The Nipper, page 8
‘Aye, I won’t forget.’ Sandy said, but before he could ask, ‘But where’s here?’ the old man had dropped noiselessly into the bracken and disappeared, and he walked round the boulder and stood gaping. He was standing on the edge of the main road by which they had travelled from the farm the day they had come to Ballast Row. He had come up the other side of the hamlet and only ten minutes walk from home, which was a good thing, for his mother would be worrying about him being late, and he doubted if she would believe his story when he told her.
And he was right, his mother didn’t believe it, not at first anyway.
‘What do you mean, boy?’ she said. ‘You went through the old mine and came up yon side of the Row? That mine’s been flooded for years.’
‘But I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Now, don’t you be cheeky.’
‘I’m not being cheeky, Ma; but I tell you we travelled through galleries, and he brought me up at yon side, a good two miles from the mouth.’
Norah Gillespie stared at her son, then said, ‘You shouldn’t have gone with him. I tell you, you’ll land up in trouble.’
‘Aw, Ma, I ask you. Someone grabs you by the arm and pulls you into black darkness, where you can’t see your finger afore your face, what would you do?’
Her head wagged as she said, ‘He’s an old crippled man, you could have pushed him off.’
‘Old crippled man, huh! You want to see him, he’s like a squirrel, that crutch is a third leg.’
Her head still wagging, but slower now, she said, ‘And about the morrow, you’re still goin’?’
‘If you’ll give me bread and the tea, and a few candles, aye.’
Her whole body became still now as she asked, ‘What if you never get out of that passage that he’s on about? If he’s the only one that knows about it, nobody will be able to find it, or you.’
His voice was soothing as he said, ‘If he shows me the way in, Ma, I’ll find me way out.’
She turned from him as she muttered, ‘Oh, boy, you worry me…’
And she said the same thing at one o’clock the next day when she wrapped up the fresh steaming oven bottom cake in a piece of unbleached linen, then taking a piece of old paper and twisting it into a cone-shaped bag scooped six teaspoonfuls of tea from the caddy into it. Finally, she paused for a moment with the spoon over the sugar basin. It wasn’t every day of the week they had sugar for themselves—she had bought a half-pound yesterday and to spend fourpence-ha’penny on a half-pound of sugar was a luxury. Then with an impatient thrust she scooped three teaspoonfuls into the bag and, pushing it across the table to where Sandy stood grinning at her now, she said. ‘There! And get yourself away afore I change me mind and lock you in. But better still get yourself back here and long before dark, mind, if you don’t want me worried out of me wits.’
‘I will, Ma. And…and the candles?’
‘Aw!’ She went to the cupboard and pulled out four tallow candles from a bundle of twelve. As she threw them on the table she exclaimed, ‘Why didn’t you take him your wages?’
His grin was wide as he answered, ‘I never thought of that, but it’s an idea. He looks more in need than us.’
‘Get away with you!’ She flapped her hand towards him, but when he had reached the door her voice halted him as she said, ‘Be careful, boy,’ and he answered, his face straight now, ‘Don’t worry, Ma, I’ll be careful.’
He went out the back way as he didn’t want to meet up with any of the Mullens, particularly as he was carrying the linen-wrapped parcel and the tops of the candles were sticking out of his pocket. He clambered over the embankment that hemmed in the back of the Row like a fortification; the mound was grass-covered but the ashes, the rubbish and filth left by the residents of the Row showed through here and there like dirty scabs along its length.
Once over the embankment he began to run, keeping clear of the road until he was near the boulder, and when he came within a few yards of it he stopped. His heart was racing, not only from exertion but with excitement. He walked now with slow steps towards the boulder, went around it, and there, sitting with his back to it, his legs stretched out, was the old man.
At first Sandy thought he was asleep, and stood still; then within the deep sockets of hair the lids were raised and the pale eyes were looking at him, and the hair rippled on the face and Sandy knew he was smiling.
‘Afore your time.’ The old man looked up at the sun and Sandy nodded, then said, ‘I ran.’
