After work he rarely went out, seeming content to sit in his chair, silent and subdued, glancing listlessly through his newspaper. But as he laughed at Cathy’s story, he seemed briefly to resemble the cheerful man they had always known.
Sarah had gone home to bed before Cathy went over. Sally came to the door after her daughter. ‘Why don’t you come to us for tea on Sunday?’ Cathy said. ‘We always come here, and the change might brighten Dad up.’
‘No thanks, love. I’d rather you came here,’ Sally said. ‘We both look forward to it.’
On Sunday, when the family gathered round the table for tea, they all did justice to the lavish spread provided by Sally, and Mick and John especially enjoyed the good food.
‘They’ve got good appetites,’ Josh Adamson said wistfully.
‘I don’t know where they put it,’ said Cathy. ‘If you’d seen the size of the dinners they ate only a few hours ago! They must have hollow legs.’
‘They’re growing lads,’ Sally said tolerantly. ‘And they’re both strong and healthy, thank God.’
Josh sighed. ‘They might as well enjoy it while they can,’ he said, and Cathy remembered that he had been told by his doctor to cut down on his food.
‘Do you feel any better?’ she asked him. ‘Mam said your breathing was bad.’
‘Aye, it takes me all me time to walk up the broo from Shaw Street,’ he said. ‘It’s a good job I sit down to my work or I couldn’t carry on. The doctor says I’ve got fatty degeneration of the heart, and I’ve got to give up meat and fried stuff.’
‘That’s hard,’ Cathy said sympathetically. ‘But, still, if it means you’ll get better, it’ll be worth it, won’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ he sighed. ‘But it’s torture, Cathy, torture. I’m a man that likes his food, as you know.’
Cathy felt deeply sorry for the gentle old man and later said so to her mother.
‘It’s awful, Cath,’ Sally said. ‘It was a pleasure to cook for him because he enjoyed his food so much, but now I don’t know what to do. With Dad working shifts, I can try to give them their meals separately but I’m trying to build Dad up, yet I’m afraid to cook anything that’ll leave a savoury smell in the air to make it harder for Josh.’
‘Do you think it’s worth it for him?’ Cathy said.
‘Dad doesn’t think so. He thinks it’s too late to make any difference and Josh shouldn’t deprive himself when it upsets him so much, but I’m afraid to give him meat. I’d never forgive myself if it killed him.’
‘How old is he?’ Cathy asked.
‘I don’t know. He seemed quite old when he first came here, but that might have been because he was so settled in his ways. It’s hard to say.’ Josh seemed to forget his troubles when Kate sat on his knee or when she danced and sang for him. There was a deep affection between the old man and the lively little girl.
‘They’re well matched,’ Sally said dryly to Cathy. ‘He never gets fed up watching her and she never gets tired of performing.’ And Cathy had to agree.
Nobody was sure whether the diet prescribed by the doctor was the cause or whether worry made Josh lose weight, but he soon became much thinner and his breathing improved. Kate spent more time at her grandmother’s house now that Cathy was often at work, and most of that with Josh.
One day he shyly asked Cathy if she would allow him to pay for dancing lessons for Kate. ‘I think she’s got real talent,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’d be very pleased if you would allow it, Cathy.’
She found it impossible to refuse with Josh and Kate both looking at her expectantly, but later she was careful to warn Kate that Josh might be overrating her talent.
‘He’s fond of you, you see, love. And when people are fond of you, they often think that you can do things better than you really can.’
‘But I can dance well,’ Kate said. ‘Everyone says so.’
‘We’ll have to wait and see what the dancing teacher says,’ Cathy said, but when she spoke to her mother about it, Sally shrugged.
‘The teacher’s not going to quarrel with her bread and butter, is she? She’ll say she’s good whether she is or not. You’ll have to watch that child, Cathy. She’s getting too big for her boots.’
Kate’s friend Rosie was already attending a dancing class in Breck Road, and Cathy took Kate to the same class every Saturday afternoon. On the rare occasions when a job for Cathy occurred on a Saturday afternoon, Greg took her. After one such occasion, he came home full of a new idea.
