THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

Still the boy did not answer and Kate wondered if he had gone off on one of his rambles, forgetting the time. He could disappear for hours, stalking the unkempt embankment for birds’ eggs and berries, or pestering the nearby farmer to let him help shoot the rooks.

  She turned to look back towards the railway cottages. In an instant, somebody jumped out of the long grass and grabbed her from behind, clamping a dirty hand over her face.

  Kate gave a muffled scream and tried to wriggle from his hold.

  ‘You’re captured!’ Jack cried in triumph, tightening his wiry grip.

  ‘Jack man, leave go. You’re hurting me!’

  Abruptly he let go and pushed her away.

  ‘You little beggar!’ Kate gasped. ‘I nearly died of fright.’

  ‘I’ll make a canny scout, won’t I?’ he crowed.

  Kate smoothed down her clothes as she eyed him. He had unexpected strength in his slim gawky body. He gave her one of his resentful looks from under puckered dark brows.

  ‘What’s wrong, kiddar?’

  He hunched his shoulders and began to walk away from her.

  ‘Tell us, Jack,’ Kate said, catching up.

  ‘What you have to gan away for?’ he accused.

  ‘To help Aunt Lizzie, of course.’ They carried on walking. ‘It’ll not be for long, maybes a month.’ She swung an arm round him but he shook her off.

  ‘You’ll not come back,’ he said.

  ‘Course I will.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘No you won’t. You want to gan away -just like Sarah. Everyone wants to gan. You’re leaving ‘cos of me; Da said so. You’re not to play in the woods with me no more.’

  Kate took hold of him. If only she could tell him that it was John she couldn’t wait to get away from. She was running from his critical words, his smothering strictness and now that lustful look in his eye, the memory of his predatory hands. From these she had to escape and she suspected that was why her mother was so keen for her to be gone too.

  ‘Not because of you! You’re me little soldier and I’ll miss you, honest I will. But it’ll not be for ever, I promise. Bet I’ll be back by the time you finish school for the summer. We’ll gan picking wild raspberries together, eh?’

  But he just looked at her as if he did not believe in her promise. Then he turned away and ran home without her.

  Mary’s reaction was much more vocal. She tossed on the flock mattress they shared and dug sharp feet into Kate’s back.

  ‘It’s not fair! Why can’t I go? You’ve already got work in Shields. Why should you get to go?’

  ‘Cos Mam said,’ Kate sighed. ‘Any road, you’d hate being stuck in their tiny cottage, washing dirty gardener’s clothes -and you don’t even like George and Alfred.’

  ‘Only cos they put a worm down me back and blow their noses on their sleeves.’

  ‘See, you’d not be there five minutes before you’d be crying to come home.’

  ‘No I wouldn’t!’ Mary wriggled and poked her sister.

  Kate shifted in irritation. ‘Leave off and get some sleep. I’ve got to be up early, even if you don’t.’

  But Mary wouldn’t be quiet. ‘Why should I be the one stuck out here in this mucky little hovel at Mam’s beck and call all day long? It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Cos she needs your help. She can’t be doing all the fetching and carrying with her bad chest and swollen legs. And there’s Jack to give a hand.’

  ‘Jack,’ Mary gave a petulant snort, ‘he’s never here. Might as well build himself a house in those trees and go and live there.’

  ‘Well, at least you get along with Father more than the rest of us. You know how to get round him when you want. You have an easy life of it here, if you ask me.’

  ‘I’m not asking. I hate it here, I never wanted to come. I wish we were still in the town.’

  ‘What? Choking to death next to the chemical works? If Mam hadn’t moved us up here where the air’s fresher, our Jack would be dead by now.’

  ‘Aye, it’s always Jack, Jack. Mam only cares for him - and you - Mam’s little pet. No one thinks about what I want. The only one who looks out for me is Aunt Maggie. I wish she were my mam.’

