A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  There was a ripple of applause. Frank shook his head and sat down. Clara wanted to push her way through the crowd and comfort him. But the others were just like her; they did not see what Germany had to do with life in Byfell. What mattered was making ends meet and finding work.

  Benny steered her upstairs to join the queue for food.

  ‘Not like Frank to speak out in public,’ she said. ‘Folk could’ve had the decency to listen.’

  ‘He’s like me dad,’ Benny snorted, ‘always more interested in what’s happening on the Continent than here. But it wasn’t the place to say it. Tonight’s all about trying to get lads unionised.’

  ‘Still, I feel sorry for him,’ Clara said.

  ‘Don’t.’ Benny squeezed her hand. ‘He’s got Lillian to fuss over him.’

  When they returned to the dance hall, Clara was astonished to see Vinnie Craven talking to the band. Joanie West was beside him, smoking. She must be back performing in Newcastle. The smell of Turkish cigarettes wafted over. Surrounding them was a group of young men.

  ‘There’s Jimmy!’ Clara gasped to Benny. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  She pushed her way towards them and confronted her brother. ‘I thought you were keeping an eye on Mam tonight?’

  Jimmy gave her a sulky look. ‘I’m workin’.’

  Clara laughed. ‘At what?’

  Vinnie turned from speaking to Frank. ‘For me.’ He smiled, his eyes appraising. ‘Evening Clara; evening Benny. You make a lovely couple on the dance floor. You remember Joanie — Joanie West?’

  Clara nodded at the dancer. She had not aged in the four years. Joanie gave a cool smile that did not light her eyes.

  ‘Joanie’s on tour at the Palladium. Great show. You should take Clara to see it, Benny.’ Vinnie bantered.

  Benny gave him a suspicious look. ‘No disrespect to Miss West, but I haven’t much time for music hall.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Vinnie sneered, ‘not with you trying to get my lads out on strike and busy turning England into a Bolshevik colony.’

  Benny squared up to him. ‘A fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work, Mr Craven. That’s all the lads want.’

  ‘Hear that, lads?’ Vinnie chuckled. ‘Benny Lewis knows just what you want.’ The youths laughed loudly and closed in. Their posture was menacing. Clara saw Jimmy aping the older boys, legs apart, arms folded like in a team photograph.

  Benny was scathing. ‘I know they want more than slave wages.’

  Frank stood up. ‘Benny lad, take it easy.’

  ‘Aye, listen to your big brother for once. My lads are happy,’ Vinnie went on, ’cos they have a boss who looks after them better than any shop steward. Union men just care about themselves and the sound of their own voices — like politicians. Who needs them?’

  ‘Aye, a right little Hitler, aren’t you?’ Benny said hot-temperedly.

  Vinnie laughed, but the look in his eyes was deadly serious. ‘You’ve got more in common with Adolf than me, Benny,’ he said softly. ‘Isn’t he a fellow Kraut?’

  At once, Benny was thrusting a hand towards Vinnie, pushing him in the chest. Three of Vinnie’s entourage jumped forward. Two shielded Vinnie while a third, Clarkie, punched Benny away.

  Frank sprang between them. ‘Haway, lads, that’s enough!’

  A fist swung at him, but Frank dodged and struck back instantly, knocking his attacker sideways. Lillian screamed. Vinnie got in amongst them.

  ‘Lads, lads!’ He pulled one of his youths off Benny. The others backed off as some of the stewards muscled forward.

  ‘We’ll have no trouble in here,’ one of them shouted.

  Vinnie reached out a hand to help Benny to his feet. Benny ignored it and stood up unaided, clutching his stomach.

  ‘Settle it outside,’ the steward said gruffly.

  ‘Nothing to settle,’ Vinnie said, ‘just a difference of opinion.’ He held out his hand to Benny. ‘No hard feelings?’

  Benny stood looking furious. Clara said tensely, ‘Shake on it, Benny.’

  Suddenly Frank spoke up. ‘Perhaps if you apologise for what you called him, Vinnie, he’ll be able to shake your hand as an equal.’

  Vinnie gave him a sharp look. ‘It was just a joke.’

  ‘Name-calling is the first weapon of the fascist bully,’ Frank said, tight-jawed.

