The Leaving Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Yes, it’s a pity,’ Olive agreed. She was genuinely sorry for Mollie who’d been really nice to her. Unlike Gertie, unlike most people, Mollie hadn’t looked at her if she were a piece of dirt. Even so, it seemed as if Mollie missing the boat was going to turn out to her advantage, so it wasn’t such a pity, after all.

  An officer, ever such a handsome chap, had come looking for Annemarie bringing the news about her sister. She’d been too stupefied to take it in and Olive wondered if the girl was all there. Gertie had been present and had taken charge. ‘I nurse, I look after child. She need drops from doctor, she not have regular heart.’

  Since then, Gertie had taken Annemarie under her wing, giving her the drops, taking her to see the doctor every day, urging her to eat. Today was the first time she’d had a proper meal. At least, she’d gone for a meal: whether she’d actually eaten it was another matter.

  ‘Did Annemarie eat her breakfast?’ she asked. It had been wrong, dangerous, to get on the wrong side of Gertie. She might remember her threat to report her. Asking after Annemarie seemed to please her.

  Gertie made a face. ‘Only bread and she drink some milk.’

  ‘Oh, well, that should do her some good.’

  ‘Only little good. Mollie say she suffer great shock. Her head all . . . ’ Gertie waved her podgy hands around her own head, leaving Olive to guess what she meant. In a daze, she supposed, all woolly, round the bloody bend.

  Had Annemarie been asked, had she been able to understand, she would have agreed with all three of Olive’s guesses. Ever since the night her father had lain on top of her, causing her great pain, she’d been in a daze and, in the rare moments when she could think clearly, was convinced she must be going mad. Then she would retreat into the world she’d invented for herself, a world in which nothing horrid happened, a make-believe world full of smoke and clouds and thick forests in which she could hide. It was a world without danger where she was determined to stay for as long as she could.

  That Annemarie was only faintly aware of another Annemarie existing outside her make-believe world, a terrified, frightened girl who hated being touched or spoken to, who blindly did what she was told, who was too confused to know who or where she was. Words had imprinted themselves on her woolly mind: New York; Aunt Maggie; Hazel. ‘We’re going to see Hazel,’ Mollie had said. Mollie was the girl’s sister. She didn’t mind when Mollie held her hand and took her to strange places. ‘It’s all right, sis. It’s only a ship,’ Mollie had said.

  But Mollie had disappeared and now another girl was holding her hand, talking to her, taking her somewhere, not knowing that Annemarie was about to retreat into her other world, hide inside one of the clouds, or bury herself in the trees where no one could see her and no one would speak. It was the only place she felt safe.

  A plan was slowly hatching in Olive’s sharp brain. The Queen Maia was more than halfway to America and, last night, Ashley had given her some bad news. ‘The day we land,’ he’d told her, ‘you’d better get back to steerage in good time. Your name’s down on the manifest: if you’re missing, there’ll be hell to play. The ship’ll be searched and you’ll be sent back to where you came from.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Olive swore.

  ‘What’s wrong with being an immigrant? It’s what you started out as.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ she agreed.

  But the next time she was in the cabin alone, she took out Mollie’s passport and studied it, then studied her own face in the mirror. If she half closed her eyes and turned down her mouth, it could have been her in the photo. In fact, it could have been almost any girl in the world. She was two years older than Mollie, but if she went without make-up she could pass for sixteen. Trouble was her hair, once the same brown as Mollie’s, had been bleached almost to destruction: if she bleached it much more it was likely to fall out. Once she reached New York and became Rosalind Raines, she’d let the bleach grow out. But that was then and this was now: how could she acquire different-coloured hair in the middle of the Atlantic?

  A hat! There were two in the suitcase. She’d wear the pink one, one of Mollie’s frocks, and carry her fur cape inside-out - the lining was in much better condition than the fur. She’d look the bee’s knees.

  Then all she had to do was find someone else to take her place in steerage and become Olive Raines. To most people, it would have seemed an impossible task, but she already had someone in mind.

