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

  At the end of the service, Millie wondered if she should call round at Tenter Terrace to see if Effie was all right, but her courage failed her. She had no wish to confront Dan or Walter on the doorstep and compound the humiliation of the night before. She would be the talk of the street already, she guessed. Mungo Nixon would be confirmed in his suspicion of her as a troublesome lass with a sinful mother who had never deserved his wife’s attention and care. Millie turned for home, comforting herself that tomorrow was Effie’s wash day and that she would see her in the morning after visiting Mrs Dodswell. Effie would be expecting her, and if she was bound for London it might be her last chance of seeing her friend.

  ***

  Dan had sat up all night with his mother, watching her frail waxen face and listening to her ragged breathing. He and Walter had gone drinking after the terrible scenes outside the ballroom, shaken by the revelations about Millie and her mother and shocked by Ava’s temper. They had downed several beers in quick succession, relieved to be out of the crossfire, and made a pact not to go near the hotel until tempers had calmed.

  ‘Who would’ve thought Millie was hiding such a past?’ Walter had shaken his head. ‘She seemed that canny and respectable – sweet-natured.’

  ‘She still is,’ Dan defended her. ‘It’s not her fault what happened.’

  Walter snorted. ‘She lied to you, man, you should steer well clear. Imagine what Mam would say if she knew!’

  Walter had added, ‘By, I didn’t know Ava had such a sharp tongue. Think I’ll keep me distance from that one an’ all. Mind that lass Ella Parks was bonny.’

  ‘Aye,’ Dan had agreed, but he felt wretched about Millie.

  He cared for her and wanted to tell her he did not mind about her past. He should have tried harder to catch her up and not let Walter put him off so easily. He searched his pockets for enough to buy a final drink.

  ‘Mind you,’ Walter grunted, ‘I’m not surprised Millie wanted to cover up about her family. Imagine the shame of having a brother who was shot for cowardice. No, lad, you’re well out of it – stick to your footie.’

  So they had meandered home in the fog that was turning to a drizzly rain, and thought to find the house in darkness. But surprisingly they had discovered their father and Grant arguing heatedly with Mrs Dickson from next door.

  ‘You should call in the doctor,’ Mrs Dickson was insisting. ‘I’ll sit with her while you fetch him.’

  ‘Not the doctor,’ Mungo had grumbled. ‘We’ll see how she is in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll pay the doctor’s bill,’ Grant had snapped. ‘I’m off to fetch him.’

  ‘You’ll go nowhere.’ His father blocked his way. ‘You can’t call the doctor out at this time of night. Your mother wouldn’t want the fuss. She just needs rest. She’ll be better in the morning.’

  ‘She might be dead in the morning!’ Grant shouted.

  When Mrs Dickson saw the other sons, she seized Dan by the arm. ‘I’m that glad you’re back. Your mam’s collapsed. We think she fainted and fell down the stairs. She’s poorly bad. But she’s been asking for you, lad.’

  Dan felt his head spin and wished he had not drunk so much. He and Walter clattered upstairs and found their mother lying in the old iron bed, propped up on pillows, eyes closed. There was a large swelling on her brow where she must have hit her head as she fell, and Dan was shocked by how gaunt and old she looked. So while the others argued downstairs about the doctor and Mrs Dickson gave up and went home, he had kept vigil by her bedside, willing her to wake up and speak to him.

  As he sobered up, he was overwhelmed by remorse. Why had he stayed away so long in London, or at least not visited more often? His mother had grown old before his very eyes. But surely it was impossible that she would never wake up again and smile at him? In the depth of the night, he had held her hand and talked quietly to her about his life and his ambitions, his regrets and his fondness for her. He confessed secrets that burdened his conscience and that he could tell to no one else. Yet she did not stir or show any signs that she could hear him.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad son – I know how much you’ve cared for me,’ he whispered. ‘You always tried to shield us from me dad – stuck up for me. Don’t die now, Mam. Please don’t die!’

  As grey light finally filtered through the small window, Dan stood up, stiff and dispirited. Grant came upstairs to say he was going for Dr MacKenzie, and they tried to rouse their mother to drink a glass of water. For the first time in the long night, Effie opened her eyes. Her look was unfocused and confused, her breathing shallow.

