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

  When they reached the restaurant, Colin was at the head of a table of family and friends which took Jo by surprise. Mark and Brenda were celebrating having backed Grittar, the Grand National winner, and Jo could tell that they had all been drinking for a good while. There was almost desperation in Skippy and Mark’s determination to have a good time, but Colin’s mood was quieter as he observed them all, Marilyn sitting close beside him.

  ‘I’m glad you could come, I’m returning to the regiment tomorrow,’ he told Jo. She gave him a quick kiss, not wanting to show her anxiety for him.

  ‘It’s bound to be settled soon,’ she said with an encouraging smile. Jo and Alan sat down next to Pearl and Jack, opposite Mark and Brenda. The talk quickly turned to the invasion.

  Alan started holding forth. ‘It’s old-fashioned gunboat diplomacy − the Tories are living out a fantasy of giving Johnny Foreigner a bloody nose. But it won’t come to anything. They must reach a diplomatic solution; it’s the only civilised way.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Mark said, ‘but we’re prepared to go and do our bit whatever.’

  ‘God, you sound like a tabloid headline,’ Alan mocked.

  Brenda said in annoyance, ‘It’s all right for you to scoff, sitting there swigging your red wine while others do the dirty work. But Mark and Skippy have to join their ship next week and I don’t know when I’ll see me husband again.’

  Jo felt her insides twist as she looked at Mark. ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘Ship’s been diverted from duties in the Med,’ Mark told her.

  Skippy broke in excitedly, ‘We’re joining her at Plymouth as part of the Task Force.’ She could see his eyes alight with the possibility of adventure, and it made her scared.

  ‘What a waste of bloody money,’ Alan continued. ‘I bet they’ll be working overtime in the yards to kit out Thatcher’s merry escapade − when she couldn’t lay them off quick enough before.’

  ‘Well, you should be glad of that at least,’ Mark answered, giving him a hostile look, ‘seeing how you care about the working man so much.’

  ‘War is always the capitalists’ answer to economic depression,’ Alan said, leaning aggressively across the table. ‘But it’s a criminal waste of resources – material and human. Thatcher’s as bad as Galtieri; she’s using this to gain popularity and deflect criticism away from making a mess of the economy.’

  ‘Alan has a point there,’ Jo intercepted. ‘It all seems far too hasty sending off ships and jump jets and things before any sort of diplomacy. I mean, what are the Foreign Office lot paid for?’

  ‘Well, it’s nice to know whose side you’re on,’ Brenda said, offended. ‘Once upon a time you would’ve stuck up for your mates.’

  ‘I resent that,’ Jo said in annoyance. ‘I’m on the side of a peaceful settlement, that’s all.’

  ‘And what if the Argies won’t budge?’ Colin joined in.

  ‘It’s still not worth going to war over a handful of sheep farmers,’ Alan insisted, ‘and I bet they’d be just as happy resettled somewhere like the Highlands.’

  ‘But they’re Brits,’ Colin argued, ‘and the Argies don’t have the right to tell them that they can’t be British.’

  ‘Stop calling them Argies,’ Jo said irritably, hurt by the way they were rounding on her and Alan.

  ‘Well, let’s call them fascists then,’ Mark said, giving her a hard look. ‘That’s a word you and Alan like to use. I can’t believe you’re defending a military Junta against your own people. Galtieri’s a thug; people disappear in Argentina. That’s what we’d be fighting against − dictatorship.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t!’ Alan protested. ‘You’d be fighting against young conscripts who are just as much pawns in the game as you are.’

  Mark was furious. ‘I’m no pawn in anyone’s game!’ he cried. ‘I joined the Navy willingly and I’m not afraid to fight for me country. I know where me loyalties lie.’

  ‘Well, I’m more concerned with promoting world peace,’ Alan said angrily. ‘Nationalism is an ugly, outdated emotion that brings more harm than good whether it’s British or Argentine.’

  Mark’s eyes narrowed at them both. ‘And you, Joanne? Do you believe that crap?’

