Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Old Dimarco’s not had it so bad,’ Alfred pontificated at breakfast, ‘for one of the enemy. He’s got a well-paid job at the ordnance factory and his business seems to have survived. He’s not the only father to lose a son in this war.’

  ‘Two sons,’ Lily reminded her brother curtly, finding his indifference hard to stomach.

  ‘Well we all have our crosses to bear,’ Alfred said piously.

  Lily looked across the table at Ida’s taut face, so anxious to please her husband she would allow him to say anything. Their gawky daughter Marina sat round-shouldered in her chair, her face a permanent mask of petulance. She did not seem to care about Sara’s bereavement, either. Lily could touch no more of her breakfast and, with a perfunctory goodbye, hurried to Pit Street and away from the dispiriting house at South Parade.

  In contrast, the encounter with the Dimarcos was less strained than Lily had imagined and she found herself welcomed courteously into Sara’s adopted home. She saw at once how they cared for her daughter and young grandson, though she was shocked to see Sara so thin and grey-eyed. The baby Paul was fussed over by everyone except Sara, and Anna took Lily aside before she left.

  ‘She cannot show her love for the baby,’ Anna told her. ‘I think in some way she is frightened to show her feelings.’

  ‘Frightened?’ Lily was puzzled and a little annoyed by her daughter’s lacklustre state.

  ‘She loved my son,’ Anna said proudly, ‘then she lost him. To love again so deeply might hurt, too, I think,’ Anna explained, surprising Lily with her perception.

  ‘But that’s nonsense,’ Lily remonstrated, ‘Joe would have wanted her to love his son just as much.’

  ‘We know that,’ Anna was patient. ‘But Sara is too much in the black mood to see it.’

  But the trip to Stout House did seem to alleviate some of Sara’s pain and she drew strength from walking around the timeless moors and sharing her grief with the remote beck and the desolate, swirling curlews.

  ‘I want this pain to go away!’ she cried to the raw wind. Yet half of her did not, for to lessen the grief was to let slip her hold on Joe’s memory. She found herself seeking friendship with Beth and her cousin Colin, who surprised her with his gentleness and concern.

  ‘I’m that ashamed of my part in mucking things up for you and Joe,’ Colin told her one evening. ‘I should have tried to stop Marina handing over your diary to me father. But I was full of hate at the time. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It makes no difference now,’ Sara said wearily, ‘your dad didn’t succeed in keeping us apart, did he? In a strange way it made us more determined to be together.’

  ‘Aye, but that’s not all,’ Colin went on, fidgeting with the ears of his sheep dog. ‘I know me father went to Sergeant Turnbull with your diary.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ Sara asked in astonishment.

  ‘It was when there was all that talk about spies in the village after Dunkirk. Father was certain the Dimarcos were part of the fifth column. Anyway, I was in the house when Turnbull called and father handed the diary over. I don’t know how much use it would have been…’ Colin shrugged uncomfortably.

  Sara thought of the names of Dimarcos listed, their relationship to Joe, the mention of relations in Italy, the fascist club in Sunderland, all innocently recorded for her own interest, yet welcome evidence of enemy aliens to the vigilant and merciless Turnbull. No wonder her uncle had refused to hand back the diary. She felt a wave of shame that her trivial writings could have been used against Joe’s family. Yet it all seemed so long ago and she saw Colin’s remorse; she could not feel anger at him any more. He had not handed over the diary and Sara saw now that she had been too ready to condemn Colin and blame him for her troubles.

  ‘Turnbull would have known all there was to know about the Dimarcos without the help of my diary,’ Sara answered kindly.

  ‘That’s what I kept telling you, Colin,’ Beth added, ‘and Sara’s not one to hold a grudge - not like old Cummings.’

  Sara saw the relief lighten Colin’s sombre face and the diary was never mentioned again.

  Before Sara left Stout House, her sister Chrissie surprised everyone by announcing her engagement to Sid Gibson and Sara hurried away before the family party to celebrate the event. She wished them well, but their happiness only increased her aching loss.

  Back in Whitton Grange, Sara found herself going through the motions of living, doing small, mindless jobs around the house or shop to occupy the empty hours, while Rosa did most of the caring for Paul. She was filled with guilt at her lack of feeling for her baby and sensed that the Dimarcos’ patience towards her was tiring.

