by Rosie Harris
Even though he changed into a newly laundered white shirt and his smart navy blue suit and went off out to the pub as usual immediately afterwards, Eddy still felt things were improving. He had settled into his new job and his dad had at last stopped telling him that he would never be as good as Charlie. It would soon be Christmas, so he hoped they could put all their troubles behind them and start the new year with a clean slate.
Two days before Christmas, Eddy felt he had never worked so hard in his life. He was so tired that he’d almost nodded off on the boat coming home from Birkenhead. As soon as he’d finished his evening meal he went upstairs for a nap, and the minute he lay down he drifted into a deep sleep.
He thought he was still dreaming when he felt someone hauling him out of bed by one leg. Still drowsy, he crashed heavily onto the floor. Blinking awake he saw that his father was standing over him, a look of rage contorting his face.
‘What the hell do you bloody well think you are playing at, whacker,’ his father snarled, viciously jabbing him in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
Bewildered, Eddy shook his head to try and clear his mind as the fumes of beer and tobacco, that were coming from his dad, almost choked him.
‘What d’yer mean? What have I done wrong?’ he stuttered.
‘You may well ask,’ his father snarled. ‘I bought you a chicken as a present and you’ve bloody well neglected it. You’ve cleared off to bed and left it without food or water. Is that the thanks I get?’
Eddy struggled to his feet and began pulling on his boots. ‘Sorry!’ he mumbled. ‘I was so tired I couldn’t stay awake. I’ll see to it now.’
‘Don’t worry, Eddy, I’ll do it,’ Vera told him, as she appeared in the doorway.
Michael Quinn swung round and pushed her away from Eddy’s bedroom door. ‘Keep out of this,’ he thundered. ‘It’s got nothing at all to do with you. Mind your own bloody business. Stay indoors with your mother and young Benny while I sort this out. Understand?’
Not waiting for Eddy to finish dressing he grabbed him by the arm and roughly dragged him down the stairs. Opening the door into the yard Michael thrust him out into the cold, frosty night leaving the door wide open. Eddy shook his arm away. ‘I’ll have to go back inside, I haven’t got any bread,’ he protested.
‘You won’t need bread, whacker! Now, lift that bloody chicken out of the crate. Go on, do as I tell you!’ Michael Quinn roared as Eddy hesitated.
Shivering, partly with the cold, partly with apprehension, Eddy did as his father ordered. The light from the open doorway streamed across the backyard. The chicken struggled for a moment then settled against Eddy’s chest, its bright eyes eager as if it was expecting to be fed.
‘Grab it round the neck with both hands,’ his father ordered.
‘What for? I might hurt it if I do that.’
‘Do as you’re bloody well told before I grab you round the soddin’ neck.’
Gingerly, still cradling the chicken in one arm, Eddy placed both his hands on its neck as he’d been ordered to do.
‘Not like that, you bloody idiot. Hold your hands so that you can twist them one against the other. Go on. Now, twist! As hard as you can.’
Bile rose up in Eddy’s mouth as he realised what his father was telling him to do.
‘I can’t do that … it will kill it,’ he gasped.
‘Of course it bloody well will. Best thing that can happen to it if you can’t be bothered to feed it, though, isn’t it!’
He suddenly moved closer, his large calloused hands closing over Eddy’s, forcing the boy to twist one hand against the other. There was a panicked squawk from the chicken as it tried desperately to break free, but Michael Quinn increased the pressure of his own hands over those of Eddy’s. When he released his grasp the chicken was limp.
Tears blinded Eddy’s eyes as he held the lifeless body, and white feathers drifted down onto the yard like a sprinkling of snow.
Before he knew what was happening, his father had taken a penknife from his pocket and slit the chicken’s throat. As hot blood gushed out over his hands Eddy dropped the bird in horror. Picking it up, his father tied its legs together and suspended it upside down from the edge of the crate. ‘No point in wasting it! We’ll have it for our Christmas dinner,’ he said complacently as he turned on his heel and went indoors.
