Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘There’s tea in the pot.’ She nodded towards the table. ‘Pour a cup for yourself and Louie.’

  ‘I’ll just have a glass of water,’ Louie replied; she had mysteriously lost her taste for tea. ‘Then I must get off home. Sam will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  Just then, a sleepy-eyed Davie appeared at the door, with Sadie leading the way like an ambassador. His hair stuck out at angles and his soft chin was shadowed in tawny bristle.

  ‘Iris.’ He said her name tentatively and stood feeling foolish.

  ‘Davie.’ She slid him a semi-defiant look.

  With only a moment’s hesitation he stepped forward and plucked Raymond from Fanny’s arms. ‘Hello, little man,’ he said, then kissed him and tossed him in the air. Raymond’s eyes opened wide in fright at the sudden movement and he started to cry. Davie laughed and threw him higher, until Raymond howled in protest.

  ‘Take Iris’s things into the parlour.’ Fanny took command of the situation quickly, disengaging her grandson from Davie’s arms. ‘I’ll give the bairn something to eat. You two go and make things up.’

  Iris closed the parlour door behind them, feeling awkward in her husband’s presence. For once she was at a loss as to what to say. She took her bag from Davie and began to unpack her clothes. He watched her in silence.

  ‘I’ve—’

  ‘You’ve—’ They both began at the same time, and then stopped.

  ‘You say first,’ Davie insisted.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Iris shrugged. ‘I was just going to say, you’ve got a very loyal sister in Louie. It must have taken a bit of nerve to come and fetch me back.’

  ‘Aye,’ Davie admitted candidly, ‘more nerve than I’ve got.’ Iris continued to fold away her possessions into the boxes under the bed. ‘She’s been that desperate to see Raymond again, I think she would have gone to Newcastle for him.’

  ‘She might not be so interested in him soon,’ Iris answered.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Davie asked, puzzled.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious to me she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Our Louie?’ Davie gasped in amazement.

  ‘And why not?’ Iris laughed for the first time. ‘She’s been married long enough.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything,’ Davie said with an edge of reproach in his voice.

  ‘I’ll bet you a shilling she is,’ Iris challenged.

  ‘Don’t have a shilling,’ Davie answered, then with a grin reached over and grabbed his wife around the waist. ‘I’ll bet you a kiss an’ cuddle though.’ Iris giggled and twisted to face him, happier than she had expected to feel his arms about her again.

  ‘A kiss and a cuddle then,’ she agreed.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Iris,’ Davie whispered as their lips met.

  ‘Good,’ Iris replied and said no more.

  In the kitchen Sadie stood on one leg, trying to listen at the parlour door.

  ‘Come away from there,’ Fanny ordered.

  ‘I want to listen to Iris’s wireless. Why are they taking so long?’ she asked impatiently.

  ‘Never you mind,’ her aunt replied shortly. ‘Here, you can take these biscuits round to Louie’s, I’ve done extra.’ Sadie’s dark eyes lit up with interest at the sight of food. ‘And don’t you go eating them all before you get there.’

  ‘Can I stay over at Louie’s tonight, Aunt Fanny?’ Sadie was suddenly taken by the idea.

  ‘You’ll have to ask Louie,’ Fanny replied. The young girl buttoned on her blue coat and pulled her woollen hat down over her ears, then took the parcel of warm biscuits in her hands. Forgetting about Iris and the wireless she rushed out of the back door.

  ‘Peace at last,’ Fanny sighed, spooning some rice pudding into Raymond’s compliant mouth. Eb carried on his methodical carving as if she had not spoken. ‘You haven’t been up to the allotment this week,’ she said. ‘I thought you would have been there while the Joices don’t need you - it’s not like you to sit around the house.’

  ‘Nothing to do up there just now,’ Eb replied without taking his eyes off his task.

  Fanny did not press him, although she sensed her eldest son’s glumness. Questioning Ebenezer never did any good; he was as secretive as a badger. Like her, he carried his burdens alone. Together they sat in companionable silence, enjoying the brief quiet before the revelries of bringing in the New Year.

