Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Chapter 44

  1939

  Catherine, Tom and Major Holloway sat tensely around the wireless, listening to the King’s broadcast confirming the country was at war.

  ‘We can only do the right as we see the right, and reverently commit our cause to God.’

  Tom turned it off. Outside it was a beautiful sunny September evening. They sat in silence for several minutes, then the major shook his head.

  ‘I never thought I’d see another war in my lifetime. The war-to-end-all-wars, they said.’ He gave out a long sigh. ‘I’m too old to fight. What will you do, Tom?’

  Catherine was startled. She was thinking back to the first day of the Great War when, as a child, she had rushed outside to see if they were being invaded. Her grandfather had laughed at her foolishness. She had not thought of Tom enlisting.

  ‘You won’t go and join up, surely?’ she cried. ‘They’ll still need teachers.’

  Tom regarded her with troubled eyes. ‘If I’m called up . . .’ He shrugged.

  She went to bed that night full of foreboding. Their strangely tranquil year together was over. It was months ago that Catherine had given in her notice at the laundry. Tired out from trying to juggle her job with running The Hurst, she had decided to concentrate on building up her business once more.

  Money had been tight, but with the help of Tom, Mrs Fairy and Rita, she had attracted new custom and begun to make The Hurst viable again. She had bumped into Bridie twice; once in church at Christmas and once outside the cinema. The woman had been more like her old self, breezy and full of chatter as if the past rows and recriminations had never been.

  ‘I’m doing grand - turning away business, so I am,’ she declared. ‘Hear you’ve given up work at the laundry. Wasn’t I always telling you to do that? You look younger by years!’

  Catherine remembered her saying no such thing, but let it pass. She waited for Bridie to question her about Tom, but she didn’t. Nor did she say a word of thanks for the gift of the boarding house that was giving her such a good living. Catherine refrained from a caustic reminder.

  ‘Come round and see me and Maisie,’ Bridie encouraged. ‘I miss our chats.’

  Catherine ignored the invitation and did not mention it to Tom.

  The one incident that disturbed their peaceful existence was an emotional letter from Kate in the spring. Davie had been killed in an accident - fallen off the quayside returning to his ship and drowned. By the time the letter arrived the funeral was over. Catherine wrote her mother a long sympathetic letter, but stopped short of inviting her back to Hastings. She was not going to risk anyone coming between her and Tom again.

  When she heard nothing back from Kate, she wrote to Aunt Mary for news. Her aunt was quick to write back with the gossip. Davie had been drunk. They’d rowed over something. He’d stormed off to his ship and never returned. Body washed up in the Slake two days later weighed down with whisky bottles. Maybe he’d meant to step off the staithes; maybe he hadn’t. Whichever it was, Kate was blaming herself.

  Catherine discussed it with Tom. ‘I thought he was working the ferries?’

  ‘Perhaps he’d decided to go back to sea,’ Tom suggested. ‘Poor man. Poor Kate.’

  They looked at each other for a long time, but neither voiced what the other was thinking. Take Kate back and she’d be meddling in their lives just as before. Instead, Catherine sent money that she could scarcely afford. She heard nothing back for a month until a card came on her thirty-third birthday wishing her well. Kate had moved to a flat in Chaloner’s Lane and had a cleaning job at a doctor’s surgery. Catherine was thankful that her prayers had been answered.

  As for Tom, somehow the talk of marriage had slipped into the background. They were living quite happily under the same roof, sharing meals and conversation, going to films and concerts, reading to each other by the fireside like an old married couple. All that was missing was sharing each other’s bed.

  When she allowed herself to think about it, a wave of panic rose up inside. It reminded her of painful confessions to Father O’Neill as a growing woman. Sexual thoughts were sinful, he scolded, and she had come away feeling dirty. She was the product of sin and she must be doubly virtuous to make up for her bad beginning.

  Yet Catherine knew that Tom would not wait for ever to marry her. She had witnessed his slow-burning impatience over Bridie. These days, she felt it in his kisses. Now that the country was at war with Germany, the future was thrown into uncertainty. There was a spate of marriages that warm September as the town filled up with uniformed soldiers and sailors. Some of Tom’s pupils enlisted.

