Liverpool Taffy (10 page)

‘Biddy, meet me friend Mr Alton,’ she said gaily. ‘George, this is Biddy O’Shaughnessy, what’s stayin’ wi’ me for a while. We was at school together … George was one of me pals before … well, we got to know one another whilst I worked at Cottle’s, on Ranelagh Street. ‘E’s an assistant at the Sterling Boot.’ She turned to her guest. ‘Sit down, do, George, an’ I’ll get you a glass of stout.’

George was a pleasant-looking young man with short, fair hair, a tiny moustache and blue eyes. He grinned at Biddy and sat down beside her, carefully catching his trousers above the knee and pulling them up a bit as he took his place on the sofa.

‘’Ello, Miss O’Shaughnessy,’ he said genially. ‘Nice to meet you. Nice to meet any friend of Ellen’s, come to that. You in Gowns?’

‘Hello, Mr Alton, nice to meet you. No, I’m …’

‘No, she worked at a confectioner’s,’ Ellen said, bustling out of the room in the direction of the kitchen. She came back with the jug of stout and an extra glass. ‘She’s not workin’ right now, more’s the pity.’

‘A confectioner’s? I seem to recall … but I daresay you’re huntin’ for somethin’ different, or d’you want another job in that line?’ Mr Alton asked genially. ‘Can’t wait on, I s’pose? There’s a waitress wanted at Fuller’s, next door to the old Boot.’

‘No experience,’ Ellen said, answering for her. ‘But you could try for it, couldn’t you, Bid?’

‘I wouldn’t mind, but most places seem to want experience,’ Biddy said. ‘Ranelagh Street? That’s quite near Lewises, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Nobbut two minutes walk away … well, if you walk the way I do in me dinner-break it’s two minutes, anyway. Now let me see, someone was talkin’ the other day … people do chat while they try on boots an’ shoes, some customers get real friendly, but this was a feller what lodges not far from me on Chaucer Street … that were about a job vacancy … let me think.’

He thought, frowning, whilst Ellen poured the stout, then as he accepted the glass his brow cleared. ‘Got it!’ he said triumphantly. ‘D’you know Cazneau Street, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’

‘Yes, quite well, it’s quite near the Scottie …’ Biddy was beginning when the incorrigible Ellen broke in.

‘Let ’im finish, queen. George is a right good ‘un for knowin’ today what the rest o’ the world knows tomorrer. Tell ’er, Georgie boy.’

‘Well, there’s a confectioner’s on the corner o’ Rose Place an’ they’re wantin’ a young lady what knows a t’ing or two about confectionery. I walk past the shop of an evenin’, it’s a nice enough place. Cleaner than Kettle’s, on the Scottie, but old Mr James meks ’is own taffy an’ that.’

‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Alton,’ Biddy said. ‘I’ll try there and Fuller’s, as well.’

She told herself she had no intention of applying for the job on Cazzy, it was far too close to the Scottie, but at least she knew about it; if she got desperate she could try there. And Ma Kettle didn’t go out much, she was too fat to enjoy exercise, so the chances of her actually walking into another confectionery shop and spotting Biddy behind the counter were pretty remote.

Ellen seemed to guess what she was thinking.

‘She wouldn’t ’ave a clue you was there,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Nor would them Kettle boys. When you can get taffy ’alf price or free you doesn’t go an’ pay for it, not unless you’re light in the ’ead. Nah, you’d be safe as ’ouses in another sweet-shop.’ She turned back to George. ‘She used to work at Kettle’s but she left,’ she explained. ‘Would you like a cheese sarney, George? We’ve got pickled onions, too.’

Upon George admitting that a cheese sarney with pickled onions would go down a treat she trotted out of the room, leaving Mr Alton and Miss O’Shaughnessy eyeing one another somewhat awkwardly.

‘Umm … so you’re jest a pal, Miss O’Shaughnessy, an old school friend, like?’ George said at last. ‘An’ you’re stayin’ ’ere a while?’

‘That’s right,’ Biddy said. ‘It’s ever so good of Ellen to let me, especially when I’ve got no job, but I’ll remedy that as soon as possible, of course.’

‘Course you will,’ George said heartily. ‘Well, me an’ Ellen’s old friends ourselves, I enjoy comin’ here from time to time. Usually I nips into Gowns to tell ’er I’m comin’, but today I jest popped up on the off-chance.’

‘That’s nice,’ Biddy said awkwardly. ‘It’s nice to have friends to visit.’

‘Very nice,’ George agreed. ‘D’you get out much, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’

‘Yes, quite a bit. Especially now I’m searching for work.’

‘An’ what about evenin’s? The flickers? The the-aytre? A bit of a knees up at the local …’ he broke off, the ready colour rising to his cheeks. ‘Oh no, you’re a bit gre … young, I mean for public ’ouses. Still, I guess you like a good cinema show, eh?’

