The Girl From Seaforth Sands (15 page)

But right now, she was just a schoolgirl, making her way to school with her pals. Work – or, rather, paid work – was something for the future.

Paddy, sitting in the hayloft with his pal Tommy Chee, was eating his snap in the twenty minutes allowed by the dairy. He and Tommy often took their carry-out up there, to keep out of the way of the milk cart drivers. Tommy was Chinese and though he had been born and bred in Liverpool, some of the men made crude jokes about his father cooking rats, lizards and other disgusting things for the family meals, and pretended that Tommy could only speak pidgin English. They also thought it amusing to set the two boys tasks which prevented them from having a sit-down while they ate their carry-out. They had tried various tricks on Paddy when he first came to work there, sending him off to the hardware shop to buy three-penn’orth of square holes, or a couple of yards of scotch mist, but Paddy
would have none of it. ‘You must think I were born yesterday,’ he had said scornfully. ‘If you mess wi’ me you’ll find yourself deliverin’ watered milk, or that old dobbin you drive will cast a shoe just when you’re in a hurry to get back to the bleedin’ dairy. So it’s your choice, me dear old mates. Leave me alone or live to regret to it, right?’

They had not liked it, of course, and one or two of the younger men had tried to take him on at his own game, but Paddy was too streetwise to be taken in for long and very soon the jokers were regretting their actions, as he had said they would.

Tommy Chee, however, had led a far more sheltered existence. He was the youngest of seven brothers, sons of the owner of a Chinese laundry on the Smithdown Road. Because he was the youngest there was no job for him in the laundry and besides, he had been keen to work at the dairy, longing for some independence from his close-knit, almost smothering family. The Chinese were known to be hard-working, clean and tidy, and Tommy must have known that he stood a good chance of getting the job be wanted; at any rate he told Paddy he wanted to work in the dairy because he thought it quite possible that he might rise to a managerial position in a few years. Mrs Briggs, who owned the business, had no children and was already in her late sixties. Clearly, there would be an opening there for a bright lad and Tommy was very bright indeed.

However, he had not reckoned with having to start on the very lowest rung of the ladder, actually in the shippon. He was not fond of animals and hated the work of mucking out morning and night, though he had grown accustomed to the chores of feeding, changing bedding and other such tasks.
Neither had he reckoned with the drivers’ coarse sense of humour and, until Paddy had come to work there, had spent a good deal of his time running fruitless errands and being mocked and derided by men who should have known better. He had tried to take all such teasing in good part, but Paddy’s championship had come just in time to stop him throwing in the sponge, sick and tired of the constant barracking. So when Paddy made it clear that he would not allow his pal to be bullied he was only too delighted to have found such a friend and, although he was the older by more than a year, he hero-worshipped Paddy and would have done anything in his power for the younger boy.

So when, sitting in the hayloft, Paddy remarked that later on he would be forced into helping to shell shrimps for the Logan family instead of having his evening to himself, Tommy volunteered at once to give a hand. ‘I’ve shelled shrimps at home, for me mam and dad,’ he assured his friend. ‘I’m quick at things like that – we all are, all us boys – so mebbe wi’ the two of us we could get through it in half the time. Then we could walk on the beach, or see if we can find someone playin’ pitch and toss.’

Like most of his race, Tommy was a gambler, though not an obsessive one. He would put money on a horse, or on the dogs, and he would bet on which of two snails would crawl up a wall first, but he never went too far. He never gambled with money he could not afford to lose for a start and in Paddy’s book that meant merely that he liked a flutter, not that he was a true gambler. Unlike me mam, Paddy thought now, remembering the times that his mother had left the house with money in her pocket intending to buy food and had come home penniless,
without so much as a slice of bread to show for her shopping trip. Still, she had improved no end since she had taken the job with the Logans.

But right now they were talking about peeling shrimps, not pitch and toss. Paddy was thankful that he himself was not a gambler, was not even interested in such things, so pitch and toss was not his favourite way of spending an evening. He took a big bite of food and considered Tommy’s offer. It was a good one. Picking over the shrimps would be a good deal more fun with a pal beside you, someone to grin at and have a laugh with. ‘That ’ud be grand, though you’ll have to put up with horrible Amy, the youngest Logan gal,’ Paddy said through a mouthful of bread and jam. ‘She’s a mean one if you like. Always on at me, criticisin’, findin’ fault, sayin’ I’ve left the legs on half the perishin’ shrimps when I done no such thing. Nasty little red-haired beast; I dunno how me mam puts up wi’ the gal, honest to God I don’t. Now her sister Mary was different . . . oh, different as shrimps and sparrers. Pretty as a picture, wi’ lovely golden hair and the bluest eyes . . . I were sweet on her, truth to tell.’

