Short Story: Donstown - Part 2

Short Story: Donstown - Part 2

Ma’s shuffling this morning. Has bin last couple o' days.

‘Thritis is killing her she says; has bin long time and oooh! Her back plays her up summat chronic.

Cross men visit soon, I says, you no worry Ma. They be ‘manitarian. Help yous out with them pills.

And rid me of this ‘effin chip buried in mi neck she says? So’s I can git mi sen outta here and on t' continent beach?

She says that and laughs. But I no think she finds it funny.

Where’s continent beach, I asks Ma?

Long ways from here, long ways too from mi home in Glas-ghee.

Told me she’d bin t' continent beach many, many times, back when she were young, and also summat 'bout 1830’s.

Ma fibs though.

She must, is what little Cass whispers t' me, ‘wise she’d be older than time itself. Nice one Cass I says. And we do a fist bump. But there is no weight t' her bump and I thinks Cass no looks very good today. O’ course I dunt tell her so. And neither does Ma. We tries t' make light of things. As always. Not worry Cass. It's then I see Ma gi' me the wink; her way o' saying; well done girl, you is grown up some.

What be for us breakfast Ma, me and little Cass chimes up? Ma says usual, that little spiny hog’s meat bin stewing long enough now for it t' fall off-of bone, so int it time we quit mithering her? Yes Ma. Get thee sen outside, fettle summat. Okay Ma. Grab ladle, Ruby, spoon some o’ that stew up for me and you and little Kerry Jo, for Cass, for Beezer the Wheezer, and rest of them old lags, all blessed nine of ‘em!

And we all cheers and hollers; all blessed nine of ‘em!

Plates is flecked with smoky bits from fire. When Ma comes bustling out ‘o shelter I shows her. Nuffin’ wrong with that she says t' me. And dun’t you be spilling none, else it’ll be yous doin’t’ scrubbing.

Is my pride and joy that tabletop, I tells her, and she laughs at that. And this time there is summat nice 'bout her laugh, sure there is.

Ma snatches flour cakes off-of fire pan, and we eat. Quiet enough for a time, ‘cept for scraping and stuff. Quiet that is until that mangy old lag Loops, growls, ‘kin’ bones Sheila, and spits bones on floor, and is away wi’out his plate. He takes his nip o’ grog though and heads for yon cesspit, as Ma says, faster than a freet doe wi’ a terrier up it’s arse. Grumbling all time, he is, hollering back at us, he’ll be right as nine-pence once he’s rid him sen o’ ‘effin slops.

To his crooked back Ma gis him crooked finger, says t' rest o' us crew, he be damn hoity that Loops. We laughs at her, me and Cass, and Kerry Jo, ‘cause Ma is good folk – looks after us crew night ‘n’ day, fretting and doing. O’ course, it has t' be said, and I be first t' know it; Ma suffers no fools.

Anyways, when I is finished eating I says t' Ma, I be away t' shift now. Aye, she says, and be sure and stay topside o’ pit track.

I no go near pits Ma, you knows that. Men folk only. All signs say it, or summat like it – I no can read much and anyways Ma allus says stay topside, but then today she also says, which shift you on Ruby, glass again?

Aye, I says, is glass for me. Why not tin then, surely it be your turn on tin? Gaffer Corky says I stay on glass ‘cause I likes glass, ‘specially coloured stuff (hate tin – don’t fuss at plastic none). Ma dunt say owt at that and I gis her a stare. I thinks; she dunt trust Gaffer Corky none. Least, that’s how it looks t' me. Got his eye on me for when I turn she reckons. Says more horrible things, stuff like; wunt put nowt past that evil bastard.

When will I turn I says t' Ma? When’s yous twelve girl, or thereabouts, which is soon enough.

***

I thought 'bout it some on mi way t' pit. What Ma says 'bout Gaffer Corky and other stuff that’s bin mithering me; really really mithering me, like what Ma says t' me t'other night when we was bunked down and I reached o'er and gi her a little shove.

