Chapter Twenty-three

The days passed into weeks and Sweyn’s Eye took on the mantle of early autumn. The soft western hillside, which a short time ago had sported fresh green leaves, was now covered in a riot of red and gold. Dead foliage began to carpet the drowsing earth, scattering in small gusts blown by the keen edge of the easterly wind.

In the town it was a grey Monday morning. Rain swept down from the hills and the streets were misty and lustreless, the inclement weather keeping the inhabitants of the huddled houses cloistered at their own hearths.

Only the copper works straddling the banks of the swiftly flowing river showed any sign of activity. Sparks shot skyward as though in defiance of the full-bellied rain clouds, and green sulphurous smoke mingled with the dismal drizzle.

Inside the sheds it seemed more hot and breathless than ever for the rain kept the smoke low and it caught at the lungs of the copperworkers like darts of flame. Here the air was heavy with the spurts of steam forced from the open-mouthed furnaces and vapour rose high to linger damply among the wooden struts supporting the roof.

Davie was feeling more than a little tired as he wielded his ladle, his great muscles bulged and the veins stood out achingly proud. He discharged the load with his usual skill and it gave him satisfaction to know that when the copper settled, the coin-like slices would come from the mould neat and even.

Davie’s stomach rumbled with hunger. Yet again Rosa had forgotten to put him up a box of grub. He was becoming used to it now but sometimes he longed for the days when Mali used to pack the food, he had eaten well then.

He felt a momentary pang of unease. Mali was still determined to move out of the cottage in Copperman’s Row even though in the few weeks that had passed since he had brought Rosa in to live with him, he had hoped that things would settle down. He had tried to persuade his daughter that nothing need change but now he could see how wrong he’d been, everything was different now that Rosa was mistress of the little home.

The brasses were dull, the floor stained with grease and debris. Mali, for the most part, kept to her room, unwilling to speak to the woman who she felt had replaced her mother.

And Mali, his beloved daughter, was growing beautiful, tall and proud, more like her mother every day. Jinny had been a fine woman, no mistake about it, but a man needed more than memories to warm his bed.

He moved away from the mould for it was time for him to have a break. He pulled his shirt over his head and the flannel was soaked, the red turned dark like blood with his sweat.

His chest gleamed bronze in the flare from the furnace and he scarcely felt any cooler than he had done before. Rosa was taking all the sap out of him, he mused, she was a girl far too young for an old ram like himself. He was one man trying to make up for the dozens she’d had before, he thought, and was surprised at his own bitterness.

At first, it had not bothered him that she was a flossy. She was young and needed to fill her belly any way she could but he was fast coming to the conclusion that she had loved her work and now that it was taken away from her, missed the excitement of searching for men who would pay for what she had to offer.

The knowledge was beginning to eat away at him, eroding the sweetness he had found in Rosa when they’d first met. He was nothing but an old fool, he told himself, but he was caught in a trap now from which there seemed to be no escape.

He took a draught of beer from the bottle beside him. Rosa had not put up any tea and to Davie’s taste, ale was a poor substitute, and the work was as drying as a desert in far Arabia. Well, he could not have everything, he supposed, and there were not many men of his age who could boast of bedding a wench young enough to be his daughter.

He rose with a sigh and took up his ladle once more. He could not sit around mooning all day, that was not what he was paid for. He fell into the circle of men, feeling like a beast tethered to an invisible cord. Dip and move and tip the burden and back round again to the furnace, surely hell could not be a worse fate than this?

He longed suddenly to be out under the skies however grey, breathing fresh air into his guts. He felt restless and strangely uneasy. It must be the result of going without breakfast, he told himself impatiently.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Will Owens was now at the back of him. His uneasiness increased but he told himself that the young man had grown up a little in the past months. Doubtless he still sang songs for the boss and yet there was a new strength to Will’s features, a hardness in his eyes, a fresh confidence to the set of his shoulders, perhaps he would turn out all right after all.

Will Owens did not meet Davie’s eye. ‘Keep up your stride,’ he said in a harsh tone. Davie moved forward more quickly, knowing that he was at fault and had come dangerously close to the glowing ladle.

He felt as though he had been working for hours, moving round and round in an everlasting circle. God damn it, he would have to get out of the sheds, find another job, something that would give a bit of life to a man instead of this everlasting heat and stench.

There was a bustling at the door of the sheds and glancing up, Davie saw Sterling Richardson enter. Rain dripped from the loose-fitting overcoat he wore and the huge goggles over his eyes gave him a strangely threatening aspect. Davie tensed, he felt that this man was responsible for Mali’s unhappiness and for that alone Davie longed to put a big fist in his face. But he must be fair, he had heard that there had been a fight outside the laundry between Mali and some other girl and Mr Richardson, far from being responsible for Mali’s torn blouse and dishevelled appearance, had driven her away in his car. Davie had no proof that anything untoward had happened after that. True, when accused, Mali had turned on him angrily, said she’d been with a man, but that might have simply been a gesture of defiant fury. At any rate, she barely spoke to him these days, like a stranger she’d become and it hurt him deep inside.

