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

  Dan turfed her off his knee, suddenly aggressive. ‘Don’t go on at me! You haven’t been back since Easter. Hardly the dutiful daughter, are you?’

  Millie was defiant. ‘Well, I want to go back now. I want to see me mam. Maybe if you’d shown more interest in your own family we might not have been left out of the wedding.’

  ‘Bugger the wedding!’ Dan shouted, getting to his feet. ‘I’m more bothered about the Comrades. I’ll pay their subs if they can’t afford to.’

  ‘With what?’ Millie demanded in exasperation. ‘We spend it as soon as we get it.’

  ‘I’ll raise a loan,’ Dan said, undaunted. ‘I’ll be worth plenty once they pay me transfer to Newcastle or a First Division club. I’m going to save the Comrades.’

  Millie looked at him in disbelief. His own family were on the breadline, but all that concerned him was that they might lose their precious football team.

  ‘Even if you bail them out,’ she argued, ‘they’ll not be getting the gate money they need to keep going. People aren’t going to choose football when they haven’t got enough to eat. Anyway, the Comrades are probably still paying off the fines from the season before—’ She broke off quickly. She had not meant to refer to Dan’s suspension from the amateur league for taking payments. She knew he was deeply ashamed of his part in getting the team banned, and it was something about which they never talked. He had escaped to Gateshead just in time, while other team mates had been suspended from local football all year.

  But it was too late. She could see by his injured expression that he was stung by the reminder. He lurched at her, taking hold of her arms and gripping her painfully. ‘They won’t go to the wall because of anything I’ve done,’ he hissed at her. ‘I’ll make sure the Comrades survive. I owe them that much.’

  When she protested that he was hurting her, he shoved her away from him and shouted, ‘Shows what little you know about football. Ashborough lads will always find the money to watch good footie, even if they’re starving. It’s what keeps them going!’

  She felt like asking him, ‘What about their starving families?’ but kept silent. His furious look and rough handling left her in a state of shock. They had never had such an argument before, and his rare temper had never been turned on her. She did not want to experience it again, so she bit back a reply and watched him stagger off into the bedroom. She heard him relieving himself into the china chamber pot they kept under the bed. She felt drained and very tired. Her cheeks were still hot from the sun and her silk stockings were gritty with sand, yet the carefree trip to the seaside seemed an age ago.

  With a huge effort she dragged herself to bed and lay beside Dan, who slept with his back turned towards her. Millie shed silent tears onto the new embroidered pillowcase, comforted only by the thought that he would probably have forgotten their row by the morning, and that soon she would be seeing her mother again.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a month into the season, and after several promptings from Millie, before Dan finally borrowed Bob Fairish’s Austin and drove Millie up to Ashborough with a car full of gifts and food. Millie was wary about arriving in such style, but Dan was as eager as a schoolboy with a new toy. He had every intention of giving rides to all his friends and relations. They had wrapped a present of Maling pottery for Ava and Grant, a large hand-painted plate of flowers with a motif of Newcastle in the centre.

  The day was autumnal, with leaves gusting about the car and banks of grey fog rolling in off the sea. Their arrival in Ashborough was heralded by noisy tooting on the car horn at everyone Dan recognised. Yet the town was disturbingly quiet, with the streets empty of traffic and no sounds of industry from the pithead. Some shops were boarded up, while others advertised sales. Occasional groups of men sheltered near pub doors, and small numbers of women trickled in and out of shops. Millie noticed that the windows of a pawn shop were laden with goods. There was a lethargy about the place, the bystanders hunched with blank expressions, the children strangely quiet and pinched with hunger.

  The knot in Millie’s stomach tightened as they neared the hotel and saw a thin woman scurry out of the kitchen entrance with a steaming jug, followed by a gaggle of dirty, unkempt children who disappeared down a muddy back lane. Dan parked the car at the front entrance, which they had never used, and sounded the car horn ostentatiously. He jumped out, grinning at Millie, and helped her out, as if he had noticed none of the grim sights on the way in. She swallowed her dismay and smiled half-heartedly.

  ‘Wait till your mother sees the car,’ he beamed. ‘I’ll tease her it’s ours!’

  Before Millie could protest, her mother was at the door and running towards them.

  ‘Mam!’ Millie cried as her mother flung her arms around her and they hugged in delight.

