Christmas on the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  Through the looking-glass, she could see the older woman’s glare of disapproval, looking down her pointed nose and flaring her thin nostrils, though she did not answer.

  ‘Off out again, are we?’ Mrs Kerrigan asked instead, in that pained voice that grated on Nancy’s nerves. Nancy knew if her husband were here the old bag would not speak to her like that. She would make sure she told him next time she wrote. He would soon put his mother straight on a few things, including how to treat his wife and mother of his son.

  ‘Yes, with my friend Gloria – you know Gloria, don’t you?’ Nancy said innocently, winding a section of hair around her index finger, placing it in a way she had done hundreds of times before against her scalp and pinning it in place with another clip. Nancy was pleased with the way she looked. Eyeing herself in the glass she wondered if she was a bit thinner these last few months. Everyone was going without and there was seemingly nothing that wasn’t either rationed or in short supply. Her Sid preferred her with a few curves, but Nancy quite liked the new sharpness to her cheekbones.

  ‘Oh, yes, I know Gloria, a good-time girl if ever there was one.’ There was no mistaking the contempt in Mrs Kerrigan’s voice. ‘Half the foreign fleet know Gloria.’

  Nancy could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. She yearned to tell the po-faced woman what she thought of her pious ways; spending as much time polishing the altar rails with her prayers as she did calling her neighbours fit to burn in hell. How could Sid’s mam be so religious when she was so nasty?

  ‘Only half of them?’ Nancy could not contain herself. ‘My word, she is slipping!’ She took a sideways glance at the older woman, who banged a cast-iron pan on the stove to show how angry she was. Nancy returned to the mirror, now applying her new bright red lipstick. When she and Gloria had last been to the Adelphi, one of the RAF servicemen had complimented her, telling her that she looked a bit like Rita Hayworth, which she’d always secretly thought herself. Nancy almost smiled at the recollection but the presence of her harping mother-in-law was enough to sour the memory. She’d had enough of her sniping, but she’d been brought up not to cheek her elders, no matter how much she was provoked. Also, she had Sid to think about.

  ‘It’s not like this is a regular thing.’ She had to be careful now, knowing Mrs Kerrigan kept nothing from Sid. ‘I went out twice last week. I treated Mam to a George Formby film, because she looked after little Georgie while I went to Mass.’ Because you would never dream of offering.

  ‘Which film was it?’ Mrs Kerrigan was also very suspicious. ‘I’ve seen all of George Formby’s.’

  ‘Let George Do It. Mam loves him playing his ukulele.’ She breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs Kerrigan seemed satisfied. Nancy had overheard two women in the corner shop regaling the merits of the film yesterday, and if Mrs Kerrigan found out Nancy had been drinking in the parlour of the Sailor’s Rest with Gloria, she knew she would never hear the end of it.

  ‘What about Sunday?’

  ‘Me and Gloria went to see that Margaret Lockwood film about a girl who went to a concentration camp and befriended a man who turns out to be a Nazi spy. We don’t go out as often as we used to, you know.’

  ‘I should think not! My Sid would be ever so upset. What woman wants to see her brave son’s wife behaving like a tuppenny trollop? I can’t turn a blind eye. People will talk.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ Nancy could not believe her ears. ‘Are you saying I’m up to no good?’ She put her hands on her hips. Mrs Kerrigan was the limit! Nancy certainly got lots of attention from men when they were out. Gloria was something of a local celebrity and they were never short of company, but Nancy was well aware that she was a married woman and didn’t need reminding by busybodies like Mrs Kerrigan.

  ‘Well, you must admit, there aren’t many other girls gallivanting around like you are while their husbands are off fighting.’

  This said much for Mrs Kerrigan’s sheltered life because Nancy knew that there were other girls who were far from squeaky clean. You would have to have your head in the sand not to be aware of some of the things that were going on. The city was now flooded with servicemen, not just from other parts of the country but from all around the world. Many women who were without their husbands and fiancés were taking up offers of a night out from the Canadian and Polish servicemen, and didn’t they all know that while the cat’s away the mice will have their little bit of fun? Why shouldn’t they? thought Nancy. Who knew what tomorrow might bring? Her Sid might be killed and where would she and little Georgie be left then? She looked over at her son, sitting happily in his playpen playing with his pull-along dog. He looked just like his dad. For a moment, Nancy had an uncomfortable vision of Sid, somewhere in Europe, held prisoner God only knew where. Was he thinking of them now? She pushed the thought away. No, it wouldn’t do to dwell.