  Since Olive had boarded the ship, she’d been itching like mad and had a strong suspicion she’d caught something horrible - probably off one of the darkies she’d been with on the Dock Road. Once ashore, she’d buy some mercury tablets: they’d cured it the time she’d had it before. When they reached New York, immigrants were subjected to a medical examination and she didn’t want anyone finding out she had a case of the clap. Then, she really would be sent home.

  America, land of hope, haven of democracy, refuge of the oppressed, the country where every man had the opportunity of becoming a millionaire, was a mere two days away. The immigrants on the Queen Maia gathered on their deck on the chance they’d be the first to spy the Statue of Liberty holding her torch aloft, welcoming them to the place where their fortunes would be made, their children would eat three good meals a day, and there was land to spare, acres and acres of it, as much as they could farm. Or they might work in factories making cars, earning colossal wages, enough to buy a car of their own in no time. They imagined gold coins tumbling through their fingers, pockets jammed with dollars, houses full of fine furniture, tables heaped with fine food.

  America! They could hardly wait to get there and sample the riches it had to offer.

  Gertrude Strauss had grown very fond of Annemarie and would miss her badly when the time came for them to part. She was unable to read the letters in the suitcase, but had deduced that Miss Margaret Connelly, whose name was on the back of the envelopes, would almost certainly be waiting to meet the girls. One of the ship’s officers had come round and offered to see Annemarie off the ship, but Gertrude had assured him she would ensure the girl was delivered safely into Miss Connelly’s hands and explain why Mollie hadn’t come with her. She’d inform her that she, Gertrude, was a nurse who had looked after Annemarie throughout the voyage. Miss Connelly might not know about the drops for her heart and be unaware that the girl was in a state of deep shock.

  ‘Mollie say normally she is happy person, but something bad happen,’ she’d say. It would make Gertrude feel extremely important. Miss Connelly would thank her, perhaps even ask if she would like to come and see Annemarie when she was better. Gertrude might even make a friend in New York, and her sister, Bertha, with whom she was going to live, would be very impressed.

  Since the Great War ended, Germany was no longer a good place to live. Money had become worthless and strange, unsavoury people were acquiring power; something called the Nazi Party had been formed. Bertha, who had emigrated to the United States long before the turn of the century with her husband, Hermann, was now a widow and childless, and the sisters had decided to keep each other company in their old age. America was a much better place to be than Germany.

  Relating to Bertha her adventures on the Queen Maia would keep them occupied for days and Gertrude was very much looking forward to it.

  There was a knock on the cabin door. ‘Come in,’ Olive called. She was lying on the bunk, itching like mad, and practising how she would speak when she became Rosalind Raines - quite soon, she hoped, if everything went to plan. The Queen Maia was due to berth in New York at midday. ‘How do you do, darling? So pleased to meet you,’ she said aloud in a dead posh voice.

  Ashley entered, looking harassed, his left eye dancing all over the place. ‘We’ll be docking in a couple of hours and a barge will take your lot to Ellis Island. You’d better get down there quick.’

  ‘A barge?’ She hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about. ‘And what do you mean by “your lot”?’

  ‘A b
arge is a boat, a flat bloody ship,’ he said impatiently, ‘and by your lot, I mean the immigrants. Before you ask, Ellis Island is where you’re processed before you’re allowed into America. I’ve already told you, if someone’s missing, they’ll search the ship. You know which way to go, don’t you? Through the kitchen and down the stairs at the back, the way I brought you in the first place.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, just as impatiently. ‘Just give us a minute to say tata to Annemarie and Miss Strauss.’

  ‘Who were you talking to when I came in?’ He glanced around the cabin, obviously empty apart from the two of them.

  ‘No one. I’m rehearsing a play.’ She tossed her head importantly. ‘I told you I was in show business, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m the King of England.’ He smiled at her with unexpected warmth. ‘Tata, Olive. It’s been nice knowing you. I’ll miss you on the voyage home.’

  ‘Tata, Ashley.’ She wouldn’t miss him.

