Liverpool Angels

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘I bet you’re glad you managed to get home,’ Mae said, looking at Harry, who nodded and smiled at her. It was really good to see her and he would try to wangle a few minutes alone with her later if he could.

  ‘What exactly do you do all day? March up and down and practise shooting?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Yes, and we have bayonet practice and route marches,’ Jimmy answered, his mouth full of ham.

  ‘And we dig,’ Eddie announced grimly, helping himself to a large slice of crusty homemade bread thickly spread with butter.

  ‘Dig? Dig what?’ Mae asked, bemused.

  ‘Trenches. We’re practising digging trenches,’ Harry said. ‘There’s a big bank of clay and we’re digging it out and moving it.’

  ‘That sounds like a bit of a waste of time,’ Alice remarked scathingly.

  ‘Aye, there’s some of us that think that too,’ Eddie agreed.

  ‘We’ve made up a ditty and we sing it while we dig, it’s to the tune of “Moonlight Bay”.’ Jimmy grinned and launched into song. ‘“We were digging all day, on Derby’s clay—”’

  ‘You were great before tunes were invented, Jimmy Mercer,’ Alice interrupted, covering her ears and pulling a face.

  ‘Do you know how long you’ll stay there before you have to go to France?’ Mae asked, looking directly at Harry.

  ‘They don’t tell us things like that,’ he replied seriously.

  ‘We’re all hoping it won’t be long now. We’re getting fed up with all this “practising”,’ Eddie added.

  ‘Then we’d better all enjoy the evening, hadn’t we?’ Alice said, thinking that it was quite amazing how much older and more grown up Jimmy looked in his uniform. And quite handsome too.

  Before they went home Harry did manage to get a few moments alone with Mae, something he’d been trying to do all evening. ‘When I’ve gone to France will you … miss me, Mae?’ he asked shyly.

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Of course I will. I’ll miss you all. Aunty Maggie is always saying how quiet the place is without you and she’s right.’ She was trying to keep the conversation light although she realised that he was hoping for something a bit more serious.

  ‘I mean … especially … me? You know how I feel about you, Mae.’

  ‘I know, Harry, and I really do like you a lot,’ she answered. It was true but she still didn’t know if her feelings went deeper than just affection.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again, Mae. None of us know how long we’ll be away or even if … we’ll—’

  ‘I’ll write to you, Harry, I promise,’ she interrupted hastily; she didn’t want to think about the possibility that he might not come back. It was too awful to contemplate.

  ‘Can I … kiss you, Mae? A goodbye kiss?’

  She felt apprehension and confusion wash over her and yet she was curious. She’d never been kissed by a boy before and wondered what it would be like. Perhaps if she let him kiss her it would help her to make up her mind about how she really felt? Perhaps it would make her realise whether she did care deeply for him or not. She nodded and closed her eyes and felt his arms around her as he drew her close. His mouth was gentle on hers and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, she thought, but she didn’t feel any different. She wasn’t overcome by any sweeping emotions. It was just pleasant and she felt slightly disappointed. Then he released her and she opened her eyes. He was gazing at her with an expression of love and pride and she felt guilty that she didn’t feel the same way.

  ‘You’re the only girl for me, Mae. You’re very special. I’ll write to you as often as I can,’ he promised.

  She smiled at him. ‘I know. Goodbye and take care of yourself, Harry,’ she replied as he turned towards the door.

  When he’d gone she sighed. Her feelings hadn’t changed. She didn’t love him, she was just fond of him and it had only been a goodbye kiss as far as she was concerned. However, she was fully aware that that wasn’t how he viewed it and for that she felt sorry and more than a little guilty.

  Unbeknown to them both their farewell had been watched quietly by Maggie and John. As Harry left, Maggie smiled at her brother. ‘Well, that looks like a budding romance to me,’ she whispered.

  John frowned. ‘She’s too young for romance, Maggie, and even though I’ve nothing against the lad – I like him – I have to say that I was hoping for … more for her.’

  Maggie was surprised. ‘He’s a good lad, John. He’s steadier and more serious than their Jimmy and you know what kind of a family he comes from.’

