‘Ready when you are,’ Eb Kirkup smiled at his sister. Sara thought what a gentle face the man had, with intense blue eyes that surveyed them all. His son Rupert had the same solemn wise look, though he was barely twelve.
A silence fell over the room, as Eb turned to his father, sitting aloof in the corner of the room.
‘Goodbye, Father,’ he said quietly, stooping to shake the old man’s hand. ‘I’m glad to have seen you again.’ Jacob Kirkup ignored the gesture, chewing hard on an old pipe.
Hilda gave an impatient shrug and said to Eb, ‘Come on, he’ll not speak to you.’
From across the room, Louie pushed herself past the guests and stood before her father, her face severe.
‘I’ll not stand by and see you throw away this chance of making it up with our Ebenezer!’ she scolded. ‘Da - you might go to the grave without seeing Eb again.’
This galvanised the white-haired preacher. ‘Like your mother did!’ he almost choked. ‘It finished your mother off, what he did.’
‘That’s not fair, Da!’ Louie interjected. ‘Mam had been poorly for years, it’s wicked to blame Eb for her death.’
Jacob pushed himself to his feet and towered over his daughter.
‘I do blame him,’ he thundered, ‘and her!’ He jabbed a finger at Eleanor. ‘You took my son away from me and for that I cannot forgive you.’ Eleanor flushed and put a protective arm around her young son, but Jacob Kirkup stormed from the room without another word.
The wedding couple left swiftly in Eb and Eleanor’s small Austin and the rest of the subdued guests departed soon afterwards. Sara and Sadie helped Louie clear up the debris, aware that she was trying to keep back tears at the way the day had been spoilt.
‘He’s a stubborn old fool!’ she raged. ‘He’s lucky to have any family around him the way he carries on.’
‘It’s not worth getting bothered about, Louie,’ Sam said, settling in to a kitchen chair with the newspaper. ‘He’s too set in his ways to change now, so there’s no point being upset.’
Hilda came back two days later and returned to her job at Greenbrae, with only her ring and the memory of a snatched honeymoon to remind her she was married at all.
‘I’ll not speak to Da after the way he ruined my wedding,’ Hilda declared to Louie and, to Louie’s disappointment, Hilda kept her word and called less frequently at the house.
Sara, taking a lesson from the futility of the Kirkups’ estrangement, finally went round to South Parade to visit the Cummingses after work. To her surprise, Marina appeared pleased to see her and questioned her closely on what it was like living at the Ritsons’. Aunt Ida fussed about nervously and made her tea, while Sara told her about taking over Sergeant’s delivery round.
‘I got a letter from home last week,’ Sara changed the subject cautiously. ‘Mam says your Colin has gone up there to work.’
‘Yes,’ Ida said stiffly, ‘he’s joined the land army. Against his father’s wishes, of course. Father wanted him to go down the pit or join the forces - but not Colin - he wants a safe job on the land.’
‘A very necessary job,’ Sara answered with spirit. ‘Uncle Alfred should be glad he’s got one after being idle for so long. And it might make Colin happy for once.’
‘Happy?’ Ida answered, indignant, as if she had never considered such a thing. ‘Why should he be happier working on a dirty farm than with us - with all the luxuries we’ve given him here? Just selfish to the last is Colin - and leaving us to feed his horrible dogs in the meantime.’
Sara decided to let the matter drop.
‘Are you still friendly with the Dimarcos?’ Aunt Ida asked.
‘Aye,’ Sara said with a jut of her chin. ‘Me and Joe are courting.’
Her aunt looked away. ‘Perhaps it’s best you leave before Father gets back from the pit. He wouldn’t understand.’
Sara went, feeling saddened, and Marina watched her go with sullen eyes.
Soon after that, Sara’s contentment with life in Whitton Grange came to an abrupt end. She had been to see Rosa at Pit Street and as she left, Sergeant Turnbull, sitting downstairs with Arturo, eyed her as she made for the back door and the grey dismal afternoon outside.
‘You’ll be sad to see young Joseph leaving,’ Turnbull said abruptly.
Sara looked at him uncomprehendingly and Arturo Dimarco shifted in his seat.
‘Sara does not know, I think,’ he said with an apologetic wave of his hands.
‘Know what?’ she asked with dread.
