Christmas on the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  As Jack ran to grab his parachute and scramble for action, something hit the ship aft. In moments the hangar was on fire, the noise was deafening. Standing in the centre of the burning hangar Jack noticed Atkins coming down from the flight deck; his rubber suit was full of holes and there was blood leaking from every one of them.

  ‘Let’s get him down to the casualty station!’ Jack roared over the sound of gunfire and crackling flames, as he headed straight for Atkins and threw him over his shoulder. In no time, he had his pal below deck and on the operating table, although he did not hang around long enough to see what the surgeons were busy doing as the ship rolled and swayed. With adrenalin pumping through his veins, Jack raced towards the flight deck and his beloved biplane; he thought he was ready for anything now! What he wasn’t ready for was a sudden almighty flash as a bomb pierced the deck and exploded.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Hello, Kit.’ Frank Feeny gave Kitty a tight smile when he entered the warm, smoke-filled NAAFI canteen with his father. Looking around, he noticed there was a pair of seats on the far wall by the steamed-up window. Pop hurried over to claim them before somebody else did. Frank sighed; all he wanted was a pack of cigs and a box of matches.

  His heart lurched when Kitty looked up from pouring tea at the counter, a surprised expression on her beautiful face. She hadn’t expected him to walk in here today. He was passing through Liverpool to pick up top secret files from Derby House, knowing the next important phase of the war was to be directed from the Combined Operations bunker, focusing on the area of the North Atlantic known as the Western Approaches.

  ‘It’s great to see you, Frank.’ Kitty, feeling a bit awkward, didn’t mention the walking sticks he used to help him manoeuvre on his new leg. She wasn’t sure she ought to.

  ‘On your birthday too!’ Rene, Kitty’s high-spirited deputy manager, gave an indiscreet wink of her eye as Frank watched Kitty’s beautiful face flush bright pink.

  ‘Happy birthday, Kit.’ His voice was just perceptible now, embarrassed that he didn’t even have a card to give her. If he’d had two good legs, he would have kicked himself.

  Kitty felt her elated heart swell so much it almost took her breath away to see Frank so mobile. He might still need the help of two sticks, but he was standing and that was marvellous. Better still, he had come here to show her! This was the best birthday present she could wish for.

  ‘You look fantastic!’ Kitty laughed and, throwing caution to the wind, nodded to his new leg. ‘You haven’t lost that cocky swagger either!’ There was no mistaking the fact that Frank had had a rough time of it, but she was sure he did not want to dwell on that. How she longed to run out to him and throw her arms around him. When they were younger, she would have done just that, not giving the friendly gesture a second thought, but it wasn’t proper now she was older, somehow, and Frank was more distant since he’d been injured.

  ‘It’s just a flying – or should I say hopping – visit, Kit,’ Frank said, leaning on one of his two sticks. He laughed, but Kitty noticed this wasn’t his former carefree laughter; it seemed forced. Nevertheless she joined in, glad to see him no matter what.

  There was a moment’s silence and Frank felt awkward, wishing Pop had not persuaded him to come into the NAAFI canteen and then disappeared to the table near the window. Frank had said he needed a pack of cigarettes at the little kiosk on the corner. However, Pop wouldn’t hear of it; ‘No, lad,’ he’d said. ‘Might as well go and see Kitty. She’ll be made up to see you, and we can get ourselves a cup of tea and summat to eat while we’re at it.’

  Frank did not want Kitty to be ‘made up’. Her feelings were likely to be misplaced pity, not the easy-going friendship they had once shared. What else could she possibly feel for a man who had half a leg? Not even her usual welcoming demeanour could force him to be as natural with her as he used to be.

  ‘There’s a dance on tonight, Frank,’ Kitty said as she spooned another helping of tea into the huge teapot and gave it a quick stir with a tablespoon. ‘You remember when you danced me around the street that time …?’ She bit her lip. How could she say such a stupid thing? Frank must think her an idiot with pease pudding for brains. How could he think about dancing now with only one leg? She blushed and fell silent.

  Frank shuffled awkwardly. He didn’t want to think back to those days now. That part of his life was over. Gone. Never to be revisited. Kitty had a new life now; she was running this place and making a great job of it, he’d heard.

