Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Don’t talk so soppy,’ Raymond said with disgust and hurried off with his parcel.

  After that, they avoided the subject of Joe or Rosa Dimarco and Sara noticed a growing reserve between herself and Raymond. They continued to lark around and joke together when Mrs Sergeant was absent or out of earshot, but if Rosa came in the shop, Raymond disappeared on some imaginary errand and he no longer accompanied Sara on outings to the Dimarcos’ parlour. Rather than linger and chat to her at the end of the day, Raymond would be off to play football or meet his other friends as soon as Mrs Sergeant gave permission. In the middle of July, Raymond went off on a week’s holiday to Redcar with a group of lads from the pit who were enjoying their first-ever paid holiday, granted grudgingly by the Seward-Scotts in the face of new laws.

  When he returned, Raymond seemed different, more offhand and less inclined to pass the time of day with her. His talk was only of football or how he was thinking of going down the pit if war were to come. It saddened Sara that he spent less time at the Dimarcos’ and showed no interest in her courtship with Joe, for she had no one else in whom to confide. He no longer helped out at the parlour and was seldom about when she and Joe went round to Sam and Louie’s. As he settled into a new group of friends who worked at the Eleanor, his hero-worship of Joe appeared to be on the wane.

  Increasingly, Joe spent less time with his other friends and Sara avoided Rosa for fear of her guessing her secret. They were so wrapped up in each other that they grew careless, thinking nothing could spoil their happiness. As her confidence grew, Sara made another bid for freedom and began attending the Methodist chapel in North Street which the Ritsons attended, instead of accompanying Aunt Ida to St Cuthbert’s. She outmanoeuvred her uncle by producing a letter from her mother giving her permission to do so and, after a short tirade, he accepted the situation with bad grace.

  Joe, on his part, did not see why their clandestine courtship should not continue like this forever, while Sara told herself, optimistically, that some day soon Joe would tell his family about them and make their courtship official before rumours about them reached her uncle and aunt. Then it would not matter what they thought. If they turfed her out of the house, she would find lodgings elsewhere in the village until she and Joe…?

  Sara forced herself to end the daydream. She must not look too far ahead. July was nearly over, and the prophets of war were increasing in number. It had been announced on the wireless that a Ministry of Supply had been set up to prevent shortages should war with the Germans be declared. Increasing numbers were being taken on at the Beatrice and Eleanor pits and extra production was demanded. Everyone had been issued with a gas mask and shown how to use it, but Sara kept hers in its canvas box, out of sight under her bed like a genie of ill omen that she did not want to let escape.

  Then, a week before Domenica’s wedding, the storm that Sara had been trying to avoid blew up at South Parade.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That Sunday Sara came in late. She had been to the Ritsons’ after attending chapel and a rousing service led from the pulpit by Jacob Kirkup.

  As soon as she entered the dining-room she was aware of a strange tension, like that among sheep huddling against imminent bad weather. Marina complained of a sudden tummy ache and a nervous Aunt Ida ushered her swiftly from the room.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Alfred demanded, his tone acid, as Sara took her seat. The lunch lay untouched and cooling on the plates.

  ‘Chapel,’ Sara said breathlessly. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘You bloody well will be by the time I’ve got to the bottom of this!’ Her uncle banged the table, making her jump. She glanced across at Colin in alarm, but his look was sullen. Whatever was about to happen she had no allies among the fearful Cummingses.

  ‘I’ve just come from The Durham Ox. I had to listen to that bugger Bomber Bell telling me how my niece goes regularly to visit the Ritsons - that Communist bastard I told you to keep clear of!’

  ‘L-Louie Ritson’s a friend of mine,’ Sara stammered.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, girl,’ Alfred snapped, ‘it’s not Louie Ritson you go to see - it’s your fancy boy. Oh, aye, it’s the talk of the village according to Bomber Bell - and he should know - he’s married to the village gossip, Minnie Slattery.’

  Sara blanched. She was speechless. Minnie had not held her tongue.

  ‘You’ve shamed me.’ His face grew red with mounting rage.

  ‘Uncle Alfred—’

  ‘Don’t try to deny it,’ he spat out the words. ‘I’ve got the evidence of your deceit!’

