Some Sunny Day (23 page)

‘But what about the wedding dresses that are hired out?’ Evie asked. ‘That’s a good bit of business.’

‘Yes indeed, Evie, it is, and that business will continue although not with me in charge, or from this shop any more, I’m afraid. I have made arrangements that Lady Anne’s Gowns will take over our existing stock, and I am assured that there will be positions for some of you at least with that emporium, if you wish to apply for them. Of course I am aware that those of you who are still under twenty will, as you reach that birthday, be required to sign up for war work yourselves. I really wish things could be different but alas they cannot. My final words to you all are those of thanks for your hard work here in this shop.’

It was obvious from the strained note in Mrs Verey’s voice and the look in her eyes that she was distressed, and Rosie wasn’t surprised when she left the workroom immediately after she had given them the news.

‘Well, it’s all right for her with her husband going to work as a doctor again and getting paid by the government. But what about us? How are we supposed to manage?’ Bernadette demanded almost aggressively.

‘You can’t blame Mrs Verey, Bernie,’ Rosie protested. ‘She looked properly upset about it all, and like she said, we all know how short of stock we’ve been, especially since Christmas.’

‘Yes, Rosie’s right, Bernie,’ Enid agreed. ‘And
as for us managing – well, like Mrs Verey said, there’s plenty of war work going.’

‘Sign on at one of them munitions factories, you mean? My Tom won’t ever agree to me doing that,’ one of the older women spoke up, shaking her head. ‘’E says that it’s downright wicked giving men’s jobs to women and that he doesn’t hold with it.’

‘Well, Mr Churchill will have summat to say to him and no mistake, ’cos he says us women are needed in the factories to mek the munitions and that for our men,’ Phyllis said.

‘Yes,’ Enid agreed. ‘Your Tom hasn’t worked a day since he claimed he hurt his back down on the docks five years ago, so much he knows, anyway.’

‘My mam has bin working at that wot used to be the sweet factory. Bottling fruit, they are now and she’s bin on at me since Christmas to go there with her,’ said Marjorie.

‘You get better pay at the munitions factories, Marj.’

‘Mebbe so, but ’oo wants to tek munitions home wi’ ’em?’ Marjorie winked meaningfully.

‘What about you, Rosie, what will you do?’ Enid asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ Rosie admitted.

‘My cousin – she’s your age – she was round our house last weekend and she says she’s going to sign up for the Women’s Land Army. She says she reckons a bit of fresh air and being away from
Liverpool and the bombs will do her very nicely. Of course, she isn’t like you. She hasn’t got herself a young man yet. Have you and Rob Whittaker settled anything formal between you yet?’

‘Rob has talked about speaking to my dad on his next leave,’ Rosie admitted reluctantly.

‘Well, you see you don’t lose him, Rosie. There aren’t many lads like him about. Right, you lot,’ Enid announced in a louder voice, ‘we’ve all got to go down to the showroom and start packing everything up ready to take round to Lady Anne’s. Mrs Verey wants everything done and dusted pronto.’

It was well past Rosie’s normal leaving time when she finally stepped wearily out into Bold Street. As well as packing up the delicate evening and bridal dresses, the girls had also had to carry them round to the new shop, which was situated close to Lewis’s.

When Marjorie and Fanny didn’t return from their first trip, a grim-faced Enid had tracked them down to Lewis’s, guessing they had sneaked into the store, thinking their absence wouldn’t be noticed.

‘As bold as brass, sitting there in the restaurant, they were,’ Enid fumed to Rosie when she had brought them back.

There was no sign of Rob waiting outside for her when she left the shop. Rosie hadn’t expected him to be there because they hadn’t made any arrangement to meet, but she would have preferred
to have gone straight to the cinema with him instead of having to go back to her aunt’s. She was half tempted to go and see the newsreels by herself and then treat herself to a fish-and-chip supper. Her mouth watered at the thought, even though she knew that there was very little chance that there would actually be any fish.