  Even though Kitty was mortified she was still overawed by the sight of Frank. He was so handsome and his presence brightened the grey, murky afternoon no end. It was as if the sun itself had walked into the dingy canteen and shone its light for everyone to see. He was smartly dressed in his naval uniform, and Kitty was proud that she knew him. She had wished they could be more than friends, but Frank had other ideas, seeing her first as a neighbour and a friend of the family.

  ‘I’ll bring your tea over to your table,’ Kitty said. She’d been hoping he would like to stay and talk but there was a queue forming behind him.

  Frank’s expression changed.

  ‘I can manage,’ he said. ‘After all, it’s only a tray.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Straight away Kitty remembered the strong determination that prevented Frank being treated like an invalid.

  Rita had told her that in the days before he was transferred to his rehabilitation centre down south he would visit the other patients in the wards, especially the little ’uns and try to keep their spirits up. It was in his nature to help others and Kitty knew without being told that Frank would hate to be pitied. She didn’t pity him; she just wanted to tell him how much she admired him and, as he walked on that tin leg, how much she longed to walk by his side. She wasn’t really surprised to see him out and about – the fussing around that he would get from Dolly and his sisters at home wouldn’t suit him: all that fetching, carrying and trying to turn him into something useless.

  ‘It looks like it’s going to rain.’ Frank knew his voice had been sharper than he intended and tried to make amends. What was he thinking? This was his beautiful Kitty, the girl he had known his entire life, whom he had hoped … Stop it, Frank, he checked himself.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘if we get a bit of fog tonight I’d better watch out for Pop. He could take a wrong turn outside the Sailor’s Rest and end up in the Mersey!’

  The two of them laughed conspiratorially as they looked over at Pop, chatting away to the servicemen at the neighbouring table. For a moment it was as if the last year had never happened and the two of them were at ease again. Frank’s eyes twinkled. This was the man Kitty remembered, the one she knew so well. Those smiling eyes – such a huge indicator of his personality – convinced Kitty that there was no man alive as brave as Frank Feeny. He was one of life’s survivors, the man you would look for in a crisis. Before he came home injured he was the one who would always be her mainstay, her shoulder to cry on. And Kitty believed that wonderful man was still in there somewhere.

  ‘If it’s foggy,’ Kitty said, ‘Jerry won’t come over and try to wipe us off the face of the earth like he tried the other week.’

  ‘I’ll have a word.’ Frank looked up in the direction of heaven, past the cracked ceiling.

  ‘Oh, go on now, Big Licks!’ Kitty joked. ‘You got friends in high places when they fitted a new leg, is that it?’ She realised pity did not work with Frank; he was much more comfortable with cheeky banter.

  ‘Don’t knock me new leg, Kit,’ Frank warned, relaxing now. ‘It makes a hollow noise.’

  She was amazed when Frank bent over and rapped his knuckles against his leg. Then, cool as you like he said, ‘I might even show you it one day.’

  A year ago Kitty might have blushed and be stuck for words, but working in the NAAFI canteen had given her the confidence to hold her own with the cheekiest of sailors. ‘Don’t be coming in here making promises you won’t ke
ep,’ she laughed.

  Frank returned her impish grin. He liked this new side to Kitty; it suited her.

  Kitty put a pot of tea and two tea cups and saucers on a tray. ‘Here, I can manage the tea,’ Frank said, but there was an awkward pause as he eyed the tray and realised that it could be a step too far to manage both of his sticks as well.

  Kitty quickly took in the situation and came to the rescue. ‘I always take the tray to the table of my favourite customers – it’s the only exercise I get. I’ll bring the food over when it’s ready.’ She nodded towards the table where Pop was sitting.

  But this time it was Frank’s turn to blush. This was just the sort of thing that he dreaded and he was damned if he was going to be treated like a cripple, no matter how good Kitty’s intentions.

  ‘Like I said,’ he insisted through gritted teeth, ‘I can manage.’

