Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Carol nodded, smiling at Eddy.

  ‘Will he be coming back here?’

  ‘Of course he will. But you’ll have to be in bed and asleep first.’

  Laura leapt into bed, thrilled by what she had seen, and buried herself under the covers with her teddies. Carol kissed and hugged her.

  ‘Mam,’ came a muffled voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Santa wears pit boots just like Daddy, doesn’t he?’

  Carol glanced at Eddy and stopped herself from laughing. ‘Aye, just like. Get to sleep now, pet.’

  Downstairs they chuckled at what Mick had done. ‘It was all his idea,’ Eddy told her. ‘He’s borrowed the clothes off Lenin. He’s going to walk round the village until the bairns are asleep.’

  Carol was overwhelmed by Mick’s gesture towards the children. It made up for so much of the painful months when she thought he no longer cared about her or anyone else.

  ‘You get yourself off to the dance now,’ Lotty told Carol, seeing that she was near to tears. ‘Have a grand time and don’t come back until they kick you out, do you hear?’

  Carol kissed her mother-in-law gratefully and set off into the cold night with Eddy.

  ‘It’s strange,’ she told him. ‘It’s been such a terrible year and yet this is the happiest Christmas Eve I think I can remember.’

  Eddy swung an arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘I know what you mean. As Grandda Bowman used to say, “The more you put into it, the more you get out”.’ He mimicked the old man’s wheezy voice.

  ‘Canny old Grandda,’ Carol said with a wistful smile. ‘We’ll miss him this Christmas.’

  Eddy surprised her with his reply. ‘I think old Arthur’s still with us,’ he said quietly.

  They found the hall packed and noisy, filled with smoke and laughter and people out to enjoy themselves. The Women’s Group banner was displayed above the kitchen hatch and Carol felt a surge of pride. Kelly came over complaining that Sid would not let her drink alcohol.

  ‘Get us a vodka, won’t you, Carol man? This is not the Christmas to sign the pledge.’

  Carol laughed. ‘I’ll get you a glass of wine, diluted with soda.’

  ‘Oh, ta! Call yourself a friend?’ Kelly groaned, but steered Carol over to the bar anyway.

  After the buffet of pies and sausage rolls, pickles and crisps, the DJ made an announcement.

  This evening has been organised by the luscious ladies of Brassbank Miners’ Women’s Support Group. Let’s all put our hands together for the girls, eh, lads?’

  There was loud applause and whistling.

  ‘Now, before we get down to some serious boogie,’ he continued, ‘we have a request from the ladies themselves. They’ve asked me to kick off with a special song that’s dedicated to their men. So here we are. This one’s for all the Brassbank lads who’ve stuck it out through thick and thin - “You’ll Never Walk Alone”.’

  Carol glanced around, wishing Mick was there to hear the tribute, for he had sacrificed more than most during this strike. The women joined hands as the music filled the hall and May and Val led them in the singing.

  Carol saw tears on the faces of both men and women as more and more linked arms around the room. Suddenly she caught sight of Mick standing in the doorway, his face red and pinched from being out in the cold. She went straight across to him and drew him into the singing crowd. People stood aside to let them through. As the tribute continued Carol clung to Mick, knowing he would hate the attention but determined he should be acknowledged for what he had done. The song grew to a deafening crescendo as they sang out the chorus with all their hearts.

  Tears streamed down Carol’s face as she held Mick and saw the look of love in his eyes as he smiled at her. Around them, the closeness and strong friendship that bound them all together in that hall was palpable. For a brief, heady moment Carol felt it and knew that everyone there felt it too.

  At the end, Sid grabbed the microphone.

  ‘Somebody here needs a special mention tonight. Let’s all give a big hand for Mick Todd. He’s been a credit to our pit and our lodge. Just like on the rugby pitch, or down the pit, Mick can be relied upon to back his marras. No one’s taken as much of a hammering as he has. But he’s still the right side of the picket line!’

  There was a roar of approval and deafening applause. Mick pulled Carol into his arms and stood holding her in front of the others. He was telling them in his bashful way that he could not have done it without her.

