The Lamp

CHAPTER 1 The sleepy stars were still high in the sky and the slumbering moon a silvery orb low on the horizon, as Thomas and Victor, quietly closed the rickety door behind them. “Use the latch lad, if you wake your sisters by slamming that bloody door, I’ll take the skin off your arse with me belt buckle. Your mother won’t want them up on this of all days! “Victor looked up at the scarred, smiling, face of this uncle. “You touch me with any belt Uncle Tom, and I’ll tell my mam! You know she’ll have your guts for garters if you don’t look after me proper. “The older man winked his bright, left eye at the youth and chided, “Your mam is a sight to behold when she’s angry. She’s got a mouth that can blister the varnish off the chapel pews at a hundred yards and a temper to match it. ‘‘Specially where her darlin’ little Victor is concerned. They both stepped quietly away from the door, their hob nailed boots ringing disobediently on the flagstones of the pavement. In the fast-fading gloom they could see other shapes appearing from Doors all along the terraced street. “Come on lad, step lively, we can’t be late today, not on your first day down the pit. “Victor, shuddered, a feeling of hopelessness and resignation filled him, and his step seemed to falter. If Thomas had noticed the lad’s discomfort and reluctance, he made no comment about it. “Don’t worry lad, everyone ‘ates it at first, it’s the first twenty years that are the worst.” “If I live that long Uncle Tom.” “Let’s get one thing sorted out right now young Victor, when we leave the house to go to the pit, we’re butties, not relatives, everybody’s butties down that bloody ‘ole, even yore worst enemy. Just remember that and you will be fine, we all look out for one another down there see.” Victor pulled his coat collar tightly around his neck and followed the dim shape in front that he thankfully knew was his uncle, only now, he was even more special, he was his butty. “Don’t walk so fast Unc, I mean Tom, let my eyes get used to the dark or I’ll break my neck, before I get to the pit.” “Sorry lad, but we can’t stop to enjoy the view or that bastard Gregory, will stop us a day’s pay.” Victor looked up startled, it was the first time his uncle had ever used, ‘language’, in front of him. Victor had only heard a few hushed whispers about Mr. Gregory, the mine owner’s manager, they said he was a harsh man, chiselled out of coal, as cold as the frost on the windowpane on a crisp winter’s morning and as kind hearted as a terrier down a rabbit hole. “What’s he really like Tom? Is he as bad as they say he is?” “Don’t expect any favours off him even on your first day, lad”. Tom answered seriously. “He’s as bad as about half of what you have heard, and that makes him a pretty mean sod. “He turned and hurried on. They were joined by several other miners, all trudging their way towards the eerie silhouette in the dim distance that Victor knew was the beginning of the end of his dreams! “Why have you got a face like a smacked arse then Victor? Said a voice from behind him, that belonged to Stuart Thomas, a man Victor, vaguely knew as someone who had been kind to his mam, the day they brought home the broken body that had once been his father. They had carried him up to the bedroom and the family had waited four days for him to die! His mother had not shed a tear, but they all knew she was still an ocean of bitterness and grief inside. “Good morning, Mr. Thomas, I didn’t think anyone could see how happy I was to be going down the pit for the first time, in this gloom. “Victor said sullenly. “Don’t Mister me, boy! You are a man today, and you will call me Stew, unless you don’t like me that is?” Victor looked hard at the thick set miner but could not make out any expression on the fellow’s face. “I’m sorry Stew, our Tom, told me to use first names but I forgot, I’ll get used to it eventually. There seems to be more to going to work than just leaving the front door and setting off!” “You’ve got a good teacher in your Uncle Tom; lad just do as he tells you and you won’t go far wrong.” Tom, tugged hard at Victor’s elbow. “Come on you two, I can’t afford to lose half a shift whilst you two silly buggers talk about names. “He looked at his nephew’s elbow and arm and spoke thoughtfully, “You’ll need to get some muscle in those arms of yours, if you are going to be worth more than, ‘Tuppence’ a day. You’ve got muscles like knots in bloody cotton you have, I knew our Kate, was bloody spoiling you but bugger me ‘ow are you going to do a hard day’s work with arms like a bloody pretty girl!” Victor pulled his arm sharply away from his uncle before retorting. “Don’t you worry about me; I’ll do my share even if it kills me!” “I’m thinking it’ll kill me, more like. I’ve seen more meat on a jockey’s whip!” “Stupid sod! You have never seen a jockey’s whip.” Stew, guffawed, “You wouldn’t know one if it bit you on the arse!” “Leave me alone the pair of you,” said Victor beginning to feel flushed.” I was one of the biggest boys in my class, at Sunday school.” “Don’t take any notice Victor, you’ll have a lot more leg pulling to put up with before today is out. “Stuart laughed happily as they strode on. They were now part of a swelling throng of men nearing the mine. As he Listened, he could hear them talking, moaning, swearing and even laughing together in hushed voices. The noise and comradeship seemed to lift his sagging spirit and his hob nailed boots appeared to be sliding over the cobbled ground. Victor looked ahead, standing tall in front of him, was the monstrous winding tower, stretching up to touch the floor of the heavens, although he knew that it led to hell, not the place they taught of in chapel. Victor could see that the men were doffing their caps to a man who stood outside a small slate grey building. He neither spoke, nor acknowledged the men’s greetings. “Is that Mr. Gregory?” asked Victor quietly. “Aye butty, that’s the swine, once seen never forgotten!” Answered a voice that Victor recognised as belonging to a man called Herbert Humphries. He’s the one man in this pit that I look forward to attending ‘his funeral. Herbert Humphries was a man, a little over five feet four inches tall, his dark hair almost hidden by his firmly pulled down flat cap. Victor could imagine his brown eyes flashing madly in his swarthy face as he spoke of the infamous Mr. Gregory. Though small of stature, Herbert Humphries, was, without doubt, the most well-respected miner in the locality. He was the agent, of the South Wales Miner’s Federation, or the FED, as the men all called it.