The Bobbin Girls (45 page)

He stood, arms folded, in the centre of the clearing, an impressive figure in his long greatcoat, his wide-brimmed hat pulled well down, feather quivering. ‘No good building without a firm foundation. So how do we begin, boy?’

Rob smiled at the look of anxiety on Alena’s lovely face as he answered confidently. ‘We put a thin pole in the centre, then prop the shanklings all around it. You can help fetch them, Alena. We’ll place them in the proper position.’ For a moment he saw the familiar rebellion flare and thought she’d tell him to fetch them himself, but then she grinned, rolled up her sleeves, and brought the first two poles.

They worked well together, establishing an easy rhythm, stacking the shanklings around the centre pole, called the ‘motty-peg’, almost vertically at first and then with an increasing slope, layer upon layer. Further layers were added until finally the shorter coalwood was laid on top to give a final height of some five or six feet, the slope of the finished stack gentle. Then Alena brought the green grass and reeds she had collected as Rob began to put on shovelfuls of subsoil, mixed with sand and clay, known as sammel. These were packed into every gap to keep out the air. A blaze must be prevented at all cost. On top of this was laid a tightly packed layer of sods, Rob standing on the dome-like structure while Isaac and Alena threw them up to him.

‘Now we can draw out the motty-peg and you can start the burn, boy,’ grinned Isaac.

Alena was looking up at him with such pride, shielding her eyes from the sun and thinking how fine he looked up there on top of the stack, so tall and strong and sure, almost noble. She blew him a kiss for luck. ‘Go on, this is our beginning. Just you and me from now on.’

Rob drew out the motty-peg and dropped a shovelful of glowing charcoal down the resulting hole, ramming in as much extra charcoal, provided by Isaac, as he could manage. Once he was sure it was alight, he quickly closed the top gap with a wet sod, pressing it in place; then climbed down to stand beside Alena with pride and satisfaction like an aura about him.

And so the vigil began.

‘You’ll have to watch it carefully,’ Isaac warned. ‘Restrict the air, stop up draughts with wet sods, reeds or sammel, and keep an eye on the colour of the smoke over the next day or two, as I have taught you. The stack will shift as the wood in the centre is reduced. If you get a fire, you’ll lose the lot. I’ll call and see how you’re faring tomorrow.’ Then he lifted his hat by way of farewell and silently slipped away into the forest.

Rob put his arms about Alena and they hugged each other tight. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she assured him. ‘We’ll make lots of charcoal which will fetch a good price.’

Rob frowned. ‘Isaac often has two burns going at once.’

‘One is enough to begin with.’

‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Yes, you could. But I’d rather you didn’t try.’

‘You have a smut on your nose.’ And he kissed it, before rubbing it off.

‘I dare say I’ll have a few more before we’re done.’

‘While we watch, I mean to have a go at whittling tent pegs. If there is to be a war, they’ll be much in demand.’

It was as if a cloud had crossed the sun. The delight and happiness faded from Alena’s face. ‘What will happen to us, if war does come? Will we still be able to stay here, and work in the forest?’

Rob pulled her close, rubbing his chin against her hair which smelled of sunshine and green grass and the first heady hint of smoke. ‘You heard what Isaac said. They’ll need charcoal for the manufacture of gas masks, tent pegs for the soldiers, ship’s fenders, all manner of things. With hard work, and a bit of luck, perhaps we can do our bit here.’ And, filled with hope and belief in their own future, their lips came together instinctively and they kissed. But as passion ignited, Rob broke laughingly away from her.

‘Not till we have our first load of charcoal. I have to concentrate, and whenever I lie with you, I forget even what day it is.’

‘Good.’ And she made him kiss her again till he was pleading for mercy and she could feel the strong beat of his heart against her breast.

‘Did you let Mickey Roscoe kiss you like this?’

For a moment she was startled, and then unable to resist teasing him for this show of jealousy, pretended to consider. ‘Umm, I might have. I can’t quite remember.’