‘I used to run.’
Sandy said nothing to this but watched him turn onto his knees and swing himself to his foot with the aid of the crutch, then walk round the boulder and to the edge of the road, where he turned his head and looking at Sandy, said, ‘Anybody know you were comin’?’
‘Only me ma.’
He now hobbled back towards Sandy and his gaze dropped to the parcel in his hand and he stared at it.
Holding it out, Sandy said, ‘It’s still hot.’ At this Old Mark put out the arm with the hook attached to the end and, allowing his ragged sleeve to drop back, he put his wrist on the linen, then nodded.
Swiftly now he turned about, went down onto his knees and disappeared into the bracken, and Sandy, after a moment’s pause, scrambled after him.
In the cave a wood fire was burning between two bricks, and standing on the bricks was a pan of simmering water. Sandy took the tea and sugar from his pocket and handed it to the old man, who made no comment, but after sitting down near the fire opened the bag and looked into it, then sprinkled a third of the contents into the bubbling water. Now he reached his arm up for the warm loaf and held it on his knee for some moments before he opened it; then slowly, as if he was savouring some great delicacy, he broke off a chunk of the bread and began to chew on it, and rhythmically the hair on his face moved up and down as if to a beat. After he had swallowed some mouthfuls he turned to Sandy and nodded his head once.
While Sandy sat silent, the old man ate half the bread, and when he poured the tea into the only mug he possessed and handed it to him first, Sandy shook his head and said, ‘Ta, but I’ve just had me dinner and I’m not all that fond of tea.’ Which was a lie.
The pan held three mugsful of tea and when Old Mark had finished it all he looked at the tea leaves in the bottom of the pan, poured more water on them, and set the pan back on the fire to stew; then heaving a sigh as if he had enjoyed a wonderful meal, he said, ‘Well now!’ and nothing more.
Sandy waited, and all the while the old man was staring at him. Then again he said, ‘Well now!’ But this time he added, ‘What about it?’ and Sandy answered, ‘It’s up to you.’
There was another silence; then with a characteristic movement of turning his body around as if to crawl but, instead, bringing himself upright Old Mark said, ‘Light your candle.’ And Sandy took one of the candles from his pocket and lit it at the fire, then turned to see the old man hobbling towards the far corner of the cave and his bed. He followed, and watched him rake his entire bed of dried bracken and hay to one side with his hook, to expose nothing that Sandy could see but the uneven slabs of rock that formed the floor near the wall of the cave. But it was from this moment onwards that his eyes widened and stayed wide for the next three hours.
The old man now poked the end of his rough crutch into what looked like a slight natural hollow in the rock wall about four foot from the floor. The hollow wasn’t as big as an ordinary saucer and it looked one with the rest of the rock until it fell backwards under the pressure of the crutch. Then Sandy’s eyes were switched from it as the old man suddenly said, ‘Back a bit!’ and he jumped back, almost toppling onto the bracken as he did so, for there at his feet, as if it was made of wood, a slab of rock was tilting slowly downwards as easy, Sandy thought, as the trapdoor in the loft above the stables at the farm.
Now he watched the old man sit on the edge of the hole and slide out of sight and it was some seconds later when his voice brought him as if out of a dream, saying, ‘Well, come on,’ and he, too, sat on the edge of the slab, the candle trembling in his hand and allowed himself to slide into the unknown.
The drop was surprisingly short, in fact it wasn’t a drop at all, for he felt his feet touching the ground before his shoulders left the stone, but he rocked unsteadily before he got his balance. Then, the candle raised high, he looked about him.
Old Mark was pulling on an iron lever and Sandy watched the stone slip back into place. He now saw that they were in a narrow roadway not unlike the main one in the mine, only it was more than head high; but unlike that down the mine, the air here was pleasantly cool.
‘Frightened?’ The word was rapped at him, and Sandy gulped before he answered, ‘No, no; I’m not frightened.’
He thought the old man chuckled, but he wasn’t sure for his hair distorted the sounds that he made.
