Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I’ll not go begging,’ Davie replied stubbornly, his head beginning to clear. ‘It’s her who’ll have to come to me.’

  Eleanor huffed in disbelief. These pitmen could be so intractable at times, she thought impatiently. It was little wonder Iris had got fed up with him.

  She accompanied Davie back along the Durham Road to the first few houses which ran parallel to the railway line and wound down to the village green. As the gas lighting revealed the steep banks of terraced housing beyond, Eleanor stopped, reluctant to be seen walking with this half-inebriated youth; she felt vulnerable, realising she had never walked through this part of the village before, but had only visited it by car. Before she had time to extract herself, two figures hurried out of a side street and spotted them.

  ‘There he is!’ a girl’s voice cried, and the slighter of the two hurried towards them. ‘Where the devil have you been, Davie? We’ve been searching all over. And where’s Iris?’ She peered suspiciously from under her over-large hat at the woman beside him. With a gasp she stuttered, ‘Mrs R-Reginald, eeh, beggin’ your pardon!’

  Eleanor recognised the young woman at once. ‘Louisa, I’m glad it’s you. I found Davie on the road. I think he’s a little the worse for drink,’ she explained as politely as possible. Louie’s tall companion caught up with her and Eleanor’s hopes were confirmed.

  ‘Mrs Seward-Scott.’ Eb touched his cap diffidently.

  ‘Eb.’ Eleanor smiled at him distantly, keeping up the charade of slight acquaintance. But Louie was too busy fussing over Davie to detect any warmth in the looks they exchanged.

  ‘You’ll come home with me first and get washed and sober up before I let you home,’ she scolded. ‘What would Da say if he caught you like this? Give you a hiding into next week, that’s what.’ She turned to the lady in her fur-trimmed coat and hat. ‘I’m that grateful, Mrs Reginald, you’ve saved our Davie again. Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ Eleanor assured her. ‘I hope you all have a very merry Christmas, Louisa. Please remember me to your husband and family.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Louie beamed in reply. She pushed a morose Davie - who was trying to overcome a bout of hiccups - before her.

  ‘I’ll see Mrs Seward-Scott along the road,’ Eb spoke up, ‘it’s almost dark now.’ Louie agreed that was a sensible suggestion and Eleanor watched her go with a remorseful Davie in tow.

  Together, Eleanor and Eb retreated into the dark, not speaking a word until they had left Whitton Grange behind. The sky was scattered with bright stars above them and the chill air nipped at their faces as they walked. Only after they had turned up the hill to The Grange and were surrounded by dark, bare trees, did Eleanor slip her cold hand into his warm one.

  ‘I hoped I’d find you at the allotment this afternoon,’ she told him.

  ‘I would have been there,’ Eb sighed, ‘but Hildy came to fetch me. Louie was in a right state about Davie not coming home. She feared the worst and as usual Louie’s instincts were right. Davie can’t help himself.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be much help to Iris and Raymond either.’ Eleanor could not resist the criticism.

  Eb did not jump immediately to his brother’s defence as Louie would have done. ‘She took him on knowing the kind of lad he was,’ he replied.

  ‘She didn’t have much choice, did she?’ Eleanor countered.

  ‘They were too young,’ Eb sighed, all at once feeling older than his twenty-eight years. ‘Iris has ambitions beyond this pit village. I can only see unhappiness for them both.’

  ‘But Davie says he loves her.’ Eleanor did not want their conversation to become depressing.

  ‘That’s as may be.’ Eb stopped and considered her pale face shrouded in soft fur. ‘But people can love each other and still not be able to overcome the differences between them.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Eleanor whispered fiercely, pulling him close to her. Impulsively, she kissed him to try and dissolve his doubts, and they clung hungrily to each other in the cold dark. She spoke low. ‘You know I love you, Eb.’

  ‘Aye,’ Eb answered, feeling his stomach knot. He wanted to say the same to her, but he could not admit it. There could be no long-term future for them together, so why pretend there was? Theirs was an impossible love that should never have been allowed to grow. They could hardly ever meet, and when they did they had to stifle their feelings in front of others in case anyone guessed.

  ‘I’ll walk you to the gates.’ He disengaged himself and broke the intimacy between them. As they went on, the sound of singing grew louder through the trees.

