Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (134 page)

Now the valley would be flooded with visitors. Tomorrow the world would come to her kingdom and she was afraid, not of the eclipse for they had done that at school for months, but of having to share this space and give up her room.

She loved the magic lantern and slides show with the blinds down, showing pictures of the moon eclipsing the sun and how the light would be blotted out for twenty-three seconds. It would go very dark and she was not to be frightened because Jack said the light would not be destroyed.

Jack's class in the grammar school were doing the topic, and he knew about everything and kept going on about ‘the Totality' and that was why everyone wanted to come to Cragside to see it all.

Very important people were setting up telescopes at Giggleswick, down the dale, and the Prince of Wales would come to see it if he could. Grandpa Joe said they must all pray each night
for a perfect viewing with no clouds to hide the sky or no one would see anything.

Uncle Tom was busy, and Florrie Sowerby was running round with a pink face shouting at Mirren to shift this, shove that, and tidy everything away. She looked so pink all the time, trying to butter up Gran into liking her.

Jack had plans to go car spotting, for there would be thousands of motor cars and motor bikes heading in their direction. He could not imagine there being so many cars in the whole world. Only the squire and the doctor had a car in Windebank.

When the first few cars began to scrunch their gears up the hill, Mirren and Jack were sitting on a five-barred gate that shut the road from the young lambs on the moors. It was Jack who opened the gates for the driver in goggles and a leather helmet. Mirren waved at them and the ladies smiled. Then the man held out a penny for Jack so they shut the gate behind them carefully and scrapped over how they would spend it.

There were three such gates at strategic points across their stretch of the moor track from Windebank village. They sat on one apiece with Uncle Wesley's son, Ben, who'd arrived on the train from Leeds. He was ten and nearly as tall as Jack. There would be pennies galore to collect if they smiled and opened the gates.

What started as a game soon was a deadly
endeavour to see each gate stayed closed, opened, and then reclosed after each vehicle. Cyclists were happy to open their own gates, nodding to the children but giving nothing. Motor bikers with side cars were not much better, but it was the large stately cars that yielded the richest pickings.

Mirren'd never possessed so much brass in her life. Pocketfuls of halfpennies and pennies, three-penny bits and even some silver sixpences were thrown at them by ladies, who patted her shiny bob as she curtsied, in case any of them were real lords or ladies.

By the evening of the Tuesday night there was a steady stream of cars heading to spend the night on the hills, waiting for the 5.30 a.m. start of the eclipse.

It was Jack who decided they would make most money during the night, guiding motorists up towards the parking fields with lanterns.

‘But it's our secret, right?' Jack whispered. ‘We'll go to bed no bother and sneak out later, but it won't go dark until nearly midnight. Don't go blabbing owt to yer gran, Mirren.'

Mirren had never been up at midnight before. She was a little afeared of the darkness, but she'd do anything to impress Jack and Ben. Everyone knew there would be great revels in the valley: eclipse dances and cinema shows, cafés open all night, midnight parties. The newspaper was full
of notices of events and Grandpa Joe read them all out with a sad face.

‘This's no way to prepare for the Lord's coming, in such drunkenness and dancing. They should be on their knees in prayer, asking the Lord to be merciful to sinners and temper His wrath. Much is expected of us, children,' he exhorted.

Mirren was that wound up with excitement she stayed wide awake in the attic, watching out of the window as their visitors arrived by the front porch to stay in the grander rooms at the front of the house. Gran and Florrie were decked out in their best checked pinnies and hats, and never noticed Jack and Mirren in their lookout tower.

Mirren didn't like the thought of strangers using her jerry pot under the bed in the night but Gran'd clipped her ears and told her not to be cheeky to visitors. It was only for one night.

Where were they going to hide all their pennies? She was dreaming of the sweetie shop down the village with a shelf of jars: rainbow crystals, liquorice straps and dolly mixtures, sherbert dabs and chocolate drops. She spent her money ten times over in her head, slavering with delight. For the first time in her life she was going to be rich beyond her wildest dreams. How she wished Dad could be here to see it all.

