The madams from the ‘gay’ houses, the brothels, bought gin and brandy, it was of the finest quality, stolen from the docks and the most splendid gin shops.
The shop that Charlie regularly stole from had an ornamented parapet. It’s illuminated clock, plate glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, stood in dazzling contrast to the darkness and dirt of the streets outside. It was a tale of two cities and the Boyles were the outsiders looking in from the cold. The profusion of gas lights in richly gilded burners were tantalising places where they could never step foot.
Soon most people in the neighbourhood had heard of Charlie’s arrest. News travelled fast, especially in the close knit communities of the Court dwellings and particularly in Circus Street. Young Jim, bright for a four year old, never missed a trick, he had to live on his wits. He never liked what his father had him doing, crawling around through cellars in the dark, trying not to drop the heavy glass bottles. He just got on with it with quiet acceptance and never complained. He just thought it was the way life was. To him it was perfectly normal.
There weren’t many boys around for him to play with so he hung around with Florrie who was a bit of a tomboy. They were playing with some broken pegs which they pretended were soldiers, the pegs were all lined up on Florrie’s mother’s step when they heard about Jim’s father’s arrest. Jim knew that stealing was wrong and he had been part of it. He was scared that he might be locked up himself. For the first time in his young life he experienced a panic attack, his pale face became flushed and his heart was pounding. He was fearful of what might happen next.
‘It’s a right how d’you do, this is.’ Betsy was brooding, she couldn’t stop harping, on and on about Freddie’s inadequacies. It was like water of a duck’s back to Freddie. The clock chimed four and he was itching to go out again, he had to get away from the needle tongued harpy. He was determined to treat himself to a little ‘do’ in Su May’s. Without her!
As soon as Freddie slipped into the dimly lit reception area of Su May’s bordello he grabbed a handful of sickly sweets from the jar on the counter. A tired eyed girl glared at him from her low stool behind. Her Oriental dress was black, red and gold and made from the finest silk.
‘I’ll be wanting me usual today, the one with the nipple rings.’ Said Freddie.
The pan faced girl didn’t answer him. She stood up to take his hat and coat, then led him into the dingy bar which was filled with a noxious blend of cigar smoke, opium and the smell of heady perfume.
For the first time in weeks, Freddie found Maurice sitting in a corner. He was twiddling impatiently with the fox’s head on his silver topped cane. He wouldn’t leave it at the counter as it was valuable, he was afraid of it being stolen. It was a weapon to defend himself if he was attacked in the streets. He also, used it as part of his sex games. He could be brutal and cruel. His cold, blue eyes met with Freddie’s. He immediately recognised him, although he hadn’t been back to Betsy’s since he had violated Alice.
He was cunning, he kept away from the house where Alice worked, not because of a guilt feeling. It was to make sure there was no trouble awaiting him. Either from the law or others.
The Chinese girl brought them whisky with a pitcher of water, then quietly left. ‘Have you any new flesh for me?’ Asked Maurice.
‘I will have soon, another light haired young ‘un, she’s twelve, the other one’s sister.’
Maurice quietly eyed Freddie. ‘I will never forget her, that nice girl with the golden hair. I saw her today in town, acting the goat with a crowd of brats and circus trash by the look of it.’ Said Maurice as he tapped his cane onto the carpeted floor.
His mind drifted back to a year ago when he was in Betsy’s front parlour. He was becoming aroused just by the thought of it. He would enjoy his afternoon in the brothel even more with the memory of this experience very much alive in his mind.
‘Nah, couldn’t have been her.’ Answered Freddie dismissively.
‘It bloody well was, thirteen now is she? I fancy paying her another visit.’ He sneered, supping his whisky. ‘She was with a man with carroty hair, he looked mad, wearing a shabby top hat.’ He licked his lips savouring the taste of the scotch and imagining the next encounter with the girl whose life he had ruined.
Maurice justified his foul actions by thinking that if it had not been him, it would have been someone else. He had absolutely no qualms and had been known to hire a ruthless midwife to prove a girl’s virginity before he would pay for her.
