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

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  As summer approached, a more frantic edge crept into their lovemaking. No matter how vigorous or regular the sex, Clara did not fall pregnant. A speaker came to the Women’s Section extolling the virtues of motherhood. She was plump and motherly and spoke in a soft confiding voice.

  ‘Our duty to our country is first and foremost as wives and mothers,’ she beamed. ‘It is our calling to promote the health and well-being of the next generation — those young Englishmen who are needed to serve in all corners of our great Empire. It is up to women like us — women of good racial stock — also to keep ourselves in good health so that we produce sons of manly physique and sound mind.’

  She gave them a kindly smile. ‘Ladies, we must guard against impurity - the mixing of races that leads to degeneracy and the weakening of our great British nation. For we are the cream of the human race; our dominance in the world proves it. So,’ she gave a coy little chuckle, ‘go home to your husbands and get to work.’

  When Clara recounted this to Vinnie in bed that night, he laughed at her mimicry. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he teased. ‘I want lots of bairns.’

  Clara felt a stab of anxiety. ‘What if we can’t have them? You hear of some who don’t. You will still love me, won’t you?’

  Vinnie pulled her to him. ‘Stop worrying. We’re going to have bairns and you’re going to be the best of mams.’ He kissed her roundly on the lips. ‘Now, Mrs Craven, let’s get to work.’

  ***

  Clara grew closer to Cissie through their association with the Women’s Section. Cissie appeared to hold no grudge over their argument at Hoxton Hall about patriotism and was delighted to have Clara join. Clara found the older woman fun to be with and refreshingly frank about her husband’s shortcomings. Privately they poked fun at the more serious members of the group.

  ‘They can sit and knit socks for the Blackshirts,’ Cissie declared, ‘and we’ll toast them in champagne.’

  After Clara confided her worry about not yet becoming pregnant, Cissie retorted, ‘Forget about that “wives and mothers” claptrap. We all know who really hold the reins of power; women like us.’ She offered Clara a cigarette from her gold case. ‘We let our men think they are running the world, but they’d be nothing without us. They’re the puppets and we pull the strings,’ Cissie said with a cat-like smile.

  Clara and Vinnie were invited out to Hoxton Hall on several occasions. Vinnie learned to shoot and Clara to ride. Cissie took her riding over the estate and Clara reminisced about her rambling trips with the YS where she had learned to love the countryside.

  ‘My, you have come a long way from then,’ Cissie observed. ‘A long way in a short time. No wonder Vinnie’s so proud of you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Clara laughed.

  ‘I know so,’ Cissie said. ‘It’s as plain as day how much Vinnie adores you.’

  They kicked their horses into a canter and raced each other across the heathery moorland.

  One time when James was back from boarding school, he spoke up at dinner when they were discussing Hitler’s takeover in Germany.

  ‘Mr Banks, my biology teacher, says Herr Hitler’s doing a terrific job. Stopping the revolutionaries.’

  Sir Alastair was disdainful. ‘Still can’t trust the Boche. Germany’s a breeding ground for Bolsheviks and Jewish agitators.’

  ‘I think we should give the Nazis the benefit of the doubt,’ Cissie countered.

  ‘Some German Rotarians are coming to visit soon,’ Clara said. ‘Isn’t that right, Vinnie?’ Vinnie nodded. ‘Why don’t you come along and meet them? Ask them what ordinary Germans think.’

  ‘Ever the journalist,’ Cissie laughed. ‘That’s a splendid idea. What do you say, Alastair?’

  He scowled at Clara and blustered, ‘You can go if you wish. I’ll not sit down and eat with men who were butchering my friends last week.’

  ‘Nearly twenty years ago!’ Cissie remonstrated.

  ‘Seems like last week,’ Alastair muttered.

  Later, on their journey home, Clara put her head on Vinnie’s shoulder as he drove. ‘Cissie’s so lucky to have a big house like that,’ she sighed. ‘No wonder she has house parties every other weekend.’

  ‘What are you saying, exactly?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Let’s move somewhere bigger,’ Clara urged, ‘somewhere we can entertain properly. If we’re going to put these German people up and give them good British hospitality, we need more space.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Larch Avenue?’ Vinnie said defensively.

