Chapter 1\n\t
Friday, June 13, 1862
David Dickinson\u2019s eyes were wide open. He was staring up at the single window in their one-room tenement flat, willing the light outside to grow brighter. He raised up on one elbow and peered across the darkened room to where a blanket hung from a rope, separating his parents\u2019 sleeping room from the main room. Did he dare just rush in and wake them?
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He sighed, falling back on the pillow. He had not been allowed to enter their sleeping room when the blanket was drawn since he was three, and\u2014his head came up with a jerk.
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\u201cAnnie?\u201d It was his father\u2019s voice, spoken in a bare whisper.
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\u201cI\u2019m awake,\u201d his mother whispered back.
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There was a rustle of straw and the squeak of rope as someone got out of bed. More rustling, this time of clothing. David lay back and squeezed his eyes shut, heart thumping just a little.
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\u201cIs he . . . ?\u201d His mother\u2019s voice still sounded sleepy.
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\u201cNaw. \u2019E still be sleepin\u2019. But Ah moost be goin\u2019 soon.\u201d-1
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\u201cI know.\u201d
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David cracked an eye open when he heard her bare feet hit the floor, then a whisper of sound as she put on a housecoat. A moment later, the blanket separating their sleeping room from the rest of the flat pulled back, and John Dickinson appeared, pulling up the suspenders on his trousers. David closed his eye again as his father tiptoed across the room and lit a candle.
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Softer footsteps moved toward him across the floor. \u201cDavid?\u201d
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He stirred and mumbled something unintelligible.
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\u201cHappy birthday, David,\u201d his mother said softly, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.
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\u201cWhat?\u201d He stretched, then feigned a huge yawn.
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But she knew him too well. \u201cYou cahn\u2019t fool me, young man.\u201d It was her finest London accent. Her hand shot out and found that spot beneath his armpit that she had discovered years before. In an instant he was writhing on the bed, screeching with laughter.
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\u201c\u2019Appy bur\u2019day, Laddee,\u201d his father said, coming back to stand beside his wife. As David sat up, his father bent down and pulled him close. David felt the scratch of thick stubble and smelled the coal dust and candle smoke on his shirt.
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\u201cTank ya, Dah.\u201d
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Over his father\u2019s shoulder, he saw his mother frown. \u201cThank you, Dahdee,\u201d he corrected himself quickly.
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Anne Dickinson was slender and looked pale in the candlelight. The bone structure in her face was fine, almost fragile, and her skin was like the finest of Spode porcelain. She had blue-green eyes and soft, golden brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Her mouth was small and her lips pale, so when she frowned, it was like a shadow drifting across a sunlit meadow. But when she smiled, as she did once again now, it filled her eyes. She was so beautiful, David wanted to reach out and touch her face.
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\u201cYa be most welcum, Son,\u201d his father said, ignoring the brief interchange. He gave him another squeeze, then pulled back and stood, smiling down on him. \u201cNoow then, Davee lad. This be yur sixth bur\u2019day. So yur Mum an\u2019 me, we \u2019ave a wee sooprize fur ya.\u201d
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\u201cWhat, Dahd?\u201d
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\u201cYur muther be tekin\u2019 ya ta Barnslee Town t\u2019day.\u201d
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David leaped to his knees. \u201cBarnslee? Trulee, Dah?\u201d He turned to his mother, hardly daring to believe. \u201cAh\u2019ve never bin ta Barnslee in me \u2019ole life.\u201d
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She sighed, wondering if he would ever be able to get past his Yorkshire accent, but decided to let it pass. His excitement was infectious. \u201cYou\u2019ve actually been there two or three times,\u201d she said, \u201cbut only when you were a wee boy.\u201d
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Reaching in his pocket, his father withdrew three coins. David peered in disbelief. Each coin was a tuppence, a two-pence piece. That made\u2014he calculated quickly\u2014sixpence.
