‘So?’
Gerald rolled his eyes. ‘Mary’s point is one of loyalties. It’s your fault Sam that we’re in this bloody mess.’
‘Gerald, please.’ It was Emily. ‘There’s no need for swearing.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ Sam whined. ‘I’m sick of you all blaming me.’
Emily stepped in. ‘Your father’s not blaming you, Samuel. He blames your union. Don’t you Gerald?’
Gerald waved his knife in the air. ‘The boy’s got to take some responsibility, Emily. Stop mollycoddling him.’
‘Well what about her?’ asked Sam staring at Mary. ‘She’s not even getting paid by Archie Wright.’ He spat the name. ‘She’d still have her piano teaching if she didn’t defect to the strikers.’
Mary bristled. ‘At least I know what principles guide me. I’m not going to run off and work for an Arbitrationist for a bit of money. Anyway, that’s not true. No one has money for music lessons anymore, no one.’
‘See how she talks now?’ spat Sam. ‘Arbitrationist!’
Percy finally saw an opportunity to display his understanding. ‘That’s you Sam, someone who supports the Arbitration Act. Everyone else is a Federationist.’
Sam looked questioningly at Percy. ‘I don’t,’ he said with a quick shake of his head. ‘I support my union – the engine drivers’ union.’
‘But they are Abitrationists,’ Percy persisted.
Sam continued to eat. ‘I don’t care what you think they are. All I know is I’m in a new union and I want to get back to work.’
Gerald and Emily were surprised at Percy’s knowledge.
‘You’ve been staying away from Jack, I hope,’ Gerald grumped.
‘Yes, father.’
Mary resumed her meal. She felt bad for Sam being shown up by Percy and she could see that Gerald’s face brightened when Percy spilled out his union knowledge. She wouldn’t add to Sam’s discomfort by resuming the discussion. Mary cast a look to Emily who shot a look back under hooded lids. It was time to keep quiet and finish dinner. It was better than arguing.
* * *
Archie went to Joe’s for the fortnightly family dinner. The children rushed off to play. Sybil had taken Darcy, Beth and Elsie out of school, fearful of their safety and now they looked forward to Fanny and Thomas’ visits more than ever. Archie groaned inwardly: there on the chaise lounge sat a fashionable young lady waiting to be presented to him. Now more than ever he wished Sybil would stop interfering.
Sybil made the introductions. Miss Elizabeth Buxton of Tahuna had the misfortune to lose her fiancé in the tragic sinking of the Waitara as it floundered on the rocks off Rangitoto Island. Archie was to consider himself lucky that a woman of such esteem had become available.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Buxton,’ said Archie. ‘Allow me to get you a drink.’
Archie shuffled Sybil out of the room then rounded on her. ‘Sybil, this is too much! You can stop your silly games right now. I have a lady.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Mary and I...’
‘Mary!’
‘I’ll not have a word spoken against her,’ he replied. ‘I know you’ve fired her from teaching.’
‘Suspended.’
‘Well I suspect you’ll upgrade that now,’ he mused.
Sybil dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. ‘What am I to do with Elizabeth now?’
‘That’s not my problem.’
Archie fixed Elizabeth a drink and took it back into her leaving Sybil to fume.
* * *
Mary clutched Thomas’ little hand as they wandered up the street to Nell’s music academy. She had noticed a gradual change in the shop windows. At Roberts’ Pictures a blind hung in the door and a closed sign swung its message: The Photographers of the Hauraki, Karangahake and Thames Goldfields had suspended operations. There were window displays of wooden easels without the black and whites. It seemed every day there was another empty shop.
It filled Mary with urgency. And anger. She quickened her pace so that Thomas was forced to skip to keep up.
A festive air filled Nell’s studio as Mary arrived. Some had placards and paint in hand. Nell insisted the blinds be drawn; she must appear neutral. She had a business to run after all. Nell hadn’t set out to play mother hen to the strikers’ wives but she enjoyed it nevertheless.
