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

  ‘What did she mean by that?’ she had asked.

  Dan had swung an arm around her carelessly and said, ‘Just Dinah being Dinah. I hope we make as good friends as the Fairishes in our next place.’

  But Millie was doubtful just how close they had been. She could not shake off the notion that their friends had been attracted to Dan because of his local popularity and his generosity. Bob and Dinah had never been so eager to delve into their own pockets for others. They were now running a prosperous little business while she and Dan were leaving for the Midlands with their furniture only half paid for, the car sold and nothing in the bank.

  She found it harder to say goodbye to Mrs Hodges, the woman who had brought Edith safely into the world. ‘You go and enjoy your life, hinny, with that beautiful bairn,’ the widow said, unusually tearful at kissing Edith goodbye. Promising to keep in touch, Millie left the midwife a studio photograph of her, Dan and Edith taken the previous Christmas and set in a tortoiseshell frame.

  The train journey south and west was long and tiring, and Millie was not cheered by what greeted them. The terraced house the club had provided was damp and dingy, any daylight blocked out by the towering viaduct that arched overhead. The windows and walls vibrated when trains rattled by and the wallpaper in the front room was lifting with mildew. Millie’s spirits sank even further when she surveyed the antiquated kitchen with its old black range and open fire. It would be back to humping coal, black-leading the grate and keeping the fire stoked for boiling water and cooking.

  ‘Just until we get turned around and find somewhere else,’ Dan said, catching her look. ‘You’ll make it cosy, I bet.’

  But the winter came and there was never any mention of moving house. Millie managed as best she could with the temperamental range and the lack of space to dry Edith’s nappies. They were too near the railway line to hang the washing out; it was blackened with soot marks in minutes. Night after night, Millie would be startled out of sleep by the thunder of a train above that sounded as though it was coming in through the window. Neighbours and shopkeepers were friendly, and occasionally Millie would meet the wives of other players, but she found it hard starting again knowing no one.

  Their sitting room was too damp to use and so they did not invite people round to the house. Sitting in the fug of her cramped kitchen for hours on end, trying to prevent Edith from tottering into the fire or pulling everything off the table, Millie thought nostalgically of the freedom of the previous summer at home: the riverside picnics, the bustle of the tea room, chats in the kitchen with a constant stream of callers, the music and dancing.

  For in her heart, Ashborough was still home, and she longed for her mother’s company. She missed Ella and Walter and little Marjory, she missed the banter and laughter of Bob Hall and Kenny Manners. She even missed the solid, dependable presence of Joseph Moody, snoozing under his newspaper, for at least he was around, whereas Dan frequently was not.

  Christmas that year was dull, despite Millie’s attempts at decorating their leaking house and making mince pies with Edith, and there was no visiting of neighbours at New Year. Dan was often absent, the cramped house unable to contain his restlessness. Millie was aware of him drinking more frequently, and he came home one night with cuts about his face, having been involved in a fight. Millie’s fussing only worsened his temper.

  ‘It was over nothing,’ he insisted. ‘Just some so-called supporter having a go at me. It’s not my fault the team’s doing badly; I’m not being fed the passes to score goals.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have gone to the police?’ Millie asked, trying to bathe his swollen eye.

  Dan shook her off. ‘I can handle myself. I’m not the type to go crying to teacher.’

  Only Millie could tell how unhappy he was becoming, for he kept up his cheerful bravado to the outside world. She guessed that for the first time in his life he was anxious about the way he was playing, worried that his talent might be on the wane. He would grumble about the meagre pay footballers received.

  ‘It’s the poor man’s sport, Millie,’ he would complain. ‘Only the managers do well out of it. Look at other sports – golf, boxing, tennis – they all get better paid than we do. Do you know what baseball players get in America? Ten thousand pounds a year! Even cricketers are getting ten or fifteen pounds a match – more than double my wages.’

