JOE: Ye’.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ what then?

  JOE: Th’ wringer gen me a rap ower th’arm, an’ that’s a’.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ tha reported it as a accident?

  JOE: It wor accident, worn’t it? I niver did it a’purpose.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But a pit accident.

  JOE: Well, an’ what else wor’t? It wor a h’accident I got i’ th’ pit, i’ th’ sta’ wheer I wor workin’.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But not while tha wor workin’.

  JOE: What by that? — it wor a pit accident as I got i’ th’ stall.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But tha didna tell ‘em how it happened.

  JOE: I said some stuff fell on my arm, an’ brok’ it. An’ worna that trew?

  MRS GASCOIGNE: It wor very likely trew enough, lad, if on’y they’d ha’ believed it.

  JOE: An they would ha’ believed it, but for Hewett bully-raggin’ Bettesworth ‘cos he knowed he was a chappil man. (He imitates the underground manager, Hewett, and Bettesworth, a butty.) “About this accident, Bettesworth. How exactly did it occur?” “I couldn’t exactly say for certing, sir, because I wasn’t linkin’.” “Then tell me as near as you can.” “Well, Mester, I’m sure I don’t know.” “That’s curious, Bettesworth — I must have a report. Do you know anything about it, or don’t you? It happened in your stall; you’re responsible for it, and I’m responsible for you.” “Well, Gaffer, what’s right’s right, I suppose, ter th’ mesters or th’ men. An’ ‘e wor conjurin’ a’ snap-time wi’ a pick-heft an’ a wringer, an’ the wringer catched ‘im ower th’ arm.” “I thought you didn’t know!” “I said for certain — I didn’t see exactly how ‘twas done.”

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Hm.

  JOE: Bettesworth ‘ud non ha’ clat-fasted but for nosy Hewett. He says, “Yo know, Joseph, when he says to me, ‘Do you know anything about that haccident?’ — then I says to myself, ‘Take not the word of truth hutterly outer thy mouth.’“

  MRS GASCOIGNE: If he took a bit o’ slaver outen’s mouth, it ‘ud do.

  JOE: So this mornin’ when I went ter th’ office, Mester Salmon he com out an’ said: “‘Ow did this haccident occur, Joseph?” and I said, “Some stuff fell on’t.” So he says, “Stuff fell on’t, stuff fell on’t! You mean coal or rock or what?” So I says, “Well, it worn’t a thipenny bit.” “No,” he says, “but what was it?” “It wor a piece o’ clunch,” I says. “You don’t use clunch for wringers,” he says, “do you?” “The wringin’ of the nose bringeth forth blood,” I says —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Why, you know you never did. (She begins making a pudding.)

  JOE: No — b’r I’d ha’ meant t’r’a done.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: We know thee! Tha’s done thysen one i’ th’ eye this time. When dost think tha’ll iver get ter be a butty, at this rate? There’s Luther nowt b’r a day man yet.

  JOE: I’d as lief be a day man as a butty, i’ pits that rat-gnawed there’s hardly a stall worth havin’; an’ a company as ‘ud like yer ter scrape yer tabs afore you went home, for fear you took a grain o’ coal.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Maybe — but tha’s got ter get thy livin’ by ‘em.

  JOE: I hanna. I s’ll go to Australia.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha’lt do no such thing, while I’m o’ this earth.

  JOE: Ah, but though, I shall — else get married, like our Luther.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: A fat sight better off tha’lt be for that.

  JOE: You niver know, Mother, dun yer?

  MRS GASCOIGNE: You dunna, me lad — not till yer find yerself let in. Marriage is like a mouse-trap, for either man or woman. You’ve soon come to th’ end o’ th’ cheese.

  JOE: Well, ha’ef a loaf’s better nor no bread.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Why, wheer’s th’ loaf as tha’d like ter gnawg a’ thy life?

  JOE: Nay, nowhere yet.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, dunna thee talk, then. Tha’s done thysen harm enow for one day, wi’ thy tongue.

  JOE: An’ good as well, Mother — I’ve aten my dinner, a’most.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ swilled thy belly afore that, methinks.

  JOE: Niver i’ this world!

  MRS GASCOIGNE: And I’ve got thee to keep on ten shillin’s a wik club-money, han I?

  JOE: Tha needna, if ter doesna want. Besides, we s’ll be out on strike afore we know wheer we are.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: I’m sure. You’ve on’y bin in —

  JOE: Now, Mother, spit on thy hands an’ ta’e fresh hold. We s’ll be out on strike in a wik or a fortnit —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Strike’s a’ they’re fit for — a pack o’ slutherers as . . .

  Her words tail off as she goes into pantry.

  JOE (to himself): Tha goes chunterin’ i’ th’ pantry when somebody’s at th’ door. (Rises, goes to door.)

  MRS PURDY’S VOICE: Is your mother in?