  The clapping continued and people came up to shake him by the hand and fetch them drinks. The disco began and they moved to a table with Sid and Kelly and Joanne and John. Friends crowded round to chat and shout above the strains of Band Aid. But Mick did not let go of Carol’s hand. She revelled in his closeness and thought she would burst with pride in him.

  She knew she would remember this night as long as she lived.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When they got home that night, exhausted but elated by the evening, Mick took Carol to see what he was hiding in the back shed. There, curled up in a box with blankets, was a small black puppy. It lay fast asleep, making little sighing sounds. Carol stared at Mick in amazement.

  ‘Where did this come from?’ she asked.

  ‘It was payment in kind,’ Mick grinned.

  Carol gave him a suspicious look. ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘I’ve been doing a bit of gardening for Mrs Hunt and some of the other pensioners up by Grandda’s. I wouldn’t take any money, but they knew about Laura wanting a pup. So they clubbed together and got this young ‘un off the dairyman at Brassy. I think its pedigree is about as dodgy as the Todds’ but it seems canny enough.’

  ‘Mick, it’s smashing,’ Carol said, stroking the tiny puppy gently. It snuffled and stirred. ‘It’s even got a red collar like Laura wanted. She’ll be over the moon.’ She put out a hand to touch his face. ‘So that’s where you’ve been spending your days, gardening for the old folks?’

  Mick shrugged with embarrassment. ‘Some of the time. I need to be out doing summat. I can’t stand being idle.’

  Carol put her arms round him. ‘Aye, I know. I can see how hard it is for you not working.’

  Mick rested his chin on her wavy hair. ‘And it made me feel close to Grandda, being up there. It’s like I’ve said me proper goodbyes, not chained to a warder like at the funeral. . .’ He broke off.

  Carol raised her head and saw his eyes glistening with tears. It was so unlike Mick to say what he was feeling. She felt very close to him at that moment. Gently, tentatively she kissed him on the lips. He drew back an instant and then kissed her in return - a longer, more confident kiss.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ Carol whispered.

  The bedroom was icy and the light harsh and Carol suddenly froze with the awkwardness of the situation, as if they were two strangers forced to share the same changing room. Mick, who was removing his jeans, looked over at her.

  ‘Do you want to get undressed or put more clothes on?’ he joked.

  Carol laughed, reassured.

  Mick came over and helped her undress quickly. ‘Haway, before we get frostbite.’

  Naked, they dived under the pile of covers, dampish from the cold. They rubbed each other to warm up and started to kiss. Carol almost cried at his gentleness and the tender way he stroked back her hair, kissing her face and neck and breasts.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.

  ‘So have I,’ Carol croaked. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  ‘Never!’ Mick answered vehemently and hugged her against him.

  They kissed eagerly and with passion. They revelled in the feel of each other after so long and the old familiar intimacies. Carol clung to Mick and told him that she loved him, her whole body coming alive again.

  ‘I love you too, pet,’ he assured her.

  She could hardly believe how happy she was. She had the old Mick back once more, vigorous, tender and loving. They made love again
and then lay wrapped in each other’s arms, reminiscing about how they had met and the time they had taken off impulsively on the motorbike and disappeared to Weardale, scandalising their families.

  ‘It seems that long ago,’ Carol sighed, ‘another lifetime. Will things ever be that simple again?’

  ‘We’ll come through all this,’ Mick encouraged. ‘One day we’ll buy another bike and gan off round the country. You can introduce me to all these new friends you’ve made through fundraising.’

  ‘And Laura comes too,’ Carol reminded him.

  ‘Aye, of course,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll have a sidecar for her - and any other little Todds that might come along.’

  Carol blushed. They had not talked about another baby for years and she had not known whether Mick still hankered after another child.

  ‘Do you still want more bairns?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Aye, I do,’ he answered, searching her face. His blue eyes were anxious, questioning.

