Across the Mersey (11 page)

Vi couldn’t believe that Mrs Parker actually thought that that Trixie, with her horsy face and moony expression, would be a better wife for her
son than her own Bella. Stupid woman. And mean too, suggesting that Bella move in with them.

The sight of Sam beaming from ear to ear when he came in from work was enough to make Jean feel less guilty about not telling him what had happened. He had such a lot on his mind at the moment that it wouldn’t be fair to add another burden to the ones he was already carrying.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ she told him. ‘You’re a bit later than I was expecting, though. The others have already had theirs, and I’ve got to go out to my WVS meeting tonight, so you’d better get washed up and sat down at the table.’

‘Sorry, love,’ Sam apologised, rolling up his shirtsleeves over the sink and turning on the tap. ‘Fred Wilson collared me when I was on me way home, He’s our Group Warden.’

Jean nodded as she removed the cottage pie she’d plated up earlier for him from the oven. By the time Sam had washed his hands and was sitting down, Jean had put his dinner in front of him and had the kettle on.

‘Aye, Fred had a bit of good news he wanted to tell me,’ Sam continued. ‘Seems that the Government has decided that it’s going to pay us a bit of summat for being in the ARP, even though it’s only part time. It’s not much, mind,’ he warned, but Jean could see how pleased he was. Luke will be getting it as well, and I reckon it won’t do any harm to carry on as we have been doing and put it to one side for the future. Where are the kids?’

‘Luke’s out at band practice,’ said Jean. ‘Grace has gone to find out what she needs to do to get started with her nursing training, and the twins have gone off to the park with that friend of theirs. They’ll be back at school next week so they might as well enjoy what’s left of their holidays. I had a message earlier saying that they wanted volunteers down at the school to help get the kiddies evacuated, so I’ve said I’ll go and give a hand. Poor little mites, and their mothers as well.’

‘It’s for their own good, Jean. If it does come to war then the Government wants them to be safe.’ He put down his knife and fork and looked at her. ‘I’ve bin thinking meself, about the twins and you.’

‘You’re not the only one. I’ve bin thinking about it too, but, like I’ve already said, Sam, I’m staying put and so are the twins. I’d never have a minute’s peace, worrying about you, if I didn’t, and I’d never have any peace if the twins weren’t here with us.’

‘Well, I can’t say that I wouldn’t prefer to have you here because I would, but the Germans are going to be out to get Liverpool, lass – we all know that, what with the docks and everything – and I’d feel a lot easier in me mind, know that you and the girls are safe.’

‘We’ll be as safe here as anywhere,’ Jean said to him firmly. ‘We’ve got that shelter in the garden, and besides, how can you be expected to help fight a war if you aren’t getting a decent meal to eat and clean clothes to wear? No, Sam, my mind’s
made up. We’re staying.’ She paused. ‘I do hope that our Vi doesn’t really mean to send Jack away. I’d have him here rather than let her do that, but of course there’d be a ruckus if I offered.’

They exchanged looks, and then Sam cleared his throat.

‘Aye, poor lad. But he’s their lad, love, and it’s not up to us to interfere.’

‘But, Sam …’

‘I know, love but there’s nothing we can do. You know that.’

Jean straightened her shoulders and poured them each a cup of tea.

‘Do you reckon then that it’s going to be war?’ she asked.

Sam pushed back his chair and stood up, going over to her. Jean stood up as well, her anxiety shadowing her eyes as he put his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder.

‘Yes, and there’s no point in me pretending that there isn’t,’ he told her gruffly. ‘You’ve got far too much sense to be teken in by summat like that.’

For a few seconds they simply stood there in silence, Sam’s arm around Jean, and her head resting on his shoulder. Sam could feel her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. There was a huge lump in his throat. Jean so rarely cried.

‘At least we’ll have our Luke here with us, not like some families who’ve got to watch their lads going off to fight,’ Sam tried to comfort her.

‘I’m worried about him, Sam,’ she responded.
‘Something’s bothering him. Has he said anything to you?’

‘No, not a word. What do you reckon’s up with him then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jean admitted.

