Careful not to waken Amy, Jude slipped out of bed and padded over to the crib to soothe Kezia’s wails. Gently, he lifted her to his shoulder, her breath dampening his ear and the heat from her tiny armpits warming his fingers. Sniffing and snuffling, she shuffled up his shoulder, her sharp little toes using his ribs as a ladder. As he walked the floorboards between window and door and back again, he pondered on what the future might hold for his little girl. Germany had invaded Belgium and Britain was at war.
Colliers were exempted from the call to arms, the country needing coal to fuel the vast furnaces that produced the metal for weapons and Amy delighted at knowing Jude wouldn’t be expected to volunteer but Jude didn’t share her opinion. As he gently lowered Kezia back into her crib he struggled with the concept of loyalty. Where did it lie: with family or king and country?
Later that day, it being a Sunday and the August weather exceedingly warm and sunny, Amy, Jude and Kezia went to Miller’s Dam for a picnic along with the Stitts. Whilst Maggie, Albert and Fred ran wild by the water and Kezia and Henry dozed in their prams, the adults lolled on the grass, Bert and Beattie with bottles of beer and Jude with his Sunday newspapers. Amy sat with little Mary on her lap and read Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.
Bert looked over Jude’s shoulder and harrumphed. ‘Bloody war, newspapers are full of it. Sarry Jevo’s wa’ nowt to do wi’ us and neither is bloody Belgium.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Where is Sarry Jevo anyway?’
Jude grinned. ‘It’s Sarajevo,’ he said, giving its correct pronunciation, ‘and it’s in the Balkans.’
‘Ball cans? I never heard of them either.’
‘I suppose we’ll hear of lots of places we’ve never thought about before,’ said Amy, her brow creasing as she rhymed off a list of countries. ‘We’re all involved and it’s going to get worse.’ She gave a little shudder and thought how apt the title of the book she was reading was.
Beattie gave Amy a withering look. ‘You’re a right wet blanket, you are. Like Bert says, them places are a million bloody miles from here. And anyway, we’ve nowt to worry about, it’s not as though Bert and Jude will have to go and fight.’
Amy smiled, secure in that knowledge.
*
The next night, as the lurching cage gravitated to the pit bottom in Barnborough Main, Jude sensed a feeling of loss and aggravation. Hal Sykes, Tommy Tinker and Jimmy Snell, none of them had turned up for this stint. Familiar faces, he’d grown used to the closeness of their bodies, the rank stink of Sykes’ breath, Snell’s irritating cough and Tommy Tinker’s wisecracks.
‘Where’s Tommy and the others?’ he asked Wally Hamby, although he already knew the answer. Wally, a muscular man in his fifties and head and shoulders shorter than Jude half-turned, speaking into Jude’s ribcage.
‘Joined up this morning, the silly buggers.’
‘Aye, answered Kitchener’s call,’ cackled an older man with a humped back.
The cage juddered to a stop. The colliers walked along the in-bye leading to the coalface, elbows knocking elbows where the tunnel narrowed and heads lowering or bodies bent double where the roof swooped down. Sharp flints crunched under their clogs. The shot-firers had opened new seams earlier that day, the air thick with dust. Brattices that directed the airflow hung like filthy curtains hiding the entrance to hell.
Jude stooped for the umpteenth time, his eyes on the cartwheel backs of two elderly miners in front of him. Would he end up like that, he wondered, or would he meet his end in a different country far away from the pit? Lost in thought, he raised his head too soon, his helmet clanking on the roof. He pushed it off his forehead, irritated not so much by his carelessness as the confusion that plagued his conscience.
At the coalface, Jude hacked at the seam. Coal shards flew in all directions, his manic vigour causing Willy Hamby to yell,’ Oy, Jude! Are you tryin’ to give Lloyd George all t’coal he wants in one day?’
Jude hacked all the harder. His mind made up, he knew what he was going to do.
*
‘But you don’t have to go. Colliers are exempt.’
Amy’s crossed arms hugged her shoulders as she rocked back and forth in anguish, her forlorn plea ringing in Jude’s ears. He gazed at her stricken face, her eyes wide with disbelief and reddened from crying. Jude’s heart went out to her.
‘I’ll be back before you know it. They’re saying it won’t last long.’
To Amy he sounded as though he was popping out for a jaunt. Her tears turned to anger. ‘Isn’t it enough that the poor Belgians are being massacred by the Germans without you losing your life? It’s not your war. You’re not a soldier,’ she cried.
‘No, but I am a man who knows what’s right. If we don’t stop the Germans we’ll end up like the Belgians.’
‘But you could be killed!’ Amy waved her clenched hands to add impact to her words, Jude catching hold of the little fists dancing before his eyes. Amy tore them free. ‘I never took you for a fool,’ she spat contemptuously.