  JOE: Yi, ‘er’s in right enough.

  MRS PURDY: Well, then, can I speak to her?

  JOE (calling): Mrs Purdy wants ter speak to thee, Mother.

  MRS GASCOIGNE crosses the kitchen heavily, with a dripping-pan; stands in doorway.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Good afternoon.

  MRS PURDY: Good afternoon.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Er — what is it?

  MRS PURDY enters. She is a little fat, red-faced body in bonnet and black cape.

  MRS PURDY: I wanted to speak to yer rather pertickler.

  MRS GASCOIGNE (giving way): Oh, yes?

  ALL THREE enter the kitchen. MRS PURDY stands near the door.

  MRS PURDY (nodding at JOE): Has he had a haccident?

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Broke his arm.

  MRS PURDY: Oh my! that’s nasty. When did ‘e do that?

  MRS GASCOIGNE: A wik sin’ to-day.

  MRS PURDY: In th’ pit?

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Yes — an’s not goin’ to get any accident pay — says as ‘e worn’t workin’; he wor foolin’ about.

  MRS PURDY: T-t-t-t! Did iver you know! I tell you what, missis, it’s a wonder they let us live on the face o’ the earth at all — it’s a wonder we don’t have to fly up i’ th’ air like birds.

  JOE: There’d be a squark i’ th’ sky then!

  MRS PURDY: But it is indeed. It’s somethink awful. They’ve gave my mester a dirty job o’ nights, at a guinea a week, an’ he’s worked fifty years for th’ company, an’ isn’t but sixty-two now — said he wasn’t equal to stall-workin’, whereas he has to slave on th’ roads an’ comes whoam that tired he can’t put’s food in’s mouth.

  JOE: He’s about like me.

  MRS PURDY: Yis. But it’s no nice thing, a guinea a week.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, that’s how they’re servin’ ‘em a’ round — widders’ coals stopped — leadin’ raised to four-an’-eight — an’ ivry man niggled down to nothink.

  MRS PURDY: I wish I’d got that Fraser strung up by th’ heels — I’d ma’e his sides o’ bacon rowdy.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: He’s put a new manager to ivry pit, an’ ivry one a nigger-driver.

  MRS PURDY: Says he’s got to economise — says the company’s not a philanthropic concern —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But ta’es twelve hundred a year for hissen.

  MRS PURDY: A mangy bachelor wi’ ‘is iron-men.

  JOE: But they wunna work.

  MRS PURDY: They say how he did but coss an’ swear about them American Cutters. I should like to see one set outer ‘im — they’d work hard enough rippin’s guts out — even iron’s got enough sense for that. (She suddenly subsides.)

  There is a pause.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: How do you like living down Nethergreen?

  MRS PURDY: Well — we’re very comfortable. It’s small, but it’s handy, an’ sin’ the mester’s gone down t’a guinea —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: It’ll do for you three.

  MRS PURDY: Yes.

  Another pause.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: The men are comin’ out again, they say.

  MRS PURDY: Isn’t it summat sickenin’? Well, I’ve werritted an’ werritted till I’m soul-sick —

  JOE: It sends yer that thin an’ threadbare, y’have ter stop sometime.

  MRS PURDY: There can be as much ache in a motherly body as in bones an’ gristle, I’m sure o’ that.

  JOE: Nay, I’m more than bones an’ gristle.

  MRS PURDY: That’s true as the day.

  Another long pause.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ how have yer all bin keepin’?

  MRS PURDY: Oh, very nicely — except our Bertha.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Is she poorly, then?

  MRS PURDY: That’s what I com ter tell yer. I niver knowed a word on’t till a Sat’day, nor niver noticed a thing. Then she says to me, as white as a sheet, “I’ve been sick every morning, Mother,” an’ it com across me like a shot from a gun. I sunk down i’ that chair an’ couldna fetch a breath. — An’ me as prided myself! I’ve often laughed about it, an’ said I was thankful my children had all turned out so well, lads an’ wenches as well, an’ said it was a’cause they was all got of a Sunday — their father was too drunk a’ Saturday, an’ too tired o’ wik-days. An’ it’s a fact, they’ve all turned out well, for I’d allers bin to chappil. Well, I’ve said it for a joke, but now it’s turned on me. I’d better ha’ kep’ my tongue still.

  JOE: It’s not me, though, missis. I wish it wor.

  MRS PURDY: There’s no occasions to ma’e gam’ of it neither, as far as I can see. The youngest an’ the last of ‘em as I’ve got, an’ a lass as I liked, for she’s simple, but she’s good-natured, an’ him a married man. Thinks I to myself, “I’d better go to’s mother, she’ll ha’e more about ‘er than’s new wife — for she’s a stuck-up piece o’ goods as ever trod.”

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Why, what d’yer mean?