  ‘Dan?’ she mouthed.

  ‘Aye, I’m here, Mam,’ Dan reassured, coming close.

  ‘You’re back,’ she murmured with a ghost of a smile.

  ‘Aye, I’m back.’ Dan smiled too.

  ‘Did you have a nice evening with Millie?’ Effie asked.

  ‘Canny,’ Dan mumbled. His mother looked pleased. ‘Here, try and sip this,’ he said, awkwardly pushing the mug of water to her lips and cupping his hand around her head. The effort made her splutter and cough and she turned her face away in exhaustion.

  ‘We won yesterday, Mam,’ Dan tried to cheer her, ‘and there was a scout from Gateshead Vulcans watching. We’re going to have a grand season.’

  But Effie had closed her eyes again and appeared to be sleeping at once. Later, when the doctor came, Dan went downstairs to douse his bleary eyes with icy water and munch on a dripping sandwich which Walter offered him. Effie’s sons sat around the kitchen table, slurping tea and casting resentful glances towards their father, who was sitting by the fire reading the newspaper as if it was a normal Sunday morning.

  When Dr MacKenzie appeared, his face was grim. ‘She’s very weak,’ he told them. ‘She needs to be in hospital. I’ll send for an ambulance to take her in.’

  Mungo flung down his newspaper. ‘Hospital?’ he snorted. ‘She’s not that poorly. She can’t be!’

  The doctor was short. ‘She’s got pneumonia. She’s very ill, Mr Nixon.’

  Mungo looked horrified. ‘She’s not going to die, is she?’

  Dr MacKenzie said, more gently, ‘We’ll do what we can. Just say a few prayers.’

  Dan saw his father sink back into his seat, his face drained in shock. Dan rushed back upstairs. His mother was staring at the door as he came in, and she stretched out weak arms towards him, her breathing laboured.

  ‘I’m dying,’ she gasped, struggling for breath. Dan put his arms around her.

  ‘No you’re not!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re going to get you well again. They’re taking you to the hospital soon.’

  Effie tried to raise her head and speak, her feverish eyes full of urgency. ‘M-M ...’

  ‘What is it, Mam?’ Dan bent close, trying to make out her words.

  ‘Promise me,’ she whispered.

  ‘What, Mam, promise what?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Look after her,’ Effie said, her throat rattling.

  ‘Who?’ Dan asked, worried by his mother’s agitation.

  ‘Millie. Look after Millie for me.’ She sank back, her face strained and her chest heaving at the exertion. ‘She’s been like a daughter to me.’

  Dan looked at his mother in astonishment. Why should she be thinking of Millie and why ask him to take care of the girl? he wondered, with a pang of guilt for the way he had abandoned her earlier. But he nodded and said, ‘Aye, of course I will,’ just to keep Effie happy. It was typical of his kind-hearted mother to worry about the young girl who came to help out. Of course she would have no idea about the Mercers’ shameful past, and there was no point upsetting her with it now.

  Effie closed her eyes once more and drifted back into feverish sleep. She was barely conscious when the ambulance came to collect her. Dan and Grant carried her down the narrow stairs and out to the back lane. They slipped around in the black mud, nearly losing their footing, and watched the horse-drawn ambulance trundle and slither away in the rain. Dan turned to
see his father, pale and fearful, standing in his braces by the back door.

  ‘We’ll visit tomorrow after our shift,’ Grant reassured him.

  Mungo said nothing. Shortly afterwards he went out, and did not reappear until after dark, by which time he was so drunk his sons had to help him into the house. They had just got him up to bed and he was snoring loudly when Dr MacKenzie appeared at the door with the news. Effie had never regained consciousness. She had died in her sleep at tea-time. Dan looked at his brothers, appalled. Pushing past the doctor, he rushed out into the dark before they could see him weep.