‘Will she be there?’ Tommy asked hopefully. ‘She sounds more fun than her sister, that I will grant you.’

‘No, Mary went into service in Manchester, as a parlour maid or some such thing, and she hardly ever comes home no more. Don’t know as I blame her, though it seems a rum thing not to visit your parents save once in a twelve-month. But goin’ back to the shrimps, Tommy, many hands make light work, so no doubt we’ll finish miles quicker wi’ you as well as me a-pickin’. In fact, we should have some time to ourselves when the shrimps is done, so what about a bit of night fishin’ afore you goes home?’

Tommy took a swig of milk from the tin mug at his side and considered. He was a good-looking boy, with the soot-black, straight hair of his race, brilliant black eyes and skin that was a smooth, very pale golden-brown. Despite his name and parentage, Paddy thought he looked only slightly oriental and of course, as soon as he opened his mouth one forgot his antecedents entirely, for his voice, expression and mannerisms were pure Liverpool. Right now, he was clearly tempted by the thought of a night’s fishing on the beach, for the weather was still very good for September and, judging by the clear blue sky, the night was likely to be fine and moonlit. What was more, September was an excellent month for fishing and the Chees, Paddy knew, were extremely fond of fresh fish.

‘Well?’ Paddy said, when Tommy went on staring into space and chewing thoughtfully. ‘Are you game for a bit o’ night fishin’? It ’ud be a rare old lark, Tommy boy, and it seems ages since I had a lark. The trouble is, once you leave school there ain’t much time for larkin’ about. So what do you say?’

Tommy swallowed the last of his bread and jam, folded up the piece of greaseproof paper in which his food had been wrapped and pushed it into his pocket. Then he dusted his hands together and smiled apologetically at his friend. ‘I’ll come and shell shrimps wi’ you, but I can’t come night fishin,’ he said. ‘Me mam’s a born worrier, bless her, and me dad’s almost as bad. They won’t fret if I’m home by nine, even though it’ll be dark, but they’d have the scuffers out searchin’ for a missin’ lad if I were much later. If there was some way of lettin’ them know . . .’

But there was not and both boys knew it. If the drivers had been friendlier or more reliable, they could have sent a message by Joe Coutts who lived in Thornycroft Road and had to pass the Chee laundry on his way home. Old Joe wasn’t a bad sort and very likely would have popped a letter or a note through the letter box in the front door, if Tommy had asked him to do so, but you never knew. Joe was rather simple and if he had been persuaded by one of the other drivers that it would be more amusing to chuck the letter into the nearest bin, then Tommy would be in real trouble at home and neither boy wanted that.

‘Oh, well, it was a thought,’ Paddy said, getting to his feet and heading for the ladder which led down into the stables below. ‘But you’ll still come and shell shrimps? Me mam will give you tea, a’course, and it’ll be a good one.’ He grinned sideways at his friend. ‘Only the best for me pal, I’ll tell me mam. A nice slice o’ fried rat, garnished wi’ beetles . . .’

Tommy tried to grab him; Paddy dodged and flew for the ladder. Swearing and scuffling, the two boys made their way back to the offices where they would be told what their next job was to be.

Mary was having an afternoon off and spending it with her friend Josie in the park. They meant to have their tea out and then to visit the theatre, which was showing a tragedy,
La Dame aux Camélias
, that both girls were keen to see. In their opinion there was nothing like a good cry to set one up for a happy day out. But now, having bought and eaten a cream-ice each, they were killing time and enjoying both their leisure and the lovely sunshine, until such time as they were hungry enough to make their way to the
Kardomah Café for the high tea they had planned before the visit to the theatre.

Mary was lying on her stomach, searching for four-leaf clovers and watching an ant busily making its way through what must seem to it to be a great forest of grass blades. It was an idyllic afternoon and she was almost asleep, when Josie spoke: ‘Mary, why don’t you go home when you get a bit of time off? You’ve worked for the Cottlestones for an age, but you only seem to go home for a day or so, no longer. Don’t your mam and dad ask why not? Oh, I know some girls have rotten homes and bad parents, and naturally they ain’t keen to go back; you don’t often talk about your dad and your mam and even your brothers and sister . . . but you seem fond enough of ’em. It’s only natural to wanna spend all your time with your young man.’

