Winter on the Mersey: A Heartwarming Christmas Saga

‘You have got to be joking!’ Nancy pouted. ‘No, she hasn’t.’

‘Where is he, then?’ Dolly wanted to know.

‘With Maggie Parker, as was. You know, Betty Parker’s big sister. Her house got bombed out and she’s moved back in with her family here and she’s got a kiddie just a bit younger than Georgie,’ Nancy explained. ‘I thought it would be nice for him to have a playmate the same age. Particularly if everything here is going to revolve around a new-born baby,’ she added crossly.

‘Nancy, you can’t be jealous of your own little niece,’ Dolly sighed in exasperation. ‘Betty Parker, now there’s a name from the past. She was Sarah’s best friend all the way through school, then she went and joined the Land Girls, didn’t she? They’re a nice family, so they are. Why don’t you ask them to mind Georgie on Saturday? It’s not as if you’ll be out late, is it?’ She gave her daughter a straight look.

Nancy squirmed, but couldn’t exactly say what she’d had in mind for Saturday. It certainly didn’t involve coming home directly after the dance. Common sense told her to quit while the going was good, though. ‘That’s an idea, I’ll ask,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and do that right away – it’s time I was picking Georgie up anyway.’

‘That’s right, love, you do that.’ Dolly approved of the Parkers, and felt she could rest easy that Nancy couldn’t get up to anything now. She picked up her knitting again, Pop coming though the back door just as Nancy went out.

Pop shrugged off the heavy donkey jacket that he wore for his salvage work, and turned to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. ‘Did I miss anything?’ he asked, coming through the narrow doorframe between the back kitchen and the kitchen proper. He bent to kiss Dolly on the cheek. ‘What did Nancy want? The usual?’

Dolly laughed up at him. ‘Of course. She can’t have her own way this time, though.’ She recounted their conversation.

Pop raised his eyebrows. ‘She’ll have to get used to the new way of doing things,’ he declared, running his hand through his shock of white hair. ‘We’ve helped her a lot and we’ll do so again, but she has to realise little Ellen needs us too. I don’t want our Rita took bad because she’s tried to do much too soon. You know what she’s like.’

‘You’re right, she’ll be angling to get back to work any day now,’ said Dolly, untangling a length of wool that had tied itself in a knot. ‘She’s not to rush it. We’ll have to keep an eye on her, see that she takes her time.’

‘She never thinks of herself, that one,’ Pop said. ‘What’s that you’re making there, Dolly? That looks familiar.’

‘So it should.’ Dolly held her work at arm’s length and inspected it critically. ‘It’s the wool from the cardigan Violet’s been wearing these past three years, which was more hole than cardie by the time I came to use it. I don’t know, it’s been washed so often it’s gone all scratchy and uneven. I reckoned I could make it into a bolero for her so she could still get the warmth, but we’ll have to see.’

‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ said Pop proudly. He never ceased to be amazed at his wife’s skill, even though they had been married thirty-odd years. She could sew, knit and cook, she was the street’s auxiliary fire-watcher, she ran make-do-and-mend classes as well as working for the WVS. She had raised five children, helped with three grandchildren so far and was hoping for more, though she never said anything in case Violet got upset. There was no doubt where most of their children got their work ethic from. He returned to the subject of the one child who hadn’t.

‘Our Nancy all right, was she?’

‘She’s got some do on, and says she’s been asked to volunteer. I don’t doubt she has, but it’s what she gets up to while she’s there that worries me.’ Dolly clacked her needles together. Both she and Pop were very strict about the sanctity of marriage and had brought their family up to hold the same view. That was why it had been so hard to stand by when Rita was married to that manipulative bully Charlie Kennedy, but Rita had never given them any cause to worry, even when he treated her so badly. The same could not be said for Nancy, who’d been caught out with Stan Hathaway, a local boy now in the RAF, in a bus shelter a couple of years back. Nancy had sworn nothing had really happened and she wouldn’t go so far again, but Dolly knew only too well what she was like.

‘Don’t see trouble where there isn’t any,’ Pop warned. ‘She’s a good girl at heart, our Nancy. You can’t blame her for hankering after a bit of excitement. Sid’s been gone a long time and she’s still young. It’ll all be harmless fun, you see if I’m not right.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is really,’ said Dolly, not wanting to worry Pop. ‘Anyway, she’s found someone else to babysit occasionally, so all’s well.’

‘There you are then.’ Pop rubbed his hands in front of the little fire. ‘Now tell me something really important. What’s for tea?’

Dolly brightened up. ‘Funny you should ask. I found a recipe from the government that uses parsnips in a pudding, and we’ve just dug up the last ones from the victory garden. It’s perfect. You mix them with cocoa and milk and it says it’ll be just like a chocolate pudding.’