  ‘I’m thinking of getting a job in one of those munitions factories, if you must know!’ Nancy did not know where the idea came from but thinking on it now, it was clear that all the women she knew who had gone back to work were having a ball. Nancy missed her job at the George Henry Lee department store. She loved the gossip and the camaraderie as well as all that extra money in her purse. Not that there would be much to buy soon if this rationing lark continued.

  ‘And who’s going to look after little Georgie, might I ask?’ Mrs Kerrigan said with a look that suggested there was a bad smell under her pointed nose.

  ‘Mam said she’d do it.’ Nancy’s fingers were crossed behind her back. She would have to ask her mother, but she was confident Mam would not let her down.

  The look on Mrs Kerrigan’s face was priceless. ‘In my day it was unheard of for a married woman to go out to work – unless she was very poor or widowed.’

  ‘Well, now they’re in uniform and doing jobs deemed fit only for men just a couple of years ago!’ Nancy answered, knowing she would have enjoyed going into the Forces. All those strong, virile men … However, her mother-in-law’s stern expression did not encourage frivolity, so she said with every ounce of patriotic fervour she could muster, ‘While our men are in the Armed Forces, us women have got to keep the country going.’

  ‘Heaven help us if they’re all like you!’ Mrs Kerrigan muttered under her breath, though loud enough for Nancy to hear, and made the sign of the cross on her chest. Nancy decided to ignore the slight and taking a deep breath she tried to remain dignified like Mam said she should – turn the other cheek and all that.

  ‘Mr Churchill said everyone’s home is on the “front line”, so we have to be vigilant.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Mrs Kerrigan’s ever-flaring nostrils were dancing now, while Nancy, with a lot of effort, remained serene on the outside.

  ‘If women work like men, then I believe they have the right to relax any way they choose,’ Nancy said. ‘Women are coping very well without the help of their husbands.’

  ‘Oh, I know you are,’ Mrs Kerrigan pointed out. ‘But you and your kind would never have behaved in such a carefree way in my day. It wouldn’t have been allowed.’

  ‘Just as well I wasn’t around in your day then,’ Nancy smiled, but inside she was fuming. Who died and left you a day? Her own mother would not have said such things. She’d had enough. Why the hell shouldn’t she have the odd night out? She didn’t care if Mrs Kerrigan told Sid or not!

  ‘Just so you know,’ Nancy said in a tone sweet enough to encourage diabetes, ‘I’m going to see Gloria, who’s singing in the Adelphi again tonight. I don’t know how she manages to entertain such big audiences after working all day in munitions – twice since last Friday, in fact – while some people just sit at home criticising and leaving others to do all the hard work!’

  Mrs Kerrigan’s voice was now a pathetic whine. ‘Last night’s raid frightened the life out of me. I thought my end had come! While you’re out the Nazis could make their way over here and carry me off.’

  ‘They might take you, but they’d soon bring you back,’
Nancy muttered under her breath, then said out loud, the clips still between her teeth, ‘I was only next door in the parlour last night, Mrs Kerrigan, and I won’t be long tonight.’ The Allies could use her as an early warning signal, she thought: she screams before the enemy planes have turned on their engines.

  There was a moment’s silence and Nancy imagined Mrs Kerrigan was looking for something else to carp about. It didn’t take her long to find it.

  ‘My poor Sid – how can you bear to go out and enjoy yourself, knowing that poor Sidney is suffering? He could be ill or injured and you don’t seem to care.’

  ‘Of course I care about Sid too! Just because you’re crying into the bottom of your teacup all of the time, doesn’t give you the moral high ground, you know,’ Nancy answered, knowing if Mrs Kerrigan couldn’t get her one way she would get her another. If Sid was ill the Red Cross would tell them, wouldn’t they? Nancy put the hot prickle at the back of her neck down to annoyance rather than the guilt she knew she should be feeling for not missing Sid like she should. It was Mrs Kerrigan’s fault she felt that way – emotional blackmail was her mother-in-law’s speciality. It’s what kept Sid tied to her apron strings for so long. No wonder Mr Kerrigan, her husband, worked nights on The Liverpool Post and no one ever saw him. He was probably desperate to get away from her.

