The Girl From World’s End. Leah Fleming
the money pot on the mantelpiece would be stuffed full of brass by the end of this eclipse but she’d not be giving this sun dance a second glance herself.
Mirren loved Cragside. No one had a house as big or grand as this one. Only Benton Hall was bigger and it had been a hospital for the soldiers in the war who couldn’t walk or talk. In her eyes Cragside was a fairy castle high on the hill. She was the princess in the turret, huddled under the goosedown quilt as the wind whistled around, the candle flickering in the draught, while Jack Frost painted ice pictures on her window. She felt safe here, the house wrapped its arms around her, shielding her from ghosts and ghoulies of the night.
Sometimes she thought she heard the voices of children laughing and playing across the landing but when she got up to find them there was only silence and creaky floorboards. Here she was queen of all she surveyed. This was her world and she’d never leave this kingdom.
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