Katie thought back over the years, the poverty and degradation of the strike. Poverty still evident in Winton Colliery because of the depression. The world didn’t want ships so the shipyards didn’t want steel so the iron and steelworks didn’t want coal. Oh yes, she had learned all about the economy when she was attending adult education classes. She’d worked hard, she was going to escape and she was going to do it off her own bat, not rely
on
some man like all the rest of the women in her family had had to do.
She washed and changed into her flannel nightgown before snuggling down under the bedclothes. Not makeshift bedclothes these, not old coats with a clippie mat for an eiderdown but real wool blankets and a counterpane. This too was an achievement and she had brought it about herself.
Of course, she admitted to herself, Billy, though, was not any man but one who loved her and if she let herself she would love him. But she couldn’t afford to let herself do that, not yet. In the future, maybe, when she had done everything she had set out to do. But oh, she couldn’t help herself feeling for him but they had plenty of time, loads of time.
‘LOOK, MAISIE, A
meccano set!’ cried Robert. ‘Look, Mummy do you see? It’s exactly what I wanted!’
Mary Anne sat by the fire with her chair turned towards the Christmas tree in the corner. It was four o’clock and the children were allowed down to open their presents and have tea with the family because today was Christmas Day. She smiled at Robert’s excited cries and nodded her head.
‘Lovely, lovely, Robert,’ she said. ‘You’ll make some great things with that won’t you?’ Oh, he was such a lovely boy; tall and straight-limbed just like his father had been, God rest him. Her back ached, she shifted her position in the chair, felt the baby move within her. Where was this one’s father? she wondered. Was he really down at the ironworks overseeing urgent repairs to something or other as he had said? Or was he in Middlesbrough in that street where half-naked women hung around the mean doorsteps or beckoned from the windows? Oh, she’d seen them all right, one day when she had taken a wrong turn
from
Linthorpe Road and wandered on, trying to turn in a square to get back to the main shopping area.
‘I’ll take a little walk, Jack,’ she’d said to the chauffeur, ‘I need the air.’ And what a shock she had got too. That horrible street with the unmade road, and the doors opening straight on to the filthy pavement. She had lifted her skirt to keep it out of the muck and a couple of men had leered at her and the women in the doorways laughed and jeered as she turned and fled back to the safety of Linthorpe Road. Did Matthew go there or somewhere like it? Certainly he didn’t enter her bedroom, not since she had told him about the baby and for that she was thankful.
Yet men had appetites, she knew that, she had been married before hadn’t she? Her darling Rob. The familiar stab of pain and loss shot through her. She sighed. She had to think of other things now, brighter things, happy; she had the new baby to think of. But this hadn’t been a happy pregnancy, oh no.
‘They aren’t all the same,’ her mama had said to her when she whispered her misgivings about it to her. ‘You just have to endure it, that’s all, Mary Anne. Think of happy things.’
The trouble was she couldn’t always think of anything happy. Oh, how could she say that when she had these two lovely children? she reproached herself. Maisie was at her knee now, holding out the new china doll she had received from Father Christmas. Her eyes were lit with wonderment, she touched the porcelain cheeks delicately with her fingers; patted the nut-brown curls peeping out from under the straw bonnet.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Mama?’
Mary Anne agreed the doll was indeed absolutely lovely. So it should be, it had been the finest in the catalogue she had sent for from Harrods and had cost a fortune …
‘The girl’s too big for dolls,’ Matthew had said when she gave him the list of things she wanted ordering. ‘You mark my words, some lad will see her playing with dolls and try to give her a real baby.’
‘Matthew!’ Mary Anne had gasped and he laughed coarsely. Why was he like that sometimes? Most of the time he was a perfect gentleman. But he hadn’t quibbled at the price, he never did, she allowed him that. He had argued as to why she hadn’t gone into Middlesbrough to shop.
‘You’ll get just as good quality in Middlesbrough as in London,’ he had grumbled. But Mary Anne didn’t go into Middlesbrough any more, not since that upsetting day when – no, she was not to think of that.
