THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Clara looked at him, stunned. ‘Vinnie’s dead?’

  Hobson nodded. Patience gestured for him to sit down. ‘Tell us, please.’

  ‘No one had seen him for days.’ The sergeant sighed heavily. ‘His mother reported him missing. But he was in the habit of staying over at the boxing hall so she wasn’t concerned at first. She said Jimmy was keeping an eye on him.’

  Clara reached for a chair and sat down too. Paolo clutched on to her. ‘Yes,’ Clara whispered. ‘Jimmy was with him when I went down there.’

  ‘Can I ask you what it was you discussed with Mr Craven?’ Hobson asked.

  ‘Our daughter,’ Clara answered. ‘I wanted our daughter back.’

  The sergeant said, ‘Dolly Craven thinks your visit had something to do with it. Said her son was very upset the last time she saw him — and he was going on about that article you’d written about Frank Lewis.’

  Patience came to the defence. ‘My son-in-law was drunk and abusive to Clara when she went to see him. It was he who was doing the upsetting.’

  Clara put out a hand to quieten her mother. ‘Do — do you think Vinnie took his own life?’

  ‘We don’t know. There was no note left or sign that he intended to do so.’ He paused. ‘That’s why it’s important we speak to Jimmy. We believe he’s the last person who saw your husband alive. There’s a witness saw two men arguing down on the dockside a few nights ago. They fit the description of Mr Craven and your Jimmy.’

  Patience looked at him in horror. ‘You’re not saying Jimmy had anything to do with his death?’

  Hobson gave her a pitying look. ‘We’re keeping an open mind. That’s why it’s very important we speak to him, Mrs Magee. Please tell us at once if he turns up.’ He stood up to go.

  Clara voiced her fear. ‘But what if Jimmy went in the river too?’

  He frowned. ‘It’s a possibility, but we don’t think that’s what happened. Jimmy’s belongings have gone from Craven Hall — all except his Blackshirt uniform.’

  Clara exchanged glances with Patience. A flicker of hope lit inside her that Jimmy was safe.

  Hobson nodded at them as he left. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Craven,’ he mumbled uncomfortably.

  For a long moment after the police had left, there was silence between the women. Paolo broke it. ‘What the police mean, Mam?’ he asked. ‘What you lost?’

  Clara encircled him with her arms and pressed him to her in relief. ‘Nothing, pet. You mustn’t worry.’

  Patience put her hand on Paolo’s head and looked at Clara. ‘You’re free,’ she murmured. ‘You’re free of him at last.’

  ***

  Word soon spread about Vinnie’s untimely death. Patience fretted that Dolly might take it out on Clara and cause trouble, but they soon heard through Ella that she was selling up — the house and the boxing hall — and moving to her sister’s in Doncaster. ‘Mrs Craven can’t bear any of it without Vinnie,’ reported Ella. Patience discussed Vinnie’s death with Leon out of Clara’s hearing. ‘The police mentioned her article about Frank — how Vinnie was upset by it. Perhaps he thought it the final straw.’

  Leon was puzzled. ‘The final straw?’

  ‘The thing that made Vinnie see that Clara was never going to go back to him,’ Patience explained. ‘Vinnie was always jealous of Clara’s friendship with the Lewises. I’m afraid I helped encourage him,’ she sighed. ‘I still feel guilty for burning a sympathy card from the Lewises on the first anniversary of Harry’s death. Clara was upset to think they didn’t care enough to send one. At least I’ve told her the truth about it now. I pushed her towards Vinnie instead. I used to think the Lewises weren’t good enough for her. How wrong I was.’

  Leon said gently, ‘We all have things we wish we had done differently. You did what you thought right for Clara.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Patience whispered gratefully.

  Leon sighed, his face perplexed. ‘But why is Clara keeping away from the Lewises now? Marta is upset.’

  ‘I think it’s finding Lillian round there every time she goes,’ Patience said. ‘She’s full of herself, that one; and Clara can’t bear the way she’s so bossy to Paolo.’

