‘It’s the colliery band,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What are they doing here at this time?’ He jumped out ready to help Albert. ‘And look at all the people!’
Grant smiled as they disembarked. ‘They’ve come to give a bit welcome to one of the Newcastle team – even if he didn’t play in the final.’
Albert stared at Grant and then at the advancing band. ‘Did you have anything to do with this?’
Grant shook his head. ‘No, you did, bonny lad.’
Millie gave Grant a grateful smile as she linked her arm through her son’s. It was a proud moment after an emotionally shattering day and she was thankful to be home. Yet part of her thoughts still remained with Dan in the stark hospital ward, and his tender parting words. How he would have revelled in such a homecoming!
She never saw Dan again. Marjory rang two days later to say he had died peacefully in his sleep during the night. So instead of making arrangements to have him brought to Ashborough to be nursed during his final days, Millie found herself arranging his funeral. A week later, Dan was buried in the local cemetery after a service at the Presbyterian church in Myrtle Terrace, which was packed to overflowing. Millie was touched by the number of people who came to offer condolences after the years of rumour and scandal surrounding her doomed marriage to Dan.
On a warm summer’s day, with the smell of newly mown hay heavy on the air, Dan’s remains were laid in a freshly dug grave opposite Walter’s and next to Edith’s small headstone with the carved angel. Millie was comforted to think of them reunited at last, no longer alone. The hotel was thrown open to large numbers for tea afterwards, yet Millie felt strangely detached. There had been too many years without Dan for her to really feel his loss now, and she realised she had done her grieving a long time ago. What gave her most solace was the memory of their final meeting in the hospital and the way they had been able to forgive each other past hurts.
As the days passed after the funeral, Millie came to understand that she had never really felt free of Dan until that moment of reconciliation. She had spent the years of absence in an emotional twilight, neither bound to him nor totally free of him. She recalled Grant’s angry accusation that she allowed Dan’s shadow to hang over the place and haunt their lives. He had been right. Yet now she felt free of that burden. Dan was at peace and she could let go of her grieving.
Robert rejoined his ship, Millie feeling that the reunion with Dan and his funeral had brought the whole family much closer together.
When Marjory appeared one weekend, Millie took her for an evening walk along the river and thanked her for being the one who had found Dan and given them the chance to set things to rights. Marjory gave her sunny smile and linked arms with her aunt.
‘I’m glad,’ she answered, ‘I’m really glad I could. It was a good thing I was always more interested in films than football, else I wouldn’t have come across him at all,’ she joked.
‘So what are you doing while you’re home?’ Millie asked.
‘Oh, just helping Mam and Uncle Grant sort out a few things from the house,’ the younger woman answered. ‘Things of Dad’s she hasn’t been able to face until now.’
‘Oh,’ Millie said in surprise, wondering why Ella had not asked her for help and finding the thought unsettling. Were they keeping something from her? she wondered, but could not bring herself to ask.
The next day, on the Saturday afternoon, when Teresa was resting and the younger ones had gone to the park to listen to a visiting band, Grant appeared.
‘Would you like to go for a cycle?’ he asked, as Millie was filling a pot of tea. She looked at him in astonishment. She had hardly cycled further than the local shops in years. It was something the boys and Charity liked to do with Grant.
‘I’ve got the tea room to mind,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you ask Marjory while she’s home?’
‘It’s you I’m asking, Millie,’ he replied firmly. ‘Patience and Sarah said they’ll keep an eye on things for the afternoon. I want to take you somewhere.’
She shot him a look and saw how determined he appeared. ‘Where?’
‘Craston,’ he said quietly.
Millie’s heart lurched. ‘Craston? Whatever for? I’ve never been back since–’ She was flustered. ‘Ella’s the one you want to ask if you’re thinking of Craston. She doesn’t mind the place.’
But Grant stood before her stubbornly. ‘Haway, Millie. It’s time you went back.’
Still feeling it was unwise, Millie reluctantly fetched her shoes and jacket and pinned on her hat, looking in on her mother and giving out instructions to Patience.
‘Just go, Auntie Millie,’ the young woman urged. ‘We can manage.’
Despite some initial stiffness, Millie found herself relaxing and enjoying the freshness of the air as they neared the sea. Gulls wheeled lazily overhead and the sun sparkled off the water, but she felt a flutter of anxiety as the hunched shape of Craston appeared, straggling along the shore like a beachcomber. What if she ran into someone from her past? she worried, then reminded herself that she looked nothing like the fourteen-year-old who had run away so long ago. No one would notice, and if they did, no one would care after all this time.
The pithead still dominated the skyline, but its clanking and sighing were muted by noise of a different kind: cries from children making sandcastles on the beach, chattering people strolling in their best clothes along a new promenade. Drawing closer, Millie saw that the old ironmonger’s had been turned into a cafe with large windows revealing tables and chairs of chrome and plastic. It was crowded with people having afternoon tea and ice-cream.
