Megan of Merseyside (2 page)

Lynn was a replica of her mother. She much preferred to be out with her friends, playing ball or riding a bike, to doing her homework. Megan was the studious one; Lynn rarely took anything seriously.

Suddenly, Megan felt she couldn’t stand the atmosphere any longer. With a cry that seemed to tear itself from deep inside her, she ran from the house, down the slate-edged gravel path and through the white picket gate.

‘Megan … come back here, girl!’

She heard her father calling after her as she crossed the road, but she took no notice. Climbing over the low stone wall, she ran headlong through the lush summer undergrowth and began scrambling up over the short slippery grass that covered the grey rock face of Moel Hebog. She was hot and breathless by the time she reached a scrub-screened hideout halfway up the mountainside.

Her mind swirled with memories as she struggled to reconcile herself to the future. Disbelief that her father could have taken such a momentous decision without a word to any of them mingled with despair at the thought of all she would be leaving behind.

As she made her way up the mountainside she feasted her eyes on the grandeur of the countryside she loved so deeply. The patchwork of fields and forest with the river, a glistening silver thread, snaking along until it became one with the sparkling sea.

Her father had first brought her to this spot when they’d been visiting his mam, shortly before he’d gone into the army. She’d been seven and it had been a birthday outing, a long-standing promise. Together they had climbed up Moel Hebog, the Hill of the Hawk, and he had showed her this very special cave concealed by an overhanging rock. According to legend, he told her, it was where Owain Glyndwr had hidden when pursued by the English during his rebellion against Henry V.

Now she felt a greater empathy with Glyndwr than ever before. When they moved to Liverpool she, too, would be losing what she thought of as her real homeland.

Her father had been born in the tiny stone cottage where they were living now. After the war started in 1914, and they’d heard frightening stories about what might happen in the cities, her father had thought they would be safer here with his widowed mother than in Liverpool.

Old Mrs Williams had been seriously ill by the time the war ended in 1918 so when Watkin had been demobbed there was no question of returning to Liverpool. He had found work at the Pengarw Slate Quarry and they’d gone on living there even after his mother had died.

Now, if they moved back to Liverpool, she’d even be separated from Jennie Jones and Gwyneth Evans, who had been her friends since the day she’d first arrived in Beddgelert. Sending letters to each other wouldn’t be the same.

She wondered whether Ifan Jenkins would keep in touch. They’d been going out together for almost
a
year now. Not that there was anything serious between them, Megan reflected. Ifan hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet. A few clumsy kisses was as far as she’d ever let him go, but she’d probably miss him.

Why had her father chosen to go back to Liverpool? she wondered. Surely he could have found work somewhere else nearby. She shuddered. Why was he prepared to leave the peace of the mountains that he loved so much for Liverpool? Was it because it had been her mother’s home and, knowing how much she hated the countryside, he felt he owed it to her to return there?

After all these years? Surely not!

They were like a divided camp, thought Megan. Her mother and Lynn were always yearning to be back in the midst of the noise and bustle of city life while she and her father were perfectly content where they were.

After a long day delivering the heavy lorry loads of slate, the tranquillity of the River Glaslyn drew him like a magnet. She knew he’d miss their walks along its banks and nearby meadows as well as climbing the steep, rutted footpaths of Moel Hebog, with the wind at their back pushing them up the steep incline like a friendly hand.

She stood up, brushing the short wiry grass from her cotton skirt. It had been childish to run away like that. She’d better go back home and talk to him. After all, she was fifteen now so she’d have to find work in Liverpool, too. It was her future as much as his that was at stake.

* * *

‘Leave her be, Watkin. She’ll come back when she’s hungry,’ called out Kathy Williams as her husband rushed out of the house after Megan.

He ignored her shout, his booted feet scrunching on the gravel path as he strode towards the roadway.

Placidly, Kathy continued to dish out their meal.

‘Come on, Lynn. There’s no point in this being ruined,’ she reasoned, ladling out a helping of lamb stew and passing it across the table to her youngest daughter.

‘Thanks, Mam.’ Lynn smiled as she helped herself to potatoes.

