Through The Storm

by Maureen Lee

  Jimmy felt bitter tears sting his eyes. He loathed manual work. It had almost come as a relief when both his legs were broken and he’d had to leave. There was no way the Dock Board could claim he was in the wrong place at the wrong time when the crate fell on him – in other words, it was all his own fault – something they usually did when a docker was injured, or even killed. Jimmy was exactly where he should be; it was the crane that was at fault. With the help of Jack Doyle, the unpaid union representative, he’d managed to wangle a pension out of the mean buggers when it seemed to all concerned that his legs would never mend.

  According to Jack, conditions on the docks had improved out of all proportion since the war began. ‘We’re essential workers now, Jimmy.’ Younger dockers were regarded as so important they weren’t called up. The iniquitous system whereby men had to wait outside the gate early in the morning in the hope of being picked for work by some snotty foreman in order to feed their families was no longer in force. There was work a’plenty, wages had gone up, the job was secure.

  Jimmy sighed. He was already bored out of his mind and it was still very early. Kitty had taken the alarm clock into her room and it hadn’t crossed her mind to fetch it back, but he could tell from the sounds outside what time it was. He heard Nelson’s hooves clip-clop over the cobbles and the clink of milk bottles.

  To his astonishment, downstairs the key was drawn through the letterbox and the front door was opened. At first, he thought it was Kitty; she was worried about him, she’d chucked in the job and come home.

  Instead, a deep voice shouted, a woman, ‘It’s only me, Jimmy.’ Footsteps came pounding up the stairs and the house shook.

  Only who?

  Jimmy cowered against the bedhead and clutched the eiderdown up to his chin, just as the bedroom door was flung open and Vera Dodds, the postwoman, came marching in, bringing with her a rush of fresh air.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Jimmy demanded through gritted teeth. The nerve of the woman, coming unannounced and uninvited into a man’s bedroom! Women had started taking all sorts of liberties since the war. Vera was one of those who came into the King’s Arms on her own! Some of the chaps seemed to regard this as an improvement on their normally all-male preserve – Dai Evans, for one, who chatted Vera up all night long. But Jimmy couldn’t stand women who thought themselves equal to men. If his Kitty ever got such ideas, he’d soon put her straight.

  ‘I’ve brought your Daily Herald.’ Vera threw the paper onto the bed.

  ‘Ta.’

  ‘Y’look like Funf, peering over the eiderdown like that.’

  Jimmy angrily pushed the cover down to his waist. ‘Thanks again for the paper,’ he said pointedly.

  ‘That’s all right.’ She smiled showing a row of huge white teeth. ‘Any time.’

  He waited anxiously for her to leave, and was taken aback when she took her bulging postbag off her shoulder, put it on the floor and approached him. He shrank back and she laughed uproariously.

  ‘I’m not going to eat you. I’m going to get you downstairs.’

  ‘I don’t want to go downstairs.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said witheringly. ‘It’s not good for a man to be stuck in bed all day when there’s no need.’

  She yanked the covers back and Jimmy hastily covered his private parts with both hands, in case they were showing through the gap in his pyjamas.

  Vera laughed again. ‘You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before, Jimmy Quigley. I’m in the St John’s Ambulance, aren’t I? I’ve been helping out in Bootle Hospital for the past two years.’

  He thought she was going to help him out of bed and was stunned when she bent down, put her arms around his waist and effortlessly hoisted him over her shoulder.

  Jimmy screamed.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Vera said brusquely, ‘else you’ll have the neighbours wondering what we’re up to.’

  She managed to carry him down the stairs with little difficulty and deposited him in the armchair underneath the window.

  ‘There!’ she said with a quiet air of triumph and only slightly out of breath.

  Jimmy was too traumatised to speak, particularly when Vera clutched both his ankles and began to bend his legs as if he were a machine.

  ‘Does this hurt?’ she demanded.

  He stared at her with glazed eyes, unable to answer.

