Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Joe envied him his roots in that Italian past. He was the son to be proud of, Joe thought glumly, the one who never gave his father any trouble, who worked hard and had married a pretty Italian girl from a respectable family who gave him healthy children. If Paolo was not so mild natured and easy to like, Joe thought, he would enjoy fighting with him more.

  Eventually, Aunt Elvira and Joe’s mother managed to coax the men apart and, after much embracing and tears and laughter, Uncle Davide was prised out of the parlour and into his large car between Aunt Elvira and an ill-looking Albina, who was still munching biscuits. Benito fished the car key out of his father’s jacket and started up the car. With hooting and waving and calls of farewell, the Sunderland Dimarcos lurched off down the street.

  A tired and emotional Arturo allowed his wife to steer him upstairs to bed, where Granny Maria and the children were soundly asleep, while the rest of the family straightened out the tables and chairs for the following morning when business would resume as usual. Only Rosa seemed to have any energy left and was chattering ten to the dozen.

  ‘I’m going to stay with Domenica in Sunderland in a week or so’s time,’ she told Joe. ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘Aye,’ Joe grunted, feeling stirrings of remorse that he had not been present to wave his sister off to her new life. But Domenica would forgive him, he thought with optimism.

  ‘I saw you disappear with Emilio Fella.’ Sylvia gave her young sister-in-law a sharp look. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Just for a walk,’ Rosa replied, colouring deeply.

  ‘He seemed canny,’ Joe said, coming to his sister’s rescue.

  ‘He is,’ Rosa replied with a grateful smile. ‘And he’s kind and funny and I think a bit homesick. He told me about his village back home - said he liked the mountains better than the big city. Emilio said I reminded him of home,’ Rosa added coyly.

  ‘And he’s good looking?’ Paolo added with a wink. Rosa giggled and did not deny it.

  Joe scrutinised his young sister. He could not remember seeing her so skittish and coy before. She’s in love, he thought in amazement. It came as a revelation. He still thought of her as half a child - they all did. But the Rosa who blushed and gazed dreamily through the darkened window with secret smiles, was no longer a child, Joe realised. Perhaps, he thought wryly, it would not be long before there was another wedding in the family.

  Sara’s plans to escape the following Saturday came to nothing. Her aunt watched her like a hawk and kept her busy in the house, baking and making pastry. She had no way of getting a message to Joe and that evening she sat frustrated, watching her aunt sewing as the array of clocks ticked their way past seven and on into the evening.

  The days passed and she saw nothing of Joe, unable to escape the watchful Cummingses or Mrs Sergeant who was told to report if Joe tried to contact Sara at the shop. Since Raymond had left to work at the pit, Mrs Sergeant had hired another boy, Eric, to do the deliveries and Sara was kept busy in the store and the back-shop. Her narrow existence consisted of shopwork or housework with a once-weekly outing to St Cuthbert’s with Aunt Ida and Marina. She became listless and dejected, and finally gave up attempts to slip out and find Joe. After a hard day’s work, she did not even have the energy to risk starting another diary. What was there to write about anyway? Sara thought bleakly, now that she went nowhere and saw none of her friends. Louie Ritson had called in at the shop to see her on two occasions, but Sara was unable to say much under the watchful eye of her employer. It appeared Joe had accepted his parents’ wishes and was staying away from her and, as for Rosa, she had not seen her around the village for several weeks. ‘How’s Raymond getting on?’ Sara had asked Louie Ritson.

  ‘Canny,’ Louie had said, ‘though I still don’t like the idea of him down the pit.’

  ‘Does he see much of his old friends?’ Sara had asked pointedly, hoping for some coded message about Joe.

  ‘No,’ Louie Ritson had answered carefully, ‘he goes around with a new crowd. But we do.’ Her look was direct. When Dolly Sergeant glanced down at her books, Louie mouthed, ‘And he’s missing you.’

  Sara felt a flicker of hope at Louie’s words and smiled back gratefully, her spirits reviving.

