THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Yet Jimmy baulked at working in Magee’s. ‘Lass’s work,’ he called it, preferring to hang around the boxing gym cadging cigarettes from the older boys. Craven’s was the one business that seemed to be thriving in Byfell. Not only did it attract large numbers to big fights, it also showed talking films. Craven Hall provided a few hours of escapism for the hard-pressed locals. In fact, Vinnie Craven was doing so well he had bought a bankrupted garment factory and started up a local garage.

  Half the time, Clara did not know where her brother was. She was too busy trying to keep the shop going with her worried mother. These days they would sell anything: cheap, cut-price clothing and second-hand goods. Magee’s was more like a pawnshop than a fancy goods store now.

  ‘Why do you always stick up for Mr Craven? He could stop Dad betting money he hasn’t got,’ Clara sparked back.

  ‘He tries,’ Jimmy declared. ‘He thinks the world of me dad — get sick of hearing him say how he was a war hero and one of Byfell’s best boxers. And look at him now — a useless drunk.’

  ‘Don’t speak about him like that,’ Clara said.

  She looked pitifully at Harry snoring on the sofa, his face bloated and purplish with drink, the rest of his body shrinking like wizened fruit. Her father was looking old. He had changed so much over the past three years, turning moody and argumentative, taking offence where none was meant. Gone was the cheerful man who had beaten them up in the morning to cook their breakfast and sing lustily while stirring the porridge.

  Her parents’ love for each other had withered too. There was a constant tension as if they could hardly bear to be in the same room. Very occasionally, if Patience coaxed Harry to stay at home and not drink, there were days when they laughed again and went to bed early. Despite their private war, they both managed to keep up a cheerful appearance in the shop to their dwindling number of faithful customers.

  But then Harry would go back on the drink and disappear all day. One time he had gone for two days. Patience, frantic with worry, sent Jimmy to ask Vinnie to look for him. Vinnie had brought Harry back in his car, cuts all over his face. Clara wondered if her father was seeing another woman again — for she was convinced that had been the source of the trouble three years ago — but could not imagine that anyone would put up with him in the state he was in now.

  With the worry that the shop might not survive till the end of the year, life in Tenter Terrace was bleak. Clara’s one escape was hiking on a Sunday with the Lewises and their friends in the Young Socialists. She was not the least bit political, but she enjoyed their company more than ever. Even when Reenie was working and could not join the hike, Clara went.

  It was the cause of frequent arguments with her mother. Ever since Harry’s drunken outburst at the Lewises’, Patience had discouraged Clara from visiting there.

  ‘Reenie can come round here if she wants,’ she had said, ‘but I don’t see why you have to go there at all. You might upset your father again.’

  ‘Why should it upset him? He said sorry for all that long ago,’ Clara protested.

  ‘Cos when he’s had a drink in him, he doesn’t think straight. And besides, the Lewises are not really our type of people.’

  ‘Why? Because they’re German and Socialist?’ Clara retaliated. ‘Or because they run a better business than us?’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that!’

  That was how arguments with her mother always ended, with Patience shouting and Clara slamming out of the room.

  Clara was determined not to give up her friendship with the Lewises. The incident three years ago had made her all the more resolute in sticking by them. Her parents were prejudiced because Britain had once been at war with Germany. But that had nothing to do with the Lewises. Benny was good company and there was always the possibility that Frank might be there. Lately, a young teacher called Lillian seemed to be his companion.

  ‘She’s dotty about him,’ Reenie had said, ‘but our Frank doesn’t seem to notice.’

  Clara brushed out her long dark blonde hair and tied it back in a red ribbon. She wished she was intelligent like Lillian and able to say clever things about the state of the world to impress Frank. But she knew that she never would. Still, she could make Reenie and her brothers laugh, which was more than could be said of the serious, dark-haired Lillian.

  Clara tiptoed out of the flat, holding her rucksack and stout shoes in her hands. The shoes were old ones of Jimmy’s and decidedly unfashionable. But worn with thick socks they were protection against muddy paths. She put them on at the bottom of the stairs.

  Just as she was opening the door as quietly as possible, a figure loomed at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Clara! Where you going?’ Harry was swaying in last night’s clothes, his sparse hair sticking up like barbed wire, his eyes bleary.

