by June Francis
‘Something wrong, Greta?’
The girl lifted her head and stared at Rene. ‘Dad! He’s been to the funeral of one of those men killed on the ship.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I don’t think it did him any good. He’s just shouted at me. He was really angry.’ Tears shone in her eyes.
‘There now, luv,’ said Rene, her rosy face concerned as she came over to the girl. She placed an arm about her shoulders. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. It probably brought back memories. But he shouldn’t have shouted at you.’
‘No, he shouldn’t have!’ Greta wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed back her tears. ‘I’d best get on with finishing the brass.’
Rene removed her arm but did not instantly go into next door.
‘Alex Armstrong … how is he getting on with his search? He still hasn’t gone back to sea, I take it?’
Greta’s expression froze. ‘No. It’s a bit difficult him not having the name of the man his mother was supposed to have married,’ she said lightly. ‘He’s convinced that the bicycle shop is most likely in Bootle, because that’s where his mother was living. So he was going to wander round the area and ask questions. He, also, planned on going to Crosby to look up where he lived before he was put in the orphanage. He’s checking to see if any of the people who lived there then still live there now. And if they do … hopefully they might remember his uncle’s surname and address.’
Rene’s eyes danced. ‘A young man of no small brain!’
‘I’d agree with that.’ Greta began to feel better.
‘Has he thought of visiting the records office and seeing if he can find the record of his parents’ marriage? His mother’s maiden name would be on the certificate. Then he’d have the uncle’s surname and could look that up in the telephone directory.’
‘There’s a thought,’ said Greta. ‘I’ll suggest it to him. Although,’ she shrugged, ‘perhaps he doesn’t know where his parents were married. He might have to leave doing that if he has no luck in Crosby until the next time he’s home. He’s talking of going down to the Pool tomorrow to see about a ship. I don’t think he gets paid much and all this travelling about costs money.’
Rene nodded. ‘He probably wants to get some money put by in case he does find his family. If his idea is for him and his sisters to live together, then not having more than a couple of pennies to his name isn’t going to say much for his ability to support them.’
That was true, thought Greta glumly. Money could be very important to his sisters, if they’d been brought up by an uncle who must have been rich if he could afford to support his own children and his nieces. It was possible his uncle and aunt mightn’t want to know Alex. They certainly wouldn’t want to know her!
Half an hour later Alex returned to the house. He was looking tired but his face was flushed by the sun and Greta surmised, from the light in his eyes, that he’d had some success in his search. She was darning one of her father’s socks and glanced over at Alex as he ate the bowl of scouse. He always ate as if he did not know where the next meal was coming from. She wondered why that was, because surely they must have fed him regularly at the orphanage and at sea. ‘So what did you find out, Alex?’ she asked.
He looked across at her. ‘There was a woman and her daughter who remembered our family. Her husband is a ship’s captain, and part owner in a ship, so she was interested in my having been to sea.’ Alex reached for a slice of bread. ‘She remembers my mother talking about my uncle, and saying that he was a very clever man. She knew more about my father, though, said he was a man of adventure and vision.’ There was a note of pride in his voice.
‘Why was that?’ asked Greta, leaning forward and almost stabbing herself with the darning needle.
‘Apparently my father owned a rubber plantation and lived in Malaya. Then he caught some sort of fever and came back to Blighty.’ Alex cleaned his plate with the bread. ‘He met my mother on the ship.’
Greta’s eyes shone. ‘A shipboard romance,’ she said softly.
‘You can make lots of things with rubber,’ said Harry, lowering the newspaper. ‘Tyres, Wellington boots.’
‘School rubbers … there must have been plenty of money in it,’ said Greta, relieved that her father had recovered from his burst of temper and was showing an interest. Until Alex had turned up, he had not spoken that evening.
Alex swallowed a mouthful of bread. ‘I don’t know if he had anything to do with the manufacturing side of it when he came home. In fact, if he sold the plantation he must have put the money in some other business to have lost it all. I mean there was a big market for rubber with the automobile industry taking off.’ He frowned.
