Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  As he disappeared back into the game Minnie giggled and nudged Louie. ‘Who was that then?’

  ‘Bomber Bell,’ Louie told her. ‘He’s the captain of Whitton Grange now. Works with Sam Ritson - one of his marras.’

  ‘I think he looks canny.’ Minnie grinned as she followed his progress. ‘You’ll just have to make up with Sam Ritson, Louie, so you can introduce us.’

  ‘There’s nothing to make up,’ Louie protested, feeling her mouth going dry. Sam had looked at her but had not smiled; he was not interested in her after all, she thought bleakly. She was wearing her new dress with the thin pleats and the cut-away neck, but she might as well have been dressed in a coal sack for all he had noticed. ‘I’m going for a walk. Are you coming, Minnie?’

  ‘I’ll catch you up,’ Minnie replied, her attention fixed on the game. Louie wandered off towards the river, keeping to the sun-baked path. The woods rang with the laughter and calls of children as they swung from branches and made dens in the bushes. Courting couples walked arm in arm, smiling in companionship, and Louie wished with a pang she was one of them. She felt caught in a strange limbo; no longer the child who used to run after Davie, scraping her knees and joining in his pranks. Yet neither was she the adult that she yearned to be, with a house of her own and a man to look after and a pink-faced baby to nestle in her arms.

  This past year she had held the family home together and taken on the cares of a woman much older than her sixteen years. Perhaps no man would want to marry her and she would have to live out her life keeping her parents and her brothers until she was old. A picture of the four spinster Dobson sisters ageing like summer blooms in Railway Terrace came into her mind. A gurgle of panic rose in Louie’s throat and left a bitter taste on her tongue.

  ‘Louie!’ A voice called to her from the opposite bank and she jumped at the sudden intrusion. ‘Comin’ for a dip?’ She squinted across the water and saw Davie swinging half-naked from the long branch that stretched out over the river. The water beneath him did not look deep; it moved in a sluggish swirling motion. There was a group of lads drinking and laughing on the bank beside him. Trust Davie to be in the middle of it. Louie sighed; he would never change.

  ‘Careful, our Davie,’ she shouted back with a wave. Tadger Brown took a leap from the bank fully clothed and plunged into the river with a yell. He splashed back to the bank and heaved himself out. Davie whooped his approval and started shaking the branch vigorously. The next few seconds unfolded like a film before Louie’s eyes. Suddenly the branch snapped and dropped with Davie clinging to it like a skinny squirrel, amazement on his face. He hit the water with a smack and went under the dull blue surface, then bobbed up, hitting his head on the moving branch as it fought its way free of the reeds and trailing foliage.

  ‘Davie!’ Louie screamed, but his mates just laughed and swigged their beers. Her brother splashed out in panic for the bank but the more he struggled the further away he seemed to float. ‘He cannot swim,’ Louie cried. ‘Tadger, he cannot swim!’ But they were making such a noise on the far side that no one heard her.

  She looked on in horror as her beloved brother spluttered and choked in the water, the treacherous hidden current pulling him away and under. They think it’s just daft carry-on, Louie realised, her movements paralysed by fear. An ear-piercing scream ripped out of her and then from behind someone shouted at her to get out of the way.

  She turned to see Sam Ritson pulling off his boots, his jacket discarded on the ground; a moment later he had hurled himself into the river with an almighty splash. Sam swam after Davie’s disappearing body with short, strong strokes, speeding up when he reached the middle of the snaking river where the current flowed fastest. He grabbed for the branch and hung on and as Davie came whipping past him he seized his hair and pulled his head above water.

  Louie ran along the bank, following their bobbing bodies. Tadger and his drinking friends hurried down the opposite bank, now aware of their appalling mistake. Sam, realising he could not keep hold of Davie and the branch in such a current, pushed the branch away and grabbed Davie from behind, forcing his chin up. They went with the swirl of the river, Louie running desperately along the bank to keep up with them.

  Quarter of a mile downstream the pull on them lessened and Sam swam for the bank with what remained of his strength. Louie helped him drag Davie’s body on to a small sandbank and turned him on to his side while he vomited foul water into the sand.

