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

  ‘No,’ her father assured her, ‘I wish that were all it was.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ Colin asked, looking up anxiously from stirring the soup.

  Jack sighed heavily, his boyish face looking drawn. ‘I’ve heard talk among the lads. They’re going to start knocking down around here soon. Compulsory purchase.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Jo said, her nose wrinkling.

  ‘It means folk’ve got to clear out whether they want to or not. They say Jericho Street is going to be demolished for a new library,’ her father explained.

  ‘But how can we live in a library?’ Jo puzzled.

  Her father smiled, but Colin thumped her. ‘Don’t be daft! It means we’ll have to move so they can build a library.’

  ‘Aye,’ her father confirmed, as he watched his son begin to dole out the soup. ‘Street’s been standing here for eighty years, but it’s no longer good enough, so the council says. People want inside toilets and modern kitchens these days. That’s why they haven’t done any work on our street for years – just been waiting to knock it down rather than modernise. It’s happening all over the city.’

  Jo’s face fell. Move from Jericho Street? Impossible! She could not imagine living anywhere else. She loved her home. Her friends lived all around her. She knew every inch of this street, from its uneven pavements chalked with hopscotch to its towering lamp that was ‘den’ for games of tig. Jo’s eyes welled up with tears.

  ‘But I don’t want to go anywhere else!’ she quavered, realising with horror that she was about to cry. She buried her face in her father’s grimy shirt and felt his arms tighten about her in comfort.

  ‘Neither do I, pet, neither do I.’ And although she could not bear to look him in the face, Jo could hear deep sadness in his voice too.

  ‘When will it happen, Dad?’ Colin asked, taking the news in his stride.

  ‘Might not be for ages, couple of years even,’ Jack replied. ‘So don’t worry yourself, pet.’ He kissed Jo’s head. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘I wonder what Auntie Pearl will have to say about it,’ Colin commented, as he plonked bowls of soup on the table.

  Jo looked up suddenly and wiped her nose on her jumper. Of course! Auntie Pearl would make things better. She watched her father cross to the scullery and strip off his shirt. His back looked taut and muscular like a wrestler’s, milky pale in contrast to his weathered brown neck.

  ‘Auntie Pearl will know what to do, won’t she, Dad?’ Jo cried. But all she heard in reply were sharp grunts as he doused himself in cold water.

  Then he turned, rubbing himself down. His face looked young again, rejuvenated. ‘Aye, your Auntie Pearl will have her opinion, that’s for sure,’ he answered with a wink.

  Chapter Two

  A week or so before Auntie Pearl was due home, Jo came in from playing to find her father crying in front of the television. She had never seen tears on his face before and it shocked her deeply.

  Rushing to his side, she seized his hand. ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’

  He wiped his eyes quickly, embarrassed to be caught weeping. ‘Those poor bairns!’ he croaked, then cleared his throat and stood up. Just before he switched off the set, Jo saw a glimpse of a collapsed building, people standing around grim-faced.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  He looked at her, his green eyes red-rimmed. ‘There’s been a terrible accident at a pit in Wales. Spoil heap’s slid down and covered a school.’

  Jo gasped. ‘Were the children inside?’ He nodded. ‘Can they not get out?’ she persisted. Jack pulled out a large handkerchief and blew into it vigorously. ‘Are they dead then?’ she demanded. ‘How many are dead, Dad? Were those the parents standing about?’

  Jack moved quickly towards her and squeezed her tight. ‘Give us a hug, pet,’ he said in a hoarse voice. She did as he asked, but could not get him to tell her more about the disaster with the children.

  That night, lying in bed in the room she shared with Colin, her brother supplied the details. He had seen it all on television at the Duggans’ house: over a hundred children trapped and missing under the pit sludge, along with teachers and some other adults.

  ‘Most of the schoolchildren in Aberfan were caught,’ Colin told an appalled Jo. ‘Just our age, an’ all.’

  Jo peered over the covers at the familiar walls, covered in cut-out magazine pictures of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones that she and Colin had collected. Next to the window was a poster of Mary Poppins from Pearl, given after Jo had pestered her to take them to see the film three times in one week. Her mind was in turmoil about the suffocating children lying under the slag in a Welsh village instead of tucked up in bed like she was. She wished Mary Poppins could be sent to get them out, do her magic to save them and make the parents happy again. But Mary Poppins was not real, whereas Aberfan was, and Jo lay awake a long time, imagining the empty bedrooms and the crying grown-ups in Wales.