  ‘Because it shouldn’t. If you exercised your legs every day, you’d soon be back on your feet. Fact, you should have been up and about years ago. You only broke ’em, after all. Now, I’ll put the kettle on, then fetch your clothes, and you can make yourself a cuppa tea and get dressed after I’ve gone.’

  She went into the kitchen, then disappeared upstairs and came back with her postbag over her shoulder and his clothes. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked.

  Jimmy nodded dazedly. He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

  ‘I’ll come back tomorrow with the paper and bring you down.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Jimmy found his voice. ‘Just pop the paper through the door. I was just about to come down the stairs when you appeared.’

  Vera regarded him suspiciously. ‘Your Kitty said you couldn’t manage ’em.’

  ‘I was going to have a go for the first time on me own,’ he replied defensively.

  ‘In that case, I’ll look in and make sure you’re all right, just in case you’re in a heap at the bottom.’

  Vera Dodds departed, chuckling, to get on with her round. Jimmy got dressed, and had just finished when the kettle boiled. He fetched the teapot from the back kitchen, feeling resentful. It wasn’t right, a man having to do menial tasks like this for himself. Not that he’d wanted Vera Dodds to do it for him, he wanted Kitty, his own flesh and blood. He couldn’t recall when he’d last made a cuppa. He wondered what Kitty was up to. Taking it easy, he’d like to bet, flirting with the sailors and gossiping over nothing with the other nurses, which was all women seemed to do when they got together.

  He’d just poured the tea when he realised the Daily Herald was still upstairs. It must have got mixed up with the bedclothes and Vera had forgotten to bring it down when she fetched his clothes.

  ‘Stupid cow!’ he cursed.

  Jimmy looked right, then left, as if hidden eyes were watching from inside the chimney or the back kitchen, then ran upstairs for the newspaper.

  It wasn’t that he’d meant to fool his mates and the neighbours, even less his dear Kitty, but having the accident had made him feel important, the centre of attention for a while. Once his legs began to feel better, he couldn’t bear the idea of going back to the docks. He liked being at home and the sole object of his daughter’s attention. It made him feel rather like a king with his own tiny kingdom to rule. Somehow, he managed to convince both himself and everybody else that he was still an invalid, because he wanted to be an invalid. He felt happier that way.

  Now, he thought drily as he returned downstairs with the paper, he was a king without a subject and a woman in trousers had just carried him downstairs as if he was a sack of coal. He shuddered at the memory. Tomorrow when she came, he’d be in the chair, tea made, and tell her it was sheer willpower that had done it, a victory of mind over matter.

  He was just reading how the Russians were fighting back, defying the Germans every step of the way, and thinking admiringly, ‘the stubborn red devils,’ when the front door opened again and this time it was Aggie Donovan who came in, a bottle of milk in her hand.

  ‘Oh, so you’re up,’ she remarked in surprise.

  ‘Vera Dodds helped me down,’ Jimmy explained somewhat unwillingly.

  ‘Did she now!’ Aggie looked slightly aggrieved, as if she would have carried him down herself given half a chance. ‘I’ve brought your milk in. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ve already made one,’ Jimmy said curtly. If she expected him to offer her some, she had another think coming.

  ‘Wonders will never cease! Would you li
ke a bite of breakfast, then?’

  ‘No, ta. I intend making meself something in a minute.’

  ‘Your Kitty will have a heart attack when she comes home.’

  ‘Our Kitty cosseted me too much,’ Jimmy said traitorously. ‘She wouldn’t let me do a thing for meself.’

  ‘Pull the other one, Jimmy, it’s got bells on. Oh, well, I’ll love you and leave you. Tara.’

  ‘Tara.’

  Jimmy returned to the paper. He’d cut the key off the string in a minute, otherwise the house would be like Exchange Station all day long.

  A few minutes later, the back door opened, and Dominic Reilly, Sheila’s eldest boy, came in with a bowl of porridge.

  ‘Me mam said she couldn’t spare the milk and sugar. You’ll have to use your own.’