  But towards the end of August, war with Germany looked inevitable. There was a trial blackout which plunged the village into a sinister dark for one night and over the wireless came the fearful news that Germany had signed a non-aggression pact with Russia. Britain’s isolation was increasing and Prime Minister Chamberlain finally bowed to pressure to recall Parliament. As the Fleet was ordered to its war stations, Sara gave an anxious thought for the cheerful sailor, Frank Robson, setting sail for sea. She and Marina stood outside the house and watched a rally on the green, drumming up air-raid protection volunteers and saw Hilda Kirkup fall in with scores of others and march away behind the colliery band.

  On the final Sunday in August, Sara noticed that the redheaded Lady Seward-Scott, the coalowner’s wife, did not attend communion. Reginald Seward-Scott sat alone and aloof in the gallery while below it was whispered that his wife had sailed to America and safety, leaving him to fend for himself. To Sara, living her restricted, humdrum life, these preparations for war seemed quite unreal, even Aunt Ida’s endless meetings at the vicarage to plan for the arrival and billeting of dozens of evacuees from Tyneside. Everyone continued to go about their everyday duties as if it would never come to war; crowds flocked to football games at the start of the new season and Bette Davis drew cinema-goers to The Palace. Yet the sight of children carrying their gas masks to school at the start of term, the shortening days and the first rusty tinges of autumn on the trees seemed to echo the dying hope of a reprieve.

  Then a letter arrived unexpectedly from Stout House, in sister-in-law Mary’s overlarge writing.

  ‘… it happened five days ago. Your mam slipped on the outside stairs in the rain. Dr Hall says it’s broken and she’s to rest. There’s a big shooting party in the house for a month and your mam wants you back to help. I can’t do everything as I’m in the family way - baby due in November. Bill and I are very pleased. Write and tell us when you are coming so Bill can meet you in Lowbeck. Regards to Uncle Alfred and Aunt Ida, Mary.’

  When she showed it to her uncle, his reaction was swift.

  ‘That’s it then, you’ll have to go home. Not before time in my opinion!’ Sara was angry that he expressed no concern for the health of his only sister.

  ‘Of course I can’t tell from this how bad Mam is.’ Sara gave him a severe look. ‘I may be gone for the whole month. I’ll have a word with Mrs Sergeant about keeping me job for me.’

  ‘Don’t think you’re coming back here, lass!’ Uncle Alfred was indignant, ‘I’ve done my bit to help Lily out - and precious little gratitude I’ve had from any of you Pallisters.’

  Sara was dumbfounded. ‘Gratitude?’ she answered back. ‘You’ve had better than gratitude. You’ve had me skivvying for you all summer, plus an extra wage which was supposed to be going to Mam!’

  ‘You’ll get what’s owing to you,’ Alfred snapped, red-faced, ‘after a deduction for board and lodging, you ungrateful little bitch.’

  Sara left the room, seething with anger and only later when her uncle had gone did she trust herself to be civil to the others.

  ‘It’s not that we don’t want you,’ Ida tried to make amends, ‘but your bed will be needed for one of the evacuees more than likely.’

  ‘We’re not having some scabby kid from the city in our house,’ Colin made his objection plain. Up until then he had felt no regret that Sara was to leave, he wanted her out of his sight, constant reminder that she was of his own inadequacies.

  Sara shot Colin a disdainful look; he was as mean-minded as his father and she doubted her uncle would permit an evacuee under his roof either.

  ‘You don’t have to make excuses, Aunt Ida,’ Sara answered rapidly. ‘Uncle Alfred’s been wanting rid of me for weeks. I can look out for my
self.’

  As Sara considered this new turn of events she felt a mixture of relief that her time with the Cummingses was to end and panic that she might not see Joe again. She had to get to see him, she thought desperately.

  On the first of September, Rosa returned from Sunderland after three weeks with Domenica and Pasquale. Joe went to meet her at the station, hardly recognising the young woman who emerged through the clouds of steam from the sighing train.

  ‘You’ve chopped your hair off!’ he said in amazement, staring at her dark locks neatly turned in a wave on the nape of her neck under a red felt hat. His sister wore a new suit of soft blue tweed and blue court shoes with narrow heels that gave her extra height.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Rosa smiled in delight.

  ‘Aye,’ Joe approved. ‘Have you and Domenica bought up half of Sunderland this past fortnight?’

