A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Vinnie slid her a look but did not comment. Clara felt foolish. When he parked the car, he turned to face her and took her hand.

  ‘You told me once not to mess with your affections — and I won’t. I’ve got too much regard for you, lass. You’re young and innocent and I love you for it. We’re going to do this properly, Clara. I’ll not lie in your bed till we’re man and wife.’

  Clara flushed at his blunt words, ashamed that she had spoken of her desire. He got out of the car and carried her bag to the door.

  Brushing her cheek with a kiss he said, ‘Sleep it off. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll go Christmas shopping; have tea at Carrick’s.’

  She watched him leave. Away from Hoxton Hall, Vinnie was back in control. It struck her that perhaps it suited him to leave early too. In Byfell, Vinnie was lord of the manor. He did not have to defer to the brigadier and his hysterical outbursts. Patience was right, Vinnie was a man of standing round here. As she traipsed upstairs, Clara marvelled that such a man had chosen her to be his wife.

  Chapter 21

  Clara and Vinnie were married at St Michael’s in Byfell in the middle of January, 1933. Apart from invited guests, the church filled up with well-wishers — many of them young men who hung around the boxing hall. A car had been sent for Clara, Patience and Jimmy. When Clara stepped out on to the icy pavement, Max rushed out and thrust a bunch of snowdrops into her hands.

  ‘Good luck, comrade.’ He beamed and kissed her. She had wanted to invite him, but Vinnie had said no. He would not have a man at their wedding for whom she had scrubbed floors. The same went for the Lewises.

  ‘They’re my barbers, Clara,’ he laughed, ‘and your mam doesn’t like them. It would be awkward. Anyway, you’re not even friendly with them these days. We can’t invite everyone.’

  In the end, the wedding guests were largely friends of the Cravens, or members of their new social set, such as the Templetons and the Blakes. A sister of Dolly’s came on the train from Doncaster. Clara’s boss, Jellicoe, was invited and Jack Hopkins their bank manager. She was less pleased about the Laidlaws, whose sons had roughed up Jimmy for payment of her father’s debts, but Vinnie told her bygones should be bygones and the Laidlaws were good punters at the boxing. Another surprise guest was Mr Simmons, the agent for their landlord at Tenter Terrace.

  ‘How do you know him?’ Clara had asked in dismay.

  ‘He handles some business for me,’ Vinnie said vaguely, ‘an old family friend.’

  To her relief, though, the Bell-Carrs declined to come. They were away that weekend at a shooting party, but sent a magnum of champagne and a copy of Mosley’s new book, The Greater Britain.

  ‘That looks light reading,’ Clara joked.

  ‘Aye, we’ll take it on the train,’ Vinnie said enthusiastically.

  The idea of a honeymoon in Rome had been abandoned; too far in wintry conditions, Vinnie said, promising to take her there another time. He had booked a hotel in London instead. To Clara it was almost as exciting. She had never been to the capital.

  Walking up the aisle on Jimmy’s arm in a dress of white satin, a Juliet cap and a long veil, Clara dismissed any disappointment at the lack of guests on the bride’s side and walked towards a smiling Vinnie. Patience was in tears, as she had been all morning.

  ‘You look so bonny,’ she had wept as they made ready. ‘How I wish Harry was here to give you away.’

  ‘Jimmy will do a grand job,’ Clara had reassured her. Looking at her brother in his smart suit provided for by Vinnie, she felt very proud of him. At sixteen, and with much working out at the gym, he was as brawny as their father had been, his hair close cropped and with the hint of a moustache in mimicry of Vinnie’s.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Patience kept repeating. ‘Vinnie’ll look after you. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy and have a good life.’

  That morning, Clara puzzled at her mother’s overwrought state. ‘You’re more nervous than I am, Mam,’ she had teased. ‘Of course I’m happy. We’re all going to have a good life from now on.’

  ‘Yes,’ Patience had trembled, ‘we are. Vinnie’s the man.’

  Clara had looked at her mother. ‘How strange — I remember Dad saying that at Danny Watts’s wedding when he got drunk. “Vinnie’s the man”.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘So stay off the sherry until it’s all over.’

  Patience’s expression had crumpled as she burst into tears again.

  ‘Mam, I’m only joking,’ Clara said in astonishment. ‘You can drink as much sherry as you want.’