She put a hand on her back and rubbed it gently. The ache was getting stronger. Where was Matthew? He had promised to be back in time for tea with the children. This was Christmas Day after all. Was he at the works or was he in one of those unspeakable streets, in one of those hovels with one of those women? Sometimes when he came in there was a strange smell about him, sweet, cloying, an animal smell.
Mary Anne got to her feet and went over to the bell rope hanging on the opposite side of the fireplace. She would ring for Daisy to bring in the tea; her throat was
dry
and parched from the fire. Never mind that Matthew wasn’t in. The children were probably happier in his absence anyway.
Matthew was, in fact, at the ironworks. He was looking at a giant overhead crane which, when working, lifted and slung the steel ingots to their allotted positions.
It was old, no doubt about it – 1901 this shed had been built and the crane too probably. If it hadn’t been for the depression it would have been replaced years ago. It broke down regularly, no matter how much the mechanics tried to patch it up. Now that fresh orders had been secured at last it would have to be replaced. It might mean laying some of the men off for a while when the new one was being installed but they would no doubt welcome that. Welcome the chance to have a booze-up over the New Year.
Beside him, Jackson, the manager stood quietly, resentful that he had been dragged from his Christmas lunch for this. What was so urgent about it anyway? The boss was a bloody workaholic, that was what he was. Tomorrow would have done just as well. He stared morosely at the floor.
‘Can you start it up for a minute?’
Jackson jumped; his attention had strayed.
‘Me?’ he asked.
‘Do you see anyone else here?’
Sarcastic sod, thought Jackson. But he turned to the iron steps and climbed into the cab of the crane. He had to think hard before he could remember how to even start
the
monster but he wasn’t going to let the boss see that. There was a minute’s quiet but then he figured it out and the great machine burst into life.
‘What are you doing?’
The crane drowned out Matthew’s shouted question and he stepped back to look up at the cab. And fell over a small off-cut of steel that should not have been there and fell on his back, winding himself.
His first feeling was anger, even before he felt the crushing pain in his left ankle. He tried to rise and fell back, clutching at his leg, the pain was excruciating.
‘Bloody hell, man!’ Matthew roared but of course Jackson couldn’t hear but he peered out of the cab anyway, his stare showing horror as he saw the prostrate figure below him. He started to climb out of the cab, forgetting to turn off the engine and Matthew rapidly made the signal for him to stop. Twisting on the top of the ladder, Jackson leaned forward to do so and the silence was deafening for a second. Only for a second, for as he moved he missed his footing on the iron ladder and fell to the ground, directly across Matthew. Luckily, the watch-man was already coming into the shed, having heard the racket.
‘Bloody hell!’ he echoed Matthew and ran to call an ambulance.
All the breath had been knocked out of Matthew when Jackson came hurtling down on him, so badly in fact that he lost consciousness. And when he did begin to come round he was in so much pain that he didn’t open his eyes
but
tried his best to sink back into the blessed blackness. He heard voices in the distance, a workman’s voice and then others, the weight was lifted from his chest and he in his turn was lifted. The pain made him black out again and when he came to he was lying on his back in a moving vehicle that certainly wasn’t his car, yet Lawson was there, he heard him. Matthew opened his eyes.
‘Hey up,’ he heard Lawson say, ‘he’s back with us.’
‘What happened?’
Matthew turned his head cautiously, seeing the dark windows of the ambulance, heard the klaxon blaring, felt every bump on the road with his battered body. ‘My God!’ he said.
‘You had an accident, sir,’ said Lawson, ‘we’ll soon be at the hospital. It’s just your leg, I don’t think there’s much more damage. Not like the other fellow, he’s in a bad—’
‘Don’t talk to the patient!’
Squinting past Lawson, Matthew saw an ambulance man in green overalls. He was glaring at the chauffeur and Lawson, suitably intimidated, moved back. Matthew saw that there was another narrow trestle across from him and Jackson was lying on it, his face very pale.
