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

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Through Reenie, Clara made contact with Max Sobel and fed him articles for more radical journals. With Vinnie’s restrictions on her movements relaxed to some degree, she was able to meet up with Reenie more often. The friendship was like a lifeline. At every meeting, Clara would ask for news of Benny, but Reenie could tell her little.

  ‘What did you say to him before he went?’ Reenie once asked.

  ‘He wanted me to go with him,’ Clara admitted with embarrassment. ‘I said I couldn’t.’

  Reenie sighed, ‘Daft lad. Of course you couldn’t. It’s just. . .’

  ‘What?’ Clara asked, sensing that something troubled her friend.

  Reenie looked sad. ‘He said something about wanting to prove to you he was as brave as Frank. But why would he want to do that?’

  Clara glanced away guiltily. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured.

  Sometimes the friends would meet at the cinema. Both would watch Pathe News before the main film with breath held, eager to find out the latest from Spain. Clara siphoned off housekeeping money each week, donating it to Max and Reenie’s emergency relief fund for Spanish civilians. The news was increasingly worrying for the Republican cause, as Franco made gains in the south. So in mid-April Reenie was overjoyed to receive a letter from Benny. He was alive and well. He could not say where he was, except they were moving northwards.

  Then, at the end of April, shocking news broke. An aerial bombardment had reduced a government-held town, Guernica, to burning ruins. It was market day and the town was full. Eye-witnesses, including the Dean of Canterbury, saw airmen machine gun down fleeing children, women working in the surrounding fields, even flocks of sheep. Hospitals and homes were reduced to rubble; the roads were choked with refugees. Word was soon spreading that German bombers and pilots were used in the attack.

  Clara was desperate to talk to Reenie and Max about the massacre, but she and Vinnie were both invited to the Bell-Carrs’ for the first time since her fall from grace. She found the visit intolerable. Alastair was almost gleeful at the carnage.

  ‘It’s Basque country anyhow.’ He was dismissive. ‘They’re peasants — little better than savages.’

  Clara wanted to ask which part of Spain belonged to the Basques, but did not want to draw attention to herself.

  ‘I think the whole thing’s Red propaganda,’ Vinnie declared. ‘They’ve bombed their own people so they can blame it on the Germans. They’re trying to provoke non-aligned countries like ours into interfering. Shows how desperate they’re getting.’

  Clara watched him sipping Alastair’s whisky in his Blackshirt uniform. She wanted to shout at him that of course the Nazi regime was involved. A German battleship had been used to bombard Malaga in February which led to the fall of the town into Franco’s hands. It was common knowledge among the Left that both Germany and Italy were supplying Franco with arms and troops. Now this bombing of civilians had plunged the bitter civil war into a new depth of barbarity.

  With barely suppressed rage, Clara forced herself to sit in silence and listen to the callous comments of the Bell-Carrs and their protégés.

  Cissie startled her from her thoughts. ‘Clara, are you feeling unwell?’

  Clara blushed. ‘A little.’

  Vinnie rose in concern, but Cissie put out a restraining hand. ‘Don’t fuss. I’ll take Clara for a breath of air.’

  Outside the drawing room, Clara said, ‘I’d rather go and lie down.’

  But Cissie gripped her arm and pulled her to the front door. ‘No, no, fresh air will do you the power of good. We girls need to talk.’

  Clara’s insides clenched. Had Cissie somehow found out about her journalism, or had she been spotted meeting Reenie or Max? Cissie led her down the steps on to the cinder drive. Clumps of dying daffodils swayed in a stiff breeze.

  ‘Vinnie’s told me your wonderful news,’ Cissie began. ‘You must take extra care of yourself this time — it would be more than he could bear if you gave him another subnormal child.’

  Clara flinched, but Cissie continued oblivious. ‘You know, in Germany, they sterilise women who produce mental defectives. It’s one way of keeping the race strong.’

  Clara stopped and tried to disengage her arm. ‘I’m feeling faint; I want to go back.’

  Cissie held on. ‘Darling girl,’ she cried, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to give you a friendly piece of advice; one friend to another.’