He was following him along the passage now holding the candle high. It was impossible to know in which direction the passage led for it twisted and turned every fifty yards or so, and the further he went the more he realised that whoever had hewn the passage out had known about mining, for the roof was held up with huge beams supported on pit props. When, as Sandy imagined, they must have travelled all of two miles, the pit props were suddenly no longer needed, they were walking through a natural crevasse of rock. The old man stopped and looked upwards. Sandy’s eyes followed, and there at a great distance above their heads was daylight, but diffused, for the rock walls almost met in places, and the effect was like looking through a window of small panes, some dim with dirt.
The cleft ran for some forty feet and its end was only wide enough for them to ease through sideways; and now they were in another cave. Sandy gazed about him in amazement for the walls were composed of shelves of slate lying in layers and sticking out here and there like counters in a shop. It reminded him of a drapery shop he had seen in Newcastle on his one and only visit there. His da had taken him in to buy thread, and he had seen the bales of cloth piled high up to the ceiling on shelves not unlike these.
The old man sat down now and, pulling the remainder of the bread from his pocket, he began to munch at it, still slowly, still savouring the taste. Sandy thankfully sat down beside him, and as he did so he asked tentatively, ‘Is…is this the end?’
‘End?’ Now the old man did laugh. ‘Hardly beginnin’, lad. Hardly beginnin’. You tired?’
‘No, no!’ Sandy’s answer was emphatic.
After a few minutes Old Mark said, ‘Way’s different after this, rougher. Come on.’
He was now leading the way through another narrow aperture in the far side of the cave wall, and after emerging they hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Sandy stopped and looked at a blocked-up entrance that put him in mind of similar ones he had seen down the mine. Old Mark had stopped too, and as if reading his thoughts he said, ‘Dead men ahind there, thirty-seven of ’em. Used to lead into the Balfour mine. That’s the way they used to escape from the house. After the explosion they must have started digging straight on, then they came up against that.’ He thumbed back to the narrow crevasse in the rock. ‘Bad luck if they hadn’t. Bad luck if the cracks hadn’t been there.’
The old man moved on once again, and Sandy, following, found that his prediction had been right, the going wasn’t so good, for he tripped a number of times and almost fell. There were no pit props here holding up the roof; the tunnel seemed to have been hewn out of the solid rock itself, and in places was not more than four foot high; the air, too, was different, like that down the mine, sweat making. At one stage he was on his hands and knees crawling over a floor of jagged slate. He didn’t know how far they had come, three, four miles? He was feeling tired, and although he wouldn’t admit it to himself his excitement was giving place to nervousness. What if his mother was right and he would never get out of here. What if the old man, knowing some other way out, deliberately left him? Don’t be daft, he chastised himself, he’d always find his own way back even in the dark, by groping. And anyway, he trusted the old man.
Again, as if Old Mark had read his thoughts he turned his stooped body and asked, ‘Nearly had enough?’
‘It’s a long way.’
A few minutes later they were walking upright again, but they hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when illuminated in the candlelight, which was almost to its end now, Sandy saw facing him the unmistakable shape of a chimney breast, and gazing about him he realised he was in a kind of rough room, not square, not round, which had once been boarded with wood, but now the wood had, in parts, rotted away.
The old man was holding up his hook in warning for quiet. Then creeping forward on his hands and knees he pushed his face against a wooden panel to the side of the chimney breast, and he kept it there for a few moments before turning and beckoning Sandy to him. Moving aside now, he indicated that Sandy should kneel and put his face to the wood at the point where his hook rested near what looked like two knotholes. He did so, and then the candle almost dropped from his grasp.
He was looking down what appeared to be two long tubes, and at the end of them he could see a man, a finely dressed man, sitting at the head of a table; at one side of him was a woman and on the other side was a girl. He could see the elbow of another person moving up and down as the hand transferred food to its mouth. Then his vision was obscured by the figure of a lackey as he moved round the table, a silver dish in his hand.
