Lights Out Liverpool Page 19
The bus for Dunnings arrived late almost every day, particularly in the mornings, when it encountered fresh snowfalls, and the men would get out and attempt to clear the roads and create a fresh channel for the buses following behind. Although the heating system in the factory was quite efficient, the girls no longer removed their clothes, only too glad to feel warm, if sticky.
‘Sweating’s a luxury in this bleeding weather,’ Doris declared.
Eileen met Nick on her morning shifts in December and they walked along the bank, trampling through the smooth, virginal snow or sliding on the frozen stream like children.
‘The girls think I’m completely mad, coming out like this,’ she told him.
As Jessica Fleming trudged home from Veronica’s, she thought longingly of her old house with its central heating, though had to concede that, once the fire was banked up, it was quite cheerful, even cosy, in Pearl Street. When she couldn’t find a hot-water bottle to buy anywhere in the shops, Arthur advised her to heat bricks in the oven and wrap them in a cloth to take to bed. ‘Someone in the King’s Arms told me that.’
‘Where the hell am I supposed to find bricks?’ she asked sharply, and he brought two home the next day.
Paddy O’Hara, who’d come into his own in the blackout – after all, he had lived in his own blackout since 1918, so could make his way around as well as he’d ever done – suddenly found himself in slippery, alien territory bounded by unfamiliar walls of snow. After falling over several times and twice getting lost and having to ask strangers to take him home, he stayed in his lodgings, sinking further and further into a slough of despondency as he nursed Spot, who by now could scarcely walk.
‘We’re a pair of ould crocks, aren’t we boy?’ he said, stroking the dog’s shivering body.
All Sheila Reilly could think of were the sailors dying in the icy seas of the South Atlantic, where the Battle of the River Plate took place in the middle of December. Cal had told her once that you didn’t stand a chance after you landed in the water if it was below a certain temperature. It was the shock that did for you. Even if you were fished out immediately, it was too late. In the end, the British were triumphant, though scores of men on both sides were killed. The Admiral Graf Spee, which had cost the German government six million pounds, limped into the port of Montevideo like a wounded animal, and the captain, faced with capture of both crew and vessel, decided to scuttle the ship, then killed himself to preserve the honour of the German flag. Everyone in Pearl Street seemed to think Sheila should be elated. After all, it was the Graf Spee that had sunk the Midnight Star.
‘Why should I be happy because some poor German women have lost their men?’ she asked, puzzled.
But at least the country had something to crow over, even though the happenings had taken place thousands of miles away on the coast of South America, and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, was given due credit for the victory. Once again people began to ask, ‘Why isn’t this man Prime Minister?’
On the Saturday before Christmas, Eileen Costello and Annie Poulson were sitting listening to Garrison Theatre and wrapping presents in crêpe paper. The decorations were already up and an artificial tree stood on the sideboard. Mr Singerman had taken Tony and Dominic to the Palace in Marsh Lane to see Will Hay in Ask a Policeman. Tony’s model of the Maginot Line and his box of lead soldiers were safely hidden in Annie’s house and would be put beside his bed on Christmas morning.
‘It’s nice to have a few bob in your pocket for presents,’ Annie said smugly, wrapping a shaving kit in a leather case. She’d bought one each for Terry and Joe. ‘When they were little, I never had two pennies to scratch me arse with, let alone for Christmas presents. Yesterday, I got three pounds, two and sixpence in me wages and I feel like a millionaire. There!’ She patted the finished parcel. ‘What shall I do now?’
‘Wrap this cardy up for Mary. I bought clothes for our Sheila’s kids. They won’t like it much, but it’ll help their mam out a bit.’
‘How’s she getting on for money, like?’ asked Annie.
‘She’s getting Cal’s pay for six months, two pounds, ten bob, a week, but not the extra danger money he used to get,’ Eileen answered.
‘What’ll she do when the six months is up?’
Eileen shrugged. ‘Go on Public Assistance, I suppose, though there’s no way me dad’ll see our Sheila and her kids go hungry – nor would I, come to that.’
