A Liverpool Girl

by Elizabeth Morton

  ‘Are we going to be late?’ cried Hannah.

  ‘They’ll have to wait,’ said Violet.

  ‘Well, isn’t this grand? Isn’t this grand?’ said Doris.

  ‘I’ve forgotten my mantilla.’ That was Kathleen, thought Babby. ‘I can’t go to church without my mantilla.’

  Babby sat on the bed, slipped the accordion straps through her arms, and began playing a few chords. She felt a trickle of sweat on the nape of her neck as she pulled the bellows in and out. Softly she sang, ‘’Twas a Liverpool girl who loved me …’ The sound of the instrument was beautiful, not the harsh roaring sound she was used to, but delicate, tuneful and musical. After running her fingers over the keys a few times, she put the accordion down and rearranged her dress. This is it, she thought. No turning back now.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ she asked when she came downstairs into the parlour.

  ‘She said we’ve still got time yet. She’s gone for a fag in the back yard. She needed some air,’ said Kathleen. ‘Don’t you look beautiful!’

  ‘I’ll go and get her,’ said Babby, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She found her mother outside, smoking a cigarette. Violet gasped when she saw her.

  ‘My little girl,’ she murmured.

  ‘Mam, I might not always have liked you, and you me neither, that’s for sure, but I have always loved you. You know that, don’t you?’ said Babby, grasping her hand.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Violet. ‘I do.’

  And in that moment, all was forgiven, all was understood. The thread that they had thought needed to be snapped was the one that would hold them together.

  Meanwhile at the church, which was a ten-minute walk down the hill from Joseph Street, people had started taking their places. At the altar, Callum, wide-eyed with nervousness, craned his neck to see Babby and Violet arriving.

  ‘He looks a picture!’ cried Violet when she saw Callum in his suit. She noticed Rex as he pushed his way down the pew past Florrie and flashed a smile at him.

  Babby slipped her arm through Pat’s as he prepared to walk her down the aisle. Looking at him, it occurred to her, he was becoming just like their father, calm-featured, kind-looking. Hannah following behind, carrying a bunch of posies, put on her most serious face, and pressed her lips together in studied concentration. Babby turned, winked, and Hannah’s frown relaxed into a smile. Brilliant sunshine flooded into the church through the stained-glass windows and, when the organ began to play, the hairs on Callum’s neck stood up stiffly as he sensed his precious Babby getting closer.

  ‘I love you, Cal,’ she whispered, as she took his hand.

  ‘I love you too, Babby,’ he said. ‘You look so beautiful, like a flamin’ work of art.’

  And in that moment, she felt something moving inside her for the first time, just a tiny flutter, like a butterfly landing on her stomach, and she instinctively moving her hand to brush it off, with the realisation that this was no butterfly, this was her chld.

  She turned to Callum and smiled that special smile, and the chorus of voices swelled to the music of Ave Maria, and Babby began to sing.

  Later, as they spilled out on to the church steps, giddy and bursting with happiness, Babby looked at her mother. Who knew what lay ahead? She took note of the people who were gathered around. This was a day for the Delaneys, she thought. Instead of this baby pulling the rug up from under their lives and leaving them all with nothing, maybe, just maybe, with the help of Cal and Rex, and Violet and Pat and Hannah, the child would help rebuild this family.

  Epilogue

  Seven Years Later

  ‘Mam! Mam!’ There’s a load of elephants coming out of Lime Street station!’

  ‘Don’t be so daft, Ted,’ Babby replied.

  She was scrubbing the front step with a lump of pumice stone and paused for a moment to wipe the sweat off her brow. She could feel moisture pooling on the nape of her neck, a trickle running down her back. She sat back on her heels and squinted up at her six-year-old son.

  ‘I’m telling you. Elephants. Let’s go and see if you don’t believe it!’ said Ted, hopping from foot to foot, excitement emanating from his engagingly snub-featured face.

  ‘Elephants? What on earth are you talking about?’ Rolling up her sleeves and shoving them up her arms, she sighed.

  ‘Frankie says there’s going to be ladies in their scanties wearing sparkly brassieres and chucking skinny sticks up in the air,’ he cried.

  ‘Ah,’ said Babby, understanding. ‘The circus, you mean?’