  The second the door closed, she leapt to her feet, opened the suitcase, flung everything that belonged to Annemarie on to a sheet on the bunk and knotted the corners to make a bundle. Next, she took the leather handbag out of the locker, put in the thirty-six pounds and Mollie’s passport, then went to look for Annemarie, praying she wouldn’t be with Gertie, who’d gone to see if her sister was among the crowd waiting for the ship to dock.

  The deck was already full of people, many with luggage at their feet. The ship felt as if it were merely drifting towards its final destination: New York! Olive paused and looked in wonder at the huge buildings soaring into the sky, all bunched together like candles on a plate. It was an impressive sight: frightening almost. Her heart lifted. Very soon, she would be part of this weird and wonderful place. With Mollie’s money and Mollie’s clothes, she could start a new life. But she wasn’t there yet. There were still things to be done before she landed and became Rosalind Raines.

  Most eyes were fixed on the approaching land, apart from a solitary figure in a green coat leaning over the side of the boat, apparently studying the murky brown water.

  ‘Annemarie!’ The girl turned slowly at the sound of Olive’s voice, her lovely eyes devoid of all recognition. You’d never think they’d shared the same cabin for all of ten days. ‘Come with me, darlin’.’ She held out her hand. The girl took it without a word and meekly allowed Olive to lead her back to the cabin.

  Once there, Olive chewed her lip. She hadn’t thought about it before, but she didn’t want Annemarie coming to any harm. Even so, she had to put herself first. She untied the bundle, and put the girl’s passport, birth certificate, and the letters from New York at the very bottom underneath the clothes, keeping back just one of the letters in case she needed it herself. It would be a while before the things were found, but at least someone would eventually discover who the girl was. She re-tied the sheet and put a piece of paper in Annemarie’s hand, folding her fingers over it. ‘Hold on to this, darlin’,’ she said. It had her own name and address written on it: ‘Olive Raines, 16 Cameron Buildings, Deptford, London. ’ It meant no one would come searching for the real Olive Raines, least not straight away. According to Ashley, the inspection process took five or six hours. By that time, the real Olive Raines hoped to be safely ashore with Mollie’s handbag and Mollie’s suitcase, and wearing Mollie’s clothes.

  Annemarie allowed herself to be pushed and shoved on to the large flat boat. Everyone else was fighting their way on, as if worried they’d be left behind. They spoke in a language she didn’t understand, but their voices were thick with excitement. It was ages before the boat took off and she wondered why they were leaving behind the great white ship they’d sailed on.

  This journey didn’t take long. She bore it patiently, despite being squashed against the side, a little boy clinging to her skirt, sobbing his heart out. It was all very strange. She wondered where the woman had gone who seemed to have taken Mollie’s place. She missed her, and she missed Mollie. Was this a dream? Those buildings she could see, the big, ugly ones that made her shudder with revulsion, could hardly be real. Perhaps she was in hell, along with all these oddly dressed people with their thin, starved faces and haunted eyes.

  Annemarie closed her own eyes and retreated to a place with no people or buildings, just clouds and trees, where she let herself drift, all alone and perfectly safe.

  The barge landed at Ellis Island, the eager passengers poured off, and Annemarie was carried along with them. She left behind the bundle of clothes, having forgotten all about it. It was found later by a seaman and thrown into the baggage room where immigrants collected their belongings after they’d been processed.

  ‘What’s going to happen to her, Doctor?’ the nurse enquired. She spoke with a strong Welsh accent. She and the doctor were in a small end room off the women’s ward in Ellis Island hospital. Annemarie lay on the only bed, fully dressed, unmoving, her eyes wide open, but expressionless. The ribbon that Gertrude had tied on her plait only that morning had come loose, and her black, wavy hair covered her shoulders like a cape.