‘I thought he would have told you.’ Turnbull looked unrepentant. ‘You two being sweet on each other.’
Sara grew hot. ‘But he’s not due to be called up until the end of the month,’ she said. It was the moment she was dreading and had banished to the back of her mind for weeks.
‘He’s enlisted,’ Arturo said, his large face tense, ‘with the Durham Light Infantry. He’s decided not to wait for the call-up.’
‘I see…’ Sara tried to hide her shock.
‘Good for the lad, I say,’ Turnbull said with an edge to his voice, ‘knows where his loyalties lie. Well, I must be off. Thank you for the cuppa -I can see you’re managing better than others despite this new rationing.’
‘Signore,’ Arturo stood up, too, ‘we do not complain.’
Sara slipped out ahead of the police officer, shaking from his news and full of a nagging unease at his jibing towards Mr Dimarco.
Joe sought her out that evening in the chilly upstairs classroom of the council school, where she was on fire-watching duty with Hilda.
‘I’ll go and take a look around,’ Hilda said and left them alone.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Sara reproached, clamping her cold hands between her knees.
‘In case you tried to stop me,’ Joe admitted, throwing a warm arm around her shoulders.
‘We could have had another month,’ Sara protested.
‘We’re not going to beat the fascists if fit lads like me hang around at home,’ Joe replied. ‘I want to be out there when the fighting really starts.’
Sara looked at him in dismay. ‘You sound just like Sam Ritson.’
‘And what’s wrong with that? I hope when it comes to a scrap I have half his courage.’
Sara’ turned and clung on to Joe, desperate at the thought of him leaving.
‘When will you go?’ she whispered.
‘Day after tomorrow,’ Joe said quietly, kissing the top of her head. ‘You’ll look after Rosa, won’t you? You’re the only one who seems to understand how she feels.’
‘Of course I will,’ Sara promised hoarsely.
‘Give us a kiss then, bonny lass,’ Joe smiled, his dark eyes glinting with emotion. For a long moment they embraced, smothering their unhappiness at the imminent departure, and then Hilda returned and Joe slipped into the night.
Two days later, Joe got a lift with an army truck to the training depot at Brancepeth and Sara threw herself into long hours of work, ARP duty and helping entertain the evacuee school children at the weekends. The spring came, with growing rumours that the Allies were suffering setbacks in Norway and in the Atlantic. Joe wrote cheerfully from camp and Sara returned his letters with pages of correspondence, though keeping from him how hard his family were finding it to keep the shop running now that sugar was rationed. Neither did she tell him of the obscenities scrawled on the parlour wall after articles began to appear in national newspapers openly attacking the Italians in Britain as ‘the enemy within’ and ‘little cells of potential betrayal’.
The Dimarcos kept their fears to themselves, but everywhere the tension of rumour and fear of spies infiltrated the village. One Friday in May two boys ran into Sergeant’s shop shouting that the Germans had invaded Belgium and the following days brought news of the Nazis sweeping across Western Europe and heading for the Channel ports. Sara was desperately afraid for her brother Tom in France and saw the anxiety on Hilda’s face for Wilfred. The miners redoubled their efforts to incr
ease production and Raymond and Sam worked continuously, only returning to eat and fall into exhausted sleep before being called to work once more.
‘Have you heard the news about The Grange?’ Sam said one night. ‘Seward-Scott is having to move into the lodge because the Big House is being commandeered as a hospital by the army.’
‘About time it was put to some use,’ Louie answered. ‘To think that man’s been rattling about in a huge empty house with a wife safe in America. He should have been made to take in evacuees.’
‘Well, the army’s got it now.’
Only Sara noticed Hilda’s face crumple in ‘fear. ‘A hospital?’ she repeated. ‘They must be expecting a lot of wounded, then? I can’t bear the thought of my Wilfred being hurt.’
Sam and Louie looked at her in silence and Sara knew what they were thinking: if Wilfred came home wounded, he might be one of the lucky ones…
Rosa’s baby was late and the atmosphere in the house had worsened since news of the war in Europe had grown grim. She knew her mother worried for Domenica and Granny Maria and no news had come for over a month from Italy.
Her father and Paolo seldom spoke about the war, but Rosa could see the lines of anxiety on her father’s face and knew they were not just caused by the thought of her illegitimate baby. There had been ugly scrawls on the outside of the shop, ‘Wops are enemies’ dribbling in black paint down the brick. Paolo had spent two hours scrubbing them from sight but ghostly letters remained to haunt them.