‘Y’know Rosie Gregson is up the spout?’ said Annie conversationally.
‘Never! I suppose that must have happened when Charlie came home on leave at the end of September.’
‘I reckon,’ Annie said. ‘The thing is, though, the silly girl hadn’t told a soul. She got the sack from Jacob’s Biscuit Factory because she was so sick, she was off work for weeks. The poor lamb’s got no family – she met Charlie in the orphanage – and I found her the other day near froze to death in her lodgings. I gave her a good ticking off for not telling me and took her over to our house for a warm and a good meal. She’s been living on seventeen and six a week Army allowance, on top of the seven bob she gets off Charlie.’
‘How’s she supposed to buy things for a baby out of that?’ Eileen asked indignantly.
‘Christ knows! Rosie, bless her heart, is as thick as two short planks. It didn’t cross her mind to do anything about it. I made her apply for more money off the Army. It’s a terrible disgrace, y’know, Eil. Two bob a day a soldier gets fighting for his country – and half that’s taken off for his family.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ groaned Eileen. ‘Me dad pins me ear back over the same thing every time I see him. The woman next door to him has had to take in sewing to make ends meet. It’s all right for some – Francis still gets his wages off the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, not that I touch it, mind you – but most men and their families have to live on what they get off the Army, and they get nowt but a pittance.’
Annie shook her head in disgust. ‘Two bob a day! I bet there’s politicians who spend two bob a day on cigars. When y’think about it, Eil, there’s something wrong somewhere. Two bob a day!’
Paddy O’Hara lay in his room listening to the woman crying next door. Miss Brazier had been sobbing her heart out for nearly two hours. She was normally a cold, reserved person, but he always sensed an edge of desperation in her voice, as if behind the frigid façade she longed to let go, drop her icy reserve, and at least pass the time of day like everybody else.
He wondered, vaguely, if he should go round and ask what was the matter, though the woman would probably die of shame if she thought someone was eavesdropping, albeit innocently, on her misery.
In his box on the floor beside the bed, Spot gave a little almost human groan.
‘There, boy,’ said Paddy, reaching down to stroke the furry body. His hand accidentally touched the lump on the little dog’s belly, and it whimpered in pain.
‘Sorry, boy!’ Paddy whispered. He lifted the dog up carefully and put it under the clothes beside him. In his heart, he knew that very soon he’d have to get Spot put down. The vet had told him, quite brutally, there was nothing that could be done. ‘You’re lucky to have had him so long. What is it? Fifteen years? It’s cruel, in a way, to let him go on living. After all, you can always get another dog.’
Miss Brazier was still crying. Apart from that, and Spot’s heavy breathing, the street seemed to be gripped in an all-consuming silence. It was probably snowing again. Paddy tried to remember what snow looked like, what the world looked like when it was covered with a blanket of white. He lay there for a long time listening to the crying and the breathing, imagining flakes as big as tennis balls dropping remorselessly outside, when he heard a commotion. Doors slammed, there was banging, people began to shout. They were happy shouts, joyous. There must be some good news. Perhaps the war was over. He struggled cautiously out of bed so as not to disturb Spot and began to get dressed. If it was good news, there was no way he was going to miss it.
‘They look so much more interesting and mysterious like that, don’t they?’ said Annie. ‘Shall we have a cuppa after all that hard work?’
Eileen switched on the wireless. ‘Shush a minute. Let’s hear the news headlines.’
Annie disappeared into the kitchen as Big Ben boomed and a cultured voice announced, ‘This is the nine o’clock news from the BBC, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it.’
Eileen listened idly, not expecting to hear much of interest. The news was still concerned with the Battle of the River Plate. Apparently the American Republics had made a formal protest to Britain, claiming their security zone had been violated. Churchill had replied to President Roosevelt that the zone was now free from German harassment. The Ministry of Information had just revealed that the thirty-two-strong crew of the recently sunk British ship Streonshalh had been released from the Graf Spee before it was scuttled. They’d been taken prisoner prior to their ship being blasted out of the water… The announcer’s pleasant voice droned on. At first, the momentous words went over Eileen’s head and she found herself glaring at the wireless, wishing she’d listened properly. What had the man just said?