  Millie too began to fret that the move had been a bad one for them, for not only their dreams but their very livelihood depended on Dan’s footballing success. Up until now, she had never questioned that he would succeed. He tried to keep from her how badly the season was going at the club, but she read the results for herself in the local newspaper, and the creeping criticism of her husband. He was becoming known for his aggression and fouling on the pitch, his sudden bursts of temper and name-calling. Frequently he would return home after matches with his shins lacerated and bleeding from the boots of opposing players. But he suffered these attacks in silence.

  ‘Why don’t you do something about the way you’re being picked on?’ Millie asked in outrage. ‘The papers never mention anything about that!’

  ‘They go for me ’cos they know I’m a hard tackler, Millie man,’ Dan said, wincing as she dabbed on iodine. ‘They know that if they stop me, they stop the scoring. In football you’ve got to take the knocks.’

  Only gradually did Millie learn, from gossip in the press, that Dan had been transferred from Gateshead for his poor performance in the latter part of the season and on the continental tour. But what hurt her most were the rumours that he had spent too much time around the pubs on Tyneside and that he was labelled a ladies’ man. So-called friends were quoted as saying that Dan was boastful and extravagant and squandered his talent on drinking and socialising. Millie was outraged and challenged him with the report.

  ‘It’s lies!’ Dan was indignant. ‘I grafted harder than any of them! But I’ve always been one to work hard and play hard – and what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Play hard with who?’ Millie demanded, pacing the tiny area in front of the hearth, feeling unusually hemmed in. ‘What do they mean by “ladies’ man”?’

  ‘Millie!’ Dan said in exasperation. ‘That’s just the press. They like to make som’at out of nowt. They’re digging for dirt so they’ve someone to blame for the club doing badly. For some reason they’ve chosen me – maybes ’cos I let me mouth go too much.’

  Millie was not convinced. ‘But these stories have come from your so-called friends. Why should they be lying?’

  Dan grew agitated. ‘I was a name on Tyneside. I had my fair share of hangers-on – people after free drinks, free meals. Some lasses just like to be part of it too – they’re no different from the men. There was nothing in any of it.’

  Millie eyed him. ‘Like there was nothing between you and Dinah, you mean?’

  Dan looked at her angrily. ‘How can you say that, Millie? Dinah was a good friend to us – especially to you and the bairn!’

  ‘To you, you mean,’ Millie could not help accusing.

  Her unhappiness and frustration were compounded by these rumours that stung her pride and made her unable to face people in the street. She was humiliated and could no longer contain her anger. ‘How do I know there weren’t other occasions when you and Dinah cuddled in the coal-shed? Times when you were out and I was looking after Edith. What about after the trip to Italy? You were back for two weeks before you came and fetched me and the bairn!’

  ‘Shurrup!’ Dan sprang up, stepping on one of Edith’s dolls. Their daughter looked up at them in alarm. ‘Da-da, dolly!’ But Dan was too riled to notice.

  ‘I was down here, getting fixed up. Finding a home for us!’ he shouted.

  ‘Some home!’ Millie cried, eyes blazing. ‘It’s a slum. You should never have left the Vulcans.’

  Dan pushed her roughly away from him. ‘Well, they didn’t want me any more, did they? This move was the best thing on offer. Is it too much to expect a bit of support fr
om me wife?’ he yelled.

  All at once, Edith stood up and began to wail, covering her eyes with her hands. Both parents stopped and stared at her. Quickly Millie rushed to comfort her, but Dan reached her first and swung her into his arms.

  ‘Don’t cry, pet,’ he said, suddenly gentle. ‘Dada’s sorry for shouting.’

  ‘Mammy’s sorry too,’ Millie was quick to add, caressing her soft curls.

  Dan hugged the small girl tight until her sobbing subsided. Millie, heart still hammering from the argument, bent and picked up the damaged doll.

  ‘I’ll mend it,’ Dan promised quickly, wiping Edith’s wet crimson cheeks with his hand. He exchanged looks with Millie. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely. ‘All I want is to do the best for you and the lass.’