The sound of the twins’ muffled giggles had Jean looking along the pew and giving them a warning shake of her head. Dust danced in the long bars of sunlight striking through the high windows and onto the stone floor. She hoped the vicar’s sermon wasn’t going to go on for too long this morning. She’d got a nice piece of beef in the oven and she didn’t want it spoiling, and besides, she needed to sort out what she and the twins were going to wear for Bella’s wedding. A turn-up for the books, that had been and no mistake. And Vi could say what she liked about them getting married fast because there might be a war; it still wouldn’t stop folk putting one and one together and getting three, as the saying went.

From the pew she could see where the Boy Scouts were standing. Jack had told her all about the badges he’d got when she’d seen him at Vi’s. It didn’t seem two minutes ago since their Luke
had been marching off proudly in his own Scout’s uniform, his hair slicked down straight.

She’d telephoned Vi yesterday from the telephone box at the end of the road, after the postman had brought the wedding invitation, and she’d been a bit taken aback when Vi had told her that Jack had been evacuated already.

‘His headmaster said we should, since they’ll be closing his school down if there is a war.’

Jean bent her head and said an extra special prayer for her young nephew, and then another one for all those other children who had been sent away from their homes, and for their mothers as well.

In the pew in front of them old Mrs Knowles from round the corner had fallen asleep, her hat coming down over one eye, its feather trembling in time with her snores, which was no doubt the cause of the twins’ mirth, Jean recognised ruefully.

Dutifully Grace tried to concentrate on the vicar’s sermon, but the warm beams of sunshine striking through the Sunday morning torpor of the worshippers, combined with the excitement that was fizzing away inside her, was too much of a temptation, drawing her thoughts outside the church to more exciting things. This time, next week she’d have started her training. She was to report to the nurses’ home next Saturday morning and, like her mother had said, they were going to have to get their skates on if they were going to get in time everything on the list she’d been given.

Lewis’s had been ever so good to her as well,
giving her a day’s leave without docking any of her pay. Oh, she just couldn’t wait, although of course she was going to miss home and her family. She just hoped though that she’d be able to be Bella’s bridesmaid. A real surprise that had been, to all of them.

‘Perhaps the young man that was so kind to you will be at the wedding,’ her mother had suggested.

Grace knew that she had coloured up and she knew too that her mother had noticed, but she was determined to be realistic about Seb and his kindness to her, and so she had said determinedly, ‘Well, he could be, Mum, although he told me that he isn’t really related to Alan at all. And… well, I got the impression he wasn’t very keen on him, and if he’s already back with the RAF, he may not be able to be there.’

‘Well, never mind,’ her mother had responded. ‘I’d have liked to thank him for his kindness to you, though.’

‘How many breaths do you think it will be before her hat falls off?’ Louise whispered to her twin.

‘Ten,’ Sasha responded.

‘I bet you it’s fifteen. And if I win you’ve got to kiss Tom Lucas.’

‘I’m not kissing him. You kiss him.’

‘Sally says that he sticks his tongue right down your throat.’

‘Why would he want to do that?’

‘It’s what they do in France, she says.’

‘Mum’s watching us …’

The sudden realisation that the vicar had stopped speaking virtually in mid-sentence caused not only Jean but virtually the whole congregation to look first towards the pulpit and then back towards the now open door, where the verger and two of the sidesmen were in earnest conversation. The verger broke away and started to hurry down the aisle, his robes billowing with the speed of his progress. He reached the pulpit, saying something to the vicar, who had leaned down to listen.

Several seconds passed. Mrs Knowles woke up abruptly in mid-snore and straightened her hat. The vicar stepped down from the pulpit to stand in front of the congregation.

‘It is my sad duty to inform you that we are now at war with Germany.’

Immediately Grace looked towards her parents. Her mother’s face had lost its colour and her father’s mouth had gone stern. The twins were standing close together, their arms round each other.

Luke stood apart from his family, a grim, almost bitter, expression shadowing his face as he watched some of the other young men gravitate towards one another and begin a low-voiced conversation. Why couldn’t his father understand how it made him feel, knowing that he was going to be safe here in Liverpool whilst his friends went off to fight? The service summarily finished, the congregation was moving swiftly towards the open doors. Half a dozen young men in various service
uniforms, who had been attending church with their families, were very much the centre of attention, receiving approving smiles and words of encouragement as older men went up to them to clap them on the shoulder or pat them on the back.