It was nearly ten weeks now since the Christmas bombings, and after the initial relief at their absence, people were beginning to get edgy and apprehensive, staring up at the night sky as Rosie herself was doing now, dreading hearing and seeing Hitler’s bombers and yet feeling that they were sure to return.

As she walked home, Rosie tried to comfort herself by working out how long it would be before her father was back, but she knew that he wouldn’t even have reached Canada yet, and that it could be three weeks or more before he returned. How was she going to manage to cope with three whole weeks of her aunt’s antagonism and hostility?

By taking herself out and finding a new job, that was how, she told herself staunchly. Her aunt had made it plain right from the start that she expected Rosie to contribute from her wages to the upkeep of the house, and she certainly wouldn’t be prepared to keep her for free. Not that Rosie wanted her to. Her pride wouldn’t let her depend on her aunt any more than she had to.

It was already dark when she let herself into the house, its windows blacked out just like all the others in the street. In the dim light inside the
hallway – typically her aunt was using the excuse of the blackout and rationing not to light any of the rooms unless she was using them – Rosie stumbled against something lying on the floor. Her initial reaction was to stiffen her whole body, the sensation of something soft and warm lying against her legs taking her back to the night she had been trapped in the bombed air-raid shelter. A shudder went through her and she had to remind herself that she was in her aunt’s hallway and not trapped underground, and so she kneeled down to ascertain what she had bumped into.

The door from the kitchen opened, allowing a thin shaft of light to illuminate the hallway so that Rosie could just make out a pile of washing gathered up in an old pillowcase. The same pillowcase surely that she had brought her things here in after they had been bombed out at home.

Her aunt was now standing in the doorway, watching her, a look on her face that Rosie couldn’t interpret.

‘Everything that’s yours is there. I want you out of here tonight and, I warn you, anything you leave behind I’ll burn.’

There were tear tracks on her aunt’s cheeks and an emotion in her voice that Rosie had never heard before. Grief: Rosie knew enough about it herself to recognise it in others.

‘What do you mean? What’s going on? You can’t just throw me out like this. My dad—’

‘Your dad. Your dad was a bloody Eyetie who
fathered you on that whore of a mother of yours. Now he’s dead. And so is my poor brother.’

‘What are you saying?’ Rosie demanded.

‘I’m saying that Gerry is dead. Now get your things and get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of you, reminding me…’

She was already turning away but Rosie didn’t let her. She ran to her, taking hold of her arm as she stepped into the kitchen, almost shaking it in her agitation.

‘I want to know what’s going on. You can’t just say something like that…’ And then she saw the telegram on the table. Releasing her aunt, she walked over to it.

‘That’s nothing to do with you!’ her aunt screeched. ‘He was my brother…’

‘It’s addressed to me. You opened it and it’s addressed to me. How dare you?’ Rosie hadn’t known she was capable of such ferocity.

She looked at the telegram, the words blurring as she tried to read them.

‘We regret to inform you that Able Seaman Gerald Price has been reported as missing in action, presumed dead.’

‘Are you all right, love?’

Rosie stared at the man who had just spoken to her. Whilst the rest of the city might be quiet, down here at the docks, men were working quickly and noisily to unload the great grey ships drawn up at the dockside. She could hear the concern in his voice.

‘Bombed out, are you?’ he asked her, nodding in the direction of her bundle of belongings.

‘We were,’ Rosie acknowledged.

‘There’s one of them shelters not far away from here. I’m walking that way meself. If you was my daughter I wouldn’t want to think you was on your own down here.’

Daughter. Rosie’s eyes swam at the word. She nodded her agreement and let him help her with her bundles. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been down here at the docks. She had no recollection either of having walked here.

The seaman – George, he told her his name was – was chatting easily to her as he guided her out of the dock area and through the maze of narrow streets to a school hall that had been taken over by the WVS to provide overnight accommodation for people.