‘I’m not being a fool, I’m doing my duty,’ Jude contradicted her, his words ringing with authority. Amy’s back visibly stiffened.
Jude placed his hands on her shoulders, and this time she did not pull away. He held her to his chest, shaken by the intensity of her outburst. ‘I want to go. I need to go. I wouldn’t think I was much of a man if I didn’t.’
‘But what if you don’t come back?’ Amy sagged against him.
A grimace twisted Jude’s lips. He looked as though he was about to laugh out loud.
‘When I go down the pit, do you spend the whole time worrying about me?’ he asked gently, his hot breath fanning Amy’s cheek.
Amy shook her head and whispered, ‘No.’
‘Then maybe you should,’ Jude said, stepping back to look at her. ‘You can’t have forgotten the accident at Barrow Pit – the cage released too soon, seven men dead at the bottom of the shaft. They weren’t even hewing coal where the real danger is. And what about the explosion at Wharnecliffe when nobody knew the gas was building up until a spark blew them all to kingdom come?’ He smiled cynically. ‘And you worry that I might get killed if I enlist. I could just as easily end up dead if I didn’t.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘And as for fighting the Germans – if we don’t, we might lose our freedom and all that we hold dear.’ He pointed to the ceiling above which Kezia slept. ‘I’m doing it for her.’
Amy quailed as the truth of his words hit home.
*
The kitchen door almost flew off its hinges as Beattie Stitt flounced in, her hair on end and a malevolent gleam in her eye. Amy groaned inwardly. She had slept badly, afraid to rest on the darkness of the night, and now she felt in no fit state to deal with one of her sister’s tantrums. Affecting calm, she carried on stirring the porridge. ‘Good morning, Beattie,’ she said.
‘Don’t good morning me.’ Beattie wagged a threatening finger. ‘Just who does that bloody husband of yours think he is?’
At a loss, Amy left off stirring and gave Beattie a quizzical glare. Beattie glared back. ‘That bloody husband of yours has persuaded my Bert to join up,’ she shrieked.
Amy felt a spurt of anger in her chest. Jude had obviously told Bert before he told her. She should have been the first he talked to so that they could make a rational decision as to whether or not he should join the army. Last night had ended in tears, Amy feeling as though her words were knocking against a brick wall, and Jude refusing to discuss it further.
‘I don’t like it any more than you do, Beattie, and when Jude comes home from work, we’re going to thrash it out reasonably.’ Amy spoke firmly but deep inside she felt no conviction.
‘How am I going to manage all them kids on me own?’ Beattie wailed. She burst into tears, her raucous crying that of a wounded animal as she tore at her greasy hair.
Amy took control of the situation. Clasping her sister in a tight embrace she forced her into a chair, the unpleasant odours emanating from Beattie’s armpits and hair quickly curtailing the sisterly hug. Then she grabbed the kettle. A strong cup of tea was in order. Still muttering at Jude’s betrayal, Beattie slumped at the table, her head on her forearms. Amy offered no words of comfort for she also felt betrayed. Yet, when she set down the cups of tea and sat at the table, she found herself repeating Jude’s reasons for going to war. There was little point in railing against the inevitable, she decided. What both women needed now was to be strong.
The tea worked its magic, Beattie’s sobs mere sniffles she peered over the rim of her cup. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a drop of summat strong to go in this tea.’
Reluctantly, Amy produced the brandy kept purely for medicinal purposes. The bottle was almost full. Beattie slopped a generous measure into her cup then drank deeply. ‘I’ll not manage on army pay,’ she moaned. ‘Lily Tinker says its nowt compared to what t’miners are earning now, what with all t’coal they need for t’war.’
Again, Amy found the voice of reason. She talked of duty to king and country, the need to support comrades, defend the nation against the Hun. She didn’t know if she truly believed it but she managed to calm Beattie who, having helped herself to several tipples of brandy, was feeling quite cheerful.
‘We’ll get by, Beattie, you’ll see,’ Amy said positively. ‘In wartime everyone suffers but we’ll manage. We’ll manage together. I’ll give you a hand with children.’
Amy didn’t know then how much she would come to regret this remark.
‘Aye, you’re right,’ said Beattie, pouring brandy into her empty cup. ‘And think on. No more mucky pit clothes to wash, nobody farting and breathing beer in your face when you’re in bed unless,’ she giggled girlishly, ‘unless of course you look for a bit of company now and then.’
‘Beattie Stitt! You are incorrigible,’ exclaimed Amy. Although she laughed out loud, she couldn’t help thinking that in Bert’s absence Beattie’s unseemly behaviour would further deteriorate.
Beattie stood, wobbling against the table. ‘I don’t suppose I can take this to steady me nerves,’ she asked, lifting the depleted brandy bottle. She tottered to the door.
Amy shook her head despairingly. She really must talk to Jude tonight.