The women brought their children along. Mary studied Isabelle’s placard. It read ‘Repeal the Arbitration Act’.
‘You don’t think that’s a step too far?’ asked Mary.
Isabelle stepped back to survey her work, one hand protectively rubbing her swollen belly. ‘Certainly not.’ The others crowded around the sign. ‘We must make the most of every opportunity. The strike is widely reported. Waihi is a town on everyone’s lips. Think what is at the crux of this strike. The Arbitration Act is oppressive. The system compels unions to adhere to unfair wages. Why, there is no provision that wages increase with the cost of living! Employers continually pay workers at less than agreed rates. And the Act doesn’t even compel employers to pay for all hours worked.’
Mary was impressed. Isabelle was passionate and articulate. She also displayed an understanding of the strike that was quite beyond that of the average housewife.
Nell grinned. ‘I think you would do well to accompany your husband on speaking tours, Isabelle.’
‘Ian hasn’t been speaking. It’s William and Floyd doing that,’ she replied.
Isabelle looked at Clara. ‘It’s a good idea though. What do you say Clara? Could you do it? The two of us, supporting our husbands on tours?’
Clara was aghast. ‘Oh, heavens no. Besides, I’m due in two months.’
‘All the better to gain public sympathy,’ said Nell.
Clara stuttered. ‘I couldn’t.’
Nell toyed with her hair while she considered the idea. ‘I think you could give a talk Isabelle. Try one here in Waihi. Talk to the wives. If it works out then go further afield.’
Isabelle liked the idea. She backed her husband fiercely. She’d met Ian in Auckland at a Socialist Party event where her father was a local candidate. At that time Ian McCardie was a trade union organiser with a background in coal mining in Scotland. He was a rough diamond to the well-bred Isabelle. By the time they’d cemented their love Ian had joined the New Zealand Federation of Labour. But he wouldn’t give up mining. He felt he could better represent his brotherhood if he stood alongside them. If he was called to greater things, say for example, national politics, he’d consider giving up mining. But for the moment it was a hands on fight for Ian and Isabelle.
‘I suppose I could,’ she mused. Already her mind whirled with the rhetoric of victorious speeches. ‘Our mothers fought for temperance, our grandmothers for suffrage. We stand for united workers,’ she thought aloud.
Clara wandered back to her placard. ‘Will mine do?’ The knot of women moved to view it. ‘Fair wages’ it read.
Mary and Isabelle frowned.
Mary frowned. ‘My father says it’s not about wages at all,’ said Mary. The women stared at her as if she was the enemy and it was Nell who steered the conversation.
‘Go on, dear,’ Nell said. ‘What does Gerald say about it?’
‘He says it’s not the reason for striking at all. There was a report on mines released last year dealing with mine safety and workers’ rights. This covers wages. He says the engine drivers didn’t see its contents pertaining to them and they felt undermined. He says if the strike was anything to do with safety and rights the union would have quoted that report on day one. And they didn’t.’
‘So when did wages become an issue?’ asked Bessie Wynyard, a miner’s wife of some twenty years.
Mary continued. ‘Archie says the company clearly sat on its hands over the breakaway union. Even if it is as the company says and they did not know of the proposed union, they jolly well did nothing to bring them back into line. Of course everyone sees the company against the union. L
et’s face it, companies don’t like unions anyway.’
Bessie looked perplexed. ‘But why wages? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be demanding fair wages, but if it’s as your dad says, then how did the wage question arise?’
Mary was quick to answer. ‘It was already under discussion when the strike was declared,’ she explained. ‘The contract system of wages and the use of the one man popper drill were being discussed at the leisure of the company well before the engine drivers broke away. Clara’s perfectly correct. It’s a wonderful sign, Clara.’
Clara smiled. She was familiar with Mary’s explanation of course, as the wife of the vice president of the Waihi Trade Union of Workers. But Clara was more than happy to be a quiet supporter of the cause. Secretly she thought of herself as a pink runner. She greatly admired Isabelle and she’d overcome her initial reservations at Mary’s defection. Not that all daughters of middle management should follow their father’s beliefs, whether those tendencies were liberal or social, but to Clara, Mary’s situation was undeniably brave. The girl had backbone, of that Clara was in no doubt.