  Sara’s throat went dry. He was waving a battered exercise book at her. It was the diary she kept hidden under her mattress.

  ‘By God you’ve got some explaining to do, Sara Pallister,’ he swore, his face a mask of disgust.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ she croaked.

  ‘That’s no concern of yours.’

  Sara shot Colin an accusing look but his eyes were downcast.

  Her uncle was merciless as he began to rant. ‘Aye, you little madam, it’s all in here for the readin’ - all your galavantin’ around with that good-for-nothin’ Italian lad when you should’ve been stopping in helping Ida like any other respectable lass. And the things you’ve written about your own relations - you deserve to be thrown out on your ear, you ungrateful little bitch!’

  ‘You’d no right to go reading me diary,’ Sara spluttered, puce in the face. She felt naked, knowing that he had read her innermost thoughts. Waves of shame and anger flooded her to think what lay written there; her bereavement for her father, her homesickness, resentment of the Cummingses, her love for Joe, the places they had been, anecdotes about his family, the guest list for Domenica’s wedding… She felt the panic rise in her throat like bile.

  ‘I’ve every right to know what you’ve been up to,’ her uncle said, crimson with fury. ‘And it makes sorry readin’. You’re that thick with these foreigners - you’re a disgrace to the family. And don’t pretend you made it all up, ‘cos I’ve had it out with Colin and he’s seen you on the back of that Italian lad’s cycle. You’ve been seeing this Joe what’s-his-name behind my back and now I’m the laughing stock of the village!’

  Sara glared across at Colin, who finally met her look. His flabby face was puckered in a defensive scowl, but he tinged pink around the jaw at her hostility. Well it served her right, he thought, unrepentant. She had rebuffed him in favour of the arrogant, swaggering Dimarco who thought himself above the likes of the Cummingses just because his father was prosperous and he owned a motorbike and he was the star of the boxing club. Yes, he had followed Sara and seen her sneaking around with Joe Dimarco, but he had not thought he would get his revenge so swiftly.

  ‘Aye, I’ve been seeing him,’ Sara confessed with a jut of her chin, ‘but I only kept it from you because I knew you’d have a closed mind on the matter. And I was right. You know nothing about Joe, so why are you against him?’

  ‘I know enough about Catholics and foreigners to know they’re not suitable company for my family. You think you’re above us with your fancy friends and their fancy parlour and fancy van, but it’s the likes of the Italians who are the cause of all our problems. They never suffered in the depression like us pitmen - they’ve grown fat off our wages while there are lads like our Colin can’t find work. It’s the same with Catholics - they move in and take what’s ours by right.’

  ‘The Dimarcos have worked hard for what they’ve got,’ Sara defended them, flabbergasted by his hypocrisy in now championing the unemployed he once dismissed as idle scroungers. ‘And you’ve hardly suffered from the depression like others have - or from the ‘26 strike.’ Sara accused.

  That touched a raw nerve. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he almost choked. ‘You’ve been listening to Ritson’s damned lies about me, I suppose? Well, you’ll not be going there again - or to chapel. From now on the only place you’ll go is to St Cuthbert’s with Ida where she can keep an eye
on you.’

  ‘You can’t stop—’

  ‘Oh yes I can,’ he thumped the table again. ‘And I’ll tell you this, I’ll not have my daughter under the influence of Catholics - how dare you take Marina to the parlour without my consent? Filling her head full of nonsense about Popish weddings and fancy dresses - well you’ll not be going to that, either!’

  So Marina had blabbed, too, Sara realised. Their trips to the parlour when the Dimarcos had treated her to ices and Rosa had taken her upstairs to see the wedding gowns was to have been their secret. Her unreceptive cousin had shown a genuine interest in the preparations and in Domenica’s soft satin dress with its lacy flowers. No wonder Marina had fled from the room. But she could hardly blame the girl if she had given under pressure from her father to tell. She could not have known what a hornets’ nest of trouble it would stir up.

  ‘And you’re not to see this Italian lad again,’ Alfred continued, ablaze with indignation. ‘To think of you flaunting yourself about the place on his motorcycle and meeting him at dances like some cheap whore! Well, from now on you stop in the house after work and you only go out if Ida’s with you. Do I make mesel’ clear?’