  ‘Shoosh, Dad.’ Clara waved at him. ‘Don’t wake the others. I’m off hiking.’

  He grabbed the banister rail and staggered down a couple of steps. Clara dashed back up to steady him. ‘Haway, Humpty-Dumpty, sit down.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Remember how I used to teach you nursery rhymes?’ He plonked down on the step. ‘And I sang to you, didn’t I?’ Suddenly his head sagged and he let out a sob.

  ‘Dad?’ Clara perched beside him, putting an arm about his shaking shoulders. He stank of stale drink. ‘Don’t upset yourself. You weren’t that bad at singing.’

  Harry gave a half-laugh, crying at the same time. He shook his head. ‘I’ve been a terrible father, a terrible man.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, course you haven’t,’ Clara comforted him. ‘There’s not a mean bone in your body. If only you could stop drinking so much . . .’

  Harry sniffed. ‘Stops me thinking.’

  ‘Aye, it does that all right,’ Clara sighed. ‘But you mustn’t worry about the shop - we’ll manage somehow.’

  He groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘The shop! I don’t care tuppence for the place. I’d go back to sea tomorrow. But losing it will finish your mother. I only ever did it for her — it’s what she always dreamed of, stuck in that filthy boarding house with a tyrant of an aunt.’ He broke off, shaking his head.

  ‘Mam won’t let it fail,’ Clara insisted. ‘We’ll get by selling cheaper goods.’

  He gave her a haggard look. ‘I did it for her — it was all for her,’ he said in agitation. ‘She blames me now, but she was happy enough at the time.’

  ‘Blames you for what, Dad? You’re not making sense.’

  ‘No,’ he said bitterly, ‘none of it makes sense anymore.’

  Clara placed her hand over his. It was clammy and shaking. ‘Tell me what’s really the matter. I’m seventeen and know the business backwards. But if there are debts I don’t know about. . .’

  He gave her such a harrowed look that Clara faltered.

  ‘Some debts,’ he whispered, ‘can never be repaid.’

  Clara’s insides churned. His mood and baffling words were frightening her. She squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll get through this together,’ she encouraged him.

  Harry pulled out a dirty handkerchief and wiped his face. He nodded. ‘Off you go. Don’t be late.’

  ‘Will you be all right, Dad?’ Clara asked, uncertain.

  ‘Right as rain,’ he sniffed.

  Clara stood up and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Have a wash and change and get Mam her breakfast, eh? That’ll start the day on the right foot.’

  He nodded and watched her as she descended the stairs and picked up the rucksack.

  ‘I love you, my bonny,’ he said. ‘You’re the best of daughters.’

  Clara was taken aback. It was a long time since he had said anything affectionate. She smiled. ‘And you’re a canny father — most of the time.’

  She heard him give a rueful laugh as she closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Six

  All the way up to the summit, Frank and Benny had been arguing about Oswald Mosley’s New Party.

  ‘I
don’t blame him for turning his back on the Labour Party,’ Benny declared. ‘Call themselves Socialists, but what are they doing for the working class? Bugger all. Three million on the dole and they cut unemployment benefit! They’re sitting on their backsides in London — they’re not the ones ganin’ hungry.’

  ‘And Mosley’s a Socialist, is he?’ Frank was scornful. ‘He’s a Tory toff in Labour clothing. Gives a few angry speeches, stirs up trouble, then nicks off to the south of France.’

  ‘Well at least he’s trying to do some’at,’ Benny protested. ‘He’s got ideas — public works — making jobs for lads.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he push harder for them when he had the chance?’ Frank demanded.

  Lillian, who was walking between them, agreed. ‘Yes, he was in the Ministry for Employment.’

  ‘No one in government was listening to him,’ Benny cried.

  ‘He should’ve stayed and fought his corner.’ Frank stayed calm. ‘Mosley’s on a big ego trip and it’s damaging the party.’

  ‘Yes, Frank’s right.’ Lillian nodded vigorously. ‘He’s splitting the Labour vote and letting the Tories in.’

  ‘Well I’m tempted to vote for him mesel,’ Benny said hotly.

  ‘You can’t mean that?’ Lillian said, shocked.

  ‘I do!’