What Ruby, she says?

What is away from here, Ma...for real?

I says for real, ‘cause I as heard loads o’ strange tales from old lags and timers, but always reckoned it were grog and shrooms making funny talk. Ma thought on what I’d said. In the end she says t' me, away from here Ruby, there is only greed and hate.

I dunt like sound o’ that and is sure glad I'll never be leaving Donstown.

Now I has come on shift I see Beezer is pit-side neath big winch, hauling wi' big Jimmy K. From where I is standing it looks like mainly glass, some tin.

Heavy, I reckons, but solid. Easy enough for 'em t' bring round.

They is moving ‘catch’ away from pit now, t' flatbeds. Tricky bit Beezer says is when load starts t' swing. You has better dig your heels in good and proper and take a hold or else sprout wings and learn t' fly.

Wind gets up all o' a sudden, like it has a habit o' doing this time of a morning, and I thinks, Beezer looks small. Too small. He won’t be able t' hold it steady ‘cause he’s fagged, and I knows he can’t fly.

Sure enough, Jimmy K’s sees Beezer is fagged and screams at him t' get an ‘effin hold before we’s both sent tumbling!

Another hauler appears. Grabs rope off-of Beezer.

Gaffer Corky is out o’ shed now. Must have heard commotion.

Looks like Beezer knows he’s for it ‘cause he quickly steps back out o’ Gaffer’s way.

Poor Beezer I thinks.

Jimmy K gets load steady again wi' his new help and once him and t’other hauler (looks like the one theys call Bugs) is ready, they’ll shift load in t' position and loose it on t' flatbed like a great glittering catch o’ fish.

Beezer once told me 'bout fish. Says, all them shiny bottles and silvery tins looks like big fish from out at sea when they is dropped in t' a boat. Big massive fish he says, not them bony little tiddlers we scoops out o’ beck and chucks int stew.

If you go long ways from here you come t' sea. Sea is massive water, he told me. Blue and green. Not brown like pit water. Or mucky green like river water. But brilliant green like them bushes on yon hillside. Or other times dark blue like sky is sometimes just afore dark. And water, he says, is way way bigger than owt you can ever imagine.

Bigger than number one pit I asks him?

Like a thousand number one pits he says and deeper too, much deeper.

Big boats go out ‘t' sea’ he says t' me, puts down their nets, hauls up fish, looses ‘em in t' boat.

What happens then?

Brings ‘em back for rich folk t' eat.

Who is rich folk Beezer?

Them’s that live in Sector Housing, ‘specially A and B.

You ever bin in sector housing?

Sector E, he says, long time back, before he got put int sequestrated facility (which he likes t' explain is posh term for Seeks). After Seeks, got put here even though he’d done his time there.

Unfit he says t' me, in his proper best English. ‘Thorities stated; you is not worthy Mr. Beesley; your catalogue of environmental crimes is unforgivable. Can’t be a citizen no more. End of Sector housing for you, Mr. Beesley. And they dunt let him have his papers back, which is rightly his, and stops calling him Mister Beesley all o' a sudden and for good measure, chips him, too.

Oh, I says, and shrugs, ’cause I has already heard exact same tale from Ma and was more interested in his story 'bout fish.

Beezer, I says, yous ever actually bin t' sea?

No, he says, not properly right out t' sea. Only in t' what they calls a bay. I gets sick he says. That’s what happens, when you is on a boat. You gets sick.

He looks sick now.

Gaffer Corky has caught up wi him, shoved him t‘ ground.

Face down in a big puddle Beezer is. Getting proper wet, just laying there in all that muck. Only he dunt dare move what wi' Gaffer stood o'er him, cursing and doing.

Let him up I thinks. Goo on Corky. No real harm done.

Gaffer Corky kicks Beezer where it really hurts a man. And proper hard too. And I wants t' go shout at him; leave him be, will you, you big bully! But I dunt ‘cause I is only a girl.