At last she fell asleep, dreaming of cars dancing across the sky and coins falling like rain.

Jack woke her with a start, shouting in her lug hole, ‘Gerrup! Time to get cracking…out of the window.'

Getting out of the attic window was not for the faint-hearted. Jack had done the old sheet rope trick as best he could but it didn't stretch down far enough. He just jumped the rest, falling on the grass and waving Mirren on.

In the half-light she was terrified but tried to be brave and climbed down backwards, feet touching the stone walls until she ran out of sheet and had to let go. The jump took her by surprise as she fell on her side, cracking her elbow. Tears welled up in her eyes but Jack pulled her up roughly and she winced.

‘Hurry up, slow coach…follow me,' he whispered, but Mirren was struggling to keep up in the darkness, trying not to cry as they made for the barn loft to meet Ben, guarding the lanterns, which Jack knew how to light.

‘I can't carry one now, me arm…' she cried, pointing to her elbow. Jack yanked the lamp off her.

‘Give it here and make for the gate,' Ben offered, and she trundled on, watching Jack every step of the way.

Out on the fellside they could hear sheep bleating at the noise of harmonicas and gramophone records echoing out into the night air. There
seemed hundreds of twinkling lights dotted around the fields: campfires and the flickering of car storm lamps. It was as if the hills were alive with an army before some battle. Uncle Tom would go mad at all the mess in the fields.

There was a snaking light along the river road in the valley, cars edging their way north to see this great show. If only her arm didn't hurt so much, Mirren thought, but Jack kept rushing her to do gate duty.

‘I can't open the gate, Jack. Me arm hurts,' she said.

‘Don't be a girl's blouse,' Jack snapped. ‘We should never have let you come.'

‘Am not! Look yerself, it sticks out funny,' she snapped, swallowing her snot, trying to be brave.

‘We'll have to do it together then, but yer not having my share of the brass.' Jack glanced at her arm. ‘This was my idea.'

‘It's not her fault she can't use it,' said Ben with concern. ‘Why couldn't you both have used the back stairs?'

Mirren was glad someone understood. It was hard trying to stand her corner but the pain was yelping now.

Jack ignored her protest and did the best he could, but the takings were down without the full workforce.

Mirren knew she was letting the side down but
even Jack could see her arm wasn't right.

‘It's sticking out funny. You'd better go off home,' he yelled. But both of them knew if she was caught out of bed she'd be for it and in trouble for taking money from strangers in the dark.

‘Better stay put here,' said Ben, pointing to the old barn, ‘until first light and we can pretend we got up early.'

Mirren was so tired all she wanted was to curl up and sleep if she could lie comfortable. She crept behind them to the shippon. It was a fine warm summer night and excitement grew as dawn broke over the valley. The day was clear and promised a good view. She lay on the tussocks of hay sheltered by the stone wall, letting Jack and Ben deal with the stragglers. Her eyelids dropped and soon she was dreaming of a wonderful eclipse.

There he was making a fool of himself as usual, thought Adey, watching Joe at his antics. He was sitting on the high ridge at World's End, marvel-ling at the sight of such a throng of people now assembled on the slopes, just like the Sermon on the Mount. He had it on good authority that only a miracle would open the skies for he had been to the open prayer meeting that night and heard about the Reverend Charles Tweedale, Vicar of Weston, who had attached himself to the Astronomer Royal's party at the Giggleswick Observatory in
order to make sure that they would have a pure viewing of the corona.

There was no stopping him when he was on one of his missions. He'd sent word for all Christians to kneel down and pray for the parting of any clouds, for he had dreamed that a great black cloud would obstruct the view if left to its own devices. He'd decided the least he could do was to hold a vigil on this side of the hills to back up any emergency should it arise on the other, where the Anglicans were gathered. Better that Chapel and Church should work together for the good of all, for a change.

He'd tried to get Tom roped in but he was far too busy calming his restless cows. It was rumoured that animals could run amok at the first signs of shadows and darkness.

