Iris let the curtain fall back and stood up impatiently.
‘I’ll go mad if I have to spend one more day in this house!’ she cried. The baby started at her raised voice and gave a yell of fright. Louie reached to pick him up at once.
‘There, there, bonny lad, Mammy didn’t mean to shout,1 she crooned. Iris looked at them both in desperation. She felt no stirrings of maternal love for this strange, pink, crinkled bundle of humanity with its demanding appetite and cry that set her teeth on edge. She would make a hopeless mother; she would never cope without Louie’s help. What would she ever do if they moved to a place of their own? She would be tied to this stranger for ever. Her dreams of being a famous actress or singer were gone for good, ruined by Davie and his son. She hardly thought of Raymond as her own.
‘I wish he were your bairn,” Iris suddenly shouted at Louie, and burst into tears, flinging herself on the stout iron-framed bed.
Louie gaped at her in shock. She was quite bewildered by Iris’s lack of affection for her son. She thought he was the most perfect and beautiful baby she had ever seen. Already he had his father’s spiky hair and neat nose. His eyes were dark blue still, but they would lighten into Davie’s sky blue in time.
She let her sister-in-law cry for a minute and then said, ‘Hold him, Iris.’ Louie offered him gently, folding a lacy knitted shawl about his head. Iris’s sobbing stopped as she raised her tear-streaked face. Louie thought she was prettiest when her green eyes were sad and her sum face moody.
‘He looks better in your arms, Louie,’ Iris replied quietly, without malice. ‘You hold him and I’ll make the tea.’ She dragged herself wearily off the bed and unconsciously smoothed her hands over her shrinking stomach. As she went into the kitchen, Louie bent and kissed Raymond on his button nose.
‘Auntie Louie will take care of you, pet,’ she whispered sadly.
The day of the christening was a bright, blustery Sunday in early April. Louie and Hilda and their mother had been busy for days baking for the christening party, and Iris’s family had been invited from Durham for the occasion. Her father brought them on the train, a gaggle of unruly children and a thin wife, with Iris’s auburn hair, who scolded Iris for not breastfeeding her baby and pressed a silver sixpence into Raymond’s podgy hand for good luck.
To Louie’s relief, Iris seemed to have shaken off her gloom and revelled in putting on her best dress with a new beige felt hat she had bought on credit from Lake’s the haberdashers. Davie, besotted with both wife and child, hardly seemed to notice Iris’s disinterest in Raymond, and looked at her in admiration. Though he had not touched a drop of alcohol since the night of the birth, he felt in a permanent state of intoxication.
The two grandfathers regarded each other warily, neither really approving of the other. Louie thought her father looked the more distinguished, tall and erect, his white beard and red and white hair neat above the starched collar and best black suit. He bore the authority of an Old Testament prophet, Louie thought with pride, while Iris’s father was overweight, with a pallid face and a weeping brow he kept having to mop with his handkerchief.
‘Well, Louisa,’ her father spoke so everyone could hear, ‘are you ready?’
‘Yes, Da.’ Louie smiled, taking Raymond from Iris’s mother, careful not to crease the long white robe that fell luxuriously to her knees. It was the only family heirloom that her mother had, a delicately embroidered christening gown, already three generations old. One day, she thought with pleasure, her own babies would be baptised in this dress.
‘Do you have the christening parcel, Louie?’ Hilda asked excitedly.
‘Aye, it’s in my coat,’ Louie answered, feeling the lump of wrapped cake and silver sixpence heavy in her pocket.
Stepping out into the street ahead of the parents and family, Louie felt as grand as Queen Mary, carrying her precious godchild to the chapel. The stiff breeze buffeted the proud party as they made their way up Hawthorn Street and into Holly Street, smiling neighbours watching from their doorsteps or falling in behind to follow the procession to the Wesleyan chapel in North Street.
The first young girl that Louie met after leaving the house was May Little, a schoolfriend of Sadie’s who had been waiting on the Parkins’ doorstep so that she would be the recipient of Louie’s parcel.
‘Reach into my pocket.’ Louie smiled at the anxious girl. She fumbled for a few seconds and then triumphantly drew out the package of treats.
