Sliding on the Snow Stone (23 page)

The beer was very bitter and heavy. It settled in my stomach and swirled around in there like sour treacle. We got used to it though, just like the lemonade. The Lion was the place where I celebrated my 21st birthday, in the company of Mikola and Fedor. We drank a few glasses of the beer, and as ever the talk came around to going home. ‘You know that old Ukrainian proverb don’t you, eh, Stefan?’ Mikola fixed his eyes on me, ‘
A dream is sweeter than honey
. Never stop believing, Stefan.
Nazdorovya
!*’

Three glasses crashed together and we drank to health and long life. There wasn’t much more we could say about our longing to go back. All we could do was live day by day, and cling on to those dreams.

Our first year working on the farms passed by like butter melting in a hot pan, but there were times when I wished I wasn’t there. Our first winter in England was such a cold one. I remember, on one occasion, Mikola and I were on the Robinsons’ farm and he’d asked us to go and gather in some manglewurzels for cattle feed. It was so cold that day as we trudged up that field. On reaching the top Mikola turned to me,

‘
Stefan, how about we build ourselves a fire to keep warm?’

I nodded, and we gathered together a heap of firewood and twigs. Several attempts later and after a lot of thick smoke had poured into the sky, we managed to tease a few flames out. They grew into a good blaze, and we stood there getting warm. The manglewurzels could wait.

Without warning, he was there next to us. It was Mr Robinson. Luckily, we’d just extinguished our cigarettes and were warming our hands in front of that fire.

‘
What are you doing?’ He fixed us with a firm stare.

‘
Mr Robinson,’ replied Mikola, ‘we’re just drying our aprons and our gloves.’

‘
But you are going to pick the manglewurzels aren’t you?’

‘
Of course, of course. Yes, as soon as we dry off we’ll pick them.’

Mr Robinson nodded, seemingly happy at this reply, and he walked off towards the farmhouse, but we didn’t rush to start work, it was such a cold day. Eventually, we picked a few, but I guess it was something that went against our whole way of thinking. We’d always had our smallholdings back home, so working for someone else and getting paid a few pennies was too similar to the way we’d been treated by the Soviets.

The summer arrived again, and we were faced with another mountain of work. The six of us were doing enough for twelve. During those gruelling summer months we’d work until it was getting dark, get fed and then the transport would pick us up and take us back to our hostel, where we got ourselves cleaned up and collapsed into our beds.

I got to know Mikola and Fedor well over the course of that year. Mikola was a tall fellow, and well built, like a bull. A fold of tight curls sat on his head, swept back and held in place by a handful of hair wax. Mikola didn’t like to rush around, he took things steady, but he was so strong. He’d walk along with bale after bale of hay on his shoulder without breaking sweat. Fedor couldn’t have been more different, he was small, wiry and restless. Always ready with a smile, he had an open face, with dark good looks and blue eyes that made the girls melt. In fact, I think he never really ever thought about much else other than girls. ‘What about those German girls, eh, Stefan? Weren’t they hot? They were so pretty, I wished I could’ve stayed there you know? I really do.’

The endless slog of the farm work threw us together, I felt as if I’d known Mikola and Fedor all my life, it was like having two brothers.

It was a relief when the weekends came, we only worked on a Saturday morning and the rest of the time was our own. Sometimes, one of us would be sent down to the village to run errands for Mr Robinson. On one of those Saturday mornings, I’d taken a slow walk down from the farm, and I found myself standing outside the garage. A mechanic was crouched down next to a motorbike, applying a shine to the tailpipe and the mudguards. It was a beautiful machine. He straightened up and saw me looking. ‘You like my motorbike? I’ve had it two years now. It’s a Royal Enfield Bullet. A great bike, but I’m selling it ’cause they’ve just made a new, more powerful model. You want to buy it?’

Oh, I wanted it all right. He told me how much he was asking, and I can’t recall the price I paid, but I know it amounted to nearly all the money I’d saved up over the last year. I agreed the price with him and to collect it the following Saturday. He directed me to the Post Office so I could get myself a licence. I had just enough money on me to pay for it, under the watchful eye of the Post Office counter clerk, so I completed the form, with his firm hand of assistance, paid my money and put it in my wallet, all ready for the following week.

