Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Will you come on our village picnic then, Iris?’ Davie sat up, his unbuttoned shirt revealing a hairless chest. She wanted to run her hand over its smoothness again, so she did.

  ‘Maybes.’ She smiled. ‘Will we be able to kiss and cuddle like this, Davie Kirkup?’

  He stopped her hand because it tickled and pushed her back playfully. ‘No, so we better do it now,’ he laughed. Iris closed her eyes and opened her lips, imagining it was Novarro leaning over and pressing himself to her body.

  Later they parted, drunk with kissing, and Davie promised to come into Durham before the June picnic. At the station he bumped into Tadger Brown and two other mates who persuaded him to go for a drink. Davie was full of his conquest and drank long and deeply. They caught the last train home but in a burst of alcoholic high spirits Davie was bundled off at the stop before Whitton Station, and found himself having to walk the extra miles. It was almost dark and he whistled as he went, breathing in the rich smell of new-mown grass and weaving unsteadily between the hedgerows. His thoughts were full of Iris Ramshaw, the girl of his heart.

  The car dipped and rose along the narrow lanes; Eleanor and Beatrice stared ahead, mesmerised by the dim light that the headlamps cast on the road ahead. Will accelerated, yearning to be out of the car and stretching his long legs.

  Eleanor saw the figure first, a shadow that grew out of the dark.

  ‘Look out!’ she screamed. Will slammed on the brakes and swerved automatically to the right. The figure half turned and froze like a terrified rabbit caught in the glare of the lights. He was young. The car clipped him and bounced him into the ditch.

  ‘Jesus!’ Will cried, horrified, and leaped out of the car. Eleanor was close behind. At first they could not see him, then a voice groaned.

  ‘He’s over here, Will,’ Eleanor shouted, peering into the ditch. ‘Are you all right?’ The man groaned again.

  ‘I’ll lift him. Out the way, Eleanor!’ Will ordered.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Beatrice called from the safety of the car.

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Eleanor snapped back, her heart still thumping at the thought of how close that outcome might have been.

  ‘Stupid bugger,’ Davie cursed, wincing as Will heaved at his throbbing leg. ‘Didn’t they teach you to drive?’

  Eleanor rushed to the car for the flask of whisky Will kept in the glove compartment and put it to Davie’s lips.

  ‘Been drinking already by the smell of him,’ Will said, his fear giving way to annoyance.

  ‘Then it was his own silly fault.’ Beatrice, feeling brave, had stepped out of the car.

  ‘You were going too fast, Will,’ Eleanor said quietly.

  ‘Damn it, Eleanor, the boy’s drunk,’ Will defended himself. ‘He was all over the road.’ Davie rolled on to his side, moaning about the pain in his leg and the stupidity of car drivers.

  ‘Can you walk?’ Eleanor asked him.

  ‘I cannot bloody well stand,’ Davie shouted angrily.

  Eleanor took command. ‘Help me get him into the car, Will.’

  ‘We can’t take him with us.’ Beatrice looked horrified. ‘Not in the car.’

  ‘Do you suggest we just leave him in the ditch?’ Eleanor asked tersely.

  ‘Why not?’ she pouted back. ‘He’s just a drunken lout from the village by the looks of him. He’ll get himself home once he’s sobered up, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, Beatrice.’ Eleanor lost all patience with her sister. ‘Come on, Will.’ Together they heaved a protesting and disorientated Davie into the back of the car.

  ‘We’ll drive him to Dr Joice’s house and he can fix him up,’ Eleanor decreed. She sat in the back with the young miner while Beatrice sat in frosty silence beside Will. She had to admit that the smell of beer and stale sweat was unpleasant in the confined space, but tried not to let her distaste show.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Davie Kirkup,’ came the sullen reply. The name sounded familiar. Yes, of course, Eleanor realised, he must be a relation of Hilda, the gangly girl who read books. She had left a few volumes for her at Isobel’s before setting out for Scotland. This fair-haired youth with the mousy moustache could easily be her brother. What else had Isobel said about the family? She recalled her mentioning that the mother, Fanny, who had worked at The Grange, was an invalid and there was a lay preacher father who would no doubt disapprove strongly of his son’s drinking. Eleanor felt somehow responsible for the unfortunate boy. ‘I’m Mrs Seward-Scott. I’ve heard of your family, Davie.’ She tried to sound friendly. ‘Is your mother any better?’