  ‘Carol singers,’ Eleanor said excitedly. ‘Reverend Hodgson will have brought the Sunday School to sing at the house, they come every Christmas Eve.’

  From the end of the drive they could see a throng of children and a few adult singers huddled under the stone portico of the house’s main entrance. A blaze of electric light flooded out of the open doorway before them, where her father and the housekeeper stood. Eleanor linked her arm through Eb’s to keep him there and they stood and listened from a distance, entranced by the young voices ringing out across the lawns.

  When they had finished, the singers were handed glasses of lemonade and a mince pie each by Mrs Robertson. Eleanor smiled as she saw them receive money from her father; it was a ritual her mother had so enjoyed. The choir left chattering, a glow of miner’s lamps swinging about them as they approached the silent watchers by the wrought-iron gates.

  Eleanor pulled Eb behind a rhododendron bush and minutes later the children filed past noisily, the vicar herding them out of the grounds. Two girls straggled behind.

  ‘Watch for us, May,’ one of them said and turned directly towards the pair in hiding. Eb saw with astonishment that it was his cousin Sadie. She was not a member of St Cuthbert’s Sunday School, but her friend May Little was and she had obviously come on the jaunt for an extra mince pie or two.

  ‘Don’t sit on the bogeyman,’ May giggled as her friend pushed into the bushes and squatted down. Eleanor and Eb froze in disbelief as the young girl relieved herself just feet away from where they stood.

  ‘Hurry up, Sadie.’ May’s voice was edged with fear. ‘The others are halfway down the hill.’ Sadie needed no encouragement and sprang quickly from the bushes, running after her friend.

  But moments later, the dark-haired girl realised she had dropped her new hand-embroidered handkerchief, a present that Louie had allowed her to open early because she could not wait for Christmas Day.

  ‘Wait for us while I go back,’ Sadie pleaded, her fear of her cousin’s scolding overcoming her nervousness of the dark. ‘Louie’ll kill us if I lose my hanky before Christmas.’

  She reached the gates just as Eb and Eleanor, laughing with relief, stepped on to the drive. Sadie screamed to see the dark figures emerge from the trees. Eb reached her quickly.

  ‘It’s me, Eb,’ he reassured her, and pulled her to him in a protective hug.

  ‘Eb,’ Sadie began to cry, ‘you frightened me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, pet.’ He kissed her head under the woollen hat. Sadie looked nervously at Eleanor, recognising the lady who had occasionally visited their home. ‘I was walking Mrs Seward-Scott home. She found Davie out on the road - it’s a long story. Best if we keep it as our secret, eh?’ Eb suggested in his easy voice. Sadie nodded but said nothing. He let her go. ‘Now get on quickly and catch up with the others.’ Without a glance back, Sadie raced for the safety of the retreating band of carol singers, quite forgetting that she had not retrieved her handkerchief.

  ‘I heard you scream,’ May said, frightened, as her panting friend reached her. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘The bogeyman,’ Sadie answered, deciding to make the most of her adventure, ‘and the bogeywoman!’

  Eleanor watched the two girls scurrying off into the distance. ‘Will she say anything?’

  Eb shrugged. ‘What’s there to say?’ He turned to her. ‘I’ve got someth
ing for you.’ He fumbled in his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. ‘You can’t really see it in the dark.’

  By the light of the frosty moon, Eleanor could just make out the outline of a woman bending over a book against a background of foliage. Eb lit a match as she held it, so she could see it better. In the flare of yellow light she saw herself in vivid colours against a pale backdrop of leaves and flowers.

  ‘It’s too flattering!’ she protested, overjoyed that he should think to paint her.

  ‘Miss Joice gave me the paints and I wanted to use them straight away. That’s how I see you,’ Eb answered bashfully, ‘full of life.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She kissed him and carefully rolled up the painting. ‘And this is for you.’ She handed him the long, thin package from her coat that held four differently sized paintbrushes. She laughed at his genuine pleasure.

  ‘That’s grand,’ Eb grinned, ‘and I suppose that means I have to keep painting for my patron?’

  ‘Of course.’ Eleanor hugged him. ‘Happy Christmas, Eb.’

