The Dressmaker’s Daughter

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‘That bastard of a father of mine is one of the missing men.’

She gasped. ‘Oh, no, Ben. Oh, I’m ever so sorry.’

‘I’m not. That’s why I haven’t been to see you sooner. Looking after Mother and that.’

‘You know, I feared as much. Something told me your father was one of those poor souls trapped, and I didn’t even know what pit he worked at. Your poor mother! How’s she taking it?’

‘Oh, I’d love to know what’s going on inside her head. She’s worried to death – bound to be. But she’s shed ne’er a tear yet.’

‘D’you expect her to?’

‘Maybe not. Not after he’s been such an evil swine. But he is her husband and the father of her sons. But knowing Mother, if she sheds no tears over him she’ll shed ’em all the more over the other poor devils stuck down there. If none survive, just think of all the heartache it’ll cause.’

‘I know. I could cry. Everybody you talk to feels the same.’

High Street was busy with people rushing home. A tram crammed with folk whined towards Top Church, ringing its bell to warn stragglers walking in the horse road to make way. Lizzie and Ben turned into Union Street away from the mainstream, thus avoiding the Market Place and the crowds.