Before she sat down to eat her own meal, Kathy placed the casserole and the dish of potatoes back in the oven for Megan and Watkin when they returned.

‘I don’t know why you’re bothering to keep it warm for them, Mam,’ protested Lynn. ‘They both knew you were ready to dish up.’

‘Perhaps it’s because I’m so happy!’ Kathy beamed, her plump cheeks creasing into a smile. ‘I still can’t believe we’re going back to Liverpool. It’s something I’ve dreamed of for years, but I never thought it could possibly happen.’

The lethargy that had gradually turned her from an active, laughing young woman who loved to dance and enjoy herself into a plodding housewife seemed to slip from her shoulders like a discarded old coat.

She wondered if Liverpool had changed very much since the war had ended. It was ten years since she’d lived there so it was bound to have
done
so, she told herself. She’d noticed new shops and buildings when she’d been back on a visit shortly before her own mother had died four years ago. Lynn had been about nine then.

She sighed and let her thoughts drift back even further, to her own childhood. She’d been born and brought up in Anfield, a leafy suburb of Liverpool. She could still remember the excitement she’d always felt whenever they went into the city centre.

So many people had thronged the pavements in Lime Street, London Road and Church Street that she’d always clung tightly to her mother’s hand. She’d loved the brightly lit stores like Hendersons, C&A, Lewis’s, and George Henry Lees. In her mind’s eye she could still see their windows with life-like models wearing wonderful clothes. She could also remember the smart shops in Bold Street where everything was so expensive it took your breath away when you looked in the windows. And there had always been the tantalising smell of coffee as you walked past Coopers or the Kardomah.

She’d been eighteen when the new king paid a visit to Liverpool in 1904. It had been a glorious July day and along with a million others she’d stood for hours waiting to see Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. It had been such a fleeting glimpse that she’d been bitterly disappointed.

The grand parade in honour of their arrival had been wonderful, though. Horses, their coats gleaming and polished brasses jingling, had pulled decorated carts and floats. There’d been any
number
of bands playing and men in uniform had marched along behind them carrying all sorts of Union banners, followed by people in fancy dress. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could remember every detail.

She thought nostalgically about her first boat trip to the Isle of Man. She’d stood on the top deck as they left Liverpool, thinking how impressive it all seemed. The Mersey had been like a busy roadway with fussy little tug boats hooting and snorting as they made their way up and down the river, out to the Bar, and then back again, guiding the liners and big ships.

In front of the Liver Building, immense oceangoing liners had been berthed, dwarfing all the other boats on the river. She’d tried to imagine what it would be like to go on one of them, sailing over the ocean for weeks and weeks as they made their way to Africa or Australia.

Once the Isle of Man boat had crossed the Bar, the Irish Sea had seemed like a watery desert, so vast that it frightened her. As they sailed on into its choppy waters their boat had started to pitch and roll. One minute it seemed as if they would plunge into the water and the next minute hit the sky. She’d felt so ill that she never wanted to put to sea ever again.

All that waiting and being sea-sick for just twelve hours ashore! Douglas hadn’t been any better than New Brighton. The boat trip to go there only took about twenty minutes and there was no rough sea or rolling waves to make you dizzy and sick.

She loved New Brighton, with its golden sands, donkey rides, and every kind of amusement. Bowls, a miniature putting course, tennis and swimming. You could walk the length of the pier or, if it was warm and sunny, sit on the promenade eating an ice cream and giggling at some of the outfits worn by people sauntering up and down the Ham and Egg Parade.

It was lively at night, too. There were concert halls, cinemas, theatres and pubs. There was dancing to big bands at the imposing, red-brick Tower Ballroom with its magnificent tower that dominated the New Brighton skyline.

She brought her thoughts back to the present. It was years since she’d let herself think about those days and when she’d been a young wife and the mother of two small girls and a husband who any day would be going away to fight for his country.

And now they were going to move back to Liverpool! She couldn’t believe it was happening. Even the fact that they’d be living in a flat failed to dampen her spirits. As long as it was in Liverpool, she didn’t mind what it was like.

