The Nipper, page 2
The Galloway lifted its head, turned, paused a moment, and galloped towards him, mud and turf scudding as it came through a marshy patch. Then it was at the bar, its neck pressed hard against it, its lips moving over its teeth as if in wordless greeting, and its soft nose was thrust against his shoulder, once, twice, three times, and Sandy, his voice breaking, muttered, ‘I can’t lad. I can’t.’ But when again his shoulder was nudged he shook his head from side to side, glanced behind him towards the farm buildings and the cottage, where his mother was waiting for his help, and with a swift desperate movement dived under the bar, and gripping the long, glossy brown mane, swung himself up onto the little horse’s back, and they were off, galloping round the field, boy and animal as one.
When they came abreast of the gate again the pressure from his knees and a ‘Whoa, Nipper!’ brought the pony to a halt, and he slid from its back and stood for a moment, his head pressed tight against its flank. And now The Nipper turned its head and looked at him, then gave a small neigh, and Sandy stood back and said, ‘All right.’
It would be the last time he would ever put his friend through his paces. Holding out his hand as if in greeting and his words cracking in his throat, he said, ‘Hello there. How you keepin’?’ And The Nipper lifted his right foreleg and pawed twice. Now Sandy turned and, limping away, said, ‘Sore leg. Sore leg,’ and The Nipper followed him, giving a good imitation of walking on a damaged hoof.
Turning to him again, Sandy said in a voice that was little above a whisper, ‘Down and out. Down and out,’ and on this The Nipper lowered himself to the ground, fell on his side, closed his eyes and became inert.
It was too much. As Sandy gazed down on the motionless animal he could see it as the real thing. Perhaps shortly, if no farmer bought him, that was how The Nipper would look lying in the slaughterhouse; and there was little chance of any farmer buying him with the small farmers all being put out of business, their land being enclosed by the big farmers. And big farmers hadn’t much use for Galloways; they couldn’t pull the plough, and they weren’t big enough for the ladies’ gigs—such as The Nipper were only suitable for little traps like Miss Katie’s.
As he bent under the pole to run back towards the farm The Nipper’s voice followed him, neighing loudly now in protest because the game hadn’t been finished—he was always given a crust after the last trick.
When he reached the yard Sandy saw Bradshaw’s flat cart outside the cottage and, talking to the carrier, Jeff Telford.
Jeff Telford was a drover and in Sandy’s opinion a decent man, because unlike Billy Foggerty he didn’t take pleasure in the pain of animals.
When he approached them, Jeff Telford turned to him and said, ‘Hello there, lad,’ and Sandy replied briefly, ‘Hello.’ Although Jeff Telford was the lesser of two evils, he was still an evil.
The carrier now said, ‘Well, come on; let’s get your stuff loaded and away.’ And on this he disappeared into the cottage while Jeff Telford went towards the farmhouse. Disregarding his mother’s voice, Sandy quickly followed the drover and in a hurried whisper said, ‘Jeff, will…will you tell me where he goes, The Nipper?’ He jerked his head in the direction of the field, explaining further, ‘The young Galloway.’
Jeff Telford glanced back towards the cottage and muttered, ‘I’ve just promised your mother I’ll keep mum; an’ it would be better like that.’
‘Aw, Jeff, Jeff man; I only want to know where he goes.’
‘Well.’ Again Jeff glanced towards the cottage, then said quickly, ‘You’re moving over Hebburn way, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, Ballast Row; outside the town on the edge of the fell.’
Jeff Telford looked at him sadly, then said, ‘Ballast Row. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, lad; it’ll be a roof until you find somethin’ else. Anyway, I’ll be around yonder this day week; I’ll drop in.’
‘Thanks, Jeff.’ But now Sandy bit on his lip and he said, ‘But what’s the use? I’ll not be there; we’re going with the farm ganger fruit pickin’ up Low Fell way. I understand it’s a good six or seven miles each journey. Leave at half past four in the mornin’ they tell us, and you’re lucky if you get back at eight.’