Chapter Eight
Vera was quite sure that none of them would ever forget Christmas 1922. Except perhaps little Benny who, since he had had only just turned three, had very little idea about what was going on.
The tension as they sat down to eat their Christmas dinner was palpable. Their father was the only one who seemed relaxed enough to pick up his knife and fork and attack the food on his plate with relish.
Vera had helped her mother to do the cooking, although neither of them had any stomach for what should have been the most enjoyable meal of the year. The beautiful black and white chicken that Michael Quinn had told Eddy he had bought for him as a pet, lay in a big serving dish that occupied the centre of the table. It was surrounded by roast potatoes, Brussels sprouts, carrots and parsnips. There was another dish full of boiled potatoes and a smaller one with peas in it.
A mouth-watering feast, better than anything they had sat down to all year, but none of them had any appetite for it. Each of them knew, though, that if they refused to eat what was put on their plates it would incur Michael’s wrath, and they dare not even think about the consequences if that happened.
The moment they were all seated, Michael picked up the carving knife and fork and signalled to his wife to place the loaded serving dish in front of him.
‘Nice looking bird,’ he commented, as he pierced the crisp, brown outer skin with the fork, and plunged the knife into the crevice where one of the legs joined the carcass.
He licked his lips as juices spurted out. Calmly, he severed one plump leg and laid it on his own plate. He selected a generous helping of the vegetables that surrounded it on the serving dish and arranged them on his own plate. Carving off a thick slice of creamy breast meat he laid that on top. Reaching out, he picked up the gravy jug and lavishly covered the food on his plate.
‘Any of the rest of you want any?’ he asked staring at each of them in turn.
The silence seemed to amuse him.
‘How about you, Edmund, since you did all the hard work fattening this bird up?’
Eddy looked away, covering his mouth with his hand as his stomach churned.
His father shrugged ‘Please yourself.’
He sliced off another thick piece of breast and put it straight into his mouth. Chewing noisily, he replaced the carving knife and fork onto the platter and pushed it towards Annie.
‘Yer mam’ll cut you some if you want it, after she’s helped herself and put some out for our Vera and young Benny, of course.’
No one moved or spoke as he tucked into his own huge serving with enthusiasm.
‘Get on with it, woman, before it bloody well gets cold and is ruined,’ he instructed. ‘Dish some out to all of them, Eddy as well.’
He continued to devour his own meal, but watched closely to see that his wife did as he’d ordered.
As she was about to pass a plateful to Eddy, he held her arm and scrutinised what was on the plate.
‘That won’t do at all!’ He shook his head firmly. ‘That’s not a decent meal for a lad! No wonder he looks more like a scrawny eleven-year-old than fifteen. Anyway, since he was the one who spent so much of his spare time with the bird he deserves a king-size share of it. Give it here, woman!’
He snatched the plate out of Annie’s hands, spilling some of the vegetables and gravy as he did so. Picking up the carving knife again he hacked off one of the wings and piled that on top of the other food on Eddy’s plate.
‘Now eat! I only want to see a pile of bones left! Understand?’ He looked round the table with an amused smirk on his face. ‘That goes for the lot of you. No one gets down until their plate’
s clean.’ They ate in utter silence, pushing the meat around, trying to hide it. It was as if each mouthful was choking them. What should have been a happy, joyous occasion was an unbearably tense experience that seemed to go on for ever. All of them kept glancing sideways at each other, peeping to see how much was left on everyone else’s plates.
For once, both Vera and Eddy wished that their father would do his usual trick of reaching out and spearing the meat from their plates, telling them that they didn’t need it.
Only Benny seemed to enjoy his meal. Annie had mashed up vegetables, cut a slice of breast into tiny slivers and moistened them with gravy, so he was tucking in with great gusto.
The rest of them managed to eat their vegetables, but none of them could bring themselves to touch the chicken. They’d all tried to hide it under the gravy that was now cold and congealing on their plates.
