The Enginemen, Chapter 10/2

Chapter 10 (continued)

They left it there for a while. George turned the television on, but switched from BBC to ITV and back again, half listening to the nine o’clock news. He caught something about Kennedy despatching another 18,000 military advisers to Vietnam, an issue that would normally have got him excited, but this time he did not really take it in and switched off and went to make himself and Florrie a cup of tea.

As they lay in bed that night, George once more raised the issue that was causing turmoil in his mind. “Where did we go wrong, Florrie? What did we do differently with Eva? The boys have both turned out so well. I’ve always been proud of the way our children were maturing. Now we’ll be shamed at the chapel.”

“They’ll understand, George, at least, most of them will. I’ll have a quiet word with the Reverend John in the morning. I know he’ll support us. A couple of the old biddies will make a few cutting remarks, but most will be sorry for us.”

“I don’t want their pity, it’s their respect I value. I’ve always been treated with respect, people honoured my job and the responsibility I carry, they held my dad in great esteem. It will be hard to suffer their condescension, it’s humiliating.”

“Perhaps it will be good for you, George. It’ll make you seem more human. I think at times people don’t warm to you because you always seem so articulate, so sensible, so orthodox - people are afraid to challenge or question you. You can seem a little forbidding to some.”

“Nonsense! I’ve always been ready to listen to anybody.”

“Yes, but some people see you as ‘too good’ and therefore not necessarily understanding or patient with their problems. You don’t often give others the perception that you have problems you can’t easily solve.”

“H’m. I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“I’m going to Eva. I don’t like it that we’ve not heard a peep out of her since she came down for something to eat.”

Florrie was gone a long time. George was restless, straining to hear the conversation, but Eva’s bedroom door was shut, and all he could hear was a low murmuring. He turned over and tried to sleep, but realised that this was useless; he could not relax until Florrie had returned and told him what had been said. The hour dragged on and still Florrie did not return. Eventually he must have drifted off, then he disturbed finally when he became aware of his wife getting back into bed. He switched on his bedside lamp - it was half past one.

“Florrie, what on earth kept you so long?”

“I let her talk. I think it did her some good. But enough now, I’ll tell you in the morning. Try to get some sleep, we’ll both need clear heads tomorrow.”

George awoke early and listened for a while to the light snoring of his wife. Working the late shift, he could afford a rare lie-in, but this morning he was up and shaved before his wife stirred. He listened outside Eva’s bedroom, but could hear nothing. He went downstairs and made himself a cup of tea and took another cup up to Florrie. She was awake as he entered the bedroom.

“Thanks, George. That’s nice. I could do with that.”

“Well, what did you two talk about half the night?”

“Oh, girlie things mostly. She’s scared, George, scared of the pregnancy itself; the other girls have told her all sorts of things, nonsense mainly, old wives’ tales. She’s worked up about what the teachers will say to her and that the other girls will call her a ‘slag’, although it seems that several of her friends had also had sex. However, I think some of them may be a bit more worldly-wise than our Eva and know something about contraception. It never occurred to me that Eva would need to know such things before she was engaged to be married. And I think she’s scared of the pain of giving birth itself. I took her through what she should expect during the pregnancy. I think my words reassured her to some extent - at least she knows what to expect. And there is a certain relief that now we know.”

“Huh. Is she still on about getting married?”

“She didn’t even mention it and I did not raise the subject. I thought it best to just listen to her and try to answer her questions as honestly as I could.”

“And what are we going to tell the family?”

“I’ll talk to Paul and Maggie today. It would be good if they will let Eva help more with Andy and share experiences and fears with Maggie as they’ll both be in the same position.”

“Well, hardly, Maggie’s expecting a planned second child within a happy marriage. So it’s hardly the same thing.”

“Perhaps they can share some of the physical experiences of carrying a child. Eva needs a lot of reassurance about that at the moment.”

“And Derek?”

“I don’t see he needs to know yet awhile. What’s the point of telling him now? We’ll tell him when he comes home for the Christmas vacation perhaps, or even wait until spring. Eva’s not showing at the moment.”

“We’d better tell him at Christmas. We don’t want him finding out from someone else. Eva might even let it drop to him - I don’t know if she ever confides anything to her brothers that she keeps from us.”

“And what about your mother? Do you think it’s necessary to tell her at all? She’s getting so vague these days, I’m not sure she’ll even take it in.”

“Best if she doesn’t. She’d be appalled if she realised what Eva’s done. At least leave it for the moment. Nearer the time she might notice that Eva’s putting on weight and we may need to explain, but she might never realise and think somehow that the new baby belongs to Paul and Maggie. When they have one around the same time, she may even think it’s the same baby.”

Breakfast was a silent meal. Eva came down without being called at sometime after nine; obviously she and her mother had discussed and agreed a timetable for the morning. She ate the food that had been put in front of her without comment. She was not wearing her maroon and grey school uniform, but had on a simple dark blue skirt and grey sweater over a white blouse. Long white socks and simple black shoes completed her ensemble; she looked a demure young schoolgirl, not the ‘scarlet woman’ her schoolmates now nicknamed her. She’d pulled back her long light brown hair into a fashionable ponytail, but was pale - however, she did not seem to be suffering from morning sickness at the moment.