  ‘I am taking good care of myself.’ Clara forced a smile. ‘You shouldn’t worry on my behalf.’

  ‘No, darling, I worry for Vinnie. He needs your understanding at a time like this,’ Cissie said. ‘It’s difficult for a man when his wife’s with child.’

  ‘In what way?’ Clara asked, baffled.

  ‘Men have needs,’ Cissie explained, ‘especially the more vigorous and manly. We women have to accept that while we are the sacred vessels of their unborn children, our men must have an outlet for their — urges, shall we say.’

  Clara gawped at her, speechless. She was telling her to turn a blind eye to Vinnie’s philandering. How dare she!

  ‘It doesn’t mean that Vinnie doesn’t love you.’ Cissie smiled pityingly. ‘He does — despite the disappointment you’ve been to him at times. But you do understand that the price of being married to such an important man is to accept your role as an obedient wife without complaint?’

  ‘That’s a matter for me and Vinnie,’ Clara said stiffly.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Cissie replied. ‘It’s a matter for all of us — for the whole Movement.’

  ‘What on earth are you saying?’ Clara demanded.

  Cissie patted her arm. ‘It’s of utmost importance that you stay together as man and wife. Leaders like Alastair and Vinnie must be seen to be standing for the values of sound marriage and family life. People in the Movement look up to them as their ideal. We women know that everything is not always plain sailing in a marriage, but we must strive to show a united front to the outside world. There are those who would try to show us in a bad light. We mustn’t give them any cause to do so.’

  Clara stared in disbelief. This outrageous woman was telling her to overlook Vinnie’s unfaithfulness while preserving their sham of a marriage — and all for the good of the BUF!

  Shaking, Clara said, ‘You have a strange view of marriage, Cissie. Are you going to tell me who is having an affair with my husband?’

  ‘Goodness, girl!’ Cissie cried. ‘I said nothing about an affair. No, you’ve missed my point entirely. I’m just asking you to be understanding. Vinnie is important to our great Cause. It wouldn’t do for any silly little marital spats to be aired in public. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Clara said, tense with revulsion. She could not wait to get away from Cissie. Quickly, she made feeling sick an excuse to escape upstairs.

  ***

  As luck would have it, Vinnie was away on business for three days the following week. Clara went to the Italian cafe and left a note for Reenie to meet her on Friday morning, knowing her friend was on nightshift. But when Clara returned at the end of the week, there was no Reenie. It was too risky to visit the Lewises’ shop in person, for Vinnie was quite capable of having it watched. Worried, she went round to Max’s office and prayed Clarkie was not following her.

  As soon as she saw his expression, Clara knew something was terribly wrong. He stood up at once and came to her.

  ‘Clara—’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she gasped, clutching her stomach. ‘Is it Reenie?’

  Max shook his head. ‘They’ve had news from Spain. It’s Benny.’ He reached out and took hold of her hands. ‘He was caught up in last week’s raid — outside Bilbao. I’m sorry, Clara. He’s dead.’

  Chapter 37

  With Benny’s death, Clara found a new courage. She was rocked with guilt that she had made no attempt to persuade him to stay, or that she had not gone with him. She should have been more honest with him years ago and told him t
hat she could never love him as she had loved Frank. Had she filled him with false hope?

  While his family grieved, Clara knew that Benny had gone to try to prove himself as deserving of her love as Frank. Even though she was married to another, the headstrong Benny had gone to war partly to win her love and admiration. Clara was burdened with the belief that she had never been worthy of such devotion.

  Yet, even as she was riven with guilt, Clara was in awe of the quiet dignity and stoicism of Oscar and Marta at the loss of another son. Defying Vinnie, she went round to see them and was humbled by their kindness in the face of such pain. Behind the drawn blinds of the upstairs flat they served her tea and talked with sadness and pride about their second son, emotional yet laughing as they reminisced over family stories.

  ‘How can they be so brave?’ Clara said tearfully to Reenie as she left.

  ‘Because they are proud of what Benny did, however much they miss him,’ Reenie answered.

  Clara swallowed tears. ‘But it’s such a waste! Benny was so full of life . . .’