When at last Gaffer Corky moves off, Beezer drags him sen up on his knees and pukes and only gets t' his feet proper when he’s done fetching all his breakkie up.

Big Jimmy K shakes his head and I thinks, Poor Beezer; his hauling days is o'er.

I reckons Gaffer Corky gone and told him t' git his arse down’t pit and join rest o’ miners. Sure looks that way, ‘cause t’old lag is already making his way t’ ladders. But then he stops all sudden like, and looks o'er at me.

I waves and he waves back. Beckons me t' him.

I shakes mi head. No Beezer, I mouths at him, I is not supposed t' go pit-side.

Wish I'd gone now.

***

Back at flatbeds I is waiting mi turn wi’ rest ’o wheeling crews, too busy watching Beezer t' notice when load is loosed and I fair jumps off-of ground when I hears the ching-a-ching-cheeeee of all them bottles and tins raining down on t’ flatbed.

I looks back at pit. Sees Beezer is half way down first terrace ladder, on his way t' two more that’ll take him all way down t' pit floor. Long ways down. So far down that from up here miners looks like an army of little ants.

Poor Beezer I thinks, remembering what Ma says; tis for his own good I is always on at him, Ruby. Done told him often enough t' lay off-of grog or else he wunt be fit f’ nowt.

Reckon she be proved right too.

I no think he’ll last long. Not quick enough if you asks me. Not if there’s a cave-in from terrace above.

Men gets crushed. Sometimes, even being quick on yer feet int no good, ‘cause they just gets swallowed up anyway. That happens when what they calls a ‘fissure’ suddenly appears beneath ’em in pit floor.

Oftentimes they is trapped up t' their necks in it. The miasma Beezer calls it. A great slimy stinky swamp of muck and gooey stuff that oozes up through pit floor.

Sometimes miners is lucky. They gets hauled up on a rope.

Oftentimes, they just vanish and yous can hear 'em for a time, crying and moaning.

Sometimes you dunt hear nowt at all.

Poor Beezer I thinks, Ma is right. Won’t last five minutes.

***

Load is settled and sorters is in amongst it all and we has t' wait in line till sorters has sorted, which dunt take long. Is a production line Gaffer Corky says – smooth and ‘fficient. Next haul will be up soon and loosed in a jiffy. Sorters sort. Us in wheeling crew wheels, and on it goes till dark. I has a trolley. A little ‘un I can work on mi jack as Cass is laid up and won’t be joining crews. Least not today.

Gaffer Corky dunt mind none.

Anyone has owt t' say why Cass dunt pull her weight they should come see me, he says. I says t' Ma, shows ‘is ‘manitarian side. Like shit it does Ruby; yous no wise enough. Not bin round block like me. Whatever that means?

Ma and Corky, Beezer once told me, is what they calls a love-hate relationship. Bloody strange if you asks me. But then, lots o’ things are.

Ma is right I reckons. So much I dunt get. Like, what in heavens name were them huffy-puffy-grunty noises coming from back o’ shelter t’other night, after I’d turned in? After Ma had said goodnight t' Gaffer Corky.

I remember Ma cheered up no end that night, after supper it was, when Gaffer Corky showed up carrying two bottles from his private still.

From mi private still, he says t' Ma, want t' join me?

They drank it all, save for a cup or two they doled out t' all 'o lags 'cepting Beezer who suddenly cleared off, which come t' think o’ it, were a rum do. Can’t for life of me work out why Beezer took him sen off? Passing up on grog like that. Never in a month a Sundays, as Ma would say!

Anyways, is beside the point. That night (would be a week or so back) not long after I turned in, I hears Ma get up, go round back o’ shelter. That’s when huffy-puffy-grunty-oinky noises start.

They went on for a time too.

After a bit I hears Ma say yes. Kind of funny. And Gaffer says yes too. Also funny. And Ma says yes again. Gaffer says yes. Ma. Yes. Gaffer. Yes. Ma. Gaffer. Ma. Gaffer.

Yes. Yes .Yes. Yes. Bleeding yes! Yes what I thinks?

