BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Polish Connection
A Woman Undefeated
Dreams Can Come True
Ping Pong Poms
Innocence Lost
SHATTERED DREAMS
Vivienne Dockerty
Copyright © 2012 Vivienne Dockerty
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
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concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador
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Typeset in 11pt Aldine401 BT Roman by Troubador Publishing Ltd, Leicester, UK
Printed and bound in the UK by TJ International, Padstow, Cornwall
Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
To my niece Cathy, with gratitude for your support
and interest in my work.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I wrote this book with a lot of tears and heartache in the memory of my parents, who only looked for happiness as we all do, but their dreams were shattered by the Depression and the onset of the Second World War. They were a couple whose destiny was shaped by the decisions of weak and posturing politicians and a man named Adolph Hitler (the Devil Incarnate), who lived at that time on the earth.
I am grateful to my mother, Kathleen, an aspiring author, who left me a manuscript “Ted's story” written at my father's request. He said that there were so many recordings of the bare historical facts, that it would be good if a real soldier told his story. I have tried to adhere to it as much as possible, but some of the story has been fictionalised.
CHAPTER ONE
The young man turned his back on his father and walked to the door, temper making his body tremble whilst he fought to keep his feelings under control.
“I’ve told yer before, son, everything will be yours when I die. Now stop whining and get yerself down the lane and make a start on them footin’s.”
J.C. Dockerty, a small, grey haired, well-padded man in his fifties, sat back in his favourite chair and took a large swig from the glass of Guinness that his wife had placed on the table beside him. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to his dinner. Eddie, his eldest son, could be a right pain in the arse sometimes, always complaining about something or other. It had been the lorry this morning and now he was on about the deeds of the bungalow.
What more did the little bugger want? Everything that J.C. owned would be Eddie’s one day, with him being the elder son. Though it wasn’t strictly true was it? said the man’s voice of conscience. He had promised the bungalow that Eddie was building in his spare time to his older daughter, Caitlin, who was to be married in the autumn to the son of a farmer from over Shropshire way. J.C. couldn’t let it be seen that a wealthy man, such as himself, would be paltry in his wedding gift to the young couple. A brand new house was the least he could give, if he was to keep his standing amongst the other members of the Rotary Club.
Young people got it so easy these days, he thought to himself. When he was the same age as Eddie, he’d had to serve an apprenticeship in the family business too. Rising at cock crow to get over to the quarry, loading up the horse and cart with the small stones he had broken up himself, a process called ‘knapping’, from the rocks the previous day. Having the stone on the building site, used for the footings as there was no cement in his day, before the brickies arrived to start their work, then having to hang around in all weathers, whilst learning the tricks of the trade. At least Eddie got to ride around in the lorry, was paid three half crowns on a Saturday and had use of the family car. It was more than his other sons were getting. Terry, Sam and Mickey only got bed and board.
Eddie hurried down the dirt track to the plot of land at the bottom of the family’s garden. Anger had brought on a rush of adrenaline making him suddenly feel full of energy, even though he had been working since six that day. Though his father had just announced to him that everything was to be his one day (wouldn’t that wipe the smile off the faces of his siblings who all toadied up to their father), the fact was his father wouldn’t listen if he tried to talk to him man to man. It irked him greatly. He wasn’t a snot-nosed schoolboy, he was an adult now, capable of going out into the world and earning a man’s wage. But if he had to buckle down and take the curses and sometimes the blows from his tyrant of a father, so be it. His sisters and his brothers would all be dancing to their big brother’s tune when he inherited the lot in years to come. And it was a lot to inherit. Father had a large stone quarry, a big eight-roomed house here in its own grounds, row upon row of terraced houses in Birkenhead that he got the rents from and soon a large estate of middle class dwellings that his workforce was about to make a start on. That was without the two-seater Ford that his father had recently taken delivery of. The first one of its kind in the district and J.C.’s pride and joy. It was Eddie’s job to keep it maintained for his father. Keeping it topped up with oil and petrol, washing and polishing it, so that all J.C. had to do was jump in and drive himself anywhere he wanted.
Eddie had every reason to feel proud of himself. Being given a piece of land by his father was quite a responsibility, but as his father had said, if he was going to be the boss of the company in the future, he had to learn how to build a house from the bottom to the top. That meant digging out the footings, laying down the base and working on the brickwork. Later he would be given help by his brothers, as Terry had been trained in carpentry, Mickey was a plasterer and Sam, still a schoolboy, had recently been shown how to key in the roofing slates. All Eddie would have to do then was ask his girlfriend, Irene, the girl of his dreams, to marry him and then they could move in! He was certain she would say yes when he proposed to her. They had been courting for two years and it was time they settled down.