  Kate kept silent at the provocation, for maybe there was some truth in it. There had been hard times after their father died when Maggie had taken in baby Mary and brought her up as her own. She still remembered the day when the resentful young Mary was brought back to live with them, kicking and wailing and destroying the family harmony. Only John had any patience with her; for her sisters it meant less food on their plates and less room in the bed. She wondered if Mary would ever be happy. It was just in her nature to hanker after what she couldn’t have, or want to be somewhere other than where she was.

  Kate rolled to the edge of the mattress, thinking how good it would be to get away to Aunt Lizzie’s. She sank into an exhausted sleep long before Mary’s unhappy mutterings ceased.

  But when the day of departure came, Kate was suddenly tearful at leaving her family behind. She had given notice in Shields, the note to Lizzie had been sent and a small wicker basket of possessions packed. Jack was going to help her carry it down to the railway station in Shields before going on to school and Mary was coming for the outing.

  John was sitting slurping tea at the table, dressed for work. He had avoided her all week, hardly giving her a glance, and Kate wondered what he recalled of the previous Saturday. Something about his awkwardness towards her suggested that he was eager to be rid of her; she was a thorn under his skin.

  ‘Kate’s off then, John,’ Rose said stiffly.

  He looked up and nodded. ‘You behave yourself and work hard. Don’t do owt to bring shame to your mother or me, do you hear?’

  ‘No, Father, course not.’ Kate hesitated. A week ago she would have dashed forward and planted a kiss on his hollowed cheeky but now she was wary. ‘Ta-ra then.’

  She clattered out of the cottage with Rose following into the dewy morning light. Her mother pressed a parcel of jam sandwiches wrapped in brown paper into her hands. ‘Take care of yoursel’, hinny.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Kate flung her arms around her mother’s neck, squashing the bundle of food. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Aye, don’t fuss.’ Rose pushed her away gently. ‘Tell Lizzie I’m askin’ after her and let us know when you’re settled.’

  Her words sounded final, as if she did not expect a swift return. Rose’s wistful look and the way she fondly adjusted her daughter’s straw hat was too much for Kate. The tears that were stinging her eyes flooded down her pale cheeks.

  ‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to!’

  Mary huffed down the path. ‘Well, I’ll go then.’

  Rose thrust a rag of pocket handkerchief at Kate. ‘Course you’ll go. Wipe your eyes and let’s hear no more wailin’. Now be off with you or Jack’ll be late for his lessons.’

  Kate blew her nose and tried to quell the sobbing she felt welling up inside. She did not attempt to kiss her mother again.

  ‘I’ll write. Mary can read it to you.’

  Rose nodded and waved her away. Kate gave one last look at the cottage as they turned into the lane. Rose was still standing in the doorway, her face in shadow. The brooding cooing of hens broke the early morning quiet and the smell of damp earth and wet grass was strong. She waved and just as she turned away she caught sight of John’s tall figure come to the door to watch.

  ‘Tak’ care, lass,’ he called.

  Kate felt a sudden pang that she hadn’t said a proper goodbye. Her feelings for him were so mixed at that moment. She remembered how it felt as a small girl to be desperate for his attention. There was a time when he had laughed easily, teased them and taken them to the circus. How had that man turned into one with such a ferocious temper and a ragin
g anger against the world? But part of her would always be frightened of him. Like a simmering pot that might boil over, he could never quite be trusted. She waved back and linked arms with Mary and Jack.

  They said little to each other as they walked down to Tyne Dock, though Mary made comments about people as they passed and her mood lightened the nearer they grew to the streets, with their bustle of traders and workers. She was happy to hang around for the train and spin out her jaunt to the station, but Jack was edgy and eager to be gone. He hovered impatiently while Kate bought her ticket to Lamesley.

  Then he dumped down Kate’s basket. ‘I’ll be late for school if I wait any longer.’

  Kate knew that he wouldn’t, but didn’t argue. It would only embarrass him if she hung on to his arm and begged him to stay.

  ‘Ta-ra, kiddar.’ She smiled and ruffled his hair. ‘Promise I’ll be back soon.’

