‘They’ve gone home,’ Dolly told her. ‘I rang Clarkie to come and fetch them.’ Clara noticed the pleased look on the older woman’s face. ‘And I got Patience to pack up your things; Clarkie brought them back.’
‘You had no right!’ Clara protested.
‘As Vinnie’s mother, I’ve every right,’ Dolly snapped. ‘And don’t think of sneaking off to Byfell. Your mam agrees with me — it’s time you stopped at home where you belong. Can’t have Vinnie coming back to find you gallivanting around town.’
Clara felt too drained to argue further. She retreated to her room and stayed there till morning. Dolly came up with an early cup of tea and fussed over her as if their disagreement had never taken place.
‘I’m going to make sure you take good care of that grandbairn of mine,’ she declared.
Two days later, Vinnie came home. Clara took the afternoon off work to go and meet the boat from Hamburg. Clarkie drove her down to the quayside and they sat for an age as wind and rain buffeted the car, waiting. The sailing was delayed by nearly two hours and Clara was chilled through by the time the ship docked.
Vinnie disembarked amid a crowd of Rotarians, laughing and chattering, while others looked pale and ill from the stormy crossing. He cried with delight on seeing Clara and rushed to embrace her. She felt exultant to be in his arms again.
‘I’ve missed you so much!’ she said, bursting into unexpected tears.
Vinnie laughed and kissed her. ‘Funny way of showing it, lass.’
He steered her to the car and settled her in the back seat, Clarkie following with his baggage. Then he returned to say goodbye to his friends. Clara felt a stab of envy watching them laughing and shaking hands in farewell. They had all experienced a shared adventure, a camaraderie that she would never know. Willa waved to her as George led his wife and son quickly towards a waiting taxi. ‘See you soon!’ her friend mouthed and was gone.
Back at The Cedars, Vinnie bathed and changed and ate supper with Clara and Dolly. He was bursting with stories about his trip and how deeply impressed he was by German society. He had gifts from the Brauns and several films taken on his new Box Brownie camera to develop.
‘I can’t wait to show you what Germany looks like,’ he enthused. ‘The streets are that clean and the local parades are a sight to see; they’re so patriotic with their bands and banners.’
When he finally paused for breath, Dolly lost no time in complaining about Clara’s staying with Patience. Vinnie seemed taken aback. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘To spend time with Mam,’ Clara defended herself.
‘She could have come here.’ Vinnie frowned. ‘This is your home, lass. You don’t go anywhere without my say-so.’ Clara stared at him, on the verge of laughing, but he went on. ‘And it’s time you stopped work. I’ve let you go on too long. Herr Braun couldn’t believe you were still working in your condition. You’d never see that in Germany. I tell you, Clara, it’s been an eye-opener. Hitler praises women highly for what they can do for the Fatherland; Children, Church and Kitchen, that’s their saying. Lasses over there are the backbone of a healthy society.’
‘Good job I’m not German then,’ Clara joked. ‘Children I can manage, but we’ve never been churchgoers and I’m a danger in the kitchen.’
Annoyance flickered across Vinnie’s face. ‘Well, you’ll have to learn, lass. Mam and Ella can give you lessons. Now that you’re stopping work, you can do a bit of cooking and housekeeping in preparation for the bairn’s coming.’
Clara looked at him in disbelief, but decided not to challenge him in front of Dolly. He was probably just trying to mollify his mother after her string of complaints. She would get round him later, when they were alone. Clara went early to bed, eager for Vinnie to join her. Ten minutes later, she heard the front door close and the car start up. She got to the window just in time to see Vinnie driving off.
Wrapped in her dressing gown, she padded downstairs and found Dolly listening to the radio and knitting.
‘Where’s he gone?’ Clara demanded.
‘Down to the hall,’ Dolly said, needles clicking. ‘Had some business to take care of.’ She glanced up. ‘It’s grand having him back, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Clara agreed and retreated upstairs in disappointment. She determined to stay awake until he returned. But she fell asleep and had no idea what time in the early hours Vinnie finally came home.