  Vinnie’s eyes narrowed. For an instant, Clara thought she saw real anger. But she must have been wrong, for the next moment Vinnie was laughing and clapping both Frank and Benny on the shoulder.

  ‘My deepest apologies, lads. You know I meant no harm by it. Frank, I can see you haven’t lost any of your punch. You must come down to the hall and give my lads a lesson or two.’ He turned and nodded at his men to follow, holding out an arm to Joanie. He dropped his voice as he passed Clara. ‘Keep that hot-headed lad of yours out of trouble, eh?’ He touched her arm. ‘The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt.’

  Clara watched them swagger out of the hall, Jimmy striding to keep up with Vinnie. Her heart stirred with unease.

  ‘What did he say to you?’ Benny asked angrily.

  ‘Said to keep you out of trouble,’ Clara said, facing him in annoyance. ‘Why can’t you keep your temper?’

  ‘He started it,’ Benny protested.

  ‘No, you did,’ Clara pointed out, ‘by being rude to that actress.’

  ‘He was itching for an argument,’ Benny answered. ‘What was he doing here anyway? Ask yourself that. Recruiting ground for more of his bully boys, shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Our Jimmy’s not a bully.’ Clara was indignant. ‘At least Mr Craven’s keeping him off the streets.’

  ‘Teaching him to rule the streets, more like,’ Benny ridiculed. ‘Lad should be learning a trade.’

  ‘Well, there aren’t any,’ Clara snapped.

  Benny looked at her helplessly and let out a big sigh. ‘Aye, I know. Sorry, lass. We shouldn’t be arguing. I’ll not let Craven spoil our night out.’

  But for Clara the evening had been spoiled; both Vinnie and Benny had seen to that. It was her first real tiff with Benny. Reenie noticed and left some nursing friends to come and sit with them. After a while, they danced again and at the end of the evening Benny walked her home. By then, Clara had forgiven him and let him kiss her goodnight at the end of the street. But she did not linger, just in case her brother or someone else was watching.

  Chapter 14

  The next week, Clara forgot all about the unpleasantness at the dance. Adam Paxton waved a new copy of the weekly Tyne Times at her as she finished cleaning.

  ‘Admiral’s using your piece on Health and Beauty. Congratulations.’

  ‘Never!’ Clara rushed over. There, covering a column and a half, was her story of the meeting and the quote from Willa Templeton. Her very own words in print for the first time. Clara gazed at them in delight.

  Emboldened, she knocked on the editor’s door.

  ‘Just wanted to thank you very much for using my article, Mr Jellicoe,’ she said in her most well-spoken voice. He nodded in acknowledgement. She asked if she could write something else.

  ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll print it,’ he grunted. ‘Depends if it’s good enough.’

  ‘It will be,’ she said confidently. ‘And sir? How much do I get paid?’

  He shot her a warning look. ‘That was just a trial article. I had to rewrite most of it. You might get paid for the next one.’

  Clara swallowed her disappointment, determined to win his praise next time.

  An opportunity arose soon afterwards when she heard from Jimmy of a big fight in the offing. Danny Watts was back from sea and Vinnie was putting him up against a champion from London.

  ‘It’s ganna be massive,’ Jimmy said in excitement. ‘There’s that much interest, Mr Craven’s hiring the Hippodrome.’

  Clara went straight to Jellicoe and asked to cover it for the paper.

  ‘Women don’t do boxing,’ he said shortly. ‘Paxton can cover it.’ />
  ‘I can give it a different touch.’ Clara would not be put off. ‘Not just the fight, but the social occasion; who’s there and what they’re wearing.’

  He looked at her as if she was mad.

  ‘And I can get interviews with Danny and the other lad,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’ve met the London promoter. Please, Mr Jellicoe, say yes.’

  She took his sigh and nod as agreement.

  Clara knew if she was to make a success of this, she needed Vinnie’s co-operation. She went to see him and asked if she could interview Danny and any of the punters. He looked as astonished as her editor.

  ‘Since when have you been writing for the Times?’ he asked, intrigued.

  ‘Last week.’ Clara smiled proudly. She was not going to say she had yet to be paid for her work. ‘Did you not see the article on the Women’s League of Health and Beauty?’

