Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  By late morning, the numbers on the Durham Road had swelled to several hundred. But the road was empty of traffic and the picketers were beginning to get restless. Sam felt a growing unease at the situation. They had certainly had a good response to their call for help, but there were faces present that he had never seen before, men who claimed they had travelled from Durham and as far away as Gateshead to stop the convoy. Sam wondered how they had heard and responded so quickly. Still, he had no time to question their enthusiasm, as rumour spread that extra police were being drafted in from Durham to cope with the numbers on the road to the pit.

  At midday, four vanloads of police motored in from Durham and nosed their way through the phalanx of vocal miners. There were jeers and jostling around the vehicles but the men fell back to let them through, with little more than a shake of their fists.

  Shortly afterwards, Johnny Pearson pushed his way through to Sam at the head of the picket and took hold of his arm urgently.

  ‘Two wagons have been spotted coming in the back road,’ he shouted over the noise of the crowd. Sam was stunned; it had not occurred to him that they might attempt to slip into the village down the steep and narrow back road from the neighbouring valley, past St Cuthbert’s and the old churchyard. He had assumed a large convoy would travel along the main route from Durham. Inwardly he cursed himself for being so easily fooled.

  ‘You stay here with a couple of dozen men,’ Sam ordered John Kirkup. ‘I’ll take the rest back to the pit and reinforce the picket on the gates. We may be too late to stop them reaching the village.’

  Shouting commands as he went, Sam led his men back into Whitton Grange like a swarm of ants on the march, spilling into the tightly packed lanes that led uphill to the pit.

  Louie, Minnie and Margaret stood clutching their banner, pressed close to the pit yard wall. At first they had enjoyed the banter with fellow picketers, basking in the pleasant sunshine and throwing ribald comments at the policemen on duty at the gates.

  ‘That Alfred Turnbull’s a nice-looking lad.’ Minnie nudged her friend playfully.

  ‘You shouldn’t be thinking of lads now you’re a married woman,’ Louie reproved, but could not help a smile.

  ‘Just looking,’ Minnie pouted, then shouted across to the young constable.

  ‘You’re making him blush, the poor lad,’ her sister Margaret laughed.

  ‘Don’t encourage her,’ Louie said, seeing Minnie’s glee at provoking a response.

  Then, inexplicably, the atmosphere around them changed and the press of bodies became uncomfortable. The shouts of the pickets grew hostile and the mood menacing.

  ‘They’re drafting in more police,’ someone beside them said angrily. ‘Strangers from outside.’

  The crowds pushed back to let the police vans through to the pits, and the reinforcements set up a cordon of truncheon-bearing men to keep the picketers at bay. People began to sway around them, as the mass of bodies took on a momentum of its own.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Margaret said anxiously to her sister. Louie caught her infectious rising panic.

  ‘I feel a bit faint,’ she muttered to Minnie and grasped her arm. Her friend looked at her in concern.

  ‘We’ll get you back home,’ she reassured Louie. ‘Here, Margaret, you take the banner and I’ll see to Louie.’ She slipped a supporting arm around Louie’s back and coaxed her forward. But they soon found their way blocked by a surge of people running up Gladstone Terrace and the parallel streets.

  The sound of boots on the rough cobbles thudded in Louie’s ears like bass drums and the throng of men before her lurched unsteadily like crazy puppets. Minnie pushed with all her might to force a way for them through the crowd, but they were fighting against a determined tide of picketers. Just when Louie felt she could stand the heat and the pressure of jostling bodies no more, Minnie gained a foothold in a neighbour’s doorway, felt for the handle, which thankfully gave way, and bustled Louie inside. Her friend flopped in a faint and crumpled to the floor.

  ***

  Sam and Bomber heaved their way through the crowd to the front of the picket, the air thick with the noise of abuse from both sides. It was their intention to try and simmer down the most vocal pickets and restore a sense of orderly resistance but before the leaders could gain control of the situation, the impatient hooting of the first lorry was heard down the street. Someone was challenging the driver to produce their permit to prove they were carrying essential supplies. Sam thought he saw a woman’s face behind the wheel, but knew he must be mistaken. The driver did not stop to talk; instead the vehicle leapt forward with a long, strident blast of its horn, and the questioners jumped out of the way.