  ‘Not before time an’ all!’ Teresa scolded. ‘I’m surprised I recognise you!’ She looked directly at Dan. ‘You didn’t have to wait till you had your own car before you visited.’

  ‘Do you like it?’ Dan grinned.

  ‘It’s not ours,’ Millie confessed, not wanting to see her mother made a fool. ‘We borrowed it from our friends, the Fairishes.’

  ‘You’d like a spin though?’ Dan said, throwing Millie a look of annoyance.

  ‘Of course I would!’ Teresa replied. ‘Just let me get my coat.’ She was back in seconds. ‘Run us round to Ava’s. I take it you’ve come to see the newly-weds?’

  Millie realised that her mother was as keen to show off in front of Ava and the other neighbours as Dan was, so she was not going to spoil their fun. Dan put Teresa in front beside him, and Millie climbed in the back.

  ‘Very smart,’ her mother nodded, impressed. ‘Smells like the Store’s furniture department.’ Dan began to boast about their life in Newcastle, but as they bumped away down the road, Teresa interrupted. ‘It’s really bad round here with the strike. Folk have nothing left. We’ve been doling out soup now for two months to the neighbours. Everyone’s living on tick where they can get it. Walter and Ella have no savings left – they’ve had to sell all Effie’s brasses. And the bairn not a year old yet; it’s a terrible business! Don’t expect to get much of a reception at Ava’s. If you’re lucky, Grant’ll be out picketing or making speeches, so at least you won’t have to listen to him ranting on.’ She craned her neck round to look at Millie, while gripping on to the dashboard. ‘I don’t blame you for staying away, pet, but I’m that pleased to see you. You’re looking too thin, mind. I know it’s the fashion and you look like a real lady in that hat, but are you eating enough? You can afford it, thank the Lord! Dan, is she eating proper meals?’

  ‘Eats like a queen, Mrs Mercer,’ Dan assured her. ‘I give my Millie anything she wants.’

  Millie felt her eyes sting with tears at her mother’s fussing. She had expected to be scolded, but this acceptance that she would stay away now that they were well off cut her like a knife. Guilt engulfed her.

  ‘I’m eating fine, Mam,’ she gulped, the familiar bile rising in her throat. ‘And I’m sorry I’ve stayed away so long. I didn’t mean to.’ She leaned forward and put a hand on her mother’s shoulder, which Teresa quickly covered with her own. Her mother looked stouter, or maybe she was just wearing more clothes, yet her cheekbones were more prominent in her face. She was still beautiful and looked younger than the other Ashborough women her age; only her hands belied her forty-six years. They were old hands, large-knuckled, with veins standing out on them like ropes. It shocked Millie that these were the same slim hands that had once played the piano so gracefully, before the drudgery of the boarding house had taken its toll.

  They knocked at Ava’s closed, peeling door, Millie remembering how everyone had walked in without knocking when Effie had lived there. She glanced at Dan, trying to gauge what he felt as he stood on the doorstep of his old home, but he was too busy bantering with the children who had swarmed around the gleaming car and were eager to speak to him. She saw how they idolised him, and she imagined how Dan had
once been the same. He hoisted up a small, skinny barefoot boy who was tugging at his suit trousers.

  ‘You look like a Dickson,’ Dan smiled. ‘Matty, is it?’ The boy nodded with pleasure. ‘Can you play as well as your dad?’

  The boy wriggled out of his hold and ran across the yard, dribbling a pebble with his filthy feet. Dan clapped his hands and followed him. ‘But that won’t do,’ he said. ‘You need a real ball.’ He went straight to the car and produced a leather ball that he had brought for Walter. He dropped it at his feet, scooped it up with his shoe, kicked it in the air and headed it to Matty Dickson.

  The boy caught it, nearly knocked over by the force, and gawped. ‘It’s a caser!’ he cried, stroking the leather ball with reverent fingers.

  ‘Aye, and it’s yours to keep,’ Dan grinned. ‘As long as you share it with your marras.’

  There was uproar among the children as they all tried to touch the ball, pulling Dan along with them to play.

  ‘Ava’s not in,’ Teresa said, turning to watch Dan too with a mixture of impatience and admiration. ‘Maybe she’s round at Ella’s.’