  She was stung by his attack, deeply angry that it should come from him. ‘It’s not crap!’ she said hotly. ‘I stand with Alan on this. Neither of us believe the Falklands are worth risking hundreds of lives over. I don’t believe the islanders would want that either. I don’t want Colin to go and fight for some disputed islands eight thousand miles away. The whole idea’s crazy! They’re just a leftover from our imperial past. For all I know, Argentina might have more claim to them than we do.’

  Everyone had gone quiet before her last remark, but now the table erupted in argument. Even Jack and Pearl were remonstrating with her for saying such things. Alan was the only one coming out with rational arguments, as her family and friends threw angry accusations of disloyalty.

  ‘I never thought you would be so unpatriotic,’ her father complained.

  ‘You just think you’re better than us, now you’re living with Mr High-and-Mighty!’ Brenda declared.

  Colin gave her a filthy look. ‘Ta for spoiling me last night,’ he said, pushing his plate away and calling for the bill. Jo forced back tears of anger.

  ‘And thanks for spoiling me last performance! I forgot half the words for worrying over you and the thought of you going away,’ she accused.

  ‘Well, don’t bother,’ he said, standing up. ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘That’s what countless Argentine boys will be saying to their families tonight as well,’ Alan said. ‘Doesn’t that make you realise how futile the whole thing is?’

  ‘And what about the Falklanders?’ Mark demanded. ‘What will they be saying to each other tonight? I’m glad they can’t hear you two going on about how they don’t count for anything.’

  ‘That’s not what we’re saying,’ Jo replied, trembling with indignation. At that moment she hated him. She was glad she hadn’t married him; their marriage would have been a disaster! Alan and she never rowed like this.

  ‘What are you saying then, Joanne?’ he glared. ‘All I can hear is you being snide about us lads for being proud of our country − and proud of being Geordie.’

  She glared back. ‘And why are you so patriotic, Mark?’ she goaded. ‘Is it because really you’re insecure about who you are and where you come from?’ She saw him flinch away from her and regretted the words instantly.

  ‘Jo!’ Pearl gasped in shock.

  Mark pushed back his chair. ‘Maybe it is,’ he said, his eyes blazing. ‘Maybe I don’t know who me real father is. But I know now who me real friends are. And I don’t have to sit here and be insulted by the likes of you and that patronising bastard!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ Alan laughed impatiently. ‘Sit down and we’ll order another round of drinks.’

  But everyone else was getting up and leaving, throwing money into a pile on the table. Jo felt terrible, but she was equally incensed at the way she had been attacked for her opinions. They were treating her worse than a stranger.

  ‘I’m ashamed of you,’ Colin told her stonily. ‘My own sister saying such things! Don’t bother coming to see me off.’ He turned from her and marched to the door without looking back.

  Brenda scowled at her as she took Mark’s arm. ‘How could you say that to him? You of all people!’ Mark did not even look at her as they left, Skippy tagging along awkwardly behind, wondering how the celebrations had collapsed so quickly. He at least gave Jo a shrug and a mumbled goodbye.

  Her father’s sad, reproachful look was the worst of all. ‘Best to let tempers cool a bit, eh?’ he said uncomfortably.

  Marilyn and Pearl were the only ones who said a proper goodnight. ‘I’m sorry…’ Jo said helplessly. She felt miserable, yet still angry.

  Pearl just gave her a regretful look. ‘So am I,’ she said quietly, and Jo was left
acutely aware that she had hurt and disappointed them all.

  But Alan comforted her. ‘Don’t go feeling guilty for sticking to your beliefs,’ he told her. ‘I was proud of the way you stood up for yourself. It’s always hardest trying to convince your own family − sometimes it just isn’t worth the pain. A prophet reviled in his own country and all that.’ He gave her an encouraging hug. ‘Come on. What we need is to get roaring drunk at the end-of-play party and say to hell with them all!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jo remembered little of Sunday, except that she nursed a hangover and a feeling of anti-climax after the end of the play. At least that was what she put her depression down to. She was vaguely aware of the news seeping into her consciousness that Argentina had overcome the last British military unit on the Falklands and had taken another island called South Georgia. But Alan switched off the radio and dragged her out for a walk through Jesmond Dene and a ‘hair of the dog’ at the Millstone pub.