  Reenie said, ‘Not a waste. Benny knew the dangers. He believed passionately in what he was doing. He would have felt a lesser man if he hadn’t gone.’

  Clara hung her head. ‘But I feel so responsible for his going.’

  Reenie touched her shoulder. ‘Clara, maybe he wanted to impress you but he would have gone anyway. Benny always put his words into action — he was never one to stir things up then expect others to do the dangerous work.’

  Clara felt a jolt. ‘Like Vinnie, you mean?’

  ‘Benny had ten times the courage of him,’ Reenie said with fierce pride.

  Clara looked at her friend in desolation. ‘I feel so useless. Is there anything I can do for your family?’

  Reenie studied her. ‘Do something that would have made Benny proud,’ she answered.

  Clara spent a long time pondering Reenie’s words. She wrote an obituary of Benny for one of Max’s journals, but it did not seem nearly enough to assuage her feelings of remorse and helplessness. She continued to visit the Lewises openly and when Vinnie tried to bully her not to, she faced up to him.

  ‘Haven’t they been through enough? What harm is there if I visit?’

  ‘Loyalty to me, that’s what.’ Vinnie grew angry.

  Clara stood her ground. ‘They’re ordinary hard-working people with hardly two pennies to rub together. Why are you so afraid of them?’

  ‘Afraid?’ Vinnie blustered. ‘No one frightens me! Least of all those foreign Bolshies.’

  ‘Then leave them alone,’ Clara said. ‘And if you want me to produce a healthy son in five months’ time, then you’ll not go upsetting me either.’

  Vinnie did not know how to answer her, and marched out of the room in a temper. But from then on, he turned a blind eye to Clara’s visits to the Lewises.

  It was shortly afterwards that the opportunity came for Clara to act on Reenie’s challenge to do something in Benny’s memory. In midsummer, while visiting Oscar and Marta, she learned of a trainload of Spanish refugee children, made homeless by the war, coming to Tyneside.

  ‘We are having one of them here,’ Marta told her. ‘Poor little lambs — they have nothing, no home, no parents.’

  Clara was struck again by the Lewises’ fortitude. Where others would have crumbled under the strain of losing two sons, here they were offering a home to some stranger’s son or daughter. They had precious little to spare, too.

  She found out from Reenie that Max was involved in the billeting of the dozen or so children, and went to see him.

  ‘I want to offer a home to one of the Spanish children,’ she told him.

  Max laughed out loud. ‘The Cravens taking in an alien refugee — and probably a Communist one at that? I’ve heard it all now.’

  ‘I’m serious, Max,’ Clara said impatiently. ‘We’ve plenty room.’

  ‘And Vinnie?’ he asked.

  ‘Vinnie won’t complain. We’re offering a temporary home to an orphaned child. It’s not a matter of politics.’

  He smiled. ‘I admire your guts, but why are you doing this?’

  ‘For Benny,’ Clara said quietly, ‘but that’s between you and me. There’s only one thing I ask — make sure it’s a boy we’re given.’

  ‘Why?’ Max asked.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ Clara said.

  Max shrugged. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Clara went with Reenie to greet the new arrivals at a church hall in Newcastle. She was trembling with nerves at what she was doing, for neither Vinnie nor Dolly knew of the plan. Max introduced her to a bewildered, dark-haired boy clutching the hand of an older girl.

  ‘This is Paolo. He’s eight years old. And Terese. We think they’re cousins. She’ll be staying with Reenie.’

  Clara smiled at the boy, who stared at her fearfully as she tried to reassure him about the house he was going to and the room he would sleep in.

  ‘I’m afraid he doesn’t speak English,’ Max said. He taught Clara a couple of phrases of welcome.

  After twenty minutes of chatter among the group and a general agreement to let all the children meet up there once a week, Clara took Paolo by the hand and led him out. He said something in an urgent voice to Terese, but she reassured him and waved him on.

  ‘I’ll bring him to see her on Saturday,’ Clara told Reenie.

  Clarkie was waiting outside and gawped in astonishment when she opened the car door and coaxed the boy inside.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Paolo from Spain,’ Clara said. ‘Take us home, please.’