He looked stunned then, picking her up, he swung her round till she squealed for mercy. ‘You minx! If you had, you wouldn’t even need to think about it. You never did, did you? Admit it.’

‘Of course he kissed me. Often.’ And when Rob threatened to drop her in the beck, she screamed, ‘But never like you do. Never, I swear. I put up with his kisses, wet and weak things compared to yours. Utterly dreadful.’ She shuddered to prove her sincerity.

‘I’ll show you what a kiss should be like.’

‘The burn,’ she reminded him. He instantly tipped her on to the grass where she rolled about in gales of laughter.

Utterly dreadful! Wet and weak! So that’s what she’d thought of him? Mickey had watched Isaac stroll away, walking with quiet assurance between the lusty growth of young alder, ash and birch as dusk fell. Then he’d turned his attention back to the lovers in time to hear this damning indictment of his prowess. He wanted to leap out of the thicket and knock her to the ground for daring to insult him in such a way. But he managed not to.

They were kissing again, and despite himself he watched, feeling his own hot need curdle somewhere deep in his belly.

She didn’t mean it, of course. How could she tell Robert Hollinthwaite the truth? That really they had been entirely happy and compatible. He could still win her back, and knew exactly how to go about it. But he must choose his moment with care. For a while he continued to watch them, saw their happy frolics, witnessed the joy that they found in each other, for all he told himself that Rob was not the man to bring her lasting happiness. When he could bear it no more, Mickey turned on his heel and moved away through the trees, not quite so silently as Isaac, but much fleeter of foot.

He went straight to Ellersgarth Hall and knocked on the door. James Hollinthwaite himself opened it, and almost instantly closed it again when he saw who it was. Mickey wedged his foot in the gap just in time.

‘A moment, Mr Hollinthwaite. You allus said, if I’d aught to report...’

Ensconced at the kitchen table - Hollinthwaite’s hospitality didn’t run to permitting the likes of Mickey Roscoe into his best parlour - a mug of beer in his hand, Mickey took his time. Between sips of the beer, he mentioned how the campaign was running out of steam now that Sandra Myers had left it in his hands.

‘It’s up to me now, d’you see? Nobody else is willing to cut their own throats by risking unemployment, as she was. Me neither.’ James’s interest sharpened, but he made no comment.

Then little by little Mickey described the scene he had witnessed in the glade. He gave the exact location, relating the young lovers’ plans, almost word for word. ‘They’re very determined. And they have friends. If you want to stop them, you’ll have to call your son to heel.’

James, standing frozen throughout the tale, said nothing. Mickey took a good long pull on his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, ready to depart, measuring the moment for his final and most important piece of advice. At the door he paused, ran one hand over his sleek crop of hair, and half glanced back over his shoulder at Hollinthwaite. ‘You’ll be starting your felling soon, I shouldn’t wonder. Have you planned where you’ll start?’

Close by the mill, then I can easily stack the wood is it comes down.’

Good thinking. Only...’ Mickey paused a moment, making sure he had James’s full attention. ‘There was a certain ancient oak those two were particularly fond of, somewhere in Low Birk Coppice, I believe. I doubt they’d want that to be felled. Upset them proper, don’t you reckon?’ And the two men exchanged a long silent glance.

But for all his seeming complicity with Hollinthwaite, Mickey next went to warn his fellow workers of the felling that was about to take place. He set himself as firmly on their side as he had on James’s, rekindling their anger against Hollinthwaite, setting up shifts to keep a watch on the woodland, instructing them to arm themselves with a good solid branch, warning there’d be trouble for sure once the men arrived with their felling axes. With luck, when the two parties came together, there’d be a riot.

And he meant Rob Hollinthwaite to be in the middle of it.

For the next two days Rob and Alena nursed the burn. As it shifted and sank, they rearranged the remaining stack, added more wet turfs to prevent any hint of flame, blocked each new hole with a spadeful of soil. They constantly moved the hurdles they’d made to screen the stack from the prevailing winds. Night and day they worked, and in the quiet spells they whittled tent pegs, made besoms, or simply lay on their backs and gazed at the stars. Here the Great Bear, there Cassiopeia, and wasn’t that Venus, so strong and bright?

