Durham Trilogy 01. The Hungry Hills

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I’m going to live with Louie,’ Sadie looked up from where she was squatting on the hearth with a book, ‘and I’m going to look after the baby when it comes, aren’t I, Louie?’

  The women turned to the dark girl in surprise. Sadie was almost eleven yet still small for her age. They kept forgetting how she was growing up too, always sensitive to the emotions around her.

  ‘If you want.’ Louie smiled back at her. Sadie nodded vigorously and Louie looked questioningly at her mother. Fanny shrugged, smiling wearily, and with no further ceremony, the young girl became Louie’s permanent lodger at Gladstone Terrace.

  The supercilious grey-haired butler ordered Iris round to the tradesmen’s entrance and kept her waiting for over half an hour. Mrs Dennison, the cook, took pity on Raymond, with his cheeky smile, and gave him milk and a homemade biscuit fresh from the oven. Iris was showing him off to the kitchen staff and prompting him through dog and cat noises when the butler returned.

  ‘Mrs Seward-Scott will see you now in the drawing room,’ he intoned, stony-faced. Iris smiled with satisfaction at the manservant and followed him, winking at the cook as she went.

  She had expected to be impressed by her surroundings, and her amazement soared as she glimpsed the magnificence of the rooms they passed. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors, setting off a faint tinkling in the heavily drooping chandeliers overhead. Gilt-framed portraits of men in uniforms and hunting red and women in sumptuous gowns covered the vast walls. There was a general air of quiet industry as maids went about their work. Apart from an army of staff, the house appeared to be deserted.

  Iris was shown into a room with massive arched windows and a large recessed marble fireplace. It was light and spacious, although full of furniture and precious ornaments. Chairs, both dainty and upright, deep and cushioned, peppered the room. Glass-fronted cabinets arranged with china vases, elaborate clocks and ornately framed mirrors lined the walls, and beautiful carved and inlaid tables were carelessly strewn with books and magazines. This was more spectacular than any film set, Iris thought in wonder. She had never imagined such wealth existed and yet here it was, on her doorstep. It set off a yearning in her stomach that was more potent than desire for a man. Raymond waddled off in delight at the space before him and Iris had to dash to restrain his enquiring fingers.

  The door opened behind her. ‘Iris.’ Eleanor smiled warmly at the girl. ‘You don’t mind me calling you by your Christian name, do you?’ Iris shook her head.

  ‘Please sit down.’ With a slim arm, chinking with outlandish wooden bangles, Eleanor indicated a chair. ‘I’m so very sorry about Davie.’

  Iris gulped and placed herself gingerly on the edge of a low chair with clawed feet, its seat covered in coral and white striped brocade. She felt shabby in her brown and cream outfit, opposite this sophisticated woman in her short skirt and pale-green silk blouse the colour of ducks’ eggs. She plonked Raymond on her knee, acutely aware of his tatty appearance, his blue jumper unravelling at the sleeve. It had been a deliberate ploy to leave him dressed as he was, to provoke sympathy from the lady of the big house, but now she wished she had at least cleaned the grime of the hearth from his hands and face. Raymond soon wriggled off her in annoyance.

  ‘Let him go,’ Eleanor said easily. ‘He wants to explore.’

  They sized each other up for a moment, then Eleanor went on, ‘You’ll take coffee with me? I’m having some sent along. Or would you prefer tea?’

  ‘Coffee would be grand,’ Iris assured her hostess quickly. She had no taste for it, but she loved the rich smell. Besides, she was sick of endless cups of strong, sweet tea, served as the Kirkups liked it.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Iris began diffidently, ‘Mrs Kirkup said you might be able to pay Davie’s fine for him. You’ll have guessed that’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor nodded, ‘I’d be happy to pay his fine - and Eb’s too. I intend visiting them this afternoon to offer such payment.’ Iris’s eyes widened in astonishment that this grand lady would condescend to visit them in gaol.

  ‘That’s very good of you, ma’am,’ she said. ‘But won’t it be a bit difficult for you -I mean, your husband being the boss, like?’

  Eleanor laughed at her perplexed look and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘I do what I like with my money and I go where I please. He doesn’t keep me in chains, Iris, like some medieval lord. It’s never been like that between us.’