‘Found her down by the docks,’ Rosie heard him explaining to the woman at the desk by the door. ‘Poor lass was just standing there all on her own and she doesn’t look the type what would…’

Rosie was distantly aware of the embarrassed note in his voice, and of the WVS woman frowning in concern as she looked at her.

‘Bombed out, were you, dearie?’ she asked brightly. ‘It’s a bit late to find you a bed now but we’ll see what we can do.’

‘It’s my dad,’ Rosie heard herself telling her. ‘There was a telegram…’

The WVS woman got up from behind her desk and came towards her, took her bundles from her and then held both Rosie’s hands firmly in her own. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea, shall we, and then you can tell me all about it.’

Rosie looked at the sharp bright morning sky and shivered. She hadn’t been able to eat the breakfast the shelter had offered her; she had barely been able to drink her tea. All around her people were gathering their things together, making ready to face the day, but all she could think about was her father.

Thanks to Mrs Gibson, the WVS worker, she now knew that her father’s ship had been torpedoed and sunk on its way to Canada and that many lives had been lost. Rosie knew from growing up listening to her father’s tales that the waters where they had been attacked were icy and that a man could not survive in them for very long. A tremor shook her. She couldn’t bear to think of her father dying in that cold dark sea. She couldn’t bear to think of what he might have suffered. She prayed that he might have died very quickly, and not been alone there, waiting for death, knowing that it was inevitable.

She was completely alone now with no one of her own. No one at all. Had her father really believed that she was his child or had he just told her that to comfort her? She wanted so desperately to be his. She would be his. She would never ever let anything into her life that could make her not be. She would dedicate her life to making him proud.

It was time for her to leave the shelter, but she had nowhere to go, no home and no job either after the end of this week. She wanted to be anywhere but here. And then she remembered Enid talking about her cousin joining the Land Army because she wanted to get away from Liverpool. Just like she did. She hated the thought of being so close to the sea now.

She found the office easily enough and stood outside along with several other girls, waiting for it to open.

‘Bombed out?’ one of them asked sympathetically.

It was a question that Rosie was getting accustomed to hearing. ‘Yes.’

‘Us, an’ all,’ another girl in the queue piped up. ‘Me mam said I might as well come down here and sign up because at least that way I’d have a roof over me head.’

Rosie was the first in the queue and the recruitment officer was brisk and efficient. By the end of the morning Rosie had filled in the necessary forms, undergone a brief medical and been enrolled in the Women’s Land Army.

‘You’ll be sent for training first. Come back tomorrow morning and we’ll have your instructions ready for you. Here’s an address where you can get a billet for tonight. You can go round there now and leave your stuff, if you like. Mrs Fraser puts up a lot of our girls for us, she’s a good sort,’ she told Rosie. ‘When you come back in the morning you’ll get your uniform,’ she added with a smile.

Rosie couldn’t believe it was so easy. A whole new life beckoned, a life where she could forget – or at least block out – her pain.

The girls at the shop had been tiptoeing around her all day since they had heard what had happened, and now Rosie was glad to be escaping from their pity into the sharpness of the early evening air. She had been forced to tell Enid what
she had done because she had been so late for work, and then when Mrs Verey had congratulated her so warmly in front of the others on her patriotism she had burst into tears. She had then felt obliged to tell them about her father.

Now it was only just beginning to sink in that she would not be coming back to the Bold Street shop. In addition to her grief she was now experiencing a stomach-churning mixture of apprehension and disbelief at her impulsive actions.

‘Rosie.’

Her eyes widened with shocked guilt. Rob! She had almost forgotten about him. What on earth was she going to say?

‘Do you fancy the pictures tonight? I’m on duty later but if we go now—’

‘I’m sorry, Rob, I can’t.’ She was growing more sick with nervous misery by the second. There was nothing else for it; she would just have to tell him the truth. The words came tumbling out in a guilty rush. ‘There’s been a telegram…It’s Dad,’ she told him starkly. ‘Missing, believed dead.’