  The next day, running to school with Colin, she kept peering into the distance to see if the pit heap beyond Wallsend was on the move. But it was far away and they did not live on a mountainside, so Jo tried to stop worrying. That afternoon her father was standing at the school gates waiting for them. Colin slunk off with his friends, embarrassed to be met, but Jo took his hand, surprised and pleased that he had finished work early.

  ‘Can we go to the baths?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ Jack agreed, gripping her hand tightly. She persuaded him to take Marilyn too, and Colin and Mark.

  All that week, her father turned up to see her out of school. She sensed it was something to do with the children in Wales, although she did not understand why this should make her father worry about her so much. Still, Jo soon realised she could ask for any treat and it was granted. They went ice skating and bowling; they went on the bus into Newcastle and even had tea at Fenwick’s. Then, to cap it all, they were to go on the early train into town one Saturday morning to meet Pearl at the Central Station.

  Jo lay awake half the night, but this time it was excitement at seeing her aunt that made her sleepless, not the spectre of Aberfan. They had tidied and vacuumed her father’s bedroom, changed the sheets and taken blankets downstairs to where Jack would sleep on the settee. She and Colin had put a collection of their best conkers into a bowl and placed these on the dressing table, beside a home-made card saying, ‘Welcome Home, Auntie Pearl!’

  Jo put on her tartan skirt without any fuss. ‘It’s a mini on you now,’ her father exclaimed. ‘Shows how long it’s been since you last wore it. Maybes we’ll have time to go and buy a new one before the train gets in.’

  ‘It’s fine, Dad!’ Jo answered impatiently, yanking her skirt down. ‘We don’t want to be late.’ She felt he was taking far too long shaving and ironing a clean shirt and slapping on Brylcreem in front of the mirror while he sang songs from South Pacific. Mark turned up on the doorstep just as they were leaving and was swept into going to meet Pearl too. They ran up and down the carriage in excitement, until Jack ordered them to sit still, and by the time they reached the huge echoing station in Newcastle, Jo was almost sick with anticipation.

  Finally the London train pulled in and they rushed around behind the barrier, craning for a view of their aunt. ‘Is that her?’ Colin queried, pointing at a distant figure dressed in yellow and black, piling luggage on to a porter’s trolley.

  ‘That’s her!’ Jo cried.

  ‘Looks like a bumble-bee,’ laughed Mark, starting to make a buzzing noise.

  Jo gave him a shove. ‘Auntie Pearl!’ she shouted, gesticulating madly. ‘Over here!’

  The figure in the brightly striped outfit waved back and hurried towards them, the porter trailing behind. She came through the barrier fumbling for her ticket, spilling half the contents from her PVC handbag, laughing and apologising breathlessly to the ticket collector. Jo rushed forward and flung her arms up around her neck. Pearl spun her round.


  ‘Look at the size of you! You’ve legs like Twiggy’s!’ She showered her with kisses.

  ‘You smell like a flower shop,’ giggled Jo, ‘and I love your cap. Can I try it on?’

  Pearl pulled off the large black and yellow peaked hat and plonked it on Jo’s head. ‘Course you can. Well, let’s have a kiss from me favourite lad, then!’ she ordered Colin, and smothered him in a perfumed hug before he could resist. He flushed with embarrassed pleasure, a red beacon from his neck to his ginger hair.

  Pearl ruffled Mark’s black hair and kissed him too. ‘By, you’re turning into a handsome young man. I bet you’ll kiss the girls and make them cry!’

  Mark snorted, half amused, half disgusted. ‘You’ll not catch me kissing lasses,’ he protested as Jo and Colin hooted with laughter.

  Pearl patted her own stiff brown hair that was flicked up in glamorous waves. ‘Jack,’ she smiled at her brother-in-law. Smiling back, he nodded at her, reminding Jo of one of Colin’s nervous zebra finches he kept in the backyard.

  ‘You’re looking grand,’ he said. ‘Let me take some of this luggage. Full of contraband, is it?’

  ‘Did a bit of shopping in London. Got you some clobber from Carnaby Street,’ Pearl said, winking at the children.