Lynn would love Liverpool, there was no doubt at all about that. She’d be in her element at a big school and make a lot of new friends. She’d soon be old enough to go dancing and to the pictures on her own. Yes, Lynn would love every minute of it.

Megan didn’t seem very pleased at the idea, but she’d soon come round and realise it was the best thing that could have happened. She’d never be able to find a worthwhile job here in Beddgelert.

Moving to Liverpool would get her away from that hulking Ifan Jenkins, Kathy thought with satisfaction. Nothing wrong with the lad, but he was so awkward and ungainly. He worked for his father and he’d be middle-aged before he had a chance to take over the farm or even have a say in how it was run.

Anyway, she couldn’t see Megan making a very good farmer’s wife, not with all that mud and mess; she was much too pernickety. Megan would be able to meet a very different type of boy in Liverpool. With any luck, a white-collar worker who’d be able to match up to that sharp brain of hers.

Yes, Kathy mused as she mopped up the last of the thick tasty gravy from her plate with a piece of bread, it was going to be a fresh start for all of them.

Chapter Two

MEGAN DREADED THE
ordeal that lay ahead. She felt numb. It was almost as if she’d swallowed a lump of ice and the painfully cold tentacles were spreading right through her body.

She leaned against the rails at Liverpool Pier Head, one hand shielding her eyes against the sudden glare of the early morning September sun as it was reflected on the river, wishing herself miles away.

Ships and boats of all shapes and sizes dotted the Mersey. She watched two small tugs skilfully guide a massive blue-funnelled vessel into dock and a larger single tug noisily chugging a tanker up the deep, narrow channel out to the Bar. Once there the tanker would make its way out from Liverpool Bay, across the Irish Sea, and sail on to the Atlantic, bound for such remote places that she couldn’t even imagine what they were like.

A ferry boat manoeuvred alongside the landing stage, disgorging a shoal of people. They hurried up the floating roadway, disappearing onto buses or along one of roads that led to the heart of the city. Megan envied them; they were all so full of purpose and determination, their day already planned.

None of them cast a second glance at the slim
girl
wearing a belted navy raincoat, a scarf tied over her dark hair to protect it from the blustery wind, who was standing by the railings, mesmerised by what was happening around her.

Behind Megan, the imposing, grey granite buildings, reaching skywards like enormous temples, formed a scenic backcloth to the waterfront. The magnificent gilt Liver birds, perched on top of the tallest building, were like silent sentinels guarding the busy Mersey.

Seagulls massed on the many ledges, their bright, beady eyes watching every movement. Wheeling and diving, they swooped down, scavenging the waterfront. Their harsh, raucous screams sent a shudder through Megan and she ached to be back in the wooded mountainside around Beddgelert.

The thought of going for an interview made her feel nervous and awkward. She knew that once she entered the room she would either dry up or her mind would go blank. Either that or she would speak so fast that they wouldn’t be able to understand what she was saying.

It was all very well her father telling her to ‘take a deep breath and count to three before you start to speak’. Whenever she’d done that the person interviewing her seemed to think she wasn’t going to answer or that she hadn’t understood the question. Often they began asking her the same question all over again, which only added to her confusion.

Most of the people who’d interviewed her so far since she’d arrived in Liverpool had seemed
so
stern and unfriendly that she’d wanted to slink out of the room and vanish. It was as if they resented her taking up their time, and it made her feel as if they were doing her a favour by even seeing her.

At that moment she would have gladly swapped places with her friends back in Beddgelert. She’d thought that the jobs they’d be doing after they left school would be dull and monotonous, but now she envied them the cosiness of their daily routine. They didn’t have to try to convince complete strangers about how proficient they were. Or worry about whether they were going to be able to cope with the work if they were lucky enough to get the job.

Jennie, in her white overall, serving behind the counter of her father’s shop, enveloped in an aroma of freshly baked bread and cakes, would be greeted each day by a constant stream of familiar faces. Gwyneth, too, would see the same people each day as she handed out newspapers and cigarettes or served sweets to the local children.