  She tried to recall what exactly she had said to Mark and the others that had caused so much anger, but Alan would not help her and did not want to talk about it. ‘Put it behind you, girl,’ he encouraged. ‘They had no right to attack your pacifist beliefs like they did. This is supposed to be a democracy. If they can’t enjoy a healthy debate then that’s their problem, not ours.’

  But the week stretched ahead aimlessly. Jo had no more work lined up for a fortnight, when she would be going into schools again with a May Day project. While Alan was out at the theatre on Monday, she found herself turning on the television and watching the emotional scenes of the Navy Task Force setting sail from Portsmouth Harbour. Marines and paratroopers were boarding, and the huge hangar of the flagship HMS Hermes was crammed with Harrier jets and helicopters.

  Jo watched in awe the vast decks of the aircraft carriers Hermes and Invincible lined by sailors. The harbour was full of ships and the dockside a mass of people waving hands and union flags. Military bands were playing. The commentator was saying something about this being the greatest display of naval strength since Suez, and that more ships would link up from Gibraltar.

  The captain of HMS Invincible was being interviewed. ‘Nobody wants to get involved in military action, but we are training to do so if the nation requires it,’ he said.

  Jo was struck by how familiar those words sounded, and then she had a flash of memory. It was virtually what Mark had been trying to say. At the time, Jo had thought he was revelling in the anticipation of conflict and dismissed his opinions just as Alan had. But now she wondered if she had been right. Had Mark not agreed with Alan that a diplomatic solution would be best, but that he was prepared to go into battle if called on to do so? Was there not a world of difference in the two stances? Jo challenged herself.

  She turned up the volume and began to scan the screen for signs of Mark. What had he said about joining his ship? Was it here, or had Skippy mentioned something about Plymouth? She tried to remember. The camera focused in on the face of a young woman looking wistfully up at the stick-like figures on board, trying to pick out her loved one. Husband? Brother? Lover? Jo wondered. The woman’s eyes were bright with tears, yet her face was stoical, her expression full of love and anxiety and acceptance.

  Jo found her own eyes pricking at the thought of what the woman was feeling at that moment, and the thousands of other family and friends gathered around on the quayside. Up until then, it was as if she had been watching some historical pageant, a drama that did not touch her. But now she felt a leaden weight in her stomach as she realised these ships really could be off to war.

  She was seized by a sudden panic. Why had she argued with Mark so bitterly when he and Skippy were on the verge of leaving home for unknown dangers? And how could she have spoilt Colin’s party so badly? she fretted. She and Alan had treated it like any other night out, willing to argue and philosophise as they normally did with his friends. But for Mark and Colin and Skippy it had been no idle debate; for them the prospect of war was a real one.

  Jo was about to reach for the telephone when Alan came back in and saw the television pictures.

  ‘For God’s sake, Joanne!’ he cried, crossing the room. ‘Look at all that flag-waving jingoism. It makes me sick.’ He turned the television off and looked at her, seeing the emotion on her face. ‘Hey, don’t upset yourself, girl,’ he said, swiftly moving to hug her.

  ‘It’s all happening so quickly,’ Jo whispered in fright. ‘I bet it’ll be Colin going off next. I don’t want to think about what might…’

  ‘Then don’t think about it,’ Alan urged. ‘It won’t come to war. This is just the sabre-rattling I talked about. It’ll take them weeks to get down there, and by that time it’ll all have been resolved.’

  ‘I need to speak to Colin,’ Jo said stubbornly.

  Alan’s look turned stern. ‘You’re not going to go grovelling for Saturday night, are you? Because he’s the one who should be apologising if anyone does. He’s the one who said he didn’t want to see you, remember?’

  Jo’s courage failed her. She had no desire to get into another slanging match with her brother. ‘He’s probably already gone,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Yes, he said he was going back to barracks yesterday, didn’t he?’ Alan agreed. ‘Leave it a couple of days and let things cool off, then ring Marilyn. She seems like a sensible type.’ Jo nodded, beginning to think she had overreacted because of the stirring pictures on television. She was working herself up over nothing. Alan brightened. ‘Listen, I’m going to take you away for a couple of days’ holiday.’