  ‘I draw the line at hipsters,’ Jack replied, looking merry.

  ‘Ooh, I’m impressed,’ Pearl teased. ‘We’ll make a trendy man out of you yet, Jack Elliot.’

  They chattered non-stop all the way back to Wallsend, hearing about Pearl’s voyage to East Africa and the Indian Ocean as a stewardess, and telling her their news from the past months.

  ‘We had a street party after England won the World Cup,’ Colin told her.

  ‘Fancy having a party without me!’ Pearl exclaimed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Auntie Pearl,’ Jo assured her, ‘you’re home in time for Bonfire Night.’

  ‘Aye,’ Mark enthused, keen to please her too. ‘Mam and Dad are having a party for grown-ups if you’d like to come to that.’

  ‘That sounds grand,’ Pearl smiled, swinging an arm round him. ‘How is your mam?’

  She felt his sinewy body tense under her hold, and his large dark eyes looked away from hers to Jo’s. ‘All right,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Well, tell her I’ll be round to see her,’ Pearl said lightly, and changed the subject.

  Soon they were back in Wallsend, walking up to the high street and past the shops. Jo was proud of her popular aunt, who stopped every two minutes to talk to someone she knew. ‘Look, the Forum’s open Pearl commented on the new shopping centre as they passed. ‘You’ll have to take me in there soon.’

  ‘It’s just shops,’ Jo said with impatience, eager to have her home. ‘Will you take us swimming this afternoon? Or to the matinee? My Fair Lady’s on again.’

  ‘Ugh, soppy!’ cried Colin and Mark together.

  ‘Listen to the pair of you! Well, we like a good musical, don’t we, Jo?’ Pearl defended her niece. ‘Us girls will go to the flicks together.’

  Jo felt special at being chosen and pulled a triumphant face at the boys.

  ‘I think we should let Pearl get home and settled first before you bully her into anything,’ Jack decreed. But it took them twenty minutes to get up Jericho Street and into number eleven, for all the neighbours were out to welcome Pearl Rimmer. Mrs Leishman spent ages admiring her outfit and quizzing her about the clothes being worn in London, until Jo wanted to scream with impatience. Finally they got her inside and had her opening up her bags to see what treasures she had brought. There was a pair of curved brass daggers for Colin, which he and Mark dashed away with. ‘I’ll be Bond,’ Colin cried, ‘and you be the villain.’

  ‘This is for you,’ Pearl said, handing a package to Jo. ‘From Carnaby Street.’

  Jo opened it suspiciously, fearing it was a dress. She did not want to hurt her aunt’s feelings, but she would have loved a pair of daggers like Colin’s. Unwrapping it, however, she found a small waistcoat made out of dark leather. It smelled like new boots and was just the sort of thing Mick Jagger might wear.

  ‘It’s fab!’ Jo cried, and flung her arms round her aunt. ‘I love it!’ She put it on over her old jumper, ignoring the fact that it was too big for her skinny frame. Jack and Pearl laughed indulgently. I’m off to show Marilyn.’

  By the time she had shown off to her friend and cycled up and down the street so that everyone could see her new waistcoat, Jack had returned with fish and chips for them all. Later Jo went with her father and aunt to see My Fair Lady, while Colin went with Mark to watch Mark’s older brother, Gordon, play football for Wallsend Boys’ Club. Jo felt a momentary pang that she was missing out on something, for she secretly liked to watch the strong, long-haired Gordon play. She was rather in awe of Mark’s big brother, who completely ignored her presence, but she admired him for being a good footballer and for playing the electric guitar like Paul McCartney.

  But having Pearl and her father’s undivided attention was even better and she revelled in an afternoon in front of the big colour screen, eating sweets and losing herself in the story and songs. The heroine, Eliza was like her, a poor girl without a mother who was good at singing. She rose from the backstreets to be a celebrity, invited out to parties. Maybe one day, Jo herself would be a famous singer, a pop star, she fantasised in the cosy dark of the auditorium.

