Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Catherine stood shaking. It was two years since she had seen him, though it seemed a lifetime. He was just as good-looking.

  ‘I’m well, thank you,’ she said, trying not to betray her nervousness.

  ‘Would you like to go for tea somewhere?’ he offered. ‘There’s so much I want to ask you.’

  Catherine found herself agreeing, the bitter words she had saved for him dying on her lips.

  In the corner of a Shields cafe, she learnt that he had been working away in Middlesbrough.

  ‘But I’m back now,’ he smiled. ‘I wanted to see you - waited for you.’

  She looked him in the eye, her heart hammering. ‘Did you marry that other lass?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what madness came over me to write that letter. I feel so ashamed of it now.’ He reached across and took her hands in his. ‘It’s you I care for, Kitty, no one else. I’ve thought of you so often, but never dared write after the terrible way I treated you. And being away in Middlesbrough, I could offer you nothing until my return.’

  Catherine was unsettled and confused. She ought to hate him, but felt a surge of longing as they touched.

  ‘What do you mean, offer?’

  He leant closer. ‘Please forgive me for what I did. I want to court you properly this time - start again. There’ll be no half-measures - we’ll tell everyone.’

  ‘Even your mother?’ Catherine challenged.

  Gerald’s face clouded. ‘Mother died a year ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Catherine said hastily, ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ he smiled wistfully. He squeezed her hands tighter. ‘But perhaps you’d allow me to meet your family?’

  ‘Third time lucky, you mean?’ Catherine jibed.

  ‘I don’t blame you for being unsure of me,’ Gerald said. ‘I just want another chance to prove my love for you. Please, Kitty?’

  Catherine turned up at her mother’s, head reeling from the encounter. She could not keep it to herself.

  John stabbed the fire with the poker. ‘That the bugger who never came to your party? Had me sittin’ outside like a sentry all afternoon, watching out for him.’

  ‘Trust you to remember that,’ Kate snorted, ‘when your memory’s like a sieve for owt else.’

  ‘He’ll have to come here crawling on his knees if he wants my blessin’,’ John grumbled.

  Kate faced her daughter. ‘You’re not serious about courtin’ him again, are you?’

  Catherine was surprised at her mother’s tone. She thought she would have been relieved that a man as well-to-do as Gerald was now prepared to offer her a future. Past indignities would soon be forgotten if Gerald was to slip a wedding ring on her finger.

  ‘I might be,’ Catherine answered defensively. ‘I thought I hated him - but as soon as I saw Gerald again, I knew I still cared for him.’

  Kate let out a cry of impatience. ‘Kitty McMullen, don’t be so daft! That man doesn’t deserve you.’

  ‘Thought you’d be pleased to have me off your hands,’ Catherine retorted.

  ‘Not for the likes of him. Talks through his backside - don’t believe a word he tells you.’ She marched across the room and took her daughter by the shoulders. ‘You’ve the chance of a good job and a new start down south - you tak it with both hands. Get away from here and mak some’at of yourself.’

  Catherine shook her mother off, speechless for a moment. Then she stuttered, ‘I might not get the job.’

  ‘You will.’ Kate was adamant. ‘If not this one then some’at better. Don’t settle for a second-class marriage with a man who blows hot and cold like a weathercock.’

  Abruptly Catherine laughed. ‘I don’t think weathercocks blow hot and cold.’

  Kate snorted and pushed her away. ‘You kna what I mean. We haven’t all swallowed dictionaries like you.’

  For a week, Catherine went around distractedly, trying to decide what to do. She told herself no choice needed to be made until she heard about the job in Essex. It might come to nothing and then she could pick up with Gerald and see where it led. She knew she still loved him; the way her heart raced when she saw him again told her that.

  Matron called for her at the end of the week.

  ‘I’m pleased to say, both you and Lily have been accepted at Tendring.’

  Catherine felt a surge of triumph, quickly swamped by doubt. It must have shown on her face.

  ‘Surely you wish to accept?’ Matron sounded impatient.

  ‘I - I need to talk it over with Lily first.’

  Matron said tersely, ‘Have a couple of days to think it over and I’ll write to the workhouse on Monday with your decision.’