Their father watched with growing anger and they knew he was not prepared to leave it at that.
‘I said clean plates and that was what I meant. We’re not wasting one scrap of that bird!’
‘It’s all right I’ll make it into a really nice soup for tomorrow,’ Annie said quickly.
‘You’ll do no such thing! I’m not agreeing to that,’ Michael sneered. ‘Get eating, the lot of you, and that goes for you in particular,’ he snarled, prodding Eddy’s arm sharply with the prongs of his fork.
Belching loudly, he pushed back his chair and slouched over to the armchair that he regarded as his own. ‘Get on with it, the pubs won’t be opening tonight so I’m in no hurry. You can bloody well sit there until tomorrow morning for all I care.’
They waited until the surfeit of food lulled Michael Quinn into a sleep that was punctuated by grotesque snores. Annie and Vera swiftly took each plate and scraped the meat from the bones. They then dropped it inside the jug that still held enough gravy to cover it.
‘Stay where you are for a minute,’ their mother told them as she put the bones back on their plates. She stood up, moving away from the table and deliberately brushed against her husband’s leg as she did so.
He woke with a startled grunt. ‘What the hell are you doing? I said no one was to move from the table until they’d cleared their plates.’
‘You don’t expect them to eat the bones as well, do you, Mike?’ she asked sarcastically.
He sat up and looked across at the table, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. ‘No, they can leave those. Use them along with the carcass for that bloody stew or soup you said you were going to make. Remember to cut all the meat off the carcass for me first.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ll do that,’ she promised. I’ll slice it off, cover it with gravy so that it won’t dry out, and then I’ll warm it up for your meal tomorrow.’
As he gave his approval and sank back into sleep, Annie picked up the gravy jug. She signalled to Vera to start clearing the table, then she carried the jug of meat and gravy out to the scullery.
‘There’s pudding and custard, so you can all fill up on that,’ she told them. ‘I’ll put it into dishes and you can take it up to your bedrooms and eat it there.’
Benny was unable to understand what had happened to the chicken. In the days that followed he spent endless hours looking for it even after they tried to explain to him that it had flown away.
Vera did her best to distract Benny by taking him out to the park as often as possible, as well as taking him with her whenever she had to go and deliver boots or shoes for her father.
Although this saved her mother from having to look after him, it also meant that she wasn’t helping as much around the home as she felt she ought to.
Anyone could see that Annie Quinn had lost weight. She was beginning to look as if a puff of wind would blow her away. Although she never complained, Vee couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to have no energy for tackling the everyday jobs, and very little interest in what was going on outside their home.
Her mother’s main concern was making sure that Benny was all right, and keeping Eddy out of his dad’s way. Vera helped as much as she could on both counts, but it was Benny’s welfare that concerned her most. Eddy, she reasoned, was big enough to look out for himself, but Benny was too little to understand if he was being bullied or to do anything about it.
To be fair, she had to admit that she’d never heard her dad raise his voice directly at Benny. For the most part he ignored him, as long as he wasn’t crying. And, now that he was older and able to ask for things, Benny didn’t cry anywhere near as much.
She knew her mother spoiled him. He never went hungry, in fact he was always given the best bits of whatever they were eating. As a result he was growing into a very sturdy little boy. Vera often found that when Benny was with her when she was doing deliveries, with his huge blue eyes, thick blond curls and winning smile he was the one who was given a penny or two, not her.
Usually she saw that he spent the money on a cake or a bun on the way home. She was afraid that if her dad saw him clutching his pennies he might take them off him.
She enjoyed the way Benny prattled on about everything they saw when they were out, and she marvelled at his boundless energy. He never seemed to be tired, or ask to be carried, and his little legs somehow always managed to keep up with her, even when she was in a hurry.
‘You’ll never find yourself a boyfriend, Vee, as long as you’ve always got Benny in tow,’ her friend Rita told her.
‘I’d sooner have his company than that of most of the boys we know,’ Vera countered.