Pop’s eyes widened. Even with Dolly’s talent in the kitchen he couldn’t see how this idea would work. ‘Lovely,’ he said loyally. ‘Can’t wait.’

CHAPTER FIVE (#u81caad04-3f66-5904-9b98-57eb3c24916b)

Violet hugged the envelope to her chest and hummed to herself, standing stock still in the middle of the empty shop. She knew she had to open up so the dock workers could come flooding in and buy their morning papers and tobacco, but she wanted to savour the moment. It was so rare to have any time to herself, any space to think, and she just had to relish the good news, let it sink in, before the hectic rush began.

Eddy had written to say his ship was on its way back to Liverpool and he would be home before embarking on the next trip. He’d be back for a whole week. Seven whole days. Violet hadn’t seen him for that amount of time since they’d first met and married. She couldn’t quite believe it. Of course she had to keep calm and not jinx his return voyage; there was still danger in the Atlantic, but there was nothing like the risks of earlier in the war when the U-boats had sunk so many vessels. Eddy had survived all of that. Now the worst thing he’d have to contend with was the weather. Even that was improving, though – they were out of the season of winter storms and spring was finally here. He’d be home for Easter if all went to plan. She could collect eggs and decorate them, maybe hide them for Georgie and make a big game of it. Eddy would love to join in with that. Then they could all have a proper Easter dinner …

‘You opening up today, love, or have you won the pools and decided you’re too grand for us?’ called a voice from outside.

Violet snapped out of her dream and pushed up the sleeves of her moth-eaten cardigan. ‘One moment, hold your horses,’ she shouted, snapping up the blinds and unlocking the door. Several men had gathered, huddled in their jackets, scarves wound tight against the biting wind. Spring hadn’t managed to warm up this particular corner of Merseyside this morning, and the familiar smell of the river combined with that of the docks drifted into the shop.

‘You’re looking cheerful this morning,’ said one of the men, a regular customer who Violet had known since she began helping out behind the counter. ‘Maybe you have gone and won the pools an’ all.’

‘Better than that,’ grinned Violet, picking up the paper that she knew he liked, ‘much better. You can keep your old pools. My Eddy’s coming home on leave for Easter and he’ll be here all week. How about that?’

‘Blimey, love, that is good news,’ the man said, fishing in his pocket for his change. ‘Did you hear that?’ He turned to his workmates. ‘Eddy Feeny’s coming home on leave. You make sure to tell him we’ll buy him a pint down the Sailor’s Rest. He’s a good man, your Eddy.’

‘He is,’ said Violet, beaming widely. ‘He’s the best there is. Don’t you go keeping him out late down the pub – his place is home with me.’

‘Oh aye, you’ll be giving him a warm welcome all right,’ said another man at the back of the group, nudging his friend, but the others weren’t inclined to make a smutty joke with him. Eddy was well known and admired, and if anyone deserved a spot of leave with his young wife then it was him.

‘You leave her alone, Arthur,’ said the first man, ‘or you won’t find your favourite baccy ready for you like you expect. You make sure you tell your Eddy we said hello, Mrs Feeny. If it wasn’t for the likes of him, we wouldn’t have our jobs. Him and his lot, they defended our docks when Jerry wanted to destroy them. They took on Hitler’s submarines and won. We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the Eddy Feenys of this world, and that’s a fact.’

The men nodded sagely, knowing he was right. The docks were vital to the war effort – supplies of food, raw materials, and service personnel all arrived in Britain via the ports, and nowhere more vital than those of Merseyside. Hitler had done his best to disrupt the shipping in the Atlantic and destroy the docks themselves, but despite feeling the full force of the enemy power, the ships had kept sailing and the docks kept receiving them and their cargoes. The men of the Merchant Navy had run huge risks, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse on the high seas, and many had lost their lives. No wonder Eddy and his comrades were so well regarded. Violet could feel herself getting tearful at the very thought of it, but forced herself not to give way to the emotion threatening to overpower her. Instead she smiled again and made sure everyone had what they’d come in for.

In a matter of minutes the morning rush was over, and she could settle into the calmer routine of sorting out the remaining newspapers, stocking the shelves and checking the change in the till before the housewives started to arrive for their daily shopping. She made sure she knew where the stamp was for the ration books, gave the counter a quick wipe down and then settled back on the wobbly wooden stool that wasn’t quite the right height, as she was too tall for it. With a little thrill of anticipation she opened the envelope again. She’d just read the letter one more time before anyone else came in. Sighing with delight, she gazed at the familiar handwriting, giving her the news she’d waited for so long.

