Nancy Carson - The Railway Girl

‘Designing and carving gravestones, me, polishing slate and marble …’

‘It’s always me what has to go to these terrible places.’ He gestured with his hand to encompass in a frustrated sweep the very graveyard that now surrounded them.

‘Count your blessings, our Arthur. At least you ain’t got father around you when you’re out and about. But if you’re dissatisfied, have a word with the old sod. Maybe he’ll smile benignly upon you and start an apprentice who can do all them jobs.’

‘Him? Smile? Benignly?’ Arthur scoffed. ‘Anyway, apprentices take time to learn. Years. And they cost money. That miserable old bugger won’t spend any money, he’s too tight-fisted. No, I ain’t very pleased, Talbot.’

‘Well, I’m off for a drink. It’s up to you whether you come or not. But a drink might sweeten you up a bit.’

Then Arthur remembered the girl with the blue eyes who had said her name was Lucy, and he suddenly brightened up. ‘Why don’t we go to the Whimsey? I went there last night with the lads from the cricket team. They keep a good drop o’ beer. And it’s on the way home.’

‘All right, we’ll go to the Whimsey. I’ll ask Father if he wants to come.’

‘No, leave him be,’ Arthur said, not relishing the prospect of his father’s company. ‘Let him go home. I don’t want him around me.’

‘But you can ask him about keeping you away from churchyards.’

‘It won’t make any odds.’

‘Maybe not, but we can’t not ask him to come.’

‘Oh, all right then.’

So Jeremiah joined his two sons.

Outside the Whimsey men were standing in groups, some leaning against the bay windows either side of the door, while some were squatting on the kerb. All were drinking, taking advantage of the evening warmth of an unexpected Indian summer.

‘Shall we drink outside?’ Talbot enquired.

‘I’d rather go inside, in the saloon bar,’ Arthur said decisively, driven by the possibility of seeing this Lucy again. ‘I’ll get the beer.’

He made his way through the small but crowded taproom towards the counter and waited his turn to be served. An older woman, presumably the landlord’s wife, was supping from a crock and serving drinks alongside Lucy. He watched them, trying to decide which one would get to him first, trying to catch Lucy’s eye. When she saw him she smiled reservedly, and asked to serve him, making his insides flutter ominously once more.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, pleasantly surprised. ‘You took off a bit quick last night. Are you all right now?’

Arthur grinned sheepishly. ‘A lot better, thanks.’ He was tempted to mention his suspected piles; it might elicit some sympathy. But he didn’t know this girl well enough, and piles were a bit personal and private to talk about when you didn’t know somebody well … and might easily put them off. ‘Three pints please, Lucy.’

‘Fancy you remembering my name,’ she said amenably, grabbing three tankards. She began to fill them from a barrel behind her. ‘Are your trousers dry now?’ she asked over her shoulder.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, then placed the beers on the counter.

He handed her a shilling. ‘Oh, and have a drink yourself.’

‘That’s decent of you. Thank you.’ She handed him his change and he relished the brief moment when the tips of her slender fingers brushed his palm. ‘Are you here with your mates again?’

‘No, my brother and my father this time,’ he replied, passing two foaming tankards to Talbot. ‘We’ve just come from church. D’you go to church, Lucy?’

‘Me? Not since my sister got wed at the Baptist chapel. No, I haven’t got time for church. My mother goes regular though. To the Baptist chapel …’ She turned to her next customer and began serving him.

But Arthur remained where he was, hoping to be blessed with some more conversation with this girl who appealed so much.

‘Is that your brother?’ she asked, evidently content to continue talking to him while he tarried, to his delighted surprise.

‘Yes. His name’s Talbot. And that’s my father with him.’

‘I’ve seen them about. Funny as I hadn’t seen you till last night. Then I see you two nights running.’

‘I know,’ Arthur replied with a grin, his confidence growing, for this girl seemed easy to talk to, and not like the others. ‘It’s a funny coincidence, don’t you think?’

She handed her latest customer his beer and took his money, still looking at Arthur. ‘I bet my dad knows yours.’

‘Oh? How’s that, then?’

‘He says he knows most folk round here. What’s your name?’

‘Arthur Goodrich. I’m a stonemason. The old man’s Jeremiah. So who’s your father?’

‘Haden Piddock. He works at the Earl’s. He’ll be here soon. He generally comes for his beer about this time.’

‘Maybe I’ll recognise him. Does he go to church or chapel?’

The notion evidently amused her, for she laughed. ‘My father? This place is his church … and his chapel.’

Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Talbot. ‘Is she the reason you wanted to come here for a drink? The doxy?’

Arthur grinned sheepishly. ‘She seems a decent wench.’

‘Her’s got long eyelashes, I’ll grant yer,’ Jeremiah remarked scornfully. ‘But I’ll tell yer this … As long as her can work, cook and bear babbies, the length of her eyelashes is of no consequence. Anyroad, her’s Haden Piddock’s youngest, unless I’m very much mistook.’

Arthur stepped back from the counter. ‘You know Haden Piddock?’

‘Oh, I know him all right.’ Arthur noticed with awful disappointment the scorn in his father’s tone.

‘Well, I don’t know Haden Piddock myself, Father, but his daughter seems a fine young woman.’ He slurped his beer and avoided his father’s look of disdain. ‘And I ain’t getting mixed up in some ancient feud you might have had with him.’

‘Got your eye on her, have yer?’

‘I might have. What’s it matter to you?’

‘Well, if you tek my advice you’ll keep well clear of anything to do with Haden Piddock.’

‘I was telling Father how you fancy a change from working in graveyards all the time, Arthur,’ Talbot said, discreetly switching the topic.

‘And I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,’ Jeremiah said testily. ‘Somebody has to do the stones in churchyards. We’d be better off employing somebody to work the forge and sharpen chisels. A handyman. But even a handyman will cost money and bring nothing in return.’

Arthur glanced back at Lucy, sorry that he had been dragged away from her, even more sorry that his father evidently didn’t think much of hers.

‘Did you hear what I said, Arthur?’

‘I did, Father,’ he said, turning his attention back to the old man. ‘But I’d rather you employed another stonemason. It’s bad enough in the summer with all the rain we get, but in the winter I might as well be a snowman. I’d rather work in the workshop. If you started another stonemason, I could.’

‘And where am I gunna get another skilled stonemason in Brierley Hill?’

‘Advertise,’ Arthur suggested logically. ‘There’s bound to be somebody in Stourbridge or Dudley. Or even Kingswinford. But you’d have to pay him more than you pay me.’

‘I got no sympathy with yer,’ Jeremiah claimed. ‘Respect is better than remuneration.’

‘Well, I don’t think so. Give me remuneration any day of the week. The respect will follow.’

‘Listen to yer. Talking damned rubbish. We’ve all had to work in churchyards at some time, and it’s done we no harm.’ He coughed violently as if to disprove his own theory. ‘And it’ll do you none neither. You’ll have to grin and bear it, our Arthur.’