The man drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering incoherently, and Marjory was thankful it was only a short distance to the hospital. They soon had him stretchered inside and on to a ward. She gave what details she could about the incident and then decided she could do no more. She would check up on him on Sunday night when she was back on duty – if he was still alive, she thought grimly. Hurrying back to Haymarket to catch the second half of the film, Marjory heard a roar from an open shop door. Someone rushed out roaring, ‘We’ve won the cup!’ and startled her with a hug. She thought of cousin Albert and the family and grinned.
‘What was the score?’
‘Two-nil. Milburn got them both!’ the man said gleefully.
‘That’s grand!’ she cried, shaking off her gloom over the destitute man who had almost died at her feet. ‘That’s made my day.’
***
They celebrated well into the evening at the Station Hotel, Millie giving away free ice-cream and lemonade to the children who swarmed around wanting to see Albert. He might not have played in the final, but to Ashborough he was their very own hero and Millie basked in the warmth and generosity shown to her son. Patience was being courted by a clerk at her office, who came to collect her for a dance at the old Egyptian Ballroom which had been renamed the Mayfair after being renovated the previous year.
‘You get yourself along too,’ Millie told Albert, ‘and take Charity. This is your night and you should enjoy it.’
‘Mam!’ Albert laughed. ‘How can I dance with a gammy leg?’
‘I’ll support you round the dance floor,’ Charity replied. ‘Probably no one’ll notice the difference – the way you dance!’ Albert pulled a face, but needed no further persuasion. Robert went with them, Millie thinking how handsome he looked in his naval uniform.
Millie helped her mother to bed and then sat up with Ella, reminiscing about the marathon dancing of the twenties and how keen they had been as girls to learn the latest dances.
‘That’s all I thought about at one time,’ Millie chuckled, ‘working at the old Palace to earn money for dancing. To think I once longed to become a dance teacher.’
‘Do you remember that couple who tried to break the record by dancing for a day and a half at the Egyptian?’ Ella recalled.
‘Aye,’ said Millie, ‘and when her heel came off, the lass just kicked off her shoes and carried on in bare feet!’
‘I wonder what happened to Major Hall?’ Ella mused.
Millie shrugged. ‘The last we heard was a postcard from Brighton where he was playing in a band – but that was before the war. He was such a good man. I always hoped he and Mam might marry one day . . . But she always saw her security in keeping Moody sweet. I think the Major saw it was a lost cause.’
Grant left them to their reminiscing and Millie sat up late, waiting for the dancers to return, making them hot drinks and demanding to hear what the Mayfair was like and what tunes had been played.
‘One of these days, Auntie Millie,’ Charity insisted with a yawn, ‘Albert and I are going to drag you along to a dance with us, then you can see for yourself!’
Millie laughed; pleased at the closeness between her son and this vivacious girl she had come to love as her own. She would like nothing better than to have her as a daughter-in-law, but she kept the thought to herself. If she had learned one thing in life, it was not to expect too much of the future, but be content with the here and now.
***
Marjory had just finished attending to an elderly woman who had been trying to climb out of bed, convinced she was trapped in the workhouse. She had calmed her and tucked her back in and the ward was quiet but for the woman’s soft whimpering. Soon she would be handing over to the day staff and the place would be a bustle of activity once more. At the end of her shift, she decided to look in on the men’s ward and ask about the vagrant.
‘He’s very poorly,’ the sister confided. ‘Cirrhosis of the liver and a heart condition, as well as being malnourished. He’s comfortable, though, and talking a bit – showing off some medals which are all he seems to possess. Asking to speak to the lass who rescued him.’
‘I better see him then,’ she smiled.
As she turned to go, the nurse added, ‘You’re not related, are you?’
‘To the old man?’ Marjory asked in surprise.
‘It’s just he’s got the same surname as you,’ she explained. We checked with the Salvation Army hostel and they confirmed they’d had a man staying there of that name – a regular of theirs. Daniel Nixon.’
It took a few seconds for the name to register, and then Marjory’s mouth gaped open.
‘Something wrong?’ Sister asked.
