Heart of Coal

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Authors: Jenny Pattrick
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excitement.
    Brennan is harder to read. For a moment Brennan looks hard at Michael, frowning, head to one side. He goes to speak and then thinks better of it; shrugs and flicks a hand at his friend. It is amiable enough. But as he turns away he shakes his head as if to clear it from a distraction. Then he’s gone, through the door to the kitchen, and Michael is back at the bar, dodging his father’s wrath, smiling and nodding at all and sundry.
    Henry sighs and returns to his newspaper. VOLUNTEERS EMBARK FOR WAR, he reads. 300 brave West Coast volunteers set sail today for Wellington, and then on to Australia and the wars in Africa. The contingent is comprised of 40 from Westport, 35 Greymouth, 30 Brunner, 50 Denniston … Henry frowns. More from Denniston than from any other West Coast town. Are they mad? Or blind? (And what if Michael should catch the same zeal?)
    In the hissing kitchen Rose is reading too — an article from an older newspaper. She stands at the table, oblivious to her surroundings. Elizabeth Hanratty is at the other end of the table, a pile of stone bottles in front of her, and a kettle of boiling water. She is supposed to be filling hot bottles for the guests’ beds but as usual her mind is elsewhere. Tonight she is entertained by the antics of little Willie Winkie, in from the stable for his supper. Willie is as full of stories as the Bible, and can tell them as well as any travelling performer. Liza, who rarely finds anything to smile at, is laughing out loud at his story of the mine inspector who tried to tell Willie’s Da how to lay a shot, and instead laid himself out cold when it blew the wrong way.
    Willie shakes his head as if dazed from the explosion. ‘Ahem,’he says in the inspector’s voice, ‘we’d better take a look at your powder, sir. It is surely faulty.’ He grins at Liza and winks. ‘Feckin’ idiot never seen Denniston coal before. Da and his mates nearly caused an explosion of their own trying to hold back the laughter!’
    Liza giggles again in spite of herself, then struggles to compose a more artistic expression as Brennan pushes his way into the room, through a curtain of towels drying on the rack above the coal range.
    ‘Good evening to the workers,’ says Brennan cheerfully.
    Liza fills a bottle with a flourish. She fancies the musical Brennan and often sighs over his dark good looks.
    No one notices the spark go out of Willie Winkie, his face drain of animation at Liza’s change of attention.
    Willie climbs down from his stool. ‘Well, I’m back to my nags,’ he says, his voice cracking. ‘Thank you, Liza … Hey there, cousin!’
    He might as well not be there.
    Rose has continued reading, all through Willie’s stories, leaning on her hands. She notices nothing around her, but reads on as Brennan stands behind her, smiling at her absorption. When he finally puts a hand to her shoulder and lets it lie there, she turns slowly, as if waking, and grins.
    ‘Listen to this, Brennan! Can you believe it?’
    She reads something from the paper. A disgruntled politician accusing Seddon, yet again, of cronyism. Rose is outraged. Seddon can do no wrong in her eyes. He is the champion of miners, upholder of the West Coast. Brennan smiles and listens with only half an ear. Rose is as partisan as the Premier when it comes to mines and miners. But he has been at the receiving end of Seddon’s rude manners and rough talk at their dinner table in Wellington. The man argued loudly all through a performance of Brennan’s, with half the audience shushing him and the other half joining the fray. Brennan, who had practised for weeks, hated it. Like as not his own father, Josiah, was appointedto the Department of Mines by Seddon out of friendship and West Coast connections, but even so Brennan could not take to the man.
    ‘Look at all he has done for us!’ rails Rose. ‘The old age pension! The Arbitration Act!’
    ‘That was Pember Reeves,’ murmurs Brennan, loving her

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