  Iris grinned, delighted by the woman’s frankness. ‘Wish it was like that where I come from - pitmen don’t allow their lasses any freedom,’ she complained, rolling her eyes heavenwards. ‘Not that I’ve got any money to throw about, even if they did.’

  ‘Are things very difficult at the moment?’ Eleanor was suddenly full of concern.

  ‘We’re getting by,’ Iris said with a sigh, ‘just.’ She twisted a glove in her hands to give a more pathetic effect; she was beginning to enjoy her role as supplicant.

  ‘I’ll give you some money before you leave,’ Eleanor reassured her.

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ Iris protested, ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘I insist,’ Eleanor interrupted. ‘We don’t want young Raymond here getting sick, now do we?’ She beckoned at the baby to come to her. To Iris’s relief, Raymond put up his arms and allowed himself to be helped on to Eleanor’s bony silk-stockinged knees, grabbing her pearl necklace with interest. She could not have primed him better herself. Eleanor seemed to enjoy herself for a few minutes, extracting giggles of appreciation from Raymond at the faces she pulled. Iris found herself warming to the coalowner’s wife in a way she had not expected.

  ‘Thanks ever so much for your kindness.’ Iris smiled coyly at her benefactress and settled back into her chair in sweet anticipation of coffee served in a thin china cup.

  Hearing the thick iron door clang behind her, Eleanor was transported back to her brief grim detention in Newcastle’s gaol, after her arrest in 1913. It seemed a lifetime ago. Was she really still the same person as that quick-tempered, intense young woman who had felt no qualms at demonstrating against the male politicians who stood in the way of her enfranchisement? With supreme youthful confidence in her cause, she had submitted to arrest and imprisonment and four days of force-feeding, carried through the fear and pain and humiliation by the conviction that the suffragists would win. She would have served out her month’s detention had the authorities not learned of her wealthy connections. Thomas Seward-Scott’s daughter had been released after six days and the young, impulsive Eleanor had always been certain of their victory. As she stepped timidly after the prison governor, whose cooperation she had enlisted, she wondered at what stage in her life her courage had ebbed away.

  She was shown into a narrow, spartan cell with a table and two wooden chairs. Eleanor shivered in the cold gloominess of the room, edging herself into a seat.

  ‘You must keep the interview brief, madam,’ the official told her, and withdrew.

  Moments later, Eb was led into the cell and told to sit down. A warder stood on guard at the closed door, an unwanted third presence. They eyed each other wordlessly across the table. Eleanor was taken aback by Eb’s shaven head and unshaven appearance and the rough prison clothes that denied individuality. His demeanour was, however, strangely cheerful.

  ‘How are you?’ Eleanor began a stilted exchange.

  ‘Champion.’ Eb smiled in his bashful way.

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘All champion.’ Eb scratched his head, betraying his nervousness at her presence.

  ‘I’ve promised your family that I’d pay your fine - yours and Davie’s,’ Eleanor told him. ‘Davie will be freed tomorrow, but they tell me you won’t accept.’ She fixed him with an impatient look. ‘Why is that?’

  Eb locked his calloused fingers together on the table between them.

  ‘I’m not a fighter, El— Mrs Seward-Scott,’ he corrected quickly with a glance at the warder. ‘But this is a just cause the pit folk are fighti
ng. That incident on the picket line set me thinking.’ He dropped his voice to a low rumble. ‘I’ve been standing on the sidelines pretending the strike has nothing to do with me. After all, I said to myself, I haven’t worked at the pit full time for nigh on two years. And I hated it any road. Perhaps it would be better if they closed them all down and the lads of the future like Raymond and Jack wouldn’t have to do such dangerous work.’

  Eleanor watched his face, struck by the brightness in his vivid blue eyes as he spoke his thoughts carefully. ‘But men like Sam showed me that was the coward’s way out.’ He brought his gaze back to hers. ‘No matter how dirty or dangerous, it’s the only chance of work the majority in Whitton Grange have. It gives a man pride in himself to be able to graft hard, bring bread to the table, bring his family up right.’ He paused to gauge her reaction. When Eleanor did not reply, he continued more aggressively. ‘But the past weeks have taught me that the bosses hand us nothing on a plate - not even a living wage for a hard day’s graft. So we have to fight for our jobs and our wages, it’s as simple as that.’ He sat back in his chair and added reflectively, ‘Remember what they told us at the end of the War - a land fit for heroes? Well, it was pie in the bloody sky.’ His soft voice had become hard-edged.