Jeff Telford sighed, then said, ‘Well, I can’t do no more, lad. The next best thing I can say is, if there’s anybody around Ballast Row I’ll leave word with them; or, I tell you what.’ He stabbed him in the shoulder with his forefinger. ‘I’ll be driving the cattle from Hursthill Manor on Tuesday of next week. Now I could leave word with the young miss. I’ll likely see her about; she’s going into the dairy I hear.’
‘Yes…oh aye.’ Sandy nodded. ‘That’s an idea. Thanks, Jeff.’
‘Goodbye, lad; and the best of luck.’
As Sandy turned back towards the cottage it came to him that the only time he would be able to go and see Miss Katie at the Manor farm would be on a Sunday, and that was a whole week ahead.
He met his mother in the doorway. She had her arms spread wide carrying a drawer from the chest, and he saw by her face that she was in a temper, but he also saw that she was trying to suppress it and not vent it on him, for she pushed roughly past him towards the cart without a word.
He went into the cottage and the carter said, ‘Lend a hand here, lad,’ and he took one end of the chest of drawers. And so the loading went on. The two plank beds, the feather ticks, the trestle table, the high-backed armchair and the four wheel-backs; then the assortment of rough crockery, and lastly, the only ornaments in the house, a pair of china greyhounds with rabbits lying at their feet, and the Bible, which neither of them could read.
When the cottage was empty, Norah Gillespie took off her hessian apron, put her black shawl around her shoulders, and, after one long sad look round the room, she went to Sandy, where he was standing near the open door—he, too, taking his silent farewell of the place where he had been born—and she said gently, ‘Come, boy; we’ll say our goodbyes.’ And he turned and followed her.
In the yard she said to the carter, ‘We’ll catch you up, we’ll cut over the Fell,’ and he answered, ‘Right, missis.’
Side by side they now walked towards the farmhouse, there to see Farmer Blyth coming out of the kitchen door. The farmer was a man in his forties but he appeared old; his shoulders were stooped and his face lined. He stopped and looked at them and said, ‘Well, this is it, Norah,’ and she answered quietly, ‘Yes, Master.’
‘Goodbye.’ He held out his hand, and she took it but remained silent. Then he was holding Sandy’s hand, clasping it warmly. ‘Goodbye, lad,’ he said. ‘I wish you could have got set on along of me. But if ever I hear of an opening I’ll speak up for you.’
‘Thank you, Master.’
‘Master!’ Farmer Blyth repeated, then closed his eyes. ‘No longer, lad. No longer. It’s me who’ll be mastering from this day on. I never thought I’d live to see it. But there; it’s bad for me, but it’s worse for the mistress and the young one.’
He turned now and looked towards the kitchen, and there appeared in the doorway Mrs Blyth, her face red and swollen with crying, and by her side a young girl, slight of figure with hair so fair as to be called silver. She wasn’t crying, but her grey eyes were wide and moist and her lips were trembling.
‘Goodbye, Mistress.’ Norah Gillespie stood before Mrs Blyth and the farmer’s wife said brokenly, ‘Oh Norah! Norah, that I should see this day.’
‘Goodbye, Miss Katie.’
‘Goodbye, Norah.’ The young girl’s voice was just a whisper. And now she turned her eyes onto Sandy and moved towards him, and it was noticeable that she was slightly crippled, one leg being shorter than the other, her left side being pulled downwards with each step.
Sandy looked into her face, a face that sometimes punctuated his dreams at night; he saw it in the most odd situations, but he was always pleased to see it, for it was a beautiful face.
‘Goodbye, Miss Katie.’ Sandy’s voice was hoarse. He went to proffer his hand, then in embarrassment dropped it to his side again.
Katie’s lids were blinking rapidly as she asked, ‘Will…will you come to see us, Sandy?’ and to this he inclined his head once sharply before turning abruptly away.
He was aware that his mother was speaking to him; he took no notice but hurried on, across the farmyard and through the gate onto the rough road, and there, leaning against the outer wall of the barn he stood waiting for her coming, trying all the while to press back the burning sting that was making his eyes water.