Greta leaned forward. ‘Rene suggested you visit the registry, or was it the records office … to try and find your mother’s maiden name. Which means you’d have your uncle’s surname.’
Alex shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Apparently it was a whirlwind romance and Mum and Dad were married aboard ship.’
‘How romantic!’ breathed Greta.
‘But a definite setback. You’re going to be with us a bit longer, lad,’ said Harry with a sort of grim satisfaction, and continued reading the newspaper.
There was a silence and the two young people looked at each other. Alex grinned and Greta smiled faintly and whispered, ‘I don’t think he wants to get rid of you. So what’ll you do next?’
‘It’s frustrating but if I still draw a blank tomorrow the search will have to wait until I get back from my next trip.’
She nodded. ‘Your mother could be living in Liverpool itself!’
Alex groaned. ‘Why couldn’t she have said where my uncle lived? I can see me spending years between trips searching for her and the girls. It’s bloody maddening! If you’ll excuse my language,’ he added hastily.
‘Will you be away as long this time?’ asked Greta, knowing she was going to miss him.
Alex said carefully, ‘I suppose that depends on if there’s a war.’
From behind the newspaper Harry said, ‘If there is, lad, I’d head east if I was you … stay out of the Atlantic.’
Greta was often to recall her father’s words in the months to come when Alex signed on a ship going to the Far East.
Harry glanced up at the lowering sky and felt several drops of rain on his face. It was a week since the funeral and he had thought several times about Mrs Cox’s invitation. So far, he hadn’t acted on it and this weekend was definitely out because it was taken up with ARP training.
From midnight that evening there was to be another four hour blackout as far as Chester. Simulating wartime conditions, there would be mock gas attacks, more explosions, fires and rescue drills from collapsed buildings. The latter was where he came in, because of his experience in the building trade. Never before had he thought he’d be taking a real interest in how a damaged building could collapse in three different ways. Either it completely disintegrated into a pile of rubble or the roof and floors fell in a curve, so that one side held up while the other swung down. Or the floors broke in the middle while the sides of the building held so a kind of V shape, with space in the storey below, was formed. People could survive in that space but no matter which way a building collapsed, more often than not, digging and tunnelling would be involved to get them out.
He hoped with all his heart that he would never have to do it for real because, without doubt, there would be fatalities and women and children were bound to be amongst them. Yet it looked more and more like war with Germany was on the cards. Only last week a proposal had been made in Paris between France, Britain and Poland to issue a direct warning to the Nazi-dominated Danzig Senate against any move to transfer the area to Germany. England and France were ready to help Poland if the Reich forced its hand.
‘So what d’you think? Is it a good night for the blackout?’ called Rene. ‘When the leaflet came through the door the other week the weather was marvellous … now!’
Harry turned a
t the sound of her voice and saw that she was putting the cat out. Instantly the hairs rose on the back of his neck and he imagined that tightness in his chest and a sneeze forming. He put a bit more distance between it and himself. He hadn’t seen Rene to speak to since the day of the accident the day when his daughter had called Mrs Miller an old crow, the day when he had discovered that Rene’s mother had insinuated things about himself and her daughter that had made him so aware of an overwhelming physical desire to take her to bed, that he had consciously avoided Rene. He could hardly do that now. ‘Guess they were hoping for clear skies when they made the arrangements,’ he replied.
‘The British weather — it can always be depended on to do what you don’t want it to do.’ She came down the step towards him, hugging herself.
‘You look cold.’
‘It’s chillier now than when I went to work in this frock.’
He noticed she was wearing that floral print made of some clingy material that revealed her voluptuous curves. For a moment he could not take his eyes from her breasts, then suddenly aware she was watching him, hoped that she had not noticed the direction of his gaze. Hurriedly he glanced up at the sky and sought frantically for something to say. ‘So how are things at work? Are they prepared?’