  Vinnie’s smile was sardonic. ‘Must have missed that one.’

  ‘Well, I wrote it.’

  ‘Good for you. And you’ve got another commission?’

  ‘Well,’ Clara said with less conviction, ‘I have to prove myself first. That’s why I want to do a good job on the fight.’

  ‘I’d be happy to help.’ Vinnie smiled. ‘Maybe I can guide you on the technical details.’

  Clara nodded with enthusiasm. ‘And I was wondering if you could suggest who I might interview.’

  Vinnie tapped his nose conspiratorially. ‘I’ve heard word about something that could put your story on the front page.’

  Clara’s pulse quickened. ‘What’s that?’

  Vinnie beckoned her to come closer. He lowered his voice. ‘Some very distinguished visitors are coming. Got a call this morning.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Brigadier and Mrs Bell-Carr of Hoxton Hall.’

  She stood open-mouthed in wonder. ‘Bell-Carr?’

  Vinnie chuckled. ‘You’ve heard of them?’

  ‘Dad used to talk about him. Said he was a canny boxer — amateur. It was the first time I’d heard there were boxers who didn’t have to fight for money.’

  ‘Aye,’ Vinnie said. ‘Alastair Bell-Carr used to box at school. He’s right keen on the sport. Used to come down from Hoxton regular when me father was alive and when the brigadier was still a bachelor.’

  ‘Oh yes! He married an Irish heiress, didn’t he?’ Clara exclaimed.

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It was in the Sunday paper once; they were opening some fete. I remember Dad reading it out to Mam, and Mam saying we could do with one of them heiress types. She was a Fitz Johns. The names stuck in my mind. I never forget a name.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Vinnie said, smiling in admiration. ‘You are the little journalist.’

  She left full of excitement.

  When the night came, there was such a crush of people that Clara struggled to get near enough to see the Bell-Carrs. They came with a party of friends, laughing and chattering loudly as they were ushered upstairs to the front of the grand circle. Clara glimpsed a tall, balding man with a trim moustache in full evening dress and a petite woman wrapped in furs with a flash of an ice-blue sequinned gown beneath.

  Vinnie got Clara to the side of the stalls for a good view of the fight and she scribbled madly in a notebook Max had given her. She had already been to the Watts’ home and interviewed both Danny and his wife, as well as speaking to Madame Gautier, the London promoter, about her charge. She observed Vinnie sitting close to the woman and making her laugh.

  Watts and Kain were equally matched and to Clara there seemed little between them. Then in the thirteenth round, with two more to go, Watts felled Kain. A left hook caught him off guard and the Londoner dropped to the floor. There was a huge roar from the home crowd. The referee stood over the fighter, counting him out. At the count of six, he struggled back on his feet. There was a counter-roar.

  The men battled on for two more rounds. At the end, the referee held up Watts’s knotted arm as the winner. The din was deafening. Above, Clara caught sight of the Bell-Carrs and their party rising to leave. She dashed to the door, and as they came sweeping downstairs she rushed forward.

  ‘Brigadier Bell-Carr, excuse me, sir. I’m from the Tyne Times,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What did you think of the fight?’

  He carried on past her without a glance in her direction. The others followed, talking loudly over her questions as if she did not exist.

  ‘Mrs Bell-Carr!’ Clara called out as they disappeared through the wide doors.

  Unexpectedly, the small, sandy-haired woman turned round and smiled. She reminded Clara of a very sleek kitten.

  ‘Did you enjoy the fight?’

  ‘I did.’ She smiled. ‘And the best man won.’

  ‘Where are you going now?’ Clara asked.

  ‘To dinner, dear girl.’

  ‘At Hoxton Hall?’

  ‘No.’ She gave a throaty laugh. ‘To the Sandford Rooms, darling.’

  Then she was gone and Clara was left trembling at her audacity and wondering where the Sandford Rooms were.

  Lance Jellicoe was pleased with her work and the article appeared in the next week’s edition. From him she learned that the Sandford was an exclusive dining club, frequented by gentry and well-to-do businessmen.

  ‘They sometimes have debates and visiting speakers,’ the editor told her. ‘The food is first class.’

  ‘You’re a member too?’ Clara asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘No,’ Jellicoe admitted, ‘but I was a guest of the Italian consul once.’