  ‘Nothing at all.’ Clara traced a finger down his arm. ‘But you’re an important businessman now — a leading light in the local BUF — you need a home that reflects your standing in the town.’ Her fingers moved down to his thigh. ‘And one day soon we’ll need more space for all those sons and daughters we’re going to have.’

  Vinnie caught her hand. ‘Careful, lass, or I’ll have the car off the road.’

  She nuzzled his cheek. ‘Can we at least think about it?’

  Vinnie gave a low laugh. ‘And do you have somewhere in mind?’

  Clara sat up. ‘Well, there’s a modern house in Gosforth up for sale — a bankruptcy so they’re desperate to sell — practically giving it away. It’s got four bedrooms and a huge garden and a Wurlitzer organ in the dining room. Imagine that!’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Willa told me. I’ve only seen it from the outside. She wants us to live closer.’

  ‘So, you’ve been hatching this plot with Mrs Templeton?’ Vinnie cried. ‘George could have warned me.’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ Clara smirked. ‘So can we at least go and have a look?’

  Vinnie kept his eyes ahead. ‘We’ll have to ask Mam. It’s her home too.’

  Clara hid her impatience. ‘She’ll love it. And we can ask Ella to come and cook for us too.’

  ‘It’s a canny drive from Byfell,’ Vinnie pointed out.

  ‘It’s not that far,’ Clara said, not wanting to admit that she increasingly craved to distance herself from the town. ‘And it’s just two tram rides for Ella.’

  Vinnie raised her hand and kissed it. ‘If it will make you happy then of course we’ll go and look.’

  Clara leaned up and nibbled his ear. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  That night they went early to bed and made love till it was completely dark, Clara imagining them in the large house in Gosforth out of earshot of Dolly’s radio, with only the sound of birdsong drifting in from the long tree-lined garden.

  ***

  When Vinnie saw the grand house he needed little persuasion. A month later, at the end of June, they moved into The Cedars, in Gosforth. Dolly came grumbling about the distance from Craven Hall, but Clara did not give Larch Avenue a second glance. It had never felt like home, whereas The Cedars did and she set about its redecoration and furnishing with gusto. She enlisted Willa’s tasteful help and by the time the Rotary visitors arrived in late July, the house was lavishly comfortable.

  They had two couples to stay, businessmen from Hamburg and their wives, and enjoyed a packed week of sightseeing and social events. One of the couples was middle-aged and Clara wondered if the small, dapper husband had fought in the Great War or perhaps been on an opposing ship to her father’s. But no one mentioned the bitter conflict.

  The other couple was nearer Vinnie’s age and full of fun. Herr Braun’s English was accented but fairly fluent and he interpreted for the rest. He and Vinnie had long conversations about business and the possibility of setting up trade links.

  On the final evening, Cissie came for dinner, along with the Blakes and the Templetons. The wine flowed and soon the topic of conversation that had been held in check all week came flooding out.

  ‘What is it really like to live under Nazi rule?’ Clara wanted to know. ‘We read such conflicting reports. Are they really rounding up trade unionists and throwing them in prison? Even executing them?’

  There was an intake of breat
h round the table and the elderly Germans asked what had been said. Vinnie was quick to apologise.

  ‘Excuse my wife.’ He smiled indulgently. ‘She is a journalist and naturally nosy.’

  Herr Braun waved away his concern. ‘It is not a crime to be interested. You are intelligent people.’ He turned to Clara and said, ‘Hitler is bringing peace and prosperity out of chaos. It is what we all are wanting. This talk of executions, that is just the propaganda of the Left.’

  Cissie nodded. ‘I quite agree, Herr Braun. Hitler must be thanked for stopping the Communists in their tracks.’

  ‘Their tracks?’ Herr Braun repeated, puzzled.

  She laughed. ‘Stopping them from taking over your country.’

  He smiled and nodded agreement.

  ‘And the stories of arrests,’ Clara persisted, ‘they are propaganda too?’

  ‘Where do you read such things, girl?’ Ted Blake interjected.

  ‘Clara reads the Manchester Guardian in the line of duty,’ Cissie teased.

  Ted snorted. ‘That’s for Reds and Pinks.’

  ‘And financed by Jews,’ his wife Mabel chipped in.

