned and lights switched off to conserve electricity.

But she was incensed by the reports of strike-breaking and each and every one refuelled her resentment against Llew. In London and the big cities, she heard, students were manning the buses – and some had been the subject of demonstrations, with gangs of strikers surrounding them, breaking the windows and even setting them on fire in a couple of cases. This pleased her, just as she was secretly pleased and proud when she heard of Harry's escapade concerning the blackleg train, though she knew Charlotte would be furious with him for involving himself in what she would term horseplay. Amy could still remember all too clearly her mother's distress when Ted had been arrested some years previously and charged with the manslaughter of Rupert Thorne, the solicitor responsible for the pregnancy and death of Ted's sweetheart Becky Church; she knew that Harry being hauled off to the police station would have been enough to stir up all the old feelings of horror at finding herself and her own on the wrong side of the law and shame for anything which caused the family to be ‘talked about'.

How long the strike could last, however, Amy did not know. As the days dragged by with no sign of the government weakening, her confidence in its chances of success began to wane, though she would have died rather than admit this to Llew.

It was just too much, she thought, to expect others to put up with the hardship of a prolonged strike when it was not their battle. There were rumours, too, of riots in Birmingham, Manchester and Glasgow, with shooting in the streets, and although the BBC dismissed the stories as utter rubbish it was admitted that troops could be seen marching up and down Whitehall and tanks had been moved to strategic places in London, for all the world as if the country was at war.

No, it couldn't go on and in spite of her loyalty to the miners, her own folk, she found herself beginning to hope it would not continue. It was no fun to be worried sick about unpaid bills. It was no fun to go into Hillsbridge and see great gaggles of idle men and know that your own husband was betraying them. And it was no fun being at loggerheads with him, either.

If only the strike would end and we could get back to normal instead of forever being at one another's throats! Amy thought, and found herself remembering the argument they had had that morning. While making the bed she had noticed an envelope which had fallen on to the floor on Llew's side and was half covered by the drop of the bedspread. It had fallen out of his pocket when he was undressing, she supposed as she picked it up, glancing without a great deal of interest at the handwritten address and the postmark – which looked like Glamorgan. However Llew, who was combing his hair at the dressing-table mirror ready to go to work, noticed it in her hand and immediately swooped on it.