Albert & Marie

Chapter Three - The Pit Manager, his Son, and the Bicycle.-1

Chapter Three - The Pit Manager, his Son, and the Bicycle.

“You should never give up, Albert,” his father told him. “Did I give up when they closed the ironworks? No, I did not. It forced us to accept charity for a while, but I did not sit down and give up, I kept going until I had got the job at the colliery. You have fallen on your feet, young man. There are many boys who would give their back teeth to get an apprenticeship as a mining surveyor. It was difficult to get you this opportunity, Albert. Don’t mess it up.”

Albert walked in silence beside his father, leaving behind the rows of terraces of his own street as they crossed into the semi-rural environment of North Road. He could see the sun rising behind the cemetery.

“Mr Dacue has done this himself as a favour to me, Albert. The pit manager himself, if you balls this up, you’ll not only be letting yourself down, you’ll be letting me down as well.”

Houses lined one side of North Road, larger than the small terrace that Albert and his family occupied. Albert’s father pointed to one house.

“That’s Mr Dacue’s house,” he said. “As you get older, Albert, you’ll learn that it’s important to learn our place in society. There are people like Mr Dacue and then there are people like us. We need to be grateful for our place in life, Albert. There are plenty worse off than us. Be grateful you are not one of the poor buggers hewing the stuff off the coal face itself. God knows, enough of your friends were working the night shift while still at school with you.”

Albert remained silent. He knew well that his dad was still furious at him at having lost the job at Mr Brown’s pawnbrokers. He had promised himself that he was going to try even harder this time to make a go at this new opportunity that he knew he didn’t deserve.

When they arrived at the colliery, Albert’s dad led him straight to the colliery office.

“Is this him?” said a large man to Albert’s father as they entered.

“Aye,” said Albert’s dad. “Take your cap off lad and say good morning to Mr Williams, he is one of the overmen here.”

Albert did as he was told. He looked at the cloth cap he borrowed from his older brother and felt the coat around him, borrowed off his dad and remembered the leather cap he had seen in Mr Brown’s shop. He resolved to take his first fortnight’s wages and buy the cap and stick to show Mr Brown that he didn’t need the job in the old man’s dusty shop.

“Stop daydreaming, Albert,” his dad chastised him. “Mr Williams is talking to you.”

“Mr Dacue says you are to be an apprentice surveyor,” said the large overman. “But you will start carrying the pick like everyone else. You’ll work ten hours a day for 10 pence, paid fortnightly and you’ll have a half hour breakfast break at 8 and an hour’s lunch at 12, you knock off at half 4. John, take him to Mr Wood, he’s expecting him.”

Albert’s dad thanked Mr Williams and took his son to the colliery gate and delivered him to Mr Wood.

“I’ll see you at home for breakfast at 8,” his dad told him before heading back to the office.

“Follow me,” said Mr Wood, leading Albert to where coal laden tubs were emerging from the shaft.

Some tubs emerged with a pick on top and they threw these onto a metal sheet at the side. It was to this sheet that Mr Wood was leading Albert.

“Grab those picks, boy, and follow me,” said Wood.

Albert, struggling with the picks, followed Wood to the pick sharpener where he was told to deposit them.

“You’ll do this for half the day,” said Wood. “The rest of the day you will take the sharpened picks and return them to the shaft, send them down in the tubs. You must do the same for the drills too.”

At 8 am, Albert rushed home for breakfast and it delighted him when his mother gave him bacon like she did his father and elder brother. His younger siblings ate the porridge, which Albert had to eat until today. He watched Bill and Bert pouring milk on theirs and watched it form the familiar moat around the lumpy porridge castle.

He felt he was a peer of his father and brother, that he was now a working man like them, was learning the ways of the colliery and would soon join in their conversations, which had been alien to him.

Albert had to wolf down his breakfast so he could rush back to the colliery where they expected him at half past. He recognised other boys from his own school, especially George and Jim, who were in the Boys Brigade band.

“Out of my way, are you Irish?” a shout from behind made Albert jump, and he turned just in time to evade a boy on a bicycle who would have mowed him down otherwise.

“Who the hell is that?” Albert asked his friends as he watched the boy ride the bicycle to the colliery office.

“That’s Edgar,” said George. “He’s Mr Dacue’s son.”

“Mr Dacue, the pit manager?”

“The same,” said Jim. “He’s a pain in the arse, but there’s not much you can do when his dad’s the boss.”

Albert swallowed his anger and went about his work before Mr Wood could scold him for being late.

That week Albert felt he had never worked so hard in his life, so it relieved him, the following Monday, when Mr Wood told him he would move onto another task.

“You’ll be working further up to the heap,” said Wood, leading Albert to the weighing machine located just outside the shaft. “Now, all the hewers have their own number on tokens which they attach to each tub they fill. Joseph here is the weigh-man, he weighs each tub as it comes up. Charlie over there, is the check weigh-man, he watches the weighing on behalf of the hewers. Call off the numbers on the tokens and then they check off the sheets with the number off the tokens and the weight that comes up on the machine. At the end of the day, they give the hewer his sheet, and he takes that to the colliery office where they telephone the weight to the company. Within half an hour of the end of the shift, the company knows the weights extracted from all of their pits.”