‘Aw, Rosie…’ He made to take her in his arms, his compassion increasing her feelings of guilt.

Quickly she stepped back from him, knowing that she had to tell him what she had done, but still trying to put off doing so. ‘The telegram came yesterday. Dad’s sister opened it even though it was addressed to me. When I got in she’d got all my stuff packed up. She told me she wanted me to leave. She never wanted me anyway; she only let
me stay because of Dad.’ The staccato sentences were all she was capable of saying; her tight self-control her only way of dealing with her feelings. She could see the shocked sympathy in Rob’s eyes, and for a moment she nearly wavered and let the pain take her into his arms. But she knew that once she did that she would have to stay there, and she couldn’t do that. Not now.

‘Don’t you worry, Rosie,’ Rob tried to comfort her. ‘I’ll look after you. I’ll find somewhere for us and we can be married quick, like. It would be what your dad would have wanted.’

This was dreadful, even worse than she had anticipated. ‘No…we can’t.’

‘Why not? If you’re thinking it’s disrespectful then—’

‘No, it isn’t that.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’ve signed up for the Land Army.’

She could almost feel Rob’s shock filling the air between them. His mouth opened as though he was going to say something, then closed again. He shook his head, obviously unable to take in what she had said, and then demanded in a thickened raw voice, ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. She was feeling more guilty and upset by the minute, unable to explain to Rob about the previous night or how she had felt. ‘I just know that I’ve got to get away from here, Rob.’ To somewhere where no one knew her, somewhere where she could be the person she
wanted to be; somewhere where she had no past with Aldo in it and no one to remind her about him. She couldn’t tell Rob any of that, though. She could barely understand or accept it herself.

‘At least in the Land Army I’ll be doing my bit.’

‘You could have done that here.’

‘I need to get away,’ she burst out, unable to hold the words back any longer.

‘From me?’

The pain in his voice wrenched at her tender heart. She hated hurting him like this.

‘It isn’t you. You’re the kindest person, Rob, and I…I think ever such a lot of you.’

‘But not enough to marry me.’ His voice was flat and tight now with disillusionment and pain.

‘I never said that I would,’ Rosie struggled to defend herself. ‘You’ll find someone else, Rob, another girl who will make you happier than I can.’

Rob lunged towards her, taking her in his arms and kissing her with a fierce, angry passion she wasn’t used to, prising apart her lips with his tongue. Rosie could feel the cold rough scrape of his unshaven jaw and smell the hot male scent of his skin. A wave of emotion she didn’t understand surged through her, making her eyes sting with held-back tears of regret. Everything would be so much easier if she could be the girl he wanted her to be; but she wasn’t. Her guilt made her endure the unwanted passion of his kiss until he let her go. He was breathing heavily, his face red.

‘I thought you were different,’ he told her bitterly, ‘but you aren’t, are you? You’re just like her, that mother of yours.’

Rosie recoiled as though he’d hit her. Hot words of denial trembled on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back, knowing with instinctive female wisdom that it was kinder to leave him with the heat of his anger to cling to than the dull pain of a love she could never return.

‘You think you’ll find someone else better than me, but you won’t, and just you think on that and me when you’re cleaning out pigsties,’ he told her bitterly.

He had gone before she could say anything, turning on his heel and leaving her standing alone. She knew it was her own fault that this had happened but that still didn’t stop her from feeling the sharp pain of it. She stood watching him until he disappeared from sight, tempted to run after him and call him back but knowing that she must not.

‘Right, Price. Bennett here will take you down to the stores and help you sort out your uniform, and then you will be given a travel warrant. Jolly good.’

A sharp nudge in Rosie’s ribs from the elbow of the young woman standing at her side warned her that her brisk interview with the recruitment officer was over. Dutifully Rosie followed ‘Bennett’, the uniformed redhead, down a corridor and some stairs and then through a maze of small interconnecting cellars until eventually they reached the storeroom.