  Millie’s eyes stung with tears at his conciliatory words. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have said those things . . .’ She felt a pang of remorse for having accused him so disloyally, when he was already under attack from the outside world.

  He stretched out an arm and pulled her into his embrace with their daughter. ‘I tell you what,’ he smiled, ‘when the season’s over, I’ll take you both back up to Ashborough for the summer – spend it with your mam.’

  Millie felt her spirits lighten at once. ‘And you’ll stay with us too?’ she queried, knowing how he had avoided the place since his fight with Grant.

  Dan hesitated only for a moment. ‘If you want me to,’ he grinned. ‘No doubt that mother of yours will find plenty of jobs for me to do – keep me out of bother.’

  Millie smiled, wiping a tear of relief from the corner of her eye. ‘That would be grand!’ she agreed, kissing him.

  Edith’s face broke into a smile of gleaming, neat teeth. ‘Kiss, kiss!’ she insisted. They both laughed and kissed her, and Millie felt Dan’s hold tighten around them both.

  ***

  The summer could not come soon enough for Millie, as she made impatient arrangements to leave their dismal house and travel north. Finally, in May, they packed three suitcases and clambered on the train, Millie silently praying that they would never have to return. Edith, now over two years old, was excited by the bustle on the station and the movement of the train. Her lively company was the one thing that had got Millie through the drab winter.

  Perhaps because of Millie’s incessant conversation with her daughter as they spent long days alone, Edith was already talking. She spoke in a clear, high-pitched, penetrating voice that caught everyone’s attention, showing her delight in all that she saw with her sharp blue eyes. Heading north, Millie and Dan sat proudly beside her in the carriage while she reported on every cow, tree and house that they passed.

  At the end of a very long day, they reached the station at Ashborough, with Edith asleep in Dan’s arms. Teresa was there to meet them and cried openly at seeing them again. She took them back to a cold supper of ham and egg pie, potato salad, tinned pears and cream, then helped Millie put a drowsy Edith to bed, the little girl still trying to talk about the train journey.

  ‘She’s twice as bonny,’ Teresa cooed, binding her granddaughter into the bed so she wouldn’t fall out. ‘I’ve missed her that much. It’s been too quiet around here without you both. I never managed to keep the tea dances going after you left; I’ve had my hands full looking after Joseph,’ she confided. ‘He keeps to his bed these days, doesn’t even watch at the window any more. If only Ava would write a letter once in a while, he might show more interest.’ Teresa shook her head. ‘She was always a little madam.’

  The next day, Ella came round with Marjory and the friends spent the afternoon in happy conversation while the small girls stirred cake mixture with Teresa and dipped their fingers in cocoa powder. Dan, at a loose end, went for a walk. Two hours later, when Millie went looking for him, she found him with Walter on the rough ground behind the Presbyterian Church, surrounded by boys eagerly kicking a football to him. She was thankful to see him reconciled with his brother and watched him for a while, unobserved. Millie could not remember when she had last seen him look so relaxed. He was happy demonstrating his skills to the keen young crowd, giving them encouragement and words of advice. When he caught sight of her, he relinquished the ball and ran over, grinning.

  ‘You should help out at one of the boys’ clubs over the summer,’ Millie suggested, linking her arm through his.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I need to find something that’ll bring in a bit of money.’

  ‘Maybe you could do both,’ Millie smiled, optimistically.

  Dan eventually found delivery work for Davidson’s Emporium, which now stretched for a whole block on the west side of Dyke Road. As well as driving a delivery van and chatting to the weekly customers, he did jobs around the hotel for Teresa, painting the window frames and whitewashing the yellowed kitchen walls. At times he escaped to play football with Walter and Kenny after their shifts, or with the dozens of young boys who hung around the lanes banging makeshift balls against brick outhouses, play-acting at being professionals.

