THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Then she thought of Tom’s deep brown compassionate eyes watching her in the firelight and felt again a tug in her heart. It was worth the risk. Something had flickered into life deep within her the previous evening - something newborn - and she was determined to nurture it.

  Chapter 40

  1937

  Catherine and Tom’s friendship developed quickly. She was impatient for the weekends when they were off work and could meet. Tom had school commitments, including helping with the scouts, so often she was reduced to writing him letters brimming with questions and ideas for them to discuss. To her amazed delight, he seemed just as eager to be in her company, despite the ridicule and jealousy of Bridie and Kate.

  Through the winter they would escape on walks along the cliff paths to Fairlight Glen and its lovers’ seat, or inland to the ruined church of St Helen’s and picnic in the shelter of its overgrown tower. They kissed, but to Catherine’s relief, Tom never pushed her further as other men had tried to do. As spring came, they ventured further afield across the Brede Valley. They talked of the books Tom lent her, of civil war in Spain, of the abdication of the king.

  Catherine was as shocked by King Edward’s sudden departure as most of the country.

  ‘But to give up everything for that Wallis Simpson - to have to leave his country, his family - it’s a terrible business. He had duties to his country. How could he do it?’

  Tom looked at her and said, ‘He loves her and he can’t manage without her. It’s as simple as that.’

  Catherine shook her head vigorously. ‘It’s a rare man gives up all that power and privilege over one woman - and a twice-divorced woman at that! I don’t understand it.’

  ‘I do,’ Tom said quietly.

  She studied him. ‘But everything was against them - his family, the Prime Minister, the Church. How could he stand up to such pressure?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘His need for her was stronger.’

  ‘It won’t last,’ Catherine said, suddenly depressed by the subject. Tom looked away and she wondered if he was thinking about their situation too.

  She had expected opposition to her deepening relationship with Tom, but not the degree of jealousy and spitefulness that their courtship had unleashed. Bridie did all she could to stop her going out; developing sudden headaches and ailments, arranging for the priest to call when she was due to meet Tom or letting jobs pile up and demanding Catherine’s help.

  To Tom’s face she was downright rude, always referring to him as ‘the schoolboy’ and never using his name.

  ‘Doesn’t it bother you that Catherine’s taller?’ she would jibe. ‘Most men would be.’ Or, ‘How much younger are you? Is it six or seven years? She usually likes them older.’

  Tom never rose to her baiting, just answered her with a strained smile. This infuriated Bridie.

  ‘Don’t know what you see in him,’ she fulminated at Catherine late at night. ‘Hardly strings two words together. A puny little man, that’s what he is.’

  ‘He’s a good sportsman,’ Catherine defended, ‘and a good talker - when he’s given half a chance. Why can’t you be civil to him? It doesn’t cost anything.’

  Then Bridie would change tack. ‘Darling girl, don’t get upset. I’m just trying to stop you making a fool of yourself over this little man. He’s not strong enough for you, Catherine. You’re too full of life. Believe me, if I thought he would make you happy, I’d be the first to give you my blessing. And it’s not just me - people are talking.’

  ‘What people?’ Catherine demanded.

  Bridie looked sorrowful. ‘The guests - our friends - they can see you’re not suited. And the ones from church! You know Father John doesn’t approve. And that nun from the convent you like to chat to - she was round here the other day asking questions.’

  ‘Sister Marguerite?’ Catherine asked, baffled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Wanted to know if it was true you were courting a Protestant.’

  ‘How did she know?’ Catherine reddened.

  ‘People talk.’

  ‘Yes, I bet they do,’ Catherine said with a glare. ‘It’s you stirring up trouble, isn’t it? It’s no business of Sister Marguerite’s or the priest’s who I go out with!’

  ‘That’s not how Father John sees it. You’re endangering your mortal soul, carrying on with a Protestant, that’s what he and the nuns at the convent think.’ Bridie held out her arms. ‘Poor darling girl. It’s just your bad luck to fall in love with an Anglican. You could never marry him. You do see that, don’t you?’