  The arrogant hooting of the lorry’s horn was like a spark to tinder. There was a roar from the crowd and a surge towards the offending vehicle. Sam shouted vainly for people to keep back until they could discover if the cargo carried was indeed blackleg labour. Incredibly the van kept on coming, revving its engine and tooting loudly at those who tried to block its progress towards the pit gates.

  Suddenly, a man next to Sam, whom he did not recognise, pulled out a broken brick from under his jacket and shouted, ‘Let’s get the scabbing bastards!’ He hurled his weapon at the lorry’s windscreen. It was a good shot and the glass on the passenger’s side shattered. Pandemonium followed.

  The police at the gates took the offensive, charging into the crowd with batons raised, to be replaced by a second wave of constables. A shower of stones buffeted the uniformed men as the two sides met in an angry clash. The waste ground in front of the pit yard was in uproar. Defenceless pickets around Sam were beaten to the ground by the armed police. Disbelieving, he saw the brick-throwing pitman point out Bomber to the police. A moment later, Bomber, capless and fists flying, was felled by two policemen who continued to kick him as he lay doubled up in the dust.

  Sam waded in to help his friend. He swung a fist into the jaw of the nearest policeman and heard a muffled crack as it made contact. The man reeled backwards and Bomber rolled out of the way. Seconds later, Sam was knocked sideways by a truncheon blow to his head and a brutal jab in his kidneys. He slumped with the pain, a wave of nausea flooding through him. Someone tripped over him and he passed out.

  Eb and Davie, who had merely joined the crowd out of curiosity, saw Sam being trampled underfoot. They pushed their way through the battling pitmen, Eb taking a crack on his shoulder as he ducked out of the way.

  ‘Grab his legs,’ Eb shouted to his brother, and heaved at Sam’s limp body. They managed to move him from the middle of the riot and Eb put his ear to Sam’s chest, ripping his necktie loose.

  ‘He’s breathing,’ Eb said with relief.

  ‘Good job you were a stretcher-bearer in the war,’ Davie grinned.

  ‘That’s them there!’ someone shouted close by, and in an instant the Kirkup brothers were surrounded by police. One seized Davie by his jacket and two others began to drag Sam away from the wall against which he was propped.

  ‘Leave him be,’ Eb shouted angrily. ‘He needs medical attention.’ They ignored him and continued to haul the two men away, Davie raging obscenities at them in protest. Eb jumped to defend Sam. ‘I said leave him!’ He glared at the constable nearest him, and grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘Arrest him too,’ a burly policeman with a bushy moustache ordered.

  ‘Come on, you Commie bastard!’ the constable jeered at Eb as he wrenched him into an arm-lock. Eb allowed himself to be bustled into a waiting van, determined to keep Sam in sight.

  It was an hour before Minnie judged it safe to poke her head out from her neighbour’s door. She had refused to let Louie stir, shaken by her sweaty pallor and laboured breathing. The lane was deserted, strewn with caps and the debris of bricks and broken glass. The street was ghostly quiet, as if a rampaging storm had blown through and swept all humanity from its path. She stepped out tentatively to search for news of the pickets, urged on by Louie’s fretful questioning about S
am and Bomber. Torn and muddied, Margaret’s banner lay on the ground like discarded washing, its message of resistance trampled into the dust.

  Minnie found her own house empty. At the top of North Street she saw a group of pit folk gathered outside the Methodist chapel. From the first woman, Minnie gathered that the hall was being used to administer first aid to the injured. Pushing her way inside, she spotted Mary Ritson bandaging the hand of a young pitman.

  ‘Have you seen Sam or Bomber?’ she asked her old schoolfriend urgently. Mary looked up, her dark-eyed face pale with shock. But her voice when she spoke was steady.

  ‘Give us a hand will you, Minnie?’ she asked.

  The other girl cried out with impatience. ‘Tell me, Mary man, where are they? Louie needs Sam - she fainted in the crush. Now she’s sick with worry for him.’

  Mary glanced up in concern, but said nothing while she finished methodically tying the ends of the bandage. Then she stood up and put a hand on Minnie’s arm.

  ‘They’ve both been arrested,’ she answered quietly. ‘Sam and Bomber. Eb and Davie Kirkup with them. Dozens of others, so they say.’ Minnie looked at her, stunned, unable to take in what she was saying. ‘I didn’t see them,’ Mary continued in a low voice, ‘but when we got there, it was like a battleground. I’ve never seen the like of it before, Minnie, and I hope I never will again.’