  ‘They’ll probably keep her for a few days in case anyone comes to claim her, then send her back to where she came from: Liverpool. The steamship line that brought her will pay the cost.’ The young doctor looked troubled. ‘I can’t discover what’s wrong with her. Her heart’s racing a bit, but apart from that, physically, she’s exceptionally fit, has no known diseases, and her name, Olive Raines, is down on the manifest. But how could someone who’s apparently deaf and dumb have come all this way on her own without speaking to a soul?’ The girl had no identification with her, just her name scribbled on a scrap of paper. Already that day, the doctor had dealt with dozens of unfortunates who’d been transferred to the hospital suspected of suffering from tuberculosis, epilepsy, trachoma, and other ailments that would prevent their entry into the United States. It was all in a day’s work, but there was something about Olive Raines that disturbed him.

  ‘She doesn’t look like your usual immigrant,’ the nurse remarked. ‘Those boots she’s wearing cost more than a few dollars, as well as her coat.’

  ‘Mm,’ the doctor said thoughtfully. ‘Look, keep her in this room tonight. I suspect she’s been traumatized and it might do her more harm than good if she snaps out of it in a ward full of strange women.’

  Olive had booked a room in a small hotel within walking distance of the docks. It was clean and would do for a few days until she found a place to live, preferably close to the theatre district - she suspected the theatres would be all clumped together as they were in the West End of London. Now that she had funds, there’d be no need to go back on the game if she failed an audition or two, something she’d been forced to do more times than she could count back home. Trouble was, she’d had no experience or formal training, and hadn’t possessed a decent set of clothes in her life. She’d turned up for auditions looking exactly what she was: a pro, a woman of the streets, who’d just popped in hoping for a cup of tea or to get out the cold, yet she’d like to bet she could sing, dance and act as well as any girl there. She was a natural: just look at how well she’d acted today!

  As soon as she’d got rid of Annemarie, she’d washed off her make-up, slipped into one of Mollie’s frocks - the thick black woolly one with long sleeves and a Peter Pan collar - and pulled the pink hat down over her ears. She’d got quite a shock when she looked in the mirror and seen the prim, rather old-fashioned young woman staring back at her. But there was no time for such indulgences: she grabbed the handbag, picked up the suitcase, and left the cabin. Any minute now, Gertie would be back for Annemarie and there’d be ructions when she found the girl missing.

  She mingled with the crowds on deck, waiting impatiently for what seemed like hours, her heart in her mouth, as the big ship eventually ground to a halt with a rumble and an enormous judder. Minutes later, the passengers began to pour off, Olive with them, her heart still in her mouth. She still wasn’t in the clear: she had to get through Customs with Mollie
’s passport.

  There was a queue at the barrier and she kept an eye out for Gertie, but there was no sign of her cabin mate. When it was her turn, the Customs officer looked at her closely, then back at the photo in the passport. Olive smiled at him brilliantly and said in a perfect imitation of Mollie’s accent, ‘It’s a horrible picture, is it not? I was coming down with the ’flu the day it was taken and I look as if I’m at death’s door.’

  ‘Well, you’re obviously much better now, Miss . . . ’ he looked at the passport again, ‘Miss Kenny. And what is your reason for visiting New York?’

  ‘I’m on holiday. I shall be staying with my aunt, Margaret Connelly, for a few weeks. She lives in Greenwich Village: eighty-eight Bleecker Street.’

  ‘I hope you like our city.’ He gave her the passport back. ‘Have a good time, miss.’

  She’d done it! She went to the Bureau de Change and asked for the pounds to be changed into dollars. In return, she was given a dazzlingly thick wad of notes.

  She’d actually done it!

  Hours later, it had begun to go dark and she was still closeted in the room, stunned by the enormity of what she had achieved. She sat on the bed and counted the money for the fifth or sixth time: $164 and some coins. She tucked it all inside the bag: tomorrow, she’d buy a little purse for the coins. There were quite a few things she wanted to do tomorrow, apart from finding where the theatres were, buying a purse, and getting some mercury tablets for the itch that continued to plague her.

  First, she intended to find a hairdresser and have her hair cut in a shingle - they were all the rage in London - and dyed back to its original dark-brown. The brassy frizz made her look like a tart. She’d like to bet she wouldn’t have been treated quite so respectfully at Customs or by the man on the desk downstairs had she not been wearing Mollie’s hat.