  Sitting between her father and Pearl, feeling happy and safe, she wondered if this was what it felt like to have two parents. Was Pearl anything like her real mother? she mused. After all, they had been sisters. It comforted her to think her mother might have been as nice as Pearl, but then she didn’t really know. Her father rarely talked about her dead mother, and neither did her aunt. Apart from the photograph of her on the sideboard and a wedding picture of her parents on the mantelpiece in the front room, she had no idea what her mother was like. All they revealed was an impression of fair wavy hair and a dreamy smile, a remote fairy-tale figure in a flowing white dress. She imagined her mother as soft and gentle, like the mother in the washing-up-liquid advert on TV, who never got cross or laughed too loud. Not very like Pearl at all really, Jo thought.

  If only Pearl didn’t have to go sailing round the world, she sighed as the film ended, they could be like this always. For the first time it crossed Jo’s mind that there was nothing to stop Pearl marrying her father. But then Pearl would become her stepmother, and Jo’s mind filled with all the fairy tales where stepmothers were cruel and wicked to children. She would hate Pearl to change into one of those creatures, so perhaps it was best if she stayed as an auntie, Jo decided.

  On the way home they bought chestnuts from the fruit shop and roasted them in the fire at teatime. Colin came back with Mark and Skippy and they all stayed for sausages and beans and spicy rice pudding, washed down with a special bottle of dandelion and burdock. They played Pearl all their Beatles singles and Mark dashed home and returned with his brother’s new Rolling Stones LP, Aftermath. Pearl clapped and laughed at their impersonations of the bands, then insisted on hunting out and playing her collection of Cliff Richard and Tom Jones records that they kept in the sideboard. Mark screwed up his face and mimicked Tom Jones, until Pearl swiped him with a cushion.

  ‘Isn’t it time you lads were off home?’ Jack finally said. Skippy said his goodbyes and disappeared, but Mark seemed reluctant to go. Jo knew he was wanting to stop the night, but her father seemed keen to get them all to bed.

  ‘Can’t he stay?’ Jo asked her father. ‘Another night when we’re not so full,’ Jack promised.

  Colin said casually, ‘If we get to move house, can I have a room of me own where Mark can come and stay?’

  Pearl looked at Jack in surprise. ‘You’re moving? When?’

  Jack flushed. ‘Never, if I can help it,’ he blustered. ‘It’s just rumours at the moment.’

  ‘What rumours?’ Pearl asked. ‘Come on, Mr Secretive. I need to know if I’m on the move.’

  ‘They’re going to knock down Jericho
Street,’ Colin said.

  ‘But you needn’t worry, it won’t happen for ages,’ Jack insisted. ‘Your home is still here.’

  Jo saw Mark’s troubled look. She knew he did not want to move away from his friends either. He had told her that his parents had rowed all week over where they might go. Matty wanted to stay near the docks for work, while Norma yearned for a large semi with a garden on one of the green-belt estates beyond the coast road.

  ‘You won’t let it happen, will you?’ Jo asked anxiously. ‘Dad says they can’t force us to go if we really don’t want to. You don’t want to, do you, Auntie Pearl?’

  Pearl did not answer her, but looked challengingly at Jack. ‘Where are they talking of rehousing you?’

  Jack’s flushed face looked wary as he replied. ‘Could be a block of flats – or a new estate up by the coast road. Away from the heart of things either way.’

  Pearl gave an exasperated laugh. ‘Well, what are all the long faces for?’ she cried. ‘I think knocking down Jericho Street’s the best idea I’ve heard in ages. It’s a slum! We could have a house with a garden, a proper bathroom. Or a nice clean flat with an electric cooker.

  Jo gawped in shock; this was not what she had expected. Her aunt was attacking their beloved home, Pearl’s own home, for she had no other family but them. Fancy calling it a slum!

  Jack was offended. ‘We don’t need anything fancy,’ he scowled. ‘This place has done us proud since—’ He checked himself. ‘Since Jo was a baby,’ he said carefully. ‘Why should we want to move?’

  Pearl was suddenly cross. ‘Because everything’s out of the ark! That kitchen range should be in a museum – and that filthy fire. Having to wash in the sink and trek out in the rain to go to the toilet. Think of the kids, Jack. You could give them a grand home somewhere else; a new start.’

  ‘They’ve got a good home here,’ he snapped. ‘I do the best I can for them. They like it here, damn it! Don’t you go interfering.’

  Pearl gave him a furious look and jumped to her feet. ‘Oh, I don’t believe I’m hearing this! Come on, Mark, I’ll walk you home.’