  ‘He could have had anybody he wanted.’ Sid’s mother brought the brown earthenware teapot from the range in the kitchen and poured herself a cup of stewed black tea, not offering any to Nancy. Not that Nancy was in the least bit bothered; her mother-in-law’s tea, left to steep, would strip the taste buds from your tongue, it was that strong.

  ‘When he gets home he will have eyes for nobody except me!’ Nancy’s honeyed words had the desired effect and Sid’s mother flounced out of the back kitchen.

  ‘Well, just you think on, lady – I tell him everything in my letters,’ Mrs Kerrigan shouted from the kitchen.

  I bet you do, you nosy old bag. And what you don’t know you’ll make up.

  Nancy secured the last clip and looked at herself in the mirror. She was pleased with the reflection that stared back at her. How could Mrs Kerrigan expect her to stay in night after night, keeping her company? Nancy might be married but she wasn’t dead!

  ‘Tell him I’m keeping my pecker up – for little Georgie’s sake! We’ve all got to do our bit for the war effort. Mr Churchill said so.’

  ‘I don’t think he meant entertaining the foreign troops,’ Mrs Kerrigan reminded her.

  Looking around at the drab distempered walls and heavy black furniture Nancy felt that living here was like being in a mausoleum. It was bigger than Mam’s house in Empire Street, with six empty bedrooms and dark stairs that led to echoing shadowy attics. The cellar had been reinforced to use as an air raid shelter, but it was cold and damp and full of cockroaches and mice. The place gave her the creeps – a far cry from Mam’s cheery kitchen.

  Nancy sighed as dying flies buzzed nonstop about the kitchen. No matter how much she cleaned it with bleach and disinfectant, the place still smelled damp and inhospitable. Not like Mam’s happy kitchen, which always had somebody chattering away. Nancy’s heart lurched. What was it Mrs Kerrigan said about marrying in haste? Well, you’re repenting now all right, Nance.

  Picking up her bag of remaining clips, Nancy put baby George into his pram, pulled a headscarf around her pin-curled hair and tied a knot under her chin. Then, sneaking her glad rags under the canopy of the pram for later, Nancy closed the front door behind her without another word.

  Through the narrow entries, she pushed the pram, saying a little prayer that Mam did not repeat her stoic phrase that she had made her bed and now she must lie in it! Well, if Mam didn’t let her stay in Empire Street she was going to have to look for a room somewhere. ‘Because I just can’t take no more of that woman, little Georgie,’ Nancy said in the foggy miasma of a damp afternoon. ‘I can’t take no more.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky to find anything these days,’ said Sarah, who had just come into the kitchen after changing into her Red Cross uniform. ‘There are no spare places after the raids.’ She leaned over Nancy’s shoulder and picked up a couple of clips Nancy had taken from her hair.

  ‘Can I borrow a couple of these to keep my cap in place?’ she asked.

  ‘And keep those unruly curls in check,’ Nancy offered. It was a wonder their Sarah’s halo didn’t fall down and choke her. Her sixteen-year-old sister got away with everything just because she was the youngest. Rita got away with everything because she was the eldest. And I get away with bugger-all! Nancy moaned.

  ‘Where did you say you were going tonight?’ Dolly worried her headstrong daughter was not behaving as a young wife should.

  Not long after the telegram came telling Nancy her husband had been taken prisoner, she was off dancing with Gloria or popping over to the Sailor’s Rest at the bottom of Empire Street where Gloria’s father ran the pub. Dolly liked Gloria, but she knew the young woman was a law unto herself and no one could tell her what to do. Her parents had certainly given her plenty of rope, but Dolly worried that she’d hang herself with it if she wasn’t careful. Besides, Gloria wasn’t married but Nancy was and she needed to behave herself. Not that she’d had much truck with behaving herself in the past, as Nancy was already pregnant with little Georgie when she walked down the aisle. Despite being a strong Catholic, Dolly was also pragmatic and had seen it all. At least Nancy had wanted to marry Sid. She was less sure about Rita, her eldest daughter, who had found herself in the same situation before marrying Charlie Kennedy. Dolly hated the thought that Rita was stuck with that charmless man. She knew that he and his mother looked down on the Feeny family, but they were too cowardly to say it out loud. Dolly swore she would take a brickbat to him if he ever so much as hinted at it. She and her brood were worth a hundred of the Kennedys.