  Cocktails and dinner at The Grange had been followed by games of mah-jong and bridge in the library. Now they were gathering in the ballroom, the large glass-roofed room they had used for Beatrice’s engagement party. Laws was distributing glasses of champagne and the atmosphere was jovial as they awaited midnight. Thomas Seward-Scott was tuning in the wireless to get a clear signal. He called for hush as the chimes of midnight crackled across the airwaves.

  ‘Nineteen twenty-six!’ cried Beatrice. ‘Happy New Year, darling.’ She kissed Sandy, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. The guests circled each other, kissing and wishing each other good luck in the coming year. Then the band they had hired for the evening struck up a waltz and the dancing began.

  Later on Eleanor saw Reginald take Libby on to the floor for a foxtrot. She was bedecked in old-fashioned flounces, low-cut across her young bosom, and Reginald seemed entranced. Eleanor mocked herself for feeling a niggle of jealousy as they moved energetically around the dance floor. She wondered what they were saying to each other under cover of the music.

  By three in the morning Sandy was leading them all in riotous Scottish reels, shouting instructions with cool authority as if they were his soldiers. After that the dancing seemed anti-climactic and the party began to break up. Eleanor was exhausted, but beyond sleep, and she stayed up reading in the library long after the house guests had retired to bed. What would 1926 hold for them all? she pondered over a cigarette. A time of change, perhaps. Beatrice planned to marry and follow Sandy in whatever posting he was given. Her father and Reginald seemed bent on confrontation with the miners’ leaders; there might be real hardship ahead for the pitmen and their families if the owners got their way. Reginald would not stand idly by and watch his profits evaporate like morning mist. Eleanor shivered as she watched the embers in the fire turn white and dusty and lose their heat. What would happen to her and Eb this year if the community was rent by dispute?

  She mounted the stairs in silk-stockinged feet, carrying her satin shoes rather than suffer further discomfort. The lights in the hallway had been turned off and only one dim lamp lit the stairway, halfway up. About to take the last flight of steps to the first landing where her bedroom lay, Eleanor became aware of someone else there in the dark. It was not that she had seen or heard anyone, just felt their presence.

  Straining in the half-dark through the banisters she saw a pair of bare feet, and heard a silk dressing gown rustle past her at eye level. Some romantic corridor-creeping, Eleanor thought to herself with amusement. How anyone still had the energy for that after such an evening of dancing she could not imagine. She waited for the woman to pass so as not to embarrass her and then quietly climbed the remaining steps.

  The figure had reached the end of the corridor and stopped at the corner. Eleanor thought it odd, as only Reginald’s rooms lay beyond. The woman tapped softly on his dressing-room door. The door next to it opened and Eleanor caught her breath in surprise as Reginald peered out in obvious anticipation of his visitor. In the gleam of lamplight thrown momentarily into the passageway, she saw the redheaded Libby illuminated as she passed into the bedroom.

  The door closed. Below in the dark the grandfather clock chimed five times. It was at least an hour before any of the servants would be stirring and setting about their early-morning duties. Eleanor’s hand slipped from her mouth where it had flown to stifle her astonishment. Reginald was having, or at the very least embarking on, an affair. Libby Fisher’s brazenness under her hostess’s roof was staggering, Eleanor thought with incredulity.

  But undressing in her own room, shock gave
way to a wave of relief. She felt liberated by Reginald’s infidelity; it assuaged her feeling of guilt at meeting Eb in secret. Until now, their affair had amounted to a few snatched embraces, yet she felt Eb’s quiet passion. In future she would strive for ways for them to be alone together so that she could let him know the strength of her love for him. Eleanor fell asleep feeling almost grateful to the bumptious Libby Fisher for releasing the bonds which still held her to Reginald. She thought of him now with no shred of affection.

  At five to midnight Sam was sent out of the Ritsons’ house to wait for the New Year. He huddled from the rain under his mother’s wash-house wall, cursing the tradition that dictated that the first visitor over the threshold after twelve o’clock must be dark. He heard the cries from inside the house as the clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight, picked a piece of coal from the heap in the shed and knocked at his parents’ door.