‘It’s all so smart!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘And look at the new promenade!’
Grant laughed. ‘Millie, it was built in the thirties.’
‘Well, it’s new to me,’ she insisted, leaning her bike against the wall and gazing out to sea. ‘I hardly recognise anything. The last time I walked along here there were tents on that beach – families evicted from their cottages.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘Why have I been so frightened to come back?’
‘I wanted you to see how it had changed,’ Grant said. ‘I’ve been here often with Ella and Marjory.’ Millie felt her insides twist at his words and wondered why she minded him mentioning such trips. ‘Maybe you could bring the lads some time? Show them where you came from.’
‘Maybe,’ Millie murmured, feeling troubled.
They began to cycle again, and Millie had the feeling he was leading her somewhere for a purpose. A minute later they were at the bottom end of the village, dismounting in the old churchyard where her grandfather Mercer was buried and where her father should have lain. Suddenly Millie realised why they were there. Leaving the bikes, she followed Grant to the tall monument with the cross on the top. It was Craston’s war memorial, now carved with the names of the dead of two world wars. She watched Grant bend down, pick a handful of bluebells from under a tree and hand them to her.
‘Here, put these on,’ he urged. ‘For Furnace. It’s his memorial as much as any of these men.’
She hesitated only a moment and then stepped forward with her modest tribute. She had always winced at the sight of such monuments, feeling a mixture of envy and shame. But at that moment, even though her brother’s name was not there, she felt that his spirit was, and she placed the flowers at its base with pride.
‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to Grant with tears in her eyes. ‘I never thought of doing such a thing. You’re the only one who’s ever made it possible for me to be proud of our Graham. You’re such a kind man.’
‘One day, Millie,’ he said, fixing her with his penetrating look, ‘we’ll have his name added to this stone.’
She gulped at his words and turned away, quite overcome. Walking on a little bit, she found a bench and sat down. Grant stood over her and she felt suddenly nervous at his closeness.
‘Millie,’ he hesitated, ‘Millie, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What
is it?’ she asked, feeling apprehensive.
‘I’ve decided to let Ava have her divorce,’ he said with difficulty. ‘It’s time to move on.’
Millie nodded. Then realisation dawned. This had something to do with Marjory coming home this weekend and Ella clearing out Walter’s things from Grant’s house. They were preparing for the future, she thought, preparing to get married at last. Was this why Ella had stayed away today, she wondered, so Grant could take her out and break the news to her? Her heart hammered. She felt suddenly excluded. But why should the idea upset her so much? she thought in confusion. Ella deserved such happiness and Grant was an attractive, warm-hearted man. He deserved a second chance too, after the bitter years with Ava.
‘Are you going to remarry?’ she asked awkwardly, feeling herself flush. Grant shot her a look of alarm. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘it’s none of my business what you and Ella do.’
‘Me and Ella?’ Grant said, nonplussed.
Millie’s embarrassment deepened. ‘I thought... oh dear, I’m making this worse!’ She stood up to walk on, but Grant stopped her with firm hands on her shoulders.
‘Ella’s decided to move to Newcastle to live with Marjory. She wants to make a home for her daughter, now that Walter’s gone. She wanted me to tell you because she didn’t know how to start – you two being so close.’
‘Oh, dear Ella,’ Millie cried. ‘I can see how she must want to be nearer Marjory – but leaving Ashborough? I can’t imagine it! I always thought you and Ella ...’
Grant shook his head and looked at her urgently with his dark eyes. ‘Hasn’t it been obvious all these years, Millie?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ she asked with pulse racing.
‘That it’s you I love!’ He forced out the words, his eyes shining.
‘Me?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I thought you didn’t care that much for me!’
‘I’ve cared for a long time,’ he answered, ‘but I’ve always tried to hide it because I never thought I had a chance. As long as Dan was alive I knew it was hopeless, no matter what you said about him.’
Millie stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘you were probably right. Even if we were never properly married I felt we always belonged to each other.’
Grant looked crestfallen. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he answered in a low, almost inaudible voice, ‘only Ella kept on at me. She saw how I felt about you – said we’d both wasted too many years . . .’
Millie placed a hand on his cheek. ‘Grant, what are you trying to say?’ she asked gently.
He took her hands in his. ‘I wondered whether – maybe in time – perhaps you could come to feel the same way . . . ?’ He looked at her anxiously with his dark-brown eyes, fearing rejection, oblivious to his own attractiveness after years of being told by Ava that he was worthless.
Leaning towards him, she stopped his worrying with a light kiss. ‘I do feel the same,’ she answered with a tender smile. ‘Ella’s right. For such a long time I’ve thought we both married the wrong people.’
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘Really? But Dan . . . ?’
‘Oh, aye, I loved Dan with a passion,’ she admitted, ‘but it was a young lass’s passion with a young lass’s impossible dreams. I stopped chasing them long ago.’