  Minnie looked at Mary properly for the first time, as the dreadful words registered through her shock. Tears were streaming down Mary’s small sallow face. It was the first time she could recall seeing Mary Ritson cry.

  ‘Oh, Mary, Mother of God!’ Minnie whispered fearfully. ‘What am I going to tell Louie?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘She’s quite all right.’ Dr Joice assured Eleanor as he closed the library doors behind him. Inside, Beatrice was lying on the deep sofa, propped up with cushions, a large whisky by her elbow. ‘She’s had a bad shock, but mercifully escaped without injury. It’s just as well Reginald was with her and got the van into the pit yard before they were lynched. What on earth possessed her to attempt such a damn-fool escapade?’

  Eleanor shook her head at the craggy-faced doctor. ‘You know how wilful my sister can be. I blame myself for not stopping her when I saw her leave this morning. I had no idea there was so much trouble brewing in the village,’ she sighed, walking Dr Joice back down the corridor.

  ‘It was out of all proportion,’ he muttered, his tired face creased with concern. ‘They’d rallied pickets from out of the area - and there was a huge police presence too - all for a couple of vanloads of spare parts for the pit. It doesn’t make sense.’

  Eleanor turned to him in surprise. ‘Beatrice told me she was delivering food or medical supplies. Reginald asked her to do it.’

  Dr Joice tutted angrily. ‘If she had been carrying food into the village, she would have been issued with a permit to pass the picket line and none of this would have happened.’

  ‘You mean Reginald lied to my sister and put her life in danger?’ Eleanor demanded furiously.

  ‘That’s something you had better ask him yourself,’ the doctor replied shortly, as they reached the hallway.

  ‘I shall,’ she said with a determined jut of her chin. Dr Joice took his hat and stick from the footman waiting by the entrance. As he made to leave, Eleanor detained him with a question. ‘You said there were arrests and injuries - have you heard who was involved?’

  Dr Joice’s stern face softened a moment at Eleanor’s troubled frown. He knew from Isobel that her friend had a fondness for their gardener Ebenezer, and though he did not strongly disapprove, he saw only unhappiness in such an attraction.

  He lowered his voice. ‘I believe Sam Ritson has been arrested, though as for the others I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Poor Louie,’ Eleanor whispered in distress.

  ‘Quite. Now, my dear, I must hurry to see to my other patients - most of them should have managed to limp home by now,’ the doctor continued more briskly. ‘We used the chapel as a temporary first aid post. If I hear anything more I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled with gratitude, touching his arm briefly. Watching him go down the steps of The Grange, Eleanor marvelled at how his stooping shoulders never failed to carry the increasing burdens of Whitton Grange upon them. The greater the plight of his patients, the more driven he was to help them, she thought with admiration. Then the stupidity of Reginald’s actions came into her mind. She turned back with her indignation rising like sap.

  Reginald was with Beatrice in the library when Eleanor re-entered. His left hand and wrist were bandaged; they had been cut by glass from the broken windscreen. Apart from that he appeared unscathed.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Eleanor asked her sister coolly, ignoring Reginald’s quiet look of triumph.

  ‘Terrible,’ Beatrice answered petulantly. ‘I’ll never get over today. All those awful people - their dirty, shouting faces.’ She shuddered. ‘I never want to go into Whitton Grange again. I don’t know how you can bear to visit those savages, Eleanor - I’ve seen how they behave. They don’t deserve the consideration that Reggie gives them.’

  Eleanor felt her patience snap. ‘You shouldn’t have been there in the first place,’ she was quick to retort. ‘Reggie shouldn’t have put you at such risk. All for the sake of a few bits of machinery which are useless while the strike continues.’ She flashed an angry look at her husband and then added tartly to her sister, ‘And you don’t know the first thing about the people you denigrate with your sweeping generalisations.’

  ‘Beatrice was doing her bit to get this country back on its feet,’ Reginald goaded his wife. ‘It was a brave mission which Bea succeeded in accomplishing.’

  ‘Don’t talk such rot,’ Eleanor replied sharply. ‘Beatrice thought she was carrying essential foods; you tricked her into driving the van, hoping the pickets wouldn’t give her trouble because she was a woman. Isn’t that the truth?’