  Catherine went into Shields and wandered through the town, tortured by indecision. She ended up by the boating lake near the promenade, watching children feeding the ducks and courting couples rowing across the water. Seagulls wheeled overhead and a dark-eyed boy selling ice cream winked at her as she walked by. Why was the town looking so dear and familiar just when she had this chance to escape?

  She and Gerald could have endless summer days here. How could she possibly want to throw such a future away for an uncertain one in a strange place so far from home? Lily would understand if she called it off. She would probably be relieved. Mrs Hearn had been crying for a month now at the thought of her daughter going away.

  Walking back into town, she made her way towards the cafe where she was to meet Gerald and give him her answer. She glanced in the window and saw he was not there. A familiar sensation of panic rose up inside, her throat stinging with bile. She hung about outside, pretending to look in the shop window next door. Perhaps Kate was right about him.

  A moment later, she heard Gerald call her name and turned to see him crossing the street to meet her. A wave of relief shook her. He had not disappointed her after all. Then it struck her. She would always be unsure of him.

  ‘Kitty, sorry to keep you waiting - the trams were full to bursting. Let’s go inside.’

  ‘They weren’t full,’ Catherine contradicted.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The trams. They weren’t full. So why were you late?’

  ‘Now don’t be silly. What does it matter? I’m here now,’ he laughed indulgently, steering her by the elbow.

  Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. Kitty McMullen, don’t be so daft! That man doesn ‘t deserve you.

  She shook him off.

  ‘It does matter. It all matters! You leave me in the lurch with that nasty cowardly letter - and two years later you turn up like a bad penny and expect me to forget it ever happened. Two years, Gerald! I’m not some toy you can pick up and play with when the mood takes you.’

  He gawped at her. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, for your information, I’m ganin’ down to Essex to work. Me and Lily. Head laundress. So you can shove that in your pipe and smoke it.’

  She spun on her heels and marched away. Her heart thumped at her recklessness. Moments later he was chasing her.

  ‘Kitty, come back. Don’t be a silly girl. You can’t go—’

  She picked up her pace. He caught up and tried to grab her hand.

  ‘I want to marry you! That’s what I was going to tell you today. I’ll ask your grandfather for permission, of course.’

  She shook him off. ‘You’ll ask him nowt. He’ll kick you into next week if you so much as darken his door. Now leave off us.’

  A tram trundled to a stop right beside them.

  ‘I won’t leave you - I need you, Kitty. I love you and I know you love me. Remember the times we had at Gilsland?’

  ‘Maybe I do, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Gerald Rolland. So get lost!’

  Two workmen jeered from the tram platform.

  ‘Got yoursel’ a wildcat there, lad.’

  ‘Don’t be hard on him, lass.’

  Catherine turned and gave them a mouthful. Then, just as the tram was moving off, she jumped on boar
d. It was the only way of escaping Gerald and his embarrassing entreaties. She had no idea where the tram was going, just that it was taking her away from the pleading, whining man on the pavement.

  ‘Kitty, don’t go! I’ll change, I promise . . .’

  As he receded into the distance, Catherine breathed easy. The heckling men were eyeing her with amusement, but she stared back in defiance. She felt liberated. The world beyond Tyneside beckoned. Instinctively, she knew she had just avoided making the biggest mistake of her life.

  ‘Blows hot and cold as a weathercock!’ She laughed out loud.

  The men next to her shook their heads as if she were mad.

  Two weeks later, the arrangements were made; rail tickets bought and bags packed. Catherine went home for the final night and Aunt Mary and Uncle Alec came round for her farewell tea. Kate fussed about the kitchen, banging down pots and dishes, ordering her family out of the way.

  ‘Sit down and have a minute with the lass,’ Davie chided quietly. But Kate ignored him and carried on being busy.

  Mary patted the seat next to her. ‘Come here, Kitty. I’ve something for you.’ She flourished a box wrapped in green tissue paper and white ribbon.

  Catherine was glad of the distraction, unnerved by Kate’s frantic bustling. She savoured the moment of pulling the ribbon and carefully unwrapping the paper so it could be reused. Inside the box lay a soft blue woollen shawl. She picked it up and held it to her face, breathing in its new smell.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Aunt Mary,’ she cried. ‘Ta very much.’