  Leon’s frown cleared. ‘Ah, Lillian. Yes, now I understand.’

  ‘Leon,’ Patience said worriedly, ‘what’s happened to Jimmy? Do you think we’ll ever hear from him again?’

  Leon put a hand on hers. ‘I think Jimmy look after himself.’ He smiled in encouragement. ‘He is son of brave lady.’

  ***

  On the day of Vinnie’s funeral, Clara took the day off work. But instead of attending, she and Reenie took Paolo and Terese on the train to Whitley Bay. She had asked tentatively if Frank would like to come too, but Reenie told her that Lillian had other plans for them.

  While the children played on the beach and paddled in the sea, the friends leaned against the promenade wall and reminisced about the time they had gone there with Benny and danced to Frank’s band at the Cafe Cairo. But Clara refused to be emotional about the past. She had to look to the future and the plans she had with her family.

  ‘Leon’s moving down to be with us in August,’ Clara said. ‘I hope by September we’ll have found a bigger flat — and then we’ll fetch Sarah home.’

  ‘Leon is an amazing man,’ Reenie said in admiration. ‘My parents count him as their closest friend — it’s as if they’ve known each other all their lives.’

  Clara smiled. ‘I know what they mean. I’m so lucky to have found him again.’

  ‘And then there’s Frank,’ Reenie went on.

  ‘What about him?’ Clara asked, feeling herself redden as she glanced away at the children.

  ‘Leon’s done marvels with him,’ Reenie said. ‘He’s the only one Frank feels comfortable with talking about his experiences in Germany. Everyone else just wants him to get back to his old life and forget about it. But Leon knows what it’s like to be imprisoned; what it does to the mind as well as the body.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Clara murmured. ‘I didn’t know that’s what they talked about.’

  ‘No, well, you’ve been neglecting us these past weeks,’ Reenie chided, with a playful nudge. ‘Too busy forging your career.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Clara protested.

  ‘I’m teasing,’ Reenie reassured her. ‘But you must come up soon and hear Frank play.’

  ‘Play?’ Clara stared at her. ‘Not the violin?’

  Reenie laughed. ‘Yes, the violin. Leon’s got him playing again.’

  Clara felt sudden tears sting her eyes and looked away quickly. That’s grand,’ she gulped, ‘really grand!’

  ***

  That evening, Reenie offered to take Paolo for the night. ‘It’s been a strange day for you. You have a bit of peace with Patience,’ she suggested.

  Clara accepted gratefully. The day had tired her out and she was feeling reflective about Vinnie. On a whim, she looked out her old diaries from her days in Tenter Terrace and began to read through them. Perhaps in them would lie the clue as to why she had fallen under Vinnie’s spell.

  While Patience smoked, and mended a pair of Paolo’s shorts, Clara became absorbed in reading about her past. The young Clara who had written these pages was thirsting for experience, frustrated by the confined world of Magee’s gift shop. She was inquisitive and observant, yet trusting and naive; at times level-headed, at others romantic and fanciful. It was little surprise that a bright, inexperienced girl with a passion for life would have been attracted by what Vinnie had to offer. Yet, as she re-read her immature thoughts, Clara found it hard to imagine she had ever yearned for such things.

  She stared at the diaries in her lap. There was one consistent thread; her friendship with the Lewises and her deepening love for Frank. She blushed again at her girlish crush, but the emotions she had felt then were still as strong.

  ‘What’s that?’ Patience asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Clara looked up, startled. ‘I’m just r
eading—’

  ‘No, that sound.’ Patience put down her mending and cocked an ear. ‘Listen.’

  Clara sat still. At first she thought it was a wireless playing in a neighbouring flat. The evening was warm and still and the windows were thrown open. But the music wavered, not quite perfect, and grew louder by the minute. Someone was playing a violin outside their door. Clara and Patience exchanged looks of incredulity.