  Straightening his back Frank took one of his sticks and hung it on his left arm while propping his other stick up on the counter. He was usually quite able to stand unaided for a short time. Then he lifted the tea tray with his right hand and retrieved his stick with the other. Then slowly and painfully – his knee was throbbing now where his tin leg rubbed against the thin flesh – he wound his way through the throng as people pulled their chairs closer to their tables to allow him through. A hush almost descended across the room as his fellow servicemen watched him progress towards the table where his father sat, each with his heart in his mouth lest this crippled man should fall or miss his step. In each man’s head was the thought: there but for the grace of God go I … Frank thought that running a marathon couldn’t have been so difficult as cov­ering the short distance between the counter and the table. For God’s sake, Frank, he told himself, don’t drop this bloody tray.

  For Kitty, watching Frank was like a special kind of torture. She was torn between the urge to dash over and help him, or to leave him be and accept that this was his own way of preserving his dignity. Kitty understood now, in spite of his harsh words, that this was what he needed to do to help keep him sane. He’d rather fall flat on his face than be treated with kid gloves. Please God, don’t let him fall flat on his face, she prayed.

  The room breathed an almost audible sigh of relief as Frank reached the table, his father rising as Frank carefully placed the tea tray on the table. It seemed for a moment as if the exertion was too much – Pop gripped his son’s elbow as he helped him into his seat and pain was etched into Frank’s face as the perspiration made rivulets down his cheeks.

  Then he called, for all to hear, ‘And don’t put so many sugars in my tea next time, Kitty!’

  The tables around him laughed and the tension was broken, and it was only Pop who got a sense of how much the effort had cost his son. Kitty made a supreme effort to keep the tears that were threatening to fall from doing so. If Frank could be so brave, then so could she.

  After a few minutes, when Frank had got his breath back, Pop said, ‘I’ll go and get the dinners. It’s getting busy in here.’ Frank knew his father, at six foot tall and worldly-wise, would not want Kitty carrying a full tray while passing the singing squaddies who were now letting off steam. ‘They’ve been in here all afternoon, Pop.’ Kitty had put extra on their plates, especially Frank’s.

  ‘What brings you in here then, Pop?’ asked Rene, wiping the slops from the tea tray. ‘Not that I’m not grateful, mind. It’s nice to see a true gent for once,’ she raised her voice and aimed it towards the high-spirited soldiers, ‘instead of hairy-arsed squaddies with nothing better to do than come in here and mither me.’ Rene lashed the wet dishcloth across the room and it caught one of the soldiers around the ear.

  Kitty smiled. Pop was a fine-looking man in his fifties, and knew he was always sure of a warm welcome from Rene, although not in front of Dolly, the love of his life.

  ‘Our Doll’s out collecting salvage,’ Pop said, ‘putting her country before her beloved husband – again.’ His weathered face held an almost comical, bemused expression. Kitty laughed, knowing Dolly would fight like a lioness to protect her husband from Rene’s clutches. Everybody liked Pop, always cheerful even when there wasn’t much to be cheerful about.

  ‘You can’t take your eyes off her, can you, son?’ Pop asked, putting the tray of food on the table as the crowd of rowdy soldiers grew louder when Kitty passed by to collect empty cups. Frank watched with interest.

  ‘You should have asked her out – it being her birthday,’ Pop said conversationally.

  ‘I’m sure she’s already got plans, Pop,’ he said. ‘She’s probably already going to a dance.’

  Watching a couple of young ratings who had joined the squaddies and were larking about, Frank knew this was probably their first trip away from home. They were just having a bit of relief. Nevertheless, he would keep an eye on them. He did not want Kitty upset.

  ‘You could always ask her,’ Pop suggested, looking at Kitty, who was working hard behind the counter. ‘You never know.’

  ‘Pack it in, Pop.’ Frank did his best to sound amused but he didn’t quite pull it off. ‘Kitty’s twenty-two today. She won’t want to be stuck in the pictures with a tin-legged man like she’s in her dotage, will she?’ Frank wondered where Pop left his brains sometimes.

  ‘Although she might like a nice quiet night at the pictures after being on her feet all day,’ Pop persisted.