  Patience shook her head. ‘It’s not that,’ she sobbed.

  Clara held her. ‘Then what?’

  But her mother would not say. She hugged Clara fiercely in a way she had not done for years. In the end Jimmy had chivvied them downstairs.

  ‘Hurry up. Mustn’t keep the Cravens waiting.’

  The service was over in a blur. On the way out, clinging on to Vinnie’s arm, she glimpsed Marta and Reenie standing beyond the church railings. It gave her a shock to see them after all this time. They waved. Clara felt a fresh pang of guilt at their exclusion from her wedding. She smiled and waved back. She would go round and see them after the honeymoon, once she had settled into married life.

  Married life! The thought made her sick with anticipation. They climbed into the back of Vinnie’s car and Clarkie drove them to the Haldane Hotel in Jesmond for the reception. Vinnie had chosen it for its cosy intimacy. A coal fire roared in the dining room and forty of them sat down to a lunch of soup, roast pork and vegetables, then steamed pudding with custard. Dolly had chosen the menu with Clara, insisting that the guests would want warming food.

  ‘We can’t give them cold meats and trifle at this time of year.’ Dolly had also decided where everyone must sit. ‘Best leave it to me,’ she told Clara, ‘seeing as how I know them all.’ It niggled Clara that Dolly had taken over most of the arrangements, but she could hardly argue as the Cravens were paying for it all.

  Yet it was Dolly who had caused the only upset before the wedding by vetoing Vinnie’s idea that all the Magees move into Larch Avenue.

  ‘Don’t know what he was thinking; there’s simply not enough room.’

  Clara was angry at this snub to her mother but Patience calmed her down.

  ‘Don’t make a fuss; Dolly’s right and it isn’t worth falling out over.’ If Patience was hurt by Dolly’s rebuff she did not show it, so Clara had let the matter go.

  A pianist entertained them during the meal. Clara was delighted when he played all her favourite musical tunes. When he played Goodnight Vienna and Vinnie pulled her to her feet to dance, she almost wept with emotion. Everyone clapped as they watched them shuffle around the small open space beside the piano, holding each other close. Clara heard snatches of their comments.

  ‘Don’t they make a handsome couple! — very well suited — so pretty — mind you, he’s a lot older — lucky girl — lucky man, more like — time he settled down — sad about the father — whole life ahead of them.’

  Vinnie gave a short speech, thanking everyone for coming and saying how this was the happiest day of his life.

  ‘I’ve watched this lass grow up into a beautiful young woman.’ He smiled, a hand on Clara’s shoulder. ‘Years ago I knew she was the one for me — no other woman has come close. I’m only sorry my good friend Harry Magee isn’t here to see us wed.’

  Clara felt her eyes prickle and saw Patience clutch a handkerchief to her face. Vinnie squeezed her shoulder. ‘But I’ll let you into a secret. I once said to Harry “Harry, I’m going to marry your daughter one day. She’s a beautiful English rose.” And that tough war hero — you know what he did? — he was that overcome he couldn’t speak — had tears streaming down his face when I called Clara that. Then he said, “Make her happy, lad, that’s all a father wants.” And that’s what I intend to do.’ Vinnie smiled down at her. ‘So I think we have your father’s blessing, lass.’ He leaned down and kissed her te
nderly.

  ‘Hear, hear!’ someone shouted and the guests began to clap.

  Clara whispered tearfully, ‘Why did you never tell me that before?’

  ‘Saving it for the big day,’ Vinnie smiled. ‘And I wanted it to be your choice, us getting wed, not feeling you had to ’cos your dad had wanted it.’

  ‘What a kind man you are.’ Clara kissed him again.

  Shortly afterwards, she went upstairs with Patience to change into her woollen suit for going away.

  ‘Wasn’t that strange what Vinnie said,’ Clara gasped. ‘Did Dad ever say anything to you?’

  Patience shook her head as she straightened the wedding dress on the bed. Her make-up was streaked from so much crying. ‘He was probably too drunk to remember.’

  Clara eyed her mother, surprised by her brittle tone. ‘Do you think Dad would have been pleased? He and Vinnie were good friends, weren’t they?’

  Patience took her time carefully packing the dress into a box. After a moment she said, ‘Course they were. Your father was grateful to Vinnie — he helped him out.’