  Word had already got around about how the Gallaghers had agreed to house some of the animal cages from the travelling circus in their stables at the dairy. There had been laughter and rumination over pints in pubs, and buckets on doorsteps, as to how that was going to work out if the beasts escaped, with lions roaming up and down Scottie Road and a hapless Johnny Gallagher chasing after them.

  She dipped the pumice in the bucket of water, noticing her knuckles were reddening.

  ‘Mam,’ Ted said, tugging at her skirt. ‘There’s going to be a band and everything! Can I go?’

  She thought for moment. Well, it would be the closest he would get to seeing the circus this side of Christmas. Or any Christmas, for that matter. There’s no way they could afford to pay for a ticket at five bob each.

  ‘Go. But mind you don’t get trodden on by the elephants. Stand back off the pavement. Lime Street, you said?’

  ‘Aye. Snorting and stomping and doing this …’

  He made a harrumphing noise and pressed his forearm against his nose, waving his hand back and forth.

  She stopped, couldn’t help smiling, undid the ties on her apron. ‘Just wash your hands before you leave.’

  Entering the parlour, she found Violet there, sorting through a pile of washing hanging on the clothes maiden.

  ‘Mother. Please leave that. You don’t need to do it.’

  Her mother was finally beginning to show signs of her age. She was still only forty-seven, but the rouged cheeks and carmine red lipstick were starting to draw attention to her hardening features. And yet, standing there folding Cal’s nightshirts, chest puffed out, Babby decided when it came to Violet, the flesh might be a little weaker, but the spirit was certainly not, and probably never would be.

  ‘So. Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m getting on at Muirhead Avenue?’ said Violet.

  ‘How is it?’ asked Babby.

  ‘Grand,’ replied Violet. ‘Oh love, Rex was right, it’s wonderful! There’s no gaps between the windows and the frames or loose floorboards blowing a draught up your skirts. And there’s gardens at the front and the back, with a little passage down the side. We’re going to plant roses. And it’s so warm!’

  ‘And the neighbours?’ asked Babby, tentatively.

  Violet glanced at Jenny. She held up her left hand, showed Babby the wedding ring. ‘Recognise this?’ she said, lowering her voice.

  Babby gasped. ‘From Saint Judes? You kept it?’

  ‘You never know when these things might be useful. Don’t know if we’d be able to pass off a curtain ring, but Woolies does the job just fine. Everyone thinks we’re married,’ she whispered to Babby, and winked.

  ‘Nan,’ said Jenny, ‘Mam says you’ve gone to live in a right posh house where water comes out of the tap hot and you turn into a cabbage.’

  ‘Cabbage?’ asked Ted, wide-eyed with curiosity, coming into the room.

  ‘Like a cabbage leaf,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Your mam’s right. When you lie in the bath your fingers and toes start crinkling if you stay in too long. And another thing, you don’t have an outside lavvy. It’s in the house. And when you sit on the seat that’s all toasty warm as well.’

  ‘Wish we could have hot running water and I don’t like the outside lav – it freezes my nuts off.’

  ‘Ted! Where did you learn that kind of language?’

  ‘Dad,’ he answered, and grinned. ‘He said, “that outside lav freezes
your bloody nuts off ”.’

  ‘The other day, when I was doing a wee, a spider fell down from the ceiling into my pants,’ said Jenny.

  Babby and Violet couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Nan, she came running into the kitchen nearly in the nuddy,’ said, Ted, grinning.

  ‘Why are you laughing, Mam?’ said Jenny.

  ‘It was only a money spider. Brings you good luck. Makes you rich. That’s what we need around here.’

  Not long now. She had kept it from the children – they might explode with happiness if they knew about the letter from the Corporation that had arrived earlier that week, white and crisp, saying they were on the list for a maisonette in Bootle with a garden and heating and hot water. Two kids and a baby, all of them crammed in with Violet and Hannah, meant they were right at the top of that list. And the disrepair order on Joseph Street meant tight old Boughton hadn’t been paid for months and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Pat and Doris and their little boy, Jack, had never looked back since they went to the open spaces of Norris Green, but she would miss this place – the grime and the smoke stacks, the rail you had to grasp on to in order to steady yourself when walking down the hill, but most of all the people. The Gallaghers, and the pub, Peggy – and even Gladys.

