Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Us pitmen will never agree to longer hours,’ Bomber said hotly.

  ‘We can’t manage on less than we have now,’ Minnie responded horrified, ‘not with the bairn on the way. We can hardly manage as it is.’ Her neck was a flushed red and Louie noticed tiny beads of sweat bubbling next to her hair line.

  ‘Don’t upset her, Sam,’ she reproved quickly. ‘No one’s going to starve around here. Let’s talk of something more cheerful. Our Sadie said she’d come over to help make some decorations.’

  Louie sat Minnie by the fire and they began to cut shapes out of old newspaper to make into streamers. But the men sat on arguing about the worsening situation at the pit. Louie shut her ears to Sam’s gloomy predictions. She could not believe the Seward-Scotts would have so little pity on them; things were bound to work out all right in the end. Anyway, their first Christmas in their own home was not going to be spoilt by anxious thoughts of the year ahead.

  Sadie came rushing in at the back door, stamping her boots on the mat.

  ‘It’s started to snow,’ she announced excitedly. ‘Hildy’s sent some coloured paper she got from Miss Joice, she said you can use it all for your streamers, ‘cos she’s made ours, and Davie’s sent some mistletoe - he won’t say where he got it from.’ Sadie stopped her chatter to pull her store of treasure from the newspaper parcel tucked inside her over-large coat. Louie remembered wearing the frayed blue garment before handing it down to Hilda.

  ‘Good for Davie,’ Louie laughed.

  ‘Look, Sam.’ Minnie grabbed the mistletoe branch and waved it aloft. ‘Plenty of kissing for you and Louie this Christmas, eh?’

  ‘Minnie!’ Louie tried not to look amused. ‘Watch yoursel’ while our Sadie’s present.’

  ‘Well, I know all about kissin’ and that,’ Sadie answered boastfully.

  ‘And how do you know?’ Louie asked sceptically.

  ‘Iris tells me things.’ Sadie looked triumphantly at her cousin.

  ‘Does she now?’ Louie’s voice was full of disapproval.

  ‘And I’ve seen May Little kissin’ Frank Robson after school. Frank Robson’s got a piece of mistletoe and he makes all the girls kiss him before he lets them out the school gate. Me and Jane Pinkney climbed over the wall so we didn’t have to kiss him.’

  Minnie and Louie burst out laughing. ‘It was never that much fun when we were at school, was it, Louie?’ Minnie grinned, her green eyes shining in the soft firelight.

  ‘I’m surprised Miss Joice allows any carry-on,’ Louie said, putting on her prim expression again.

  ‘Well you might as well enjoy it, Sadie,’ Minnie encouraged,’ ‘cos there’s precious little carry-on once you grow up.’ She flicked a look at Bomber, but he ignored the jibe.

  ‘Fancy a beer at the club?’ he asked Sam.

  ‘Aye.’ Sam stood up.

  ‘Remember we’re going to Mam’s later.’ Louie tried to hide her disappointment that he was not going to stay and help them put up the streamers. She had got a bag of chestnuts to roast on the fire too.

  ‘I’ll meet you there,’ Sam told her. ‘You just go on ahead. I need to speak to a couple of the committee before the meeting tomorrow.’ Louie groaned inwardly. It had been the same every Saturday since Sam had been elected on to the lodge committee in the autumn, along with several of the younger, more radical pitmen. Louie was used to the lodge coming first in Sam’s priorities, but it still rankled at times like this.

  When the men had gone, Louie brought out some homemade ginger beer she had been keeping for Sadie, and they spent a happy hour making the decorations and catching up on the news from Hawthorn Street. Although Louie visited every week to help her mother with the large wash and Hildy with the ironing, she liked to hear Sadie’s account of the household. As her mother was still plagued by a bad chest and coughing fits that left her exhausted, Louie’s young cousin frequently stayed over at Gladstone Terrace at the weekends, to give Fanny a bit of peace, and because tempers in the crowded home often flared and Sadie got upset at cross words.

  ‘And has Raymond taken any more steps since Tuesday?’ Louie asked, thinking fondly of her nephew. He still had Davie’s face and eyes, but his short fluffy hair was turning auburn like Iris’s.