  Mary smiled with pleasure. ‘My Alec says it can be cold as ice down there - winds come straight in from Siberia.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ Kate was scornful. ‘She’s ganin’ to Essex, not Russia.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Mary was indignant. ‘Tell her, Alec.’

  Uncle Alec nodded bashfully. ‘It’s flat and in the winter the winds come whistling in from the east—’

  ‘We don’t need a geography lesson,’ Kate interrupted. ‘Now shift out me way - these dishes are hot.’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ Mary huffed.

  Catherine touched her aunt’s arm briefly. ‘It’s champion. I’ll wear it no matter what the weather.’

  Swiftly she wrapped it and pushed it out of sight, not wanting the spat between the sisters to escalate. So often in the past, their jealousy of each other had led to arguments and falling out, each knowing how best to rile the other. Soon she would be away from it for good.

  John was helped to the table and insisted on sending out for a jug of beer.

  ‘Can’t let the lass gan without a toast o’ good luck.’

  ‘You can pay for it,’ Kate muttered.

  ‘I’ll fetch it,’ Davie offered quickly to avoid another argument.

  After ham soup and stottie cake, washed down by tea and beer, tempers improved. Kate brought out an array of scones, tea bread and cherry cake.

  ‘Me favourite,’ Catherine smiled, as Kate placed the cake triumphantly on the table.

  ‘Cut yoursel’ a big slice,’ her mother ordered. ‘If there’s owt left over you can have it for the journey.’

  The chatter around the table grew in volume as Davie topped up the teacups from a half-bottle of whisky.

  ‘I wrote and told Aunt Sarah I was going,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Don’t expect her to turn up to see you off.’ Mary was dismissive. ‘Never gets two minutes to herself with all those lads. But it serves her right for marrying a pitman.’

  ‘Mick’s a canny lad,’ Kate defended, ‘and so are the bairns.’

  ‘Pitmen,’ John grunted, ‘they’re nowt but trouble.’

  ‘She sent me a ten-bob note,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Did she?’ Mary and Kate chorused.

  ‘See what I mean,’ John complained. ‘They plead poverty, then hoy their money around like there’s no tomorra.’

  ‘Well, there’s no risk of that happening round here,’ Kate jibed.

  ‘What you say?’ John snapped.

  Davie intervened. ‘Come and sit by the fire, John, and we’ll have another drink.’

  Catherine helped her mother and aunt clear the table. She glanced at the clock.

  ‘You can’t gan to bed yet,’ Kate warned, catching her look. ‘We’ll have a bit singsong when we’re done washing the dishes.’

  After two hours of John telling tales of Irish heroes, a further jug of beer and Kate’s singing, they grew expansive about seeing Catherine off on the train.

  ‘We’ll all gan through to Newcastle and see you off,’ Kate declared.

  ‘Aye, just like we did for our Jack,’ John agreed, ‘when he went off to fight the Hun.’

  ‘You weren’t here then, were you, Davie?’ Mary said.

  ‘No, he was at sea, guarding the likes of you and Alec,’ Kate was quick to point out.

  ‘Or at home in Cumbria with his first wife,’ Mary said cattily.

  ‘Jack was a grand lad,’ Davie said, not rising to the bait.

  But Kate grew suddenly tearful. ‘Poor Jack. Dying so far from home.’

  ‘Don’t start, woman,’ John growled.

  Kate threw her arms around Catherine. ‘Course we’ll gan and see you off. We’ll all get the train from Tyne Dock - have a drink in the Penny Whistle for Dutch courage on the way.’

  Catherine struggled free from her boozy grip. ‘I don’t want any fuss. And it’s early. I’ll be off at six. Meeting Lily and her parents at half-past.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ Kate promised. ‘Can’t have strangers seeing you off.’

  It was late by the time Mary and Alec left, and Kate and Catherine had cleared up and coaxed John to bed. He was rambling about his own war days, of marching through the heat and dust of Afghanistan.

  ‘Kitty, you try and get him to lie down,’ Kate said impatiently. ‘You were always best wi’ him.’