Davie sighed, he had thought of giving the boss a hiding just in case he had laid a hand on Mali but what useful purpose would that serve? It would put Davie out of his home as well as out of a job and so he bit on his temper hard.

Mr Richardson was in his shirt sleeves now for all the world as if he was going to do an honest day’s graft, he who had never lifted a shovel in his life. Yet he was not soft, Davie gave him full credit for guts.

‘Morning, Davie.’ Sterling stood beside Davie now, his eyes level. ‘Hope your family are well.’

Davie nodded, touching the forelock of damp hair that clung to his brow. ‘My girl’s doing fine, office worker now she is, but I ’spects you know that.’

Sterling glanced away. ‘Don’t take that tone with me, Davie,’ he said harshly and Davie felt rage flame through him.

‘Then keep away from my girl, is it?’

The two men stared at each other for a long moment in silence and both knew that Sterling could have the last word if he wished.

‘How would you like to try a new job?’ Sterling spoke at last. It was clear that Mr Richardson meant to ignore the clash between them and Davie took a deep breath, determined to follow suit.

‘What job is that?’

‘Manufacturing zinc wire, it would mean an increase in wages.’

‘Sounds all right to me.’ Davie tried hard to keep the excitement out of his voice, it didn’t do to appear too eager.

‘That’s settled then, you might as well finish off your shift here and then tomorrow go into the foundry, I think you’ll find the work not quite so arduous.’

He moved away along the rows of furnaces, stopping to talk to a few of the other men and Davie turned back to the furnace, dipping his ladle, lifting it with renewed energy, knowing that after this shift, he would not be doing it again.

‘One of the chosen then are you?’ Will Owens’ voice grated on Davie and he glanced over his shoulder quickly, his temper rising.

‘What’s it to you, you cocky young swine?’ he said. ‘Don’t you think you’d have jumped at the chance if it had been offered to you instead of me?’

Will Owens was not deterred. ‘But it wasn’t offered to me, was it? Must be a reason for it, something the rest of us don’t know about. The boss gives you a way out of this hell hole on a plate and better wages to boot and you’ve got the nerve to call me a songbird. Well I say there’s something here that stinks to high heaven.’

Davie emptied his ladle, suddenly weary of the fight. ‘Get back to work, boyo,’ he said, ‘jealousy won’t get you anywhere, so shut your mouth for now and if it’s quarrelling you want, I’ll see you outside, later.’

As the morning wore on, Davie grew more and more exultant, he was to have a rise in wages. He could buy Rosa some fripperies and perhaps a little gift for Mali, something that would bring the smile to her eyes once more.

Matters would soon right themselves, he thought hopefully, Mali would grow used to Rosa and perhaps begin to show the girl how to keep house, for she’d never been given the chance to look after a place of her own and so couldn’t be blamed for not living up to Mali’s idea of cleanliness.

As if he had brought her to the works with the force of his thoughts, Davie looked up and saw Mali standing uncertainly in the doorway.

‘Hang on boys,’ he said to the men around him, ‘I’m just going to see my little girl for a minute, won’t be long.’

Davie was glad that Mr Richardson had long since left the sheds for the last thing he wanted was a meeting between the owner and Mali. He had sensed the mutual liking between the two of them but surely now Davie’d issued yet another warning, the copper boss would keep his distance?

‘Hello, cariad,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’

Mali smiled up at him and she seemed more like her old self than she had been in a long time.

‘There’s a silly question,’ she said. ‘What do you think this is I’m carrying, Scotch mist?’ She held the package out to him.

‘There’s some food for you Dad, I’ve been awful to you letting you go without these past weeks and I’m sorry. Been worried about you the last few days, seen you growing thinner, I have. But I’m going to make it up to you.’

He looked down at her and love for his daughter welled inside him. She looked sweet and fresh in her neat blouse and plain skirt.

‘Duw that looks nice, cariad.’ He had drawn aside the paper and was looking down at a brown, crusty pie. ‘Smells like angel food, my mouth is watering.’

He smiled at her. ‘How’s work then and how come you’ve been let out to see me?’ Mali’s eyes shone with pride.

‘Mr Waddington leaves it mostly to me to see to the office these days. He’s not so well, chest is bad you see and he trusts me to carry on while he’s away.’

‘Good girl,’ Davie said, ‘I’m proud of you.’

He thought of telling her his own news about the new job but then perhaps Rosa should be the first to know. His daughter was an independent woman now; he burned with pride.