‘It’s come at last!’ Her mother burst into the kitchen, waving an envelope. Sylvia turned from the stove where she was frying up some fresh green beans for her son Peter’s lunch. Rosa roused herself out of her lethargy, knowing it could only be news from Domenica. Perhaps there would be some word of Emilio at last? she wondered forlornly. ‘Someone has read it before us,’ Anna Dimarco said with indignation as she opened out the letter and scanned the writing. Rosa knew her mother could not read and waited for her to hand it over.
‘Quickly, Rosa, what does she say?’ Anna asked impatiently.
It was written in English and Rosa began to read aloud. It was full of everyday concerns about the village and their neighbours and Anna Dimarco and Sylvia interjected with comments when someone they knew was mentioned. Nonna Maria had been unwell but was much better now and enjoying the summer sunshine. Rosa paused over the next sentence.
‘Well, go on,’ her mother ordered.
Rosa read on, ‘I’m so happy to tell you that Pasquale and I are going to be parents. Isn’t that wonderful? A third grandchild for you and Papa.’
Rosa glanced up and saw the delight on her mother’s face.
‘Another grandchild!’ she cried, clapping her hands together. ‘And Domenica a mother.’ Rosa felt a stab of resentment for her absent sister who always got what she wanted. Domenica’s baby would be cherished and loved by the family, while hers would be shunned as a constant reminder of her wickedness and shame.
‘When are we going to tell Domenica about Rosa’s baby?’ Sylvia asked.
‘There’s no need to trouble her with that,’ Anna replied brusquely, giving Rosa a sharp look. ‘It would only cause Domenica embarrassment among our people at home.’
‘You mean you’re never going to tell anybody?’ Rosa asked with incredulity. ‘You can’t just pretend the baby doesn’t exist. It’s still your grandchild as much as Domenica’s - as much as Peter or Linda!’
‘Don’t compare it with my children,’ Sylvia was indignant. ‘They have a good and honourable father.’
‘Girls, stop arguing,’ Anna cried. ‘Always you are arguing like cats and dogs. Rosa, continue the letter.’
Rosa felt her heart pounding painfully. She was furious that Sylvia could upset her so easily. Her hands felt clammy and shook as she forced herself to read further. A twinge of pain knotted her belly.
There was a reference to the Perellas and how they were all managing on the family farm, then Rosa felt a sick lurch as her eyes alighted on Emilio’s name. She stopped reading aloud and searched the page for news of him.
‘What is it?’ her mother demanded. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘Pasquale has heard about Emilio from an old comrade. He’s joined the army again,’ Rosa said breathlessly, torn between relief at hearing news of him and anxiety that he had joined up.
‘That’s the last we’ll hear of him, I bet,’ Sylvia said brutally.
Rosa was about to protest when a spasm of pain gripped her and she gasped for air looking at her mother in fright. Anna jumped up and rushed over.
‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked, putting a hand on her daughter’s distended belly. She felt the contraction herself without Rosa having to tell her. Rosa cried out at the sharpness of the pain and then it subsided.
‘What’s happening, Mamma?’ Rosa asked terrified.
‘It looks like the baby has decided to come at last,’ Anna said with resignation in her voice. ‘Come, Sylvia, help me get Rosa into bed.’
Rosa was engulfed in panic. ‘Will it hurt? Will I die?’
Her mother became suddenly gentle. ‘Of course you won’t die - women are having babies all the time. I had five - am I a ghost, my little kitten?’
Rosa felt her eyes sting at the sudden endearment. ‘Stay with me, Mamma,’ she whispered.
When they had heaved her into bed, Rosa asked in a small voice, ‘Can you get word to Sara? I want Sara to be with me.’
Her mother frowned. ‘No, she is not family. We will manage this on our own.’ Anna saw the tears in her daughter’s dark eyes and relented a fraction. ‘There is nothing to fear, Rosa. Sara can come once the baby is born.’
Chapter Twenty
Sara did not hear of the arrival of Rosa’s baby until the following day. Paolo came into the shop and told her, with an embarrassed look at Mrs Sergeant, that Rosa had given birth to a baby girl.
