Lights Out Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  She made up her mind to bring Tony out here next summer. He knew nothing about the countryside and until now had only seen cows at a distance, on their way into Southport on the train, never at such close quarters. When she’d come to Melling for the interview, she and Annie had walked down the High Street, marvelling at the fact that such a sleepy little village existed a mere twelve miles or so away from the thriving metropolis of Liverpool.

  After splashing her face a second time, she went inside reluctantly. Two o’clock, finishing time, seemed an eternity away.

  Somehow, the time passed, crawling by, and at five to two a hooter sounded, and the girls downed tools and made for the door.

  ‘Leave the machine as it is,’ Doris instructed. ‘Someone else’ll take over where you left off.’

  Eileen quickly got changed, put her overalls in her locker, and left the factory by the main exit. A row of double decker buses, windows painted black, stood in the forecourt, hired specially to take the workers to various parts of Liverpool. Eileen assumed Annie had come on one but, looking around, could see no sign of her. As she made her way towards the bus for Seaforth, she felt as if her unsteady legs were about to give way. She climbed up to the dimly lit top deck so she could have a welcome cigarette. The atmosphere was full of smoke and several girls from the workshop were already on, including Pauline, all sitting on the long seat at the back. They shoved up to make room for her.

  ‘What d’you think then, Eileen, about your first day at Dunnings?’ one of them asked, grinning.

  ‘I’m completely worn out,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve got aches in bones I didn’t know I had.’

  ‘It’s because you’re using muscles you don’t usually use, pushing all them levers and things. You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘If I had a pound for every time someone’s said that to me today, I’d be well off,’ Eileen said dryly.

  Once home, she slipped out of her shoes and sank into a chair, totally exhausted, convinced she would never get up again. She hadn’t been there long when Sheila came in, using her key, carrying Mary.

  ‘How d’you get on, Eil?’

  ‘I’m dead, Sis,’ Eileen said dramatically. ‘Completely dead.’

  A shadow fell over Sheila’s face. ‘Oh, Christ!’ thought Eileen, ‘what a tactless thing to say.’ Her sister had taken the news about Calum with surprising calm, but inside, Eileen knew she was devastated.

  ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ Sheila asked lightly. ‘I can’t stay more than a minute. Ryan’s asleep and Brenda Mahon took Siobhan and Caitlin off me hands for a few hours. I’ll have to collect them soon.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Me! I’ll have a good wash in a minute. I’d love a cup of tea, though, Sheil. I think I’m stuck in this chair forever.’

  ‘Here you are then, take our Mary while I put the kettle on.’

  ‘I haven’t got the strength, I’ll drop her,’ Eileen threatened when the baby was thrust into her arms.

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  Mary nuzzled at her breast. ‘You won’t get a feed off me, miss,’ she said sternly, providing a none-too-clean finger.

  ‘Don’t you wish you’d had more kids, Sis?’ Sheila shouted from the kitchen.

  Eileen looked down at the tiny face of her niece, the little mouth sucking on her finger. ‘Yes, I do,’ she shouted back. Then, in a soft voice to herself, she added, ‘Not that there’s much chance of that with Francis.’

  But somehow Sheila heard. She appeared in the doorway, her normally tranquil brow puckered in a frown. ‘What d’you mean, Eileen?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Eileen said dismissively.

  ‘Come off it, Sis,’ Sheila persisted. ‘What did you mean, there’s not much chance with Francis?’

  Eileen took a deep breath. She would never reveal the real reason, of course, but the question of her future with Francis had occupied her mind almost every waking minute since he returned to Kettering a few weeks ago. Without him, the house was a different place altogether. She hadn’t felt so relaxed and contented in years, and Tony was blossoming, becoming more assertive without his dad nagging at him over the least little thing. The decision had come to her like a blinding flash of light when she was in bed one night, and it was his absence that caused her to take it, but she knew it was essential to her and Tony’s future happiness that they never live with Francis again. She’d felt somewhat nervous the following morning, knowing the furore it would cause when people found out. Apart from the brief conversation with her dad, she hadn’t discussed it with anyone so far, not even Annie. Now the subject had come up with Sheila, more by accident than design. People had to find out sometime, and she wondered what her sister’s reaction would be.

