Ruled by the Rod (25 page)

The coal dust
not only smarted in our eyes, but got into all our orifices,
causing havoc in the soft wet membranes of our female sheaths, the
narrow creases at elbow and thigh, even causing our scalps to itch
and burn. By the time the lights of the shaft bottom reappeared, we
were exhausted and sore all over.

The overseer
was not pleased to see us.

'You should
have been here long ago,' he shouted, as we emerged into the
comparative ease of the pit bottom. 'There's a quota to fill, and
we'll never meet it if you're going to idle like this all day,' he
told us, as he hooked us to fresh tubs for the return journey. 'If
you're not back before the gang have filled the tubs you left,
they'll have your hides. And what they don't take, I'll skin off
you if you don't get back here to meet the cage,' he promised
darkly, and sent us on our way with more vicious cracks of his
solid leather belt.

We stumbled
back down the track as fast as we could go, the pale moon-like
buttocks of Charlotte in front of me rapidly disappearing into the
darkness, only to slowly materialise as we reached the men's
workplace again.

Once more they
cursed us for our lateness in holding them up for lack of tubs.
When they had unhooked the empties, they fastened our wrists to
wedges driven into the coal face. It was not high enough to stand,
but they made us kneel, then laid lengths of the timbers they used
to prop the roof, across the backs of our calves, so that we could
not move, and lashed our poor aching backs with their belts. They
were tough hardy men, used to swinging picks in kneeling attitude,
and their blows were as hard as any I endured. We all had tear
streaks in the black grime on our faces when they finally released
us, only to fasten us to full tubs and drive us out of the heading
with more blows of their belts to our buttocks.

Evan cursed us
for slowness when we returned to the shaft, but took no action. I
think he could see from the state of our backs that the men had
been there before him. We were hooked to new tubs, and crawled off
painfully once more.

This time when
we reached the workplace the men were having their 'snap'; drinking
beer from bottles and eating out of kerchiefs on their knees. They
offered us a share, which we accepted gratefully, but we had to pay
for it, as all else down that pit. As we knelt again, for them to
fasten our hooks to the full tubs for return to the shaft, other
shafts came into play.

I felt a
movement behind me and hands, not between my thighs to grasp the
chain and, perhaps, give a rough caress to breast or vulva by the
by, but on my buttock cheeks, prising them apart. I heard the noise
of someone spitting into his hand, and something wet and sticky was
applied to my cringing anus. Before I could protest, both hands
were back in place but, more disturbingly, something blunt and hard
nuzzled my anointed dimple. I resigned myself to the inevitable.
After all, these were men in close proximity to naked women, and
their juices must be boiling. We must do our duty and relieve them
of the same, before it became injurious to their health.

I sighed for,
despite our long experience of this duty, it was always sore, and
we had grime and grit enough in our tender places to ensure it
might be especially so on this occasion. Nor was I wrong. The man
was brutally direct, thrusting home in one movement, though he was
mercifully swift, roaring his relief in no more than a minute, his
flaccid member sliding out, leaving a sticky trail behind.

With belts and
curses they drove us back into the darkness of the tunnel, and we
threw ourselves against the belts, the soreness in our bottoms
adding to our distress. We were sobbing with exhaustion and pain
when we emerged into the light again, desperately dragging our
protesting bodies along to try and avoid further punishment, this
time at the hands of the overseer.

The rest of
that first day is but a confused blur of pain and desperation in my
mind. We toiled despairingly to keep up with the men's output,
forcing our poor weak bodies to drag the heavy tubs up the incline
to the shaft, lashed by the stinging belts of the miners and the
overseer, until our bodies were blotched and inflamed all over
under the overlying coat of grime that covered our sweat-soaked
torsos. Every part of us was sore and aching, from our poor skinned
knees to our abused bottoms and abraded vulvas, where the chains
had rubbed them raw.

The heat in
the workings was intense and humid, and long before the day was
over we could smell ourselves, rank and sour.