Thankfully, the ambulance took only a few minutes longer to reach the hospital and before he could even gather his thoughts together to demand to be taken to a private hospital, not the sprawling workhouse-like structure that was the South-East Durham, Matthew was being wheeled into Outpatients and Casualty.
He lay looking up at the ceiling which was adorned
with
a few trailing streamers. A rather battered paper bell hung from the middle. It was a nasty red, contrasting with the faded streamers, thought Matthew drowsily. He was filled with a lethargy that was utterly strange to him, yet rather pleasant. He closed his eyes. What the heck, he thought, let them do what they willed.
The clock in the drawing-room struck eight, waking Mary Anne from a light doze. She sat up suddenly and her head swam; she swayed dangerously. She kept her head down for a few moments until it cleared. There was a persistent ache in her back; it was beginning to make her feel a little sick.
Where was Matthew? He should have been home long ago. It really was too bad of him not to let her know if he was detained elsewhere. The children had gone upstairs hours ago, he hadn’t even seen them today of all days; it was after all, Christmas.
Mary Anne stood up cautiously and moved to pull the bell rope. She could wait no longer, she had to go to bed. Daisy would bring her a hot drink and she would ask the girl to rub her back. She sagged suddenly against the wall; her weight going on the satin bell rope so that it gave way suddenly and she fell heavily across the brass rail of the fender. When Daisy answered the summons, Mary Anne had rolled on to the hearthrug and was lying with her knees drawn up, moaning loudly.
‘There was an emergency admission yesterday evening,’ said Sister. The nurses were lined up in her office as she
read
the night staff’s report and gave them their orders for the morning. Katie, being the lowest of the probationer nurses, was on the end of the line nearest the door. Which was just as well because she was half a minute late having had a fight with her newly starched cap to get it into the right shape and in the correct position on her head. Sister had noticed of course, she noticed everything. Thankfully she had made do with giving Katie a disapproving look before beginning the report.
‘A Mrs Mary Anne Hamilton,’ Sister continued. ‘She is the wife of Mr Matthew Hamilton, the ironmaster. Incomplete abortion. She is in a side ward for the moment; she is to be taken down to theatre this morning at ten. Staff Nurse and I will get her ready for theatre. You, Nurse Benfield will attend us. Perhaps you may learn something.’ Sister’s tone implied that she thought this doubtful.
‘Yes Sister.’
Katie had a small surge of panic at the thought of it. She was sure she would drop something and disgrace herself, her fingers felt all thumbs. But when Staff moved out to lay the trolley she fell in behind her obediently. Mrs Hamilton lay quietly under the covers, the dark circles around her eyes standing out against her white face. She said nothing but ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘thank you’ in a faint voice barely above a whisper as Sister and Staff Nurse dressed her in a theatre gown and tied a white cloth around her head. They douched her with Perchloride of mercury 1-10000, and drew on long white stockings, all handed to them by Katie.
Mary Anne was drowsy as she had already had her pre-medication
and
made no objection to anything. But just as they were finished there was a small commotion in the passage outside. It was Matthew’s voice, she thought, and even through the haze the drugs had brought to her mind she felt a twinge of apprehension.
Katie looked in wonder at Sister, who strode to the door and looked out on to the passage.
‘What is happening?’ she asked. She would have said a lot more if it were not for the fact that it was Mr Hobson outside together with Mr Caine and a patient in a wheelchair. A male patient in the corridor of the gynaecological ward! It was unheard of. But Mr Caine was talking.
‘I’m sorry, Sister, but Mr Hamilton insisted, and I thought there was no harm—’
‘No harm!’ Sister ejaculated. She left them in no doubt as to her feelings on the matter.
‘He wants to see his wife for a few minutes,’ Mr Caine continued. ‘You will allow the circumstances are extraordinary.’
This last was said in appeal to the gynaecologist. He glanced at Sister then back at his colleague.