  He hesitated a moment, his dark blue eyes unsure, then nodded and turned on his heels. Her half-brother sprinted away without a backward glance and disappeared into the smoky street.

  ‘Pity they don’t teach him to speak at school,’ Mary said drily.

  Kate sighed. ‘It’s just me and you then. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.’

  Mary snorted. ‘You’re not getting rid of me so quickly. I’ll say the train was late and have a bit look round the shops before I go back up that muddy lane.’

  Kate could not help laughing. She swung an arm round her contrary sister.

  ‘Eeh, Mary. I think I’ll miss you too!’

  Mary snorted. ‘No you won’t. Anyways, I’ll not miss you. I’ll have a whole bed to myself and maybes Mam might notice I’m there with you gone.’

  Kate gave an impatient sigh, but knew there was no point arguing. Mary thought she was hard done by, and once she had a notion about something there was nothing anyone could say that would change her way of thinking.

  The train pulled in with a squeal of wheels and sigh of steam. Kate picked up her basket and gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek.

  ‘Take care of Mam - and our Jack.’

  Mary pursed her lips, but nodded. Kate thought she would say nothing, so she turned and clambered into the nearest carriage.

  As she turned to get a glimpse out of the window, Mary called out, ‘Write and tell us what it’s like - what the gentry are wearing. Bring me some’at back, won’t you? Don’t forget.’

  Kate nodded and waved. She had no idea what she was supposed to bring back, but she would try to find something to please her sister. A moment later the train was jolting into movement and pulling away from the station. Kate peered through the blast of smoke for a final glimpse of Mary. Her heart hammered in sudden panic at what she was doing, leaving the familiar surroundings of Jarrow and South Shields for an unknown life in the countryside. At that moment she wanted to hang on to her sister and not let her go. She waved frantically, but someone had shut the window to keep out the smoke and the moment to shout a farewell was gone.

  Kate squeezed into a seat in the middle of the carriage but craned for a view out of the grimy window. It all passed so quickly and the smoke was still thick around them, but she thought she recognised the stretch of embankment at Cleveland Place. She wondered if her mother paused in hanging out her washing to come to the back fence and watch the train go by.

  When the rows of blackened terraces and spires of Jarrow gave way to the sprawling village of Hebburn and its docks, Kate thought of Sarah. There had been no time to see her older sister to explain what she was doing. Mam had said she would tell her on her next visit. Kate determined she would write a letter when she was settled.

  Then all the familiar landmarks were past and the train hurried on into the towering tenements of Gateshead, where she had to change for her train south to Lamesley. By the time she was boarding the second train her nervousness was changing into excitement at her new adventure. She gazed out of the window as the train took her out of the teaming metropolis of Gateshead, heading south, and abruptly plunged her into a world of ripening com fields and undulating hills.

  ***

  That day at the docks, men knew by the brooding look on old McMullen’s pasty face not to speak to him or get in his way. When the dark moods took a hold of him it was best to let him work in silence. Some said he’d been like that since his army days in Afghanistan, about which he refused to talk. Others murmured he must be suffering from too long a night in the Twenty-Seven. Many wondered if there had been trouble at home, but it was pointless to ask. John McMullen was too proud to admit there was anything wrong, and what went on in a man’s home was his own business.

  Mary hummed to herself as she dawdled along the street, watching the shopkeepers winding out their faded canopies against the July glare. She peered into shop windows, yearning to touch the soft fabrics in the draper’s, smell the soaps in the chemist’s and listen to the soft rustling of tissue paper in the haberdashery. She would be a collector of beautiful things to guard against the drabness of the world. Aunt Maggie’s love of books had shown her that there could be gentility in Jarrow, even among the dirt and poverty that were ever present like inferior neighbours.

  Mary smiled as she suddenly remembered that Kate had not taken her winter jacket with the blue velvet collar that she had coveted for three winters. Kate had said she’d be back long before it grew cold enough to wear. Mary would have it. It suited her better and she would wear it whatever the weather. Kate wouldn’t mind, and besides, she, Mary, deserved something in compensation for being the one left behind to slave for the family.

