Naw, lass, naw. A wid a’ liket to a’ seen him afore he went.
Will A rin efter im? He’s jist this meenit awa’. ELLEN
An’ mak’ ‘im late? Naw, we musnae dae that. It wis only a fancy. A thocht A micht catch ‘im, but A widnae chance makin’ ‘im late. He tak’s a pride in bein’ at the pithead regular for the first cage gaun doon; he’d be rare an’ mad wi’ me if A brung him back fur naethin’.
Why did ye no’ shout on us frae yer room?
(puzzled by her appearance, decides to be consoling) Weel, A’m sorry ye left yer bed fur naethin’, before the room’s aired tae.
Weel, sit doon while A mak’ a fire an get the breakfast ready. Room’ll soon be warm.
[She moves listlessly to the rocking- chair, in which she sits passively, while Mary takes some sticks and paper from the oven and kneels, making a fire.
It’s a wee sherp this mornin’ too. (She looks up to see Ellen furtively dabbing her eyes with a clean handkerchief .) Auntie, whit’s up wi’ ye? Wull ye no tell me whit’s the maitter?
Bit there must be somethin’. Whit wey did ye get up sae airly? Ye were soon’ anough asleep when A left ye.
Sleepin’? Aye, A wis sleepin’ richt anough, an’ would to God A hidnae been.
Aye. A dream’t A wis gaun in a field an’ the grass wis green, greener than life, an’ there wis coos in it and sheep-no’ dirty, blackened beasts like whit’s here, bit whit ye wid fancy they wid be some place whaur there isnae always smoke. An’ A walked in the field an’ the sun wis shinin’ an’ it cam’ dark suddent an’ A couldnae see the coos nae mair. There wis thunder an’ it frichtened me an’ whin A cam’ tae look up again, it wis rainin’ bluid on ma heid, naethin’ bit bluid, an’ the field ran rid wi’ it. Bluid everywhaur, naethin’ bit bluid.
An’ it frichtened ye? Aye, the nichtmare’s no pleasant fur ony yin. Ye ett pretty hearty last nicht. Weel, never mind. It’s a’ past noo. Ye’ll feel better efter a cup o’ tea. A’ll shune huv breakfast on the table noo.
A’ve dream’t yon dream afore, an’ the last time A dream’t it wis the nicht afore the big fire in the pit whin Jock’s faither got ‘imself kill’t. A’ve niver dream’t it since that nicht an’ noo it’s come again an’ ma boy’s gaun oot tae his work an’ me too late to stop ‘im.
Come back, lass. Look at the clock. The first cage ‘ull be gaun doon lang afore ye could get there and oor Jock’ll be in’t. He’s aye in the first cage, is oor Jock. Best timekeeper on the pit.