‘I’ve got it, Sadie!’ she cried to her friend, waving her treasure in glee. Then she remembered the baby who had caused her this good fortune. She peered at the puckered face all but hidden in the warm shawl. ‘He’s tiny.’
‘Isn’t he bonny?’ Louie demanded.
‘Aye,’ May agreed quickly and dived away with her good-luck prize.
At the chapel they filed into their regular pews and the Reverend Stephen Pinkney led the service from the pulpit, with rousing hymns and exhortations that stirred the congregation and filled the high-ceilinged chapel with noise. Jacob Kirkup gave one of the readings in his powerful bass voice, and when Louie and the parents went forward to have Raymond baptised she thought she would weep with happiness.
As the minister took the baby from her and sprinkled his head with water, Raymond gave a shriek of protest. Louie knew this would please her mother and the older women who thought it bad luck if the baby did not cry.
Afterwards, members of the congregation crowded about Iris and Davie to see the baby. The schoolteacher Miss Joice and her father the doctor were there, and Louie’s parents invited them back to ‘wet the baby’s head’, as they had been so kind in taking Hilda into their employment. The Parkins and the Dobsons came back to the house too, and Aunt Eva, a sister of Fanny’s who had travelled from up the valley where her husband worked on a farm on the Waterloo Bridge estate.
‘He’s going to be a footballer,’ Wilfred Parkin was telling Davie over a glass of ginger wine. ‘I can tell by the square head. He’ll play for Newcastle, will your lad.’
‘He’ll play for England, this one.’ Davie laughed proudly and reached for another ham sandwich.
Louie busied herself making tea for the visitors who called all afternoon, and she and Hilda brought out reserves of currant bread and homemade biscuits for late arrivals. While Davie and Iris walked to the station with her family and put them on the train, Eb thankfully changed out of his suit and went off to the allotment to be alone, and John and Jacob went upstairs for a rest.
‘Can we take Raymond for a walk?’ Sadie asked Louie.
‘Not today,’ Louie answered, ‘but we’ll take him out in the pram tomorrow.’ Sadie wasted no more time trying to win her cousin round and instead disappeared to join in the skipping game outside.
‘Where’s this bairn?’ a voice asked at the door. Louie looked up, startled, to see Sam standing awkwardly with one foot in the kitchen.
‘He’s through in the front room with Mam and Edie Parkin,’ Louie told him and turned to cut him a piece of cake. ‘I didn’t expect to see you today,’ she added without glancing round.
‘Came to pay my respects,’ Sam said stiffly.
‘That’s what you do at funerals.’ Louie could not keep the amusement from her voice.
‘Well, I’m not very good with bairns - or christenings,’ he said defensively. ‘You know I’m not the religious type.’
Louie turned to look at him and saw the flush of uncertainty colouring his square jaw. Not for the first time she marvelled at how he could be so assured when speaking in front of scores of strangers and yet so tongue-tied with her.
‘But you won’t say no to a piece of christening cake, even if it has been blessed with a grace?’ Louie smiled as she held it out to him.
‘Ta.’ Sam took the fruit cake in his rough hands. He still appeared uncomfortable. ‘Louie—’ he began. Edie Parkin interrupted him, bustling in and demanding that the baby’s bottle be warned.
‘He’s hungry for his tea now, bles
s him,’ she said, giving Sam a suspicious look. Louie stood the bottle in a pan of warm water and listened to Edie chatter about Iris’s family.
‘You can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your relations,’ she announced with a shake of her grey head. ‘Still, Iris is one of us now.’ Louie had her doubts about this, but kept quiet. Eventually Edie disappeared into the parlour with the milk and they were alone again.
‘Louie,’ Sam tried once more, his voice rising in desperation, ‘before anyone else comes in, I’ve got something to say to you.’
‘What, Sam?’ She shot him an anxious look. His nervousness was infectious. He was going to finish with her; why else was his face so severe? ‘Say what you have to say.’
‘We’ve been courting for a year now, Louie.’ He addressed the kitchen range.
‘Eleven months,’ she corrected him.