  ‘So do I,’ she whispered. ‘But we can’t afford one now even if we could manage to have—’

  Mick kissed her hard on the lips, silencing any doubts. ‘If we’re lucky enough to have another bairn, we’ll manage,’ he assured her, ‘just like Sid and Kelly will. There’s enough family around to help.’

  Carol felt uncomfortable at the mention of their friends; it raised so many unanswered questions about Mick’s past with Kelly.

  ‘Mick,’ she asked tentatively, ‘why did you finish with Kelly when you did?’

  He gave her an astonished look that made her unease grow. ‘Why ever are you asking me that now?’

  ‘It’s just Kelly still seems bitter about it.’

  Mick snorted. ‘Well, she shouldn’t. She was the one finished with me! Me pride was a bit hurt, if I’m honest. One minute she was wanting to get serious, the next she never wanted to go out with me again. She’s a strange lass, I never really knew what she wanted. But I never led her on. I told her I couldn’t love her. And I didn’t.’ He touched Carol’s face. ‘You’re the only one I’ve ever loved, or ever will.’

  Carol kissed him tenderly, convinced he knew nothing of making Kelly pregnant. Kelly had resented Mick for not loving her and nursed her bitterness all these years over something he knew nothing about.

  ‘But it was all that long ago, why are you dragging it up now?’ Mick asked.

  Quietly she told him of Kelly’s affair with Vic and the probability of the baby not being Sid’s.

  ‘Do you think I did the right thing persuading her to stay with Sid?’ Carol asked, still unsure.

  ‘Time will tell,’ Mick sighed, shaken by the news. ‘But I’m glad you did, for Sid’s sake. It’s given him new hope after such a hard time. It doesn’t make me think any better of Kelly, mind.’

  ‘It’s Vic I blame,’ Carol replied. Yet she felt a great burden had been lifted from her, now that she had shared the secret. She knew Mick would tell no one else.

  ‘Let’s just think about ourselves for tonight, eh?’ Mick hugged her.

  ‘Aye,’ Carol smiled and kissed him. ‘And we should go and fill Laura’s stocking before that puppy starts barking and wakes her up early.’

  Christmas flew by with family visits and walks along the cliffs. Laura was enchanted with her new puppy, and brought all her friends round to see him. After a week of mopping up after the small dog, they named him Puddles and Carol’s enthusiasm began to wear off. He was an extra mouth to feed too, but she was not going to spoil Laura’s enjoyment by saying so.

  Mick was much more his old self and went out with Eddy and Sid for games of pool and darts, as well as taking Laura to the park and spending time with his parents, chatting and teaching Laura dominoes so she could beat her grandfather. Carol took Laura to see her parents while Mick was playing rugby. He would not go to see them and she would not force him. Kate and Simon were there, but to Carol’s relief Vic and Fay were holidaying in Spain. Laura came away with money for a new pair of boots and a Snakes and Ladders game.

  It was like a period of calm that came as a gift during a stormy season and Carol wished it could go on for ever. But soon Laura was back at school and the soup kitchen was operating again. There was a feeling of anti-climax among the women and Carol noticed that many of them seemed exhausted after having kept their families going all through the holidays.

  When they met in each other’s houses, there were anxious stories about mounting debts and tensions with husbands over how Christmas was to be paid for now it was over. Despite trying their best to provide for everyone, the holidays had brought unforeseen expenses and the strain on the Women’s Group and the strike fund were great. Carol and Joanne mounted a further fundraising effort, but soon found that sympathy for their plight had waned. Shopkeepers in Whittledene were openly hostile to them collecting outside their shops and moved them on; while shoppers complained they had their own families to take care of.

  Taking refuge from the cold in one cafe, Carol was rounded on by the proprietor.

  ‘You’ve got a cheek asking for money!’ he fulminated. ‘I wouldn’t give a penny to the miners. They’re nothing but a bunch of violent thugs. I’m sick of watching them every night on the telly. They should get themselves back to work and do some honest toil like the rest of us. I run a business and get no time off - that’s what hard work really is.’

  Carol flared with anger. ‘That’s just what they want, to get back to work! And don’t you tell us about hard work. Pitmen graft harder than any men I know.’

