Christmas on the Mersey

‘Oh, I don’t mind waiting.’ Vera moved out of the way, allowing Sarah to get closer to the counter. ‘You go ahead, love; anything for our brave fighters.’ Then, lowering her voice, she said, ‘Not like that Danny Callaghan over there.’ She screwed her face in disgust as her eyes locked onto the chipped paint of the Callaghans’ front door. ‘You won’t find him fighting for his country in a hurry.’

‘And how’s your Alfie, Mrs Delaney? Still doing his bit on the dock?’ Sarah asked sarcastically, knowing that Alfie was as likely to sign up for duty as Hitler was to decide to give all this war lark in and keep pigeons instead. She wasn’t having this old bat slagging off Danny Callaghan.

‘He is doing a job as valuable as any in the Forces,’ said Vera with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

‘Danny works alongside, doesn’t he?’ Sarah said pointedly. ‘So he’s also doing a valuable job too, I would say. Didn’t your husband get out of going to France in the last war?’ Sarah knew Mam would skin her alive for talking to a neighbour like this, but she couldn’t resist. Mrs Delaney was far too free with her opinions of others when she ignored her own family’s shortcomings altogether.

‘Mr Delaney died during the last war!’

Kicked by a dray horse when he was coming home drunk, I heard. Sarah did not voice her thoughts, knowing her mother would not stand for any of her offspring giving cheek to anyone.

‘I’m sure he did his best,’ she said. She did not know much about the Great War as Pop hardly mentioned it. However, she did know Danny had done everything in his power to enlist, but his enlarged heart meant he failed every time. He had exemption slips from every military office in Great Britain. Nobody would take him. He had no choice but to take a reserved occupation on the docks.

Sometimes she worried that the work was too strenuous for him, but she would never dare voice her concerns, knowing how proud Danny was. Like most men around here, being tough was a way of life, and to show weakness of any kind was unheard of.

Danny had sworn Sarah to secrecy so she kept quiet, no matter how much she wanted to tell the po-faced woman that Danny was worth ten of her son, a charge hand on the same dock. Sarah recalled the time Alfie Delaney told her he would turn conchie rather than fight. He would rather serve a prison sentence than risk his life for King and country. How Sarah despised Mrs Delaney’s cowardly upstart of a son.

‘Tell Frank,’ Mrs Kennedy’s voice was low as she beckoned Sarah to come closer and, leaning across the counter, she winked her eye conspiratorially, ‘I am taking delivery of Craven “A” cigarettes after the shop has shut. I’ll pass a packet into him – personally.’

‘That’s good of you, Mrs Kennedy.’ Fancy walking all that way, Sarah thought. It must be all of five yards from here to our front door.

‘Don’t give it another thought. It’s my pleasure for a local hero.’

You don’t say. The words floated through Sarah’s head but the lack of expression on her face did not give her thoughts away. ‘I’ll tell him.’

With that, she left the two women to their jangling. No doubt calling poor Danny fit to burn. As she walked out of the shop, the sun in her eyes, she bumped right into him!

‘Hello, Sar, where’ve you been then?’ Danny’s cheerful banter gave Sarah a little frisson of delight. She liked him. A lot. He was genuine. No matter what some people said. However, at twenty he was far too worldly wise to look at somebody like her. Danny had no shortage of female appreciation, especially Betty Parker, who was supposed to be Sarah’s best friend and hung around their house every chance she got just so she could look out of their parlour window in case Danny should walk down the street. She was a right one, that Betty. She had no shame.

‘I went to see if there were any cigs in the shop for our Frank,’ Sarah said as they headed to the Feenys’ front door, which like most of the others in Empire Street, was usually open until late every night, even though there was a threat of a German invasion. People looked out for each other in this street, and there was always someone sitting on their step, like old Mrs Ashby, who was always ready for a natter, no matter what time of the day. She kept her eye to business, all right, although a proud and discreet woman, which was why Mam liked her and always made her a small pie or some potato cakes. Sarah and Danny waved and Mrs Ashby waved back and gave them a toothless smile.

‘When did your Frank get home? I’ll have to come across and see him later.’

‘It’s just a flying visit, to show the family his new leg … It’s tin, you know.’ Then, whispered: ‘He’s going back tomorrow night.’

‘Has he got no cigs, then?’ Danny asked. ‘The navy are slipping if they’re leaving their men without a smoke.’ Before Sarah could tell him Frank had left his back at base, Danny took a squashed packet of five Woodbines out of his pocket. ‘Here, give him these. They’re a bit crumpled but they’re fine. I can always get more later.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sarah asked, glad their Frank could have a smoke while he was listening to the wireless. The whole family liked to settle down for ITMA and listen to Tommy Handley’s comic capers.

Then, but only ever after Mam had gone to bed, Pop would twiddle the wireless knob and he and Frank would secretly tune in to Lord Haw-Haw. Mam said it was unpatriotic to listen to the Nazi propaganda, which frequently offered spurious details of raids. Nevertheless, among the ranting, sometimes the only details available from behind enemy lines were the ones given by the traitor, as everything was kept very hush-hush to protect British and Allied sailors. Pop liked to keep his ears open for news of any ships in the hostile North Atlantic where Eddy, serving in the Merchant Navy, was helping to bring much-needed food to England. Frank was interested to know what lies the enemy were spouting this time.

‘Between you and me,’ Danny said in a low whisper, looking around to make sure nobody could hear him, ‘a consignment of Craven “A” came in from Canada this afternoon. They’re like gold dust, but the shop will have some in tomorrow.’

‘Mrs Snooty said she’ll pass a packet in for our Frank after the shop is shut.’