‘One of the wine cellars has been turned into an air raid shelter. It’s all reinforced with steel and concrete.’ Her voice sounded strained.
‘What about furnishings and supplies?’
‘Several bunks, bedding, tables, chairs … plenty of tinned food and containers for water. There’s even the means to pass the time while an air raid’s on. Toilet facilities, too, and a phone line.’
‘Sounds like they know what they’re doing.’
Rene wondered what on earth they were doing talking about such things when he could have been kissing her. She knew that he wasn’t made of stone where she was concerned. She had seen the expression in his eyes when he looked at her. But perhaps she should keep her mind on the conversation. There was no future in letting her thoughts run on romantic lines. ‘Plans have already been made,’ she said brightly, ‘for rationing our customers. Vintage wines from previous years and certain spirits are being imported at a quickened rate of knots. The same with dried fruit that comes from Europe and California. If war comes … once the German U boats are in action … ’ She left the rest to his imagination.
‘I wish young Alex hadn’t opted to go to sea,’ said Harry.
‘What age is he? Sixteen, seventeen? Much too young to die for your country,’ she said, her voice almost fierce.
He nodded, thinking again of those children who could die when the bombers came over.
‘So what will you be doing tonight, Harry?’ She leaned against the garden fence.
He lowered his gaze and caught the gleam of her eyes in the lamplight. For a moment he hesitated before saying, ‘I’m a rescue man but don’t go telling that to Greta.’
She straightened quickly. ‘Dangerous?’
‘No more dangerous than men training in the forces.’
‘Is that supposed to be reassuring?’
‘I’m only telling you the truth, luv.’ He gazed into her eyes that he remembered were green with tiny blue flecks round the iris. Aware of that strong tug of attraction between them, he looked away and cleared his throat. ‘What are your plans if war comes? It’s going to be just as dangerous for women on the home front. Has your mother made any suggestions about leaving Liverpool for the country?’
Rene murmured, ‘She hates the country. In some ways she’s a bit like Mrs Hardcastle … this is her home and she’s not leaving it for Hitler or anyone. I have to admire their generation. They’ve been through so much.’
‘Don’t you think we have, too?’ he said passionately. ‘During the Great War we mightn’t have had the responsibility of family and I was too young to go and fight, but I lost brothers and my parents. It changed your father out of all recognition. We’ve been through the Depression, done without and suffered the loss of loved ones. It’s time we gave thought to ourselves and had some bloody fun before it’s too late!’ Harry amazed and thrilled Rene by seizing her by the waist and bringing her against him. He kissed her long and hard before releasing her just as abruptly. ‘Goodnight!’ He walked away down the road, hands in his pockets.
Rene stared after him, a hand to lips that felt swollen. Her insides were trembling. For a moment, she thought of running after him, but remembering where he was going, she turned and went indoors.
‘What’s up with your face?’ asked Vera.
‘Nothing!’ Rene switched off the wireless. ‘Do you want me to help you down to the lav now?’
Vera’s eyes narrowed. ‘What were you doing out there? You were a long time letting out the cat.’
‘I was checking the blackout.’
‘I thought I heard voices!’
Rene glanced at the kitchen door. It had been closed. Surely her mother couldn’t possibly have heard her and Harry talking from in here when they had been standing at the bottom of the step? ‘It’d be the wireless. Now you be careful once we get to the yard.’ She helped her mother up from the chair.
‘I don’t need telling,’ snapped Vera, clinging on to her. ‘You just make sure you don’t let go of me. I wouldn’t put it past you wanting to get rid of me.’
Like you longed to be rid of my dad, thought Rene grimly, remembering the day she had realised her mother had stopped loving her father. She had thrown pepper in his face and stormed out of the house. Rene had been shaken, never having believed her mother could act in such a way. Vera had not returned for hours and when she did, she didn’t apologise, only said, ‘War’s a terrible thing. It changes people, just you remember that, madam.’