  Sara felt battered by his tirade, yet indignation flared within her. Why should she be dictated to by this man who drank away most of her wages at his precious club? Her own father had trusted her to go where she pleased and make friends with whom she liked, so who was Alfred Cummings to denigrate the kindly Dimarcos or Ritsons?

  ‘At least let me go to the wedding, Uncle Alfred,’ Sara continued her resistance. ‘Mrs Sergeant’s given me the day off.’ It was true, but only because it coincided with the Miners’ Gala Day, when all the pit villages in the county gathered together to march through Durham and enjoy a rare holiday. There was little point keeping the shop open as the whole village would decamp to the city for the day. ‘And I’ve been invited - it would be rude not to go.’ Sara’s cheeks were flaming at her own defiance.

  Her uncle’s reddened eyes bulged at her mutinous reply. ‘Don’t you answer back! I can see your mother’s let you become a spoilt little madam. Well, Pallister may have let you do as you like, but in my house you’re going to get a spot of discipline. You’ll stay away from those Italians, do you hear? You’re not going to that wedding and you’re not going to see that lad again while you’re under my roof. I’m going round to have words with Dimarco after dinner. Now get yourself up to your room and stay there till I say you can come out!’ He thumped the table so hard, even Colin was startled.

  Sara sat fuming, but she bit back the rebellious words she wished to hurl at her uncle. In his present, drink-induced anger, she knew she would only make matters worse for herself and Joe by arguing with him.

  She knew he was enjoying his sense of power over her, as he always enjoyed the sight of his family cowering around his table, mute and unresisting. She despised their docility and her eyes smarted from her own humiliation. Pushing back her chair, she walked to the door without a word, trying to control her trembling. She glanced at Colin as she went, but his look slid away from hers and she could not guess what he thought of her defeat. Once she had escaped upstairs, she sat on her low bed and gave way to tears of frustration.

  The Cummingses were all hateful! Not even Ida had stayed to protect her; none of them had the guts to stand up to her bullying uncle. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and vowed that she would not sit there impotently while her uncle went to cause bad feeling among her friends. She must somehow warn Joe, Sara decided.

  Below she heard the sound of Ida clearing dishes and the low rumble of her uncle’s voice. Presently she heard the front door bang and knew he must be on his way to the Dimarcos’. Going to the window she watched Colin unchain the dogs and take them out of the yard just as a spatter of rain hit them. Over the back wall, Sara could see across to Dimarco’s cafe and the happy customers taking shelter from the rain. She was filled with dread at the thought of the trouble looming for Joe.

  She could not bear to be cooped up for the rest of the day like some disobedient child. She would make her escape and go and find Joe. Only he could comfort and reassure her that all would be well whatever her uncle decreed. Waiting impatiently for sounds that her aunt had gone into the parlour, Sara finally opened the bedroom window. She judged that Ida would be settled by the parlour fire sewing and Marina playing with her dolls by the hearth. Neither would risk coming up to see her until her uncle returned and he probably intended leaving her there for the rest of the afternoon. She guessed she would be safe for the next hour.

  Climbing out of the window, she reached for the drainpipe descending from the bathroom and clung on to it as she found a foothold on the bracket that held it to the brick. From here it was a short way down to the flat roof of the shed which housed the dogs. Sara prayed there was no one in the kitchen watching her descent as she scrambled and jumped into the yard. But all was quiet. The rain was heavy now, soaking her before she was halfway down the back lane, but nothing was going to stop her in her search for Joe.

  The atmosphere in the Dimarco household was feverish with excitement for the long-awaited wedding. Joe had had enough of talk of dresses and processions and who should sit next to whom and should Uncle Gino in Glasgow be invited at the last minute?

  ‘Perhaps he should,’ his father was saying, undecided. ‘Nonna would like to see him.’

  ‘It will only cause complications, Arturo,’ Anna argued in rapid patois, ‘you know your brother Davide won’t speak to him - they will fight - it will spoil everything! Please don’t ask Gino, Arturo.’