  Tom raised the subject of marriage again. ‘We could have a quiet ceremony. Half our neighbours and friends think we’re either secretly married or living in sin anyway,’ he teased.

  Catherine blushed. ‘Don’t joke about it!’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Catherine put him off. ‘The war could be over soon - and then we could do things properly.’

  But the news turned grim as ship after ship was sunk by German U-boats and supplies from abroad were disrupted. One day local officials came to The Hurst and asked to look around. Shortly afterwards Catherine received a letter.

  ‘I have to get rid of my lodgers,’ she told Tom gloomily. ‘They’re sending a group of blind veterans from London - say it’s not safe for them there.’

  ‘And you’re to look after them?’ Tom queried.

  Catherine nodded. She put out a hand. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you? I’ll make sure there’s room for you.’

  Mrs Fairy remained to help, despite her advanced age. Catherine said a tearful farewell to Major Holloway, who was moving to smaller digs in the town. ‘Invite me to the wedding,’ he whispered loudly.

  Dorothy cried and clung on to Catherine when her mother came to collect her, and they promised to stay in touch.

  When the men arrived from London, Catherine got a shock. As well as blind, they were mostly old and infirm.

  ‘I can’t manage them all!’ she protested to the staff who delivered them. ‘They need proper nursing.’

  ‘You’ll just have to try,’ they told her bluntly. ‘There’s a war on.’

  With the help of Rita and Mrs Fairy, and Tom in the evenings, Catherine threw her energies into caring for the displaced men. They had stories from the Great War that made her weep. Others had been blinded in accidents at work. Some were incontinent, one was senile, two suffered from nerves, and all were disorientated by the move. But she was amazed at their patience with her rudimentary nursing skills and humbled by their cheerfulness. It helped her to soldier on with the job without complaint.

  Early in 1940, Bridie erupted into her life again. On a chilly spring day, she appeared on the doorstep dressed in army uniform, holding Tuppence on a lead.

  Catherine leapt at Tuppence and hugged him in joy as the dog licked her in return.

  ‘And do I get a welcome like that?’ Bridie cried.

  Catherine looked at her warily. ‘Hello, Bridie. What brings you here?’

  ‘Let me in and I’ll tell you.’

  Sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea, Bridie spoke.

  ‘Joined up. Maisie’s gone back to my sister in Ireland. Don’t want her here if the Jerries are going to invade.’ She pulled out a revolver and placed it on the table. ‘Look, I get my own gun.’

  Catherine stared at it in horror. ‘Put it away!’

  Bridie laughed, picking up the weapon and caressing it.

  Mrs Fairy sniffed in disapproval. ‘What about the boarding house Catherine bought you?’ she asked pointedly.

  Bridie’s look was dismissive. ‘If we win the war and it’s still standing - and I’m still alive - I’ll go back to it.’ She turned back to Catherine. ‘What’s happened to your lodgers? Place smells like a hospital.’

  Catherine grimaced. ‘That’s near enough what it is. Had to take men from a blind asylum in London.’

  ‘So you’ve
had to get rid of the schoolboy?’ Bridie said with glee.

  Catherine reddened. ‘No, Tom’s still here.’

  Bridie showed sudden alarm. ‘Not married, though?’

  Catherine did not answer. Bridie gave a short laugh.

  ‘Can’t imagine what Father John has to say about you living out of wedlock with that man.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Catherine said indignantly.

  Mrs Fairy warned, ‘I think you should leave before Mr Cookson gets back and finds you here.’

  Bridie snorted. ‘Don’t think I’m frightened of that little mouse.’ She looked knowingly at Catherine as she pocketed the gun. ‘It’s him who should be in fear and trembling of me.’

  Catherine’s insides jolted. She stood up. She would not be intimidated. ‘I wish you good luck in the army,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘We can still see each other,’ Bridie said. ‘The training barracks are only twenty minutes away.’

  Catherine remained silent as they walked to the door. Tuppence padded beside them. Abruptly Bridie held out the leash.

  ‘I can’t have him with me - he’s yours.’

  ‘Mine?’ Catherine cried, breaking into a grin of delight. ‘Oh, thank you, Bridie!’

