Comet

by Andie J Fessey

  “I haven’t time for that. Too much to do today as always.”

  “But you still have time to listen to old Archie warble on about Donkey stones?” He asked, looking at her with a smile across his grizzled face.

  “I won’t hear the last of it from our Jimmy if I don’t,” she replied.

  “Here, I’ve just realised, but I’m sorry Archie, I don’t have anything in exchange for the stone. There’s hardly anything in the house apart from the furniture and our Terry. You can take him if you want.”

  He laughed gruffly.

  “Ahh, be away with yer Peggy, that one is ‘on the cart’ as it were. Any roads, there ain’t too much to tell anyway. A Donkey stone is just another scouring block for you ladies to use. It’s the trade mark picture of a Manc firm called Edward Read and Son.”

  “They aren’t the only ones who make them and others use other animal pictures, but the name 'Donkey Stone' seems to have stuck.”

  “Where do you get yours Archie? I’ll be honest with you, they are great for bringing up the shine on the steps.”

  “Oh, I get mine from a place called Whalleys over in Ashton-under-Lyne.”

  “That’s a bit of a trek for poor Comet, isn’t it?”

  He laughed lightly.

  “Oh, I don’t take Comet over there Peggy. Alfie Barnes picks them up for me when he’s doing deliveries in that neck of the woods.”

  “At least Comet doesn’t need any petrol to keep him going eh?”

  “That’s right Peggy, that’s a blessing.”

  The harsh previous winter brought the country to its knees, beginning with two periods of cold weather, one during the previous December and the second during January.

  During the last two weeks of January, the severest, harshest period began, resulting in strong winds, bringing snow to the East before progressing slowly, a leviathan covering the entire country.

  Liverpool was hit by the severe weather like the rest of the country but luckily did not suffer as much.

  After the German blitz, the city needed a lot of time to recover from the terrible wounds inflicted upon it.

  Archie continued with his daily routine, riding his cart around the streets of Liverpool, varying his route each day as he and Comet travelled through the suburbs, taking in areas from Crosby, through the likes of Waterloo, Seaforth and Bootle all the way to West Derby and Kensington, before returning to their home on Field Lane in Litherland.

  “So, how’s business?” She asked him, staring at the near empty cart.

  “Slow love, slow,” he replied, “but mustn’t grumble eh?”

  “Why bother grumbling Archie, it’s not like anybody would listen anyway eh?”

  Turning in reaction to a noise behind her, she watched her son walk along their hallway towards the doorway.

  “What’s up love, I thought that you were going to listen to the radio?”

  “I was but it’d finished, the news is on now.”

  “Never mind love, you’re going out with your friends, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, is it okay if I go to the beach Mam, Rob mentioned yesterday going there?”

  “Of course, just be careful love and don’t be getting into any trouble.”

  “Here Jimmy, did I ever tell you that I know Tommy Handley from way back in the day?” Archie asked standing, groaning to himself as he placed his hands upon his knees.

  “A couple of times I think,” Jimmy replied, smiling.

  “Only a couple of times our Jimmy? Archie is always telling us that!” His Mother said, grinning.

  “Honestly, I do,” Archie replied, mock indignation spread upon his weathered face.

  Leaning to him, Peggy gave him a gentle push on his arm.

  “Honestly! Known him as long as I can remember.”

  “You never do,” Peggy replied grinning, turning to her son, “eh our Jimmy, if you’re going to the beach you can get those good trousers off and put an old pair on. I’m not forking out for a new pair before you go back to school.”

  “Okay mam,” he replied, returning into their house.

  “Right Peggy, doesn’t look like there’s anything to be had around here today so I’ll be off then,” Archie said.

  “You off to Gladstone Road next Archie?”

  “Oh, I’ll pass through there. I’ll head up to Bootle to see if that lot are awake yet,” he replied grinning, climbing onto the seat of the cart.

  “You take care how you go now Archie,” she said, waving before returning to her position on the step, her new stone in hand.

  “I will do Peggy, things to meet and people to do as it were, have a good one Love,” he said, making a jerking movement with the leather reins held between his hands, resulting in the horse slowly walking forward, cart in tow rattling on the cobbled street.

  Chapter Two

  The clamour of noise emanating from the front parlour of their home, brought the girl rushing from the kitchen, where she placed the breakfast cutlery away.

  “Keep the racket down please will you lads?” she pleaded, walking into the room, “you’ll wake up the whole street the way you’re carrying on.”

  Their home stood amongst the many terraced houses lining Harrowby Street, one of several virtually identical streets in Seaforth, each with their own tales to tell.

  “We’re only playing,” one of the boys exclaimed, kneeling behind the arm of the sofa, pulled away from the wall where it normally stood.

  “And what exactly are you playing?” She asked, moving to him, ruffling his hair with one hand whilst pushing the sofa against the wall with the other.

  “Get off our Iris!” He exclaimed, backing from her touch whilst laughing, almost falling to the floor.

  “I hate that,” he said, brushing his tousled hair into place.