  Clara had a yearning that one day she would dine at the Sandford Rooms, but she kept it to herself. After that, to Clara’s amazed delight, Jellicoe began to give her small events to cover that Adam Paxton was happy to avoid: the opening of a new dress shop, a talk on childhood diseases and inoculations, spring gardening tips, Easter events for the family. Quickly, Clara began to build up her own contacts and suggest articles of interest to their female readership. She began a recipe column, which made Reenie laugh.

  ‘But you never cook,’ her friend snorted.

  ‘No, I’m just passing on information,’ Clara said breezily. She published several of Marta’s simple, wholesome recipes.

  Clara spoke to butchers and bakers, gardeners and cooks to discover their tips on preparing food as cheaply and easily as possible. It was so popular that Jellicoe gave her a Women’s Page and put her on a part-time weekly rate. She covered everything from new labour-saving devices in the home to the healthy properties of honey. She did film reviews but was also quick to volunteer for dull meetings or local society events, knowing that the more she learned about the area and the more people she met, the more indispensable she became to her editor. She also insisted on keeping her coverage of the local boxing, knowing that if she was ever to be taken on full time, she would have to learn as much as possible about sport.

  Whereas once she would have been awkward going into Craven’s boxing hall alone, she now became a regular visitor. Clarkie and the other young men who hung around doing odd jobs for Vinnie gave her a warm welcome and tipped her off if there was a visiting boxer or music hall comedian.

  Vinnie knew so many people in both the sporting and the entertainment business that there was a constant coming and going of visitors and promoters there to do deals. Yet he always seemed to have time to spare for a quick chat and to introduce her to whoever was around. Often Patience was there, helping Dolly with the front of house or helping feed the young men who gathered at the hall. Vinnie seemed to be providing an unofficial soup kitchen for dozens of the Byfell youth. In return, Clara saw how much they respected and adored him.

  Gradually, Clara began to earn enough from her journalism to give up cleaning at the newspaper offices and the accountants’. But she kept on at Max’s office and flat, partly for the money and partly because of his kindness to her during the bad times. She was determined to buy back as many of her mother’s possessions from the pawnbroker
’s as she could afford. While Patience and Jimmy were getting their meals at Craven’s hall and free cigarettes from Dolly, they were earning little more than pocket money for the most basic necessities.

  So busy was Clara with her new-found work that she saw increasingly little of Reenie and her family. She had no time to go hiking. Sundays were spent covering church parades, writing up her articles or sleeping off the exhaustion of the week. Patience encouraged her to stay away.

  ‘That Benny’s causing trouble for Vinnie,’ she told her with disapproval. ‘Stirring things up at the garment factory.’

  ‘In what way?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Trying to get the lasses to strike,’ Patience said querulously. ‘He’ll not be happy till there’s revolution and blood on the streets. That’s what comes of letting foreigners into our country. They bring in all these outlandish ideas that aren’t right for us English.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Clara said impatiently. ‘Benny’s as English as I am.’

  Patience gave her a sharp look. Clara left before her mother worked herself up into another rant about the Lewises. She suspected Dolly had a lot to do with Patience’s hardening attitudes. ‘Outlandish’ was the sort of word Dolly would use. They spent too much time gossiping together and finding fault, in Clara’s opinion.

  Clara, equally stubborn, allowed Benny to continue to court her into the early summer. But even though the times they could meet up were infrequent, they were not always harmonious. They argued over Jimmy, who Benny thought was spying on them. They argued over Patience. Clara was often too tired to smooth Benny’s hurt feelings.

  ‘The old wife can’t stand me, can she?’ Benny accused.

  ‘You could be more friendly yourself,’ Clara pointed out.

  ‘She gans out the room whenever I come up!’

  ‘Only ’cos you ignore her in her own home.’

  ‘Cos I’m not lickin’ her boots enough,’ Benny ridiculed.

  ‘You know Mam’s not been the same since Dad died,’ Clara sighed impatiently. ‘You should be more understanding.’

  ‘No,’ Benny said with a tempestuous look Clara was beginning to know well. ‘She’s always looked down her nose at us — specially me mam. Still calls her Mrs Leizmann in the street like it’s an insult.’