‘It hasn’t been much of a courtship for you,’ he ignored her interruption, ‘what with me at meetings all the time, and things at the pit uncertain. I haven’t given you much fun, but.’ He shook his head. ‘And things will only get worse, Louie; we’ve got a fight on our hands with Hopkinson and Seward-Scott.’
He was going to spoil this special day, Louie thought, her stomach churning. He was going to end their courting.
‘What’ve they got to do with us, Sam?’ she asked miserably. ‘If you’re sick of me why don’t you just say so?’
He jerked his head round, his brow perplexed. ‘Why should I be sick of you, Louie? I just want you to know that if you marry me, things aren’t going to be easy for us, not for a long time - maybes never. So will you marry me on those conditions, Louie?’ Sam demanded sternly, grasping his cake in a closed fist.
‘Marry you?’ Louie repeated in astonishment.
‘Aye.’ Sam glanced anxiously at the back door as if preparing for rejection and escape. ‘I need a strong lass like you beside me, Louie, and it’s time I did something about it. We’ve been courting long enough to know we’re suited - and I can see you won’t be happy till you have a family of your own.’ Sam blushed.
‘Sam Ritson,’ Louie laughed with relief, ‘you’re a right one! On those conditions indeed - you make it sound like union bargaining.’
‘I’ll only ask the once.’ His eyes were defiant.
‘Of course I’ll marry you.’ Louie rushed towards him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘I’ve looked at no other man since I saw you, Sam Ritson.’ She pecked him on the cheek and felt an answering squeeze of his arms about her waist. What a perfect, perfect day, Louie thought, shutting her eyes tight as she clung to him. ‘We’re going to be so happy, Sam,’ she assured him, ‘you just wait and see.’
They pulled away from each other and Louie noticed Sam’s crushed cake at their feet. For once she did not care about the mess.
‘It might be best to wait until after the summer with things at the pit so bad,’ he cautioned.
‘Oh, let’s not wait, Sam,’ Louie pleaded, thinking how much she yearned to have a home of her own, away from the cramped strictures of Hawthorn Street. She would miss Raymond the most, but wherever they went they would be close by to see him every day. And maybe by next year she would have a bairn of her own.
‘There are no pit houses available at the moment, Louie,’ Sam reminded her. ‘We’d best wait until one becomes vacant. There’s no room at home now Bel and Johnny have moved in with their bairn.’
‘What about Gladstone Terrace? We could take a room like Minnie and Bomber have done,’ Louie suggested eagerly.
‘Those cottages aren’t fit for rats to live in.’ Sam sounded offended.
‘We don’t need much,’ Louie smiled persuasively, ‘and it would just be to start with.’
Sam laughed at her persistence, wondering briefly if marriage had been Louie’s idea all along and not his suggestion.
‘We’ll see,’ he promised.
‘See what?’ Davie asked, coming in at the back door. Louie and Sam sprang apart guiltily. Her brother chuckled at the furtive looks passing between them. ‘I’ve broken up a union meetin’ I can see,’ he teased. ‘What are you plotting with my sister, Red Sam?’
Louie saw Sam’s shoulders stiffen.
‘Sam and I are going to be married,’ she announced proudly, lifting her small chin, ‘this summer, aren’t we, Sam?’
‘Well …’ Sam hesitated, taken aback by her decisiveness.
‘Married, you bugger!’ Davie clapped him on the back. ‘You’re a lucky man, Sam Ritson, to be marrying our Louie. She’s one of the best.’ Davie grabbed his sister and swung her around in a playful hug.
‘I’m pleased for you, pet.’ He kissed her fair hair and turned to Iris, still with an arm about Louie. ‘That’s grand news, isn’t it, bonny Iris?’
Iris stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn as she stared back at them. All at once, her mouth sagged and her brow crumpled as she burst into tears. She hid her face behind slim hands and shook with racking sobs. Sam looked at her dumbfounded. Louie and Davie stood helplessly, wondering if they would ever understand this contrary girl from Durham.
While Louie revelled in the preparation of her ‘bottom drawer’, with Hilda helping her sew when she had time away from Greenbrae, Sam found himself increasingly at loggerheads with the pit management and even the officials of the Durham Miners’ Association. He despised their conciliatory attitude towards the owners and their desire to avoid head-to-head confrontation. Their representatives at the Miners’ Hall had gone soft with their own importance. But he would fight to the last drop of his blood to defend his marras’ jobs and wages.