  ‘He took four steps yesterday,’ Sadie reported, ‘but Iris isn’t speaking to Davie since he forgot they were supposed to go to Durham last weekend to see her family.’

  ‘She can be so moody at times.’ Louie spoke up immediately in Davie’s defence. ‘He can’t always be at her beck and call.’

  ‘She doesn’t know how lucky she is, with a lad like Davie for a husband,’ Minnie added with feeling. ‘You said he never goes out drinking now and he dotes on that bairn of his; I’ve seen them out in the park together.’

  Louie nodded in agreement.

  ‘He was out last night with Tadger Brown,’ Sadie contradicted them. ‘He woke me up when he came in and fell over me and Hildy in bed. When he went into the front room Raymond woke up and there was a terrible row, we could hear Iris shouting at him.’ Sadie’s dark eyes widened in fright as she remembered the uproar.

  Minnie shot Louie a look of concern.

  ‘She wouldn’t mean anything by it,’ Louie assured her hurriedly. ‘Everyone has a tiff now and again. Now tell me about our John. Has he been courting Marjory Hewitson again?’

  ‘Aye,’ Sadie stopped stabbing the paper with the scissors and looked up, ‘and he’s bringing her home tonight for supper.’

  ‘Who’s she then?’ Minnie asked with interest.

  ‘You know Marjory Hewitson, don’t you? Works in drapery at the store. Her father’s a joiner at the pit. You’ll know her - plump lass with curly brown hair and pretty eyes.’

  ‘Does she have a brother who plays for Whitton Grange? There’s a lad called George Hewitson plays with Bomber.’

  ‘Think he’s some sort of cousin,’ Louie replied. ‘She’s got a younger sister but no brothers. Marjory’s very homely, just right for our John, specially now he’s on the committee. She knows what’s expected of a pitman’s wife, not like our Iris, fond of her as I am,’ she added, glancing at Sadie. Louie did not want to be too critical of Iris in front of the girl.

  ‘I like Marjory,’ Sadie said, pulling out a string of dancing figures from the red paper Hilda had provided. ‘She brings me sweets and she made me a rag doll out of scraps from the store. She promised Iris she’d make something for Raymond too.’

  ‘She must be serious about John then,’ Minnie winked at Louie, ‘making toys for the bairns.’

  ‘Well, he’s a lot less bad-tempered since he’s started courting,’ Louie smiled, ‘so it can’t be a bad thing.’

  Minnie cracked open another chestnut as Louie hung up the first streamer, above the kitchen range.

  ‘And what about Ebenezer?’ Minnie asked, juggling a piece of hot nut in her mouth.

  Sadie shrugged. ‘He’s never at home.’

  Louie chipped in from her perch on the kitchen stool. ‘Mam thinks he’s courting, but he’s that secretive no one knows who it is. I think our Hildy has her ideas but she won’t say. I mean, he can’t be out gardening in the dark every evening, now can he?’

  ‘Didn’t think your Eb was interested in girls,’ Minnie answered, intrigued by the mystery. ‘He’s always been a one for his own company.’

  ‘Don’t ask me what he gets up to all day on his own,’ Louie sighed. ‘Hildy’s the only one who seems to understand him. They’re both a bit airy-fairy in the head, those two.’

  Louie climbed off the stool and stood back to admire the bright-red decoration adorning the mantelpiece. Tomorrow she would pick some holly from the dene after chapel and place it around the tapestry picture of a horse and cart which Edie Parkin had made for her and which hung above the fireplace. She glanced at the darkened window and saw through the nets flecks of snow on the glass panes. Louie felt a childish thrill of anticipation ripple through her at the thought of the Christmas festivities that were ab
out to begin.

  Davie came home that Monday and told Iris he had been laid off at the pit. When he then announced he was going out to meet Tadger, she picked up his wet boots from the hearth and threw them after him. One caught him on the shoulder as he ducked, the second smashed against the kitchen door as he slammed it behind him. Fanny Kirkup came rushing and wheezing down the stairs to see what had caused the commotion.

  ‘What in God’s name was that about?’ she asked sharply. ‘Jacob and John are trying to get some sleep upstairs before their shift. Have you no consideration, girl?’

