Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘You’re going back tomorrow, if we have to carry you in, lad,’ Louie told him roundly. ‘With your granda’s stick you can manage well enough on a gammy leg. Isn’t that right, Da?’ she raised her voice to the elderly man but he did not hear.

  Raymond pulled a face but the noise of footsteps and voices beyond the kitchen door put an end to argument. Sara turned to see a smallish thick-set man with receding hair and a strong jaw enter with a tall companion. It was Joe Dimarco.

  ‘Got room for one more, pet?’ Sam Ritson asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Louie answered without complaint, ‘come in, Joe. Sam, this is Raymond’s friend, Sara.’

  Sara jumped up, quite unnerved by the unexpected arrival, glancing warily at the pitman, Sam Ritson, who was so at odds with her uncle.

  ‘Sit yourself down, pet,’ he said mildly. As she did so, she slid Joe a look.

  He was watching her, his smile sardonic.

  ‘Come to cheer Raymond’s miserable face up?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Sara answered, cringing to think of her rudeness to him on their last meeting. He swung on to the stool beside her.

  ‘Rosa’s disappointed you haven’t been to see her,’ he said.

  ‘Tell her I’m sorry,’ Sara blushed deeper, ‘but me Uncle Alfred hasn’t let me out since Saturday. I shouldn’t really be here now.’

  ‘Alfred Cummings?’ Sam grunted. ‘He’s a fascist if ever there was one.’

  ‘Now, Sam,’ Louie warned, ‘he’s Sara’s uncle.’

  ‘You have my sympathy,’ Sam retorted.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sara grinned, warming to his gruff humour. ‘I better be off now and report to Fuhrer Cummings.’ Sam’s face cracked in a smile at her joke. ‘Ta for the tea, Mrs Ritson.’ Sara stood up.

  To her consternation, Joe followed. ‘I’ll see you down the road - I’m going your way.’

  There’s no need—’

  ‘What about your tea?’ Louie asked dryly.

  ‘I forgot Granny Maria’s making pasta tonight,’ Joe said airily. ‘Sorry, Mrs Ritson. I’ll see you at the club later, Mr Ritson?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll discuss the Carnival competition then,’ he said, already tucking into his meal.

  After they had gone, Louie asked Raymond, ‘Has Joe finished with Olive Brown?’

  ‘Aye,’ the boy replied, gingerly sipping the thin soup his aunt had made him Chewing was too painful. ‘Looks like Sara’s next on the list.’

  Louie sighed. ‘I hope he doesn’t get her into any bother with her uncle.’

  ‘He’s just walking her down the road,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Even an old bugger like Cummings can’t mind that.’

  ‘I worry for her living with that family - that terrible man,’ Louie persisted. ‘It’s no place for a canny lass like Sara - she needs good company.’

  ‘Looks like she’s found it,’ Raymond muttered.

  ‘You’ve got enough to worry about with your own family, Louie,’ Sam pointed out.

  Jacob Kirkup rustled his newspaper and spoke. ‘This German-Italian Pact is a bad thing,’ he shook his white-haired head, ‘a bad thing. You were right, Sam, we should have stopped them when they went meddling with the Spaniards.’

  ‘Another cup o’ tea, Da?’ Louie shouted.

  Jacob shook his head solemnly, sucking air through a gap in his bottom teeth. ‘The barbarous hordes, Louie,’ he said with a sad reflective look, ‘they’re on the march again, like in 1914 when…’

  Louie exchanged glances with Sam. They knew he thought of his eldest son Ebenezer who had survived the Great War only to be estranged from his father by his scandalous liaison with a Seward-Scott. But Jacob would never allow Eb’s name to be mentioned, let alone allow him across his threshold, even though he had later married his lover, Eleanor Seward-Scott, and had fathered a son, Rupert.

  Louie laid a comforting hand on the old man’s arm. ‘Don’t think about the past, Da. Have some more tea.’

  ‘Why was Raymond beaten up like that?’ Sara asked. They had walked the length of Hawthorn Street before she said a word, waiting for Joe’s banter about the proposed boxing competition at the Carnival to end.

  ‘Just bad lads picking on a weaker one.’ Joe shrugged and Sara thought him callous in his lack of concern.

  ‘And no one was there to defend him?’ she said pointedly.

  ‘He’s going to have to learn to stand up for himself.’ Joe’s voice hardened. ‘A few lessons from his Uncle Sam wouldn’t do him any harm, but he doesn’t care for fighting.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Sara said with distaste.

