Fivefold

George

George sat on a large rock behind the dry stone wall that marked the boundary of the roadway called Coal Hill. The lichen and moss covered stone was perhaps an other boundary of some kind, from days gone by, but now it was just a single stone hidden slightly by the trees that covered most of Coal Hill and beyond into the village of Boghead. George had a habit of sitting on this stone, as it allowed him to view the road quite clearly without being noticed. He would be able to see the miners as they walked over the crest of the hill and downwards towards their terraced cottages, where a meal and a tin bath would be waiting. George would be join that troop of men soon enough, in a few weeks, when he had finished his schooling. His dad said he could already have started, but his mother had said to let him finish things off. His father had humpfed at this and had taken himself off with his moody silence to the the pub, but nothing more was said about it. Not to George anyway.

He could hear the men before they came into view, the laughter and the pounding of many boots on the track. They were much louder on the way home than in the morning when George had also observed the workers, silently seesawing their way up the steep climb with wide stances and bent backs, as if they were readying themselves for the coal face position. The first tips of bunneted heads were now bobbing on the brow of the hill and then they were in full view changing their pace and bracing their bodies to take on the steep decline of the slope. George was scanning the coal and sweat streaked faces, as they came down in rows. The first time he had waited, sitting on his hidden stone, he had missed the face he wanted to see. The coal dust acting like a mask, making the men smeared and camouflaged, blending them into one. He was shocked by this. This face was so well known to George. Maybe even more than his own. He had looked at it so closely in school, in church and in the shared back green behind his own cottage terraced row. But now he knew better, he was well practised at this viewpoint. George always spotted him and he would watch silently, holding his breath, as he walked past. Today his neighbour Bernie, sauntered past with a group who were talking happily. George watched as Bernie jumped the last steep section of the slope as it sharply joined the flat. George took in a deep breath and began his usual scrappy run through the trees and down into the village. He would come out at the large green field, where a circus had come and set up once a few years ago, and then he would run down the cobbled main street, turn up to the left and dive through his own front door, second from the end of six miners cottages.

"Every day you're told, George!" his mother scolded him in the kitchen as he sat out of breath at the table, "take your time, why you've always to be running about the place, I don't know." George grinned at her as he cupped his hand under the large green water pump and drew himself a couple of handfuls of cold water. She smiled back as he handed him a large kettle filled with hot steaming water. "add this last kettle to your da's bath, will you, he'll be coming in just shortly." he took the kettle, making sure he kept the cloth tight around the hot handle and stepped across to the tin bath sitting in front of the fire. He hunkered down beside it and carefully poured in the smoky water, making sure nothing sprayed up and burnt him. He had that experience before and with him still in short trousers it was best avoided.

"Right now Bernard, you let that young lad in the tub before you, he cut double the amount of coal you did today." George's dad was laughing with his neighbour.

"Just you wait William, we'll see how you keep up when your young George is down there with you." Bernard said in return. George opened the back door and stood out on the stone step. His father was walking up the stoney path that was laid up to the back door. Bernie and his father Bernard were standing on an almost identical path leading up to their door. There was a single line of brinks planted head to toe to separate the two strips of garden.

"Is that right George, you'll be cutting more coal than your old man in a couple of weeks? Show's your muscles...eh?" George laughed along with the men as his dad lifted his arm like a boxing champ and squeezed his skinny bicep. He could feel that familiar glow in his belly as he looked at Bernie's face. Bernie's eyes were sparkling with humour, the coal dust highlighting them even more. 

"Once you've been in the pit for a few weeks you'll have muscles like mine," Bernie laughed as he pulled up his own arm. All the men laughed heartily, enjoying the joke. George could feel the giddiness of the moment taking over him.

"Right, get in here, I'm not boiling 10 kettles for that bath to be stone cold and you two laughing out here about muscles," Bernie's mother May was now out on the back step with a furrowed brow, but still a twinkle in her eye, just like Bernie, George thought.

"Exactly what I was thinking, May." George's mum had come out to join them her arms folded.

"See when young George here enters the pit, we should buy another bath and you two could fill it up half each and then us men would have three baths between four. Me and Bernard could get our own baths and these two lads can share." William said, pleased with himself.

"Now that's not a bad idea, William," Bernard laughed as he walked towards his doorway. George smiled at Bernie as he too followed his father, and the two families disappeared into their own little homes. George ate his dinner and helped his mum. He chatted with his dad and tried to be normal, but all George could think about was Bernie in the bath.