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\u201c\u2019Ere be a little sumthin\u2019 ta \u2019elp ya celebrate. Maybe yur Mum be tekin\u2019 ya ta the sweet shop.\u201d He winked. \u201cLet ya buy sumthin\u2019 ta give ya a real bellyache.\u201d
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\u201cIt be joost fur me, Dah?\u201d
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\u201cIndeed. Ya can pick oot whate\u2019er ya lek. Whaddya think of that, eh?\u201d
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\u201cOh, Dahdee!\u201d His eyes were round and dancing with excitement. \u201cThare be nowt bettur in the \u2019ole wurld than that.\u201d
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His mother sighed. \u201cNot nowt, David. Nothing. Say it properly.\u201d
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\u201cThare\u2014\u201d He stopped at her look, took a deep breath, and tried again, speaking more slowly now. \u201cThere be nothing better in the \u2019ole wurld than goin\u2019 to Barnslee Town.\u201d
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She bent down and kissed the top of his head. \u201cVery good.\u201d
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His father winked at him again. \u201cYur Mum, she be one fine woman from down near London Town, Davee boy. She teach ya \u2019ow ta spek joost reet. Use the Queen\u2019s English reet proper.\u201d
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\u201cI hardly speak the Queen\u2019s English,\u201d she \u00addemurred.
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He went right on. \u201cShe naw murdur the muther tunge lek this old Tyke.\u201d*
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She started to protest, but he raised a hand, cutting her off. \u201cThare be no \u2019ope fur me, Davee boy.\u201d Now he was actually exaggerating his accent. \u201cThe way Ah spek be burned inta me bones. But ya, Davee, if ya listen well, yur muther she mek ya inta one fine laddee. Reet, Annie?\u201d
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Her smile was filled with love as she leaned over and briefly touched his hand. \u201cReet, John.\u201d
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She turned again to her son, combing her fingers through the curls of his dark hair. \u201cAh, David,\u201d she said, her voice warm with love, \u201cyou\u2019re going to be as handsome as your father.\u201d
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\u201cAw, gwan!\u201d her husband said.
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\u201cNo, look at you, John Dickinson, with your brown eyes and dark, wavy \u00adhair\u2014\u00adand that smile that can charm a pig up into a tree. No wonder this wee lass went weak in the knees that day you first came in the company store.\u201d
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David was watching this exchange happily. He ran over to the tiny mirror that hung over the kitchen sink and studied himself quickly. \u201cDo you really think I\u2019ll look like Dah, Mum?\u201d
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She moved beside him. \u201cLook at that jawline\u2014firm and square, just like your father\u2019s. And you\u2019ve got his brown eyes.\u201d She smiled at him in the mirror. \u201cI love your eyes, David. When you smile, the laughter ripples up into them as well. Your hair is a little lighter, but thankfully, you got a bit of your father\u2019s waviness. Mine be straight as a stick.\u201d She bent down and kissed the back of his head. \u201cAye, you\u2019re going to be a handsome one indeed.\u201d
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\u201cAw, gwan,\u201d he said, blushing, and sounding exactly like his father.
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\u201cAh think ya be taller than me eventually,\u201d his father said, moving up beside them.
\n\u201cReally?\u201d David exclaimed. At five foot \u00adseven\u2014just a couple of inches taller than his wife\u2014John Dickinson was one of the shorter men working the Cawthorne Pit, and David worried that he would be like that too.
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\u201cI think so too, John,\u201d Anne said. \u201cThe way he be eating lately, I keep expecting him to sprout ears and turn into a mule.\u201d Smiling, she turned away. \u201cGet dressed, David. Your father needs his breakfast. We\u2019ll leave right after he does so we can have the whole day together. Maybe there will even be time to trek down to the canal and watch them load the coal into the boats.\u201d
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His arm shot high in the air. \u201cYah!\u201d
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Eyes warm with affection, Anne rumpled his hair once more. \u201cGo on, now. Get yourself dressed, then out to the loo with you. Be sure you put on some shoes.\u201d
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She moved to the table but continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye. He gave her an awkward glance, turned his back to her, then slid off his nightshirt. Now she watched him openly, feeling a sadness come upon her all of a sudden.
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The baby chubbiness was completely gone. His vertebrae were visible along the center of his back, and when he reached for his trousers, she could also see his ribs. He was still a little boy to her, but once he started in the mines, his body would become as hard and muscular as her husband\u2019s. She turned away, not wanting to embarrass him further.
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Finished, he gave her a little wave as he went out the door.
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She sighed, not wanting to think either about him growing up or about his starting in the mines.