  “I know you do our Jack,” she said, laughing melodically, feigning grabbing at him again.

  He giggled, continuing to back away from her.

  “We’re playing cowboys and Indians,” said another of the boys.

  Iris turned to face him, the other boys stood alongside him facing her, all smiling, all Bennetts and all her younger siblings.

  A soft smile adorned her face, as she looked at them each in turn.

  Robert the eldest, whose facial features mirrored hers more so than the others; Jack and Frank, the non-identical twins and finally the youngest Daniel, Danny to all who knew him, currently standing next to the fireplace, his hand against the wall, breathing in deeply.

  “Don’t you be exerting yourself Daniel,” she ordered.

  “Aww, stop calling me that Iris,” he replied, “I hate that name, call me Danny or Dan.”

  “There is nothing wrong with that name, it was your Granddads name so be grateful our parents didn’t call you Adolph and be done with it.”

  The other children laughed, Daniel not being able to help himself, laughed along too.

  Frank raised one of his arms in a mock salute, placing the index finger of his other hand over his top lip.

  “Sieg Heil mein Daniel Fuhrer,” he said, goose stepping across the parlour.

  Iris giggled herself at her brother’s antics.

  How I love them all.

  She watched, her heart in her throat as Daniel attempted to raise one of his legs in a goose step, prevented from doing so by the leather and metal brace adorning his leg.

  “Be careful Daniel,” she said softly.

  “I always am Iris,” he replied, walking across the room to where she stood.

  Upon reaching her, he threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

  The other boys, stopping what they were doing, walked across, throwing their own arms around their sister.

  “What’s this?” Iris exclaimed, feeling herself embraced from all directions.

  “It’s ‘cos we love you our Iris,” Jack said.

  “That’s lovely and all very well but I must get ready for work,” she replied, hugging them in return.

  “Aww,
do you have to go to work today?” Robert asked.

  “I do Robert,” she replied, “we need the money, remember what our Mother always tells us, ‘the bills won’t pay themselves’.”

  Robert looked at her, frowning.

  He worked a couple of hours after school a few evenings each week for the Moore brothers, at the Sausage factory located on Linacre Road.

  His brothers gently teased him when he began working there, calling him ‘Pigsy’, in honour of the huge picture of a pig adorning the bill board attached to the factory itself.

  He took it in good humour and though some of the working conditions at the factory were quite strict, their Mother having to make sure his white uniform remained clean and freshly laundered, he enjoyed the feeling of responsibility it provided him.

  The money he earned, not great by any stretch of the imagination, helped towards the running of their household.

  The work consisted of brushing up and general fetching and carrying, but he always received a bag of miss-cut sausages at the end of each shift.

  It was not much, but they were all grateful for the extra food on their table.

  “I could always get another job,” Rob stated.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Iris reproached him, “with your job, mine and Mother’s, we have enough brass coming in to keep the wolves from the door.”

  It wounded her knowing their Mother Patty worked three jobs, but being a proud woman, even if all her children were bringing in a wage of their own, Iris knew she would continue going to work.

  Patty worked a few shifts at the sausage factory herself, in addition to a couple of shifts at the Jacobs factory where Iris herself worked.

  Usually she would cover weekends, as well as a few shifts throughout the week.

  She prided herself on keeping their home clean and no matter if they possessed money or not, the house remained immaculate as possible with four young growing boys living there.

  “Alright our Iris,” Robert replied, staring into her eyes, identical to his.

  Along with their deep brown hair and cleft in their chins, their eyes were also inherited from their Father.

  “If you ever need me to take up another job, let me know and I’ll go and get one.”

  Iris smiled at him, before holding him in a tender embrace.

  “I know you would Robert, I know you would.”

  “Are we going out or what?” Jack said, bending to tie the laces on his weatherworn boots.

  “We will as soon as you’ve learnt how to tie your laces proper. Stop using double knots,” Robert said, kneeling in front of his younger sibling and, after unravelling the complicated knot Jack tied them with, redid the thick laces.

  “I don’t know how many times I have to show you how to tie them properly, our Mam would go mad if she saw them like this! You’ll wear the laces down if you keep putting double knots in them.”

  “Sorry Robert,” Jack replied, “they always come undone when I tie them another way.”

  Robert stood, proceeding to give his brothers hair a rub.

  “Just try your best our Jack,” he said, smiling.

  Iris’s heart overflowed with love for all her family, but moments like this made her appreciate how lucky they were to have each other.

  “So, what have you lot planned for today?” She asked.

  “We’re going to the beach!” Daniel exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

  “Well, you make sure you’re careful down there. Don’t be going in the water and watch out for the tide coming in.”

  “I’ll look after them our Iris,” Robert said, attempting to add an air of authority into his voice.

  Smiled broadly at him, she ruffled his hair in the same way she did with their younger brother.

  “I know you will Robert, but they say there’s a storm coming in this evening, so don’t stay out too late or Mother and I will be worried witless.”

  “We’ll be back well before it gets dark, I promise,” he answered.

  Smiling, she walked across the room towards the hallway.