  Millie threw her energies into helping with the hotel, once more calling on Major Hall to help with tea dances. To her dismay she saw that her mother’s arthritis had worsened and that she could no longer play the piano for any length of time. So Bob Hall provided the music and Millie and Ella served the teas, while Teresa looked after the small girls. The cousins soon became used to each other and Marjory took delight in telling Edith what to do, being bossily protective towards her while Edith followed eagerly in her wake.

  Some evenings, Teresa would bed the two girls down together, while their parents went out dancing or to one of the picture houses. That summer, talking films were the rage. Millie loved their visits to the Empire, the huge picture palace, which had got rid of its cinema organ and put in extra seating to accommodate the hordes wanting to hear their matinée idols speak. In the plush velvet seats, surrounded by gold-painted columns, she listened enthralled to Greta Garbo and Douglas Fairbanks and heard her first musical, Broadway Melody. Dan took her to see Mickey Mouse talking in Steamboat Willie, and the adults shouted at the children to be quiet and stop hissing and booing as they had been used to doing during silent films.

  ‘I can’t wait until Edith’s old enough to take to the pictures,’ Millie declared.

  ‘We’ll take her Saturday, to the matinée.’ Dan was enthusiastic. ‘She’s bright as a button; she’ll sit through a film.’

  So they did, sitting near the front either side of her. Edith clutched their hands tightly and hid her eyes to begin with, but was soon gazing in wonder at the large screen. She laughed at the slapstick antics of Mickey Mouse and cried out to him to be careful. She talked about the film during it, after it and for the rest of the day until bedtime.

  ‘Nana come and see Mickey,’ she told her grandmother as Teresa got her ready for bed. So the next week Teresa went too, and marvelled at the talking films as much as Edith had.

  Only Bob Hall bemoaned the changes. ‘Think of the thousands of musicians who’ve been put out of work by the talkies,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s hard enough finding work these days as it is.’

  ‘Well, there’s work at the hotel as long as you want it,’ Millie assured him, not liking to dwell on the scarcity of jobs. Dan still had to negotiate a contract for the coming season, and she fervently hoped that some northern club would want him. At times she wished their life could just continue as it was in Ashborough, where they had a sizeable roof over their heads, Dan was happy doing deliveries and coaching football and she had her family and friends around her. But she knew that for Dan it would never be enough; he needed the thrill of playing professional football, of proving himself against some of the best in the country. So she lived life to the full all summer and did not think about what the autumn would bring.

  At the end of July, Dan went south again to agree his contract for the coming season and to begin training. Millie hated him going and Edith made a terrible fuss seeing him off on the train.


  ‘I’ll be back in a fortnight,’ he promised with a kiss, while Millie tried to pull a screaming Edith away from her father.

  For a couple of days Millie felt bereft without him, but her daughter’s high spirits soon made her cheerful again. She did not like to admit her relief at not having to return with him. They had agreed that she should stay for the rest of the summer in Ashborough and only bring Edith down once the season had started. No date had been set, and Millie avoided bringing the subject up. She wanted to stay at home as long as possible, partly out of selfish reasons, but also because she was growing concerned about her mother.

  It had struck her more forcibly this year that Teresa was ageing. She was plagued with arthritis in her hands and had recently complained of back pain. She was slower at everything, her old briskness gone, and she lay in bed longer each morning, delaying the effort of getting up. Millie worried that she would soon not be able to carry on running the hotel on her own. Moody was almost a recluse, and without her and Ella’s help over the summer, Millie was doubtful Teresa could have managed. She would have to persuade her mother to pay for some help this winter; unless she could stay on herself for longer . . . Millie pushed the enticing thought from her mind. It would be disloyal to Dan not to return sometime in the autumn, she told herself firmly. In the mean time she would do as much as possible to help.

  When Dan appeared in August, expecting Millie to be packed, ready to return with him, he lost his temper.

  ‘Mam needs me here,’ Millie insisted. ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘She’s taking advantage of you, as usual,’ Dan replied impatiently. ‘She should take on a lass to do the heavy work, not you. You give in to her too easily, Millie, you always have done.’