  ‘Oh, Benny.’ Lillian shuddered.

  Behind them, Reenie rolled her eyes at Clara. Clara made a gesture of pretending to strangle someone.

  ‘You’ll have to start a hiking group for Mosleyites then,’ Lillian said stiffly.

  ‘All marching in step behind their leader, of course,’ Frank teased. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder but Benny shook him off.

  Clara threw down her pack in the heather. Today, their arguing grated on her nerves. ‘Let’s stop here. Might be too windy at the top.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Reenie followed suit, spreading out a piece of tarpaulin for them to sit on.

  Others settled around them in small groups and shared out food.

  ‘Benny, what you got in your sandwiches?’ Clara asked, hoping to divert him from further wrangling. ‘If it’s more exciting than fish paste, we’re swapping.’

  Benny nodded and plonked himself down next to her. The moor spread out for miles ahead, broken only by the snaking curve of the Roman Wall. Clara breathed in deeply, letting the peaceful surroundings calm her. She was not really hungry at all, her stomach still knotted after the strange conversation with her father. She could not work out why it so disturbed her.

  ‘Pork and pickled beetroot,’ Benny said, peering into his sandwich and offering it to Clara.

  ‘Heaven!’ She handed him one of hers.

  ‘Glad to please you,’ Benny grinned, his good humour quickly returning.

  Reenie poured out tea from a flask that had been bought from Magee’s and handed a cup to Clara. ‘Amazing what the Romans did,’ she mused, ‘building that huge wall in the middle of nowhere. Must have taken hundreds of men -thousands maybe.’

  ‘Aye, plenty of employment in those days,’ Benny grunted through his sandwich.

  ‘Cheap labour more like,’ Reenie remarked, ‘and no unions to protect them.’

  ‘And a military dictatorship running everyone’s lives,’ Frank added. ‘Dictatorships get walls built, but they treat life cheaply.’

  Clara watched Lillian nodding vigorously and her heart sank. The teacher was sitting close to Frank.

  ‘That’s what Mosley would be like in power. He’s a demagogue, like Mussolini and his fascisti in Italy. They talk about giving power to the people but they only want it for themselves.’

  Clara looked at Reenie in dismay, wondering if Lillian was deliberately rekindling the argument to impress Frank.

  ‘Mosley’s on the side of the working classes,’ Benny said at once.

  ‘He may think he is,’ Frank said dryly. ‘But he’s not going to give up his country house and his upper-class lifestyle for us.’

  ‘Why should he?’ Clara piped up. They all turned and stared at her. She blushed. ‘Well, why can’t you be rich and support the workers too? If people work hard for their money, they’re entitled to spend it.’

  The brothers looked nonplussed. Reenie snorted with laughter, but Lillian clucked in disapproval. ‘Sometimes I wonder why you ever joined the YS, Clara. You don’t seem to have grasped the fundamentals of Socialism at all.’

  ‘No, I’m just a simple shopkeeper’s daughter,’ Clara quipped. ‘Wouldn’t know a fundamental if it came up and bit me on the bottom.’

  Benny and Reenie spluttered with laughter. Lillian went red.

  ‘I didn’t say you were simple,’ she replied, ‘just surprised why you come.’

  Clara waved a sandwich nonchalantly. ‘Even shopkeepers can appreciate a dose of fresh air once a week, Lillian. Besides, we need a break from counting all that money.’

  ‘Admit it, Clara,’ Benny chuckled, ‘you really come for the lads.’

  ‘In your dreams,’ Clara replied.

  Lillian let out an impatient sigh. ‘Everything has to be a joke with you,’ she muttered and turned back to Frank. At once she started questioning him about the situation in Germany. Clara hid her annoyance, pretending not to listen to their conversation about Hitler and the National Socialists. As usual, Lillian was trying to show her up.

  Clara felt a small pain in her chest at the sight of Frank leaning back on his pack, blond hair tousled by the wind, frowning into the distance as Lillian debated the emergent Nazi party. Clara swallowed her resentment. Lillian had a good job at a school in Newcastle; she could afford the luxury of debate. She did not have a brother out of work or parents who were tearing themselves apart over a nearly bankrupt business. But she would not give the condescending teacher the satisfaction of seeing how much she cared about such things. Instead, she chatted to Reenie and Benny about the fair that was coming to the town, and when they packed up and moved on she walked ahead, setting a fast pace.