  Dolly was equally dumbfounded when Clara brought the boy in and showed him around the house and garden. He looked anxiously up at the sky, then took Clara’s hand and went quickly back inside. Clara took him into the kitchen; Dolly followed, stuttering with questions.

  ‘I’ll eat in the kitchen with Paolo tonight,’ she told her mother-in-law. ‘We’re both very tired. The boy’s had a long train journey.’

  She served them up the fish pie that Ella had left in the oven and poured him a glass of milk. Dolly glared at the boy.

  ‘You can’t stay here! What will Vinnie say?’

  ‘He doesn’t understand you,’ Clara answered, ‘so it’s no good shouting at him. Unless you speak Spanish.’

  ‘Spanish?’ Dolly fulminated. ‘Spanish!’ She stalked from the room.

  Clara had Paolo bathed and in bed in Sarah’s old room before Vinnie returned late from a meeting at the Thursday Club. She chattered gently to the boy and sang him songs as she stroked his dark head on the fresh pillow.

  ‘My daughter never grew big enough to use this bed,’ she murmured to him. ‘It’s good to see a child tucked in here. I hope you’ll be happy with us, Paolo. At least you’re safe. Benny would have wanted me to do this; he went to Spain to give freedom to children like you. Now he’s dead and I miss him very much. But I’ll do everything I can to give you the love that’s been taken away from you, I promise. And you’ll see Terese soon.’

  ‘Terese?’ the boy repeated, his eyes dark with anxiety.

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Soon.’ She made a sleeping gesture with her head and hands. ‘Paolo sleep, Terese sleep. See each other in two days.’ She held up two fingers.

  She left the door open and indicated her own room across the corridor. ‘Sleep tight,’ she said softly.

  Downstairs she was ready to confront Vinnie. When he came in, she had a whisky poured and told him enthusiastically about the boy upstairs, before Dolly could get a word in edgeways.

  ‘Your mother thinks I’m being foolish,’ she said with a hurt expression. ‘But it’s an act of mercy for a poor orphaned boy. I knew you’d be keen to help. It’s what you’ve done for lads like him round Byfell, isn’t it?’

  Vinnie looked at her in confusion, and gulped back the whisky. ‘But a Spanish lad?’ he questioned. ‘A refugee, you say? From which side?’

  Clara shook her head. ‘I
mpossible to say. He doesn’t speak a word of English — not yet. But Vinnie, a lad of eight doesn’t take sides. All we know is that his parents are dead and he’s got nowhere to live.’

  Vinnie sighed in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you consult me first?’

  ‘I only just heard.’

  ‘From who?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Through my charity contacts,’ Clara said vaguely. ‘A relief organisation — non-political.’

  Vinnie shook his head. ‘He can’t stay here. We can’t bring up some foreign child!’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said,’ Dolly agreed in satisfaction.

  Clara quelled her panic. She could not bear to see Paolo uprooted again so soon.

  ‘Come and see him,’ she urged. ‘He’s a canny little lad.’

  ‘He’s a scrawny little ragamuffin,’ Dolly said with distaste.

  Reluctantly, Vinnie followed her upstairs, leaving Dolly huffing with disapproval. Thankfully Paolo was sleeping, his face empty of its strained look, his thumb half in his mouth. Clara’s heart squeezed in pity. She longed to keep the boy. This was not just for Benny, she realised, but for Paolo. She had so much love to give him and wanted to protect him from the world. Vinnie stood looking from the door.

  ‘This is going to be the bairn’s room,’ he growled.

  ‘Paolo won’t be here for ever,’ Clara whispered. ‘Let him stay until the baby’s due.’

  He looked from the boy to her in indecision. She sensed he was weakening and played to his vanity.

  ‘You’d be so good with him,’ she pleaded, ‘the father figure he needs. And it will be practice for me in being a good mother to a boy — for when the baby comes.’

  She held her breath, waiting.

  Finally he grunted, ‘I suppose I could teach him a few things — turn him into a civilised little Englishman. Just till the bairn comes.’

  Clara felt a surge of triumph. She forced herself to smile at him and say, ‘Thank you, Vinnie. You’re a good man.’