When at last
we were told we had pulled our last tubs for the day, we collapsed
on the floor at the foot of the shaft, until the overseer's belt
drove us to our knees again, to crawl into the cage and mount to
the surface, the leather girths still tightly fastened round our
waists.

In the shed at
the top we helped each other remove them, wincing as the leather
had to be drawn out of our flesh, so deeply had it been driven by
the frantic pulling to move the recalcitrant trucks of coal. Each
of us carried a red ring of fire about her waist, the edges
raw.

There we
remembered our clothes, which we had been made to discard at the
foot of the shaft. But when we enquired of the overseer, he
informed us that, as we would have no need of them while we worked
in the haulage way, dragging coals, they had been collected and
taken to the Hall for safekeeping. Meanwhile we might eat the food
provided, and would sleep here, with the horses that worked the
windlass, sharing their straw.

Later we
learned the object was to protect and conceal us from the women
strikers but, at the time, it seemed appropriate to us to share
accommodation with the horses, since we were just as much draught
animals as they. Before he left us, locking us in for the night,
the overseer claimed Charlotte's bottom, needing to relieve his own
pressures, but clearly heedful to his own advice to the miners that
we were not to risk swollen bellies. Again, it came as a great
relief to know that this would be so.

We looked to
clean ourselves, but found only cold water from the pump. We were
used to such ablutions, of course, they had been our daily lot for
more than a year, but we could obtain no soap or other aid to
removing the black grime on our skins. And though we were refreshed
and our bodies no longer stank, as they had done in the heat of the
mine, we could scarcely pass as clean.

We were woken
before dawn the next day by the overseers shouts and smart kicks to
our tender rumps, and given porridge, coarse bread and small beer
for our breakfast. Adequate for the hard labour we were doomed to,
but scarcely appetising.

Knowing what
awaited us down the mine, we searched about for something to
protect our knees, and came across some mouldy sacking that had
held corn for the horses' feed, and tore this into strips which,
together with a packing of straw, gave us some protection.

With this aid,
and our bodies becoming used to the work, we made better progress
day by day, satisfying our gang's need for tubs to take away their
winnings from the coal face. For the next four weeks we toiled
every day in the mine. We had no clothing, and our shelter remained
the stable. The food was adequate, though plain, with enough at
supper and breakfast to sustain us. But nothing provided for a
midday meal in the middle of our twelve hour stint, and we had to
join the colliers in their break if we wanted to eat, sharing their
'snap', but paying for it with the only currency we possessed,
those assets that women always carry with them, the service of our
bodies. Thankfully the men were in sufficient awe of the overseer
to leave our virginities intact, our greatest fear, and to only use
those rear orifices we had become used to making available for the
purpose, for many months now, in our guardians' service.

It was a
hellish time, but our bodies hardened and we came to terms with the
life, bearing all for the concept of the dignity of labour, and our
determination to show that women were not all idle creatures,
loathe to be put to work in dirt and discomfort.

Eventually the
women who had abandoned their allotted task saw the error of their
ways, and we were told, at the end of our stint, that they would be
returning to work the next day, and we were dismissed. To our
request for clothing or transport we received only shrugs, and the
information that there had been no instructions given as to our
disposal. The overseer opined that, since Mr Brangwyn had been
responsible for our recruitment, we should make our way to the Hall
and look to him for help.

There being no
other choice before us, we set off, naked and dirty as we were, to
find our way thither.

No sooner had
we left the shelter of the windlass house than there was a
blood-chilling ululation from a crowd of ragged women waiting
outside. They rushed upon us, screaming curses and foul language,
calling us sluts and scabs, bosses bitches and the like and seized
us, despite our protestations that we had merely been doing our
duty as women, as we saw it, besides exploring the healthful
experience of labour.

'Tar and
feather!' went up the cry. 'Whip the whores until they bleed!'