  ‘Holiday?’ Jo puzzled.

  ‘Yes, you deserve it after all your hard work. I’m so proud of the way your acting is maturing, Jo.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘We’ll head for the Highlands or somewhere romantic. Lots of fresh air and big meals. What do you say?’

  Jo smiled at him, relieved at the thought of getting away and having a breathing space. Alan always seemed to know what she needed most. ‘Sounds perfect,’ she answered, and kissed his warm lips.

  ***

  They had four wonderful days at a country hotel that Alan knew of, that served gargantuan breakfasts and evening dinners, with the host piping them into the baronial dining room each night. Afterwards they would sink into vast chairs by a roaring wood fire, drinking whisky and yawning contentedly after their day’s exploring around the lochside. Alan was not as fit as he liked to make out, and their walks were meandering rather than arduous, but they stayed out long enough to justify the large amounts of food and good wine that they consumed.

  The only other fellow guests were a Dutch ornithologist and a touring American couple, who only wanted to talk history, so they were quite cocooned from what was happening in the world. But on the way home they caught a news bulletin on the car radio saying that the American Secretary of State, Alexander Haig, was mediating in the Falklands crisis and that the EEC was approving a ban on Argentinian imports in support of Britain.

  ‘See,’ said Alan in satisfaction, ‘things are going to be settled amicably. Sanctions and diplomacy; that’s the only real option.’

  Jo felt optimistic at his words and refreshed by their time away. She rang her father that night, for the first time since the family row. To her relief, he sounded pleased to hear from her.

  ‘I’ve been away, recovering from the play,’ she told him.

  ‘With Alan?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Jo answered. When he said nothing, she asked, ‘Any news from Colin?’

  ‘Aye, he’s been attached to Field Ambulance,’ Jack said. ‘They’re away training somewhere in Wales.’

  Jo’s heart sank at his words. ‘He’s going to be sent out then?’

  ‘Sounds like it,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘When?’ Jo gulped.

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Jack sighed.

  ‘You’ll let me know when you hear something, won’t you?’ Jo asked, and Jack agreed. There was a silence between them and then she forced herself to
ask, ‘Did Mark and Skippy get away all right?’

  ‘Aye, they went off on the train the day after…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Did Brenda go to?’ Jo asked, feeling wretched at the memory of their last night out.

  ‘No, Mark wouldn’t let her. Said he hated goodbyes and there was no point going all the way to Plymouth just to turn right back again,’ Jack explained. ‘Course, I never understood why she wouldn’t live on the naval base in the first place. At least she’d have had the comfort of the other wives around her now to keep her chirpy.’

  ‘She’s always been a home bird,’ Jo mused. ‘She and her mam are like best friends really.’

  ‘You could go and see her,’ Jack suggested. ‘Make up, eh?’

  Jo felt a flood of remorse. ‘Aye, maybe I will.’ She felt her voice trembling. ‘Dad, I’m sorry for falling out with you all over this stupid Falklands thing. I didn’t mean to hurt Colin’s feelings or Mark’s…’

  ‘I didn’t think you did,’ Jack answered. ‘It’s not like you. Maybe you could write to the lads and tell them yourself?’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ Jo mumbled, and rang off, thinking how annoyed Alan would be if he caught her writing grovelling letters to her brother and friend; especially Mark. It reminded her of how jealous Alan had appeared of her continuing friendship with Mark. It probably suited him that she had ended up rowing with Mark and insulting him, so that their friendship would wither, Jo thought. Maybe he had deliberately provoked the argument? Then she chided herself for such disloyal thoughts. Alan had merely been expressing his own strong moral opinions, and had deserved her support.

  Before the end of the week she went to see Brenda, but received a frosty reception from her friend’s mother, who told her that Brenda was out but would not want to see her anyway. Discouraged by this, she called on Pearl, to find her aunt in bed.

  ‘Oh, it’s just a silly cold,’ Pearl said. ‘I can’t seem to shake it off. Probably just the worry over Colin and the other lads.’

  ‘But it won’t come to anything,’ Jo tried to reassure her. ‘Alan thinks…’