No Man’s Land. Simon Tolkien

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СКАЧАТЬ trying but it didn’t work.’

      ‘Oh, this is so ridiculous,’ said Sir John. ‘I only came to show support because I thought it would give the families some comfort. If I had known—’ He broke off, distracted by a sudden flurry of movement at the entrance to the church where several of the pit deputies had appeared, manhandling Whalen out into the churchyard where he stood, dusting himself off, looking delighted with the turn of events.

      ‘You’re a disgrace, sir,’ said Sir John, going up to him. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

      ‘Nay, sir, it’s thy treatment o’ us miners that’s the disgrace,’ said Whalen, looking Sir John squarely in the eye. ‘An’ it’s thee that should be ashamed. Come, Rawdon, it’s time to go ’ome,’ he added, looking over at his son who had followed his father out of the church and was looking on with a shocked look on his face.

      Adam watched the two of them walk away down the hill. He disliked them both cordially and was appalled by the father’s behaviour and yet he couldn’t help but admire his fearlessness. He turned back to Miriam, who had been standing beside him until a moment before, but found that she was gone and the feeling of disappointment struck him like a sudden and unexpected blow to the heart.

      Feelings in the town ran high in the days that followed. The miners were angry with Whalen for using the funerals as a stage for his demonstration, but they also respected his pluck. There was a consensus that something needed to be done even if Whalen had gone the wrong way about it; that they couldn’t allow Hardcastle and his lot to carry on taking advantage of them.

      And they were quick to rally round Whalen when the manager announced that he had been suspended from work. Daniel’s appeal to Hardcastle to think again fell on deaf ears and most of the miners downed tools and walked out of the mine when they heard the news. They assembled in a crowd on the football ground, ignoring the steady drizzle as Whalen addressed them from a makeshift platform set up in front of the pavilion. The women were there too, standing further back but just as angry as the men.

      ‘Thank ye for your support, comrades,’ Whalen shouted. ‘Solidarity’s what’s been missin’ in our union up until now: leavin’ our brethren in Wales to suffer alone while Churchill’s thugs killed ’em with their batons and the black-’earted owners starved ’em to death. We need to stand up and be counted; we need to show Sir John Scarsdale and ’is like that they can’t treat us like animals, payin’ us next to nowt and not carin’ tuppence about our safety, jus’ so they can increase their profits. We’ve got to stop this lyin’ down and lettin’ ’em walk all over us; we’ve got to draw a line and say enough’s enough. We’re men too, just like them, entitled to the same respect as they get – more in fact, cos we work and they don’t.’

      The men cheered and raised their hands in a unanimous show of support when Edgar proposed that they refuse to work until Whalen had been reinstated, and then walked back to the town over the muddy fields, sinking their hands deep in their pockets to keep them warm. It was the end of autumn and the last curled brown leaves were blowing down from the black trees, while behind them the wheels of the headstocks stood motionless, wreathed in the misty grey gloom of the early evening. The rain continued to fall steadily and they quickened their pace, needing the solace of alcohol and the warm fire at the King’s Head if they were to maintain their spirit of defiance.

      The streets were empty when Adam got off the bus and walked home. Everyone seemed to be inside the pub or the Miners’ Institute on the other side of the green, talking about the strike and Whalen Dawes. And Edgar’s house was deserted too, so Adam revived the fire and set the kettle to boil, lit the lamp, and sat down at the kitchen table with his books spread out in front of him.

      The rain was coming down harder now, beating against the window panes so that at first he didn’t hear the knock on the door. And when he opened it, he barely had time to take in the unexpected figure of Mr Vale, the parson, standing on the doorstep before a sudden squall of rain-drenched wind blew them both back into the house. They clung to each other for support for a moment and then both started laughing.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said, shutting the door. ‘Edgar’s not here and nor is my father. I don’t know which of them you came to see?’ He was surprised by the parson’s visit. Edgar and his family were non-believers and Adam’s father had no contact with the church other than when he accompanied Adam to the service on Sunday mornings, and he hadn’t even been doing that in recent months, excusing himself on the grounds that he had too much work. As far as Adam knew, Mr Vale had never been to the house before.

      ‘It was you I was looking for,’ said the parson, smiling as he bent to unfasten the bicycle clips from his trouser legs and took off his cape, which Adam hung on one of the hooks by the door.

      ‘Me?’

      ‘Yes, I wanted to thank you for helping my daughter at the funeral. She’s a sensitive soul at the best of times and the occasion was always going to be difficult for her. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t come but she insisted. My wife is an invalid and so Miriam felt that she should come in her stead. And then the scuffle by the altar distressed her. As you may have heard, Mr Dawes did not go willingly and so it would have been even worse for her if you hadn’t come forward to rescue her from the mayhem.’

      ‘It was the least I could do,’ said Adam. ‘I was pleased to be able to help.’

      ‘And then she told me that she left without thanking you in person. It’s perhaps understandable as she was frightened that there might be more violence when Mr Dawes was thrown out of the church, but it must have seemed rude to you.’

      ‘No, not at all,’ said Adam awkwardly. The idea that he had been offended by Miriam when he remembered the few minutes that he had spent with her on his arm as being several of the most wonderful in his life was so absurd that it left him at a temporary loss for words. He covered up his confusion by offering the parson a seat at the table while he busied himself at the fire making tea.

      ‘You’re learning Latin,’ said the parson who’d been looking at Adam’s books and now picked up his well-thumbed copy of Tacitus’s Annals. ‘We have something in common – I was never happier than when I studied the classics at Oxford. Do you like it?’

      ‘Yes, very much, although it seems a little useless sometimes—’

      ‘Useless?’ interrupted the parson sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Because it was all so long ago; so far away from where we are now.’

      ‘Was it? I often think there are real parallels between the Roman Empire and our world. A ruling class that has become decadent, utterly given over to the pursuit of pointless pleasure, supported by a slave population—’

      ‘We don’t have slaves,’ Adam protested.

      ‘Technically, no. I agree. But the conditions in which most of the population lives aren’t much better than slavery. In fact I’d say the Roman slaves had a better diet than the poor do in this country.’

      ‘You sound like Whalen Dawes,’ said Adam and then immediately regretted his words, worrying that the parson would be offended by them, although he showed no signs of being so. In truth Adam was shocked: the parson preached the Christian virtues in his Sunday sermons, but he never talked like this. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

      ‘No, I understand what you mean. But I assure you I’m not like Dawes. I believe that society should be more just but that doesn’t mean I believe СКАЧАТЬ