A Mother's Gift (37 page)

Today was Sunday and her half-day. She didn’t always get a Sunday but today she did and it was a lovely late spring day and she planned to walk through the woods to the path along the top that led to Four Winds. She smiled in anticipation of the fresh air and the smell of the woods. Bluebells would be out; they always were at this time of the year. And there would be wild garlic and new grass and the newly half-unfurled leaves on the trees. Oh yes, life was treating her well just now even if there was still the awful open wound at the back of her mind which was the mourning for Georgina, not yet gone away. She doubted if it ever would. She had thought nothing could be worse than the suffering she had gone through when Billy and Grandda were killed but she had been wrong. The death of her lovely daughter was worse, much, much worse.

A porter came into the ward with a scuttle of coke to throw on the two potbellied stoves that stood in the middle of the ward. There was a rumour that they were going to install central heating but there had been no sign of it happening. Until it did, the patients were awakened at intervals day and night by the noise of the coke thudding into the stoves and the coal-tar smell of it. And the cleaner and nurses had to cope with the dust the stoves created. No one complained, most of the patients were used to the smell and were only grateful that they were having free treatment through Aneurin Bevan’s magical National Health. These were the wards that used to house: wounded prisoners-of-war, they were mainly pre-fabricated but more modern than the main blocks. Those had been part of the old workhouse; there were still some patients there from that time. The flotsam and jetsam of life, Kate thought sadly. Oh, for goodness sake, she told herself, think of something cheerful for a change.

Kate finished the floor and helped Penny to give out elevenses, cocoa and biscuits. One o’clock came round in no time at all and at last it was Kate’s half-day off. Going down the corridor to the cloakroom she almost bumped into Dr Blake, the Gynae houseman. He was just leaving Sister’s office carrying a bundle of patients’ notes.

‘You’re off then, Nurse,’ he said. Dr Blake was a fresh-faced man in his late twenties and aiming to be a gynaecologist sometime in the distant future. ‘Me too. If you hang on a minute I’ll give you a lift, I’m going that way.’

‘No thanks, Doctor,’ said Kate. ‘I’ve been promising myself a walk through the woods.’

‘Oh, well, then—’ he began but Kate interrupted.

‘Bye, Doctor,’ she said and hurried away before he could suggest anything else. It wasn’t the first time Dr Blake had shown an interest in her and she didn’t want to encourage him. She didn’t want to encourage any man, she had finished with men, she told herself, as she put on her uniform gabardine coat and pulled on the nurse’s outdoor cap. In no time at all she was walking down Escomb Road crossing through Cockton Hill to the path by the railway line that led to the woods.

Beneath the trees it was cool and fresh and the grass by the path green and damp. She strolled along, taking her time, revelling in being out in the fresh air, even picked a few bluebells to put on the kitchen windowsill.

‘Kate! Dorothy said you would be walking this way.’

Kate, in the act of picking a particularly long-stemmed bloom got to her feet and looked round. Robert had just come over the rise in the path and was striding towards her. His smile lit up his face and Kate felt an unexpected surge of pleasure at seeing him. Dear Robert, he was always the same.

‘Hello, Robert,’ she said. Her hands were full of bluebells so he patted her arm and fell in beside her.

‘I’ve brought my mother to see you,’ he said. (Why did he always feel he had to give a reason for visiting her? he wondered.) ‘It’s a nice ride out for her on a Sunday afternoon. I rang Dorothy and she said it was your half-day.’ Perhaps if he admitted it had been he who had wanted to
see
her, had come purposely to see her, she might shy away. She had been hurt so much. Not that he would hurt her, he would never do that. He loved her, he realised. He was simply waiting until he judged it was a good time to tell her. He had to be careful, he couldn’t bear to lose her.

‘It was nice of you to come to meet me,’ said Kate. She felt ridiculously happy to see him and it
was
ridiculous, wasn’t it? She was finished with men. Especially steel men, especially men from his family, especially … She turned her face away in case he saw the light in her eyes.

