Bill returned to Oswy street that night covered in soot. It was always that way. Lottie would have a bath and after that a hot meal ready for him. She washed his work clothes separately from the rest every week, because they'd turn the water black. It was a pain for her, he knew, but every job came with downsides, and at least the pay was good. She should come and shovel all that coal sometime, with that fire burning hot in her face, having to pay attention constantly to the fire, their locations, and the instructions of the driver. She should feel as sore and tired while she still had to push her legs up to Oswy street in the evening. Then she'd know just how much he had earned that bath and meal, and a clean house and clean clothes without complaints.

He closed the door behind him, crossed the hall, turned into the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks...

John hadn't been home long. He had spent part of the afternoon with his little sister and ma, he hoped to see Joe soon aswell. He regretted how he had treated him in the past and the army had straightened him out. His little sister was right. He had to think of the future.

He got up and was heading to the kitchen. His tunic still in the kitchen on the chair where he left it. He filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. He sat down in the chair and waited for it to boil when he heard the door open and footsteps coming towards the kitchen when they suddenly stopped. He knew by the weight of the steps who it was. He turned slightly "evening Da, kettles just boiling. Want a brew?"

Bill stared at the young man dumbfounded. Five years ago a younger version of this man had gone to India and his father had given it his grudging blessing. The army was better than prison, and it had been prison young John Blacke was headed to. Bill had hated him at times, and hated that he hated him. He had found it easier to love his son once he was halfway across the globe.

Five years. Lottie had quietly suffered for all that time. And now he was here in Whitby, in the kitchen of his old home, offering him a brew as if he had been here all this time. Bill had half a mind to rush over and give him a good slap for the audacity of it, and half a mind to rush over and embrace him.

But he did neither, and instead he stood very still in the doorway. "You didn't say you were comin' 'ome..."

John laughed "nice to see you too da!" And went about making them a hot drink. John was nervous about his fathers reaction but he knew he had committed and now continued. He placed his fathers drink on the table before continueing "sit, ill tell you more"

He finished his own drink and sat it at the opposite end of the table and sat down "to be honest da, I didnt know i was coming home. I was put on a ship in Egypt after I had recovered enough to move. First I knew I was given a train ticket to whitby at Portsmouth and sent North and told to report to the depot on 4 days to train new recruits, if I had known I would have written to Kate or Ma and let them know but there was no time"

He sighed "im sorry da, but I'm not the same person I was, you knew the only option I had was the army or jail and I wasn't putting it on Ma..........or you"

Bill would have sat down, were it not for the fact that John told him to, and so he stayed where he was, so that his son didn't think he was taking orders. He folded his arms instead and leaned against the doorpost while he listened.

The apology surprised him, but he was wary. The young man before him looked much older than the boy who had left - the detestable reflection of his own history. But was he the changed man he said he was? Or were they in for a fresh round of misery? And if the lad really had changed, how was Bill supposed to relate to him now, after years of absence, and before that, years of anger and frustration? When he had returned to his own family, it had been an impossibility.

Bill hesitated. He remained where he was. "So what are you going to do now?" he inquired. He meant in terms of work. But he meant more than that.

John thought got a moment and took a drink from his cup before continueing. "Home for a couple of days before returning to the recruitment depot to train new recruits while I recuperate but I feel this may be my last enlistment" he ran his fingers around the handle on the cup. "Not because I want to leave but I feel with the injuries I sustained in India I may not be allowed to sign up again in 3 years" he sighed

"My plan now is to save some money and get back on my feet back in the UK. I've been lucky enough one of the lads has taught me to sew and I was regimental tailor for a bit in India so I'm hoping I can maybe start up a business doing that over here"

That did not sound like the John who had left home. Oh sure, that John had had big plans, but none of them were realistic, especially given the kid's inability to follow through with anything. But these plans, though hesitant and unformed, sounded responsible and more realistic. Bill dropped his arms, moved to the table slowly and sat down at last. "I daresay t' army knocked some sense in ye where I could not, son. Ye mean to stay on t' right side of the law, then?" Was this really his son John?

John laughed "yeah I guess you could say that" in real terms it was the truth. His father had tried but John didn't give it much heed at that age and had buggered off to the army.

He thought for a moment "6 months to train new recruits in South Yorkshire then off further down south for my trade test. I went into the army as a waste and intend to come out with a trade behind me!" Thjs was the truth John was thinking ahead "not sure what the last two years will hold but we will see"

John returned this thought to his fathers question "the knowledge the army has given me da wont be a slap in the wrist from the police. It will cause someone serious harm and ill get serious jail time, so yeah im finished with all the law breaking etc. I've seen enough violence and corruption to last me my whole life"

"My stint with training, my trade test and then my promotion with the help of Kate. She's gonna try to help me to read and write a little so I can try for one last promotion"

He sighed "I know my siblings have a chance of a career and I just want you to be proud of me too"

"Could 'ave given ye a lot more than a slap on t' wrist," Bill muttered under his breath. He pulled his cup closer and took a sip. He thought about his own sentence, and how it had destroyed his family and condemned him to several years in hell. John had no idea how bad it could have been for him. He thought about that Ward lad who had gotten himself hanged. How it had reminded him of John and what could have become of him. God, he was glad to hear that John seemed more sensible now, and he hoped the young man meant what he said.

Proud. Was he proud of his children? Was that what they wanted from him? Bill wrapped his hands around his cup and observed his oldest son. Once upon a time, he had wanted his parents to be proud of him. Then it had become forever impossible. There were times when he looked at his children and felt a cruel urge to break them in the same way. To let them know how it felt. It horrified him when he observed it in himself and he'd keep a tight reign on it; he let Lottie deal with them, and focused on providing for them, making sure they never knew poverty. But anger could loosen the reigns, and John in particular had provoked him with all his antics. There had been times he had hated John.

Bill's hands tightened around the cup. He looked at the liquid. "Ye must do what ye do for yerself, son. Not for me. But I am glad to 'ear it. And glad ye want to improve yer letters." School hadn't done the kid much good back in the day, given his truancy record and lazy attitude. He looked up. "Just make sure she doesn't get distracted from 'er own school work. She's t' only one of ye that hasn't yet tried pushin' yer mum into an early grave."

John nodded "i promised id help her in return with her school work where I can. She said she needed help with needlework." He continued "I realise I done alot of stupid shit in the past but rather than destroying fences now I'm looking to repair them" he took a drink from his cup "I wrote to Joe when I was over in India but never got a reply. I did from my sisters but he never did"

He leaned back in the chair and played with his mug before he winced in pain slightly as his wound ached a little. He tried to keep the pain off his face but wasn't sure how much it showed

He continued "hows things been with the railway?"