Archie saw the look of surprise on William’s face. He felt the need to set the man at ease.
‘I was impressed with your speech,’ Archie said. ‘You’re a man of conviction. I suspect we share ideals.’
‘Look,’ said Gerald with a sense of finality. ‘I have to get this mess fixed. We’ll talk soon gentlemen.’
Archie also departed leaving William and Floyd for time being in discussion. He was buoyed. He’d made an approach to the union executive, flattered them even. This was just the sort of cause that Archie knew could lift him out of his depressive lonely days.
Chapter Three
Gerald let himself in the back door. There wasn’t a front door; only the entrance into the music academy which fronted the street. Nell lived at the back of the academy.
She wouldn’t be expecting him tonight so he sang out as he walked through to the living room. Nell leapt from her chair tossing her embroidery to one side.
‘Gerald! What a pleasant surprise.’
Gerald kissed her warmly on the mouth and felt her melt under his embrace. He didn’t realise how much he wanted to be lost in his Nellie until this moment. He broke off and let his hands trace her sides before coming to rest on her waist.
‘There was an accident,’ he said. ‘I stayed late.’
‘Oh! Gerald,’
‘It’s all right Nellie,’ he replied. ‘One crushed leg and a few bumps and bruises.’
He placed a finger on Nell’s lips and held her closer. Her lips were warm and soft. She kissed him back.
Nell whispered, ‘Do you have time?’
Gerald nodded and led her into the bedroom.
* * *
Fanny opened the door to Sybil and Elsie. The little girl’s eyes lit up and she took Elsie’s hand then the girls ran off to Fanny’s room. Sybil called out. ‘It’s only me.’
Mary groaned as she hung a nappy on the line. She took a peg out of her mouth. ‘I’m out the back,’ she shouted.
Sybil appeared at the back door and cast a glance over the washing line. A load of whites and a whole string of nappies as well as Archie’s shirts hung above the mud that was the back yard. Vegetable scraps were strewn around and chickens scratched at the remaining tufts of grass. Mary hoisted the line up and hefted the basket to her hip. She let Sybil speak.
‘Elsie was dying to see little Thomas,’ she explained. ‘She’s starting to take an interest now. Archie let her hold him at church.’ Sybil patted her stomach. ‘Elsie was a twin. Did Archie say? Ronnie died at eleven months – pneumonia.’
Mary didn’t know. She knew next to nothing of Archie or his brother’s family. It wasn’t that Archie wasn’t forthcoming for Mary found that he could converse on all sorts of topics. But anything personal seemed to remind him of his grief and Mary did not push him.
She continued her work while Sybil prattled on about Archie and finding him a suitable wife. Mary had heard it all before. It made her uncomfortable, for herself and Archie. She felt as though she knew more about Archie than he knew about her which didn’t seem fair. Sybil was approving of Ann and lamented trying to find a match that was equal to her. Mary doubted she’d find anyone in a hurry. Archie hadn’t yet come to terms with Ann’s death and Mary knew it.
Mary gave the copper a stir with a long stick. ‘Was there anything else, Mrs. Wright?’
‘What do you think about Meg Binnie?’ asked Sybil
‘The school teacher?’
‘She’d be a perfect wife for Archie. Intelligent, good with children. A perfect wife for a mine manager,’ Sybil replied smugly.
‘But Archie isn’t a mine manager,’ said Mary.
‘Not at the moment dear. It won’t be long, I’m sure, before he finds a placement more suited to his talents.’
Mary hadn’t noticed that Archie was unhappy doing his present job. ‘Have you heard something? About the mines here I mean?’
The town had four mines. The Waihi Goldmining Company employed Mary’s father and brother. There had been no talk at home of Gerald moving on. Sybil noticed Mary’s concern.
‘No of course not,’ she answered. ‘But if a position came up outside Waihi he’d be a fool not to take it.’
The children’s voices filtered outside. Mary pushed past Sybil who hadn’t moved off the step. ‘Excuse me, Mrs. Wright. I need to check on the children.’
‘But what do you think?’ Sybil called after her.