‘I haven’t been to the cinema for ages, but I used to enjoy seeing films,’ Biddy was beginning, when George leaned across and pressed something into her hand. She glanced down at it; it was a round silver shilling.

‘Go an’ enjoy yourself,’ George said earnestly. ‘Get out and about while you’re young, Miss O’Shaughnessy. See a fillum, or ’ave a spot of supper … jest so’s me an’ Ellen can ’ave a couple o’ hours to ourselves, eh?’

‘Oh, but … It’s awfully kind of you, Mr Alton, but I don’t know whether I ought … Ellen never said …’

‘She wouldn’t, would she?’ George said. ‘Bit awkward, what? She never knew I were comin’ over tonight, for starters. But she’ll be pleased as punch to know you’re ’avin’ a good time, and …’ he broke off as Ellen entered the room and turned to his old friend. ‘Ellen, I give your pal a bob for the flickers; what d’you say?’

‘Well, George, that’s very generous of you, but you don’t ’ave to go, Biddy, if you don’t fancy the cinema,’ Ellen said, looking almost as pink-cheeked as her guest. ‘Still, if you’d like a bit of an outing …’

Biddy stood up and crossed the room. ‘I’ll be back tennish,’ she said, trying not to sound as shocked as she felt. She had managed to make herself accept the presence of Mr Bowker, though she knew she would always think of him as Bunny Big Bum and dreaded their eventual meeting, but she definitely did not approve of her friend living tally with one fellow and having another visit her in the first one’s expensive little flat.

‘Thanks, luv,’ Ellen said. ‘We’ll talk after.’

She must have read the coolness in Biddy’s eyes and the slight stiffness in her friend’s attitude – and so she should, Biddy told herself furiously, clattering down the stairs. So she jolly well should, taking Mr Bowker’s money the way she does and then playing fast and loose with his affections! Still, at least George Alton was a shop assistant, not a sailor. If Ellen started bringing sailors in she, Biddy, would definitely move out!

The
Jenny Bowdler
was a coaster, carrying any cargo it could get up and down and around the coast of Britain. She was Dai’s first choice simply because she was needing a deckhand the day that he and Meirion visited the port of Amlwch, simply because he had applied to the Skipper and got the job, but he was not sorry. It was a good life, though the work was hard and time ashore brief.

And right now the
Jenny
was nosing her way into a small port on the west coast of Ireland. They had a load of timber to take ashore here and they would probably pick up bricks, or dressed stone, or – or cabbages and kings, Dai thought ruefully. And once they had exchanged cargoes they would be off again, with very little opportunity to take a look around, or do more than go into the village to send a postcard home, buy some fresh fruit or vegetables, and get back on board.

It was a fine, chilly morning, and very early. Mist curled round the hills, hiding their tops from inquisitive eyes, and on the long meadow which sloped down to the right of the harbour the dew, Dai knew from his own experience, would hang heavy. He sighed again; he liked the sea, he enjoyed the comradeship and the hard work aboard the
Jenny
, but he missed his own place, his friends, the exhausting, muscle-straining work on the fishing boats and then the pleasure to be had from tending your garden, watching the crops grow, the beasts begin to thrive.

‘Wharra you thinkin’ about, you dozy ’aporth?’ A hand, large and square, smote Dai right between the shoulder blades, making him choke like a cat with a fur-ball. ‘Are ya comin’ ashore, wack?’

Greasy O’Reilly was immediately identifiable by his nasal Liverpool accent. Dai swung his fist around his back and hit something softish; no part of Greasy was actually soft. He was a square, pugnacious young man of about Dai’s own age but he had been reared in a far rougher school.

‘Wait’ll we see dem Liver bairds come into view,’ he would say to Dai whenever home was mentioned. ‘Eh, Taff, dere’s no more beautiful sight I’m tellin’ yiz.’

‘Everyone’s home is special, see, Greasy,’ Dai assured him. ‘Amlwch isn’t my home, but it’s near enough for me. Tell you what, bach, when we get back to Anglesey you can come an’ stay wi’ me for a day or two. Then when we reach Heaven – Liverpool to the uninitiated – I’ll come home wi’ you.’

‘You’re on! We lives in a real posh slum, us O’Reillys do,’ Greasy said with relish. ‘An’ I gorra sister, she’s a smart judy, what’ll do anyt’ing for a mate o’ mine. ‘Ave you gorra sister, la?’

‘Yes; she’s married to a very strong man who ties seamen in knots and chucks ’em into the ’oggin at the least suspicion of a smile in my sister’s direction,’ Dai had said. ‘Nice try though, Greasy.’