  ‘Davie man, are you all right?’ She held his head in her lap. Davie spluttered back incoherently.

  ‘He’ll live,’ Sam gasped, his chest heaving as he drew breath. Louie looked at him, his short parted hair glistening, his shirt torn and clinging to his body.

  ‘Sam, thank you,’ she whispered, tears springing suddenly to her eyes at the thought of what might have happened to her brother. Then she realised she was crying because Sam might have drowned too trying to save him. ‘I can’t ever thank you enough,’ she sobbed.

  He leaned over and patted her shoulder awkwardly, ‘There’s no need to cry, bonny lass. There’s no harm done.’

  Louie crumpled under his gruff kindness. He had called her a bonny lass too. Somehow she found herself leaning into his shoulder and crying in relief. Sam gently folded his arms about her shaking frame and felt the softness of her fine hair pleasant against his wet face.

  Davie turned, coughing, and, through eyes bloodshot from the half-drowning, saw them clinging together. He cleared his throat and spat. ‘Give him a kiss, man Louie,’ he spluttered. ‘He deserves it, doesn’t he?’

  Later, when Tadger arrived with Davie’s shirt and jacket, the young lads left Sam and Louie alone on the sandbank. Louie did not protest when Sam removed his wet shirt and hung it on a bush to dry. He leaned back in the sun and closed his eyes, and Louie slid sideways looks while pretending to pick flowers. His chest was broad and muscled, ingrained with coal dirt in the hairline creases; there was a blue scar across his shoulder where coal dust had got into a wound before it healed. His upper body and arms were testament to his other life underground that Louie would never know about, each muscle telling a tale of coal hewn from the rock, of twisting and crawling through seams less than three feet high, of digging and pulling, shovelling and dragging.

  ‘What are you staring at, Louie Kirkup?’ Sam suddenly opened his eyes.

  ‘Not staring.’ Louie blushed red-hot and buried her face into her posy of flowers.

  He sat up, hooking his arms over his knees. ‘Come here then,’ he beckoned.

  As Louie crept forward nervously, her eyes met his and she saw he was amused at her shyness. He no longer seemed unsure of himself in her company, as if his diffidence had been shed with the soaking shirt. She knelt beside him. ‘What about that kiss then, that your Davie suggested? It’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard him say.’ Sam’s look was teasing. ‘Or is the friend of that Seward woman too grand for the likes of me?’

  Louie laughed coyly and leaning across pecked him lightly on the cheek.

  ‘I’m not your da,’ Sam complained and sliding an arm about Louie’s waist, pulled her to him and kissed her roundly on the lips. Louie gasped in surprise, her insides leapfrogging at the contact. She was about to protest when he kissed her again, this time more lingeringly. She liked it. When he stopped she did not pull away but nestled under his arm.

  ‘You won’t tell me mam or da about Davie will you?’ Louie looked into his brown eyes. ‘Not about him drinking and fallin’ in the river, please, Sam.’

  ‘It’s our secret,’ Sam promised.

  ‘It’s the first time he’s had a bit of fun since the accident,’ Louie went on. ‘You can’t blame him carrying on now and again, can you? It’s in his nature.’

  ‘You’d stick up for Davie if he brought the devil home for tea, wouldn’t you, Louie?’ Sam laughed.

  ‘He’s my brother,’ Louie answered defensively.

  Suddenly Sam hugged her. ‘I like that in you, Louie - loy
alty. You’re loyal to your own kind, and that’s a good thing.’ Louie glowed at this praise, though she had never thought about it before. Sticking up for her own kin just seemed the natural thing to do.

  ‘Will you stick by me too, Louie?’ Sam asked, searching her bright-blue eyes for the answer. For a moment she was taken aback by his directness.

  ‘What d’you mean, Sam?’ she asked, her voice husky.

  ‘I want a lass that’ll stand by me and what I fight for,’ Sam said firmly.