‘You will come and see her?’ Paolo asked bashfully.
‘Of course,’ Sara answered. ‘As soon as I finish.’
Mrs Sergeant was astounded by the news, for once quite at a loss for words. The Dimarcos had kept Rosa out of sight of the village but now there was no way of avoiding the scandal.
‘Rosa Dimarco!’ Dolly Sergeant blustered after Paolo had gone. ‘The little madam. You never said a word, either,’ she accused Sara.
But Sara ignored the grocer’s censorious comments and rushed over to Pit Street as soon as the shop closed.
Anna Dimarco led Sara into Rosa’s bedroom and swept the tiny bundle from her daughter’s hold.
‘We are calling her Maria - after Nonna Maria,’ Anna announced, rearranging the shawl around the newborn baby.
‘Mary,’ Rosa corrected. She looked pale and tired but Sara could see the mixture of relief and triumph on her face.
‘It’s a bonny name,’ Sara smiled.
‘Look at her pretty face.’ Anna rocked her new granddaughter. ‘Isn’t she like Rosa?’
Sara peered at the sleeping crinkled face with her shock of black hair and thought the comparison hardly flattering. But she was relieved Rosa’s mother appeared so pleased with the unwanted baby.
‘Let Sara hold her, Mamma,’ Rosa encouraged, beaming with pride.
‘You must be careful,’ Anna ordered, handing over her charge with reluctance. Sara took hold of Mary gingerly.
Anna laughed. ‘You have not held many babies, no?’
‘No,’ Sara admitted. ‘Plenty of newborn lambs, though.’
‘Then you make a good mother one day,’ Anna declared, making Sara colour with embarrassment. She handed Mary back swiftly.
‘I’ve got a present for Mary,’ Sara said, producing a pair of pink booties she had bought at the store haberdashery department on her way over.
Rosa began to weep and Sara wondered what she had done. Anna indicated it was time she left.
‘She needs to sleep. You can come another day, yes?’
‘Aye, of course,’ Sara smiled. ‘And if ther
e’s anything I can get you, Rosa…’
‘No, no,’ Rosa’s mother ushered Sara from the room. ‘We can manage ourselves.’
Sara was in the middle of describing Rosa’s new baby to Louie, when Raymond and Sam came in from work, trailing black dust from their boots.
‘What’s all this excitement for?’ Sam asked with a tired smile, his back aching from the punishing hours of hewing underground.
Louie took a deep breath. ‘Rosa Dimarco’s had a daughter,’ she told her husband, placing bread and cheese and pickled beetroot and cabbage on the table for tea.
Louie and Sara had kept Rosa’s secret even from Sam and he gawped at them in astonishment. ‘So that’s why she’s been in hibernation,’ he grunted.
Sara caught the stunned look on Raymond’s face.
‘What do you mean she’s had a daughter?’ he spluttered, unable to hide his shock. ‘She’s not even married.’
Louie and Sara exchanged looks. Sara had worried over how Raymond might take the news, knowing he had fancied Rosa, but that was nearly a year ago. Now Raymond had a new group of friends at the pit and was seldom about the house, only returning to sleep or eat and preferring to spend any snatched moments of free time with his friends on the football pitch. Just then, the young lodger Stan and a friend came charging in asking if tea was ready.
‘No, five more minutes,’ Louie jerked her head at the children, ‘run outside now till I call you.’ They looked about to protest that they were hungry, but a look from Sam sent them scrambling for the door.
‘No, Rosa’s not married,’ Louie continued, giving her nephew a sympathetic look. ‘She’s been a foolish lass, but her bairn’s not to blame and now she must do all she can to bring that baby up right.’
Raymond sagged onto a stool, his face red under the coal grime. Louie knew from Sara that Raymond had been sweet on the young Italian girl the previous summer. She had been disbelieving of the infatuation, thinking of her affectionate nephew as an immature boy whose voice still plunged and squeaked. But work at the pit had put muscle on his skinny frame, he had grown a head taller in the last year and his voice was now that of a young man. He was no longer the little lad she had delighted in bringing up for her absent sister-in-law, Iris Ramshaw, and she must not treat him like one. At times he reminded her achingly of her brother Davie, the father Raymond had been cruelly denied by that terrible pit accident that should never have happened, when Davie had died saving Wilfred Parkin’s life.
Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies Page 30