Christmas on the Mersey

‘Oh, thank God you are safe!’ She scooped her children into her arms, thankful beyond words that they were unharmed.

‘Mammy, we could hear the German planes dropping their bombs. It was so exciting – can I go out and look at the flattened houses?’ Rita looked in amazement at Michael. His eyes were shining with excitement and for a moment she could almost feel what it must be like to be a seven-year-old boy living through these interesting times. But then her anxiety kicked in again and she prayed that she would not have to go through another night of worry as she had last night, knowing there was little she could do about it now the hospital needed her. But her children needed her too. How many other women were feeling like she did this morning, she wondered, torn between her nursing duty and a mother’s fear? Rita felt absolutely wretched at the thought of another night away from them.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she admonished gently, ruffling her son’s hair as he chattered away nineteen to the dozen. Rita felt a little hand squeeze her own and looked down to see the pale face of Megan. Unlike Michael, she was quiet and clingy. Rita hugged Megan to her and felt her heart wrench at how frightened the little girl must have been without her.

‘Small thanks to you, they are fine.’

Charlie’s barbed words caused that familiar feeling of guilt to rise up in Rita’s heart as he entered the small breakfast room, his mother – making a great play of her bad leg – following behind. Rita looked at him. He was lean and once upon a time she had thought him handsome, but now his hair was thinning and his face always bore a sneer, or his words a put-down. Sometimes she could barely bring herself to look at him. Now his icy glare seized her and held her in its grasp. Rita knew that trouble had been brewing and she steeled herself for his onslaught.

‘What kind of a mother leaves her children during an air raid?’ Charlie’s voice was laced with malice as he addressed his mother, who nodded in agreement.

Ma Kennedy had assumed her usual seat by the window. She was wearing her housecoat and had her hair in curlers, covered by a headscarf. Her face wore the sour look of disapproval that Rita had come to know so well.

‘I know Charles, it is unforgivable! You have an obligation to your family, Rita!’ Mrs Kennedy’s mouth puckered and her condescending expression told Rita she thought she wasn’t much of a mother if she could not be here for her own children during an air raid.

Rita felt that she had little room for manoeuvre when they ganged up on her like this. These days she usually put up a strong resistance, but her own guilt and anxiety were threatening to gang up on her too. She felt weak, tired and unable to defend herself. She should have been here. Of course, she should.

‘You both know that hospitals all over the land are in dire need of trained staff. People like me are in short supply,’ she countered weakly.

‘People like you?’ Charlie sneered. ‘Listen to Rita, Mother! Looks like she’s going to save the country single-handed. Shame she doesn’t feel as strongly about her own kids.’

Rita felt her stomach dip.

‘You’ll have to tell her, Charles.’ His mother was standing now, poker stiff at the side of the table while Rita, feeling as bad as it was possible for a mother to feel, none the less did not fail to notice the sidelong, warning glance Charlie gave his mother.

‘Mind your own business, can’t you?’ His tone now turned to impatience as he barked at the children, ‘Michael, take Megan through next door to the lounge and put the wireless on.’

The children both looked at Rita uncertainly, but she nodded for them to go. It wouldn’t do for them to get caught up in a row.

‘Tell me what?’ Rita’s throat tightened and she found it difficult to swallow, her mouth now paper dry with trepidation.

‘The children are being evacuated today – this morning,’ Charlie said without preamble. ‘It’s all arranged – and don’t even think about trying to stop it.’ He did not hang around long enough for Rita to answer but stalked from the room. She could hear him taking the stairs two at a time.

Rita was confused. What did he mean, they were going to be evacuated today? Where to? They’d been back home for only a few months. She scraped back the chair and stood up, but before she left the room she laid her hands flat upon the table and leaned towards Mrs Kennedy.

‘Did you know about this?’ She knew her husband couldn’t organise the children’s evacuation on his own. He would not have the foggiest idea where to start.

Ma Kennedy folded her arms and looked away. ‘I’m saying nothing,’ was all she offered.

Rita pushed down her anger at her mother-in-law and headed for the stairs at a run. She opened Megan’s bedroom door to find Charlie there, and her heart lurched. There were two suitcases on the bed, one for each of her children, and he was folding Megan’s clothes into hers.

‘Are you sending them back to Freshfield Farm?’ It had been so harrowing when they were evacuated last time, billeted on a farm way outside the city. The people that had looked after the children were decent folk and the children were happy. Rita knew that they had been well looked after. If they had to go away again, it would break her heart, but she also knew that the children were no longer safe. Charlie was right.

‘No. I’ve made other arrangements.’

Cold fear ran through Rita’s veins as she heard these words and her voice shook. ‘What other arrangements? What do you mean? Tell me!’