  Davie stared at her in surprise. He had been wondering who these grand people were, the women in fur coats and the man in plus fours. So this was the famous Miss Eleanor from the Big House; he’d seen her in the distance, skinny as a scarecrow, walking on the hill. But he had never been this close to posh folk before.

  ‘She’s better these days,’ Davie answered cautiously. ‘Thank you for askin’.’

  Dr Joice was out on a call when they arrived but Isobel took them in and Davie was laid on an old sofa in the large kitchen. Margaret was off duty so Isobel made him some tea herself. Eleanor took Will and Beatrice into the drawing room and poured them stiff drinks. They downed them without much conversation; Will was on edge and Beatrice grumpy about the end of the holiday being spoilt.

  ‘Papa’s here at last.’ Isobel popped her head round the door. ‘He’s with David Kirkup now.’ Eleanor slipped out to join them.

  ‘His left leg is badly bruised but he doesn’t appear to have broken anything,’ Dr Joice told her. ‘I’ve strapped him up, as you can see, but it would be best if someone could give him a lift home.’ He turned to Davie. ‘You’ve been a very lucky young man. If Mr Bryce hadn’t taken avoiding action you’d have been off work for a good while.’

  ‘Lucky?’ Davie muttered. ‘The bugger had me in the ditch, he was driving too fast. Mrs Seward-Scott said so an’ all.’ He cast Eleanor a challenging look.

  ‘You shouldn’t have been in the road,’ Eleanor answered uncomfortably. ‘But we won’t take it any further. We’ll see that he gets home, Dr Joice.’ Looking at Davie’s forlorn, accusing face, handsome in a foxy sort of way, she felt she had somehow betrayed him for Beatrice’s American friend. But there was no harm done, she assured herself; the boy would be walking again soon and there was no point bringing in the police to complicate matters.

  Will drove them to Hawthorn Street and Eleanor saw a flurry of curtains throw chinks of light on to the uneven road as the car stopped outside the Kirkups’ house. Will left the engine running and Beatrice, sitting inside, sank into her fur collar as he helped Davie out of the car.

  ‘I’ll go in with him,’ Eleanor offered, and Will looked relieved. Davie did not like to tell her that they never used the front door; visitors always came and went the back way. There was the sound of piano music and singing coming from the front room, but it stopped as Eleanor knocked.

  ‘Go in, it’s open,’ Davie said, feeling important yet embarrassed by the woman who guided his elbow. A tall girl with short, wavy fair hair came to the door; she looked like a prettier version of Hilda.

  ‘Davie!’ she cried. ‘Where have you been?’ She looked taken aback to see the well-dressed woman at his side.

  ‘He had an accident,’ Eleanor explained quickly, ‘but Dr Joice says he’ll be fine.’

  ‘What happened?’ Louie looked at the other woman with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

  ‘I stepped in front of a car, Louie,’ Davie spoke up. ‘Mrs Seward-Scott saw me right, though,’ he added gallantly. Eleanor felt a pang of gratitude towards the youth.

  ‘Mrs Seward-Scott,’ Louie gasped, colouring pink. ‘Well, it’s an honour! Will you come in?’

  Eleanor hesitated, then said, ‘Just for a moment.’

  Louie led her in as if she were royalty visiting, and the reception in the tiny parlour was equally deferential. Louie’s parents sat
her in the best chair and pressed her to a cup of tea and a ham sandwich. She refused the latter. The tall girl stood possessively close to a dark-haired, thickset young man who seemed embarrassed by her presence and did not speak. There were two other brothers besides Davie; one red-faced but handsome, the other with very blond receding hair and a look of detachment. And there was Hilda. She gave Eleanor a beseeching look and Eleanor had the wit not to register recognition. The books were apparently their secret and the secret would be safe with her.

  ‘Please don’t stop the entertainment on my account,’ Eleanor insisted. ‘I love a musical get-together.’

  ‘We were just about to turn in,’ Jacob Kirkup growled with pride and bashfulness, ‘it being the Sabbath shortly. But Eb will play something for you, ma’am. Go on, Eb,’ his father instructed, ‘play for the lady.’ Eb, reluctant, gave his father a sardonic look. Jacob had never uttered a good word about Eleanor Seward-Scott until she’d come breezing in as if she owned the place. Then Eb half smiled as he realised that was exactly what she did do - own the place. He turned to the piano and began to play ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’, while Louie and Hilda sang.