‘Not at all,’ said Robert formally, slightly rebuffed that she seemed to find the bluebells more interesting than he was. ‘I wanted a bit of fresh air anyway.’ She buried her nose in the bunch of flowers. She had been right to be cautious, she told herself. They walked on along the path at the top of the woods and the air seemed to her to be even sweeter in spite of the small rebuff, just because he was there.

All too soon they were crossing the road to Four Winds.

Mary Anne looked older, smaller and thinner. But her greeting was as warm and her smile as wide as it had ever been.

Kate took the bluebells through to the kitchen and put them in a plain glass vase and stood them on the windowsill.

‘They look nice there,’ observed Robert who had followed her through. He looked ready to dally and talk but Kate pushed past him.

‘We will go in to your mother,’ she said even though Mary Anne could be heard having a conversation with
Dorothy
about the embroidered cushions Dorothy had started making as a hobby.

The two women spent a pleasant afternoon chatting and drinking tea and Dorothy came in and sat with them after clearing the tea things. Robert sat apart, watching them and listening and only saying something when his opinion was asked. Mary Anne glanced at him often, noting the way he watched Kate, his expression unreadable. And she looked at Kate too. For the first time it occurred to her that there was some sort of a spark there and she wondered about it. Were they falling for each other? It was a novel idea to her but not really unwelcome. Except that she didn’t want Robert to be hurt.

‘Perhaps we should be on our way, Robert,’ she said, putting down her cup. ‘You know I wanted to drive up Weardale before going home.’

‘Oh, did you, Mother?’ He couldn’t actually remember her saying that but Weardale was a scenic ride out and why not go up there? His new pale blue Bristol car was a delight to drive anywhere. But it was a shame to leave Kate’s so soon when he had been looking forward to seeing her all morning. But there was nothing else for it.

Once in the car after saying their farewells Mary Anne turned to Robert. ‘Be careful, Son,’ she said.

‘What do you mean? I’m always a careful driver,’ he replied.

Mary Anne shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. Never mind, it’s probably nothing.’ She had had few worries with this eldest son of hers, and if she admitted the truth he was her favourite among her children. She didn’t want
him
to get into something that would only give him heartache.

‘Let’s go down by Winton Colliery,’ she said on a whim. ‘I’ve not seen it before.’

‘OK.’ Robert was quite willing. He drove down the hill and along past the old aerial flight engine house and the entrance to the bunny banks and on to the towering winding wheel and colliery buildings to the ends of the colliery rows. Turning the corner he parked opposite the back alley of West Row.

Mary Anne gazed at the little houses, each with a yard and coal house and earth closet with their iron sliding covers where the waste was shovelled out. Each cover bore the stamped imprint of Hamilton Ironworks. She gazed at the windows of the mean little houses, most of them shining clean and sparkling in the late sun and with dolly-dyed lace curtains hanging at them.

‘Why don’t we put flush toilets in them?’ she asked Robert. ‘For goodness sake, this is the second half of the twentieth century.’

‘We can’t, Mother; they don’t belong to us any more. The mines were nationalised, don’t you remember? The houses went with the mine.’

‘A jolly good thing too,’ said his mother. ‘I expect the government will do something about them now.’

‘Yes. Well, it certainly pleased the miners themselves. Seen enough?’ he asked and she nodded. He started the car and drove along the road to the end of the rows and past the pre-fabs, each in their own little plot of garden. Most of the gardens were bright with flowers and though
the
little houses were pre-fabricated they looked as though they belonged to a different age altogether from the pit rows.

They drove up the dale in the long evening twilight as far as Wearhead and Alston then returned by Teesdale. They were quiet now, both of them, each occupied with their own thoughts as the moors stretched out on either side of them, seeming to go on for ever. Mary Anne was wondering if Matthew had met Kate before he saw her in the hospital, perhaps when he was visiting Winton Colliery? She remembered that she had thought there was some gleam of recognition in his eyes that awful day when she had lost her baby and Kate had been a young girl on the ward. An extremely pretty young girl, she had to admit.