  ‘I’m not having Francis back,’ she said bluntly. ‘In fact, Dad’s already changed the locks on both the doors.’

  ‘But you can’t do that, our Eileen! He’s your husband!’

  Eileen was taken aback by how shocked her sister looked, and felt slightly annoyed. ‘You don’t know what he’s like, Sis. It’s not you that’s had to live with him for the last six years.’

  Sheila shook her head emphatically. ‘It doesn’t matter what he’s like. You took him for better or for worse. You can’t go back on your wedding vows.’

  ‘Dad doesn’t seem to mind,’ Eileen said stiffly, which was not strictly true. Her dad only thought Francis needed ‘straightening out’ before he was allowed back. She began to wish she’d kept her mouth shut. Sheila had always been fervently religious, far more so than Eileen. Her house was stuffed with statues and holy pictures. The last thing Eileen wanted at the moment was a row, not with her brain so muggy with tiredness she could scarcely think straight.

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Sheila answered. ‘Our dad doesn’t think the way other people do.’

  ‘Perhaps I take after him.’

  ‘Aye perhaps you do.’ Sheila could feel the hot fires of anger burning in her breast. She rarely lost her temper, but it seemed too unfair for words. Her Cal was missing, almost certainly dead. There’d been no time for a distress signal from the Midnight Star before the deadly torpedo struck, no reports of survivors having been picked up. Cal was dead, the most precious husband a woman could ever have, the only man she would ever love, gone forever, and she herself felt dead inside. It was an effort to get up each morning and see to the kids, to keep on living. Yet here was her sister talking about getting rid of Francis Costello, who may well have not turned out all he was cracked up to be, but even so, he and Eileen had been joined together in Holy Matrimony at a Nuptial Mass. They’d promised to stay together, ‘till death do us part’. Breaking up with your husband, any husband, was against everything she believed in.

  ‘What does Francis have to say about it?’ she asked, trying to remain calm.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Eileen said tiredly. ‘I wrote to him, but I haven’t heard back yet.’ The letter, sent soon after he’d returned, had taken days to write. She’d used an entire notepad, screwing up page after page until she got the wording more or less right. She’d told him she never wanted him back, but didn’t say why, presuming he would know the reason only too well.

  ‘That’s nice, when he’s about to fight for his country,’ Sheila said hotly.

  Eileen felt too weary to argue any longer. ‘He’s not going to do much damage with a typewriter. Anyway, Sis, you don’t know the least thing about it. It’s only since he went away that I found out what life could be like without him, not just for me, but for our Tony, too. When he came home on leave, I realised I wasn’t prepared to take it any longer. It’s easy for you to talk, your Cal’s a different kettle of fish altogether. I mean, he was …’ She stopped and stared at her sister in despair. ‘I’m getting meself in a proper muddle.’ She tried to smile. ‘Talking of kettles, mine’s been boiling away for ages. You’ve got me kitchen like a Turkish bath.’

  Sheila made the tea, but didn’t pour one for herself. ‘I’l
l have to be getting back,’ she said stiffly. ‘The main reason I came was to say I’ve done pigs’ trotters for tea and there’s plenty enough for you and Tony. I thought you wouldn’t feel up to getting a meal after your first day at work.’

  ‘I don’t. In fact, I was thinking of sending Tony to the chippy when he came home. Ta, Sheil. I’ll be across later.’

  After her sister had gone, Eileen determined not to rake over their argument. Right now, all that seemed to matter were her various aches and pains and enormous throbbing tiredness. She closed her eyes and imagined herself soaking in a bath of scented bubbles, the sort of thing you saw film stars do in the pictures. When she opened them again, to her surprise it was dark outside, and she panicked, thinking she’d fallen asleep and Tony was late home. Then she remembered that double summertime, which had been extended by five weeks until the middle of November, had ended the day before so the blackout had begun two hours earlier than usual. It was scarcely four o’clock, yet almost pitch black.