  Eleanor sipped at her strong, milky tea, pretending to enjoy it and at the same time fighting off the faintness she felt from the heat in the room, smelling as it did of candle grease and paraffin. Davie sat in the corner, relieved that the attention was focused away from him for the moment. No doubt there would be recriminations later.

  Eb finished and glanced round as Eleanor politely applauded.

  ‘Thank you, but I really must go.’ She rose. ‘The others are waiting for me.’ As if to stress the point, the Model T Ford tooted impatiently outside. ‘I hope you’ll be better soon, Davie,’ she smiled at him. ‘Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do.’

  He nodded wearily, wondering why he was suddenly being made to feel beholden to the people who had nearly run him over.

  There were stilted goodbyes and Louie saw their guest to the front door. As Eleanor passed Eb she said, ‘You play very well. Where did you learn?’

  ‘In the army,’ he answered, fixing her with blue eyes that did not slide away nervously as the others had done. It was not necessary for him to specify the Durham Light Infantry; everyone who had volunteered from Whitton Grange had joined the DLI.

  ‘Which brigade?’ she asked.

  ‘The Fifteenth,’ he answered.

  ‘Then you knew my brother, Rupert?’ Her voice was hopeful.

  Eb had known him. He remembered the thin young officer lying in a ditch with half his head blown away. His hand had still been moving.

  ‘I knew him,’ Eb answered quietly. Without knowing why, he added, ‘He was a good officer - more popular than most.’

  Eleanor gave him a considering look and then her gaunt face broke into a wistful smile. ‘I’m glad,’ she replied, ‘and good night.’

  Back in the car Will closed her door for her and drove off in silence. Labouring up the hill to The Grange, Beatrice yawned. ‘Really, Eleanor, I feel quite unclean being made to wait in that sordid little street. It was perfectly lousy of you. Wasn’t it, Will darling?’

  Eleanor ignored her and Will thought better about replying. All at once, Eleanor could not wait for them both to go.

  Chapter Five

  ‘And she wore a silver fox coat, Minnie, and you could see her knees when she sat down an’ all.’ Louie recounted the visit of Mrs Reginald Seward-Scott for the third time that morning.

  ‘Fancy,’ Minnie replied, catching her breath, ‘showing off her knees at her age.’

  They walked arm in arm up the street while Hilda and Sadie struggled behind with the food that Louie had prepared. The motor coaches were waiting at the chapel hall to transport them all to Finchale, site of a monastic ruin by the tree-lined River Wear where the annual village picnic was to be held. Minnie was on a rare holiday home from her job in Durham and found her friend bursting with the news of their illustrious visitor. The neighbours had long since grown weary of the Kirkups’ bragging, once the initial interest had waned.

  ‘She’s a real lady, Mrs Reginald.’ Louie’s tone was reverential. ‘She had nothing but concern for our Davie. Even my da had to admit what a lady she was, though he doesn’t hold with her ideas about women gettin’ the vote.’

  ‘What about her hair?’ Minnie was impatient for more details.

  ‘Short like a lad’s,’ Louie was able to report. ‘I thought it was too short, mind you.’

  ‘Yours looks canny,’ Minnie said, scrutinising her friend’s wavy fair hair.

  ‘Our Hilda cut it,’ Louie answered, pleased. ‘She’ll do yours while you’re here if you want, won’t you, Hildy?’ Louie glanced behind but Hilda was not listening. ‘Well, she will anyway.’

  ‘So is Davie all right now?’ Minnie questioned as they turned into North Street and saw the gathering crowds ahead.

  ‘Aye,’ Louie pulled a face, ‘but he was off work for a week with his bad leg. Da went light with him for losing work-time and wages. He still won’t let him go into Durham, he has to spend his free time doing jobs.’

  ‘So what about the lass he was seeing?’ Minnie asked with interest. She had always had a hankering after Davie Kirkup.

  ‘Iris? Hasn’t seen her, as far as I know.’ Louie shrugged. ‘Don’t suppose he was serious about her, not our Davie. He’ll be the last of us to settle down.’

  ‘Aye, I hear you’re courting.’ Minnie dropped her voice and gave Louie’s arm a squeeze. Her friend’s fair face coloured quickly and her fleshy lips pouted.

  ‘If you mean Sam Ritson, there’s nothing going on there, Minnie,’ Louie said severely. ‘He’s hardly said two words to me since that bother with Davie and Mrs Seward-Scott. I can do better than Sam Ritson, any road.’