  Only when they descended to the valley and were approaching the station did Lillian and Frank catch up. Lillian and Reenie went off to the ladies’ cloakroom. Benny was talking about football to another lad.

  Frank took Clara by the elbow. ‘Anything wrong, lass?’

  She jerked as if stung. ‘No, nowt.’

  He quickly let go. ‘You mustn’t mind Lillian — she’s very committed and doesn’t see when others are joking.’

  Clara smiled. ‘Who was joking?’

  He looked unsure. ‘Maybe I’m wrong, but I think it’s your way of hiding what you feel.’

  ‘Dr Freud! You’ve found me out,’ Clara teased.

  ‘Is everything all right at home?’ Frank persisted. ‘I know business is bad . . .’

  She longed to unburden herself about their debts, her father’s drinking and gambling, his guilt about something he could not tell her. He seemed to be on a road to self-destruction. But these were private affairs. She would not betray her parents by airing their troubles in public. It was something she could only confide to her diary.

  Clara glanced away from his intense look. ‘I come here to forget all that,’ she said lightly. ‘Monday morning comes soon enough.’

  ‘Of course,’ Frank agreed. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  Moments later, the others were joining them again. Sitting on the train home, watching Lillian and Frank discuss a new left-wing bookshop in Newcastle’s West End, Clara regretted her wasted opportunity to confide in Frank. But she felt so immature and gauche in his presence, like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. All she could do was say something flippant to cover her nervousness.

  Benny started a sing-song in the carriage which everyone joined in. At Newcastle Central Station they dispersed.

  ‘Would you like to come to our house for tea?’ Lillian asked Frank. ‘Mam’s doing roast mutton.’

  Clara’s mouth watered at the thought. The Magees would be having thin slices of cold ham and pease pudding.

  Frank gave a bashful sm
ile. ‘Thanks for asking, but I’m playing at the Rex later. Can’t turn work down these days; not when most of the picture houses don’t have bands anymore.’

  Lillian nodded. ‘Another time.’

  Clara walked back with the Lewises to Byfell, saving on the tram fare. The nearer they got to home, the slower she walked.

  ‘Come back to ours,’ Reenie insisted, sensing her reluctance.

  ‘Well. . .’ Clara hesitated.

  ‘Gan on,’ Benny encouraged her.

  She smiled. ‘Just for a bit, then.’

  Marta and Oscar welcomed her in as if they had expected her and they all sat round the kitchen table eating brisket and vegetables while Marta questioned them on the day. There was lively conversation again about Oswald Mosley. Benny, outnumbered by the others, resorted to teasing his brother about Lillian’s adoring attention.

  ‘“Frank’s always right,”’ he mimicked the teacher. ‘“Oh, Benny how could you! And Clara, you just don’t take anything seriously, do you?”’

  Reenie and Clara hooted with laughter and even Frank chuckled.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Marta said. ‘I like the sound of this Lillian - sensible, good job. Next time you bring her here for tea, Frank, ja? It’s time you find a sweetheart.’

  ‘Frank’s sweetheart is that violin,’ Benny smirked.

  Frank pushed back his fringe, his fair face colouring. He glanced round and caught Clara watching him. She laughed. ‘Lucky violin.’

  His eyes widened in surprise. For a moment they all looked at her. Clara wanted to sink under the table. What on earth had made her say such a thing? She could feel herself go hot. It was Benny who broke the silence with a suggestive whistle.

  ‘Watch out, Frank, our Clara’s got a secret crush on you,’ he crowed.

  ‘No, I haven’t!’ Clara protested.

  ‘Don’t embarrass her,’ Frank said. ‘We all know when Clara’s joking.’ He stood up. ‘And talking of the sweet violin, we have a date. Ta for the tea, Mam.’ He kissed his mother in passing and flicked Clara a glance. ‘Ta-ra, Clara.’

  She nodded, unable to meet his look. She wanted to run out after him and explain that it was true, she had not been joking. But she would only make a bigger fool of herself. Instead, she helped Marta clear the table and wash up. Afterwards, Benny offered to walk her round to Tenter Terrace.