  ‘Ella’s?’ Millie asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, they’ve been in each other’s pockets since you left,’ Teresa said, giving Millie a wry look. ‘Ava likes to have someone to lord it over, remember?’

  They drove round to Ella and Walter’s home in the next street, with children hanging off the car running-boards and whooping excitedly. The noise brought Walter to the door in his shirtsleeves. His unshaven face brightened at the sight of them, and he hugged Millie and tussled with Dan, shouting to his wife to come and see. A small girl with an unruly mop of fair hair tottered on to the top step and clutched at Walter’s leg, staring wide-eyed at the visitors.

  ‘Is that Marjory?’ Millie gasped, holding out her hands. The girl flapped a delicate hand at her and nearly fell. Millie rushed forward and caught her, lifting her gently into her arms.

  ‘You’re a little pet,’ she smiled. ‘Have you got a love for Auntie Millie?’ She pressed her cheek to the child’s soot-smudged one, delighting in the smell of baby skin and coal dust.

  ‘Haway in and see wor lass,’ Walter told her. Millie followed, still clutching the child, but Marjory struggled out of her arms when she caught sight of her mother again. Millie handed her over, kissing Ella as she did so and trying to hide her shock at how thin and pasty-faced she looked.

  ‘Well, get the kettle on then,’ Walter said cheerily.

  ‘We don’t have any tea to spare,’ Ella said in a small voice.

  ‘We’ve brought you some – Ringtons’ tea,’ Millie answered hastily, turning to Dan, who stepped forward with an armful of parcels.

  ‘Aye, something for everyone!’ he cried. Suddenly a figure stood up in the gloom and came forward. It was Ava.

  ‘So you’ve come back to show us all up?’ she accused in a brittle voice.

  Dan ignored the remark, thrusting the wedding present into her arms and planting a kiss on her lips.

  ‘Well, Mrs Nixon, you’re one of the family now,’ he teased. ‘Married life treating you canny, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Not really,’ she pouted, only half mollified. ‘Not when me husband’s out of work. I’m the one putting bread on the table just now, still working at the hotel. I can see that you’re doing all right for yourselves though.’

  Millie stepped forward and tried to greet her, but Ava held herself away, crossing her arms in a defensive gesture. She had abandoned the present on the table without opening it. Millie swallowed and turned to Ella.

  ‘So how are things?’ she asked.

  Ella shrugged and looked at Walter. ‘The same. There’s talk of some lads returning, but . . .’

  ‘Not round here they won’t,’ Walter said stoutly. ‘They’ll not bring scabs into Ashborough.’

  Ava made a derogatory noise. ‘Stop sounding like Grant. I’m sick to death of the whole business.’

  Dan intervened quickly, clapping Walter on the back in a hearty gesture. ‘By, it’s good to see you, marra! Still playing for the church team?’ Walter grinned and nodded. ‘The bairns tell me there were riots at Burt Park at the start of the season,’ Dan laughed. ‘The Comrades that good without me that folk are breaking in to see them, eh?’

  Walter laughed weakly too, but Ava answered waspishly, ‘Tell him then. Tell Mister High-and-Mighty with his posh clothes and car!’

  ‘Shurrup, Ava,’ Walter mumbled.

  ‘Tell me what?’ Dan smiled at her quizzically. But Millie’s mouth went dry at Ava’s venomous look, realising with a shock how much Ava resented Dan. When had her admiration for him turned sour? Millie wondered.

  Ava’s voice rose dangerously. ‘They broke in at the gates because hundreds of them wouldn’t pay – couldn’t pay – and the club were trying to lock them out. Haven’t you seen the posters round town cancelling Saturday’s match because they don’t want a repeat of the rioting?’ She looked at Dan with narrowed, contemptuous eyes. ‘You tried your best to ruin the Comrades last year; now the strike’s finally finished them off. Not so funny now, is it?’

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Dan’s face looked harrowed, Walter’s angry and embarrassed. Then Teresa stepped forward, taking Ava to task. ‘That’s enough from your sharp tongue . . . !’ The room erupted in quarrelling.

  Suddenly there was a movement at the door and Millie turned to see Grant, blocking the dull daylight with his broad frame. Teresa’s scolding died on her lips as the others stood back to let him in. Millie noticed how his presence at once commanded respect, the bickering silenced. Here was the eldest brother, veteran of the Great War, union man and supporter of the Bolshevik Revolution. Millie watched him in awe.

