He and George went to frequent dinners and film shows extolling Nazi Germany and were encouraged to forge stronger links with their counterparts across the North Sea. As a result, Clara and Vinnie were once again invited round to the Templetons’ on a regular basis. Clara saw a lot more of Willa through the spring and early summer, and increasingly left Sarah with Ella. Vinnie no longer seemed to mind.
She organised a party on Sarah’s first birthday with balloons and cake. Willa brought Robert, and Cissie and Mabel came, but it was obvious to all that Sarah was not developing. She sat propped up on cushions, dribbling and grunting. She was making no attempt to crawl, let alone signs of wanting to walk.
Robert stared at her. ‘Can’t she say anything?’
‘Not yet,’ Clara said, embarrassed.
‘She stinks,’ Robert said in disgust, pinching his nose and running around in a circle. ‘Poo-eee!’
Vinnie came back to find Clara in tears. ‘I’m sorry I missed it, lass. I had this meeting—’
‘It was a disaster!’ Clara cut him short. ‘Even Robert made fun of her, poor little mite.’
Vinnie calmed her. ‘She’ll do things in her own time. All bairns develop differently.’
Clara knew that neither of them really believed that, but they went on pretending.
Vinnie grew increasingly impatient if Sarah’s routine impinged on dinner or their social life. As Patience bluntly told her, ‘He wants you at his side when it suits him and at home when it doesn’t.’
Whenever they were invited to the Bell-Carrs’, Sarah would be left with Patience. It was at Hoxton Hall that Clara learned of a trip being organised to attend the Nuremberg Rally in Germany at the end of August. Cissie was highly excited because Alastair had agreed to go with her.
‘It would be such fun if Clara and you would come too,’ Cissie said to Vinnie over dinner.
‘I couldn’t leave Sarah for that long,’ Clara said at once.
‘Of course you could,’ Vinnie contradicted. ‘Your mother could cope.’
‘I’m sure the holiday would do you good,’ Cissie encouraged her. ‘It would only be for a week or so.’
But Clara knew it was too much to ask of Patience, who was exhausted after a weekend of looking after her granddaughter, let alone longer. The older Sarah grew, the more difficult she became for others to handle, even Patience. Only Clara seemed able to understand what her daughter wanted.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ Clara was adamant. ‘You go if you want, Vinnie.’
She was openly relieved when Vinnie reluctantly refused to go without her. ‘Why don’t we take Sarah away for a holiday instead?’ she suggested. ‘We could rent a cottage — give her some country air.’
‘What’s wrong with the air in Gosforth?’ Vinnie looked at her as if she were mad. ‘I haven’t time for holidays.’
‘You were prepared to go to Germany,’ Clara pointed out.
‘That was business,’ Vinnie was sharp, ‘and you put the spanner in the works.’
‘I’m not stopping you going,’ Clara said.
‘I wanted to go with me wife at me side,’ he replied, ‘like Alastair and Ted. But if you think Sarah’s needs are more important then that’s that.’
The Bell-Carrs and Blakes returned from Nuremberg bursting to tell the Cravens about the four-day extravaganza.
‘The parades!’ Cissie exclaimed. ‘You’ve never seen anything like it. So many smart young men in uniform from all over the country.’
‘They housed them in hundreds of tents,’ Mabel added. ‘And the speeches were given under this huge golden eagle.’
‘Not that we could understand a word,’ Ted chuckled.
‘No, but the atmosphere,’ Cissie marvelled. ‘It was like an electric shock when Hitler appeared. Wasn’t it, Alastair?’ Her husband grunted in agreement.
‘Tell them about the Blood Banner,’ Mabel urged.
‘Oh, yes,’ Cissie said breathlessly. ‘Hitler had this piece of blood-soaked banner — something to do with his failed coup in the Twenties. He used it to bless all the other banners and there were hundreds of them. Then he took the salute of thousands of men.’
‘And the Hitler Youth,’ Ted added, ‘all so eager and proud. Wish there was something like that for our boys.’
‘And for James,’ Cissie agreed. ‘It’s so good for the young to have plenty of physical exercise and discipline. Don’t you agree?’
Clara glanced at Vinnie and saw the embarrassed look on his face. She knew he longed for a son and they had been trying for another child all year. Cissie waved an apologetic hand.