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Her husband was gathering his things so he could leave as soon as breakfast was done. Anne moved to a shelf and took down a tin box about six inches square. \u201cHere\u2019s your snap, John.\u201d She placed it in the pack he would carry over his shoulder into the mine. The packed lunch didn\u2019t get its name from the meager fare\u2014two boiled eggs, half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and two small pasties,* but from the way the tin lid snapped when it was closed. \u201cJohn?\u201d
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\u201cYah, luv.\u201d His mind was clearly elsewhere.
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\u201cI\u2019m sorry for always trying to correct David. I don\u2019t want to make you feel bad. I love the way you speak\u2014\u201d She smiled. \u201cOr spek. \u2019Tis just that I want David to\u2014\u201d
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\u201cAh know, Annie, luv, Ah know. An\u2019 Ah dunna mind at awl.\u201d
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\u201cAnd do you mind that I am teaching him to read and write?\u201d
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He turned in surprise. \u201cAh think it be grahnd what yur doin\u2019.\u201d
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\u201cI don\u2019t know that much, but . . .\u201d She let it trail off.
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He forced a smile. \u201cAnnie, Ah know what ya be tryin\u2019 ta do, an\u2019 Ah think that it be gud.\u201d How did he say what needed to be said? He was of the sixth generation of coal miners in his family. His wife had not been born in Yorkshire and so she found the life and traditions of the mining community difficult to embrace. Thirteen years had softened her to the point where she accepted the hard realities of their lives, but she would never fully embrace them.
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John Dickinson loved his wife, totally and without reservation. He never criticized her, not to her face, not behind her back. He knew, as surely as he knew how to bring down a block of coal from the coal face, that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
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With a start, he realized she was watching him, waiting. \u201cAh joost wurry a bit,\u201d he admitted. \t
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\u201cGo on.\u201d
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\u201cWe be minin\u2019 folk, Annie. Naw amoont of fancy talk gunna be changin\u2019 that.\u201d He rushed on before she could interrupt. \u201cAh\u2019m not askin\u2019 ya ta stop, mind ya. Joost tek care that ya dunna fill \u2019is mind with dreams that cahrn\u2019t be. That\u2019s awl Ah be sayin\u2019, Annie.\u201d
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For a moment she wanted to flare out at him, grab his shoulders and shake him until he understood. But he was right. These were grand dreams she was having. Bloomin\u2019 madness, some were saying. \u201cHave you listened to him read lately, John?\u201d
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\u201cNaw. Naw fur a bit.\u201d
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\u201cI\u2019m no teacher, John. I barely learned to read myself before\u2014\u201d She shook her head, not wanting to go where that thought would take her. \u201cBut he is so quick, John. He\u2019s already reading better than me. And he knows his numbers, too.\u201d
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He was nodding, but she couldn\u2019t tell if that was just John, never wanting to hurt her, or if he really agreed. \u201cJohn, I do not know how long I shall be here with you.\u201d One hand came up quickly. \u201cNo, John. I hope I\u2019m wrong. But I fear that there were just too many years in the match factory, breathing in that white phosphorus dust.\u201d\u00ad2
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One hand stole up unnoticed and began to gently massage her jaw, the jaw that now gave her pain every time she ate, though she had not told John that yet. \u201cThe doctor says I\u2019ve got a few years yet, but \u2019tis not likely I\u2019ll be here to see him become a man. And we have to get our heads \u2019round that. It will be you who is left to raise our son.\u201d
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\u201cAnnie, please . . .\u201d
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\u201cI want something more for David, John. We lost our little Annie at birth. Another gift from the match factory, I\u2019m sure. And I couldn\u2019t carry any of those other babies for more than two or three months. But David was a fighter. He survived, and he\u2019s all we\u2019ve got. Helping him to learn to speak proper and to read and write\u2014\u2019tis the only way I know how to help him.\u201d
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He turned and took her in his arms. \u201cAnnie?\u201d
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\u201cAye?\u201d
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\u201cAh spek wit Mr. Rhodes, yes\u2019day.\u201d
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Her eyes widened for a moment, then she quickly pulled away.