  Iris turned towards her mother-in-law, her hazel eyes blazing with indignation. ‘You can blame the noise on your precious son Davie, it’s him who’s got no consideration!’ she screamed, pushing straggly strands of hair off her face. ‘We’ve no money to do anything these days - not a bloody penny.’ Fanny gasped in shock at her daughter-in-law’s language. ‘Now he tells me he’s lost his job, and what does he do? He goes off drinking with scum like Tadger Brown. That’s how much he thinks of his wife and bairn. So don’t go telling me I’ve got no consideration, just don’t go telling me!’

  Iris’s face was flame-coloured, her cheeks hardly distinguishable from the red lipstick she still insisted on wearing. For a moment Fanny was frightened by her wrath, unsure how to respond to this young woman who showed her feelings so easily. It had never been her way to betray her hurt or anger so publicly, and she and Jacob had never fought openly in front of the children. She went to pick up Raymond who had stopped his crawling exploration of the hearth and the specks of coal which he was methodically placing in his mouth. He seemed too shocked to cry at his mother’s angry words.

  ‘There, there, pet,’ she crooned, ‘Mammy isn’t shouting at you.’ He clung to his grandmother for a moment and then stretched out his arms for his mother and began to cry. Iris responded, though her whole body was shaking with fury. She clutched Raymond to her defensively.

  ‘I should have known your Davie wasn’t the type to change,’ Iris continued accusingly. ‘He’ll always be a bad’n. I thought my head was in the clouds, but not compared to Davie. He’ll always run from his responsibilities, that one.’

  Fanny could not bear to hear her third son attacked so disloyally by his wife.

  ‘He stood by you when you needed him,’ she replied sharply, her face tense. ‘Don’t you ever forget that, Iris. And he’s given Raymond a better start in life than if he’d been running loose in a public house.’ She could not keep the indignation out of her voice. ‘You’re just a publican’s daughter and you always will be, so don’t you go looking down your nose at us pit folk. Davie may be a wild’n at times, but he’s got a heart of gold. My son’s worth twice as much as your kind.’

  The effect of Fanny’s words was more forceful than a slap to the face. Iris visibly reeled from the attack. Never before had her mother-in-law been critical or unkind in such a way. She had expected the older woman to understand her frustration and anger over Davie’s behaviour, to stick up for her as another woman. Instead it was clear Fanny resented her in the family, blamed her for not fitting in, rather than Davie for turning back to drink and his mates when life began to get tough.

  Without another word, Iris tossed her head back and marched with Raymond into the parlour, kicking the door shut behind her. Only then did Fanny notice Sadie crouched behind Jacob’s large armchair, where she had been listening to Iris’s wireless with the headphones on. The girl sat hugging her knees into her chest, her eyes tightly closed, black hair falling like a curtain across her face. Fanny did not know if she had heard their terrible argument, or whether she was oblivious to all, absorbed in her world of music. She cursed herself for allowing her temper to get the better of her. Then something that Iris had shouted returned to give her a second jolt; Davie had been laid off at the pit.

  Iris sat down on her bed and let the tears come. Raymond had calmed down and was trying to yank the glass beads from around her neck.

  ‘They don’t want us here,’ she whispered to him and sniffed. ‘They think we’re common as muck. Well, if that’s the way they feel, we won’t stay to be insulted, will we, Raymond?’ She unclasped his fingers from her necklace and rolled him playfully on the patchwork eiderdown. The baby smiled widely, two teeth glinting in his gummy mouth. Iris tickled him and he giggled.

  ‘They won’t miss us,’ she continued, enjoying her self-pity. Except she knew they would miss Raymond; Davie, Fanny, Jacob, Louie, they would all miss him terribly. Right now, Iris really wanted to hurt them for rejecting her, so hurt them she would.

  ‘I’ll get a job entertaining folk,’ she told Raymond, ‘singing or dancing. I could track down that man in Whitley Bay.’ Iris thought back to the summer trip they had taken to the seaside at the end of August. She had dragged Davie along to the entertainment on the beach where a touring troupe was performing. She had been captivated by the bizarre costumes and actions of the characters; Pierrot, Columbine and Harlequin. Afterwards there had been a talent competition and Iris had got up and sung and won a twist of barley sugar. The leader of the troupe, an odd-looking showman called Barny, had approached her and only half jokingly invited her to go on the road with them. At the time Iris had laughed at Davie’s rude reply to the manager, glad of his possessiveness towards her. Now she was almost tempted to try and find the troupe. But they would be far away from the north-east, scattered around the country and impossible to trace.