  ***

  Millie sat once more in Mrs Dodswell’s crowded parlour. It seemed an age since she had visited that first time with her mother, in their desperate search for work and shelter. Then, she had been timid and afraid; now she felt braver. So, first thing on Monday morning, she was here of her own choosing, attempting to make something of her life and looking forward rather than back. She took a deep breath and explained how she was just ordinary Millie Mercer from Craston, gambling that the plump agent would care more about her commission than Millie’s past. Mrs Dodswell listened with widening eyes, but at the end she patted Millie’s hand and said, ‘I always thought your mother was covering up for something, but she’s not the first to have to do so. Besides, you shouldn’t blame yourself; you were just a young lass. Your mother’s brought you up well and that’s all the grand folk in London need to know.’

  Millie felt a flood of relief at her lack of condemnation, and she stuttered her gratitude. Mrs Dodswell agreed to write on her behalf to the agency in Baker Street, London, for whom she liaised.

  ‘Girls from the north are very popular as domestic servants,’ she assured her, with a confident nod. ‘I’ve been sending girls to place since before the war, and the demand has never been higher. You’re strong and hard-working, and you’ve got the height and bearing for a parlour maid. Your prospects for domestic service are excellent, Millie.’

  Millie signed the form, encouraged by the woman’s enthusiasm, and was about to leave when Mrs Dodswell stopped her.

  ‘It’s terrible about Effie Nixon, isn’t it? So sudden.’

  Millie’s heart jerked. ‘What about her?’

  The agent’s florid face flushed in confusion. ‘Oh dear! I thought you must have heard, with you so keen to get away from Ashborough all of a sudden.’ One look at Millie’s aghast face told her otherwise. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Dear me. I just heard last night from Mrs Dickson.’

  ‘Heard what?’ Millie demanded hoarsely.

  ‘Sit down,’ Mrs Dodswell insisted, steering Millie back into a chair. ‘I’m afraid Mrs Nixon died yesterday.’

  Millie gasped in horror. Not Effie! She could not bear to think of kind Effie dead. The older woman was telling her details, but Millie could not take them in. All she could think about was how she had longed to talk to Dan’s mother today about what had happened on Saturday night, and explain why she was going away.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ she said in distress. ‘I must go round. I’m always expected on a Monday . . .’ Then she burst into tears.

  Mrs Dodswell fussed around her with a handkerchief and fetched a cup of water. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear this way. I know you were fond of her – as Mrs Nixon was of you. She often said so.’ Millie struggled to compose herself, but Mrs Dodswell was dubious. ‘You’ve had a shock, dear. Wait a few days before you visit. From what I hear, Mr Nixon wants to be left alone.’

  But Millie could not wait. She insisted she was fine and rushed round to Tenter Terrace, half hoping Mrs Dodswell had got the story wrong. But as she neared number 28, she saw that the blinds were drawn and there was no sign of activity in the washhouse as normal. She slowed to a walk and fretted over whether she should call.

  Deciding to be brave, she went into the yard and knocked on the closed back door. Grant loomed in the entrance as it opened a fraction. He came out.

  ‘Er, sorry, Millie,’ he mumbled, looking beyond her shoulder, embarrassed to catch her eye.

  ‘I know, I’ve heard, you don’t have to explain,’ she said quickly, seeing his distress. ‘I just came to see if I can help. With the washing and that . . .’

  They stood in awkward silence, both feeling inadequate. Mungo’s voice barked ill-temperedly from the kitchen, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Millie,’ Grant answered, ‘offering to help out.’

  ‘Tell her to bugger off!’ he shouted back drunkenly. ‘I don’t want any women fussing round here, do you hear? No one!’

  Grant looked at Millie, his stern brown eyes softening. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a shock for us all.’

  Millie nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Is Dan at home?’ She was sure he was nearby; she could sense it. Grant hesitated a moment, and then shook his head.

  ‘He’s very upset about his mam,’ he said. ‘Maybe leave it for a few days, eh?’ Millie’s vision blurred with tears, and she turned away, unable to speak. As she trudged back into the lane, she heard him add, ‘Ta for coming, lass.’

  Millie glanced back, wondering if he knew about her family shame. But Grant’s impassive face gave nothing away. Yet worse than her humiliation was the knowledge that Dan did not want to see her, and she cursed herself once more for her boastful tongue. She hurried away quite desolate.