Chapter 26
Clara spent the next two days in bed with a heavy cold and it was Vinnie who went to the Tyne Times offices and told Jellicoe she would not be returning. Her editor sent round a huge bouquet of flowers and a card signed by Miss Holt and Adam Paxton, wishing her well for the future. Clara’s annoyance at Vinnie’s high-handedness was tempered by his attentive concern.
‘You must rest, lass, and get your strength up. Ella will make anything you want, you just have to ask. And I’ve asked Jimmy to run errands for you, so you don’t have to go out for anything.’
Each evening, Vinnie would bring her a present: perfume, bath salts, a silk scarf. He brought up meals on a tray and sat with her, making sure that she ate everything up, before going back out. There was much to plan for Mosley’s visit, as well as a series of lucrative fights at Craven Hall.
At the end of the week, when Clara was feeling better, she found her confinement frustrating. She wanted to be involved in the organisation of the summer rally, but Vinnie felt that the occasional trip to Willa’s was enough exertion. By the middle of May, Clara was going mad with boredom. She missed her journalism most: the buzz of the office, meeting people as she gathered her stories and driving about the town. Her diary was a poor substitute; there was nothing to report in her long, languorous days. Never in her life had she had such time on her hands. She followed Ella around the kitchen, getting in the way, and made Jimmy play draughts with her until he complained it was not his job and refused to any more. She paced round the garden after Tom the gardener, badgering him to teach her what the plants were.
Finally her patience snapped. ‘I’m not ill, Vinnie! I have to do something. Let me go to the Women’s Section meetings. You must let me be a part of all the excitement. Women have their role to play in all this too, you know.’
Vinnie relented. ‘Only if you agree to Clarkie’s chauffeuring you around. It’s not safe being out on your own. The Bolshies are stirring up a hornet’s nest. Our success maddens them — they’re out to spoil things for Mosley’s visit.’
Clara leaped at the offer. ‘I promise not to drive.’ She put her arms about his neck and kissed him lingeringly. Desire flared inside, despite her heavy womb. Vinnie disengaged himself and gave her a chaste peck on the forehead. She swallowed her disappointment. They had not made love since his return from Germany. When Vinnie touched her at all, it was almost with reverence. ‘You’re carrying my child,’ he told her. ‘I’d do nothing to harm him or you.’
At the next meeting of the Women’s Section, Cissie and Mabel gave Clara a warm welcome. ‘Thought Vinnie had put you in purdah,’ Cissie teased.
‘As good as,’ Clara grinned. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to be with you all again.’
Cissie stood back from hugging her. ‘Goodness me, I felt the baby kick. Not long now, girl. We don’t want you giving birth at the rally.’
‘It’s a good six weeks away, Dr Dixon reckons,’ Clara answered.
After the second meeting, with only a week to go before Race Week and the big rally planned for the Town Moor, Clara asked Clarkie to drop by the Tyne Times offices.
‘Just want to thank Jellicoe for the flowers he sent,’ she told him. ‘Never had the chance to say goodbye.’
As soon as she entered her old office, Clara felt a wave of regret that she was no longer working there. Adam was busy getting an article finished; Miss Holt was on the telephone and waved in surprise. Clara knocked and went in to see her editor. She was touched by his obvious delight at seeing her. He cleared a chair for her to sit on
and she bombarded him with questions about what had been happening in her absence.
Eventually they were interrupted by Miss Holt’s knocking and entering. ‘Sorry, Clara, but your driver Mr Clark wants to know how much longer you’ll be.’
‘Tell him two minutes,’ Clara said, rising reluctantly. The secretary went out. ‘Let me cover the rally for you,’ she pleaded. ‘You know I’m your best contact for this.’
Jellicoe snorted. ‘Look at you. You’re in no state to be covering stories.’
‘Just this once,’ she urged. ‘I bet I could get an interview with Mosley.’
‘Does Vinnie know about this?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Vinnie supports my work for the Women’s Section,’ Clara was evasive, ‘and this will be from the women’s point of view. He’ll be more than happy at the publicity.’
Clara left triumphant with the commission from Jellicoe. Clarkie commented, ‘You took a long time over a bunch of flowers.’