  Vinnie turned to Frau Braun on his right and asked her about their travel plans. Dolly gestured across the table for Clara to serve out the pudding. But she would not be deflected.

  ‘What about the Jews?’ Clara challenged Herr Braun. ‘Should they fear the Nazi takeover? Hitler makes no secret about his theories on racial purity. Yet what harm are they doing?’

  She could see Vinnie tense in disapproval and avoided his look. Herr Braun twirled his glass before answering.

  ‘I think it is different in your country, Frau Craven. You do not have the Jewish problem perhaps. But in Germany, they have — what you say? — the stranglehold on our economy — the banks, the business, the arts. They are different from us. We were in danger of being overrun by the lowest form of Jew — the Asiatic Jew from Russia and Poland. They infiltrate our society but their wish is to stir up revolution. Hitler is stopping that. He is putting the Germans first, that is all.’

  There was a moment of silence round the table. Clara stared at this cultured man and wondered if she had heard him correctly. He spoke as calmly and dismissively as if they had been discussing a problem with dust mites.

  ‘So Hitler’s answer is to round them up and what? Drive them into the sea?’

  ‘Clara!’ Vinnie warned. ‘Enough.’

  Herr Braun laughed abruptly. ‘Frau Craven, you have too much imagination, I think. Nobody is dying. Maybe a few have been arrested. But it is only for their own good. The — what you say? — dissidents — they are being re-educated to love the Fatherland and be useful citizens. Is that not a good thing? It is what your Mosley is saying, is it not?’

  ‘Quite so,’ Cissie said quickly. ‘Patriotism is to be applauded. We can all agree on that.’

  Herr Braun smiled at Clara. ‘If you don’t believe me, come and see for yourself. We would be honoured if you and Herr Craven came as our guests to Hamburg. Germany is a beautiful country.’

  Clara glanced at Vinnie. He was giving her a thunderous glare.

  ‘We’d love that, Herr Braun,’ she answered, swiftly looking away.

  After that, there was no more talk of politics. They ended up partying late into the night with Herr Braun playing the Wurlitzer and everyone singing raucously around him. When they went to bed, Vinnie chided her for her rudeness.

  ‘You shouldn’t have opened your gob like that,’ he complained. ‘Herr Braun’s an important businessman — could be very useful to us.’

  ‘I was only asking what we were all thinking,’ Clara said defensively.

  ‘It wasn’t your place to,’ Vinnie snapped. ‘You think you know better than everyone else, but you don’t — you’re just a young lass.’ He turned his back on her, muttering, ‘Too much sherry; just like your mother.’

  Clara was hurt by the attack but said nothing. Perhaps she had been too outspoken. She had not meant to upset their guests.

  The next morning the Rotarians departed, urging them to visit Germany on a return trip, and Clara was relieved that no offence seemed to have been taken at her questions. But that evening, while Vinnie was kept late at a meeting, Dolly took her to task.

  ‘You need to watch your tongue, young lady — causing my Vinnie embarrassment like that! And with that nice Mr Braun. Them Germans will think we English wives don’t know how to behave.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Clara was impatient. ‘Herr Braun didn’t mind in the least. We were having a sensible political discussion, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, it’s not for the likes of me and you to talk about such things. Leave it to the men. Women aren’t made for politics.’

  ‘Why have you joined the Women’s Section then?’ Clara challenged her.

  ‘To support Vinnie and the other men of course,’ Dolly replied. ‘But that’s as far as it should go.’

  To Clara’s relief, Vinnie did not refer to the matter again and was his usual charming self over the following days and weeks. August came and he took her away for a surprise weekend to Blackpool. They drove over and stayed in a grand hotel overlooking the front. The weather was too wet for the beach or the Ferris wheel but at night they danced at the Tower Ballroom and went to a show in the Winter Gardens. Clara revelled in having Vinnie all to herself, with no critical Dolly or demanding business associates monopolising his attention. He was funny and loving and they were as absorbed in each other as they had been on honeymoon.

  With her husband in such good spirits, Clara raised the suggestion that Patience and Jimmy come to live with them. Clara missed her mother and wanted an ally against Dolly, but knew she had to be careful how she approached the subject.