  ***

  Millie never found the courage to return that week. She was subdued and kept to herself, working slavishly to stem the grief inside. Once she tried to tell her mother how much she missed Effie, but Teresa took offence. ‘It’s not as if she was family,’ she complained jealously. So Millie kept quiet. Elsie tried to comfort her, and Millie was grateful that the country girl felt no ill-will towards them for their shameful past. But only word from Dan would ease her wretchedness. She hoped in vain that he might appear to tell her that he still cared for her and it did not matter to him that she had lied about her past.

  On the day of Effie’s funeral, word came through from Mrs Dodswell that the agency in London was offering Millie a job as between-maid at a house near Hyde Park. She accepted it. Millie, Teresa and the Moodys attended the funeral service at Myrtle Terrace Presbyterian Church, which was packed with mourners. While Ava fidgeted and Teresa muttered that she hated funerals, Millie watched the pale autumn sun filtering through the high plain windows and thought how Effie would have loved the burning orange of the leaves outside. Anything that brought colour into the drab streets around Tenter Terrace had always delighted her.

  Only Moody went to the Nixons’ house afterwards for the wake, telling the others to go home. Ava, in a sulk at not being taken to Tenter Terrace, defied Teresa and went out for a walk.

  ‘You’re in mourning, you should show more respect on the day of your cousin’s funeral,’ Teresa scolded.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about respect,’ Ava answered scornfully, and banged out of the house. The girl was being extra difficult since the recent revelations, and Teresa had to bite back her criticism. She could risk no further upset.

  Teresa waited tensely for Joseph’s return, fearing his mood after a sorrowful drinking session with Mungo. ‘It’ll bring back his own memories of losing his wife,’ she complained to Millie, ‘and I’ll have to bear the brunt. The funeral will set him off again, it’s not healthy.’

  That was typical of her mother, Millie thought, to have no truck with the past. She had not even wanted to attend Effie’s funeral and had only gone for appearance’s sake. Since Graham’s death, funerals were to be shunned. She was right about the effect on Moody, though, who came rolling home drunk and morose and shut himself in his room for the next three days, allowing only Teresa to console him. Millie saw how Joseph leaned on her mother and realised just how much he had come to depend on her. For that reason she knew her mother’s position at the hotel was secure. Teresa had made herself indispensable, and not even Ava could get rid of her, despite her animosity.

  With Ava’s continual sniping comments and the atmosphere of gloom in the hot
el, Millie began to long for her departure to London. Yet as the day approached, she became restless at the thought of leaving without ever seeing Dan again. Defying his father’s strict adherence to mourning, he had played in the match that Saturday, but did not come back for tea with the rest of the team. He appeared to be avoiding the hotel, for which Ava blamed her. Millie had caught a glimpse of him in the distance, leaving Burt Park on his own with a black armband over his tan coat, an unusually solitary sight.

  Time was slipping away and her mother was preoccupied with getting her fitted out for her journey to London. The agency had sent the money for a single train fare and uniform, which would have to be reimbursed out of her wages once she began work. But it was Teresa who finally exploded with exasperation.

  ‘Go and see the lad!’ she cried. ‘I can’t bear all this moping around.’

  ‘But what if he won’t speak to me?’ Millie worried.

  ‘Then he’s not worth the bother,’ Teresa answered bluntly. ‘Maybe you acted a bit daft with your stories, but if he can’t take you for what you are, then he’s not worth losing sleep over. It’s not your fault that you had a feckless father and a cowardly brother. And it’s me who deserted me husband and set up with another man. I caused all the pretending and lying. I’m the one who’s going to hell, not you!’

  Millie rushed over and hugged her mother. ‘Don’t say that, Mam!’ Teresa laughed bleakly and hugged her back.

  ‘You know I don’t want you to go, don’t you? I’d much rather it was Ava who was leaving, but I can’t force her to go. Anyhow, you’ll be better off away from her, and you’re lucky to have this chance of going to London. You’re old enough to stand on your own two feet now.’ Millie nodded bravely, but her mother held on to her. ‘I’ll miss you, silly Millie.’ Teresa kissed her head briefly. The old childish expression and the unexpected tenderness made Millie’s eyes sting with tears. For the first time in her life she was leaving her mother, and all at once she was fearful. The arguments and battles of the past did not seem so bad after all.