‘He’s lovely, but I’d rather go for a walk with his big brother than with him,’ Rita laughed.
Eddy had matured a great deal since working at Cammell Laird’s and being in the company of older men who treated him as an equal. Since the episode with the chicken at Christmas he had avoided his father whenever possible. If he found himself in the living room alone with Michael, he quietly went out or up to his bedroom. Vera knew that it was a sensible way to behave, but she found herself missing Eddy’s company.
He and Rita were closer than ever. They spent a considerable amount of time in each other’s company. But Vera often felt deprived of her friend’s company, too, and sometimes felt quite isolated.
Because of his new life, Eddy didn’t spend very much time with Benny, either. As the days became warmer, and the evenings lighter, Vera often wished Eddy would play with him or take him for a walk. In the end, one Sunday, she suggested that perhaps he and Rita could take Benny out.
‘It will give me a chance to tackle the ironing that’s piled up all week because mam hasn’t felt well enough to do it,’ she told him.
‘Oh, Vee, any other time of course I would, but we’ve made plans to go out with a crowd of friends,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ll do it next week, I promise.’
‘No need for you to trouble yourself. You can bugger off and I’ll take Benny for a walk.’
Vera jumped in surprise. She’d had no idea that her father was within earshot. ‘It’s all right, I’ll manage,’ she said quickly.
‘I’ll take Benny for a walk so go and get him ready!’
‘Very well.’ Quickly Vera dressed him in clean clothes and put on his outdoor shoes.
‘Ready?’ Michael Quinn held out his hand to the toddler. ‘Come on then.’
Vera felt concerned. Benny was sturdy, but he wasn’t yet four years old and she wasn’t sure if her father appreciated that fact.
‘You won’t walk too fast or too far, will you Dad,’ she begged. ‘If he starts to lag because he’s tired you will carry him won’t you?’ she pleaded.
‘I always carried you when you were his size didn’t I?’
‘Yes, Dad, you did. Always!’ She smiled at the recollection. Those moments were still bright jewels in her memory. Sometimes she wondered if they had ever happened. Those halcyon days, when they’d lived in Wallasey and played on the shore at New Brighton, seemed like remnants from another life.
Her father had always been laughing and hap
py in those days, and her mother had been full of life and had joined in their fun. Why had he changed so much, she asked herself, as she watched her father set off down the street, Benny clasping his hand tightly, his little legs going like pistons as he tried to keep up with his father’s long strides.
From then on, it became routine for Michael to take Benny for a walk on Sundays whenever the weather was fine. The fact that Benny came back so tired that he could barely eat his meal before falling asleep worried Vera. When she asked him where they’d been she couldn’t make any sense of his answers. From what little she gleaned, as he prattled on about water and boats, it seemed that her father must be taking him down to the Pier Head.
Finally, overcome by curiosity, and concerned about Benny’s exhaustion, she decided to follow them.
It was a beautiful hot, sunny day in late July. She’d dressed Benny in a bright blue sailor suit she’d bought from the market, and with his white socks, and little black shoes, he looked angelic.
Tentatively, without revealing what she intended to do, she suggested to her mother that they should go for a walk, but to her relief her mother declined.
‘I find this heat exhausting,’ she sighed. ‘I’d much rather go and have a lie down.’
Vera gave her father and Benny time to reach the corner of the road before she began to tail them. She knew she had to be careful in case Benny turned round and saw her. If that happened she would have a job explaining to her father what she was doing.
To her surprise they boarded a tram, and for a moment she thought she had lost them. Then she realised that it would be going to the Pier Head so all she had to do was catch the next one.
When she reached there it was so congested that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to find them. But then she caught sight of them walking down the floating roadway onto the Wallasey ferry boat.
Making sure they didn’t see her, she followed them onto the boat. When they finally reached Seacombe her father and Benny were amongst the first off the boat and they were again lost in the crowd. The next time she caught sight of them they were heading towards the Seacombe Ferry Hotel.