  ‘I hate to think of them still living in that terrible flat,’ she said, snuggling into his hold after lovemaking. ‘And we’ve plenty room now. Mam could have the smaller spare room and Jimmy could have the boxroom — he’s tidy and doesn’t need much space.’

  Vinnie stroked her hair thoughtfully. ‘Don’t know what Mam would say about it.’

  ‘My mam would be company for her — we’re out that much of an evening,’ Clara said reasonably. ‘And Jimmy would be out more than in - she’d never notice him.’

  Vinnie said nothing. ‘Please,’ Clara begged, ‘at least think about it.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  On the way back, they stopped at Carlisle where Vinnie made contact with a new branch of the BUF. They were organising a visit by a speaker from their headquarters in London.

  ‘Black House are sending the Blackshirt editor, William Joyce. Heard he’s a powerful young orator.’

  Vinnie was eager to have Joyce come to Newcastle too and agreed to stay in touch. Once they returned home, he threw himself enthusiastically into organising local meetings, recruiting further members to their cause and planning a rally to welcome the firebrand Joyce. There was plenty of money coming from Mosley’s headquarters to pay Vinnie’s growing band of Blackshirts for stewarding duties.

  To Clara’s disappointment, nothing came of her suggestion for Patience and Jimmy to move in with them.

  ‘Jimmy needs to live near the job,’ Vinnie told her when she raised it again in September, ‘and your mam does too. But I tell you what I’ll do — pay their rent on a bigger flat in Byfell, away from the railway line. I’ve got just the place in mind — belongs to the consortium. The present tenants are bad payers and are on their last warning.’

  Clara knew the compromise was all to do with Dolly’s objection. She overheard her mother-in-law complain to Vinnie. ‘Patience and Jimmy work for us — it would be awkward all living under one roof. I really can’t see Patience wanting it any more than I do.’

  Clara could not understand how Vinnie could be so tough in business and yet putty in his mother’s hands. But she knew better than to object. She would bide her time until the day power tilted away from Dolly. Clara knew t
hat once she gave Vinnie a child, her position of authority among the Cravens would increase. Within a fortnight, Patience and Jimmy were moving into a two-bedroomed flat in Glanton Terrace near Craven Hall. Patience was so grateful and enthusiastic about the larger accommodation that Clara accepted the compromise without fuss.

  During the following weeks, not only was Vinnie busy with the forthcoming visit of William Joyce, he was also involved in arranging a return visit to their Rotarian friends in Hamburg. The Blakes and the Templetons were going too.

  ‘It’ll be business as well as pleasure,’ he told Clara, one autumnal day in October.

  She was thrilled at the thought of going abroad with their friends and spent a happy afternoon off work round at Willa’s, playing with Robert and planning their trip.

  ‘George says we can take Baby too,’ Willa said.

  ‘I’m not a baby,’ Robert shouted.

  ‘Course you’re not,’ Clara agreed, ‘you’re a big boy called Robert.’ She gave Willa an amused look and whispered, ‘he’s four years old. You really will have to stop calling him that.’

  Robert began marching around the nursery swinging his arms. ‘I want to be like Jimmy,’ he cried.

  Clara laughed. ‘You look like a soldier to me.’

  ‘Yes,’ Robert said gleefully, ‘like Jimmy.’

  Clara looked at Willa in surprise. Her friend explained, ‘Well, whenever Vinnie visits George here he’s always got a couple of his men with him. Robert likes Jimmy best because he always slips him a sweetie. I suppose they look like soldiers in their black uniforms and short haircuts, don’t they? Very smart, your brother.’

  It had not occurred to Clara. But it was true that Jimmy and some of the other boxing lads were increasingly being called upon to act as bodyguard to Vinnie and, like Vinnie, they shaved the sides of their heads in military fashion. Recently, there had been a couple of scuffles outside Craven Hall after BUF meetings. ‘Riff-raff and drunks,’ Vinnie had dismissed the agitators.

  But Patience told her they were greater in number and more menacing than Vinnie let on. Clara had worried about Jimmy, but her mother had shrugged. ‘He’s a big lad now and able to take care of himself; your Vinnie’s taught him that.’ Still, Clara liked to think Vinnie’s Blackshirt strongmen were more for prestige than necessity, a sign of his status as chairman of the local BUF.