THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Why don’t you go back with Emmie and Barny?’ he urged.

  Helen looked torn. ‘I can’t,’ she said in a hushed voice, glancing at Peter. ‘I need to be here in the village for when the lad gets leave or comes home for good. If he came back and couldn’t find me, he’d gan to pieces.’ Her face was creased in sorrow. ‘He’s taken it bad about his da - doesn’t show it, but I can tell. He thought the world of his da.’

  ‘We all did,’ Rab said softly, his eyes full.

  There was no more time to talk, as neighbours filed in to help carry out the coffin. Rab and Peter took their turn carrying their father’s body, struggling up the hill to the windswept graveyard. Helen had arranged for a retired minister from Ongarfield, vociferous in support of peace, to take the service. Emmie was astounded at the number of villagers who turned out to follow the coffin and pay their respects: men from the lodge, workmates, fellow socialists, rival gardeners in the annual flower festival, and friends from the Clarion Club. There were a smattering in uniform, like Peter. Others, from the Clarion Club, were dressed in mauve or grey rather than the black of religious mourning. People divided by the war, but united in their admiration for Jonas.

  They stood in untidy rows, huddled against the biting wind and a sudden October squall as the minister intoned over the open grave and Rab helped lower his father’s coffin into the dark earth. Emmie’s heart ached for him, as he stood with head bowed, his lean face harrowed. He had sparred often with his rumbustious father; they were too alike not to clash. But they had loved each other with a fierce loyalty that no amount of disagreement could break.

  Suddenly Rab turned to the crowd of mourners, his dark hair whipped by the wind, and raised his voice.

  ‘My father spent every day of his life trying to make this a fairer world,’ he bellowed. ‘Justice for all, was his motto. No more poverty; no more war. These were the ideals he worked for. And why should we not have them?’ Rab demanded, stabbing a finger at the air.

  People were looking around, wondering what others made of his intervention. For the first time, Emmie caught sight of Barnabas Curran, his face stony in disapproval. Her heart lurched.

  Rab had his eyes fixed on something in the distance behind the crowd. He went on. ‘My father did not live to see his fairer world. His dying means my mother will be thrown out on the street, for she no longer has a husband or son working for Oliphant, so she cannot remain in one of his cottages. Never mind that she spent the best years of her life keeping her family healthy and fed for the pit. No, she is no longer needed, so out she goes. Where is the justice in that?’

  There were murmurings in the crowd, but whether of agreement or dissent, Emmie was not sure. She glanced at Helen’s anxious face, but his mother did not stop Rab.

  ‘My father dies leaving one son in uniform and one son with a criminal record for refusing to put on that uniform. He loved both sons equally, but he hated this war over trade and territory that divides brother from brother, comrade from comrade, German from Briton,’ Rab’s voice boomed out. ‘The best way we can honour the memory of my father is to embrace our fellow comrades, not kill them. Stop the slaughter!’ Rab cried. ‘In the name of Jonas MacRae, stop the war!’

  Some people called out in agreement. There was a ripple of applause amid the stirring of unease. The old minister stepped forward and put a warning hand on Rab’s arm. He nodded and, moving away from the grave, kissed his mother. Emmie stared at him, baffled. He turned and caught her look. Rab’s eyes shone with passion. He smiled; his look tender yet full of regret. He mouthed goodbye.

  Then he was striding off, easing his way through the crowd. As Emmie watched him, she suddenly saw what he must have seen all along. A group of policemen was toiling uphill into the wind, hats clutched under their arms. Sergeant Graham led them. Emmie’s heart thumped in fright. But Rab strode quickly towards them, not wanting a scene in the graveyard. She watched them take him by the arms and march him away. Emmie stumbled over to Helen and they gripped each other in support. Rab did not look back. Helen groaned as if she would faint. Quickly, Mannie stepped out of the crowd and took Helen’s other arm.

  ‘Haway, lass, keep your head up,’ he encouraged, ‘for Rab’s sake - for Jonas’s sake.’

  Somehow, they managed to steer Helen from the bleak, treeless graveyard and down the hill. Only in the main street did Emmie look around for Peter and Barny. She caught sight of Peter, but there was no sign of her son.

  ‘Where’s Barny?’ Emmie called to him in alarm.

  ‘With his grandda,’ Peter answered, pointing back up the hill.