The Chinese hostess reappeared and whispered in Freddie’s ear, ‘Girl with nipple rings, she ready now.’ The men parted company, there was a girl waiting for Maurice, young but experienced.
Lottie Boyle’s three daughters were still in the widow’s house opposite. Lottie didn’t mind where they went. She wanted them from under her feet and she knew they would more than likely be fed across the street. Young Jim was rarely indoors now, he was either playing with Florrie or up to no good with young thieves. She didn’t care.
After the row with Charlie, she had stormed out. She then scrounged a lift on a coal wagon up to Everton. She was going to see her sister, Margaret. Lottie was desperate, the hard sour look on her face reflected an inner fear. She feared for the future and what would happen to her when Charlie was banged up. Things were bad now but would get a lot worse. The reality of her situation struck her like a hammer blow. She had to make her own decisions to protect herself and the children.
Her sister was thirty seven, a few years older than her. Lottie knew Margaret would be alone, her husband was at sea and Margaret had never had children.
Lottie grudgingly gave the driver a penny, she then approached Margaret’s house and tentatively knocked on the door. Her elder sister’s face fell as she opened the door. They had never got on as children and rarely saw each other these days. She knew all about Lottie’s drinking and suspected her involvement in handling stolen property. She disliked Charlie, she knew he was a thief but still, Lottie was her sister and her only sibling, so she couldn’t turn her away.
Margaret was not a hard woman and had some sympathy for Lottie who had suffered some misfortunes in early life.
Lottie’s down trodden appearance looked out of place in the neighbourhood. She looked and felt dirty after sitting on the coal wagon, she had lost every shred of pride. Facing her sister in the parlour, there were tears running down her face, she was terrified of being turned away.
Lottie’s sorry tale came as no surprise to Margaret. Today her sister was, in her manner of speech, unusually sensible. Quite different from her convoluted way of talking when she’d had a drink.
Crying and shaking, Lottie gripped her sister’s hands. ‘Please take Jessie!’
Margaret’s husband Joe had longed for children and they had often discussed taking one of Lottie’s on. Margaret always wanted a child and without hesitation, she agreed.
She felt sorry for the children, if not for her feckless sister. In these difficult times, she could only take one. It made sense to take the youngest girl, because she had always dreamt of having a daughter.
Lottie broke down. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ She sobbed.
Chapter 5
Sophie’s Journey
New Brighton 1928
The summer rays streamed through the opacity of the lead light front door of the Victorian villa. Sophie Shore gazed into the hall looking glass, flecks of light were dancing on her heart shaped face from the sunlight refracting from the bevelled glass of the art deco mirror. Her bright green eyes were fixed on her fresh freckly complexion, for a moment she thought she could see diamond earrings, sparkling from her earlobes. She was lost in a world of her own.
Her concentration was soon broken by the sound of her mother’s voice. ‘You’ve been standing in that mirror long enough Sophie, call Bertie down and take him over to the fair for an hour.’ Said her mother impatiently. ‘I’ll give you two shillings, buy him something to eat.’
With an exasperated sigh, Sophie v
igorously brushed her hair forward, then tossed back her head with a flourish.
Still admiring herself she called up the stairs to her brother, ‘Bertie, bring yourself down here now, we are going to the fair.’
‘Bring yourself down here? What on earth does that mean?’ She heard her father ask her mother. ‘Where does she learn these things?’
At one time her father, Arthur, had been a Major in The 1st Battalion The Cheshire Regiment. Although now an insurance broker in the City of Liverpool, in his mind, he still lived in military times and was very set in his ways. Her mother, May, was a thoroughly modern mother who had entered the workforce. She worked in the local school as a secretary and had embraced the practical styles of the 1920’s. Arthur wasn’t keen on the idea of his wife working, but she clearly enjoyed the work and, after all, his earnings were relatively modest in these precarious times.
‘Arthur, it’s 1928, the world has taken a few turns and the war is long over.’ May scrutinised her husband’s handle-bar moustache, wishing he would shave it off. ‘The children are growing up in a different world. Both you and I have to move with the times. She will pick up modern language, no matter how much you may dislike it.’