  ‘So why do you have to remain in prison to be a hero?’ Eleanor demanded, short on patience.

  ‘One less mouth to feed at home, isn’t it?’ Eb joked.

  Eleanor stood up with an exasperated sigh. ‘Perhaps there are people at home who need you.’ She looked pleadingly as she stressed her words. This time Eb smiled wistfully.

  ‘A month will pass over quickly enough,’ he replied.

  ‘Not for some.’ She said everything in her longing look.

  Eb stood up too. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt anyone.’ For a moment he looked at her consideringly, then decided to speak his thoughts. ‘There are others you could be helping.’

  ‘Who?’ Eleanor took a deep breath and tried to think ahead.

  ‘Louie’s soup kitchen badly needs funds,’ Eb suggested. ‘The lock-out could go on all summer. There are dozens of families already hard up, without enough to eat. It’s only going to get worse. Talk to our Louie about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor brightened at the thought of being occupied and having some slim contact with Eb through his sister, ‘I’ll do that.’

  She turned to the warder and indicated she was ready to leave. She did not want to prolong their parting, or betray the aching emptiness she felt at leaving him behind.

  ‘Goodbye then, Ebenezer,’ she said stiffly and held out her hand.

  ‘Goodbye, Mrs Seward-Scott,’ he replied and briefly took hold of her gloved hand, pressing it encouragingly. Turning, she felt his blue-eyed gaze follow her movements to the door.

  Eleanor kept walking, her mind desperately fixing on the future and not on the man she loved, who chose to remain in this dark, depressing place. Once outside she felt oddly exhilarated to see the fresh green on the trees opposite the prison gates and hear the slow bells of the Cathedral across the river, beckoning the faithful to prayer.

  Eb’s words stayed with her; he had given her something worthwhile to do. With a touch of the vigour of the young suffragette Eleanor, she stepped purposefully towards her car. Eleanor Seward-Scott was no longer going to stand on the sidelines either, she vowed to herself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the middle of June, Margaret Slattery’s feckless husband, Joseph Gallon, disappeared from the village. With the spectre of the workhouse hovering at her shoulder, Margaret threw herself on the mercy of the Board of Guardians. They gave her twelve shillings a week on which she and baby Joe had to exist. No longer able to afford the rent on their cottage, Margaret moved in with her sister Minnie in Gladstone Terrace. Minnie dismissed from her mind what would happen once Bomber was released from gaol at the end of July.

  ‘He was a bad’n any road, your Joseph,’ Minnie declared, propped up against Louie’s front doorpost. They were watching the children playing in the street, twittering like starlings in the evening sun. Sadie and her friend May had taken Minnie’s baby Jack for a push in his pram; his cousin Joe was crawling in the dust in pursuit of a battered metal top. ‘I always told you, Margaret - that lad was as useless as a bucket full of dross.’

  ‘He never was a bad’n when I married him,’ Margaret insisted, tossing wiry black hair out of her eyes. ‘He just couldn’t see an end to the strike and us getting back to normal. He’ll be back to fetch us once he’s found work.’

  Minnie snorted in disbelief. ‘Work? That lad of yours doesn’t know the meaning of work - they’re all the same those Gallons - bunch of villains. And to think you chucked in a canny job at the doctor’s, all for his sake. What thanks has he ever shown you? None - he just runs off and leaves you in the lurch.’

  ‘Well, where’s your husband when you need him?’ Margaret bristled defensively. ‘Durham gaol, isn’t he? So don’t go saying the Bells are any better than the Gallons. They’re stuck up, but no better.’

  ‘Haway,’ Louie interrupted before the argument grew more heated, ‘it’s not worth falling out about. What’s happened has happened and none of us can change anything. We just have to get along as best we can.’ She sighed heavily.