Albert found his second week of work less exhausting than the first and, at the end of his last shift, when he received his wages, a whole ten shillings. It was less than Mr Brown was going to pay and the work was harder, but he felt very pleased with himself and kept the promise he had made to himself a fortnight ago.

He marched straight into town and up the high street until he reached Mr Brown’s shop. Like any Saturday evening, there was a crowd of women gathered around the back door, returning flat irons and tools and taking back possession of their Sunday best. Albert walked in the front door and waited for Mr Brown in the saleroom.

Mr Brown froze when he saw his ex-apprentice in the saleroom.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I don’t have time to mess about with your silly...”

“I want to buy this cap and this stick,” Albert interrupted.

“They cost a shilling for the pair,” Mr Brown smiled, imagining Albert would not have a shilling to his name.

Albert took from his pocket all ten of the shillings he had just received from the colliery, picked one of them out and deposited the rest in his pocket. He placed the shilling on the counter, took the cap and stick and left the shop without another word to the dumbfounded Mr Brown.

Feeling very good about himself, Albert donned the cap and swaggered down the street feeling like a proper toff. He was only half way down the high street when he saw a girl coming the other way. She was more of a young woman being, in Albert’s estimation, a couple of years older than he.

“Good evening,” said Albert, lifting his cap.

“Good evening,” the young woman smiled, appreciating the attention.

Albert walked on, pleased with the encounter, knowing that next time he met this young woman he would be at liberty to take the conversation further but for now he satisfied himself with the encounter and headed for home where his mother was ready with tea, expecting his wages.

“I’m home,” he shouted as he crossed the threshold, the delicious smell of pigs fry hitting his nostrils as soon as he entered.

“Where have you been?” his mum complained. “Come on then, let’s have it.”

He dug into his pocket and handed over nine shillings.

“What’s this?” his mum asked, examining the coins. “You’re mean to get ten.”

She looked at him and saw the cap and stick.

“Where did you get those?”

“Mr Brown’s.”

“How much did you pay for those?”

“Sixpence each.”

“Sixpence each? You can get a good pair of shoes for two shillings.”

She sighed.

“Well, I suppose we can’t begrudge you a little something for yourself after your first fortnight of employment. Get yourself washed up, the tripe and onions are ready, we’ve been waiting for you.”

On Monday morning, they gave Albert his third job in three weeks. Mr Wood led him down to where they emptied the tubs.

“Here, take the tokens off the tubs,” Wood explained. “Take the tokens from two tubs at a time but don’t mix them up. Frank there will tell you if the tub has too much stone content. If it does, you need to tell Bob in here.”

Wood pointed to a man in a cabin in which hung two or three hundred tokens on hooks.

“Bob will chalk the number on that board,” Wood continued. “And the master weigh-man will deduct it from the total tonnage. If not, you just put the token through the holes in the token cabin.”

Albert adjusted to this latest job and was upbeat as he walked back to the colliery after his lunch break. He met up with George and Jim halfway down North Road, and they were almost at the colliery gate when they heard a familiar shout.

“Out of the way, peasants!”

The group stepped aside as Edgar Dacue charged past on his bicycle.

“He’s going to get his comeuppance one of these days,” Albert grumbled.

“Keep your hair on,” said George. “There’s nowt you can do about the pit manager’s son. Best bite yer lip and get on with yer work.”

Albert was not happy, but he followed his friend’s advice. He tried to keep his head down and over the following weeks they moved him to the area where he would prepare the empty tubs to go back into the empty cages where the miners would take them down the shaft. Then they allowed him to work in the token cabin and keep the records there.

He was told that, having grasped a basic experience of the workings of the colliery above ground, they would not expect him to go underground to hew or load or drive the ponies but would complete a mine surveying course which covered drawing, surveying, geology, mechanical engineering, winning and working coal.

On August bank holiday, the whole family went down to the river. It was tradition that the entire village crossed the river via the ‘steppy stones’. Albert made sure he met up with George and Jim, he didn’t want to get burdened with having to look after his brothers and sisters.

It was cool, dry and sunny as the boys queued to cross the river and, once on the other side, he soon spotted the young woman he had met on the High Street, she was standing with a couple of friends, they were all holding bunches of flowers.

“Do you know those girls?” he asked his friends.

“They’re the Jones sisters,” said George. “You’d have your work cut out for you there.”

“Let’s go over and say hello.”

“Whatever you say, you’re the boss.”

“Good day,” said Albert as they approached the girls, removing his leather cap theatrically.

“Good day, sir,” the young woman laughed as her sisters giggled.

“Very nice flowers,” Albert persisted. “What are they?”

“These yellow ones they call Fairy’s Wand.”

“Are you a little person?”

“I might be. Our family comes from North Wales, the land of faerie.”

“You must be useful around the house then?” Albert laughed. “May I ask your name, pretty?”