  ‘Helped him out?’

  Patience picked up Clara’s hairbrush, unpinned her daughter’s wedding cap and began tidying her hair. ‘There were times your father needed Vinnie — things he couldn’t handle himself. It’s funny the way Vinnie looked up to your father when he was always the stronger character.’ Again there was that note of bitterness in her mother’s voice. ‘Harry relied on Vinnie’s knowing what to do.’

  Clara had a sudden memory. ‘Like when that tramp came bothering us? It was Vinnie you called round.’

  In the mirror, Clara saw Patience go rigid, hairbrush suspended. Clara had a strong desire to tell her mother about the locket, tell her that she knew what the man had come about. She was a married woman now, old enough for her mother to confide in.

  ‘Was that man blackmailing Dad?’ she asked.

  Patience began to fuss over her daughter’s hair again. ‘Whatever gives you that idea? No, no. He was just being a pest. Vinnie spoke to him and he never came back.’

  Clara was disbelieving. ‘Did Vinnie pay him off?’

  Patience looked away. ‘Maybe — I don’t remember now. It’s not important.’ She picked off fluff from Clara’s jacket. ‘Let’s take a look at you.’ She spun her daughter round. ‘You look a picture.’ She kissed her forehead. ‘The only thing that matters now is that you are happy with Vinnie.’

  ‘I am.’ Clara smiled, giving her mother a hug.

  ‘Good,’ Patience said. ‘Just don’t give him any cause for worry.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Clara asked, a little indignant.

  ‘You’re too quick to argue back; you mustn’t upset him or his posh friends. And stay away from troublemakers like the Lewises. I saw them outside the church.’

  Clara gave an impatient sigh. ‘Yes, yes, and I’ll brush my teeth and hair every day too.’

  Patience laughed suddenly. ‘Oh, pet, I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘I’m only away for five days.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re Mrs Vincent Craven of Larch Avenue when you come back.’

  Clara said impulsively, ‘Once we can afford it we’ll buy somewhere bigger and you and Jimmy can come and live with us too. Dolly won’t be able to stop it.’

  Patience’s eyes swam with tears. ‘I’d love that, but we must see what Vinnie says, mustn’t we?’

  Clara nodded. ‘Vinnie’s the man,’ she quipped.

  Twenty minutes later, Clara and Vinnie were being waved away from the hotel. Clarkie drove them to Newcastle Central Station where he carried their bags on to the London train.

  ‘Look after things at the hall,’ Vinnie told him, pressing a ten shilling note into his pocket. ‘You’re me right-hand man.’

  ‘Have a canny trip.’ Clarkie grinned and left.

  They sat close together in the compartment, watching the city recede in a sudden flurry of sleet. Vinnie chatted to two men about boxing until they got out at Darlington. After that he produced the Bell-Carrs’ gift from his case and began to read.

  ‘I thought you were joking about bringing that,’ Clara laughed.

  ‘Thought I’d better read it before we go and see the man,’ Vinnie said.

  Clara gasped at him. ‘We’re going to see Oswald Mosley?’

  ‘There’s a meeting on Wednesday night; canny chance to hear him in the flesh, eh?’

  Clara did not hide her dismay. ‘I’d rather go to the theatre — a musical or something. It’ll be our last night.’

  Vinnie put an arm round her. ‘We’ll gan to the theatre as well, don’t you worry. I’ve got it all planned.’

  Much of the journey was in darkness and Clara dozed against his shoulder, unable to see out of the window. When they arrived in London, Vinnie commandeered a porter to take their cases to a waiting cab. Freezing fog swirled around them, obliterating any view.

  ‘The Cavendish, Earl’s Court,’ he told the driver.

  It was a small hotel in a terraced street run by a Mrs English.

  ‘English by name, English by nature,’ announced the jolly, red-faced landlady. The dining room was already closed and a group of young men sat smoking and playing cards in the sitting room.

  ‘I can heat you up some soup,’ said Mrs English. ‘Mrs Craven looks frozen through. Go and sit by the fire.’ She led them into the sitting room. ‘Boys will pour you a couple of brandies.’