  Emmie looked round. Barnabas was leaning down talking to Barny, a hand on his shoulder. She rushed back to fetch him.

  ‘Barny, come to Mammy,’ she beckoned.

  Her father-in-law glowered at her. Emmie’s heart thudded. What had Barny been saying? She nodded at Barnabas. He straightened up, a hand still grasping his grandson.

  ‘You’ll be stopping in the village now that MacRae’s been arrested?’ It sounded more like an order than a question.

  Emmie flushed. ‘I’ll stop as long as Aunt Helen needs me and no longer.’

  He stepped towards her, still gripping Barny’s jacket. ‘You belong here - you’re Tom’s wife, not that traitor’s,’ he hissed. ‘And this is my grandson. You have a home in Empire Terrace and a duty to your husband to be there when he returns. Or have you lost all sense of decency, living among scum like MacRae?’

  Emmie glared at him. ‘If that’s how you feel then why show your face at a MacRae funeral?’

  Barnabas snapped, ‘Jonas was a member of the lodge - I had to show my respects.’

  ‘You hypocrite,’ Emmie said with scorn. ‘Jonas despised you as an armchair patriot. He blamed you for turning Tom into a violent wife-beater - a Bible in one hand and a belt in the other. He pitied you your joyless life.’ She added with quiet insistence. ‘I will live where I please - and how I please. Let go of my son, Mr Curran.’

  His look was thunderous, but he dropped his hold on Barny. The boy ran to Emmie and grabbed her hand. Emmie turned and hurried away, her heart pounding, half expecting her father-in-law to run after her and grab Barny back.

  ‘What did you say to Grandda?’ Emmie asked anxiously.

  Barny’s look was fearful. His chin trembled. ‘I told him about the fishin’. Was that wrong, Mammy?’

  Emmie’s heart squeezed. ‘No, pet,’ she reassured quickly, ‘you’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Can we gan back to The Grove?’ Barny asked tearfully. ‘I want to go back with Rab. Is that where he’s gone, Mammy?’

  Emmie nearly wept. She pulled him along. ‘We’ll gan back there soon,’ she promised. ‘But Auntie Helen needs us now.’

  Chapter 35

  Helen was given a week to get out of the colliery cottage. Mannie came to her rescue by offering the room that Rab had occupied.

  ‘It’s not much,’ the old man said apologetically, ‘but it’s a roof over your head till Peter comes home. You can store your furniture in the outhouse.’

  Helen swallowed her pride and accepted gratefully. Only with Emmie did she let her bitterness show.

  ‘A lifetime of hard work I’ve put into this house,’ she said bleakly, ‘and now I’m packin’ me bags like a tinker.’ She folded clothes of Jonas’s that would do for Peter. ‘Rab was right - we should have got out of here years ago and rented somewhere.’

  Emmie tried to comfort her. ‘When the war’s over, and Rab and Peter are back, we can start again somewhere else.’

  ‘We?’ Helen asked sharply. ‘What about you and Tom?’

  Emmie flushed. ‘I don’t want to go back to him,’ she said, glancing away.

  Emmie helped Helen dismantle her home. They sold most of the furniture to the incoming tenants, pawned Jonas’s suit, the set of crockery, spare linen and pictures. What was left of her possessions were transported round to Mannie’s in three wheelbarrow loads.

  Emmie felt a pang
of yearning for Rab as they settled Helen into his old room. Mannie had got the fire going. Rab’s tartan blanket was still on the bed and a pile of musty pamphlets and old Blackton Messengers lay on the dresser. Barny ran around looking for the dominoes he used to play with.

  ‘Where’s Rab?’ he asked. ‘Will he be coming back soon?’

  The women exchanged sorrowful glances.

  ‘Not for a while, pet lamb,’ Helen answered.

  That night they all bedded down in the small room. Emmie and Helen talked quietly while Barny slept.

  ‘I’ll get Mr Calvert to find out where Rab’s been taken,’ Emmie whispered. ‘He has links with the NCR.’

  ‘Will you manage without him at The Grove?’ Helen worried.

  ‘Of course,’ Emmie assured. ‘There’s another CO - and the Runcies. We grow our own food and Barny’s a canny fisherman these days. I want to gan back as soon as possible - don’t want to be beholden to Tom or have to live in Berlin Terrace. If there’s anything you want from there, just take it.’