In heaven’s name what is they asking each other that they needs t' keep on asking each other, o'er and o'er again, even though they has both agreed t' it…o'er and o'er again?

Bottom line is, I dunt know.

I do knows this much. There’s a ton o' things I dunt yet know that I will one day.

Morning after night o' huffy-puffy-grunty-oinky noises, when we has finished eating breakkie, I does know enough t' say, yes Ma, I did, when Ma says t' me, you looked proper bushed last night Ruby, bet you went out like a light?

***

I is at front o’ queue again. Must be tenth time today. I is helping loaders load glass now as they is short-handed on account of some bug that's doing rounds.

Oh well, I thinks, I has set mi mind t' job in hand in spite of everything.

Most of glass we sort is pieces. Some is whole bottles. Pieces is smooth though, not sharp so as t' cut. Anyway, in no time at all mi trolley is piled high again and one o’ sorters says go, and I go, and joins trail, speeds past some o’ old lags and crooked ones bumbling along.

I makes it t' trailers real quick. Load is wheeled up ramp by one o‘ crew waiting there, up-tipped and wheeled back t' me and off I goes back t’ pit. I is most o' way back there when I hears cries, and I hears commotion, and sees folk running.

When I gets t' pit I pushes mi way t' front o’ hordes, sees most o’ mid-terrace has crumbled. Ladders is gone. Miners has scattered.

Commotion just gets worse till finally I sees some ‘o men, must be hundred or so, is working there way back.

Most of ‘em is still gathered close t’ cave-in, looking for survivors. It’s a big ‘un, too, by all accounts. Talk is of a fissure. Often cause o’ terrace cave in.

I looks for Beezer. Should be easy enough t' spot him seeing as he’s so bent and come rain or shine allus wears his red and white woolly hat that says 'Blades' on it.

Reckon I ought t' have seen him be now. Can’t though.

Anyone seen Beezer I asks one o‘ first miners t' reach pit side?

No luv.

Beezer I asks another?

No, not seen Beezer.

You seen him eh?

Beezer, aye.

Where is he?

Think he were with Lenny last I saw him. You knows Lenny?

No, I says, dunt know Lenny.

Is Beezer alright then?

He shrugs. Walks off.

Shit I thinks to mi sen.

More miners is making their way topside when Gaffer Corky gathers us round, tells us shift is suspended for time being. Go back t’ shelters he says, rest up till he gis word.

I stays a time, waits for news o’ Beezer.

There is none.

Only thing I find out is; five men missing, maybe more?

In the end I goes away.

When we gets call later on int afters t' git back ‘cause they’s started hauling again, I dunt bother with trolley park. I goes straight t' pit.

They is hauling again all right, only there’s no recycle in this load. Not if you dunt count Beezer?

Knew he wunt last long. Never dreamed he’d cop for it so soon.

***

After supper, when it’s gone proper dark, Ma says t' me and Kerry Jo, t' little Cass as well, whose nose is full of snot and eyes damn near swollen shut what with all her sobbing and carrying on; 'bout Beezer girls.

What Ma?

Perhaps it’s better this way?

Ma is wise, sure enough, and dunt make up silly talk on a whim (as she has a want t' say), but I dunt see how it’s better this way wi’ Beezer dead?

I liked him. The crooked old lag. Liked him a lot. Times were when he felt like an older brother t' me, almost like a Dad.

I hold back mi tears. Has done since we got word. But it’s hard, see, t' keep from crying, only I has a mind t' be strong. Dunt want little Cass t' start up again, not wi' her chest being so bad, her wheezy breaths coming so slow and raspy now they is barely enough puff left in 'em t' blow fluff of a dandelion clock.

Later, when I gets in bed I cries. Only a little. And silent like. I is wondering what Beezer wanted t' tell that I'll never know?

Before I sails off completely, gets lost in mi ocean of dreams, I forgets all 'bout that and thinks t' mi sen; almost like a Dad, and then; best say nowt t' Ma 'bout that.