  Strangely, it was at the Ritsons that Sara found herself most at peace, sitting at Louie’s scrubbed kitchen table with the smell of soup warming on the old black range and the men blacking up their boots or talking about sport. She yearned for their company because Sam had been Joe’s mentor and Louie and Raymond had been his close friends. Sara found she could talk about Joe with the Ritsons, whereas she was afraid of mentioning him at home without opening up the deep wounds her parents-in-law bore. But Raymond and the Ritsons talked about Joe with affection and could make Sara smile with stories from Joe’s past.

  It was shortly before Christmas that a turning point came in Sara’s life. Louie suggested that she went in to Durham to look round the shops.

  ‘Buy something for the bairn,’ Louie encouraged, chucking Paul under his plump chin. She never chided Sara for her lack of interest in the baby or made reproachful remarks as her own mother had done. ‘Raymond’s going in with Malcolm to watch a football match - you could go with them.’

  Sara was unenthusiastic, but Rosa persuaded her it was a good idea and offered to go with her.

  ‘We’ll take the bairns to hear the carol singing,’ Rosa said excitedly. So wrapping up baby Paul in woollen clothes, hat and blanket, Sara allowed herself to feel a fraction of Rosa and four-year-old Mary’s anticipation at the rare trip.

  Raymond and Louie’s lodger, Malcolm, came to meet them and walked the family to the bus. The cheerful Mr Parker, who had first brought Sara to Whitton Grange, was driving and she found herself reminiscing with Parker and Raymond, telling the amiable Malcolm tales of the village as if she had lived there all her life. Sitting back watching the frosted countryside slip silently past the grubby windows, Sara realised how fond she had grown of the pit village and its people. Even without her beloved Joe, Whitton Grange would always be her home now, she thought.

  The men went off to support their pit team, while Sara and Rosa wandered around the town and treated themselves to a cup of tea. Sara wanted to go and visit Eb and Eleanor, but could not bring herself to do so. There would be too many reminders of happier times there with Joe. Perhaps in the New Year she could face them, Sara made excuses to herself. However, when Raymond met up with them again, he insisted that they at least call on his grandmother. It seemed she could not evade the visit to the Ramshaws at the Market Inn, where she and Joe had spent their first night of marriage.

  ‘We might get a drink out of me grandfather,’ Raymond grinned at Malcolm, ‘if he’s got more than tap water to offer.’

  ‘Come on, what are we waiting for?’ Malcolm agreed, blowing on to frozen hands and winking at Rosa. Sara was aware of the young Scotsman’s attraction to Rosa, although she seemed indifferent to his attentions.

  Sara’s reluctance was over-ruled and the cold chased them indoors. Mrs Ramshaw was overjoyed to see her grandson and made a fuss over him and his friends. The portly Ramshaw brought up a glass of watery beer each for Raymond and Malcolm and Rosa sat chatting with Raymond’s giggling Aunt Nora. But Mrs Ramshaw’s failure to mention Joe nearly reduced Sara to tears and she could not bear the older woman’s coddling of Paul, which made her feel so inadequate.

  ‘Please, just leave him!’ Sara snapped finally which drew an awkward pause in the cheerful banter.

  Raymond looked at Sara in concern. ‘Listen, I can hear t
he Sally Army playing outside. Want to go and hear them?’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulled baby Paul from his grandmother’s hold and thrust him into Sara’s arms. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her down the stairs, nodding at Rosa and Malcolm to stay in the warmth of the Ramshaws’ flat.

  It was almost dark and only the pale glint of brass instruments could be seen under a crisp, icy moon. But their joyful music seemed all the louder, filling the marketplace as shoppers hurried past. Paul began to cry in the cold air.

  ‘He shouldn’t be out here,’ Sara said petulantly. ‘It’s too cold and I want to go home.’

  Raymond turned and looked down at them both, then without a word, cautiously lifted the baby, pulling the blanket tighter around his head and face.

  ‘You’re all right, bonny lad,’ he smiled and rocked him like he had seen Louie do with babies. The small infant responded to the firm hold and his crying lessened to a rhythmic whimper as Raymond talked to him in a calm, friendly voice.