‘It was a big bunch of flowers.’ Clara smiled, already planning how she was going to cover the forthcoming events. Mosley was not due to come until the end of a week of marches and meetings, culminating in his triumphal appearance before thousands of Tynesiders at a massive rally on the Town Moor.
There had already been disturbances at a BUF parade in Gateshead where anti-fascists had turned up to heckle and fight. The Newcastle meeting was to be on an altogether bigger scale. Vinnie was frantically busy with preparations. Jimmy boasted to Clara that he was to be part of the guard at the meeting.
At the last moment, when she thought it too late for Vinnie to protest, Clara told him that she would be attending with the Women’s Section.
‘Cissie will look after me,’ she assured him.
Vinnie stared at her as if she were mad. ‘You’re not going.’ He was adamant. ‘Mam’s taken the day off work to be here with you.’
‘She doesn’t need to,’ Clara protested. ‘Vinnie! This is the most exciting thing to happen to our branch; you can’t be so cruel as to stop me being a part of it.’
Vinnie looked at her in exasperation as he dressed in his new black uniform. ‘I don’t want you there,’ he said distractedly. ‘It’s too risky in your condition. You’ll stay here and keep out of harm’s way.’
Clara bit back a retort. He could not stop her. It was already arranged that she would meet Cissie at Willa’s and they would all go together. Willa was showing greater interest in joining the section since the trip to Germany and Clara was sure the rally would be the spur that she needed. The women would show that they were as brave and loyal as the men.
Once Vinnie had left, Clara told Dolly she was going for an afternoon rest. She changed into a dark grey smock and black jacket with the BUF badge and listened out for her mother-in-law. The radio was playing in the sitting room. She slipped out of the house. It was only when she started up the engine of the Albion that Dolly came rushing to the window, banging on the glass and shouting. Clara drove off. She felt exultant at having escaped and was still in a state of feverish excitement when she arrived at Madras House in Jesmond.
Cissie was suspicious. ‘I thought Vinnie would be dropping you off. He does know about our arrangement to go together?’
Clara glanced away. ‘Of course he does. I told him you would look after me.’
‘Clara?’ Cissie eyed her.
Clara was defiant. ‘He doesn’t want me to go, but I’m one of the Women’s Section and I’ve just as much right to be there as he has.’
Cissie threw back her head with laughter. ‘You naughty girl.’
Willa was shocked. ‘You shouldn’t go against what your husband says. It is going to be safe, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is,’ Cissie said dismissively. ‘The Blackshirts will protect us.’
Even before they got near the meeting hall, they could see throngs of people hostile to the march gathering in the surrounding streets. There were hundreds of them ranged under banners: Socialists, Communists, the Women’s Cooperative Guild, and trade unions. Mounted police were positioned on street corners. Clara had her first sharp pang of doubt. She clutched at Cissie’s hand.
‘I had no idea there’d be this much opposition,’ she gulped.
‘Hold your head up, girl,’ Cissie ordered.
She took both Clara and Willa by the arm and walked them briskly up the street to join the procession. As they turned the corner, Clara was gladdened to see rank upon rank of Blackshirts and BUF supporters — students, ex-servicemen with medals, the well-dressed middle class and down-at-heel men in frayed suits — all assembling behind fascist banners and Union flags. But what made her heart jolt with fright was the seething mass of protesters beyond the cordon of police. They had come in their thousands, not hundreds. They bayed like dogs, drowning out the noise of the BUF bands.
Her legs buckled and she clutched her belly, heart racing. Cissie gripped her.
‘Perhaps Vinnie was right. You feeling up to this, girl?’ she asked.
Clara nodded.
Willa said in a frightened voice, ‘I think it’s safer to go on than turn back now. Let’s just get into the hall.’
Together they marched forward, holding their heads up, ignoring the jeers. The men in front began to boom out a Blackshirt song:
‘Mosley, Leader of Thousands! Hope of our manhood, we proudly hail thee!
Raise we this song of allegiance, for we are sworn and shall not fail thee!’
It gave Clara courage. Blackshirts surrounded the hall entrance and guarded the approach. Just as they reached the door, she heard someone shout out her name. She turned to see a man trying to push his way through the fascist guard.