She looked into his strong face and knew that she was being given a second chance of happiness. Grant was offering a mature love that had grown out of friendship and compassion and a sharing of each other’s burdens, and her heart sang with joy that he had found the courage to speak out.
‘With you it’s been different,’ she smiled. ‘I used to be scared of you as a girl! And I haven’t always wanted your advice, but the number of times I’ve been in despair and you’ve been there to support me . . . The boys and me couldn’t have got through these past years without you, I know that much. I just couldn’t bear the thought of not having you around.’
Grant said nothing, his eyes shining with passion. He pulled her into his arms under the shade of the large sycamore and kissed her. It had been so long since she had felt a man’s arms around her like that, or the tenderness of a man’s lips, that Millie wanted to cry with happiness.
When they broke off, she whispered, ‘I do love you, Grant. I love you so very much.’
Grant gave a laugh of delight. ‘Marry me then,’ he challenged, ‘and make me truly happy!’
Millie laughed back. ‘Aye, I will!’ she said without hesitation. And they kissed again, with deep tenderness, exultant at the thought of their future together.
The End
FOR LOVE AND GLORY
A gripping and emotional story of love, loss and undying loyalty: One of the Tyneside Sagas
Janet MacLeod Trotter
~ ~ ~
One of the Tyneside Sagas: Impassioned stories set in momentous times – votes for women, world wars, rise of fascism – with the backdrop of vibrant Tyneside and heroines you won’t want to leave behind.
Contents
For Love and Glory
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
To Heather, Jill and Graeme, who grew up in Wallsend – with lots of love
Janet: “The novel is set in Wallsend on the River Tyne from where my husband’s family come.I have them to thank for much of the background information on this vibrant community where many of the world’s greatest ships were built. The Falklands material was inspired by veterans I’d read about – ordinary people who’d shown extraordinary courage – long after the short war was over and out of the news. But in particular, I’m indebted to our brave friend, John Mew who served on HMS Coventry, and was generous in sharing his experiences. This novel wrung every emotion possible out of me as I wrote it; I hope it might move you, the reader, too.”
* * *
Praise for For Love & Glory:
Very good. Peterborough Evening Gazette
A good read. Shields Gazette
I have just spent a sleepless night because I couldn’t put your book ‘For Love and Glory’ down. It is fantastic!
H.B. - Peebles, Scotland.
I just wanted to let you know I thoroughly enjoyed your book. I was totally absorbed to the very end. My congratulations.
D.G. - Newcastle, England.
Chapter One
1966
Jo ran out of the school gates, dragging her friend Marilyn with her.
‘Race you to Dodds!’ Jo grinned, giving herself a head start.
‘I’ve got no money,’ Marilyn complained, her attempts at sprinting hampered by her new slip-on plastic shoes.
I’ll treat you,’ Jo called over her shoulder, kicking up neat piles of orange leaves that the road sweeper had collected. ‘Dad gave me a tanner.’
Marilyn panted behind. ‘Wait, man, I’ve got a stone in me shoe.’
Jo turned, hands on hips, her unruly red hair glinting like burnished copper in the October afternoon sun. ‘You
were daft to buy them,’ she pronounced, watching her friend hopping along the pavement, one shoe in hand, fair ponytail bouncing. It was the one thing they differed over; clothes, Jo thought. She was content to run around in wellies and her brother Colin’s old gabardine. Shorts in summer, dungarees in winter were the only choices worth bothering about. Every Sunday her father tried to coax her into a dress for Sunday School at the Methodist Hall, and every Sunday she refused. Jo would deign to put on a tartan skirt whenever her Auntie Pearl returned from sea, but they were rare and special occasions. She would do anything for her beloved aunt, except wear a frock of course. Whereas Marilyn showed a baffling amount of interest in the latest craze for miniskirts and plastic clothing. But then her mother, Mrs Leishman, was a seamstress at the co-op and was doing a nice side-line at home, taking up the hems of fashion-conscious neighbours.
Jo linked her arm through her friend’s and pulled her into Dodds’ corner shop where they spent her sixpence on sherbet fountains and a piece of bubblegum each. Thanking the cheerful Mrs Craney, they sauntered out into the late sunshine, blowing large bubbles that popped in the sharp air.
‘Let’s gan to the park,’ Jo suggested, passing the end of Jericho Street where they lived.
‘Mam’ll be expecting us,’ Marilyn replied, unsure.
‘We’ll not stay long,’ Jo assured, steering her forward, ‘just pick up a few bits for the bonfire.’ She was reluctant to return too early, for Mrs Leishman would keep them in the house and fuss if they made a mess or knocked into her nest of tables and china ornaments. In her own house, she and Colin could leave things lying about or make crumbs on the bed without anyone telling them off. Her father did not seem to notice and she did not have a mother. Jo thought she was lucky that her mother had died so long ago she could not remember her, so it did not hurt. In fact she gloried in having one tragic parent who had died of a ‘weak heart’, as her father put it, while her friends had mothers who nagged at them to brush their hair and tidy the house.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 84