‘Hate ten year old boys.’ Thought Sophie. She was fourteen, going on thirty. In her mind she was grown up and going out with her younger brother was not something she enjoyed. ‘Wish I had a sister instead.’
She stood at the foot of the oak staircase, holding onto the carved newel post. She shouted again for her brother. She heard him grunt a reply and slam his book shut. Soon the podgy young boy came lumbering downstairs.
Sophie adjusted her straw hat in the mirror, turning, she slapped Bertie’s cap on his head as he passed her. Taking the money from her mother, they both kissed her and waved a cheery ‘Bye.’ Sophie practically dragged her young sibling out of the front door.
She took a deep breath of salty air. Although the warm summer breeze gave her hair a life of its own, she felt content. In reality, Sophie could hardly contain her excitement at going to the fair. She loved living in New Brighton and felt privileged that her home was on Oakland Vale. She loved to look across Magazines Promenade and watch the ships on the River Mersey. The view ‘over the water’ to Liverpool was breathtaking. She felt even more lucky to have the fun fair at Tower Grounds on her doorstep.
Their mother stood in the turret window of the drawing room with her arms folded as she watched her children scuttle down the steep steps. Her gaze followed them until they went through the wrought iron gate and soon disappeared from view.
She tapped the pearls on her long stringed necklace with the tips of her brightly painted nails. She turned to face her husband with a big sigh.
‘It’s your own fault.’ Said Arthur, as he drew gently on his pipe, puffing sweet scented tobacco which permeated the room.
‘What is? What is all my fault?’ Asked May.
‘Well something is bothering you and normally that means it’s Sophie.’ Answered her husband. ‘You made too much of her when she was young, telling her she had ‘titian’ coloured hair, telling her how lovely it was, as far as I’m concerned it’s red, it’s wiry and out of control.’
‘What are you talking about? It’s not that. It’s far more serious.’ Said May. ‘Children and even the teachers ridicule her, calling her names.’
‘But the girl’s fourteen, she should be used to that by now.’ Answered Arthur dismissively, now bored with discussing his daughter.
‘For heaven’s sake Arthur.’ Said May exasperated. ‘Listen to me!’
‘Well, if it’s women’s problems or the other, you’ll have to sort it out.’ Snorted Arthur burying himself in his paper. ‘Anyway, she seems to like her hair now.’
May had to think before realising that ‘the other’ meant sex. ‘No, this is worrying. She says she can see things that no one else can see. She claims to be able to see the future. She’s always making things up. The headmistress says that it is not right that she is such a story-teller at her age. The teachers even suggest that she might have a mental problem. Sophie gets so upset when she is not believed, she says that she can see things that others cannot.’
‘I see.’ Arthur’s dark blue eyes squinted in the clouds of sweet tobacco smoke. ‘Well she’s either having hallucinations or she’s quite simply an attention seeker.’
‘I’m worried about her. She’s good at art but in this day and age it’s not good enough.’ May was unable to contain the anxiety in her voice. ‘Some of the things she says are disturbing. She frightened poor Millie Bradshaw to death with her playground comments last week. The girl was in floods of tears.’
‘What did she say to her for goodness sake?’ Arthur was now having difficulty in concentrating on the subject which he regarded as frivolous.
‘She said that she could see a purple glowing light around her head and that she had a premonition that she would be hurt in a terrible accident. She warned her to stay away from motor cars!’ May looked down, holding the back of her hand to her mouth in exasperation. ‘There are other similar tales from her. I’ve got to work at that school, the Millie affair was highly embarrassing. I was called into the Head’s office and sat there humiliated while she received a dressing down. I had to go and see Mrs. Bradshaw to apologise and I’m tired of making excuses for her.’
‘Well, I agree our daughter is good at art. Perhaps she’s a highly strung, creative, type, a bit sensitive, I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.’ Said Arthur a little impatiently.
May was going to tell her husband some more of Sophie’s fantastical tales but thought better of it. She knew this was not a teenage phase. Her daughter had told stories since she was old enough to string a sentence together. But a look from Arthur, as he drew deeply from his pipe, was enough. May decided to keep quiet, it was a waste of time discussing it further.