  Leaping up, Clara scattered the diaries as she raced to look out of the window. Standing in the street below was Frank, his fair hair still short and spiky, bent over his instrument. She stared in wonderment, catching her breath. He was playing one of her favourite dance tunes from the Cafe Cairo.

  ‘Well, go and let the lad in,’ Patience remonstrated.

  Clara clattered downstairs, heart pounding as if she were sixteen again. She flung open the door. Frank finished the piece, his face in the twilight suffused with its former intensity and passion. Someone across the street clapped from an open window. Frank stood clutching the violin, grinning bashfully, his chest heaving at the exertion.

  ‘Thank you,’ Clara murmured. ‘That was beautiful.’

  They carried on gazing at each other. Words seemed inadequate after the emotion of the music. What did it mean?

  ‘W-would you . . . like to come in?’ Clara asked, her voice shaking with nervousness.

  ‘Clara,’ he spoke her name urgently, ‘I have to talk to you — I have to tell you now.’

  ‘What?’ Clara felt sudden alarm. ‘Is it about Lillian?’

  He stepped towards her. ‘Lillian?’

  Clara gulped. ‘Are you and Lillian going to marry?’

  His perplexed look dissolved. ‘Clara, it’s you I love, not Lillian!’ he blurted out.

  ‘Me?’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes,’ he insisted, ‘always. I went to Germany partly to get away from seeing you with Vinnie. It was too much to bear. Even when I came back and found you had left him, I still thought as long as Vinnie was alive he would have the power to make you go back to him.’

  Clara stepped towards him, light-headed from the revelation. ‘And I thought you and Lillian . . .’ she whispered.

  ‘I told her today that there was never any possibility of my marrying her. That it was you I loved and always would.’ He reached out and touched her face. ‘The thought of you kept me alive in that death camp — kept me fighting to live — to escape.’ His voice deepened with emotion. ‘I didn’t think you could love me — not the way I am now — a broken man. But Leon gave me the courage to tell you. He said you loved me too. Is it possible?’

  Clara’s eyes stung with tears. She clutched at his hand. ‘Yes, it is. Since Reenie first brought me into your family, I’ve loved you, Frank. How could you not see it?’

  ‘You always seemed too bright a star for me to grasp,’ Frank murmured.

  Clara laughed softly, ‘You were the one out of reach.’

  ‘Not now,’ Frank said, bending close to kiss her.

  As Clara felt the first touch of his lips on hers, she gave silent thanks for her brave, compassionate father who had brought them together at last. Their arms went round each other in a tender embrace. Frank kissed her with a sweet urgency, as if he could make up for the wasted years. She held on to him, never wanting to let go.

  ‘Are you bringing that lad inside or not?’ Patience cried from the top of the stair.

  They broke apart, laughing. ‘Coming, Mam!’ Clara called.

  Frank took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Do you think she’ll have an old Bolshie for a son-in-law?’

  Clara’s heart soared at his words. ‘Play her a few more tunes like the last one, and she’s bound to say yes.’

  Together, they mounted the stairs.

  ***

  On the day that Clara and Frank were to be married, a postcard arrived for Patience and Clara.

  ‘It’s from our Jimmy!’ Patience exclaimed, her hands shaking.

  Clara rushed to read it too. It had been sent from western Canada. He had joined a merchant ship and was sailing the Pacific.

  ‘I’m a canny seaman,’ it read. ‘I like to think me dad would be proud. The thing I did, I did it for you, Clara, so you could have your Sarah back. It’s what you deserve. Gan canny. Yours, Jimmy.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Clara puzzled over the words. Then, as realisation dawned, the two women stared at each other. Clara gasped. ‘Is he saying he pushed Vinnie in the—’

  Quickly Patience put a finger to Clara’s lips. ‘Don’t say it. We don’t know what happened.’

  Clara watched her mother take the postcard, kiss it, then tear it up and throw it on the fire. Patience put out her arms to Clara and held her. There was a squeal from behind.