Annie appeared in the doorway. She was clutching the teapot to her chest like a loved one, unable to contain her excitement.
‘Did you hear what I just heard?’
‘I think so. Oh, I’m sure so.’ Eileen gave a shout of joy. ‘I’m going to tell our Sheila!’
Eileen grabbed her coat and ran out into the snow in her bedroom slippers. She hammered with both fists on Sheila’s door. Mr and Mrs Harrison came hurrying out of their house next to the coalyard and a crowd of men poured out of the King’s Arms.
‘Did you hear the news, Eileen? Did you hear the news?’
‘I heard!’
Sheila opened the door and took a startled step backwards when it appeared the entire street had come to see her in the middle of a snow storm. ‘What on earth . .?’ she began.
‘Sheil!’ Eileen leaped into the hall, grabbed her sister by the waist, and began to twirl her round. ‘Cal’s alive! The crew of the Midnight Star were taken prisoner by the Graf Spee, and put on another ship. He’s not dead, Sheil. None of the crew are dead.’
‘But where is he?’ Sheila looked dazed.
‘He’s on a ship called the Altmark, luv,’ someone shouted, ‘along with men off some other British ships.’
‘But don’t worry, Sheila. The Royal Navy’s out looking for it. Calum Reilly’ll soon be home safe and sound.’
‘You never know, he might even be back for Christmas.’
‘Cal’s not dead? Y’mean my Cal’s not dead?’ Sheila, still dazed, had only just begun to take the news in. She burst into tears.
‘What’s going on?’ Paddy O’Hara shouted from across the street.
‘Calum Reilly’s safe and sound on the Altmark.’
‘It’s drinks on the house,’ yelled Mack, the landlord. ‘C’mon, Paddy, me boy. You look froze to death. A nice drop of whisky’ll warm you up no end. We’ll drink to Cal and Sheila – and to the Royal Navy. I’ll send a couple of port and lemon’s over in a minute, Sheila, so you can join in the toast. Let’s hope they find that bloody ship soon. In the meantime, this is going to be one of the best Christmases we’ve ever had!’
It had been a genuine mistake. A woman had handed in a pound note, and instead of Jessica giving a ten-shilling note and coins in change, she’d apparently handed a pound note and coins back. Later in the day, after Jessica had gone home, the woman had come into the shop to return the ten shillings when she noticed the error.
‘It’s a good job there’s honest folk in the world,’ sniffed Veronica, ‘else I would have been well down on me takings.’ She carried on about it all morning.
‘How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?’ pleaded Jessica. ‘You’d think I was trying to steal it, the way you go on.’
Veronica was still going on days later. She kept a zealous eye on Jessica every time the till was opened, and several times emerged to go over the calculations when a customer was purchasing several items which needed adding up. Jessica, who had kept her father’s books when she was little more than a child and had a good head for figures, took exception to being watched over as if she was a criminal.
‘I know you’re only doing it to rile me,’ she said one morning in between customers and almost at the end of her tether. ‘I can’t understand someone like you. You seem to take pleasure in getting under people’s skin.’
It was only a few days off Christmas and the shop was busy. There’d even been a few bold men in, buying underwear as presents for their wives.
‘You don’t give me much choice, do you? If I don’t keep a close eye, who knows what you might get up to.’
Jessica felt like hitting her employer with the drawer of outsize lockknit bloomers on the counter. She put the drawer away, slammed it shut and counted up to ten, slowly.
‘Oh, a bit touchy are we today?’ Veronica said rudely, before ambling into the back.
Jessica recognised the next customer; a pleasant-looking woman, almost refined, who had been in the shop before and lived across the road from her in Pearl Street.
‘I’d like a brassiere, something with a bit of uplift.’ She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. ‘The girls where I work are always on about uplift, so I thought I’d go for a bit meself.’
‘What size, Madam?’