‘I’ve got a stepmother,’ Mary said briefly. She liked Josie but had made it a rule never to discuss her home life, except in the vaguest of terms. Even admitting to a stepmother was a concession and she was vaguely surprised that she had told Josie about her brothers and sister. Then she remembered the letters, and supposed that Josie had noticed how frequently Amy wrote and had guessed the sisters were fond of one another. Whatever her faults, Amy was a pretty good correspondent. She was still at school, of course, but Mary guessed that Suzie worked her sister pretty hard whenever she wasn’t actually in class, yet Amy still found time to write to her at least once a week and now and then, perhaps every other month, Bill also dropped her a line in his large, ill-educated scrawl. Mary supposed, now, that Josie must have taken a good peek at the envelopes – she always destroyed the contents, once read – and put two and two together and rather neatly made four.

‘Oh? I didn’t know you had a stepmother, but wouldn’t it be nice to see that sister of yourn? And ain’t there a baby, too? You like babies; think what you’re missin’ by never goin’ home.’

‘My dad’s a fisherman and the house always smells of fish,’ Mary said without thinking. ‘It makes me sick, that smell. And . . . and when I’m home they’ll expect me to clean the bleedin’ fish and gut them, and shell the shrimps and dress crabs . . . Anyway, I will go home next time they give me a week or so off. Probably.’

‘Well, I don’t understand you,’ grumbled Josie. She was a pretty girl, with a neat figure, and long, dark hair, which waved luxuriantly away from a high, white forehead. She and Mary, one so dark, the other so fair, were perfect foils for one another and were well aware of it. Young men, they knew, were fascinated by such opposites, not that this mattered much to either of them. Josie had a ‘steady’, a well set-up young fellow who was gentleman’s gentleman, or valet, to a rich industrialist. He and Josie were saving hard and meant to marry in a year or two so, as far as Mary was concerned, Josie was the ideal friend. They were able to go out and enjoy meeting young men without ever wanting to form relationships with them.

Mary had met a young bank clerk when she had first gone to work in Manchester. His name was Roderick Campbell and, like Mary, he was a stranger in the city, having arrived there only a few weeks before they met. He was from Scotland and was working for Scott and Burrows Bank, whose main headquarters were in Glasgow. However, the
branch in Spring Gardens was a big one, with plenty of opportunity for advancement if you were a young man with ambition, which Roderick certainly was.

Mary often suspected that the reason Roderick was not willing to talk much about their relationship was due to that very ambition. He thought it beneath him to be going steady with a housemaid, and Mary knew that had she not been both extremely pretty and very smart, she would not have held him for long. So instead of going home for her holidays, she usually took on some part-time paid employment, to help to keep her in the smart clothes and shoes which Roderick admired. Mary did not think that Roderick liked smart clothes for themselves, he liked the impression they made upon other people. Folk meeting him when he was out with Mary would never have guessed that she was a humble housemaid. They would have taken her, she thought proudly, for a sales assistant in one of the smart shops on King Street, or perhaps even for a fellow worker in Roderick’s bank, since they were a go-ahead firm who employed some female clerks.

On two evenings a week Roderick went to night school to study for examinations which would enable him to apply for a better-paid position in the banking world. He was already doing better than most young men of his age, but often told Mary that his career was only beginning; once he had the exams he needed he would forge ahead, right to the top, if such a thing were possible.

Perhaps Mary was infected by Roderick’s ambition, but it was certainly true that she very soon realised she would have to keep pace with her young man if she wanted to marry him one day and be a credit to him. So Mary, in her turn, began
to go to evening classes a couple of times a week. She enjoyed domestic service, but would not have hesitated to leave and get a job in a shop or an office, where her good appearance and quick intelligence would have been more appreciated than they were in the Cottlestone household. However, the Cottlestone lifestyle would have been way beyond the means of a shop girl or office worker, no matter how ambitious. Mary enjoyed having good food provided, which she did not have to cook, having her own little room in the attic, with a soft bed and a wardrobe full of uniforms, which were laundered for her along with the rest of the Cottlestones’ linen. She loved the beautiful furniture, carpets and curtains by which she was surrounded, and did not fancy changing all this luxury for a shared bed-sitting room, in some sleazy back street, which would have been her lot had she not taken to domestic service.