Marjory shook her head. ‘No! It’s just coincidence, but I had an Uncle Dan. He left the area years ago.’
Still, as she hurried to find the patient, her heart began to hammer at the possibility. She found him lying in the corner bed. He had been shaved and his gaunt face looked younger, but thin and tinged with yellow. His hair was sparse, his closed eyes hooded and the fingers that lay on the white sheet were orange with years of clasping cigarettes. She felt a moment of relief that she did not recognise this pathetic figure as her handsome uncle; the name had just been a coincidence. Then he opened his eyes and as she glimpsed their faded blueness she was not so sure.
‘I came to see how you were,’ she said. ‘I brought you in on Saturday.’
‘Hello, pet,’ he wheezed. ‘I’m glad you came.’ He stopped while his chest pumped like bellows and then continued. ‘I wanted to thank you.’ When he smiled, his mouth turned up crookedly, dimpling his sallow cheek, and Marjory’s heart thumped in recognition.
She came towards him cautiously. ‘They said you’re staying at the Salvation Army hostel – have you no family in the area you could go to?’
She noticed his hands trembling as he answered. ‘Not now, pet,’ he answered breathlessly. He fixed her with troubled, rheumy eyes. ‘Will you do something for us?’ he gasped, waving a shaking hand at the chair beside him, ‘I want these sent on to someone.’ She bent down and picked up a clutch of medals on faded pieces of ribbon. They were amateur cup medals, including ones from the Northumbria League dated 1924 and 1925, and she had seen them before, long ago. ‘Millie Nixon,’ he wheezed, ‘for her lads, Robert, Albert and Jack.’
Marjory felt her heart jolt. She looked down at him, covering his shaking hand.
‘Oh, Uncle Dan!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you know me? I’m your niece, Marjory.’
Puzzled by her words, his eyes clouded then unexpectedly brimmed with tears. ‘Walter’s lass?’ he said, trembling. She nodded. His chest heaved as he tried to clutch her hand in return. ‘By, but you’re as bonny as your mam.’ Then he burst into tears.
***
Millie answered the telephone wondering who could be ringing them this early on a Monday morning. She was the only one up, stoking the increasingly temperamental range that she longed to replace with a modern cooker. Later in the day, they planned to take the train into Newcastle and see the victorious team make their progress through the city, welcoming them home. At least Albert would not be denied the celebrations. She went through to the hall.
‘Marjory?’ she answered in surprise. ‘Is it your mam you’re wanting? Is anything wrong?’
Albert limped out of his room, yawning, woken by the telephone echoing through the hall. He stopped in mid stretch at the sight of his mother’s stricken face. ‘Aye,’ she whispered, ‘of course I’ll come.’ She said a faint goodbye and hung up the receiver.
‘What’s wrong, Mam?’ Albert asked, hobbling towards her as quickly as he could. She put her arms out to him, quite overcome. ‘Who was it?’
‘Marjory,’ she croaked. ‘From the hospital.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘Your father’s there – he-he wants to see us,’ she gulped.
‘Me dad?’ Albert asked, astounded.
‘She rescued him off the street,’ Millie said, trembling. ‘He
’s a vagrant.’
‘N-no!’ her son replied in agitation. ‘I don’t w-want to see him. H-how can you w-want to after what he did? He doesn’t deserve it!’
‘Please, Albert,’ Millie pleaded. She saw his shock, but knew that for the sake of her sons she must convince him as well as overcome her own reluctance to face Dan. ‘What your father did to me was wrong. But I punished him for it – told him to stay away. And because of me you’ve never been able to know him properly. It’s as much my fault as his.’
‘No it’s not! I d-don’t want to know him!’ Albert said angrily. ‘He was a drunkard and a waster. He never tried to come back and I’ll never forgive him for that!’
Millie seized his arms before he could turn from her. ‘But he’s back now. You must see him for your own peace of mind. I’d have given anything to have spoken to my father before he died. I don’t want you to suffer in the same way, always wondering for years afterwards, regretting the things you never said.’
‘W-what do you mean?’ Albert asked, confused.
Millie said urgently, ‘I mean that this is your only chance. Your father is dying.’