She was hurrying along at such a pace that Rosie could barely keep up with her. She came to a halt so abruptly that Rosie nearly cannoned into her.

‘In here.’ As she pushed open a heavy door she called out dourly, ‘Here’s another one for you to kit, our Parker. Pity you’re a bit on the skinny side,’ she told Rosie. ‘The kit has come up a bit big, sort of one size fits all only they don’t so you’ll have to mek sure you’ve got a decent belt to hold everything up or in; that is, unless you’re handy with a needle.’

The first thing that struck Rosie as she stepped into the long narrow cellar wasn’t so much the solitary light bulb, which threw more shadows in the cavernous space than it did light, as the smell of cloth and dye, so strong that she nearly recoiled from it.

‘Parker here will sort you out. When you’re ready, come back upstairs. You’ll find me in the third office on the left off the main corridor. I’ll have your travel warrant waiting for you and your other papers.’

Rosie watched her go, wondering in some alarm how on earth she was going to be able to manage to find her way back.

‘Right then, let’s get started. Here’s a list of the full uniform.’

Rosie took the piece of paper she was handed, and read it slowly.

‘Have they told you where they’ll be sending you yet?’ Parker asked Rosie.

Rosie shook her head.

‘Mmm. Well, let’s see, the last lot were sent down to Norfolk so my guess is you won’t be going there.’ The older woman kept on talking as she sized Rosie up and then disappeared, returning with her arms full of a variety of garments.

‘If it is Reaseheath you’re going to, then they’ll expect you to have the full kit. Do things proper there, they do.’

Rosie was glad that the landlady she had been billeted with the previous night had offered to let her leave her pillowcases there this morning. She wouldn’t have liked to have turned up here dragging all her belongings around with her and looking very shabby, she thought, as Parker put the pile of clothes down on the nearby table and started to tick them off on her fingers.

‘Right, that’s the breeches,’ she announced, indicating the corduroy pants that seemed like the ones the recruitment officer had been wearing – baggy at the hip and narrowing just below the knee. ‘And here’s the mackintosh and the jacket.’ She put a coat and a fitted tweed jacket on top of the breeches. ‘And the hat.’ She added a brown felt hat to the pile. ‘And here’s the rest.’

‘The rest’ consisted of a khaki overall coat, two fawn shirts with turn-down collars, two pairs of dungarees, three pairs of fawn stockings, a pair of heavy brown shoes, a pair of rubber gumboots, a green armlet with a red royal crown on it, and a green V-necked jumper. Rosie just knew from looking at it that the jumper would itch.

‘Oh, and you’ll be given a bicycle as well.’

‘Ought I to try them on?’ Rosie asked uncertainly.

‘There isn’t any point,’ Parker told her drily. ‘They come in three sizes, small, medium and large. I reckon you’ll be small. Oh, and you’ll need a kitbag. Here…Now you’d better get yourself back upstairs. Find your way all right, can you?’ She had disappeared into the darkness of the storeroom before Rosie could answer, leaving her to gather up her new uniform and put it carefully into her kitbag.

Fifteen minutes later, having taken only two wrong turnings, she was standing with several other girls who looked as uncertain and apprehensive as she felt, waiting to be given her instructions and her travel warrant.

The three girls in front of Rosie were all told they were being sent to Norfolk, but when it came to Rosie’s turn she was told to report to the station for five o’clock that evening to wait for a train to take her to Crewe.

‘You’ll be met there by someone from Reaseheath College. That’s where you’ll get your four-week training before you’re sent to work on a farm. When you’re working you’ll be paid twenty-four shillings per week, and out of that you’ll be expected to pay for your billet. Every six months you’ll be given a travel warrant to go home and see your family. If you end up on a milking team you’ll only get half a day off every week, otherwise you’ll get a day
and a half. If you’re put on a gang that goes from farm to farm then it’s up to whoever’s in charge of the gang to sort out your off-duty time,’ Bennett explained briskly before demanding, ‘Any questions?’