  So instead, Iris waited until the following afternoon, when Davie and John were out playing football in the park, the rest of the men were sleeping and Fanny and Sadie had gone with Louie to help decorate the chapel with holly for the Christmas services. She packed her scant possessions into a carpet bag of her mother’s, along with Raymond’s things, and left 28 Hawthorn Street with Raymond clutching the soft stuffed ball that Marjory Hewitson had given him at the weekend. At quarter to three that afternoon, just as the wintry silver light was draining out of the sky, she boarded the train for Durham City.

  She sat straight-backed, her slim face resolute, concentrating on how she was going to explain her actions to her parents. Her mother would scold her for being a bad wife and her father would give her a hug and ask her to help out in the bar. Neither would force her to go back against her will. Stepping on to the platform at Durham, her neat shoes ringing on the cold stone and echoing into the metal rafters, she brightened at the thought of seeing her family again.

  ***

  Eleanor sat in the back of the Bentley, rubbing the window so she could catch her first glimpse of Beatrice coming off the London train. The chauffeur, Sandford, kept the engine running, but she still felt the cold under the kaross spread over her legs. She saw a pretty young woman muffled in a green coat and battered velvet hat leave the station clutching a baby. Only after she had disappeared down the hill towards the town did Eleanor recognise her as Iris Kirkup, Davie’s wife. She had not seen her since calling with a book of nursery rhymes during the summer. It had been a useless present for such a tiny baby, but she had not known what else to give. Eleanor assumed she was visiting her family before Christmas and thought no more about it.

  Five minutes later the London train arrived and Beatrice finally appeared leading a posse of porters laden with her suitcases. Sandford jumped out to help heave them into the boot of the car.

  ‘Beatrice,’ Eleanor kissed the proffered cheek, ‘you must be coming home for a month.’

  Her sister waved a careless hand at her luggage. ‘This is nothing. I’ve sent another trunk north with Sandy. He’ll be arriving on Christmas Eve. He’s got three weeks leave; it’s going to be marvellous.’

  Sandford held the door open for them and the women climbed into the car. He tipped the porters and slid a hat box on to the seat beside him.

  ‘So what’s the news you said you had for me?’ Eleanor smiled and leaned back on the leather upholstery. Beatrice grinned and snuggled the animal skin rug around her knees.

  ‘It’s a
bout Sandy.’ She almost purred as she said his name, ‘He’s asked me to marry him. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Eleanor had suspected this would be the cause of Beatrice’s excitement. She had stuck with Sandy Mackintosh for over a year now and at twenty-three had obviously decided it was time to stop playing with the bright young people and settle to the task of finding a suitable husband. Then Eleanor chided herself for being critical of her younger sister’s calculating practicality. If she herself had only stopped to think through her reasons for marrying Reginald, she could have saved them both a lot of trouble and pain.

  ‘That’s marvellous news.’ She leaned across and squeezed Beatrice’s fur-gloved hand. ‘You said yes, I take it?’

  ‘I let him stew for two days,’ Beatrice smiled, ‘then agreed. Don’t tell Daddy yet, though. Sandy is insisting on going through the rigmarole of asking his permission. He’s terribly old-fashioned that way. Still we can go ahead and organise a party.’

  ‘When do you want it?’ Eleanor asked. It was ages since they had held one at The Grange and she found herself quite looking forward to the idea. ‘I’ve invited the usual friends for Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Then that’s when we’ll announce our engagement. It must be a huge party though.’ Beatrice began to enthuse. ‘We won’t tell Daddy it’s for anything special until after Sandy has spoken to him.’

  As the car slipped through the twilight of a crisp December afternoon, they talked over the arrangements that would need to be made.

  Eleanor frowned. ‘It doesn’t leave much time to send out extra invitations. We’ll have to do it by telephone.’

  ‘I suppose Reginald’s awful friends the Fishers will have to be invited?’ Beatrice pulled a face, and Eleanor flushed.

  ‘Not if you don’t want them there,’ she answered.