second bed, set at right angles to theirs, Jack and Jim lay side by side. Of Jim, there was nothing to be seen but a lump under the blankets, but the sunlight that streamed through the window in broad bands made Jackâs sleeping face look younger and more childish than ever.
It was probably just as well he was going back to school, thought Ted; Jack wasnât really cut out for working at the pit. Mam had been right about that. And Ted wasnât even sure he wanted him there. The men could be very crude sometimes, and although he was less than two years older than his brother, he felt oddly protective of him.
Ted lay back, pillowing his head on his arms, and thinking back to the day he had started work at South Hill Pit. Heâd been proud, so proud, swinging down the hill with his father and brothers, his sandwiches tied in a clean red handkerchief and his can of cold tea banging against his thigh.
He hadnât minded the ribbing heâd taken from the men. He hadnât even minded at first that he was only working on the screens, sorting coal, hour after tedious hour. It was enough that he could no longer be termed a schoolboy, and that at the end of the week he would collect his first wages. But soon boredom set in, and Ted was looking for ways to make the day pass more quickly and raise a laugh.
Before long he had a reputation not unlike the one he had in the rank. And one day he had played a prank that made him chuckle even now to think of it.
On his way to work, he found a pair of pink flannel bloomers in a bush. How they had got there, he could not imagine, but Ted did not stop to investigate. Seeing the fun to be had, he rolled them up and took them to the pit with him. During a lull in the morningâs work, he pulled them on over his pit trousers and pranced about, pretending to be the bow-legged wife of the gaffer. The other lads fell about laughing, until the gaffer came over to investigate.
He had no way of proving that the caricature was of his wife, but Ted knew he suspected and should have been warned. But typically, he took little notice. He stuffed the bloomers under a tub, until later in the day he managed to get behind one of the hauliers who was waiting for a load of coal, and then pinned them to his jacket.
The haulier was blissfully unaware of what had happened. He strutted about the yard, only mildly puzzled by the hoots of laughter that followed him. Then, when his cart was loaded, he drove off, the bloomers blowing behind him. Ted and the other lads thought it so funny they hardly took gaffer seriously when he came over and told Ted furiously that was the last trick he would play under his control.
Just how serious he was, however, Ted learned that evening when James got home.
He came in, white with anger, and called Ted into the kitchen.
âIâve never been so ashamed in all my life!â he told him. âOâHalloran himself sent for me when I came up this afternoon, and told me the gaffer canât do a thing with you. He was all for getting rid of you there and then as a trouble-maker, but as a favour to me, youâre getting another chance. Youâre starting underground tomorrow, as my carting boy, but if you donât behave yourself, thatâll be it.â
Ted said nothing. He was sorry his father had taken a carpeting over something that was not his fault, but he was not sorry to be going undergroundâhe had been looking forward to it. And he knew, from the very first moment when the cage began its descent through the dank earth, taking him to the seams where coal was hewed, that he would never regret pinning the bloomers on the haulier and getting on the wrong side of the gaffer.
Carting was painful, he soon discovered. It was hot, sweaty work, and there were times when so many parts of his body ached that he could hardly separate one from the other. But it had its compensations. Scraped knees and a raw waist were a small price to pay
It was probably just as well he was going back to school, thought Ted; Jack wasnât really cut out for working at the pit. Mam had been right about that. And Ted wasnât even sure he wanted him there. The men could be very crude sometimes, and although he was less than two years older than his brother, he felt oddly protective of him.
Ted lay back, pillowing his head on his arms, and thinking back to the day he had started work at South Hill Pit. Heâd been proud, so proud, swinging down the hill with his father and brothers, his sandwiches tied in a clean red handkerchief and his can of cold tea banging against his thigh.
He hadnât minded the ribbing heâd taken from the men. He hadnât even minded at first that he was only working on the screens, sorting coal, hour after tedious hour. It was enough that he could no longer be termed a schoolboy, and that at the end of the week he would collect his first wages. But soon boredom set in, and Ted was looking for ways to make the day pass more quickly and raise a laugh.
Before long he had a reputation not unlike the one he had in the rank. And one day he had played a prank that made him chuckle even now to think of it.
On his way to work, he found a pair of pink flannel bloomers in a bush. How they had got there, he could not imagine, but Ted did not stop to investigate. Seeing the fun to be had, he rolled them up and took them to the pit with him. During a lull in the morningâs work, he pulled them on over his pit trousers and pranced about, pretending to be the bow-legged wife of the gaffer. The other lads fell about laughing, until the gaffer came over to investigate.
He had no way of proving that the caricature was of his wife, but Ted knew he suspected and should have been warned. But typically, he took little notice. He stuffed the bloomers under a tub, until later in the day he managed to get behind one of the hauliers who was waiting for a load of coal, and then pinned them to his jacket.
The haulier was blissfully unaware of what had happened. He strutted about the yard, only mildly puzzled by the hoots of laughter that followed him. Then, when his cart was loaded, he drove off, the bloomers blowing behind him. Ted and the other lads thought it so funny they hardly took gaffer seriously when he came over and told Ted furiously that was the last trick he would play under his control.
Just how serious he was, however, Ted learned that evening when James got home.
He came in, white with anger, and called Ted into the kitchen.
âIâve never been so ashamed in all my life!â he told him. âOâHalloran himself sent for me when I came up this afternoon, and told me the gaffer canât do a thing with you. He was all for getting rid of you there and then as a trouble-maker, but as a favour to me, youâre getting another chance. Youâre starting underground tomorrow, as my carting boy, but if you donât behave yourself, thatâll be it.â
Ted said nothing. He was sorry his father had taken a carpeting over something that was not his fault, but he was not sorry to be going undergroundâhe had been looking forward to it. And he knew, from the very first moment when the cage began its descent through the dank earth, taking him to the seams where coal was hewed, that he would never regret pinning the bloomers on the haulier and getting on the wrong side of the gaffer.
Carting was painful, he soon discovered. It was hot, sweaty work, and there were times when so many parts of his body ached that he could hardly separate one from the other. But it had its compensations. Scraped knees and a raw waist were a small price to pay