When Norah Gillespie came up to him she wagged her head at him, saying, ‘Acting like that, never saying goodbye to the mistress.’ Yet although her words held a reprimand her tone was soft, soft and broken with her feelings. And now, side by side, they walked up the road, a fifteen-year-old boy who had to be a man, and his thirty-two-year-old mother whose shoulders were weighed down with worry.
Chapter Two
At four o’clock in the afternoon when they arrived at Ballast Row, Sandy’s mind was lifted from his own misery concerning The Nipper by the sight of the place that was to be his future home.
Ballast Row had once consisted of ten cottages; now only the two end ones were standing, the rest were roofless, and strangely the walls of the two middle ones seemed to have sunk some way into the ground.
He stopped on the dusty road and stared at his mother and she, her tone now bitterly defensive, said, ‘I couldn’t do anything else, it was this or the House, and you didn’t want us to land up there, did you? It’ll have to do for the time being; it’s only a shilling a week.’
‘A shilling a week!’ Sandy muttered now as his nose wrinkled against the smell that came from the empty dwellings. ‘They should pay people to live here.’
‘It won’t be so bad when we get the place scrubbed out and the walls whitewashed.’
‘That smell, Ma.’
Norah Gillespie’s chin jerked upwards and her eyes blinked rapidly as she muttered, ‘It’s a filthy lot that live in the end house; they’re in the mine, three boys and the father, they live like pigs. But no, that’s an insult to the pigs. Anyway, we needn’t have anything to do with them.’
The carter was starting to unload the bits and pieces of furniture and she said to him, ‘We’ll leave it all outside until we get the place scrubbed out.’
‘Just as you like,’ he said, and when he had taken the last pot from the cart she paid him the two shillings agreed on, and as he pocketed the money he shook his head sadly at her, saying, ‘I’m sorry to see you come to this, Mrs Gillespie,’ to which she answered proudly, ‘It won’t be for long.’
He looked around, then said, ‘Isolated an’ all. You’ll miss the company.’
‘Why did they build a row of cottages out here on the fell land?’ asked Sandy now of the carter, and he answered, ‘Why, lad, they were for the pitmen; the pit’s only a mile or so away over yonder.’ He pointed. ‘But they scattered when the ground gave way above a seam. It often happens; the galleries below fall in’—he kicked his toe into the dusty road—‘and then what’s on top just crumbles. Like an earthquake you know. In this case, it went plumb through the middle. Still, you’re safe enough in the end house; the ground has been settled for a good few years now, and the Mullens’—he thumbed to the opposite end of the row—‘they usually have the place to themselves ’cos with one thing and another, nobody will live near them.’
Sandy stared at the carter. He knew one of the reasons why people didn’t want to live near these Mullens—his nose made that evident enough—and he would have liked to ask what the other reasons were, but his mother was saying now, ‘There’s no time to waste, there’s water to be carried and work to be done.’ She nodded at the carter, saying, ‘Thanks for your help.’ And to this he answered, ‘You’re welcome, you’re welcome’; then turned his horse and left them.
When Sandy followed his mother over the threshold and into the main room of the cottage he was appalled, not only with the dirt but by the fact that the fireplace wall was cracked in a number of places and that there was an inch wide gap running up by the side of the chimney. As if his mother had been reading his thoughts she snapped at him, ‘I know all about it. I know all about it. Mud and straw will soon fix that once we get the place clean. Now stop it!’ He stared at her before saying, ‘I’m not saying anything, Ma.’
‘No, but I know what you’re thinkin’.’
‘Well, if you do’—he squared his shoulders now and thrust his chin out—‘you’ll know that if it rests with me we won’t be paying many weeks’ rent here.’
Her voice suddenly dropping and her head drooping with it she said, ‘I’m with you there, lad’; and on this he walked to her and with an unusual expression of affection, for what they felt for each other was rarely expressed in outward form, he put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way out.’