  ‘Maybe it was one of them poisonous spiders from one of them banana crates off the ships,’ said Violet, as Ted shot towards the door.

  ‘Mother!’ said Babby, giving her an admonishing look as she hooked a finger under Ted’s jacket, yanking him back.

  ‘Mam! Can I go?’

  Babby smiled. Then she said, ‘Hey, Teddy. Why don’t me and Jenny come with you? They’re on their way to Stanley Park, so they’ll be coming down Saint Domingo Road in half an hour. Mam, will you look after the baby?’ she asked Violet. ‘She’s sleeping. We should be back before she wakes.’

  ‘Of course, love,’ Violet said.

  ‘Let’s swing by the docks and see if Dad’s got a few coppers to spare. Payday today.’

  Babby pulled Jenny along by her little hand that was curled up into a fist, and yelled at Ted to wait for them as he whooped and hollered, pushed his cowboy hat off his head, swung it by the elastic and raced off down the hill, shooting imaginary injuns.

  ‘Stop at the tinnies!’ cried Babby.

  There was more and more corrugated iron these days – whole streets of tinned-up derelict houses waiting for demolition. They gave the place a desolate air and when they got to the dock road, even that felt empty.

  ‘Mister, is me dad here?’ Ted asked the man leaning on the front gate outside the yard, idly splitting a match.

  ‘Callum your dad? You look just like him,’ he replied, chucking the match into the gutter. ‘Good fella. Lot of men pinning their hopes on him. They say he’s the one who’s going to make sure we see some changes round here.’

  Babby nodded. If anyone could improve things, it was her Cal. Still so young, but he wasn’t afraid to make demands of the bosses and he didn’t care what anyone thought, despite those who said he should have stayed at Liverpool Assurance rather than taking the job at the docks, just to cause trouble.

  ‘Should be coming off his shift.’

  He shouted over his shoulder to a group of men with their billycans, walking towards the gate. ‘You seen Cal?’

  ‘Down at Bramley, supervising the guy ropes. But that were an hour ago.’

  ‘Come on, Mam. We’re going to miss the parade!’ said Ted, tugging at her skirts.

  ‘Oh no,’ whined Jenny. ‘I don’t want to miss it.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Babby, hoiking up her daughter with her arms, where she sat on the groove on her hip.

  But suddenly, there he was, striding towards them, backlit by the sun, his silhouette blurred and golden around the edges, a little tired about the eyes, but still as beautiful as the first day she laid eyes on him. Fresh air suited him. ‘Have you heard about the circus?’ he cried, jogging over.

  ‘I’m taking them down to see. They’ll be coming through soon.’

  ‘Here, sixpence for sweets, Ted. And save me a Flying Saucer,’ he said, digging into his pockets, jangling change. ‘I’ll see you later, Babby. And remember – tonight, we’re going dancing.’

  ‘How could I forget that?’ she said, as they exchanged a tender look. Her love for this man still pulled her up short, every time she thought of what life might have been without him. ‘Been looking forward to it all week. All month. Hannah is staying in to babysit and we can get the six o’clock ferry.’

  ‘Come on, Mam,’ said Ted.

  ‘See you later, Cal. Hey!’ Babby cried, as they set off towards Saint Domingo Road.

  They heard the roar of the crowd before they saw anything. It seemed as if the whole of Liverpool had come to have a look. There was the sound of someone banging a drum, whistles and tambourines. And Ted was right – it was a parade and a half. There was a ringmaster with a pencilled-on moustache, wearing a tall hat and a red tailcoat, a whip curled about his forearm. Behind him followed a balloon seller, and behind them, six huge grey elephants with velvet drapes and feather-plumed caps, ears flapping gently, walking down the road, swaying back and forth. Sitting aloft on sequinned saddles on the elephant’s backs were women with their hair piled up in chignons and curls. They looked serene and beautiful in chiffon harem trousers, diaphanous cloaks, and elaborate head dresses, as delightful and rare as tropical birds.

  ‘It’s the circus!’ cried Ted. ‘There’s giant elephants. Look at the fat man! He’s playing a funny trumpet that curls around his tummy, like a snake. Looks like he’s going to explode!’