They saw the setting sun gild the tree-tops, the purple shadows of evening turn into soft black night; watched a family of badgers set out on their night patrol, and the first shafts of morning light lance through the high branches, picking out patches of emerald moss and bronze bracken. Everything seemed new and magical, as if they were discovering the world for the first time. Only once did Alena glance covertly into the thicket behind them, as she heard the snap of a twig.

‘Those young bucks are on the prowl again.’ she laughed.

‘I don’t blame them,’ Rob agreed.

Because heat rises, a stack burns from the top, the wood baking slowly like a cake in an oven. They tried to keep well clear of the smoke that was pungent and no doubt filled with chemicals, but it wasn’t always possible, and then they’d cough and choke and their eyes would smart and run with tears. But it didn’t matter. Their love of the forest, and each other, saw them through. They laughed and joked, teased and kissed as they went about their work, and if at times they felt pangs of hunger, neither of them complained.

‘Now you must “say” it with water.’ Isaac had checked the rim of the stack to see if the burn had reached the bottom, studied the colour of the smoke, the grey-brown now turned to a translucent blue, and declared it ready. ‘I’ve arranged for Sam to call and collect your load in a day or two, after he’s picked up mine. He delivers the charcoal to Backbarrow and will pay you when he picks up your next lot. Less his own fee, of course.’

Using a special rake for the purpose, Rob removed a small section of the top and poured water down, damping the whole area from the barrel set near the stack. Alena helped by refilling it with buckets from the beck. Judging how much water to put in was a worry. Too much and the charcoal would be dull and brittle, without a good ring to it. Too little and it would turn into ash. Twelve hours later, when the coals were quite cold, they finally removed the turfs and began to pick out sticks of charcoal.

‘We’ve done it!’

‘They’re perfect. Most of them anyway.’ Critically Rob examined them, noting the good ones, the failures, and the fine pieces that could be split further to bring a higher price from artists. He was well pleased with their first effort, but celebrations had to wait until all the bags were filled, ready for the carter. Only when this was done, did they stand and regard each other.

‘You’re filthy.’

‘So are you. Black from head to foot. True colliers.’

There was only one solution. It was too far to the tarn, the beck not deep enough; besides, the cold water would barely touch this amount of soot. They boiled water on the fire and filled the barrel Isaac had lent them to stand close to the stack. Taking it in turns, they sat in the hot tub and soaped each other down, washing hair, face, neck and ears, as well as blackened arms and legs. It was a riotous, noisy ritual, much punctuated with squeals and giggles, tickles and splashing; there was a good deal of running about and chasing, bare feet slipping on the wet grass. Then back in the tub to get warm.

‘We need a bigger bath,’ Rob complained, after trying and failing to climb in with her.

‘Do you remember that swim, all those years ago at the tarn?’

‘How could I forget? That was the night I fell in love with you, you minx.’

Alena gasped. ‘You never said.’

Just as well, considering what happened after that. Mind you. I think we’re even wetter tonight.’

It took several kettles full of steaming water before they were both clean and dry. Then they tidied away the make-shift bath, checked the sacks of charcoal one last time, and finally went into the hut and pulled the sacking closed.

They were paid a good price for their charcoal and, inspired by their success, Alena and Rob soon developed a routine. They worked hard, loved well, and were happy and content.

The coming of autumn had brought woodcock and grouse, pheasant and rabbit. Sometimes they would hear the lion-like roar of a red deer in pursuit of his lady love. The hedgerows were full of fruit and berries, the days clear and bright, filled with sunshine and the sweet scents and rich colours found nowhere as beautifully orchestrated as in the English Lake Country. And overhead, nomadic flocks of grey geese on their flight from the Solway to the milder marshes of Morecambe Bay made them pause and wonder at the wisdom of Nature.