  Looking at Nancy, Dolly knew the old miseries said it could all end in tears, but what was a young, healthy woman to do? Just the other day she’d heard Vera Delaney saying that kind of behaviour wouldn’t be allowed in her day.

  ‘I don’t blame the young living life to the full – why not?’ she had replied, then reminded Vera of Mr Churchill’s speech at the end of August: ‘“… Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”’

  ‘I don’t think he meant your Nancy!’ Vera had sniffed as she approached her front door.

  ‘You could have knocked me over with a fender!’ Dolly told her daughters, accepting their sudden tight-lipped smiles. ‘I resemble that remark! It’s a good thing women are going out and enjoying themselves … What’s up with you two? Did I say something funny?’

  ‘It’s all right, Mam.’ Tears of laughter ran down Nancy and Sarah’s faces at their mother’s mangling of the English language. ‘It wouldn’t do for Georgie to have a miserable family.’

  Dolly agreed. ‘Things are bad enough without adding long faces to the situation. There’s nothing wrong in a bit of good clean fun, I say.’

  ‘Did I tell you Gloria’s singing at the Adelphi tonight?’ Nancy was hopeful as she eyed her mother through the looking-glass over the mantelpiece. ‘She got me a ticket and it’s been ages since I’ve had a night out to anywhere smart.’ She put her head to one side and smiled, encouraging her mother to agree.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Dolly said; she knew what Nancy was up to, it was as plain as the nose on her face, but she’d let her carry on for a bit longer … She might like her daughter to keep her chin up but that didn’t mean she could take advantage.

  ‘Somewhere classy,’ Nancy said, ‘where I can get dressed up and have a dance … Gloria’s hoping for a regular spot,’ she said while Mam was still listening. ‘I should support her, don’t you think, Mam? After all, she’s been so good since Sid …’

  Dolly had a sneaking suspicion that Nancy had come here to get ready because she didn’t want Sid’s mother to see her all dolled up in her glad rags. She wondered if her daughter inte
nded to stay here tonight as she did sometimes when she was too late to take Georgie home after a night out. If she could, Dolly knew her daughter would stay until Sid was released. However, she also knew she would be the one left holding the baby.

  ‘You don’t mind if I stay the night, do you, Mam, what with that fog?’

  ‘It’ll be a bit cramped with you and the baby sharing with Sarah in the small back room.’

  ‘I could always go in Eddy’s room.’ Nancy was persuasive, that was for sure.

  ‘Eddy or Frank will need the room when they come home.’ Dolly knew Nancy’s game: she wanted to come back home and if she put herself in the boys’ room Dolly would never get her out again. ‘There’s no way they’re sleeping on the sofa in the parlour after giving their all for King and country!’

  ‘It’s just a night out, Mam.’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose so.’ Dolly was not sure. ‘Sarah’s on night duty.’

  Sarah sighed. She would be that tired when she got in tomorrow morning she didn’t care who was in her bed – but Nancy would not be there for long, if she had anything to do with it, that’s for sure.

  ‘So, now that’s agreed will you mind Georgie for me? It’s been so long since I went dancing and …’

  ‘Yeah, since all of last week. Aye, go on then, I will,’ Dolly said, putting the flat iron back on the stove. Folding the baby’s rompers, she lovingly placed them on the pile of ironed laundry. Nancy was young, she had her whole life ahead of her to be housebound, looking after kids and doing her duty. ‘I know how much you loved to dance before …’ Life is short enough, thought Dolly, there was no point in sitting on the hob, moping.

  ‘Thanks, Mam.’ Nancy gave her mother a loving squeeze. ‘I managed to get a new lippy in Boots – d’you want to try it? Some woman in a feathered hat tried to snatch it out of my hands, but I clung on,’ Nancy’s blue eyes were wide with indignation. ‘I said to her, “My husband died for this country – the least you can do is let me have a lipstick!” She soon let go.’