‘Clara!’ he bellowed. ‘Traitor! You should be ashamed of yourself!’
Clara faltered. A moment later, he was grabbed and hurled back into the crowd. But she had glimpsed enough of his dark hair and angry face to recognise him.
‘Benny,’ she gasped, feeling winded. Cissie held her up.
‘You know that man?’ she said in distaste.
‘He was a friend once,’ she panted.
‘That could be useful to Vinnie,’ Cissie murmured. ‘“Know thine enemy.”’
The next minute they were inside, joining the ranks of saluting supporters.
Dressed in her thick clothing, Clara found it unbearably hot in the crowded airless hall. She was thankful to sit down, but even then found it hard to catch her breath. She sat with her eyes closed as the band struck up the National Anthem and Vinnie marched in with the other local leaders and climbed the steps to the platform. She did not have the energy to take notes.
At once, hecklers began to spring up among the audience and disrupt the speeches. The Blackshirt stewards were swift to root them out and eject them from the hall, but the atmosphere was ill-tempered, always simmering and threatening to get out of hand. Every time the outside door opened, they could hear shouting and chanting in the street. Clara was astounded at how organised was the opposition against them. Why were they so unpopular?
After half an hour, Vinnie declared the meeting over and it descended into chaos as people scrambled for the door. Clara watched Vinnie leave the stage, grim-faced. She wanted to rush to him but dared not show herself. Better if he never knew she had been there. He might blame Cissie or Willa and that would not be fair. He joined the procession as it was jostled out of the hall.
Willa began to shake and sob. ‘I’m not going back out there! I just can’t!’
‘Don’t be so weak-kneed,’ Cissie said impatiently. ‘Clara’s not scared and she can’t run half as fast in her condition. Come on, we’ll face it together.’
Clara had a sudden thought. ‘The back entrance might be quieter,’ she said. ‘It’s only a street away from headquarters. We can take refuge there till all this dies down. Just listen to the noise out there.’
Cissie was scathing. ‘I’m not going to scurry out the back like a frightened mouse. This is the time to show what we fascist wo
men are made of.’
‘Look at the state Willa’s in,’ Clara pleaded. ‘And I’m not feeling grand either.’
Cissie sighed impatiently. ‘I’ll go after Vinnie. He’ll have to be told. You stay here.’
She disappeared into the crush of people. They waited, Clara imagining what Vinnie would have to say on finding her there. She thought she would faint. Cissie did not come back.
‘I must have air,’ Clara panted.
‘Let’s try the back door,’ Willa said, shaking.
They pushed against the flow of people down towards the stage and through a door that led into a dingy passage. Others followed them. Minutes later, they were out of the back door and into the glare of the hot narrow lane. Clara was momentarily dazzled. She gulped at the fresh air.
‘There’s no one here,’ Willa gasped, clutching her.
Squinting, Clara saw that the back street was almost empty and could not believe their luck. The back entrance was hidden by dustbins and an old advertising hoarding.
‘Let’s make a dash for it,’ Willa urged, pulling her by the arm.
Just then, a surge of people ran out of the hall behind them, clattering into the bins. Protesters at the top of the back lane turned and spotted them.
‘Stop the fascist bastards!’ they yelled, and gave chase.
‘Run!’ Clara shouted, grabbing a screaming Willa and pulling her along.
Fear made her move more quickly than she could have imagined. Holding each other’s hand they fled together down the lane, clattering across the cobbles in their high heels. Willa’s hat flew off.
‘Leave it!’ Clara ordered as the crowd gained on them.
A group of the men who had escaped from the back entrance turned and faced their pursuers. Clara felt sick fear at the sound of fists slamming into flesh as the two sides met. But it gave the women the extra valuable seconds to flee into the next street and batter on the door of the BUF offices.
A Blackshirt looked out and quickly bustled them inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Clara collapsed into a chair, shaking and feeling sick. Moments later, noise erupted right outside as violence spread into the street. A brick came hurtling through the window and glass splintered at their feet. Willa screamed.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 28