  Sara stood riveted to the icy cobbles, quite overwhelmed by the flood of feelings she experienced at the sight of a young man holding her baby and not just any man, but her husband’s good friend. It struck her suddenly that this was how Joe would have treated his son, with loving, humorous words and tender affection.

  Raymond turned and caught sight of Sara’s distraught face. ‘I know you love the little lad,’ he said quietly, ‘so don’t be afraid to show it, Sara. It doesn’t mean you loved Joe any less.’

  Sara felt winded at the gentle reproof. Convulsions of tears seized her as she realised Raymond knew how she felt, understood her guilt towards Joe for wanting to love Paul and letting the past go. Only the caring, affectionate, sensitive Raymond could have shown her that this was the way Paul should be loved.

  Speechless and sobbing, she stepped towards Raymond and her baby and allowed the tall friend to put an arm about her shoulders. Together they cradled Paul and each other as the hopeful sounds of carols drowned Sara’s distress.

  Shortly afterwards they all caught the bus back to Whitton Grange and Raymond did not repeat any shows of tenderness in front of Rosa and Malcolm, but the warmth that Sara had experienced in the frosty darkened marketplace remained with her.

  Sara saw in the New Year of 1945 at the Ritsons’, with Raymond clashing on the piano and Hilda and the Parkins adding their voices to the singing. Increasingly, as the late winter turned to spring, she found herself relying on Raymond Kirkup’s company, frequently calling round to Hawthorn Street to help Louie with her clippy mat or helping out in the shop in the hopes he would call with mates from the pit during their free time. For his part, Raymond felt it a day wasted if he did not see Sara and he was growing fond of baby Paul with his large, dark green eyes and soft brown hair, who smiled when Raymond came near.

  But when Albina came home for a week’s leave she wasted no time in criticising Sara’s behaviour.

  ‘I don’t know how you can let her gad about with that pitman, Aunt Anna,’ Albina needled her aunt. ‘She’s a disgrace to the family. It makes me wonder if she cared for Cousin Joe at all,’ Albina added waspishly, noticing the effect her words were having. ‘Perhaps she was only ever after his money.’

  Anna Dimarco was furious at her niece’s bitching and did her best to ignore her. But the seeds of doubt about Sara and Raymond took root and Anna could not deny she was upset at the blossoming friendship and said so to Arturo.

  ‘How can she look at another man when our Joseph has not been gone a year? It’s shameful the way he calls for her all the time - treating Joseph’s son as if he were his own.’

  ‘Anna, you have been listening too much to that meddling Albina,’ Arturo tried to calm her fears. ‘Sara and Raymond have always been friends and he at least is making her smile again. You must not make Raymond feel unwelcome - he was a good friend to Joseph.’

  ‘How can he be a friend of Joseph’s when all he wants to do is take our son’s place?’ Anna cried bitterly.

  Arturo retreated into the shop, leaving his wife to wash up in the back-shop, no longer having the strength to argue with her. The traumas of the war years had left him feeling an old man, drained of the vitality and bonhomie that had made him such a good patron of the cafe and head of his family. Arrest and captivity had undermined his sense of authority and he no longer had the confidence to run the shop without the advice of his strong-willed wife.

  Who would have thought that the timid Anna he had coaxed from his mountain village would have shown such fortitude through all their hardships? But both he and Anna were ageing and he worried at the future of the business with Paolo and Joseph gone and Bobby’s interest only in bicycles. The burden would fall on the young women of the household, Arturo supposed.

  The Home Guard had been disbanded and March brought news of the Allied push across the Rhine into Germany. That spring, there was a buoyancy of spirit that infected Sara with some of her old optimism after the months of depression. She and Rosa organised a picnic on Whitton Common at Easter for the children and invited Raymond and Malcolm along. They spent a happy day, rolling two rationed, painted eggs down the slope, eating Aunt Elvira’s special currant bread and watching the men play football with Peter and Bobby.

  ‘Paul wants to be after you,’ Sara laughed, encouraging her son’s attempts to pull himself up from crawling across her legs.