  ‘You surprise me,’ Joe gave an infuriating smile. ‘You seem to give as good as you get.’

  Sara coloured.

  ‘So why are you in your uncle’s bad books?’ Joe grinned. ‘I’d like to see you answer Alfred Cummings back.’

  ‘I got wrong for being late - and for meeting your sister,’ Sara answered, sliding him a look.

  ‘Rosa?’ Joe said in surprise. ‘Hardly a devil, that one.’

  ‘Quite,’ Sara sighed, ‘but he doesn’t seem to care much for your family.’

  ‘The Cummingses don’t care much for anyone,’ Joe mocked.

  ‘He’ll not stop me being friendly to Rosa, mind, just because he’s got strange notions about folk.’

  ‘Good,’ Joe said, as they turned into South Parade, ‘I’d hate to think of you locked up and out of reach.’

  Sara caught his wicked look and felt her cheeks go on fire.

  ‘Better not see me to the door,’ she gulped.

  ‘Another time, then,’ he smiled, but Sara had turned and was running down the street before she was seen with him.

  Raymond hobbled in for work the next day but for the rest of the week Sara sallied out on the old black bicycle making the deliveries, while a subdued Raymond limped around the shop getting in Dolly Sergeant’s way and taking the brunt of her criticism.

  ‘She’s driving me daft,’ Raymond hissed to Sara as she returned after taking the special tea delivery to The Grange. Sara had been flabbergasted by her first visit to the secluded mansion of the Seward-Scotts, never imagining such wealth could exist. She had only seen the grandeur from the outside and there had been no friendly housekeeper to usher her in for tea as at Greenbrae, but the mine owner’s house had sprawled in every direction, its steeply sloping roofs and turrets dominating the skyline.

  ‘It took me ten minutes just to cycle up the drive!’ Sara gasped, ignoring Raymond’s complaints. ‘I wonder how many servants they have to clean all those rooms?’

  ‘The coffee beans have come in for Dimarco’s,’ Raymond told her and Sara’s wonderings vanished at the mention of that name. ‘I could walk round with them…’

  ‘I’ll take them on the bike,’ Sara said quickly. ‘You should rest as much as possible. Your Auntie Louie said so.’

  ‘Rest?’ Raymond protested. ‘With the Sergeant-Major ordering me around all day. Me life’s a misery, Sara!’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a suggestion to cheer you up,’ Sara plunged in with the idea she had been mulling over. ‘Why don’t we go to the Carnival dance together on Saturday?’

  Raymond gawped at her. ‘With you?’ he sounded amazed.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ Sara was offended by his tone.

  ‘Nowt, I just don’t like dancing,’ he protested.

  ‘You must do - your mam’s a dancer,’ Sara reminded him. ‘I bet you’re a canny dancer.’ She gave him a winning smile.

  ‘What you want to go with me for?’ he asked, suspicious at the suggestion. ‘I’m hardly going to be Fred Astaire with me leg all bandaged up.’

  ‘Haway, Raymond, I just want to go,’ Sara pleaded, ‘and I don’t know anyone else I can ask.’

  ‘Charming!’ Raymond grunted. ‘I thought lads were supposed to do the asking, anyway.’

  ‘Well, ask me, then,’ Sara urged.

  Dolly Sergeant shouted from the shop, ‘Is that you back, lass?’

  ‘Yes,
Mrs Sergeant,’ Sara called, then lowering her voice again, ‘please, Raymond, you don’t have to dance with me, just take me along. I haven’t had any fun in ages. Rosa Dimarco might be there - your Auntie Hilda said everyone goes.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’ Raymond began to smirk. ‘You think you might see Joe Dimarco at the dance.’ Sara flushed with embarrassment at the mention of his name.

  Dolly Sergeant grew impatient. ‘Get yourself in here the pair of you!’ she bawled.

  ‘Coming!’ Sara shouted back. ‘Haway, Raymond, say yes?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he weakened. ‘But you don’t want to get any ideas about Joe. The Italians stick with their own kind, Sara, just like Domenica’s doing. They don’t end up with local lads and lasses - I’ve been around them long enough to know that.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Sara said, turning scarlet and heading swiftly for the door.

  ‘Besides, there are some people in the village who wouldn’t like you gettin’ friendly,’ Raymond added mysteriously.

  ‘If you mean Uncle Alfred, I don’t give two pins.’

  Sara dismissed his warning and rode eagerly over to Pit Street with the coffee beans, wheeling the bicycle into the back yard.