Chapter Thirty
Marjory had warned Millie of Dan’s state, but she was still shocked by what she found. They clustered around his bed – Millie, Robert, Albert, Jack and Grant – the curtain drawn for privacy. He looked so frail and painfully thin lying there, hardly recognisable as the man she had loved with such a passion. In her mind, all these years, she had continued to think of Dan as the handsome, impulsive man she had last seen. No doubt she had aged in his eyes too, but he smiled at the sight of her and she caught a glimpse of the old Dan.
‘Hello, Millie,’ he rasped. ‘Still as bonny as ever.’
She blushed at the flattery. ‘No I’m not,’ she answered. ‘But I can see you haven’t lost your cheek!’ He chuckled and it broke the awkwardness.
‘Sit on the bed, lads,’ he encouraged. ‘By, look at our Robert in uniform!’
Robert smiled bashfully, ‘Aye, it’s a canny life. I’ve been right round the world.’
‘That’s grand,’ Dan smiled. ‘And I recognise you from the papers, bonny lad.’ He focused on Albert. ‘I’m that proud of you too. You did what I never managed.’ He broke off, coughing, and fought to regain his breath.
‘H-have you tried to see me?’ Albert asked. ‘At the club?’
‘Aye,’ Dan admitted. ‘They wouldn’t believe me . . . when I said I was related. Wasn’t looking me best, mind. I just wanted a bit of a chat; tell you how proud I was.’
Albert felt his heart pounding. He had come here feeling angry, wanting to confront the father who had betrayed his mother and abandoned them. He had nursed his fury for years, imagining the day when he could accuse Dan of deserting them and hurting him back. But he could not hate this frail, ageing man with the familiar smile and the gleam in his blue eyes that reminded him of the father he had hero-worshipped. He had already done better than Dan ever had at football, and was a man himself now, but he still felt like a child standing in front of him, wanting his father’s approval. Deep down he felt relief that Dan knew about his achievement.
‘You’ll be pleased about the Cup result then? Did you listen to the match?’ Albert asked.
Dan shook his head. ‘I went up to Gallowgate and stood there imagining. Remembering the time I went to Wembley with your mam. What a day that was, eh, Millie . . . ?’ He broke off, his eyes glinting with emotion, and cleared his throat. ‘I knew we’d win. I was off to get a drink when Marjory rescued me.’
Albert found himself talking to his father enthusiastically about the match, describing Milburn’s goals. Millie saw Dan’s eyes light with interest as he listened to his son and asked him questions about his team-mates. Her heart ached to think how close they could have been.
Tiring, Dan told Grant to hand his medals over to the boys. ‘Divide them between you. Though Marjory tells me you’re more interested in books, young Jack?’
Jack nodded, not knowing what to say to this stranger whom he hardly remembered. So he stood there mute while Grant talked to his brother quietly about Walter, and Dan lay catching his breath.
Then Grant turned to the boys. ‘Let your mam have a minute on her own with your dad,’ he suggested, sensing that Millie was finding it hard to say anything. He nodded at Dan, and the boys trooped after him muttering their goodbyes.
‘Grand lads, all three of them,’ Dan wheezed. ‘You’ve done us proud, Millie.’
She sat beside him. ‘How long have you been back, Dan? We tried to find you when Walter died – thought you were in London.’
He looked away. ‘I’ve been back in Newcastle about three years,’ he whispered. ‘Lodged near where we used to live for a while.’
Millie’s insides churned. ‘Did you go back to Dinah?’
Dan looked at her in surprise. ‘No. That was over long ago. I lodged with Mrs Hodges for a few months, but she got sick of me drinking and put me out. Said she didn’t know how you had put up with me for so long. I’ve been on the streets on and off since then, I think. Don’t remember too much.’
‘You should have come home,’ she chided him. ‘I never wanted you to end up like this.’
He fumbled for her hand. ‘I was too ashamed. I let you down that badly, I couldn’t forgive myself. I knew you’d be managing and the last thing you needed was me turning up like a bad penny.’
Millie gulped. ‘So you never went back to Clementine? Helen wrote to me for a while, did you know?’