Luke could feel the backs of his eyes burning drily with shame and anger.

‘Oh, Sam, do you think it’s really true?’ Jean asked anxiously as they all left the church.

‘I reckon so. We’ll know more when we get home and listen to the wireless. Luke, we’d better check in with the ARP post this afternoon,’ he told his son, ‘and I’ll have a word with Andy Roberts to see if he’s heard anything.’

Andy Roberts was the most senior of the Salvage Corps men and acted as an unofficial co-ordinator and ‘foreman’ for the group.

‘Does that mean now that Hitler’s going to march into Liverpool?’ Lou asked anxiously.

‘Don’t be daft,’ her twin responded dismissively. ‘He can’t march across the Channel, can he?’

‘No, but he can ruddy well bomb it,’ Arthur Edwards, one of their neighbours, told them, having overheard the twins’ conversation. Arthur was a widower, and Jean normally made up a bit of a plated dinner for him on a Sunday. ‘There’s going to be some tears shed before tonight’s over,’ he added dourly. ‘There’s hardly a house in the street that’s not sending one of its men off to fight. I’m surprised that you ain’t in uniform yet, young Luke. Alf Simpson’s two lads have both joined up
this last month and the Bristows from number sixteen’s son’s in the Merchant Navy.

‘Luke’s going to be working in the Salvage Corps with me,’ Sam told their neighbour sharply.

‘Oh, Mum …’ Grace’s voice broke as she went into her mother’s arms, and they hugged each other.

They were less than halfway home when they heard a booming noise, similar to that made by the One o’ clock Gun down on the docks, followed by another. Before the echoes of the second had died away Sam was shepherding his family towards the nearest public shelter, which happened to be in the grounds of a school. New and purpose-built with brick walls and a concrete slab roof, the shelter might be ugly, but right now it was a very welcome sight indeed.

Joining in with the shrill wail of the air-raid sirens, small children snatched up by their parents had started crying. Jean kept the twins in front of her, telling them to hold on to one another, conscious of the press of people seeking safety, but everyone was doing their best to keep calm, even if there were some very set and frightened faces.

Inside, the shelter was very similar to the one at the bottom of the road, which they had all been down to have a look at once it had been erected earlier in the year, although much larger. Bunk beds lined the walls; there were buckets filled with sand as emergency fire extinguishers, and a dedicated ARP post right by the door for those who
would be in charge of getting everyone in and keeping a check on everything. Electric cables supporting solitary light bulbs dangled from the ceiling here and there, the bulbs giving off pools of light. Without any windows there was no chance of that light giving away their location to Hitler’s Luftwaffe. There was even a door marked ‘WC’, which was more than they had in their shelter, Jean thought enviously.

As Sam guided his family to one of the bunk beds so that they could all sit down he commented admiringly on how well equipped the shelter was.

‘We’ll be all right in here, love. They’ve got a supply of stoves stacked up over there, and their own water supply,’ he told Jean, before going back to join the other ARP men outside, helping to make sure everything proceeded as it should. Jean watched him leave with some anxiety – for his safety, not their own.

‘Blimey, that Hitler don’t believe in wasting much time, does he?’ an old lady puffed as she sat down on the bed next to the Campions’. The twins were packed in tightly between Jean and Grace, and a group of men a few yards away were joking that the ARP warden hadn’t thought to stock up with a few crates of beer.

‘Shame on you, Harry Meadows,’ a woman, whom Jean guessed must be his wife, objected sharply. ‘Talking about drinking beer on a Sunday, and when we’ve only just come out of church. You should be praying to the Good Lord to save us, not thinking about beer.’

Lou shivered and moved closer to Jean. Jean put her arm around her, and hugged her tightly, hoping that Lou wouldn’t be able to feel how fast her own heart was beating and guess how very afraid she was.