  This time it was Eb who pulled her close to him and kissed her warmly on the lips. Only with reluctance did she let him go at the gates. She turned once to wave, but he had been swallowed up by the dark. Eleanor hugged herself, still revelling in the warmness of their embrace.

  Somehow, she knew, they would keep their love alive. But now she would have to put her energies into making Beatrice’s engagement party a success.

  Just as she arrived at the house, a car swung on to the gravel behind her, hooting noisily. Eleanor glimpsed Sukie’s face at the passenger window. The car squealed to a halt and the doors swung open. Will Bryce jumped from the running board and came round to greet her.

  ‘Will!’ Eleanor greeted him warmly. She was fond of this affable, carefree friend of Beatrice’s.

  ‘You’re not angry at me for inviting myself with Sukie?’ he asked, kissing her flushed cheek.

  ‘Not at all,’ Eleanor assured him. ‘The more the merrier.’

  They both turned to the woman descending from the car in swathes of heavy fur.

  ‘Eleanor, darling,’ Sukie lisped, ‘it’s wonderful to see you - you’re looking marvellous.’ She brushed Eleanor’s cheek with her own. ‘How’s Bea? Is it true she’s announcing her engagement to Sandy tonight?’

  Eleanor glanced at Will, but he continued to smile. ‘You’ll have to ask Beatrice, won’t you?’ she answered noncommittally.

  ‘It’s sure good to see you again.’ Will took Eleanor’s arm and led the two women inside.

  ‘And you,’ Eleanor smiled and thought she was going to enjoy this Christmas more than she had expected.

  After the morning service in the Methodist Chapel, the Kirkups went, as tradition dictated, to the Dobsons in Railway Terrace for a glass of non-alcoholic ginger wine and a mince pie. Louie had managed to persuade Sam to join them and he tagged along reluctantly in his starched white shirt and dark brown suit, looking ill at ease with a dainty crystal glass in his hand.

  The white-haired Clara Dobson pressed another mince pie on him. ‘Your Louie’s a grand help to me. Practically delivered Margaret Slattery’s baby all by herself. She’ll make a wonderful mother one of these days.’ She smiled, her mouth spreading into soft crinkled cheeks and chin. ‘I’ve raised four daughters of my own, but not one of them’s as maternal as Louie.’ She passed on with her plate laden with pies.

  Sam manoeuvred himself across the parlour, squeezing past the heavy dark furniture and his numerous relations-in-law. He found John.

  ‘Fancy a quick pint at the club?’

  ‘Aye,’ John answered swiftly and they disengaged themselves from the party.

  ‘Coming, Davie?’ Sam asked as they passed him. He shot them a bloodshot scowl and shook his head.

  ‘Leave him,’ John muttered unconcerned. ‘He’s bad company and he’s off the drink.’

  Louie pretended not to notice their going. Sam had already compromised by agreeing to be with her family for Christmas dinner and visit his own parents for tea. She contented herself with the memory that they had woken alone in their own home with no Sadie or Minnie or Bomber to interrupt their morning together. She had made breakfast for Sam, though she had had no appetite for the smoking bacon and fried bread. However, her lethargy had disappeared when they had opened their presents to each other. Sam had given her a beautiful necklace of fake pearls, and joked that she would no longer have to borrow jewellery from Iris, before realising what he had said. Louie had dismissed the subject - ‘Let’s not think about that Iris’ - and given Sam his present. He unwrapped a pipe.

  ‘But, Louie, I don’t smoke,’ Sam had said baffled.

  ‘No, but I thought it would suit you.’ Louie defended her choice. ‘Since you’re becoming an important leader, I thought it would make you look distinguished like.’

  Sam had burst out laughing and Louie had been hurt. ‘It’s just what I wanted,’ he teased and gave her a tickle.

  ‘You don’t like it,’ she pouted trying not to laugh.

  ‘I do,’ he insisted, ‘I just don’t like smoking.’ He grabbed her round the waist and Louie had laughed as they began kissing.

  So she forgave him for slipping away for a drink with John, and Eb soon diverted attention by opening up the Dobsons’ piano and starting to play. Susan and Eva Dobson, the two youngest sisters, who had courted friends of Eb’s who did not return from the war, joined him in a singsong. Eva, the most emotional of the four, always sang with tears streaming down her face, no matter how happy the song. This Christmas Day was no exception.