  ‘She’s not some old dodderer yet, if you hadn’t noticed!’ Frank tapped his foot impatiently. What did Pop know about anything? He had been married to Mam forever – he didn’t have a clue how a young man felt these days!

  ‘Aye, I suppose you’re right, lad.’ Pop finished his meal, sat back and puffed on his pipe.

  Frank sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so impatient, Pop, not with you.’

  ‘I know that, lad.’ Pop knew that Frank was soft on Kitty and he thought that Kitty returned his feelings. But there was no point in pushing these things. As his Dolly would say, love finds a way.

  Suddenly their attention was caught by a bit of a rumpus over at the counter.

  ‘He doesn’t look old enough to be in the army,’ Pop said, watching a young squaddie weaving about the canteen. ‘It looks like he’s paid the Sailor’s Rest a visit before he came here.’

  ‘Cyril doesn’t mind if they’re under twenty-one, he’ll still serve them,’ Frank said, also seeing that the lad was swaying. The squaddie was leaning over the counter now, laughing at something Kitty said, watching her shoo him away with her dishcloth. Smiling, she urged him to go and sit down. However, Frank did not like it when the young khaki-clad private reached over and tried to grab Kitty’s hand. Neither did a few of the others who were enjoying an afternoon cup of tea.

  ‘There could be trouble if the young ’un isn’t careful,’ said Frank, familiar with the antics of young men away from home maybe for the first time, and who now had more money than sense.

  ‘He’s talking broken biscuits, lad; she’ll never understand a word he says.’ Pop patiently eyed the young upstart trying to give Kitty a hard time.

  As she was about to give him his change the soldier grabbed her wrist tightly. Frank’s body stiffened. He sat bolt upright. ‘I don’t like her working in here, having to put up with the likes of him!’

  ‘Kitty will be all right, lad. There’s plenty here to keep an eye on her,’ Pop said with a knowing smile, ‘and she’s got to come in contact with men sometime.’

  Frank was still watching the fracas by the counter. ‘Aye, well if that young pup starts anything, I’ll be sure to finish it!’

  ‘Wrong change!’ the young buck brayed, playing to his pals, who were sniggering at their table. Frank edged towards the front of his seat while Pop raised a casual hand and placed it on his son’s sleeve.

  ‘You only gave me a ten-bob note,’ Kitty answered calmly. The canteen was packed with servicemen and their attention was beginning to turn to the counter.

  ‘I gave you a pound, you robbing trollop!’ the young soldier
yelled for all to hear, and a hush descended upon the room as the customers all stopped to see who was causing the commotion. Frank bristled with fury but Pop’s hand remained on the sleeve of his navy-blue greatcoat.

  ‘I’ve heard all about you NAAFI girls,’ the squaddie sneered, enjoying the attention, not realising he was attracting the wrong kind.

  ‘No, sonny, not me, you’ve got the wrong girl.’ Kitty kept her voice at a dignified level. Frank admired her cool.

  ‘You won’t say no to a night out with me, though, will you?’ the young buck said, grabbing Kitty’s arm. By now the audience was hanging on every word. Through a blurred window of alcohol, the squaddie might think he had the upper hand, Frank thought, but he didn’t know Kitty.

  ‘Now then, leave the girl alone,’ a merchant seaman in oilskins called.

  Kitty dragged her hand from the drunk’s grip. Frank, about to stand up, stopped when Pop shook his head. They both watched as Kitty leaned across the counter. Her scornful expression turned to a warning smile, her voice almost inaudible. Frank and Pop strained to listen.

  ‘For your information … sonny,’ Kitty held up the ten-bob note that she had put behind the keys of the till and raised her voice, ‘this is what you gave me.’

  ‘She’s right, lad,’ said another soldier, standing next to the cocky young upstart trying it on. ‘I’ve been watching the floor show from the start and you’re on a hiding to nothing.’

  ‘And,’ said Kitty, as dignified as she was before, ‘I suggest you change your whisky for something a bit less potent. It’s a grown-up’s drink, is that.’ She did not like to belittle anybody, least of all a young lad who would feel very ashamed of himself after a good night’s sleep.

  Frank moved to get up again.

  ‘She’s doing quite well on her own, son,’ Pop in­sisted.