  ‘I’ve only got a couple of new things,’ Rosa was defensive. He lifted her suitcase out of the train and they walked together along the crowded platform. Men in uniform sat on cases, their leave curtailed, anxious family standing around in edgy groups.

  ‘So what was Sunderland like?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Wonderful…’ Rosa answered with a wistful sigh. ‘I didn’t want to come back, but Domenica said I should. They’re making preparations to evacuate the children.’

  ‘How is Domenica?’ Joe asked.

  ‘She’s very happy with Pasquale,’ Rosa said guardedly, ‘but…’

  ‘But what?’ Joe scrutinised her serious face.

  ‘She’s very worried - and Pasquale…’

  ‘Everyone is worried about the thought of war,’ Joe said with resignation. ‘Even Papa is bad-tempered - and not just with me.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that,’ Rosa said in distress. ‘The Perellas are talking about shutting their shops and going back to Italy.’

  ‘Pasquale too?’ Joe asked in alarm. Rosa nodded, her eyes prickling. ‘That means Domenica would go—’

  ‘Yes, and Emilio,’ Rosa gulped. Joe saw her dark eyes swimming with tears and suddenly realised what was really upsetting her.

  ‘You’ve seen a lot of him, then?’ he asked gently, swinging an arm about her narrow shoulders. Rosa nodded again, too choked to answer. Joe tried to look on the bright side. ‘Even if the Perellas do return home, that doesn’t mean Emilio can’t stay. He could work for someone else, surely?’

  ‘No!’ Rosa’s voice was anguished. ‘Mr Perella holds his work permit - if the Perellas go, the permit is no longer valid - Emilio will have to go, too.’

  They had reached Joe’s motorcycle. He plonked the suitcase into the empty zinc barrel on the sidecar and sighed, wondering why falling in love had to be so painful. After Sara had failed to turn up for the dance in Durham, he had seen nothing of her, except to glimpse her in the distance on her way to or from church. Twice he had called into the grocery shop where she worked, but she had not been there. He had asked after her, but the frosty Mrs Sergeant had said, ‘Keep away and stop bothering the lass - you’ve caused her enough trouble and I’ll not have you using my shop as a courting place.’ He wondered unhappily if Sara had finally bowed to pressure from her uncle and resigned herself to their relationship being over. He could not bear to admit that Sara’s feelings for him had cooled because of his own family’s rejection of her.

  Joe helped his sister on to the pillion and Rosa regained her composure.

  ‘We want to get married,’ she told him with quiet determination. ‘Emilio has proposed to me. If he goes, I want to go with him.’

  Joe was startled. This was not the timid, home-loving girl who had left on holiday three weeks ago, he thought. He had not credited Rosa with such courage and he whistled in admiration.

  ‘Good luck to you, Rosa.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s time Mamma and Papa had someone else to worry about apart from me.’

  Rosa gave him an anxious look. ‘I know they won’t like the idea. Will you stick up for me, Joe?’

  ‘Aye,’ he answered, ‘for what it’s worth.’

  Rosa’s announcement was met with shocked disbelief. The Dimarcos were gathered around the dining table, the small sash windows raised to release the steam from Nonna Maria’s cooking.

  ‘Go with Emilio Fella to Italy?’ Anna Dimarco shrieked. ‘Santa Teresa! How can you think of such a thing, Rosa Maria?’

  ‘We would marry first,’ Rosa whispered, her hands shaking in her lap.

  ‘You are far too young,’ Arturo was shaken. ‘It’s unthinkable!’

  ‘It’s too soon. We do not know his family,’ her mother added. Granny Maria nodded in agreement.

  ‘It would be very difficult for you, Rosa,’ Sylvia interjected, ‘Italy is different from here and you do not speak the language.’

  ‘You managed to adapt to Whitton Grange,’ Joe reminded her. ‘If Rosa wants to marry Emilio, what’s the harm in it? It’s a bit of a rush, but there’s not a lot of time left, is there?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rosa spoke louder, encouraged by her brother’s support. ‘He might have to leave in a matter of days. Please, Papa, let us marry? We could go to the registry office in Durham.’