  The men sprang to their feet at once and offered Clara the armchair nearest the fire. Large drinks were poured and Vinnie began to talk to them about sport. The brandy burned her throat, but left a warm sensation inside. She drank, her nervousness diminishing with each sip as warmth seeped into her cold limbs.

  The men, five of them, had come from different parts of England to join Mosley’s fascist party.

  ‘We’re part of the new self-defence force,’ a man called Edwin from Manchester said proudly. ‘The Blackshirts. We’re stewards at his public meetings; make sure everything’s run shipshape and no one tries to harm our leader.’

  Paul, a young man about Clara’s age, said with enthusiasm, ‘Lodging ’ere till they find us proper barracks, then we can all be together.’

  ‘We’ll talk some more in the morning,’ Vinnie said. ‘But now me and the missus …’ He winked and the men grinned, standing to attention as Clara got up and took her husband’s arm. She noticed that Vinnie had hardly touched his brandy, whereas her glass was empty. Edwin and Paul insisted on carrying their cases up to the first floor for them.

  ‘Bathroom’s at the end of the corridor,’ Edwin said.

  A coal fire warmed the room and the dark red velvet curtains had been drawn to make it cosy. There was a washbasin in the corner, a small wardrobe and chest of drawers, a reading lamp and table either side of the double bed. Mrs English had turned down the bedspread. Clara’s heart lurched.

  She unpinned her hat and threw her coat on the bed.

  ‘Hang it up, lass,’ Vinnie said. He was methodically unpacking his case and putting away clothes in drawers. Opening the wardrobe he took out a hanger and passed it over, then hung up his evening suit. He took off his jacket, waistcoat and tie, then unclipped his braces. He rolled these up with the tie and placed them neatly in the top drawer.

  Clara watched in amazement. ‘You would think you’d been in the army,’ she teased.

  He flashed her a look. Clara remembered too late that Vinnie was touchy about the subject. He had received his call-up papers the month the war ended. His father had forbidden him to join up any sooner saying it would be more than his mother could bear. Clara went to hang up her coat and placed the hat on the chest of drawers. She was going to have to be tidier than she had been with Patience.

  ‘Did you know this place would be full of Mosley supporters?’ she asked.

  ‘Fair idea,’ Vinnie answered. ‘Ted Blake recommended it. Members of the BUF get a discount.’

  ‘But we’re not members.’

  ‘May
be we will be by the time we go home,’ he winked. ‘Now, you use the bathroom first,’ he said, ‘before you get undressed. Just in case any of the lads are about.’

  Clara did as he said and went down the corridor. When she came out of the bathroom, he was hovering outside the bedroom keeping guard. He closed the door behind her and went off to the bathroom. She noticed her hat had gone from the top of the chest of drawers. She found it on a shelf in the wardrobe. Hastily, she unpacked, shoving clothes in the lower drawers, and pushed the case under the bed as Vinnie had done.

  Clara was half out of her clothes when Vinnie came back in and locked the door. He smiled as he took off his trousers and shirt. His chest was covered in dark hair, his shoulders bulky. Clara stared. He helped himself to a cigarette from the bedside table, lit up and pulled back the covers. Then he lay watching her, humming softly and smoking.

  ‘Hurry up, lass, it’ll be time for breakfast shortly.’ He grinned.

  ‘Shall I turn the light out?’ Clara asked, feeling a fresh jolt of nerves. The brandy was wearing off.

  Vinnie switched on a side lamp and nodded. She felt better once the harsh overhead light was extinguished. The room fell into shadow, except for a pool of light round Vinnie on the bed. She turned her back and continued undressing, carefully placing each garment over the back of the chair. She heard him stub out his cigarette and stop humming. The next moment he was reaching across, touching her bare shoulders and kissing the back of her neck. It sent small shocks through her.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he murmured, nibbling her ear. ‘We can take as long as you like.’

  He began to unpin her hair, running his fingers through it, pulling it loose about her shoulders. All the time he spoke softly. ‘I love you — I’ve wanted you for so long — let me love you, lass.’

  He unzipped her corset, kissing his way down her back. His hands went round her, caressing, searching. Clara gasped in delight. She helped him shrug off her underclothes and climbed into the bed.

  Naked, Vinnie threw back the covers and ran his hands over her body. ‘You’re perfect — I want to look at you. So pure,’ he murmured, ‘your skin — so pale.’