  They turned to see Sarah kicking in her wheelchair, flinging her arms wide in excitement. Clara’s eyes stung with tears of pride at the sight of Sarah in her blue satin bridesmaid’s dress, and she laughed, rushing to her daughter. ‘You can have a hug too.’ She held her tight. ‘What a special day this is, my bonny!’

  ***

  CHASING THE DREAM

  A passionate and dramatic story of ambition, sacrifice and love: One of the Tyneside Sagas

  Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ~ ~ ~

  One of the Tyneside Sagas: Impassioned stories set in momentous times – votes for women, world wars, rise of fascism – with the backdrop of vibrant Tyneside and heroines you won’t want to leave behind.

  Contents

  Chasing the Dream

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  With love to Alan and Enid, who went to Wembley in 1951 and saw Jackie Milburn score.

  * * *

  Praise for Chasing the Dream:

  “Janet’s picture of life in a North-East pit village between the wars springs from the canvas. It’s spot on! Her characters are caught in the twists and turns of a lively plot. The story gallops along and keeps you guessing right to the end.”

  The Newcastle Journal

  “Tales of war heroism and lies spice up a compelling novel.”

  The Sunderland Echo

  Chapter One

  1920

  Millie woke with a start, shocked out of a deep sleep by the slam of a fist on the piano below. The discordant noise set her heart hammering. Strangely, she had been dreaming of music. She had dreamt of her mother playing a duet with her older brother Graham, the warm parlour full of singing and lamplight and laughter, the table laden with food. For one confused moment, Millie thought she heard her brother’s voice and jerked up.

  ‘No!’ her mother was shrieking. ‘Over my dead body!’ Then the man’s voice came again, a deep, indistinct rumble so like Graham’s, trying to placate her. The piano keys were bashed once more and Millie sank back, realising it was only her parents arguing again. Graham was never coming back. He was dead and buried somewhere in France and the only reminders she had of him were a few treasured postcards and a silk embroidered handkerchief he had sent her. There was nothing else in the house that hinted he had once lived there; neither clothes, boots, cigarettes nor sheet music. Ev
en his uniformed photograph had been removed from the mantelpiece, once the terrible shame of Graham Mercer had spread around the village and they had become outcasts, shunned by their neighbours.

  Millie buried her head of dark curly hair under the pillow and tried to block out the shouting downstairs. Moonlight streamed in at the broken skylight above her bed and she heard the mournful call of a fox from far off. Her stomach clenched, reminding her how hungry she was. At fourteen she was constantly hungry, her body and limbs grown out of control like a stringy runner bean. But these past weeks, while the pit had been idle and the men locked out over an unofficial dispute, hunger had gnawed at her innards like a dog. Thoughts of food consumed her even in her dreams.

  ‘They can’t, I’ll not let them!’ Her mother’s screams penetrated her muffled ears.

  She’ll be waking up the neighbours again, Millie thought in distress, and they already had a low enough opinion of the Mercers these days. The quarrels happened most evenings now when her father reluctantly dragged himself home from the Miners’ Institute, tearing himself away from his books and periodicals. Self-taught he might be, but there were no jobs for men with a bit of learning in Craston, just the pit if they were lucky. Her parents argued about money, or lack of it. They fought about her mother’s bad housekeeping, or the amount of credit run up at the drapery store. She accused him of weakness and neglect, of losing his job at the pit-face through carelessness. The fall of stone that had crippled him and left him sorting coals with the old men and boys was his fault, according to Teresa Mercer. The reason Millie could not cook or sew but was only interested in dancing and music was her crime, Ellis Mercer accused back.

  ‘She’ll be useful for nowt!’ her father would rail. ‘Our Millie will never get a place in service, let alone a husband – all because of your fancy ways, woman!’

  ‘You’ll not turn my Millie into a skivvy like you have me,’ Teresa would spit back. ‘I was born for better things – my grandfather was a famous musician, my ancestors were French noblemen.’