  ‘We’ll sign him up next season,’ Raymond called and side-stepped Malcolm with the knot of rags they were using as a ball.

  ‘Malcolm’s asked me out to the pictures again,’ Rosa told Sara as the men ran out of earshot.

  ‘Good,’ Sara smiled.

  ‘I said no,’ Rosa sighed. Sara waited for her to explain. ‘I know he’s canny, but how can I trust him? This war’ll be over soon and he’ll be off back to Scotland and out of my life, just like Emilio.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Sara reproved. ‘Malcolm’s not like Emilio. He really cares about you, I’m sure of it. You can’t go on treating all men as bad just because Emilio was.’

  Rosa hung her head and mumbled, ‘Well, if he asks me again, I might say yes.’

  Sara resolved to pass this piece of information on to Raymond in the hopes that the fair-haired Malcolm would not give up, discouraged.

  ‘And you, Sara…’ Rosa slid her a look. ‘What about you and Raymond?’

  Sara was startled by the question.

  ‘I’m not looking for anyone to replace Joe,’ she answered abruptly. ‘Nobody could. I just like Raymond as a friend.’

  ‘He loves you,’ Rosa said quietly.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Sara cried, going hot with embarrassment and got up to help Paul take steps on his chubby eager legs.

  Despite her annoyance at Rosa’s words, the afternoon passed contentedly, but Sara returned to find her mother-in-law tight-lipped with disapproval. The young men sensed Anna Dimarco’s coolness and left swiftly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sara asked later, after Paul had been put to bed. A tenseness had crept into her relationship with her mother-in-law in recent weeks that puzzled Sara. They had been so close since Joe’s death that this recent growing apart was hurtful.

  ‘I think you are seeing too much of that Raymond,’ Anna said, her feelings erupting at last. ‘People are talking. It’s not a year since…’

  ‘Go on, say it,’ Sara replied, stung by her mother-in-law’s condemnation. ‘It’s not a year since Joe was killed.’

  ‘A respectful wife should still be in mourning,’ Anna said with indignation.

  Sara was aghast. ‘A few months ago you said I mourned for Joe too much - you said it was making the baby unhappy! I miss my husband more than you’ll ever know,’ she answered, tears stinging her eyes, ‘but what use is it shutting myself away for the rest of my life like one of your old Italian widows? I’m only twenty-two - I can’t wear black for ever.’

  ‘Don’t be disrespectful!’ Anna snapped. ‘You are Joseph’s widow and a Dimarco and you should behave like one - like Sylv
ia does.’

  Anna could not explain that she had felt so close to the grieving Sara, wanting to protect her in her sadness, but now she felt distanced by this new liaison with Joe’s old friend. It irked Anna that Sara should have sought comfort and a new happiness outside the family, however much she deserved it.

  ‘Are you telling me I can’t see Raymond?’ Sara fumed.

  ‘You should wait.’ Anna coloured at the young woman’s hostile face.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to wait for!’ Sara shouted. ‘Raymond is just a friend who’s shown me more understanding than you have.’

  She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door, waking Paul from his sleep. Rocking her crying son, Sara felt remorse at her blunt words as well as anger at the attack. Her mother-in-law had no right to dictate whom she saw, yet Anna had shown her great patience and kindness during the black weeks after Joe’s death. Was it any surprise she was hurt to think Sara might love another so soon after her son’s death?

  Sara was suddenly struck by the truth. Anna was right. She did care for Raymond - not in the passionate way she’d loved Joe, but differently. She felt a deep affection for the Ritsons’ nephew, for his kind humour and cheerful company. She could not have borne the pain of these last months without him and she realised it was not just because Raymond had been a friend of Joe’s; she loved him for who he was. She wanted to carry on seeing Raymond but did not want to hurt Joe’s family by doing so and Anna’s criticism brought on a new wave of guilt that she was being disloyal to Joe’s memory. Sara bowed to her mother-in-law’s pressure and began to see less of him, declining to go out to the pictures or the park when Malcolm called for Rosa.

  ‘You shouldn’t worry what my parents think,’ Rosa told her, no longer inhibited by their disapproval at what she did. She was a working woman at the pit canteen and she was at last enjoying her freedom and courtship with the young Scot.