‘Do you know there’s a dancing class for grown ups?’ he said to Cathy when she came home. ‘Ballroom dancing. It’s only half a crown for six sessions. What do you think?’
‘For us, you mean? We’re a bit old, Greg, and with four children.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Do you know Rosie’s parents go to the Grafton every Thursday night? I’m sure she’s older than you.’
Cathy was doubtful, but the following week Rosie’s mother came to speak to Cathy as she waited for Kate. Cathy had always been too shy to speak to her because she sat with another group of mothers to wait for the little girls. Now the woman introduced herself as Nancy Dutton.
‘I saw your husband here last week, Mrs Redmond, and he seemed interested in the dancing class upstairs. Why don’t you join?’
Cathy blushed. ‘I don’t know. We’re a bit old,’ she murmured.
‘Old? Good heavens, no. I’m sure you’re no older than me, and some of the people who go are much older. Barty and I go to the Grafton every Thursday and we have a really good time. You’ll be missing a lot of fun if you don’t learn.’
‘Greg’s very keen,’ Cathy said, but still looked doubtful. Nancy seized her arm. ‘Come upstairs and peep in,’ she said. ‘The dancing teacher won’t mind.’
Cathy looked in at the dancers, fascinated to see the couples plodding round to the music of a gramophone and the teacher’s voice shouting, ‘One two three, one two three.’
‘I think I’ll try,’ she said, smiling at Nancy. ‘I don’t know why we never learned to dance.’
‘You’ll make a good dancer,’ Nancy said. ‘You’ve got a light step. Your mother has too, hasn’t she? I saw her walking down our street, and she still has that quick, light walk that I used to notice years ago.’
‘Mam used to go to dances when she was young,’ Cathy said. ‘Irish dancing. She enjoyed it.’
The following week Cathy and Greg left Kate at the tap dancing studio and went upstairs to learn ballroom dancing. They found the steps easy to learn and they could move to the rhythm of the music quite effortlessly. At their last session the dancing teacher asked them to demonstrate a waltz for some prospective pupils and they felt that they were ready for a visit to the Grafton.
Nancy invited them to accompany her and Barty, her husband, on their first visit, so that they could “show them the ropes” as she put it. They were glad to agree. It seemed, though, that Nancy and Barty went to the dances with two other couples who were waiting for them in the ballroom.
Cathy thought that the other couples looked momentarily dismayed to see the newcomers, and was relieved when after they were introduced, Greg said firmly, ‘I think we’ll just watch at first. We’ll see you later.’ He took Cathy’s arm and they smiled at the group and went up to the balcony.
‘I’m glad you did that,’ she said. ‘I think they change partners and they wouldn’t want beginners with them. Look.’ They stared down at the floor below which had filled with couples as soon as the music for a Veleta began.
Nancy and Barty and the other couples were among the dancers, but Barty was dancing with one of the other women and Nancy with another man. A tango followed the Veleta so Cathy and Greg remained on the balcony, watching the dancers, but when a waltz was announced Cathy looked at Greg, her brown eyes shining and the dimples appearing in her flushed cheeks as she smiled. He stood up and held out his hand.
‘May I have the pleasure?’ he said, laughing. ‘Cathy, how could you ever think you were t
oo old for this? You look about sixteen.’
They had a happy night, and when Cathy told Josie about it she looked wistful. ‘I’d love to learn,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I could get Walter to go.’
‘Come up to our house and we’ll teach you,’ Cathy said. ‘Walter would come that far, surely?’
‘He’ll come if I have to frog march him!’ Josie said.
The sessions in the Redmonds’ parlour were hilarious. Cathy and Greg had bought a Fullotone cabinet gramophone by hire purchase so that they could play records for Kate to practise her tap dancing, but now they bought dance records and nearly every night the four adults danced to the music of Jack Jason and his Orpheans for the dreamy waltz music and Harry Roy for the foxtrot, with his opening announcement: ‘This is your hotcha ma chotcha, Harry Roy.’
Walter picked up the dances very quickly. He had been a seaman for many years and thought that had made him light on his feet.