  The man was scornful. ‘I don’t have a rich union to give me months off work when I feel like it. If I went on strike, this business would go down the drain.’

  Carol was up on her feet, despite Joanne tugging on her arm to sit down.

  ‘The union’s had most of its funds taken off it, you ignorant man! The miners have never had a penny in strike pay. We’ve had to live off charity for nearly a year. Imagine what that does to proud men? They’ve been on strike for principles, not money. And it’s been no holiday. For some of us it’s been a year of hell!’

  His face had gone livid at her answering back. He gesticulated at the door. ‘You can tell you’re a bolshie miner’s wife. You deserve each other! Well, you’ll not get charity here, so bugger off!’

  ‘I wouldn’t stay and drink your tea anyway, it would choke me,’ Carol answered with contempt.

  As she stormed to the door, followed by Joanne, she heard his wife shout from behind the counter, ‘Well, I hope they all lose their jobs and end up on the dole. That’ll teach them!’

  Out in the street, Carol shook with anger and hurt. Not since the rally in Mansfield at the beginning of the strike had she experienced such hostility.

  ‘And these are local people,’ she gasped at Joanne. ‘They’ve grown up among us, they know how the area has depended on the pits.’

  They caught the bus home, the fight gone out of them. Carol worried about the implications of public opinion swinging away from them. Perhaps people had grown tired of caring or were too caught up in their own lives to realise what was being lost on their very doorstep. She had a brief, crazy thought about what the area would be like without any pits at all. No, that was unthinkable! Even if they lost the strike, the big pits would still survive and there would be jobs for some. But the vision scared her. And reaching home she realised that, for the first time, she had let the thought of their losing the strike enter her head.

  January was a bleak, dark month of just getting by. Carol felt permanently cold, her hands often numb, her feet sore with chilblains. Laura’s attacks of asthma grew more frequent and alarming; Carol’s trips to the surgery with her became regular. Twice she met Kelly there, looking sallow and unwell and anxious about her unborn baby whom she felt was not moving enough. She still had two months to go. Carol went to visit her later and found her huddled in a duvet in front of the TV.

  ‘We’re going to lose the house,’ she said, nearly in tears. ‘We might have to move in with
Dad again - not that he can afford to have us since he’s still out of work. Oh, Carol! All that we’ve worked for down the toilet. What sort of future will our baby have?’

  Carol put her arms round her in comfort. ‘If we cave in now, we’ll have no future to offer our bairns at all. As long as we stick it out together, we have a chance of offering them something.’

  Kelly threw her off, instantly angry. ‘Sod your strike! That’s all you ever think about. I just want Sid to get back to work so we can afford to buy this baby some clothing when it comes. We’ve got nothing left, nothing!’

  Carol stayed until Kelly had calmed down a little, worried that she was making herself ill. But Kelly remained touchy about anything she said, so she decided to keep away for a bit.

  The pressure on the men to return to work was now intense. Each received a copy of Coal News to urge them back to work.

  ‘Think what all this is costing!’ Mick shook the management newspaper indignantly. ‘They’ve spent a fortune trying to break us.’

  ‘Aye,’ Eddy grunted. ‘Funny how there’s always money for some things.’

  Police patrolled the coal tips and people caught picking the coal were prosecuted. Then February came and negotiations re-opened between the union and Coal Board and their hopes of a just settlement were raised once more. But by the middle of the month the talks broke down again.

  Charlie came round. ‘They’re giving us nothing,’ he said grimly. They won’t even discuss an amnesty for the sacked miners.’

  Carol was alarmed at this. There were so many men who had been hauled through the criminal courts like Mick and many of them had been sacked on the spot, even if their offences had had nothing to do with Coal Board property. Some had been ruthlessly dismissed before their cases came to court. So far no disciplinary action had been taken against Mick or the others at Brassbank and for that she was sure they had her father to thank. But there was no knowing what might happen to them if they lost the strike. The news was full of the growing numbers flooding back to work.

  They make up the figures,’ Charlie complained. ‘They don’t tally with the numbers of men we know are still on strike.’