Nell took Clara’s sign away and placed another placard on the table. ‘Do you have time to make another one? We’ll need plenty.’
Clara looked across the room at her four year old, Tom. He was happy enough playing with wooden blocks, stacking them as high as he could without them toppling over.
‘Of course,’ Clara agreed. She stepped over to Mary’s table. ‘Workers Unite’ Mary had painted in large black letters. And underneath in smaller letters were the words ‘An Injury to One is an Injury to All’.
Clara smiled. If she’d ever doubted Mary’s conviction she could rest easy now.
* * *
The Academy Theatre was packed. Isabelle proved to be a bigger drawcard than expected. The girls had posted notices around the town and whole families had turned out to hear her speak, little ones wrapped in blankets against the fierce Waihi cold.
The keynote speaker was Ernie Hardcastle, the organiser for the Federation. He began by explaining the National Coal Strike in Britain which saw nearly one million miners strike for thirty seven days from February until April that year. Those miners were under the same contract system of pay that the New Zealand miners were on. This wasn’t surprising given that mine owners, indeed, miners had not long come out from the home country. Ernie himself had a broad English accent.
Listeners were heartened that the English miners had won with the adoption of the Minimum Wage Act. The crowd erupted. ‘We are already forty days into our strike,’ he said, ‘and we have the backing of unions up and down the country. Although a thousand people have left the town the fight has not and will not diminish. The union continues to store coal: we will not see our brothers go short but we will use the coal as a bargaining tool. Our supplier in Huntly supports us one hundred percent. We have pay levies from the Coalminers’ Union but we must prepare ourselves in case they down tools to show further support. I have to tell you though, that not all New Zealand unions support you. The Wellington Operative Bakers’ Union turned down the offer to help you but instead voted to donate ten pounds to the wives and children of the London dockers.’
He shrugged his shoulders in disbelief and the crowd uttered their distaste. Ernie let it settle in everyone’s minds before continuing. ‘I have a newspaper article from the Press outlining the views of Archdeacon Skinner. He is firmly of the opinion that the engine drivers are in error and that the Conciliation and Arbitration Act must be and I quote, ‘considerably amended and amplified in its administration.’ He goes on to say that ‘mediation could end the strike although a more complete provision for settlement requires a greater incentive to faithful fulfilment.’
It was fairly impartial but Ernie used it to demonstrate the sort of comment the strike was attracting on a national level.
‘Some of you will be aware that the Minister for Mines, the Honourable Maxwell Blackwood, was asked to intervene on your behalf. I am saddened to inform you that he declined to do so stating that the quarrel is amongst the men themselves rather than between the men and the company. He was not impressed that the Mine Owners’ Association had coupled the Reefton and Waihi strikes together and more or less blamed the Goldmine Owners for the protracted strike.’
Ernie swung the talk back to the victorious National Coal strike in Britain to uplift the crowd, then William introduced Isabelle, qualifying her in glowing terms as the strong woman behind her hard working dedicated husband.
The women in the audience applauded on their feet. Isabelle was the first woman to address a mass meeting. She studied the faces in front of her. Ian sat in the front row with the children. He saw this as a test for both of them. For if Isabelle was successful he would be a confident candidate for the New Zealand Socialist Party, something they had thought more and more about lately. He smiled anxiously. Several Scarlet Runners and their families also occupied the front rows. Mary sat with Archie and the children, one on each of their laps. Clara, as always looked like a breakable porcelain doll, calmly sat with her own Floyd and Tom but also William’s three children. Isabelle took a deep breath and flattened the page she was holding. There wasn’t a sound from anyone.
Isabelle spoke eloquently and boldly. Her knowledge of the principles of the strike was unquestionable and she conveyed a fervour of passion for the cause that was infectious. Several times she aroused cheers from the crowd and she felt confident enough to abandon her notes. She implored the wives to stand in pickets for husbands that couldn’t, appealed for letter writers to newspapers and complimented the women for standing for unity. She used her pregnancy to good effect and she introduced her little ones to an already agreeable crowd.