  While Bridie’s opposition was relentless at home, Kate was being difficult too. Catherine suspected that Tom did not report half of what went on, but he let slip the odd comment. Kate’s drinking was on the increase again. She had asked him for his rent early and a loan to pay the gas bill. Letters that Catherine had sent had not been received.

  When she went round to Maritime Place, there was an air of neglect. The rooms were dusty and washing-up was piled high in the sink. One time she caught Tom washing his own sheets in the bath.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Catherine stormed into the kitchen to find Kate nursing a cup of tea. ‘Since when have the lodgers had to do their own washing?’

  Kate waved a hand. ‘That fussy little man. Said I’d wash them tomorra.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Friday. You always wash on Mondays,’ Catherine snapped. ‘You’ll lose your business if you carry on like this. And don’t expect me to bail you out again.’

  Kate gave her a bleak unfocused look.

  ‘No, you don’t care what happens to me. You’ll gan off with your fancy boy and leave me to rot. I’ll end up in that workhouse of yours and then you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘So that’s what this is all about - me and Tom? You can’t bear the thought of us being happy. You’d rather have me at your beck and call for ever than see me settled with a decent man!’

  ‘ ‘S not true.’ Kate got up, swaying. ‘Always done what’s best for you. You cannot marry him - he’s not one of us - be a sin. Saving you from makin’ a big mistake.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ Catherine said in disgust, grabbing the cup from Kate. She sniffed it. ‘It’s more whisky than tea.’

  ‘Give it back!’ Kate cried, lunging forward. ‘My house, I’ll do as I please.’

  As they grappled over the cup, Tom walked in.

  ‘Please, don’t fight,’ he said with a look of horror.

  The cup dropped between them and smashed on the unswept floor, splashing Catherine’s best shoes.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Kate accused them both.

  Tom bent down and began to pick up the pieces.

  ‘You’ll have to buy me a new one,’ Kate ordered. ‘Wouldn’t have been arguing if it hadn’t been for you, Tom Cookson. Everything was champion till you came.’

  Catherine waited for Tom to answer back, give Kate a mouthful. If she had been spoken to like that, she’d be marching out of the lodgings there and then. But Tom said nothing, just carried on sweeping up the mess.

  Suddenly Catherine was angry with him. ‘Stop, Tom! Let her do it.’

  He looked up puzzled. ‘I don’t mind—’

  ‘Well, you should do!’ she blazed. ‘Why do you put up with it? You let her treat you like dirt. Bridie’s right: you’re not man enough. How can I expect you to stand up for me if you won’t even stand up for yourself!’

  Catherine stormed out of the house. Later, after she had calmed down, she was filled with remorse at her outburst. Tom did not deserve her sharp tongue; she was hateful for taking out her frustration with Kate and Bridie on him.

  She wrote him a note of apology, but heard nothing back. She felt wretched all week.

  It was May, and Tom had started coaching cricket. On Saturday afternoons he umpired games.
Catherine went along to the school grounds and hung about outside, summoning the courage to go in.

  She slipped in the gates behind a couple of schoolboys and followed them. Standing under a large canopy of cherry blossom away from the other spectators she observed the game. Tom was umpiring at one end, serious with concentration. She sat in the grass and watched. This was where he was happy, she could see that. The tranquillity and order of the cricket pitch, the athleticism and endeavour of young people. Tom looked at one with the scene. When they broke for tea, she saw how he smiled and chatted to the boys and how they gravitated towards him. He was their role model.

  Catherine felt a deep pang of longing and regret. How could she compete with this other world? She was too ill-educated to fit into his circle of academics. And what could she offer him? A life of turmoil among those who resented him for being young and intellectual, for not being Catholic. Catherine walked away, tears stinging her eyes.

  ‘Kitty!’

  She turned at the gate, heart leaping at the sound of Tom’s voice.

  ‘You came to watch.’ He smiled quizzically.