  ‘Lockout,’ he said clearly. ‘It’s a lockout, Ava, not a strike. The bosses threw us out of work, remember?’

  Millie thought Ava was about to argue, but she thought better of it, dismissing her husband with a petulant gesture. Grant ignored this and turned to Dan, shaking him by the hand.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you, lad,’ he smiled. ‘You’re looking well. Does the car outside mean you’re the manager now?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Dan laughed, visibly relaxing at his brother’s civil greeting. ‘We’ve brought a few presents, mind. Just wanted to wish you and Ava well.’

  Grant glanced at his wife. ‘That’s kind of them, isn’t it, Ava?’

  His conciliatory attitude was too much for Ava. She had expected Grant to back her up; instead he had made her look petty and foolish in front of the others. ‘I thought your precious principles would have stopped you taking charity from the likes of them,’ she sneered. ‘It’s all very well for Millie and Dan to waltz in with their fancy presents – they can go back to a warm house and plenty of food. What do we have to go back to? An empty grate and your father complaining about what I cook him.’

  ‘That’s enough, Ava,’ Grant warned, his dark eyes watchful.

  ‘No, it’s not enough!’ she screamed. ‘It’s not nearly enough. They’ve got everything and we’ve got nothing. This isn’t what married life’s supposed to be like!’

  Grant’s square face reddened. ‘It’s the life you chose,’ he said quietly.

  Ava glared at him. ‘More fool me!’ She pushed past him.

  ‘Ava,’ he said, trying to stop her, ‘please don’t...’

  But she brushed off his hand and stormed out of the cottage, banging the door behind her. Millie watched Grant swallow his embarrassment and shrug.

  ‘It’s hard on her,’ he said in excuse. ‘It’s hard on all of us.’ The familiar edge of defiance crept back into his voice, but Millie felt a wave of pity for the way this proud man had been reduced to humble words. She even felt sorry for Ava, despite her hurtfulness, for she recognised the fear that gripped them all – fear of the present, fear of tomorrow. It could so easily be her and Dan in the same situation.

  She stepped forward and touched Grant’s arm. ‘You don’t have to ex
plain, we can see how it is. All we ask is that you let us help you.’

  He gave her a strange look, half surprised, half contemptuous.

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ Dan agreed. We’ll not see you starve. We’ve things we can sell.’

  Grant held up a hand to stop him. ‘You can’t feed a whole town, lad, not even on your pay.’

  ‘No, but I can look after me own family,’ Dan insisted.

  ‘Give to Ella and Walter if you must,’ Grant answered. ‘They have the bairn to worry over.’ He glanced at Marjory. ‘Ava and I can manage.’

  Dan gave him an impatient shove. ‘Don’t be so bloody proud, man!’

  Grant was sharp in reply. ‘Pride’s important to a man even when he’s out of work.’

  ‘Food’s more important,’ Dan scoffed, ‘and your wife thinks so an’ all.’

  ‘You can leave Ava out of this,’ Grant said, suddenly angry. He glared at Dan and Millie. ‘What have you come back for? Can’t you see how turning up in your fancy clothes and car just upsets everyone? Look at the pair of you – just like bosses. You can’t change things by bringing a few presents. It might dull the hunger for another week, but it doesn’t give us our jobs back.’

  ‘Well, that’s gratitude for you!’ Dan exclaimed, flushing. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered, but Millie got this idea in her head that we should come back and help. But you don’t deserve it. I pity poor Ava, stuck with a man who thinks more about winning a bloody strike than he thinks of her.’

  ‘Dan, don’t,’ Millie pleaded, but he ignored her.

  ‘At least I’m doing something useful,’ he went on belligerently, ‘something people really care about in the north-east. I’m playing footie – the game of the gods, of real working men – and I’m playing well, and people will remember that long after any strike.’

  Grant clenched his fists. ‘Then get yourself back to Tyneside and play football!’ he barked. ‘But don’t think you can come here and expect us to fall over you in gratitude. You’ve turned your back on your own kind – the people who put you where you are now. But we’ve got a hard fight on our hands – we’re part of a much bigger struggle. You’ve gone soft,’ he accused. ‘We don’t need you.’