  Louie turned to see Davie quietly letting himself out of the house. She followed him, telling Mrs Dobson that she had to go and check on the dinner. She caught up with her brother as he turned into Hawthorn Street.

  ‘Reminds you of her, I suppose - the singing?’ Louie asked not unkindly. Davie tramped on as if he had not heard. ‘Are you going to be a twisty-face all holiday?’ she demanded more brusquely. ‘Well, you’ve brought this on yourself for not facing up to your responsibilities.’

  ‘I never asked your opinion,’ Davie sulked. ‘Just leave us alone.’

  Louie sighed. ‘Listen, Davie,’ she linked her arm in his to slow him down, ‘would you like me to go and speak to Iris?’ Davie stopped and looked at his sister.

  ‘You’d really do that for me, wouldn’t you, Louie?’ he said.

  ‘For you, aye, I would,’ she replied.

  He hugged her suddenly. ‘When will you go?’

  ‘Tomorrow if you like.’ She smiled resignedly. ‘I can do without your Iris complaining around the place for a bit longer, but I miss that bairn Raymond too much.’

  ‘Aye,’ Davie agreed. ‘You fetch them back and everything’ll be canny again, won’t it, Louie?’

  ‘That depends,’ Louie answered, not half so confident as her brother that Iris would settle down once and for all.

  For the rest of the day she pushed from her mind the thought of the ordeal of winning Iris round, and busied herself with helping Hildy and her mother with the Christmas dinner. They carried the kitchen table into the parlour and covered it with a linen cloth, so all nine of them could sit round together. Fanny Kirkup carved the turkey, while Hildy, Louie and Sadie served up roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, roast parsnips, carrots and sprouts, along with bread sauce, sausagemeat and herb and onion stuffing. Not for the first time that week, Louie had to fight back the feeling of nausea that rose with the smell of the cooking. She disappeared outside for fresh air, blaming herself for being ill at such a special time of year. Her mother came to find her and put her hand to her forehead.

  ‘I’m all right, Mam.’ Louie pushed her away and returned inside, her mother following her with a concerned look on her face. They let Sadie find the silver three-penny bit and then ate the plum pudding with bowlfuls of custard. Louie hardly touched hers and avoided her mother’s questioning look.

  The meal complete, the men snoozed in fron
t of the fire, under the sparkling tinsel festooned across the room, while the women cleared and washed up and prepared the tea. Sadie and Eb played Snakes and Ladders on the floor, while Hilda sat at the table and read last year’s Girl’s Own Annual that she had given to her young cousin for Christmas.

  ‘That’s typical of our Hildy.’ Louie rolled her eyes at her mother. ‘She buys everyone books that only she will read.’

  Shortly afterwards Louie and Sam took their leave and went to visit the Ritsons. They hardly did justice to the massive tea that Mrs Ritson and her daughters had prepared, but Sam waded in to the cake and sandwiches as best he could. Later they played party games with Sam’s young nephews who were visiting with his sister Lizzy from Yorkshire, while Bel’s baby, Betty, toddled among the discarded presents and the wrapping paper.

  They walked home happily in the crisp dark, taking a detour through the dene and across the park to ease their unusually full stomachs. Sam was talking about some meeting he had to attend the next day, when Louie’s throat watered and she began to retch violently into the grass.

  ‘Louie, are you all right?’ Sam put a concerned hand on her back. ‘It’s all that rich food, you’re not used to it these days.’

  Louie straightened, the wave of nausea subsiding. She dabbed her mouth with her handkerchief and shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so, Sam.’ She smiled at him though her face was ghostly.

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’ Sam felt a stab of worry for his young wife. Louie had always been a strong and healthy lass; Sam could not bear the thought of illness striking at their happiness.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Louie assured him. ‘I can’t be certain, Sam, but my instincts tell me there’s a reason I’m being sick.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Louie? What instincts?’ Sam was cautious.

  ‘I think I’m going to have a baby.’ Louie took his hand shyly.

  ‘A baby?’ Sam repeated, nonplussed.

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t be a complete surprise, Sam Ritson,’ Louie laughed, thinking of the vigorous loving nights in their old bed.