‘How thoughtless of me,’ she cried. ‘But it’s not your fault that Sarah’s the way she is.’
‘No,’ Mabel said with a pitying look. ‘And you’re bound to have other children.’
‘Course in Germany,’ Cissie continued, ‘they put unfortunate children like that into institutions where they can be properly looked after.’
Clara flushed. ‘We have no intention of doing that. Sarah is just a bit slow, but she’ll catch up.’ She looked at Vinnie to back her up, but he said nothing.
Afterwards, Clara was furious. ‘How dare they talk about Sarah like that, as if she’s subnormal? Why didn’t you say anything?’
Vinnie gave her a bleak look. ‘Perhaps they’re right.’
‘No they’re not! I’d never agree to have Sarah locked away.’ Clara was indignant. ‘And I don’t believe you would either. She’s still a baby; lots of them don’t walk at her age.’
Vinnie turned on her aggressively. ‘It’s not just that she can’t walk; she can’t do anything by herself. Not eat, not babble like a baby — she doesn’t even smile.’
‘She does,’ Clara protested. ‘She smiles at me.’
‘Believe that if you want.’ He was dismissive. ‘I’m just saying I think we should get a doctor’s opinion. You’re wearing yourself out looking after her.’
‘That’s my choice.’ Clara was stubborn.
‘Not just yours,’ Vinnie said coldly. ‘Mine too.’
After that, Clara was more wary of going to stay at Hoxton Hall. Their friends continued to harp on about their German trip and the way things were done there. They would discuss Nordic beauty and the merits of being an Aryan race. Clara, late for afternoon tea, caught them in mid-conversation about eugenics and what to do with the unfit in society. They broke off when she entered and she suspected they had been talking about Sarah. They grew increasingly anti-Jewish and approved the new Nuremberg Laws outlawing Jews in Germany.
‘Course we asked our hosts about the Jewish question,’ Cissie declared, ‘and they said the Jews in Germany are only one per cent of the population. Hitler was looking after the other ninety-nine for a change.’
‘Quite right too,’ Ted agreed. ‘You can’t say anything against them without getting into trouble.’
‘I’ve been saying for years they’ve got far too much influence in this country too,’ Alastair complained, ‘but did anyone listen?’
After a lot to drink, Alastair would end up giving a toast. ‘England for the English!’
‘And Jews out!’ Cissie would add.
To Clara’s dismay Vinnie joined in with enthusiasm. But she was fearful of tackling him about it when they were alone, because he always returned from these visits dissatisfied about her behaviour or arguing about Sarah’s future.
‘You wear too much lipstick,’ he said critically. ‘Cissie doesn’t anymore.’
‘She doesn’t need to,’ Clara replied. ‘She’s beautiful.’
‘Neither do you,’ Vinnie said. ‘You’ve got perfect pale skin — you’ve got Nordic beauty.’
‘How can I have?’ Clara joked. ‘I’m Geordie with a bit Irish. They do talk a lot of nonsense sometimes when they’ve had a few too many cocktails.’
‘Don’t speak about our friends like that.’ Vinnie was offended.
‘Anyway, I like wearing lipstick,’ Clara persisted.
�
�Well, I don’t want you to,’ Vinnie announced. ‘It makes you look cheap.’
Eventually his criticism wore her down and Clara stopped wearing make-up. They had heated arguments about Sarah too. Vinnie grew increasingly convinced that they should put her in an institution.
‘Somewhere canny in the countryside,’ Vinnie suggested, ‘like Gilead. She’d be better off there among her own kind.’
Clara shuddered. ‘We’re her own kind,’ she protested.
‘With people who know how to treat her right,’ Vinnie persisted.
***
1936 came and the talk was all about the death of King George and the succession of Edward VIII.
‘Just what the movement needs,’ Alastair declared excitedly, ‘a young king in touch with the people to reinvigorate the monarchy and rule from the top.’
‘And such a handsome, dashing one too,’ Cissie said with a coquettish smile. ‘Aryan good looks.’
Vinnie’s convictions became more entrenched as the BUF modelled itself more and more on the Nazis. They changed their name to the British Union of Fascists and National Socialists, adopted a new banner with a Nazi-like flash in a circle and added military caps and jackboots to their uniform.