‘Get a grip of yourself, woman.’ Charlie’s voice was full of scorn. ‘I’ve got a place lined up …’

‘Where?’ Rita asked.

At first he said nothing, ignoring her as he put a few more items into Megan’s suitcase, which had been neatly packed. Charlie never lifted a finger around the house and would have as much idea about packing a suitcase as flying a Spitfire. His mother must have helped him. He stopped what he was doing and straightened up, his expression full of contempt for her.

‘I know of a little boarding house in Southport.’

‘How?’ Rita asked. ‘We don’t have any family there.’

‘It’s run by an old lady Mother knows, Elsie Lowe …’ Charlie looked away again and shut the lid of Michael’s suitcase.

‘Is this your mother’s doing? She’s never liked the children being here. This would be her way of getting them out from under her feet …’

‘You were the one who said they should come back here to the Luftwaffe’s playground,’ Charlie said, his unwavering stare boring into her. ‘It was you who put them in danger, remember that.’

‘There were no raids when they came home!’ Rita tried to remain calm, but was finding it difficult. What was Charlie up to? She knew Michael and Megan should be somewhere safer but why wasn’t he taking them back to the farm?

‘If anything had happened to them last night, it would have been your fault, Rita. Yours! Nobody else’s.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘What kind of mother puts strangers before her own kids?’

‘It is my duty as a trained nurse to serve,’ Rita answered, knowing he had made no great shakes to oblige his country in any capacity yet, and by the look of it he had no intention of doing so now.

‘It’s also your duty to look after your children. But you can’t do that with your precious work so I will be going with them.’

Rita tried a different tactic; if she fought him he would become even more determined. ‘Of course you are right, as always.’ His shoulders relaxed just a little. ‘But, as you know, when people started calling it “the phoney war” it seemed ridiculous to keep the kids away from home.’

‘Well, it’s not so phoney now, is it, Rita?’ His shoulders stiffened again, indicating his mind was made up.

Rita told herself any mother would have brought her children home when there was no threat – and a lot of children had come home, like Tommy, Kitty Callaghan’s little brother just up the street. Rita had begged and begged for her children to be allowed to come back, but Charlie refused her pleas until it suited him. Until then, Rita had had to make do with monthly visits; it was all her shifts at the hospital could accommodate.

Rita was starting to lose control of her emotions. The words came out like gunfire.

‘You’ve never cared about the children. The only reason you brought them back was because you wanted to get me back into the marital bed again. You don’t give a damn for their wellbeing – all you care about is yourself!’

Rita tried not to think about the terrible events following Sonny Callaghan’s funeral. Charlie had found her with Jack Callaghan and, though they had done nothing wrong, he had viciously attacked and forced himself on her, though Rita knew her marriage was in tatters before then. Charlie’s squandering of their life savings had seen to that, but this had been an unspeakable act. Rita had sworn that she would never let him near her again, but the high price for getting her children home was moving back into the marital bed. After he and Rita had married, Charlie had ceased to show any interest in her sexually and Rita knew this wasn’t normal. But since Charlie had attacked her that time, he got a perverse pleasure from his cruelty and bedtimes were something that she now dreaded.

‘On the contrary, Rita, everyone thinks that it’s you that doesn’t give a damn for your children, so maybe you should have thought harder before you went off to play Florence Nightingale!’

Rita had lost the battle to stop the panic rising in her voice. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you take my kids away to God knows where with God knows who. I’ll give my notice at the hospital and I’ll go with them.’ Rita knew she was clutching at straws.

‘You have work to do here. Remember?’

‘I can get a transfer; they need nurses in other hospitals too.’

‘We are moving somewhere safer; to a better-class neighbourhood.’ Charlie’s voice dripped scorn and Rita knew that he’d made his mind up. There was something dangerous about his mood, too – she’d seen him like this before. When he behaved this way he could turn and either lose all control or terrorise her in that low, underhand way. His cold eyes were a familiar indication of the depraved depths to which Rita knew her husband could sink.

Charlie, menacing now, edged forward. ‘Poor Rita. Going to miss your children, are you? Or is it really me that you’re going to miss?’ Rita felt her parched tongue slide over the roof of her mouth, now paper dry with fear. He was between her and the door. She would not get out this time without a struggle.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her voice was low now, sticking in her throat. Don’t show him you’re scared, Rita, that’s what he wants.

‘I know how you really like it, Rita, just like at the beginning, flaunting yourself like the slut you are.’ He gave a small contemptible laugh. ‘You never thought I’d cotton on, did you … you tricked me into marrying you and caught me good and proper …’ His face twisted into something ugly now. ‘Take me, Charlie … I need you, Charlie … we are good together, Charlie!’ he jeered.