They reached the lavatory and Rene tugged at the baggy knickers to reveal Vera’s bony hips. Her resentment towards her mother overwhelmed her. She wanted to believe that Harry would kiss her again and there could be a future for them together but knew that while Vera was alive it was impossible.
‘Next week’s National Fitness Week,’ said Vera, and sniffed. ‘The government wants to make sure we’re all healthy when we die. War’s coming! I can feel it in my bones.’
Rene made no answer. She could feel it, too.
The following evening she hoped to see Harry but, although she went out onto the step a number of times, there was no sign of him. Several days passed without sight of him and Rene felt depressed, wondering whether he was deliberately avoiding her, having regretted kissing her. She knew, because she had asked Cissie, that he was still working on constructing air raid shelters and was often out evenings. Were more and more ARP practices taking up his time? She wished she had some answers.
One Sunday in August, she saw Greta coming out of the newsagent’s. It was the day military action had been reported along the Polish border. Greta’s eyes brightened when she saw her.
‘I’ve had a letter from Alex.’
‘How is he?’
‘Fed up because it definitely looks like war and he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to get home and on with his search. They’re expecting to stay in dock at their next port of call and paint the ship in camouflage colours. He’s been told that when war’s declared, portholes and windows are to be covered and smoking’s not allowed on deck after sunset because the U boats’ll be looking for them.’ Greta frowned. ‘That’s worrying, isn’t it? Did you know that the glow from a cigarette can be seen miles away? It’s to do with the angle of the earth as it turns, apparently. I hope he stays sensible and doesn’t smoke at all. My dad never took to smoking, so I hope Alex doesn’t either.’
Rene seized her opportunity. ‘How is your dad?’
‘He’s gone off to see some woman.’
Rene froze with shock and several seconds passed before she could get out the words. ‘I didn’t know he knew any women.’ Her voice sounded strangled in her ears.
Greta pulled a face. ‘Her name is Mrs Cox. She’s the widow of one o
f those men who were killed in that accident on the ship.’
‘You mean the one whose funeral he went to?’ Rene did not want to believe that there was any more to it than a sympathy visit.
‘You’ve got it in one! The trouble is, he’s been in a peculiar mood lately. I can guess why but … ’ Her voice broke off and then she continued. ‘Anyway, I’ve been left to make the Sunday dinner. Gran’s out, too. She’s gone gallivanting with her old flame and won’t be back until late as she has the evening off. I feel fed up with both of them. I just hope Dad’s soft heart doesn’t land him in trouble.’
Rene could only hope the same.
*
Edith cocked her little finger as she lifted the teacup to her lips. She had almost given up on Harry Peters. It was more than a month since the accident and money was getting a little tight. She had begun to look seriously for a job. Munitions would pay well but she hadn’t forgotten what the chemicals had done to the complexion of the girls she had known during the Great War. Canaries they’d been nicknamed. She didn’t really want to work or even get married again, would prefer to be free, with enough money to go to the theatre, cinema, dancing, shopping for clothes, take a cruise. She had enjoyed the one cruise she’d been on. It was just after the end of the Great War and her mistress, who had lost her husband in the last week of the hostilities and was suffering from nervous debility, had been persuaded by Lawrence to take a cruise to Egypt. He had suggested Edith went along, too, to help his sister. The work had not been the slightest bit arduous because May Dunn had wanted to be alone most of the time. Edith and Lawrence had danced on deck under the moon; it wouldn’t have done for them to do so in the ballroom. They had been wonderful days. She had sailed along the Nile, seen the Pyramids and the Suez Canal.
‘My daughter’s younger than your girls.’ Harry’s statement jerked Edith into the present.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared at him.
‘My Greta. She’ll be fourteen in October.’ His smile was strained. ‘The last year hasn’t been easy for her, either. First we lost her younger brother and sister and then my wife.’