  John nodded slowly. It was difficult to put into words but he wanted something better for Mae than just being the wife of a factory worker. ‘I know all that, Maggie.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Oh, she’s still very young and who knows what the future holds for any of them?’ he said.

  Maggie didn’t pursue the matter but she thought that Mae hadn’t chosen too badly in young Harry Mercer. Surely her brother would accept that – in time?

  When it was announced in March, the appeal for women to serve their country by signing up for war service was not met with much enthusiasm by Maggie. ‘I don’t care what the Government says, Alice and Mae’ve both got decent jobs and I’m not having them working on the railways or the docks or in a munitions factory or – God forbid – in a coal yard! They’re already doing a lot of the work of the men who’ve joined up. That’s sufficient,’ she stated grimly to Agnes.

  ‘I blame a lot of it on that Pankhurst woman and those suffragettes,’ Agnes added. Neither of them approved of the Women’s Suffrage Movement or their activities, despite what their daughters thought. ‘I read that she even said women are only “too anxious” to be recruited – I ask you! She’s certainly not speaking for me!’

  Maggie nodded. ‘And that Mrs Fox saying women are capable of doing any job! It’s this war, Agnes, it’s … wreaking havoc with society and morals. Young girls filling shells and carting coal! What are things coming to? Well, those two will stay where they are. It’s enough that the lads’ll be going off next month,’ she finished determinedly.

  The Lusitania wasn’t due to make her next trip until 17 April and so John was able to join the family when they went to see the battalions of the King’s Liverpool Regiment when, early that month, they marched to Lime Street Station to board the trains that would take them to Grantham in Lincolnshire and then on to France.

  The trees in St John’s Gardens at the back of St George’s Hall were in blossom and the spring flowers were a riot of colour in the neat beds as on that sunny April morning Maggie and her family and Agnes and hers made their way into the city. The streets were crowded, the traffic at a standstill and the police working hard to control the crowds.

  ‘We’ll never get anywhere near the station!’ Maggie exclaimed as they pushed their way along the pavement outside the Empire Theatre.

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ John promised, but the closest they got was outside the Washington Hotel and the police stood two deep at the station entrance.

  ‘We won’t be able to see them at all,’ Mae said disappointedly. ‘We won’t be able to get through the police lines.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that,’ her father commiserated with her and they resigned themselves to wait with the thousands of other families.

  At last they heard the sound of the regimental bands and the crowds erupted into a cheering, waving mass as the first line of khaki-clad soldiers from the 17th Battalion swung into Lime Street, their battalion colonel at their head. A token force of twelve men from the newly formed County Palatine Artillery marched behind them, the white horse of Hanover on their cap badges, an irony lost on almost everyone in the crowd. Following them were the men of the 18th Battalion and both families craned their necks to try to spot the lads within their ranks.

  They were all young, strong, fresh-faced and so smart in their uniforms, Maggie thought with pride as they marched jauntily to the strains of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’.


  John, who was taller than everyone else, suddenly shouted and pointed and the rest of them caught sight of Eddie, Jimmy, Harry and young Tommy Mitford marching together and grinning widely.

  Then they were all shouting and laughing and yet both Mae and Alice were aware that tears were coursing down their faces. ‘It’s daft’ – Alice dashed a hand across her wet cheeks – ‘we’re all so cheerful and yet we’re bawling like babies.’

  ‘It’s because we’re so proud of them, Alice!’ Mae laughed.

  When the last soldier had disappeared in to the cavernous station concourse John and Bertie, with some difficulty, ushered them all towards the tram stop.

  ‘They were a fine sight and I’m glad I was here to see it and I know we all wish them well,’ John said.

  ‘We are proud of them,’ Maggie agreed. ‘But … it’s a terrible worry just the same,’ she went on quietly. Now that the lads had finally left she felt bereft and terribly anxious, wondering what the future held for them.