‘I’m sure I’m no judge of suitability,’ Mary replied. ‘But last I heard Meg was engaged to Ernie Tucker.’
If Mary faced Sybil she would have observed the disapproving look on Sybil’s face.
Sybil huffed. ‘Well, I’ll just have to look outside Waihi.’
Mary rolled her eyes and paid more attention to her work than was polite until finally Sybil collected Elsie and left.
Chapter Four
Ian McCardie stamped his feet and blew warmth into his hands as he waited for Archie, William and Floyd to finish their shift. It had taken nearly all day to warm up and now it was cooling down again. He loved working the night shift, especially now that baby Liam was crawling. It meant he could be at work while Isabelle and Liam slept but be awake when they were. And he got to enjoy the sun, which was always a wonder to him coming as he did from Scotland.
A hooter sounded and all over the mine engine drivers hauled cages of workers out of the ground and winched the next lot down. Ian mingled with the men at Number Four Shaft.
‘How’s young Buster?’
Ian turned to the voice. It belonged to a wiry man with a thick brush moustache. He looked ten years older than Buster but Ian knew it wouldn’t be the case. Mining aged a man. He was probably only early twenties.
‘He’ll keep his leg,’ Ian replied.
A small cheer went up.
Soon Ian was joined by William and Floyd. Archie completed the changeover and they all walked over to the timber workshop where the carpenters had finished for the day. It was the only place on site a union meeting could be held. Management wouldn’t allow them to meet in their offices and there weren’t any bars in town to have a quiet drink and discuss the concerns of the day. Besides, double shifts meant someone had to start work as soon as the meeting finished.
William introduced Archie to Ian. ‘Secretary of the Waihi Trade Union of Workers,’ he said of Ian.
Ian maintained as much distance as he could while shaking Archie’s hand. ‘Will tells me you’ve a background in management. Wouldn’t you be better suited to that?’
Archie smiled. The man pulled no punches. ‘Not in the foreseeable future. I’ve a family to support and I guess I’ve made Waihi my home now. I’ll not be moving on.’
Ian carefully studied all the men’s faces. He wasn’t easy with Archie’s background. It smelt of a mole. William came to Archie’s rescue.
‘He’s all right Ian,’ said William. ‘He’s a Wobbly supporter.’
At the mention of the Industrial Workers of the World Ian’s face showed surprise and open delight. ‘Why didn’t you say so? All right then. What do we do about this accident?’
‘What do we want to achieve?’ asked Archie.
‘Better maintained equipment,’ Floyd answered.
‘And it’s not maintained because...’
‘Because the company culled the maintenance staff,’ Floyd replied.
Archie didn’t have to ask why.
Ian explained anyway. ‘It all depends on the share price. Before you came we struck the Ten Guineas Crosscut, a very lucrative vein, yielding ten guineas worth of gold bullion to the ton.’
Archie whistled softly. The men nodded as Archie digested the information.
‘This put the shares up,’ Ian continued, ‘but of course it was never going to last. The company put the tighteners on the workers paying contract gangs different rates and of course not re-investing in the mine since everything was being paid out to shareholders.’
Ian looked as if he was about to spit as his f
ace grew red with fury.
‘Can we not strike for better conditions?’ asked Archie. ‘Have you tried that?’
This time it was William who answered. ‘Aye. It’s been done before but we don’t do it lightly. And we’ve got our hands tied under the Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration Act. It’s a farce. If we go into negotiation with the company we’re not allowed to strike. It’s illegal. They want us to go to arbitration but there’s such a bottleneck of cases it could be a year before we’re heard. There have been some illegal strikes: in 1906 the Auckland Tramwaymen and in 1907 the Freezing Workers’ Union were successful.’
Ian took over. ‘The Federation of Labour was established last year to oppose this unjust Act. It takes away the rights of the worker. At the end of the day the worker only has his labour to sell. Therefore, the most powerful tool he has to negotiate with is his labour. If he withdraws his labour the management must listen to his concerns but will easily dismiss the worker knowing that there are plenty more to take his place. If the entire workforce withdraws its labour then the worker is in a position of strength. As I said, the Act is oppressive and a farce. It has to go.’