  Taking her long coat from the hangar affixed to the wall, she popped her head back into the parlour.

  “Have a great time boys, I’ll see you all later,” she said, waving.

  Waving in return, they rushed into the hallway, busying themselves with placing on their own coats.

  “Are we really going to the beach Rob?” Daniel asked.

  “Yes, our Dan,” Robert replied.

  Daniel smiled, loving the moments his eldest brother called him Dan, making him feel grown up.

  “Great!”

  After putting their coats on, they strolled outside into the bright, glaring light of the morning.

  Chapter Three

  Connie looked across the street to where the tall man stepped from the terraced house directly opposite.

  Slamming the front door, he took long strides along the pavement.

  “Looks like they’ve been arguing again,” she said to the woman next to her.

  “Like that’s something new,” the other woman, Joyce, replied, “he’s always at it.”

  Turning, he looked over his shoulder at them.

  Henry McCluskie, tall, slim with a head of waxed black hair, known as a ‘bad ‘un’ around Seaforth. If any sort of underhand pie went around, he would at least attempt to have one finger in it.

  His wife Sheila rarely saw much of the proceeds, the street occasionally rallying around to ensure she possessed enough money or food to see her and her son Wally through to her next pay day.

  He had openly been seeing Mick Corkhill’s widow from Linacre Road since he was declared lost presumed killed, whilst serving with the Second Battalion of the King's Liverpool regiment.

  “He’s a bloody never do well if ever there was one,” Connie said

  “Aye,” Joyce replied, “wait until he’s gone ten minutes, then we can go see if Sheila’s alright.”

  Moments later, he disappeared from their view, around the corner of the street.

  Waiting only another couple of minutes, they hurriedly crossed the street to the terraced house.

  Knocking on a panel of the front door, the one looking the least liable to fall apart at any moment, they stood awaiting an answer.

  After less than a minute they knocked again, even harder this time.

  Eventually the old door opened slowly by Wally, Sheila’s only child.

  “Err, is your mam in Wally?” Connie asked.

  The young boy, appearing he recently cried, attempted to shield the sight of the right-hand side of his face from them, but they saw clearly the red welted shape of a handprint across his cheek.

  “Me, me Mams upstairs in the bedroom.”

  “Well, could you go fetch her for us please?”

  Wally stared at his feet, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  “Has your old man hit you?” Connie asked sympathetically.

  “No,” he replied, his voice quivering, turning his head away, trying unsuccessfully to hide the red mark from their sight, “I ran into the door, ‘cos I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  Connie and Joyce exchanged knowing glances between each other.

  Rather than waiting for Wally to fetch his Mother, Connie leant over him into the vestibule.

  “Sheila!” She called, “Are you alright love?”

  “Me mam’s fine,” he managed to utter, jumping at the sound of her voice.

  “Sheila love, do you need anything?” Connie called.

  She received no reply, save for the sound of an upstairs door being closed.

  She looked past Wally into the dimly lit confines of the house. After a few moments, the silhouette of a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “I’m fine Connie love,” Wally’s Mother called.

  “Well, get down the bloody stairs then!”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Sheila walked down the stairs. Wearing a thick padded night gown, her hair fell over her should
ers in long brown tresses.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she called to them.

  “I’ll put the kettle on. Go in the back and feed the dog please Wally!”

  Walking along the hallway passed his Mother, Wally entered the kitchen located at the rear of their house.

  Sheila followed him, closely followed by her two neighbours.

  Once in the kitchen, Sheila crossed to the wooden sideboard adjacent to the old oven. Picking up a battered, dented kettle, she filled it with water from the faucet of the sink.

  Joyce sat at one of the four aged rickety, wooden chairs, placed around a wooden table, whilst Connie walked to where Sheila stood.

  “Here luv, let me do that,” she said, leaning passed Sheila, taking the kettle from her shaking hand.

  She caught sight of the huge red mark across her friends face and the dark bruising around her eye.

  “Oh, for the good Lords sake, what’s he done to you child?” Connie exclaimed, placing the kettle into the sink.

  “Joyce luv, make the cups of tea, would you?” She asked, Joyce hurriedly crossing the kitchen to them.

  Wrapping her arms around Sheila, Connie helped her to one of the seats.

  “Oh, you poor girl,” Joyce exclaimed, catching sight of the injury, “you sit down and I’ll make us all a cuppa.”

  Sat at the seat, Sheila leant forward, her head falling into her crossed arms, crying.

  The door leading into the back opened, Wally about to enter, returning to retrieve the bag of dog food he had left on the shelf.

  “Here Wally,” Joyce exclaimed, grabbing the bag and pushing it into the startled boy’s arms, “you go feed your Blackie and stay out there playing or something until I call you in.”

  “Is me mam alright?” He asked, attempting to see passed the woman, obstructing him by filling the width of the doorway with her substantial girth.

  “Yes love, she’s fine. We’re going to have some grown up talk that’s all love,” Joyce replied, gently pushing him out into the backyard.

  Managing to cease crying, Sheila spoke to her son without raising her head from the table’s surface.