  ‘What does it matter what I was carrying?’ Beatrice interrupted irritably. ‘They behaved like a pack of dogs out there anyway. They deserve to starve after what they did to us.’

  ‘Beatrice!’ Eleanor was shocked at her callousness.

  ‘Your sister has a point.’ Reginald seized the opportunity to isolate Eleanor. ‘Perhaps Bea is being a bit over-dramatic after the scare she got, but today just demonstrated that we’re up against a bunch of Communist agitators - lawless criminals leading the majority of my colliers astray. But decency and order won the day.’ He stuck his chest out proudly. ‘The troublemakers have been rounded up. It’s happening all over the country. This strike won’t last another week.’

  ‘Good,’ Beatrice answered. ‘It’s all been ghastly. I just want to get back to London and civilisation until Sandy gets some leave.’

  Eleanor could not bear to stay in the room a second longer. ‘You’re both contemptible,’ she declared, and flinging a last indignant look at her husband she marched out of the library. She was shaking with anger at their complete lack of concern for the havoc they had wreaked that morning. Their provocation of the miners would only feed the hatred and bitterness that was growing like weeds, threatening to choke them all.

  Later, she would discuss Reginald’s tactics with her father, who was still out riding and knew nothing of the morning’s events. He at least might see the folly of what had been attempted. She went swiftly to her room and dressed for walking in flat shoes, a primrose-yellow coat and matching hat with a short brim to shade her face. Despite Eb’s warnings that they should not meet at the allotment, she had to find out if he and his family were unharmed. If Sam Ritson was involved, the Kirkups might well have been sucked into the fighting too, Eleanor thought with dread. Ten minutes later, she set out for Whitton Woods.

  At 28 Hawthorn Street they waited for news of their men. Louie lay resting on the pull-out bed in the kitchen. She felt a lot better now; the tightness in her stomach had eased and her pulse beat at a normal pace. Fanny Kirku
p had shown only a moment’s alarm when Minnie had brought her in, almost hysterical with the news that Sam and Bomber and her brothers had been taken by the police. She had put Louie straight to bed with a hot cup of tea from their precious stocks, and had forbidden her to move.

  Minnie confessed it had been her idea for them to join the picket line, and when the Ritsons called to wait with the Kirkups, Liza gave the girl a severe telling-off.

  ‘What were you thinking of?’ stout Mrs Ritson demanded. ‘Dragging her out in that crowd, with her five months gone. Did you want her losing that grandbairn of ours?’

  ‘I said I’m sorry,’ Minnie wailed. ‘It was all right until the extra coppers arrived.’

  ‘Aye,’ Jacob Kirkup agreed. ‘It got out of hand on both sides. I’m ashamed our Eb and Davie got mixed up with the troublemakers.’

  ‘They just went to watch.’ Hilda jumped to their defence. ‘They saw the crowds and were curious. Eb wouldn’t start any fighting.’

  ‘Davie might,’ Iris grimaced, trying to quieten a fractious Raymond with a bottle of sweetened water.

  ‘Anyways,’ Liza Ritson was not prepared to see her wrath deflected from Minnie, ‘you should be home looking after that bairn of yours, so get yourself off.’

  ‘She can stay if she wants,’ Louie piped up from the bed, not afraid to defend her friend against her mother-in-law, ‘until we have news of Bomber at least.’

  ‘Thanks, Louie.’ Minnie smiled and shuffled on to the edge of the bed, throwing a look of satisfaction at Mrs Ritson. Her mother had always said Liza Ritson was a snob, thinking herself above the likes of the Slatterys because her husband had been secretary of the lodge and her cousin was married to a superintendent of police. Well, being more posh than the rest of them did not help at a time like this, Minnie felt like saying as Mrs Ritson pursed her lips together; they were all in the same leaky boat now.

  It was into evening and the kitchen was shadowed from the lack of sunlight by the time news of the arrested picketers came. Fanny had stretched their meal of vegetable soup and rhubarb and custard to feed the Ritsons and Minnie too. Jacob and Samuel were playing a listless game of dominoes in the parlour and Raymond and Sadie had been put to bed when John came running in at the back. The women, sitting in the gloom of the unlit kitchen, looked at him expectantly.