Archie was well read in the philosophy of unionism. The Wobblies back to 1905 when some American trade union miners banded with socialists to form the Industrial Workers of the World, whose goal it was to promote worker solidarity not through a series of craft unions but as one union for a single industry. Thus strength of union was borne. Their motto was ‘An injury to one is an injury to all.’ Archie didn’t feel fanatic about the Wobblies but more fascinated by their stance and their insistence that the whole means of production would one day be turned on its head.
When Archie left Ballarat he had been aware of a groundswell of industrial revolution, as there was in every industrialised country, but in New Zealand the Federation of Labour had taken the argument to a more regimented level with their links to the Industrial Workers of the World. Some saw the Federation as extreme. As a result the labour movement was rapidly expanding and now gained considerable support from the working class. Archie was intrigued.
It was clear that Ian fiercely upheld the principles of the Wobblies and when the Federation of Labour was established he was instrumental in the Waihi Trade Union of Workers maintaining close links.
William coughed. ‘There’s only one thing for it. It’s time we registered under the Trade Union Act. A strike isn’t illegal then.’
Ian nodded. ‘I agree. We’ve been sitting on our hands too long. We can’t wait any longer.’
Floyd concurred then went on. ‘Archie. Your brother is the company accountant. Can you meet with him unofficially and see how things are financially. Maybe the company is telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, they can’t afford to maintain right now...’
William spluttered. ‘They can’t afford not to maintain.’
Floyd was insistent. ‘But if Archie can get the other side’s point of view, that’s going to help us isn’t it?’
Archie twiddled with the end of his moustache. ‘In a way this Arbitration Act is forcing our hand. Let me see what I can do.’
Ian stood and shook Archie’s hand. Good luck. I have to go to work.’
Archie called to Ian as Ian headed out the door. ‘Do you mind if I come to your next Socialist Party meeting?’
* * *
William and Floyd had little trouble persuading Archie to imbibe in a wee dram before heading home. Joe was right when he’d said there was plenty of whisky to be had. It seemed every second household had a still in the back yard. The trouble was, if you didn’t make it yourself you were obliged to buy it from a friend and then drink it with him for you couldn’t take it home to drink in front of your wife who was most likely a Temperance campaigner. That left Joe to introduce Archie to his friends which was fine in itself but all Archie really wanted was to have a pleasant whisky by his own fireside after a fair day’s work.
It was easy for William to keep a still going: he was a widower and his eldest son Jack, though only twelve, helped monitor the process. The girl who kept house, Margaret, was also pretty reliable, having emigrated from Scotland especially to work for William. She wasn’t about to go without.
William lived at the south east of Martha Hill, not exactly on Archie’s way home but en-route to Floyd and Clara’s. Opposite was the school.
William poured them a drink and they sat at the kitchen table in the fading light. The house was quiet. The children knew to play in the school yard until nearly dark – to give dad a bit of quiet. Margaret had left a pot of stew simmering on the range. William lit a candle and set it in the middle of the table.
‘My housekeeper told me to get some of these the day I arrived,’ said Archie nodding towards it. ‘I keep telling her I don’t have access like the miners do.’
Archie asked William how long he’d been a widower and the two men swapped notes.
‘Now ol’ Floyd here,’ said William. ‘He’s going home to the lovely Clara.’
Floyd knocked back his drink and simply looked pleased. William poured him another.
‘We appreciate you coming on board,’ William said to Archie. ‘You’re familiar with union politics?’
Archie briefly explained his philosophy, which wasn’t far away from Ian’s or William’s, or Floyds. How he got to it may have differed but that would keep. He let Will tell his story.
William grew up in the Midwest of England in a depressed little coal mining town. On the edge of the village large estates were protected by game keepers. It was a favourite pastime of Will and his Da to shoot rabbits. It didn’t matter whose land the rabbits were on; rabbits belonged to everyone. That’s what his Da said. But Will knew right enough that they were on the Portly-Smythe’s land and that they shouldn’t be caught poaching. In Will’s mind the Portly-Smythe’s had plenty to eat. There was also deer and trout, so surely they wouldn’t mind him and his Da, who didn’t have so much to eat, shooting the odd rabbit.