  Eileen shuddered. She always felt a bit depressed when the winter closed in, but this year it seemed particularly heavy and oppressive, what with Cal and Mary dead, and the terrible carnage at sea where even neutral ships were being torpedoed. As if that wasn’t enough, a few weeks ago, the Government had published a white paper on German concentration camps and poor Jacob Singerman, on the verge of tears, had brought the newspaper cutting across to show her, convinced there was little hope for his Ruth and the son-in-law and grandchildren he’d never met.

  There’d been a moment of great hope at the beginning of November, though, when an attempt had been made on Adolf Hitler’s life at a rally in Munich. Unfortunately, he’d left the rally early, before the planted bomb exploded, but the entire country, perhaps the entire world, had felt this might be a turning point and the people of Germany would rise up against the tyrant who was leading their great nation into a war which no sane person could possibly want. But nothing had happened, the phoney war continued, and Eileen could see no sign of it being over by Christmas as many people still predicted.

  This wouldn’t do! She got up somewhat unsteadily and turned the wireless on, twiddling with the knob, looking for some cheerful music until she found Gracie Fields singing Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye, then went into the back kitchen to get washed before Tony came home and wanted to know where the terrible smell came from.

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Brazier. Do you think you’ll be able to find your way home all right?’

  ‘I’m sure I will, Mr Sanderson. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  The manager of the Co-op was only a few feet away, yet almost invisible, and she imagined him touching his hat courteously. She stood there, disorientated before she’d even taken a step, and felt for the Co-op window before making her way along the pavement, using the windows as a guide. With summertime ending yesterday, this was the first night the shop had closed in darkness. One of the girls had said there should be a full moon, but if so, there was no sign of it. The sky was like a heavy blanket of black, without even a cloud visible.

  She collided with someone almost straight away, a woman, who said in a startled voice, ‘Sorry, luv! Isn’t this terrible? It’s like walking through a bowl of ink.’

  ‘Isn’t it!’ said Miss Brazier.

  Everyone else seemed to have the same idea of using the windows as a guide. After several more collisions and ‘Sorry, luvs’ from both sides, she decided to venture, somewhat nervously, further out onto the pavement. Almost immediately, she bumped headlong into a man and almost fell before he grabbed her with both arms. ‘Sorry, luv. Isn’t this terrible?’

  ‘It’s awful,’ she agreed. ‘I think I’ll bring me torch tomorrow.’

  ‘They don’t help much,’ he said dismissively. ‘You’ve got to have two thicknesses of tissue paper on the glass and you can only point it downwards. You’re too busy concentrating on your feet to look where you’re going. Well, goodnight, luv. I hope you get home safe and sound.’

  ‘You, too,’ said Miss Brazier, thinking it would be midnight before she arrived home at this rate. Some girls passed, giggling helplessly. A man cursed, ‘Me toe! I stubbed it on the kerb. Bloody Hitler!’

  ‘He won’t need to bomb us,’ someone said sarcastically. ‘We’ll all have bumped each other to death by then.’

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to cross the road?’ a woman asked. ‘Does anyone know where the traffic lights are?’

  It was a strange feeling, thought Miss Brazier, so many people, yet she couldn’t see a thing. All that was visible were the little slits of headlights on the occasional car as it crawled by.

  Her shoulder caught another somewhat sharply. ‘Sorry, luv,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Isn’t this terrible?’

  It was a young woman, who laughed. ‘Don’t apologise, you must be about the fiftieth person I’ve bumped into. Have you got far to go?’

  ‘Marsh Lane.’

  ‘You poor ould thing. I’m nearly home. Goodnight, luv.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  A spirit of camaraderie seemed to develop, a sense of adventure, as people struggled along, and there were more howls of laughter than complaints. Miss Brazier began to feel amost exhilarated.

  ‘It won’t be so bad once rationing comes in,’ a man said cynically. ‘We’ll all be so thin, there’ll be more room for us on the pavement.’