  ‘Sara!’ Rosa cried with delight, as she turned at the sink and saw the other girl entering the back-shop.

  ‘I’ve brought the coffee. I’m sorry I didn’t come to the park on Sunday - I had to help me auntie,’ Sara apologised.

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ Rosa assured. ‘It was too wet to take the bairns out and we were that busy in the parlour I had to work all afternoon. Papa!’ she called through the door. ‘Sara’s here with the coffee.’

  Arturo Dimarco appeared in his long white apron. ‘Sara, grazie,’ he took the heavy package. ‘How is Raymond?’

  ‘Hobbling around and complaining he can’t get out on the bike,’ Sara grinned.

  ‘Or playing the footy,’ Mr Dimarco added. ‘Poor Raymond…’ he spread his hands in a sympathetic gesture. ‘Rosa, get Sara something to drink. Lemonade, yes?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sara nodded.

  Rosa plucked a bottle from the top crate in the corner and pulled the stopper. When her father disappeared again, she asked. ‘Are you going to the Carnival?’ She poured them both a glass.

  ‘I’ll be working all day,’ Sara answered glumly, sipping the fizzy drink. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Mamma says I can take Peter to see the fancy-dress parade,’ Rosa answered with excitement, ‘and Joe is in a boxing competition. Papa says he can enter as long as he sells lots of ice-cream at the dance.’

  ‘Joe will be at the dance then?’ Sara could have kicked herself the second the hastily spoken words were out.

  ‘Yes.’ Rosa glanced at her in surprise.

  ‘It’s just that - me and Raymond are going,’ Sara stuttered, ‘and I was hoping you’d be there too. They say it’s a canny night out - the Carnival Queen starts the dancing and everyone gets dressed up.’

  ‘Oh, if only I could,’ Rosa gave a heavy sigh, ‘but Papa would never let me.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’ Sara persisted, aware of how protective the Dimarcos were towards their youngest daughter.

  ‘No,’ Rosa admitted, ‘but…’

  ‘Suggest that Domenica goes with you, or Paolo and Sylvia - they can chaperone you,’ Sara was persuasive. ‘Tell him I’m going with Raymond - we can make up a party. Oh, go on, Rosa, do try!’

  ‘Would you ask for me, Sara?’ Rosa pleaded.

  ‘If you want me to,’ Sara agreed.

  ‘Please!’ Rosa nodded. ‘I’ve never been to a big dance before.’

  ‘It’ll be the first time I’ve been out in Whitton Grange, too - a chance to get dressed up - not that I’ve got anything grand to wear,’ Sara pulled a face.

  ‘You could borrow one of Domenica’s frocks if you like,’ Rosa volunteered. ‘She brought a trunkful back from Sunderland.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she mind?’ Sara asked, her eyes sparkling at the idea.

  ‘No I’m sure she wouldn’t, and you’re nearer her height than mine.’

  When Mr Dimarco appeared again with a cup of coffee, Sara nudged her friend. ‘Let’s ask him now,’ she whispered.

  ‘You ask!’ Rosa blushed, suddenly nervous.

  ‘What are you girls cooking, eh?’ Arturo smiled indulgently, amused by their bashfulness. ‘Tell Papa.’

  ‘I was wondering, Mr Dimarco, if Rosa could come to the Carnival dance with me and Raymond?’ Sara plunged in with her request. ‘Domenica could come too and keep an eye - or Paolo and Sylvia, of course - it’s such a special night - just once a year - and the Carnival Queen will be there, I just thought…’

  ‘That you girls could see a bit of the dancing, eh? The girls in their smart dresses?’ He looked amused.

  ‘Please, Papa?’ Rosa looked at him eagerly.

  ‘And your uncle says yes?’ Mr Dimarco asked Sara. Her heart missed a beat at the thought of Uncle Alfred. As yet, he knew nothing about her plan to go to the dance and it was not a confrontation she relished.

  ‘Uncle Alfred won’t mind,’ Sara said evasively.

  A knock at the back door interrupted their plea. Sergeant Turnbull loomed in the doorway.

  ‘Come in, please come in!’ Arturo beckoned their visitor. Rosa sat back in her chair and dropped her look. ‘These girls are begging me to let Rosa go to the Carnivale, Signor Turnbull,’ the large proprietor teased. ‘Should I say yes? What do you think?’

  The tall, fair-haired policeman removed his cap and looked across at Rosa with grey, considering eyes, while Rosa sat with head bowed.