Josie was less adept but eventually managed to learn the steps of the dances, although for a while she chanted ‘One two three, one two three’ as she was guided round by Greg.
The parlour was ideal for the dancing classes. Cathy and Greg had put curtains up at the windows and linoleum on the floor but they had not yet managed to furnish the room, except for the cabinet gramophone which stood in solitary state. There was plenty of room for the dancers as they blundered about, Greg with Josie and Cathy with Walter, sometimes too helpless with laughter to move.
Soon the Grafton dances became a regular event for the four of them, the high spot of their week. The catering firm’s cards came once or twice a week, more frequently as Christmas approached, and the extra money made a difference to the Christmas festivities for both families.
In the spring of 1931 John sat for the School Certificate Examination set by the Joint Matriculation Board and passed in seven subjects. He was awarded credits in French, Mathematics, English and Geography, and the family were sure that he would be able to secure a good job. But John soon found that his good school record and examination results made little difference to his prospects.
At this stage in the Depression jobs were hard to find. The magic key was to have a friend or relative who worked for the firm and could “speak” for an applicant, or to know someone who was friendly with an employer and willing to use his influence.
Lawrie raged about the injustice of the system. ‘Here’s a lad who’s worked hard at school and done well in his exams, yet he’s got no chance the way things are,’ he said to Sally. ‘Mind you, girl, for all I think it’s wrong, I’d put my pride in my pocket and ask for him if I knew anyone who could help.’
‘What about the councillors you know?’
‘Not them,’ Lawrie said grimly. ‘It’s a case of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours with those fellers, and there’s nothing I could do for them in return, you see.’
Cathy grieved to see John rushing off every time he heard of a job, his face shining with soap and water and his hopes high, only to see him return a few hours later, disappointed and dejected. At long length, though, his persistence was rewarded and he obtained the job of office boy in a fruit importer’s at a salary of seven shillings a week.
Most of the office staff seemed to be what his grandmother called “tuppence ha’penny toffs”. They tried desperately to give the impression that they belonged to a higher social class than they did, and talked grandly about their superior friends and cultured lifestyle outside the office.
The opposite side of the coin was their contempt for those they saw as their inferiors, and John could find no kindred spirit among them. Before long he was in trouble for his outspoken comments.
A group of the clerks spoke slightingly of the Liverpool councillors John and Bessie Braddock, and John, stamping envelopes at a table nearby, immediately joined in.
‘They’re good people,’ he said angrily. ‘They’ve left the Communist Party now, and they only joined because they were banging their heads against a brick wall trying to get something done for the poor under the present system.’
‘If people are poor it’s their own fault,’ one man said. ‘They don’t want to work.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ John flared. ‘Listen, there are sixty thousand men out of work in Liverpool. Are you saying they’re all shirkers? A shop owner said that in the Council and someone put a hoax notice in the paper that there were two vacancies in his shop. The police had to be called to clear the queues of people applying for the jobs. The street was full and customers couldn’t get into his shop so he published a retraction.’
‘That’s enough,’ the senior clerk said angrily. ‘We don’t want that sort of talk in this office. Get on with your work and keep your mouth shut. You’ve got too much to say for an office boy.’
John had to comply and although his grandfather told him he should stand up for what he thought was right, his mother and grandmother both warned him that he could lose his job if he was not more careful.
John tried to be more restrained but his fiery temper often landed him in hot water with his superiors and made him some enemies among the snobbish clerks. He told himself that it was a job at least and he must stick it out, but the only compensation for him was when he handed his wage packet to his mother each week.
She always told him how much it helped her although John knew that when she had given him a shilling for his pocket money and money for his lunch there was little left. He said this to her one day but she told him that it paid for something extra every week.
‘I bought shoes for Mick last week,’ she said. ‘You know what a problem his shoes are usually.’
It was true that Mick’s shoes were a constant worry to her. ‘You use up as many pairs as if you were a centipede,’ she scolded him. ‘If you don’t try to be more careful, I’ll make you go to school in clogs.’