At dinner parties, their friends defended Germany’s occupation of the French Rhineland, as they had defended Italy’s invasion of Abyssinia the previous autumn.
‘As long as they’re not threatening our interests, let them get on with it,’ was Alastair’s opinion.
Vinnie got involved with George and Ted in the Mind Britain’s Business campaign and had Jimmy and his troop out daubing the slogan on railway bridges and pavements.
‘The Germans can’t be blamed for going into the Rhineland.’ Alastair was bullish. ‘It’s a desperate measure to avert a revolution.’
None of their friends had any sympathy for the French who had elected a socialist government.
‘France is weak,’ Cissie said with disdain. ‘They’re always allowing strikes. Germany have a right to defend themselves from such chaos.’
‘Shows what can happen when you let in the Bolshies,’ Vinnie agreed.
‘And now it’s happening in Spain.’ Cissie was indignant. ‘We should be thankful that Germany and Italy are there as a counterbalance on the Continent.’
Clara sat mutely through these conversations. Her interest in the movement was on the wane. She watched them in animated discussions, but felt nothing of their enthusiasm. Their dismissive attitudes towards anyone but themselves — Abyssinians, Rhinelanders, French, Jews, Socialists, Spanish or Liberals — made her increasingly uncomfortable. Yet they took more notice than she did of what was going on abroad and had visited Germany, so who was she to contradict them? Perhaps the Jews and the Communists really were a threat to their whole way of life; Vinnie certainly thought so.
Vinnie no longer talked about improving the lot of the working class, but of business being allowed to flourish under a benign dictator. Clara did not argue; it all seemed too removed from her everyday concerns. These revolved around Sarah. At two years old, her daughter was still not walking or showing any signs of talking. Clara still had to spoon-feed her. That summer, Vinnie insisted that they take Sarah to a specialist that Cissie had recommended. The doctor confirmed that the girl was not only mentally handicapped, but paralysed from the waist down. She would always be incontinent and never able to walk.
‘This child will never lead a productive life,’ he told Clara brutally. ‘She will always be a burden.’
Stunned by the stark prognosis, Clara began to think the unthinkable. It might be best if Sarah was cared for in a children’s hospital after all. The child was now almost too heavy for her to carry around. What would happen when she grew older and too big to be pushed in a pram? She would need a wheelchair. How would they get her upstairs? How would Clara bath her or cope with her incontinence?
What Clara could not admit to Vinnie was her overwhelming sense of inadequacy as a mother. She would for ever blame herself for Sarah’s traumatic birth, but what plagued her more were her bouts of resentment towards the child. She did not love Sarah enough — not the way a mother should. At times her frustration with her daughter came close to hatred. When Sarah was having a tantrum or being impossible to feed, Clara would slam down the spoon.
‘You ungrateful lass!’ she cried on one such occasion. ‘You’re nothing but trouble. I wish I’d never had you. And I don’t care what I say — you don’t understand a ruddy word anyway!’
She left Sarah screaming in the dining room and grabbed one of Dolly’s cigarettes. Jimmy found her in the garden in tears, trying to smoke.
‘Vinnie’s right,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have to put up with this.’
‘I didn’t mean what I said,’ Clara wept. ‘I do love her, you know.’
Jimmy was unusually forthright. ‘Don’t let the bairn come between the two of you. You’re blind if you can’t see what’s ganin’ on.’
‘What do you mean?’ Clara sniffed.
Jimmy looked on edge. ‘Just do what Vinnie wants. Don’t throw everything away because of that bairn. Or you’ll spoil it for all of us.’
Clara was baffled by her brother’s words but he would say no more.
While she and Vinnie wrangled over what to do, Clara discovered she was pregnant again. Vinnie was overjoyed, and became instantly more attentive. Clara too was relieved, yet she dared not hope too much.
‘What if something goes wrong again?’ she fretted to her husband.
‘Nothing will,’ he declared. ‘I’m not going to let you out of my sight — or Jimmy’s. You’re to rest up and be a lady of leisure.’
‘What about Sarah?’ Clara said. ‘Perhaps now’s the time for Mam to come and stay — help out a bit.’
Vinnie held her in his arms, his words resolute. ‘No, Clara. Now is the time to put Sarah in a new home. I’ll not have you endangering your health or the baby’s. I’ve arranged for us to go and have a look at Gilead.’