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\u201cAh tole \u2019im that Davee be six t\u2019day, an\u2019\u2014\u201d
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She put her fingers to his lips. \u201cDunna say it,\u201d she said softly, perfectly imitating his Yorkshire drawl. \u201cI know it moost be, John, but dunna say it. Naw t\u2019day. Please.\u201d
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But it had to be said. \u201cThare be a place for a trapper in Shaft Three. That\u2019s me pit, Annie. At least, \u2019e will be close by so Ah can watch \u2019im.\u201d
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She didn\u2019t answer. \u201cIt be five pence a day,\u201d he added softly. \u201cFive p! We need it to buy more med\u2019cine.\u201d A long pause, then fervently, \u201cAh will naw lose ya, Annie. Ah will naw!\u201d
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She was close to tears. \u201cHow soon?\u201d
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\u201cT\u2019day be Freeday. Rhodes wants \u2019im ta start t\u2019morrow, but I tole \u2019im Munday.\u201d
\nHer head dropped. It was like there was a great stone in her stomach. Then something fierce flared up inside her. \u201cI know it must be so,\u201d she said, \u201cbut promise me one thing, John.\u201d
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His eyes were bleak, but he managed a smile. \u201cWhate\u2019er ya ask of me, luv. Ya know that.\u201d
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\u201cPromise me that you will get him out of the mines. Not now. But sometime. Promise that you\u2019ll take us to America, John.\u201d
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\u201cAw, Annie.\u201d His voice was filled with pain. \u201cAmerica? Thare be naw way. The passage alone be twenty poonds or more.\u201d
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\u201cActually, steerage class is only fifteen pounds. But we need extra for the food. The crossing takes about three months, and the ticket includes only one meal a day.\u201d She had been investigating this for some time. \u201cSo we need money for that, too.\u201d Her eyes were suddenly angry. \u201cRidiculous! It costs less to go to America than to give us a proper burial here.\u201d\u00ad3
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He wasn\u2019t going to be drawn in with any of that. \u201cWe barely be scrapin\u2019 by noow, Annie. Thare joost be naw way. It be only a dream.\u201d
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Her fingers dug into his arm. \u201cNo, John! It is our only hope for him. Promise me.\u201d
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\u201cAw . . .\u201d He shook his head. \u201cMost trappers be startin\u2019 at age five, Annie. Davee awreddy be a year be\u2019ind. Ah started the day after me fifth bur\u2019day.\u201d
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\u201cAnd the Colliers Act of Eighteen \u00adForty-Two says that no child under ten shall be employed in the mines,\u201d she shot back, eyes blazing.
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There was a short, bitter laugh. \u201cParl\u2019ment be passing laws lek that joost ta mek rich folks feel better aboot \u2019ow they treat us poor lugs. The mine owners pay the law naw mind, cuz they know Parl\u2019ment pay it naw mind. Naw up \u2019ere in Yorkshire, they dunna.\u201d
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She wanted to scream. Not at him, but at life. No, at him, too. Because he was right. He was always so infuriatingly right. Which allowed no room for hope, or dreams, or . . .
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He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. \u201cJohn, I will agree to let David start work on Monday on one condition.\u201d
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\u201cAnnie\u2014\u201d
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\u201cHear me well, John Dickinson.\u201d Her eyes were implacable. \u201cPromise me this, or else I\u2019ll keep him home. I\u2019ll teach him to be a clerk or a teamster or something.\u201d
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He sighed. When she was like this, there was no moving her. For someone so gentle, so fragile, sometimes she was more rock than cotton. \u201cWhat it be that ya want me ta do?\u201d
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\u201cI will agree to him becoming a trapper, then a hurrier and a spragger or whatever all the jobs are, and even eventually a miner, if you promise me\u2014you must swear it!\u2014that every penny, every shilling he ever makes, will go into the box.\u201d
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\u201cWha\u2019?\u201d he cried. \u201cWe need that fur yur med\u2019cine, luv.\u201d
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\u201cNo, John. Every shilling, or he stays home.\u201d
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He looked stricken. Why did she think his family had been miners for six generations? Because there was no way out of the mines. None! But he finally nodded. \u201cAh mek ya that promise, Annie. Ya \u2019ave me wurd on it.\u201d He blew out his breath. \u201cYa \u2019ave me wurd.\u201d
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She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. \u201cWould it surprise you, John, to know that I have already saved about twenty pounds?\u201d
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\u201cNaw!\u201d
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\u201cI have. I started right after David was born. It\u2019s in a shoe box under the floorboards.\u201d
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He could only stare at her. What kind of dream fired that level of determination?