That was a long seven days. The first chance I got on the following Saturday I slipped away from the farm and hurried down to the garage. I was greeted with a smile as I held out a bundle of notes. He filled up the tank with petrol, and then he showed me how to use the controls. After a few wobbles around the village square, I roared away leaving a cloud of smoke behind me. I rode back to the farm. The first half a mile I took it steady, but then I did what all young men do when they get on a motorbike; I revved the engine hard and felt the wind on my face and in my hair. I flew like an arrow through those country lanes. As I turned into the entrance of the main farmyard, everyone looked across. Mikola and Fedor stood up from their usual spot on the steps up to the hayloft where they liked to sit and smoke. They gazed in astonishment as I rode up to them and then stopped. ‘Stefan, that is one hell of a machine you’ve got there. It’s a beast.’ Mikola grinned at me and took a pull on his cigarette. Pawel, Otto and Karel came rushing out from behind one of the barns and took it in turns to jump on the back and have a ride around the farm. Everyone whooped and cheered, and I revved the motorbike hard. Somehow, the Kozak fire inside us blazed, and we didn’t care. It was a show of strength in a way, however small, just to show the world we existed. It was the most fun we’d all had for a while, there were six smiles spread wide across six faces. Until Mr Robinson came hurtling out of the main farmhouse, his face all red. It looked like he was about to explode.

‘
Hey! What do you think you’re playing at? You can’t ride around here like that! You’ll scare the animals! I won’t have this. This motorbike is not to be used here on the farm, is that understood?’ Without waiting for any of us to answer him, he stormed back into the farmhouse. I turned the engine off, and there was a moment when nothing was said. I wheeled the motorbike into the barn and then went to the farmhouse. ‘Mr Robinson, I’m sorry about the bike, I don’t want any trouble.’

Mr Robinson stared at me for a second or two. He had a look about him that I wasn’t sure of. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’ve come here, we’ve given you work and you’ve got somewhere to live and enough to eat, and we pay you a wage! You should respect that. But this business with the motorbike, it’s not acceptable.’

‘
I bought it with my own money.’ I replied.

Mr Robinson tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to restrict your use of it to weekends only. Under no circumstances can you use it on farm land.’

It felt just like being back in the Soviet Union. All we’d done was fool around with a motorbike. I thought about what he said, and I knew that, if it were his own sons, he would have allowed it, but because of who we were, he’d taken a hard line.

Mikola, Fedor and I resolved to get away from the farm work as soon as we could. So, the following Saturday I took Fedor with me and we rode off to the nearest city, Worcester.

It was a grand place. There was a sense of majesty as we rode around. Some of the buildings were quite magnificent. We passed by some old school buildings that looked a hundred years old, with carvings of hideous faces in their brickwork – I wondered what those carvings could be. At times, we passed by the River Severn, and saw swans floating along, with streams of gold flickering on the top of the water. A fresh breeze swept over us.

We’d set off early, with good reason. The farm work would have to wait, we wanted to see where the real work was, if any. The plan was to sneak back before anyone noticed we’d gone. The streets were lit up by lamps mounted on tall pillars, we rode around with the Bullet’s headlamp throwing a beam in front of us. It was a pre-dawn world we were riding through, and we saw many people. They walked with a silent grace, their steps full of purpose, with bags slung over their shoulders. Some rode on bicycles. I slowed right down, and we reached a junction into which streams of men were pouring. I turned into it and rode to the end. The road stopped right there, we could go no further. I turned the engine off. Fedor and I got off the motorbike and stood and watched as people walked into a large building in front of us. It was a big concrete box-like building, an ugly construction. There was a large chimney sticking up into the sky, and after all the people had gone into the building and a hooter had sounded, smoke began to billow out of that chimney.

‘
What do you think?’ I turned to Fedor.