Much as he hated the work they were forced to do, the pit was a part of him and he was proud of the men he worked beside, the stoical courage they showed risking their lives each time they went below ground. His father Samuel was a loyal member of the Whitton Grange lodge, as his father had been before him. His grandmother, Mary Graham, had been born down a pit in East Lothian in the 1830s. To hew coal was Sam’s reason for being; to work was his pride. The pit was his lifeblood. As a frightened young boy, sitting in the pitch-dark, opening and shutting the trap doors and listening out for the hiss of gas or the call of voices, he had developed his pit sense. He won himself a name as a hard worker, a lad who was picked on at the bully’s own peril, a marra who would stand up to the deputy and the overman for the rest of his team. He soon became a spokesman for the men, bargaining for and sharing out their wages, drawing the cavels each quarter of the year to see who worked in which part of the pit.
So in June, when the owners decreed there would be a cut in wages and a lengthening of the working day, Sam Ritson led his men out on strike. The local lodge was behind him even if the Association in Durham was horrified by the unofficial action. By 1st July, exactly a month before the date Sam and Louie had set for their wedding day, Reginald Seward-Scott declared that wages would be cut by half or the pits would remain closed.
Sam caught Louie alone in the back yard as she came in with a jug of milk from the dairy cart, and, tight-lipped, she listened to him tell her that the management had officially locked them out of the pit.
‘How can we afford to get married now, with you and my Da out of work?’ she asked when he’d finished, close to tears.
‘We can still do it, Louie,’ Sam cajoled. ‘We could just have a quiet trip to the registry office, no need for a big fuss, is there?’
‘No!’ Louie shouted at him as she stormed into the house. ‘If we don’t get married in the chapel, we don’t get married at all.’
For a moment Sadie and May stopped their game of leapfrog to stare at the slamming door and an embarrassed Sam, until he strode stormy-faced back down the lane.
It was late evening but only just darkening into night when Eleanor wandered out of Whitton Woods on to Highfell Common. She’d rather walk all night, she thought, communing with ghosts, than go home to an empty house. Her father was in Scotland making up a house party with Beatrice at Sandy Mackintosh’s es
tate in the central Highlands. Beatrice seemed very taken with her Scots officer, but then she had waxed enthusiastic about men before, only to wane when someone more desirable came on the horizon. Reginald had left that morning to go fishing with Bernard Fisher and she knew he would stay over at Waterloo Bridge. He had seemed in high spirits for someone who had just slammed lock-out notices on the gates of the Whitton Grange pits. But then Reginald gloried in fighting, as long as it was not his blood which got spilt.
Eleanor shuddered. What ironic thoughts for this particular day, the anniversary of her brother Rupert’s death. Nine years it was since the first day of the Battle of the Somme, the day that had sealed his fate along with that of tens of thousands of other soldiers - and their families, she thought bitterly.
Something close by stirred in the thick bracken and a dark shape emerged right in front of her. She stifled a cry as the becapped man got to his feet.
‘Didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said, hastily removing his cap and scratching his head.
‘It’s Eb, isn’t it?’ Eleanor felt a surge of relief.
‘Yes, Mrs Seward-Scott,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll be off then.’
‘Don’t go.’ She stopped him quickly with her hand outstretched, ‘Not yet.’
Eb thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling ill at ease so close to this woman who troubled his peace. She was a link with the War and all that he tried and failed to forget. On this of all days, did she think of the brother she had lost, just as he remembered his long-dead friends?
‘Let’s walk on to the brow and look at the sunset over Weardale,’ she suggested.
He felt better once they started to move. They had not been alone together since their argument over Hilda’s future last Christmas. It bothered him that he had missed her visits; her staying away had only served to highlight his own solitude in the world. He belonged to a big family and yet lived apart from them, cut off by experiences and feelings they could never fathom. This woman from the big house knew him better than his own kin, though she had made little attempt to speak to him again, even when he had gone to work at Greenbrae.
Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills Page 13