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But it was still just that\u2014a dream. \u201cIt tek ten more years ta save e\u2019nuff ta git us awl thare. Davee be sixteen by then.\u201d
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\u201cAnd how old will he be in ten years if we don\u2019t save our money?\u201d she snapped back at him. \u201cI don\u2019t want David to know anything about this. Or anyone else. But you must promise me.\u201d
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Hearing David\u2019s footsteps on the stairs outside, she gave him a quick smile. \u201cCome right home tonight, John. We\u2019ll be having Yorkshire pudding and growler -4 for supper.\u201d
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\u201cWe dunna \u2019ave muney fur growler, Annie.\u201d
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\u201c\u2019Tis your son\u2019s birthday, John,\u201d she cried. \u201cAnd Monday, he goes into the mines. We will be having Yorkshire pudding and growler for supper.\u201d
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Cawthorne was a \u201cpit town.\u201d5 Located about midway between Leeds and Sheffield and three miles west of Barnsley, it was one of dozens of villages that helped sustain the vast \u00adcoal-\u00admining industry in South Yorkshire. Major seams of coal ran for miles through the area. Sometimes these seams were close enough to the surface to outcrop. Other places they dove hundreds of feet underground. Sheffield, one of the great mill towns in all of England, was just a dozen miles to the south, so Cawthorne was in the heart of one of the richest coalfields in the British \u00adsles.
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Cawthorne was home to about a hundred and fifty families, all of them mining families. All the businesses in \u00adown\u2014\u00adhe Cawthorne Dry Goods Store, the greengrocer, a butcher shop, and the Cold Thorne \u00adub\u2014\u00adere owned by Cawthorne Coal Company, as were all of the row houses. Since rent and all transactions in the village used company scrip, the mine owners kept the prices inflated and the miners in perpetual debt, and therefore in perpetual servitude.
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The row houses ran the full length of the single street in Cawthorne. They were joined together in one continuous structure, facing each other like wooden specters having a stare-down. They were dingy, dilapidated, and long ago blackened by soot and coal dust. Each flat or apartment was a single room no more than fifteen feet wide and twenty-five deep. A sleeping area for the parents was partitioned off by a rope and a blanket. Everything else took place in the main room. There was no inside loo, or toilet, only a basin for washing dishes. A large bucket for bringing water from the town pump and a galvanized washtub served as the rest of their \u201cindoor plumbing.\u201d The tub was used both for laundry and for bathing, though it was barely big enough to hold David\u2019s father, and only if he folded his legs up into an impossible position. \t
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Miners bathed each night to cleanse themselves of the coal dust. The rest of the family bathed only on Saturday night. David hated that, because they all used the same water, and he was always last. Not only was the water mostly cold by then, especially in wintertime, but it was gritty from the coal dust left by his father. In large families, the water would actually get so black that you could lose a baby in it. His mother told him that this was the origin of the old saying, \u201cDon\u2019t throw the baby out with the bathwater.\u201d
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For the families\u2019 other personal needs, the company had built forty outhouses behind the tenements\u2014twenty on the north, twenty on the south. Forty outhouses for almost four hundred people. And for all of this, each family was charged one-third of their monthly earnings as rent. The soot, the coal dust, the stench, and the raw sewage came at no extra charge.
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\u201cHurry, Mum.\u201d David was out ahead of her, running forward, eager to be clear of Cawthorne and out into the countryside.
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She smiled. How she envied his irrepressible zest for life. \u201cI\u2019m coming,\u201d she called.
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\u201cHurry. Barnslee be waitin\u2019 for us.\u201d
\nNotes
\n1. For reasons that will become apparent as the novel proceeds, I decided to have the lead characters come from a coal-mining town in Yorkshire, England. This created an immediate dilemma. How to deal with the Yorkshire accent?
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The peoples of the British Isles have an astonishing variety of accents, as my wife and I learned during our three-year stay there. Yorkshireans are not only part of that diversity but have an accent quite distinct. One day my wife and I were in the city of York, which is in the northeast of England, to do some family history research. By then, we had become pretty good at attuning our Yankee ears to local speech. But this day, when I asked for some information from one of the clerks (or clarks, as the Brits say), the woman gave me a lengthy and detailed response. And neither my wife nor I understood more than a word or two of what she said.