  ‘I don’t see any harm in her going, Mr Dimarco,’ he said coolly. ‘She’s quite a young lady now and we’ll make sure there’s no trouble. A father can be over-protective, I always think.’

  Arturo spread open his hands and smiled. ‘Then a loving father has nothing to fear?’

  ‘Nothing at all. It’s a respectable run dance, Mr Dimarco.’ Turnbull’s tone was vexed. ‘Most of Whitton Grange are just as concerned for their daughters’ well-being as you are, Mr Dimarco. You Italians don’t have a monopoly on family virtues.’

  ‘No,’ Arturo Dimarco laughed in a baffled way. Sara did not like the way the police officer mocked Rosa’s father in a way he did not understand.

  ‘So we can go?’ Rosa asked, her head shooting up.

  ‘Si, you can go, little kitten,’ he smiled. ‘But only if Nonna Maria goes too. And we’ll tell your mother when she has eaten and is in the good mood, yes?’

  ‘Yes, Papa, thank you!’ Rosa clapped her hands and grinned at Sara.

  Arturo pulled out a chair for the grey-eyed policeman.

  ‘No, I’m not stopping,’ Turnbull refused. ‘I’ve just come with a complaint about your son and his motorbike.’

  ‘Joseph?’ Arturo’s face fell.

  ‘He’s been driving recklessly in the dene, by all accounts. Rode over Dick Scott’s foot and narrowly missed Norman Bell.’

  ‘Sante Giuseppe!’ Arturo exploded. ‘I will have the strong words with him, Signor Turnbull.’

  ‘You better, Mr Dimarco, because if I get any more complaints, I’ll have him charged and his bike impounded. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Si, Signor Turnbull,’ Arturo agreed at once, looking quite abashed.

  ‘I must be off.’ Sara rose feeling embarrassed to have witnessed the reprimand. For the first time, Sergeant Turnbull turned his methodical attention on her.

  ‘You’ll be Alf Cummings’s niece?’ He startled her with his deduction.

  ‘Yes - sir,’ she stuttered.

  ‘I’ve seen you in church,’ he explained. ‘I’m friendly with your uncle and the missus attends the Mothers’ Union with your aunt. Yes, your uncle and I are very good friends.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sara forced a smile and picked up her beret. ‘Ta-ra, Mr Dimarco. Rosa, I’ll call round tomorrow after work, then?’

 
; Rosa nodded.

  ‘Grazie, Sara.’ Mr Dimarco waved her away and she darted out of the back door, pleased to escape the searching eyes of the police officer. She emerged to find a young boy tampering with her bicycle.

  ‘I thought I’d lower the saddle for you,’ the sallow-faced youth announced before she could complain. ‘I’ve seen you riding about and the seat’s too high.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sara laughed at his serious expression. ‘Are you Bobby?’

  ‘Aye,’ he nodded, standing up. ‘Try that.’

  Sara hitched her skirt and climbed on. ‘That’s much better! Ta, Bobby. Raymond said you were canny with bikes.’ The boy seemed pleased and Sara rode off, feeling mounting expectation at the prospect of the weekend ahead.

  ***

  Raymond, after persuasion from his Kirkup aunts, agreed to take Sara to the dance. Broaching the subject with the Cummingses proved more difficult but Sara had prepared the way by being extra helpful around the house all week.

  ‘What you want to go to the dance for?’ Uncle Alfred demanded. ‘I don’t know what your mother would say,’ he grumbled. ‘No, I’ll not allow it.’

  Ida spoke up with temerity, seeing the disappointment on Sara’s face. ‘I don’t suppose Sara’s mother would mind. She always liked a dance herself.’

  ‘And look where it got her!’ Alfred glared at his wife. ‘Married to a sheep farmer.’ His face creased with disdain. ‘No, I’ll not have my niece going about with Red Ritson’s nephew - you’re not going and that’s final.’

  Sara took a deep breath to control her temper.

  ‘It’d be the first evening I’ve been out since I came here, Uncle Alfred, I didn’t think you’d mind me going out just once in a while. And I’ll pay for the ticket myself out of the pocket money you allow me.’ She forced herself to smile at him as she revealed her trump card. ‘That nice Sergeant Turnbull was saying it’ll all be quite orderly - no trouble.’

  ‘Turnbull?’ he looked at her across his pipe in surprise. Tapping it on the hearth he asked, ‘Where did you meet him?’

  Sara’s heart skipped a beat. She did not want to tell him how the Dimarcos had befriended her, knowing her uncle would disapprove, but it would only be a matter of time before he heard about her visit there from the police officer.