Eddie’s anger towards his father ebbed away as his mind dwelt on his beloved. He would have another word with his father tomorrow over the lorry. The tipper had broken on it and the loads had to be taken off manually, the back lights were not working and he’d been stopped by the police again. J.C. had called it whining when Eddie had broached him about buying a new lorry, but none of it mattered really. He would order a fleet of lorries, when the business passed to him.
Today had been a disaster from the very start. First the bus was late taking her into Birkenhead, causing her to be reprimanded by the floor manager. Then she was sent to assist the window dresser, a complaining, grumbling little man for whom she could never seem to do right. Then because he made her feel nervous, she had knocked over a pedestal, which in turn had crashed into some glass shelves. The sound of smashing glass and the man ranting and raving at her was still a recent memory resounding in her ears.
Irene was looking forward to doing what she always did when life at work got too much for her: a good book and a small bar of chocolate always seemed to do the trick, putting her in a relaxing mood when it was time to go to sleep.
“When are you going to see your young man again, Irene?”asked Aunt Miriam, a thin lady in her early sixties, with snowy white hair that she wore in a bun under a navy blue, Chinese style hat. They were sitting enjoying a pot of tea after the kitchen had been tidied and her niece had changed out of her shop uniform of a white long-sleeved blouse and black calf-length skirt, into a flowery poplin summer frock with short, puffed sleeves.
“I don’t know really, probably at the weekend. He’s very busy at the moment preparing the foundations of a house that his father has set him to building. Eddie sees it as a challenge, to show his father how well he can do.”
“I bet he’s a handsome boy, your Eddie. And fancy you having the attentions of the son of a wealthy local builder. One day you might be riding round in one of those big silver cars!”
“A Rolls Royce, I think you mean, Aunty, but I don’t think that will happen. He’s not even taken me to meet his parents yet and you’d think that he would have done, since I’ve known him for two years. Though I think Eddie may be wary of upsetting his father, because I’m a Protestant and his family are Roman Catholic, though they don’t seem to be practicing, as him and his brothers went to Thurstaston school. I suppose if we did get married one day we wouldn’t be allowed to marry in a church.”
“I don’t think that not being the same religion would stand in the way of a man in love. You’re a lovely girl and as pretty as a picture. He would have to go a long way to find someone as loving and kind as you are. I should know. I don’t know how I would have got over losing Tom, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Oh, Aunty, that’s a lovely thing for you to say. I’m glad that Father suggested I come over to keep you company. Since Isabel got married again and moved in with us at Peartree Cottage, the place has become rather crowded, with the two children as well. But, I like being here anyway. I like living here in the country.”
“Your sister wants her bottom smacking. She’d only known that man for two minutes and now there’s a baby on the way. How your poor father puts up with that man living there, I just don’t know.”
“Father’s not in a fit state to do much about it, as you know. The doctor has told him that it will only be a couple of years before he’s totally blind. They need Isabel’s husband’s wages to keep the household going. That and what I can give them when I visit at the weekend. I’ve been thinking, Aunty, that I might try for another position at a different department store. They’ve built a Cooperative store in Grange Road and there might be a bit more pay.”
“That reminds me, I keep meaning to tell you, Irene. I got a letter this morning from your Aunty Jenny. She’s retiring from her job near Lancaster and wants to know if she can set up home with me. What do you think? We can still have a bedroom each, because we can turn the parlour into a place for her and her money will come in handy, take the pressure a bit off you and me.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Aunty. I remember Aunt Jenny from when I was a little girl and Father used to take me to visit her in Liverpool. Didn’t she used to drive a taxi in the Great War? I used to think she was a real pioneer. A lady driving a taxi. Father used to chuckle when he told me about her exploits.”
“Well, as you know, my sister has been working for a well-to-do family as a housekeeper. It’s time for her to put her feet up, especially as they have offered her a small pension. I’ll write back and let her know that we’ll be happy to have her company. Perhaps you could post the letter for me on your way to work.”
“I still think I’ll apply for a new job anyway, Aunty. I don’t like the way the senior buyer has been looking at me lately. Sort of leering and watching me closely when I walk by. He gives me the creeps and he’s never put my name forward for a promotion. A girl who started after me is already junior buyer on the clock and watch counter.”
J.C. sat at the kitchen table next morning eating his large breakfast of sausages, bacon and eggs. He was wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown, feeling too bleary-eyed and hungover to bother yet with a wash and shave.