Dan shook his head. ‘There was nothing to go back to – I never thought of her as me wife. And Helen emigrated. But we’d fallen out before that. She couldn’t stand me drinking. And I just wanted to forget. . .’
‘What did you fall out about?’ she asked quietly.
Dan whispered, ‘You, of course, and the lads – and our Edith.’ Millie felt tears prick her eyes. ‘Helen tried to help me, but she saw it was useless. She and her mam could never replace you and the bairns. You always meant the world to me, Millie. Nothing could ever change that.’
Millie felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Then why did you try to get back with them after Edith died?’ she whispered. ‘That hurt me so much.’
Dan’s breathing was laboured as he struggled to explain. ‘Because I was that gutted when the bairn died! I wanted to replace her – smother the hurt inside – so I went looking for Helen. It was a mistake, I soon saw that.’ He looked at her with regret. ‘That’s what I tried to say in me letter. I knew by then that Edith could never be replaced. And I knew that I wanted you and the boys more than anything else – but if you wouldn’t take me back I swore I’d never bother you again. I couldn’t have gone back to Ashborough if you wouldn’t have me, Millie.’
Millie clutched his hands in hers. ‘I never read your letter – I threw it straight on the fire!’ she cried. ‘I always thought that some day you’d walk back through the door whistling as if none of it had ever happened. I thought you’d at least come back to see the boys. I was angry at you for so long . . . !’
‘I’m sorry, Millie,’ Dan panted, his eyes full of tears. ‘I’ve been a daft fool all me life! I wish I’d met you sooner; you were the best thing for me.’
Millie gave him a sad smile. ‘Aye, I was!’ she teased. ‘But there’s no good fretting over what might have been.’ She squeezed his hands. ‘I’ve found you again and at least I can take you home now, look after you while I can. When you’re well enough to travel, you’ll come home to Ashborough, do you hear?’
Dan looked at her wonderingly. ‘You’d really do that for me?’
‘Aye,’ Millie insisted, ‘despite the fuss that Mam’s bound to make.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his lips trembling. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each trying to take in the enormity of what had happened. When both had regained composure, Dan was able to talk a little about the war. He had been ill with dysentery after the recapture of Tobruk and his healt
h had never totally recovered. He had ended the war in Italy, but to his shame had sold his war medals years ago in exchange for whisky. Only his amateur football medals had survived.
‘I’m that proud of our Albert,’ he smiled. ‘Prouder than if I’d done it myself.’
Millie told him quietly of the years he had missed, of Robert’s painful discovery of his parentage. ‘Robert took it very badly for a long time, poor lad. But he’s happier now and Mam’s grown to love him at last.’
Dan’s eyes shone. ‘He was always a grand lad – I always thought of him as one of ours.’
Millie gave a trembling smile. ‘Aye, you did, and he thought the world of you.’
The nurse announced the end of visiting time. They clung on to each other another moment.
‘I’ll come later in the week and visit,’ Millie promised. She leaned forward and kissed him on his pale lips, feeling a great weight lifting from her heart. The bitterness she had stored up against him all these years was dissolving.
‘I love you,’ he whispered hoarsely, taking in every detail of her face. ‘I’ve always loved you more than me own life, Millie.’
She turned from him, blinking away hot tears. Just then there was a noise outside, a dull droning. Dan’s misty gaze lifted to the window. The noise grew louder and more distinct; the hubbub and cheering of crowds.
‘It’s the team back,’ Millie murmured. ‘There were thousands gathering on the streets to see them when we came in.’ She saw Dan smile.
‘Aye, I can imagine,’ he said, craning towards the window. Millie saw his face contort as he struggled to speak. ‘Haway the lads!’ he croaked, then tears began to spill freely down his jaundiced face.
‘Aye,’ Millie smiled, the words catching in her throat, ‘haway the lads.’
***
They travelled back to Ashborough largely in silence, yet each feeling closer to the others for having shared the trip to see Dan. Millie was drained. As the train squealed to a halt and Jack leaned out to open the carriage door, they heard the sound of brass striking up and the thud of a bass drum. In the evening light, Jack peered up the platform.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 83