‘
Looks like some sort of factory. There weren’t many girls going in there though, were there?’

‘
Fedor, I’m sure there are enough girls in there to keep you happy. Do you think we should try and get some work here?’

‘
Well, the farm work’s okay, but we don’t earn much there, and just lately Mr Robinson’s been giving us a hard time.’

Before I could reply, we were interrupted by a man running towards us, ‘Hey! You two! We need men like you. Here.’ He thrust papers into our hands. ‘We’ve got lots of orders, and we’re getting a lot of business right now, so if you two fellows are interested, we can pay you good money.’

Of course, we were interested, so that’s what we did. It took some sorting out, to get our papers stamped again, and to get authorisation. We had to seek out accommodation and move our belongings, but a couple of weeks later, the three of us, Mikola, Fedor and I, were all walking together towards that factory. It was called Metal Box.

Each of us found lodgings in the city, and at least we had our own room rather than sharing with others in a hostel, listening to each other snoring at night.

On our first day we walked onto the factory floor to be greeted by the noise of machines so loud we couldn’t speak to each other. We were taken through to an area at the back which was quieter and our foreman, Roger, spoke to us, ‘Right then, you three’ll start off on the factory floor, where I can see you. We’ll have you working on all the different parts of the production line to see where you fit in best, and so you know all about the run from start to finish. Then, once we’ve seen you through your first few weeks, we’ll assign you to a Department suitable for you, and for the Company. And get this: I won’t stand for any idling. You’ll earn good money here, but you’ll have to work for it. If I catch any of you lot fucking off outside for a crafty fag, you’ll be out of here with my boot up your backside. Got that?’

The three of us nodded in unison. We got the message all too clear.

The first week flew by, and I have to say I enjoyed myself. It made a change from standing in a field with the rain soaking you to the skin. The machines fascinated me. Since I’d bought my motorbike, I’d enjoyed tinkering with it. One of our Polish friends on the farm, Otto, was a mechanic, and he’d shown me how to tune it up, change the oil and keep it in good condition. By contrast to the gentle roar of the motorbike engine, the machines in the factory were monsters. They scared me. They pounded away, making such a racket; I thought they might chew me up. A fellow worker, one of the older ones, Arthur, helped me out. He showed me what to do, I was like an apprentice to him. I followed Arthur around that factory floor and, as I did, it seemed like Roger’s eyes were on me. Every time I turned around, he was there. It was very different to working on the farm, there were few opportunities to sneak off for a smoke or a daydream in a sunny glade or on a haystack, but the rewards were so much greater! At the end of our first week I opened my brown paper wage packet and found I’d earned three times the amount I was paid on the farm. Arthur smiled as he watched me open that envelope, ‘Not a bad week’s work eh? I think you’ll do all right for yourself here you know, Steve.’

That’s what they all called me at the factory. Steve. I liked the sound of it, and it gave me a new beginning, like I was someone brand new, without the load that I carried inside my heart.

The three of us prospered, it felt like we were moving up in the world a little. Now and again, we encountered some hostility from a few of the locals, some name calling and more whispered
bloody foreigners
comments floating into our ears. All we could do was hold ourselves up and look people in the eye. There was nothing for us to be ashamed of. We were working hard, and behaving ourselves, well perhaps apart from Fedor’s roving eye. Whenever a pretty girl came anywhere near us, he’d be smiling away and trying to charm her with a bit of chat. Once or twice, in the local tavern, he’d get a stare from a fellow to let him know that the girl he was flirting with was taken.

Factory life was generally good. They worked us hard, but paid us well, so there was no cause for us to complain. Most of the locals were friendly enough, and I developed a good bond with Arthur, who was supervising me.

There were others at the factory from areas of Europe who had also been devastated by the war. The factory provided work for many of them as well as us Ukrainians. I worked alongside many Poles. My approach was to try and get on with all my workmates, whoever they were, but history between Poland and Ukraine is of two countries constantly at war with each other. Poland conquered a good portion of western Ukraine at various times through history, much blood had been shed, both that of Poles and Ukrainians.