  Swiftly Bridie leant towards Catherine and kissed her on the lips. ‘Goodbye, my darling girl.’ She ran down the steps, leaving Catherine gasping.

  Behind, Tom was walking up the drive. He stopped and stared at Bridie. Catherine thought for one crazed moment that Bridie might pull her gun and shoot Tom. But she passed him without exchanging a word. Tom hurried towards the house and a bounding Tuppence. The dog jumped up to greet him. Catherine could not speak for the pounding in her chest, relief engulfing her after stark fear. While Tom was distracted fondling the dog, she forced herself to calm down.

  ‘What was she doing here?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Came to give Tuppence back. She’s joined up.’ Catherine tried to hide the trembling in her voice. Had Tom seen the kiss on the doorstep?

  ‘So she’s leaving the town.’ Tom’s look brightened.

  ‘Not yet - the barracks are on the outskirts.’

  He tensed. ‘No doubt she’ll be calling here on her days off.’

  Catherine felt uneasy. She could not rid her mind of Bridie showing off her revolver. Tom walked past her without a kiss of welcome, Tuppence padding behind him.

  The atmosphere between them was strained all evening. Finally, when all the men had been settled in their rooms, Catherine confronted him.

  ‘I didn’t invite Bridie here, so why are you punishing me for it?’

  Tom eyed her. ‘She’ll always be here - coming between us. I can see that now. You can go months without seeing her, but the minute you do, you’re a different person. It’s like she has some sort of hold over you. What is it between you and that woman, Kitty?’

  Catherine went hot. ‘There’s nothing between us!’

  Tom shook his head in disbelief. ‘That’s why you won’t marry me. All those excuses about the priest - it’s not him - it’s Bridie McKim. If she says you’re not to marry me then you won’t.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Catherine protested.

  Tom’s look was disbelieving.

  ‘No! I’m frightened of her. She came here today with a gun, Tom, making threats. I’m scared of what she might do to you.’

  ‘Don’t be melodramatic.’

  ‘I’m not. You’ve no idea how jealous she can be.’ Catherine was desperate for him to understand. Should she tell him about the letters?

  He said in a low voice, ‘I think you’re scared of being happy. You’re scared of letting go and trusting a future you can’t control. Just because your mother made a mess of love and marriage, doesn’t mean that you will, Kitty.’ He looked at her with regret. ‘It’s such a waste. We would have been happy together. I know I’ll never find another love like ours.’

  Catherine stared at him in panic. ‘Don’t talk like that, as if it’s all over. We’ve still got each other - we are together, Tom.’

  ‘Not for much longer. The school’s being evacuated - inland to St Albans.’

  Catherine’s heart thumped. ‘When?’ she whispered.

  ‘Two weeks,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ll be gone in two weeks.’

  That night, she found it impossible to sleep. Getting up, she slipped outside into the midsummer night. Despite the blackout, it was only half dark, a faint blush of light illuminating the sighing trees. Perhaps she was foolish to be out on such a night that might bring enemy bombers, but she was too restless. Catherine sat under her favourite oak that had not been bulldozed by the builder. The half-built villa on the sold-off grounds stood gaunt as a ruin. Next to it, The Hurst’s massive gothic bulk was like a sleeping beast.

  Catherine pressed her back into the rough shelter of the tree. The future was so uncertain now: rumours of defeat in Belgium and Holland were rife. British troops were in retreat and it was said that the smoke and fire from German bombing could be seen and heard from the Kent coast. Invasion, so unthinkable a year ago, now seemed a terrifying possibility. And here they were, sitting on the edge of England. If France was to fall. . .

  Soon Tom would be gone for good. She and her patients might be evacuated too. The Hurst might be bombed and all her years of toil here would be for nothing. How ridiculous she had been, holding so much store by wealth and possessions. It all seemed so petty when there were others fighting for their lives just a short way across the English Channel.

  None of it matters. Only love and being loved.

  She sat up abruptly. The branches of the oak rustled in the night wind. It was as if the tree had spoken. She pressed her hands to its gnarled bark and felt comforted. This oak had seen people and wars come and go, but had still remained. She was suffused with courage and renewed determination.