‘Did she now?’ Danny said and, knowing he could trust Sarah to be discreet, he added, ‘They’re not going off the dock until tomorrow morning.’ He knew that if Mrs Kennedy was getting her order tonight she was not going to get them by legal means. He shook his head. The crafty old cow … ‘Looking down her nose at everybody else while she is creaming off the top.’ Well, that was handy to know.

‘Are you coming in for a cup of tea?’ Sarah asked. She liked being around Danny. He made her feel … safe.

‘I’ll have to get going,’ Danny answered. ‘I’m on the twilight shift on the dock tonight but tell Frank I’ll see him before he goes.’

He had turned to walk away when Sarah said, ‘Were you going to our house for anything in particu­lar?’ She smiled when Danny smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t stuck on,’ he laughed. ‘Our Kitty wanted to know if your mam would look out for Tommy until she gets home from the NAAFI? There’s a dance on and she’s got to work an evening shift.’

‘Send him over,’ Sarah said. ‘He can help me sort the bag of woollens I collected this morning with Mam, and I’ve got some pullovers that need unravelling.’

‘He’ll love that, I’m sure,’ Danny laughed, ‘but only if it means he can listen to your wireless.’ With that, he turned and crossed back over the cobbled road, wondering if he could get his hands on a wireless set, now they were a bit flush, like. It would be Kitty’s twenty-second birthday in a few weeks; Danny would love to surprise her, and to surprise her with a wireless would be the gear …

Sarah was a lovely girl. The thought popped into his head without invitation, as it did a lot of late.

‘Was there any word from Charlie this morning?’ Rita asked her mother-in-law as she saw her place a small pile of post, retrieved from the doormat, on the counter. Rita had just returned from night duty at the hospital.

‘Not this morning,’ Ma Kennedy replied airily. ‘I’m sure he has got more on his mind than writing to us every five minutes. He has got a job and two children to look after, you know.’

Rita eyed the woman coldly. ‘He should have given us his address by now. He can’t just up and disappear with two kids in tow!’

‘Of course he hasn’t just upped and disappeared,’ Mrs Kennedy said. ‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.’ Her protestations were determined. ‘He has written already and said that they are all fine. He must have forgotten to put his address on, that’s all. He said that he wants the children to settle in for now and not have any upsetting emotional visits.’ She seemed overly bright to Rita this morning, even a bit giddy. ‘You listen to far too many of those daft dramas on the wireless. Then you get all worked up over nothing.’

Rita gave her mother-in-law a sideways glance but kept quiet. Ma Kennedy claimed she had given Charlie the only copy of this friend Elsie Lowe’s address that she had, and as she wasn’t in touch regularly she couldn’t remember it at all. Surely if Mrs Kennedy really did not know the address where her son had gone with the children she would move heaven and earth to find out … It had been nearly two weeks and that was all they had heard. Every morning Rita hovered around the door waiting for some news, or hurried home from the hospital after her shift in a state of high anticipation, only to be bitterly disappointed when she got the news from Mrs Kennedy that there was no news today.

Watching the older woman fiddle with the morning newspapers stacked on the counter, unfolding the top one, smoothing it down and then carefully joining the edges together, Rita knew it was a nervous gesture, a sure sign that Winnie had something to hide.

What a fool she had been to think Mrs Kennedy, as a mother, would sympathise with her plight. However, looking at her now, and reading the tell-tail signs that the Kennedys unconsciously displayed when they were trying to hide something, Rita suspected the crafty old woman did know something; Charlie would not go one day without talking to his mother, let alone two weeks. They were in cahoots, obviously.

Rita was trying not to panic. Charlie had been in touch at least and there was no reason to think that the children were in any danger.

‘Put those out for the paper man, would you?’ Ma Kennedy pointed at the pile of newsprint and then headed for the back room and her usual spot by the window.

‘What did your last slave die of?’ Rita muttered, but she was tired and in no mood for an argument this morning. She went to pick up the bundle of papers and before she did so, she idly looked at the pile of letters that the postman had brought. There were the usual bills and these days there was often some official pronouncement about saving water or paper, or important information about more essentials that were being rationed. Today there was also something different. It was an official-looking letter addressed to Charlie. Rita turned the brown paper envelope over to see if she could see where it had come from and gasped when she saw the name of the sender was the War Office.

So, she thought, Charlie’s papers had finally come. There could be no escape for him now.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_dbbdf329-7391-51e2-8f1f-aaebb48d0d5a)

‘Rita! Cooee!’

Rita, deep in thought as she entered Empire Street, turned to see Kitty Callaghan beckoning her across the road. Rita smiled; she had not spoken to Kitty for ages as their shifts were often at different times, and even though they lived almost opposite each other they never seemed to have time for a catch-up these days.

Kitty looked a little perturbed. ‘There’s something I’ve got to show you. Have you got a minute?’ She led Rita up the narrow passageway to her kitchen.

It all seemed very cloak-and-dagger, Rita thought, intrigued. Entering the warm, cosy kitchen where the clean smell of Mansion polish mixed with the delicious aroma of a stew bubbling away on the stove, Rita felt suddenly hungry.

‘Stay and have a bite to eat,’ Kitty said, and she invited Rita to sit at the table before opening the sideboard drawer and taking out an air-mail envelope.

‘This came for you yesterday.’ Kitty’s face was suddenly infused with a pink blush. ‘I didn’t want to take it over the road in case Ma Long-nose saw it and started asking awkward questions. You can do without that kind of thing when you’re busy.’

‘A letter? For me?’ Rita asked, then recognised the careful, copperplate handwriting on the envelope. Jack had sent it. He had sent a few letters to the hospital and she had answered them. They were just friendly and informative, but reading between the lines Rita could tell that Jack still thought a lot of her and she also thought much of him.