  Miss Brazier found herself smiling broadly, though the smile vanished when she heard the lumbering sound of a tram coming directly towards her, headlights dimmed, windows painted black, and she leapt backwards. She must have walked right into the middle of Stanley Road which ran along the top without realising she’d stepped off the pavement. She turned, and walked right into a lamppost. There was a cracking sound as her glasses broke and fell off her nose and her hat fell off her head.

  She cried aloud, frightened.

  ‘Are you all right, luv? What’s up?’ A man’s strong hand grasped her elbow.

  ‘I’ve broke me glasses and lost me hat.’ She felt around with her foot, located the glasses and bent down gingerly to pick them up. One of the lenses was completely shattered.

  ‘I’ve got a torch. What colour is the hat?’

  ‘Black.’ For some reason, she giggled, and the man laughed.

  ‘You couldn’t have picked a worse colour to lose in the blackout, could you?’

  She could see the narrow yellow beam of his torch searching the flags. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s me own fault for not using a hat pin and it was an old one, anyroad,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s have a look at your face, make sure you haven’t cut it.’ The yellow light shone in her eyes and she blinked uncomfortably. ‘No, you’re all still in one piece, like. Which way are you going, luv?’

  ‘Marsh Lane.’

  ‘Well, link me arm and I’ll go as far as the corner with you.’

  Before she could say a word, her arm was tucked in his and they began to stroll along Stanley Road together as if they’d known each other for years. It was an even stranger sensation than the blackout, linking arms with a man.

  ‘What’s your name, luv?’ He had a nice voice, neither young nor old, but deep and slightly musical, with the faint suggestion of an Irish accent.

  ‘Miss Brazier.’

  ‘Miss? That’s a funny name to call someone!’ he chuckled.

  ‘Sorry, it’s Helen.’ There’d been no-one to call her by her first name for so long that she’d almost forgotten what it was.

  ‘Do your friends call you Nellie?’

  ‘No … well, I haven’t got many friends.’

  ‘I’m Louis Murphy, known as Lou. And what d’you mean, Helen, you haven’t got many friends, a fine-looking woman like you?’

  She felt her cheeks burn and wondered what he looked like. She could tell he was tall, his voice came from somewhere above her head and his arm felt lean and wiry.

  ‘I looked after me mother till she died when I was twenty-four,’ she said simp
ly. ‘Since then, I’ve never known how to make friends.’ She hadn’t talked so openly to anyone in her life before, but it seemed easy to say these things in the dark to a total stranger she couldn’t see. ‘You’ll never believe this,’ she went on, gaining confidence, ‘but I’ve spoken to more people coming up Strand Road tonight, then I’ve done since I began work in the Co-op when I left school.’

  ‘You’re just shy, that’s all,’ he said wisely. After a while, he began to tell her about himself. He worked in Burton’s, the Gents’ Outfitters, and lived with his sister, a widow with three young children. It came as a surprise when they reached the corner of Marsh Lane and she felt almost sorry he was going.

  ‘Tell you what, Helen. I’ll meet you on the corner of Stanley Road tomorrow night at the same time, eh?’

  ‘If you like,’ she said shyly, ‘but how will we know each other in the dark?’

  ‘I’ll just keep on saying, “Helen, Helen, Helen” over and over again till you answer,’ he laughed. He patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry, luv, we’ll find each other somehow.’

  Chapter 6

  The lathe had turned into a giant mincing machine. A long strip of red meat was being fed through and chopped up into little cubes. The meat began to travel faster and faster until she lost control. Then the entire machine broke away from the floor and began to dance around the workshop with a horrendous clattering noise. The other girls shrieked with laughter as she chased after the machine and tried to catch it.

  Eileen Costello woke up, the clattering sound still thumping in her head. It had all been a dream, a rather funny dream when you thought about it. She glanced over Tony’s sleeping form at the clock beside the bed. Nearly half past seven. She gave a muffled shriek. ‘I’ve slept in! I mustn’t have heard the alarm.’