He should have had more sense than to get Adey out here when she was busy up to her elbows in flour, baking baps with the last heat on the range. She might be hard as flint on the outside but he knew her heart was warm. She'd never got over losing George, and Ellie running off like that, and blamed herself for being a bad parent.

Sometimes it was hard to fathom why Joe had taken to her so strong. The Yewell boys were known for being one-girl men. She'd not let him down, running the farm on tramlines. He couldn't fault her housekeeping but even she knew she was laced
up too tight. No one ever saw her sit down to count the daisies, allus on the go. There was never a grin on her face. Perhaps a bit of laughter would do her good, crack the enamel on that stiff mask into something close to pretty.

If Adey stood still she would flop down and be a limp rag. It was better to be on the go. But Joe had dragged her high up the fell. The ridge might have a great view but there was nothing else going for World's End but the old ruins that had saved the child last winter.

She surveyed the sky. It was nearly 5.30 now and already light. She hoped Florrie had dowsed the fire but she could see in the distance a bank of cloud gathering that might scupper their view. Soon the clouds were playing hide-and-seek with the sun.

Joe was looking at his fob watch. It was 6.10 and one black cloud was progressing ever closer to the sun. The eclipse was beginning to happen and the crowds on the hillsides were ready with their spectacles and smoked-glass eye shields.

Even Adey was peering out anxiously. Everyone was willing the clouds to break. Then she saw her husband fall on his knees and throw out his arms, heedless of the curious looks from bystanders. It was time to wait upon the Lord as the cloud moved ominously on.

‘O Lord of the Heavens and Earth, open our
eyes to the wonders of the Firmament. Just budge that cloud a little lower down,' he was pleading, a single voice in the silence of anticipation and dread. Suddenly the sun stood alone with the moon creeping to its position through a window in the sky. Joe got up and came rushing over.

‘Come on, Adey, leave yer fiddling, come and see the miracle,' Joe yelled from his perch. ‘Come up here and see the eclipse.'

‘Leave me be, Joe. I ought to go down and see to things,' she snapped, but he strode over and grabbed her by the arm roughly.

‘For once you'll do as yer bid. There's more to life than griddle cakes and bacon. The porridge'll keep. Have a bit of soul, woman…' He pulled her towards the edge facing east, overlooking the fells where people now crawled like ants in the gathering gloom.

Have a bit of soul indeed, she thought, as she stared up at the broken cloud watching the shadow pass across the sun. Suddenly there was a chill of air, and darkness was falling fast. The silence was unnerving. She was glad Joe was watching by her side.

A hush fell over the crowds. A silence you could cut with a knife, so sharp and powerful. Then came the racing shadow over the fells like the wings of some black angel brushing across the earth, an eerie shadow of death passing over their heads.

Adey watched the black moon devouring the sunlight. Joe shoved the smoked glass in front of her and she glimpsed briefly the sight of the corona of fire and bowed her head.

All the songbirds were silent and the chill made her shiver, for she felt the whole world was wiped out and for a second she felt such panic. How many of their ancestors had stood and watched in terror as this mysterious act was performed in front of their eyes? They would have looked with fear and dread at this unexpected darkness.

She thought of Mam and Dad, George and Ellie, and of the terrible war. All that grief and suffering, and for what? She was flooded with grief, and tears welled in her eyes. It was all there in that black shadow blotting out life and warmth and happiness, all the shadows of her own life rolled into one.

Yet even this shadow could not blot out the sun's rays and fire. It was an illusion of time and circumstance, just an illusion. The sun's life burned regardless, the crown of fire would win through with power. Each of those twenty-three seconds seemed like an eternity of suffering burned up, devoured in the heat of life.

Would the sun ever return them to brightness? What if Joe was right and this was the end of the world? Was she fit to meet her maker, this sad, shrivelled-up, old-before-her-time woman? More
than anything she longed for it to be over, for colour and life to return, for the warmth to touch her very heart as it had when she was a child so many years ago.

She turned to look at Joe afresh, her husband, her boys, Tom and Wesley safe, this farm, her life, and young Mirren, their second chance. This was what mattered now, not the past lives.