  ‘I wanted to say sorry,’ Catherine said, swallowing tears.

  ‘I thought you’d had enough of me, when you didn’t answer my telephone calls.’

  ‘What calls?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Bridie took them.’

  ‘Oh, Bridie!’ Catherine said crossly. ‘She never said.’

  ‘No, I was stupid to think she would.’ Tom looked forlorn.

  Catherine stepped towards him. ‘No, you’re too trusting,’ she corrected. ‘You always think the best of folk - that’s your trouble.’

  ‘Is there any hope for us, Kitty?’ he asked quietly.

  Catherine threw her arms around him. ‘Yes, yes there is. You must believe it.’

  ***

  Stubbornly, they went on seeing each other throughout the summer term. It provoked Bridie into open war on Tom. She put about a rumour that Catherine was seeking to make her and Maisie homeless, in order to move Tom in. Some of the lodgers were openly disapproving, believing Bridie rather than Catherine, who was seldom there to defend herself. Bridie embarrassed Tom with tales of Catherine attracting married men. ‘Always goes for the unsuitable ones - can’t help herself. It’s me who keeps her on the straight and narrow. Has she told you the scandal she caused at the tennis club?’

  When Tom asked her about Maurice, Catherine forced out of him what Bridie had said. She was furious and hurt at the attempts to ruin her reputation.

  ‘Maurice wasn’t married - and the other men resented me for being successful and a woman.’

  Tom insisted it made no difference, but Catherine knew once doubts were sown it was difficult not to dwell on them. Catherine hardly trusted herself to speak to Bridie and made up a bed in the billiard room rather than be near her at night. She was not going to let her ruin things with Tom.

  Visits from the priest and nuns from the convent became ever more frequent as Bridie whipped up opposition to Catherine’s consorting with a non-Catholic. But when none of this put a stop to the romance, Bridie set aside her resentment of Kate, and went to enlist her help in wrecking it.

  ‘We can’t have Catherine throwing away her career and independence for a pipsqueak like him,’ Bridie declared. ‘She wants me out of the house, I’m sure of it. She’d throw me and Maisie on to the street for that man.’

  ‘It’s the same for me,’ Kate fretted, her fear fuelled by Bridie’s alarmist words. ‘Doesn’t care what happens. Said she’ll not support me any longer - and I’m having trouble managing such a big place. All I need is a little help with the bills. It’s not much to ask.’

  ‘It’s up to you to put him off,’ Bridie challenged. ‘Only you can tell him things about Catherine - show him she would never fit in at his posh school. If you do, I’ll make sure Catherine stumps up the money you need.’

  The next time Catherine was out with Tom at a school concert, he was unusually subdued. Walking home, she tried to discover what troubled him.

  ‘Is it something I’ve said?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Yes it is. Talk to me Tom. Has Kate been at you again?’

  His look gave him away.

  ‘Tell me,’ she pleaded.

  He stopped and stared back at the sea, rattling the change in his pockets in agitation.

  ‘She told me about - about you not having a father.’

  Catherine felt punched in the stomach. She could hardly breathe. It was the one thing she had kept from Tom, fearing it would mar his love for her. How could Kate have done such a thing? The look on Tom’s face told her how shocked and disappointed he was. He was a devout man of strong principles. How he must despise her now!

  ‘She had no right,’ Catherine rasped. ‘You must hate me.’

  Tom swung round. ‘No, of course I don’t. It doesn’t matter to me how you were born.’

  ‘It must do,’ Catherine said in confusion. ‘That’s why you’ve been so quiet all night. You can hardly bring yourself to speak to me.’ She began to walk on. Tom came after her.

  ‘Stop, Kitty, it’s not that.’ He pulled her round. ‘I feel so sorry for you - I understand now all your hatred of bigotry. It must have been terrible. Why didn’t you tell me? I thought there was nothing we couldn’t say to each other.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to look at me like others do,’ Catherine said, ‘the ones who know. I didn’t want you to look down on me - pity me!’