  Joe hardly remembered his Uncle Gino who had fallen out with his father and Uncle Davide over money years ago and had taken his share of the infant ice-cream business and retreated to Glasgow where he was now a less-than prosperous assistant in another man’s shop. Uncle Davide, the most successful of them all, had never spoken to him since, declaring Gino a thief who deserved to struggle after trying to cheat his brothers out of their hard-earned cash. Joe’s father was more forgiving and had invited Gino to his son Roberto’s christening thirteen years ago. But there had been a huge family row and the bullish, forthright elder brother Davide had stormed back to Sunderland and not spoken to Arturo for six months.

  ‘Mamma’s right,’ Domenica added her opinion. ‘We don’t want any fighting among the family. Please, Papa, it’s my special day.’

  Arturo sighed and shrugged with regret. ‘Perhaps you are right.’ He glanced at the armchair where his elderly mother dozed. ‘If your Nonna wishes to see Gino, I’ll arrange for her to visit him after the wedding.’

  Domenica and her mother smiled with relief and lapsed into more conversation about the table arrangements. Arturo clapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder and grunted, ‘Come, let’s leave the women to their plans. We’re like fish without the water, yes?’ he joked in English.

  They were about to depart when the sound of heavy steps on the steep shadowed stairway stopped them. Paolo appeared with a short, blunt-faced man with hard unfriendly eyes. He wore a trilby which he did not remove. The room fell silent.

  ‘Mr Cummings wishes to speak with you, Papa,’ Paolo explained with a warning glance at Joe.

  Arturo was at once polite. ‘Please sit down, Mr Cummings. Domenica, fetch the gentleman a cup of coffee. Or do you prefer tea?’

  ‘I won’t have anything,’ Alfred replied stiffly. ‘I’ve just come about one thing and that won’t take long.’

  He switched looks between Arturo and Joe; Joe flinched at his hostility. Arturo smiled in a baffled way.

  ‘It’s about my niece, Sara,’ Cummings was direct.

  ‘Ah, Sara!’ Arturo encouraged. ‘Such a nice girl - and so helpful. She and Rosa, they are like sisters to each other.’

  The words seemed to inflame the surly visitor. ‘Aye, well, did you know she’s been acting more than just a sister to your son here?’ he snapped, pointing accusingly at Joe. Joe felt his throat go dry.

  ‘Joseph?�
�� Arturo looked nonplussed. ‘How you mean?’

  ‘I mean he’s been sneaking around seeing my niece without my permission and I won’t have it. I don’t suppose you know about it, either - all this going to dances and the pictures together. Did you know they were courting?’

  Joe heard his mother draw in her breath. Arturo turned to his son in perplexity. ‘Is this true, Joseph? Have you been - how you say? - courting with Rosa’s friend?’

  ‘Aye, we’re friendly,’ Joe said defiantly. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  Arturo shrugged. ‘He is right. What harm is there in a little friendship?’ Arturo tried to be reasonable.

  ‘Friendship!’ Cummings shouted in disgust. ‘How do we know what they’ve been up to in the back lanes?’ he added crudely. Anna clucked her tongue on her teeth in shock, but Cummings continued regardless. ‘We’re different people, you and I, Dimarco, and we can get along fine if we keep to our own ways. But I don’t want your son leading my niece up the garden path - there’s no future in such a friendship, I hope you’ll agree. So I’ve come to tell you to keep your son away from Sara, is that clear?’

  Arturo flushed at such blatant rudeness. He struggled to maintain his courteous manner. ‘You make yourself quite clear, Signor Cummings,’ he replied.

  ‘No!’ Joe was stung into speech, furious at the way his father was being humiliated. ‘What right do you have to come barging into our home and tell us what to do? You’re not Sara’s father - let her decide for herself who she wants to see.’

  ‘Listen to me, lad,’ Cummings took a step towards him and narrowed his brown button eye. ‘I don’t like your sort and I don’t want you anywhere near my niece - in fact I don’t want her coming here at all. I’m responsible for her while she’s here and she does as I say. I can make things awkward for your family if I have to - so just watch your windows at night, if I catch you sniffing around Sara again.’