  Minnie looked sharply at her friend, resting on a kitchen chair in the doorway. Her face was tired and drawn, the girlish plumpness gone from her cheeks and jaw. Louie’s bobbed fair hair was lank about her ears and her cotton dress, let out at the waist, was frayed and grubby around the collar and cuffs. Minnie suspected that, with Sam away, Louie was scrimping still further. There was no fire on in her kitchen range, no washing hanging out to air this Monday and no hot meal to return to after working all day at the relief centre.

  ‘You’re working too hard,’ Minnie told her. ‘It’s time you had a day off.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Louie answered fretfully. ‘Don’t fuss.’

  ‘No, Minnie’s right.’ Margaret quickly dropped the quarrel with her sister. ‘You put your feet up tomorrow; we can manage at the chapel without you for a couple of days.’

  ‘But I’m needed,’ Louie objected half-heartedly, feeling the fatigue holding her down in her chair like a vice.

  ‘Your first concern is to your baby,’ Minnie reminded her. ‘It’s going to be born serving soup if you don’t rest when you can.’

  ‘Aye,’ Margaret smiled, ‘there are plenty others who can help. You’ve done enough these past weeks.’

  To their surprise, their friend did not protest further. When Sadie and May returned, the sisters plonked Joe into the pram beside a sleeping Jack and wandered off down the street, chatting to neighbours as they made for home. Louie, reluctant to go inside, sat on in the tranquil evening while Sadie contented herself with reading a library book on the step.

  It was almost a relief for Louie to be told what to do. Since Sam had been imprisoned she had spent every waking hour working at the centre, cooking and serving, or else begging vegetables from around the houses to help towards the free meals. It helped her to blank out her fearful thoughts of the future and the loneliness she felt without Sam. He had been in Durham gaol for nearly a month now and she had been glad of Sadie’s company around the place.

  Looking at the dark head of curls bent studiously over her book, Louie smiled to herself. Her young cousin was a sensitive and affectionate companion, growing in confidence and ‘bright as a button’, as her mother said. Miss Joice had persuaded Jacob and Fanny to allow Sadie to sit the scholarship for the grammar school in Durham. But even if she passed, it was an unattainable prize for Sadie; they could never afford to send her there now that the family had hardly enough to live on. When Hilda had been denied the chance of secondary schooling, Louie had been in agreement. After all, what was the use of all that learning to a pitman’s wife? She had thought Hilda strange for wanting to cram her head full of knowledge about foreign countries and long-winded books. But now Louie was not so sure
. Perhaps an education for a lass was a good thing. The more she got to know Eleanor Seward-Scott, the more she grudgingly admired the woman, and she was certainly a lady with an education.

  Sadie was bright and inquisitive in the way Hilda had been at her age, and Louie felt proud that she had had a large part in nurturing her orphaned cousin. It filled her with sadness that Sadie might have to go into service too. What future was there in Whitton Grange for a young girl? Marry a pitman and face a life of poverty, or be sent far away to skivvy for some rich strangers in the south of England; that was the drab choice. Louie was coming round to the opinion that an education might lift a lass out of such a restricted future.

  Louie sighed and mentally scolded herself for such depressing thoughts. Was she not happy enough being married to Sam? It was just the strain of their separation and getting into debt that was colouring her life grey. Somehow they would all get through these bad times; there would be happiness and contentment again, she convinced herself.

  The noisy chug of a motor car disturbed her brooding, as a neat green vehicle hove into view round the corner, sending up smoke signals of dust to announce its arrival. As it bounced over the uneven ground Louie recognised it immediately as Eleanor’s. Drawn to its shiny grandeur, the children still out playing gathered about the car in excitement, bold fingers reaching out to touch its polished flanks as it parked outside Louie’s door.

  Louie pulled herself to her feet, proud that such a fuss was going on outside her house and knowing how the neighbours looked on in curiosity. Since the lady at The Grange had shown herself their friend and been active in raising money for the relief of the villagers, suspicion towards Eleanor had ebbed. In open defiance of her husband, she had organised a bazaar at St Cuthbert’s to raise funds to feed the children, and Louie knew she had renewed contact with her more radical acquaintances from her suffragette days, to press them to make donations to ease the growing hardship in the valley.