Kitty stared straight ahead of her at the slightly faded olive green wall, with its dog-eared posters and lists of instructions. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard down the telephone line. It had been in every way a routine call. It was just that she could have sworn she’d recognised the voice.

The caller hadn’t identified himself but merely said, ‘May I speak to Captain Squires, please? It’s rather urgent.’

All she’d had to say was, ‘Certainly, sir. Putting you through now,’ and no further interaction was needed.

There was a slight hesitation, almost as if the caller was about to say something other than the ‘thank you,’ that followed. The voice was troubling in its familiarity. Did the tone of it betray that he had known it was her, too?

She told herself to calm down. It was important that nobody saw her brief lapse of concentration. She was the most experienced operator in this unit and it was her duty to lead by example as well as coaching the newcomers. She couldn’t allow them to notice she was flustered. Besides, all she’d actually said were the very same phrases that she used scores of times every day.

Forcing herself to focus on the job in hand, she took the next call, but she was on autopilot. Try as she might to avoid admitting it, all her nerves were fizzing. Logically the speaker could have been any young man with a Scouse accent, and heaven knew there were plenty of them in the service. He’d spoken only those few words. But they were enough. She knew deep in her bones that it had been Frank Feeny. Although her mind could come up with umpteen excuses why she shouldn’t jump to that conclusion, her body betrayed her and reacted in the way it always did when she heard someone mention his name or read about him in a letter from home.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Lizzie, her co-billettee who also formed part of the same unit. ‘You look as if someone just walked over your grave.’

Kitty snapped back into her role. ‘Yes, quite all right, thanks,’ she said shortly. She saw Lizzie’s face fall – the junior Wren probably thought she’d made a faux pas – and quickly made an excuse. ‘Something in my eye, that’s all. It’s gone now.’

Really, she told herself as she connected the next call, this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t allow herself to be thrown like that. She was meant to be showing the younger ones how to conduct themselves, and getting into a flap would only lead to mistakes. So what if it had been Frank Feeny? He was entitled to call any naval establishment. He most likely did so all the time, and so in some ways it was actually strange that their paths hadn’t crossed before now. It was irrelevant to her work, and he was nothing to her other than as a former neighbour and big brother of her great friend Rita. Yet her heartbeat told her differently, as it took ages to settle down to its regular pace. She made herself breathe in and out slowly, fighting against the knowledge that somehow, deep down, that profound and familiar pull was very much still there.

‘You were keen enough a moment ago. What’s changed?’ The young GI was slurring his words a little as he planted his arm against the rough alley wall right by Nancy’s shoulder, blocking her way. The dance was over, night had fallen, and people were making their way home, or at least back to their billets. Nancy looked into the man’s face, which had been pleasant enough early in the evening, and saw an unwelcome gleam in his eye. He was having trouble focusing and his breath smelt unpleasantly of sour beer.

‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said as lightly as she could. ‘I’m a married woman. It was just a dance, nothing else.’

‘No, it’s you who’s made the mistake.’ He brought his face closer to hers and the stench of alcohol grew even stronger. ‘We got a word for girls like you and it ain’t pretty. You come along, all dolled up and making eyes at us, and then you try to run off when we take you up on what you’ve been offering all evening. You’re just a tease, aren’t you?’ He tried to touch her face but missed, and she twisted away.

‘I promised you nothing,’ she said, keeping her voice even, knowing she couldn’t let him see any fear. She reminded herself she’d dealt with worse than this. Some of Sid’s friends used to get out of control when they got drunk, and any time he turned his back for a moment she’d had to be on her guard for leering comments or wandering hands, even though they knew she and Sid were an item. She could usually talk her way out of anything. The trouble was that this young man seemed too far gone to take in what she was saying.

‘Yes, you did. That’s what you come to these places for,’ he insisted, making a lunge for her hair with his other hand. ‘Cm’ere. Let me show you what you’ve been missing. Show you what we Yanks can do that your Limey boys can’t.’

‘Get your hands off me,’ Nancy snapped, angry now.

‘Don’t know what you mean,’ the GI said, his smile menacing. ‘You want my hands all over you, don’t you, you know you do.’

‘I most certainly do not,’ she half shouted, glancing around to see if anyone was nearby. There must still be some people around. They were only a stone’s throw from the hall where the dance had been held. All she had to do was make enough noise, or distract him, then she could run for it. She had hardly had anything to drink and had no doubt she could outpace the staggering GI, but first she had to make a break. Was that a figure out on the main road, lit by the bright moon? She raised her voice still further. ‘You take your hands off me right now. Go home … What do you think you’re doing?’