George watched her as he ate his eggs and bacon. It was as if he were watching a stranger in the house, for he was observing her with new eyes. He noticed that she had filled out, she was no longer the enthusiastic sporting tomboy he’d known and loved all these years. The realisation frightened him; admonished him that he could have been so unobservant of her these past couple of years. He’d been so preoccupied with his job, his Union activities, his Council meetings, that he suspected, nay knew, that he had neglected his own family; left all matters of importance of that sort to his wife.

He tried to say something to the girl, but for once nothing would come. His wife just dealt in practicalities, busying herself with clearing breakfast, confirming the medical appointment, ringing the school to say that she was reporting Eva sick, then fixing an appointment to see the Headmistress.

George watched them leave to catch the bus to the surgery, then went into the back garden and opened up the shed where he kept all his Union and Council papers and had a phone extension, paid for by the Union. He’d checked both Peplow’s and Simpson’s rosters at the depot on Friday as he guessed what the result of the Branch meeting would be. Peplow would still be at home as he was not on duty until the 4/10 to Wolverhampton, but Daniel Simpson was ‘spare’, on at one o’clock. He therefore rang the Running Foreman and asked him to make the lad available around noon when he’d be at the depot. He could pick up Peplow when he booked on, then be right for his own turn, the 6/55 Fishguard which was a double-home job to Swansea. He felt bad about that, as it would mean leaving any further converse with Florrie and Eva until the afternoon of the following day.

However, the Running Foreman told him that the governor wanted to see him when he came in, obviously wishing to discuss the strike situation. Knowing that George Munday would be heavily occupied in union/management negotiations over the next few days, the Foreman said he’d got a spare driver to cover him on the Fishguard if it would help - in fact the Shedmaster had asked him to relieve both Campion and himself of their normal rostered duties if possible to give every chance of further negotiations to pre-empt any further threatened stoppage. “It meant”, said Matt O’Brien, “that I’ll have to allocate your 5034 to the turn.”

“Who’s on the Fishguard then?”

“Percy Steele. He’s spare as 7036 is stopped for ‘valves and pistons’.”

“Oh, he’ll look after the old girl. Okay, go ahead. I’ll be in as soon as I can, you can tell Nellie that.”

George arrived at the depot just after eleven, and Nellie put her head round the door of the governor’s sanctum. She turned. “Go in, he’ll see you straight away.”

Philip Doig looked up as George Munday entered and motioned him to a chair that had now been placed beside the main desk.

“George, my spies tell me that there was a Branch meeting yesterday afternoon. Are we out of the wood yet? Or are we still threatened with more strikes? I’ve got to go to Paddington this afternoon to discuss where we go from here with the Divisional Manager. Anything you feel able to share with me would be helpful to me of course, but we owe it to the passengers to give more warning than last time if there is to be another strike.”

“You put me in an awkward position, Mr Doig. You should really be seeing Arthur Campion who is the LDC Chairman, but I know he’s away on union business today and unless he’s phoned in, you won’t have a chance to speak to him.”

“You’re right. Which is why I asked if you could fill me in.”

“I’m afraid it’s bad news all round. I gather there is no change of heart by management. And therefore you’ll not be surprised that the Branch voted for further industrial action yesterday. Arthur will be formally advising you that we’re calling another twenty four hour strike starting midnight Thursday night. And, unofficially, the Branch is requesting ASLEF to consider granting the strike official status and extending it to other depots.”

“What do the men think they’ll get out of further action? Can you imagine that we’ll cave in and let Mountford back? You’re a reasonable man. Can’t you persuade your colleagues that this action is foolish and stands no hope of success?”

“You want me to persuade the men? Let me tell you that I’ve been delegated to try to persuade the two ASLEF renegades who worked last Monday to support the strike this time, or their union membership will be withdrawn. I’m a delegate of the staff - not their manager. I’m obliged to follow the decisions voted by the members. I’ve had my say, expressed my personal opinion, but now the vote is cast and I can’t help you.”

“All right, Mr Munday. I realise and respect your frankness with me. At least I know where we stand. Now you’d better leave me to think over what the hell I’m going to say to the DM.”

Now for Daniel Simpson, George thought. He made his way to the outer office where he found Matt O’Brien. “Simpson ‘ll be on 5011, he’s finishing prepping it for the 12/45 Worcester. You can find it somewhere on roundhouse 2 if you want a private word with him - you’ll not be interrupted there.”

George found the engine on turntable 2 as advised and saw Daniel shovelling coal, black smoke curling from the engine’s chimney into the vent in the shed roof. He shouted up to the young man.

“Dan, can you hear me? I want a word. Can you leave what you’re doing for a moment?”

Daniel Simpson leant out of the cab and watched the water spill from the injector overflow and beckoned George up. He clambered into the cab and sat on the fireman’s tip-up seat while Dan finished adjusting the injector and hosed the cab floor to lay the coal dust still swirling in the draught. George waited for him to finish these chores and sit on the driver’s seat.