  Louie gulped at the gravity of what he was asking. Was she strong enough to take on Sam Ritson, not just the fighting man in the boxing ring, but the fighter against the bosses? That meant no more chitchat with the lady from the big house, or dreams of working in a milliner’s in Durham City. It would mean putting Sam before anyone else, even Davie. He would provide for her and in return she must sacrifice everything to give him the home comforts he would expect as his right. She would probably have to attend a lot of political meetings, she thought ruefully.

  A dream of their future together floated before her eyes; a new council house with its own outside toilet, Sam on good pay and well respected as an official of the Durham Miners’ Association, her lovingly embroidered table linen spread out for all to see, a baby rocking in a cot Sam had made for it. She would escape the responsibility of nursing her invalid mother and ageing father until she was past a marriageable age. She pushed that last thought guiltily from her mind.

  ‘Aye, I’ll stand by you, Sam.’ She lifted her small chin and held his direct look. Sam nodded, as if he had been certain of the answer, then shivered as a gust of wind rippled up the river. He drew away from Louie, and she watched him button up his damp torn shin and fix his tie methodically as if they had merely been discussing the weather. She felt a prick of annoyance that he should have been so sure of her reply, as if she had had no say in the matter.

  ‘How come you were on the bank when Davie fell in?’ she asked him, getting to her feet and shaking the sand from her dress. Sam turned and saw her regarding him, clutching her arms in front of her protectively.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ he replied, pulling on his jacket. ‘Saw you leave on your own.’ So he noticed more than she gave him credit for, Louie thought with surprise.

  ‘And why did you want to get me on me own?’ Louie’s mouth twisted into a half-smile.

  ‘To ask you if you were courting any lad.’ He turned down his collar as he spoke.

  ‘Well, I’m not.’ Louie waited for him.

  ‘You are now, bonny lass.’ Sam grinned and crooked his arm for her to hang on to. Sam wanted her and she liked a man who knew his own mind. Louie happily slipped her arm through his, a warm glow of triumph spreading through her as they took to the path together.

  ‘Is your marra, Bomber Bell, going with anyone, Sam?’ she asked.

  ‘Bomber? No, he’s too busy with football,’ Sam answered as if that were explanation enough. ‘Why d’you ask?’

  ‘No reason,’ Louie said lightly, thinking of how pleased Minnie would be at the information. All in all, the village picnic had turned out far better than she could ever have hoped. Life was just as good as it could be, Louie smiled in triumph.

  Iris came out of the Palladium red-eyed from crying. Rudolph Valentino had distracted her from her own affairs of the heart for a brief time, but in the glare of the outside world they returned. She felt washed out from the self-indulgent tears she had cried over a make-believe romance which had turned out well in the end. There was no such luck for her, she thought bitterly; her lover had got what he wanted and never returned. All at once she was furious at Davie Kirkup for discarding her. How dare he win her with sweet words and a trip to the pictures and then not turn up for over a month? Why had she ever allowed herself to be taken in by his good looks and boundless energy? She should have stuck to her screen lovers.

  Walking listlessly back through Durham’s crowded and cobbled streets, Iris decided she would not allow herself to be abandoned; instead of wallowing in self-pity she would act. If Davie refused to come to her, she would seek him out in his dirty little pit village. But what if he had a girlfriend or wife at home? Such an explanation had not occurred to her before. Well, she thought vengefully, she would delight in causing him no end of trouble. Without going home first she crossed the river and headed up the North Road to the station. She bought a ticket for Whitton Station and waited for the train.

  On the way back to Whitton Grange the buses stopped in Durham for fish and chips. The Methodist minister, Mr Stephen Pinkney, had raised funds from the chapel to treat the trippers to the final feast. Louie and Minnie ate theirs hungrily, while John and Sam and Bomber Bell argued about the outcome of the football match.

  ‘You let in three goals,’ Bomber criticised John.

  ‘Two!’ John protested. ‘And where was my defence? Halfway across the pitch like a bunch of old pit ponies,’ he scoffed.

  ‘You would think you’d lost, the way you’re arguing, Bomber.’ Minnie threw her eyes heavenwards.

  ‘What do you know about football, eh? Nothing.’ Bomber dismissed her impatiently.