But now, holding the stern rope and waiting to jump ashore and tie it round the nearest bollard, Dai had no time for chit-chat.

‘Yes, I’m coming ashore, if you haven’t split my adam’s apple in two, thumping me like that,’ he said. ‘Ah … she’s closing!’

He crouched on the rail, then sprang over the narrowing line of dark water and onto the cobbles below and in a couple of seconds the
Jenny’s
stern was secured, whilst ahead of him Mal Stretson followed suit with the bow rope.

The fenders bumped gently and the small ship cuddled up to the jetty like a lamb to the mother sheep. Men appeared on deck, the Skipper came down from the bridge and everyone began to scurry. They all knew that the sooner the cargo went ashore the sooner they would be able to follow suit, and the port was an attractive little place.

‘Irish gairls is gorgeous,’ Greasy said as he heaved at the first bulk of timber. ‘Gorgeous an’ willin’. Oh, will ye look at that little darlin’.’

Dai raised his eyes and looked. The ‘little darling’ was a strapping wench of no more than thirteen or so, standing on the cobbles with a small sister hanging onto her hand and a basket on one plump hip. She saw Dai looking at her and smiled.

‘You’d better ask her if she’s got an older sister,’ Dai muttered as Greasy began to heave on the timber. ‘I’m not cradle-snatching, boyo, not for you or anyone else!’

‘She’s older ’n she looks,’ Greasy said confidently. ‘See the kid wi’ ’er? That’ll be ’er sprog.’

Dai grinned. ‘Stupid you are, mun. Them’s little girls both; but never mind, we’ll find ourselves something nice for a night in port – where’s the pub?’

‘It’s in the Post Office and General Store,’ another man said, overhearing. ‘Haven’t you been to Ireland before, Taffy? Oh ah, a bit be’ind the times is Ireland.’

Dai shrugged and came staggering out onto the cobbles with his load. ‘Anglesey’s the same, so I should feel at home. Come on, Greasy, move yourself, we want to get off before dark, don’t we?’

They found two girls, gentle, lovely girls who laughed with them, walked with them and refused to do anything more with them, greatly to Greasy’s disgust. ‘But we’re just poor sailors, starved of love,’ he pointed out pathetically. ‘We’ve been at sea months … we’re only askin’ for some kissin’ an’ cuddlin’, dat’s all we want. Well, all we reckon we’ll get,’ he added conscientiously.

‘You’re two lovely fellers,’ Rose said, smiling at him. ‘But isn’t this a small community, now? And how would we face people if they t’ought we were easy? No, no, to walk and talk is fine fun, but to go wit’ the pair of you to the woods would be dangerous.’

‘Woods? Who said woods? But a stroll in the sand’ills now …’

‘Sandhills are worse; sure an’ sand is soft as sin,’ the other girl, Iris, said. She was walking beside Dai, smiling teasingly up at him with her soft pink mouth curved delightfully and her head tilted. ‘What ’ud the Father say if he t’ought we were that sort of gorl?’

‘Oh, well,’ Dai said, smiling back. ‘We’ll never know, will we? And now how about a drink before we go back to the
Jenny
?’

They slept on board, of course, and next morning Dai rolled out of his bunk early, before they were due to take on their new cargo, and went out into the misty pearl of dawn. He walked until he found a pebbly beach and then took off his shoes and socks and waded into the slow-moving sea, bending down now and again to pick out a smooth pebble and skim it over the little waves as they hissed gently inshore.

He was so homesick! Moelfre was like this in the early dawn, when the fishing boats were putting to sea. You looked inland and saw the cows up to their bellies in the milk of the mist, you looked at the rocks out to sea and saw them monstrous, rearing out of the sea half seen, half invisible, seeming to undulate slowly as the mist began to dissipate.

And the smells here were not so different either. Seaweed, sand, the smell of wet rocks, the softer scents of grass and leaf which came to you in wafts as you left the sea and began to climb up the beach.

He found a little lane wandering between the lush meadows and followed it a short way. He leaned on a mossy gate and considered the cows beyond, a long stem of grass sweet between his teeth. Higher up the lane trees leaned, forming a green tunnel. There would be wild raspberries in the woods, he had already sampled some of the sweet, sharp little wild strawberries from the banks of the lane.

He turned to retrace his steps. They would eat, then begin to load the cargo. Best get back before he was missed.

Get back! If only he could go back home, but there had been a fierce and terrible row between him and his father before he left and there had been deep bad feeling on both sides.

‘The girl is a good girl,’ Davy had shouted at him. ‘No word against Menna will I hear! She is a good girl and willing to be your friend, rascal that you are, boy. You will treat her with respect while you are under my roof and no more dirty talk will there be about Menna taking your Mam’s place … she knows she can’t do that, she seeks only to comfort me, to make my hard lot easier …’