  Helen regarded her sadly. ‘You’re not coming back, are you? Not ever.’

  ‘That depends on Tom,’ Emmie murmured.

  ‘And Rab?’ Helen asked.

  Emmie unburdened herself at last. ‘We love each other and want to stay together. I’m expecting Rab’s child.’

  Helen gasped. ‘Oh, Emmie! Does Rab know?’

  ‘Aye, he does.’

  Helen let go a deep sigh. ‘Tom will never forgive you, lass, or the Currans. Oh, I fear for you.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of the Currans,’ Emmie replied. ‘All I fear is that Tom might try to take Barny from me. That’s why I’ve told Rab I’ll gan back to Tom if it’s the only way of keeping the lad.’

  ‘And the babe?’ Helen questioned.

  ‘I could pass it off as Tom’s if I have to,’ Emmie said with resignation. ‘I was carrying his bairn till I miscarried in prison,’ she said bleakly.

  Helen reached across and stroked her head. ‘Oh, Emmie, I’m that sorry. What terrible times these are.’

  Emmie dissolved into tears at her tenderness. ‘It’s me that’s sorry - sorry for bringing shame on you. I’ve brought you nowt but trouble and I can’t see an end to it.’

  Helen hushed her. ‘Your Uncle Jonas and me - we’ve always been proud of you - ever since the day you came. I don’t give two pins for what other folk think - if I did, I’d have worried mesel’ into an early grave long ago.’ She brushed the tears from Emmie’s face. ‘I’m glad about the baby - glad for you and Rab. I can see how happy you make each other. You’ll find a way of being together. Like you said - when the war’s over we can all start again.’

  Word soon spread where the widowed Helen had gone. Some looked askance at her for taking a room in Mannie’s house, gossiping about them.

  ‘More than just a family friend, I’d say.’

  ‘Did you see the way he held on to her at the funeral - and Jonas not cold in his grave?’

  ‘There’s no smoke without fire.’

  Others were more sympathetic and brought round bits of food. Helen let it be known that she was willing to do mending for a few pennies, but she was not known for her sewing skills and only bachelor pitmen came with odd jobs, more out of pity than necessity.

  One Saturday in late October, Louise Curran appeared at Helen’s door.

  ‘I’m sorry about Mr MacRae,’ she said stiffly. ‘How are you, Emmie?’

  Emmie stared at her one-time friend. Had Louise been one of those who had hounded her from the village? Had she been glad to see her go to prison as punishment for disloyalty to Tom? She quelled her feelings of resentment. At least she had the courage to seek her out now.

  Louise clasped her hands. ‘I was wanting - wondering - if I could see Barny?’

  Reluctantly, Emmie nodded and opened the door wider. The boy was standing on a chair helping Helen stir a pan of soup. He looked round when his mother called.

  ‘Auntie Louise is here to see you.’

  Barny stayed where he was, spoon in hand.

  ‘Hello, Barny,’ Louise smiled, and held out her arms. He hesitated, then climbed off the chair and went to greet her. ‘I’ve missed you. So have Grandma and Grandda.’ She cuddled him. ‘Would you like to see them? Grandma’s made a cake with raisins - bet you haven’t had that since we last saw you.’

  ‘Louise,’ Emmie warned, ‘don’t go bribing the lad.’

  ‘Please, Emmie,’ Louise appealed, ‘can I just take him round for an hour or so? Mam’s that eager to see him.’

  Emmie weakened at Louise’s pleading. She looked at her son. ‘Barny, do you want to visit Grandma?’

  The boy looked between them and nodded.

  ‘See!’ Louise said in triumph. ‘I knew he would. It’s not fair to keep him away from his family.’

  As soon as she had agreed to it, Emmie regretted doing so. There was no knowing what Barny might say about Rab or their life at The Grove.

  She could settle to nothing all afternoon. As the day faded and Louise did not return with her son, Emmie’s concern grew.

  ‘Go and fetch him,’ Helen advised, unnerved by Emmie’s fretting.

  Emmie hurried round, not even bothering to pull on her coat. When Louise answered the door, she pushed past her.

  ‘You said an hour. Where is he? Barny!’

  She barged into the Currans’ parlour. Barny was sitting at the table puzzling over a jigsaw with his grandparents. A half-eaten cake and plate of scones stood on a silver stand, making her mouth water. Barny looked up, startled at her sudden appearance.