  Tom dropped his hold.

  ‘What else did my interfering mother tell you? How many failed love affairs I’ve had?’ His silence and wary look frightened her. ‘She did, didn’t she? Well, you hardly get to my age without having been out with other men. Not that any of them wanted me except for one thing. But that’s what people expect from bastards!’

  ‘Stop it!’ he said. ‘Don’t say such things.’ He clenched his fists. ‘The only one pitying you round here is yourself!’

  ‘Well, at least I know what you really think of me.’ Catherine was stung.

  ‘Listen for once, Kitty!’ he demanded. She had never seen him so angry. ‘I know why your mother says such things - to try and put me off you. She’s been against me from the start - sees me as a threat because I love you as much as she does.’

  ‘She doesn’t love me!’ Catherine cried indignantly.

  ‘Yes she does and you’re blind if you can’t see it. She can’t bear the thought of losing you to me. She’s a frightened old woman, lashing out. She needs you, Kitty.’

  Panic gripped Catherine; she felt faint. ‘But I need you.’

  ‘Do you?’ he challenged, his look fierce.

  ‘Yes, I do!’

  He seized her hands. ‘Then marry me.’

  ‘Marry?’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes, before they drive us apart for good.’

  Catherine stood, clutching his hands, head reeling with the idea. She heard Father John’s censorious words about jeopardising her soul; she saw Bridie’s face contorted in hatred; Kate wailing at her desertion.

  She looked in desperation at Tom’s eager face. ‘W-would you - could you convert to being a Catholic?’ she whispered. ‘Father John and Sister Marguerite say it’s impossible for me to marry an Anglican.’

  ‘We could get married in a registry office,’ Tom said wildly.

  Catherine shook her head. ‘I couldn’t marry if it wasn’t in church, you know that. To me we wouldn’t be married.’

  Tom pushed her hands away and plunged his into his pockets. His face looked resigned.

  ‘I couldn’t give up my faith, Kitty,’ he said quietly, ‘and I wouldn’t expect you to give up yours.’

  She looked at him, stunned. He was as good as saying it was over. They had come to an impasse that
neither was strong enough to overcome. She felt sick with misery, yet even in that moment it was tinged with relief. To go on would have been purgatory, falling deeper in love with a man she could never marry. Better that it stopped now before her heart was torn in two.

  ‘Then I don’t think we should see each other again,’ Catherine said, her calmness belying her inner turmoil.

  Tom’s lean face was tense with regret. He seemed about to say something, then stopped.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he nodded. ‘Goodbye, Kitty.’

  He turned away and walked into the gloom. Catherine stood looking after him, gulping back the sob in her throat, the cry that would call him back. But she remained as still as stone, watching the man she loved walk out of her life.

  Only later, in the middle of the night out in the garden, did she curl up under an oak tree and weep out her sorrow.

  Chapter 41

  Catherine buried her hurt and plunged herself into work. She spent long days at the laundry, not hurrying home, and when she did so, took a notebook into the garden and wrote. On wet evenings she huddled in the leaking summerhouse. She filled notebook after notebook with stories and characters that transported her far from the drudgery and disappointments of real life.

  Bridie fussed around her, now that Tom was no longer calling.

  ‘You’re tired out, come inside,’ she would coax. ‘I’ve made you a hot cup of cocoa. You’ll ruin your eyes, scribbling in the dark.’

  But Catherine was still angry with Bridie for her part in spoiling the relationship with Tom. She would not be comforted. She spoke as little as possible and kept out of Bridie’s way. When one of the lodgers left, Catherine moved from the billiard room into the small spare room rather than go back to sharing with the older woman. There was no solace in being told that she and Tom were incompatible, even if it were true.

  She avoided Kate even more, refusing to call at Maritime Place for fear of running into Tom. She was furious with Kate for telling Tom too much about their past, and could not forgive her. Catherine neither knew nor cared how her mother was coping.