  Arturo was thrown by his daughter’s request. How could his baby Rosa think of running off with a man she hardly knew? Yet Emilio was a trusted employee of the respected Perellas, so perhaps he was not such a bad choice for Rosa…

  ‘Is it not bad enough that we will be losing Domenica?’ Anna was close to tears. ‘How can you do this to us, Rosa Maria? You are needed here, with your family. We are the ones who care for you. I can’t bear the thought of you going far away with this man!’

  ‘Emilio is Pasquale’s compare, Mamma. He is a good man - and I love him.’

  Her mother gave a shrill cry. ‘How can you love him - you hardly know him! Arturo - tell her it is out of the question.’

  ‘Perhaps later, when the future is more settled,’ he tried to mediate.

  ‘A fat lot of good that’ll be to Rosa when Emilio’s thousands of miles away,’ Joe retorted.

  ‘Did I ask for your opinion?’ Arturo snapped at his son. He was suddenly angry at his children’s rebelliousness. ‘Where is Emilio Fella anyway? I do not see him here asking me permission for my daughter like a respectful boy.’

  ‘He will come if you send for him, Papa,’ Rosa insisted. ‘There has been no time to do things properly - the way we would have wanted. I’ve seen the preparations for war in Sunderland, Papa - it’s very frightening.’

  ‘Aye,’ Joe backed her up, ‘there’s no time for formalities—’

  ‘Be quiet, Joseph!’ Arturo silenced him. ‘Paolo,’ he turned to his eldest for support, ‘you sit like a wise owl - what are you thinking?’

  Paolo’s solemn eyes looked pityingly at Rosa; he hated to see her upset and guessed her feelings for Emilio to be genuine. But his concerns went deeper than Rosa’s lovesickness - he was plagued by the thought of war and the consequences for his young family whom he loved above all others. What would be the future for the chattering Peter or his smiling fat-cheeked baby, Linda, in a war-torn world? Where would they be safest? he agonised.

  ‘I’m thinking that perhaps it might be best for the family if we all return to Italy,’ he said quietly. ‘None of us know what will happen should war come - but maybe it would be safer to go back home and be among our own people.’

  Each one of them stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘But this is our home,’ Joe declared, appalled at the idea of being uprooted.

  Arturo reached for his cigarettes and lit one in agitation. ‘And the business,’ he said, exhaling sharply. ‘All we own is here - we do not have property in Cassino to fall back on like the Perellas do.’

  Anna was alarmed at the prospect, too. ‘We have worked so hard to have our own shop - it is everything to your father, Paolo - you are asking him to throw all this away?’ She spread her hands wide.

  But Rosa seized on the idea. ‘What if Paolo is right?
We should put the safety of Peter and Linda first. We can always return if it never comes to war.’

  ‘This whole thing’s a storm in a bloody teacup!’ Joe said bluntly. ‘What have we got to run away from? If war comes, we’ll just have to fight alongside the British like Papa did in the Great War.’

  ‘And risk fighting against our own people in Italy?’ Paolo challenged him.

  ‘If the fascists gang up against us, then aye,’ Joe held his ground. ‘I’d fight.’ The brothers glared at each other, aware for the first time of their deep-rooted differences.

  ‘I could never do that!’ Paolo answered, rattled by his brother’s opposition.

  ‘Well, you won’t have to if you go scurrying back to Italy, will you?’ Joe scorned. ‘Me, I’m staying, whatever you do.’

  ‘Boys, why are you fighting each other?’ Anna cried in despair. ‘Whatever we do, the family must stay together.’

  ‘Your mother is right,’ Arturo said, grinding out his cigarette. ‘We shall call the family together for a meeting - Uncle Davide shall be consulted. But we all stick together - are you hearing me?’ he said grimly. ‘And that goes for you, too, Rosa. You shall not leave on your own.’

  Rosa was about to summon up the courage to say she would go with Emilio no matter what they chose to do, when her brother Bobby came clattering up the stairs in breathless excitement.

  ‘Turn on the wireless!’ he cried. ‘Now.’

  ‘Roberto, where are your manners?’ Anna scolded him.

  ‘It’s the Jerry,’ he was bursting with his news, ‘they’ve invaded Poland. The lads at the cycle shop say we’re going to war. Pow! Pow!’ He aimed a playful finger at Joe. ‘Will you go in the army like Dad? I will when I’m old enough.’