  Jimmy was about to tell Dominic what he could do with his porridge when he remembered he quite liked the lad. He was a splendid little chap, eight years old, clean-cut and with a pleasant open face – the image of his dad, Calum Reilly. Not only that, he was a good, keen footballer. Jimmy often observed the lads playing footy in the streets, goalposts chalked on the railway wall. Dominic stood out from the others with his speed and nifty footwork.

  ‘Ta,’ he said, doing his best to sound gracious.

  ‘Me mam said you’d be in bed and I was to put the sugar and milk in and take it up to you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not in bed, am I? I’m up, and I can put me own sugar and milk in, thanks all the same,’ Jimmy said tartly. It was one thing having your own daughter waiting on you hand and foot, but another thing altogether for heavyweight postwomen and little boys to behave as if you were totally helpless.

  Dominic looked at him with interest. ‘You used to play footy for Everton, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. Only the reserves.’

  ‘Still.’ The lad seemed impressed and Jimmy preened himself. ‘Did you know Dixie Dean?’

  ‘He was after my time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘He scored sixty goals one season,’ Dominic said reverently, ‘more than any other footballer in history.’

  ‘I know.’ If Jimmy had been standing, he would have genuflected.

  ‘We’ve got a big match at school soon,’ Dominic said proudly. ‘I’m team captain. It’s some sort of cup thing,’ he added vaguely. ‘We’re already through the first round.’

  ‘What position do you play?’

  ‘Centre forward, same as Dixie. It’s me favourite.’

  ‘It was mine, too. You feel like you’re king o’the pitch.’

  They stared at each other, eyes aglow with mutual understanding.

  ‘Look, I’d like to know how you get on.’ Jimmy genuinely meant it. ‘In fact, pop in after school some time and I’ll give you a few tips.’

  ‘Honest? I’ll come today. I’ll have to go now, else I’ll be late.’ Dominic was halfway down the yard when he shouted, ‘I forgot to say, me mam’ll be in later to make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Tell her not to bother,’ Jimmy shouted, but the back door had already closed. He groaned. Dominic almost certainly hadn’t heard.

  It was almost six o’clock by the time Kitty arrived home, all dolled up in a green and white striped frock and her own clothes rolled up underneath her arm. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ he demanded indignantly. ‘You’ve been gone more than twelve hours!’

  ‘We don’t finish till four, do we, Dad? Before I left, I had a little chat with one of the patients, then I decided to walk home. I was really in need of some fresh air to clear me head.’ She could still smell the hospital even now, a mixture of disinfectant and urine.

  ‘You had a little chat, then you walked home? But what about me?’ Jimmy regarded his tired, flushed daughter with mounting irritation.

  ‘What about you?’ she frowned.

  ‘As far as you were concerned, I could have still been in bed, waiting for you to help me downstairs. It seems to me you forgot your ould dad’s existence. What’s he like, this Jack Tar you were chatting to? Handsome, is he?’ He was terrified he would lose her, that she’d fall in love with someone else and Jimmy would no longer be the centre of her universe.

  She made a funny little movement with her mouth that he’d never seen before. It could almost have been contempt. ‘I don’t know what he looks like, Dad. He hasn’t got a face.’

  With a pang, Jimmy knew that she was already partially lost. It was nothing to do with love. She’d discovered there were other people in the world who needed her more than he did.

  ‘How did you get on in the job?’ he asked grudgingly.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ Jimmy jealously noticed the way her face lit up and her eyes shone. ‘I made a right ould mess of things at first.’ She explained about the uniform and the floors. ‘But once I got the hang of it, well sort of, I really enjoyed it. Guess what me and Harriet did just before we left? We took the temperatures of one entire ward! Harriet read the thermometer, and I wrote it on the chart. Oh, I love it there, Dad, I really do. I can’t wait to get back tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you like it, luv.’ He told himself he was glad, even though her happiness was at his expense.

  ‘Here’s me,’ she said suddenly, ‘been home nearly ten minutes and I haven’t even started on your tea.’

  ‘It’s all right, luv, I’m not hungry.’ She’d left a vegetable casserole in the oven for his dinner, and on top of that, people had been bringing him food all day long. In the end, he’d begun to feel a bit like a stray dog.