  Ten days later she bade goodbye to her brother. ‘You take care of yourself and don’t go bringing a ton of tinned stuff back, I’ve still got plenty left.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Just the odd one then, Maggie. Look after yourself and the girls – no letting them sign up to work in a coal yard.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve no intention of doing that, John,’ she replied firmly; then she leaned back against the door jamb and watched him as he walked briskly down the street towards the tram stop. She’d become used to him spending longer at home and so had Mae. She wished he’d find a shore job. She felt he was getting too old for such heavy work, but he wanted to do his ‘bit’ too and she could understand that. Well, it would certainly be very quiet now, with just herself and the girls in the house, she thought as she turned back into the lobby.

  It was Agnes who came flying into the kitchen that Saturday evening in May, still with her apron on, her face drained of all colour, her eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Agnes! In the name of God, what’s wrong?’ Maggie cried, her heart dropping like a stone, instinctively knowing something terrible had happened.

  ‘Oh, Maggie! Oh, Maggie!’ Agnes was clutching her apron and fighting down the sobs, the tears now streaming down her cheeks.

  Maggie’s hand went to her throat as Alice grabbed Mae’s hand and clung to it tightly. ‘What? Is it … one of the lads?’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘It’s … it’s … the Lucy! Oh, God, Maggie! They’ve sunk the Lusitania! There’s hundreds lost!’

  Mae gasped in utter disbelief. It couldn’t be true! It couldn’t! ‘NO!’ she screamed as Maggie’s knees gave way and she sank, shaking, into a chair.

  ‘John!’ Maggie cried in a strangled voice. ‘He … he wouldn’t have stood a chance, not … down there in the stokehold!’

  Agnes put her arms around her friend and held her tightly and they both sobbed uncontrollably, Maggie for a brother she had loved dearly and who had been her strength and security over the years, and Agnes for her dear old friend.

  ‘Oh, Alice … Alice … I can’t believe it,’ Mae wept as she fell into her cousin’s arms. Her da, her wonderful, generous, loving da … was never coming home again.

  Their grief filled the room and was almost unbearable to witness, Bertie thought as he came into the kitchen, having followed Agnes. He was deeply shaken himself, consumed with grief and anger. He’d been in the city centre when he’d heard the cries of the news vendor and had grabbed a copy of the early edition of the paper. You could almost feel the shock and disbelief that had gripped everyone on the streets as the facts became known. The Lusitania had been torpedoed off the Old Head of Kinsale in County Cork as, nearing home, she’d slowed her speed to ensure she caught the tide at the Mersey Bar on Sunday morning. Two explosions had ripped through her and in barely twenty-one minutes she’d sunk; it was feared that over a thousand men, women and children had gone down with her – amongst them John Strickland. The members of the Black Gang would have been the first to die; Bertie had known that instantly.

  He did his best to help Agnes comfort Maggie and the girls but at length realised he wasn’t being of much use. ‘I’ll go back over, luv, your mam is upset too,’ he said quietly.

  Agnes nodded, trying to put aside her own feelings. ‘I’ll make us some tea, it’ll help with the shock,’ she said, patting Maggie on the shoulder.

  Maggie nodded and dabbed at her swollen eyes, trying to calm herself for both Alice and Mae’s sake. ‘Thanks, Agnes. Why? Why the Lucy? That’s what I keep asking myself. They were carrying people, not cargo.’

  ‘They couldn’t have mistaken her for another ship, they must have known!’ Agnes concurred, then her eyes hardened. ‘But maybe they just didn’t care! Who knows what goes on in the minds of those … fiends! Everything we’ve heard about them must be true, to deliberately fire on helpless people, babies even! It defies belief. Oh, I hope our Jimmy and Harry blast every single one they come across to hell!’

  Maggie didn’t reply. Strangely she didn’t feel angry, just overcome by a terrible sense of grief and loss. Maybe the anger would come later. She looked to where Mae, inconsolable, was sobbing quietly in Alice’s arms. Oh, poor, poor Mae! Losing her mother when only a few days old and now … now her da. She had no one in the world except herself, Alice and Eddie – and who knew what lay ahead for Eddie on the battlefields of France.

  A sombre atmosphere had prevailed in Agnes’s house since Saturday. Bertie was reading out a report from the Daily Post & Mercury to Agnes and her mother on the Monday evening. ‘It states specifically “that she was hit low down on the starboard side between the third and fourth funnels by one torpedo but survivors have said there were two explosions very close together and there is now speculation that she was carrying ammunition”,’ he read, ‘but I don’t believe a word of it. John and I had a talk about the danger of U-boats and he said they never carry explosives, just food, wood, iron bars, things like that, and I believe him. The company wouldn’t put their passengers at risk by carrying munitions.’