  MRS PURDY: I mean what I say — an’ there’s no denyin’ it. That girl — well, it’s nigh on breakin’ my heart, for I’m that short o’ breath. (Sighs.) I’m sure!

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Why don’t yer say what yer mean?

  MRS PURDY: I’ve said it, haven’t I? There’s my gal gone four month wi’ childt to your Luther.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Nay, nay, nay, missis! You’ll never ma’e me believe it.

  MRS PURDY: Glad would I be if I nedna. But I’ve gone through it all since Sat’day on. I’ve wanted to break every bone in ‘er body — an’ I’ve said I should on’y be happy if I was scraightin’ at ‘er funeral — an’ I’ve said I’d wring his neck for ‘im. But it doesn’t alter it — there it is — an’ there it will be. An’ I s’ll be a grandmother where my heart heaves, an’ maun drag a wastrel baby through my old age. An’ it’s neither a cryin’ nor a laughin’ matter, but it’s a matter of a girl wi’ child, an’ a man six week married.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But our Luther never went wi’ your Bertha. How d’you make it out?

  MRS PURDY: Yea, yea, missis — yea indeed.

  JOE: Yi, Mother, he’s bin out wi’ ‘er. She wor pals wi’ Liza Ann Varley, as went out wi’ Jim Horrocks. So Jim he passed Bertha onter our Luther. Why, I’ve had many a glass wi’ the four of ‘em, i’ “Th’ Ram”.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: I niver knowed nowt o’ this afore.

  JOE: Tha doesna know ivrythink, Mother.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ it’s well I don’t, methinks.

  JOE: Tha doesna want, neither.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, I dunno what we’re goin’ to do, missis. He’s a young married man.

  MRS PURDY: An’ she’s a girl o’ mine.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: How old is she?

  MRS PURDY: She wor twenty-three last September.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Well then, I sh’d ‘a thought she’d ha’ known better.

  MRS PURDY: An’ what about him, missis, as goes and gets married t’r another fine madam d’rectly after he’s been wi’ my long lass?

  JOE: But he never knowed owt about.

  MRS PURDY: He’d seen th’ blossom i’ flower, if he hadna spotted the fruit a-comin’.

  JOE: Yi — but —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Yi but what?

  JOE: Well — you dunna expect — ivry time yer cast yer bread on th’ wathers, as it’ll come whoam to you like.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, I dunno what we’re goin’ to do.

  MRS PURDY: I thought I’d better come to you, rather than —

  JOE: Ah, you non want it gettin’ about — an’ she’d best not know — if it can be helped.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: I can’t see for why.

  MRS PURDY: No indeed — a man as plays fast an’ loose first wi’ one an’ then goes an’ marries another stuck-up piece . . .

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ a wench as goes sittin’ i’ “Th’ Ram” wi th’ fellers mun expect what she gets, missis.

  MRS PURDY: ‘Appen so, ‘appen so. An’ th’ man maun abide by what he’s gi’en.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: I dunno what we’re goin’ to do!

  JOE: We’d best keep it as quiet as we can.

  MRS PURDY: I thinks to mysen, “It’ll non become me to go an’ jack up a married couple, for if he’s at fault, it’s her as ‘ud ha’e ter suffer.” An’ though she’s haughty, I knowed her mother, as nice a body as ever stept, an’ treated scandylos by Jim Hetherington. An’, thinks I, she’s a horphan, if she’s got money, an’ nobbut her husband i’ th’ world. Thinks I to mysen it’s no good visitin’ it on ‘er head, if he’s a villain. For whatever th’ men does, th’ women maun ma’e up for. An’ though I do consider as it’s nowt b’r a dirty trick o’ his’n to ta’e a poor lass like my long thing, an’ go an’ marry a woman wi’ money —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Woman wi’ money, an’ peace go wi’ ‘er, ‘er an’ ‘er money! What she’s got, she’ll keep, you take my word for it, missis.

  MRS PURDY: Yes, an’ she’s right of it.

  JOE: Nay, Mother, she’s non close.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Isn’t she? — oh, isn’t she? An’ what is she then? All she wanted was as much for her money as she could get. An’ when she fun as nob’dy was for sale but our Luther, she says, “Well, I’ll take it.”

  JOE: Nay, it worna like that — it wor him as wor that come-day-go-day —

  MRS PURDY: God send Sunday.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ what more canna man do, think yer, but ax a woman? When has thee ever done as much?

  JOE: No, I hanna, ‘cos I’ve niver seen th’ woman as I wanted to say “snap” — but he slormed an’ she —

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Slormed! Thee slorm but one fiftieth part to any lass thee likes, an’ see if ‘er’s not all over thee afore tha’s said six words. Slormed! ‘Er wor that high an’ mighty, ‘er wanted summat bett’nor ‘im.