  ‘Please be here when I come back,’ Catherine whispered and kissed its cold roughness.

  She went back to bed, resolved what to do.

  Catherine was woken by Rita banging on her door. She had slept in late. With a start she leapt out of bed, fumbling for her clothes. Opening the blind, she saw Tom walking off down the drive. She had missed him at breakfast.

  In a panic, she rushed for the stairs, ignoring Rita’s complaints about helping lift one of the men. Her hair a riot of unbrushed curls and her clothes half-buttoned, she dashed out of the front door and down the steps.

  ‘Tom!’ she cried. He was at the gate and did not turn round. ‘Stop, Tom!’ she yelled louder, racing after him. Just as he turned into the street, he caught sight of her. He stared at her half-dressed state in alarm.

  ‘Tom,’ she panted, ‘wait. I’ve something to say. About yesterday and Bridie.’

  ‘Not now, Kitty,’ he said in exasperation.

  ‘She’s not the least bit important,’ she ploughed on. ‘None of this is.’ She waved at the house behind. ‘Only one thing matters. You and me. You’re all I care about, Tom Cookson.’

  She faced him, eyes welling up with tears.

  ‘Oh, Kitty,’ he said, his voice full of sadness, ‘why have you waited all this time to say it? It’s too late. I have to go away and there’s nothing I can do about it now.’

  Catherine started to shake. She could barely speak. She knew if she let this moment go, she would regret it for the rest of her life. She cared nothing for the people walking past them, staring in curiosity. It was just her and Tom on the pavement, and their future hanging on a thread.

  ‘Saturday,’ she croaked. ‘What are you doing on Saturday?’

  He frowned. ‘Lessons in the morning, cricket match in the afternoon. You know all that.’

  ‘Let’s get married,’ she blurted out, ‘on Saturday - before cricket.’

  He gawped at her. ‘Married? You really want to marry me?’

  Catherine nodded and gulped back tears.

  ‘Even if it’s not in church?’ he asked.

  ‘Anywhere. Just as long as we can be together
.’ She held out her arms.

  ‘Oh, Kitty!’ he said, his face breaking into a grin. He grabbed her to him and kissed her full on the lips in front of a startled passer-by.

  ‘We’ll do it then?’ Catherine gasped in excitement.

  ‘Yes.’ Tom was adamant. ‘I might even cancel the cricket.’

  She laughed and hugged him again, wondering why it had taken her so long to see where happiness lay.

  Chapter 45

  Catherine and Tom were to be married quietly on Saturday, 1st June in St Mary Star-of-the-Sea. Father John relented at the final hour, agreeing to marry the couple if Tom promised to bring their children up in the Catholic faith. Catherine had gone to the priest threatening to marry in the registry office and, seeing how determined she was, her priest had come up with the compromise.

  Their friend Major Holloway was to give her away and the Townsends and a colleague of Tom’s were invited as witnesses. It was too rushed to alert anyone else. Tom sent a letter to his mother and Kate was notified by telegram. With war-time travel difficult there was no possibility of them attending.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tom said, happy to avoid a fuss. ‘Just making you Mrs Cookson is all I care about.’

  Catherine’s heart swelled at his words. At last she would have a name to call her own, untainted by the past. But right up until the day, she was tense with fear. Tom did not know that she had also begged Kate to send her birth certificate. Catherine did not know whether her mother would even send it, for in it her shameful illegitimacy would be written for all to see.

  But the certificate arrived on the Friday with Kate’s blessing. Catherine was stunned when she read it. Kate had recorded herself as Mrs Davies and the father as Alexander Davies, Commission Agent. She sat down, winded at the bare-faced lie. Kate must have risked imprisonment to pass herself off as a married woman. But to what gain? And why had her mother never mentioned it to her before now? To think of the lengths she had gone to not to produce her birth certificate in the past! She could have lost her job at Tendring because of it.

  Oh, Kate! Catherine thought of her mother with a mixture of anger and admiration. How strange it was to think of herself as Catherine Davies. She touched her father’s name on the faded document. But he was as elusive as ever. Catherine Davies was as fictitious as this piece of paper and she was as eager to be rid of her as she was Kitty McMullen.