Angry hands
seized us and dragged us to the smithy, where a pot of tar stood
ready always, to treat split hooves and such. The women threw us on
our backs, ignoring our cries, dragged our legs open and slapped
the tar brush, scalding hot, onto our poor tender vulvas, already
raw from our long service in the mine, where the unfeeling chains
had gnawed and worried at our female parts, hour after hour.

As we shrieked
and writhed they pulled out our arms like starfish and thrust the
still steaming brush under our hairy armpits, then turned us on our
stomachs and filled our hair with the sticky black matter. Battered
and burnt, I thought they had done their worst with us then, but
some harpy screamed, 'Butter their arses,' and the hands pulled
open our buttock cheeks, and thrust the hot brush between, drawing
new screams from us as the hot tar touched the tender dimples in
the cleft and left them sealed, as if for posting, but with black
wax, not red.

Someone
produced a feather pillow, ripping open the end, so that the fluffy
contents fluttered down all over us, clinging to every part as they
rolled us this way and that, until we were coated. Now they dragged
us to our feet, and set our faces down the village street.

'The Hall is
that way,' one shouted. 'Run to your master, you jezebels. Go and
collect your blood money, scabs!'

We were only
too anxious to obey but, before we could reach safety there was one
last hazard. The women lined up along both sides of the narrow
street, leaving just room for us to pass between. They were armed
with long willow switches, lengths of rope knotted cruelly at the
end, leather belts and slats of flat wood. We had to run the
gauntlet of these viragos, their blows and cuts landing on every
part. Instinctively we would put our hands to a particularly sore
hurt and, whatever motion we made, it was bound to open up another
part to cruel blows.

A vicious cut
to my hinds had me reach behind to grab the stinging cheeks,
exposing my breast, which a screaming Amazon caught with a knotted
rope. Eventually all three of us found the only way we could cope
was to wrap our arms around our breasts to protect them, and run
with heads bowed as best we could. Our backs and buttocks suffered
terribly, and those who had armed themselves with ropes, as seemed
to be a majority, for they gave the impression of having played
this devilish game before, swung them up at us on our approach, and
also as we passed, trying, and too often succeeding, to send the
rope's end between our thighs and catch our poor abused vulvas.

By the time we
reached the sanctuary of the lodge gates, we were all three in
tears and some distress; bruised, battered and striped all over,
and scarcely able to stand.

Instinctively
we made our way to the kitchen entrance, not wishing to present
ourselves at the front door, the entrance to which our station in
life would normally entitle us. There we were met by a large female
person in cap and apron who belaboured us with a broom, crying out
to us to go away, she'd have no scarecrow harlots in her kitchen.
Just as we were about to admit defeat and slink away, a male person
appeared at her shoulder and quieted her.

'It's all
right, Mrs Batser,' said he. 'Return to your duties. I will deal
with this.'

The woman
retreated, still muttering curses and waving her broom at us, as if
it were a weapon. The butler turned his attention to our three
tar-stained trembling forms.

'The master
mentioned that three female persons might be expected,' he said to
the air above our heads. 'But that their condition might not be
sanitary.'

He paused to
sniff at our disgusting nakedness and bruised bodies, as if to
convey that he had not expected us to be quite so insanitary.

'He gave
instructions that you were to be sent to the stables for the grooms
to clean up, and that you should stay there until your condition
had improved sufficiently for you to be admitted to the house. You
will find the stables where the drive continues behind the
trees.'

We turned and
limped away to follow the cruel gravel of the driveway, that felt
to our bare feet as if walking on nails, and came upon the stable
yard a little way from the house itself. Here we found a number of
grooms and stable boys who greeted our appearance with hoots and
cries of the most insulting and obscene nature, calling attention
to our state.

'Never seen
shit as black as this before,' ventured one.

'That's not
shit,' his friend countered. 'They've been screwing the Devil
himself. Old Nicks spunk is black and sticky.'