“You know the men have voted to strike again on Friday?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do this week? Are you going to be sensible this time and strike in support of your mates?”

Daniel hesitated. “I can’t”, he said softly, so softly that the subdued humming from the engine around him nearly drowned out his voice.

“Of course you can. It’s only one day. You’re not so skint, are you, that the loss of one day’s wages will cripple you? I can always see if we can get union funds to cover you for a few days. HQ’s considering anyway whether to make it official. If so, you’ll get strike pay.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s my church. We don’t believe in strikes. I’m not allowed, it ‘d be a sin.”

“Who told you that? There’s nothing about that in the bible.”

“My pastor says so. He says it’s in the rules of our church.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why do something so stupid if you don’t know the reason?”

“The pastor says that we can’t understand everything, we just have to obey God’s will.”

“How do you know it is God’s will?”

“Because our pastor says it is. He says that our leaders were appointed under God’s providence and we must obey them.”

George began to feel that he was just going round in circles. The young man was clearly unable to take a decision without referring to his pastor.

“What about if I rang your pastor and explained the situation to him? Would he be happy that you were afraid to take action to support one of your fellow workers?”

“I suppose not.”

“Then give me his number and I’ll ring him tonight.”

The lad delved into his boilersuit and produced a tattered notebook, and gave George the number. The latter sighed and thought himself to be a fool to offer this course of action. It would do no good. The parson would be unbending, he knew the type. He’d have to endure a pious lecture that would bear little resemblance to any words he knew, but it would be useless. Such men never changed their mind. He made a mental note to phone the man later that evening and could guess the outcome, though he’d have to explain to the dog-collar the consequences Daniel would have to face. He doubted that would make any difference. Such men, he thought, preach compassion, not act upon it. He climbed down from the engine leaving Daniel to resume his firing and scribbled a note to himself to ring the cleric that evening.

He then remembered that Peplow was not due to book on yet for the Wolverhampton turn. It’d be another few hours before he arrived on shed. He’d use the fact that his turn on the Fishguard was covered and get home to hear how Florrie and Eva had fared, then ring Peplow at home in the evening, not that he expected to make much impact. Two useless phone calls, he thought, but I suppose I’d better go through the motions.

The house seemed ominously quiet as he opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. Florrie wasn’t there as he expected but he found her in the lounge looking rather subdued.

“Where’s Eva?”

“Upstairs in her bedroom. Don’t disturb her. She’s crying her eyes out.”

“Why? What did the doctor say to cause this reaction?”

“He didn’t say anything. Well, not to upset her anyway. He was matter-of-fact and just answered our questions and confirmed she was pregnant and gave her some advice.”

“Did he suggest an abortion then? Is that what the fuss is about?”

“No. When she got home she rang her boyfriend and told him the news. She didn’t get the reaction she wanted or expected. Apparently he denied he was the father and accused her of having sex with another boy before they became lovers.”

“Lovers, are they? Just a couple of randy teenagers if you ask me.”

“Well, apparently Eva thought they were. The fact that he’s denied being the father and has told her he doesn’t want anything more to do with her has come as a nasty shock. She’s angry and hysterical, so I sent her upstairs to calm down. She’s adamant that she’s not had sex with anyone else.”

“I’d better sort him out as well,” mused George. “I’ll add him to my list. I’ve already got to talk to James Peplow and a Reverend Eustace Matthias although I don’t expect much joy from either of them.”

“I don’t see much point in talking to Greg Foster. I didn’t think you wanted him as a potential son-in-law. Good riddance is what I say although I’d hardly expect Eva to agree with me yet. She will, she will in time.”

“Right, I suppose I’d better not put off these awkward phone calls much longer. They’re both about the strike. James Peplow won’t be available yet but the parson may be at home.”

George got up and began to walk towards the phone on the table in the hall, when it stated ringing as if it was anticipating his intentions.

“Ealing 5986.”

“Is that George Munday?”

“It is.”

“Tell the guvnor he can stick his f***ing job. I’ve got another and it pays a darn sight more than his lousy ….”

“Is that you, Mountford?” George interrupted. “Are you saying after all that we’ve done for you that you don’t need our help?”

“Too bloody right I am. It lets you off the f***ing hook, doesn’t it? I know you didn’t want to take it to the top so I’ve found you a way out.”

“What are you going to do? What sort of job have you got….?”

But George heard the phone slam down. He swore under his breath, then realised Mountford was right. He was off the hook. He needn’t phone Simpson’s pastor or Peplow. It just needed one more phone call to Doig at the office and it would be right again. Well, perhaps a few more. He’d call Campion and ASLEF HQ and say the strike was off, the situation was resolved. Well, perhaps not really resolved, just shelved. There’d be a bit of tension, it would be a few weeks before they’d talk to Peplow but he didn’t seem to care. And he’d make sure they laid off Daniel Simpson. Perhaps he ought to speak to the pastor fellow. It’d be easier now he knew the problem was solved. He’d let the man have a piece of his mind, warping the young man’s conscience in such a domineering way. He reached again for the phone….