  ‘How did you manage the stairs, anyroad?’ she asked. If the truth be known, she’d scarcely thought about her dad all day. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel all that guilty.

  ‘Vera Dodds helped me down.’ Never, in a million years, would he reveal she’d carried him.

  Later on, when he announced he was going to the King’s Arms for a pint, Kitty said, ‘Y’won’t be back late, will you, Dad? I want to get to bed dead early tonight. I feel fair whacked.’

  Jimmy took a deep breath. ‘You go to bed whenever you like, luv. I’ll see to meself, even if I have to crawl upstairs.’ In response to her startled expression, he added, ‘Well, I’ll have to start learning to manage on me own, won’t I? You’re doing a good job in that hospital.’ Now he thought about it, he felt quite proud. Fancy her taking temperatures, just like a proper nurse! He couldn’t wait to tell his mates in the pub. He thought about the sailor without a face and felt more than a little ashamed of the way he’d behaved when she first came home.

  Unfortunately, Jessica’s plans for earning a living with the van came to naught. Offering a small delivery service had seemed a perfect way to make a living. As Penny loved going for rides, she could have taken her daughter with her. Jessica knew the haulage business inside out and had numerous contacts; old rivals of Hennessy Removal & Haulage Company, who, she felt sure, would be only too willing to pass on a small load that they might otherwise have had to turn down because it wasn’t worth the petrol. It meant they kept the good will of the customer who might well turn to them again when they had a larger load that needed shifting.

  The first inkling she had that there would be difficulties was when she bought a fireguard, which turned out to be a problem all in itself.

  ‘Folks hand them in for scrap metal when they don’t need them any more. I haven’t had a fireguard in ages,’ she was told again and again.

  She walked for miles with Penny in the pushchair before she found a nice smart brass one in a shop at the far end of Stanley Road.

  ‘I’ll send the lad round with it Sat’day on the handcart,’ the proprietor told her.

  ‘Saturday! But I need it now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, lady, but the lad only comes Sat’days. It’d mean closing the shop if I brought it before then.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a van?’ It was a large shop and there was none of the usual rubbish for sale. Everything was good quality and she recognised a few valuable antiques. She vaguely remembered this was where her father
used to bring the odd bit of porcelain and silver which he’d picked up for a song – making about one thousand per cent profit at the same time. Surely, a place like this didn’t function with merely a handcart?

  ‘I’m not using the van to deliver a fireguard, lady, not when petrol’s so scarce. If I did that, me month’s ration’d be gone in a few days.’

  ‘Don’t you get extra if you’re in business?’

  The proprietor took offence, apparently thinking Jessica was arguing for an early delivery, rather than asking the question out of real interest. ‘Only for essential purposes,’ he snapped, ‘and I doubt if the Government would consider delivering a fireguard essential, not when the petrol’s needed by the RAF to fight the bloody war.’

  ‘I was only asking! I’ll take the guard with me.’ Both ends folded so it shouldn’t be too difficult to carry. She bestowed upon him a brilliant smile. ‘Thanks very much. I’ve been looking for one of these all over.’

  Feeling placated by the smile, the proprietor offered her a piece of string so she could make a handle.

  A few days later, Jessica telephoned Mappin’s Nationwide Removals and asked for the manager.

  ‘Charlie? It’s me, Jessica Fleming, Bert Hennessy’s daughter,’ she said when an old voice quavered ‘hallo’.

  ‘Jessie! I thought you went to live in the States when war broke out?’

  ‘I don’t know where you got that idea from, Charlie. Arthur and I have been living in the Lake District.’ The idea had in fact come from Jessica herself. When the axe of bankruptcy had fallen, she’d told all their old friends she and Arthur were moving to America, because she was too ashamed to reveal their real destination was Bootle.

  She explained her proposed business plan to Charlie Mappin, but was dismayed by his reaction, even though, by now, it was half expected.

  ‘You’d never be allowed the petrol, Jess, luv. I’ve already put three of me lorries into mothballs, and if I didn’t have a Government contract which means I get an essential allowance, I doubt if I could keep the other four going.’