Mary was enthralled. Isabelle spoke to her as if she was the only one in the room. She was ignorant of Archie’s gaze on her as she realised she wanted to be up there with her friend. She wanted to feel the adulation that this crowd clearly had for Isabelle.
Not once did Isabelle hint at the organised band of women or the stash of arms, or at how ugly a fight she foresaw. Instead she focused on positive social aspects: checking on neighbours to see they had enough to eat, to protect the children from abusive comments which could lead to misunderstandings and the breakdown of those very special childhood relationships. She asked everyone to remember their own school days and friends. How would they have felt if their mother suddenly told them not to be friends with their best friend.
Errol kicked Jack when he heard that.
When Isabelle finished she realised that her heart wasn’t thumping in her chest as it had at the start. She had enjoyed herself immensely. Ian took the children with him and joined Isabelle on stage for a rounding applause.
Archie took Mary’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Neither of them needed to speak: they beamed at each other.
* * *
Archie walked Mary home, he with Thomas on his shoulders and she taking Fanny by the hand. As they neared the end of the commercial strip and there was no one around Archie reached for Mary’s hand. He slowed down.
‘Mary,’ he said. ‘These are extraordinary times and our days are filled with uncertainty. None of us have everyday lives.’ Archie hesitated. ‘I’m trying to say, Mary, that I don’t know how to court you.’
Mary smiled and it made him glow inside. ‘Oh Archie.’ She squeezed his hand harder than she meant to. ‘Oh Archie, I know.’
‘Do you? Do you know what you mean to me, Mary?’
They’d almost come to a halt and Fanny tugged at Mary’s hand. ‘Come on,’ the girl whined.
‘She’s right,’ said Archie as he stepped up the pace. ‘What am I thinking of keeping you out in the cold.’
In a minute they were at the corner of Mary’s road. There was no light save for a quarter moon and in the distance a dot of candlelight could be seen in the Bell house.
Archie pulled Mary to a stop and before she knew it he kissed her and whispered against her face. ‘G
oodnight my love.’
Mary flushed. She let go of Fanny’s hand to caress Archie’s cheek. ‘Until tomorrow,’ she whispered.
Archie sighed as he watched her dart off home. She didn’t want him to walk her to the house given the state her father was in over her stance.
Archie walked back past the pump house before turning down the hill for home. Mary’s father pulled his cap over his ears and pulled his collar up. It was too late to retreat. Archie already saw him. The best he could do was look confident.
Archie tipped his hat. ‘Mr. Bell,’ he said, his breath condensing in front of his face.
Gerald coughed. If he wasn’t so close to Nell’s he’d have torn a strip off the man. Instead he choked a reply. ‘Good evening, Mr. Wright.’
Gerald didn’t pause to talk and Archie’s need to get the children home out of the cold provided him with an excuse to keep walking. But Archie did peek over his shoulder at Gerald and a thin smile played on his lips.
Chapter Sixteen
William and Floyd left for Auckland to address former Waihi miners at the Opera House. The workers denied that they’d left Waihi because they opposed the strike and to prove it they passed a resolution expressing belief in the cause for which the men were fighting, namely: the principle of unionism.
William’s absence provided Jack with the opportunity he’d been waiting for. The dung incident, although exciting to Jack, hadn’t even been noteworthy enough to raise a discussion in the school playground. Percy had kept it to himself. He needed to do something to cause a stir.
Jack slipped out of school at lunchtime. He skipped along the back of the shops, past the pump house and round the bottom of the hill where he darted in and out of hedges. He neared the Bell house and sat in some bushes for a while. He was in luck; Sam left the house. He could account for Percy and he knew Percy’s sister would be at Archie’s. That left Gerald and Emily, and probably the housekeeper. But Jack was sure Gerald wouldn’t be spending his days at home.