  Agnes rubbed her forehead; she seemed to have had a headache for days. ‘I don’t suppose they would but what good does it do for the papers to go on endlessly reporting all the facts and details? All those poor souls are dead.’

  Bertie nodded but something John Strickland had said suddenly came back to him. ‘Coal dust,’ he said aloud.

  Agnes and his mother-in-law looked at him as though he’d lost his wits. ‘“Coal dust”?’ Agnes repeated.

  ‘John said that coal dust is a very unstable substance; a spark from a boot on the iron deck or a shovel and it will explode. I wonder, did that cause the second explosion? She was nearly home, off the coast of Cork, when the torpedo hit. Her bunkers must have been almost empty – except for coal dust.’

  Edith Webster was losing patience with her son-in-law whom she had always considered to be on the pedantic side. ‘What does it matter now, Bertie, for God’s sake? The Lucy is at the bottom of the ocean and all this debating what happened won’t bring her back, or any of the poor souls who perished, so let’s hear no more about it. I’ll put the kettle on,’ she finished firmly.

  Agnes shrugged and then frowned. ‘What’s that noise? Can you hear it, Bertie? It sounds like shouting.’

  Bertie got up and went through into the shop and opened the door, looking up the street. It was shouting; in fact it was more than that, it was yelling and there was a crowd of people in front of Ziegler’s shop. Agnes had joined him. ‘What’s going on?’

  Bertie looked grim. ‘Looks like the riots have reached us, Agnes. There’s a mob outside Ziegler’s. People are so furious about the Lucy they’re attacking anything with a German name.’ Liverpudlians felt great affinity for their liners, particularly the three big Cunarders, and there were many families like Maggie’s who had lost loved ones.

  Agnes was astonished. ‘But … but Harold Ziegler isn’t German. He was born here; he’s as British as you and me.’

  �
�Try telling them that,’ Bertie said.

  ‘Where are the police?’ Agnes cried, pushing past him and going into the street. She could see no sign of them.

  ‘Come inside, Agnes!’ Bertie called to her but she ignored him and ran across to Maggie’s house.

  ‘There’s a rabble outside Ziegler’s, screaming abuse and throwing stones,’ she informed her friend.

  Maggie looked at her in some confusion. ‘Why?’

  Agnes told her what had been going on all over the city in retaliation for the recent tragedy and as she listened Maggie felt anger begin to grow in her. ‘So, they’re taking it out on poor Harold and Esther?’ She thought of Isaac and of how he’d helped her, of Rachel Ziegler who had always been kind to her and Harold and Esther who worked so hard and were so polite and inoffensive. She grabbed Agnes by the arm. ‘Well, I’m not having it! They had nothing to do with sinking the Lucy!’

  As they hurried up the street towards the tailor’s shop they heard the sound of breaking glass but whereas Agnes hesitated, Maggie quickened her steps. The shop window was smashed in completely and a couple of lads were already helping themselves to whatever they could and that infuriated her even further.

  She roughly shoved her way through the roaring crowd until she reached the front, and glimpsed at the back of the shop a terrified, sobbing Esther clinging to Harold, who was white-faced with fear. Maggie turned on those nearest her, bawling at the top of her voice and grabbing hold of one lad who was clutching a smart tailored waistcoat. ‘You thieving little toe-rag! You’re nothing but a bunch of bloody robbers and hooligans! Get out of here and leave these people alone!’

  ‘They’re bloody Germans! They sunk the Lucy!’ a man bellowed back.

  ‘Aye, they deserve it, they sunk the Lucy!’ another yelled and they surged forward.

  Maggie held her ground, shaking with fury for she recognised a lot of them; they lived in this neighbourhood and knew the Zieglers. ‘They are no more German than I am, you know that and you all know me! I’m Maggie McEvoy and my own brother was a stoker on the Lucy. Would I be defending them if I believed they’d killed Big John Strickland?’