She glanced at Robert’s profile as he concentrated on keeping the car on the narrow road that went over the tops and down into Forest in Teesdale. Thank God Matthew was not his father. And the thought reminded her of Bertram and the usual niggle of worry that came to her every time the thought of her youngest son raised its ugly head.

KATE AND DOROTHY
decided to walk down to the village themselves after tea. Dorothy was getting slower and slower these days being troubled with her ‘rheumatics’.

‘I have to keep going though,’ she said determinedly. ‘Otherwise I’ll just seize up altogether.’ They walked slowly down as the birds sang their evening songs and Kate felt at peace with the world. At the entrance to the bunny banks they watched for rabbits and were delighted to see a couple nibbling at the grass before scudding for their holes as they noticed the intruders.

‘I’m surprised there’s any left after the way they were hunted during the war,’ Dorothy observed and they turned away to continue their walk.

They weren’t the only ones out on the road in the evening sunshine. Quite a few couples, some with young families, were walking up past the pit yard. As they passed the winding wheel whirred and the safety men spilled out of the cage. They were building pit-head baths, the building half finished already but for now the
men
had to walk home in their black as they had always done.

‘Evening, Missus,’ they said as they passed. ‘Grand evening.’

‘Lovely,’ the women chorused. Kate felt suddenly happy and it was so long since she had felt so happy that she didn’t at first recognise the feeling. But all that ended when a couple walking up the bank stopped in front of them.

‘Don’t June, leave it,’ the man said.

‘I will not leave it,’ his wife replied. ‘Why should I? I’ve been waiting long enough to tell the hussy a few home truths and now’s me chance.’

Kate stood stock-still. A family with two young children brushed past her but she barely moved. This was the confrontation she had been expecting for a long time and it had finally turned up. The happy feeling slid away and disintegrated into nothingness. She lifted her head and faced her brother’s wife.

‘Hello Willie,’ she said. ‘Hello June. Do you know Dorothy? Dorothy is my friend.’

‘Is she now!’ snapped June. ‘And there I thought she was your skivvy.’

‘Hey you, watch your tongue!’ Dorothy exclaimed. ‘Don’t you call me a skivvy.’

‘Well, what else are you?’ June demanded. ‘An old woman like you slaving after madam here; you should be on your pension and the likes of her looking after you.’

‘June,’ said Willie warningly but Dorothy was well able to take care of herself.

‘You don’t know what you are talking about, lady,’ she snapped. ‘Get out of our way or old woman as I am, I’ll make you.’

Kate had been frozen for a few moments but she suddenly caught hold of Dorothy’s arm as June began shouting invective. Dorothy felt her trembling and saw the look of gilt on her face. Good god, the poor lass thought she deserved all this! Ignoring June and her demented shouting she turned and led Kate back up the road to the house, walking steadily and holding on tight all the way. Glancing back over her shoulder she saw Willie doing the same thing with June but June was fighting against him.

When Dorothy and Kate got to the door it was Dorothy who found the key in Kate’s bag and opened it. She took her into the sitting-room and poured her a glass of brandy but Kate shook her head.

‘Come on, Kate, get a hold of yourself now,’ said Dorothy. ‘The brandy will do you good. No? Well, I’ll make a pot of tea. That’ll set you right.’

Dorothy went into the kitchen and busied herself with the tea. By, she thought, she could kill that woman with her bare hands.

Afterwards Kate hardly knew how she got back to Four Winds. If it hadn’t been for Dorothy she thought she might not have done. June had brought it all back: the horror of the pit disaster, losing Billy and her grandfather. How her grandmother had cast her off because of Matthew. When Dorothy made her a cup of cocoa she
drank
it obediently and went to bed though she was sure she wouldn’t sleep.

She did though, restlessly, her sleep punctuated by vivid dreams of the past. The time when she had opened the back door of the house in West Row and seen her grandmother working on a new mat, the mat frames propped on two chairs. The beautiful blue cloth she was working into a circle.