Stranger At The Door, Day 38

A big man in a blue gansey beckoned to him from an open door. Soaked through and exhausted, Daniel stumbled on the doorstep

In less than half an hour, Bunty Grant was sitting in Mary Ellen Walker’s kitchen, listening to the details of Daniel Morrison’s dismissal and of the Morrisons’ pending eviction. As the tale unfolded, her expression darkened. She waved away the offer of tea and got up from her chair. “Would you care to get your coat, Mrs Walker, and to come with me? There’s something that must be done without delay and I’ll need a witness to that.”

They found Rushforth in the pit office. When challenged by Miss Bunty about Daniel Morrison, he gave an unpleasant laugh.

“A young whipper-snapper, that he is. Troublemaker. Needs put in his place. That’s what I did. Guid riddance.”

There was an ominous silence. Bunty took a step towards him and he glanced uneasily at her.

“An’ I take the decisions when the colonel’s no’ here,” he added smugly.

Bunty took a deep breath. “Not any more, Rushforth,” she said quietly. “As part owner of this pit, I’ll take a decision that’s long overdue. Get your things together and get out of the manager’s house by the end of the week.”

Rushorth stared at her for what seemed a long time. He leaned forward, an unpleasant expression on his face. “If you’re tryin’ to gie me the sack, we’ll see what the colonel has t’say aboot that when he gets back,” he said. “An’ I dinna ken what she’s daein’ here.” He gave a dismissive nod at Mary Ellen.

Deep breath

Miss Bunty took a deep breath. “Mrs Walker is here to witness the fact that I have just sacked you, giving you a week’s notice. You can collect your letter of dismissal from this office tomorrow. I would be obliged if you would not set foot in colliery premises thereafter.”

Rushforth stood there as if rooted to the spot. “Don’t let me keep you,” was Miss Bunty’s parting shot. “You have packing to do.”

Going home through the fields above Langrigg, Bunty found the chill wind blowing in her face invigorating and refreshing. She had, she told herself, given Langrigg a fresh start.

Back at the house, she arrived just in time to prevent Tricky from trying out paint in a violent shade of green on the oak panelling in the hallway.

“This is the best o’ stuff,” Tricky persisted, tapping his drum of paint. “Big Jamesy had it for paintin’ the engine shed up at the pit. A braw colour. It’ll fair brighten up this wood.”

His voice petered out as Miss Bunty grabbed the large tin of paint, opened the front door and hurled it down the steps. “Turpentine!” she bellowed. “Get that panelling cleaned up, then go home.”

Giles peeped cautiously round the library door. “Magnificent,” he breathed adoringly.

Daniel shivered as he tugged the collar of his jacket higher, pulled his cap lower and faced into the chill wind that was blowing along Leith Docks.

For the second day running, he had trudged along the quayside looking for work. And for the second day, he’d had no luck.

Now, as darkness was falling and a mist was being blown in off the Forth, his bones ached at the thought of sleeping for another night in a corner of a deserted warehouse with canvas sacking for a pillow.

Deserted

The quays were deserted now, the last of the men having disappeared into the dark wynds of Leith Walk. Daniel stopped for a moment, trying to get his bearings. In a moment of rising panic, he realised that he had no idea where he was.

He could hear water lapping dangerously near him, could see dark shapes of cranes and moored ships here and there, and then his heart leapt as he saw a light shining through the mist.

“Come away in, son, an’ get warmed up a wee bit.” A cheery big man in a blue gansey beckoned to him from an open door. Soaked through and exhausted, Daniel stumbled on the doorstep.

A friendly arm was thrown round his shoulders and he was ushered into a room full of the smell of pipe smoke and food.

A group of men sitting round a blazing fire and smoking their pipes treated him to a curious glance before turning back to resume their conversation.

A small deal table and a couple of chairs were pushed into a corner. Daniel’s rescuer pulled out a chair.

“Sit yoursel’ doon, lad, an’ I’ll bring you some soup.” The man in the blue gansey disappeared, returning a moment later with a bowl of broth and a piece of bread.

“Get that into you, son, an’ you’ll feel better. Let me take that wet jaikit an’ pit it at the fire. You’re soaked through.”

His wet jacket removed, the soup eaten, Daniel felt the warmth of the fire stroke his back comfortingly, and there, at the table, he put his head down on his arms and slept.

He awoke with a start and for a moment couldn’t remember where he was. The man in the blue gansey was sitting across from him at the table, studying him with concern.

“It’s gettin’ late, son. Have you a place to go the night?” he asked. Daniel took a good look round the room. The pipe smokers had gone and the fire burned low. He shook his head.

“Is this a lodging house?” he asked, thinking that he didn’t have enough money to pay for lodgings.

His companion laughed. “It’s the Seaman’s Mission, son,” he replied. “And though you dinna look tae me like a seaman, you’re more than welcome. You can stay till mornin’ if ye havena got lodgings.

“There’s a shakedoon o’ sorts ben the back room if ye want it for the night.”

Welcome sight

There was a mattress on the floor, a blanket and a pillow. To Daniel, at that particular moment, it was the most welcome sight in the world, and he slept a dreamless sleep until roused by the clanking bustle of the clocks.

There was no sign of his host. A rosy-faced woman was sweeping the floor in the next room. She returned Daniel’s smile as he retrieved his jacket and left a few coins on the table by way of thanks.

Outside, he turned away from the docks and made his way up through Leith towards Waverley Station, his thoughts in turmoil.

Somehow, it was as if Sarah was walking beside him. Glancing up at the grey tenements on either side of him, he reflected that even if he had found work at Leith, his beautiful Sarah could never live in a place like this. She would wither and die like a flower in the first frosts of winter.

“Queensferry,” he said aloud, startling a woman who was hurrying past him. Daniel didn’t notice.

More tomorrow.

This story was originally written specially for The People’s Friend, which published it under the title The Life We Choose. There’s more fiction in The People’s Friend every week, available from newsagents and supermarkets at £1.30.

Artwork: Andrew Lloyd Jones