Clara burst into tears. But they were tears of guilt, for deep down she felt a surge of relief. She had a proper excuse to put her daughter into the care of professional nurses. She must not jeopardise the life of her unborn baby.
On a sunny day in July, they drove up the Tyne valley and entered the wooded grounds of the large brick-built hospital. Clara thought of the disabled veteran Bob Grayson, whom she had met years ago at Willa’s fundraiser, and wondered if he was still there. Against all expectation, she found the setting beautiful. Some of the patients were sitting out in wheelchairs under the trees. The superintendent showed them the chapel and the theatre.
‘They have entertainment?’ Clara asked in astonishment.
‘Oh, yes, it’s part of their therapy,’ he told them. ‘And there’s a swimming pool for hydraulic therapy. We treat the body as well as the mind.’
They were taken on to one of the wards. It was spartan and smelled of incontinence but appeared spotlessly clean. Clara’s nerves jarred at the sound of screaming from one end of the ward. A large youth was being rebuked by a nurse. Vinnie saw her agitation and curtailed their visit.
‘My wife isn’t very well,’ he explained. ‘But I’m more than impressed by the place. We’d like our Sarah to come here.’
After that, the idea of Sarah being admitted to Gilead was accepted by everyone and Clara could not summon any resistance. She convinced herself that her daughter would be well looked after and might improve with expert carers. Vinnie promised her he would drive her up there once a fortnight for a visit and they would take Sarah out for the day. Clara warmed to this idea; it was something they could do together — something they had never done with Sarah up until now. Things would be better. When they saw her, Sarah would have the undivided attention of both parents — even if she was unaware of it. And by next spring there would be another baby to take her place in the empty nursery.
A week later, they went back to Gilead with their daughter. Clara steeled herself for the m
oment of separation. They were shown on to the locked ward and taken to the cot allocated for Sarah. It was by a tall window and sunlight spilled across the floor and the bars of the cot.
‘Would you like me to take her?’ the nurse asked.
Clara clung on. ‘She has to have her food mashed or stewed else she chokes. Stewed apple’s her favourite. And she doesn’t like being left alone for too long. You will pick her up, won’t you? She likes a cuddle — but not too tight. And she can’t sleep in the dark; she needs a light on. She makes a lot of noise, but it’s not always crying, it’s as if she’s trying to sing — but she hates loud noises — shouting or banging . . .’
‘Clara, hand her over,’ Vinnie said firmly. The nurse smiled and held out her arms.
‘No, I want to put her in her cot myself,’ Clara said. Holding Sarah, she turned towards Vinnie. ‘Say goodbye to your dad, little pet.’ She waited for him to kiss his daughter or say something, but Vinnie just stood there embarrassed, staring beyond them to the high window and the world outside. Sarah struggled restlessly in her arms, grunting softly.
Heart hammering, Clara kissed her daughter’s soft forehead and smoothed back her dark hair. ‘Goodbye, little one,’ she whispered tearfully and laid her down on the starched sheet. Sarah jerked her arms wildly, her grunting becoming more urgent. Somehow she knew she was being left behind. Clara leaned over and held her hand.
‘She’ll be fine,’ the nurse said encouragingly. ‘Best not to make a fuss.’
Vinnie took Clara by the arm and pulled her away. ‘We’ll be back here the week after next,’ he reminded her. ‘It’ll be no time at all.’
Clara let go. Sarah strained round, her brown eyes fixed on her mother. Vinnie guided her firmly up the ward. Clara was shaking, swallowing down sobs. Sarah began flailing her arms about, hit the bars and started to wail. Clara halted and looked round. Vinnie stopped her rushing back to Sarah’s cot.
‘You’re making this ten times worse,’ he hissed. ‘Just leave her to settle in. She’ll be champion the minute we’ve gone.’
As he hauled Clara away, the sound of her daughter’s screaming cut through her like a blade. She knew Sarah would not stop crying. Without her to pick her up, she would carry on till she was scarlet in the face and completely exhausted. An orderly unlocked the door, ushered them through and locked it behind them. The howling grew fainter. Swiftly Vinnie marched her out of the building and into the blustery outdoors.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 34