Like one in a dream, Sandy turned his eyes from the holes and looked into those of the old man, and the head nodded at him quickly as if to say, ‘It’s true, it’s true, you’re not dreaming.’ Then, again warning caution, he took him by the arm and drew him backwards to the wall opposite the chimney breast, and there, going onto his knees once more, he thrust his head and shoulders into a square hole and beckoned Sandy to do the same. Why? Sandy didn’t know, for he could see nothing, but a moment later the reason came to him. When the aroma of cooking food assailed his nostrils he knew that this second hidey-hole, although on the level with the dining room, was partly above the kitchen quarters, wedged in as it were between the kitchen ceiling and the floor above.
The old man now tugged him backwards, then silently led the way out of the room and along the tunnel again; and he didn’t stop once until they had squeezed through the narrow cleft and into the slate cave. There, dropping down with a plop and a deep outpouring of breath, he said what seemed to be his usual phrase, ‘Well now!’ and Sandy, falling onto his knees and leaning towards him, asked with suppressed excitement, ‘Where is it? I mean that house?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Nor would you guess in a month of Sundays. The Manor, Hursthill Manor, and that was His Lordship.’ The title was but a form of sarcasm. ‘Stockwell, the great, great I am.’ The old head moved from side to side and the movement held utter disparagement.
Hursthill Manor! Sandy sat back on his hunkers. Hursthill Manor. It was unbelievable. Now again he was leaning forward. ‘How…how did you come across it?’
‘Aw.’ The old man’s head bobbed up and down again now. Then seeming to change the subject entirely, he bent towards Sandy, saying, ‘They think I’m mad you know; everybody thinks I’m mad.’ He waited for comment but Sandy said nothing, and then the old man, his head lowered, said, ‘An’ I suppose I do go mad when I get the hard stuff in me. It was on such a night that I found it, the trapdoor. It was black dark. I hadn’t a light, nothin’.’ He now stopped and pointed to the candle where the flame was almost touching Sandy’s fingers, and said, ‘Look slippy, and light t’other, else we’ll be in the dark all right.’
‘Oh aye.’ Sandy quickly lit another candle; then holding it in his joined hands pressed between his knees, he waited and Old Mark began to chuckle. He chuckled a number of times before he went on, ‘By! That night, I did get a gliff. I stumbled into the cave. The fire was out, not a glimmer, so I made me way to the corner to lie down, an’ there I tripped, just tripped, an’ I stuck out me crutch.’ He patted the bit of rough wood. ‘I thrust it against the wall to steady meself, an’ then’—his body was now shaking with suppressed laughter—‘I thought I was going down into hell for the earth was slipping away from underneath me, an’ down, down I went, and fear swept over me ’cos, you know, I’d been in hell once. Nine whole days in hell I was behind a fall in the pit; seven of us there was an’ only me left alive. They died, one after the other, and there they were…’ He pointed to different spots on the cave floor as if seeing the bodies lying there. ‘An’ when they got me out I was wrong in the head. Oh aye; they were right then, for indeed I was wrong in the head. An’ I don’t remember them gettin’ me out. I didn’t remember anything for weeks after, but gradually I came to me senses. But I was never the same; I couldn’t go down again. And when a man doesn’t work he becomes hungry, and being hungry I went after a bird on the great Sir William Combe Stockwell’s estate, an’ Sir William Combe Stockwell had set a nice gin trap specially for me, a man-sized gin trap, an’ it whipped them both off.’ He lifted up his half leg and his handless arm. ‘An’ he was for sending me along the line, but then in his mercy—’ There was a sneer in his voice now, and he repeated, ‘An’ in his mercy he said that my punishment fitted the crime. Do you know what his very words were, boy?’ The old man was leaning forward now, deep bitterness in his voice. ‘That in losing me limbs I had paid me debt to society. Those were his very words, I had paid me debt to society. I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but now I do.’
He leant back against the rock and became quiet; and it was as if he had forgotten that they were in a cave deep in the hills, he had gone back to the time when he had been told that he had paid his debt to society.