  On the point of turning for home, Mary caught sight of a stall selling second-hand books and periodicals. She hesitated. There was money in her purse to buy suet, but she had a sudden desire to treat her favourite aunt to one of the battered novels. She would call on Aunt Maggie before facing her mother. Maggie would give her a bacon knuckle or some split peas to make a soup that would compensate for the lack of suet. Rose would scold her but she did not care. Mary had learnt how to close her ears to shouting and threats until they subsided. Her mother was too crippled to run after her with a rolling pin, and nagging Kate was gone. She would do as she pleased. Mary went inside and bought a book.

  ***

  Left behind, Rose stabbed at the flapping shirts on the washing line with thick wooden pegs. Her arms ached from the savage pounding of washing in the poss tub that morning, but her face to her neighbours was expressionless. Only the redness of her eyelids betrayed the tears she had shed in the privacy of the wash house.

  Along the embankment, Jack threw stones on to the empty track, his face disconsolate in the silvery glare of a hazy sky.

  The scream of the train’s whistle still echoed in his ears like a tune that lingered in his head and would not be quiet. He would be late for school or maybe he would not go that day at all. He would be strapped, but he did not care. He would grit his teeth and not flinch. Jack could bear physical pain, would welcome it. Anything would be better than the strange aching in his chest that felt like suffocation. His eyes felt itchy as if he would cry, but only bairns and girls cried.

  He retreated to the oak tree and climbed into its comforting arms. Jack scraped at the lovers’ etched initials with his dangling boot.

  ‘Williamena Ferret-Face loves Richard Mudpie,’ he muttered.

  Then suddenly, bewilderingly, the leaden lump in his chest heaved and tears flooded his eyes. Jack gave out a sharp yelp. He curled into the tree, buried his face in his arms and wept.

  Chapter 4

  Alexander felt a familiar boyish rush of excitement as the horse and trap turned under the castellated gateway and waited for the lodge keeper to emerge. Impatient, he leapt down from the passenger’s seat.

  ‘I’ll walk up to the castle,’ he smiled at the coachman who had brought him from the station. He paid him his far
e, waved away the change the man tried to give him and lifted down his leather case.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Bates!’ he called to the stooped retired gardener, whose sole responsibility now was to open and close the high wrought-iron gates at this seldom-used entrance to Ravensworth. Most of the many visitors who came and went from the bustling estate did so by the broad entrance and sweeping driveway to the north. The south lodge was almost obscured by foliage and the narrow turf drive was roofed by massive oaks and elms, creating a green mossy tunnel. But it reminded Alexander of childhood visits and on the spur of the moment he had got the coachman to stop.

  ‘Mr Pringle-Davies?’ The old man grinned with pleasure. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Grand day, Mr Bates. You look fighting fit as ever.’

  The keeper chuckled as he moved slowly to unlock the rusting gate.

  ‘Aye, grand day. Are you here for long, sir?’

  ‘A few days of business and a few more of pleasure, I should think,’ Alexander answered with a swift smile, clasping the man on the shoulder as he stepped through the gate. ‘Is Lady Ravensworth at home?’

  ‘Don’t rightly know,’ he wheezed. ‘I’ll ask the missus, she knows it all. If the cat sneezes in the castle kitchens she’s the first to hear it. Mrs Bates!’

  A tiny woman with an old-fashioned cap on her head and an even more bent posture than her husband came bowling out of the stone cottage. She looked up sideways and cried in delight at the sight of the tall young man.

  ‘Master Alexander! Come here and let me look at you. By, you’re as tall as a tree - and still your mother’s fair face, so you have. Such a bonny face!’

  Alexander blushed and laughed aloud. ‘You knew her better than me. I bow to your superior knowledge.’

  ‘Listen to you,’ she crowed, ‘words coming off your tongue like a proper gentleman. I don’t care what they say about you being a common Pringle, your mam was a Liddell as much as His Lordship’s a Liddell - and she was a real lady. I used to fill her bath for her and I can tell you—’