  ‘Come in, lad,’ his father shouted, and pulled him in from the rain. He submitted to being kissed by his sisters while his brother-in-law Johnny Pearson poured him a whisky from a half-full bottle which had not been touched since last Hogmanay. Sam swigged it back and grimaced as the fiery liquid burnt its way down his throat. He did not know how people could drink spirits; he would rather have a pint of beer any day.

  ‘Happy New Year, Sam.’ Louie hugged him. ‘It’s going to be a good one for us.’ She gave him a secretive, knowing look.

  ‘Aye,’ Sam answered, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders. Yet he could not shake off his mood of depression that had grown during the day at the thought of the year ahead. He was filled with foreboding about the future.

  ‘Let’s have a singsong,’ Bel suggested. ‘Come on, Mary, you know lots of songs.’ The two sisters sang together and then Samuel Ritson brought out his old fiddle and gave his family a few tunes. By the end he had their feet tapping and the girls dancing in the tiny parlour.

  Later they were first-footed by Louie’s brother John and his girlfriend Marjory Hewitson, who was also a friend of Bel’s.

  ‘They’ve all gone to bed at home,’ John said with derision. ‘Eb didn’t want to play the piano and Hildy did nothing but yawn after she got in from work. As for Davie and Iris — well it’s like the reunion of two lovebirds,’ he announced with disgust.

  ‘John,’ Marjory nudged him in the arm and simpered, ‘you shouldn’t tell tales.’

  ‘It’s nice to hear they’ve settled their differences,’ Liza Ritson interjected kindly. ‘They make a bonny pair - and Fanny’s proud to bits with that wee grandson Raymond.’ She winked at Louie.

  Louie itched to tell her mother-in-law her news, but she swallowed the words with difficulty. Better to have her pregnancy confirmed before she told the world.

  Sam saw the tired shadows around his wife’s eyes and knew she had made a special effort to appear to enjoy the evening, while feeling nauseous at the sight of food.

  ‘Come on, pet. It’s time we were off,’ he declared to the room.

  Louie thanked her mother-in-law. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, Mrs Ritson, grand company.’

  ‘Nice to have you here for once,’ Liza Ritson smiled, tipping her grey-haired head to one side. ‘You seem to be that busy looking after the waifs and strays of Gladstone Terrace these days.’

  Louie smiled but said nothing; she knew the older woman was referring to their befriending of Minnie and Bomber. Any free time she had had since Minnie’s baby Jack had been born on Boxing Day had been spent helping out at her neighbours’. She knew Mrs Ritson disapproved of Minnie and her chaotic family because they were Catholics, and thought Sam’s workmate Bomber had married beneath him. But Minnie had always been a good friend and Louie was not going to abandon her now just to please her mother-in-law. Besides, Bomber was Sam’s marra, they grafted together at the same coal face and there was no greater bond of loyalty than that between marras.

  They said their goodbyes and hurried up the muddy back lane towards the top of the hill. Lamps still burned in several homes and occasional first-footers could be seen darting through the dark, undaunted by the rain. Passing Minnie and Bomber’s they could hear a roomful of loud voices and the quavering wail of a very new baby. Sam and Louie looked at each other in tolerant amusement.

  ‘Well, baby Jack is getting a taste of his first Slattery Hogmanay by the sounds of it,’ Sam laughed.

  ‘It’s nice to be going back to an empty house, isn’t it?’ Louie replied, pressing close to Sam’s arm as they walked the final yards home.

  ‘Aye,’ he grinned.

  They entered their tiny home and Sam lit a candle on the mantelpiece with a taper from the fire. The room was warm and cosy in the soft yellow light. Louie had already started to undress when she saw the small figure curled up in their bed.

  ‘Goodness, it’s Sadie,’ she whispered loudly, sucking in her breath. ‘She must have been here for hours.’

  Sam puffed in annoyance. ‘So much for an empty house,’ he complained.

  ‘We can’t shift her now, Sam.’ Louie’s voice was pleading. ‘She’s sound asleep.’