  Minnie giggled. ‘No wonder he’s not speaking to you, Louisa Kirkup, with your nose above your face. You’ve got above yourself with this visitor from the big house, anyone can see that.’

  Louie turned to her friend in shock at the outspoken criticism. But she could not think of a rebuff, so just pushed her away and walked on in high dudgeon. Minnie laughed out loud at this and caught up with her, grabbing her arm again.

  ‘Please, your ladyship, be kind to an old washerwoman.’ Minnie mimicked an old woman’s voice. Louie’s mouth was still set in an offended thin line, but she did not try to shake off Minnie’s hold. Her friend was never one to mince her words or care about people’s sensibilities, but they were still friends after all.

  ‘Get us a seat,’ Louie ordered. ‘I’ll help the bairns with the picnic bag.’ Squashed on to a bench in the open charabanc, Louie had time to look around for Sam Ritson. He was not on their coach. Surely he would be coming on the village picnic? She was certain his sister Mary had said so when she had been in the tobacconist’s last week. Even Sam must take some time off from championing the rights of the working man. Louie hated to admit that Minnie might be right about Sam’s reason for not speaking to her. Perhaps she and her mother had gone on a bit about Miss Eleanor; Sam had not appeared the least interested in tales of the landowner’s daughter as a girl, when her mother had been a maid at The Grange. Well, he was wrong to think that everyone who lived in the big house was wicked and against them, Louie thought with annoyance. All the same, as the bus chugged off down the hill, she craned in vain to catch a glimpse of him in any of the other vehicles.

  By the time they reached Finchale, the early morning clouds had broken up and the sun was warm on their faces as the residents of Whitton Grange disembarked for a day of fun away from their routine drudgery. With the colliery band playing them down the hill, the miners and their families jostled together in festive mood. Children ran screaming with delight to the river’s edge while their parents found sheltered positions against the old stones of the ruined priory in which to lay out their picnics.

  Louie and Minnie eventually found the rest of the large Slattery family and shared what food and drink they
had. When the band finished playing, Eb joined them with John. To Louie’s concern there was no sign of Davie and she hoped he had not jumped off the bus as it passed Durham. Neither of her parents had come today; her father had decided to stay as her mother did not feel well enough to travel. He would spend the day reading in the Institute library while her mother darned at home. That’s all she seemed to do these days, Louie thought sadly, sit by the smoky fire coughing and darning.

  ‘Can I have a donkey ride?’ Sadie rushed up expectantly to Louie. ‘There’re gypsies over-by giving donkey rides.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Louie looked dubiously at the scruffy boys who were in charge of the mules. Sadie squirmed with impatience, hopping from one foot to the other.

  ‘I’ll take her,’ Hilda volunteered, so Louie handed over two pennies.

  ‘Be careful now, the pair of you,’ she cautioned as Sadie went off happily clutching Hilda’s hand.

  ‘Haway, Eb, let’s join in the footy.’ John hauled himself up and nudged his dozing brother in the back.

  ‘Later,’ Eb mumbled from under his cap, and did not stir.

  ‘We’ll come and watch you.’ Louie leapt to her feet and brushed down her best lilac dress that she had purchased on credit from the co-operative store. ‘Won’t we, Minnie?’

  ‘You don’t like football,’ Minnie answered suspiciously.

  ‘I do now.’ Louie glared at her to keep silent.

  ‘Away you go, girls.’ Mrs Slattery waved her hands, ‘I’ll keep an eye on the bairns. You enjoy yourselves.’ Louie smiled at her gratefully, amazed at how happy-go-lucky her friend’s mother was. She had eight of her own to look after but Mrs Slattery would take in the bogeyman’s offspring as well if he asked her, Louie was certain.

  The men were shouting and tearing after a worn leather ball, about twenty to each team as far as Louie could make out. The noise was deafening. Small children who wandered on to the makeshift pitch did so at their peril. Ernie Parkin the blacksmith was attempting to keep order as referee, his large red face panting and bawling as he ran after the players. A gap opened up in front of Louie and she spotted Sam for the first time that day. He half turned, caught her watching and kicked the ball too far. It whistled into touch, hitting Minnie who was standing next to her. A short, athletic man with red hair and a large mouth who was castigating Sam, chased after it. He seized the ball from Minnie, winked and gave a breathless, ‘Ta, bonny lass.’