marmalade before taking a bite.
‘He’s dead.’
Miles shrugged. ‘Nothing contagious, I hope?’ Old men who were paupers usually died.
Tom almost said it was indeed contagious, typhoid perhaps, or cholera. But he didn’t. ‘No, not contagious. The miner’s disease, emphysema. And poverty of course.’
‘These pitmen rarely save for their old age; they give no thought for tomorrow. All they are interested in is spending their wages in the nearest ale house.’
Tom frowned but said nothing. He would never succeed in changing his father’s opinions, he’d tried before. In any case it was true that the ale houses were full on pay nights. He decided to change the subject.
‘That woman who stayed on in the old Jane Pit rows died too. I was surprised she was still living there on her own, but for her granddaughter. I think there is a boy too. He’s just a child, still at school.’
Miles, who had been raising his cup to his lips froze, the cup halfway.
‘Father?’
Miles realised Tom was waiting for a comment. ‘Oh, did she? I seem to remember there was one left there.’
‘Yes. I was surprised she was allowed to stay really. She would have been better off in Winton Colliery, surely?’
‘The houses in Winton are needed for the pitmen. Anyway she couldn’t afford to pay any rent. It was an act of kindness to allow her to remain at Jane Pit.’
Tom almost choked on his coffee at the idea of his father doing an act of kindness to one of the mining community. Perhaps he wasn’t so hard as he had thought.
‘She was a widow. Her husband and son were killed in the disaster at Jane Pit,’ said Miles almost as thoughhe had to explain himself. ‘In any case, it costs nothing. Since then there has been the Employers Liability Act of 1880. Iniquitous it is. Now they’re bringing in a Compensation Act. More often than not these miners are killed through their own negligence. And accidents happen in any walk of life.’
Tom stood up abruptly. He was too weary to argue and if he stayed he would be unable to stop himself.
‘I think I’ll have a bath and a rest before it’s time for my surgery,’ he said. He had a practice in Winton village that barely covered expenses which was the reason he was living at his father’s house.
‘Why you don’t take a practice in the town I don’t know,’ grumbled his father. ‘I have told you I am willing to help you buy . . .’
But it was too late, Tom was already halfway up the stairs.
Seven
Miles was once again riding along the old waggon way that ran from Winton Colliery along by the side of the deserted village and old pit. Though nowadays it was more comfortable for him to take the tub trap when he went round the collieries in his charge, a horse could go places a trap could not. Not that he had intended to go to Old Pit for really he was on his way to Eden Hope, and usually he took the newly tarmacked road when he went there.
He was thinking of his future plans. Although he had said nothing as yet to Tom, he had been thinking of remarrying lately. Miss Bertha Porritt was the daughter of a mine owner on the other side of the Wear, a man with three mines all producing good quality coking coal and no sons to inherit. She was a bit long in the tooth perhaps but what did that matter? With his knowledge of the coal trade and the burgeoning iron trade inMiddlesbrough, he could go a long way. Miles smiled to himself. Her nose was a trifle long too and the only red patch on her face, but who looked at the chimney when you stoked the fire?
Miss Bertha had looked sideways at him the last time he’d been invited to dine with her father. And he could swear that her pale eyes had softened when she looked at him.
It was just a notion, he told himself when he took the branch of the waggon way that led to Old Pit. After his talk with Tom that morning he might as well see for himself if there was anything left to be salvaged from the houses. The woman had gone now so
‘He’s dead.’
Miles shrugged. ‘Nothing contagious, I hope?’ Old men who were paupers usually died.
Tom almost said it was indeed contagious, typhoid perhaps, or cholera. But he didn’t. ‘No, not contagious. The miner’s disease, emphysema. And poverty of course.’
‘These pitmen rarely save for their old age; they give no thought for tomorrow. All they are interested in is spending their wages in the nearest ale house.’
Tom frowned but said nothing. He would never succeed in changing his father’s opinions, he’d tried before. In any case it was true that the ale houses were full on pay nights. He decided to change the subject.
‘That woman who stayed on in the old Jane Pit rows died too. I was surprised she was still living there on her own, but for her granddaughter. I think there is a boy too. He’s just a child, still at school.’
Miles, who had been raising his cup to his lips froze, the cup halfway.
‘Father?’
Miles realised Tom was waiting for a comment. ‘Oh, did she? I seem to remember there was one left there.’
‘Yes. I was surprised she was allowed to stay really. She would have been better off in Winton Colliery, surely?’
‘The houses in Winton are needed for the pitmen. Anyway she couldn’t afford to pay any rent. It was an act of kindness to allow her to remain at Jane Pit.’
Tom almost choked on his coffee at the idea of his father doing an act of kindness to one of the mining community. Perhaps he wasn’t so hard as he had thought.
‘She was a widow. Her husband and son were killed in the disaster at Jane Pit,’ said Miles almost as thoughhe had to explain himself. ‘In any case, it costs nothing. Since then there has been the Employers Liability Act of 1880. Iniquitous it is. Now they’re bringing in a Compensation Act. More often than not these miners are killed through their own negligence. And accidents happen in any walk of life.’
Tom stood up abruptly. He was too weary to argue and if he stayed he would be unable to stop himself.
‘I think I’ll have a bath and a rest before it’s time for my surgery,’ he said. He had a practice in Winton village that barely covered expenses which was the reason he was living at his father’s house.
‘Why you don’t take a practice in the town I don’t know,’ grumbled his father. ‘I have told you I am willing to help you buy . . .’
But it was too late, Tom was already halfway up the stairs.
Seven
Miles was once again riding along the old waggon way that ran from Winton Colliery along by the side of the deserted village and old pit. Though nowadays it was more comfortable for him to take the tub trap when he went round the collieries in his charge, a horse could go places a trap could not. Not that he had intended to go to Old Pit for really he was on his way to Eden Hope, and usually he took the newly tarmacked road when he went there.
He was thinking of his future plans. Although he had said nothing as yet to Tom, he had been thinking of remarrying lately. Miss Bertha Porritt was the daughter of a mine owner on the other side of the Wear, a man with three mines all producing good quality coking coal and no sons to inherit. She was a bit long in the tooth perhaps but what did that matter? With his knowledge of the coal trade and the burgeoning iron trade inMiddlesbrough, he could go a long way. Miles smiled to himself. Her nose was a trifle long too and the only red patch on her face, but who looked at the chimney when you stoked the fire?
Miss Bertha had looked sideways at him the last time he’d been invited to dine with her father. And he could swear that her pale eyes had softened when she looked at him.
It was just a notion, he told himself when he took the branch of the waggon way that led to Old Pit. After his talk with Tom that morning he might as well see for himself if there was anything left to be salvaged from the houses. The woman had gone now so
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