He was wrong. One night they were caught by the gamekeeper who marched them straight up to the big house where the master had to be woken and brought downstairs in his dressing gown. William was so scared he wet himself.
The master was outraged and he ranted and raved about right and wrong and the principles of ownership. William made a fair attempt at getting the master to see his take on ownership, particularly on rabbits. To give the master his due, he listened respectfully thanks in part to William being only eleven at the time. The master found him amusing rather than impertinent.
His Da apologised profusely and they were seen off the property by the gamekeeper. William thought that was the end of it but in later years he learned that his family had paid dearly for being caught. His Da paid that miserable landowner a shilling a week for years so he wouldn’t call the police and gaol his Da. That took food off their table. It didn’t stop his Da shooting rabbits, just getting caught.
William followed his Da into the mine, just like his brothers before him. That’s why he had the miner’s cough: too long underground.
The rabbit incident shaped his thinking for life. It was unfair that rich people seemed to want what was theirs and want what was everybody else’s. How could anyone own wild rabbits?
The miners always talked about us and them; workers versus employers. He knew he would always be a worker, an us. He didn’t have enough schooling to be one of them.
Floyd downed his second drink as the children came inside. ‘I’m off lads,’ he announced. ‘See you tomorrow.’
The children pulled up short at seeing a stranger in the house. Jack, Errol and Catherine wore ruddy complexions and no shoes. William proudly introduced Archie to them. Archie could see that Catherine was the apple of her father’s eye and delighted in being so. William seemed to treat Jack and Errol as miners in waiting, almost men but still boys.
‘I didn’t realise the time,’ Archie said flipping his cap on. ‘I must be away.’
William saw him out. ‘Yo
u’re very welcome to come again.’
Archie glowed inside, and not just from the drink. ‘I might just do that.’
* * *
It had got a lot darker than Archie reckoned, therefore, he was much later than he should be but he didn’t hurry. Coal fire smoke hung over the town as the day shift miners ramped up the heat in their cottages to warm the chill air. Archie loved the smell. He picked up a rock of coal and put it in his pocket. There were often bits lying on the road dropped from the cart that delivered it from the coal depot to the mine.
He bought the Waihi Daily Telegraph from a boy in town before walking down the hill to home. Puffs of smoke fluffed out the chimney. He could see a weak light in the back: Mary wouldn’t waste money lighting rooms that wouldn’t be used.
That was something he appreciated in Mary; she was frugal without being mean. In fact there was a lot to be appreciated in Mary. She was attractive without being beautiful and that was a blessing. He wondered if he would find her beautiful if he wasn’t still holding a candle for Ann. Maybe. The children liked her, she kept the house as if she’d done it all her life and she was a reasonable cook to boot. She did talk plainly though if something vexed her. She called a spade a spade. And if he was looking to criticise, the worst he could come up with was she was bossy, in a quiet sort of way.
He let himself in and walked through to the dining room where Mary was feeding Thomas his bottle and Fanny sat drawing at the table. Mary’s face looked like thunder and without a word she deposited Thomas and the bottle into Archie’s arms.
‘Ah,’ said Archie. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘Not as sorry as I am, Mr. Wright,’ Mary snapped. ‘Do you think I have nothing to do when I leave here? Nowhere to go?’
Archie was gobsmacked, his mouth flapping like a fish.
‘I’m late for my piano class,’ said Mary already heading out the door.
Archie let her go and rocked Thomas. ‘Piano class,’ he muttered. Then he remembered. Sybil had said that Mary taught piano to Darcy. When she’d asked Mary if she knew of anyone to keep house for Archie, Mary had jumped at the chance herself. Sybil assumed it would be beneath her but the girl insisted. And Sybil hadn’t objected, being a mine manager’s daughter and of a better class than most domestic help.