  ‘Sousaphone, that’s called.’ Babby surprised herself as a memory streaked through her head of the nuns at Penreath Farm. An education. Had that been the sister’s gift to her?

  ‘I can’t see!’ cried Ted .

  ‘Push yourself forward. Hey, mister, move out of the way. I’ve two little ’uns here!’ yelled Babby.

  The man blocking the path, wearing a cloth cap, turned. He was with a small group, three other men and a woman, all of them with leaflets in their hands, two of them holding a banner above their heads with a shamrock on it. They had the complexion of the Irish – freckles, pale skin, red or dark hair. ‘Jaysus! Can you give over barging into us?’

  ‘Let these little ’uns through!’ said Babby.

  ‘Sure, a please would be nice, love!’

  She smiled apologetically and set them off like wind-up toys, pushing them with a sharp shove – little scurrying weasels, darting between men’s trousered legs and women’s skirts, scouring, dipping in and out of the crowd. ‘And mind you keep back from the blinking elephants!’ she said, as an afterthought.

  She had a moment where she worried it had been stupid to let them out of her sight. There were no barriers to stop the elephants crashing into the crowd, or misplacing a giant foot on to the pavement and squashing the onlookers. And when there was another huge roar, a clatter of drums and pipes, a cascading of sticks, screams, and people running, panic took hold of her.

  ‘The elephant! It’s loose! It’s doing a runner!!’

  ‘Ted!’ she yelled. ‘Jenny! My kids!’

  And then suddenly the screams morphed into gales of reassuring laughter.

  Someone cried, ‘Where’s the Elf and Safety when you need ’em? Some bugger’ll catch it if that happens again! Did you see it stand up on its two back legs?’ There were more guffaws.

  ‘Mam!’ she heard Ted cry, and relief flooded through her veins as she caught a glimpse of his red coat and Jenny’s russet curls as a woman, clutching their hands, steered them towards her.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Babby said to the woman. Then, ‘Frying Pan! What are you doing here?’ she yelped in surprise.

  ‘I’m with that lot,’ she answered, nodding toward the claque with the banners.

  The children, bursting with the excitement around them, words tippling over words like dominoes, exclaimed, ‘Did you see the eleph
ant blowing his trunk?! He nearly crashed into us! How many lives have we got left now, Mam? Three? Two?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Babby. She recognised the leaflets in Mary’s hand. Ireland’s Freedom Fighters, she read on the green, white and gold sash that Mary wore.

  ‘Wherever there’s a crowd, we come along to try and spread the word, drum up a little support,’ said Mary.

  ‘Still at it then?’ Babby said and smiled.

  ‘Aye.’ Mary was flushed pink to her ears. Her delicate green eyes sparkled and she smiled. ‘These both your kids?’ she asked.

  Babby nodded. ‘And a baby at home.’

  ‘Swift work!’

  Babby hesitated. ‘What about you?’

  ‘No. But I’ve got a fella. Not the same one as I had at Saint Jude’s. That one turned out to be a right deadbeat. But my Eammon is top-notch.’

  ‘But no kiddies yet?’

  ‘No. And there won’t be.’

  ‘You don’t mean that?’

  ‘I do. Not ever.’

  Babby faltered. ‘And you’re fine with that?’

  She took Babby’s hands, grasped her fingers. ‘Ah love, I’m absolutely fine. I’ve got work to do. You’ve no idea. The fight gets harder. I’ve no time for that stuff.’

  ‘But what about …?’ Babby’s question tailed off into nothing.

  ‘My baby? I’m not afraid to say it, Babby. The nuns did me a favour. Honestly. I can’t spend my life looking back. Why would I? I could cry a vale of tears, but what’s the good of that? Never mind it would have been impossible to bring up a baby on me own, impossible because I never wanted to lose sight of me. Who I am. Kids do that to you, sometimes.’ Mary took her hand, gripped it, and pressed a leaflet into the palm of it. ‘Here, take this and read it.’

  Babby folded it neatly, put it way in her pocket, then dropped her eyes, first to Jenny skittering in and out of the crowds, then to Ted, kicking the kerbstone. Had kids done that to her? ‘You sure you’re OK?’ she asked, once again.