  ‘Our Michael was captain of Whitton Grange for longer than you’ve been, Bomber Bell,’ she retaliated, ‘and I’ve watched him plenty. Don’t tell me I don’t know nothing about football.’

  Bomber’s large mouth froze in mid-sentence and he gawped at her for a moment. He was not used to lasses arguing back. Who was this lass with the curly black hair who kept interrupting him? She was pretty enough, with her shiny green eyes.

  ‘Michael who?’ he asked, his tone condescending.

  ‘Michael Slattery,’ Minnie answered proudly. ‘They said he was good enough to go professional if he hadn’t been injured in that fall of rock down the Beatrice.’

  Bomber turned with a look of interest. ‘Michael Slattery, did you say?’

  ‘Aye, and sometimes I used to play in goal when my brothers played in the lane,’ Minnie crowed. ‘Didn’t I, Louie?’ Her friend nodded, thinking of the sight of the Slatterys and their relations taking over the back lane of Durham Road near the Catholic church to play their rowdy games of football. Minnie had been a real tomboy in those days.

  ‘Didn’t know you were a Slattery,’ Bomber mumbled, torn between his contempt for her as a Catholic and his admiration for her footballing brother Michael. ‘He was a canny striker, Michael Slattery, I’ll give you that.’ Over the last of their chips they began a heated conversation about past Whitton Grange teams.

  Davie slipped away without anyone noticing. He headed for the town centre, wondering whether he was mad or doing the right thing. He had not been in contact with Iris for weeks and the separation had been hard at first. Several times he had wanted to disobey his father’s decree that he should not go to Durham, and if he had had the money to do so he would have done. But he could not risk getting Louie into trouble by asking for precious housekeeping again, and he had no pocket money of his own.

  Since the accident and his week off work, he had given Louie all he earned and he was lucky to still be working, judging by the increasing number of lads hanging around the street corners on short time.

  But he had missed Iris Ramshaw and, loath as he was to admit that a lass could put him off his food, this one had. If he turned up now after weeks of absence she would probably throw him back out the door and give him a piece of her wisdom. But an angry Iris was better than no Iris at all and he would take his chances.

  The door to the Market Inn was open and he saw Mr Ramshaw, fat and perspiring behind his bar. Market days were always busy ones and Iris would probably not be allowed off duty. Still, he could speak to her.

  ‘Where’s my Iris, then?’ Ramshaw demanded on catching sight of Davie.

  ‘Isn’t she here?’ Davie asked, disappointed.

  ‘Said she was going to the pictures,’ Ramshaw grumbled. ‘I assumed it was with you.’ Davie felt dashed. Far from missing him, Iris had obviously found someone else t
o take her to the Palladium. Why had he expected anything different? She was a beautiful lass, he had had his chance and thrown it away. Still, his pride made him angry with her all the same.

  ‘Do you want to leave a message for her?’ Ramshaw asked more kindly, seeing he had hurt the boy’s feelings.

  ‘No.’ Davie gave a false smile. ‘I was just passin’ by.’

  ‘Probably just as well.’ Ramshaw poured Davie a half of beer. ‘She’s got her heads in the clouds, my Iris. Should be here helping me.’ Davie was about to refuse the drink because he could not pay for it, but Ramshaw said, ‘Have one on the house. She’s been quite contrary these past weeks. Aye, but that’s Iris for you.’

  Davie bolted down his beer, thanked the publican and raced back for the bus. He saw the last one pulling away up the North Road and out of sight.

  Louie’s face was glowing from the midsummer sun and the events of the day when she led the girls in at the back door. The men had gone straight to the club for a final drink. At first, her mind taken up by other things, she did not notice her mother’s agitation.

  ‘Sam and Louie are courting, Mam,’ Hilda announced gleefully. ‘I’ve seen them holding hands.’ Louie flushed with embarrassment and pleasure and looked to her mother for approval. The older woman’s face was pale and drawn, her dark eyes darting from the girls to the parlour door.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mam?’ Louie asked in concern.

  ‘Hildy and Sadie straight up to bed now,’ Fanny Kirkup insisted. Still excited from their day out, the girls began to protest.