‘I’d best get back cariad,’ Davie said, ‘I’ll eat the pie on my next break but for now I’d best work or the other boyos on the gang will be calling me a shirker.’ He waved to Mali and watched her walking away. Her steps were slow, without spring, and he wondered if she could be sickening for some illness or other.

He was soon back into the swing of his work again, dipping his ladle into the burning, molten copper that swirled like a blood-red river, shimmering with a heat that almost scorched his face as he carried his burden, straining, to the mould.

But he felt lighter in spirit than he’d done for some time, for Mali was softening, perhaps even beginning to accept Rosa as part of the household. He looked forward to going home after his shift and telling them both that tomorrow he was to be moved into the foundry.

What happened then was never clear to him, for one minute he was walking along, keeping his place in the circle of men and the next there was a warning cry from Will Owens behind him.

It was as though a mule had kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling onto the wetness of the floor, his arms spreadeagled, his face in the dirt.

Then came the pain, searing, agonising; he heard a hoarse voice cry out and knew it was his own. There was the awful stench of burning flesh and the cloth of his trousers was suddenly aflame.

His voice rose to a scream as the pain flared through his crotch but his throat was thick with the shock and he could scarcely breathe. He prayed he might lose consciousness but he was acutely aware of the hard floor beneath his chest and the sea of boots that were suddenly standing round him and the appalled, unbelieving silence of his fellow workers.

‘Jesus, get a doctor someone,’ a voice above him said. Davie’s eyes glazed over as sweat from his brow ran into them. He seemed to be enveloped in fire from head to foot, he was afraid to move, terrified of what he would see. One of the men held a bottle to his lips and it smelled of gin and he drank from it deeply, praying for the pain to lessen.

But the agony did not go away and after a while, he reached out and his fingers did not encounter flesh but fastly cooling metal that was settling into his body, swiftly becoming part of it.

He felt his eyes roll back in his head. ‘Help me, for God’s sake help me.’ He thought he shouted the words but they came from his lips in a series of small moans that sounded unintelligible even to his own ears. Yet someone heard and understood for the next moment, a large fist crashed down upon his head and Davie fell into deep, merciful blackness.

He did not know how much later it was when he opened his eyes, perhaps hours, perhaps days, but he did know he was in the infirmary. He was lying on his stomach on a crisp clean bed and outside, he could hear the rush of the tide upon the beach.

Voices were speaking at a great distance. Dimly, he saw shadowy white figures, he heard a word spoken crisply and firmly and tried to understand it.

‘Amputation.’ The voice died away as he moved his head. It sounded again, much quieter but still clear enough for him to hear it.

‘Not much else to be done, the poor fellow’s scarcely a man any more.’

With a terrible dread, Davie remembered the pain in his back and running through his groin as the metal bit deep into his flesh. Panic flared within him and suddenly he was vomiting uncontrollably.

He felt someone place a cool hand upon his forehead; his mind cleared and he felt again the searing agony of the molten copper running over him. He tried to get up but gentle hands pushed him back against the pillow.

‘What’s happening to me?’ He stared at the nurse whose long veil hung over her cheeks, concealing her expression. She held a small cup containing medication and put it carefully against his lips.

‘Just take this, Mr Llewelyn,’ she said softly. ‘It will ease the pain and help you to sleep.’ She seemed to be smiling at him encouragingly but he turned his head away and looked through the window.

‘But I don’t want to sleep, it’s still daylight.’ His voice was scarcely more than a croak and the nurse shook her head at him.

‘Don’t try to talk, you’ve had a very bad shock, you need to rest so that you’ll recover all the more quickly. Now, take this medicine for me, there’s a good man.’

Davie drank the bitter liquid and lay his cheek against the pillow, exhausted with the effort. The pain in his back was intense, it was as though flames were licking over him.

‘I’m going to die,’ he said in a whisper and the nurse took his fingers in hers, smoothing the back of his head with infinite gentleness.

‘You will be all right, so there’s no need to go feeling morbid, I won’t have that sort of talk in my ward, do you understand me?’ She rose to her feet and smiled down at him, smoothing the creases out of her stiff apron.

‘You’ll soon be asleep and that’s the best cure we know for healing the body. It will take a bit of time, but we’ll have you sitting up and feeling sprightly before long, don’t you worry.’

When she had gone, Davie turned his head and looked along the row of beds stretching away down the ward. It was deathly quiet, a place where only the very sick were housed.

‘Sweet Jesus, what’s to become of me?’ He sighed wearily and lay his head on the softness of the pillow. Almost of their own accord, his hands began to fumble beneath the bedclothes and his searching fingers encountered heavy bandaging on the lower part of his body. He remembered then, the half-whispered word ‘amputation’.

‘Oh, God, not that,’ he said and like a baby, he began to cry.