‘Thirty-two, I think. I haven’t bought a brassiere in ages,’ she said with a grin.
‘Would Madam like me to measure her?’
‘No, it’s all right. If it don’t fit, I can always change it, can’t I?’
‘Mrs Poulson!’ Veronica emerged from the back. ‘Are your lads home yet?’
‘They’re on their way. I’m expecting them tonight if the snow holds off a bit.’
‘Mrs Poulson’s twin boys are with the British Expeditionary Force in France,’ Veronica announced grandly to Jessica.
‘I expect you can’t wait to see them,’ Jessica said politely, producing the drawer of size 32 brassieres.
‘You’re dead right. I’m longing to get me hands on the pair of them and give them a good old cuddle. Have you got any children, Mrs Fleming?’
‘No, I’m afraid… No, I haven’t,’ Jessica replied shortly.
Mrs Poulson had begun to examine the brassieres. ‘This one looks quite a nice shape – and it’s even got a rosebud in the middle! Not that anyone’s likely to see it except meself. How much is it?’
‘Two and ninepence.’
Taking the money out of her purse, Mrs Poulson chuckled. ‘I’ll give you the right amount this time, so there’s no chance of a mistake with me change.’
‘I’m so sorry about that, Mrs Poulson,’ Veronica grovelled. ‘Mrs Fleming has been extra careful ever since.’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘But it was you who gave me the wrong change, Veronica. I never said it was Jessie who took me money.’
It was then that Jessica remembered. Mrs Poulson had come in last week to buy a nightdress, and Veronica, up to her usual tricks, had snatched the note out of her hand.
‘Merry Christmas to the pair of you,’ Mrs Poulson said happily as she left.
There was dead silence in the shop for several seconds.
‘Well?’ said Jessica ominously.
‘Well, what?’ Veronica snapped.
‘I think I’m entitled to an apology, don’t you?’
Veronica didn’t reply.
‘Don’t you?’
When Veronica remained mute, Jessica went storming into the back and stood in the middle of the stockroom, taking deep breaths and seething. That was it! She’d leave. She couldn’t stand Veronica and her shop another single minute. It was degrad
ing. She glanced around at the cardboard boxes of cheap underwear that she wouldn’t be seen dead in.
‘Muck!’ she said in a loud voice. ‘Absolute muck!’
The shop bell rang, but Jessica remained where she was. Veronica could see to the customer – to all the customers from now on.
With a sense of overwhelming relief, she realised she was free! It was so easy, she wondered why she hadn’t done it before.
She put on her coat, picked up her bag and marched through the shop.
‘And where d’you think you’re going?’ snapped her ex-employer.
‘Home,’ cried Jessica. ‘I’m going home. Merry Christmas, Veronica.’
Jessica pulled out the flue on the fire which she’d left banked up that morning. Little blue and red flames immediately shot through the mixture of coal and coke and began to dance on the surface.
She felt darts of happiness shoot through her body and rubbed her hands together in a surge of joy. She hadn’t felt so exhilarated since … since she first met Arthur! Yet she’d just given up her job, relinquished a regular wage. None of the wonderful, expensive things she’d bought in the past; the jewellery, the clothes, the furniture, not even the Aga, had made her feel so delighted with herself. To think she didn’t have to subject herself to that ordeal again! It had only been eleven weeks, but it felt more like eleven years.
This called for a celebration. A drink! She’d get one in a minute, but in the meantime, she couldn’t help it, she just had to sing! She hadn’t sung a note since Calderstones, but now the urge couldn’t be contained another single minute.
Jessica threw back her head and began to sing Silent Night in her glorious soprano voice. There was no audience, no-one to applaud, but she had never sung so well or with so much feeling. ‘All is calm, All is bright …’ As she sang, she thought, ‘I must join another choir. I didn’t realise how much I’ve missed this … Holy Infant, so tender and mild, Sleep in …’
To her astonishment, she heard the sound of a piano next door. She was being accompanied! Somewhat stumblingly at first, but then, once the pianist got her rhythm, he played with as much enthusiasm as she sang.