But neither scolding nor coaxing could make Mick alter his ways. He sailed happily through his days, oblivious to warnings. He had shown a flair for arithmetic and as his English was also good he was usually top of his class although he never seemed to work hard. Most of his spare time now was spent playing football in the park, and on alternate Saturday afternoons he went to stand in the Boys’ Pen and watch Everton Football Club.
‘At least it’s safer than climbing on roofs,’ Greg said, but to Cathy Mick seemed as boisterous and adventurous as ever, and his clothes and shoes suffered accordingly.
Cathy seemed to have few worries as the summer of 1932 approached. Her father had at last thrown off the effects of the shingles and had suffered only one bout of bronchitis the previous winter. She was enjoying her nights at the Grafton and her job as a part-time waitress, and all her children seemed happy.
Josh Adamsom was still paying for Kate’s tap dancing lessons, and she was making good progress. Sally went every week now to the cinema with Peggy Burns, and copied Shirley Temple’s dresses for Kate.
‘I think Kate’s growing more like your Mary in features, although her eyes are brown,’ Josie said to Cathy. ‘And she keeps her clothes clean like your Mary used to, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. Mam says even when times were bad for us and Mary had to go to school in patched clothes, she always made sure her hair was just so,’ Cathy said. ‘Sarah’s more like us. Remember how we used to get our knees black, Jose, kneeling on the flags playing cherry wobs or jacks and ollies?’
They laughed together at the memory, then Josie said with a sigh, ‘Sometimes I wish those days were back, when we had nothing to worry us.’
‘Yes, but we still had the war years to face,’ Cathy said. ‘I wouldn’t want to go through that again, and we were lucky. Our fellows came back all right.’
‘Yes, and we’ve both got healthy kids,’ Josie said. ‘We’ve got a lot to be thankful for. When you think of poor Mrs Moore… she lost three before they were five years old. And Mrs Riley – she says she’ll never get over losing Frances just before her eighteenth birthday.’
‘Don’t,’ Cathy said with a shudder. ‘I can’t bear the thought of losing any of mine.’
‘Yes, we’re getting morbid,’ said Josie. ‘But, listen, is it true the girl from Elsie Hammond’s shop has gone in a sanitorium?’
‘Yes, poor Celia, but it might give her a chance,’ Cathy said. ‘Sarah says Elsie’s taken on another girl on trial, but Sarah doesn’t like her. She doesn’t think Elsie’ll keep her on because she’s slapdash.’
‘Pity Sarah’s not just a bit older. It won’t be long though, Cath, will it, before she’s ready for the shop?’
‘Eighteen months,’ Cathy said. ‘She says she can’t wait.’
‘It’s strange, you know,’ Josie said, ‘when you look round the kids and see family likenesses coming out. Kate’s like your Mary, and Sarah’s like your mam, and our Edie’s like our Mary – like she used to be before she went so bitter.’
‘And your little Alice is like you,’ Cathy said. ‘And our John is the image of Greg.’
‘Like Greg? I don’t think so!’ Josie exclaimed. ‘I think they’re completely different.’
‘But, Josie, his hair and his grey eyes are like Greg’s and he’s as tall, although John has got a heavier build now.’
‘Yes, but in other ways, Cath – in character, for instance. Greg is so quiet and reserved, he’d never push himself forward, while John is so – so self-confident. Nothing shy or diffident about John! Walter says Greg is a gentleman in every sense of the word.’
‘And John’s not, you mean?’ Cathy said.
‘I didn’t say that. They’re just different,’ Josie said hastily. ‘As long as none of mine turns out like my mam, I’ll be satisfied. They say a person’s character shows in their face, don’t they? And just look at my Mam!’
Later, while Cathy was ironing, she pondered on Josie’s words, especially about the difference between Greg and John and about character showing in the face.
Greg was sitting reading and John was writing something in a notebook. She compared their faces. It’s John’s that has changed, she thought. Greg’s thin sensitive face was the same as when she had first met him, and his sudden, sweet smile still had the power to make her feel weak with love. But Josie was right, John’s features were entirely different although he had the same unruly dark hair and grey eyes as Greg, and even the same cleft in the chin.
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