Her eyes moist, she turned quickly away from him, saying, ‘There’s a burn about five minutes’ walk away and a good spring above it; we’ll have water, that’s something, but—’ She walked to the door and looked up and down the deserted street and her tone changing, she said, ‘You’d think by the look of things that the people hereabouts had never seen water in their lives. Here.’ She stooped and handed him two wooden buckets; then pointing across the open land to where it rose to form a hill about a hundred yards away, she said, ‘Just beyond there you’ll come to it. Now look slippy!’…
Sandy looked slippy eight times within the next three hours and the shadows were lengthening and the twilight beginning by the time they had moved the furniture into the house and got the fire going and the kettle boiling. When at last they sat down at the table and his mother cut four thick slices of rye bread on which she spread pig fat before pushing them across to him he felt too tired to eat, until she urged him gently, ‘Eat your bite, boy, then we’ll get to bed early and have a long day the morrow putting things to rights.’ She glanced towards the crack in the wall through which they could see the fading light.
It was as they were unrolling the feather ticks with which to cover the wooden bases that serve as beds that they heard the commotion outside.
After one glance at his mother, Sandy went to the door and opened it, and there, standing facing him, were three boys; one about as tall as himself, one a good deal shorter and a third one looking little more than a child. They were black from head to foot; only their lips, where their tongues kept licking, and their eyes showed any colour. It was the middle one who spoke first. ‘You gonna live here?’ he said in a thick, rough sounding voice.
‘Yes.’ Sandy nodded at them.
‘Huh!’ The two younger ones looked at each other and laughed, and it was the taller of the two who spoke again, ‘Me da won’t like that…me da’s Big Mullen.’
Sandy was about to retort, ‘Well, if he doesn’t like it he can lump it, can’t he?’ but he warned himself to go careful, and so he said, ‘We’re paying rent, we’ve a right here.’
‘Oh aye.’ It was the youngest one speaking now. ‘Wait till you see me da; he’ll make ya change your mind…’ his voice trailed away and Sandy saw them now lift their eyes as one to his mother, who had come to the door, and he watched their mouths drop into gapes.
‘Hello,’ said Norah Gillespie kindly; but not one of them answered, they just continued to stare. Perhaps, Sandy thought, it was the cleanness of her, or her face that looked bonny, but whatever it was she had silenced their tongues, and they moved away backwards still staring.
Sandy closed the door, wondering as he did so about one thing: the biggest boy hadn’t opened his mouth …
It seemed only a short time later when Sandy was brought wide awake and upright out of a wonderful dream, in which he was galloping around the field on The Nipper, by someone battering on the door and the sound of oaths filling the night air.
His mother’s voice came to him through the darkness, whispering, ‘Don’t get up.’ But when the drunken roaring became louder he heard her rise from the bed and move towards the door, and then, her voice almost drowning that of the man outside, she yelled, ‘I’ll give you a minute to get yourself away and into your house, and if I hear another word out of you after that, I’ll give you the contents of the kail pot, and it’s just on the boil.’
There followed a silence as heavy and as thick as the blackness. Then this was broken by a loud, drunken laugh and the voice saying, ‘Come on out and let me have a decko at ya.’ And Norah Gillespie answered, ‘The minute’s nearly up, and I warned you, mind.’
Again the laugh came and again the silence, but the next thing they heard was the voice coming from a distance now, singing loudly.
Sandy heard his mother groping her way back to her bed, and sleep gone from him, he lay thinking that all the Mullens were going to be problems, and that the father would pose the biggest one …
He awoke with his mother’s hand on his shoulder; it was day and she was smiling down on him, saying, ‘Have this drop of tea,’ and he pulled himself up and smiled back at her, saying ‘Oh, ta!’ As he took the mug from her he looked round the room and blinked, and it returned to him in a painful rush where he was.
As he sipped at the hot tea it also came to him that in a short while he would have to confront the man called Big Mullen, and more than likely be knocked onto his back if he opened his mouth. But that wouldn’t stop him putting up a fight if the fellow got at his ma…Yet remembering last night, he thought that his ma’s tongue might have more effect than his own fists …