  JOE: Nay — I reckon he niver showed the spunk of a sprat-herring to ‘er.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: Did thee show any more? Hast iver done? Yet onybody ‘ud think tha wor for marryin’ ‘er thysen.

  JOE: If I’d ha’ bin for marryin’ ‘er, I’d ha’ gone wholesale, not ha’ fudged and haffled.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: But tha worna for marryin’ neither ‘er nor nobody.

  JOE: No, I worna.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: No, tha worna.

  There is a long pause. The mother turns half apologetically, half explanatorily, to MRS PURDY.

  It’s like this ‘ere, missis, if you’ll not say nothink about it — sin’ it’s got to come out atween us. He courted Minnie Hetherington when she wor at her uncle’s, at th’ “Bell o’ Brass”, an’ he wor nowt bu’r a lad o’ twenty-two, an’ she twenty-one. An’ he wor gone on ‘er right enow. Then she had that row wi’ ‘er uncle, for she wor iver overbearin’ an’ chancy. Then our Luther says to me, “I s’ll ax ‘er to marry me, Mother,” an’ I says: “Tha pleases thysen, but ter my thinkin’ tha’rt a sight too young an’ doesna know thy own mind.” Howsoever, much notice ‘e takes o’ me.

  JOE: He took a lot o’ notice on thee, tha knows well enough.

  MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ for what shouldn’t he? Hadn’t I bin a good mother to ‘im i’ ivry shape an’ form? Let her make him as good a wife as I made him a mother! Well — we’ll see. You’ll see him repent the day. But they’re not to be bidden. An’ so, missis, he did ax ‘er, as ‘e’d said ‘e should. But hoity-toity an’ no thank yer, she wasna for havin’ him, but mun go an’ be a nursery governess up i’ Manchester. Thinks I to myself, she’s after a town johnny, a Bertie-Willie an’ a yard o’ cuffs. But he kep’ on writin’ to ‘er, now an’ again — an’ she answered — as if she wor standin’ at top of a flight of steps —

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626 627 628 629 630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637 638 639 640 641 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 649 650 651 652 653 654 655 656 657 658 659 660 661 662 663 664 665 666 667 668 669 670 671 672 673 674 675 676 677 678 679 680 681 682 683 684 685 686 687 688 689 690 691 692 693 694 695 696 697 698 699 700 701 702 703 704 705 706 707 708 709 710 711 712 713 714 715 716 717 718 719 720 721 722 723 724 725 726 727 728 729 730 731 732 733 734 735 736 737 738 739 740 741 742 743 744 745 746 747 748 749 750 751 752 753 754 755 756 757 758 759 760 761 762 763 764 765 766 767 768 769 770 771 772 773 774 775 776 777 778 779 780 781 782 783 784 785 786 787 788 789 790 791 792 793 794 795 796 797 798 799 800 801 802 803 804 805 806 807 808 809 810 811 812 813 814 815 816 817 818 819 820 821 822 823 824 825 826 827 828 829 830 831 832 833 834 835 836 837 838 839 840 841 842 843 844 845 846 847 848 849 850 851 852 853 854 855 856 857 858 859 860 861 862 863 864 865 866 867 868 869 870 871 872 873 874 875 876 877 878 879 880 881 882 883 884 885 886 887 888 889 890 891 892 893 894 895 896 897 898 899 900 901 902 903 904 905 906 907 908 909 910 911 912 913 914 915 916 917 918 919 920 921 922 923 924 925 926 927 928 929 930 931 932 933 934 935 936 937 938 939 940 941 942 943 944 945 946 947 948 949 950 951 952 953 954 955 956 957 958 959 960 961 962 963 964 965 966 967 968 969 970 971 972 973 974 975 976 977 978 979 980 981 982 983 984 985 986 987 988 989 990 991 992 993 994 995 996 997 998 999 1000 1001 1002 1003 1004 1005 1006 1007 1008 1009 1010 1011 1012 1013 1014 1015 1016 1017 1018 1019 1020 1021 1022 1023 1024 1025 1026 1027 1028 1029 1030 1031 1032 1033 1034 1035 1036 1037 1038 1039 1040 1041 1042 1043 1044 1045 1046 1047 1048 1049 1050 1051 1052 1053 1054 1055 1056 1057 1058 1059 1060 1061 1062 1063 1064 1065 1066 1067 1068 1069 1070 1071 1072 1073 1074 1075 1076 1077 1078 1079 1080 1081 1082 1083 1084 1085 1086 1087 1088 1089 1090 1091 1092 1093 1094 1095 1096 1097 1098 1099 1100 1101 1102 1103 1104 1105 1106 1107 1108 1109 1110 1111 1112 1113 1114 1115 1116 1117 1118 1119 1120 1121 1122 1123 1124 1125 1126 1127 1128 1129 1130 1131 1132 1133 1134 1135 1136 1137 1138 1139 1140 1141 1142