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Therein is the dilemma. To have at least some authenticity, I felt I had to reflect the Yorkshire accent to some degree. But if it were too authentic, I was afraid readers would find it tedious and difficult to read. Clearly, there had to be a compromise. Here, in brief, are some of the compromises I chose to make:
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\u2014The formal thee, thou, and thy were used in Yorkshire in the 1800s. However, these were pronounced as thah, thi, and tha. These are used so frequently in conversation that they quickly became a serious distraction, so I went with the more recognizable ya and yur.
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\u2014When a letter is dropped out of a word, it is customary for an apostrophe to be inserted in its place, as in can\u2019t or hasn\u2019t. But in Yorkshire, they drop letters everywhere. The initial h on most words is silent. The becomes just a t\u2019 and is frequently tacked onto the word it modifies (for example, I\u2019ll meet ya at t\u2019pub). With becomes w\u2019 and of becomes o\u2019. Consonants at the end of words\u2014such as in ing words\u2014are often dropped. The dialogue became so peppered with apostrophes that it was downright annoying. For example, here is a sentence expressed as a person from Yorkshire might say it: \u2019E kissed \u2019is wife g\u2019bye, lef\u2019 t\u2019house w\u2019 \u2019is bes\u2019 mate who is o\u2019 Barnslee Town, an\u2019 walked t\u2019 t\u2019mine t\u2019gether.\u201d
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\u2014Couple those two things with their unique pronunciations, and even the simplest phrase becomes a mystery. For example, \u201cGe\u2019 i\u2019 e\u2019en,\u201d does not easily translate into \u201cGet it eaten.\u201d So I often put in more recognizable spellings to make it easier for the \u00adeader.
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For these compromises, I apologize in advance to the friends and associates from Yorkshire my wife and I made while in England. I regret my inability to do justice to your rich and delightful way of speaking. My only excuse for even attempting to do so is that my \u00adgreat-\u00adgrandfather\u2019s ancestors came from Heptonstall in West Yorkshire, which is just twenty-five miles west of where this novel begins. So it is possible that I have a genetic bias for the \u201cmuther tunge.\u201d
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2. The East End of London in the latter part of the nineteenth century had several large match factories. Here is an example of the incredibly deplorable working conditions for children and women in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century England. Women and girls worked six days a week, fourteen hours a day in the match factories and were paid five shillings a week.
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Though it had been banned in the United States and Sweden, Parliament refused to outlaw white phosphorus in England because it would be \u201ca restraint of free trade.\u201d The white phosphorus vapors caused a yellowing of the skin, hair loss, and a form of bone cancer known as \u201cphossy-jaw.\u201d It often led to a horribly painful death (see \u201cMatchgirls Strike,\u201d http://web311.pavilion.net/TUmatchgirls.htm).
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3. This observation was made by two missionaries from the U.S. about British taxation: \u201c[There are] taxes of every kind, . . . for smoke must not go out of the chimney in England without a tax. Light must not come in at the windows without paying duties. . . . There are taxes for living & taxes for dying, insomuch that it is very difficult for the poor to get buried any how, & a man may emigrate to America & find a grave, for less money, than he can get a decent burial for in Old England. We scarce recollect an article without tax except cats, mice & fleas\u201d (in Allen, Esplin, and Whittaker, Men with a Mission, 10\u201312).
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4. Yorkshire pudding is even today a staple of the British diet, especially for the Sunday meal. It is not a pudding in the American sense of the word, but an unsweetened, bowl-shaped pastry usually served with brown gravy. Tradition has it that it was first developed in Yorkshire among the very poor because it was an inexpensive way to fill children\u2019s stomachs when meat and other staples were beyond a family\u2019s means (see Random House Dictionary, s.v. \u201cYorkshire pudding\u201d). At this time in Yorkshire, a \u201cgrowler\u201d was a small pork pie.
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5. Cawthorne and Barnsley are both existing towns in South Yorkshire. Barnsley is a large city, Cawthorne a village of fewer than three hundred people. Specific descriptions of Cawthorne and Pit Number Three are fictional.
\n\tChapter 1
Friday, June 13, 1862
David Dickinson\u2019s eyes were wide open. He was staring up at the single window in their one-room tenement flat, willing...
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