  ‘I’ll kip in the chair,’ Sam volunteered resignedly. He was beginning to realise that taking on Louie Kirkup meant taking on all the relations and feckless friends who needed her too. But he could not blame her; Louie’s generosity was part of what he loved in her. Yet in the pit of his stomach he felt a tension, a dread that he would not be the only one leaning on Louie for support in the months to come.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In early March, A. J. Cook, the firebrand leader of the Miners’ Federation of Great Britain, visited Whitton Grange. It was organised that he would stay with Samuel and Liza Ritson the night that he spoke, as Samuel was a respected union man and former official. Louie’s Sam was responsible for collecting him from the Durham train and getting him to the Memorial Hall in time for the open meeting. Louie went round to her mother-in-law’s to help prepare the meal for their important guest.

  ‘And how are you keeping, pet?’ Liza Ritson asked her young daughter-in-law. Everyone now knew that Louie was three months pregnant.

  ‘Canny,’ Louie smiled, though her face was pasty. ‘The sickness is wearing off at last.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Mrs Ritson nodded. ‘Now you just take a seat. Mary will be in from the shop in a minute and she can peel the vegetables.’

  ‘I can peel spuds sitting down,’ Louie laughed, enjoying the fuss Liza was making of her. She took the large basin on her knee and began to clean the potatoes.

  ‘I hope our Sam is looking after you,’ Bel said as she gave Betty her tea at the table.

  ‘Sam’s been that caught up with organising this meeting I’ve hardly seen him lately,’ Louie sighed. ‘He’s so excited about Mr Cook’s visit. Sam’s heard him before - over at Lanchester in January - says he’s a wonderful speaker.’

  ‘Yes, so I believe.’ Mrs Ritson grunted as she leant down and reached into the oven to pull out a large pot of stew. She lifted off the lid and gave the thick gravy a stir. ‘Mind you, there are those who don’t trust him - him being Welsh and all.’

  ‘Mam!’ Bel remonstrated.

  ‘No, it’s true.’ Mrs Ritson was adamant. ‘They think he’s going to lead us into trouble instead of talking to the bosses.’

  Louie jumped to Cook’s defence. ‘Well, Sam says the bosses don’t want to talk. We need men who’ll stand up for us.’

  Bel backed her. ‘That’s right. Johnny says we should be preparing for the worst now.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t mean another lock-out?’ Liza looked across anxiously at her daughter.

  Bel shrugged resignedly and glanced at her baby daughter. ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that.’

  Instead of attending the meeting, Louie stayed at the Ritsons’ to help. She sang Betty to sleep in the cot upstairs and talked with Bel and Liza about babies and childrearing. With the easing of her nausea, Louie was beginning to revel in the anticipation of her baby. Mrs Parkin and Fanny had sta
rted knitting already, and Mrs Ritson was constantly telling her she must eat for two.

  Mary, unimpressed by the maternal chatter, bolted down her tea and rushed off to a Bible class meeting she was leading at the Presbyterian church. It was late by the time the men returned, and Louie was dozing by the kitchen fire.

  All at once the room was buzzing with conversation as the discussion from the public meeting was resumed in the Ritsons’ home. Louie gazed in awe at the visiting Welsh miner with his intense look and his powerful singsong voice.

  ‘You must prepare for the emergencies of war, Samuel,’ he urged his host as they tucked into the food the women served them. ‘We’re flying into one of the biggest industrial crises we’ve ever known. And the miners are going to be in the cockpit, Samuel. The struggle will succeed or fail by how we lead.’

  ‘He’s right, Father.’ Sam nodded his head vigorously. Louie could see he was as inspired by this man as Mary was by her seasoned missionary, Miss Kennedy. ‘We must take the lead in this battle; no one else can do our fighting for us.’

  ‘Well spoken, Sam,’ Arthur Cook said with approval.

  ‘But you make it sound like a political battle,’ Samuel Ritson pointed out uneasily. ‘To us, this is about wages and hours. Like you said at the meeting; not a minute on the day, not a penny off the pay.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Samuel.’ Cook raised a finger to make his point. ‘You see, it’s not just a matter of your local bosses trying to cut your wages. It’s the conspiracy by the whole establishment to deny us freedom. The government commission into the coal industry has as good as said wages must be cut to save costs. They’re in this together - the coal owners and the Government. And they’ll use all the power of the capitalist state to keep themselves in power - the police, the law, the army if necessary.’