She nestled down on the sofa and snatched the Daily Mail from the coffee table, deliberately creating an annoying rustle. She guarded her face with the paper to break eye contact with her husband. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she imagined her po-faced husband’s reaction to the children’s talk she had heard most days in the playground about ‘the other.’
May tried to clear her mind of worry about her daughter and began to absorb herself in the news. ‘Economic output continues to fall affecting coalmining, shipbuilding and steel, I expect we will soon have a Labour government.’ She mused. As he struck a Swan Vesta match to relight his pipe, Arthur pondered how the slump would affect his livelihood. Husband and wife spent the rest of the morning barely exchanging a word.
To placate Bertie, Sophie had taken a detour through Vale Park on their way to the fair. He was particularly drawn to the unusual flowers. However, Sophie was looking for excitement. ‘Come on slow coach, maybe we will go on the caterpillar today! Now hurry!’
‘I want to go on a donkey ride instead.’ Said Bertie as he pointed to a group of children on the beach. He stood watching them being helped onto the backs of the willing animals.
‘You’re not going on those stinking things.’ Petulant and determined, she was heading for the novelty rides but Sophie had to drag him along.
An attraction in itself, the welcoming sound of the fairground pipe organ was beckoning. As they came closer to the fair Sophie began to catch sight of the ornate facade, floridly decorated. The unique sound, blaring out popular tunes, could be heard above the noise of the bustling crowds and the fairground machinery.
Sophie imagined the music reaching the day trippers leaving the ferry. Hoards of children were running excitedly down the gangway ahead of their parents whilst trying to hold on to their straw hats, lifting in the breeze. They had travelled across the water from Liverpool and were looking forward to a great day out. Their eager faces were a picture of innocence as they clutched their buckets and spades. The fair was only part of the panorama of seaside attractions on offer in New Brighton. Children could make sandcastles
whilst watching beach entertainers and Punch and Judy shows.
Bertie started to warm to the idea of the fair. He was pointing to one of his favourite games, he was convinced he would win every time. ‘Let’s play ‘Roll a Penny’ first.’
‘Not with my pennies, you’re not, lose your own, it’s either rigged or impossible to win, dopey.’ Said Sophie wrinkling up her nose.
‘It’s not your money, Ma gave it to you to keep safe for both of us and I want to play. Just once. Please.’ He wheedled.
Reluctantly, Sophie handed over a penny. He carefully rolled it down the fluted slope towards a grid of small squares. Each square had a number painted onto it, the sum that could be won if the penny landed in it. His eyes were fixed on the rolling penny, inevitably it didn’t land fully inside the square. Sophie’s eyes rolled to the heavens when she saw the crestfallen look on her brother’s face.
To pacify Bertie who now looked rather sullen, she assured him that he would soon be fed, so he bucked up immediately.
‘You lost, now watch me on this one.’ Bertie followed his sister through the bustling crowds towards another stall. There was an array of prizes displayed at the rear including teddy bears and china ornaments. Sophie had her eye on a china black cat. It cost tuppence to play the game that was called ‘Bunty Pulls The String.’ The stallholder smiled as she presented her with a multitude of strings suspended from the stall roof. Some, but not all of the strings, were attached to a prize by means of a small overhead pulley wheel.
Sophie grasped the strings confidently and gave Bertie a smug look. Unperturbed by a crowd of watching fairgoers, she fell deep in concentration. She shut out all the noise and distraction as she studied the strings. Her sharp green eyes focussed on the prize of her choice, her steady hand sought one string only. She remained unusually calm as she lifted the prize she had chosen. There were cheers of delight from the bystanders. His sister’s success even animated Bertie.
‘Well done love and good luck to you, black cats are lucky!’ Called the chubby stallholder in a booming voice, making sure passers-by and beyond could hear her. The delighted show lady knew that a prize winner would attract more custom and she liked to make a big noise about it. Sophie beamed with pride as she took her little cat and placed it in the pocket of her dress. She couldn’t wait to show her mother, she planned to put it in pride of place on her dressing table.
A Wanton Tale Page 6