  The parlour, where he slept, smelt of incontinence, and Catherine braced herself as she and Davie hauled him on to the old iron bedstead and pulled off his boots.

  John clung to her and began weeping. ‘Just like me little Ruth - bonny, bonny lass.’

  ‘Go to sleep, Grandda. I’ll write to you from Essex.’ Catherine disengaged herself with difficulty.

  ‘Who was Ruth?’ Catherine asked, as she closed the door on the wailing man.

  Kate shrugged, her eyes bleary. ‘He talks a lot o’ nonsense, drunk or sober. Most likely there never was a Ruth.’

  Catherine could not sleep, dozing and clock-watching through the night on the hard settle. She got up with the dawn, splashing herself in cold water in the scullery. She stoked up the fire, dressed and made a pot of tea. Sitting on the fender, she gazed around the familiar kitchen with its clutter of furniture and smoky walls, wondering when she would do so again. Christmas? Next year? Never? She thought of the times she had sat there contentedly reading a comic, keeping out of the way, only to be shoved, or slapped or shouted at for some forgotten misdemeanour.

  In the street outside, she heard footsteps approaching. She went quietly to the door. It was Mr Hearn.

  ‘Lily sent me to help with your case,’ he smiled, shiny-faced in the early light.

  Catherine had a pang of gratitude for her considerate friend. She hurried back inside, put on her coat and hat and went to her mother’s bedroom door. She hesitated with her hand on the handle, listening for any sound that she or Davie were awake. Regular snoring came from beyond the door. She did not want to go in and see the two of them lying in bed together. If Kate woke, she would come to the door red-eyed and reeking of stale whisky, and embarrass Lily’s father.

  Catherine knocked softly on the door. ‘Ta-ra. I’m off.’

  Then quickly she stepped away, grabbed her case and rushed for the front door, before anyone had a chance to answer. Closing the door behind her, she strode down the street, eager to get away. Mr Hearn chatted pleasantly, but she said little, glancing around her as they descended the bank into Tyn
e Dock. They passed the familiar landmarks of the gasworks, Leam Lane, where she was born, and the cavernous, dripping railway arches leaping across to the docks.

  At the station there was excited chatter with Lily and her mother. The train came in and Mr Hearn helped them on with their cases. It was only when Lily burst into tears and hugged her parents, that Catherine felt a deep pang of longing and scanned the platform for a sign of her mother. Maybe her feeble knocking might have woken her and she’d come rushing down the hill to wave her away.

  But the doors slammed shut and the train jerked into motion without Kate appearing. She and Davie would be sleeping off hangovers until mid-morning, no doubt. As the train picked up speed and took them away from the docks, circling Jarrow and its tightly packed streets, Catherine felt a confusion of triumph and regret.

  Suddenly she slammed down the window of the carriage door and stuck her head out. A blast of coal smoke and river smells assaulted her. The houses of the New Buildings flew by in a swirl of steam and were gone. Unexpected tears flooded her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently.

  ‘Goodbye and good riddance, Jarrow,’ she shouted out of the window. ‘I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime!’

  ‘Kitty!’ Lily said, shocked by her vehemence.

  ‘It’s true,’ Catherine said, turning to her friend defiantly. ‘I hate this place. I’m never coming back.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘I mean it. I’m not ever coming back!’

  ***

  About that time, Kate woke up and found her gone. A half-drunk cup of tea gone cold remained by the hearth.

  She went rushing into the bedroom screaming, ‘She’s gone, Kitty’s gone!’

  ‘Calm down, woman,’ Davie said, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘She never said goodbye. Why didn’t she wake us? She never even said goodbye. I never got a chance to say. . .’

  Kate flung herself on the bed and burst into tears of regret.

  Chapter 22

  Peering from the train window, Catherine gazed at the passing Essex countryside, while Lily dozed in the hot carriage, exhausted by the long journey. Gentle hills and lush woods gave way to fields of ripening corn and barley. At Witham the train stopped amid a sea of poppies. Catherine was reminded of the time she had first seen the blood-red flowers in the countryside beyond Shields. Kate had told her their name, astonished she did not know. But that was before the Great War, when poppies were a symbol of summer and not the dead of Flanders, like Uncle Jack.