  ‘It’s time to come home, pet,’ she ordered, holding out a hand. ‘Thank Grandma for having you.’

  Barnabas stood up. ‘Our grandson would like to stay the night. Mrs Curran’s made up his bed. Louise can bring him back after chapel and dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘No,’ Emmie said in panic. ‘Thank you, but no.’

  ‘Barny’s religious education has been badly neglected,’ he said sternly. ‘We have a duty to Tom to make sure his son’s being properly looked after. Sounds to me as if the lad’s been allowed to run wild as a savage in this place you’ve been hiding him.’

  Emmie faced her father-in-law. ‘Barny’s never been so happy or healthy, so you’ve no need to worry. Louise said nothing about having him for the night. Barny’s a comfort to Aunt Helen and that’s my first concern. He can come to you another night.’

  She stepped forward and put a hand on Barny’s arm. The boy looked stubborn.

  ‘I want to stay, Mammy,’ he declared. ‘Grandma’s got bread-and-butter pudding.’

  ‘Another time,’ Emmie said, hauling him from the chair. He whined in protest.

  ‘Leave the boy be,’ Mrs Curran said querulously.

  ‘What harm is it if we have him here the night?’ Louise demanded. ‘At least he’ll get a decent meal for once. You can see his ribs he’s that skinny.’

  Emmie felt resentment engulf her. The Currans were still comfortably off, despite the privations of war. Barnabas was making good money from all the extra work, Louise had her job at the shop, Mrs Curran did not have to see her life’s possessions pawned off in an afternoon like Helen had. And now they were attempting to take over her son, winning him with rich food and treats that she could not afford to give. She knew it would not stop until they had complete control over Barny, just as they had always strived to dominate Tom.

  Emmie grabbed her recalcitrant son and shoved him towards the door, not bothering to argue further. She just wanted to be out of that claustrophobic house, stuffed with furniture and self-importance. With Barny howling and the Currans remonstrating, Emmie fled down the passageway and out into the darkness. She did not stop till they were safely back in India Street, pushing Barny into the cramped room.

  The boy flung himself on the floor, kicking and screaming until he was quite exhausted.

  Emmie sank into a chair, her nerves in tatters. Helen did not have to ask. As she comforted Barny wi
th a drink and cajoling words, she eyed Emmie.

  ‘You have to go,’ she urged. ‘Don’t worry about me. You need to get the bairn away from here - away from those people.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I never had the chance to tell you, but when you were in Durham Gaol they were always round at our door demanding to see the bairn. Said he was their responsibility - that you weren’t fit to keep him. Barnabas said some terrible things that I’ll not repeat. Jonas stood up to him, of course. But now he’s not here to protect you—’ Helen broke off.

  Emmie reached out and touched her in comfort. ‘Thank you for keeping Barny safe - you and Uncle Jonas. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me.’

  Helen smiled sadly. ‘You don’t have to. Just see this war out - for Rab’s sake. That’s all the payment I want.’

  Emmie nodded, too overcome for words.

  Helen added, ‘You mustn’t come back - not till this is all over.’

  The women hugged each other in regret.

  Chapter 36

  1918

  As the war entered its fifth year, rationing was introduced to alleviate high prices and creeping starvation. Long-suffering Mabel caught pneumonia and, having not the strength to fight it, died all too suddenly. Laurie, housebound with a bad chest, was as bereft as Philip, and Emmie found herself in charge of the monthly trip to town to pick up supplies. She worried for the baby who stirred in her womb; though she was so thin it hardly showed under her coat. But it concerned her more to think of them running out of food, should snow come in February and cut them off.

  She took Barny to help with old Cobbles and they struggled through the swollen river and over icy tracks. It took all day to go the few miles into Standale and back. But shopkeepers took pity on the chattering pale-faced boy and were generous with the measures of tea, lard and bacon. Emmie and Barny returned, frozen and worn out, to the communal fire that they kept going in the Runcies’ cottage. Emmie clasped a copy of the Herald.

  ‘This’ll cheer you - general strikes in Prague and Budapest,’ she told the men eagerly. ‘The workers have had enough - they’re striking for peace. Rumour is the famine on the Continent’s much worse than here. And listen to this: martial law has been declared in Berlin after strikes by the socialist Spartacists.’