“Did Ellen press my good suit, Glad?” he asked, as his wife, Gladys, placed a rack of toast and a dish of marmalade before him.
“Only I’ve an appointment at the bank at eleven, bloomin’ manager wants to see me again.”
“Yes, it’s hanging up in your wardrobe if you’d been bothered to look. Johnny, you really must cut down on your drinking and I wish you would try to make yourself presentable for breakfast times. The girls have only just left for school. Anyway, if you’re going into town you may as well give me a lift. Save me waiting around for a bus in this hot weather.”
“What is it this time? Another frock, a pair of shoes? I’ve not seen you wearing the dress you’ve got on before.”
J.C. eyed his wife of twenty-five years with appreciation. Even after bearing him seven children, her figure was still slender and firm. Her glossy chestnut hair had not faded, though her once bright hazel eyes had lost the sparkle in them.
“I’m meeting Hilda. You know Charlie Pollitt’s wife from the Rotary Club? She telephoned yesterday and asked could we meet up for lunch. We may have a wander around that new store that’s just opened and I’ll open up an account with them if anything catches my eye.”
“Well, as long as you’re back before Ellen starts on the dinner. Those potatoes were a load of watery mush that she put on the table last night; she hadn’t drained them properly again. Maybe we should get rid of her and tell one of the girls to help you in the kitchen. Lord knows I’ve spent enough on my daughters’ education, for one of them to be able to cook well.”
“They’ve only been shown how to make sophisticated dishes, nouveau cuisine, or something like that, Johnny. I can’t see Sheena turning out a decent steak and kidney pudding or Caitlin wielding a rolling pin. Anyway, leave Ellen and the kitchen alone. It’s my domain is the kitchen. You just go and see what the bank manager wants you for.”
J.C. already knew what Mr Martin, the bank manager, wanted him for. It was about the loan that he had asked for to fund these new properties he wanted to build. J.C. couldn’t see a problem. Let’s face it, the building trade was in his very veins. Wasn’t he descended from the family who had founded the biggest property company in the district? The Sheldon Property Company: started in 1849 by his Aunt Maggie and still going strong.
J.C. forced down the resentment that always appeared when he thought of the family history. A resentment learnt from an early age at his mother, Hannah’s, knee. His Uncle Michael had diddled his half sister Hannah out of a fortune because of her illegitimacy, leaving J.C.’s father, Eddie, to struggle on and begin a rival firm. Eddie had been successful, but never as successful as his brother-in-law had been, finally passing on his business to his four grown-up sons. In time the business had come to J.C., when his unfortunate brothers had died on the Somme. Now he also had four sons to pass the trade onto, but lock, stock and barrel would go to his
eldest son.
Eddie had his head under the bonnet of the lorry. He was stripped to his vest, whilst sweat poured down his legs underneath his cavalry twill trousers. Damn the thing! It had been tearing along quite happily from Buckley where he had been loading up the bricks and then the engine had conked out again.
Drat. This copper must be stalking him, Eddie could hear heavy footsteps a few yards away from him.
“Morning, lad. Broken down again, have yer? When’s yer father going to get a new lorry; this one’s only fit fer scrap as far as I can see.”
“Morning, Officer.” Eddie sighed and turned to look at the police constable. “Dad doesn’t want to listen as long as the lorry’s bringing him the loads.”
“Well, I think we’ll make him listen, young sir. This vehicle is dangerous. I’ve told yer before about it. Not only are the tyres bald, your back lights don’t work and it’s not up to carrying heavy loads. Look at that back axle, looks warped ter me and the hinges on the tipper are corroded. This time I’m going to talk ter my sergeant about you getting a summons. Being in charge of a dangerous vehicle will be enough ter do it and you’ll have to appear in the County Court.”
“But Officer, that’s not fair. The lorry belongs to my father. I’m just his driver. Why are you going to summon me?”
“Because you, young man have been entrusted with the vehicle and it’s up ter you to refuse to take it out if it’s not fit for the highway. Now tell your father this and maybe he’ll cough up for a new lorry. Now do yer want a push, we can jump start it down the hill?”
Irene was late again for work next morning, due this time to having forgotten to iron her white blouse the night before. She had watched her bus disappearing down the hill. She decided to walk. It was a pleasant sunny day, though there was a promise of another hot one if the lack of clouds above were anything to go by, but if she hurried she could be in time to catch the Crosville coach that passed along the bottom road. Irene found she was in luck and sat back breathlessly after she had paid her fare.
Shattered Dreams Page 1