You could almost feel the effort everyone was making not to be afraid, or at least not to let their fear show. But it was there, Jean could see it in the eyes of other mothers and in the way they kept their children close to them. People were talking in low voices, quickly, anxious not to miss any sounds from outside.

Jean looked towards the shelter entrance. The door was still open; she could just about see Sam standing with the other ARP men. She wished desperately that he was with them, but he had his duty to do. Grace was holding Sasha as closely as Jean was holding Lou, and she felt a surge of pride for her eldest daughter.

‘It’s cold in here, Mum,’ Lou complained.

It
was
cold, and damp as well, Jean suspected, but far more important than the discomfort, and the fact that the beef would be ruined, was that they were safe.

Lou was pulling a face. ‘Pooh,’ she objected, wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s horrid in here, really smelly.’

Jean nudged her daughter and gave her a warning look, even though she was forced to acknowledge that Lou’s criticism was well deserved.

The beef would be ruined now. What a waste.

Sam was coming towards them, and Jean waited
anxiously as he stepped carefully over outstretched legs.

‘It’s all right,’ he told her. ‘False alarm. Captain Cocks, from the Fort Perch Rock Battery ordered a couple of rounds to be put across the bows of a vessel trying to enter the closed Rock Channel approach to the Mersey. I dunno about scaring them off – he’s certainly put the fear of God up all of Liverpool. Not that the powers that be will be too put out, mind. I dare say it’s given them a chance to see if the civil defence measures are working as they should.’

As they all stepped out into the sunshine, Grace was thinking that the next time she heard an air-raid siren she could well be in her nurse’s uniform and on duty waiting for the injured to be brought in for treatment. It felt funny to be both so frightened and yet at the same time so determined to rise to the challenge of what war could bring.

‘I think I’d better stay on here to lend a hand, if you don’t mind love,’ Sam told Jean, as she gathered her family together.

It was only natural that he should want a chance to talk things through with the other men who had been clustered together by the exit to the shelter as they left, Jean acknowledged as they made their way home.

She felt tired and miserable, and her head had started to ache, but most of all she was thinking about Jack, and how he must be feeling.

‘Poor little lad,’ she said under her breath.

‘What’s that, Mum?’ Grace asked.

‘I was just thinking about Jack,’ Jean told her. ‘Your Auntie Vi’s had him evacuated.’

‘Of course, Edwin suspected all along that this was going to happen, and that it would be war. He’s got very close contacts with the Ministry, you know – not that he’d ever breathe a word out of turn. They have absolute trust in his discretion. To be honest, that’s why we gave in when Alan begged us to allow Bella to marry him. They’re so very much in love, and with it being war, well, one never knows what might happen …’

‘But I thought that Alan Parker worked for his father and doesn’t have to join up,’ the neighbour Vi was talking to queried.

It was early in the evening, and naturally everyone wanted to talk about the morning’s announcement that they were now at war.

Vi had only come out to deadhead the last of her roses, but her trug was at her feet without anything in it, and she was determined to ignore her neighbour’s telltale glance towards her own front door when she had such an excellent opportunity to reinforce the fact that it was Edwin’s perspicacity in recognising that war was about to be declared that was responsible for Bella’s swift marriage, and nothing else.

‘Well, yes, of course, but one never knows what may happen …’

Really, Vi thought, humming happily to herself ten minutes later as she returned to the house,
things could hardly have fallen better. She now had the perfect explanation for anyone who chose to ask questions about the hurried nature of Bella’s marriage.

Edwin was in the lounge, listening to the wireless and drinking a G and T – his second of the evening, not that Vi was counting, of course. Edwin with his bald head and his neat moustache had grown somewhat portly over the years, and had developed a decided air of importance. Unlike Jean’s Sam, he was not a tall man, and unlike him too, he was now wearing spectacles.

‘Of course, I had my suspicions that this was going to happen,’ he told Vi, puffing out his cheeks, both of them ignoring the fact that it was only a couple of weeks since he had been saying that there wouldn’t be a war at all, in private as well as in public. ‘Just as well I had the foresight to expand the business, because we’ll certainly be getting more work. Charlie will have to pull his socks up a bit, mind. I don’t want to see work we could have had going to someone else because he’s not doing his job properly.’